''Is Seeing Believing?'' - Liebman, Ineke, Laginha, Cavalli, Pinheiro

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

In sending me a preview copy of the ''... CD Is Seeing Believing? by the Liebman/Ineke/Laginha/Cavalli/Pinheiro Quintet [Challenge - Daybreak DBCHR - 75224] drummer Eric Ineke explained that “ … the record was recorded in Portugal in 2014 and has an international character. We all know each other through the International Association of Schools of Jazz.”

Just to be clear at the outset, in addition to Dave Liebman on soprano and tenor saxophones and Eric on drums - both of whom have been stablemates for many years - the record features the talents of Ricardo Pinheiro on guitar, Mario Laginha on keyboards and Massimo Cavalli on bass.

The CD arrived recently and upon listening to it the following thoughts came to mind based around two themes - old and mature - which when combined form a reciprocal duality [think of “ying and yang” - opposites that are mutually inclusive].

In his insert notes, Dave Liebman states that:

“I remember when I took lessons with Charles Lloyd in the mid 1960s in his Greenwich Village apartment. One day out of the clear blue he said: "You'll spend the rest of your life editing."

A few years later when I played with Miles Davis, one night he said to me: "Stop before you're done!"

Like a lot of the little Zen-type phrases that the older jazz guys used to make points to the younger guys, it took me years to understand what they meant.

In this case these little words of advice all seemed to relate to one thing: how to say more with less. "Maturing as an artist"...."leaving more space between ideas"......"creating a good melody is worth everything"......"technique, though necessary should never obscure the musical point being developed".... etc.

It seemed that a valid goal for further developing as a player was to get to the heart of the matter and leave the unnecessary frills behind. I am not going to be so presumptuous as to suggest that I have found success in this way and suddenly achieved artistic maturity, but I do see progress in this regard.”

By way of contrast, there is a tendency among young Jazz players to use a lot of notes in their solos.

This inclination seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.

Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”

Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.

They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.

Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?

If such abilities to “get around the instrument” were found in a young classical musician romping his or her way through one of Paganini’s Caprices, they would be celebrated as a phenomena and hailed as a prodigy.

Playing Paganini’s Caprices, Etudes, et al. does take remarkable technical skills, but in fairness, let’s remember that Paganini already wrote these pieces and the classical musician is executing them from memory.

In the case of the Jazz musician, playing complicated and complex improvisations requires that these be made up on the spot with an unstated preference being that anything that has been played before in the solo cannot be repeated.

But often times when a Jazz musician exhibits the facility to create multi-noted, rapidly played improvised solos, this is voted down and labeled as showboating or derided as technical grandstanding at the expense of playing with sincerity of feeling.

Such feats of technical artistry are greeted with precepts such as “It’s not what you play, but what you leave out” as though the young, Jazz performer not only has to resolve the momentary miracle of Jazz invention, but has to do so while solving a Zen koan at the same time [What is the sound of the un-played note or some such nonsense].

Youthful exuberance as contrasted with the artistic maturity that Dave Liebman suggests in his notes are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Both are part of the process of artistic growth and development which the Jazz musician undergoes over time.

In his notes, Dave goes on to say that - “This recording reflects this process as much as anything I have personally recorded in the past few years (and those who know me are aware of how much I record!). From the standards to the contrafacts to the originals the music that Massimo, Ricardo, Eric, Mario and I created is very lyrical, subdued, highly sophisticated and user-friendly.

Without going overboard, the music swings and feels good. What strikes me as well is the way we all kind of just naturally tuned into this vibe I am describing. Of course, the group's cumulative experience, coupled with the highly international status of the band (Mario and Ricardo from Portugal; Massimo from Italy; Eric from Netherlands and myself from New York) does point to a level of artistic maturity.

I am proud of how we constructed this together so quickly and smoothly. I think even your proverbial "grandmother" would enjoy this music. Thanks to the guys and all those who helped us put together this product.”

More artistic maturity is on hand in terms of the nine songs selected for the recording which include three of my favorite “old chestnuts:” [1] Old Folks, [2] Skylark and [3] I Remember You.

