Saturday, June 17, 2017

Jazz in Italy: Gianluigi Trovesi - "One of Another Kind"

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

“Passion” comes in many forms in Italian Jazz and no artist is more passionate about his music than Gianluigi Trovesi

When  the editorial staff at JazzProfiles first posted this feature in September, 2008 it did not include the concluding video tribute to Gianluigi Trovesi. 



The video tribute to Gianluigi, which was one of our earliest efforts [second, in fact], uses as its audio track Rina a Vigilio, a cut from Trovesi’s 2007 Jazz Italiano Live album.

Recorded in performance at Rome’s Casa Del Jazz [House of Jazz], the track features a beautiful trumpet solo by Trovesi’s long-time, front-line mate, Enrico Rava, followed by solos by Gianluigi on alto and Roberto Cecchetto on guitar, respectively.

You can also find the “articolo” and more information about this outstanding alto saxophonist and clarinetist by visiting his website at http://www.gianluigitrovesi.com/



“One of Another Kind” is a tune by trumpeter Freddie Hubbard. Perhaps he meant the title as a play on words with the phrase - “One of A Kind.” Either phrase is an apt description of the music of Gianluigi Trovesi – one of another kind, or, if you will, one of a kind. The implied meaning in both of these phrases is that something is “different” and this is another suitable word for Trovesi’s music.

In attempting to describe the music of Gianluigi Trovesi, the Hindu parable of the three blind men and the elephant is called to mind in which one blind man’s description is based on touching the trunk; another’s on touching the ears and the tusks; the third reflects his coming into contact with the body of the huge animal. Which is it? What is a description of an elephant? Obviously, it is a combination of all three and so it is with any attempt to explain Gianluigi Trovesi’s body of music – it must be discussed in combination because no particular or linear description of it can reveal the breadth and depth that it entails.

However, the following categorization by Francesco Martinelli [Trovesi’s official biographer] may serve as a starting point:

“Gianluigi Trovesi has accomplished that most difficult of feats, not only for a jazzman, or a musician even, but for any artist. He managed to create a musical world that is instantly recognizable and completely original at the same time. Drawing upon an unlikely and personal combination of sources and, having undergone a growth process in which the usual steps in the development of a musical career were reversed, Trovesi bloomed relatively late as an artist. Yet today his voice as a composer and improviser ranks among those who created the notion of a "European Jazz" inspired by the American tradition, but not an imitation of it.”


As an instrumentalist, Gianluigi Trovesi is a clarinetist whose sound and technique on the instrument is the equal of Artie Shaw and Buddy DeFranco [with some minimalist Jimmy Giuffre thrown in on occasion, by way of contrast, but with an upper register!]. He also is a bass clarinetist whose sound and tone is more mature and stable than that of Eric Dolphy and an alto saxophonist with a clear, clean, crisp tone that is very reminiscent of Cannonball Adderley, Oliver Nelson or Phil Woods.

“He was born in 1944 into a working-class family in Nembro, a small village in an Alpine valley not far from Bergamo in northern Italy, the young Trovesi found music around him. It was played in the common spaces of his neighborhood: the chorus for traditional mountain singing or the church choir, the guitar-accordion-clarinet trio that accompanied dances, and later the rare record and the communal listening to opera and light classical music on the first radio sets. Music was so intertwined with everyday life Trovesi didn't realize it could be a separate profession.” [Martinelli].


One day, much to the young Gianluigi’s surprise, a music teacher told him about the long-established Bergamo Conservatory in near-by Donizetti where people could go and learn and play music all day!

Trovesi graduated with a diploma in clarinet from Bergamo in 1966 having also studied harmony, counterpoint and fugue with the renown Maestro Vittorio Fellegara.

At the same time, his musical curiosity led him play in bands performing in the local dance halls where he first came into contact with the swing era arrangements of Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman.

Very soon thereafter, his seemingly inherent musical inquisitiveness let him to Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker’s bebop, the cool school of Konitz and Mulligan and Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy’s earliest recordings.

"The young musician was indeed listening avidly to the "new thing" coming from the USA. Especially relevant was the chance to listen live to Mingus' group with Eric Dolphy at the Milano festival in 1964. Dolphy's alto phrasing was rooted into bebop but his point of arrival was completely different, and the way he used the bass clarinet was another world if compared to what was studied in the Conservatory for classical and contemporary music." [Martinelli]
After initial taking up employment as a music teacher in the local school system, thanks to his eclectic musical interests and to his widely acknowledged talent, including the fact that in 1978 he won the first prize in the national competition for saxophone and clarinet, Trovesi landed a permanent job in the Milan Radio Big band as first alto and first clarinet.

Another factor that helped advance Trovesi’s career was that around this time, he began to work in a sextet that was co-led by with guitarist Franco Cerri and pianist Giorgio Gaslini. Cerri and Gaslini were both also influential in the politically and culturally heated atmosphere of 1970s Milan. This immersion in Milan’s musical milieu brought Gianluigi into contact with Michel Portal, Misha Mengelberg, Evan Parker and John Surman – all of whom broaden the range of modern music in Europe in the last two decades of the 20th century.

In 1978 Trovesi began teaching saxophone and clarinet at the conservatory in Milan. In that same year, he won the first prize in the RAI TV national competition for saxophone and clarinet which helped in landing him a permanent job in the Milan RAI TV big band (he stayed until 1993).


1978 continued to be a seminal year for Gianluigi as following a concert in Bergamo with Giorgio Gaslini's Sextet, the influential European producer Joachim-Ernst Berendt called Trovesi for his Clarinet Summit production, an all-star group with clarinet soloists, John Carter, Perry Robinson,
Theo Jörgensmann and Ernst Ludwig Petrowsky.

