Saturday, July 5, 2014

Cal Tjader: "A Certain, Smooth Elegance" [La Onda Va Bien]

© -  Steven A. Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“The vibraphone invites overplaying almost by its very nature. … Unlike a horn player, the vibraphonist is unable to sustain notes for very long, even with the help of vibrato and pedal. The vibes invite overplaying to compensate for such limitations. Added to these difficulties is the fact that … [they are played with] a hitting motion powered by the wrists. With the mastery of a steady drum roll, the aspiring vibraphonist is already capable of flinging out a flurry of notes and, given the repetitive motions used to build up drum technique, the vibes player is tempted to lock into a ‘steady stream’… [of notes].


Tjader’s playing, however, was nothing like this. Although he was a drummer and percussionist by background, he seemed to draw on the instincts of a horn player in shaping his improvised lines. They did breathe.”


“The disparate strains in his playing [influences ranging from Lionel Hampton to Milt Jackson; one a banger the other a bopper] came out most clearly in his Jazz work. Where Tjader melded them into a melodic, often introspective style that was very much his own. Even when playing more high-energy Latin numbers Tjader kept a low-key demeanor, building off the intensity of the rhythm section rather than trying to supplant it. For the most part, he came across as an introvert on an instrument meant for extroverts.”
- Ted Gioia, West Coast Jazz: Modern Jazz in California, 1945-1960, pp.103-104].


"No matter how extensive the ear's training or experience," … "there is in Tjader's art a kind of hypnotic sophistication rare in any music. For those who can experience it, he is 'Tjader le Grand.'  
- Heuwell Tircuit, Music Critic, 1973


“Cal was a very sophisticated musician, a real jazz player. He had a lot of feeling. There are a lot of vibe players out there that aren't really playing on that level. There are very few of them that can play a ballad the way that Cal did. By the time I met Cal, there were certainly [lots] of guys who could do unheard of things with the instrument technically. But there were not very many people that were interested in just expressing themselves in an artistic fashion."
- Scott Hamilton, Jazz tenor saxophonist


"[Cal had] a wonderful sense of rhythm, harmony and time.... He was 100 percent into the music.... His musical ideas flowed so effortlessly.... [Following the early pioneers], Cal set the standard by which all vibe players would be measured.... He was a great teacher, but not of the classroom type. He taught by example and I think that's probably the greatest way to teach.... I believe I would have been much the greater musician if I had worked more with Cal."
- Hank Jones, Jazz pianist


If you have ever wondered about what goes into the life of a working Jazz musician, then S. Duncan Reid’s biography of vibraphonist, drummer and bandleader Cal Tjader is for you.


Cal Tjader: The Life of the Man Who Revolutionized Latin Jazz [Jefferson, NC: McFarland Publication, 2013] contains annotations about almost every gig, recording and band that Cal was associated with during the three, plus decades of his career [he died in 1982 at the age of 56].


Additionally, Mr. Reid includes excerpts from interviews he conducted with many of the musicians who performed with Cal, as well as, the full text of interviews with Cal’s son and daughter, a Glossary of Musical Terms, which is especially helpful for those unfamiliar with the vocabulary of Latin Jazz , a 53-page Discography compiled by Michael Weil and a host of rare photographs of Cal and his various bands.


This excerpt from the Foreword by the distinguished Jazz author and critic Doug Ramsey sets the tone for Mr. Reid’s biography of Cal:


“Cal had a marvelous way of placing current jazz trends in the context of the music’s history and culture. … In his years of extensive research, interviews and writing, S. Duncan Reid has produced a biography that brings back with its clarity my good times with Cal. More importantly, his book gives all of us a thorough portrait of Tjader the man and the musician, and an understanding of the extent of his contribution to the music.”


The book is divided into the following five chapters, each one centered around a pivotal development in Cal’s career:


1. Tap Dancing with Bojangles to Playing with Brubeck
2. Tjader Plays Mambo and Tjazz
3. Reaching for the Skye
4. Last Bolero in Berkeley
5. Flying with Concord


Here are some excerpts from each chapter to help give you an idea of how Mr. Reid writes about the many highlights in Tjader’s career.


1. Tap Dancing with Bojangles to Playing with Brubeck


- “The fact that his many legions of fans came from every racial and cultural background is a testament to the universality of his music. And Tjader was revered internationally; his tours took him to France, Japan, the Philippines, Mexico and Puerto Rico. Nonetheless, he has not received enough recognition from American jazz historians and critics. To start with, he was a vibraphone virtuoso. More importantly, he was an artistic genius and great innovator who took Latin jazz further than his highly accomplished predecessors.” [Preface, p. 3]


