JazzWax

Sassy at the London House

My favorite Sarah Vaughan album is a live date recorded in 1958. It's After Hours at the London House, and Sassy's voice is at its absolute peak. She's backed by sidemen from Count Basie's band, who deliver sterling laid-back performances. And the club's energetic ambiance only enhances the recording's you-are-there intensity.

Most importantly, After Hours includes what I regard as the definitive version of Detour Ahead and an impossibly great Speak Low. There's also a lovely and lyrical Thanks for the Memory, complete with touching mistakes and strong accompanying solos. After Hours has it all and is an audio time capsule capturing what it must have been like to see this artform at one of its most defining moments.

The album was recorded at Chicago's London House on March 7, 1958. Sarah climbed onto the stage at 2:30 am, after having already performed three sets that night across town at Mister Kelly's. (Back in August 1957, she had recorded a live album at Mister Kelly's with just a trio, and in January 1958 she had recorded part of the album called No Count Sarah with members of the Count Basie Orchestra, completing the session 10 months later in December.)

In March 1958, the invitation-only audience at the London House was made up of entertainers and photographers from Life magazine and Mercury Records. According to the album's linter notes, the session was completely improvised—Sarah had just a handful of sheet music and lyric sheets—making this date even more fabulous.

In addition to Sarah's working trio of Ronnell Bright on piano, Richard Davis on bass and Roy Haynes on drums, a clutch of Basie band members were crammed onto the club's tiny stage. The sidemen that night included Thad Jones, Henry Coker, Frank Wess and Wendell Culley. According to Good Morning Blues: The Autobiography of Count Basie, band members appear to have been available for the date as Basie tended to family business following the death of his father.

For me, the instrumental stars on this date were Ronnell Bright and Roy Haynes. Bright demonstrates impeccable taste as an accompanist, putting down lush chord after lush chord on ballads while keeping a rock-solid beat on up-tempo numbers. Roy Haynes is constantly doing something interesting on drums, rhythmically egging Sarah on to take greater and greater chances—and she does, executing perfectly.

From Sassy: The Life of Sarah Vaughan (1993) by Leslie Gourse:

"Jimmy Jones decided to leave Sassy's group and concentrate on writing and arranging; at the end of 1957, he was replaced by pianist Ronnell Bright. Bright had been playing with the Johnny Pate trio at the Steamliner in Chicago in 1956 when he first me Sassy. It wasn't until the next year that she really paid attention to Ronnell. He had gone to New York, where John Hammond had heard him and arranged for him to play at the Embers, a fashionable Upper East Side supper club. Willard Alexander took over Ronnell's bookings and sent him to Storyville in Boston, where he alternated sets with Sassy for two weeks. Four months later, George [Treadwell, Sarah's manager and husband], who had never met Ronnell Bright, called, at Sassy's request, to ask him to replace Jimmy Jones.

One of Ronnell's first recordings with her was done live at the London House in Chicago, at a time when albums were rarely done live. Sassy began singing Thanks for the Memory; when she came to the word Parthenon, she started toying with it. 'Parthenon? Parthenon" Parthenon...I don't get this word here...Parthenon...one more time, and we can go home...PartheNON....'

Speak Low was an excellent example of how slowly Sassy could sing and require her group to play. Her accompanists often mentioned they felt as if eons were passing between each note, but she was singing ballads at exactly the right tempo to create the atmospheric sound she needed to express the full feeling of the lyrics. She might use her high, pure soprano or her mature, resonant contralto; her varied sounds were often the messages of the songs."

What Gourse overlooks is that when Sarah blows her lyrics on Thanks for the Memory and comes to a screeching halt—twice—Bright re-starts the song differently each time, showing off just how beautifully he could play as an accompanist.

Yet Detour Ahead remains the album's stunner. It's flawless, from Ronnell Bright's rich intro to Haynes final drum roll. Sarah crawls inside this song and delivers its knowing and innocent lyrics.

Bill Evans' version from Waltz for Debby is certainly another heart-stopper. But to fully appreciate this song, you really have to hear Sarah kittenishly deliver the lyrics: "Turn back while there's time, can't you see the danger sign: Soft shoulders...surround you." Wow.

Wax tracks: Sarah Vaughan: After Hours at the London House is available at iTunes, but I recommend owning the CD. It's an album that has to be heard from start to finish, just as it was played out in the wee hours of March 7, 1958. You can buy it, remastered, here for $12.

If you want to hear Sarah in January and December 1958 backed by the Basie band, I strongly recommend downloading Moonlight in Vermont, Darn that Dream and Stardust at iTunes. All are from the EmArcy album No Count Sarah, which isn't available at iTunes. But you can cherry-pick these selections out by simply typing in "Sarah Vaughan" and locating the songs alphabetically.

All three songs are wonderful executions and will leave you tingly. The rest of No Count Sarah is pretty thin, so you won't miss anything by not grabbing the rest of it.

Wax videoclip: To hear Sarah Vaughan in all of her 1958 magnificence, go here for Somewhere Over the Rainbow. This was her year—before she was shoved into recording tons of misconceived junk in a blind, frantic bid for commercial fame.

Just listen to what she does with Over the Rainbow's melody. Watch how she uses her head to deliver the mood, and notice her arms moving uncontrollably in sync with the time— remember, she was the piano player in Earl Hines' and Billy Eckstine's great bands of 1943-1944. And listen to Ronnell Bright's dense accompanying chords.

In 1958, Sassy couldn't be beat.

STARTING TOMORROW: Part one of my three-part interview with legendary jazz vibraphonist Teddy Charles!

From burlesque to Juilliard...from the East Coast to the West Coast...Teddy Charles shares stories from the 1950s—and the fight between Mingus and Elvin Jones over a copyist mistake that nearly halted a Miles Davis recording session.

Grant Stewart: Ditmas Session

Yesterday afternoon I had the pleasure of attending a recording session led by tenor saxophonist Grant Stewart. Marc Edelman, the founder of Sharp Nine Records and the label's producer, was kind enough to invite me out to the Systems Two recording studios on Ditmas Ave. in Brooklyn, N.Y.

Grant recorded eight tunes with Tardo Hammer on piano, Peter Washington on bass and Joe Farnsworth on drums—all for a new CD that will be released by Sharp Nine in February.

Hearing Grant Stewart in a studio setting was breathtaking. He has this massively confident lower-register timbre that cuts right to your heart. On up-tempo songs, Grant captures the deep knowing flavor of Sonny Rollins while on ballads Grant's intensity and patience recalls the introspection and soul of Dexter Gordon.

In both cases, references to these tenor giants are merely hints, for Grant has a deep-felt tone and technique that are all his own. What I enjoy most about Grant's playing is his ability to bravely run down to the very bottom of the instrument, hang around down there and never back off of an idea. When Grants does this, you  get the full flavor of his intellectual honesty and intensity and the instrument's glorious brass sound.