Martinelli recounts what Berendt heard at the concert that so impressed him with Trovesi’s playing:


"Confronted in one of these occasions with the problem of playing a solo after Evan Parker, Trovesi reached back in his memories of learned classical musician, of dance hall player and jazz improvisor, coming up with the idea to play a "saltarello" from the Florentine Renaissance school of Ars Nova [new art], developing it into an improvisation inspired at the same time by serial techniques and open Dolphy-esque harmonies."

The saltarello was a lively, merry dance first mentioned in Naples during the 13th century. The music survives, but no early instructions for the actual dance are known. It was played in a fast triple meter and is named for its peculiar leaping step, after the Italian verb saltare ("to jump").

The concert was a great success and at the same time a major turning point in his career Trovesi was experimenting with basing his Jazz, not purely on American influences and schools, and free jazz, per se, but also on the Italian classic tradition, the contemporary music of the 20th Century, the brass bands, dance and night-club tunes, and the folk music of his valley in and around Nembro.

At the same time:

"To work in the Milan Radio Big Band meant also the chance to experience first-hand the extraordinary concert season of the orchestra, which is in turn lead by musicians like John Lewis, Kenny Clarke and Francy Boland, Gerry Mulligan, Bill Smith - who obviously features Trovesi as soloist, Kai Winding, Manfred Schoof, with a very wide range of styles and approaches. Adriano Mazzoletti who heads the Milan orchestra also presents Trovesi in concert with his trio, and then sends him as a Italy's representative for the European Radio Big Band at St. Gerold: there his solo on the blues, reinterpreted along the lesson of Eric Dolphy, is one of the highlights of the evening. Producers for Radio France begin to invite Trovesi's trio to perform broadcasts and on one occasion while in Paris, his group plays opposite the Anthony Braxton Quartet."[Martinelli]

Around this same time, Trovesi began his recording career and he received the Critics' National Prize for Baghet, his first LP. Martinelli offers the following details about this recording:

"His first record as a leader, "Baghét", is in trio, and is published in 1978, with Paolo Damiani on bass and Gianni Cazzola on drums. In it the learned classical and contemporary music, from Ars Nova to serialism, meet the Italian folk, from the Sardinian launeddas to the "baghet", a bagpipe from the Bergamo area, in a context of jazz improvisation. The record is extremely well received, and the Italian Critics Associations votes it Best Record of the Year."

During the 1980’s and 90’s, Trovesi compiled a resume of distinguished academic, professional and creative accomplishments.

Over these years, Trovesi toured extensively and performed at festivals and venues across Europe, the Middle East, India and North America with the Giorgio Gaslini Quintet, his own octet and the Italian Instabile Orchestra. He has also received many prestigious awards, such as Best Italian Musician in Musica Jazz's 1988 and 1992 competitions and Best Italian Group, awarded to his Octet in 1992 and 1996.

Several of his albums were voted Best Italian Disc, including Dances (1985), From G to G (1992), an album which also garnered Down Beat magazine's highest rating of five stars, and Les Hommes Armés (1996). He has toured, recorded, and performed with countless renowned improvisers, jazz musicians, and musical experimenters, including Anthony Braxton, Misha Mengelberg, Steve Lacy, John Carter, Han Bennink, Mark Dresser, Tony Oxley, Günter Sommer, Horace Tapscott, Evan Parker, and Kenny Wheeler.

Here is a select discography with annotations of Trovesi’s recordings over the past twenty-five years or so to help provide a road map to the many facets of his work should the reader like to listen to his music directly.
Dances [Red 181]


As noted previously, this recording won the Music Jazz poll as the best Jazz record of 1985. Here is a review by Steve Loewy from
www.allmusic.com:

“Since recording this award-winning album, Gianluigi Trovesi has gone on to develop a body of work as strong as any on the Italian scene. Here, he performs on a range of reeds (alto and soprano saxophones, bass clarinet, and piccolo), backed by Paolo Damiani on bass and Ettore Fioravanti on percussion. As with his later work, he shows a propensity for folk and Eastern European melodies. For a largely noncommercial player identified with the avant-garde school of Italian jazz, this is a surprisingly accessible outing (although, in all fairness to Trovesi, he has always skirted between conventional and postmodern music). Damiani is given ample solo space, which he uses to great advantage, further strengthening his position as one of Europe's leading bass players. Fioravanti, too, shows some marvelous chops.”

Les Boites a Musique [Music Boxes]
[Splasc(h) H 152]


Trovesi, with the help of Luciano Mirto on what can only be described as “electronics “ [“computer operator”?] and Tiziano Tononi on percussion is still finding his way, but what is important about this recording is that it helped to further establish Gianluigi as a “…key figure in Italy’s new jazz, as performer, composer and organizer [who] continued to explore the relationship of jazz with indigenous Mediterranean culture. That issue has been largely taken up since by the splendid efforts of Peppo Spagnoli’s Splasc(h) label to document the Italian scene in all its variety, and it’s appropriate that the session in question appears on the label’s ‘Italian Jazz Classics’ series.’” Richard Cook & Brian Morton The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [p.1467].

From G to G [Soul Note 121231-2]


By 1992, Trovesi began to put less emphasis on deconstructivist, free jazz interests and his music began to move into what Martinelli refers to as his “mature period.” He forms a piano-less octet with Pino Minafra on trumpet, Rudy Migliardi on trombone, Marco Remondini who doubles on saxes and cello, the double bass team of Roberto Bonati and Marco Micheli, Vittorio Marinoni on drums on Fulvio Maras on percussion. The rhythm section of Micheli and Marinoni [a superb drummer] along with Maras on percussion would continue with Trovesi right up to his present-day group.