Gary Giddins in his definitive biography - Bing Crosby: A Pocketful of Dreams - The Early Years, 1903-1940 shared this background on Old Folks which Bing recorded in 1938:

“Matty Matlock arranged "Old Folks," a new song by Willard Robison, the master of pastoral ballads, whose folklike melodies and nostalgic images influenced Hoagy Carmichael and Johnny Mercer. After a deft four-bar intro by clarinet and brasses, Bing enters brightly, in utter control of the narrative lyric, as if the consonant-heavy words and tempo changes presented no difficulties whatsoever. He floats over the rhythm like a kite on a breeze. Bing's version helped establish the song as an unlikely yet durable jazz standard, with interpretations ranging from Jack Teagarden to Charlie Parker to Miles Davis.”

And in his seminal The Jazz Standards: A Guide to the Repertoire, Ted Gioia offers these observations about Old Folks and Willard Robison’s penchant for “... finding musical accompaniment to end-of-life musings:”

“Robison relied on a variety of lyricists for his songs, which were often marked by a lonesome world-weariness mixed with ample doses of nostalgia and smalltown Americana. …  Nowadays audiences will probably scratch their heads in befuddlement when the singer mentions that no one can remember whether Old Folks fought for the "blue or the gray." But the song retains its appeal and place in the standard repertoire, even as its references grow more and more outdated, largely due to its muted poignancy. …

Miles Davis's recording of Old Folks, from his 1961 project Someday My Prince Will Come, remains the most familiar jazz interpretation of this standard. … —this is one of Davis's most moving ballad performances, and as close as you will come to a definitive version of Old Folks.

And in the same work, Ted offers these insights into what makes the pathos in Skylark so compelling:

“If I had to rank jazz ballads on the emotional impact of their melodies, on their capability of sinking me into a sweet reverie, Hoagy Carmichael’s Skylark would be a contender for the top spot on the list. Carmichael had already proven 15 years earlier with Star Dust that he could construct a pop song from probing jazz phrases and still manage to generate a mega-hit. With Skylark he offered another telling example. The melody grows more daring as it develops. The motif in bar six is very much akin to what a jazz trumpeter might play, and the ensuing turnaround is not just a way of getting back to the beginning, as with so many songs, but a true extension of the melody, which pushes all the way to the end of the form.

The B theme is just as good as the A theme, and even more jazz-oriented. Commentators have suggested that Skylark, much like this composer's Star Dust, represented an attempt to capture the essence of 1920’s-era Bix Beiderbecke's improvising style in a song—and, in fact, Carmichael first developed the piece as part of his unrealized plans for a Broadway musical about Beiderbecke. But, to my ears, the bridge to Skylark reminds me of the manner in which a i94os-era Coleman Hawkins would solo on a ballad. Whatever the genesis, the end result of these various ingredients is an expression of feeling so natural and unforced that casual listeners won't notice the technical aspects, only the potent mood created by the finished song.

Johnny Mercer makes a substantial contribution with his words.”

There is also a Johnny Mercer connection to I Remember You which was penned by Victor Schertzinger for the 1941 movie The Fleet’s In as not only did Johnny write the lyrics for the tune he also directed the movie.

According to the Turner Classic Movie documentary Johnny Mercer: The Dream's On Me, Mercer wrote the song for Judy Garland, to express his strong infatuation with her. He gave it to her the day after she married David Rose.

In the capable hands veteran musicians such as Dave Liebman, Ricardo Pinheiro, Mario Laginha, Massimo Cavalli and Eric Ineke, there are now three more exceptional versions of these beautiful ballads.

Is Seeing Believing? [Challenge - Daybreak DBCHR - 75224] is available from Amazon as both an Mp3 download and as a CD and you can also purchase the disc on www.challengerecords.com. It’s a first rate recording that features the talents of professional musicians and Jazz educators who lead by example.

Jazz Humor - The Zoot Finster Series by George Crater

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

Jazz musicians love to laugh.

As bassist Bill Crow explains in the following excerpts from the Preface to his superb book Jazz Anecdotes:

“Jazz musicians are bound together by a rich and colorful history that lives in the music itself, remembered, recorded, created and re-created. In addition, we have stories about ourselves, stretching back to the beginnings of the music, that are told and retold; legends and laughter that remind us of who we are and where we are from.

