JazzWax

Sunday Wax Bits

Links to interviews: If you're looking for a specific JazzWax interview or want to see who else has endured my badgering questions, you no longer have to hunt through the site.

Simply look down the right-hand column (under the album covers). There, you'll find a list of links to artist interviews. If you click on an artist and see only Part 1 of the interview, look at the top of the page. You should see a link to the next part. If you don't see a link, return to the list and click on the next entry for the artist.

Sites for jazz musicians: Not a week goes by without a jazz musician telling me, ruefully, "I'd love a website but I'm too busy and have no idea how to create one."

If you're a jazz musician, you no longer have an excuse.

JazzCorner.com—a company created in 1996 by Lois Gilbert, a former jazz DJ and darn nice person—can do it all for you. In fact, her company has designed and hosts the websites of 250 musicians—including Clark Terry, Randy Brecker, Steve Turre, Kenny Barron and the Thelonious Monk Institute.

To learn more, go here and click on "Contact."

Laughing matter: Speaking of JazzCorner.com, the site features a section that lets anyone in cyberspace weigh in on a range of jazz-related subjects. For a light moment, follow these steps:

• Go here
• Scroll down and click on "The Top 10: Your Jazz lists and jazz polls go here."
• Next, scroll down and click on "Top 10 Cheesiest Album Covers."

There you'll see five pages of submissions that I think you'll find are pretty tough to beat.

Eddie Bert—Live!

After writing about trombonist Eddie Bert this week, seeing him play last night at New York's Swing46 was frosting on the cake.

What you notice first about Eddie are his eyes. They are sharp and piercing. Eddie looks hard before he talks. The next thing you notice is the full head of perfectly groomed snow-white hair and sharply sculptured mustache. Eddie is courtly, and even if you don't know who he is, you instantly sense that he is and was somebody when New York mattered in the entertainment industry.

Eddie's is very much on the ball for an 85-year-old legend. His solos last night were warm and swinging, despite the six cruise-ship musicians banging away around him. As I scanned the room of out-of-town diners and dancers, I wondered whether anyone there knew who Eddie was or what he has seen and done.

When Eddie came off the bandstand following a 50-minute set, we both looked at each other and laughed. "It's a gig," he said, with his cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. After we were seated, a young guy half in his cups came over to shake Eddie's hand, saying, "Respect, respect." More a son-like Ali-G salute to an old-timer still plugging away than a jazz-fan accolade.

Eddie told me he's off to play at Ronnie Scott's next week in London. It's a Sinatra birthday tribute featuring vocalist Betsyann Faiella, house pianist James Pearson and guitarist Howard Alden. The same group is going into New York's Birdland in January.

Eddie said he's driving himself to Kennedy Airport very early on Sunday morning to catch a 7 am flight—taking only a suitcase and his trombone mouthpiece. "I stopped taking my horn after 9/11," he said. "They'd make me check the case, and my horn would be ruined on the other end."

Finally, at 10 pm last night, I had to take off. After our goodbyes and a gracious thanks for this week's blogs, Eddie started to head back to the bandstand. It was time for the second set, followed by a two-hour drive back up to Connecticut. Steady Eddie. At 85, we all should be gigging like Eddie Bert.

Bill Evans: 26 Letters

Did you know that pianist Lennie Tristano walked out in the middle of a Bill Evans, Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian club date? Apparently the perfection of the Bill Evans Trio was too much for Lennie's ego. Or that Bill's playing was more influenced by Lee Konitz than Tristano? I didn't either. 

You'll find these Bill Evans tidbits and much more (including piano transcriptions) by downloading all 26 issues of Win Hinkle's Letter From Evans newsletter, published from 1989 to 1994. And as Doug Ramsey noted here in his Rifftides post yesterday, Win has generously made them all available—for free.

To find out how to download issues, go to Jan Stevens' Bill Evans site here and simply follow his step-by-step instructions. If you dig Bill, you're in for quite a treat.

And while you're at Jan's site, linger awhile. Jan has assembled the web's best compendium of all things Bill. His site is first to know and report on anything that moves in the world of the late Bill Evans.

Also, pay a visit to Win Hinkle's blog page here and shoot along an e-mail of gratitude. Giving away anything these days—let alone a treasure trove of information—is an act of pure generosity.

Want another nugget from Win's Letter from Evans? In an interview, bassist Chuck Israels said Evans loved Barry Harris' playing. When asked why, Israels said, "Barry is a student of the essential in musical style. And like Bill, he pares it all away but the essential."

I hear that. Go download your free PDF copies of Letter from Evans. They will make for great holiday reading.

Interview: Eddie Bert (Part 4)

I spent much of this week looking at the career and recordings of one of my favorite trombonists, Eddie Bert—who will be appearing tonight at Swing46 (349 W. 46th St. in New York's theater district) at 8:30.

Up until today, I've focused on Eddie's prolific career in the big bands of the 1940s. But in 1952, Eddie's talent had outgrown the limitations of large orchestras. With the number of big bands shrinking and the demand for small-group jazz rising among record labels eager to fill the new 10-inch album format, Eddie started to branch out.

Eddie's small group work in the early 1950s is remarkable. His tone was warm and his ideas tasteful and compelling. His solo work was crisp and clean, and he sustained notes as if drawing them through honey.

In Part 4 of my interview with Eddie, he talks about his most significant small-group dates between 1952 and 1955:

"After recording with Chico O'Farrill's orchestra in 1951, I wanted to play and record more with small groups. I continued to record on big band sessions, but more small group opportunities were coming up. Back then, if you got a date for a small label, they left you alone. I had more freedom to explore what I wanted to do.

In early March 1952 I recorded New Faces, New Sounds with the Gil Melle Sextet. Gil was on tenor sax, I was on trombone, Joe Manning on vibes, Max Roach on drums, Red Mitchell on bass and George Wallington on piano.

