JazzWax

Jazz on New Year's Eve

My brother, Danny, is a musician. So I know first hand that New Year's Eve is the best-paying gig of the year. Which means most jazz musicians aren't available on December 31 for anything more than a live club date, leaving most recording studios dark.

Except in a handful of cases. Over the years, some jazz artists have recorded on the last day of the year—or they've been recorded while out earning a living.

After a bit of research yesterday, I found 17 jazz recordings that were made on December 31st—in the studio or on stage. Happy New Year!

December 31, 1947
Charles Mingus (w/ Curley Hamner And His Orchestra)

• Bama Lama Lam
• Spooky Boogie

The Young Rebel (Swingtime)

December 31, 1947
Lennie Tristano Quartet

• New Sound
• Through These Portals
• Resemblance
• Speculation
• Restoration

Lennie Tristano 1947-1951 (Classics 1290)

December 31, 1952
Illinois Jacquet And His Orchestra

• Fat Man Boogie
• Blues In The Night
• Where Are You?
• What's The Riff?

Illinois Jacquet 1951-1952 (Classics)

December 31, 1953
Louis Armstrong

• When It's Sleepy Time Down South
• Indiana (Back Home Again In)
• A Kiss to Build a Dream On
• Tea for Two
• My Bucket's Got a Hole In It
• Margie
• Velma's Blues
• That's My Desire
• C'est Si Bon
• Stompin' at the Savoy
• When It's Sleepy Time Down South

New Year's Eve broadcast from Japan on NBC radio

December 31, 1953
Chet Baker

• Why Shouldn't I?
• I'm Through With Love
• You Don't Know What Love Is
• You Don't Know What Love Is (alt. take)

Chet Baker with Strings (Sony)

December 31, 1953
Benny Carter Quartet (w/ Joe Glover And His Orchestra)

• I'll Be Around
• Beautiful Love   
• Blue Star 
• Flamingo   

New Jazz Sounds: The Urbane Sessions (Polygram)

December 31, 1953
Oscar Peterson Trio

• I Won't Dance

Oscar Peterson Plays Jerome Kern (Verve)

December 31, 1954
Louis Armstrong

• When It's Sleepy Time Down South
• Indiana (Back Home Again In)
• Big Butter and Egg Man
• High Society
• Auld Lang Syne

New Year's Eve broadcast from San Francisco on CBS radio

December 31, 1954
Ruby Braff Sextet

• You Can Depend On Me
• Auld Lang Style   
• I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter    
• Rosetta   
• Sometimes I'm Happy 

A Ball At Bethlehem (Bethlehem)

December 31, 1954
Harry Edison 

• Arcadia   
• Santa Anita   
• Hooray For Hollywood 
• Blindfold Test, No. 3   

Best From The West: Modern Sounds From California, Vols. 1 and 2 (Blue Note)

December 31, 1962
Luiz Bonfa

• Silencio Do Amor   
• Tristeza   
• Vem So    
• Samba Lamento   
• Samba De Duas Notas   
• Ilha De Coral   
• Manha De Carnaval
• Bossa Nova Cha Cha
• Adeus 
• Domingo A Noite   
• Quebra Mar   
• Chora Tua Tristeza   
• O Amor Que Acabou

Luiz Bonfa Plays And Sings Bossa Nova (Verve)

December 31, 1963
John Coltrane Quintet

• My Favorite Things
• Alabama
• Impressions

Private recording at Philharmonic Hall, Lincoln Center, NYC

December 31, 1963
Sonny Stitt Sextet

• Slave Maidens
• Blue Blood Ritual 
• Bacon Baby   
• Barefoot Ball
• Estrellita
• Island Shout

Primitivo Soul! (Prestige)

December 31, 1973
Kenny Drew

• Blues For Nils
• Everything I Love
• Winter Flower

Everything I Love (SteepleChase)

December 31, 1982
Miles Davis Septet

• Come Get It
• It Gets Better 
• U 'N' I   
• Star On Cicely
• Star People   
• Hopscotch   
• Jean Pierre   

Felt Forum, New York, New Year's Eve (Jazz Masters)

December 31, 1985
Art Blakey And The Jazz Messengers

• Hide and Seek
• Little Man
• New York
• I Want to Talk About You

New Year's Eve at Sweet Basil (Evidence)

December 31, 1987
Miles Davis (with Prince)
Recorded at Paisley Park
Miles from the Park (Sabotage Records); bootleg recording

Sunday Wax Bits

'Tis Autumn update: Director Raymond De Felitta posted the following at his blog on Friday:

"Tis Autumn: The Search For Jackie Paris will have a slow theatrical rollout over the next few months, thanks largely to the positive reviews it received in New York and a lot of web-interest from jazz fans all over the place. As bookings come in (there are only two 35mm prints that will be in circulation at any given time), I'll post them on this blog. Additionally you can to to TisAutumnTheMovie.com for screening information."

Keep your fingers crossed!

'Round Midnight—found! David Brent Johnson, the voice of WFIU-FM's Night Lights, informed me yesterday that Jackie Paris' rare 1949 recording of 'Round Midnight is available on the CD, All That Jive (Sony). While the U.S. version of the CD is out of print, you can download the track here for just 99 cents.