“From G to G is a small classic. Without sacrificing any of his intensities, Trovesi has created a colorful, unpredictable, brilliant marshalling of devices drawn from jazz and beyond. While there are hints of Italian folk music and remote echoes of ancient masters of Italian composition, the synthesis leads inexorably to real Italian jazz. ‘Herbop’ uses two theme which are split and reshaped throughout 18 minutes of music, soloists and ensemble set in perfect balance. ‘Now I Can’ and ‘Herbop’ are satirical without being heavy-handed and without losing an underlying severity which Trovesi uses to pare off any fat in the music. But the finest piece is probably ‘From G to G’ itself, a long, serenely effective dirge in memory of a friend, and with a memorable solo from Minafra. The brass player turns in some of his most lucid work here. Migliardi is rumbustious on tuba and urgently expressive on trombone; but it is Trovesi himself who leads from the front, his alto solos elegantly moving forward from Dolphy to Coltrane into a sonority that again suggests the tradition of Italian song. Very fine indeed." Richard Cook & Brian Morton The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [p.1467].

“Reedman and composer Gianluigi Trovesi is one of the leading lights on the Italian avant-jazz scene (a scene still little known in the U.S.), and From G to G is one of his finest recordings. Leading an octet that includes the masterful and zany trumpeter Pino Minafra, Trovesi put together a series of compositions and performances that could hold their own against similarly sized American ensembles of the same time like those led by David Murray or Henry Threadgill. The delightfully dancing melody that enters midway through the opener, "Herbalk," gives some indication of the uniquely Italian spin imparted by Trovesi as he makes free use of material with roots in the Italian folk tradition, melding it artfully with the dissonant strains of post- Coltrane jazz. "Now I Can" opens with a wonderfully wacky tuba and penny whistle duo; settles into an infectious, bumptious theme; and just when you think they're prepared to ride the groove out, a series of even more playful percussion breaks emerges. And when you think, "That's got to be enough," Minafra commandeers the megaphone for some inspired and loony vocalizing (he reprises this lunacy on the closing cut). Trovesi always keeps the listener on his/her toes, and his own playing is very tasty, his alto summoning echoes of Arthur Blythe, his bass clarinet in a realm all his own. The title track is yet another delicate melody, but with enough strength to provide a solid underpinning for fine, creamy solos by Minafra and trombonist Migliardi, among others. There's always a strong sense of ensemble here, with underlying riffs, calls and responses, and a subtle but expansive array of instrumental colors at play throughout. From G to G is, aside from being a highlight of Trovesi's career, a superb introduction to the unfortunately insular but extremely rich world of Italian contemporary jazz. Highly recommended. – Brian Olewnick writing in
www.allmusic.com

In a duo with accordionist Gianni Coscia, Trovesi moved to the other end of the musical spectrum in 1995 with Radici [Egea SCA-050],


and with its sequel in 1999 In Cerca di Cibo [ECM 543034-2].


And yet, this must the hippest clarinet – accordion duo on the planet with its plethora of bebop phrases harmoniously infused into traditional Italian folk music.

“A gently harmonious collaboration, Trovesi sticking to clarinet, with Coscia’s accordion creating a lovely harmonic undertow and rippling breakers of arpeggios that counterpoint all the reed player’s lines. Some of it is café society, some classical rigor, some folk-tune, some dance. ‘Antica Mazurka’ is a little of all of that, sonorously spread across eight minutes.
The sequel appeared on ECM and may even be finer. ‘Djano,’ one of the great melodies in jazz, starts in muted respect and eventually takes an almost bowderlized turn. ‘Lucignolo’ is a marvelous dance for the two instruments, and ‘Celebre Mazurka Alterata’ is a simply gorgeous piece of music.”
Richard Cook & Brian Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [p.1467].

In 1996, Les Hommes Armés, the second major recording by Trovesi’s newly formed octet is released on Soul Note [121311-2].



“For all its ingenuities, this is just a degree less welcoming and appealing than its predecessor [From G to G]. Much of it revolves around the ancient European melody L’Hommes Armé, out of which came pieces by numerous composers …. Five tunes – ‘Tango,’ ‘Tengo,’ ‘Tingo,’ ‘Tongo,’ and ‘T’Ungo’ – are used to interlude the big pieces, which are themselves broken up into diverse fragments; and then there’s a crackpot version of ‘Mood Indigo’ and a tribute to Eric Dolphy based on a re-harmonization of ‘Miss Ann.’ Trovesi’s team play with their usual aplomb but, as delightful as it often is from moment to moment, the record never quite coheres or compels the was From G to G did." Richard Cook & Brian Morton The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [p.1467].

As Martinelli explains, “in 1998, the strength of Trovesi’s roots in his hometown are showcased in the Soul Note CD – Around Small Fairy Tales [121341-2].



Inspired from a reference in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the ‘Bergamasque’ dance [a reference that also inspired Bach and Frescobaldi, among others], Trovesi created a suite using a nontet based around three trios: [1] a “Jazz’ trio with sax, bass and drums; [2] a classical string trio; [3] a folk trio using accordions and ‘tamburello’ [and Italian frame drum somewhat like a tambourine]. He encapsulates all of this into the Nembro String orchestra under the leadership of Bruno Tommaso.


