JazzWax

Ronnie and Julie

In Part 1 of my interview last week with pianist Ronnell Bright, Sarah Vaughan's accompanist, Ronnell [right] talked about serving aboard an aircraft carrier in 1948 with singer Julius La Rosa  just before Julie was discovered. Julie [below], a baritone with an enormously stable and confident voice, would go on to become one of television's first charismatic singing stars, scoring a string of popular and traditional Italian hits in the 1950s and 1960s.

Shortly after posting Part 1, I received an email from Doug Ramsey, the esteemed jazz critic, author and Rifftides blogger. Doug wrote to tell me that he had sent Julie a link to JazzWax. Julie responded with the following email:

"Wow! Look at all that hair! Re Ronnie Bright: I remember him very well!; in fact he's probably the earliest indication—to me—that I had an ear and could sing! He taught me Don't Blame Me, which he sang very "jazzily." He took the title, singing, "Do-oh-oh-OHN'T,  blay-ay-ay, AYM, me-EE-ee...," and in the release I would sing, "I can't help it if that doggone moon above, makes me need someone like you to love..." Very "straight! Ronnell would go back to "Ca-ah-ah-AHN'T, you-oo-oo-OOH, see-EE-ee... when you do the things to me..." Wow!  Such memories!"

Last Friday, Julie and Ronnell reunited on the phone and revisited their days playing and singing on board the carrier. Thanks, Doug. What a joy to put two legendary musical pals back together again.

JazzWax tracks: Julius La Rosa's voice may unfamiliar to you or you may have written it off as too mainstream. Not so fast. Download My Funny Valentine at iTunes for 99 cents and see what you think. If you like it, add Rosanne and When You're in Love from the same 1955 album. This is is how popular music was crafted in the mid-1950s. Open, full and pure. For more on Julius La Rosa, visit his website here.

Jimmy Giuffre (1921-2008): Part 2

Yesterday, I featured interviews with jazz legends Danny Bank, Bud Shank, Hal McKusick and Teddy Charles fondly recalling the late saxophonist and arranger Jimmy Giuffre. I also included comments and rare photos from Von Babasin, the documentary filmmaker and son of bassist Harry "the Bear" Babasin.

Today, I merely want to share with you my Top 10 Jimmy Giuffre recordings, on which he played or arranged—or both. Nearly all are available as downloads for 99 cents each:

1. How High the Moon—Boyd Raeburn (1947). Before Claude Thornhill there was Boyd Raeburn, whose orchestra was one of the most exciting band laboratories of the early and mid-1940s. His musicians were so exceptional that they could take on anything an arranger could score. This track was arranged by Johnny Richards and featured the sultry voice of Ginny Powell, Raeburn's wife. Recorded in August 1947, Powell's "slick chick" rendition of How High the Moon was recorded four months before June Christy's with Stan Kenton. Giuffre is playing alto and tenor in the reed section here on one of his earliest recordings. The band featured Conte Candoli, Bernie Glow, Milt Bernhart, Bart Varsalona and Buddy DeFranco. This track is available for 99 cents at iTunes on Boyd Raeburn: Jewells.

2. Four Rich Brothers—Buddy Rich (1948). Four Brothers is easily Giuffre's best-known arrangement. Written for Woody Herman's band in late 1947, the song's sax soli and hair-raising harmonies finally allowed big band sax sections to have an ego. Originally titled Four Mothers by Giuffre, Woody changed it to Four Brothers for fear of crossing the taste line. Despite the power of the Herman recording, Giuffre's little-known arrangement here of the same song for the Buddy Rich band of 1948 is superior. For one, this version has more punch with Buddy at the helm. For another, all sections of the band get a chance to wail. Plus, Giuffre plays on this one (he isn't on Woody's version). And Buddy's reed section is fabulous—Hal McKusick on alto; Giuffre, Ben Lary and Warne Marsh on tenors; and Harvey Lavine on baritone. Why no second alto? Hal McKusick told me last night that he brought tenor saxophonist Marsh into the band because he played on the high-end of his horn, providing an alto sound and feel. Still don't believe this version tops Woody's? Compare for yourself. The track is available as an Amazon download here for 99 cents.

3. So Long Broadway—Lighthouse All-Stars (1952). A Teddy Charles original, this tune captures the raw heat and energy of the West Coast in the very early 1950s. You literally can hear cool jazz emerging from bop on this track. Teddy told me over the weekend that these recordings were made secretly, without the band's knowledge. So the exciting music you hear is the sound you would have heard on Hermosa Beach back in '52. Giuffre plays baritone sax on this track and is joined by Stan Getz, Bob Cooper, Teddy Charles, Russ Freeman, Howard Rumsey and Shelly Manne. You'll find this track on Stan Getz and the Lighthouse All-Stars, a terrific double CD that captured the dawn of West Coast jazz. Go here.

4. Short Stop—Shorty Rogers and His Giants (1953). This punchy arrangement by Shorty Rogers is really a love letter to Four Brothers, with a bouncier West Coast feel. The harmonies are sensational, and Giuffre takes a swinging, all-out tenor solo that follows fabulous blowing by alto saxophonist Art Pepper. Shorty Rogers' contribution to the West Coast jazz scene is vastly underrated, and his 1953 band was staggeringly great. In addition to Shorty and Giuffre, the band included Maynard Ferguson, Milt Bernhart, Bud Shank, Bob Cooper, Marty Paich, Curtis Counce and an explosive Shelly Manne. Every track sizzles with West Coast smarts—Coop de Graas, Infinity Promenade, Boar-Jibu and all the rest. The RCA CD pictured is going for $67. But you can find this track and all the rest on a brilliant download at iTunes called Shorty Rogers Volume 1: Ferguson, Shank, Manne & More.

5. Margo—Teddy Charles Quintet (1953). This Teddy Charles original is one of the first Third Stream ballads. Recorded for Prestige Records when Teddy Charles was playing and producing sessions for the label on the West Coast, the track features Teddy on piano (rather than vibes), Giuffre on a velvety tenor sax, and trumpeter Shorty Rogers, who's in a rare pensive mode. Teddy's sensitive melody line is reminiscent of  In a Mist, and it's laced with dramatic turns. You can find the track on the CD Teddy Charles and the Westcoasters here.

6. Four Others—Woody Herman (1954). Giuffre's arrangement for this Woody Herman Capitol session swings. His arrangement, which in the 1954 version showcases the band's trumpet section, is brisk and bouncy, and only hints at Four Brothers. For some strange reason, the track was never commercially released at the time. Sadly, it's available only on Mosaic's Complete Capitol Recordings of Woody Herman box, which is now out of print. The good news is that a version featuring the trombone section from a year earlier is available at iTunes as a 99-cent download on Woody Herman's Finest Hour.

7. Blue Bluebird—Maynard Ferguson (1956). This medium-tempo blues shows off Giuffre's swinging writing style for Maynard Ferguson's Birdland Dream Band. The sax section says it all—Herb Geller on alto, Al Cohn and Budd Johnson on tenors, and Ernie Wilkins on baritone. There's even a high-flying solo by trumpeter Ernie Royal. You can find this CD here. Or you can download a version of Blue Bluebird at iTunes from The Essential Maynard Ferguson.

8. The Blues Train—Hal McKusick (1956). Giuffre wrote and arranged this tune and two others for Hal McKusick's Jazz Workshop album. The playing here is as soft as cat's paws, and Giuffre's writing is perfect. Hal is on alto, Art Farmer is on trumpet, Barry Galbraith is on guitar, Teddy Kotick is on bass and Osie Johnson is on drums. Hal's sound is sublime, and the stealthy blues and hushed feel are remarkable. Listen as the group emulates the swinging clickity-clack of a train and sound of a midnight locomotive whistle off in the distance. You can buy The Jazz Workshop here.

9. Hooray for Hollywood—Anita O'Day (1959). Unlike Anita O'Day Swings Cole Porter with Billy May, recorded four days earlier, Cool Heat: Anita O'Day Sings Jimmy Giuffre Arrangements was more relaxed and jaunty. It's well known that May and O'Day didn't get along, resulting in rough studio exchanges and jagged executions. By contrast, Anita felt completely at ease with Giuffre and his cool charts, as Hooray for Hollywood demonstrates. Dig the fanfare configurations written for trumpets and trombones at the opening. Anita's scatting to Giuffre's chart is very hip. Cool Heat can be found as a download at iTunes.

10. Moonlight in Vermont—Lee Konitz/Jimmy Giuffre (1959). This recording was made a month after the Anita O'Day-Jimmy Giuffre session. Despite adventures in Third Stream jazz at the time, Giuffre's arrangement here is straightforward, harmonically teasing out the luster of this nostalgic standard. The album features only reeds backed by a superb rhythm section. The reeds were Hal McKusick and Lee Konitz on altos, Warne Marsh and Ted  Brown on tenors, and Giuffre on baritone. This album also gives you a chance to match up the playing of Hal and Lee (Hal takes the first alto solo on Moonlight in Vermont). By the way, that's Bill Evans on piano (with Buddy Clark on bass and Ronnie Free on drums). Rather than spend $40 on the double CD import, simply buy Bill Evans & Lee Konitz Play the Arrangements of Jimmy Giuffre, which combines the albums You and Lee and Lee Konitz Meets Jimmy Giuffre. It's only $14 here.

Jimmy Giuffre (1921-2008): Part 1

Jimmy Giuffre, a saxophonist and clarinetist whose big-band and small-group recordings and harmonic arrangements in the late 1940s and early 1950s helped crystallize the West Coast jazz sound, died on April 24. He was 86 years old.

Giuffre began his influential career recording with Jimmy Dorsey's band in 1947 and went on to play in the orchestras of Buddy Rich, Woody Herman, Maynard Ferguson, Stan Kenton and Shorty Rogers in the late 1940s and early 1950s. After deciding to remain in Los Angeles following a second stay with Woody Herman in the late 1940s, Giuffre's playing and arranging adapted a cooler, more contrapuntal, laid-back sound that was in stark contrast with the bebop of the East Coast.