- "We [pianist Dave Brubeck’s trio] had to get seven or eight new tunes every week for [Lyons' half-hour show]," said [bassist Ron Cotty]. "So we did a lot of rehearsing. Then we'd play those tunes at the Burma Lounge. We went through numerous standards and had built up a repertoire rather quickly. Everything happened pretty fast over that period, the popularity and then the recordings.... Cal was a great natural musician.... He played mostly drums early on. He was a great rhythmic guy. Good time, great ideas and great energy [smiles and chuckles slightly]. Dave wrote about 50 percent of the [arrangements] for the tunes in his style and [the other half] were Gal's arrangements, which were more bebop oriented.... I remember the charts that used vibes were lines that he wrote.... He'd jump up from the drums and go back and forth between the vibes and drums.... At the time, [we] were considered a new group, part of the avant-garde." [p. 27]


- “Brubeck returned to Sound Recorders sometime in June [1950] with a new and improved Tjader. On "'S Wonderful," "Sweet Georgia Brown," "Undecided" and "September Song," Cal's technique is more refined and his harmonic sense is beginning to take shape. This is due in part to the influence of Milt "Bags" Jackson. Tjader was attracted to Jackson's laid back approach, harmony and bluesy, bebop sensibility. Furthermore, he liked the fact that Bags, a nickname given to Jackson by a bassist in Detroit because of his habit of staying up all-night and carrying his collapsing vibraphone in a bag on his back, used two mallets instead of three or four. Lastly, Jackson enhanced his sound by setting the vibraharp's resonators to a slower speed, thereby bringing in a delicate vibrato and or tremolo. [p. 34]



2. Tjader Plays Mambo and Tjazz


- “I’m not an innovator, I’m not a pathfinder. I am a participator.” [p. 38, from a 1953 liner note in which Cal is quoted by Ralph J. Gleason].


- "Whenever we played the tunes, I had no arguments with Cal.... Every now and then when we would play a club, Cal would say, 'Let me sit in on drums.' So it would be Vince Guaraldi, myself and Cal on drums for a few tunes. Cal could play those drums. But the nice part about him was he had that feeling, boy, that nice soul feeling. I don't care what they say.... That's the beautiful thing about music. It isn't just how well you play.... It's what you have to say on the instrument and Cal had a lot to say.... Cal Tjader was one of a kind and we will always miss him, his heart and soul. God bless his gift to the world. It was great  to have known another king." [p. 78, bassist Gene Wright who along with pianist Vince Guaraldi and drummer Al Torre was a member of one of Cal’s earliest groups]


- “[Flute and sax player] Paul Horn offered his perspective on Tjader and small bands in general. "Cal was a [fine] bandleader [and] just really a likable guy. I never saw him get upset or lose his temper.... Musically, he really had a handle on the blend of jazz and Afro-Cuban.... Cal could put [the drinks] away, but ... he always performed up to his standard of professionalism, even if his face was a little flushed after intermission.” [p. 94]


3. Reaching for the Skye


- “Dick Hadlock covered the event [Cal’s last gig at the Blackhawk in San Francisco, CA in July, 1963] for The San Francisco Examiner. He loved everything he heard that night, from the bossa nova tunes to a laid back set of blues and ballads. Hadlock observed that Tjader was technically adept but chose to emphasize form, melodic balance and understatement. Moreover, there was the superb sense of time. "Ballad playing requires a more highly developed feeling for time than does the mere recitation of chord patterns on a fast tune. Tjader's ability to place the right melody notes —HIS melody notes, not necessarily the songwriter's — in all the right places is a gift only the most eloquent jazzmen possess."” [p. 126]


- “Among the many gifts of Tjader was one for musical understatement. Not surprising for a man whose subtle touch was as developed as his ear for harmony. "Cal Tjader has certainly been one of the most underestimated jazz artists currently recording," wrote Mike Davenport of the Van Nuys newspaper Valley News and Green Sheet, "and [Warm Wave] easily demonstrates the warmth and beauty of his playing." This LP, issued in September of 1964, remained a personal favorite of Tjader's. "Cal used Warm Wave as his template [for all-ballad albums]," said Herb Wong. "He would say, 'Let's do another Warm Wave!"” [p. 131]


- “By the time … Chick Corea played on Cal’s Soul Burst [1966], the composer/pianist was only 24. "I brought a few of my compositions to the recording," he recalled, "especially one I ... titled 'Modbo Mambo.'" It was an attempt to put some of the Miles/Coltrane-like harmonies I was so interested in with the Latin rhythm section that I also was growing to love more and more.... The thrill was to hear my own composition so well recorded and performed. Cal was obviously wonderful ... as he allowed an unknown guy like me to bring in an original composition to a date with such well-known and wonderful musicians on it. I thank him to this day for that break and his good will and wonderful playing."” [p. 137].