Most jazz musicians are good laughers. If you want to play jazz for a living you either learn to laugh or you cry a lot. We don't laugh all the time; we have our low moments just like the rest of the world. But the pleasure of getting together to play the music we love seems to bring out our good humor….

The anecdotes we tell about each other seem to be the ones we like the best. They remind us of our individuality and our human nature. There is a wonderful variety of subjects: bandstand stories, road stories, jam-session stories, bandleader stories, tales about innocence and venality, serendipity and catastrophe.”

Jazz humor was such an important aspect of the music that for many years, Down Beat published George Crater’s humorous Out of My Head essays as a regular feature of the magazine.

Two of the most popular columns that George developed had to do with the legendary  -hep cat Zoot Finster.

I thought I’d share them with you in this feature.

OUT OF MY HEAD

George Crater Reviews Finster Jazz Landmark

Zoot Finster ••••••••••••••••••••••••

AT    SUN    VALLEY—Hipsville    3128:    Slolem

Soul; Ski for Two; Snow Use; Rudy's Sun Valley;

Frostbite   Bossa   Nova;   Frigid   Midget;    Original

No  Slope  Blues;   That   Cold  Gang  of Mine;   I'm

in the Mood for Gloves.

Personnel:    Finster,     tenor    saxophone;     Miles

Cosnat,    trumpet;     Gimp    Lymphly,    gorkaphone;

Humphrey    Nurturewurst,    trombone;    Milt    Orp,

marimba;    Strimp    Grech,    cello;    Rudell    Benge,

guitar;    Sticks   Berklee,   drums.

Rating: *   *   *   * 2/3

At Sun Valley unveils the new Zoot Finster Octet. If this album is any indication, this is a group that will go down in jazz history as the most significant jazz advance since Gunther Schuller gave Ornette Coleman a white plastic tuxedo. It is an unmitigated gas!

The entire group was in solid form, but there were several surprises. Orp, for example, lost his monogramed mallets (presented to him personally by J. Arthur Rank) en route to the set and was forced to borrow a pair of Berklee's brushes. Orp's comping on Midget (Benge's Gospel-ish melody) and Use (an up-tempo blues by Grech) was so frenetic that immediately after the set, he received an offer to pose in three Avedis Zildjian ads.

Nurturewurst, though only 19, plays his instrument cleanly and reminds one forcibly of the late Fletcher Mosby. His performances on tracks 2, 4, and 7 are highlighted by muted solos featuring his specially designed mute made from a Renault hubcap. His best outing, however, is to be found on Gang, on which he demonstrates his feeling for the material by deftly voicing the ensemble parts in 6/8 time, an interesting effect, since the rest of the group is playing in 5/4 at the time. Still, this minor mishap aside, these could have been some of the all-time ensemble passages.

Lymphly is bound to become a household name after the release of this album, which is another in the superlative series produced by Bob Piele, who is one of the few a&r men who understands artists of this rank.

A recent arrival on the jazz scene, Lymphly was discovered by miscellaneous-instrumentalist Cameron Lindsay Jr. while he was working in a razor-blade factory near Duluth. He masters the somewhat difficult gorkaphone (a cross between bassonium and ear flute) as a French chef masters a recipe. His tone on the unwieldy horn has a Far East tang, which is probably why he chooses to sprinkle his lines with bits of Buddhist music. His only fault, in this reviewer's eyes, is a tendency to forget the melody line, a lapse that explains his playing I'll Remember April on every track.

Finster's return to the jazz scene is significant in two respects, of course. First, it puts an end to the rumor that he had forsaken the music to become a freelance male cheerleader; and, second, it makes him the first big jazz name to do an outdoor concert in subzero weather. In fact, by the time the group had started to record the last track, it had become the first jazz act ever to play the blues while assuming that hue.

From the outset of the first track, it is obvious that Finster has something to say. Unlike his last LP, Jazz in a Rumble Seat, he allows himself more blowing space. On this set he blows with more fire and tenacity than at any other time in his professional career (which dates back to the early '40s when he co-led a revolutionary quintet with the immortal pitch-pipe virtuoso Slide Yarbow).