Gil worked a lot of gigs around New York and New Jersey back then. He also was an artist who created many famous jazz album covers. Later he moved to California to compose for the movies and TV—he wrote the Columbo theme. He wound up living in Malibu and getting rich out there.

On that spring date for Blue Note, we recorded Four Moons, The Gears, Mars and Sunset Concerto. After recording, I figured if Gil could lead a session, so could I. I had tunes and arrangements, too.

So I went to Jack Bergman at Discovery Records and told him that I used to room with Art Pepper. Art had recorded for Discovery. Bergman gave me a date right off the bat. I recorded as the leader in late March with Harrry Biss on piano, Sal Salvador on guitar, Clyde Lombardi on bass and Frank Isola on drums. The album was The Eddie Bert Quintet.

My second date as a leader for Discovery was in June 1953. The album was Kaleidoscope, and the group featured Duke Jordan on piano, Sal Salvador, Clyde Lombardi on bass and Mel Zelnick on drums. I also recorded in July with Vinnie Dean on alto sax, Duke Jordan, Clyde Lombardi and Art Mardigan on drums.

In January 1953, Gil Melle, me, guitarist Tal Farlow, Clyde Lombardi and drummer Joe Morello went out to Rudy Van Gelder’s house in Hackensack, N.J., to record additional sides for Blue Note. Rudy used to make holes in the wall for wires. His wife eventually told him he had to take the studio someplace else, which is why he moved to Englewood Cliffs.

I liked Rudy’s Hackensack studio better. The studio was in the living room, and it was a relaxed setting. But you couldn’t’ touch anything. Rudy would walk around with white gloves and handle the mikes, wires and equipment. He was kind of weird like that. He had his own ways. You couldn’t touch anything. You’d have to wait until he moved it. Rudy had those quirks but he always got the effect he wanted. However he did it, he did it.

In August 1954, J.J. Johnson was doing a date for Savoy and wanted me to play with him. But Jack Bergman at Discovery wouldn’t let me out of my contract. So J.J. asked Kai. The record they made wound up being Jay & Kai, which kicked off their duet career. That was a drag, but what are you going to do?

Then in November 1954 I played on a record date led by Coleman Hawkins. Hawk was on tenor, Emmet Berry on trumpet, me on trombone, Billy Taylor on piano, Milt Hinton on bass and Jo Jones on drums. Everyone dug Hawk. He was his own guy. He started playing the sax when there was nobody to listen to. He had to make his own style.

When we recorded, Hawk had just come off the plane from Europe, and his horn had been shipped back. It was cold stiff, and he had to oil it in the studio, which took time. Hawk also didn’t have any charts for us.

The producer on the date was getting nervous. He said, 'What's going on? You don’t have any charts and you haven’t recorded for 45 minutes.' So Hawk picked up his horn, and we played the date—without music. We just used head charts—meaning the music was all in our heads. We all knew what to do, and we got the session done in three hours.

When I got home from that session, my feet were tingling. I wasn’t feeling well and turned out to have a temperature of 104. Even though I felt terrible, I wasn’t about to walk out on that recording date. I did it sick.

The album was Timeless Jazz, and when it came out, it got great reviews. Not long after I ran into drummer Eddie Locke, who used to work with Hawk. Eddie told me Hawk said Timeless Jazz was really Eddie Bert’s date. Man, I wished Hawk had told me that himself.

In 1955, I won Metronome magazine's Musician of the Year. Savoy’s head of A&R, Ozzie Cadena, called and asked if I wanted to do a date with two trombones. ‘Who’s the other trombone?’ I asked. He said, ‘You. We’re going to overdub you.’ So I taught myself how to overdub and showed Rudy Van Gelder how I'd do it—playing the straight line first and then recording a second track over it that harmonized with the straight line.

The album was  Musician of the Year and was recorded in May 1955 with Hank Jones on piano, Wendell Marshall on bass and Kenny Clarke on drums. When the album came out, Jimmy Cleveland took a blindfold test and said it was J.J. and Kai at their best. That was funny.

In October 1955, I recorded with Gigi Gryce’s Orchestra. Talk about a band—Art Farmer was on trumpet, I was on trombone, Julius Watkins on French horn, Bill Barber on tuba, Gigi on alto, Cecil Payne on baritone, Horace Silver on piano, Oscar Pettiford on bass, Art Blakey on drums and Ernestine Anderson was the vocalist. This was the model Oscar would use for his big band. The album was Gigi's Nica's Tempo.

It's too bad about Cecil's passing last week. He was great. I worked with him a lot. He was quiet. He had his own thing. He played light. Everyone else pounded down on the baritone. He floated. He played like he was dancing.

Gigi's Social Call was one of the tracks we recorded on that date. It’s a real pretty song. The beauty of it is you can blow it up or down [fast or slow]. Gigi wrote a lot of tunes and tried to publish them. But things got all mixed up about who gets paid. He finally got disgusted with the business and left the scene. He was a great arranger but didn’t get the money he should have for his tunes.

In December 1955 I recorded Mingus at the Bohemia. I first met Charlie when I was working with Benny Goodman in the mid 1940s. Charlie was working in San Francisco. The next time I saw him he was in Red Norvo’s trio with Tal Farlow in 1950.

Charlie's personality changed after a dumb problem over a TV appearance in the early 1950s. I was there taking pictures when it happened. Mingus was with with Red and Tal and they were going to play a TV show. But Charlie wasn’t a member of Local 802. I don’t think he ever joined.

The union rep wouldn’t let him play on the show. Red said to the rep during rehearsals, ‘What do you mean he can’t play? He’s my bass player. He’s part of my trio. I have to have Mingus.’ The guy from Local 802 said no way. So Red had to hire Clyde Lombardi for the date. It was a drag for Charlie, but it pushed him in new directions.