- “Tjader was tremendously talented.” [An iconic Latin Jazz pianist composer-arranger Eddie Palmieri who would make a number of Latin Jazz recordings with Cal in the 1960’s.] [P. 138]


- “Cal always populated his combos with superb sidemen.” [p. 147]


- “The following are opinions of Tjader the jazz musician. Gary Burton, who recorded the tribute CD For Hamp, Red, Bags, and Cal (2001), had this to say: "Tjader's jazz style was pretty much derivative of Milt Jackson's style. But, where he excelled and left his legacy was in the [Latin jazz] he pioneered. So, I think I would say that Cal is important, not for his vibraphone playing as such, but for his bandleading and originality in that skill." Ted Gioia presents a different point of view in his book West Coast Jazz. "These disparate strains [Lionel Hampton and Milt Jackson] in his playing came out most clearly in his jazz work, where Tjader melded them into a melodic, often introspective style that was very much his own." [Guitarist] Eddie Duran concurred. "One of the things most people probably don't realize is that he was a great jazz player.... Cal had not just his own style but his own sound and own approach to it. When you hear Milt Jackson, you know it's Milt. When you hear Cal Tjader, you know it's Cal."” [p. 154]


- “For two decades, Tjader had repeatedly demonstrated an uncanny knack for taking great compositions written by others, such as "Guarachi Guaro," "Cubano Chant" and "Sigmund Stern Groove," and making them his own.” [p. 156]


4. Last Bolero in Berkeley


-  “Tjader was well aware that changes in personnel could either be rewarding or disastrous and was proud of the fact that he had made excellent choices up to this point. Each sideman had his own forte(s) and Tjader's repertoire would reflect the different moods. For example, Lonnie Hewitt leaned toward the blues and Al McKibbon toward the Cuban. Nonetheless, the ensemble would maintain Tjader's musical identity.3 He knew how to balance the leanings of his musicians with the overall sound he wanted for the band: "You should play with people who are sympathetic towards your approach."” [p. 160]


- "Now that I look back on it with a sympathetic eye, I get what it's all about. In the jazz world, and Cal was not like this at all, musicians [exaggerate or underestimate their contributions].... Whenever jazz players liked something they heard, they'd run over to the piano and show Cal. They were very involved in developing the art.... As I listen now to jazz artists, people discovered things.... Everybody had something to contribute. It's not that they were discovering the nature of the universe.... But the egos that got involved in it were really not appropriate. Cal was above all that.... He used to tell me, for instance, 'If you play at a club and come up with one new riff, that's a good night.' He was very humble about the whole thing." [Ed Bogas, Cal's producer, p. 166]


- "Cal Tjader's sound on vibes is gentle and flowing, lyrical and swinging," wrote Jon Hendricks in The San Francisco Chronicle. "He plays the instrument with real passion, always a pleasure to hear and see.” [p. 172]


- “... , in a conversation with [Jazz critic] Russ Wilson, Tjader had pointed out that he'd been asked on several occasions why he wouldn't stick to one format. "I cant," he explained: "I have too many musical interests. My ideal is to make our tunes empathetic or authentic, be it Basic, a mambo, or a Beatle number; to play them with taste and a feeling for the idea they had, but without copying and with our own ideas and interpretation."” [p. 174]


-  “[Guitarist] Eddie Duran described what the working atmosphere was like during the making of Tjader Plays Tjazz, Cal Tjader/Stan Getz Sextet, San Francisco Moods and Last Night When We Were Young, his final Tjader LP. "Cal was a very nice cat... He was very loose and wasn't dictatorial.... When we would record in a small group setting, he wanted me to [complement] behind him. He would say, T want you to feed me.' Occasionally, we'd have piano but sometimes the piano would lay out and Cal wanted just a guitar comp behind him on his solo. I would lay down some chords behind him and then the piano would come in. The music was so together and we all harmonized personally with each other.... His harmonic sense was so beautiful. On some of the music, he would say, 'Let's use this change or this harmony instead of that.' We'd be changing harmonies within the tune itself. We would sit down and discuss it.... [Whether Cal was interpreting standards or creating his own material], there were different intros and segues into a tune......He would start the tune and then when it came to his solo, he'd like a modulation into a different key."” [p. 182; emphasis mine]


5. Flying with Concord


- “[Bassist] Howard Rumsey and Tjader had a friendly working relationship for over twenty years. Tjader would raise his price periodically but Rumsey was always happy to give it to him. "Tjader had the most dedicated fans. [Each concert] was almost like a religious event. The women especially revered Cal and his music." [p. 235. Howard was in charge of the music at The Lighthouse Cafe in Hermosa Beach, CA and later at his own club, Concerts By The Sea in Redondo Beach, CA.]