On Ski, Use, and Midget in particular, he is no less than brilliant, building chorus after chorus of incandescent, flaming spirals of notes, giving a slightly pink hue to his work. In the liner notes, surreptitiously written by a Down Beat editor, he is credited as saying that his new heavy tone is not derived from listening to Coleman Hawkins but, rather, from swabbing his horn with cholesterol before the set.

Among other things, this astonishing disc acquaints the listener with one important fact — Maxwell Thornton Finster has at last arrived.

Marking his return to the group after a year of writing jazz backgrounds for newsreels in Hollywood, trumpeter Cosnat puts to rest the belief that a long layoff produces rustiness. His horn is prominent throughout the entire album, and he gives evidence of his wry, pungent wit when he lets go with loud, shrill blasts during everyone else's solos.

His dazzling upper-register interplay with the static from the speakers is sure to make jazz history. Mark Step 1 of the comeback trail for Miles Cosnat a successful one.

Guitarist Benge, formerly with the Jazz Invaders, is making his initial appearance in public with the Finster group. In this setting he is fairly inconsistent. On Valley, for example, he constructs a moving solo for 16 bars and then stops to crack his knuckles for 32 more, while on Gang he cracks his knuckles throughout, providing a dramatic foil to his stomach rumblings. It's not unlike lumpy chocolate syrup flowing over sponge rubber.

Grech, brought out of retirement by Finster at the urging of jazz historian Arnold Horde, displays the amazing skill, technique, and virtuosity that made him a star with the East Bayonne Philharmonic Orchestra in 1917. Because of encroaching senility and the cold weather, he has a bit of trouble keeping time on the up-tempo numbers, but otherwise his solos are fresh, daring (dig the four-minute pause on Frost), and gratifying.

The unusual rhythm section of marimba, guitar, cello, and drums is topped by percussionist Berklee, who has since left the group to become music director for the Smothered Brothers. Berklee's presence in the group is vividly picturesque, since he is the only drummer in jazz whose sock cymbals are argyle. He cooks relentlessly on the first three tracks, after which Finster made him stop and start drumming (tracks 4 through 9 — see liner notes).

The arrangements were done by Irving Nolson and are the best things he's done to date. From the looks of it, he is going to be with the octet for a long time to come. And, though somewhat hampered with frozen hands and impregnable earmuffs, audience reaction, as heard in these grooves, was generally excellent and well recorded.

Unfortunately — for the group as well as the public — this album won't be released until much later this year. However, when it is issued, don't miss it. This is one of the great ones and should be in every true jazz lover's library.

(G.C.)

Source:

April 11, 1963

Down Beat Magazine

OUT OF MY HEAD

George Crater, In Response To Numerous Reader Requests, Provides Biographies Of The Zoot Finster Octet Members

Since my review of Zoot Finster's At Sun Valley appeared recently in Down Beat, I've been getting mail asking for photographs, life histories, blood types, addresses, and so on, of the members of the group.

But because the group is camera-shy and I'm militantly protesting the increase in postal rates, readers will have to settle for digging the bits of information about them I have gathered here. Ordinarily I'd try to cop out of something like this ("you know how it is, man—the cat doesn't want his business in the street") but since you ask. . . .

RUDELL BENGE: Started blowing baritone saxophone when he was 2 and had to stand on cigar boxes to reach saxophone reed; switched to mandolin after a cigar box caved in and upper lip was caught on neck-strap key; switched to zither at 10 to get roots; at 17 switched to switchblade and was heard on recording of Blues Wail from the County Jail; switched to guitar at 24 and joined Jazz Invaders but left group when they decided to gig at Bay of Pigs; freelanced for year and a half as an overworked piston ring before joining Finster. LPs as leader: On a Benge, Hipsville 1102.

HUMPHREY NURTUREWURST: First gained nationwide recognition at age 10 when his music instructor convinced him to pose in a "help send this boy to camp" poster. At 13 he was a protege of Barry Miles. At 18 he joined Woody Herman's legendary Herd that featured Stan Getz, Max Roach, Thornel Schwartz, Ann Landers, Izzy Goldberg, Andre Previn, Conte Candoli, Daddy-O Daylie, Richie Kamuca, Yma Sumac, Art Davis, Bob Brookmeyer, Chuck Walton, Richard Burton, Lament Cranston, Frank Strozier, Cy Touff, Abe Most, Tutti Camaratta, and Sammy Davis Sr. After three months, he left Herman (lack of solo space) and met Finster at a Greenwich Village taffy pull. The two of them hit it off immediately and have stuck together ever since.