Just after I arrived at the studio yesterday, I watched from the booth with Marc Edelman and engineers Joe Marciano and Max Ross as Grant counted down take #1 of You're My Thrill. Grant took the languid torch song at just the right pace—super slow.

Most artists play this song too fast, even when executing it as a ballad. Grant's approach was akin to versions recorded by Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee—both of whom sang the song at an even slower pace than Billie Holiday's famous version for Decca in October 1949. Despite a perfect rendition, Grant called for another take and turned in an even more amazing job on it.

Next up was a Grant original, yet to be named. It was an uptempo, zig-zagging tune based on Sweet Georgia Brown's changes with a Miles Davis Dig feel and Giant Steps changes mixed in. This one took three takes until Grant was happy. On the playback, the richness of Grant's horn and the complexity of the melody made the song addictive. I found myself wanting to hear it again and again.

The third track was Modinha, Antonio Carlos Jobim's heart-breaking love song that up until now was probably best executed by singer-pianist Elaine Elias on Sings Jobim. Grant's interpretation of this Brazilian masterpiece was humid and brooding, teasing out this mysterious melody to draw you in.

Hunched over the keyboards in a khaki T-shirt and headphones, Tardo Hammer took a wonderful solo that demonstrated his seasoned approach to chord formations. Joe Farnsworth's brushwork was ingenious—shimmering the cymbals with gentle strokes and just a hint of tension. And Peter Washington's bass held the ensemble together with its warm heartbeat.

The fourth track I heard before leaving to return to Manhattan (so you could read this blog today) was Johnny Richards' Young at Heart. In Grant's hands, the song had quite a few jack-in-the-box surprises. Marc Edelman suggested the song to Grant after hearing it recently at the end of the movie The Front.

Grant and Tardo start the standard as a duet—taken at a rubato tempo. But just when you think Young at Heart is going to be a ruminating ballad, Grant ingeniously kicks it up considerably, with Tardo, Joe and Peter joining in. Grant proceeds to give the tune a Rollins No Business Like Show Business-like workout, with ideas coming wave after wave. Grant and the group aced the song on the first take.

After spending some sit-down time in the booth with Grant, Tardo and Joe (I just had a minute with Peter), I realized that these guys are a perfect fit. On the personality side, Grant is easy going, focused and completely committed to the music and his horn (we spent some time analyzing Coleman Hawkins' On Broadway). Tardo also is intense, has a sharp wit and knows a ton of music.

Joe is all energy. When he isn't behind the drum kit in the studio, he's constantly working out beats with his hands or sticks. And he can play it all. And Peter, a huge admirer of Oscar Pettiford, is all class. 

Grant and his group play every Tuesday at Smalls in New York, which is fast becoming the city's hottest place to see jazz. As Grant said with a big smile as I was getting ready to leave the studio yesterday, "Unlike here, you only get to hear the songs once there."

Wax tracks: Grant Stewart's latest CD is In the Still of the Night and features all of the guys I saw today. The CD can be found here (click on the "ordering" link), and Grant's site is here.

Tardo Hammer's latest CD is Look, Stop and Listen, a tribute to Tadd Dameron. It can be found here (again, click on "ordering"), and Tardo's site is here.

Joe Farnsworth is one of the busiest session drummers in the business and appears on more than 70 CDs. His most recent recording is Drumspeak on the Japanese Commodore label. Joe's site is here.

Peter Washington also has appeared on dozens of top-shelf jazz CDs. His most recent one is The Bill Charlap Trio: Live at the Village Vanguard. It can be found here.

Wax video clip: Go here to see a clip of Grant Stewart playing You Go to My Head at Smalls in September 2006.

Jackie Paris: Skylark

Back in the early 1980s—before jazz CDs, remastered reissues and the Internet—I used to trudge down to Lincoln Center's Library of the Performing Arts in New York at least once a month just to hear one song from one album in the library's LP archive.

That song was Skylark, and it was from a rare Jackie Paris LP of the same name from 1953 on the Brunswick label.

The album featured vocals by Paris in a range of settings. The first song, Skylark, was the killer though, and it was actually was a lush remake of the same song Paris had recorded in 1947 and released in 1948 to huge acclaim.

In the late 1940s, Paris' cool, modern singing style earned him the recognition and admiration of many jazz artists and vocalists, including Charlie Parker and Sarah Vaughan. He appeared in clubs on 52d Street, and his hip, wise sense of space did for jazz vocals what Birth of the Cool would do in 1949 for jazz instrumentalists. Before Chet Baker, before Mark Murphy, before Bob Dorough, before Frank D'Rone, there was Jackie Paris.

The 1953 remake of Skylark took Paris' vocal style to another level, providing him with a richer backdrop for his hugely optimistic approach. No matter how many times I have listened to that track, it still gives me goose bumps. In the early 1980s, I couldn't imagine there was a better version of the Hoagy Carmichael-Johnny Mercer tune. After all these years, I have come to the conclusion that there isn't. Plenty of other artists have recorded Skylark, of course, but none have aced it like Paris on that Brunswick LP.

More on Paris in a moment. First, a little background history on Skylark, the song.

In 1939, Hoagy Carmichael had a big idea. He was in the offices of a Broadway producer and friend pushing his idea for a play about the life of cornetist Bix Beiderbecke. Called Young Man With a Horn, the dramatic play as he envisioned it would feature an actor on stage playing Bix while a musician offstage would provide the cornet playing. Hoagy had even written a song for the play called Bix Lix.

The concept for the play inched forward, with Burgess Meredith cast in the lead part. But for reasons that remain a mystery, the show never moved into production. Young Man With a Horn, of course, eventually was made into a film in 1950, starring Kirk Douglas, Doris Day and Hoagy.

But back in late 1939, when Hoagy's theatrical concept fizzled, he turned Bix Lix over to Johnny Mercer for lyrics. Mercer struggled with the words for some time—"a matter of weeks, months or years, depending on the account," according to Richard Sudhalter in Stardust Melody: The Life and Music of Hoagy Carmichael (2003).

When Mercer was finished writing the lyrics in 1942, the result was Skylark. What makes Skylark so special—besides Hoagy's beautiful chorus—is its soaring bridge, which softly changes key and then resolves naturally back to the song's home key. The song grabs your heart in two different places using two different approaches. 

While Mercer's lyrics are pastoral and nostalgic, he likely had helping hand from Hoagy, notes Sudhalter in his Carmichael biography:

"A penciled worksheet in the composer's hand, found among his papers in Bloomington, [Indiana], contains what appears to be a preliminary draft for the [song's] text... It takes no leap of imagination to picture Carmichael giving Mercer the melody and, at sometime midway through the writing process, the lyricist contacts him, perhaps by phone, to read off what he's done so far; Hoagy copies it down, telling Mercer, yes, he likes it, perhaps offers a suggestion or two, and exhorts him to keep going in that vein.

