Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Mr. P. C. The Life and Music of Paul Chambers - Rob Palmer

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


“Jazz musicians are their music. Absent that, they're just people making a living, eating meals, paying bills — no different from cops or politicos. But that's just the point: the music can't be subtracted: it's the defining essence, which sets musicians apart, makes them special and ultimately a little mysterious. Makes their various complexes and misbehaviors interesting to writers, chroniclers, fans.”
- Richard Sudhalter, Lost Chords: White Musicians and Their Contributions to Jazz, 1915-1945


Since Jazz musicians are their music,” what better way to write a biography of a Jazz musician than to centered it on the musician’s music as it appears on his recordings?  This is especially the case when the subject it being treated retrospectively without the benefit of an interview.


And this is exactly what bassist Rob Palmer has done in his comprehensive overview of the career of Paul Chambers - Mr. P.C. The Life and Music of Paul Chambers [Bristol, CT: Equinox Publishing LTD, 2012]. Valerie Hall, the Editorial and Marketing Manager at Equinox is offering JazzProfiles readers a 25% discount using the code Jazz when ordering from the Equinox website.


Rob explains how and why he chose this format in the following Introduction to his book:


Miles Davis, Relaxin'
Miles Davis, 'Round about Midnight
Miles Davis, Miles Ahead
Miles Davis, Porgy and Bess
Miles Davis, Sketches of Spain
Miles Davis, Milestones
Miles Davis, Kind of Blue
John Coltrane, Blue Train
John Coltrane, Giant Steps
Jackie McLean, Capuchin Swing
Hank Mobley, Soul Station
Hank Mobley, Workout
Sonny Clark, Cool Struttin'
Wynton Kelly, Kelly at Midnite
Joe Henderson, Four
Oliver Nelson, Blues and the Abstract Truth
Wes Montgomery, Full House
Wes Montgomery, Smokin' at the Half Note
Art Pepper, Meets the Rhythm Section
Sonny Rollins, Tenor Madness


“The above list could easily be representative of every interested forty-something’s top twenty favourite jazz albums; a panoply of hard-bop, be-bop, orchestral and modal jazz. There will be very few genuine jazz enthusiasts who do not own at least a small handful of the recordings mentioned above and there are more than a few that will have all of them on their shelves at home. The list incorporates some of the most listened-to and talked-about jazz of the 1950s and '60s, if not of the history of the idiom itself. Kind of Blue is one of, if not the, best-selling jazz albums of all time (depending on your definition of jazz), with sales of the numerous re-issues and re-mixes reportedly exceeding the three million mark. It was the most commercially successful recording of Miles Davis's career. Although many precedents had earlier provided the opportunity for players and listeners alike to explore the potential of this particular sub-genre, it is this Miles Davis classic that is often credited as introducing the concept of modal playing into the mainstream field of jazz.


Giant Steps the title track of the second of Coltrane's three celebrated masterpieces (the first being Blue Train and the third A Love Supreme) is a further example of ground-breaking innovation in the field of jazz music, albeit of a very different kind. This recording, while involving more than one of Miles Davis's sidemen from Kind of Blue, was, in Alyn Shipton's words, "the antithesis of simplicity.' While occasionally acknowledged as the pinnacle of expression in terms of melodic invention around the use of complex forms, this track, at the very least, drew the music community's attention to a specific and demanding sequence of chords that is still referred to by musicians as "Giant Steps changes" despite the fact that the sequence had been heard before in more than one setting. Even today, in many circles, a musician's ability to negotiate these particular changes freely and creatively is considered a fundamental measure of competence.


It is not widely known that the recording sessions that produced Kind of Blue and Giant Steps were undertaken within a matter of weeks; Miles entered the CBS recording studio on Thirtieth Street, New York, on 2 March 1959, with some small scraps of paper on which he had scribbled the material that was to become part of Kind of Blue while most of the material on Coltrane's Giant Steps was recorded on 4 and 5 May 1959, around eight weeks later (although earlier sessions that featured the material Coltrane had prepared for that LP were under way by 1 April). There were several other classic recordings that took place during the early months of 1959 and it would not be unreasonable to suggest that, creatively speaking, the spring of that year could be described as a fertile period in jazz history.


Miles Davis's recordings of the material for the Columbia LPs Sketches of Spain (1959 and 1960) and Porgy and Bess (1960), both orchestrated by composer/arranger Gil Evans, are still two of his best-loved works, even amongst less committed jazz fans. The origins of these two works, neither of which was originally conceived as "jazz" in any conventional sense, both benefit from what could be considered an informal relationship with mainstream popular culture. For the layman, this allows each piece a degree of familiarity that, in turn, renders the Davis/Evans versions exotic and interesting rather than alien and inaccessible.


