Brass Shout

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

The Mosiac Records boxed set  - The Complete Argo/Mercury Art Farmer/Benny Golson Jazztet Sessions [MD7-225] - brought me back in touch with one of my all-time favorite recordings - the Argo LP Meet The Jazztet [664].

The period from 1945-1965 were exciting days for Jazz when combos seemed to form and reform on a regular basis and the Jazztet was one of the best groups to come around in quite some time [at least as far as my ears were concerned].

The original Jazztet was made up of Art Farmer, trumpet, Curtis Fuller, trombone, Benny Golson, tenor saxophone, McCoy Tyner, piano, Addison Farmer, bass and Lex Humphries, drums.

What really appealed to me about the Jazztet was the writing and arranging skills of Benny Golson who has composed so many memorable tunes over the years, many of which have become Jazz standards [I Remember Clifford, Whisper Not, Along Came Betty, to name but a few].

On Meet The Jazztet Benny was at it again with intriguing original compositions including Killer Joe, Blues March, and Park Avenue Petite, the latter a lovely ballad favored by many Jazz trumpeters as a vehicle for demonstrating the richness of their tone on the instrument.

According to Lawrence Koch in The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz: “The group made six albums, most of which included compositions and arrangements by Benny Golson and one which consisted of the John Lewis. Although the arranged sections of the music were important to the group’s style, there was ample opportunity for solo improvisations, and this dichotomy resulted in balanced, interesting performances. The group disbanded in 1962 ….”

Around the same time that I was “meeting” the Jazztet, a friend, who was a trumpet player and who really favored Art Farmer’s style, loaned me a United Artist vinyl entitled Art Farmer: Brass Shout [UAL 4047]. The cover art contained this striking Hugo Bell photography with a design rendered by the Stephen Haas Studios.

What was especially delightful to me was that all of the tunes on the album were arranged, orchestrated and conducted by Benny Golson, including his intriguing original composition Minor Vamp.

I say “intriguing” because I’ve always been especially attracted to Jazz when its played in a minor key. To paraphrase Ted Gioia: “Benny Golson’s best work manages to convey both elegance and a subtle funkiness.” [The Jazz Standards, p.459] Perhaps it easier for this funkiness to manifest itself in minor keyes?

The album was subtitled seven moods in brass and Blanchard King explained the conceptual background for the recording and how the personnel of “The Art Farmer Tentet” were employed on each track in these excerpts from the original liner notes.

“Through the years, music lovers have had ample opportunity to thrill to the sombrely paced beauty of a Gabrieli brass work; to the roaring coda of a Sousa march; or to the shocking effect of massed brass in the compositions of William Shumann and Shostakovich. But, the lover of good music is rarely exposed to the many moods which dynamic and imaginative arrangements can evince from the basic jazz brass ensemble augmented with so-called miscellaneous instruments (so far as jazz is concerned) such as French horn, tuba, and baritone horn.

The seven moods of this album range from the Latin feeling of Nica's Dream to an almost Sibelian aura on Stella By Starlight, each score filled with a varying degree of shouting brass intensity. Brass Shout represents a seemingly successful attempt to bring the listener a diversified presentation of eight great jazz brass instrumentalists bulwarked by one of the most formidable rhythm sections, a presentation manifesting careful arranging, orchestration, and discipline, but preserving the basic freedom and flair of an inspired jazz performance.

Utilizing the haunting, pale tones of the French horn and the deep voice of the tuba (as a melodic rather than rhythmic device), arranger Benny Golson was able to add a new dimension of sound and a new agility to the basic trumpet-trombone voicing usual in jazz works. Julius Watkins and Don Butterfield represent the top of the mark in jazz virtuosity on French horn and tuba, respectively; Watkins playing highly articulate solos on the most difficult brass instrument, and Butterfield supplying a loosely muscled bottom sound with none of the gusty, gravelly tone of other would-be tuba stars.

Each participating artist was chosen with great care and with a definite function in mind. The solemn, intense musicianship of Art Farmer looms large in this album, in fact Golson would not undertake the project until completely assured that Art was available and willing to appear on the date.

The maturity, profound conception, and artistry increasingly associated with Farmer's work is well documented herein by a lilting, building improvisation on Nica's Dream, a moody; austerely beautiful handling of April In Paris; and tightly muted drive on Golson's classic Five Spot After Dark. Ernie Royal and Lee Morgan complete a stellar trumpet section. Royal of course can do anything on the trumpet, considered by many to be the best lead man in the business. Although chosen to act as straight-man for the section, Ernie contributes a very "down," grooving solo on Autumn Leaves; as well as marvellous lead work throughout the album. Lee Morgan was chosen for his fire. A competitor for the laurels once worn by the late Clifford Brown, Morgan is today's greatest threat to established trumpet ranks. Possessing superlative range and technique, endowed with a vivid, even prankish imagination, able to perform with the stamina of a 1st chair trumpeter, Lee needs only further development of his ballad style to insure enshrinement as one of the all time great brassmen.

The trombone section is an ideal blend of strong technical and improvisational skills. Curtis Fuller, newly crowned winner of the 1959 Down Beat Critics Poll-New Star category, plays with warm humor, big tone, and rough hewn "soul".

Constantly increasing his musical abilities, gaining stature as a composer of merit, Curtis is more than fulfilling the great promise he showed as long ago as 1955. Curtis, a hard swinger in the East Coast tradition, can be heard to fullest advantage on his new United Artists Album, Sliding Easy (Catalogue No. UAL 4041-Monaural; UAS 5041-Stereo) along with Lee Morgan.

