JazzWax

Autumn in New York (Part 2)

Yesterday I posted on the origins of Autumn in New York, why this fall classic is so beautiful, and the criteria for a great rendition. For me, a perfect execution has just the right mix of wistful nostalgia and excitement about the present. It's simultaneously a seasonal mash note and marriage proposal. Yesterday I also shared with you my top 10 jazz versions of the standard. But as is the case with most lists, 10 just doesn't do the trick. Here then is my second set of 10, in order—numbered 11 through 20. All are at iTunes and Amazon, unless otherwise noted:

11. Bill Evans (1963). Evans recorded the song as part of a medley that wisely combined Autumn in New York and How About You. It eventually was released as part of The Solo Sessions Vol. 2. Evans' spirit here is upbeat, and the pace is brisk as he captures the song and the feel of dry leaves skittering along the pavement.

12. Sonny Stitt and Oscar Peterson (1957). Backed by pianist Peterson, Herb Ellis (guitar), Ray Brown (bass) and Jo Jones (drums), Stitt keeps many of his bluesy cliches to a minimum and hunkers down on alto sax for an impassioned rendition. It's pure magic to listen to these artists play together live at the Newport Jazz Festival.

13. Tete Montoliu (1971). Blind Spanish pianist Montoliu fully appreciated the richness of the song, taking the Vernon Duke standard at various tempos on the solo effort. You'll find it as a CD or download at Amazon.

14. Kenny Burrell (1958). Burrell recorded this on Blue Lights with Duke Jordan on piano, Sam Jones on bass and Art Blakey on drums. Taken at the beat of a pulse, it's sensitive but resists becoming too cloying or chewy. And as Burrell proves, the guitar may be one of the best instruments for this song.

15. Kenny Dorham (1956). Performing live, trumpeter Kenny Dorham delivers a fabulous measured reading with tremendous support from Bobby Timmons on piano, Sam Jones on bass and Arthur Edgehill drums. You'll find it on 'Round About Midnight at the Cafe Bohemia.

16. Mary Lou Williams (1954). This was recorded in Paris, originally for the Blue Star label. Williams covers this one with full-chord richness reminiscent of Erroll Garner and Bud Powell. Williams comes at the song a bit differently, almost as if unfamiliar with the tune. Which is what makes it particularly interesting. Williams was joined by Buddy Banks on bass and Jean-Louis Viale on drums. It's on Jazz in Paris: I Made You Love Paris.

17. Bud Powell (1953). This version is among the most bombastic. At first listen, it sounds like Powell is playing with a pair of hammers. But as you absorb what Bud is doing, you come to realize there's a fascinating interpretation here. Originally released on Blue Note's The Amazing Bud Powell (Vol. 2), it's available on many compilations. It features George Duvivier on bass and Art Taylor on drums.

18. George Coleman (1978). Amsterdam After Dark is one of tenor saxophonist Coleman's finest albums of the 1970s. It was recorded in New York, and Coleman soars and dives on Autumn in New York, running wonderful lines during the song's breaks. Hilton Ruiz is on piano, Sam Jones is on bass and Billy Higgins is on drums.

19. Sarah Vaughan (1956). This one appeared on Vaughan's Great Songs From Hit Shows, with arrangements by Hal Mooney. It's moody and lush, and Sassy goes deep to tug out every bit of sentiment and yearning.

20. Chet Baker and Stan Getz (1958). Admittedly a lighter version, Chet's interpretation coupled with Stan's sound results in a whispery tribute. The duo are joined by Jodie Christian (piano), Victor Sproles (bass) and Marshall Thompson (drums). You'll find it on Stan Meets Chet.

Autumn in New York (Part 1)

As New York temperatures slipped into the upper 50s yesterday and the wind picked up, I decided to put on Autumn in New York—about 20 versions of the song. The more interpretations I listened to, the more I realized that an artist has to deliver on both beauty and sincerity for a rendition to ring true. Like Moonlight in Vermont, another favorite, Autumn in New York's appeal lies somewhere between its postcard imagery and moody sincerity.

Interestingly, tempo has little to do with it: There are great ballad versions and mid-tempo foxtrots. What matters more than pace is the arrangement and the improvisational lines, since the song contains broad gaps that require artful fills. A superb version will stick with the song's melody but play with the nuances and expression. Melancholy and nostalgia have to be conveyed but also upbeat possibility and hope. The most memorable executions are pretty and lush, not wooden or far out.

