JazzWax

Charlie Parker and Voices, Part 2

Charlie Parker was fond of vocalist Dave Lambert. And who wasn't? In the late 1940s and early 1950s, Lambert was adored by bop musicians for his hip, modern singing style and relentlessly energetic personality. So when he was asked in the spring of 1953 to write vocal arrangements for an upcoming Parker recording date, Lambert barely could contain himself. Norman Granz would be producing and Gil Evans would be writing the musical arrangements and conducting. The session was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and the ambitious, experimental singer rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

But when tape started to roll on May 25, 1953, it became clear to everyone in the studio that Lambert's vocal charts were too ambitious. Instead of writing for a small group of singers, Lambert scored for 12. Perhaps he wanted to impress cool school titan Gil Evans. Or maybe he wanted to match or top the famed Parker With Strings date recorded in 1949. Whatever the reason, Lambert's vocal writing certainly was interesting but ultimately over the top. The singers on the date struggled, and upward of nine takes were needed on each track.

Hal McKusick is one of the last surviving musicians from that date. Hal played played clarinet in Gil Evans' ensemble of four woodwinds and French horn. Yesterday, in Part 1 of my essay on this unusual Parker session, Hal offered a theory on why the date fell short of  expectations. Today, in Part 2, Hal shares additional details and reflects on why a fourth song wasn't recorded that day:

JazzWax: What was it like playing with Charlie Parker on this session?
Hal McKusick: Fantastic. It was one of the most precious moments in my career, being close to the musician I admired most. Bird could play with anyone—strings, vocalists, it didn’t matter. You could put just a tuba in the room, and Bird would play beautifully with him.

But there were only so many takes of a song Bird or anyone could record before becoming frustrated, especially when the problem had nothing to do with him or the musicians. Bird was always a gentleman, and he liked Dave, which is why you hear him calling for additional takes. He could hear the problems, knew the session was having trouble and wanted Norman [Granz] to have solid master tracks.

JW: So Bird must have sensed the session wasn't coming together.
HM: Oh that was clear from the start. To keep Bird focused and relaxed, Gil put a bottle of vodka behind the heavy curtains that lined the walls and told Bird about it. At one point, during a break, Bird went searching for the jug. He went behind the heavy curtains, and you could see his round form feeling his way along. Then you saw his form behind the curtain pause when he discovered the bottle. He was there for about a minute.

When Bird was done, instead of going back the way he came in, he kept moving around the room, inside the curtains, hunting for an opening, which took a while. The guys in the woodwind section remained respectful but we were hysterical inside. Finally, Bird burst out through an opening, and the session continued.

JW: Gil Evans' writing for the woodwinds on the intro to If I Love Again is blistering. Did the ensemble rehearse that?
HM: Rehearse? No. You never rehearsed for a record date back then. You were hired because you could sight-read charts cold and play them perfectly the first time. If you look at the personnel, you had the best session musicians on that date. These guys didn’t make mistakes. Plus a rhythm section of Mingus, Tony Aless on piano, and Max [Roach], whose  brush work was great and remains overlooked on there.

Back in the 1950s, top record producers didn’t have time for musicians to rehearse. They didn't want to go into overtime because overtime meant money they didn't want to spend. Besides, most of the musicians on these dates had to leave by a specific time to make other recording sessions. You came in, the parts were on the music stands, you sat down and went to work. I never rehearsed for a single record date, except for some of the tracks on my Jazz Workshop album for RCA.

JW: Was Bird distracted by the Dave Lambert Singers' vocalese style of singing?
HM: No way. Bird blew through everything. Every take was a beaut. The vocalists were trying to get it together, and Dave was struggling. He'd rehearse them the best he could in between takes to get them on track. Simplicity would have been better for Dave—a unison line with fewer singers rather than so many harmonies. It was too ambitious. The vocals wound up stepping all over Gil’s instrumental charts—but not Bird’s solos.

I think Dave knew the charts were a mistake. But there was nothing he could do about it once we started. They could have removed the vocals completely, of course. Actually, I’m surprised Norman and Gil didn’t at least try a take or two without them. We must have been running out of time, and without the vocals in place, Norman wouldn't have had the commercial effect he wanted. But just the instrumentals with Bird on top probably would have made for better listening today.

JW: On the alternate takes, when Norman announces the numbers, he says the word “speed.” What did that mean?
HM: Back then, when a producer said “speed,” that was the engineer’s cue to hit the button on the tape recorder to start recording. By the time the musicians began playing a few seconds later, the tape-recorder reels would be up to speed.

JW: Rumor has it that there was supposed to be a fourth tune recorded that day. True?
HM: I don’t know. But a fourth tune would have made sense. Four tracks were the norm during recording sessions to cover both sides of two 78 rpm records. Three tracks is odd. But those three took so long to record that day—false starts, alternate takes and breaks. The session was probably over on the clock before we could record the fourth song. When you ran over the three hours of time customarily used to record, the producer had to spend more money. Norman must have decided against this.

JW: Did you see a fourth arrangement?
HM: As I think back, I don’t recall seeing a fourth chart on the music stands that day. Maybe Gil and Dave hadn’t finished it. Or maybe it was supposed to be recorded on another day with more arrangements.  Since Norman wasn’t exactly thrilled about the first day’s work, I suppose there was little incentive to bring us back in to record.

And that's what Hal saw back in 1953. In the final analysis, these three odd tracks are always better than I expect but never as good as they should have been. Yet there's something about imperfection that's human and appealing.

Clearly, these tunes were quirky, sappy and shamelessly commercial. Nevertheless, you still hear Parker blowing line after beautiful line trying to help save Lambert's noble but misguided effort. And for that alone, this session is more than just another record date. What you have here is evidence of Parker's ability to overcome even the thinnest musical setting—and his character as he stands up for a dear friend in creative trouble.

JazzWax tracks: If you download Charlie Parker: Big Band or copy the CD's songs onto your computer, try doing what I did: Once you import all the alternate takes, false starts and masters, take a minute to arrange the songs so they appear in order—just as the session occurred that day. (The song titles at iTunes indicate the takes, and they're listed on the CD.)

Doing so lets you hear the date's full dramatic story, in chronological order. It's like gathering the loose pages of a short story and stapling them together. Listen chronologically and you'll hear Max's accelerated brush work, Bird's "one more, right now, right quick" push for additional takes, and a gaggle of too many hip singers struggling to swing in tune.