Sensing there might be more Paris on that CD, I compared the album's song list against Paris' discography. Turns out that Paris' The Old Master Painter, from the same 1949 session, also is available as a 99-cent download here.

Paris on the air: After reading my two-part interview with 'Tis Autumn director Raymond De Felitta last week, David Brent Johnson decided to put his 2004 radio tribute to Jackie Paris up on the station's site. Simply go here, click on the big blue button that says "Listen Now," and dig Paris' cool delivery.

Teachout on Oscar: Despite the pressing weight of work and family matters, Terry Teachout found time to post a solid, detail-rich appreciation of the late Oscar Peterson. Go here to read Terry's post (scroll down to his December 27 entry, "Oscar Peterson, RIP").

Raymond De Felitta, Part 2

'Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris is more than a bio doc. The film focuses on the sweet-and-sour life of a nearly forgotten jazz singer in the twilight of his years. But 'Tis Autumn goes farther—grappling with the clash between artistic integrity and compromise, and exploring what happens when an artist's ego jumps the leash. Never judgmental, the film lovingly traces Paris' life and contribution to jazz while exposing a painful truth: Not everyone who's talented makes it to the top and often for reasons that have nothing to do with determination or ability.

In Part 2 of my interview with Raymond De Felitta, the writer and director of 'Tis Autumn, he talks about Anne Marie Moss—Paris' second wife and singing parter—his first wife and long lost son, and a new film project that begins shooting in New York in the spring:

JazzWax: Did you find it chilling that Anne Marie Moss was as career-challenged as Paris?
Raymond De Felitta: Anne Marie Moss, Jackie's second wife, is a force of nature and an amazing vocalist. Very little of her singing exists on record, but she was a major talent who, sad to say, fell into the same black hole as Jackie. She loved Jackie and loved working with him, and was terribly faithful to him, too.

JW: What about Jackie’s first wife—who left him when their son was still a baby. In the film, his son seemed shattered.
RDF: Cissy and Michael are a different and darker matter. I admire them both for the rigorous honesty and extremely open manner with which they discussed their lives with me. Some people feel that my treatment of Michael was too invasive, but I didn't see it that way. He's a damaged man with a very honest view of his own life, and I respect his willingness to be seen for who he is. It's all part of a big, dark story—the pattern of family anger and abuse that Jackie grew up around and was unable to extricate himself from.

JW: At one point Jackie starts to cry when he's reminiscing with Anne Marie Moss. What happened?
RDF: Jackie, for a tough, old Italian guy, cried openly and often. He wasn't afraid to let you see him cry. I think at that time in his life, he was reassessing so much about his complicated journey that any reminder of the past could suddenly strike him very hard in the heart. He loved Anne Marie and felt responsible for their marital break-up. In some ways, even though each remarried, they never really broke up. A deep bond was still there.

JW: Tell me about the apartment in those Paris-Moss scenes.
RDF: Jackie had a small apartment in a tenement on the East Side where he lived for years before meeting Anne Marie. It became their home when they were together. What we didn't have room for in the film is what happened after they split up. He gave her the apartment. Though she eventually remarried and moved to Rhode Island, she kept it. Every six weeks or so, she came down to stay in the apartment by herself. It was as if a part of her life needed to remain in the place she had shared with Jackie. Last year the landlord succeeded in evicting her after 40 years and, shortly afterward, Moss drifted into senility. It’s as if in letting go of the apartment she severed much of herself.

JW: Did Jackie ever tell you what he would have done differently with his career if he had another shot?
RDF: Not really. He was proud of what he had accomplished and tended to look forward. I know he complained about bad management, but most of the people who tried to manage him found him too difficult to work with. Did he understand the role he played in the so-called bad management situations? I'm not sure he did. He tended to excuse his own inadequacies. How human.

JW: How did this film alter your view of life?
RDF: I learned that virtually every life is a novel—whether or not you’re an artist. We are all playing from scripts that seem to have been sent with us to this earth.

JW: In the film, you're hunting for a copy of Jackie's late-1940s pressing of 'Round Midnight for National Records. Did you ever find it?
RDF: As you know from the film, Jackie’s recording of Thelonious Monk’s ‘Round Midnight is one of the first vocal versions of the song. It was recorded in November 1949 for National but now is one of the hardest Jackie Paris singles to find. In the film, we went from record show to record show trying to buy a copy—with no luck. Eventually, though, we did come upon a test pressing of it on eBay. It came from an estate sale of stuff belonging to the husband of vocalist Helen Forrest. The recording also can be heard on the EmArcy compilation LP, Advance Guard of the Forties.

JW: What's your next project?
RDF: It's a movie called City Island, a romantic comedy about a dysfunctional family living on an island neighborhood in the Bronx. It will star Andy Garcia and Marcia Gay Harden. I wrote the script and will direct it this spring in New York."

JazzWax tracks: Jackie Paris' 1949 recording for of 'Round Midnight can be found on an EmArcy LP called Advance Guard of the 40s. The date was produced by Leonard Feather and featured Eddie Shu on tenor sax, John Collins on guitar, Dick Hyman on piano, Tommy Potter on bass and Roy Haynes on drums.