“Italian music, even of the pop variety, often references the country's rich orchestral and operatic tradition. Rarely do you find such a fusion as effective and grand as in this "chamber jazz" concoction of Italy's small town saxophonist and clarinetist Gianluigi Trovesi. Every jazz bar follows with an allusion to Baroque or Renaissance forms before returning to something "trad." The effect is wondrous and magical. The prevalence of vibraphone maintains this air of a symphonic spell. Symphonic it is, because while the album is a collection of separate pieces, conductor Bruno Tommaso scores the entire opus for conceptual continuity. A prevalence of strings and a beautifully understated participation from the jazz percussion (a knockdown exception is royal rhythms of "Dance for a King") give Tales an airy, free, and lighthearted feel. Nembro is the name of that small town that Trovesi is from, and his daughter and son-in-law play in its Chamber Orchestra, chosen for use on this recording. The 18-member ensemble is bolstered by Trovesi himself, vibes, a very subtle electric bass, drums, and percussion for jazz flavoring of this exquisitely arranged meeting of Western Society's two most intellectual musics. Liner notes to this album are in Italian and English.” - Tom Schulte, www.allmusic.com

“Wonderfully vivid and colorful music, informed by jazz but just as much in debt to the strains he associates with his birthplace of Nembro, this is fashioned somewhat as a suite, the eight pieces arranged by Bruno Tommaso to feature the orchestra alongside the rhythm section and Trovesi’s own solos. Swooningly romantic is places, but usually with a hint of tartness underneath via Trovesi’s own parts, this is enjoyable as soundtrack escapism or as an intelligent and highly crafted blending of consonant ingredients.” Richard Cook & Brian Morton The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [p.1467].

Ever curious about music in different settings, in 1991 Trovesi was able to satisfy another of his interests when he was commissioned to develop big band arrangements for the WDR Big Band in Koln [Cologne]. The result of Gianluigi’s efforts for this project can be heard on Dedalo [Enja 9419].




"There's a dazzling studio sound, Markus Stockhausen on hand to put in some fine trumpet solos, and outstanding rhythms from Rainey and Maras. But this is one of Trovesi's finest hours. Some of these themes - 'From G to G,' 'Dance for a King' - will be familiar from earlier records, but the invincible skills of the WDR Big Band are a great boon to such a situation: there not mavericks like the Vienna Art Orchestra, or regimentally drilled in the manner of many American big bands, but a supremely accomplished ensemble that know European music. Maybe they are less completely simpatico than the group on Around Small Fairy Tales, but this is a different kind of record. Energizing, surprising, impolite and completely entertaining." Richard Cook & Brain Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed. [pp. 1467-68].

One aspect of Jazz not always present in the music of Trovesi is its roots in the blues. This may be because Gianluigi did not grow up listening to the music evolve in a blues context. In an effort to incorporate elements of the blues in his music, in 2003 Trovesi embarked on a “Blues in the West” project that was dedicated to Louis Armstrong. This music eventually found its way onto the ECM recording – Fugace [ECM 84902]. Thom Jurek’s reviewed the recording in www.allmusic.com


“Italian composer and clarinet master Gianluigi Trovesi has realized his own dream. For over a decade his recordings have included bits and pieces of the American jazz and blues he heard as a child and led him down the path from Bergamo to the world's jazz stages. But Fugace is different. Here, Trovesi and his octet create a veritable soundtrack to a film from the composer's imagination.

They pay a great tribute to early American jazz, the kind found rolling down the streets of New Orleans in the teens and early '20s by
Louis Armstrong, Sidney Bechet, Jelly Roll Morton, and W.C. Handy. But this is no New Orleans tribute album in the usual sense.

Trovesi has incorporated, like his countryman
Nino Rota
, the traditional folk song and dance forms of Italian music and allowed them to engage early American jazz on their own terms.

Tarantellas and blues make great companions (or at least they do here), from the funeral marches evoked in "African Triptych" to the places where "Ramble" and "Blues and West" evoke
Armstrong's "West End Blues" in a myriad of contrapuntal exchanges between horns and the rhythm section — particularly the Trovesi clarinet and the double bass of Roberto Bonati
, where long, restrained folk forms grace the 12 bars and free them.

There's also the elegant, minimal, slippery swing of "Clumsy Dancing of the Fat Cat Bird," where electronics, cello, guitar, and trumpet vie for the center of a mix that gives way to a hard bop read of certain passages in "St. James Infirmary."

In fact, based on this track, the title, and "Canto Di Lavorno," one can feel the influence of movie directors
Michelangelo Antonioni and Pier Paolo Pasolini
on Trovesi, utilizing music to create the space something will take place in rather than describe the action.

From restrained to rollicking to nearly classical and reverent, Fugace is a special recording. It is the most forward-thinking and easily fully realized of Trovesi's distinguished body of work.”

One of the more recent recordings by Gianluigi Trovesi took place in 2007 at Rome’s Casa del Jazz as was issued by Palaexpo as part of its jazzitaliano live 2007 series [02].


On this recording, Gianluigi is once again joined by his rhythm section stalwarts Marco Micheli on bass, Vittorio Marinoni on drums and Fulvio Maras on percussion and synthesizers. He is also engagingly reunited with his old friend, trumpeter Enrico Rava, who manages to add “another voice” on some of the tracks.

Yet, what makes this recording so interesting is that the ever-searching Trovesi manages to completely change the sound of his music with the addition of guitarist Roberto Cecchetto who adds fresh layers of resonance to the music through the use [and, not, the overuse] of a Pat Metheny type of guitar synthesizer.

This is a concert full of variety: from the easy flowing opening Canzoncina; to the bass clarinet –trumpet duet that Trovesi & Rava play on Django to the accompaniment of Micheli’s bass and Cecchetto’s chorded guitar; or the Reggae-beat of Campanello Cammellato; the dual drumming poly-rhythms that Marinoni and Maras lay down behind a call-and-response duet between Trovesi’s alto and Cecchetto’s guitar on Disparietto/Siparietto; the church music, pipe organ overtones of Ricercar Vaghezza; or the Sub-Saharan 6/8 rhythms that Marinoni lays down behind Trovesi’s bass clarinet on Gargantella; or the blisteringly fast Noparietto which combines elements of both Ornette Coleman and Charlie Mingus’ music and culminates in an awesome display of drumming by Marinoni.