Charlie Parker and Voices, Part 1

Charlie Parker's first pop record was an accident. In late December 1947, the great alto saxophonist wandered into the studio at Carnegie Hall where arranger Neal Hefti was rehearsing his orchestra in preparation for a recording on The Jazz Scene, producer Norman Granz's ambitious album of 78 rpms.

Parker loved what he heard and asked Neal if he could play a solo on the harmonically inventive tune. Hefti was overjoyed, but he had no time to rewrite the arrangement around Parker. So Hefti simply had the orchestra play the song twice—once unaccompanied and again with Parker soloing—clocking the entire song at under the three-minute 78 rpm recording maximum. The result was Repetition, which is how the early "cool" standard got its name.

Over the next year and a half, producer Granz couldn't shake the sound of Parker's bluesy alto soaring in and out of Hefti's strings. In November 1949, he brought Parker into the studio to record a full album of standards with strings. Just as Granz had suspected, the result was a whopping success. Just Friends, one of the sides, became a juke box hit, and Parker appeared in concert with strings frequently between 1950 and 1954.

By the spring of 1953, Parker and Granz decided to take another pop shot at mainstream success. This time, instead of strings, they would use voices as a backdrop. Billie Holiday had already recorded successfully for Decca in 1948 with a choral group called the Stardusters. But using a formal choir in 1953 was out of the question. Traditional background vocal groups were no longer in vogue, having been shoved aside by hipper, more free-wheeling vocalese ensembles with bop sensibilities.

The idea of Parker backed by swinging voices may have sounded great over drinks, but the match up in the studio proved to be problematic from the start. Ultimately, only three out of four vocalese tracks were recorded on May 25, 1953, and Granz's patience was stretched thin. Parker played beautifully on the date, and the woodwinds and French horn arrangements by Gil Evans (above) were inventive and "cool" sounding. But the vocal arrangements by Dave Lambert (pictured with Annie Ross and Jon Hendricks) were another matter. Lambert had overreached, and the result was a bit of a mess.

How could such a nifty idea wind up so strained? One of the last remaining musicians from the Charlie Parker session is Hal McKusick, who played clarinet on the date and had a bird's-eye view of the session. In Part 1 of my chat with Hal about this recording session, he reflects on the dynamics between Parker, Granz, Lambert and Evans and offers a theory about its conception:

JazzWax: Where was this recording session held?
Hal McKusick: At Fulton Recording Studios, at 80 W. 40th St. in New York, on the fourth floor. The building is across from Bryant Park. It looked like a mansion inside. William Randolph Hearst had had a bachelor apartment there. The room where we recorded had huge ceilings—about 30 feet high—with thick curtains along the walls running from the ceiling to the floor to keep outside sound out and the music in. The engineer’s booth had a large glass window and was up high. You had to climb a small staircase to get to the booth’s door.

JW: How were the musicians set up in the space?
HM: The room was gigantic. The Dave Lambert Singers—10 or 12 of them—were on one end and the woodwinds and French horn were on the other. Both groups faced the rhythm section in the middle—drummer Max Roach, bassist Charles Mingus and pianist Tony Aless, who had played with Woody Herman for years.

Bird played in front of the rhythm section. Twenty feet separated each group to keep the rhythm section from bleeding acoustically into the voices, and the voices from bleeding into the woodwinds.

JW: Who wrote the instrumental charts?
HM: Gil Evans wrote the arrangements for the woodwinds, French horn and whatever was needed for the incredible rhythm section. Dave Lambert was responsible for the vocal charts. We recorded three tracks that day—In the Still of the Night, Old Folks and If I Love Again.

JW: What was the big problem on that date?
HM: The voice parts were way too complicated. Gil’s charts were beautiful and complex, as always. His arrangements always could push your buttons, musically. But Dave’s vocal charts were heavy, and by the time everyone realized this, it was too late. The recording session was already underway.

JW: Was Dave aware of that?
HM: I'm sure he was. But in all fairness to Dave, he was in over his head. First, there were too many singers.  Dave could have accomplished the same goal with better results if he had used four. All of us in the woodwind section knew it at the time. Second, Dave wasn’t skilled enough as an arranger to write for so many singers. What's more, the singers weren’t polished enough as a group to pull off what Dave had in mind and had written.

JW: But Dave led a group of singers.
HM: Dave was terrific when singing take-offs on jazz instrumentals and writing for small-group things. But to write structured charts for so many singers behind arrangements by a guy like Gil Evans requires enormous skill. When you're writing for 10 or 12 singers, you have no choice but to double up voicings. This means two or more vocalists need to sing the same notes. It’s the only way a vocal group can be heard clearly.

But doubling up parts means greater room for intonation error, since you’re more likely to hear somebody wavering off the written notes. When a voice wavers, it throws everyone else off, or the producer catches it and calls for another take. It’s like two people walking a tightrope out of synch. Someone’s more likely to fall. That happened quite a bit that day. The vocal charts were too hard to sing. The result was false starts and re-takes.

JW: Why did Dave get the job to write for voices in the first place?
HM: You know, I don’t know. I never understood why Gil didn’t’ write the vocal charts himself. I know he would have written for four singers and kept the lines simple—accompanying Bird rather than competing and running all around his solos. Or he would have scrapped the vocals entirely. Gil’s woodwind writing alone was good enough to have sustained the date.

My best guess is that Dave pitched Bird on writing for a vocal ensemble. Bird had already recorded with strings, of course, and the voice approach was probably for contrast. Bird in turn must have spoken to Norman [Granz] on Dave's behalf, insisting that Dave be allowed to do the vocal writing. That’s the only way that could have happened. Gil and Norman’s hands had to have been tied to some extent. It was a risk, but an experiment that fell short.

JW: Bird and Dave were close, weren't they?
HM: Yes. As you know, Dave and Bird had a good working relationship since the late 1940s, when the  Dave Lambert Singers appeared with Bird at the Royal Roost. Besides, the Dave Lambert Singers were extremely popular in the early 1950s as vocalese became popular with jazz listeners. 

For Norman [Granz], adding vocalese was probably a commercial decision. I just don’t think he realized how hard and costly it was going to be to pull it off musically. He probably just thought he had to worry about Bird  on the date. That day, Bird was the least of his troubles. Bird played beautifully, as he always did.