The song also has a funny way of exposing fakers. Jazz artists and vocalists either get New York's glittering clouds and promise of new love because they've been here and done that, or they miss by a city mile. Throw in too much yearning or drama and you overplay your hand. Glide over "It's good to live it again," and you've missed the point. Unless an artist has experienced New York on a sunny day in October, the version will always ring a little hollow to those who know.

Written by Vernon Duke for Thumbs Up, a two-act revue that opened in December 1934 and closed in May 1935, Autumn in New York was added to the show's finale. Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart also made its debut in Thumbs Up. According to American Songwriters by David Erwin, the song was first popularized by a singer named Louella Hogan.

I couldnt find anything on Hogan or her recording, so I can't tell you much about it. What I can share with you are my top 10 versions of Autumn in New York. Here they are, in order:

1. Billie Holiday (1952). Recorded in Los Angeles, Billie's sweet-and-sour rendition is resigned and expectant. You hear the pain and the joy at once. Billie recorded the song twice on the same date, once for the 10-inch LP and again, slightly slower, for the 78-rpm single. Best of all, Oscar Peterson is dazzling behind her, capturing every blowing Central Park leaf. This one is my hands-down favorite. You'll find both versions on Solitude.

2. Charlie Parker (1952). Arranged for strings and big band by Joe Lippman, this dazzler is on Night and Day as well as Charlie Parker with Strings. The tracks includes picture-perfect solos by trombonist Bill Harris and trumpeter Al Porcino. Bird is blue and upbeat, weaving in and out of the orchestration. I've even gone so far as to walk Central Park in the fall playing this one on my iPod. It's the perfect seasonal soundtrack.

3. Frank Sinatra (1957). The Billy May arrangement here is perfectly lush, and Sinatra's vocal approach is both comfortable and restless. While I've always found Sinatra's Moonlight in Vermont a bit forced, he's right at home on this one, and you can hear his first-hand experience through and through. This track is on Come Fly With Me or any number of Sinatra Capitol compilations.

4. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong (1957). Here's Oscar Peterson again, this time backing Ella and Louis. I love this one because Ella delivers the brightness while Louis handles the gruff apprehension. Listen as Ella bends the notes and plays with the melody while Louis chimes in with a measured trumpet solo. It's on Ella & Louis Again.

5. Dexter Gordon (1955). Gordon recorded two albums for Bethlehem Records in the mid-1950s, taking on Autumn in New York for Daddy Plays the Horn. What makes this version so intoxicating is Dexter's raw honesty and robust sound on the tenor saxophone. Dexter was joined by Kenny Drew on piano, Leroy Vinnegar on bass and Larance Marable on drums.

6. Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey (1955). Arranged by Howard Gibeling, the big band version is taken at a skippy, foxtrot pace. You can't beat the sound of Tommy Dorsey and the trombone section running down the melody, only to be interrupted by Jimmy's clarinet-range alto saxophone. Big drama and constantly shifting moods. It's on the Fabulous Dorseys in Hi-Fi.

7. Johnny Smith (1954). Guitarist Johnny Smith adored chords and dragging them out. He makes great use of them on Autumn in New York, drawing out every drop of the song's melody. The pace is similar to his hit Moonlight in Vermont, recorded two years earlier. Smith also offers up beautiful and tasteful improvisation. Originally on In a Sentimental Mood, you'll find it now on Walk, Don't Run.

8. Buddy De Franco (1953). Buddy's clarinet is always so crystal clear and particularly welcome on a tune like this one. Buddy takes the tune at a jaunty pace, giving it a bop ballad feel. Backing up Buddy were Kenny Drew on piano, Milt Hinton on bass and Art Blakey on drums. It's on Mr. Clarinet.

9. Teddy Wilson (1968). Teddy here is at his 1960s peak, working through his stride style with flair and impeccable taste. Recorded in Copenhagen, Wilson was backed by Niels-Henning Orsted Pedersen on bass and Bjarne Rostvold on drums. You'll find it on The Noble Art of Teddy Wilson.

10. Oscar Peterson (1953). Peterson recorded Autumn in New York twice fronting a trio for Norman Granz's Clef Records. This is the second one, complete with a Nat King Cole-like vocal. You'll find it on Romance: The Vocal Styling of Oscar Peterson. Joining Peterson were Barney Kessel and Ray Brown.