In 1955, before we did Mingus at the Bohemia, tenor saxophonist George Barrow and I went over to Charlie’s house and Charlie played the stuff he wanted to hear on the piano. Charlie told everyone to learn the music by heart and said, 'Play it in your style. If I write it down you’ll play it different.’

The whole Mingus at the Bohemia date was like that. Charlie was a great musician and leader. He’d open the window at rehearsal and tell us, ‘You hear that sound out there? Imitate it.’ Charlie and I got along. He knew I wanted to interpret his music and that I understood it.

During the early 1950s, I had been with many big bands and small groups but couldn’t break into the New York scene. There was a clique of musicians who recorded all the time. Most of the leaders had me pegged for a roadie—someone who was always going out on the road. They figured I’d get a touring gig and split, leaving them hanging. So they didn’t hire me to play as often as I would have liked.

So I went to the Manhattan School of Music part time on the GI Bill starting in 1952 and graduated in 1957 with bachelor and masters degrees. This type of training gave me a more schooled approach and helped me break into studio recording sessions in the late 1950s and 1960s."

Eddie is off to London later this week. When he returns, we'll talk about his late 1950s dates and the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis band of 1969 and 1970, which recorded Central Park North and Consummation.

JazzWax tracks: Eddie Bert's recordings with the Gil Melle Sextet on CD are here on a copy of the original 10-inch record for about $30. They're also available here on a used two-CD set, Gil Melle: Complete Blue Note 50's Sessions (Thanks Jim!). To learn more about Gil Melle and his jazz album covers, go here.

Kaleidoscope is available on CD and can be found here from Fresh Sound.

Timeless Jazz—the date Coleman Hawkins said was really Eddie Bert's—can be found here on the CD, Coleman Hawkins and His All Stars from Fresh Sound.

Eddie's overdubbed album, Musician of the Year, can be found here as a used CD or here on a two-CD set called Crosstown. I strongly recommend Crosstown, since you'll get not only Musician of the Year but all of Eddie's recordings from the period with Hank Jones, including those with tenor saxophonist J.R. Monterose. Every track on the album is drop-dead great.

Eddie's recordings with the Gigi Gryce Orchestra are on Nica's Tempo (Savoy). It's available here and at iTunes.

Mingus at the Bohemia featuring Eddie Bert can be found here.

JazzWax video clips: To hear Gil Melle's theme for the TV show, Columbo, go here.

Interview: Eddie Bert (Part 3)

Eddie Bert dropped out of high school in the late 1930s to play jazz trombone professionally. By late 1941, he was playing with xylophonist Red Norvo. Eddie remained with Norvo for a year, then joined Charlie Barnet's band, jumping to Woody Herman before being drafted in 1944.

During World War II, Eddie was stationed just north of New York City, playing in a big band that backed entertainers performing for departing and arriving troops. When Norvo needed a trombonist for the 1945 Town Hall Jazz Concert, he called Eddie, who played the date in uniform. The concert was recorded by Commodore, and the hot-selling discs solidified Eddie's reputation among bands and musicians.

After the war, Eddie joined Stan Kenton's famed 1947 band, turning in a signature solo on vocalist June Christy's spirited hit, How High the Moon. When Eddie left Kenton in 1948, he began rehearsing with Miles Davis' "Birth of the Cool" band. But a practical joke by French hornist Junior Collins caused Eddie to lose his chair to trombonist Kai Winding.

Bad luck was good luck. As Eddie wandered into the studio next door on that day in 1948, he found Benny Goodman rehearsing what would become his "Undercurrent Blues" bop band. Benny knew Eddie from his days with Norvo and hired him on the spot. A year later,  Eddie decided to leave Goodman's band.

In Part 3 of my interview with Eddie Bert, he talks below about Charlie Parker, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, Milt Jackson, Maynard Ferguson and Chico O'Farrill:

"When I left Benny Goodman’s 'Undercurrent Blues' band at the end of 1949, I started rehearsing with Gene Roland’s 27-piece orchestra, which became known as the 'Band That Never Was.' It got that name because the band never worked and never officially recorded. It only rehearsed. There just weren’t any jobs for a band of that size.

Gene had been an arranger for Stan Kenton, so he had huge dreams. The band was packed with stars but was recorded unofficially only once, on tape, on April 3, 1950. Bird was a terrific guy. The photo of Charlie Parker and me was taken just after he got to rehearsal. If you look carefully, his coat is halfway off. The sax section alone had Charlie Parker and Joe Maini on altos, Al Cohn and Zoot Sims on tenors, and Marty Flax on baritone. You'd think it would have been hard on Maini sitting next to a guy like Parker, but Joe and Bird had a great relationship.

The day after the 'Band That Never Was' tape was made, I recorded four tracks with Artie Shaw, who had just started up a new group after breaking up his bop band. Artie Shaw was like a teacher. He was very strict and didn’t tolerate anyone breaking the rules. As a player, Artie was more legit than Benny. His sound was better, though he wasn’t a jazz player like Benny. With Artie, it was always about the sound, which was great.

By May 1950, I was with Woody Herman. We were at the Capitol Theater in New York, and I had to keep vibraphonist Milt Jackson awake. He was to my right, at the end of the trombone section. On certain numbers, Milt wasn't supposed to play until it was time for his solo. I’d prod him with my arm a few measures before, and he’d snap up right away and start soloing perfectly.

When Woody’s band went out on tour, I roomed with trombonist Bill Harris. He was a strange guy. One time I woke up in the middle of the night, and Bill had headphones on. He was listening to a tape of that odd theme song from the movie, The Third Man, and flushing the toilet over and over again. I have no idea why he was doing that. Maybe it was something from the movie.

I went back with Kenton’s band in the late summer of 1950 because Shorty Rogers was writing the charts and wanted me to join. We had been friends as kids up in the Bronx. I think Kenton’s 1950 band was as good as the 1947 band, mostly because of Shorty’s arrangements.