'Johnny would often check with his collaborators on a lyric on which he was working,' said lyricist and Mercer biographer Gene Lees, a close friend. 'He seemed to be plagued with doubt. In some instances he wrote two or even three versions of a lyric and submitted them to a composer. That, and Johnny's fondness for what I'd call 'bird songs' and bird imagery, convinces me that he called Hoagy during the writing process, just to check with him and be sure they were on the same wavelength.'

Writes Gene Lees in Portrait of Johnny: The Life of John Herndon Mercer (2006):

"John [Mercer] could worry a tune, revising it endlessly, as I suspect was the case with Skylark. Andre Previn remembered: 'One weekend when we got together, he handed me this beautiful lyric to one of my tunes. The next weekend, he'd rewritten it. And the next weekend, he'd rewritten it again. I said, 'Johnny, why are you rewriting these? They're perfectly beautiful.' And Johnny said, 'Hell, I'm still rewriting Goody Goody.' "

Jackie Paris turned those lyrics into a masterpiece—twice. The recording of August 1953 included George Barnes on guitar and Billy Taylor on piano, as well as 10 strings arranged and conducted by Neal Hefti.

The recording opens with a series of dramatic declining chords by the string section, which sets up Paris' ascending opener. A beautiful contrast. The natural joy and hipness Paris brings to the tune that follows mixes early 1950s innocence with controlled intonation, and the result remains unmatched.

The only other version of Skylark that comes close for me is Carmen McRae's recording on Birds of a Feather for the Decca label. But this is one of those rare instances where Carmen finishes at No. 2.

As for Paris, he had a troubled career after his rapid rise. In the late 1940s, the signer was admired by most jazz musicians and poised for stardom. But just as he was gaining visibility, MGM canceled his contract. The reasons, according to a recently released documentary on his life called Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris (2006), are still being debated. Some believe problems arose over his ego while others say his troubles started when he rejected a mob offer to manage his career.

Paris recorded sporadically in the 1950s for assorted labels and by 1962, after a recording with Hank Jones, George Duvivier and Roy Haynes, Paris disappeared, resurfacing only rarely. Paris died in 2004, before the completion of the documentary. To see the Jackie Paris web site and read more about him, go here.

Back in August 1953, Paris aced Skylark—and in my opinion the recording remains the definitive version of the song.

Wax tracks: When Jackie Paris' album Skylark was reissued in the late 1990s on a remastered CD in Japan (with a glossy mini LP cover), I snapped it up.

Fortunately you don't have to pay a fortune for the CD. In fact, you don't even have to buy the album. I notice that Skylark, the album, is available on iTunes. Which means Skylark, the song, can be yours for 99 cents.

If you want Carmen McRae's version of Skylark, you'll also find Birds of a Feather at iTunes.

Wax clip: Jackie Paris is one of the great enigmas of jazz vocalese. While the 2006 documentary on Paris' life—Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris—isn't available yet on DVD, you can see the compelling trailer here.

Wax Bits

Monk and mixed media: I spent yesterday morning at Nelson Diaz's New York art studio in SoHo. We listened to jazz LPs and viewed four of his most recently completed paintings. They are stunning—as are all of his mixed media works on canvas.

Nelson is an intense guy. He reads French philosophy, plays the drums and conga at a professional level, loves Ferraris and Ducati motorcycles, and often paints through the night (at times with his hands, to capture what he calls "the human energy" missing from most art today) while listening to LPs by Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis, Art Blakey, Steve Gadd, Return to Forever, and other jazz artists.

So earlier in the week, when I came across a copy of the double LP Thelonious Monk: At the Five Spot, I picked it up for our listening session. This album was released on the Milestone label in 1977. It combined selections from two individual Monk albums for Riverside Records—Thelonious in Action and Misterioso. The tracks were recorded live in July and August of 1958 and remain my favorites of Monk's.

Monk's playing is to my ear at its peak on the Five Spot dates. Johnny Griffin on tenor is sensational, as is Roy Haynes on drums and Ahmed Abdul-Malik on bass. The perfect soundtrack for viewing strong art on a rainy fall morning.

Nelson's work is mostly influenced by Francis Bacon. Nelson spent time with Bacon in Europe back in the 1980s and fully gets what Bacon was about. Bacon's work is highly provocative, as is Nelson's, so Rhythm-A-Ning, Epistrophy and all the others were ideal for studying Nelson's series, The Isolated Christ. They are four different interpretations of Christ as depicted in Leonardo's Last Supper.

All are mixed media on canvas, and each piece is large—79" by 59." Leonardo's Christ is captured in vivid orange and white on a jet black background with a bright green mathematical grid positioned behind him. Listening to Monk play and Johnny Griffin blow while studying these four pieces—Troubled Spirit, Betrayal, Solitude, and Being and Nothingness—was a very spiritual experience to say the least. Nelson talked about adding green lasers and composing a primitive rhythmic soundtrack to accompany the pieces when exhibited. Works for me!

PS: I just noticed that Monk's At the Five Spot (the Milestone issue) has just been remastered and released on CD. If you don't already own the two Riverside CDs, go here and grab At the Five Spot.

And go here to dig Nelson's works. The series we viewed yesterday has not yet been posted, but it will be soon.

Northern exposure: I've been listening all week to an absolutely wonderful CD by Reno De Stefano—a jazz guitarist, professor of jazz studies at the University of Montreal, and a Wes Montgomery scholar. Talk about someone who walks the talk.

The album features Reno on guitar and Michel Donato on upright bass. That's it—just the two of them. There are 10 excellent originals by Reno and four standards, including Just Friends, Summertime, The Days of Wine and Roses and a tremendous version of All the Things You Are.

Reno's Incident Mineur, La Vie Change and Triplet's Lullaby are particularly special—but all of his original works have a delicate, poetic sound that make great use of full chords in the spirit of Wes and Joe Pass. Michel's contrabass playing is rich and round, so it's a smart muscular contrast to Reno's running lines and chord formations.

Go here to view Reno's site and go here to sample tracks from the CD and buy it. Reno's ideas are constantly moving, and the duo's sound is both contemplative and adventuresome.

Blog boom box: Be sure to check out the jazz blog posts being put up by Michael McCaw, who not only knows his stuff but also is a technological wizard.

In addition to his insightful essays on cutting edge jazz albums (last week he featured an essay on a new album called Ebioto, featuring saxophonist Odean Pope), Michael also posts a widget that lets you listen to the album's tracks.

So while you're reading about artists you may not be aware of, you actually can listen to the albums he's writing about. Go here to read Michael's blog and listen to artists who may be new to you.

Billie's Dream

One of my absolute favorite Billie Holiday tracks for Verve Records is Darn That Dream. The musicians assembled for that January 7, 1957 recording date were top shelf—and the song's pulse-like pace was perfect for Billie, who by then was audibly entering the autumn of her life.