Bill Evans: Alone (Again)

Some of Bill Evans' best-known albums are solo piano recordings. He won Grammy Awards for two of them: Conversations with Myself (1963) and Alone (1968). Yet the pianist never enjoyed recording by himself. Producers who worked with him over the years attributed Evans' solo-phobia to discomfort over being too emotionally exposed. You also get the sense that Evans went into these dates fully expecting to be less than satisfied with the playback tape. For Evans, the bass and drums were essential. They provided protective cover, creative fuel, and an opportunity to catch his intellectual breath during extended solos. They also provided him with an audience of peers.

From his earliest solo recordings on New Jazz Conceptions in 1956 to his last-known solitary tracks with Marian McPartland in 1978 on her Piano Jazz show for NPR, Evans was a different player sans bass and drums. The spring in his musical attack was slightly subdued and his ideas could be oppressively pensive and overcooked. To make up for the missing rhythm section, Evans certainly could create enormous drama with pedal tones and key changes, keep perfect time with left-hand bass lines, and replace cymbal splashes with sparkling right-hand treble lines. But ultimately what you heard was an artist who wasn't truly comfortable in his own skin or clear on what he wanted to say.

Helen Keane, Evans' long-time manager and producer, says in Peter Pettinger's Evans biography, How My Heart Sings:

"As much as Bill enjoyed playing alone at home, and although by [1975] he regularly included a solo section in his concert program, he found recording in this context very difficult. It was probably the only area he felt insecure about musically, and the fact that he'd gotten a Grammy for Alone didn't seem to help."

I've always had mixed feelings about Evans' solo recordings. When isolated from a rhythm section, Evans' playing grew gloomy and humorless. Light, breezy songs would be turned into heavy lectures. As Evans knew only too well, the bass and drums weren't novelty instruments. They were there to keep time and provide acoustic contrast. Without the wisp of brushes or throb of an upright bass, Evans' thickening agents invariably would creep in and weigh down pretty songs. For example, on Alone, the opener Here's That Rainy Day is taken painfully slow. It's just a rainy day, not the Johnstown Flood. A Time for Love is taken at virtually the same pace. The same goes for Midnight Mood and Never Let Me Go. Only with On a Clear Day and All the Things Your Are does Evans bring sunny life to the date. In fact, many of his solo outings over the years have suffered the same fate.

With one exception: Alone (Again). Recorded on December 16, 17 and 18, 1975, the album remains the very finest example of Evans solo efforts. Surprisingly, it's rarely cited these days or even played. The largely forgotten album featured Dave Brubeck's In Your Own Sweet Way and four show tunes: The Touch of Your Lips, Make Someone Happy, What Kind of Fool Am I and People. Evans' executions are spirited and his solos snap and evolve. They undulate and build, and we hear Evans enthusiastically turn pop classics into love letters. Such is the case with What Kind of Fool Am I and the album's magnum opus, People, which may be one of Evans' finest recordings of the 1970s. At times Evans' attack is so energetic and passionate on this album that you think two pianists are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder playing the same instrument.

As fabulous as Alone (Again) is, the album has always been woefully incomplete. In addition to the songs mentioned above, Evans recorded three others during the session in 1975: All of You, Since We Met and a medley of But Not for Me, Isn't It Romantic and The Opener, an original. These tracks were tossed onto a posthumously released 1982 album called Eloquence.

Hopefully the Concord Music Group, which now owns the Fantasy catalog, will resolve this by re-issuing all of the material re-mastered, perhaps as Alone (Again): The Complete Sessions. Eloquence always has been something of a synthetic album, patching together stray Evans tracks with little logic or lyrical cohesion. By reissuing Alone (Again) with all of its tracks intact, Concord would show definitively that Evans was indeed capable of a decisive and iconic solo album.

Until then, you can download it at iTunes or Amazon, or buy it here. As you'll hear, Evans never sounded so alone—or as brilliant.

Sunday Wax Bits

Phil Urso. Yesterday afternoon I found myself listening to an iTunes compilation of tenor saxophonists that I put together randomly some time ago. The lineup included Lucky Thompson, Illinois Jacquet, Johnny Griffin, Dexter Gordon, Sonny Rollins, Yusef Lateef and others. About halfway through, a ballad came on and I couldn't quite place the player. The tune was beautiful, but I couldn't remember who it was. So I clicked on my iTunes folder. It was the late Phil Urso. The track was Halema, off of Salute to Chet, featuring Phil and trumpeter Carl Saunders. Stunning song and beautiful lines. You can download the track at iTunes. Listen, to Phil Urso's sound and harmonies. So underrated. And pretty tune.