Jackie Paris & Anne Marie Moss: Live at the Maisonette is the only LP they made together. It was recorded in September 1974, at the St. Regis Hotel's Maisonette Room in New York. They were backed by Mike Abene on piano, Harvey Swartz on bass and (believe it or not) Steve Gadd on drums.

The chemistry of Paris and Moss singing together is pure joy, and Paris' vocal arrangements are hip and pure early 1970s. To hear a bit of this record, go here, wait for the page to translate from the Japanese, then click on the LP cover.

From time to time, Live at the Maisonette appears on eBay and sells for around $20.

The pair also recorded with the Buddy Rich Quartet in 1974. Two of the tracks—Fish Fry and Caesar—showcase Paris and Moss together while Nothin' features Moss on her own. All three tracks are on an obscure 1994 CD entitled, Best of the Jazz Singers, Vol. 2 and can be sampled here.

Searching for Anne Marie Moss: So who was Anne Marie Moss? I know she recorded Let's Fall in Love as "Annie Moss" for the 1959 Roulette album, Maynard Ferguson Plays Jazz for Dancing. But for some strange reason the track never made it onto the LP. The track did surface recently on Maynard Ferguson: Dancing Sessions, a CD on the Jazzbeat Spain label, It combines two of Maynard Ferguson's Roulette albums—Plays Jazz for Dancing and Let's Face the Music and Dance—and Moss' vocal is one of three bonus tracks.

I also found the following entry in the Encyclopedia of Music in Canada:

"Anne Marie Moss. Singer, teacher, b Toronto 6 Feb 1935. Except for lessons in breath control from Portia White in 1955, she did not study formally. She began performing as a child and sang jazz first in the early 1950s with the groups of Joey Masters and Calvin Jackson, two US pianists then living in Toronto.

She also sang with the dance bands of Ferde Mowry and Benny Louis and throughout the 1950s appeared on CBC TV variety shows. She performed occasionally with the jazz groups of Norman Symonds and Ron Collier and toured 1956-8 in Canada and the USA with the saxophonist Don Thompson.

In 1959 she joined Maynard Ferguson's big band in the USA, where she also sang with the Count Basie Orchestra and replaced Annie Ross briefly in the jazz vocal trio Lambert, Hendricks & Ross.

In 1961 she married, and began singing with, the US singer-guitarist Jackie Paris. The two appeared together until 1980 in nightclubs across the USA and made the LP Live at the Maisonette (Different Drummer 1004).

When they made a rare Canadian appearance at the Toronto nightclub Bourbon Street in 1976, Jack Batten wrote: 'Miss Moss' voice and attack... have grown more middle-of-the-road than they were in her earlier Toronto days. She seems to go in less for lofty flights and improvisations and concentrates more on plain old projection and communication. She's got all the equipment for that job—excellent diction, an intelligent awareness of lyrics, and a voice that's pure, professional and very assured' (Toronto Globe and Mail, 13 Oct 1976).

Moss resumed her solo career in 1980, recording the album Don't You Know Me? (Stash ST-211, issued in 1981) and appearing in concert, in nightclubs, and at colleges. She performed on several occasions in Toronto during the 1980s and taught voice privately and at the Manhattan School of Music in New York."

'Tis Autumn updates: For updates on theaters showing 'Tis Autumn as well as progress on the release of the DVD and possible soundtrack, visit Raymond's blog here.

Raymond De Felitta, Part 1

Writer and director Raymond De Felitta's documentary,'Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris, is already a cult classic. The film had its premier in New York earlier in December and, just like that, it was gone.

Why this film isn't being aired regularly on PBS or Ovation is beyond me. As I said some weeks ago after seeing the film for the first time, it's a staggering emotional opus with revelations at every turn.

With any luck, 'Tis Autumn will roll into select theaters nationwide in early 2008, and the DVD will be available online and at Netflix later in the year. Such is the state of movie distribution these days. Great stuff always gets crowded out by mainstream fare.

'Tis Autumn is everything you want a jazz documentary to be—and more. I saw the film twice in New York, and there wasn't a dry eye in the theater at the end of both showings.

In a nutshell, the film is a haunting portrait of an immensely talented should-have-been with a voice so breezy and modern that he was both of his time and ahead of it during the late 1940s and 1950s. Ultimately, 'Tis Autumn is the search for what went wrong with Jackie Paris' promising career and why a singer who should have been Tony Bennett wound up ground down by fate and frustration, dying a virtual unknown in 2004.

In Part 1 of my two-part interview with Raymond De Felitta, the writer and director talks about Paris' extraordinary talent, the factors that held Paris back, and what Paris told a stunned Duke Ellington in the late 1940s:

JazzWax: For those who don't know, what made vocalist Jackie Paris so special?
Raymond De Felitta: Jackie’s voice had an unusual combination of qualities that weren't found in any other one singer. Jackie was a hardcore be-bopper who could sing a ballad with a lovely, warm, open gentility. There was an empathy and smile in his voice. But he also could be a mean blues shouter. I can hear how his voice influenced Mel Torme, Billy Eckstine, Johnny Mathis, Bobby Darin and, later, popular singers who didn’t necessarily have that much in common.