Giuffre's constant experimentation with tonal scales and counterpoint starting in the mid-1950s also helped shape and influence the direction of Third Stream jazz. His pastoral, modal trio albums of the late 1950s and early 1960s set a new relaxed standard for small group innovation at a time when jazz was adapting a more spiritual, free-form motif.

Over the weekend, I caught up with several jazz legends for their first-hand memories of Jimmy Giuffre in the 1940s and 1950s:

Danny Bank
"€”I played with Jimmy on his very first record date. It was with the Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra in April 1947. Dorsey [pictured] was a virtuoso on the clarinet and the alto saxophone, and Jimmy [Giuffre] learned a great deal from him. Everyone did. Even Charlie Parker loved Jimmy Dorsey's playing. Jimmy Giuffre was a great player and writer. He really knew how to write a sax soli and how to make the reed section blend together. He had a terrific sense of loud and soft. As a writer, he loved the reed section. On some of his arrangements, he'd even have guys doubling on tenor and alto in the same chart. You'd have to put one instrument down and pick the other one up. He was a challenging writer."

Hal McKusick
"”Our first recording together was in January 1948, when I was on the West Coast. It was an Armed Forces Radio Broadcast, and the group was led by Harry Babasin, the West Coast bass player. Jimmy had already arranged and recorded Four Brothers with Woody Herman in December 1947. After our live date in early 1948, Jimmy dropped out of the scene and took a job at J.C. Penney in L.A. He had to support his family and wanted stability. [pictured: Hal McKusick]. 

"When I joined Buddy Rich's band in California in mid-1948, Buddy [pictured] asked me to find a tenor player and arranger to rebuild his book with more bebop-type charts. I saw an opportunity to wrestle Jimmy out of L.A., since Buddy was offering him more money than J.C. Penney. Jimmy hesitated for a few days to think it over. He was already weary of  the struggle in the music business and, believe it or not, saw a future as a manager at J.C. Penney!

"A little more talk and coaxing by me on the phone—Buddy's band had already started on a cross-country tour to New York—and Jimmy was en route to San Francisco to join the band. I stayed up with him nights and copied his charts for the band and the rest is history. Jimmy stayed with the band until New York. Then he rejoined Woody Herman and went back west to California. He stayed with Woody until 1950, settling in Los Angeles.

"In 1956, Jimmy composed and wrote arrangements for me when I recorded Jazz Workshop for RCA. Jimmy's writing was beautiful. I very much enjoyed his friendship and playing."

Bud Shank
"After Jimmy left Woody Herman in Los Angeles in 1950, he joined the bands of Maynard Ferguson, Stan Kenton and Shorty Rogers. By the very early 1950s, he became the leader of the whole West Coast jazz thing, the drum majorette, so to speak. Jimmy was the first jazz musician I knew with a college degree. He also was the first to study with Wesley LaViolette, who was into tonal music and counterpoint. Then many other musicians started taking lessons with Wesley. [pictured: Bud Shank]

"I remember Jimmy had straightened the neck of his tenor so it resembled the neck of an alto. He did that to get a different sound. Jimmy was always exploring and always thinking. He was so deeply involved in whatever he was doing. I remember one night Jimmy came over to The Lighthouse [pictured] in Hermosa Beach with a pipe cleaner tied around the neck of his tenor. One of us asked him why it was there. He said, "To remind me to take a deep breath." That was Jimmy. He was so deeply into what he was doing, he needed things to remind him to come up for air."

Teddy Charles
"Jimmy was a fabulous player and writer. I first played with him at The Lighthouse in May 1953, with Bob Cooper, Russ Freeman, Howard Rumsey and Shelly Manne. Jimmy also played clarinet, tenor and baritone on my Collaboration: West album for Prestige in August 1953. [pictured: Teddy Charles]

"Jimmy was very different than everyone else. He was a Texas gentleman, and a little shy, which was unusual for a jazz musician back them. When I put my Tentet together in late 1955, I wanted to showcase the many different modal arrangers emerging then. Jimmy [pictured, center] immediately came to mind. When I asked him to write a chart, I was in New York and he was in L.A. He wrote The Quiet Time and mailed it to me. I thought he was going to bring it to New York. So I called him and said, 'Jimmy, how are we supposed to play this without you here to explain how you want it done?' Jimmy said, 'Just play it down, Teddy. It should be fine.'

"So I put The Quiet Time up on the stands and we played it down. Man, if he wasn't spot-on. I was blown away. The chart was absolutely perfect. No fine-tuning needed. Jimmy really was a master writer."

Von Babasin (son of the late West Coast bassist Harry "the Bear" Babasin)
”"My father and Jimmy went to North Texas State together and were members of the One O'Clock Jazz Band on campus. [pictured: Jimmy on tenor sax, Harry Babasin on bass]

"I have a copy of a promotional publication from Capitol Records called Capitol News, dated January 1948, Vol. 6, No. 1. At the time, Dad had just left Benny Goodman and had joined Capitol Records, so the company was promoting his group. There's was an article in the publication with the headline, New Babasin Ork Hailed In L.A. There's a picture of the whole band [pictured: Harry on cello, doubling on bass; from left, Arnold Ross on piano; Blinky Garner on drums; Dale Pearce on trumpet; Hal McKusick on alto; Herbie Harper on trombone; and Jimmy Giuffre on tenor]

"I also have the recordings—one I found recently on an Italian album that was recorded live from the McCormack Hospital in Pasadena in January 1948, the very month of the Capitol article. The article states, 'Babasin, a graduate of North Texas State College in Denton (where Annie Sheridan grew up), brought his college pal Jimmy Giuffre to Hollywood from the Lone Star State to help him get started.'

"Later in the article, it goes on about Jimmy [pictured]: 'Giuffre is equally adept on alto as tenor sax, and his inventive, [Eddie] Sauter-inspired arrangements are so gone that Red Norvo, preparing to make jazz discs for Capitol last month, rushed out and asked Giuffre to handle the arranging for the session."

Be sure to catch Doug Ramsey's tribute to Jimmy Giuffre here, complete with two video clips of Four Brothers that will put a wide smile on your face.

Tomorrow, in Part 2 of my tribute to Jimmy, I will feature my Top 10 Giuffre recordings from the 1940s and 1950s.

Sunday Wax Bits

Jimmy Giuffre (1921-2008). Starting tomorrow, I will post a two-day tribute to the late saxophonist, clarinetist and arranger—including interviews with jazz legends who played with him and knew him best.

Vinyl vitriol. In a pointed post last week at Jazz.com, writer Alan Kurtz ridiculed holdouts who continue to lament the record store's decline and yearn for a vinyl revival. Alan also chastised critics of digital downloading, arguing that the medium's virtues start and end with efficiency and convenience.

During his clubbing of LP lovers, Alan took a swing at me for calling downloading a "pretty sexless act and medium" and for questioning whether downloading can ever deliver the same satisfaction as LP and CD collecting. Alan also explained why he detests brick & mortar record stores, confessing that he hadn't been in one in years: "The littler stores, typically with black-lighted satanic decor, always had small bins so crammed with overpriced merchandise that I could neither browse nor find anything." 

All of this notwithstanding, Alan's column is quite funny, well argued and worth the read here. To be fair, used-record stores are notoriously irksome, most often staffed by humorless bearded guys who wear socks with sandals and smell like old coffee.

Just to set the record (pun intended) straight, my post focused on the sensory connection between touch and hearing, and why hunting, holding and acquiring LPs and CDs seems to deliver much more excitement and satisfaction than the sterile experience of clicking, downloading, dragging and filing. Not to mention the flat fidelity of most downloads compared with remastered CDs.

I suppose this disc-click debate will rattle on until high-end integrated receivers come equipped with hard drives, and downloads play as crisply as remastered CDs. When that day comes, though, I'll miss shopping for music I can hold. I'll also miss the old humorless bearded guy in my local used-record store who always growls at customers and insists that scratches on albums can't be heard when played.

Terry Teachout I. Terry sent along an e-mail this week alerting me to two bits of great news. First, Terry says he just finished writing Rhythm Man: A Life of Louis Armstrong, which clocks in at 175,000 words. Terry's Pops biography will be published next spring. Second, Terry reports that Paul Moravec is composing the final scene of The Letter, an opera for which Terry wrote the libretto. This is on top of Terry's weekly theater reviews for the Wall Street Journal, his monthly Commentary columns, his Washington Post essays, his blog, and other writing engagements. Bravo, Terry! (P.S. It was Terry who badgered me to start JazzWax last summer.)

Terry Teachout II. Terry's column in yesterday's Wall Street Journal was on Aaron Copland's movie scores. When I shot Terry an email yesterday afternoon asking if any of the works he wrote about were available on CD or as downloads, Terry noted that a CD of Copland's film music can be found here. He also said the CD is available as a download at iTunes.

Video clip I. Critic Will Friedwald sent along a link to a fabulous YouTube clip of Johnny Hartman singing It Never Entered My Mind. The clip opens with Sammy Davis, Jr. playing a very hip vibes (who knew!). View the clip here.

Video clip 2. Bret Primack just completed a terrific video podcast for the Concord Records reissue of Blue Mitchell's Blue Soul. As always, Bret has produced brilliant work that fills in the historical blanks and advances the story of jazz. View the clip here.

Cal Massey. WFIU's Night Lights host David Brent Johnson just posted a podcast of his half-hour radio show on the music of jazz composer Cal Massey. It's a highly informed and comprehensive look at one of the least-known writers of jazz's best-loved songs. Go here and click the big blue "Listen Now" button.

Michael Steinman, host of the influential Jazz Lives blog, had kind words to say this week about my liner notes for Grant Stewart's new CD, Young at Heart. For the record, I receive no royalties from the CD's sales. The only reason I wrote the notes is I'm a huge fan of Grant's and strongly believe he's a tenor saxophonist more people should know about. His album is available as a CD at Amazon or as a download at iTunes. Hear for yourself.

Interview: Ronnell Bright (Part 5)

After rising to become the accompanist of Carmen McRae, Sarah Vaughan, Lena Horne and Nancy Wilson in the 1950s and early 1960s, pianist Ronnell Bright became a favorite of Johnny Hartman, Lou Rawls, Al Hibbler, Lorez Alexandria, Anita O'Day and other vocalists. Ronnell's songwriting stints with legends Johnny Mercer, Paul Francis Webster and Sammy Cahn in the mid-to-late-1960s encouraged him to branch out as a composer and lyricist. Ronnell's songs have been recorded by Stanley Turrentine, Blue Mitchell, Warren Vache, Freda Payne, Irene Reid and others.