Jimmy Cleveland was a phenomenon when I heard him in Nashville, Tennessee in 1948, where he was attending Tennessee State College. Both Diz and Hamp were extending him offers to join their bands every time they played Nashville, but Cleve stayed on to finish college. Now he is one of New York's most sought after studio musicians due to consistently high solo quality, keynoted by extremely wide range and the ability to "cut" any "chart", no matter how difficult.

Wayne Andre, a young professional, highly recommended by the 'ace musicians' contractor Chet Amsterdam, is known for his flawless performances in ensemble or as a one man section. In order to broaden and deepen the sound of the trombone section and to create the most effective blend with French horn and tuba, Golson wrote in a part for baritone horn on several selections: Minor Vamp, Moanin', Five Spot After Dark, and April in Paris. James Haughton, coming to jazz from the marching band tradition, performs robustly on that horn.

The rhythm section includes Percy Heath, the much acclaimed bassist with the Modem Jazz Quartet, and a brace of fabulously articulate drummers: Philly Joe Jones and Elvin Jones. (Elvin is heard on Autumn Leaves, Stella By Starlight, and Nica's Dream). Also, pianist Bobby Timmons plays a rollicking solo on his composition, Moanin', the album's only track with piano.

Any survey of jazz history will reveal the extraordinary importance of brassmen, particularly trumpeters and cornetists, in the evolution of the music. …

Brass Shout is a further realization of the great arranging skill of Benny Golson, who is certainly the outstanding jazz arranger of 1959.

In jazz review columns, Golson's rising importance as a source of original tenor sax improvisations is being constantly discussed. It seems fitting that he should lend his mellow, sometimes searing, comfortably traditional yet dramatically modem, but always exciting stylings to these arrangements. Herein are heard all of the Golson trade marks: the use of wind instruments instead of piano to "comp" behind soloists; thick, meaty textures exploiting the middle and lower ranges of ensembles; smoky atmospheres from which improvisations emerge and take form; special quiet effects utilizing a variety of mutes; and a pervasive feeling of concealed, coiled power and earthiness.

In the words of the arranger: ‘I tried to get a round, full sound out of the horns, instead of the usual brassy blare, employing very close voicings for warmth and togetherness; and dissonances for brilliance and freshness.’ His seven scores fit the multiple talents of an outstanding brass ensemble like fine gloves.”

In the November 26, 1959 edition of Down Beat magazine, Ralph J. Gleason gave Brass Shout a rating of **** ½ stars.

“The only reason that this LP does not draw * * * * * is that this reviewer would like to make that classification a little harder to achieve. It is certainly a better album than many that have been given ***** on these pages; it has class, order, a high degree of musicianship, and thoroughly moving solos. It is an excellent example of good work that is only a slight degree removed from being a major effort.

Golson rapidly is assuming his place as one of the most dexterous composers in jazz today. He has a remarkable gift for ordering the talents of others into composite works of his own. His settings for the appearances of Farmer and the other soloists in this excursion into brass textures are deftly handled, yet are not superficial; Golson has his roots where roots ought to be all along. As a writer of jazz tunes, his compositions, such as Minor Vamp, are almost all touched with the quality that lasts.

As a trumpet soloist, Farmer is about the most consistently effective man of his generation. He has a highly developed sense of taste that makes him, in a way, a sort of Hank Jones of the trumpet. On records he is a trifle more inhibited than in person, and the overwhelming gravity of his appearance seems to creep through somehow.

The rhythm section consistently swings beautifully on this LP, and the ballad interpretations are absolutely lovely.

- Ralph J. Gleason”

Toots Thielemans (1963) FIRST RECORDING [BLUESETTE]

"Bluesette" became a commercial commodity for Toots later in his career and good for him. There's nothing glamorous about the "starving" part of being a musician. It's wonderful to have a few schimolies in your pocket with which to buy food and pay the rent. This track was cut before all that happened. Check out the amazing lines that Toots lays down in unison with a guitar while whistling! Are you kiddin me?! I can't even hold a guitar pick without dropping it.

AAJ Jazz West Coast News Announcement

 AAJ Jazz West Coast News Announcement

Steven A. Cerra, who writes the Jazz West Coast column for AllAboutJazz.com, has put together three volumes of Readers that make the perfect companion for those who want more information about this style of Jazz.

Each volume contains over 40 chapters and 350 pages of interviews, articles and commentaries by a variety of noted Jazz authors and critics on the Jazz musicians who created Jazz on the West Coast from 1945-1965. Many of the writings are very rare.

Available as both paperbacks and eBooks exclusively through Amazon.com, the collections are perfect for today’s busy schedules as many of the features can be read in 10-15 minutes.

The books are reasonably priced and would make great holiday gifts for the Jazz fans among your family and friends.

After the initial costs of publication have been met, Steve is donating 50% of his royalties to the local school district to help individual students buy musical instruments.

Visit the author page at Amazon today to get your copies: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0CLJYX9XL 

Mellophonium Memoirs - The Stan Kenton Orchestra

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

“Stan really wasn’t concerned about swinging at all. He wanted to hear colors in sound. Lots of colors and dynamics; anything associated with an orchestra, not a band. He got what he wanted because that’s what it always sounded like.”