MILT ORP: Born in Romania, studied vibraharp until 20, and then changed to marimba. Later moved to Transylvania, where he met famed composer Bela Clot. Helped co-author with Clot such Hungarian jazz standards as Artery in Rhythm, A Bite in Tunisia, and Take the A Vein. Moved to United States in 1960 and studied marimba at the Hobart Crump School for Wayward Staffs and Stiffs. Joined Finster last summer in time for Fire Island Jazz Festival.

STICKS BERKLEE: Graduated magna cum laude from Benedict Arnold University with a B.A. in journalism. Started writing liner notes on cough-drop boxes after graduation. Began on drums after he wrote "how are ya fixed for blades?" on a Smith Bros, box, and company was sued by Gillette. First big-time gig with Morris Grain's society orchestra. Left Grain early last year after an argument over mixing with the patrons between sets. Later married the Duchess of Velstobourg, an avid jazz buff, who, by surrendering half the royalties to her newly invented homogenized, no cholesterol moustache wax, was able to land him a job with Finster.

STRIMP GRECH: Began playing cello in 1914. A smooth technique featuring a fleeting pizzacato helped him land a gig in New York with the Salvation Army. On the advice of Jean Simmons he left the group and joined the East Bayonne Philharmonic Orchestra, for which he became the first cellist to receive the award usually reserved for banjoists and guitarists, the Strummy. Retired in 1923 to live on the royalties of his never-to-be-forgotten hit One-Note Charleston. Brought out of retirement last summer by Finster at the urging of noted jazz historian Arnold Horde.

MILES COSNAT: Direct descendent of the fabled Connecticut vagrant Mooch Cosnat. After learning trumpet in the spring of 1950, he began working days in a Madison Ave. advertising agency and nights in the house band at Birdland. He soon became known around town as "the man with the gray flannel mute." Cosnat first met Finster in 1955 while the latter was picketing a razed pawnshop. After teaming with Finster, he became famous for his upper-register lyricism and his forearm tattoo of Big Maybelle. Put down his horn in 1959 to write jazz backgrounds for Hollywood newsreels and television test patterns before rejoining Finster last year.

GIMP LYMPHLY: Born Garnett Mash Lymphly in Kentucky, the most memorable event of his childhood was that of watching revenue agents smash his father's still. It was then he coined the phrase "flatted fifths." At the age of 24 he bought a secondhand gorkaphone at an Edsel parts rummage sale. Upon mastering the complicated fingering of the unwieldy horn, he was committed to a Stan Kenton Clinic as the result of chronic complaints by unhip friends and neighbors. After numerous treatments there, he decided to go on to bigger and better things and obtained a master's degree in music from a box of Cracker Jack. Unable to land a musical job, he went to work in a razor-blade factory near Duluth, Minn., where he was discovered by miscellaneous instrumentalist Cameron Lindsay Jr. Lindsay ultimately recommended him to Finster, and the rest is history.

ZOOT FINSTER: Leader or co-leader of some of the most dynamic jazz groups of the last 20 years. Because of his on-the-scene-off-the-scene shenanigans, his early life is a mystery. However, this much is known: in 1944 he became the first jazz musician to do a solo performance at the Hollywood Bowl, a bowling alley in Hollywood, Fla.; in 1951 he was the innovator of Gulf Coast Jazz while gigging part time as an itinerant Texas beachcomber; in 1954 he traded his tenor saxophone to Sid Caesar for a wallet-size photo of Imogene Coca; in 1959 he appeared on the back cover of Down Beat; in 1961, accompanied by 100 flaxen-haired tots with yo-yos, he recorded his first album for Hipsville, Zoot Finster and Strings.                

Source:

June 20,  1963

Down Beat Magazine

Jessica Williams Revisited

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

I first “met” Jessica around 1980. This was back in the days when one could kill a few minutes waiting for a business appointment or a luncheon while perusing the local record store.

Usually privately-owned and operated, every community in southern California seem to have one and some of these Mom-and-Pop stores even had a Jazz section.