Rahsaan Roland Kirk. I received quite a few emails in response to my post last week on Rahsaan Roland Kirk. Reader Jon Foley writes:

"I was lucky enough to see Kirk at the old Half Note in New York in the 1960s. He had Jaki Byard on piano, Alex Riel on drums, and I thought Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen on bass, although Alex Riel says it was someone else. What a night—it made me think of the old 1920s-1930s phrase "hot jazz." It couldn't have been hotter. Then to top it off, when the first set ended, and I sat at the bar just shaking my head in wonder at what I had just heard, I found I was sitting next to arranger Gil Evans [pictured]. We had a nice, although short conversation about various things. I do recall Gil remarking that it was some exceptional music we were hearing."

Will Friedwald and The Sun. The phrase "print is dying" sends shivers up most media folks' spines—as well as the spines of morning newspaper readers. You start to wonder how the whole "freedom of press" thing is going to hold up if printing presses continue to go silent. One more daily newspaper went belly up here last week: The New York Sun. The paper was way more than just another city rag. It had some of the best arts coverage in New York. It also featured the reviews of jazz critic Will Friedwald. Will tells me he's busy rustling up another gig and exploring new areas, and will be back on the print scene shortly. I, for one, can't wait. Until then, you'll find Will's archive of Sun columns here.

Raymond De Felitta. Last week I caught a private screening of City Island, an upcoming 2009 film written and directed by Raymond De Felitta ('Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris, The Thing About My Folks, Two Family House and Cafe Society). City Island is an urban comedy about a self-absorbed "deese, dem, dose" Bronx family and the lessons fate teaches them about life and each other. It's a fast-paced urban tale that's deftly told by Raymond, whose ear for dialogue is uncanny. The film features pizza-parlor perfect "New Yawk" performances by Andy Garcia, Emily Mortimer, Julianna Margulies, Steven Strait, Alan Arkin, Dominik Garcia-Lorido and others. More at Raymond's blog here. P.S. 'Tis Autumn is due out on DVD in April 2009 and remains one of the very finest jazz documentaries.

Salsa Meets Jazz. Legendary jazz club owner Art D'Lugoff [pictured] is reviving Salsa Meets Jazz, a series of performances he started when he owned New York's Village Gate. The first performance will feature the Bobby Sanabria Big Band with guests Jon Faddis on trumpet and Candido on congas. When: Monday, October 13th at 7 and 9:30 pm. Where: Le Poisson Rouge, 158 Bleecker St. at Thompson St. Tickets and info: Click here or call 212-505-3474.

Two more Salsa Meets Jazz performances will follow (same location and show times): Larry Harlow's Entourage Band with Ronnie Cuber on baritone saxophone (Dec. 1) and Bobby Sanabria's Big Band with Frank London on trumpet and Candido on congas (Dec. 29).

Peter Bogdanovich. This item has nothing to do with jazz but has everything to do with the risk-taking and out-there-ness so essential to any honest work of art—jazz, film, painting, you name it. Last weekend I rented Targets (1968), one of director Peter Bogdanovich's first films (before his better-known Last Picture Show, Paper Moon, Mask, etc.). I was blown away. It's almost impossible to tell you what Targets is about without spoiling the film. So I'll just say that the movie stars Boris Karloff, Peter and the city of Los Angeles in all its mid-1960s octane-drenched, deep-fried and orange-and-white glory. A modern horror film with truly shocking twists. Marrying Karloff's passion for craft and L.A.'s junk-heap culture was brilliant; think leather meets plastic. Why this masterpiece isn't better known is beyond me. See it and spread the word.

George Handy. Last week I shared with you a TV ad for Ralph Lauren's Notorious fragrance that uses Miles Davis' Maids of Cadiz as background music. Jazz critic and author Ira Gitler sent along a link (by way of trumpeter-composer Ben Bierman) to an ad for Cesar dog food that features arranger-composer George Handy's Blinuet, as played by Zoot Sims, from the album Plays Alto, Tenor and Baritone. Go here to view the ad.

Site for cheap downloads. Reader Gary L. Gray writes:

"Since learning of your web site, I have been exploring some of your old postings. I came upon one a few days ago that recommended the Stan Getz and Laurindo Almeida album. I purchased it from YourMusic.com (which is, by the way, a great source of inexpensive CDs), and I love it!! Thank you for pointing out this album."

Kind of Blue. For those of you who wrote in following my post of Kind of Blue: Hip or Hype? to cite other worthy albums of 1959, WFIU's Night Lights host David Brent Johnson reminded me last week of his fabulous radio show on this very topic. To listen for free to the half-hour show, go here.