Maynard Ferguson was in the 1950 band, too. I already knew Maynard after meeting him years earlier in Toronto, where he had his own band with his brother. This was around 1947, before he came to the States. I was up there with Kenton playing a concert. Boyd Raeburn is really the one who discovered Maynard. After we left, Boyd came in and brought Maynard into the U.S. as a high-note trumpet act because you couldn’t hire foreign musicians as full-time players until residency rules were met.

Art Pepper was playing great, too, in Kenton’s 1950 band. So were all the trumpets and trombones. Al Porcino, Chico Alvarez and Milt Bernhart were in that band along with Art and Maynard. I was with Kenton for a few months and recorded in Hollywood. Then we went out on tour, but I left the band with Conte Candoli in McKeesport, Pennsylvania, before Stan headed back to the West Coast. My wife, Molly, and I had kids by then, and I didn’t’ want to be away from them in California.

My first recording date after leaving Kenton was with Chico O’Farrill's band. We recorded his Second Afro-Cuban Jazz Suite and all those early Latin-jazz and dance numbers Chico wrote and arranged, including Dance One, Bright One and Last One.

Chico was fantastic. A really gifted writer—and fast. Chico and I were friends from two years earlier when I played his arrangements in Benny Goodman’s bop band. By the time I recorded with Chico's orchestra in 1951, I had already played with Machito, Al Romero, Candido Camero and other Latin-jazz orchestras and musicians.

As a jazz musician, you had to play different with the Latin bands. They relied on a different beat—it had to be right there, and you couldn’t get distracted by all the other percussion instruments coming in and out. The beat was a different concept than laying back with jazz. You had to play strong but not get in the way of the rhythm. They'd call me to play and record because I was able to keep up with that special clave rhythm.

Mario Bauza was in many of those early Latin-jazz bands. He kept everyone on top of the music. Mario was like the musical director. Machito had a big name but didn’t really have much to do with rehearsing his band. That fell to Mario.

After those Chico O'Farrill sessions in 1951 for the Norgran and Clef labels, I wanted to start playing and recording more with smaller groups."

Tomorrow, in Part 4, Eddie talks about his first leadership dates, how Kai Winding wound up edging him out for the second time to become J.J. Johnson's trombone duet partner, Eddie's feverish recording session with Coleman Hawkins, and recollections of Charles Mingus, Gigi Gryce and Cecil Payne.

JazzWax tracks: The recording of Gene Roland's Band That Never Was isn't available on CD. But it was released in 1979 on a Spotlite LP that surfaces from time to time on eBay. It may still be here.

Eddie's four sides with the Artie Shaw band of 1950—He's Gone Away, Foggy Foggy Dew, The Continental and I'll Remember April—can be found here, on Artie Shaw and His Orchestra 1950.

Eddie's four tracks for Woody Herman in 1950—Spain, Pennies from Heaven, I Want a Little Girl and You're My Everything—can be found here, on Woody Herman: The Complete 1948-1950 Sessions, a used import that sells for about  $10. The tracks also appear on the  Complete Capitol Recordings of Woody Herman, which is a terrific 6-CD set from Mosaic Records. Sadly, the box is out of print. If you want it, have eBay alert you by email when it next comes up for auction.

Eddie's four sides with Stan Kenton's 1950 band—Love for Sale, Viva Prado, I'm So in the Mood and Round Robin—are here, on Stan Kenton and His Orchestra (1950-51).

And all of Eddie's recordings with Chico O'Farrill and His Orchestra are here, on The Chico O'Farill Sessions: Cuban Blues. This is a terrific two-CD set. Or you can download the album or tracks from iTunes.

Interview: Eddie Bert (Part 2)

A teenage passion for jazz pushed Eddie Bert to ask band legends Benny Morten and Trummy Young for trombone lessons. The two veteran trombonists were only too happy to lend a hand, and by late 1941, at age 19, Eddie was playing with Red Norvo.

But 24 hours after his first gig with Norvo, Pearl Harbor was bombed and World War II began. As the months wore on, the draft began to eat into bands. Then in the late summer of1942, the powerful musicians' union prohibited all of its members from making records in a brash standoff with the record labels over a range of new, threatening technologies.

By the end of 1942, Norvo folded his band, and Eddie was looking for full-time band work.

In Part 2 of my interview with Eddie Bert, he talks about his experiences with Charlie Barnet and Woody Herman, his two years stateside in the army performing for soldiers, the 1945 Town Hall Concert for Commodore Records and his work with Stan Kenton, Miles Davis and Benny Goodman between 1947 and 1949:

"Around late 1942 I needed a job. I had a chance to go with Harry James’ band but turned him down. The music was too schmaltzy. When Charlie Barnet asked me in May 1943, I thought that would be better.

We played a month at the Park Central Hotel near Carnegie Hall. Dizzy Gillespie used to come by and we became friends. He asked me, Trummy Young and Danny Bank to come up to his house where he showed us all the bop changes he was coming up with. We dug it.

While Barnet was at the Park Central, Tommy Dorsey came in to see the band. Dorsey asked me to join his orchestra, but before I could object he asked me to at least come up his room at the Hotel Astor to hear him out. I really didn’t want to play in his band. What does a trombonist play with Dorsey? Nothing. The guy's always going to be the lead trombone.

But I wanted to see his room at the Astor, which was a swanky place. When I got up to his room, I was surprised. It looked pretty ordinary. Dorsey handed me a contract. I looked it over and saw that it said I was guaranteed work for only 32 weeks of the year. I thought to myself, finally I have a way to get out of signing.

'What about the other weeks?' I asked. Dorsey said he’d find work for the band. I said, 'Forget about it,' and left. I also knew Dorsey was a pain. Vibraphonist Terry Gibbs told me he had played one set with Tommy in California and gave Tommy notice. Tommy said no one quits on him, adding that Terry was fired. Terry said, 'Great, if you’re firing me, you owe me two weeks salary and my transportation home.' Tommy quickly told Terry, 'No, no, you quit!' Dorsey was cheap.