It was during one such diversions that I noticed an LP in the cut-out bin by Jessica Jennifer Williams entitled Orgonomic Music [Clean Cuts CC703]. On the back of the album sleeve was the following quotation by Wilhelm Reich:

"Love, work and knowledge are the well-springs of our life. They should also govern it.”

I didn’t know who Reich was, nor did I know anything about “Jessica Jennifer Williams” and the only musician in the sextet featured on the album that I was [barely] familiar with was trumpet player Eddie Henderson.

But what the heck, Philip Elwood of The San Francisco Examiner said of Jessica that she was a devotee of Reich’s whose sentiments I agreed with, the LP was only a buck, so I gave it a shot.

Boy, am I glad I did. I’ve been listening to everything I can get my hands on by Jessica ever since.

However, it wasn’t until 1992, thanks to a fortuitous business trip to San Francisco, that I had the opportunity to hear Jessica in person as a part of pianist Dick Whittington’s on-going Maybeck Recital Hall series.

I “stayed close” to Jessica’s music in the 1990’s thanks to my association with Philip Barker, the owner of Jazz Focus Records for whom Jessica made a number of recordings including her Arrival CD which has the distinction of being the very first disc issued by Philip’s label [JFCD001].

Thanks to a tip from Gene Lees in one of his JazzLetters, I was also able to score one of the limited edition [1,000] Joyful Sorrow compact discs that Blackhawk Records issued as her solo piano tribute to the late, Bill Evans.

It was recorded at The Jazz Station, Carmel, CA on September 15, 1996 on the 16^th anniversary of Bill’s death.

Sadly, too, The Jazz Station in Carmel is no more, but Joyful Sorrow endures as just about my all-time favorite Jessica recording.

Thankfully, Jessica has subsequently released quite a number of solo piano and trio Jazz recordings, many of which are available as audio CD’s and Mp3 downloads.

Jessica is a powerful and pulsating pianist.  He music literally “pops” out at the listener it’s so full of energy and enthusiasm.

She records many solo piano albums, a format which can sometimes be a recipe for self-indulgence and excessive displays of technique.  But Jessica’s music is always tasteful and informed. You can hear the influences from the Jazz tradition in her playing, but you also hear innovative probing and forays into her unique conception of what she is trying to say about herself and how she hears the music.

Her touch on the instrument is such that she makes the piano SOUND! It rings clear and resonates as it only can in the hands of a masterful pianist.

As Grover Sales, the distinguish author and lecturer on Jazz has commented:

“Jessica Williams belongs to that exclusive group Count Basie dubbed "the poets of the piano" that includes Roger Kellaway, Sir Roland Hanna, Ellis Larkins, Jaki Byard, Bill Mays, Alan Broadbent, Cedar Walton, the late Jimmy Rowles and of course, Bill Evans. All share in common a thorough working knowledge of classic piano literature from pre-Bach to contemporary avant garde as well as the classic jazz tradition from Scott Joplin to the present.

All developed an astonishing and seemingly effortless technique that enabled them to venture anywhere their fertile imaginations wished to take them. All take to heart the dictum of Jelly Roll Morton in his epic 1938 interview for the Library of Congress: ‘No pianist can play jazz unless they try to give the imitation of a band.’

 And for all of their varied influences from Earl Hines to Bill Evans and beyond, all are instantly identifiable—unique in the literal sense of this often misused word.”

Writing in the insert booklet to Jessica’s Maybeck Hall CD [Concord CCD-4525], Jeff Kaliss notes:

“It's all there in the first track. Within a few choruses, Jessica Williams shows her hand, or hands: the harmonies in seconds (hit way off to the side of the piano), the punchy attack, the dust-devils in the upper octaves, the nutty quotes. It's familiar Jessica, but she's got plenty up her sleeve for the rest of this remarkable entry in the Maybeck menagerie. …

She came to my awareness as a word-of-mouth legend, a Baltimore-bred genius whose history and personality were said to be as mysterious and unpredictable as her keyboard inventions. As soon as I got to hear her, I was into the reality of her spontaneous magic and not much concerned with the legend. …

[She] has remained a best-kept secret … commanding awe and quiet in the clubs she visited … [her playing] filled with energy and imagination.”