JW: What happened on In the Still of the Night? It starts out almost chaotic.
HM: In the Still of the Night was the first tune we recorded that day. On the first take, Bird counted off the tempo. But Max pushed it way up. I’m guessing it was a competitive thing between Max and Bird. Or Max may have been frustrated by the commercial sound of the date. He also could have been unhappy about his role as just a timekeeper and wanted to test or challenge the singers.

JW: So Bird just ramped up following the tempo?
HM: Bird being Bird, he responded to Max with majesty—and wasn’t going to be outdone. So he took the first take fast, too. But the poor singers, they could barely get the words out. We had several incomplete takes. At the session it was very funny! It broke up the musicians.

Little by little, the later takes slowed. Norman was losing money and patience. By the seventh or eighth take, the pace was perfect for the singers, who had become more comfortable—or as comfortable as they were going to be.

JW: Was Gil actually there?
HM: Oh yes, he was conducting. Dave was standing with his singers. Gil was always very calm and concerned at record dates. When he wrote for Claude Thornhill’s band in the late 1940s, we’d rehearsed at Nola Studios on Broadway. He’d conduct and take us through the phrasing and dynamics. Then he’d go to the back of the studio and lie on the floor and listen to us play with his eyes closed. To shut everything out. But he didn’t do that on record dates. It was too expensive. Time was money.

Tomorrow, in Part 2 of my interview with Hal on Charlie Parker and the ill-conceived voices session, he talks about what Parker did on the date to relax and the likely reason why there wasn't a fourth side recorded that day.

JazzWax tracks: The three tracks vocalese recorded on May 25, 1953 can be found on many different Charlie Parker CDs and collections. If you're interested in hearing the masters and alternate takes for In the Still of the Night, Old  Folks and If I Love Again, download Charlie Parker: Big Band at iTunes or here.

I've always been fond of these Charlie Parker recordings. I see them less as a disaster and more as a quaint failure. There's something innocent and sweet about them—and very early 1950s in their commercial context.

To hear the genius of Gil Evans' writing, you merely have to listen to the intro on If I Love Again, with its swirling bucolic spiral of woodwinds setting up Parker and the Dave Lambert Singers. The fact that the musicians on the date—clarinet, flute, oboe, bassoon and French horn—didn't rehearse and played the intro cold is somewhat amazing given how tricky Evans' arrangement sounds.

Was this Parker's best outting? Of course not. But it's hardly without merit. Think of it as a snapshot in time—when jazz artists were experimenting with pop and pop singers were experimenting with jazz.

JazzWax video clips: I could not find video of the Dave Lambert Singers, but here's a clip of Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks and Annie Ross in the late 1950s. It gives you a sense of the fresh energy level and vocalese style pioneered by the group.

Bill Evans: Further Conversations

Ted Gioia, blogger-in-chief of Jazz.com, has written an extensive analysis and appraisal of pianist Bill Evans. Here's a taste:

"Evans never played badly – even in those final days before his untimely death—and almost every recording he released had merit. But few moments in these later works would make fans forget the earlier legacy, with its magical telepathy and zen-like immersion into the musical flow. And who could blame Evans for falling short of these exemplary performances? He had simply set the standards to high in his late 20s and early 30s. Any pianist (himself included) would have trouble rising to this standard, night after night, recording after recording."

Johnny Griffin: The Congregation

I'm impossibly sentimental. So I often wind up buying CD versions of the albums I want most. I  love the convenience of the digital age, but there's a romance to holding and looking at what I'm listening to. Force of habit from the LP days, I suppose. But from time to time, I stray and download albums like a normal person to save time and space.

When I choose to download, it's usually because something is so hot I can't wait to order it. I want to hear it immediately. One such gotta-have-it-now album that I downloaded a few days ago was Johnny Griffin's The Congregation. It was the tenor saxophonist's third album for Blue Note recorded in October 1957.

Until now, The Congregation had completely escaped my radar. Which is surprising since I enjoy Griffin, and the album's cover has one of those famous but too-soft and tentative Andy Warhol illustrations. That meek cover is sort of funny considering Griffin's sound was anything but tentative or pastel.

My favorite Griffin recordings have always been his work with Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis and Thelonious Monk. But on Monday, while listening to one of those late-night college jazz radio shows, the student deejay ambitiously played both sides of The Congregation. Halfway through the second track, I was already downloading the album at iTunes. It's that good.

Griffin had—and has—a full, robust sound. He's also probably the only tenor saxophonist to have recorded with both Bing Crosby and Thelonious Monk. "Lockjaw" Davis loved playing with the "Little Giant" (as Griffin was known) because his sound was like wet leather—tough and impossible to hang on to.

To quote Griffin: "I like to play fast. I get excited, and I have to sort of control myself, restrain myself. But when the rhythm section gets cooking, I want to explode." The rhythm section on The Congregation cooks—Sonny Clark is on piano (pictured), Paul Chambers is on bass and Kenny Dennis is on drums. A month after this recording, Dennis played behind Sonny Rollins during his famed November 1957 concert at Carnegie Hall.

Fueled by this go-getter rhythm section, Griffin unleashes a sly, slippery sound as he weaves eel-like in and out of melody lines and improvised ideas. Critic Ralph J. Gleason said it best: "Griffin manages to blow longer without refueling than you would ordinarily consider possible...He is able to play almost all there could possibly be played in any give chorus."

So true, so true. The Little Giant turns 80 in April. Celebrate with The Congregation.

JazzWax tracks: Every track on The Congregation is rock solid. Just note that the cymbals on the digital download sound a bit over-miked and icy to me. You may want to sample the tracks first before downloading to see how tracks sound coming through your speakers.

The title track has a soulful, down-by-the- riverside feel and swings the whole way through. Latin Quarter is based on the changes to Tangerine, and Griffin gives it a massive tenor treatment. I can't recall the last time the standard I'm Glad There Is You sounded this good. It can only be compared to Gene Ammons' definitive version of Canadian Sunset, from Boss Tenor (1960).

Main Spring is a straight-up blues. Sonny Clark takes a crisp, skippy solo, followed by a perfect example of Paul Chambers' spirited arco bowing. Listen to Sonny Clark tear off on the intro to It's You Or No One. Griffin then races after him before Clark returns with an extended solo. Dig how Griffin closes down the standard, with Clark answering in the final measures.