In 1943, bassist Chubby Jackson and I were friends from Barnet's band. Chubby had just joined Woody Herman and said that a new thing was happening in music in Woody's band and that I should join. Chubby also said Woody would give me more bread. I told Chubby it sounded good to me.

Soon afterward I got a telegram from Woody while I was with Barnet at the Royal Theater in Baltimore asking me to join the band in Washington, D.C. I gave Charlie two weeks' notice and joined Woody.

Woody was great in front of a band. He knew how to run an orchestra that had terrific players. The band had trumpeters Ray Wetzel and Cappy Lewis, tenor saxophonist Allen Eager, alto saxophonist Johnny Bothwell and vocalist Frances Wayne, and tenor saxophonist Ben Webster sat in.

Woody was real relaxed—not like Benny Goodman or Tommy Dorsey, who were very uptight. Woody just let the guys in the band blow.

Then in January 1944, I was drafted. I took basic training down South, and afterward they sent me to a special camp in Alabama for entertainers. Cappy Lewis, who also had been drafted, got me a place working at a Virginia military hospital.

Then I was transferred to Camp Lee in Virginia, where I met pianist Jimmy Rowles. Finally I was transferred to Camp Shanks in Orangeburg, N.Y. It was about a half-hour's drive north of New York City, on the other side of the Hudson River. Camp Shanks was an embarkation point for soldiers going to Europe and coming back. We were there to entertain them and raise their morale.

The orchestra at the camp was led by arranger Bill Finegan. The weird thing was that no one was in charge of us. We had a barracks with houses on two ends where we'd sleep. We would perform daily in a revue at Victory Hall, which had a couple of hundred seats. But there were no officers who told us what to do.

Jo Stafford and Ethel Merman performed, we had a dog act, Jackie Paris sang, Vincente Gomez played classical Spanish guitar, and many other entertainers appeared with us.

During 1945, me and Shorty were still in the army but we’d play concerts in uniform, since we were so close to New York. In June, we played with Red Norvo at New York’s Town Hall. Red's band  included me, Shorty, Aaron Sachs on clarinet, Flip Phillips on tenor, Red on vibes and xylophone, Teddy Wilson on piano, Remo Palmieri on guitar, Slam Stewart on bass and Specs Powell on drums. That was a great group.

The concert was put on by producer Timme Rosenkrantz and recorded by Commodore. Also on the bill was Gene Krupa, Billy Taylor, Stuff Smith, Bill Coleman and Don Byas.

In 1946, when I got out of the Army, I joined Herbie Fields’ band—which had Neal Hefti on trumpet and Manny Albam on baritone—guys who went on to become great arrangers. One day I ran into trombonist Kai Winding. He said he wasn’t going back to Stan Kenton’s band. So I wrote Stan about joining. Stan wired me to come out to California.

I joined Kenton in September 1947. It was my first trip to California. But as soon as I got out there, I hated it and wanted to return to New York. The whole scene wasn’t real. Shorty was already there and wanted me to stay at his house while I worked off my union card.

Back then, the union wouldn't let you play in clubs for six months right after you got to California. The rule kept new guys from coming in and taking away other guys' jobs. Joining nationally touring bands was different. So you'd usually join a band and wait six months before gigging locally.

But I just wanted to get out of there. I went out on tour with Kenton, who was heading for New York. Pete Rugolo was arranging for the band then. He'd rehearse us for hours before Stan would come in to join us. The beautiful thing about Pete is he knew how to arrange for trombones and all of the instruments. He knew how the trombone worked and where the best positions were. Those charts were still hard to read, but we made it.

Stan was pretty rigid about what he wanted out of the band. On the tour, we played at the Mankato Ballroom in Mankato, Minnesota. Usually, the band was spread out to look like a bigger act. But the stage at the ballroom was small, so we were virtually touching elbows. Being close together, the band's energy level was very high, and we started to swing. Stan stopped the band and said, 'This isn’t Basie. This is Stan Kenton.' Stan didn't know anything about swing. He had a very special sound that he wanted.

I roomed with Art Pepper on that tour. Wow, was he unpredictable. The guy was very taken with himself and wanted to be the greatest alto player in the world. He even had acetates of his playing to listen to on the road. He was a smart guy who unfortunately got hung up on drugs young. But he had a great sound and great jazz ideas.

I think the best solo I played with Kenton during that period was on How High the Moon, with vocalist June Christy. We recorded it for Capitol on December 21, 1947 after we got back to New York, before the second AFM [American Federation of Musicians] recording ban in 1948.

June was a real hip chick—and she had a great voice. She was a pro. June was married to tenor saxophonist Bob Cooper and got along great with the guys in the band.

I left Stan in early 1948 and played a bunch of different gigs in New York, including a session with singer Frankie Laine. I recorded behind him on his hit, Rosetta, with Carl Fischer’s Orchestra. I didn’t’ really like the way Laine sang. He didn’t sing like Frank Sinatra or Billy Eckstine. Laine was kind of a rough singer. Buck Clayton was on that date. We were friends. I had recorded with Buck in Horace Henderson's small group while I was still in the army.

Later in 1948 I began rehearsing with eight guys Miles Davis put together at the Nola Studios near Broadway. We rehearsed together four times. Then one day I came in and they told me Kai Winding would be playing trombone, not me.

It turned out to be Miles' 'Birth of the Cool' band. I never understood why I had been bumped. Some 20 years later I ran into Junior Collins, the French hornist who played in the group. He asked me, 'Hey, did they ever tell you what I told Miles you said?' 'No, what did you say?' I asked. Junior said, 'I told Miles you said the band was out of tune.'

I couldn’t believe it. I told Junior, 'But I never said anything like that—why would you say something like that?' He said, “I don't know. It was getting boring.'

Yeah, boring. That was some joke. It kept me off what would become a great recording date. But that’s how some guys were back then.