Trovesi’s Jazzitaliano live 2007 is in many respects a perfect example of Martinelli’s assertion that “He manage[s] to create a musical world that is instantly recognizable and completely original at the same time.”
If you haven’t visited Gianluigi Trovesi’s singular musical world – “one of another kind” - hopefully this piece about one of the premier musical minds of our time will encourage you to do so.



Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Re: Tom Harrell/Tommy by Gene Lees and Phil Woods

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


"The [schizophrenia] disorder is such that Tommy's mind can deal with only one thing at a time, be it answering a question, playing a solo, or something as simple as pouring a glass of water.

Tom is perfectly aware of his own con­dition, and is quite droll about it. He is well read, gentle, highly perceptive. And he is held in enormous affection and respect by other musicians.

Phil's evaluation: 'Tom Harrell is the best musician I ever worked with.’

Tom's art remains a thing of beauty, his life an act of courage.”
- Gene Lees, Jazz author

Tommy’s  sense of melodic development is astounding — pure genius.
- Phil Woods, alto saxophonist, composer and bandleader


RE: TOM HARRELL

© -Gene Lees, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“I must confess that I was reluctant to meet Tom Harrell. Yet he has emerged as so important a player that I felt he really belonged in the book of photos of jazz people that I am preparing with photographer John Reeves [Jazz Lives: 100 Portraits in Jazz, 1992].

By now you have surely heard about Harrell. and I hope you have heard him. He is a spectacularly creative trumpeter, with a big tone — he can get low notes that in ensemble passages sound like trombone - wonderfully compositional thinking, and a fluent technique that is, however, always held in restraint and put to the service of a very lyrical style. Since leaving Phil Woods, he has been traveling in various ensembles, sometimes with the excellent Swiss-born alto saxophonist George Robert.

Harrell was born June 16, 1946. in Urbana, Illinois, which makes him forty-five. He grew up in San Francisco, and became known in jazz through his work with Woody Herman, Horace Silver, and Phil Woods, whom he joined in 1983.

But he became known almost as much for his behavior as for his playing. He had, I was told, a way of standing on the bandstand in an almost catatonic stillness, head hung forward, horn dangling from his hand. When it came time for him to solo, he would shuffle to the mike on small steps, burn the room down, and then retreat into that strange motionless silence. He suffered from some severe emotional disorder whose nature nobody seemed able to tell me. Had he been totally non-functional he would have been unremarkable. But this man is an amazingly fine jazz musician.

Furthermore, he is a witty, funny man. and the very strange­ness is manifest in his awareness of his own condition. And, I found, telling Tom Harrell stories is almost a cottage industry among musicians forty-five and under in New York. These stories are always told with affection and admiration. And always the narrators quote him in his stuttering low monotone, which of course I cannot commit to paper. I believe this story is true; nobody could have invented it.

Harrell played a trumpet clinic for Jamey Aebersol. After a brilliant performance, he cracked a note badly toward the end. Aebersol asked him why it had happened. Harrell said, in that slow low unsmiling way of his, ‘Lack of sleep. Lack of motivation. Lack of practice. And I’m an alcoholic.’

In order to photograph Harrell, I sought the intercession of two of his friends, the very capable arranger and saxophonist Bill Kirchner and trumpeter John McNeil, one of Harrell’s closest friends and an outstanding player himself: they have recorded together.

John and I met them at Harrell’s small apartment on the upper West Side. He met us graciously, dressed in a black shirt and black slacks. His face from time to time was contorted by some terrible emotional pain, the deep uncertainty that dogs him. The room was curtained and dimly lit. Glancing over his book-shelves. I noticed that Tom Harrell goes in for some very heavy reading.

I let McNeil do the talking. Harrell laughed at all the jokes, caught all the nuances of the conversation, seated on his haunches, back against the wall. He stayed in that position so long I thought his legs must hurt. I can't remember the context, but Kirchner said, "Did you ever get cut?"

"Well," Tom said, "only by other musicians."

John got our pictures, making the discovery that when Tom relaxes and his face goes into repose, its expression is almost angelic. And make no mistake about his intelligence. It is acute. When we left, I was perhaps even more baffled than when we arrived.

Nobody. I suppose, knows Tom Harrell better than Phil Woods. And so I present you with Phil's essay on Tom. Other than letters, this is Phil's first appearance in the Jazzletter. He promises me that it won't be the last.

Meantime, if you haven't heard Tom Harrell, you're in for a lovely discovery.”


TOMMY by Phil Woods

“It was Tom Harrell’s last gig with my quintet. After six years Tommy felt it was time to move on and form his own band.

We were on our way to the Edmonton Jazz Festival and then the Saskatoon Festival. Edmonton has always had one of the best events in the world. A very friendly town with music and educational events and exhibits all over the nice-sized city. The concert was us and Helen Merrill with the Mike Nock Trio, and the music was first class.

We retired right after the gig in order to make the 7 a.m. flight to Saskatoon, the only direct flight of the day. There were three bands on the flight, and it was a treat to see the Air Canada ground staff deal with the three full-sized basses.

Why do people find a man lugging a huge instrument around the world so amusing? Don't they realize he has dedicated himself to playing quarter notes for the rest of his life? His fingers will always resemble ground chuck and he is forced to stow the leviathan in a huge box called a coffin, for obvious reasons. This is not a person to be taken lightly.