Billie recorded Darn That Dream toward the end of a five-day recording session—her last for Verve. The early 1957 session began on January 3d and ended on January 9th, resulting in 14 songs—enough material for two albums: Body and Soul and Songs for Distingue Lovers.

Between 1952 and 1957, Billie recorded more than 100 songs for the Clef/Norgran/Verve labels—about a third of her total output. These songs eventually appeared on four 10-inch albums and 17 12-inch albums. To be honest, many of the songs recorded during this period were all wrong for Billie—in most cases lyrics that were fine in the hands of pop singers sounded silly delivered by an artist with her depth and passion.

The song selection for her January 1957 session was particularly off. Tunes like Day In, Day Out, A Foggy Day and Embraceable You may have been home runs for Frank Sinatra, but Billie's treatment was more funeral dirge than swinging lovers. Billie just wasn't a ring-a-ding-ding kind of gal, which should have been obvious to producer Norman Granz.

As a result, much of the work produced during the January 1957 session feels lethargic and thickly sentimental. But instead of blaming the song choices, many critics have held Billie's frail and worn voice accountable. Which is unfair.

Billie's voice may have been a tad tired, but with smarter material that suited her at the time, her voice would have sounded sharp rather than confused. To quote Billie herself from this period: "Anything I sing, it's part of my life." I hear that.

Many of Billie's Verve dates were recorded in Los Angeles—not because producer Norman Granz insisted but because Billie herself was constantly on the West Coast being slapped around by abusive husbands, seducing love interests or cleaning up legal troubles. In addition, after her drug arrest and prison term in the late 1940s, her New York cabaret card was revoked, preventing her from working in New York City clubs and keeping her on the move.

Like many of the other Verve dates, Billie's January 1957 session was recorded in Capitol's Los Angeles recording studios where Sinatra and Nat King Cole were waxing their pop LPs. To give the Holiday session a distinct Capitol sound, Granz brought in Harry "Sweets" Edison, whose wandering muted trumpet solos had already become a signature sound on Sinatra's Songs for Swinging Lovers album and Cole's 1956 LPs.

But Billie didn't take well to the Sinatra/Cole formula. Songs with cute, throwaway lyrics just weren't her bag—at fast or slow tempos.

One strong exception during this session, however, is Darn That Dream (Moonlight in Vermont is another). Both songs remain fascinating audio documents.

Billie had never recorded Darn That Dream before this date, and she's accompanied by an absolutely perfect group of musicians: In addition to "Sweets" Edison, Billie is joined by Ben Webster on tenor sax, Jimmy Rowles on piano, Barney Kessel on guitar, Red Mitchell on bass and Alvin Stoller on drums.

Darn That Dream was the second song recorded on January 7th. The first was Day In, Day Out, the master for which was captured on the first take. Darn That Dream required three takes—and even the master is rough in places, which is part of its charm.

Kessel kicks off the song with eight bars of large, open-string guitar chords, Billie was supposed to come in with Webster behind her on the ninth bar, but Webster is heard first for about three beats before Billie starts the lyrics. They take the song through the chorus. Then Kessel backs her, with Webster returning for the reprise.

When Edison comes in with a muted trumpet, he instantly quotes It Might as Well Be Spring and then Half As Lovely, Twice as True, a Sinatra hit for Capitol in 1954. Although the quote trivializes Billie's effort, the meshing of the two songs by Edison is quite brilliant when you think about it. Stoller punches the song's theme on bass drum behind Edison and Kessel. Then Red Mitchell takes a bass solo. 

Webster returns, at his smokey best, and Billie winds the song down, with Edison wandering around behind her. The song closes a bit rough, with Billie unable to sustain the final note. Yet Billie has some terrific moments on this track—especially in the second run through of the chorus. Listen as she inverts the melody and teases out the lyrics. What a sublime recording. I must have listened to it about 25 times yesterday, and each one was a different experience.

As soon as Darn That Dream is finished, listen to Moonlight in Vermont. What a contrast. Billie's voice is a bit stretched, but that's what makes this fall classic so perfect—her pained sorrow. Be sure to listen carefully to what Kessel is doing behind her. Barney is spectacular.

Jimmy Rowles, the pianist on the date, summed up Billie voice during this period in an interview for John Chilton's 1989 book, The Billie Holiday Story (1939-1959):

"I think she had the most distinctive voice, interpretation, phrasing and intrinsic musical feeling of anyone I ever heard. She didn't really sing. She transmitted feeling. She was soul."

As a footnote , Alvin Stoller, who was probably the busiest session drummer on the West Coast in the 1950s, played only the January 3d,  4th,  7th, and 8th dates. For some reason he couldn't make the last one on the 9th. Instead, Larry Bunker got the call. Bunker, in Al Young's liner notes from the remaster of Body and Soul in 2001, recalls how he wound up on the date:

"I had started playing for Peggy Lee, for whom Rowles was the pianist. We'd been working at the old Ciro's in Hollywood. Jimmy says, 'You wanna do a record date tomorrow?' I said 'Sure.' I packed up my drums and put 'em in my car, then went and did what I did when I was in my twenties.

The next day, probably around 9:30 or 10 o'clock in the morning, I get a phone call. The voice at the other end says, 'Hi. Larry Bunker? This is Norman Granz.' I said 'Yeahh?'

He said 'Well, there's a whole bunch of us down here, getting ready to record with Billie. And the last I heard you were supposed to be here.' And so I said, 'Norman, I will be there in a minute.'

Billie was sort of standing around waiting for the white boy to show up, quietly steaming. I had never heard the woman in person. I had never met her. I was just a working stiff, trying to show up for the date and a little bit hung over. She was really steaming, but she never said a word. And Norman was nothing more than civility. He was, 'Okay, let's go.' I was the non-veteran. Everybody else had done this before, and done it a lot.

So we proceeded to go ahead and record the work, go in and listen to playbacks, and go through the usual routine.

Toward the end of the day, I was leaving the control room. I opened the door and Billie was coming out. She kind of acknowledged me, blew smoke in my face, smiled and said, 'Well listen baby. You took your sweet-ass time to get here. But once you did, you did play pretty for me.' You know, I've always treasured that."

Listen carefully to Darn That Dream (and Moonlight in Vermont). There are deep messages in both songs.

Wax tracks: Darn That Dream and Moonlight in Vermont can be found here on the CD Body and Soul or as downloads at iTunes.

Wax video clip: Billie in 1957 can be seen and heard here in this famous clip from The Sound of Jazz. Dig the gauntlet of jazz giants in the beginning as Billie takes a seat. They seem more edgy in her presence than she is in theirs. And rightfully so. She had paid more jazz dues than all of them combined.

Tina Brooks: True Blue

Tenor saxophonist Tina Brooks started late and flamed out early. After coming to the attention of Blue Note records in the late 1950s, Brooks recorded mostly as a sideman. As a leader, he recorded only four albums for the label—two of which were  never released at the time and only came to light after 1980. Brooks would not record again after 1961, and he died in near obscurity in 1974.