One gets more about her sense of “energy and imagination” when one reads the following notes that Jessica wrote about herself and her music for her Intuition CD [Jazz Focus JFCD 010]:

“I'm occasionally asked where I studied to learn to do what I do; who taught me, what "tricks" are involved, what secrets enable me, how does the process occur... how does one "distill magic out of the air?" The truth is that there are no practice techniques, no miracle drugs, no mantras, no short-cuts to creativity. I tell them that I've played piano since I was four, that I've played jazz since I was twelve, that I've never taken another job doing anything except what I've always known I should be doing in this life: playing music. And maybe that's a part of the answer, if indeed there is one. It's about Castenada's PATH, Campbell's BLISS; you follow it no matter where it leads, and over many years you learn to control it, channel it, allow it to happen.

You become the bow; the arrow is the gift. You never fully own it, just as you can never explore all of its depths, because it springs from the infinite possibilities within you. In this realm, your only ally, your only guide, is intuition. It is seeing instead of looking, knowing instead of believing, being instead of doing. It is Coltrane on the saxophone, Magic Johnson on the court, Alice Walker on the printed page; it is the primary intuition of "right-brained" activity, the birthing of idea into existence.

Perhaps it cannot be taught, but it certainly can be shared...and it is in the sharing that we all experience the best parts of ourselves. We instinctively intuit our organic truth; when we learn to live it, our planet could be paradise.

Your dreams are your sacred truth. …”

You can listen to Jessica’s quite stunning pianism on the following from the Joyful Sorrow Bill Evans tribute CD.

The Organ in Jazz - Part 2

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

“WHILE BILL DAVIS, Doggett, and Jackie  Davis were slowly but irrevocably organizing the bars and grills of America, the whole process was repeated in a new cycle.

A young pianist in Philadelphia, inspired in 1953 by Bill Davis, decided to change over to organ. It took Jimmy Smith a year or two of constant practice to build a technique and style that were as far removed from Bill Davis' as Davis' had been from Waller's. Smith formed a trio in September, 1955, and was heard a few months later on a gig at the Cafe Bohemia in New York City.

If the first exposure to Davis had turned some musicians around, the reaction to Smith had them upside down. Because so many albums have gone over the counter since 1956, and because electronic organs of late have suffered from the overexposure that invariably leads to boredom among the critics, it is difficult to realize just how fantastic Smith sounded and how incredible his command of the instrument was and still remains.

Part of Smith's success lay in his extraordinary selection of stops. Not being an organist I can't go into technical details, but a comparison of his sounds with those of any on records made before 1956 will reveal that Smith had indeed developed new combinations that gave the instrument unheard-of tonal variety and color, greater rhythmic impact, and a broader range of dynamics and moods.

One of Smith's most effective devices was the extensive use of what would normally be called pedal-points, though manual-points would be a more appropriate term. One hand may hold a note or chord while the other embarks on a wild series of eighths or a jagged row of rhythmic punctuations of the kind that have led to the comparison of his lines with the urgency of a Morse code transmission.

The Morse-code analogy having been used to his detriment by some Smith detractors, it is important to point out that the harmonic and melodic value of Smith's work is at least as important and that the open secret of his phenomenal success has been a blend of accomplishments on all four levels —  tonal, rhythmic, melodic, and harmonic.

The number of Smith-inspired organists probably runs into the hundreds. Yet the pattern established by admirers of Bill Davis has been repeated: the original excitement and enthusiasm shown by fellow musicians and critics has abated, to be replaced by a far broader, though less analytical, audience of listeners who, in essence, are rhythm-and-blues fans, night-club or bar-and-grill patrons in search of a little excitement as a background for libation.

The post-Smith artists being too numerous to list in full, space permits only the singling out of a couple others who, in one way or another, have made a meaningful contribution to the history of jazz organ.

Outstanding among these is Shirley Scott, not only because she was the first girl to conquer the instrument, but because her work combines some of the most valuable elements of both the Bill Davis and Smith schools. Her early recordings with Eddie (Lockjaw) Davis in 1958 led critic John Tynan to hail her as "an outstanding jazz organist, modern yet rooted deep in the blues, and with ample technique to implement her wide-ranging imagination." Miss Scott's recordings with her own trio in the last couple of years have confirmed this early impression.