JW: Paris fell into a commercial black hole starting in the mid-1950s. What happened?
RDF: Jackie’s problems were inflicted on him by the music industry and by own making. If he'd been more successful, his perfectionism and frequent temper flare-ups over perceived sloppy accompaniment would have been acceptable.

JW: Wasn’t that par for all ego-driven singers?
RDF: Certainly Sinatra was no darling to work with. But his temper never got in the way of his professional path. You might say that the industry’s problems— the declining popularity of jazz and male vocalists in the late 1950s coupled with changing tastes in the 1960s—helped magnify Jackie's personal problems. He grew touchier and angrier as less talented vocalists became stars and fewer people knew of his work. His personal and industry problems fed off each other, rendering him obsolete at the very moment when he reached his creative peak—in 1961 and 1962.

JW: Your film clearly was an obsession. Was it hard tracking down the truth?
RDF: There were certainly moments when it seemed like the whole process would never end. Leads that we thought were dead would suddenly re-emerge, and we’d find ourselves once again showing up, cameras in hand, piecing together another part of the Jackie Paris puzzle. But I must say that the detective work—which is what the making of 'Tis Autumn really was—suited me. I like being dogged, and I don't mind dead-ends, provided I'm not bored. Given the subject matter here, I never was.

JW: Everyone who cared about Paris wound up shattered. Why?
RDF: I don't want to sound too ethereal, but the older I get, the more I believe that our spirits are in place before we arrive on this earth. I also believe that we're all following a certain path, playing a certain role, that isn't truly of our choosing. We can modify our behavior, but we can't really change ourselves. Jackie arrived brimming with talent, ambition as well as resentment and anger. Seventy-nine years later he was still brimming with all of those things.

JW: So some of that self- destructiveness was hard-wired?
RDF: Even as a young man Jackie seemed to know he was destined for artistic disappointment. In the film, there’s a letter that Jackie wrote to Down Beat, pissed off that he was being treated unfairly in the magazine's pages. The year is 1947. That means Jackie is only 23 years old and already defensive about his place in the music world. Does this mean he influenced his outcome because of this attitude? There are those that believe that to be the case. Certainly we push ourselves over cliffs of our choosing. Still, I think it's hard to change the script we're born with.

JW: What things about Paris’ career didn't make the film due to time/space constraints?
RDF: Jackie was fired from a TV show in 1959 called Music For Fun. He was one of six singers on the show, and after a few episodes he went to the producers and complained that there were too many singers. The producers agreed—and fired him.

JW: It sounds like Jackie's ego, instead of driving him, was always one step ahead undermining what he could have accomplished. True?
RDF: In some regards, yes. Duke Ellington asked Jackie to tour with him in the late 1940's or early 1950s, and Jackie turned him down! Jackie had just gotten off the road with the Lionel Hampton band and didn't want to go out again for an extended period. Duke was clearly chagrined at being turned down—he even told his son, Mercer Ellington, about it. Whenever Jackie ran into Mercer in subsequent years, Mercer would say: 'You turned my old man down. He couldn't believe it!' I think when Jackie heard this from Mercer he was both bummed and a little in awe of his own chutzpah."

Tomorrow, in Part 2 of my interview with Raymond De Felitta, he talks about Anne Marie Moss—Paris' second wife and singing parter in later years—and what facts about her never made the film.

'Tis Autumn updates: For updates on theaters showing 'Tis Autumn as well as progress on the release of the DVD and possible soundtrack, visit Raymond's blog here.

JazzWax videoclip: To see the 'Tis Autumn movie trailer, go here.

JazzWax tracks: In addition to the album and song downloads recommended in my last post on Jackie Paris here, you can listen to two mp3 clips here. At the site, just click on the sheet music for Ride, Sally, Ride and Indiana. Listen how Paris opens Indiana. That savvy, optimistic approach is what made Paris so special.

If you like the way Indiana sounds, it can be found on a fabulous CD called Songs by Jackie Paris, which for the longest time was available only on a Japanese CD release. Now, the album is available at iTunes for only $9.99. The arrangements on there are so cool I decided to do a little searching for Jackie Paris on my own.

Turns out all the tracks were arranged by the great Manny Albam. Recorded in November 1955, the musicians on the date were Sam Marowitz and Hal McKusick on alto saxes, Frank Socolow and Eddie Wasserman on tenor saxes, Al Epstein on baritone sax, Bill Triglia on piano, Barry Galbraith on guitar, Milt Hinton on bass and Osie Johnson on drums. Albam likely contracted the Paris date, since a bunch of the guys, including Albam, had just recorded Terry Gibbs' Vibes on Velvet for EmArcy a month earlier.

You'll also find an interesting Jackie Paris vocal buried on Charles Mingus' 1974 album, Changes Two. The track is Duke Ellington's Sound of Love, and the CD can be found here. Mingus loved Jackie's voice and first featured him in 1952 on three tracks—Paris in Blue, Make Believe and Portrait—for his Debut label. These very hip tracks are available at iTunes on Charles Mingus' Debut Rarities, Vol 4.