But what Brooks did record—particularly True Blue, Back to the Tracks and Music from the Connection—is strong and smart. Brooks' tenor sound was somewhere between Wardell Gray's and Hank Mobley's—more hard bop than Gray but more piercing and funky than Mobley—and his songwriting was crafty and vibrant. So much artistic promise—only to wind up as another one of jazz's tragic figures.

Harold Brooks was born in 1932 and acquired the nickname "Tina" in childhood—a merging of Tiny and Teeny, which reflected his size at the time. Brooks began recording in 1951 in the rhythm-and-blues bands of Sonny Thompson and Amos Milburn. In the early 1950s, Brooks also became active in New York's expanding Latin-jazz scene, where bands were always in need of a solid tenor. This experience would come in handy later during his writing for Blue Note.

In 1953, Brooks decided to break from the R&B grind and study music theory with Sy Oliver. But Oliver couldn't take him on, so Brooks studied for a year and a half with Herbert Bourne, a music theorist and classical violinist who also played in string sections that backed jazz artists during recording sessions.

By the summer of 1955, Brooks was touring with Lionel Hampton—but he left Hamp's big band soon afterward, claiming that the rigidity of the work prevented him from soloing and stretching out.

Gigging with trumpeter Bennie Harris in the Bronx in 1956, Brooks became exposed to hard bop and its new cooler chord structure. Harris also encouraged Brooks to take greater musical risks and develop as a jazz musician and songwriter.

In late 1957, Harris brought Alfred Lion of Blue Note Records up to the Bronx to hear Brooks. The encounter led Lion to hire Brooks as a sideman for Jimmy Smith's February 1958 recording date, The Sermon. A month later in March, Brooks was given a shot at recording for Blue Note as a leader, but the album, called Minor Move, was never released at the time for reasons that remain a mystery today. (Minor Move ultimately surfaced in 1980 and appears as a CD today).

In April 1958, Brooks recorded again with Jimmy Smith (Live at "Small's Paradise"), and in May he recorded as a sideman with tenor saxophonist Junior Cook on Kenny Burrell's Blue Lights. Brooks didn't record again until August 1959, when he was a sideman on Burrell's Live at the Five Spot.

During 1959 and 1960, Brooks was alto saxophonist Jackie McLean's understudy in The Connection, a New York play about drug addiction that featured live jazz performed on stage. The on-stage musicians were McLean, Freddie Redd on piano, Mike Mattos on bass and Larry Ritchie on drums.

The New York performance of The Connection showcased all original music penned by pianist  Freddie Redd. While a Blue Note album called Music from the Connection was recorded in February 1960 and featured the on-stage jazz quartet, another Music from the Connection was recorded in June 1960 for the British Felsted Records label and featured Redd, Brooks, Milt Hinton on bass and Osie Johnson on drums.

Six days later Brooks played on trumpeter Freddie Hubbard's Open Sesame album, writing two of the tunes for the date, including the title track. At the end of June, Brooks was recording again as a Blue Note leader. The album was called True Blue and included Hubbard, Duke Jordan on piano, Sam Jones on bass and Art Taylor on drums.

On August 13, 1960, Brooks joined Freddie Redd for Shades of Redd, a date that included McLean, Chambers and Louis Hayes on drums. Brooks returned to the studio on September 1 for a McLean session called Jackie's Bag. Brooks wrote three of the tracks recorded that day.

By October 20, Brooks had written enough material to lead another recording session. The result was Back to the Tracks, with Blue Mitchell and the same rhythm section from Jackie's Bag—Kenny Drew, Paul Chambers and Art Taylor. Back to the Tracks, like Minor Move, was never released, despite its intensity and seeming perfection. A spat over money? Minor flaws that most listeners can't hear? Punishment for bad behavior? Bad timing given Blue Notes releases by other artists at the time? Who knows. Today it's a remastered CD, and the brilliant work speaks for itself.

Brooks' final recording date was The Waiting Game. The March 2, 1961 session included Johnny Coles on trumpet, Drew on piano, Wilbur Ware on bass and Philly Joe Jones on drums.

After 1961, Brooks never recorded again. Drug addiction and revolving-door prison and hospital stays compromised the quality of his playing and left him able to play only occasional gigs in New York. Brooks died in 1974, his handful of brilliant Blue Note performances and compositions all but forgotten until they were released in a box by Mosaic Records and subsequent single CD issues.

While I find Back to the Tracks to be a terrific straight-ahead hard bop album, I adore True Blue, which is more inventive, soulful and in keeping with Brooks' sensitive musical personality. Each song has a distinct sound and rhythm:

• Good Old Soul opens in a minor key, with a funky, Latin edge. Then the song shifts and opens up with a walking beat that gives Brooks a chance to show off his tenor work. 

• Up Tight's Creek is an up-tempo number in the Horace Silver vein. Duke Jordan's playing here—and on the entire album—is funky and strong. If I played this cut for you blindfolded, you would swear it was Silver at the keyboard.

• Theme for Doris also is in a minor key with a Latin flavor that resolves into a terrific hard bop line.

• True Blue has an odd rhythmic configuration that takes you by surprise and never grows dull. The CD includes an equally sharp alternate take.

• Miss Hazel is a rollicking tune in a major key and sounds an awful lot like a Freddie Redd composition—except brighter. Listen carefully to Brooks on this one. You can really hear his merger of Wardell Gray's sleekness and Hank Mobley's impeccable timing.

• Nothing Ever Changes My Love for You is the album's only standard and non-Brooks composition. It switches effortlessly between Latin and jazz beats, and is a nice closer.

Brooks is another one of those snapping jazz embers—a moment of intense brilliance and then he was gone. Fortunately Albert Lion was there to capture Tina's sound, his musical curiosity and his creative songwriting. Why two of his albums remained in the Blue Note vaults for so long isn't clear but the sidelining certainly must have contributed to Brooks' anxiety and personal disappointment.

Wax tracks: True Blue has been given the Van Gelder remastering treatment, and the sound is crystal clear. Go here to buy it—or find it at iTunes.

Back to the Tracks also is a powerful album. Go here to buy it or download tracks or the CD at iTunes.

I recommend buying both CDs—and passing on Brooks' other two dates, which are good but not as interesting.

If you're really ambitious, download or buy both versions of Music from the Connection and compare the playing of Jackie McLean and Tina Brooks. Both are available at iTunes under Freddie Redd's name. I still marvel at how evenly matched McLean and Brooks are on their improvised executions. Each artist has his own worthy interpretation of Freddie Redd's compositions. You be the judge and let me know what you think.

Wax video clip: Hold onto your hat. While I could not find any video clips of Tina Brooks, I did unearth this rare and incredible gem from The Connection. As you'll see, it features Jackie McLean and Freddie Redd on stage playing Who Killed Cock Robbin. The music is challenging and extraordinary. Go here to watch it. (I've added this clip to my list of YouTubes in the right-hand column, under "Freddie Redd.")