At the time of his Tenor Madness recording in 1956, Sonny Rollins was considered to be one of the most respected tenor saxophonists in jazz. His reputation as one of the idiom's most advanced thematic improvisers was all but unassailable. His status amongst jazz musicians was, and remains, legendary and his periodic withdrawals from live performances (1959 to 1961 and 1969 to 1971) leave little doubt that Rollins was one of the most
uncompromising performers recording at that time and "a man of unquestioned artistic courage" The music recorded on Tenor Madness pays testimony to his reputation and provides evidence of his talent.


The recording of Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section, another classic album from the period, took place shortly after Pepper's release from prison in 1957. It is interesting to note that the publicity department at Contemporary Records, the producers of Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section, saw fit to package Pepper's post-sentence "re-launch" (one of several) on the basis that he had been teamed up with the rhythm section of the day and not just a rhythm section. The fact that this release was marketed on the basis that Pepper's improvisations were accompanied by the personnel that the great Miles Davis was then using as his rhythm section is testimony to the esteem with which these three musicians were held at that time. It is apparent, from his biography, that Pepper was thrilled at being afforded the opportunity to record with what was generally agreed to be the greatest rhythm section of its day. His delight at the quality of the music produced during the session and subsequently released is also a matter of record.


Among the albums listed above, we can hear the work of at least five trumpet players, around eight saxophonists, six pianists and at least five drummers. The list, however, represents the work of just one bass player. What makes this list of iconic jazz recordings special is that it amounts to only a tiny part of the immense discography of the work of a single man: the double-bass player Paul Chambers, the young musician who inspired Coltrane to write his legendary minor blues, the evergreen jam session staple, Mr PC Red Garland to pen The P.C. Blues and Tommy Flanagan to compose his own Big Paul.


Chambers recorded over 300 LPs for record labels as varied as Columbia, Riverside, Blue Note, Savoy, Veejay, United Artists, Prestige and Impulse. He played with almost every great instrumentalist from the mid-fifties to the late sixties, including Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Dexter Gordon, Stanley Turrentine, johnny Griffin, Wayne Shorter, Clark Terry, Thelonious Monk, Bud Powell, Bill Evans, Herbie Hancock, Grant Green, Kenny Burrell, Art Blakey, jimmy Cobb, Philly Joe Jones, Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Paul Motian. The list is extensive. Chambers played bass on some of the top-selling jazz albums in the history of the music and contributed significantly to some of the most critically acclaimed and historically important LPs of all time. As one critic said: "Even when you couldn't hear Paul Chambers, ... it was clear that everything was built around him".


Like many bass players in the history of this music, Paul Chambers has often gone unnoticed in the discussions around these recordings, the emphasis remaining on the so-called front-line players like Davis, Coltrane, Rollins and Monk. The purpose of this book is to pay homage to the unsung heroes of jazz, its bass players, and to specifically explore the life of and contributions made to this most noble of musics by the quiet legend that is Paul Chambers.”


In the ensuing ten chapters, Rob takes us through the highlights of Paul Chambers recording career which began in 1954 and ended in 1968 [Paul died on January 4, 1969 from complications associated with tuberculosis.]


Upon reflection, it is amazing what Paul accomplished in a performing and recording career that lasted a mere 13 years.


Two constant and recurring elements or themes in Rob’s examination of Chambers’ work in all of its stages are contained in the following excerpts:


[1] “Paul Chambers was an ordinary man, a man who took a raw talent and worked hard with that talent to become the best musician that he could possibly be. He wasn't good because he was black. He wasn't good because he was from Detroit. He wasn't good because he knew Doug Watkins or Ray Brown or because he bathed in the glow of legends like Miles Davis and John Coltrane. He was good because he worked hard, because he invested considerable time and effort, blood and sweat, in developing the techniques required to master his chosen instrument. There is no magic here, no folklore; these skills were earned the hard way, through hours of systematic practice, day after day, night after night, week after week and year after year. Chambers spent time processing musical concepts, considering harmonic theories, learning and practising chord sequences, playing solo bass etudes with a bow, building up his strength and his calluses, talking to his peers, wheeling his bass across Detroit and New York, jamming with other musicians, some younger, many older, listening to those who influenced him both live and on record, immersing himself, body and soul, in the music they call jazz and investigating elements of the classical repertoire.