Back when the airlines required you to buy a seat for a bass (only coffins are allowed nowadays), a woman traveler watching Red Mitchell wrestle his bass aboard a flight said to him, ‘I do hope when you finally get to where you are going, they are going to ask you to play!’

Once, when I had the European Rhythm Machine, we did what the Air France people told us to do: we locked the bass in one of the two lavatories on a Caravelle. A man in a white linen suit soiled himself while waiting for the facility to be vacated and left a trail as he squished back to his seat. Quel odor. Quel dummy.

A businessman in South America somewhere refused to sit next to the bass. Claimed it was dangerous. Sir, it's only dangerous on the bandstand and is one of the best seat mates ever devised. It neither smokes nor drinks and doesn't talk much and if you keep your cool you can wangle the meal that goes with the seat, two sets of slippers, and two travel kits.

Why, the bass is your oyster if you are in on the game!

I find the bass to be helpful when I'm a little down and need a laugh. I go to the boarding area before the other cats and groove to the reactions of our fellow travelers when they see Steve Gilmore and his full-size axe.

‘Why don't you get a piccolo?’ wins hands down as the most abused bass cliché, closely followed by, ‘That won't fit under your seat, son.’ And ‘My, that sure is a big cello.’

So, considering the three basses on our flight to Saskatoon, everything went smoothly at check-in, and we were at the gate, boarding passes in hand with time to spare. We were looking forward to breakfast and more sleep after the short flight. As the three bands took coffee and chatted, we happened to look out a window and there goes Tommy, out for a walk five minutes to boarding time. And we watch as he disappears into the rolling hills surrounding the airport, his three cabin bags clutched firmly in hand.

I asked him at one point what he had in his cabin bag that made it weigh a ton. ‘The Real Book in every key.’ he responded quickly and clearly.

Steve Gilmore once got a peek inside the other two and said they were full of Dippety-Doo and other aerosol-dispensed notions, along with the largest pharmaceutical kit since Serge Chaloff. Hal Galper named Tommy ‘Dwayne’ in honor of Duane Reed, one of the biggest east-coast pharmacy chains.

Sure enough. Tommy missed the flight and spent the day inching his way to Saskatoon by way of Calgary. Vancouver, and Nova Scotia. The jazz folks in all the*e places responded to his problem and at all stops he was met and aided. He got to the hotel in Saskatoon just in time for one of our infrequent sound checks. He does it the hard way, but he always makes it. In six years with my band he did not miss a gig.

When Tommy first joined the band, people would invariably ask, ‘What's wrong with your trumpet player?’ I would try to be diplomatic and reply with a question myself, ‘What's wrong with your ears?’

Tommy is a disabled person. He was diagnosed as schizophre­nic in 1961 after the first of several nervous breakdowns. He has been taking stelazine, a powerful psychotropic drug, ever since. He has also suffered from a series of collapsed lung incidents and alcoholism. He no longer drinks.

Schizophrenia is a disorder characterized by loss of contact with one's environment, a deterioration in the ability to function in everyday life, and a disintegration of personality.

The medications that Tommy has to take to control the chemical imbalance that triggers this disorder have side effects that include muscular weakness and his lethargic appearance.

The disorder is such that Tommy's mind can deal with only one thing at a time, be it answering a question, playing a solo, or something as simple as pouring a glass of water.

When Tommy first joined my band and we would play the head, he would solo first. As he finished, and I was starting my solo, I could see all eyes following Tommy as he shuffled off to stage left. I felt like yelling, "Hey, it's my turn! Look at me! I'm playing my little sax!"

When we played a huge sports palace in Madrid, where bicycle races were a big draw, Tommy suggested we open with In a Velo Drome.

Somebody came up to Hal Galper and me at the bar before a gig and asked if Tommy had a speech problem. Without a rehearsal Galper and I replied, in unison, ‘W-w-w-well I-I-I-I d-d-d-don't th-th-th-think s-s-so.’

While doing a solo gig in Canada, Tommy was late to the opening night first set. He announced to the politely waiting crowd, ‘I'm sorry I'm late and I would like to apologize for my lack of charisma.’

This of course was a charismatic thing to do and he received a standing ovation.
Chet [Baker] loved Tommy. So do Dizzy, Clark Terry, Nat Adderley, and most of the older guys. And some of the younger trumpet players exhibit a bit of insecurity when Tommy’s name is mentioned.

I once said in a Down Beat profile on Tommy that he was the best improviser on his instrument I had ever heard. One trumpet player I loved called me on it. He said it wasn't about being the best. The hell it ain't. It's all very well for the O.K. players to prop each other up. I know. I'm an O.K. player but I ain't no Tommy Harrell, and if you can't tell the difference your ears are on crooked. His sense of melodic development is astounding — pure genius.

When he first joined the band, he told my wife he was sorry and didn't want to tarnish my reputation. He would come off the bandstand and start his weird stuff: ‘I’m not worthy to be in the band. Everybody hates me and my life is a joke. I have to talk to you about this. Phil!’

I finally blew up and told him the next time he was unworthy and had to quit, I wanted it in writing. I didn't want to hear any of this, especially after he had just got through carving my ass into hamburger helper.

While traveling through Holland by bus, Tommy bought what he thought was a bar of maple syrup candy. He bit into it with gusto to find out it was soap. He was foaming, and sick to his stomach, and we made an emergency stop. But we were hysterical with laughter and puns like ‘cleanest trumpet man in the biz.,’ ‘Lava back up to me,’ and other really funny mature stuff like that.