As you watch the clip, remember that Brooks was so well regarded at the time that he was McLean's understudy for these demanding performances. Of course, the sad irony is that The Connection's fictionalized tale about addiction and despair would become a real-life drama for Brooks as his life and career began their downward spiral just a few years later.

Boy With Lots of Brass

Before Maynard Ferguson embraced rock, soul, funk, Sylvester Stallone, fusion, disco and every other sticky music industry trend in an effort to remain relevant and pay the rent, he was a jazz musician of the highest order.

Actually, that doesn't do Ferguson justice. Let me try again. For a period of about 15 years starting in 1950, Maynard Ferguson was one of the most spectacular soloists on the West Coast jazz scene who led a series of big bands that recorded some of the most consistently exciting jazz LPs of their time. Each album topped the previous one, and the musicians on the dates were first rate readers and soloists. The blowing was all out, no holding back, and the results were powerful and cocky.

Like the bands of Ellington, Basie and Goodman during the mid-to-late 1950s, the players in Ferguson's ensembles pushed themselves to perform better and better in an attempt to measure up to the astonishing talent and charisma of the band's leader.

From his first leadership session for Capitol Records in 1950 (the year he joined Stan Kenton) through his dates for EmArcy (1954-1957), Roulette (1958-1964), and Cameo and Mainstream (1964-1965), Ferguson's bands during this period played increasingly intricate charts and demonstrated killer collective chops.

Maynard's EmArcy sound in retrospect is hard to describe. His  bands then were young, fresh, ambitious, and hugely upbeat—a pure mid-1950s sound with an accent on the future rather than the past. There's also excitement in those albums, an inner joy that comes from knowing you can do things other musicians can't—and that the marketplace is rewarding you for those abilities.

Again, to appreciate what is being said here about Ferguson on EmArcy (and Roulette), you must suspend the image in your  mind of the paunchy guy with curly gray hair wearing open shirts and red sports jackets. Instead, think about a lean and hungry trumpet player with a test-pilot crew cut and sky's-the-limit attitude about jazz and brass.

Collectors certainly know the difference between the two Maynards. Among Mosaic Records' most sought-after box set is The Complete Roulette Recordings of the Maynard Ferguson Orchestra, a 10-CD collection that is long out of print. The last time the box surfaced on eBay a few months ago, it went for around $650. Yes, the Roulette sessions are that good (and fortunately are starting to be reissued individually).

But while Ferguson's Roulette period certainly is fabulous (I'll cover these albums in a future posting), the EmArcy dates are equally great. The Roulette recordings are stunning for their virtuosity, but the EmArcy albums have a terrific snap thanks to brisk arrangements and spirited playing. (EmArcy was a play on M-R-C—short for Mercury Records Corp. In the 1950s, EmArcy was Mercury's jazz subsidiary.)

Ferguson's first full date for EmArcy was Dimensions. Recorded in Los Angeles in February 1954, Dimensions offers a strong display of Ferguson's trumpet playing and band talents. A series of small group albums for EmArcy followed, including Hollywood Party and Jam Session (both February 1954), and The Maynard Ferguson Octet (April 1955).

Then from November 1955 to May 1956, Ferguson recorded Around the Horn, featuring all Bill Holman originals and arrangements. The album is pure perfection, from start to finish. The writing is confident and catchy, and the playing swings and swaggers. Extensive touring followed, with the chairs in Ferguson's band constantly changing as musicians left for studio dates and others between dates sat in.

Ferguson's final EmArcy date—and the subject of this post—was Boy With Lots of Brass. Recorded in July 1957, it's my favorite album of the EmArcy period. I'm embarrassed to say I own three copies of the original LP.

The first copy was given to me back in the 1970s by Daryl Lowery, a high school friend who's now a recording saxophonist and professor up at the Berklee College of Music in Boston. Each day after big band practice, we used to head down to his basement to listen to jazz records on his massive Altec Lansing Voice of the Theatre speakers. And each afternoon I'd pull loose his dad's copy of Boy With Lots of Brass and insist on hearing Moonlight in Vermont, with Ferguson's soaring solos. After a period of time, Daryl handed me the album, waved off my objections and said, "Just take it."

I purchased my second copy of Boy With Lots of Brass (as a backup) at a New York street fair years ago. The guy threw it in for a couple of bucks with another purchase I made, but not before adding an acidic remark—"Old-time garbage compared to Gonna Fly Now." Whatever.

The third copy I bought about four weeks ago at a used book store in my neighborhood. I couldn't resist. The album was in mint condition and the store clerk said the son of the album's producer brought it in along with other EmArcy records. No wonder it was in such pristine shape. So I pulled out $15 and made the deal.

Simply put, the songs and arrangements on Boy With Lots of Brass are out of this world: Give Me the Simple Life, My Funny Valentine, The Lamp is Low, Imagination, The Song Is You, Jeepers Creepers, Love Me or Leave Me, A Foggy Day, Easy to Love, Moonlight in Vermont, I Hadn't Anyone Till You and I Never Knew. Each one has its own powerful personality.

The band's personnel also is drop dead. Ferguson on trumpet and trombone; Johnny Bello, Joe Burnett and Tom Slaney on trumpets; Bob Burgess and Jimmy Cleveland on trombones; Tony Ortega, Jimmy Ford, Willie Maiden and Tate Houston on saxes; Bobby Timmons on piano; Richard Evans on bass; and Larry Bunker on drums.

A 23-year-old Irene Kral (Roy's sister) provides the vocals on I Hadn't Anyone Till You, Imagination, The Song is You and  Moonlight in Vermont (now you know why I nearly drove poor Daryl crazy).

Said Ferguson in the album's original liner notes:

"In Moonlight in Vermont, we really tried for a kind of far out integration of the singer, the band and the trumpet. Another thing, by the way, about Irene is that in addition to having fine intonation and sound, she learns very fast. She's the most consistent singer I ever heard. Her four vocal tracks in this album were recorded in 25 minutes, and this was her first solo record date. She's a real pro."

Where did Ferguson find Irene? Maynard tips his hat to Carmen McRae:

"This is [Irene's] first big band experience; she had sung some before with a commercial vocal group. This is how I found her. I was auditioning 12 girls one day for my first band and didn't like any of them. Carmen McRae happened to pass by, and recommended Irene. The first couple of times I went on the road, I had no girl singer, and when I finally arrived in Chicago where Irene was, I forgot to contact her. But she showed up at the job and asked for a chance to audition. I brought the rhythm section in the next day, heard her, and she started with the band that night."

The album's arrangements are by Willie Maiden, Ernie Wilkins, Al Cohn and Bill Holman. Red-hot writing from some of the best band pens of the decade.