- Dick “Slyde” Hyde, trombonist

Howard Lucraft: “Stan asked me to write some original compositions for the mellophonium band. In 1961, I scored a half-dozen things for their Las Vegas opening. They rehearsed them, Stan loved five out of the six, and threw out only one. Golden Earrings was one of the arrangements. Another was called Alta Drive, named after the street Stan lived on in Beverly Hills. It was a feature for saxophonist Sam Donahue. With his harmonics on the horn, Sam could play higher than even the trumpets. I was very pleased when Stan introduced me from the audience at the Riviera Lounge where they opened in Las Vegas

One thing should be said the about the actual instrument, the mellophonium. A complaint from everyone involved has always been that they were never in tune. I don't think it was a flaw of the instrument itself. Stan and Johnny Richards, who wrote a majority of those arrangements, would always write for the horns very high, which I disagreed with. They'd be in the French horn register, in high, unison lines. That's where part of the problem lay. I wrote for the instrument in the middle register, whether alone or in harmony. They didn't take this into consideration. That's just my opinion, but that's why I think the mellophoniums were out of tune.” - Howard Lucraft quotation in Steven Harris, The Kenton Kronicles

In their ever-continuing effort to honor the memory of Stan Kenton and his recorded music, Bill Lichtenauer, the owner operator of Tantara Productions recently released Mellophonium Memoirs - Stan Kenton Orchestra [TCD-1133/October 2017].

The CD is comprised of 19 tracks derived from performances at five venues over a period of two years beginning in June, 1961 and continuing through to June, 1963.

As is denoted in the CD title, the focus of these cuts is on music by the Kenton band that incorporated another layer of brass instruments - the mellophonium; a continuation of Kenton’s constant quest for neophonics - new sounds.

By way of background, Stan explained in a CBS radio interview: "At the beginning of the 1960, I became very restless with the sound that the band was getting. Johnny Richards and I both agreed it was time to work over the instrumentation of the band. We felt the development of new instruments and new tonal colors was long overdue."

Stan’s first thoughts were to expand the saxophone section, deleting the alto altogether, and have Gabe Baltazar on soprano lead. Stan experimented with a section of up to ten players, but unsurprisingly this proved unsuccessful.

So Stan then gave Gene Roland carte blanche to find a new brass instrument to add to the orchestra, and Gene put together a team of four E-flat (alto) trumpets, an idea that was also nixed, because according to Stan, "It was impossible to distinguish any difference between them and the conventional B-flat trumpet section. We then tried the miraphone —  something in the order of a German cornet — but we quickly abandoned that because of the muddled sound it produced. And after experimenting for two days with flugel horns, we were ready to give it up completely."

Finally, the Conn instrument manufacturers at Elkhart, Indiana, learned that Stan was interested in locating a new brass instrument, and came up with a possible solution. Since the mid-Fifties, initially at mellophone player Don Elliott's request, they had been working on a new version of the mellophone, which had the bell facing forward, rather than the traditional backward direction.

Conn's rather radical invention featured trumpet-style valves, but with the circular tubing of the mellophone and a forward-facing French horn bell, and thus had something in common with all three instruments. Pitched in the key of E-flat, the Conn people called their hybrid the mellophonium.

In consultation with Johnny Richards, Stan convinced Conn that if he was to feature their new instrument, they had to change the tuning slide to play in the key of F, which delivered a more distinctive sound. It also rendered the instrument almost impossible to play in tune, but Kenton was insistent, and conscious of the invaluable publicity Stan's use would bring their horn, with some misgivings Conn made the necessary alterations. Other than that adaptation, stories that abound to this day that Stan "invented" the mellophonium himself are totally untrue.

As Kenton himself said, "We had them send some instruments to us, and Johnny Richards and I became terribly excited with the sound of the mellophonium. It had an identity of its own, it was something that bridged the gap between the trumpets and the trombones, and we started to look for players.”

The following insert notes by Kenton authority Michael Spake provide more detail on the unique quality of the Mellophonium Memoirs - Stan Kenton Orchestra [TCD-1133] recordings.

Michael Sparke is the author of Stan Kenton, This Is An Orchestra, a Stan Kenton biography, which is available from Tantara Productions, select bookshops and internet suppliers, and directly from its publisher, The University of North Texas Press.

© -Michael Sparke/Tantara Productions, copyright protected; all rights reserved; used with permission.

“Never have the opinions of the fans differed more from those of the musicians, than in the case of the Mellophonium Orchestra. Audiences loved the new instruments. The musicians almost to a man hated them - even those called upon to play the strange-looking contraptions with the big bells. Bob Fitzpatrick's memorable quote has become part of Kenton folklore: "They sound like a bunch of stampeding, pregnant elephants!" Even Bob Curnow would say: "I know we were happiest when our [trombone] section was seated as far away from the mellophoniums as possible."

The reason was that the mellophoniums consistently played out of tune, and the cause of that was Stan Kenton. Manufacturers Conn had produced their new instrument in the key of E-flat, but to obtain the distinctive sound and the volume he required, Stan insisted this be changed to the key of F. Conn were hesitant, but the publicity to be gained from the Kenton orchestra featuring their hybrid instrument was too great to be ignored, and they reluctantly complied. Kenton reasoned correctly that so long as the four mellophoniums were in tune with each other, audiences would not notice any faults. But the musicians were acutely aware, and voiced their displeasure at every opportunity. As Gabe Baltazar explained, "When you're playing within the band, you hear things differently from what the audience hears."

Unhappiest of all were the trumpet players. Long regarded as 'top dogs' in a jazz orchestra, they were the loudest section, the most exciting, the icing on the cake. Now they had to suffer the nightly humiliation of being effortlessly topped by the mellophoniums, as their unique sound rose above the combined ensemble to highlight each thrilling orchestral climax. Conversely, the boss was ecstatic. Stan liked BIG, and the new instruments not only added a bright, new sound to the music, they looked impressive on the stand. As far as Kenton was concerned, the meltophoniums were here to stay.