From reader Felix Oliver-Tasker:

"You have opened a real can of worms with this one. Having achieved almost godlike status amongst many of the followers of modern jazz, Miles Davis' work is almost impossible to criticize without having opprobrium heaped on one's head.  Having said that, I am inclined to agree with you. His work on Prestige Records in the mid-1950s is to me far more satisfying: Workin', Steaming',  Cookin' and Relaxin' spring to mind.  Perhaps Kind of Blue appeals more to the head rather than the heart. I have the feeling it's jazz for people who don't really like jazz very much and has become background music for a thousand or so dinner parties whose hosts wish to appear hip.

I consider, too, that Miles was fortunate in that Fats Navarro and Clifford Brown, both of whom in my opinion were as gifted and more exciting, were no longer on the scene to challenge his dominance."

James Moody. In response to my post on James Moody, Reader Han Schulte (JazzPress) writes from the Netherlands:

"After reading your James Moody in Sweden post, I started playing some LP's and CD's covering Moody's recording sessions in Sweden. Great music. For your visual pleasure, here are images [pictured] of two Swedish LP releases: James Moody & His Swedish Crowns  (Dragon DRLP 95, 1986) and The Moody Story that includes sessions from New York in 1951, 1952 and 1953 (Nippon Phonogram facsimile reissue in 1988 of an EmArcy release).

The reason why so many American jazz musicians toured in Sweden directly after World War II was simply because of the fact that Sweden had not been involved in the war. The country had exported a lot of steel and was flush with foreign currency."

Laura Nyro: A Grammy-Maker

Jazz pianists looking for a Grammy-winning concept may want to consider recording a Laura Nyro tribute album. Today, the late pianist-singer-composer has been all but forgotten. But between 1968 and 1970, Nyro had comet-like success with a trail of soulful pop hits. These included Sweet Blindness, Wedding Bell Blues, And When I Die, Blowin' Away, Eli's Comin', Lu, Goodbye Joe, Stoney End, Stoned Soul Picnic and others. Captivated by girl-group harmonies of the early 1960s and music of African-American churches, Nyro fused Tin Pan Alley, spirituals and jazz to produce a powerful catalog of work that continues to haunt and reverberate today.

By 1971, exhausted at age 24, Nyro decided to take a break from the music business. She would record again in 1976, 1978, 1984 and 1993, but by then the music and audience tastes had shifted. Movie soundtrack offers followed in the 1990s along with repeated invitations to perform on late night talk shows. Painfully shy and allergic to self-promotion, Nyro politely took rain checks. Then in 1996, Nyro was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She died a year later at age 49 of the same disease that had claimed the life of her mother at the exact same age.

In the late 1960s and early 1970s, what made Nyro's music so special was its outsider-on-the-inside feel. Unlike the formulaic and sugary fare dominating pop radio at the time, Nyro's compositions bucked the system and proved that sophistication could sell if dense-packed inside clever pop hooks. Nyro's lyrics had edge, a female sensibility and enormous enthusiasm, while her music was exciting and fresh. There was so much punch behind each track that you got the sense that songs had been belted from the rooftops rather than captured in a studio. Nyro also made great use of overdubbing, laying down a lead track and then adding gospel-like backup vocals. This technique is most evident on her recordings of Stoned Soul Picnic, Blowin' Away and Lu.

Nyro's songs continue to grab and hold, mostly because they are passionate, honest and spring-loaded with shifting melodies and varying tempos. Her revival-meeting, gospel-meets-cakewalk pop songs became hits for The Fifth Dimension, Barbra Streisand, Three Dog Night, Blood Sweat & Tears, and others. Her piano-jazz sense likely came from her father Louis Nigro, a piano tuner and jazz trumpeter. She also cited John Coltrane as an influence.

But there was more to Nyro than pop hooks. She was a woman singing about things that mattered to women and did so in a womanly way, before it was fashionable to do so. This was a brand new concept in 1968, pre-dating Carole King's Tapestry by three years. Said Nyro, "My mother and grandfather were progressive thinkers, so I felt at home in the peace movement and the women's movement, and that has influenced my music" You can read more at her official site here.

The late 1960s and early 1970s was a beautiful period for women in folk-pop music. On the recording scene were towering originals like Nyro, King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon, Mary Travers, Janis Joplin, Odetta, Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Nina Simone, Janis Ian and others. Sadly, this female force is missing from music today, and I miss it. Which brings me to my point: All of Nyro's songs lend themselves to jazz interpretation. A smart jazz pianist could take these songs and others, and turn them into gorgeous, heart-felt classics.