The skills that allowed him to hold one of the most prestigious bass chairs in the world were not handed to Chambers on a plate. He had to go looking for them himself. Chambers was no autodidact - he had at least three teachers of considerable experience and ability - but there are no shortcuts to acquiring the skills made evident throughout his thirteen-year professional career. His concept of swing was not made available through his genes or his cultural heritage but through work sustained over nearly twenty years as a practicing musician.” [pp.335-336]


[2] “Paul Chambers's contribution to the development of the bass is not easily defined. He was not an innovator in the conventional sense. His time playing finds precedent in the work of Ray Brown and Wendell Marshall. His arco soloing is an extension of the work of Slam Stewart and Major Holley and there are, in any event, some credible sources that are critical of this aspect of his playing. His bebop soloing has its origins in the work of Oscar Pettiford, Charles Mingus, Red Mitchell, Ray Brown and Red Callender. To suggest that Chambers was an entirely fresh voice on the instrument does not bear close scrutiny. What he did do, however, was to consolidate a series of important but independent innovations, bring them all together in the person of a single musician and introduce some of those concepts to the listening public for the first time.


Chambers was an extremely skilled and competent journeyman bass player, a musician who could deliver on all areas of his instrument to a consistently high standard and, most importantly, to the benefit of the music being performed. Much of his work, however, was that of a professional craftsman, able to deliver a consistent product to order. There were moments of supreme excellence, many of which have been discussed here, but to deify the man as a unique voice is to distort the real contribution he made to the idiom. Nevertheless, Chambers's contribution to the development of his chosen instrument cannot be entirely dismissed. As is so often the case with the history of an instrument's role in any musical genre, its innovators and groundbreakers are not necessarily its most renowned practitioners.” [p. 331]


Rob’s observations about Paul’s style and his place in the scheme of things form underlying themes as he follows the evolution of Paul’s career from its earliest years on the “Motor City Scene” [Detroit, MI] to his years as a member of the Miles Davis Quintet from 1955-1963, to the after Miles years which included touring with pianist Wynton Kelly and drummer Jimmy Cobb and becoming involved in “the session work that was starting to role in.” [p. 276].


Of particular interest to me as Rob takes us through Paul’s recording career as a sideman and as a leader is the way in which he brings in other bassists to describe what Paul is actually doing on bass and how many of the tunes that he plays on are structured. He offers a kind of insider’s perspective on how Paul played as well as what is going on in the music.


Here’s an example of the former with bassist Peter Washington commenting on a technical aspect of Paul’s playing:


“It's hard technically to play like Paul... It's just hard in a different way. It's very hard to play melodically in half of first position which Paul did. And make it clear, and make it ... you know, all those interesting intervals he plays. I think it's hard to do that as it is to do what Scott LaFaro did, in a different way... A lot of Paul's solos, you can play without moving out of half position, and when you think about how melodic it is, his hand is just like this the whole time. Pretty amazing! And that's why he's very clever to play like that. Because when you play like that, you get consistency of power in the sound. And you are playing things that are in the character of the bass ... The power of sound that Paul had, and play low on the bass, and clearly. That's something else ... He had a complete unity between what he wanted to do creatively, and his mastery of the instrument. Everything he learned about playing the bass technically served his creativity. I mean, he knew that to play most of the songs in one position is going to give him a stronger, more consistent, clear sound.” [pp. 105-106]


And more of the same, this time from bassist Christian McBride:


“... the first record I heard Paul Chambers on was Kind of Blue. Just the overall feeling of the way he walked, his pulse, the combination of his sound and his feeling, particularly his sound. I was 11 years old and I'm thinking "Wow, this guy has to be one of the greatest bass players in the world". I later heard him on a bunch of Blue Note records, like John Coltrane's Blue Train and Kenny Dorham's Whistle Stop, Sonny Clark's Sonny's Crib. There are so many records I heard Paul Chambers on after that, but it all started with Kind of Blue.” [p. 182]


Chuck Israels, bassist with the Bill Evans Trio amongst others, had another take on Chambers’s playing:


“Chambers would sometimes find some notes in between the note..., putting four pitches in a line in which there was only room for three. For example, if he had to get from D to F and he had to play four notes in there and he happened to be going chromatically, he would go from a D to a flattened E flat to a sharpened E flat to an E to an F. Maybe he played the D on the downbeat of one measure and wanted the F to be the downbeat of the next measure and didn't want to break the chromatic nature of the line, so he made the line even more chromatic, micro-tonally chromatic. It was a very beautiful thing.” [p. 176]


Bassist John Goldsby comments on Paul work on Giant Steps from the Coltrane Atlantic album by the same name: “Chambers negotiated the bass lines with great grace and aplomb, while playing lines that outlined the jagged [chord] progression’s root movement.” [p. 191]