Mainstays in the section which played the Moonlight Gardens [Coney Island Park, Cincinnati, Ohio] in June 1961 were ex-French horn player Dwight Carver on lead, and "Street Scene" soloist Gene Roland. Along with composer Johnny Richards, Roland had been in on the project from the very beginning, and was renowned for his ability to play most any instrument you cared to name. "Basically, Gene played in a blues style," reflected Gabe Baltazar. "He was not a fast, technical player, but he used a lot of blue notes, and he flowed easily, not like a bebop player. He was like a Lester Young of the mellophonium."

Dances remained a vital part of the itinerary in 1961, and Stan wrote the first set of ballads himself, emphasizing the mellophonium section sound. "I loved playing Stan's charts like 'All The Things You Are'," said Ray Florian. "They were so beautiful and full of emotion, they brought tears to your eyes while you were playing them." But overall, the musicians preferred the lighter, looser dance arrangements of Lennie Niehaus, who wrote extensively for the new band. "I really loved Niehaus' writing on tunes like 'It Might As Well Be Spring'," said Carl Saunders. "It was so melodic, and Lennie blended the mellophoniums with the other sections so well, that we sounded kinda nice at times."

Johnny Richards may have been a less prolific writer than Niehaus, but John brought something special to every chart he arranged, and the score from Leonard Bernstein's "West Side Story" was one of his greatest achievements. Of the ten orchestrations, Stan's preferred choice was probably "Maria", though as here, he sometimes omitted his piano part altogether, perhaps choosing to sit back and simply revel in Johnny's mellophonium-driven orchestration.

But two of this band's finest achievements came not from the regular arrangers, but from independent writers, Marty Paich and Bill Holman. Many may agree that this is a definitive recording of "My Old Flame". The high-note shrieks of Sam Donahue's often over-the-top tenor add great excitement, in contrast to the under-stated trumpet lamentations of Marvin Stamm. The chart's symphonic structure combines with the band's fiery performance to create a work unique to the Kenton orchestra.

But if ever a chart caught Stan's attention, it was Bill Holman's "Malaguena". "One of the best arrangements ever written," opined Carl Saunders. Complete with all the passion, drama, and grandeur that Kenton most admired, the piece was featured at concerts until the end. Holman recalled that, "Stan asked me to write 'Malaguena'. He had the mellophoniums, so that added a theatrical layer, and the tune itself is kind of theatrical, so I took my cue from that, and said, 'Well, this can't be a swing chart, this is something different.' And I was newly in love, and I just poured all my emotions into it"

There was general agreement that the mellophoniums operated best in unison, rather than as a solo instrument. That is, until Ray Starling came along. Born in England in 1933, Ray had moved with his family to America when he was 16, and uniquely regarded the mellophonium as his primary instrument. Kenton appointed him lead player during band rehearsals in March 1962, and moved Dwight Carter to a different chair in the section.

"Ray Starling really felt the mellophonium was his voice," said Joel Kaye. "He was just so bold, so authoritative. Ray loved the mellophonium, and he played it like he loved it, you could tell. Ray's technique far outstripped Gene Roland's, and he had such a catalog of ideas that he could execute, any time. Ray was very conscious of the intonation, and he had the discipline and comfort level on the instrument where he could really do things. His solos were truly outstanding, and he was a real spirit."

The band was roaring at Michigan State University in August 1962, and the solos bring a fresh force into two favorite compositions. On "Blues Story" Bob Fitzpatrick tries to show that anything a mellophonium can do, a trombone can attempt as well, but it's the down-home, bluesy tenor sax of Charlie Mariano that impresses. Charlie doesn't really have a tenor player's tone, he was more at home on alto, but his solo brims over with passion and 'soul. Starling follows, his control enabling him to bring forth startling sounds that no other mellophonium player would even attempt.

Marvin Stamm is exceptional on "Waltz Of The Prophets", his playing an extension of the jerky tones of the theme, a succession of jumpy notes that nevertheless flow into a compelling stream of sound. Starling opens low-key, but soon develops into an exciting unpredictability that fully justifies Carl Saunders’ opinion that "Ray Starting was full of music. He could emphasize the lyrical side of the mellophonium, or he could solo with fire and intensity. He filled up his horn with music, and I thought he was great." Kenton agreed, telling me: "Ray Starling is a very talented writer, a great mellophonium player, and a monster pianist. Ray walks around on top all the time  -he's wild!" The special bonus track "What Is Love ?", probably recorded circa 1964 in New York, has no Kenton connection, but provides proof of Ray's piano skills, and a talent Stan neglected to mention: the ability to carry a tune vocally. Like a lot of gifted jazz players, Starling had a pleasing voice, and knew about pitch, and remaining in tune. A truly multi-talented musician!

The 1963 titles come from Brant Inn, Canada, and include songs by Stan's last full-time vocalist. The guys in the band adored Jean Turner. Intelligent, soft-spoken and charming, off-stage Jean was somewhat shy, causing the men to feel fiercely protective towards their star singer, especially as she had to endure all the slings and arrows directed towards black artists in 1960s America.

On-stage was another matter, and Jean sang with an authoritative ease and style which attracted both audiences and band-members alike. After two years with Kenton, Jean sang briefly with Harry James, but instead of pursuing a solo career, turned her back on show business in favor of a private, family life (in Denmark for a few years and now on the West Coast). We are the losers, because as John Worster said: "Jean was so special! It was just unfortunate that Nancy Wilson, also a Capitol Records artist, hit it big just the year before, because to me Jean was very similar - only BETTER!"