The album wrapper is the standard I Remember You, which again features a blistering solo by Griffin. He gets inside the tune and flips it around in what seems to be one continuous breath.

JazzWax video clip: The "Little Giant" was captured on film in France in 1971 with Art Taylor on drums, Rene Urtreger on piano and Alby Cullaz on bass. Go here to see Griffin's tireless technique in action. And dig "Mr. Cool's" drumming. Wow.

And here's Griffin in 1965 in France with Wes Montgomery and a group of European jazz musicians. Compare Griffin's blowing with the rest of reeds. None of them could bring it on like Griffin. And dig Wes' swinging guitar.

Video Clip Revolution

Over the past two years, web video clips have become as essential to jazz appreciation as remastered CDs and box-set liner notes. Clips at YouTube and Daily Motion showing the artists we love in action—or featuring jazz experts offer insights on them—have added mightily to the thrill and enjoyment of the music. For a jazz fan, the web-clip revolution is akin to someone who's blind gaining vision. Only by seeing Bird smirk when playing with Coleman Hawkins can you fully understand his drive and ego. Only by seeing Bobby Timmons' rake-like hands pound out Dat Dere can you understand what a superb artist and player he was.

Like you, the more clips I see, the more my imagination starts to race. You get the distinct sense we're only at the dawn of this new medium and its potential to educate and entertain. The future of jazz video clips is very bright, indeed.

As more home movies of rare performances are uncovered in attics and basements, and more families of jazz legends shake loose their own Super 8 films, it's fair to assume we're going to see and hear much more than we have thus far. Europe alone should yield a bounty of jazz film in the coming years. What we will see and hear certainly will sharpen and intensify what we already think and feel about these artists and their music.

Just as the Internet has allowed writers to express themselves without the help or hindrance of editors, agents and publishers, so too will the web liberate filmmakers and videographers. Instead of having to beg movie studios, PBS, distributors, theaters and vendors, the owners and makers of videos will be able to show their works directly on the web. How they will make money remains to be seen. Ads? Subscriptions? Direct sales? Co-op deals? Regardless, the public will be the beneficiary, one way or the other.

One web video practitioner who has been ahead of the curve for some time is Bret Primack. An NYU film school alum, Bret started Planet Bret in 1999. His company makes web videos for jazz musicians and the music industry. (Pictured from left to right is Cecil McBee, Phil Markowitz, David Liebman, Joe Lovano, Bret Primack, Ravi Coltrane, Randy Brecker and Billy Hart.) If Bret's name isn't immediately familiar to you, you've probably seen his ongoing series of mini-docs for Concord Records, featuring Orrin Keepnews reflecting on his "Keepnews Collection" re-issues. If not, go here to see Bret's most recent effort for Concord's release of George Russell's Ezz-Thetics.

Bret and I struck up an e-conversation some weeks ago. Like many smart people who are on the cutting edge of art and technology, he's a nice guy and knows a great deal about the web, jazz and the world of video clips. In passing, I asked him for a list of his favorite YouTube jazz clips. Here they are in no particular order, with comments from Bret:

Bill Evans in a 1958 appearance with George Russell, Billy Taylor, Mundell Lowe and other jazz greats on Billy Taylor's TV show, The Subject Is Jazz. Go here.

Bill Evans being interviewed on TV in 1971. A fascinating look into the creative mind of a great musician. Go here.

Horace Silver playing Senor Blues. From a 1959 Dutch TV performance featuring Blue Mitchell, Junior Cook, Gene Taylor and Louis Hayes. The clip perfectly captures the Silver magic. Go here.

Jaki Byard. This 1965 Jazz Piano Workshop clip features Reggie Workman on bass and Alan Dawson on drums. It demonstrates the depth and diversity of Jaki Byard. Go here.

Miles Davis. Excerpts from an upcoming Miles documentary, I Remember Miles. Go here.

Duke Ellington. A look at the recording process in 1937 featuring Duke and his remarkable orchestra. Go here.

Eric Dolphy. This is a 1961 clip of Dolphy in Berlin playing God Bless the Child on bass clarinet. Seeing is believing. Go here.

JazzWax video clips: For easy links to the Orrin Keepnews video-documentary podcast series and a schedule of upcoming releases, go here and scroll down a bit. The beautiful piano piece that opens each clip is Bill Evans playing Know What I Mean, from the Cannonball Adderley album of the same name.

Bret's "Keepnews Collection" clips also can be found here.

Sunday Wax Bits

Peggy Lee, songwriter. David Brent Johnson, host of WFIU-FM's Night Lights jazz show, recently re-aired his half-hour program devoted to Peggy Lee—singing the songs she wrote. That's right—”wrote. As David notes in an essay that appears at his WFIU blog:

"Many listeners know Peggy Lee as a great jazz singer, but she was also a prolific writer of songs—composing or co-composing nearly 200 of them, including hits such as I Don't Know Enough About You and Manana as well as lesser-known gems like That Ol' Devil Won't Get Me and There'll Be Another Spring. She counted among her collaborators Victor Young, Cy Coleman, and husband Dave Barbour; along with Sonny Burke she also wrote the songs for the Disney movie Lady and the Tramp, including The Siamese Cat Song and He's a Tramp."

Ever hear Lee sing Things Are Swingin'? It's the title track off one of my favorite Peggy albums, from 1958. David kicks off his show with the song, which hooks you instantly. Lee had a confident kittenish voice that was matched in purity only by Ella Fitzgerald's. Lee's voice could be as warm and smooth as creme brulee or as cool as crushed ice. As a songwriter, she can only be compared to Johnny Mercer.

To hear David's free, half-hour radio show, go here and click on the big blue button that says "Listen Now." You'll get a floral earful of Miss Peggy Lee and her writing all through the years.

New to JazzWax? If so, let me fill you in on the purpose of this blog. I write six days a week about jazz recordings that belong in everyone's collection. You may own some of these albums—others may be new to you.

My goal is to provide you with insights into fabulous albums and the dramatic stories behind them. For me, jazz goes beyond great art. There's a story behind the music, a film noir rich with shadows, egos, tragedies, triumphs, lucky breaks, misfortunes and larger-than-life personalities. There's a romance to jazz, a B-story if you will, that enhances and often explains the music.