For any jazz pianist reading this who waves off the idea with the excuse that Nyro's music has been done already, the truth is it hasn't. After doing a little research, I found that there are no jazz interpretations of Sweet Blindness, only two versions of Wedding Bell Blues (one is by organist Groove Holmes), six version of And When I Die (one was on Chet Baker's Blood, Chet and Tears album), six interpretations of Eli's Comin' (one by Don Ellis), only Carmen McRae recorded Goodbye Joe, and there are just 10 versions of Stoned Soul Picnic.

To my knowledge, there are no jazz tribute albums to Nyro's music, just a pop album called Time and Love: The Music of Laura Nyro. Not sure her music would make the leap to jazz? Download or buy Time and Love: The Essential Masters. Or better yet, download or buy her 1968 masterpiece, Eli and the Thirteenth Confession, which includes one of my favorite Nyro compositions, Luckie.

As you can see, the field is wide open. All a superb pianist has to do is listen hard to her music, read up on her to understand her soul, record her compositions with enormous spiritual feeling and depth, put her picture on the album's cover, submit the CD to the Grammy judges and, bam, you'll be up on stage in no time clutching your golden gramophone.

Just be sure to thank me when you get there.

Roland Kirk: Bright Moments

There is probably no more intimidating a figure in jazz than Rahsaan Roland Kirk. If you don't know much about jazz or are unfamiliar with Kirk's music, images of the artist in sunglasses with four or five different saxophones around his neck or in his mouth probably have led you to only one conclusion: Here is someone who plays wild, noisy music that will be tough to deal with unless free jazz is your bag.

Actually, nothing could be further from the truth. Kirk was an extraordinary talent who loved melody, was fascinated by sound and harmony, and remains along with Wayne Shorter one of the most interesting saxophonist-composers of the 1960s. His works include Bright Moments, Serenade to a Cuckoo, The Inflated Tear, Spirits Up Above and A Handful of Fives.

And if seeing is believing, Rahsaan Roland Kirk: Live in '63 and '67, the new DVD just released by Jazz Icons as part of its third series of concert videos, makes Kirk's importance crystal clear. The video shows off all facets of Kirk's gentle genius and will leave your mouth hanging open. Here you'll see Kirk as one-man quintet in action. He switches from one sax to another to produce different textures or plays three at once to extract harmonies as rich as a big band reed section. (To see a video clip, go here and click on "watch preview.")

You also see in this DVD how sensitive Kirk was as an artist and musical storyteller. I think he actually enjoyed his intimidating image, in that it kept away the jazz fakers, leaving only purists who truly understood his message and appreciated his many talents.

Blind from age 2, Kirk was born in 1936 and played trumpet before devoting himself to the clarinet and C-melody saxophone. By age 15, he was playing in an r&b band, developing blues chops that would later come in handy with artists such as Brother Jack McDuff. Kirk's passion for reeds led him to make alterations to instruments with rubber bands and to modify the keys so he could play multiple saxophones at once. He also was a gifted flutist.

Kirk chose to wear a pawnshop's worth of saxophones around his neck not as a some bohemian style thing. There was a more pragmatic reason. He simply loved the different sounds they made individually and together and couldn't see them if they were sitting in stands. Their vibrations on his chest also helped him feel his way through to his art. By 1960, Kirk even added a metal hunting horn to emphasize climactic points in pieces. In 1963, Kirk adapted a circular breathing technique that let him play continuously.

His first recording Triple Threat was in 1956 for King Records. In 1961, he spent three months with Charles Mingus, but after that short stint, Kirk went on to lead groups in concerts and on recording dates for the rest of his career, until his death in December 1977.

Over the years, Kirk's music has managed to slip into semi-obscurity. Long mischaracterized as a far-out player (mostly by those who hadn't heard his music), Kirk was and remains a significant improviser who had a huge soul and beautiful tone. As Sonny Rollins and Pharoah Sanders pointed out, Kirk was better with one hand than most saxophonists were with two.

The Jazz Icons DVD features Kirk playing on three live dates in Belgium (1963), Holland (1963) and Norway (1967). Each song is a wonderful example of an honest artist robbed of sight who finds his way to a song's heart and shares its beauty along the way. Three highlights for me on this video are Milestones, Bags' Groove and The Shadow of Your Smile.

On Milestones, Kirk plays three saxophones and creates almost the same sound as the Miles Davis Sextet's recording of the song. Bags' Groove demonstrates Kirk's ability on the soprano sax while The Shadow of Your Smile shows you what Kirk could do with a pop tune. All are spirited and fabulous.