- “Tjader was indeed a unique animal. In an industry rife with ruthless competition, phoniness and self-aggrandizement, he was generous (both musically and with his time), honest and modest to a fault. In 1975, he told Max Salazar that his early groups were a "little bit out in front" because they played jazz tunes, not just montunos all night. This was as close to a boast as he ever came. Tjader's eagerness to deflect attention away from himself has hurt his legacy. It started with the "I'm not an innovator" remark early on and continued throughout his career. [p. 238]


- “ among [San Francisco Examiner columnist] Phil Elwood's fondest memories of the Concord period, were the small after-concert parties that Carl Jefferson would put on at his spread in Clayton, a town six miles southeast of Concord. Tjader would impress the crowd with his rarely heard piano voicings. "Cal always thought that the younger [musicians] had given him so much. It was kind of peculiar. I think that Cal never quite understood that he really was a major figure. He never acted like that." [p. 238


- “The many nights he spent at El Matador [San Francisco, CA] revealed to Herb Wong [Jazz writer, educator, record producer] what a clever bandleader Tjader was. "He paced his sets very intelligently, with taste and understanding of how an audience may move from one context to another and still have logic in the set of music that he was presenting." Tjader was able to express his musical ideas to a broader audience because he could please both straight and Latin jazz purists and ballad lovers during the same performance. "That's not an ad hoc skill," continued Wong. "[It's] something that matures.... The feeling that he would maximize his contribution to the music while ... also contributing to the audience's pleasure, and hopefully, growth."” [p. 238]


"Cal definitely had a knack and feel for picking the right tunes to play and at the right time," added [Latin Jazz percussionist] Poncho Sanchez. "What tunes to start off with and to play at the end of the night. Whether we should hit em hard or start mellow. As a young man, I absorbed all this. Now I do that today." And there are two other qualities that made Tjader a top-flight bandleader. First, according to [drummer] Vince Lateano, he was both a good director and could make things happen spontaneously. Second, according to [bassist] Robb Fisher, he instinctively elicited the best out of his musicians. "When you play with a musician of [Cal's] caliber, it is a lot easier than when you play with other people. He made it easier."” [p. 238]


- “Tjader's legacy extends beyond his musicianship and bandleading. He introduced Latin Jazz to mainstream America.” [pp. 238-39]


What emerges after a reading of Mr. Reid's biography is a detailed and clear picture of Cal Tjader’s career in Jazz and what a remarkable musician he was.


Cal had his demons - he struggled with alcohol addiction for most of his adult life - and while Jazz clubs are not the best place to overcome such bad habits, Mr. Reid doesn't sensationalize Cal’s personal struggle with this dependency.


Instead, he focuses on Cal’s music and helps the reader understand what elements, personalities and factors made it so distinctive and, ultimately, significant.


During the times I caught his groups at Concerts By The Sea in Redondo Beach, CA.
I was always impressed by how thoughtfully Cal probed melodies for nuance and subtlety. To me, he was the quintessential Jazz musician; always looking for ways to make interesting improvisations that swung with intensity.


Thankfully, the legacy of this special musician has been captured in Mr. Reid’s biography.


I can’t think of Jazz another musician more deserving of such recognition.

Order information is available at www.mcfarlandpub.com. McFarland titles are also available from all major ebook providers, including consumer/retail suppliers [e.g., Google Play and Amazon Kindle] and library suppliers [e.g., Overdrive, ebrary]. For a complete list of ebook providers, see www.mcfarlandpub.com/customers/ebooks.



Thursday, July 3, 2014

Red Norvo: The All-But-Forgotten Big Red One [From the Archives]

© -  Steven A. Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“Red Norvo, …, presents an especially acute challenge to jazz historians. His various musical associa­tions flew in the face of stylistic categories and conventions — perhaps ultimately to the detriment of his career. How else can we explain why this illustrious jazz veteran remained all but forgotten during the 1980s and 1990s, when other survivors of his generation were receiving honorary degrees and various accolades, and were vener­ated as important elder statesmen of jazz? Certainly one would struggle to find another jazz musician who had made his presence felt in so many different ways as Norvo….

Jazz  history books have poorly served this master of many idioms; their rigid categorizations seem incapable of dealing with his chameleon career. Yet Norvo's skillful ability to navigate across artificial stylistic and racial barriers merits both praise and emulation.”
Ted GioiaThe History of Jazz [pp. 84-85]

Fortunately, on behalf of all of us, based at Fort Riley, KS, the First Infantry Division – aka “The Big Red One” is still in existence and the music of Red Norvo – whom we shall refer to as the “All But Forgotten” Master Mallets Man – continues to live on through compact disc and other digital reissues of his recorded legacy.

For the most part, however, Ted Gioia is correct is his assessment of Red Norvo’s undeserved obscurity in Jazz lore, especially considering his huge contributions to the genre as a musician, band leader and composer.

Thankfully, there are lots more details to be found about Red’s career in Richard Sudhalter’s Lost Chords: White Musicians and Their Contribution to Jazz, 1915-1945, pp. 653-705. Here are Mr. Sudhalter’s opening thoughts on Red.

“Otis Ferguson, whose commentaries on jazz and other lively arts for the mid-19305 New Republic can still surprise, wrote with particular insight about Red Norvo. ‘A special conception of music’ was Ferguson's verdict in a 1938 review. ‘Balance, restraint, clean ensembles and no tricks . . . And under a complete del­icacy of taste he had the urgent carrying beat without which music like this must be sick or pseudo.’1 [“Red and Mildred,” New Republic, August 17, 1938].