By the 1980s, Ferguson may have become a punch line to serious jazz listeners. But  back in the 1950s, when cars were covered in chrome, supermarkets had four aisles and steaks were cut thick, Ferguson and his band roared, commanding the attention of audiences, musicians and arrangers alike. Today, Ferguson's mid-1950s bands still command respect—among record collectors and avid big band fans in the know.

I will turn to Ferguson's Roulette years in the coming weeks, including an in-depth look at one of the greatest big band albums ever recorded.

Wax tracks: Great news: You don't have to rummage through dusty used-record stores trying to score a copy of Boy With Lots of Brass. The album, out of print for years, was  recently released on CD by Fresh Sounds. It can be found here.

Ferguson's 1950 Capitol date as well as Dimensions are on a Fresh Sounds CD called Band Ain't Draggin'. It can be found here. Several tracks from Around the Horn as well as Ferguson's other EmArcy releases are on Verve Jazz Masters 52, found here or at iTunes.

Wax video clips: Go here to see and hear Maynard in the early 1950s in a short for Universal in 1957 called Swingin' and Singin'. That's Ferguson on Superbone and trumpet.

Go here to see a Maynard Ferguson alumni group in 2004 play the Ernie Wilkins chart for The Lamp Is Low from Boy With Lots of Brass. The only original band member in the group from the LP is the legendary Tony Ortega, who takes a solo early on and conducts the band from his chair.

Oscar and Claus

I've always found pianist Oscar Peterson to be most interesting when he is playing ballads. I have never been a big fan of Peterson's breakneck paced melody lines or centipedic runs. To me, they always sound frantic and overdone, jackhammering whatever beauty exists in the song being played.

Which is why I find Peterson most divine when he's serving as an accompanist rather than the leader on a recording date. I realize this opinion is controversial, since the Oscar Peterson Trio has many, many fans. Yet the more I re-listen to Peterson's late 1950s, 1960s and 1970s recordings, the more I become convinced that the pianist either lacked the sensitivity and  patience needed to extract beauty from the many standards he played or he suffered from jazz fatigue. Surely a certain creative dullness had to have set in given Peterson's enormous number of recording dates and club appearances.

And for me, when Peterson is in a trio setting, he's most enjoyable when the pace of the song he's playing is somewhere between a slow crawl and a heart beat. At this tempo, Peterson is forced to restrain the tic-like arpeggios and focus instead on choosing tasteful chords to frame the melody.

Which brings me to my favorite Oscar Peterson album—Motions & Emotions. Recorded in 1969 for the German MPS/BASF label, the album paired the bluesy sound of Peterson's piano with the lush, sensitive charts of Claus Ogerman, the highly seductive German composer and arranger. In most places on this album, the merger of these two perfectionists is pure bliss—the audio equivalent of a quiet autumn rain.

But as Doug Payne points out in the liner notes from the re-mastered CD, the session nearly was aborted over a sub-par piano:

"[Claus] Ogerman no longer recalls who was inspired to team the two together: 'I assume that the impulse came from Oscar or [Peterson’s manager at the time] Norman Granz, who wanted me to work with other artists of his before.'

Whatever the genesis of the idea, it makes for a most provocative collaboration. Unlike the pianist’s previous 'with strings' records, there is no attempt on Motions & Emotions to cow-tow to the mere cliche of going for pretty or lush. Ogerman doesn’t 'cushion' with strings here so much as provide the pianist with effective counterpoint. Peterson, a force of nature on the piano, is not so easily cradled by other sounds. And Ogerman gives the pianist something inspiring to spring forth from with his own ideas, clearly in the jazz realm.

However, it almost didn’t come to be. 'The piano available at A&R Studios [the New York studio where the album was scheduled to be recorded],' Ogerman remembers, 'was not to Oscar’s liking.'  Peterson refused to record on what he considered an inadequate piano, stating very simply, in his ever-inimitable way, 'I don’t like the box.'

Gene Lees further relates in his book, Oscar Peterson: The Will To Swing (Cooper Square Press, 1988): '[MPS Records owner Hans Georg] Brunner-Schwer faced a dilemma. He had committed substantial funds to this recording, including Ogerman’s arranging and conducting fees, the cost of A&R studio, and the salaries of the musicians who sat there waiting, and would be paid whether they played or not. He made a decision; to record the orchestra now and overdub Oscar’s part in Villingen [Germany] on the piano that Oscar liked. Oscar instantly agreed, the session proceeded, and he completed the album later in Villingen.”

All of the songs selected for the date are pop tunes, and most are taken at a leisurely pace. Even the sprite numbers—Sunny, Eleanor Rigby and Ode to Billy Joe—are tempered by Ogerman's charts, though more sensitive song choices would have made this superb album even better.

Interestingly, this date could have been (and, perhaps, should have been) an Oscar Peterson tribute to Henry Mancini, considering how spectacularly well Sally's Tomato comes together in the opening track. Sally's Tomato leaves you wondering how additional tracks from Breakfast at Tiffany's and selections from Two for the Road and other Mancini scores would have fared if they were given the Peterson-Ogerman treatment.

To be sure, By the Time I Get to Phoenix, Wandering, This Guy's in Love With You, Wave, Dreamsville and Yesterday are plenty pretty and splendidly arranged.

The more I listen to Motions & Emotions, the more I realize that Peterson is along for Ogerman's ride, and he plays beautifully rather than perfectly, which is a glorious change.

Wax tracks: Motions & Emotions can be found here or at iTunes. It's a terrific CD to listen to on long drives or while working. The combination of Peterson's spirited piano and Ogerman's meringue arrangements is tart and soothing.

If you decide to buy the remastered CD (and you should), close your eyes when Sally's Tomato or Wave comes on and hear what makes Ogerman so precious and special.

Wax video clips: Here are two video clips that I think illustrate my point about Oscar Peterson as accompanist and soloist.

Go here to hear Peterson accompanying Nat King Cole and Coleman Hawkins on Sweet Lorraine. Delightful. Then go here to hear Peterson with his trio playing A Gal in Calico. Peterson runs roughshod over a perfectly fine song, ignoring the tune's beauty and natural pace, adding technical feat after technical feat until the song is no longer recognizable. The result is hurried and dull—at least to me.

There are no clips under Claus Ogerman's name. So I took a chance and viewed a clip from Diana Krall's 2001 tour. Ogerman arranged and conducted her Look of Love CD of the same year.

What a surprise: Not only does Krall introduce Ogerman to the audience, but he also comes out to conduct. Go here, and be sure to watch Ogerman's hands and fingers as he sets up and starts the orchestra. Just beautiful.

The more I watched and listened to this clip, the more I realized that the pair must have used Peterson's Motions & Emotions as the basis for their collaboration—jazz piano running around on top of a soft, knowing, suspenseful orchestral setting.

Johnny Richards: Something Else

One of the best and most ambitious big band albums of the 1950s is Johnny Richards' Something Else. Of all the big band albums I own from the decade, I probably have listened to and enjoyed this album more than any other in my collection.