Ronnell's achievements as a jazz pianist, accompanist and composer are extraordinary. But with enormous accomplishment comes deep disappointment, especially if you were part of the competitive West Coast popular music scene in the 1960s and 1970s.

Today in the fifth and final installment of my weeklong conversation with Ronnell, he talks candidly about golden opportunities that never materialized with Barbra Streisand and Doris Day, and why he ultimately decided to take Louis Armstrong's advice:

JazzWax: Based on your stories, it sounds like the West Coast music scene in the 1960s was a lot tougher than it seemed to average listeners.
Ronnell Bright: Look, the West Coast has always been a place that attracts large numbers of incredibly talented people. Back then, you didn't come to California to work a few days a week in the music business. It was a seven-day operation, especially as rock music ate into record company budgets. The stakes were higher. If you slowed up, someone else would get the gig. So you learned to take on  opportunities and pursue them whenever they came up, if only so you didn't later regret not doing so.

JW: For example?
RB: Sometime back in the early 1970s, my wife, Dianne, and I went to a restaurant in Los Angeles. Dianne noticed that Barbra Streisand and Jon Peters, who was her hairdresser at the time, were just a few tables away.

JW: What were they doing?
RB: Peters was saying something to her and it looked like Barbra was crying. Dianne said that we had to get Sea Mist to her. This is before I took it to Ella [see Part 4].

JW: How were you going to get Barbra to hear the song?
RB: Well there wasn't a piano in the place and we didn't have the music with us. Dianne [pictured with Ronnell] came up with an idea. She told me to keep them busy and said she would rush back to our place to get a cassette of the song.

JW: How were you supposed to keep them busy?
RB: I have no idea. That's what I told Dianne. She told me to do what I could before she raced out the door. Eventually the waitress came over to their table. Peters got up but Barbra looked out the window, I guess to hide her tears. Peters reached into his pocket for his wallet and paid. A minute or two went by and they got up to leave. I had no idea what to do. What could I say? I didn't have the music or anything.

JW: What happened next?
RB: Just as they neared the door with me behind them, Dianne came through. She walked right up to Barbra and said, “Miss Streisand, my husband there wrote a beautiful song that’s just right for you. I have a cassette and the music here.”

JW: What did Barbra say?
RB: Oh, man, Barbra wasn’t in the mood. She snapped at Dianne, “What’s this? What do you do—you write your own songs and hand them out and keep them with you all the time?” I was dumbstruck. But before Dianne could answer, Barbra said, “Give it here,” and she took the manila envelope Dianne had for her. Then Barbra and Jon Peters left and got their car.

JW: Dianne sounds pretty amazing.
RB: Oh, she is. She's my No. 1 fan. I said to myself at the time, if Barbra Streisand hears Sea Mist in her car, it has to get to her. She has such a beautiful voice, I figured the song had to touch her.

JW: Did Barbra tell you she was going to record it?
RB: A day or so later, we got the envelope back in the mail. Dianne had managed to put our return address on the outside while racing back to the restaurant. The envelope hadn’t even been opened. Someone had just written “Return to Sender” on the outside.

JW: That must have been tough to take.
RB: It was, it was. But look, in those years in California, when you took big risks, the payoff was either huge or you were disappointed for days or weeks. That's why you had to take those kinds of shots. You never knew what could happen.

JW: Sometimes breaks disappear due to misunderstandings.
RB: That's right. Someone you know says they're going to speak to so-and-so on your behalf. If the opportunity doesn't work out, it could have been because it wasn't put the right way.

JW: For example?
RB: Back in 1967, I got a call from Sid Feller, the arranger [pictured with Ray Charles]. We had worked together with Nancy Wilson. Sid asked if I was available to do a date with Doris Day. I said, sure, absolutely. I had always loved Doris Day’s voice. I thought, and still think, her tone and interpretations are so pure and lovely. She is truly exceptional.

JW: Was it a big date?
RB: Oh yes. When I got to the studio, there were a lot of West Coast heavyweights there: Barney Kessel, Irv Cottler and others. We did the recording over several days. When released, the record was called The Love Album. On the final day of recording, Sid came over and said Doris wanted to know if I could stick around afterward.

JW: What did you think?
RB: I thought I had messed up or something. All the guys were packing up to leave, and they kept looking back thinking I had done something wrong.

JW: What was the problem?
RB: Hang on, hang on. After everyone cleared out, Sid came back and said Doris wanted to meet me. I asked if I had done something wrong. Sid said, “No, no, it’s a good thing.” When I walked over with Sid, Marty Melcher, Doris' husband was there, not Doris. Marty [pictured with Doris] said that he and Doris were aware of my talents and that they enjoyed my recordings with Sarah and Nancy.

JW: What did he want?
RB: Marty says, “How would you like to write the theme song to Doris’ next picture?” I said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Marty said, “No, seriously.” I said absolutely. I had just finished writing a song with Paul Francis Webster, who wrote The Shadow of Your Smile. I asked if they wanted me to call Paul. “No, no, Ronnell, we know Paul,” Marty said. “We want you to write the words and music yourself.”

JW: Did you take on the assignment?
RB: Oh yes. They delivered the script the next day. It was about the New York City blackout of 1966. It was called, Where Were You When the Lights Went Out? So I wrote and wrote and wrote the whole week. I figured that if Doris didn’t like one song, I could always show her another.

JW: So you scored the movie?
RB: About two days before I was to meet Doris at her office on Cannon Drive, Don Genson, her record producer, calls. He says, “Ronnell, I’m so sorry. Marty is unpredictable. He’s already made an agreement with someone else who’s going to do the score. We told him we already had someone to do the title song. But he complained that if he’s going to do the score, he also wanted to write the title song. So Marty made an agreement to let him do it.”

JW: What a lousy break. Who wound up writing the title song?
RB: That was the funny thing. When the movie came out in 1968, it didn’t have a title song.

JW: So they tied you up for weeks and that was it?
RB: No. Don Genson said, “Doris is very upset about this and wants to meet you at her office to make it up to you. She wants to do another project.” Man, my spirit was so down at that point. But I went anyway.

JW: What was Doris like?
RB: Doris was sweet, just like she is in the movies. You looked into her face saw that her eyes were soft and she smiled so easily. She was timid but pompous in a protective sort of way. She sat on a tall stool, and I sat at the piano playing. She said, “You know, Ronnell, how would you like to do an album with me—just the two of us?" I said I’d love to.

JW: Who else was in the room?
RB: Don Genson and her rehearsal pianist. Doris says, “I’ve got a book of sheet music from different Broadway shows. I'd like you to pick a selection of songs from these shows and arrange them in my keys." Doris is a beautiful singer, and I was honored. She said, “If you can come back in a week’s time, we’ll meet and try them out.”

JW: What did you think?
RB: I had just finished staying up night and day writing music for the movie job that was taken away. Now I had to do more homework. But that was fine. I arranged about half the music in her key by the time we met the next time.

JW: How did it go?
RB: Back at her office, her rehearsal pianist was there again. He was throwing me dirty looks the entire time. He didn’t appreciate my being there, and I could understand completely how he felt. And I felt bad for him. Doris and I worked for about an hour. Then I took a break in the hall. I felt awful and couldn't really concentrate with the guy hovering around me.

JW: Did Genson get the picture?
RB: When Don Genson came out, I said, “Don, I appreciate this opportunity. But why is her piano player here? He’s shooting me dirty looks and coming up to the piano and checking out my hands. I can’t work like that. I have to be free. Is there any way to tell Doris not to bring him next time? I want to check out her singing and phrasing on these songs. I also want to communicate with her musically. But this guy is making me nervous.”

JW: So Don took care of it with Doris?
RB: About 15 minutes later, Doris came out with a powder puff, took it out and started powdering her face. “Alright Ronnell, you played for Sarah and Carmen but you don’t want to play for me?” Just as I opened my mouth to explain, she turned and left with Don.

JW: What do you think happened?
RB: I have no idea what Genson said to her. He must have gone inside and said “Well, Ronnell's all steamed up and doesn’t want to play with you under these conditions” or something like that. Whatever he said must have hurt her feelings to produce that kind of reaction.

JW: Why didn't Doris ask you directly for an explanation?
RB: In those days, I think Doris was insulated by the people around her. Maybe there was an insecurity. I have no idea why she didn't jump in and find out the truth for herself.

JW: If you could tell Doris Day something right now, what would it be?
RB: I'd tell her what I didn't have a chance to say that day. To me, Doris was on the same level as Sarah, Carmen, Ella and Nancy. When she sang, she had the love coming right through her. I so enjoyed her singing, and it was a joy to play behind her on The Love Album. I think had we been able to record an album with just the two of us, it would still be considered a jazz and pop classic. But you know how things go—they often happen or don't happen for a reason. If she wanted to record an album with me today, I'd be only too glad to do it.

JW: How did you handle disappointments like that?
RB: Louis Armstrong once sat next to me on the piano bench. I said to Louis, “Do you have a line of advice for a young feller trying to come up in the business?” He said, “Just remember this, Fingers: Your health comes first.” That has always remained with me and has helped me shrug off many tough breaks.

JazzWax tracks: Here's a sampling of Ronnell's compositions recorded by a wide range of jazz artists:

Missing You was recorded by Sarah Vaughan twice—once on No Count Sarah (1958) and again on Close to You (1959). The latter album also includes Ronnell's I've Got to Talk to My Heart.

Carmen McRae recorded Sweet Pumpkin on Live at Century Plaza (1968), while Johnny Hartman recorded Ronnell's Don't Call It Love on I Just Dropped By to Say Hello (1963). Stanley Turrentine recorded And Satisfy on Rough 'n' Tumble (1966). Blue Mitchell recorded two of Ronnell's songs—Missing You on Out of the Blue (1959) and Sweet Pumpkin on Blue's Mood (1960). And Nancy Wilson recorded Ronnell's Funnier Than Funny on Gentle Is My Love (1965).