Brant Inn's bluesy TUXEDO JUNCTION is not the more familiar Gene Roland orchestration, but was written instead by Lennie Niehaus. Joel Kaye confirmed he has a copy of the chart with Lennie's signature at the top, adding : "It was written after the Tropicana date, but before Stan formed the mellophonium band." Most pre-1961 titles were not rescored to feature the new horns, though some, like PEANUT VENDOR, would include a mellophonium solo. Lennie is also the writer of 1961's upbeat BEGIN THE BEGUINE. "I didn't want to be the mellophonium soloist," Tony Scodwell reflected, "but there was truly no-one else. I managed to put some licks together that came out pretty nice, but I was never at ease playing the jazz chair." The Brant Inn date holds many treasures, not least Jiggs Whigham's jaunty solo on ARTISTRY IN BOSSA NOVA, a fitting conclusion to over an hour of mellophonium magic.

During the Seventies, Stan often said how much he'd like to bring the mellophoniums back, knowing full well he lacked both the finances to pay four extra salaries, and the energy to supervise their integration. Instead , we have the recorded legacy of those three magnificent years from the Sixties, when Stan accepted all the challenges thrown up by the mellophonium orchestra, and won. In the words of Dwight Carver, "It was really another of those innovational experiments that only Stan Kenton would have the balls to do."”

— Michael Sparke, London, October 2017

The following audio-only Soundcloud track features the Mellophonium Band’s exciting version of Bill Holman’s arrangement of Malaguena.

I Can't Get Started / Billie Holiday and her Orchestra featuring Teddy Wilson and Lester Young

" Lester's gambit of usurping the pianist's introductory role was something quite different in character from Louis Armstrong's incredible exhibition of virtuosity in his curtain-raiser to 'West End Blues' or Benny Goodman's occasional static solo introductions with the trios and quartets of the period.

In his four-bar introduction to the Wilson-Holiday 'I Can't Get Started', Lester shows a remarkable sense of harmonic mood, improvising on what seems today a commonplace harmonic sequence, but weaving what was for the times a brilliantly original melodic line subtly related to the line of the melody to come. Later in the same recording Lester improvises for sixteen bars, and it is difficult to believe that this is 1937, two years

before Hawkins finally wrapped up 'Body And Soul' for posterity.

In Lester's solo, passion has been replaced by deliberation, as he threads a new strange path through the intricacies of the harmonies with a dexterous evasion of the obvious sorely tempting one to the use of the most abused and overworked noun in jazz criticism - genius."

- Benny Green, Such Sweet Thunder

Air Mail Special – Terry Gibbs, Buddy DeFranco, Herb Ellis & All-Star Ja...

Part 2 - "My Friend, Buddy D." - Terry Gibbs

 © Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

This is from Terry Gibbs’ autobiography - Good Vibes: A Life in Jazz [Lanham, MD: The Scarecrow Press, 2003].

"Buddy and I were really meant for each other. They say that opposites attract and onstage, we work completely different. Offstage, we were pretty much alike, but onstage. Buddy worked more routinely than I did. He would almost make the same announcement every time, where I never knew what I was going to say. One time when he started to make the same announcement that he had made the night before on the same song, I stopped him and said "This is jazz. You can't say the same thing that you said last night. We may have the same people that we had last night and they want to hear you say something different."

We were great for each other in that Buddy took no prisoners when he played. When you follow his playing, you'd better play good. He kept me honest and I kept him loose. My philosophy has always been that when you're playing music, you've got to be serious. But in between songs, be like you are off the bandstand. Buddy has a great sense of humor and is very funny. So now, when we work together, whether it is a little club or a big festival, we have fun on the bandstand.

Buddy has a lavalier mic that he attaches to his tie so that it picks up the notes on the clarinet evenly. Sometimes if he's playing with a regular mic on a stand in front of him, and he moves to either side, some notes would get lost. That's why he uses that lavalier mic. I was going to make an announcement on a mic that was on a stand close to where Buddy was standing and when I went to talk, the mic wasn't working. So I went to Buddy's mike on his tie, which is near where his belly button would be, and made my announcement from his belly. Buddy just stood there and played straight for me.

I haven't taken my vibes on the road with me for the last twenty-five years. The promoter or club owner supplies a set of vibes for me wherever I play. I usually get to see the vibes and adjust them before I go on stage. I have a run that I make and if that sounds fairly good, then it's straight ahead. I never know what kind of instrument they're getting for me and even though they may all look alike, they're still all different. To start with, different companies make different sounding bars and some sets are taller than others. There's always something that's not to my liking, but at least I get to see the set before we play.

We were on tour in Europe and were playing at the Cork Festival in Cork. Ireland. We got there about a half-hour before we had to play, but the vibes were already on stage, so I couldn't get a chance to adjust them. When we were announced, I went on stage and being that I work very loose, I made my usual run on the vibes to see what adjustments it needed. After I make that dumb run, I usually say, "And now for my second song . . ." This way, they think that I'm trying to be funny. I usually have to adjust the bars so that they're not pressing against the damper bar, which could make them sound dead. I usually have to loosen the damper bar so I can make them sound livelier. When I made my dumb run, every note rang into the next one. You couldn't tell one note from another. There is a metal tube about a foot and a half long that connects the damper bar to the pedal. That's what I would normally adjust. When I went to adjust that, I saw that instead of the metal tube, there was a piece of thread connecting the damper bar to the pedal. I was afraid to fool with that, because if it broke, the whole vibes set was liable to collapse, right on the stage. I played the whole concert like that, with every note ringing into the next one. If anybody is familiar with my playing they know that I play a lot of notes. The weirdest thing was that we got a standing ovation and I was never so embarrassed in all my life.