Rob also includes comparisons between bassist styles to help elucidate how Chambers evolved his own, distinctive style:


“Although Chambers was influenced by Ray Brown's playing a lot, each one had his own identity. Both Brown and Chambers know the instrument so they use all the notes from the lower to higher register on the bass fluently. In Brown's case, he uses open strings more often in his bass lines so he is in tune more of the time; also he could jump from note to note and come back with less risk, and his using open strings mixed with other notes (including harmonics) became almost patternised sometimes. His plucking would be much harder when he swung madly with the band, especially in mid-tempo. He varies the mood by using different rhythmic variations - triplet, irregular accents on the beat, and sixteenth note figures especially on ballad tunes, which Paul doesn't do much - during his walking bass. On the other hand, Paul hardly moved his left hand - he would play all the notes in one hand position; also he keeps the consistency of every note he plays. His tone may have seemed rather blunt because of the length of notes - rather short - and rare slides on the bass, but it was pure. [p. 176 as drawn from S. Shim, “Paul Chambers: His Life and Music,” 1999 Masters Thesis, Rutgers]


As someone who has always been interested in what makes a Jazz special and interesting, one of the outstanding aspects of Rob’s treatment of Paul’s recorded career are his descriptions of the structure of the tunes on the seminal albums listed at the beginning of his Introduction.


In addition to the 341 pages of text that make up the body of his work, Rob provides a select bibliography and a listing of footnotes per chapter. The book is particularly notable for the inclusion of a 64-page discography.


If you are a fan of Jazz from this era, you simply can’t go wrong using a copy of Mr. P. C. The Life and Music of Paul Chambers as your aural narrative through the music associated with Paul’s career.


It’s not often that a book about Jazz comes along that offers both a cogent and coherent biography of one of the principals of the post World War II Modern Jazz movement, as well as, an illuminating [and easy-to-read] guide to what’s going on with and within the music.


Rob’s book on the life and music of Paul Chambers is one of those rare occasions when this hoped for alignment occurs and, as such, you may wish to include it on your gift list for the upcoming holiday season.



Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Count Basie by Alun Morgan - Part 4

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


Born in Wales in 1928, Alun Morgan became a Jazz fan as a teenage and was an early devotee of the bebop movement. In the 1950s he began contributing articles to Melody Maker, Jazz Journal, Jazz Monthly, and Gramophone and for twenty years, beginning in 1969, he wrote a regular column for a local newspaper in Kent. From 1954 onward he contributed to BBC programs on Jazz, authored and co-authored books on modern Jazz and Jazz in England and wrote over 2,500 liner notes for Jazz recordings.

"I probably don't need to tell you that Alun Morgan was one of the most gifted and knowledgeable of all jazz writers. He wrote the most beautiful English and what he had to say was communicated flawlessly to his readers. He was comprehensively generous to other writers, and it was at his instigation that I wrote my book on Woody Herman. Once I decided to write it, he shovelled  to me the information that he had acquired for his own use on Woody at an amazing rate. Try to find anything he has written and you will be deeply rewarded if you succeed. His book on Modern Jazz was an early primer on the subject, and you'll find the one on Basie, despite its great age, is as relevant as it ever was." -  Steve Voce

Chapter Four

“For much of the first half of 1940 Basie worked around New York and Boston. He was at the Apollo Theatre on at least three occasions and the Golden Gate Ballroom, both venues in New York City, and at Boston's Southland Ballroom, from which latter location an excellent broadcast transcription dating from February 20 has been released on a number of labels. By now the powerful trumpet of Al Killian had replaced Shad Collins and the distinctive Vic Dickenson had joined the trombones, taking the place of Benny Morton who left to join pianist Joe Sullivan's band.

In May Milton Ebbins took over as manager from Jack Kearney and Tab Smith was in and out of the band as a fifth saxophonist. The band was still being booked through MCA but Willard Alexander's move to the William Morris agency was having an effect on Count's business. It was not that the band had no work, it was simply that it was not getting the air time which Alexander had considered so important. There have been a few indications that, away from the piano keyboard, Basie's acumen and sense of timing left a lot to be desired. Apart from the unfortunate terms of the Decca contract Basie entered into, the sharp nose-dive of his fortunes with MCA once Alexander left was most noticeable. Both Count and his manager. Milt Ebbins, formally accused MCA of serious charges and the November 15, 1940 issue of Down Beat carried the news that Basie felt the agency was guilty of:

a.   Failure to book the band into spots with radio wires.
b.   General handling of the band: for example it was recently booked for the Paramount Theatre (LA) for two weeks. 'It was the only date we played out there, and it cost us two thousand dollars to send the band there. It doesn't make sense.'
c.   Long jumps on tour: 500 miles a night 'not unusual. We've jumped from New York to Chicago in one night'.
d.   The band has been a big grosser everywhere it's played (including a recent Southern tour) but 'MCA got some nineteen thousand dollars in commission last year. Basie got seven thousand himself and the band got five thousand. Does that make sense?