No tricks. How better to describe a musical orientation, an aesthetic, of such utter purity? Just how pure, in fact, becomes clear with the realization that Red Norvo's way of playing music on the xylophone (or, as later, the vibraharp) had no recognizable precedent—and, once formed, it never really changed. From 1933, when he made his first records, straight through to the 1980s, when physical infirmity finally put an end to his playing career, his basic concept re­mained firmly, radiantly, in place.

Fashions changed around him. Ways of dealing with harmony, melodic lines, laying down a beat, and, starting in the World War II years, even the inner aesthetic of music-making underwent startling transformations. But Norvo's mu­sical sensibility seemed equal to all of it, able to acknowledge and absorb every­thing without compromising itself.

‘All his music is its own signature’ was Ferguson's way of putting it—and that is a statement of incontrovertible fact. It also places Norvo in the small and ultra-select circle of jazz innovators, true originals.” [p. 653]


Through a recognition of his originality and genius, Red has also managed to find his way into Gunther Schuller’s definitive The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1935-1945 [pp. 513-527]. Mr. Schuller begins his treatment of Red and his music with the following observations about Red’s significance to Jazz.

“One of the finest and most consistently creative musicians of the Swing Era – still quite active today incidentally – was Kenneth Norville, known to the music world as red Norvo. The fact that Norvo played the xylophone – in later years he played the vibraphone as well (or the vibraharp, as he preferred to call it) — in the early 1930s a highly unlikely candidate for a jazz instrument, makes his selection as a major soloist in this chapter all the more remarkable. But the fact is that Norvo accomplished for the xylophone what Coleman Hawkins achieved for the tenor saxophone: he took it from its vaudeville environment and single-handedly brought it into the world of jazz.

But Norvo was (is) more than merely a superior instrumentalist. In the thirties he was an influential force as an in­novative soloist and a creative orchestra leader, that is to say, one who saw the jazz orchestra as something more than a vehicle for him to front, as Armstrong and Hawkins, for example, saw bands. For Norvo, a jazz orchestra was a collec­tive instrument which through its style, arrangements, and compositions could make important contributions to the music. Norvo has been, through the years, an outstanding uncompromisingly creative improviser, and at times a startlingly gifted (though little appreciated) composer. 22”

[Footnote #22 reads: Norvo destroyed a whole series of early compositions, similar to his Dance of the Octopus (1933), because Jack Kapp, the head of Brunswick Records, in his great business wisdom, regarded such music as meaningless rubbish and tore up Norvo’s recording contract. Given the caliber of Dance of the Octopus, this senseless decision can only be regarded as one of the great tragedies of American music.]


George T. Simon in the 4th edition of The Big Bands begins his five-page treatment [pp. 386-390] of Red’s larger group with these words of praise:

“For real listening thrills, few bands could match the one that Red Norvo fronted during the fall of 1936. It was only a small band, ten musicians plus Red, and it wasn't a very famous one then. But the way it swung in its soft, subtle, magnificently musical way, insinuating rather than blasting itself into one's consciousness, gave me one of the most remarkable and satisfying listening experiences I have ever felt.

I use the word "felt," purposely, because this was a band with an under­lying sensuous as well as musical appeal. Unlike swing bands that overpowered its listeners, this one underplayed its music, injecting into its unique Eddie Sauter scores a tremendous but subdued excitement—the sort of excitement one experiences not during the culmination of something great but in antici­pation of something great. It would swing so subtly and so softly and so charmingly through chorus after chorus of exquisite solos and light, moving ensembles, always threatening to erupt while holding the listener mesmerized, until at long last, when he was about ready to scream "Let me up!" it would charge off into one of its exhilarating musical climaxes. There was never a band like it.”

Although it does not appear to have been reissued on compact disc, Richard Gehman, the fine writer whose work was often featured in Cosmopolitan Magazine, wrote this excellent overview of the first thirty years or so of Red’s career as the liner to the 1957 RCA Victor LP HI-FIve, The Red Norvo Quintet [LPM-1420].

London

It was the late James Agee, I believe, the poet and critic, who once declared in a review of Oklahoma! that it was not necessary for him to see the play because he knew in advance that it was terrible! This always seemed to me to be criticism of the highest sort, for the critic was not per­mitting himself to be influenced by any of the crass emotion that characterizes so much on-the-spot evaluation we get these days; and for that reason I am happy to report that I am now doing exactly the same. The Atlantic Ocean and the breadth of the United States lie between me and the music enclosed in this sleeve, but I do not have to hear it to know that it is superb, that it is characterized by a bounce at once merry and gutty, that it is backed by a rhythm section that swings as compellingly as the Page-Jones-Green trio did in the old Basic band, that the soloists burst exuberantly from the ensembles and that the back­ground figures are as interesting as the solos themselves. I know, in short, that this is jazz at its very best, for Red Norvo is perhaps the only jazz musician I know who never delivers anything but first-chair goods.