I don't really play for an audience. I want them to like what I'm playing but if I don't think that I played good, then I go home sick. I have to like what I'm playing first.

Now for the weirdest part of the story. About six months later. Buddy went back to Cork and played the festival with three clarinet players. Some man came over to him and said, "Would you please deliver a message to Mr. Gibbs when you see him? Please tell him that I enjoyed his performance so much when you were here together, I went and bought those vibes that he played on." That guy had to be either a complete idiot or he was in love with me.

Sometimes when Buddy and I were booked in Europe together, we wouldn't see each other until we got to the stage where we were performing. I live in Los Angeles and he lives in Florida so we get to Europe at different times. We met on stage in Germany for the Berlin Jazz Festival. When Buddy walked towards me, he looked strange. We hugged when we saw each other, but his face looked weird. He said, "Is there anything wrong with my face? It feels like I have a bump in my jaw." What bump? It looked like somebody added another face to his face. I didn't want to panic him. because at that time, cancer was starting to get to a lot of people and that's the first thing that came to my mind. I don't know how he played the concert, but he did and sounded very good. When he got home and took all kinds of tests, he found out he was allergic to a lot of different foods, including wheat, and he had to stay away from pasta for a few years. Can you imagine telling an Italian not to eat pasta? That's like telling Buddy not to play the clarinet for a year.

My Dream Band CDs were now out and doing very well and I wanted to record with Buddy because Palo Alto Records had gone out of business. We needed CDs out so we could get some work. I talked with Dick Bock, who helped me produce the Dream Band albums and thought we'd do another live date. We got a booking in Chicago at Joe Segal's Jazz Showcase. We were there for six days. Even though Buddy and I were co-leaders, he let me run the show.

We talked about songs we were going to record and then I wrote little arrangements for them. Buddy is a good arranger but he let me do them anyway. Plus, he liked the original songs that I wrote. I didn't want to just go in and jam, so after writing the melodies out with the little syncopations, I would always write interludes between the choruses. For the first three days we were at the Jazz Showcase, we played the songs that we were going to record. It was sort of a rehearsal, so that when we recorded the next three days, we wouldn't have to have our noses in the music.

Buddy was starting to remind me more and more of Benny Goodman. He was really into the clarinet and practiced every day. The clarinet was his life. Also like Benny, he was getting a little foggy. During those first three days, he kept forgetting the interlude that I wrote on

Horace Silver's song, "Sister Sadie." So I said to him, "After you finish playing your choruses, you have to play the interlude with me, because if I come in alone, it will sound like a mistake. I have an idea. I almost know when you're through with your choruses, so I'll lean over my vibes and to get your attention, I'll wave my right hand, and that will give you the cue for the interlude." He said, "Great. Wave your hand and that will remind me to come in with the interlude."

The next day, we started to record. We were playing "Sister Sadie" and when I figured that Buddy was about to finish playing, I leaned over my vibes and waved my right hand to cue him for the interlude. He saw me waving, stopped playing, got a bewildered look on his face, and said, "What do you want?" That broke up the band. He eventually got it all straightened out and the date came out great.

The band was getting tighter every night. We just finished playing "Fifty-Second Street Theme," the song that Bird and Diz closed their sets with, and we played it real fast. Neil Tesser, who wrote for one of the Chicago papers, was in the club to review us. When I walked by him to go to the dressing room, he stopped me and said, "When Buddy was playing his choruses on 'Fifty-Second Street Theme.' he played so good that when you had to follow him, I felt sorry for you. Then when you got into it, I felt sorry for John Campbell, who had to follow YOU."

I also took care of the business for Buddy and me. for Buddy was, without a doubt, the worst businessman I ever met. The reason I say this is because of a story he told me. He was at home when he got a call from a club owner in Montreal asking him if he was available to play his club on a certain date. Buddy, who can't remember where he is half the time, looked at his schedule and told the club owner that he was available. Then the club owner casually said to Buddy, "I heard that you played in Toronto last week. How did it go?" Buddy, who is the nicest and most honest man I ever met, said, "I bombed. Nobody came into the club to see me." The club owner immediately hung up on him. Never said another word. When Buddy told me this, I said, "Why did you tell him you bombed?" He said, "I DID bomb." I asked, "Didn't the audience like you?" He said, "Yes, they gave me a standing ovation." I said, "Why didn't you tell him that they loved you and gave you a standing ovation instead of telling him that you bombed?" That's Buddy being a little too honest for his own good. If anybody calls him and asks him if he and I are available, he always says, "Call Terry."

A few years later, we played Ronnie Scott's again. On our day off we had to fly to Edinburgh, Scotland, to do a TV show that Ronnie had arranged for us. Our wives were with us at the time. After the TV show, the producers took us to dinner at the Grand Hotel, one of the fanciest places in Edinburgh. A lot of people who saw the show were there and they applauded us when we walked in. I think we had four different waiters serving us. We all ordered food and some wine.

For some reason I always thought it was phony when they brought you a bottle of wine, put some in a glass for you to taste, and then you would give them your opinion. Most people don't know a good wine from a bad wine. I always wanted to do this stupid tiling but never had the nerve to do it. The waiter brought the wine to our table, poured a little in a glass, and handed it to me.