Basie threatened to break up his band, presumably in order to sever his relationship with MCA. Count did a number of one night stands with
Benny Goodman (and played on some of Benny's sextet recording dates) while the rest of the Basie men 'loafed around New York'. Manager Milt Ebbins said he was taking the mismanagement case to James Petrillo, head of the American Federation of Musicians. 'We haven't had a location job with air time for a year. Some weeks we work every night, jumping 500 miles a night. Other weeks we lay off No one seems interested in Basie at MCA'.

By the end of the year an uneasy truce was proposed with MCA taking less commission from the band's bookings. But Basie suffered another setback a couple of weeks before Christmas. Columbia had set up a recording session for Friday, 13th December, 1940 in order to record four titles (It's the same old South, Stampede in G minor, Who am I? and Rockin' the blues); on the day of the session Basie's star soloist, Lester Young, failed to show up. Rumour has it that he objected to making records on Friday The Thirteenth but those close to the event deny it. In any case Basie was forced, at short notice, to bring in Paul Bascombe on loan from the Erskine Hawkins band, and to allocate the tenor solos on the date to Buddy Tate. It was the parting of the ways, at least temporarily, for Lester and Basie and while the precise reasons for Young's departure may never be known, it is worth recording that Lester's wife, Mary, wrote a letter to Down Beat magazine stating the Lester left Basie of his own accord and was not fired.

Another Down Beat report of interest occurs in the January 15, 1941 issue referring to the months of wrangling between Basie and MCA. Count bought his release from the agency for ten thousand dollars and joined William Morris. 'Willard Alexander, Morris band department executive, will personally guide Basie and the band just as he has been doing for the past four years, even though he and Basie were with rival booking offices. Also in the picture is Milton Keith Ebbins, youthful Basie road manager and former band leader, who now becomes personal manager of the Basie outfit. Alexander and Ebbins together will accept or reject all bookings offered. Basie's band hasn't been working much lately. On January 3rd he started a theatre tour, opening at the Apollo in Harlem - the first job to be booked by Morris'. Following the departure of Lester Young, Count used a number of temporary substitutes in his reed section then, at the end of February, 1941, Don Byas took over on a permanent basis.

With Willard Alexander now officially back at the helm the bands fortunes improved. Most of its work was still in ballrooms and theatres where it was expected to provide music not only for dancers but also as the backing for all manner of variety acts and vocalists. What happened in the recording studios was not always necessarily a true reflection of the working band schedule. Jimmy Rushing and Helen Humes were a great success as singers with the band but Helen found the strain of touring too great and left around the time Don Byas came into the band. 'I used to pretend I was asleep on the Basie bus' Helen told Stanley Dance, 'so the boys wouldn't think I was hearing their rough talk. I'd sew buttons on, and cook for them too. I used to carry pots and a little hot plate around, and I'd fix up some food backstage or in places where it was difficult to get anything to eat when we were down South. Playing cards was the best way of passing time on those long trips, but sometimes when I won money from them I found I had to lend it back! I wasn't interested in drinking and keeping late hours, so that part didn't hurt me. But my kidneys couldn't stand the punishment of those long rides. I was too timid to ask the driver to stop when I should have. Then, too, I got tired of singing the same songs year after year.’

Miss Humes's eloquent statement tells us more about the reverse side of the show-biz coin than a wealth of conjecture. Life on the road with a touring band has never been good but for girl singers the pressures were greater.

Basie brought in Pearl White, a former singer and dancer at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, as a temporary replacement for Helen and later in the year, Lynne Sherman, one-time vocalist with the Sonny Burke band and now married to Basie's manager Milt Ebbins, sang with the band at an engagement at Boston's Ritz-Carlton. (Lynne also recorded a couple of sides with the band at the end of 1941.) But Jimmy Rushing was still the major attraction in the vocal department, singing the blues and generally giving the band its deeply committed Kansas City sound. Ballads on records were handled by Earl Warren, who was also leading the sax team. The Okeh releases of 78rpm discs usually had an Earl Warren vocal on one side and a more extrovert instrumental number on the other. British EMI, which then had a contract with American Columbia, parent company of Okeh, released Basie records in Britain during World War Two on its Parlophone label and invariably cross-backed the instrumentals, omitting most records with a vocal. One Basie performance with a singer which was issued both in the US and Britain was the two-sided King Joe, a somewhat unexpected pairing of the Count's orchestra and the vibrant voice of Paul Robeson.