JazzWax connections: Jackie Paris may have been woefully under-recorded in the late 1950s but he was still a rave of jazz musicians. To capitalize on Paris' hip, young sound, record labels took a shot at promoting singers with a similar approach. Two examples were Johnny Pace (who appeared on a Chet Baker recording for Riverside in 1958) and Frank D'Rone (who recorded for Mercury with Billy May big band arrangements in 1959 and 1960). If you are familiar with Jackie Paris' voice, you'll be taken aback by the similarities.

Jelly Roll Morton: Last Recordings

If you are unfamiliar with Jelly Roll Morton—or aren't sure what makes him so important a jazz figure—you need to hear his final studio recordings of December 1939 and January 1940.

Made for General Records, the sessions summarize Jelly Roll's songwriting and piano-playing genius. He is the source from which all great jazz piano originates—from Fats Waller and Art Tatum to Earl "Fatha" Hines and Erroll Garner. Jelly Roll's composing and stride skills were enormous, as evidenced by these late dates.

First, the back story. In late 1939, ASCAP finally relented and granted Jelly Roll membership in the composers' organization after years of stubborn rejection. It also agreed to start paying him an annual royalty for his songs. ASCAP's decision came after a long, and tortuous lobbying campaign by Jelly Roll.

Shortly after Jelly Roll received the good news, the organization informed him that he was being placed in the lowest pay category. At the time, the royalty pay scale ranged from $16,000 a year for white composers such as Irving Berlin and Richard Rodgers down to $120 for nonwhites such as Jelly Roll. According to Howard Reich and William Gaines, authors of Jelly's Blues: The Life, Music and Redemption of Jelly Roll Morton (2003), music by nonwhites was deemed by ASCAP to have less intrinsic 'value' than songs written for Broadway.

Exasperated by ASCAP's treatment and suffering from heart troubles, an aging and anguished Jelly Roll was determined to re-record his songs. Just weeks after receiving the bad news from ASCAP on his royalty scale, he agreed to record for General Records. The sessions would be held on December 14,16 and 18 of 1939, and January 4, 23 and 30 of 1940.

In their book, Jelly's Blues, Howard Reich and William Gaines relate what happened on the first day of recording:

"As Jelly Roll Morton stepped into Reeves' Sound Studios on East 44th St., he came ready to play, with a lifetime of melodies and riffs at his fingertips. Once again, the label—General Records—wanted Morton to play the old ones, and he was going to oblige in full, creating some of the most lush and ornate versions of his music that he yet had committed to record.

Setting aside his pains and miseries for a few hours, he summoned a degree of energy and keyboard virtuosity that defied the present conditions of his life.... The man was summing it all up, bringing to the keyboard every crafty piano trick, sly rhythmic device, and daring harmonic innovation he had in him.

And he wasn't done yet. On some numbers, he began to sing, his vocal tone and phrasing overflowing with the spirit of the blues. Into these pieces—the slow and sultry Winin' Boy Blues, the mournful Buddy Bolden's Blues, the somber Don't You Leave Me Here—Morton poured a decade's worth of sorrows and humiliations.

'At Jelly's request, I sat in the studio with him as he recorded, and I thought at the time I was going through at least as many crises as he was,' recalled writer Charles Edward Smith, who had organized the sessions for Gordon Mercer of General Records.

'On Winin' Boy Blues, for example, Morton closed his eyes on the humming passage. The clock was climbing toward the three-minute mark. Gordon and the engineers motioned me frantically to nudge Jelly. I didn't. It was too good. Besides, I didn't dare. Jelly opened his eyes slowly and murmured, 'Oh, Mamie,' as the number came to its close, that last exhortation almost a sob.'

Morton was reaching deep within for this music, creating sounds that were every bit as personal and as autobiographical as jazz audiences now demanded of their artists. The strength of these performances—and the sterling recordings he knew they would make—sustained him through a harrowing Christmas, during which he seethed over the [royalty-payment] blow from ASCAP.

The very notion that ASCAP could send him a letter in mid-December informing him that performance and broadcast payments from his compositions were worth a pitiful $120 a year demeaned and injured him.

So did the attitude of Benny Goodman's manager, John Hammond, who just before New Year's Eve [1939] finally returned the scores that Morton had lent him months earlier [including Morton's King Porter Stomp]. But Hammond made clear that he was annoyed at Morton for pestering him about such a trivial matter. From Hammond's tone, Morton realized he had made another enemy."

The General sessions of 1939-1940 would be Jelly Roll's last. His health deteriorated over the months that followed, and on July 11, 1941, Jelly Roll had an asthma attack and died at age 51 after an 11-day stay at a Los Angeles hospital. These recordings sum up the pianist's career and brilliance perfectly—and are essential.

JazzWax tracks: Jelly Roll Morton's last recordings can be found on a CD called Last Sessions: The Complete General Recordings. The 25 solo and group tracks can be found here or at iTunes for $11.99.