Duke Ellington, George Shearing, and many others who have heard him in Chicago swear by the gifts of Les Strand. Strand made an LP some years ago (no longer available) but has had little exposure in proportion to the degree of ability with which his patrons have credited him.

THE PRESENT STATE of the organ in jazz is anomalous. It is almost the only instrument that has suffered from being associated with a particular school of jazz. The reason for the qualifying "almost" is that just as the organ lately has been identified with rhythm-and-blues, the clarinet has suffered through its almost-exclusively psychological link with the swing era.

There is no logical reason for this situation. The strictly organ-ic quality of the early Waller and Basic efforts ultimately was shown to be replaceable by a harder-swinging, more vital sound. Similarly, there is no need to assume that the rhythm-and-blues funk of the present-day organist flanked by guitar and drums (frequently with a tenor saxophone replacing or supplementing the guitar) represents the last and only context for the organ.

What has been accomplished to date, despite the staggering impression made not so long ago when Jimmy Smith arrived on the scene, is only a small segment of what could and probably will be achieved in due course. There is no reason why all organists should play in the currently accepted styles, no reason why so many organists should be former not-very-successful pianists who took up the instrument for strictly commercial purposes, no reason why the potential of the organ should not be drawn out to its fullest extent through its adoption by musicians in the "new thing" or atonal movement.

Greater overall musicianship — that is to say, complete and correct technical command of the organ's seemingly insuperable difficulties, combined with a thorough harmonic sense and a feeling for the newer movements in contemporary jazz—can lift the organ to a plateau on which it will no longer be rejected by critics as a novelty or condemned as a funk machine.

There is also, it seems, no reason why a conflict should exist between organists and bass players. It would be fascinating to conduct a survey of how many bassists have lost work in the past seven years as a result of the organ craze. (On the other hand, an even larger number of guitarists and tenor saxophonists should be thankful for its arrival, since a tremendous amount of employment was created for them.) The theory seems to be that the bassist's notes at best will merely duplicate or at worst conflict with what the organist's left foot is doing.

If the organist has not developed an adequate pedal technique, it is possible to play the bass notes on the keyboard, though this has the effect of confining the soloist to one hand. On the other hand—or rather on the other foot—if a bass player Is present, it is possible to use the foot pedals in a different way, for punctuations or the bottoms of chords, much the way a tuba is sometimes incorporated nowadays into a band that already has a string bass player to take care of the normal bass role.

The situation concerning the relationship between bassist and organist was brought sharply into focus for some a few months ago during the taping of a Vi Redd album for Atlantic. The LP was cut in two sessions, one in New York, the other in Hollywood. On the first session, Ben Tucker was provided with bass parts by organist Hyman; the bassist seemed perfectly at ease, and the rhythm section benefited from it, On the other date, Leroy Vinnegar was on bass, and the organ was played by a very talented young woman named Jennell Hawkins; but this was a more informal session with little or no written music, and at one point Vinnegar complained of feeling redundant.

The solution was simple: if the organist and bassist understand and follow each other, they can complement rather than interfere.

The future of jazz organ may well lie not only in its use by musicians of the most avant-garde inclinations but also by its incorporation into larger units in which it will not have such an overpowering effect. As the dominant voice in a trio or quartet, it can easily get to be a bore. As a comparatively little fish in a big orchestral pond, it can be used with greater discretion. Even though there was nothing startlingly different in what Richard Holmes played on his LP with the Gerald Wilson Band the album is important just for this reason.

Instead of its present status as a sound that is merely pleasing, or at best stimulating, but without much musical food for serious thought, the organ eventually can develop into one of the major voices in modern jazz.

Musicians will enter the scene who have played organ, and nothing else, from childhood. Serious composers will arise whose ideas have been created and expressed through this extraordinarily capacious medium. Critical apathy or opposition will subside as young organists, quite possibly taking advantage of new models' glissandos and other innovations, begin to show the new directions opening up.

It may not happen in the next couple of years, but there should be a better than 50-50 chance of such developments before another generation rolls around. One need only examine the enormous strides made from Waller to Smith. If all this could happen between the early 1940s and the late 1950s, the big wave of the future may be closer than we think.”