Which is why I often find myself compelled to track down the jazz legends who played on these recordings and interview them for this blog. Insights from artists who were there provide an exciting dimension to the music and recordings. My feeling is that by getting to know these personalities, you wind up with a finer understanding of the "why" behind the art.

I'm not a jazz musician or record company executive. I'm a trained journalist and historian. Which means I use my research and reporting skills to produce what I hope is a fun read for both hard-core jazz fans and for those who are new to the music.

That's it. I write daily about what I love most and hope that my passion becomes your passion.

Tools of the trade. I'm frequently asked which company hosts my blog. It's Six Apart, which makes setting up a blog pretty easy. You'll still have to do the writing, or course, and there's no guarantee readers will come back the next day. But if you have the will, Six Apart has the way. If you've thought about blogging, go here to learn more about the company and about Typepad, the service I use.

Doug Ramsey: Paul Desmond Part 2

Paul Desmond recorded five albums with Jim Hall in a quartet setting. The first was made in September 1959—two months after Desmond recorded Time Out with the Dave Brubeck Quartet. At the time, Desmond wanted to record as a leader, and he chose a guitar for his quartet (Hall) instead of a piano to honor a promise he had made to  Brubeck years earlier.

One can't help but wonder, of course, whether Desmond and producer George Avakian also had the Hal McKusick Quartet (1955 and 1956) and Lee Konitz Quartet (1957) in mind when the guitar decision was made. Alto saxophonists McKusick and Konitz both had similarly seductive horn sounds and used identical configurations in their earlier groups—Barry Galbraith on guitar with McKusick, and Billy Bauer on guitar with Konitz. Interesting to ponder.

But back to the subject at hand. In Part 2 of my interview with Doug Ramsey, the esteemed jazz critic, blogger, novelist and Paul Desmond biographer reflects on the group's five albums [that's Doug and his wife with Desmond in 1973]. Doug  also talks about why so many bass players were used on the dates, the prank Desmond pulled on producer George Avakian, and his five favorite quartet tracks:

JazzWax: What was going on in Paul’s life when he recorded his first album with Jim?
Doug Ramsey: Between the time Take Five was recorded with Dave in July 1959 and the first Quartet album with Jim in September, Paul had a busy life. He had just moved to New York and was enjoying the city a great deal. He had a terrific apartment at 55th and 6th. It was a short walk from the best museums and restaurants and all the things Manhattan had to offer.

He also was doing quite a bit of dating. In pictures, Paul may look nerdy to some, but he was an incredible charmer. Part of his success with some of the most attractive women of the day was that he treated them as equals. He listened to them. He was curious about them. And he was unfailingly polite and considerate. That was a magic formula that many men during that period hadn’t yet discovered. Come to think of it, many men today still haven’t discovered it.

JW: Why do so many people dismiss the Desmond Quartet sessions as too light?
DR: I think it’s obvious that the playing on their five albums sounds relaxed and laid back. But what’s often overlooked is the high level of musicianship taking place on those so-called laid-back sessions. Many people tend to think of the recordings as “easy listening” albums compared to what else was being played and recorded between 1959 and 1964.

But jazz musicians and careful listeners view them differently. They hear the high level of skill and knowledge on those tracks—and the gifts required to pull off that kind of playing. Listen carefully to the blues pieces Paul and Jim play, like Eugene Wright’s Rude Old Man on the Easy Living album. You hear two master blues players.

In truth, Paul was a genius player of the blues. Just listen to his solo on Audrey from Brubeck Time. No one has ever played a blues solo remotely like that. Maybe Bix Beiderbecke, but not on a record that I’ve heard. It’s just brilliantly inventive and individual blues playing.

JW: Do you have a favorite Paul Desmond Quartet album?
DR: While I favor First Place Again, I think of the albums recorded by the group as a consistent body of work rather than five separate albums. It was four guys getting together and having a good time and playing tunes. It just happened that these guys were playing at the highest possible musical level. They certainly weren’t concept albums, although RCA tried to package them as if they were. But that can be forgiven because they used such gorgeous women on some of the covers. Desmond made it a project to get to know those models. And he did.

JW: There were quite a few bass player switches on the different albums—Percy Heath, Eugene Wright, Gene Cherico, George Duvivier and Milt Hinton. Why?
DR: That’s life in the big city in the music business. Players had commitments and conflicts. It wasn’t as if Paul had to settle. All of those bass players were top flight. Bassist Gene Wright told me how pleased he was that Paul had asked him to be on the Take Ten date. Gene [pictured on the right] said, "I didn’t feel I was in the direction he and Jim Hall were going, but we did it, and it was a ball.” I asked Percy Heath about those quartet dates. He said they were “all fun. Paul was a beautiful player.”

JW: On all five albums, it’s clear that Desmond and Hall were very much in synch.   
DR: They were. The interaction between them was very subtle, funny and unique. I can’t think of two other players who tossed it back and forth the way they did on those albums. Listen for the muscle and swing and power of their playing. Listen for the lyricism and inventiveness. These two guys were powerhouse players—not in the Gene Ammons-Sonny Stitt, tough-tenor sense. Rather, they had a solid swing feeling in every tune they played, except for the slowest ballads, of course.

Paul and Jim are overlooked in that regard. Also, remember that many of these tracks were captured on the first take. In some cases, there were several takes of tunes. But I’ve heard most of those alternate takes on the studio tapes and, except for a couple of tracks, it’s really not clear which was the better take, the released one or the alternates.

JW: On each of these albums, Paul sounds very deeply involved with melody and counterpoint.
DR: Very much so, and he disliked distractions. Or more accurately, he didn’t want the other people involved to be distracted. On one of the sessions, Paul was bugged because when he looked up occasionally into the control room while he was playing, he saw producer George Avakian on the phone. So during a playback, Paul told the other guys to go into the booth and wait. He went out into the hall to a pay phone, called the booth and said, “George, it’s me, Desmond. How was that last take?”

When I was researching the biography, George gave me a perfectly plausible explanation for having been on the telephone. But it was too late; Paul dined out on that story for years.

JW: What are your favorite tracks from these five albums?
DR: Wow, that’s a tough one. Each tune has its own personality. But if I were recalling pieces off the top of my head, I’d say...