Some of the arrangements for the vocals brought in unexpected names; Hugo Winterhalter, for example, scored some of the Earl Warren features. Basie was also using compositions and arrangements from unusual sources for his instrumentals too; Stampede in G minor was written by Clinton P. Brewer, a convicted murderer then serving a 19 year jail sentence while Beau Brummel was by the diminutive Margie Gibson. It is likely, however, that many of the titles which the band recorded for Okeh/Columbia were seldom played in public for the band was still working predominantly hotel ballrooms and theatres where the programme of music was certainly less experimental.

Years later the same pattern could be observed when comparing the band's recorded output with any listing of tunes played in public. Metronome magazine's Bill Coss spent some time travelling with the band at the end of 1956 and his observations are probably typical of almost any period in the orchestra's existence: 'It's interesting to look through the band's arrangements. There are about 180 scores in the library and, at most, only sixty of these are played. Out of that number, there are perhaps twenty or thirty which are played over and over;-the others are mostly dance arrangements, ballads by Edgar Sampson, etc. Of that outside figure of thirty, there are only two or three which have any real musical worth; those the musicians really like to play, but they generally have to badger the Count into playing them. Basie doesn't like to play new arrangements. Like most of jazz, like most jazz musicians, the arrangements written and played are of familiar blues and standard tunes. Aside from the fact of sheer boredom and over-familiar material, many of the musicians have an artist's interest in new material; but to no avail. Yet they accept it with fortitude, knowing that that is very much the way it is, turning with a wry smile when I would ask them about any new arrangements being in the book and answering "Yep, there's a new arrangement of Moten swing"'

Basie, like Duke Ellington, may have felt that he was working for two audiences, those who paid at the door to hear the band 'live' and those who wanted a more permanent reminder of the band on record. During the nineteen-forties the band was recording excellent scores by men such as Jimmy Mundy (Fiesta in blue, Something new, Feather merchant etc.), Eddie Durham, Buster Harding, Buck Clayton and, occasionally, Skip Martin, Tadd Dameron and Tab Smith. Most of the writers seemed to write with the established sound of the band in mind. (Perhaps they knew that such scores had a better chance of finding their way into the book!) Basie was very much the leader, rejecting anything which he did not feel was right. Buck Clayton told Stanley Dance '(Count) was nice to work for, but he always knew what he wanted from the band and the arrangers. At the beginning, it used to take us so long to get through the arrangements. We'd have to help guys who didn't do so much reading, but who were great soloists and were accustomed to the head arrangements. The only reason I played all those things with a mute with Basie was because he asked me to, and as he was the leader his wishes were like commands. When I came out of the army I was my own judge and I played like I wanted to. The funny thing about Basie was that he'd ask me to record with a mute, but when we got on one-nighters he'd have me play the same thing open'.

Clayton stayed with Basie until November, 1943 when he was called up by the US Army. The Count's band lost a number of men to the armed forces but there is evidence that the US authorities called more whites than Negroes, proportionately speaking, and some of the white bands of the day suffered greater losses of key personnel than either Basie or Duke Ellington.

When the V Disc programme of recordings was launched, Ellington and his men made it clear that they were not prepared to take part, as a protest against the way coloured troops were treated. (The Ellington material which does exist on V Disc is generally from public concerts.) Basie, on the other hand, took part in a number of these sessions, a fact which enables us to hear the development of the band during an extended ban on commercial recordings which commenced on August 1,1942 and, in the case of Basie's recording company, did not end until December, 1944. During this period a number of important personnel changes took place. Don Byas left and Lester Young took his place, having presumably patched up his previous difference with Basie.