Funny enough, everything worked out for the best. When I walked out of the studio room after Miles put in Kai, I went over to the next studio to see who was there. When I looked inside, there was Benny Goodman rehearsing what would become his 'Undercurrent Blues' bop band with Chico O’Farrill’s great arrangements. Benny remembered me from Red Norvo’s band, so he added me to the band.

In truth, Benny wasn’t really comfortable playing bop. When you’d solo, he’d be playing behind you trying to figure out what you were doing. Everything on the date would wind up sounding like a clarinet.

Benny was slow to understand bebop. After he moved out to California in 1948, he got to know Wardell Gray and saw things differently. Benny also liked the Swedish bop clarinetist, Stan Hasselgard, and took him under his wing. He signed both Wardell and Stan to his bop group.

Benny really dug Stan. I was at a rehearsal with the band in late November 1948 when Benny got a call telling him Stan had died in an auto accident in Illinois. Benny went white and canceled the rehearsal.

Benny was a weird guy. When the bop band went out to California in early 1949, he said we’d be out there for six months. So some of the guys sublet their apartments in New York. We played the Hollywood Palladium for a month in March and some other Hollywood dates in April.

Then Benny said he was going fishing up at Lake Mead near Las Vegas and that the band would have off for a couple of weeks. I asked Benny, 'What about our salary for those weeks?' Benny said he’d give us a record date to hold us over until he got back.

Benny had a rep for leaving guys hanging. All he thought about was his clarinet. I remember we were working at the Waldorf Hotel in New York and he didn’t like how one of the guys in the sax section was playing. So he grabbed the guy’s horn and told him not to play. That was rough for the guy. Another time Budd Johnson was late for rehearsal and Benny wouldn’t let him play a solo.

By the end of 1949, I was tired of playing with Benny. It was time to move on."

Tomorrow, in Part 3 of my interview with Eddie Bert, he talks about his recordings with Charlie Parker, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman's Capitol band, trombonist Bill Harris' odd obsession with a movie theme song, Eddie's Latin-jazz dates with Chico O'Farrill, Rudy Van Gelder's fetish for white gloves, and what prevented Eddie from becoming J.J. Johnson's trombone partner instead of Kai Winding.

JazzWax tracks: Eddie Bert spent part of 1943 in Charlie Barnet's band. An example of Eddie with Barnet can be heard on The Moose, which is available at iTunes under Barnet's name.

Eddie also recorded a series of radio transcriptions for Woody Herman's band in late 1943 and early 1944. You can find most of the tracks from these sessions on the LP, Woody Herman: The Turning Point (1943-1944). The Decca Jazz Heritage Series LP recently was available here at eBay for about $10.

Eddie at the 1945 Town Hall Concert can be found here, on two Atlantic LPs called The Commodore Years: Town Hall Jazz  Concert 1945.

Frankie Laine's recording of Rosetta with Eddie Bert can be found here, on a $7.35 CD import, Frankie Laine: Original Studio Transcriptions.

Eddie's brash key-modulating solo on How High the Moon with Stan Kenton in 1947 can be found at iTunes. You'll find it under June Christy's Tampico: The Classic Years of June Christy. (Click on the track to sample it and you'll hear the start of Eddie's solo, just after June stops singing.)

Eddie's Capitol studio dates with Benny Goodman's bop band can be found here on Benny Goodman: Undercurrent Blues.

In addition to Benny's Capitol sessions, Eddie appeared with the Goodman band during a series of radio broadcasts from the Hollywood Palladium in March 1949. I have nearly all of these broadcasts on two CDs made for me by a friend, Ivan Acosta, from a private collection.

Admittedly, there isn't much variation from one live broadcast to the next—Benny was a ruthless perfectionist. So if you own one of the dates, you pretty much own them all. You will find some of these Hollywood broadcasts here and here, on Benny's Bop, Volume 1 and Volume 2.

The good news is that Benny's Bop Volume 1—perhaps the best compilation of Benny's bop band—is at iTunes. Be sure to check out Mary's Idea (Mary Lou Wiliams) and Eddie Bert's pedal-to-the metal solo on Undercurrent Blues.

JazzWax flick pick: Eddie Bert can be seen with the Charlie Barnet band playing Cherokee in Jam Session, a 74-minute film released in 1944. The film (details here) turns up from time to time on the Turner Classic Movie channel.

Interview: Eddie Bert (Part 1)

Few jazz trombonists who came up in the 1940s sounded as hungry and as imaginative on the horn as Eddie Bert.

Eddie's forceful, full-throttle attack pre-dates Frank Rosolino's by about five years. And while there were plenty of brilliant trombone players with round sounds and sharp techniques, only a handful could match Eddie's passion and energy level in big band settings and small groups. 

Eddie was old school—like Jack Teagarden, Miff Mole, "Tricky Sam" Nanton and Benny Morten. Every note had to be strong and clear to stand out, and Eddie's exciting, high-energy solos set new standards for blowing.

Eddie's list of record dates is lengthy. From 1942 onward, he recorded relentlessly with virtually every major band and group. He's with Red Norvo at the famed Town Hall Concert of 1945 recorded live by Commodore Records. That’s Eddie’s trombone solo on Stan Kenton’s How High the Moon with June Christy in 1947.

In 1955, Eddie recorded one of the earliest overdub sessions on his Musician of the Year album featuring Hank Jones and Kenny Clarke. His Hambone solo from Trombone Scene (1956) still stuns. And his section work on Mulligan Stew from Gene Krupa Plays Gerry Mulligan Arrangements (1958) blows the roof off.

Eddie's also on The Thelonious Monk Orchestra at Town Hall date in 1959 and Buddy Rich's now-rare Richcraft  from the same year. In 1969 and 1970, Eddie's in the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Big Band for Central Park North and Consummation. There's even a great photo of Charlie Parker with his arm around Eddie in 1950. Bird knew.