• For All We Know, from First Place Again (1959).
• The One I Love Belongs to Somebody Else, from Take Ten (1963). There’s something endearing about that one.
• Rude Old Man, from Easy Living (1963).
• All Across The City, from Glad to Be Unhappy (1963)
• The Night Has a Thousand Eyes, the first take, from Bossa Antigua (1964).

Ask me again tomorrow and I’ll probably name five others altogether.

JW: Were Paul and Jim happy to reunite on Concierto?
DR: Jim and Jane Hall were among Paul’s most intimate friends. They spent a lot of time together throughout his two decades or so in New York. So, even though Paul and Jim hadn’t recorded a quartet album for years, my guess is that Paul and Jim were always glad to play together and thought of that occasion as a continuation more than a reunion. Everybody played beautifully on that date—Paul, Jim and Chet Baker. And what a rhythm section: Roland Hanna, Ron Carter and Steve Gadd.

JazzWax tracks: As Doug Ramsey pointed out at Rifftides yesterday, it's getting harder and harder to find the box set of these albums. You can still buy the albums separately. If you want an introduction, download The Best of the Complete RCA Recordings at iTunes. Or just download Bossa Antigua, which for me is their best work together.

You may also find it a kick to to compare two other alto-guitar-bass-drums quartets that preceded Desmond's. Listen to Hal McKusick's East Coast Jazz (1955), Jazz Workshop (1956) and Jazz at the Academy (1956), and Lee Konitz's Tranquility (1957). The sound and sensitivity were already in place. 

JazzWax video clip: To hear what all the fuss was about over Paul Desmond, dig this clip of These Foolish Things. It features the Dave Brubeck Quartet performing at the University of Rome in October 1959—just a month after Desmond's first recording with Jim Hall and three months after Time Out. Listen to Paul powder this standard—with beautiful line after beutiful line. It's so pretty it's heart-breaking.

And listen as pianist Dave Brubeck tries to out-delicate Paul, perfectly illustrating Doug's points today and yesterday about their musical conversations. Fabulous!

For fast future listening/viewing, simply go to the "Videos" section in the right-hand margin and click on Paul Desmond's name.

Doug Ramsey: Paul Desmond, Part 1

Few jazz albums are as delicate and as clever as those recorded by the Paul Desmond Quartet featuring guitarist Jim Hall. Unfairly belittled and often maligned as "dinner music," the five albums Desmond and Hall made between 1959 and 1964 are deceptively ingenious. For those in the know, they remain flawless jazz recordings. Every tune these musicians touched became perfect executions laced with soul-touching ideas and playful interchanges.

To probe the backstory of these sessions, I called Doug Ramsey. In addition to writing Rifftides, the web's most authoritative and popular jazz blog, Doug is a fabulous jazz critic and novelist (Poodie James is his most recent work). Doug also is author of the most definitive Paul Desmond biography: Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond. This coffee-table size book is as beautiful to thumb through as it is to read. Every jazz artist should be so lucky to have such a literary and photographic tribute. (By the way, Doug's photo above was taken by the great William Claxton.)

In Part 1 of my interview with Doug on the Desmond-Hall collaboration, he talks about their first album, why Paul used a guitarist and not a pianist, why Dave Brubeck's Time Out recorded months earlier was not released for almost two years, and the differences between Paul's playing with Brubeck and Jim Hall:

JazzWax: Who came up with the idea to pair Paul Desmond and Jim Hall?
Doug Ramsey: My guess is that it was Paul's idea, though it could have been George Avakian's. George had produced the Dave Brubeck Quartet's albums at Columbia and left to join Warner Bros. to develop the pop album side. When Paul told him in 1959 that he wanted to record on his own again, George helped him put a session together. Paul brought in Jim Hall, who was a significant guitarist on the jazz scene in New York.

The first album, First Place Again, was such a hit that George produced the Quartet's next four albums between 1961 and 1964 after he moved to RCA.
Paul had not recorded with Jim or bassist Percy Heath or drummer Connie Kay prior to First Place Again—a title Paul hated, by the way. Jim was more familiar with Percy and Connie, having recorded with them and the rest of the Modern Jazz Quartet in 1957. But Paul knew Jim's playing well and admired it a great deal. He also was very fond of Percy and Connie.

Jim, of course, had been familiar with Paul's work for a long time. He was in the audience when the Dave Brubeck Quartet played the famous concert at Oberlin College in 1953. He drove there from Cleveland, where he was studying at the Institute of Music. That was two years before he went to Los Angeles and eventually joined Chico Hamilton. In some ways, I think First Place Again was the best of the group's five albums. There's a real sense of discovery of one another's playing. 

JW: Paul Desmond had a lot going on in his life when First Place Again was recorded in 1959, didn't he?
DR: When the album was recorded in September 1959, Paul had made Time Out with Brubeck a few months earlier in July. That album, of course, went on to become one of the most popular jazz records ever recorded.

But Time Out—with Take Five, Strange Meadowlark and Blue Rondo a la Turk—hadn't been released yet and wouldn't be until early 1961. That was because the executives at Columbia hated the idea of an album of originals with strange time signatures. They were convinced it wouldn't sell and wanted another collection of standards. So they held up the release. When the album finally came out, Take Five quickly became the first million-selling jazz single.

So Paul was at the top of his game in September 1959—even though what would become his best-known album wasn't out yet. Keep in mind, by the fall of 1959, the Brubeck Quartet had already achieved huge success and was touring almost nonstop. Paul was enormously busy on the road. First Place Again was something he squeezed in on the side.

JW: Why did Desmond want to record separately from the Dave Brubeck Quartet? Was he dissatisfied?
DR: Recording as a leader was not new to Paul. From the beginning of the Brubeck Quartet in 1951, he established a reputation as a soloist and began winning polls. It wasn't a matter of dissatisfaction with the Brubeck group. It was supply and demand. There was a demand for him. Fantasy Records answered it first by recording him under his own name in 1954. He had an agreement with Brubeck that, to avoid consumer confusion with the Brubeck quartet, he wouldn't use pianists on his own records. Guitar was a logical substitute.

JW: Was Desmond's playing with Jim Hall different from his work with Dave Brubeck?
DR: As both of them often pointed out, from the beginning, Dave and Paul had uncanny empathy. They expressed it, in part, through their unique approaches to counterpoint. The differences between Brubeck and Hall lie in their musical personalities. Dave has a lot of thrust, a lot of emotion, in his soloing. And yet, in his accompaniments and in counterpoint, he could lean back and lighten up for an intimate kind of interchange. By contrast, there were certain differences in Paul's playing with Jim Hall, naturally, because Jim's approach was consistently lighter and lacier, although he could swing hard.