Every single track is clear, crisp and terrific, and Jelly Roll's stomps, rags and blues are nothing short of astonishing. Just listen to Sporting House Rag, King Porter Stomp, I Thought I Heard Buddy Bolden Say, Michigan Water Blues and so many others. If you love jazz piano, especially the New Orleans and stride styles, this is the mother lode.

And the instrumentals—featuring Henry "Red" Allen on trumpet, Joe Britton on trombone, Albert Nicholas on clarinet, Eddie Williams on alto sax, Wellman Braud on bass and Zutty Singleton on drums—are equally heart-felt and earthy.

Just be warned: The rhythm here is so infectious you will likely find it hard to restrain your foot from tapping or your hands from playing air piano on the nearest table.

Oscar Peterson, Redux

Doug Ramsey of Rifftides has posted a fine appraisal of the late Oscar Peterson along with a terrific YouTube clip of Peterson and Count Basie playing a slow blues. It's Oscar in first gear—and in fine form with Basie, the Kansas City master. Dig Doug's post here...David Brent Johnson also has a fine Oscar Peterson blog post, complete with a YouTube clip of Oscar (again, playing nice and slow) performing the Benny Goodman closer, Goodbye. You'll find David's post here.

Oscar Peterson (1925-2007)

I was never a big Oscar Peterson fan. Too many notes, and his explosive treatment and scale runs made every song sound too much the same. Even on ballads, Peterson's enormous energy level felt twitchy and raring to go, like a champion thoroughbred being asked to hold still.

Technically amazing, Peterson in a trio setting was for me often overpowering. He could play the impossible but lacked a certain soul that connects with your heart.

Peterson was a pianist who sounded best accompanying others. As Verve Records' house pianist in the 1950s, he played behind all of the greats signed to the label by producer Norman Granz, and most of those recordings for my money represent his finest work. I haven't taken a count, but I would guess that Peterson holds a record for pianist with most sides recorded as an accompanist and leader (with the exception of Duke Ellington, of course).

Born with a gift, Peterson was certainly overworked during his lifetime. As the Ironman of Jazz, Peterson was called upon relentlessly to produce pianistic fireworks, and he delivered. But I'm guessing that the work pace and demand for his signature style left little him with time or space for self-reflection. The result is that many of his recordings lack an emotional quality, a depth or sadness. So much of his catalog sounds mechanical.

There are a few exceptions. One is Prelude to a Kiss, recorded with Barney Kessel and Ray Brown in December 1952. It's my favorite Oscar Peterson track, and it's how I'd like to remember him. On this recording, the powerful player rolls in the muscle and is all tenderness. I can't think of a better instrumental interpretation of this Ellington song. I only wish there were hundreds more like it.

Rather than go on about Peterson or Prelude to a Kiss, go to iTunes and download the track. It's on Oscar Peterson's The Song Is You: Best of the Verve Songbooks. I guarantee you'll listen to it over and over again. And I'm certain it's how you'll remember Oscar, too.

Jo Stafford: Happy Holidays

I used to dig Christmas songs. But as a New Yorker, I'm completely burned out. Store sound systems started playing the stuff before Thanksgiving this year, crushing whatever romance existed in these numbers. I now associate Frank's Christmas Waltz and Ella's Sleigh Ride with sales, not snowy lanes or nostalgic fun.

My tinsel-tune exhaustion isn't just the fault of rent-challenged stores. I don't know whether you've noticed, but more and more Christmas songs are being tarted up with trendy beats and techno riffs. Not sure what I'm referring to? Listen carefully at the stores today and you'll likely hear Bing Crosby's voice being forced through a blender.

Now that I've finished my Christmas grousing, let me tell you about the one holiday album I do adore. As far as I can tell, it hasn't been groped by fashion-forward producers or abused by malls.

The CD is Jo Stafford's Happy Holidays: I Love the Winter Weather. This 1999 compilation is so square it's downright nifty. All of the tracks are 1950s antiques—in the best sense of the word. Jo either goes it alone on the tunes or is joined by the Starlighters, a Pied Pipers-sounding vocal group. All of the band arrangements are by her husband, Paul Weston. I don't know about you but I just love Weston's writing. I can't help it. His charts on swinging numbers always fit Jo so well.

Is Happy Holidays a perfect compilation? No. There are a few numbers that are a little too earnest. On 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and Silent Night, Jo is accompanied by sticky children's voices. And Hanover Winter Song and the Whiffenpoof Song are way too sappy for my taste. All four probably could have been shelved or replaced.

But hey, we're talking about only four clunkers, leaving you with 18 picture-perfect musical postcards. Be warned, this isn't contemporary stuff. It's classic holiday fare sung by a swinger from a time when movies just went color, you knew the balloons in the Thanksgiving Day Parade and a simple wreath and tree were all the decorations a home needed. (By the way, that's Jo on the cover cozily reading Bernard Shaw!)

Are there better Christmas songs than Jo Stafford singing Winter Weather, By the Fireside, Sleigh Ride, Moonlight in Vermont, I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm, Let It Snow, Happy Holiday or It Happened in Sun Valley? Maybe so, but I doubt it. Every time I hear these songs I want to reach for the wool snowflake sweater, toss the snow shoes into the Woodie and head over to Central Park to gather Yule logs.