Interview: Ronnell Bright (Part 4)

As Sarah Vaughan's accompanist between 1958 and 1960 and in 1963, Ronnell Bright learned how to listen hard to singers and anticipate the rich musical support they needed to excel. By the time Ronnell left Sassy the first time in 1960, he was one of the most sought-after accompanists in the music business. When he left again in 1963, he became Nancy Wilson's accompanist and rehearsed her band.

After his years with Wilson in the late 1960s, Ronnell remained in Hollywood and became increasingly involved in playing and arranging for television. He even appeared as a pianist on sitcoms and movies (Sanford & Son, The Jeffersons, They Shoot Horses Don't They). He also continued to play on dozens of artists' albums, including Ella Fitzgerald's Misty Blue.

Throughout his West Coast period, Ronnell continued to compose, collaborating with Johnny Mercer and other leading songwriters. One day, in the early 1980s, he  even got up the courage to call Ella and pitch one of his songs, Sea Mist.

In Part 4 of our conversation, Ronnell talks about his work with Nancy Wilson and bandleader Ray Anthony [pictured] as well as a revealing encounter with Erroll Garner. He also candidly relates the events that followed his visit to Ella's house, illustrating the tough breaks that often follow triumphs in the music business:

JazzWax: How was Nancy Wilson to work with?
Ronnell Bright: Beautiful. They called her “Sweet Nancy” because she had such a sweet disposition. She was a lot of fun. Even tempered, and she never lost her cool. We first recorded The Nancy Wilson Show! in 1964. It was live date at the Coconut Grove in Los Angeles. At this point, I was becoming more and more a part of the Capitol Records scene in L.A.

JW: Did that include meeting your boyhood hero?
RB: Nat? Nancy knew how much I loved Nat King Cole as a kid. So she went up to him out in Los Angeles and said, "Nat, my pianist is over there and would love to meet you." Nat came right up to me and put his face in mine and said, “Hi, Ronnell, I'm Nat Cole.” Just like that. I just shrunk. This is just before he got sick. He said he knew me from Sarah's records. For years, he was to me the epitome of class and artistry. I was speechless.

JW: When did you find the time to write songs?
RB: Sometimes on airplanes or while waiting in a line. I'd write the words first, like a story. Then I'd add the melody and chords. I've written about 120 songs.

JW: You wrote Tender Loving Care, the title of an album you recorded with Nancy, with Johnny Mercer.
RB: I wrote the melody and Johnny [pictured] wrote the lyrics. Nancy loved my song so much she asked Johnny to write the words. She first sent him a cassette tape of me playing, and he loved the song. When he finished writing the lyrics, he called me on the phone. He said, "You know, Ronnell, when I finish the lyrics to songs, I always call the composer first and read them to him." After he read them, he asked me, "Is it alright? If anything is out of sync or cumbersome, you let me know." I told them they were perfect and it was such an honor.

JW: Did you and Johnny Mercer collaborate on any other songs?
RB: Yes, four in total. When I played Comet in the Sky for him at his house, he asked me to add notes in places so his lyrics would work.

JW: What kind of person was Johnny Mercer?
RB: All I know is my experience with him. He was a stand-up person. I remember attending a big gala event with my sister, Lois, in the 1960s. It was like an awards dinner. When I arrived with Lois, they announced us over the speaker system, like royalty or something, and said we'd be at table No. 39. Johnny jumped up from across the room and waved my sister and me over and said we would be joining him, at table No. 1 with his wife Ginger and daughter Mandy. He made room for us. Then he introduced me to Paul Francis Webster, who had just written Shadow of Your Smile. I wrote a song with Paul as well.

JW: Did Johnny ever give you advice?
RB: Well, we met for lunch about three weeks after the gala, and he asked me what I wanted to do ultimately. I told him I wanted to write for the movies. He said, "Well, I don't know. I don't think the time is right." I have no idea what he meant by that comment, but it sure was disheartening.

JW: What did you do after Nancy Wilson.
RB: I played with Ray Anthony [pictured] in 1970. Quincy Jones had recommended me because Ray needed a player and writer/arranger. We were at the Miami Hilton for about three months. Milt Hinton was at the Fontainebleau Hotel, and I'd go by to hear him, and he'd come over to the Hilton. We talked about everything, including bass players.

JW: Who were Milt Hinton's favorites?
RB: He liked Richard Davis, Red Callender and George Duvivier very much. All of those guys came through Miami, and I had a chance to work with all of them.

JW: Who was your favorite bassist?
RB: Ray Brown [pictured], because of those walking bass lines. When I play a single [solo], which I often did in the 1980s at New York's Essex House, I'd walk my left hand thinking of Ray Brown. I'd just turn my left hand loose and it knew what to do.

JW: Speaking of left hands, did you ever meet Erroll Garner?
RB: Oh sure. Erroll came by my house in California. He was playing at Donte's. We sat at my piano and he played and we talked about his approach. I said, “Erroll, how did you get your style?” He said, “Well, Ronnell, when I came along, pianists were all playing stride. Like Teddy [Wilson], Fatha Hines and Art [Tatum]. I never could do that with my left hand. But I could do it in one spot, in the same octave range. A lot of folks didn’t know I was left-handed. My right hand was weakest. I’d always have to play catch up with my right hand, which dragged a little bit.” That’s how Erroll’s style was born.

JW: Erroll must have been frightening to play with.
RB: He was. I talked to two bassists who backed him: Red Callender and Eddie Calhoun. They said you never knew what Erroll was going to do. He had no relationship to keys. He didn’t read music. He’d just play. They said sometimes they’d play Misty in B or F-sharp. The next night the song might be in E or A. Whatever Erroll heard at the moment. There were no difficult keys for Erroll. That's why Erroll always started songs by playing solo or vamping. It gave the bass player time to figure out the key.”

JW: What did Erroll think of you and your playing?
RB: He liked me. I didn’t realize that he had known me from my days in Chicago. He said, “I remember you at the Blue Note, with a trio. I wondered at the time why you were there. I thought you should be in New York.” That was nice to hear.

JW: Did you ever play with Ella?
RB: Yes, on a Country album called Misty Blue. I remember getting the call to play, and when I showed up, my fingers were all set for a swinging session. Instead, it was Ella on a Country date! At the time, they were trying to follow Ray Charles' model by mixing up her repertoire.

JW: Did Ella ever record your songs?
RB: Almost.

JW: Almost? What happened?
RB: Back in 1981, when my wife, Dianne, and I were living in California, on the beach. I called up Ella and told her that I had written a song called Sea Mist and that I thought it would be perfect for her. I told her I wanted to play it for her with hopes she might like it.

JW: What did she say?
RB: Ella said come on over. She gave me her address in Beverly Hills, and I drove out there. Her home [pictured] was stately and in the Spanish Mission style. When I arrived, she led me into a small room with a console piano. She asked if she could get me anything to eat or drink. I told her no thanks, that I couldn’t stay long and that I just wanted to play Sea Mist for her. And that if she didn’t like it, that would be OK, too. “You’re going to sing it, too, aren’t you Ronnell?” So I did.

JW: What did she think?
RB: Before I could finish the song, Ella was on the phone with Norman Granz [pictured] asking him to come over. She said, “Ronnell Bright is over here and he's playing it now.” A half hour later Norman was there, and I was playing and singing the song again. She and Norman spoke on the side. Then Ella asked if I could come back the next day. “I want Nelson Riddle to come over to hear it.”

JW: Wow, did he show?
RB: Oh yes. The next day I played Sea Mist for Ella, Norman and Nelson Riddle. Before I played, Ella told Nelson [pictured below] that Norman had raved about it and that it reminded him of a certain hit song from the 1930s. So I played and sang it again. At the end, Nelson asked Ella, “How do you want to do this?” Ella says, “I want to do it with the big stuff, you know, with violins, cellos, harp, everything.” So Nelson said OK, and he asked me to come with him to his office on Sunset Strip that day.

JW: What happened when you got there?
RB: I sat at the piano and played some of the substitution chords I was using that allowed me to go in different directions. Nelson [pictured] said Ella was going to Europe for two weeks and that he was going to score it for her during that time. A few days later, my phone at home rang and my wife told me Nelson Riddle was on the phone. I said, “Nelson Riddle? What?” I picked up the phone and Nelson said, “Ronnell? I just wanted to tell you that I just finished the arrangement of Sea Mist. It’s a beautiful arrangement. Thank you for letting me write a decent piece of music for a change. I’ve been writing such crap lately. The score is already at Ella’s house. When she comes back from Europe, she’ll find it on her piano."

JW: What did you say?
RB: I said, "Wow, thank you very, very much." He said, “See ya.” Dianne and I celebrated with champagne on the beach. We couldn't believe it.

JW: Did Ella record it?
RB: Hang on. Two months go by. One day I’m at the musician’s union office in L.A. and I run into Al Aarons, the trumpet player who was with Basie [pictured]. We were there picking up checks for studio gigs we had done. Al told  me he was on his way to do a recording session with Ella. I said really, what is it? He said it’s a Norman Granz-Nelson Riddle date. I said, “Oh man, I’m supposed to have a song on there. Ella didn’t call me, though.” Al said, “Hey, if you have a song on there, come ride with me.”

JW: Was it the right session?
RB: Oh, yes. When I walked onto the sound stage at the Universal lot, they were already rehearsing. Marshal Royal was there, Jimmy Rowles, Bob Cooper, Joe Pass, Shelly Manne and a full string section. I went into the booth and sat down next to a friend. I looked back at the controls and saw Norman [pictured]. I waved, but he dropped his head. There I am, anticipating Sea Mist. So I’m waiting for it to come up but it never does. On a break, Ella came into the booth and asked if she could talk to me outside for a minute.

JW: What did she say?
RB: We went outside, and she said, “You know, Ronnell, we’re not going to be able to do your song.” She said that Oscar would be so mad at her if she recorded it. Oscar? I thought to myself. What does Oscar Peterson [pictured] have to do with this? He has his own claim to fame. Maybe he wanted her to record something he wrote and she didn’t and that this would ruffle him. I don't know.