There was a trumpet summit in Scandinavia under Clark Terry's general direction. When Tommy arrived, Clark told him it had been decided that each of them should sing a number. He asked Tommy what tune he wanted to sing. Tommy said, ‘W-w-w-welL it'll have to be The Impossible Dream.' Clark is still telling the story.

Tommy said he was going to join Amnesiacs Anonymous as soon as he could remember where the meetings were.

When it came time for Tommy to make his move, he handed me a ratty piece of manuscript paper as he struggled down the aisle of a crowded 727 with his three bags of Dippety-Doo and stuff. It read:

To Whom it May Concern:
I have to quit the band.   I am sorry.
Tom Harrell

My new name for the next few weeks was Towhom Dubois.

We love and miss Tommy very much.

His new group and recordings are knocking everyone's socks off, as I knew they would.

Bravo Front Line!

- PW”

You can hear Tommy with Phil Woods' quintet on the following video:



Saturday, June 10, 2017

"To The Ladies" - Annie Ross

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


The editorial staff at JazzProfiles has had a feature on vocalist Annie Ross of Lambert-Hendricks-Ross fame in the works for some time now, but the discovery of the October 1998 issue of Gene Lees’ JazzLetter and his anecdote about girl-singer jokes pushed the project front-and-center at this time.


At the conclusion of this piece, you will find a video with Annie performing her famous version of tenor saxophone Wardell Gray’s Twisted on a 1959 TV show accompanied by the Count Basie Septet. She is joined later by Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks in a stirring version of Everyday I Have The Blues, a tune long-associated with then-Basie vocalist Joe Williams who also makes a brief appearance in the video.


TO THE LADIES


“Here is the latest girl-singer joke.


Pianist calls for a rehearsal. Says to the girl singer, "I want to go over Autumn Leaves. We'll start in G-minor. At bar five, we'll modulate to B-flat major. You'll do three bars in five-four time, and the next bar we'll go to D-major." He continues these complex instructions until the girl protests:


"But you can't expect me to do all that!"


"Why not?" he says. "You did it last night."


Girl-singer jokes are like Polish jokes, Brazilian jokes about the Portuguese, and Canadian jokes about the Newfies. Sample:


"How many girl singers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"


Answer: "Just one. She'll get the piano player to do it anyway."

Another: "Why does the girl singer knock at her own door?"


Answer: "She can't find her key."


I laugh at these jokes, like everyone else. But the discomfitting truth is that they reflect a deep hostility in the jazz world toward singers, and particularly from pianists, who often resent playing for singers. (This is because pianists are Great Artists and should not be forced into the subservient role of accompanist.) I call it the war between the singers and the pianists, and every singer knows what I mean. Among the exceptions: Mike Renzi, Eddie Higgins, and Lou Levy love to accompany good singers.



There's the rub. Why does every amateur sitting-in girl singer feel constrained to do Lush Life? Only a master should essay it. But the amateurs do it, to show off, I suppose, how good they are, or think they are. And then there are the Sarah Vaughan wannabes who deconstruct My Funny Valentine. Florence Foster Jenkins lived. So did Mrs. Miller.


The amateurs aside, the condescension to girl singers derives in part from an anomaly of the English language.


The terms "boy singer" and "girl singer" derive from the days of the big bands when, during ensemble and instrumental solo passages, the two would sit demurely on chairs in front the sax section, looking, I always thought, an uncomfortable cross between superfluous and hapless.


Because English has limited structural resources for identifying gender — mostly the -ess suffix to which the extreme element of the women's movement has taken umbrage — we don't know what else to call male and female singers. The French word for "sing" is chanter, and a singer is a chanteur or a chanteuse. There was for a time a gossip-column grafting into English of the word chanteuse, but it had about it a faint condescension and sarcasm, ending in the deliberate mispronunciation shon-too-zee. Nowadays actresses want to be called actors, and that seems reasonable. We do not refer to doctresses, after all. But the French aren't confronted by this problem. In French, all things have gender: the world is masculine, the sea is feminine. You never refer to anything as it but as he or she. French has no neuter pronouns.


We were stuck with boy singer and girl singer because we couldn't say singer and singess. The term boy singer has vanished; girl singer has not.


But the girl-singer jokes simply do not fit the reality. Not all of it, anyway. The good "girl singers" are very solidly skilled, and often highly trained.


Once America was blessed with any number of small nightclubs that featured excellent singers singing excellent songs, and even the big record companies were interested in recording them. Some of the best singers played piano ranging from the competent to — Blossom Dearie, for example — the excellent. Most of them were women, and there was a glamour about them, superb singers such as Betty Bennett, Irene Krai, Ethel Ennis, Marge Dodson, Lurlean Hunter, and "regional" singers such as Kiz Harp of Dallas. Many of them are forgotten; Shirley Home has enjoyed a resurgence; in Chicago Audrey Morris is still singing subtly to her own lovely piano accompaniment; New York has Anita Gravine and Nancy Marano (who you might catch writing her scat solos in taxis), and Washington D.C. has Ronnie Wells.


These people were sometimes called jazz singers, although they were no such thing, or torch singers, a term I found demeaning, not to mention inaccurate. Male singers were with equal condescension from an ignorant lay press called crooners.


The songs they sang were drawn from that classic repertoire that grew up in the United States between roughly 1920 and the 1950s, and had any of us been equipped with foresight, we'd have known that the era was ending, doomed by How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? and Papa Loves Mambo and Music Music Music even before the rise of rock.


For a number of reasons, I have been thinking of late how many of those "girl singers" have been friends of mine over the years, and how skillful — aside from gifted— they have been. …


ANNIE


“Another "girl singer" friend is Annie Ross, who in 1957 — forty-one years ago; are you ready for that? —joined Dave Lambert and Jon Hendricks to form Lambert-Hendricks-Ross, one of the best vocal groups in jazz history, and the most adventurous.