Buddy Tate remembers that Byas left after an incident one night when Ben Webster sat in with the Count. 'I never heard anyone sound like that in my life, and all the cats flipped over Ben. Poor Don went across the street and got stoned!' Lester came into the band in December, 1943 and stayed until the following September when the army almost literally took him off the bandstand. Lester had been ignoring his call-up papers, using the excuse that, as a member of a touring band, the papers had not reached him. 'When we opened in Los Angeles that year,’ recalls Tate, 'there was a sharp young cat there who kept looking at Prez and Jo Jones. That wasn't unusual because they were stars. He sat there drinking whiskey all night, but when we got though he came over and said "You, Lester Young, and you, Jo Jones, I have to serve you with these papers. Be down at the Induction Centre tomorrow morning!" '. Their places were taken immediately by drummer Buddy Rich (who succeeded in playing with Tommy Dorsey in the early part of each evening then with Basie at ten o'clock) and Artie Shaw, who played Lester's tenor parts on clarinet. This was, of course, only a temporary arrangement until Shadow Wilson and Lucky Thompson, on drums and tenor respectively, joined on a more permanent basis. 'When Lucky arrived, he continued the Byas approach' maintains Buddy Tale. 'Lester had naturally been featured more than me, and Lucky was in his chair. Lucky quit when he decided he wanted to stay on the Coast'. Basie's visits to Los Angeles had given him the opportunity of working in films and as early as April, 1943 Down Beat was reporting that 'the Basie band can currently be seen in three films, "Hit Parade of 1943" (Republic), "Reveille With Beverley" (Columbia) and "Stage Door Canteen" (United Artists)'.

The following August the band was working on three film assignments at Universal, the Donald O'Connor comedy musical 'Man Of The Family' (also known as 'Top Man'), the Olsen and Johnson sequel to 'Hellzapoppin' titled 'Crazy House' (and sometimes 'Funzapoopin') and a Will Cowan short.

But perhaps the most significant event was that on November 5, 1943 Count Basie opened at the Lincoln Hotel in New York for an eight week engagement. On the face of it this may seem fairly innocuous but it was the breaking down of a number of barriers. It was Count's first booking into a New York hotel and the first time the Lincoln had ever played host to a coloured band. No doubt Willard Alexander was the power behind the move and the Lincoln booking was an immediate success. In fact the band returned again later and a number of excellent broadcast transcriptions exist from the Lincoln's 'Blue Room' which indicate that Basie did not have to make any concessions to the hotel guests; numbers such as Harvard blues, Kansas City stride, Dance of the gremlins and Rock-a-bye-Basie abound.”

To be continued ….



Monday, November 5, 2018

"‘Sophisticated Giant’ Review: Long Tall Tenor Man" by Clifford Thompson

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


“Dexter Gordon tastes like coarse rye bread, parsley and cellar-chilled vodka. The basic tastes, pure and strong. He is elementary but with power. When you have listened to him you tell nothing but the truth for a long while.”
- Swedish writer Svante Foerster, “Klasskämpen”

The editorial staff at JazzProfiles will present a synopsis of Sophisticated Giant: The Life and Legacy of Dexter Gordon [Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2018, $29.95] on these pages at a later date, but in the meantime, we thought you’d enjoy this review of the book by Clifford Thompson that appeared in the Nov. 1, 2018 edition of the Wall Street Journal.

Gordon combined the power of a foghorn with the elegance of a flutist, his sound singular and inimitable.


“The tenor saxophonist Dexter Gordon, who died in 1990 at 67, stood apart from other jazz musicians — even other famous ones — and not just because he stood 6 feet 5 inches. While he was roughly the contemporary of those 1940s revolutionaries who gave us the light-speed, chord-hopping jazz known as bebop (Gordon was three years younger than Charlie Parker), his playing instead brought to mind the big-sound tenor men, such as Coleman Hawkins and Ben Webster, born at least half a generation earlier. Yet Gordon was “sort of the bridge between Charlie Parker on the alto [saxophone] and what became possible on the tenor,” as one who ought to know — the tenor-sax icon Sonny Rollins — told Maxine Gordon, the author of the brief, valuable “Sophisticated Giant: The Life and Legacy of Dexter Gordon.” Mostly, Gordon was Gordon, combining the power of a foghorn with the elegance of a flutist, his sound both instantly recognizable and inimitable.

Maxine Gordon, the saxophonist’s third wife, widow and — for seven years beginning in the mid-1970s — manager, has produced a story of Dexter’s life that is also about the challenge of portraying a reluctant subject. It was not that Gordon didn’t want his story told; toward the end of his life, in fact, he began constructing it himself, writing in pencil on legal pads and asking Maxine to finish the book if, as would be the case, he could not. The trouble had to do with the large chunks of his life that he stubbornly refused to talk about. When Maxine argued that they should be included, the saxophonist told her that if she wanted an all-inclusive book, “you will have to write it yourself” — and with “Sophisticated Giant,” she has picked up the gauntlet.