The only wines that I know the taste of are Manischewitz and Rokeach. two kosher wines that you drink on Passover. They're both so sweet that they can make you sick.

I took the glass of wine, shook it around a little (that's because I've seen people who think they're connoisseurs do it), took a sip. and for no reason whatsoever, went "Ecchh." and spit it out like it tasted terrible. Needless to say that even though Buddy and his wife broke up. Rebekah didn't talk to me the rest of the night.

We were called to do a tribute to Benny Goodman in Arvada, Colorado, and for that show, we had Louie Bellson on drums, Tal Farlow on guitar, plus a pianist and bass player from Denver, Colorado. Buddy and I always tried to stay away from doing tributes to Benny because we were starting to be compared to Benny and Lionel and wanted our own identity.

At first we were very negative about the idea, but the money was good and they told us there would be two parts to the show. Besides the Benny Goodman tribute, the second half would be a tribute to Duke Ellington because Louie Bellson played with Duke. We figured that was okay because we played a lot of Ellington songs and there was no other connection there.

It turned out to be so successful that now we were getting calls to do another tribute to Benny. Once again the money was good. All we had to do was play songs that Benny made famous and play bebop choruses on them. We were already playing "Air Mail Special," which was a big hit for Benny. An agent by the name of Bob Davis booked us to do a Benny Goodman tribute at a club in Berkeley, California, called Kimball's. He wanted to make it an all-star band and he added Herb Ellis on guitar. Butch Miles on drums. Milt Hinton on bass, and Larry Novak on piano. He also put together a tour to Japan to go with that job. I got Ralph Kaffel, the president of Fantasy Records, to let me produce a live album while we were at Kimball's. I picked all the songs and did the same routine that we did on our first album. "Chicago Fire." We played for three nights, worked out little head arrangements, and then recorded the next three nights. The people went nuts, because the Benny Goodman sound is a very exciting thing. We even used a lot of the routines that Benny did by jamming for two or three choruses at the end of each song to give it added excitement.

Butch Miles was the perfect drummer for that kind of a groove. Not only did we break up the audience, but we also packed the club every night. I think they set a record for the amount of dinners they served.

We left for Japan the day after we closed at Kimball's. I was going to mix and master the record when I got back. I was sort of the leader of the group and the guys in the band looked to me for leadership. When we recorded, being that I produced the album, I called all the shots. I tried to make each night a different concert so if Herbie played first on "Don't Be That Way" on Thursday, after we played the melody on that same song on Friday, I may have called on Buddy to play first. I called a lot of audibles on stage while we were playing. When you do that, it makes it hard to edit. You can't pick a chorus from a take on Friday and put it into a Saturday performance. To start with, the sound would be different in the club and also, the tempo would be different.

All I could do besides work with the engineer in mixing the album was to pick the best takes. As a producer, you can't pick the take that you played best on, even though there is a tendency to want to do that. You can't think as a performer; you have to put your producer's hat on. So I picked the takes that had the best group feel. After we made that long trip and arrived in Japan, everybody went to sleep except me.

The contract the Tom Cassidy Agency made with the Japanese promoter said that one quarter of the money would be sent to him a few months before the signing of the contract. When I got there, I had to pick up 20,000 dollars. I was really wiped out but I sat down with the promoter who gave me 20,000 dollars in American one-hundred-dollar bills. Even though they were packed in 1.000 dollar wrappers, I had to count it out in front of the man I was dealing with. That wasn't the hardest part of what I had to do. I didn't want to walk around with 20,000 dollars in cash, so I made packages and gave each musician part of their salary for the ten-day tour. Buddy, Herbie, and I made the same amount of money, so I gave most of the money to the three sidemen. I was so tired after counting out everybody's money. I found that I was short a hundred dollars in one of the packages. Luckily, when I started to count each package again, I found out that I had miscounted the first one or I never would have gone to sleep.

I had been in Japan before with Steve Allen but never with a jazz group. The audience kind of scared me at the first concert. After we played the first chorus of "Seven Come Eleven," I came in and played the first bunch of choruses. When I finished and Buddy came in, nobody applauded for me. People usually applaud for the soloists after they play their solos. I thought they didn't like how I played and felt like I just bombed. They didn't applaud for Buddy, Herb, or anybody in the band until the song was over. Then they really applauded. I found out that the Japanese people are so humble and polite that they think they are insulting you by making any noise while the band is playing. When they didn't applaud for Buddy after he finished, I selfishly felt good.

At the end of the concert, the audience demanded two encores. I didn't realize until I checked the contract the next day that it said, "two fifty-minute sets with a twenty-minute intermission and two encores on the end." I think that the Japanese people were used to getting two encores at the end of every show.

At one of the concerts, after our two encores, I was already downstairs in the dressing room and had my tuxedo jacket and shirt off, both of them very wet with sweat. The Japanese people bang their feet on the ground when they want you to play more and they were banging so hard, you could hear it downstairs in the dressing room. The promoter ran down and asked us to please get back on the stage and play another song. I had to put my funky wet shirt and tux jacket on again and we did another encore.

Since the concert was a tribute to Benny Goodman, Buddy, Herb, and I took turns at the mic talking about Benny. I told more stories about him being a foggy idiot than about his great clarinet playing so it seemed like I was putting him down. But I always closed by saying that it was the thrill of my life playing with him.

When Herb spoke, he really put Benny down because Charlie Christian was Herb's idol and he thought that Benny stole all of Charlie's songs by putting his name down on the records as co-writer. Herb really didn't like Benny Goodman. Sometimes he would put Benny down for five minutes but he always ended by saying, "But Benny was one swell guy."