Annie was born in Mitcham, England, on July 25, 1930, but spent her childhood in Los Angeles with her aunt and foster mother, the Scottish-born singer Ella Logan. Logan had toured Europe, performed in Broadway musicals (including Finian’s Rainbow) and film, and recorded with Adrian Rollini and other bands. In California, Annie was a child movie actress. She moved to Europe in 1947 and sang all over the continent, returning to the United States in 1950. She wrote words to Wardell Gray's Twisted and recorded it, causing a sensation in jazz circles.


The pioneer of bop vocals was Dave Lambert, born in Boston on June 19, 1917. With Buddy Stewart, born in New Hampshire in 1922, he recorded What's This? with the Gene Krupa band in 1945 — the first recorded bebop vocal. (Stewart was also a superb ballad singer. I have always thought that if Clifford Brown had lived, Miles Davis would have had some serious competition for pre-eminence, and so too would Frank Sinatra, had Buddy Stewart lived. Like Clifford Brown, Buddy Stewart was killed in an automobile crash.)


Jon Hendricks was born in Newark, Ohio, on September 15, 1952. When he was fourteen he would sometimes sing with fellow Ohioan Art Tatum. He played drums while he was in college, studying literature and law, but was encouraged by Charlie Parker to make music his profession and moved to New York, where he met Dave Lambert, who became his room-mate. He and Lambert began planning an album that would eventually be called Sing a Song of Basie, to be recorded using ten top New York City studio singers.


They were introduced to Annie at record producer Bob Bach's apartment, and, because of her jazz background, particularly her recording of Twisted (and Farmers Market), they asked her to come to their rehearsals and coach the singers for phrasing. She tried, but the singers just couldn't get the Basie feel, and producer Creed Taylor was growing frustrated. "Frankly," Annie said, "I was a little miffed that they hadn't asked me to do it in the first place." She would get her chance. It was evidently Creed Taylor's idea that they let the vocal group go, and that Jon and Dave, with Annie, overdub their voices up to the full orchestrations.


The album was a smash. It was followed by The Swingers (1959), The Hottest New Group in Jazz (1959), Lambert, Hendricks, and Ross Sing Ellington (1960), and High Flying (1961).


In 1962, Annie returned to England. She was replaced by Yolanda Bavanne. And in 1964, Dave Lambert left the group. He was replaced for a time by Don Chastain, and sometimes in later years Jon worked with his children.



None of it was quite the same. Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks, and Annie Ross struck magical sparks, and anyone who never saw them in a club or on a stage such as that of the Monterey Jazz Festival has no idea how much excitement the three of them could generate, singing difficult ensemble passages or complex lyrics set to (by Annie and, even more, by Jon) famous jazz solos.


One night in October, 1966, Dave was returning to New York from a gig in Cape Cod. "He was always a good Samaritan," Jon said. "If anyone was in trouble on the road, he'd always stop and help." Near Westport, Connecticut, Dave saw a motorist with a flat tire. Dave pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. According to Jon, Dave was working on the lugs of the man's wheel when a big semi went roaring by. Jon said Dave was pulled under its wheels. Whatever the details, that was the end of any hope of reconstituting Lambert-Hendricks-Ross.


I would see Annie occasionally in London. She married actor Sean Lynch, whom I found to be a delightfully warm and friendly man. I remember meeting the late Marty Feldman at a party at their apartment. And I remember a letter Annie had received from a farm woman in Devon. Annie had sung my lyrics to Bill Evans' Waltz for Debby on her television show. The woman had written to tell her how touched she had been by that lyric, which expressed her feelings about her little girl, and asked for a copy of it, which Annie sent her. I don't even know the woman's name; but she gave me the best review I ever received.


Annie had her own nightclub, called Annie's room. It was a very pleasant club, in a basement, and I beat its slot machine all one evening. Annie had that club from October 1964 until the fall of 1965, and so when we talked recently I said, "My God, Annie, we haven't spoken in more than thirty years."


Jon and I were talking about Annie, and Sean's name came up. "He was such a lovely person," Jon said.


"I said, 'What do you mean, was?"


"Didn't anyone tell you?" Jon said. "He was killed in an automobile accident."
Another one.


In 1985, Annie returned to the U.S. and, like Jon Hendricks, lives in New York City. She can sing anything: the L-H-R years have left an impression that bop vocals are all she can do, but she is also an excellent ballad singer. So, by the way, is Jon Hendricks, although few people realize it.


It was inevitable that she and Jon would start thinking about reviving the L-H-R repertoire, and a few months ago they went into rehearsals. "It wasn't really that hard," Annie said, "although at the very beginning, I thought, 'Oh my God!'
"Then it became a matter of, 'Which of Dave's lines do I sing, which ones does Jon sing?'


"But then, after we got over the nervousness, the energy and the excitement were still there. It works, and it swings, and my voice is getting stronger. It's back to that hard swing. It's a workout, but it's worth it. Oh, it feels incredible!"
Jon said, "It's the first time we've sung together in thirty-six years. Well, we did, once in that time, but this is a real reunion. The audiences are incredible. People who heard us in the old days are having tears of joy, and their children are jumping."


Much has been made of the space trip at seventy-seven of John Glenn, as an inspiration to older people. Try this one on: Jon Hendricks is also seventy-seven. And Annie is sixty-nine. And they are out there swinging.”


Jon Hendricks was born in 1921 which now makes him 93 as of 2014; Annie Ross was born in 1930 was now makes her 84 as of 2014.