Kirk was all about jazz ideas and vibrations. You just have to open yourself up a bit to grasp his art and message.

JazzWax tracks: Many jazz fans are unfamiliar with Rahsaan Roland Kirk. To put you at ease, let me first let you in on a funny secret: He's playing stritch and alto sax on Quincy Jones' Soul Bossa Nova. That's the quirky song that the Austin Powers movies used as its theme song.

Now that I have your attention, let me recommend seven Kirk tracks that should serve as a perfect introduction to his art. All can be downloaded at Amazon or iTunes:

Three for Dizzy—Kirk's Work (1961). Issued on Prestige, the album recently underwent the Rudy Van Gelder remastering process and sounds great. This funky blues album featured Kirk (tenor sax, stritch, siren and manzello), Brother Jack McDuff (organ), Joe Benjamin (bass) and Art Taylor (drums). The CD is here.

My Delight—We Free Kings (1961). Fortunately, Mercury had the good sense to sign Kirk for a series of albums. My guess is that Mercury producer Quincy Jones had a hand in this move. We Free Kings features Kirk, Richard Wyands (piano), Art Davis (bass) and Charlie Persip (drums). The CD is here.

Get Out of Town—Domino (1962). Yep, it's the Cole Porter standard, and Kirk handles it beautifully. Joining Kirk were Herbie Hancock (piano), Vernon Martin (bass) and Roy Haynes (drums). The CD is here.

Alfie—Now Please Don't You Cry, Beautiful Edith (1967). Issued by Verve, this rendition of the Burt Bacharach standard is among my favorite versions. Listen to Kirk's tone throughout. Wow. With Kirk were Lonnie Liston Smith (piano), Ronnie Boykins (bass) and Grady Tate (drums). The CD is here.

My Cherie Amour—Volunteered Slavery (1969). Here Kirk adds a full jazz feel to this Stevie Wonder hit. The musicians featured Kirk, Ron Burton (piano), Vernon Martin (bass), Jimmy Hopps (drums) and Joe "Habao" Texidor (percussion). The CD is here.

Make It With You—Blacknuss (1971). Kirk certainly wasn't biased one way or the other. If a song was pretty, he was all too happy to give it the five-instrument treatment, even if the song, like this one, was a pop hit for Bread. The personnel was the same as above, except Henry Pearson was on bass and Richie Goldberg was on drums. The CD is here.

My One and Only Love—Compliments of the Mysterious Phantom (1974). Kirk reaches deep on this ballad. Here we have Kirk, Hilton Ruiz (piano), Henry Pearson (bass), John Goldsmith (drums) and Samson Verge (percussion). The CD is here.

Lockjaw Davis: Fox and Hounds

Back in the early 1970s I loved the take-charge sound of Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis' tenor saxophone so much that I kept buying Count Basie LPs. My hope was that I'd come across one that featured Lockjaw more extensively. On most Basie albums, Lockjaw would have a solo or two, but they were never enough for me. His solos with Basie were standouts, to be sure. They just always sounded as if he hadn't been given enough runway to say all the cool stuff he needed to.

Then in 2001, I came across a CD featuring two Lockjaw albums I long had hoped would be released. I first heard the CD's LPs on New York's legendary and long-gone jazz radio station WRVR. The most revered deejay at the station was Ed Beach, who had one of the coolest late-night voices in jazz radio. It was hip, urban-accented and loaded with euphemism. Words and phrases like "blow the whistle on some blues," "it's a swing thing, "pretty wild sounds, there," and "we're going back into the blues bag" sounded savvy and inside, especially with Wes Montgomery's guitar playing softly behind his easy banter.

In 1974, Beach devoted two of his famed Just Jazz shows to Lockjaw, and the tracks he played off two different albums left a deep impression. These were exactly the kinds of Lockjaw records I had been looking for. But there was a problem. Beach's on-air lingo was so cool that when he came back on the air to announce the songs he had played, I couldn't quite figure out whether the words he used were part of his riff or the real title, and which words belonged to which.

My only clues were the names of the two songs he played: I Wished on the Moon and Midnight Sun. So for years I had these songs listed in a little pocket-sized notebook I carried around to record stores. But I never came across the albums on which the songs appeared.

That is, until 2001, when I was in Tower Records (now also gone) near Lincoln Center. There, in the bin, was a single CD that contained two Lockjaw Davis albums: Lock, the Fox and The Fox and the Hounds. When I turned over the CD, both songs I had been hunting for all those years were listed. I couldn't believe my good fortune. To this day these recordings remain my absolute favorite Jaws albums, and for good reason.