JW: Did she let it go at that?
RB: No, that was more of the set up. She continued that they were all ready to record the song but at the last minute, Norman decided he didn’t want any original material on the album, only standards people knew, to be sure the record sold. Ella said he substituted The Best Is Yet to Come because she hadn’t recorded it yet.

JW: What a blow that must have been.
RB: Tell me about it. When that album came out, I saw that the song they put in became the album title. I just sat there and just looked at the album. I was so sad.

JW: Hey, that score must be kicking around somewhere.
RB: Now hold on a minute. I’m not finished. So several years go by and I’m playing at the Essex House [pictured] in New York and living on 56th St., on the 31st floor. During the years Ella and I had kept in touch, exchanging Christmas cards and such. One day I get a call from Nelson Riddle’s road manager. He says he’s in town and that Ella asked him to call me. He asks if I can meet him in the lobby of his hotel on Sixth Avenue.

JW: Ella wanted to record it?
RB: Hang on. So I went over, we met, and he handed me the Nelson Riddle score to Sea Mist. He said Ella always felt terrible about what had happened and wanted me to have it as a gift. It had Nelson Riddle’s name on it and Ella’s name.

JW: You're an arranger. When you look at how the parts are written, how does it sound in your head.
RB: It’s plush, man. It's Nelson Riddle plush.

JW: Did you ever hire an orchestra to hear how it sounds?
RB: The closest I ever came was having the University of Kansas orchestra play the brass part. I was doing a concert there. But I have never heard the strings and orchestra parts together. One day, hopefully, one day.

Tomorrow, Ronnell shares other music business experiences in California with Barbra Streisand and Doris Day.

JazzWax tracks: Ella Fitzgerald recorded Misty Blue for Capitol Records in December 1967. A Country-themed date arranged and conducted by Sid Feller, the orchestra included a band, strings and choir. The CD is out of print, but copies are available at Amazon from independent sellers. To hear a sample of the title track, go here.

Ronnell's song, Tender Loving Care, can be found on a Nancy Wilson import CD that combines From Broadway with Love (1965) and Tender Loving Care (1966). The CD can be found here. Ronnell plays on both albums. I personally find these albums to be among Nancy Wilson's best. The edge in her voice is softened and her delivery is superb, backed by lush strings and orchestra.

Sea Mist, the song that almost was recorded by Ella Fitzgerald, is available on an out of print Bill Watrous CD called Trombone Summit: Smooth Talk (1990), on which Ronnell plays piano.

But you can also find Sea Mist on a 1996 Buddy Collette CD called Jazz for Thousand Oaks. While the CD is out of print, it is widely available from independent sellers at Amazon for about $8. If you go here, you can sample Sea Mist and hear Ronnell singing and playing his own composition. You can also buy it here.

Interview: Ronnell Bright (Part 3)

Ronnell Bright has composed the music and lyrics to more than 100 songs. Some were co-written with Johnny Mercer, Paul Francis Webster and Sammy Cahn. About a half dozen were recorded by a wide range of jazz artists and vocalists. Ronnell also is a singer and an arranger. Yet Ronnell is probably best known as Sarah Vaughan's accompanist between 1958 and 1960 and again in 1963. During this period, Ronnell and Sarah recorded No Count Sarah, After Hours at the London House, Vaughan and Violins, Dreamy and other live and studio albums.

In Part 3 of my interview, Ronnell reflects on how he met Sassy, their close working relationship, why Sarah stumbled over the word "Parthenon" on After Hours at the London House, how Sarah reacted when he told her he was leaving to join Nancy Wilson, and what accompanying Sarah or any other greater song interpreter requires of a pianist:

JazzWax: Did you and producer John Hammond get along well?
Ronnell Bright: Yes. After the Rolf Kuhn recording and my trio date in late 1957, John encouraged Willard Alexander to come hear me play. At the time, Willard booked all the major bands and jazz artists. After Willard heard me, he signed me right away. One of the first jobs Willard booked my trio into was the Boom Boom Room at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami [pictured]. We played there for a week.

JW: What was playing the Fontainebleau like?
RB: Oh, beautiful. It was quite thrilling. Frank Sinatra was upstairs. The audiences were great. And stars dropped by to hear us play every night. But back at that time, blacks couldn’t stay on the same side of the beach as whites. We could work in the hotel, but when we got through we had to take a cab over the bridge to the Sir John Hotel. Basie’s band had to stay there, too. Same with Sammy Davis, Jr. and Lena Horne.

JW: When did you meet Sarah Vaughan?
RB: Around this time in 1957, Willard booked my trio into Storyville in Boston. Working opposite me was Sarah with Jimmy Jones on piano, Richard Davis on bass and Roy Haynes on drums. Sarah was a good friend of Carmen McRae’s and she knew of me. When I went into Storyville, I used Ray Crawford on guitar and a bass player whose name I can't recall. During the gig, Ray leaned over and said, “Hey, man, Sarah is sitting at a table right behind you checking you out.” I didn’t really pay much attention to what Ray said. We played opposite her for about a week.

JW: How did you become her accompanist?
RB: At the end of 1957, Jimmy Jones decided he was going to stay in New York and become a composer and arranger rather than continue to tour with Sarah. He had been with her for 10 years and wanted a change. So George Treadwell, Sarah's husband and manager at the time, called me. I went down to see him at his office in the Brill Building. He said Sarah was deciding between me and Wynton Kelly [pictured] and that it was down to money. I said it would be honor to play for Sarah and whatever she thought would be fair was fine with me. The next thing I knew, I got a call telling me to join her in Washington, D.C. Our first record date in January 1958 was for a few songs used on No Count Sarah. I played piano behind Sarah with Count Basie's band instead of Basie. I don’t know why Basie wasn’t on that date. I suppose I was there because I was Sarah's accompanist, and Basie honored me in that role by letting me play.

JW: You and Sarah were in Chicago in March 1958?
RB: Yes. We were playing Mister Kelly's. Late one night, around 2 am, after the third set, we rushed over from Mister Kelly's to the London House. We were going over there to record a live album for Mercury. If I recall, the same person owned both clubs. That was an amazing night. Everyone I knew was there: bassist Johnnie Pate, pianist Dick Katz, the guys who wrote Detour Ahead—guitarist Herb Ellis and bassist John Frigo. The place was packed. I think the session was the first time a record company recorded a live jazz date cold.

JW: Wasn't there any rehearsal?
RB: Not only were there no rehearsals, there were no charts. There was no time. Sarah went out and bought piano sheet music for each musician and passed it out on stage, at 2 am, just before we started recording. We had to transpose the sheet music to her keys. Everyone had to scuffle.

JW: How did four members of the Basie band wind up on the date?
RB: That's right—Frank Wess, Thad Jones, Wendell Culley and Henry Coker were there, along with me, Richard Davis and Roy Haynes. I believe Basie's band was in Chicago that week recording for Roulette.

JW: What happened on Thanks for the Memory? Sarah trips over the word "Parthenon," and she stops the song—twice.
RB: Sarah had sheet music for the song, like everyone else, and was reading the word "Parthenon," which was hyphenated. She was unfamiliar with the word or what the Parthenon was. So she couldn’t figure out where the emphasis was supposed to go. She stopped cold and calmly worked it out. That was Sarah, recording session or no recording session. No one on stage was prepared for that, as you can hear from the record. It was a live recording, and Sarah doing that was a little scary. But this is what made the session so exciting.

JW: Did you think she was going to abandon the song after the second stumble on the same word?
RB: I had no idea. I was about to say “Parth-ah-non” out loud to help her, but I caught myself, remembering we were recording live. So I stayed quiet. Sarah worked her way through it and kept the moment alive. That's what makes the recording so fresh today, the imperfection and the human quality of trying to fix a mistake. After the session, at around 4 am, we all went out to breakfast and had a blast.

JW: I always found it remarkable that you start Thanks for the Memory with subtle differences each time.
RB: You had to, or Sarah would hear you trying to do what you already did, which to her would be lazy. Sarah rarely did anything the same way twice. She came up through the ranks with Charlie Parker. It was a badge of honor to do things differently each time. There was no other way.

JW: Was it tough to anticipate what Sarah was going to do with a song?
RB: Sometimes. Sarah would change keys in the middle of a song. She’d go somewhere else, and we’d have to find her. She taught all of her sidemen ear training. You had seconds to figure out what she was going to do. It became intuitive. But once we were comfortable with her, we'd do the same thing to her. She’d sing in one key and we’d change keys so she’d have to find us. She liked the challenge.

JW: You were with Sarah for about two years.
RB: That's right. After the London House recording, we left for Europe, starting with performances at the Brussels World’s Fair [pictured]. Then we toured all over for about four months and recorded Vaughan and Violins in Paris in July 1958.

JW: Was Sarah all business?
RB: Yes, when it came to the music. But before and after a performance, she loved to have fun. And she was a mischief-maker, to throw you off your game. She’d hide our shoes just before the trio had to go out on stage. So we'd be out there with just our socks on. But we gave it back. She had this pink satin gown that she liked to wear night after night. We were tired of seeing it, so we buried it outside in a box.

JW: Did she know?
RB: She probably figured it out. She came out of her dressing room asking, “Where’s my gown? Who has my gown?” We never told her. Sarah was one of the guys, and she knew that fooling around was part of what made the music special. John Collins, Nat Cole's guitarist after Oscar Moore left, said that he was on a band bus with Sarah in the 1950s and fell asleep. When he woke up in the dead of night, Sarah was driving the bus. That's the kind of woman she was. Sarah called me her “backbone” and was very protective of me and all her musicians.

JW: While you were in Paris, you recorded an unusual trio date with Richard Davis on bass and Art Morgan on drums. It's unusual because instead of lush treatments, you're playing is heavy and bop-influenced. How did that come about?
RB: In late spring 1958, I went to the Mars Club. There were a few pianists there, including Hazel Scott, playing solo. So we had a jam session. Afterward, a guy approached me about recording for Polydor. I used Richard Davis and Art Morgan, an English drummer who was playing in town with Ted Heath's orchestra. I know what you mean, it was a different sound for me. I felt free and wanted to record faster, springy pieces I had written. After the tour, when we returned to the U.S. later in 1958, we played clubs and concerts with Sarah. Then we recorded the rest of No Count Sarah and another Mercury session arranged by Belford Hendricks.