Merry Christmas to all my readers in the U.S. and around the world! See you on Wednesday.

JazzWax tracks: It's too late this year to buy Jo Stafford's Happy Holidays on CD. But you can download individual tracks here for 99 cents each. Or you can download the album or tracks at iTunes (you'll find it listed under Jo Stafford's name).

To ease any fears you might have about the nature of the album's content, iTunes has graciously added a nice big label at the download page vowing that the material contains only "Clean Lyrics." Too funny.

And remember, if you find you enjoy this album as much as I do, don't tell a soul. Stores and producers have plenty of other holiday songs to wear out or remix.

Top 10 Replays of 2007

Like you, I'm constantly prowling for jazz recordings that are new to me or are from an artist's period I may not have fully explored or appreciated.

Hearing a great jazz album (old or new) for the first time is tremendously exciting. There's nothing like it. You almost can't believe your ears, and you immediately want to tell everyone you know about your discovery. Or play it for them if they live nearby.

As you might imagine, I listen to upward of 10 CDs and/or LPs a day. One of the perks of being a writer is the freedom to listen to jazz while I work. That adds up to a lot of CDs piled up on shelves. Which can make finding what I want a little tricky, not to mention time-consuming.

So not long ago, for convenience sake, I started a stack of CDs purchased recently that I enjoy playing over and over again. Yesterday I realized this "replay" stack would make a neat list of favorite albums of the year.

With that said, let me unveil my first annual Top 10 JazzWax "Replays" of 2007. Note that this list isn't about contemporary artists or CDs released this year. It's simply a list of albums that I heard for the first time in 2007 and continue to play on a regular basis:

1.Teddy Charles: Coolin' (1957)—This high-energy album remains rich with ideas from beginning to end. The out-of-print CD features vibraphonist Teddy Charles, trumpeter Idrees Sulieman and pianist Mal Waldron. Teddy also produced this Prestige date. I  discovered the album while blogging about Teddy in the fall. Concord Records, the new owner of the Prestige label, really should re-issue it.

2. John Coltrane: Stardust (1958). Coltrane was  still with the Miles Davis Quintet, when he recorded for Prestige in July and December 1958. But by early the following year, Coltrane had signed  with Atlantic Records, and the Prestige recordings weren't released at the time. Four of the Prestige tracks eventually were released as Stardust in 1963—four years after Coltrane left the label. (The balance came out on The Believer.) Each of the tracks on Stardust is special and foreshadows Coltrane's impending Atlantic sound.

3. Eddie Bert: Crosstown (1955). The beauty of Eddie is that he's two parts swing, one part bop—which makes for a great combination. On record dates, he was always patient with his solos, thinking about what he was playing rather than how many notes he could squeeze off per measure. Eddie's blowing is cool all the way through on this double CD, which combines three different albums from 1955. All of the tracks feature smart playing, and Eddie is accompanied throughout by Hank Jones on piano and Kenny Clarke on drums.

4. Clifford Brown: Complete Metronome & Vogue Mater Takes (1953). This is Brownie at his best, just before he and Max Roach formed their influential hard bop quintet and began recording for EmArcy. Every track is a masterpiece.

5. Zoot Sims: Plays Tenor and 4 Altos (1956-57). This CD combines two albums from the 1950s—Zoot! and Zoot Plays Four Altos. If you've ever wondered why all jazz musicians cite Lester Young and Zoot Sims as the real deals back in the day, this CD says it all. And arranger George Handy was no slouch, either.

6. John Benson Brooks: Alabama Concerto (1958). Brooks was an arranger in the Gil Evans mode, and this album is one of the most overlooked recording sessions in jazz. It showcases Cannonball Adderley and Art Farmer on their only small-group date. The recording features Adderley's alto sax, Farmer's trumpet, guitarist Barry Galbraith and bassist Milt Hinton—with only a hint of Brooks' piano on one track.

7. Hal McKusick: Triple Exposure (1957). Hal never recorded a bad note, and this album may well be his best, in my estimation. In addition to Hal's golden honey sound on alto, tenor and clarinet, there's fine session work by trombonist Billy Byers, pianist Eddie Costa, bassis Paul Chambers and drummer Charlie Persip. It's perfectly crafted work on many levels.

8. Tina Brooks: Back to the Tracks (1960). Tina Brooks is always more interesting than you think. I never bothered to pick up Back to the Tracks until I blogged about True Blue earlier in the fall. While I still think True Blue is Brooks' best outing, Back to the Tracks features rich hard bop originals by the tenor saxophonist and superb solo work by trumpeter Blue Mitchell, alto saxophonist Jackie McLean and pianist Kenny Drew.

9. Lester Young: The Complete Savoy Recordings (1944-50). All are tenor sax essentials from Prez. While I've long been familiar with the studio dates, I was less familiar with the 1950 live Savoy recordings. Even though the sound on the live sessions isn't the best, I still love Lester's ideas on Body and Soul, Pennies From Heaven, I Can't Get Started and others.