He has been doing it for a long, long time, too. He was born March 31, 1908, in BeardstownIllinois, where show boats stopped and permitted him to scramble aboard and get his first taste of the music he later was to assist in developing into one of the few contributions this nation has made to world culture. His sister and two brothers, all older, had driven their parents crazy with noodling at­tempts at the mastery of various instruments, and when young Kenneth declared that he wanted a xylophone, his father shook his head. Red's name then was Kenneth Norville, by the way. He had a pony his brother Howard had given him, and he loved it. Unfortunately, the pony couldn't reproduce the sounds that were demanding ex­pression even then; he sold it and bought the xylophone and. to the astonishment of everyone in the family, rapidly became proficient. A girl in Beardstown had organized a small band that played church socials, school entertain­ments, and the like. She had a chance to go to Chicago to audition for an agent and asked Red to go along. His mother gave her permission and off they went. Red was around thirteen. He was utterly terrified and accordingly quite relieved when the man told the group to go back home and practice a little more.

Students of jazz—especially some new English friends of mine, who know every bloody fact about every Ace Brigode record ever made, including what hangers-on were in the studio at the time, how the weather was outside, and who fell down drunk — are going to deplore my next state­ment. I forget what happened to Red after that first Chi­cago trip. I believe he simply returned to Beardstown High and had every intention of going on to college. Then an agent who had heard him in Chicago wrote him, asking him to come up to go on a band he was organizing. It was called The Collegians. The boys wore blazers and, some­times, funny hats. They toured the Midwest, playing dances, fairs and other outdoor gigs, and then returned to Chicago, where they disbanded. The same agent then booked Red with Paul Ash, of Paul Ash and his Quality Serenaders fame. Ash could not pronounce "Norville," for some reason; he said "Norvo" so many times Red finally decided it was better to join it than enjoin the leader. He used the name later when he went out in vaudeville as a single. I wish I had seen him in those days: the stage xylophonist then wore a full blouse, dark trousers and a sash. Some of them affected Mexican mustaches, and they tap-danced in breaks. Occasionally American flags, Teddy bears, streamers and other impedimenta miraculously ap­peared from their instruments. Red went the route. He laughs and shudders when he recalls his act.

By then it was the summer of 1929, and Red's family wanted him to go to college. He had other plans. He played around Detroit until autumn, then went to join Ocky Wes-lin's band in Minneapolis. There Victor Young, who was working in radio in Chicago, heard him and hired him. Red was always rather vague. He took the job with Young despite the fact that he had almost simultaneously taken one with another band. The latter leader let him out, how­ever, and the Chicago period began.

There need be no mention here of what was romping in Chicago in the early Thirties. Condon was there; so were Mezzrow, Freeman. Tough, McKenzie, Sullivan and all the rest. Red never played much with those boys—a xylophone was too heavy to lug around to sessions — but he loved their music and was profoundly influenced by it, and they in turn respected his. Condon later declared that Red was the only man he ever heard who could make the xylophone sound civilized.

Then another influence entered his life: Mildred Bailey. Her soft, subtle voice and Red's delicate, rhythmic playing went together so well it was probably inevitable that they get married. Afterward they went to New York and joined Whiteman. Red lasted a little over a year. He felt buried in the band and decided that unemployment offered more emotional satisfaction. Mildred continued to work with Whiteman. and Red balled around New York with other transplanted Chicagoans. One summer he, Stew Pletcher, Neil Reid and a few other boys were booked into Bar HarborMaine, in a band ostensibly piloted by Rudy Vallee. They took along a portfolio of Fletcher Henderson arrangements which, on the first night, considerably di­minished the crowd. On the second night the manager informed them that he was short of cash and would be getting shorter if those Henderson arrangements kept up; the boys told him what he could do and went on blowing. Fortunately, a few of them could fish, which they did; Neil Reid could make pies, and there was an apple orchard nearby. They existed on flounder and apple pie for the remainder of the engagement and were finally sent fare to go home by Mildred.

Back in New York, Red organized a small band and played around 52nd Street. In 1936 he and Mildred formed the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Swing combination, which in my own private view was the epitome of the style and attitude of the swing-band era that Goodman blew in. How they jumped, and what soloists they were! Even Condon, who ordinarily cannot stand any band made up of more than eight men, listened attentively.  There was Herbie Haymer on tenor, for example, and the wonderful Fletcher on trumpet (Fletcher once told Red he would never play with anyone else—and when that band broke up, he never did)   and Hank D'Amico on clarinet, and Red's gently phrased, softly pushing xylophone playing obbligatos be­hind Mildred's sweet voice. Some band. Some marriage, too, characterized by then by various scuffles and rows—to such a degree, in fact, that one day when Red was telling me of some of the battles he and Mildred had had, Lee Meyers leaned over and asked, "Who are you writing this for, Dick? Nat Fleischer?" They finally broke up but remained close, even after Red married Eve Rogers, Shorty's sister.