JW: You left Sarah in 1960. Why?
RB: I needed to make more money. Roland Hanna replaced me on piano. I started another trio with Peck Morrison and Denzil Best, and we played mostly at the Cafe Bohemia and Birdland in New York. After my work with Sarah, I was very much in demand as an accompanist, so I found a lot of work with Lena Horne [pictured] and other singers. One time I was with Al Hibbler [pictured], somewhere in the mid-West. He had a nice car but he'd have to get his accompanist to drive, of course, because he was blind. I remember it was just the two of us, sometime in 1960. We drove to Indiana or Michigan. It was a one-nighter. We drove there, and he got in an argument with management because the owner didn’t want to give him his money immediately. It was a banquet or something. So Al went back to get paid and I went with him. He knocked on the door. There were two rough guys in there. Al asked again for his money. As soon as they start making excuses, Al starts swinging. I said, "No, no, Al, no, no man." Al didn't care. He starts screaming, "I want my money now." Well, he got paid, like always, in dollar bills, so he'd know exactly how much he had.

JW: You returned to Sarah in 1963. Why?
RB: Sarah wrote me from Sweden telling me that the city had reminded her how much fun we had in 1958 and asked if I'd accompany her again. Kirk Stuart, her pianist, was going to leave upon their return. When she got back, she came over to my house and talked to me about returning. The timing was good, since a show Lena Horne and her conductor and husband Lenny Hayton had put together was disbanding. So I went back with Sarah for a few months. Sarah recorded a few of my songs—Missing You and I've Got to Talk to My Heart.

JW: You left Sarah again in 1964 for good, this time for Nancy Wilson.
RB: Again, it was a money issue. Nancy Wilson's manager, John Levy, asked me to accompany Nancy and rehearse the band. I had a wife and family to support, and John was offering me twice the money Sarah was paying me. More important, I was going to get paid whether we worked or not, which was key then.

JW: How did Sarah take the news?
RB: I called Sarah on the phone and said that I got an offer I can't turn down. She said, "What do you mean?" I told her the financial terms I was being offered and said, "Sarah, look, there's no one I'd rather play for but you. You're the boss. But the offer is too good." So Sarah asks, "Who is it?" I said, "It's a young girl, Nancy Wilson." There was the big pause. Then Sarah quietly said, "Alright, Ronnell" and slammed the phone down so hard I could imagine pieces of it flying everywhere on her end. Bob James replaced me on piano with Sarah.

JW: Is it hard to be an accompanist?
RB: It’s tricky. If you’re an accompanist, you’re listening to find ways to enhance what the singer is trying to do. You're listening to the words. You're listening to hear when the singer breathes and the singer's phrasing. You learn when to fill in, to lead them to the next phrase if you sense what's coming up. Or you may need to get out of the way. It’s a delicate, delicate operation that takes place seconds before notes come out.

JW: Who taught you the most as an accompanist?
RB: Sarah. She taught me how to stay out of singer’s way and how to build before a singer opens up and emerges into something else. Playing behind a singer is strategic. I never had much piano music with people like Sarah and Carmen. I had the chord changes and that was about it. They were so busy phrasing or coming in when they wanted to come in. That forced you get into their heads and made you listen to what they were doing. The first thing you learn playing as an accompanist is how to listen. When you do, you’re taking that trip with them.

JW: How could you anticipate where Sarah was going on a song?
RB: Sarah had a way of telling you when she didn’t want you to fill in. She would tighten up the lyrics. For example, she’d sing: “The evening breeze, caress the treeeees, tenderlyThe shore was kissed…” No gap between the first and second line. She’d go right into the second line without a break. Now normally you would fill right in with notes after that first line, because that’s where most singers catch a breath. But Sarah might want to go on without that break to build toward something else she wantd to draw out. So she'd close the gap, which told you what to do. You’d have to be on your toes so you could anticipate what she was trying to tell you.

JW: That doesn't leave you much time to think.
RB: Tell me about it. Your mind is racing. You have to get there fast. You’re scuffling but you learn. Sarah always listened carefully to what I was playing or what the bass and drums were playing. You can hear on the records how she picked up on what we were doing, and how we did the same thing based on her phrasing.

JW: Was this true only of Sarah?
RB: No. Carmen [pictured] did that, too. She had that level of confidence and skill. It’s like Miles Davis. Most of those people, when they get out there on that stage and they’re really into the moment, they’re not involved with anything that’s set. The fun of the game is spontaneity. It’s like walking on eggs, and the accompanist has to be very sensitive to this. It’s a fun game.

JW: Don't all singers listen to their trios and interact with them on some level?
RB: Oh, no. Most singers feel like they’re doing the whole thing. They feel like when they hire you, they’re the musicians and that you’re just working for them. They try to tie you up a little bit and direct you in your approach to accompanying them. But when they do that on the job, they don’t do anything but frustrate the people they play with. It stops you from opening up and stops you from enhancing what they’re trying to do.

Tomorrow, in Part 4, Ronnell talks about his work with Ella Fitzgerald and relates a heartbreaking story with several twists of fate.

JazzWax tracks: The album that Count Basie recorded in Chicago for Roulette on March 4, 1958 was Chairman of the Board. Which is why four members of Basie's band were available to appear with Sarah Vaughan on After Hours at the London House on March 7.

I've written about After Hours at the London House several times. In my estimation, it remains one of the greatest jazz vocal albums ever recorded. If you don't own it, the remastered recording is available at iTunes and Amazon. The album is intimate and as close as you will get to going back in time to 1958 and experiencing jazz live.

While touring Europe with Sarah in the spring of 1958, Ronnell recorded a trio album in Paris in June. It's available on Jazz aux Champs Elysees. The Gitanes CD combines Ronnell's eight tracks with an album by pianist Art Simmons recorded two years earlier. The CD is available at Amazon. Or just download Ronnell's tracks at iTunes (the final eight starting with Sail 'em). What's fascinating about this album is that Ronnell took a break from creating lush fills and instead plays a robust piano, showing off his bop and gospel chops.

Vaughan and Violins with Ronnell on piano was recorded in Paris in July 1958. The orchestra was under the direction of Quincy Jones, who lived in Paris at the time. This session includes fabulous recordings of Misty and I'm Lost. It's available at Amazon.

No Count Sarah, recorded in January and December 1958, features Ronnell on piano with the Count Basie Orchestra. The album's high point, for me, is an unbeatable rendition of Moonlight in Vermont. If you don't want to invest in this CD, you can download just Moonlight in Vermont from Sarah Vaughan's Golden Hits at iTunes. I guarantee you'll play this track over and over again, and marvel at its sheer beauty.

Ronnell with the Jimmy Jones Orchestra, one of the only times these two brilliant Chicago accompanists worked together with Sarah Vaughan, can be found on Dreamy, recorded in April 1960. It's also available as part of the Mosaic Records box, The Complete Roulette Sarah Vaughan Sessions here.

One of the great albums Ronnell made after leaving Sarah the first time is The Hawk Relaxes, with Coleman Hawkins, Kenny Burrell, Ron Carter and Andrew Cyrille. The 1961 recording recently was remastered by Concord as part of the Rudy Van Gelder series. Ronnell told me that Hawk didn't prepare charts for the date and that the songs were all done using head arrangements.

Ronnell's first album with Nancy Wilson was The Nancy Wilson Show!, recorded in June 1964. Nancy and Ronnell also recorded Tender Loving Care in 1966 (the title tune was written by Ronnell). They also recorded Nancy: Naturally! in July 1966, and Nancy recorded Ronnell's Alone With My Thoughts of You on The Sound of Nancy Wilson, recorded in 1968.

Ronnell won a Grammy in 1973 for his contribution to the album, Supersax Plays Bird.

JazzWax video: To see Sarah and Ronnell in action in 1958, buy the DVD Jazz Icons:  Sarah Vaughan Live in '58 and '64. It's available here for about $17.

Interview: Ronnell Bright (Part 2)

After locating Ronnell Bright several weeks ago, one of my supreme joys has been our frequent phone calls. The famed jazz pianist, singer, songwriter and accompanist has a speaking voice that's as caramel-rich and upbeat as his playing. Ronnell clearly is a kind, loving guy who takes great interest in others, a trait that served him well as a favorite of Sarah Vaughan, Carmen McRae, Nancy Wilson and dozens of other jazz singers.

Best of all, our recent phone calls usually end with Ronnell putting the phone down and playing piano for me. His technique has never been better, and his chord changes take your breath away. The fact that he isn't being recorded today seems like a terrible shame to me.

Yesterday, in Part 1 of our conversation, Ronnell reflected on his classical piano training, his gigs in the navy with the Adderley brothers [pictured] and Eric Dolphy, and his early work with the Johnnie Pate Trio at Chicago's Streamliner club.

Today, in Part 2, Ronnell talks about his early-1950s gigs with Carmen McRae in Chicago, his move to New York, his first recording for Ozzie Cadena and Savoy Records on a Frank Wess date, and the deal he struck with producer John Hammond to get his newly formed trio recorded.

JazzWax: What happened after your first recording in 1955 as pianist with the Johnnie Pate Trio?
Ronnell Bright: We became the house trio at several Chicago clubs. We worked The Streamliner on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, and on Monday and Tuesday nights we worked the London House [pictured, today, as a bakery]. We had the hot spots. Johnnie was an excellent musician and gave me a great sense of jazz. He taught me how to accompany and how to play.

JW: How did you wind up accompanying Carmen McRae so early?
RB: By early 1955, The Streamliner club had become so popular that the owner started hiring out-of-town singers. One of them was Carmen McRae. By then, I was able to do some polished things on the piano to back up a singer. I had the technique, thanks to my classical training. When Carmen came in, she was singing all the pretty stuff. She was very sweet then, like a debutante. At the end of her run, she gave me a picture with an inscription that read, "To Ronnell, Thanks for playing for me. You’re a marvelous pianist.” The next time she came through Chicago, we played the Blue Note [pictured], an even bigger club. The Blue Note was like Birdland. Everyone worked there, from Oscar Peterson to George Shearing.