Dexter Gordon’s early years were straightforward enough. His widow writes that “the portrayal of jazz musicians as tragic figures was something that always bothered him,” and the circumstances of the saxophonist’s youth certainly belie the stereotype of the hard-luck idiot savant that often attaches itself like a groupie to African-American jazzmen. Gordon was born in 1923 and grew up in Los Angeles, the only child of a music-loving physician who counted Duke Ellington and Lionel Hampton among his friends. Dexter took up the alto sax at 14, switching at 15 to the tenor that his mother bought him to fit his tall frame. At Jefferson High School he excelled in English—as an adult he would teach himself to read French and devour novels such as “Les Misérables”—and came under the tutelage of the influential band director Sam Browne. Then fate (and its pal, connections) stepped in.

The musician Marshal Royal, given the task of finding a last-minute replacement tenor for Hampton’s band, called the 17-year-old Dexter, who was both the son of Royal’s doctor and the classmate of his younger brother. Gordon played in Hampton’s band from 1940 to 1943, then joined the orchestra of an even bigger legend: Louis Armstrong. In 1944 he moved on again, to Billy Eckstine’s band, getting fired the following year, Maxine Gordon writes, for coming late to rehearsals and “show[ing] signs of being high.” By then Gordon had established a reputation of his own, soon signing recording contracts, first with Savoy and then with Dial Records. His playing on recordings from the mid- and late 1940s, such as “It’s the Talk of the Town,” “Mischievous Lady” and his storied duet with fellow tenor man Wardell Gray, “The Chase,” suggest a blend of the older figures Hawkins, Webster and the groundbreaking Lester Young.

Then came the period that presented Maxine Gordon with such a challenge. The 1950s, during which Dexter married his first wife and fathered two daughters, also saw drug use get the better of him. Because he refused to discuss that period, beyond his admission that he had “messed up [his] family life,” Maxine was “forced to reconstruct it by examining two sets of documents: his discography and his California prison records.” She is an able detective, tracing Gordon’s trips to and from jail and cataloguing the details of the recordings that he was nonetheless, and somewhat miraculously, able to make during those years.

While it is generally fallacious to attribute a jazz musician’s artistry to his self-inflicted suffering, one is tempted to wonder, in Dexter Gordon’s case, whether there is a grain of truth in that dangerous old cliché. To listen to the much-lauded albums he made with Blue Note Records beginning in the early 1960s, once he had (mostly) left drugs and prison behind, is to hear the work of a saxophonist who has found his voice. On “Dexter Calling . . .” (1961), “Go!” (1962), “Our Man in Paris” (1963) and others, he eschews the million-note approach of the beboppers while embracing other bebop elements, and though Gordon’s tone is every bit as full as those of Hawkins et al., it is also every bit his own—a voice speaking at once plainly and beautifully. In 1962 he went to Europe for a concert date that stretched to 14 years, most of them spent in Copenhagen, where he made great live recordings at the club Jazzhus Montmartre. Just when he was in danger of being forgotten in America, Maxine appeared and engineered his triumphant return to the U.S., culminating in the double album “Homecoming: Live at the Village Vanguard” (1977).

“Sophisticated Giant” (which shares its title with a Gordon album) is affectionate, enjoyable and informative, painting a portrait of a handsome, elegant, easygoing person and artist who refused to agonize about his past. Like the man himself, however, the book fails to discuss some things the reader may wonder about. We learn that, in addition to his daughters, Dexter fathered a son from his second marriage (a union that did not survive his return stateside) and had two others with women he met in Europe; but we hear next to nothing of his thoughts about these children he didn’t raise or (in one case) ever meet. Attentive readers will note that Maxine Gordon’s relationship with the trumpeter Woody Shaw, who plays on “Homecoming” and with whom she had a son, ended in 1983—the very year that, as she mentions much later, she got together with Dexter. What’s the story there? What kind of stepfather was Dexter? Don’t look to “Sophisticated Giant” for answers.

Perhaps more important, the word “legacy” in the subtitle is misleading. Maxine Gordon clearly regards as her husband’s crowning achievement his lead performance as the fictional musician Dale Turner, based on the pianist Bud Powell, in Bertrand Tavernier’s 1986 film “Round Midnight,” for which Gordon was nominated for an Oscar. Jazz fans, though, might be more interested in Gordon’s stylistic influence on other musicians, one obvious example being Sonny Rollins. Maxine Gordon relies on quotes from others for that, and even those are sparse. But to quote Spencer Tracy, what’s there is choice. The best is from the Swedish writer Svante Foerster’s novel “Klasskämpen”: “Dexter Gordon tastes like coarse rye bread, parsley and cellar-chilled vodka. The basic tastes, pure and strong. He is elementary but with power. When you have listened to him you tell nothing but the truth for a long while.”

—Mr. Thompson writes regularly on jazz for the Threepenny Review.