In 1943 Red switched to vibes. He was the first of the old Chicagoans, with the possible exception of Dave Tough, to recognize the importance of some things Dizzy, Bird and the rest of the boys from uptown were doing. He felt that vibes offered him a better chance to grow. He began to develop with Goodman and Herman, and finally went out on his own again, first with a small band and then with a trio. He and Eve moved to California and settled down to bring up kids and dappled dachshunds. Meanwhile he continued to work and study, and the results are notice­able in his music. In the summer of 1956 he decided the trio was no longer suitable for the expression of the ideas he had, and added a flute and, sometimes, a tenor saxo­phone. This band is composed of Bill Douglass, on drums; Bob Carter, bass;  Bob Drasnin, flute, clarinet and alto sax; Jimmy Wyble, guitar; and, of course, the Man him­self. It is substantially the same band that kept me going to The Castle, a Los Angeles restaurant, every night of a three-week visit I made to California last October. It is a wonderful band—wonderfully swingy, wonderfully subtle, wonderfully creative. I wish I could hear it right now, as I write this, and I envy every fortunate buyer of this album the privilege of hearing these numbers.”

A fitting conclusion to our brief visit with Red Norvo, one of the legendary figures in Jazz, can be found, perhaps, in these words from Richard Cook and Brian Morton’s The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.

“Though by no means a one-dimensional figure, Norvo held to a steady course from the early days of bebop to the beginnings of a swing revival in the 1950’s and 60’s. His technique is superb and prefigures much of Milt Jackson's best MJQ passage-work. The early trios are unquestionably the place to begin [Jimmy Raney [g] and Red Mitchell [b]; Tal Farlow [g] and Charles Mingus [b]], but there's plenty of good music later and newcomers shouldn't be prejudiced by the instrumentation. Norvo plays modern jazz of a high order.”


Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Jay and Kai - When Two Trombones Are Better than One [From the Archives]


© -  Steven A. Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“'You can't play all night in a club with just two trombones and rhythm!’ a friend told Kai Winding when he announced that he and J. J. Johnson were going to do just that.

He was wrong, but awfully right at the same time. The answer is that you can do it, but not with ‘just two trombones.’ You have to have the best—Kai Winding and J.J. Johnson.

Their ability as trombonists is only part of the story. The entire "book" for the group has also been written by them, and it is their imagination as arrangers which has carried off this tour de force even more than their extraordinary talent as soloists.

Jay and Kai have done it the musicianly way, with no gimmicks—just solid musicianship. Working without a guitar, which would have given them variety in the col­oring of the solos as well as another voice in the ensem­bles, makes their job that much harder. But in order to get engagements in clubs, they had to confine the group to five men, and the added challenge has only spurred them to greater creative height.

Each has had a wealth of big band and small combo experience. During the hop era, Jay was in the rare posi­tion of establishing a school of trombone playing which consisted of himself alone; no one else was remotely in his class. Kai came up through the big band field, achiev­ing prominence as a soloist with Stan Kenton in 1946. In recent years, both men have gigged extensively with small groups, and Kai still keeps his hand in as a studio sideman between the quintet's bookings.

The arranging of the book has been divided equally between them, and each man has contributed several fine originals. Their choice of repertoire is discriminating; they seem to have a knack of choosing half-forgotten but exceptional show tunes and songs which are fine vehicles for "class" singers. (Perhaps the lyric quality of their trom­bone playing is responsible for this taste.) Both play with a technical ease which is the envy of lesser slide men. Although they play quite unlike each other most of the time, there are many occasions on which it is impossible for even their closest followers to tell them apart.”
- George Avakian, insert notes to CD re-issue of Trombones for Two

The idea for this piece came from revisiting the J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding Columbia recording made at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival [the LP is shared with the Dave Brubeck Quartet]. Along with bassist Bill Crow and drummer Rudy Collins, the two trombonists’ quintet featured Dick Katz on piano. Dick was to be the pianist with Jay and Kai’s group throughout its existence from 1954-56.

Listening to this recording reminded me of what an excellent pianist Dick Katz was, he died in 2009 at the age of 86, but it also brought back thoughts about Dick Katz the record producer [he founded Milestone Records with Orrin Keepnews], Dick Katz the Jazz educator [he taught at the New School and the Manhattan School of Music], but most especially about Dick Katz, the gifted Jazz author [Bill Kirchner tapped him to write The History of Jazz Piano essay in his The Oxford Companion to Jazz].


I never got to attend any of Dick’s Jazz courses, but I always learned so much about the music from his writings.

Sure enough, when I went digging around my collection of Jazz recordings, there was Dick writing his usual, clever and insightful insert notes to the 1960 reunion album by Jay and Kai’s quintet on Impulse! Records [The Great Kai and J.J.! IMPD-225].