JW: Yet you decided to leave Chicago in 1956 for New York?
RB: New York was where all the major music was happening. I had to make the move if I wanted to break out on my own. When I first arrived in New York, I contacted bassist Richard Davis [pictured]. He and his wife had just gotten an apartment. I asked Richard if he had a spare room, until I was able to find a place. Richard and his wife put me up for two weeks. This was July 1956.

JW: Where did you find work?
RB: Right after I moved in, I was walking near Birdland on Broadway and 52nd St. and bumped into Benny Powell. If you were looking for work back then, you hung out there hoping to get picked up for a gig. I had met Benny originally in Chicago, when Count Basie’s band played the Blue Note. In fact I met everyone while working there—Stan Kenton, Zoot Sims, Oscar Peterson, Conte Candoli and so many others.

JW: What happened when you ran into Benny?
RB: It was about 11 am when I met him. He said, “Man, Hank Jones was supposed to do a date with us for Savoy and he can’t make it. I thought I’d find someone down here. It's supposed to be at 2 pm. Do you want to make this date?" I said, "Sure!" Benny got on the phone and hooked it up for me. When we got to the date at Rudy Van Gelder's house in New Jersey, I met producer Ozzie Cadena. Eddie Jones was on bass and Kenny Clarke was on drums. Frank Wess [pictured] was walking around with pencil and paper putting together the arrangements for four trombones—Benny, Jimmy Cleveland, Henry Coker and Bill Hughes. Freddie Green was also there on guitar. Frank played flute. [The Savoy album was Trombones: Featuring Frank Wess, Flute.]

JW: That was a big break for you.
RB: I met some fast company that day. After the session, Ozzie [pictured] came over and said, “You’re brand new huh? I’d like to record you. Can you get it together in two weeks?” I said, “Well sure, of course. What kind of instrumentation do you want?” Ozzie said, "Whatever you want. Just get it together." So I put together a trio.

JW: Who did you get?
RB: I cold-called Kenny Burrell and Leonard Gaskin. I didn’t know them but I knew they were among the busiest session musicians in town. So I got with Kenny [pictured]. We had lunch, and I told him what I was going to do. He said he'd do it. Then I called Leonard, who also agreed to play the date. The result was Bright’s Spot, which we recorded for Savoy in the fall of 1956.

JW: What did you learn from the date?
RB: The session made me realize I needed to form my own trio for gigs and recordings. Kenny and Leonard were studio guys and did this as a one-time favor. I needed my own thing. So I went by The Embers and ran into Bill Clark, who was playing drums with George Shearing. George was going out on the road, and Bill said he didn't want to travel. So I asked Bill if he wanted to form a trio. He said yes. I also had heard that Joe Benjamin [pictured], Sarah Vaughan’s bassist, was leaving her. I asked Joe about joining, and he agreed, too.

JW: So now you had your own trio.
RB: We rehearsed for a time. Then I contacted John Hammond [pictured] and told him I had a trio. I asked if he wanted to come hear us rehearse at Nola’s Studios. When John came by, he was with Rolf Kuhn, a German clarinetist. Rolf was like Benny Goodman, as fast as greased lightning. While we were playing for John, I could see Rolf was checking me out. When we finished, John said he was going to record Kuhn and needed a trio behind him. But I told John I really wanted to record with my trio. John said if I recorded behind Kuhn for him, he would do something for me later. So I talked it over with the guys.

JW: What did they say?
RB: The guys weren't crazy about it. Like me, they wanted their own thing. So I didn’t give John an answer right away. We soon got a gig at The Embers and I told John we were there. He came by and brought Kuhn again. After our set, John said he really wanted to record the four of us on his Vanguard label. So we did the Kuhn date in November 1956. It was very technical stuff, but I was able to pull it off. The album was Streamline: The Rolf Kuhn Quartet. When it was released, it was a pretty big success.

JW: What about your trio date?
RB: I still wanted my trio to record. But Rolf [pictured] and the quartet caught on for a while thanks to the album, and we went into the Blue Note in Chicago. Bassist Johnnie Pate saw me there and ribbed me: “I thought you were going to get your own thing?” he said. I said, “I know, I know.” Johnnie was just kidding. He was happy for me. But he and I both knew what I ultimately wanted to do.

JW: Did John Hammond come through on his promise?
RB: Oh, yes. When I got back to New York, he recorded me in March 1957 with Joe Benjamin on bass and Bill Clark on drums. The recording was Bright Flight. After that record, my trio was established, and we played regularly in New York. From then on, musicians and singers started to take notice of me, as did Willard Alexander, the famous band booker.

Tomorrow, Ronnell talks exclusively about his years with Sarah Vaughan starting in 1958, the critical After Hours at the London House date, and what goes through a pianist's head when playing behind a singer like Sassy, who was famous for going off in any given direction at any time on a song.

JazzWax tracks: Ronnell Bright's first ensemble recording, Trombones: Featuring Frank Wess, Flute, is a brilliant album—as are all Frank Wess albums from the 1950s. Wess' writing is spot-on, and his flute playing is vivid and impassioned. Add four rich bones and Ronnell on piano, and you have a winner. Especially stunning is the track Wanting You, which opens as a ballad but springs into an uptempo swinger. But to single any one tune out seems a little silly. This entire album is frighteningly perfect and a tribute to Ozzie Cadena's good taste and sensibility. Sadly, the CD is out of print and fetches around $32 on Amazon from independent sellers. The LP recently was selling for $22 on eBay. For the CD, go here.

Ronnell's next album, Bright's Spot, with Leonard Gaskin on bass and Kenny Burrell on guitar was recorded in September 1956. The fact that there was no drummer on the date is a testament to Ronnell's ability to keep perfect time with his left hand. Recorded for Savoy, the CD is out of print but can be found here from independent sellers for around $30.

Streamline: The Rolf Kuhn Quartet was recorded in November 1956 on John Hammond's Vanguard label. The LP is very difficult to find and sells for upward of $100. I don't believe the recording has ever been released on CD.

Ronnell's first trio date as a leader, Bright Flight, for Vanguard was recorded in March 1957. To the best of my knowledge, it only has been re-issued as an LP in Japan.

JazzWax video clips: Here's another clip of Ronnell playing with the Harry "Sweets" Edison Orchestra during a swing through Japan in 1989. On this track, trumpeter Snooky Young plays Neal Hefti's Li'l Darlin'. Ronnell sat in for Count Basie frequently over the years, when Basie had unavoidable obligations that took him away from the band. Ronnell filled big shoes perfectly with his effortless sense of time, his love of simplicity, and sensitive fills. The concert was issued on CD by Concord as Dear Mr. Basie but is out of print. There are no plans to re-issue it. The album is available here from used sellers or here as a Japanese import.

Interview: Ronnell Bright (Part 1)

It took me several months and about six phone calls to track down jazz pianist Ronnell Bright. Starting in the 1950s, Ronnell was one of the most sought-after piano accompanists in jazz. No other pianist could match his sensitivity or taste in chords behind a singer, except perhaps for Jimmy Jones. Over the years, Ronnell backed Sarah Vaughan, Carmen McRae, Nancy Wilson, Doris Day and nearly any other singer who comes to mind. His strong skills as a songwriter and composer led to collaborations with Johnny Mercer, Paul Francis Webster, Sammy Cahn and others. Among the dozens of jazz artists who have recorded his songs are Horace Silver, Stanley Turrentine, Dexter Gordon and Johnny Hartman.

I first fell in love with Ronnell's impeccable touch back in the 1970s, when I heard Sarah Vaughan sing Thanks for the Memory on a vinyl recording of After Hours at the London House. What always struck me about that song, in addition to Sassy's shock-proof cool after twice flubbing the lyrics, was how Ronnell managed to gently start the tune three different ways, using lush chords and fabulous runs. His opening chords for Detour Ahead on the same album still knock me out.

For the past 10 years or so, Ronnell has lived in relative obscurity. I didn't even think he was still around when I started to research him and left messages for people who knew him. So imagine my surprise when three weeks ago I answered my ringing cellphone and the voice at the other end said, "Marc? This is Ronnell Bright." I nearly fell off my chair. There on the phone was my hero of that famous Sarah Vaughan session and so many others.

When I asked Ronnell whether the people in his town knew who he was, he laughed. "They know I play piano well, but that's about it." Over the course of several phone interviews, Ronnell, 77, talked about how he got his start, playing and touring with Sarah in the late 1950s, subbing for Count Basie on No Count Sarah, his encounters with Erroll Garner, Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong and others, and playing with Nancy Wilson. We even talked about a few sessions that almost took place with Ella, Barbra and Doris but never came to pass due to twists of fate.

In Part 1 of my five-part interview, Ronnell talks about growing up in Chicago and how he got his start. Yep, it's Ronnell Bright Week at JazzWax, and when we're through, you're going to love Ronnell just as much as I do:

JazzWax: Where did you grow up?
Ronnell Bright: I was born in 1930 and grew up in the Chicago. My family was very supportive, and I went to a good school We lived on the South Side of Chicago, the Woodlawn area, which was a nice part of town. My father was a preacher, a straight-up guy and real nice. My mother was a former schoolteacher. I had three sisters and a brother. I was the baby in the family, and we had a beautiful time. We were a very musical family.

JW: Who did you listen to as a kid?
RB: Coleman Hawkins and Chu Berry with Fletcher Henderson’s Orchestra. My sister, Della Bright, was a singer in a vocal trio called the Rhythm Debs. They sang with Fletcher [pictured] whenever he came to Chicago. Fletcher used to come over to our house and chart out the vocal arrangements and rehearse the trio on our piano. I was four years old, but they let me sit there because I was very quiet.

JW: Did you understand what was going on?
RB: Oh, my yes. The playing and singing were so great. That’s when I got the bug to be a musician and go into show business. Another guy who used to come to the house all the time was David Young, a saxophone player. And my older sister married a saxophonist. I heard so much saxophone in the house that I wanted to play tenor.