Of the two, The Fox and the Hounds (November 1966) is the cooker and features a monster big band arranged by Bobby Plater. The musicians on the date were Ernie Royal, Joe Newman, Thad Jones, Snooky Young (trumpets), Urbie Green, Wayne Andre, Jimmy Cleveland and Tony Studd (trombones), Bobby Plater and Jerome Richardson (alto saxes), Lockjaw, Billy Mitchell and Frank Wess (tenor saxes), Danny Bank (baritone sax), Hank Jones (piano), Gene Bertoncini (guitar), George Duvivier (bass) and Grady Tate (drums). Now that's a big band.

The Fox and the Hounds opens with rip-roaring renditions of I Wished on the Moon and When Your Lover Has Gone, followed by the ballad Born to Be Blue. People Will Say We're in Love is taken at a medium-tempo gallop, with Day by Day reverting back to the pure high-octane tempo that Lockjaw loved so much. Bye-Bye Blackbird also is up-tempo. Call Me is a terrific bossa nova with mid-1960s swing sensibilities. Jaws is back to a ballad on This Is Always, while I Remember You is medium-tempo. They saved the best for last —Out of Nowhere, which swings all the way down the line.

Lock, the Fox (June 1966) is equally potent, but with a scaled-down group: Lockjaw is joined by Ross Tompkins on piano, Les Spann on guitar, Russell George on bass, Chuck Lampkin on drums and Ray Barretto on conga. Here, Jaws tightens up and drives the group with jaunty melody lines and solos. All of the songs get the Lockjaw treatment—cinderblock-sized runs, dragged notes, bluesy phrases, fearless riffs and powerful locomotive snorts. It's all here on Nina Never Knew, Speak Low, Midnight Sun, On Green Dolphin Street, Save Your Love for Me, On a Clear Day, West Coast Blues, Days of Wine and Roses, The Good Life and Oh! Gee!

These two albums feature Lockjaw at his very best and were recorded as he began recording more frequently in non-Basie settings. Lockjaw had become increasingly fed up with Basie's seemingly endless stream of painfully commercial recordings. Why Basie made some of those albums for Verve has always been something of a puzzle to me. Part of this mystery was solved last night when I re-read Cadence magazine editor Bob Rusch's magnificent two-part interview with Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis from 1986:

CADENCE: You were In the Basie band for such recordings as Basie Meets Bond, Basie in the Beatles Bag. What was that all about?
LOCKJAW DAVIS: Money. It's always money.

CAD: Somebody telling him what to do?
LD: That's right.

CAD: Roulette Records?
LD: No. That joker Willard Alexander [the renowned big-band booker]. Basie was in tax trouble.

CAD: Because of gambling?
LD: No. Road managers, people like that.

CAD: Which road manager?
LD: They had 2 or 3 of them. Each one took a little more, to the point where the accountant got in trouble. Instead of sending the money, he was beating it. In fact, 2 or 3 years ago, they gave him some time.

CAD: The accountant?
LD: Yeah. The (Basie's) wife found out who was really beatin' him all those years. All they got was tax trouble. I know way back then when I was in the office as an agent, the Internal Revenue sent all the agents a list of different audits. If you had any of the audits below, [the list said,] notify us first. So they could garnish the income. And Basie's name was on [the list]. In order to get him out of this bind, he took a lot of funny, funny jobs, funny recording dates. We did a tour with Tom Jones. It had nothin' to do with jazz, nothin'. But the kind of money they gave Basie, it made it worth it for Basie. But not looking ahead at his future, Basie in jazz. Now they couldn't do that with Duke Ellington.

CAD: Because he controlled his own thing?
LD: But with Basie they could. That's what caused [those albums].

Yet another interesting and lesser-known factor that helped diminish jazz's status and power in the 1960s: Prime artists facing tax troubles. Owing the IRS money certainly forced many jazz artists to take on uncomfortable and corrosive projects just to pay the bills. Which in turn undermined their reputations and left listeners with subpar albums.

JazzWax tracks: The two-fer CD that combines Lock, the Fox and The Fox and the Hounds is available here from Collectables Jazz Classics. This CD is a must-own. Lockjaws' soaring confidence and beautiful lines are hair-raising. Lock, the Fox is available as a stand-alone from RCA Spain, but you're better off with the two-fer. You really don't want to miss The Fox and the Hounds.