A sample Dick’s expository skills, flowing style of writing and considerable knowledge on the subject of Jazz and its makers can be found in the following excerpts from the  J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding Impulse! notes:

“‘I don't know anything about music, but I know what I like.’

This bon mot is usually attributed to the celebrated Common Man, and while the sophisticate might wince upon hearing such a bromide, an element of truth is pre­sent. The sentence often indicates that knowing how music is made does not necessarily assure one's enjoyment, or even enlightenment. The intellectual, armed with the tools of musical analysis, will not experience music any more intensely than someone not blessed with musical scholar­ship — if the conditions for being "moved," or emotionally stimulated, do not occur in the music. Indeed, knowing too much can actually interfere with hearing the music.

You see, music has to do with feelings, and the knowledge of what makes it tick should be a bonus that adds to or enhances the listener's understanding. It should never be a substitute for emotional involvement.

Now, the "conditions" referred to above are what concern us here. Good jazz does not come out of the air like magic. True, a genius sometimes creates this illusion, but in the main, it is the result of an artistic balance between the planned and the unplanned. Even the great improviser is very selective, and constantly edits himself.

Throughout the relatively short history of jazz, many of the great performances have been ensemble performances where the improvised solo was just a part of the whole. This tradition of group playing, as exemplified by Hender­son, Basie, Ellington, Lunceford, John Kirby, Benny Good­man's small groups, the great mid western and southwest­ern bands, big and small (Kansas City, et. al.)» almost came to a rather abrupt halt with The Revolution. And that is exactly the effect Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and their colleagues (J. J. Johnson among them) had on jazz music. Their extreme improvising virtuosity seemed to take the focus off the need to play as a group. But herein lies the irony — the precision with which they played their com­plex tours de force was due in large measure to the exten­sive ensemble experience they gleaned as members of dis­ciplined bands like Hines, Eckstine, etc.

It was their tal­ented, and not-so-talented, followers who often missed the point. Musically stranded without the opportunity to get the type of experience their idols had (due to many factors, economic and otherwise), they resorted to all they knew how to do — wait their turn to play their solos. This type of waiting-in-line-to-play kind of jazz has nearly domi­nated the scene for many years. Although it has produced an abundance of first-rate jazzmen, many excellent performances, and has advanced some aspects of jazz, the lack of organization has often strained the poor listener to the point where he doesn't "know what he likes."

So, in 1954, when J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding formed their now celebrated partnership, one of their prime con­siderations was to help remedy this chaotic state of affairs. Both men, in addition to being the best modern jazz trom­bone stylists around, were fortunate enough to have had considerable big and small band experience. They astutely realized that a return to time-tested principles was in order. Variety, contrast, dynamics, structure (integrating the improvised solos with the written parts) — these ele­ments and others which give a musical performance com­pleteness — were accepted by Kai and J.J. as both a chal­lenge and an obligation to the listener.


This awareness, combined with their individual composing and arranging talents, plus an uncanny affinity for each other's playing, made their success almost a certainty. That success is now a happy fact. From their Birdland debut in 1954 to their climactic performance at the 1956 Jazz Festival at New­port, they built up an enviable following. Also, they have created an impressive collection of impeccable perfor­mances on records. That they overcame the skeptical reaction to the idea of two trombones is now a near-legend. One only need listen to any of these performances to demonstrate once again the old adage — ‘It ain't what you do, but the way that...’

The respective accomplishments of J. J. and Kai have been lauded in print many times before. Their poll victories, fes­tival and jazz-club successes are well known. Not so obvi­ous, however, is the beneficial effect they have had on jazz presentation. Their approach to their audience, the variety of their library (a good balance between original composi­tions and imaginative arrangements of jazz standards and show tunes), together with their marvelous teamwork, helped to wake up both musicians and public alike to the fruits of organized presentation. With the jazz of the future, organization will be an artistic necessity; the future of jazz will be partially dependent on it, as is every mature art form.

Hearing this album, one could easily be led to believe that J. J. and Kai have been working together all along. The precision with which they perform is usually found only in groups that have worked together for a long time. Actu­ally, they have played together very little in the last few years, both having been occupied with their respective groups — J.J. with his quintet, and Kai with his four-trom­bone and rhythm combination. However, it is quite evident from these performances that both have continued to grow musically and bring an even greater finesse and seasoning to their work. This is a welcome reunion.

What can't be verbalized are the feelings expressed in the music. That's where you, the listener, are on your own.”

With the ace graphics team at CerraJazz LTD and and the production facilities at StudioCerra, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles has developed two videos featuring J.J. and Kai. The first is from their ‘farewell’ appearance at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival with Lover Come Back to Me as the audio track and the rhythm section of Dick Katz [p], Bill Crow [b] and Rudy Collins [d]. The second has Blue Monk as the sound track and is from the 1960 Impulse! ‘reunion’ CD with Bill Evans on piano, Paul Chambers on bass and Roy Haynes on drums.

[Click on the “X” to close out of the ads should they appear in the videos]