Today, while many of the great trombone players of the 1940s and 1950s have retired or passed on, Eddie, at age 85, is still going strong gigging in New York. Last week Eddie played the Rainbow Room atop Rockefeller Center. This Thursday he’s at Swing 46 at 349 W. 46th St. The following week he's in London. Who says you can’t hear the greats anymore?

I spoke with Eddie last week. In Part 1, we spoke about his early setbacks and how he overcame them to break into the New York jazz scene:

“I was born in Yonkers, N.Y., on May 16, 1922. When I was three months old, my family split to Mundy Lane in the Bronx, right on the Westchester County border. My father worked for the phone company driving the bosses around and taking care of the wires. He was heavily into baseball—which is why I can’t stand the sport. It’s like watching grass grow. My mother was a housewife.

When I was 10 years old, we moved to Mount Vernon, N.Y., which was practically across the street from where we lived in the Bronx. We needed a bigger apartment.

In school, they tried me out on trumpet. My teacher thought I was OK but switched me to an e-flat alto horn, which is like a baritone but smaller. The stuff we played was boring. The tuba would go ‘oomp’ and I’d play ‘pah.’ So I tried playing drums for a while.

One day I saw a trombone on a stand next to the drums and picked it up. As soon as I gave it a try, I fell in love with the instrument. It was like a human voice. My dad could tell I was serious and bought me a Wurlitzer trombone. It was a peashooter. Narrow, with a slide made of brass, not chrome. It was a terrible horn but I messed with it for a while.

Then my dad got me a Martin, which was better. In those days—the late 1930s—they wouldn’t let you play jazz in schools. It was forbidden. My cousin had a jazz band and lived nearby, so I’d go there. We'd play stock arrangements of popular songs of the day. I was getting better and better, and loved to play.

When I was in 10th grade, I quit high school to join a band led by a guy named Wilbur Wheeldin that played in nearby New Rochelle. Soon I quit and joined another band  led by Doug Moye. I was working seven days and making $17 a week, which was good bread in 1939. My parents didn’t care that I quit school. I had to do what I had to.

Everyone except me in Moye’s band was African-American. My friend—Howard Washington—was the baritone player. We used to jam at a Mount Vernon record store and eventually played at a bar called the Ship Ahoy in New Rochelle and then the Post Lodge in Larchmont. Both places were pretty well known locally.

In 1940 a friend of mine said bandleader Sam Donahue needed a trombone player. I took the train up to Boston to play with the band but when I got there, I found I couldn’t read the charts. I had learned to read music differently in Moye’s band. We had played stock charts, modeling the band after the Savoy Sultans, the house band at the Savoy Ballroom. That band had three saxes, two trumpets and four in the rhythm section. There were no trombone parts. So the trumpet in Moye's band had me play the same notes he played.

Sam Donahue liked my solos but said he needed someone for a record date who could read music. So he let me go and hired trombonist Tak Takvorian. Sam told me I needed to spend time learning to read, so I went back home to New York to took lessons.

One of my favorite trombonists at the time was Trummy Young, who was in Jimmy Lunceford’s band. When I returned from Boston, I heard that Lunceford was playing at the Fiesta Danceateria on 42d and 7th. So I recorded their live dates off the radio using a Wilcox-Gay recorder console my father had given me. It had a radio and built-in turntable and arm that could cut acetate discs of broadcasts.

Then me and a bunch of friends went down to the Fiesta to see Lunceford. My friends included Shorty Rogers, who was from the Bronx; Al Porcino, who was from Weehawken, N.J.; and Bernie Glow, who was from the Bronx. Charlie Colin, the trumpeter who wound up as a music publisher, took us to the club and got us in.

That night I was able to meet all the guys in the Lunceford band. They were friendly and only too happy to help kids who wanted to learn and play. Out in the street, I ran into Trummy Young. I told him the name of the guy I was taking lessons from. Trummy frowned and said, ‘Let me send you to a real teacher.’

Trummy sent me to Miff Mole, a trombone virtuoso of the 1920s and 1930s. When I first came to see Miff, he asked me to play Honeysuckle Rose. I played it great. I knew how to jam. You learn that in your head, not in school. So Miff took me on.

I studied on and off with Miff for about two months at a studio on 48th and Broadway. Within a year of hard practicing, night and day, I learned how to read music.

In 1941 I took my trombone down to a bar called George’s on Bleecker St. and 7th Ave. Leonard Ware was on guitar, Luther Henderson was on piano, and there was a bass player named Slim. Many up-and-coming guys would go there to jam with them.

One night Red Norvo came in with Mildred Bailey. After they heard me play, Red invited me to join a band he was starting. Red rehearsed the band for three moths to get it in shape. Arranging for the band was Eddie Sauter and Johnny Thompson, who wound up writing for Harry James.

We went into the Blue Gardens in Armonk, N.Y., on December 6, 1941. The next day, of course, was Pearl Harbor. I thought, man, I finally get a gig and a day later there’s a war. We were at the Blue Gardens for a month and half after that. During that time, Benny Goodman came in to hear us, and we broadcast live.

I was already married by then—my wife’s name is Molly—and I taught her how to use the Wilcox-Gay recorder. Molly recorded me off the radio with Red at the Blue Gardens in January 1942. These recordings were released on CD in the early 1990s.

Then Red’s band toured the Midwest and returned to play the Apollo Theater in New York and the Adams Theater in Newark, N.J. Jimmy Durante was on the tour with us. He was a funny cat, and he knew every place to eat. Even way upstate in Rome, N.Y., he knew where all the Italian restaurants were or he knew somebody’s house where we could eat.

As 1942 wore on, the draft started to eat up Red’s band. He finally broke it up in April 1942 and formed a smaller group with me and a bunch of the other guys. He said he needed a trumpet player who played jazz and asked if I knew anyone. I recommended Shorty Rogers, who at the time was playing with Will Bradley, whose band was breaking up, too.