From song selection and arrangements to the personnel and solos, Something Else is exciting on every level. The charts are complex, powerful and swinging, while the energy level of the players—a monster ensemble—is unmatched. The album re-launched Richards' career as a leader and raised the visibility of this type of arranging, which is something of a cross between film scoring and jazz orchestration of the highest order.

Richards (born Juan Manuel Cascales in Toluca, Mexico) immigrated to Los Angeles with his parents, three brothers and a sister when he was 8 years old. Richards and his brothers, who were also musicians, had their first  lessons from their mother, who taught not only classical music but also jazz, composition, and arranging. Richards graduated from San Fernando High School in California, and attended California's Fullerton College, where he played in the college orchestra.

He wrote his first orchestration at age 14, and by 21 he was wooed to England by film moguls to score British films. A year later, in 1933, Richards was in Hollywood at Paramount Pictures working as Victor Young's assistant, where remained until 1940, when he formed his own orchestra. Richards' band lasted until early 1946, when he ran out of money.

After folding his band, Richards arranged for Boyd Raeburn's orchestral band and for Raeburn-bandmate Dizzy Gillespie. Even in 1946, Richards' writing was intricate and ahead of its time, requiring top notch musicians who not only could read what he wrote but also innovate along the way. Richards soon left to arrange for the burgeoning film industry in Mexico City, South America and Cuba—a period Richards said had a profound affect on him.

By 1950, Richards was back in Los Angeles, writing for the U.S. film industry and heading up an orchestra that again backed Gillespie (Dizzy Gillespie Plays, Johnny Richards Conducts). By 1952, Richards had relocated from Los Angeles to New York and was arranging steadily for Stan Kenton.  

In 1953, Richards wrote arrangements for a band that backed Sonny Stitt on the album, Stitt: Playing Arrangements from the Pen of Johnny Richards. The band included Don Elliot, Kai Winding, Horace Silver, Charles Mingus and Don Lamond.

Also in 1953, lyricist Carolyn Leigh added words to a Richards original called Moonbeam. The song was renamed Young at Heart and published later that year. Sinatra recorded it almost immediately, and Young at Heart went on to become Sinatra's comeback hit. The song was so popular that a film Sinatra was making with Doris Day in 1954 was renamed Young at Heart to capitalize on its popularity. The song also became Richards' theme song.

In 1954, Richards wrote another series of charts for Gillespie (Dizzy Gillespie and Strings), and in early 1955 he recorded Annotation of the Muses, a classically influenced orchestral jazz album.

In March 1956, Kenton was asked to compose the ceremonial ballet music for Grace Kelly's wedding to Prince Rainer. Kenton had never written a ballet before nor had he been in touch with Prince Rainer. He said the royal request came through a third party and was a complete surprise. He turned the project over to Richards. In an interview in Stan Kenon: Artistry in Rhythm by William F. Lee (1980), Kenton said:

"It seemed that, just before our arrival in England for the 1956 tour, Prince Rainier of Monaco was interested in music from us...However, because of my busy schedule, it was impossible for me to take time out to compose anything for the Wedding Ballet but I went around to Vic Lewis' place and Vic and I talked it over. Then we telephoned Johnny Richards in New York."

On returning to the U.S. at the end of April 1956, Kenton's band began rehearsals in New York for a new Capitol album conceived, composed and arranged by Johnny Richards. The album would be called Cuban Fire, and it was recorded on May 22, 23, and 24. When the Latin-influenced orchestral LP was released, the polyrhythmic album became a jazz-Latin crossover hit and put Johnny Richards on the map as a major arranging talent with enormous, eclectic ability. He moved again to Los Angeles.

Cuban Fire caught the ear of Bethlehem Records' West Coast executives, who quickly offered Richards a chance to record his first 33 1/3 LP as a leader. Under the label's head of A&R, Creed Taylor, Bethlehem was known for giving musicians complete artistic freedom. By late July 1956, Richards' charts were finished, and he began making calls in Los Angeles to handpick the  band. The cream of Hollywood's jazz session readers and soloists jumped at the chance, and recording was completed in just two days day—August 2 and 3.

The band featured Charlie Mariano Richie Kamuca, Ronnie Lang and Bill Holman on saxes; Stu Williamson, Maynard Ferguson, Buddy Childers, Pete Condoli and Shorty Rogers on trumpets; Vince De Rosa and John Cave on French horns; Frank Rosolino, Tommy Pederson, Don Kelly and Milt Bernhart on trombones; Al Pollan on tuba; Marty Paich on piano; Buddy Clark on bass; Stan Levey on drums; and Lou Singer on timpani.

Said Richards at the time: "I've given up all my other work just to concentrate on this and to keep at my studies. Everything has to be pattered after the style of the orchestra. That's why I picked the instrumentation I did, so that I could offer the whole orchestral gamut with it."

Six of the eight tracks on th album were Richards originals, and the arrangements were as spectacular to the ear as they were tricky to read.

After the release of Something Else, Richards moved back to New York, formed a band and recorded albums that included Wide Range (Capitol/1957), Experiments in Sound (Capitol/1958), Rites of Diablo (Roulette/1958), Softly Wild (Coral/1959), My Fair Lady—My Way (Roulette/1964), and Aqui Se Habla Espanol (Roulette/1966).

During this period, Richards also wrote arrangements for Kenton's 1960-63 "mellophonium band" (Kenton and Richards actually developed the instrument); Live at the Las Vegas Tropicana (1961); West Side Story (1962), which continues to be essential listening; and Adventures in Time (1962).

Johnny Richards died in 1968 at age 56. Yet his Something Else remains one of the great jazz orchestra albums of the mid-1950s. Its musical density and steamy West Coast sound set a new standard, influencing many composers and arrangers of the time—from Quincy Jones and Bill Holman to Billy May and Gil Evans. It also is Richards greatest musical achievement.

Wax tracks: Something Else is newly available on Spain's Fresh Sounds label and is available here. (It's coupled with Softy Wild.) Many of the other Richards albums mentioned above have been released on a Mosaic Select three-CD collection available here.

A CD of Richards' band in 1957 and 1958 is available at iTunes as Johnny Richards: Live in Hi-Fi Stereo 1957-1958 Radio Broadcasts. It captures much of the band's live excitement.

Wax pages: Johnny Richards, the Definitive Bio-Discography is available here for about $20 from Barnes & Noble.

Wax video clip: While there are no video clips up on the web of Johnny Richards' bands, there is a clip of Stan Kenton playing Maria from West Side Story. The arrangement is by Richards and the clip is here.

Wax Bit

A well-known jazz artist recently told me a joke popular among tenor saxophonists back in the 1950s:

"Junky goes into a barbershop, sits down in a chair but is nodding from a fix and can't lift his head. The barber says, 'What can I do for you my good man?' The junky says, 'Give me a shave.' The barber says, 'Fine but you’ll have to lift up your head.' The junky, too far gone to pick it up, says, 'Make it a haircut. ' ”