JW: But you wound up a pianist.
RB: That was not my choice. It was my parents’ decision. We had an old upright and before I could see the keys I’d reach up and try to play notes. My parents started me on piano lessons when I was five years old. At first I didn’t like practicing, but later on I took to it. My teacher, Jeanne Fletcher, taught me classical—Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin and all of that. I had to practice at least an hour a day before I was allowed to go out to play.

JW: Audiences didn’t scare you?
RB: I was the kid who played classical music at all of the high school events. My memory was very good, and playing came naturally to me. When I was 8, I was called a child prodigy. I’d give recitals at theaters downtown, and teachers would bring their favorite students to hear me play. I always got nice mentions in the newspapers, and playing was a natural part of my background.

JW: Did you go to music school after graduation?
RB: I went for a year to a junior college and then decided to go my own way. In 1948, I enlisted in the navy and played in the band on our aircraft carrier, which toured the Caribbean. On board was singer Julius LaRosa [pictured]. We used to have music programs on board, what they used to call "smokers." I’d play piano and Julius sang. We became great friends. In 1949, I left the navy but had to remain in the reserves for four years. Just after I was discharged, I heard that Arthur Godfrey came aboard the carrier and discovered Julius.

JW: What happened after you left the navy?
RB: Actually, that period was short-lived. When the Korean War broke out in 1950, I was called back into the navy. They sent me to Washington, D.C., where they were going to ship me out. While I was there, I walked into the Navy School of Music based at the U.S. Naval Receiving Station, Anacostia Annex, as it was known then. Musicians were trained there for performances at the White House, Treasure Island in San Francisco, and other military facilities. I told them I was a pianist, but I wasn't immediately accepted because I was only in for a year. I asked if my orders could be changed to be a musician. So they auditioned me.

JW: How did you do?
RB: My classics were up to par. But then they asked me to play How High the Moon. I couldn’t because I wasn’t a jazz musician. I liked Nat King Cole—his smoothness, subtleness and creativity. But I was trained to be a classical pianist. They liked me and said they’d take me into the school if within six months I learned 25 popular songs and all the chord changes. It was the first time they had someone who was a proficient classical player but unfamiliar with the popular stuff.

JW: How did you pick up jazz so quickly?
RB: A few jazz musicians who were in school there helped break me in.

JW: Who were the musicians?
RB: Julian Adderley [pictured], his brother Nat, and Eric Dolphy. The army had sent their people to the Navy Music School, too. We were all together at that school for three months. Fake books had just started coming out, so I did a lot of playing and listening to get used to jazz. I think the first jazz song I played was I’m an Old Cowhand. Julian and I were in the barracks one day and he said his group needed a piano player for a gig that night. I said I didn’t know chord changes. But he said it didn’t matter, they needed a piano player. So it was me, Julian, Nat and Eric playing a gig in Washington, DC.

JW: But you didn't know how to play jazz. What happened?
RN: When we got there, Julian called for Blue Room. I said, "Blue Room? What is that, the blues?” They  teased me about that for years. Once they started playing the song, though, my ear figured out the chord changes. I’m not saying what I played was correct, but I worked it out. I played two or three jobs with them. Washington, DC, back then was still the South. On breaks, we had to go sit in the kitchen because they didn’t allow blacks to mingle with the audience then.

JW: So Cannonball, Nat and Dolphy got you started?
RB: Yes! What a group, right? Next I worked a gig with trumpeter Duke Garrette, who also was attending the Navy Music School. He had been with Lionel Hampton, and working with him let me learn some jazz songs. I had the technique. I just didn’t know how to weave and interweave chords. Swinging seemed to come natural to me, probably because of my love for Nat King Cole. One thing led to another, and the navy sent me to Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay [pictured] to perform in an 18-piece orchestra. There were good players in that band. On the weekends, I’d go into San Francisco with some of the guys and play officers’ parties, too. This was 1952-53.

JW: What did you do when you were discharged?
RB: I returned to Chicago and played piano as a solo. At this time, bassist Johnnie Pate was working with pianist Don Shirley as a duo. They were working at club called The Streamliner. Someone had heard Johnnie and Don, and tried to hire them to play The Embers in New York. Don went but Johnnie didn’t because he had a family. Johnnie recommended bassist Richard Davis instead. So Johnnie kept the job at The Streamliner. When I heard Johnnie needed a pianist, I contacted him and told him I was interested. He invited me over his house. I played piano for him but clearly didn’t have the mentality for jazz. Yet he liked my enthusiasm and was very patient with me. He showed me how to get through chord changes and worked with me on substitute chords and key changes. He hired drummer Charles Walton, and we worked The Streamliner for about a year. We also recorded in Chicago in 1955 as the Johnnie Pate Trio for Talisman Records. That was my first recording date, and the trio gave me a taste for how exciting jazz could be.

Tomorrow, Ronnell talks about moving to New York in 1956, his first recording session for Savoy, his first Savoy date as a leader for producer Ozzie Cadena, the bassist and drummer he chose for his first trio, and an agreement with John Hammond to back up clarinetist Rolf Kuhn on a record in exchange for getting his own trio recorded.

JazzWax tracks: Unfortunately the Johnnie Pate Trio's recordings for Talisman Records are not available on CD. Fresh Sounds issued an LP some time back, but the recordings have not yet be digitally mastered.

JazzWax clips: If you want to see and hear why so many vocalists, big bands and jazz soloists wanted pianist Ronnell Bright behind them, go here and dig Ronnell's extended solo with the Harry "Sweets" Edison Orchestra in 1989. Watch the effect his tasteful, swinging solo has on the band's seasoned pros. The smiles spreading on their faces says it all.

Sunday Wax Bits

David Oquendo.  Last night I took the subway up to Symphony Space, a theater on 95th St. and Broadway, to hear David Oquendo, one of the great Cuban voices and guitarists of our time. I have known David since the early 2000s through Ivan Acosta, the president of Latin Jazz USA. 

David came to the U.S. from Cuba in 1991, and in 1996 he founded Raices Habaneras, an ensemble dedicated to preserving the traditions and essence of Cuban rhythms. Last night's concert was sold out, and several Latin-jazz celebrities were in the audience, including Graciela, Machito's 92-year-old sister and long-time vocalist.

David played the first half of the concert with Raices Habaneras, 11 musicians and singers who performed the three major rumba rhythms—guaguanco, yambu and columbia. Imagine a group passionately dedicated to the origins of New Orleans jazz or bebop and you get the picture. Like bebop, rumba is a generic term that refers to African-derived Cuban musical and dance forms. The rumba is the basis on which nearly all Cuban dance music is built, and each rumba last night featured traditional dancers illustrating the intricate steps and cultural subtexts.

In the second half, David's Havana Tres group of five musicians took the rumba to the next step, showing its evolution and modern interpretation. They played 10 songs with different styles and rhythms ranging from boleros (Cuban ballads) and cha-cha-chas to Son and a guajira (pronounced WA-hira). Guest artists included percussionist Candido Camero and jazz trombonist Roswell Rudd, both of whom were in terrific expressive form.

David always brings enormous energy, enthusiasm and beauty to his singing and playing. With a deeply sensitive masculine voice, David sang mostly his own compositions in the second half, including Besame Tranquila, a passionate bolero written for his wife.

David won a Grammy for Tropicana Nights with Paquito d'Rivera and has been nominated for five others. He and Rudd are releasing a duo CD in June. To learn more about Raices Habaneras, go here. To see an interview clip with David, go here.

Jazz.com. Ted Gioia, editor-in-chief of Jazz.com, continues to amaze. Since launching Jazz.com back in December, Ted has been building quite a platform and last week posted the site's 2,000th jazz track review. In addition, Ted recently managed to persuade Randy Brecker to write about his 12 favorite Freddie Hubbard  [pictured] tracks. It starts on the site's home page. Neat idea, and great choices all. Check it out.

Bobby Sanabria. Last Monday, I caught Bobby Sanabria [pictured] and the Manhattan School of Music's Afro-Cuban Jazz Orchestra performming six tracks from Machito's 1957 Kenya album at Dizzy's Coca-Cola. With the day's last bit of sun fading over Central Park behind them, the band's performance was even stronger at Dizzy's than back on April 1. The orchestra seems to grow more confident with each performance of this great album. Candido Camero was there and played on two of the songs. He even danced a bit on one. He turns 87 on April 22.

Cab Calloway. For fans of Cab Calloway, you now have a blog devoted to the eccentric bandleader. Hosted by Jean-Francois Pitet in Paris, the blog now has a "translate" button. Go here and click on the American flag atop the right-hand column. The entire site will appear in English (if only we had studied harder in high school!).

Weekend wax. Here are three terrific CDs that I have been listening to steadily this weekend:

Dodo Marmarosa Trio—Complete Studio Recordings. In recent years, much has been made of Bud Powell, Thelonious Monk, John Lewis and Al Haig, and rightfully so. But lost in the bebop shuffle is Dodo Marmarosa, a gifted pianist who endured a severe beating by sailors in the mid-1940s and suffered from mental illness off and on over the years until he died in 2002. His studio work with trios in 1946-47, 1950 and 1961-62 are captured on this LoneHill Jazz double CD. Less ferocious than Powell and more eloquent and knottier than Haig, Marmarosa had a punctuating, full-keyboard approach, developing ideas in the middle and widening out to express them.

Miles From India. If you dig late 1960s and 1970s Miles Davis, this double CD adds an interesting twist. Producer Bob Belden brought together top jazz and Indian music artists for a celebration of the trumpet player. You'd think that fusing musicians like Wallace Roney, Gary Bartz, Chick Corea, Ron Carter and other jazz artists with Sridhar Parthasarthy, Selva Ganesh, Vikku Vinayakram and other Indian players would be a strange fit—barbeque meets biryani. But the merger is fascinating, and surprisingly, the two art forms fit together neatly and brilliantly. You can sample it at iTunes.

Very Saxy. Concord has just given this Prestige classic a cleaning as part of its Rudy Van Gelder Remasters series. The 1959 album features four of the toughest tenors—Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis, Buddy Tate, Coleman Hawkins and Arnett Cobb—backed by Shirley Scott on organ, George Duvivier on bass and Arthur Edgehill on drums. The competitive spirit and bluesy ideas on display are even more exciting on this crisp remaster.