Shorty came on, and Red’s small group went into the Famous Door on 52d St. That place brought back memories for me. In 1936, when Basie was in Chicago heading to New York to record for Decca, Vocalion Records wanted to record him. But Decca had him under contract. So Basie recorded under an assumed name—Jones Smith Inc. That was Basie’s first recording date. Lester Young’s, too.

When I heard those Vocalion records on the radio, I said I had to meet Basie and his band. I had always listened to tenor players. The great jazz ideas came off the tenor players because tenors played melodies. Trombones played tricks.

When Basie went into the Famous Door in July 1938, I couldn’t get in because I was 16. I hung around outside and when Benny Morten came out on a break, I asked if I could take lessons with him. He said yes—if I came back the next day to hear the band rehearse. That’s how I met Lester Young in 1938 and all the guys in Basie's band.

Lester didn’t’ talk too much. I remember they were rehearsing London Bridge Is Falling Down, Stop Beatin' Round the Mulberry Bush and Jumpin' at the Woodside, which was just a head chart. That was just before they made those records for Decca. Afterward, Benny Morton gave me lessons.

Fast forward to 1942. There I was, on the same bandstand at the Famous Door, with Red Norvo. Wow, that killed me. Our small band included Aaron Sachs on clarinet, Specs Powell on drums, Clyde Lombardi on bass, me on trombone, Shorty on trumpet and Red on xylophone. He didn’t start playing vibes until later in the year.

In late 1942, the American Federation of Musicians banned the making of commercial recordings. The ban lasted until 1944. So Red's group went to George Simon’s house, and we recorded for two days. Soon afterward Red broke up the band.

George Simon gave me the acetates, and I recently gave them to Jerry Roche of Mosaic Records. Hopefully he'll release them."

Tomorrow, in Part 2, Eddie talks about how he blew off Tommy Dorsey, the famed 1945 Town Hall Concert, his year with Stan Kenton, rooming with Art Pepper, and how Junior Collins' practical joke got him bounced from Miles Davis' "Birth of the Cool" band—but landed him in Benny Goodman's "Undercurrent Blues" bop group.

JazzWax tracks: Eddie Bert's trombone work with Red Norvo in 1942 can be heard here on The Red Norvo Orchestra Live from the Blue Gardens.

For a taste of the Count Basie Orchestra in 1938, go here. What was this event at New York's Randall's Island? In a 2005 interview at JerryJazzMusician, Dan Morgenstern, director of the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers University, sheds some light:

"One event that would have been fascinating to attend was the Carnival of Swing on Randall's Island in 1938. This was really the first big outdoor jazz festival, although it wasn't called that then. It is an event that is not sufficiently remembered. It was sponsored by the Daily News and by Martin Block, who was basically the first important radio personality – you could say he was the first disc jockey. I believe there were twenty-four different groups, including the Count Basie band at its peak with Lester Young, and there was Duke Ellington playing Crescendo and Dimunedo in Blue, with the people dancing in the aisles to the point the cops had to calm them down. There was Stuff Smith, and there was John Kirby, and there was Hot Lips Page, and there was Roy Eldridge. This event led to a whole new way of presenting jazz, and it would have been something to see."

Sunday Wax Bits

Artie Shaw in aisle four. My interview last week with baritone saxophonist Danny Bank covered his recording sessions in the 1940s with six top big bands. One of the six was Artie Shaw's bop band of 1949-1950.

After taking a second look at Danny's discography, I noticed something strange. Over a series of just five dates in December 1949 and January 1950, a whopping 52 tracks were recorded. But the sides didn't appear to be recorded for RCA Victor, Artie's record label at the time. Nor were they recorded live at a club or concert hall.

Instead, the marathon sessions were recorded for something called "Thesaurus Transcriptions."

Huh? I buzzed Danny back late last week. Here's what he said:

"Artie recorded those tracks for elevator music—some sort of  subscription music service, like Muzak. He was going into the hospital for an operation to remove gallstones and wanted to record the entire bop book. The bop band was so well rehearsed that we were able to go in and record many tracks each day over five different dates from early December 1949 to mid-January 1950. The music was recorded on tape and used for play in hotel lobbies, restaurants, stores and places like that."

So I did a little digging. Thesaurus Transcriptions actually was a division of RCA that recorded bands separately from the Victor label.

The music would be recorded on magnetic tape—a brand new format in 1949 that allowed more music to be captured at once on a single master source. Then RCA piped the music over a radio frequency to businesses that subscribed to its subliminal-music service.

Thesaurus Transcriptions competed with Muzak at the time for market share in the background-music business. Interestingly, Thesaurus was headed by Ben Slavin, who earlier had been instrumental in helping Muzak get its start in the 1930s.

Given how the word "muzak" has over time become a label for dull, bland music, it's amusing to think that tracks recorded by Artie Shaw's hip bop band was canned and fed to supermarkets and other places of business—during daylight hours. Then again, those were the days!

Actually, now that I think about it, it shouldn't come as too much of a shock. I remember attending a Muzak recording session in New York back in the mid-1980s for a newspaper article I was writing. I was surprised by how many well-known jazz musicians I could see through the glass from the engineer's booth (Bobby Rosengarden and Milt Hinton, to name two).

That made perfect sense, since who else was Muzak going to call to read down arrangements perfectly the first time? It's called making a living in the 1980s during the third British pop invasion.

By the way, the Artie Shaw Thesaurus Transcriptions recordings in question can be found here, some of which was released on the Artie Shaw: Self-Portrait box here.

Monk: Live at the It Club. If you're working on your computer today (or during the week) and want to listen to great Monk for free, go here. Read Michael McCaw's super post on Monk: Live at the It Club and listen to tracks from the CD for free.

Just scroll down until you reach the MediaMaster widget in Michael's post, select a song and click the play arrow. As you'll hear, Monk and Charlie Rouse were indeed an amazing duo.