10. Miles Davis: Big Fun (1974). Much has been written about the release earlier this year of The Complete On the Corner Sessions— some good and some not so good. A more mature and interesting Miles album of the same period is the lesser-known Big Fun. I heard the double album for the first time over the summer at the art studio of a friend. He insisted, despite my objections, and I was blown away. Recorded between 1969 and 1972, it's Miles in the thick of his Sly Stone-fusion period. It's fascinating music just the same—and perfect before listening to Herbie Hancock's Head Hunters (1973) or Thrust (1974).

Interview: Orrin Keepnews (Part 5)

It's not over the top to say that Orrin Keepnews was responsible for producing some of the most significant jazz albums of the 1950s and early 1960s.

His body of work as co-founder and producer of Riverside Records is substantial and speaks for itself: 14 stunning Thelonious Monk albums, two of Sonny Rollins' most robust dates, Bill Evans' most delicate albums (including the eternal Village Vanguard sessions) and classic recordings by Cannonball Adderley, Wes Montgomery, Kenny Dorham, John Benson Brooks (Alabama Concerto), Chet Baker, Blue Mitchell, Art Blakey, Johnny Griffin and so many others.

In this final installment of my five-part interview with Orrin, he reflects on The Sound of Sonny, the Bill Evans Vanguard sessions, his one career regret, and why the "trust factor" is so essential for producing any great record:

“The Sound of Sonny was the first Sonny Rollins album I produced at Riverside. The album was made in mid-1957, perhaps a year after Sonny came to the end of his Prestige contract. I have always considered it a great album, but I wouldn't know how to evaluate it in comparison with his Freedom Suite—a pianoless trio record with drummer Max Roach and bassist Oscar Pettiford. Freedom Suite was recorded almost a year after The Sound of Sonny and was much more ambitious and more difficult to record.

At that point in his career, Sonny was very much in demand and quite resolute about not signing with any one label. I had first met him in the fall of 1956, at the initial session for Monk's Brilliant Corners. Obviously, Thelonious was entirely responsible for Sonny being on that album, to which he contributed a great deal. So I was very pleased that this period of Rollins’ developing career included two albums as a leader for Riverside—and I'm also pleased that Sonny and I have done quite a number of projects together over the years.

Bill Evans had an extremely quiet start. His first album, New Jazz Conceptions, recorded in 1956, got glowing reviews but sold a total of only 800 copies in its first year. It actually took me two years to persuade Bill to record again, but by that time Miles Davis had discovered him and made him part of his classic sextet that included John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley.  After the second Evans album, which I daringly titled  Everybody Digs Bill Evans, he quickly became another one of Riverside’s early key players.

Bill’s live recordings at the Village Vanguard in June 1961 turned out to be, serendipitously, one of the most celebrated 'live' dates ever recorded. We happened to catch Bill and the remarkable bassist, Scott LaFaro, on what turned out to be the last day they ever worked together, at the end of a three-week engagement. Scott died in a car crash only 11 days later.

The only deliberate factor on that date was having as much recorded material as we did. Sunday matinees were quite customary in those years, so recording those performances plus the regular evening sessions gave you a maximum amount of working time to choose from. Obviously, the importance of the timing was not anything that could have been anticipated. But in retrospect, it was a pretty perfect day in terms of what they were able to accomplish.

Bill was devastated by Scott's death. He didn't play in public for months. But we did start to work on the recorded material almost immediately. We quickly realized that there were two wonderful albums there. Eventually, all alternate takes were issued in one form or another. Bill wanted the first album, Sunday at the Village Vanguard, to place as much emphasis as possible on Scott. So both of the LaFaro originals we had recorded were on there—Gloria's Step and Jade Visions—as well as most of his solo work.

Probably my biggest career regret is that I never got to record John Coltrane as a leader. When his Prestige contract came to an end in 1959—not too long after his period with Thelonious—we were trying to work out a deal with him. But Nesuhi Ertegun at Atlantic Records made him an offer I couldn't match, and Trane signed with Atlantic. That's undoubtedly the most painful one that got away.

I can't really tell you what my technique is as a producer—or why I got the results I did out of jazz artists. I apparently had a good approach to getting creative results out of musicians. Most musicians I've worked with seem to have trusted me. There's no big secret that I know beyond that.

I have been a professional jazz record producer for more than 50 years. I don’t play an instrument. I’ve just practiced my profession based on my standards and intuitions. I don’t try to have a recording style or a special technique for dealing with musicians or for recording them, and frankly I tend to get angry when I'm asked that kind of question.

Every musician I've ever considered valuable enough to be in a studio making records with was a unique and creative individual. I try to relate as best I can to each artist, to perceive what's in him and what he wants to say. I feel that every musician is a different individual and every record is a different entity, not to be viewed as better or worse than another. (That's Orrin and Sonny Rollins, top, and with Cannonball Addereley, bottom.)

But at the end of the work, the name of the musician appears on the album in much larger type than mine—and for a damn good reason."

JazzWax video clips: Concord Records interviewed Orrin Keepnews on camera for its Keepnews Collection reissue series. You'll find Chapter 1 here on Thelonious Monk and Chapter 2 here on Sonny Rollins.