The combination resulted in a more delicate sort of interaction. Some of that difference lies in the natures of the guitar and the piano, some in the individual personalities. By the way, I agree with what [Desmond's childhood friend] Hal Strack told me for the Desmond biography—that Paul's sound was hugely influenced by Lester Young and Artie Shaw. There'™s a soulfulness and purity to Paul's playing that was unlike anyone else's approach to the alto saxophone. 

JW: Desmond's exchanges with Hall sound just as intense as with Brubeck—but different. True?
DR: Paul and Jim were close friends, and Paul often talked about how much he enjoyed playing with Jim and the rapport they achieved together. He also mentioned how different that musical relationship was from playing with Dave, who was, in a profound sense, Paul's best friend for decades.

Paul conducted different types of musical conversations with Dave and Jim. I don't buy the notion that Dave simply provided a dense platform on which Paul was able to play. For years there was an orthodoxy of belief among jazz musicians that without Paul, the Dave Brubeck Quartet would have been just another group. I've never bought that. There was a close musical and personal relationship between Paul and Dave. One wouldn't have made it big without the other.

Dave and Paul's musical conversations were simply different from those with Jim. Let me see if I can express it this way: With Dave, the conversations went like this: "Oh, you can do that? Well, try this, then we can do it together." With Jim, the dialogue was more, "Oh I see what you're saying. Interesting. Let me add this and see what you can come back with."

Tomorrow, Doug and I chat about the Paul Desmond Quartet's five albums, why so many bass players were used on the different sessions, the prank Paul pulled on producer George Avakian, and Doug's five favorite tracks.

JazzWax video clip: While I could not find a video clip on the Paul Desmond Quartet featuring Jim Hall, here's Desmond playing Take Five with the Dave Brubeck Quartet in 1961.

Hal McKusick's Pen Pals

Hal McKusick was there. Since the early 1940s, he has played with every jazz great you can think of, and the sheer number of top recording sessions he's on is staggering. That's a lot of tricky sight reading and perfection the first time through.

Starting in 1943, Hal has recorded with bands led by Les Brown, Boyd Raeburn, Alvino Rey, Ralph Burns, George Handy, Buddy Rich, Claude Thornhill, Terry Gibbs, Neal Hefti, Bill Harris, Charlie Parker, Gil Evans, Don Elliott, Elliot Lawrence, Billy Byers, Quincy Jones, Ernie Wilkins, George Williams, Coleman Hawkins, Gene Krupa, Andy Kirk, George Russell, Nat Pierce, Urbie Green and Erroll Garner. And I'm only up to 1956.

And the number of great arrangers Hal has known personally and recorded with over the years is easily double or triple the list above. So when I asked Hal earlier this week for a list of his favorite penmen, he thought for a few minutes and then said in that soothing voice: "Yeah, let's give it a shot, but I'm sure I'm going to overlook other notables. We'll just add to the list."

Here are Hal's top nine arrangers, in no particular order:

Al Cohn—"Al was fabulous. I loved everything he wrote. Listen to what he did on Lady Chatterley's Mother for Gerry Mulligan's Concert Jazz Band. His sax soli on that track is amazing. I also love Theme, the ballad with cellos he wrote for my album, In a Twentieth-Century Drawing Room."

Tiny Kahn—"Anything Tiny wrote could swing with great taste. Tiny's arrangement of T.N.T. that we played in Elliot Lawrence's band is a terrific example of Tiny’s writing style. Had Tiny lived—he died of a heart attack in 1953—he would have been one of our most prodigious composers and orchestrators.”

George Handy—"His early pieces for Boyd Raeburn, like the Stravinsky-influenced Dalvatore Sally, were fantastic. Or The Bloos, written for his own orchestra in 1946, is wonderful. And, of course, his charts for Zoot Sims' album, Zoot Plays Four Altos were outstanding and good forever!”

Johnny Carisi—"Most people forget Johnny wrote Israel, which was recorded by Miles Davis' "Birth of the Cool" band and became a standard. His arrangements for Urbie Green in the mid-1950s were sensational. Stella by Starlight, for one, has a unique voicing and voice leading. He could write for any size group. He also wrote for a four-sax band I led in the mid-1950s that toured but unfortunately didn’t record. The saxes were Dave Schildkraut, me, Sol Schlinger and Al Cohn, with Bill Evans and Eddie Costa on piano. Those were great charts. Some of this sax material I recorded on Cross-Section Saxes with me, Frank Socolow on alto, Dick Hafer on tenor, Jay Cameron on baritone and Bill [Evans], Paul [Chambers] and Connie [Kay].”

Manny Albam—"Manny is another nearly forgotten hero. I love all of the pieces he wrote for my quartet on East Coast Jazz, which featured me, Barry Galbraith, Milt Hinton and Osie Johnson. His charts for cello on my album, In a Twentieth-Century Drawing Room, also were so sensitive. Manny could write beautifully for any size group, but I preferred his arrangements for three, four or five players. He was a master at putting lines against lines, contrapuntally, in the jazz idiom.”

Johnny Mandel—"The orchestrations Johnny wrote for Boyd Raeburn with vocalist David Allyn, and his charts later for Tony Bennett, are remarkable. Also, his writing for Buddy Rich's big band in the late 1940s, The Eagle Flies for Boyd, his charts for Elliot Lawrence in 1956, and Plymouth Rock for Basie remain great. He also wrote amazing charts for my Jazz Workshop album. Of course, Johnny was a terrific songwriter as well. Emily and Shadow of Your Smile were beautiful. He had it covered from every standpoint. He could write a lush string arrangement or a cooking chart for a swinging big band or for quartets.”

Gerry Mulligan—"I love the charts he wrote and played with Chet Baker, as well as the ones for his Concert Band. The same is true for his Claude Thornhill work and “Birth of the Cool” band. I played in his Concert Band in 1957, but I was too busy with other studio and recording work back then to travel with the band and get more involved in it.”