When Buddy spoke, the first thing he said was, "Is this really a tribute to Benny Goodman?" Then he would defend Benny by telling the audience that in the days of the big bands, when the bandleader commissioned you to write an original song for the band, it was protocol for the bandleader to put his name on the song as co-writer. But Herb never bought into that.

Amongst some of Buddy's mishigasses, he liked to buy luggage. I'm not exaggerating when I say that at one time, he had about thirty different pieces of luggage. Another mishigas is that he collected fake copies of famous watches. He once had about five different fake Rolexes that he bought for twenty-five dollars each. A strange thing happened to Buddy after one of the concerts. We played a private party and were in the band room. This Japanese guy was talking to Buddy and couldn't speak English too well. I was standing with Buddy while this guy was telling him, in very broken English, that he liked playing clarinet and that Buddy was his favorite clarinet player. He was so in awe of Buddy and was really nervous just being around him.

All of a sudden he said, "You're so good, I've got to give you something." took his watch off his hand, and gave it to Buddy. Buddy looked embarrassed and tried to give it back to him, but the guy kept insisting that it was a gift from him to Buddy. As he handed it to him. Buddy didn't even look at it. I took it out of Buddy's hand and walked over to Larry Novak and showed it to him. Neither of us could believe what kind of watch it was. Buddy also had a bunch of fake Patek Philippe watches, but this one looked like a real one. When Buddy finished talking with that nice man, I showed Buddy the watch and he actually turned purple. It WAS a real one. The nice gentleman came to another concert the next night and brought the case for that watch to Buddy. We later found out that he was a multi-millionaire ship builder. When we got back to the States, Buddy had the watch appraised and was told that it was worth 10,000 dollars. Buddy hardly ever wears it. He's afraid he'll lose it so he wears the fake one most of the time. We had a very successful engagement in Japan and when we got back to the United States, we all went our separate ways. Japan was a ball.

I went back to Berkeley to mix the tapes from the date. The songs we mixed all seemed to be winners so we did the same thing that we did on the first album that Buddy and I did for Palo Alto. Ralph Kaffel and I couldn't figure out which were the best songs, so Ralph suggested that we put out two CDs and release them six months apart. Then he would pay everybody for two record dates.

The two CDs were called "Memories of You" and "The Kings of Swing." Buddy and I liked the name "The Kings of Swing" so every time we did a tribute to Benny Goodman, that's what we called ourselves. That's the second time that Ralph Kaffel put a name on one of my bands. He also came up with the name "The Dream Band."

Buddy and I continue to try and play together any time we are called. Unfortunately, we don't have an agent, so we haven't been playing together as often as we would like to. I think that besides my Dream Band, the most exciting and fun thing for me is playing with Buddy. We have been playing on and off as co-leaders for better than twenty years and have never come close to having an argument. I don't care who you are, when you get two people together, sometimes one person's ego can get in the way, or one of the wives can say something to her husband that can cause an argument. Our wives get along great and really like each other.

Buddy and I have become like brothers. I've been very fortunate to have worked with two of the greatest clarinet players that ever lived. In the thirties and forties, Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw were way ahead of all the other clarinet players. Everyone that played the clarinet either copied Benny or Artie. Then Buddy came along in the fifties and was the inspiration for practically every clarinet player since then, including Eddie Daniels, who came out of the Buddy DeFranco school, and who has now found his own voice. I was lucky to have played with both Benny and Buddy. They both were great instrumentalists and boy, could they swing.”

Phil Woods and His European Rhythm Machine ‎– Alive and Well in Paris (1968)

[PW] "So, we went to Paris and drove around the Arch of Triumph with Jean Louis and Simone Ginibre. Simone's maiden name was Simone Chevalier and she used to sing with Bud Powell at the Blue Note in Paris. For seven years, she sang with Bud Powell and she did the same set for seven years. She'd have to write it out every night for Bud because he couldn't remember what she was going to sing. [Both laugh] She was great. When they had kids, she missed the business so she started booking. Jean Louis came and got me and Chan and we went to Paris. He put a band together for me: Daniel Humaire on drums, Henri Texier on bass and George Gruntz on piano. It became the European Rhythm Machine.

[MN]: Later, George Gruntz was replaced by Gordon Beck.

[PW]:... and Ron Mathewson replaced Tex. But we always had Daniel on drums. Man, you know, from playing jingles and all that stuff, all of a sudden I'm playing every major festival in Europe because of Jean Louis' influence and Simone booking us. Right off the bat we started recording for Pathe, the French label. We did a thing called Alive and Well. It was received very well and, man, I was off and running; five years of headlining and stuff. I've always been very grateful to the European culture that remembered me from '59 and knew my work. They keep track, and it isn't like you're passe because you're over 30, you know what I mean? They don't rip a building down because it's old; they don't make a parking lot out of it.

Europeans are maybe not hipper than Americans but they're certainly more aware of the culture. I don't think the average Frenchman wants his daughter to marry a tenor man or an alto player or a trumpet player. But they realize the importance of these people within the culture; that the culture needs an alto player and a tenor player and a trumpet player, you know? It's not weird, because jazz is loved in Europe as an original American art form. To this day, I make more money in Europe than I do in America. At this point in 2010, there are not a lot of gigs or tours in America. I still do well because I am who I am and I have a name so I get a gig. It's not like it used to be but Europe is still pretty good. They still pay money and give you respect; they give you a room, a suite, and fly you first class and feed you well."

Marty Nau, Interview with Phil Woods, 2010, Smithsonian Oral History Project