Neal Hefti—"Neal was and is one of the greatest arrangers. He had outstanding bands when we recorded in 1951, 1952, 1954 and 1955. Stan Getz and Kai Winding were in those groups, along with Tal Farlow, Bobby Hackett, Phil Woods and Don Lamond. They were fabulous bands. Hefti’s charts were clean and refreshing, and his rehearsals always were a lot of fun.”

Ralph Burns—"Ralph and I went to high school together in the early 1940s in Newton, Mass. I recorded with him on his album, Free Forms, in 1946 and with trombonist Bill Harris in 1952. I also recorded on Ralph’s Perpetual Motion album. That band was something else and included Roy Eldridge, Jimmy Hamilton, Al Cohn, Flip Phillips, Danny Bank, Oscar Peterson, Ray Brown and Louie Bellson. Ralph’s arrangements were completely comfortable to play. They were always rich with woven textures, depth and warmth. He wrote with passion and was deeply influenced by Ellington and Strayhorn.

JazzWax tracks: Here are links to the tunes and albums Hal mentions above...

Al Cohn's Lady Chatterley's Mother can be found on Gerry Mulligan and the Concert Jazz Band at the Village Vanguard (1960) here—or you can download it at iTunes.

Al Cohn's Theme is on Hal's In a Twentieth-Century Drawing Room (1955), which is out of print. But much of the album is available on Hal McKusick Quartet here. This two-CD set from LoneHill Jazz combines four albums by Hal and is a must own. Joining Hal on these dates were Barry Galbraith, Milt Hinton and Osie Johnson, with arrangements by Gil Evans, George Russell, Manny Albam, Jimmy Giuffre and Al Cohn.

Tiny Kahn's T.N.T. is on the CD, Elliot Lawrence Big Band: Swings Cohn and Kahn (1956). It's a fabulous album and can be purchased here.

Dalvatore Sally (1945) is on a Boyd Raeburn compilation called Jewells. You can download the track at iTunes.

The Bloos is on The Jazz Scene (1946) and can be found here along with the other tracks recorded by Norman Granz for an album  of 78 rpm's released in 1948.

Zoot Sims Plays Tenor & Four Altos (1957) combines two albums—Zoot! and Zoot Sims Plays Four Altos. George Handy wrote the swinging charts on both albums, and the CD features Zoot all the way. It can be found here.

Stella by Starlight arranged by Johnny Carisi is on All About Urbie Green (1956) and can be purchased here. Hal's Cross-Section Saxes (1958) is a joy on the ears from beginning to end. You can find the album on a Japanese CD. Or most of the ablum's tracks are available for much less on a terrific Hal McKusick compilation called Now's the Time here.

Hal's East Coast Jazz (1955) is out of print and hard to come by. But much of the album is on the Hal McKusick Quartet double-CD mentioned above. Hal's Jazz Workshop (1956) is still in print and can be purchased here. This CD includes his quartet, octet with Art Farmer, and septet with Jimmy Cleveland and Sol Schlinger. Like all of Hal's albums, this one feature the very best arrangements and showcases his smooth and lyrical alto sound.

Ralph Burns' Free Forms (1946) and Perpetual Motion (1955) can be found here and here respectively.

Hal McKusick on Urbie Green

Last week, saxophone legend Hal McKusick and I were talking about Boyd Raeburn's band from the mid-1940s and the staggering number of visionary arrangers Boyd had on board. Raeburn's penmen included Ed Finckel, George Williams, Johnny Richards, Johnny Mandel, Tadd Dameron, Ralph Flanagan, Dizzy Gillespie, Juan Tizol, George Handy and others.

One listen to Flanagan's chart for Hep Boyd's or Finckel's Little Boyd Blue from the mid-1940s and you'll know instantly why Raeburn's band was not only years ahead of its time but also the birthplace of 1950s orchestration. Hal played in Raeburn's bands of 1944 and 1945—and in virtually every other remarkable orchestra of the 1940s and 1950s.

"Hey, if you like the charts written for Boyd, get your hands on the Urbie Green albums with arrangements by Al Cohn and Johnny Carisi," Hal said. "They are something else."

"Wait, I think I just bought an Urbie Green set," I said, rummaging through a small stack of unopened CDs on my desk. "Here it is, I've got it. Let me have a listen and I'll call you back."

As usual, Hal was right. The two-CD set is Urbie Green Big Band: Complete 1956-1959 Recordings (LoneHill Jazz). Hal adores Urbie's playing, and I can't recall the last time I've been this excited about a CD set. Urbie is one of the finest trombonists of the 1950s with the purest and glossiest sound. If you dig big band music from this period with aces-up arrangements, your ship has arrived.

The two CDs combine four Urbie Green LPs—All About Urbie Green and His Big Band (1956), Let's Face the Music and Dance (1957), Jimmy McHugh in Hi-Fi (1958) and The Message (1959).  The arrangements are by Johnny Carisi, Al Cohn, Irwin Kostal and Urbie himself. A quick scan of the personnel tells you instantly why the writing sounds so good. The best session guys of the 1950s were on the dates—including Hal McKusick, Al Cohn, Sol Schlinger, Boomie Richman, Gene Quill, Johnny Carisi, Bernie Glow, Hank Jones, Osie Johnson, Barry Galbraith, and on and on.

Which got me thinking. Hal is probably the only jazz giant around today who not only knew all of the best arrangers of the 1940s and 1950s personally but also played their cutting-edge charts on record dates. So I asked Hal for a list of his favorites pen men and the charts that stand out.

Tomorrow, Hal will share that list along with remarks on what made each writer special. For now, see if you can get your hands on that Urbie Green set. It's going fast.

JazzWax tracks: Urbie Green Big Band: Complete 1956-1959 Recordings is becoming increasingly hard to find but may still be available here and here. The beauty of these dates is that Hal's horn is featured on most of the tracks above the reed section, which is no wonder since all of these arrangers adored his cool sound and phrasing.

If you want to hear what Boyd Raeburn's band sounded like in the mid-1940s, spend $2 and download Hep Boyd's and Little Boyd Blue at iTunes. You'll find them under Boyd's name on an album called Jewells.

JazzWax video clips: Urbie Green had—and still has—one of the most beautiful trombone sounds. Go here and here to see Urbie in the early 1970s with Bobby Hackett. And go here for a huge swinger with Urbie, Georgie Auld, Roy Eldridge, Buster Bailey, Johnny Guarnieri, Stuff Smith and other heavy-hitters in 1958.