JazzWax

Interview: Creed Taylor (Part 13)

Within three short years after joining Verve Records in 1961, Creed Taylor produced a series of albums that altered the direction of jazz recordings in the 1960s. These included Stan Getz's Getz/Gilberto; Jimmy Smith's Bashin', featuring Walk on the Wild Side; Kai Winding's More; and Bill Evans' Conversations With Myself. Each LP was a case study of how jazz artists could dip into commercial trends and survive the rock era without skimping on production standards or artistic excellence. Jazz producers at other labels were quick to adapt Creed's approach and marketing strategies, but many weren't nearly as sophisticated or successful. [Pictured: Jimmy Smith and Creed; photo by Chuck Stewart]

In addition to recording jazz-pop crossover hits, Creed was largely responsible for transforming Bill Evans from an insider's favorite to a pianist of much wider acclaim and stature. Albums such as Trio '64, Trio '65, With the Symphony Orchestra, At Town Hall, Intermodulation, A Simple Matter of Conviction and others were packaged as high-end jazz recordings designed to enhance and popularize the artist's persona and mystique. The same was true of Creed's work with Wes Montgomery both at Verve and later at A&M. [Photo: Chuck Stewart]

Today, in Part 4 of my five-part interview series with Creed on his Verve years, the legendary producer talks about Bill Evans, the pianist's sessions with Stan Getz, and recording Wes Montgomery's Movin' Wes and Bumpin'.

JazzWax: After the V.I.P.s session, the next album you recorded with Bill Evans was Trio '64, which becomes the model you wound up using for him. How did you finally determine how you would record Bill at Verve?
Creed Taylor: I didn’t think about it that way. We looked at each album differently, as a separate project. But the goal was to showcase Bill and expose him to as many new listeners as possible.

JW: Was his recording of Santa Claus Is Coming to Town planned for Trio '64, which was recorded in December 1963?
CT: No. That was Bill’s sense of humor. He just threw it in. The same was true of The Washington Twist on Empathy, his first album for me at Verve in 1962. It just happened on the spot. That song was really a reworking of Frankie and Johnny. Bill just came up with Santa Claus in the studio and we captured it.

JW: How about the Stan Getz & Bill Evans dates in May 1964? The pairing doesn’t feel completely comfortable.
CT: How so?

JW: Stan seems restless on there, and Bill sounds like he’s trying to break through but can’t quite overcome Stan’s intensity.
CT: Well, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t say they were a dream team.

JW: Why?
CT: There wasn’t enough juxtaposition there. They both had a similar feel. I'll just say that Bill was Bill, and Stan was Stan. That’s probably what you sense there. In retrospect, I think your view is pretty accurate subjective analysis. 

JW: The late Peter Pettinger, author of Bill Evans: How My Heart Sings, wrote that the piano on the Verve dates sound "curiously dry and boxy." What did he mean?
CT: I read that, too and I have no idea what he was talking about. It sounds a little pompous to me. I think that’s his little idiosyncrasy. I can tell you that all of the recordings were carefully set up and carefully done. The writer simply didn’t agree with the reverb quality and how Rudy [Van Gelder, the engineer] was recording the attack. It’s not the purest sound, but I happen to think it sounds better. What is pure anyway?

JW: Did Rudy set up the mikes differently for Bill than for other pianists?
CT: He always miked the piano like he saw it. I had nothing to do with it and would never have said anything about where someone of Rudy's stature should put a mike.

JW: What’s your favorite Bill Evans album?
CT: Conversations with Myself. I can hear that album over and over again.

JW: When you listen to it, are you hearing one or three Bills?
CT: Three. It’s a fabulous album and it won a Grammy. A lot of people might not have the patience to stay with it because of the seemingly complex nature of the music. But that’s not the case. If in your mind’s eye you can envision three piano players, it’s not that difficult when listening to the album. 

JW: What were your interactions with Bill like during this period at Verve?
CT: I frequently picked Bill up on the West Side when we'd drive out to Rudy Van Gelder’s in Englewood Cliffs, N.J. Bill lived around 90th St. and Riverside Drive. With Bill in the car, I would take the Henry Hudson Parkway up to the George Washington Bridge and then across to New Jersey and Rudy's studio. That would give us about 20 minutes of conversation going and 20 minutes coming back.

JW: Do you remember what you'd talk about?
CT: Bill would talk about current events and philosophy. He was extremely well read and was a very thoughtful guy. And I always enjoyed talking with him. He’d give me ideas for sessions that I had coming up, and I’d run ideas by him. Bill always had great feedback. Unfortunately my association and memory of Bill is not divided by different albums. It was strictly about the music.

JW: When did Helen Keane start appearing on Bill’s albums as the producer?
CT: After I left for A&M Records in 1966. Helen participated more as Bill's manager than his technical producer.

JW: Movin’ Wes in November 1964 was your first album with guitarist Wes Montgomery, a big band session with Johnny Pate arrangements.
CT: Wes was very comfortable with this date. It was big band jazz stuff that Wes could play along with.

JW: Was Bumpin’ in March 1965 with arranger Don Sebesky different?
CT: I remember we had a little trouble there. One of the tracks with strings had a tricky turning point, and Wes couldn’t read music. It got Wes down. He was sitting there looking depressed. Don went over and asked him what was wrong. Wes said, “All these cats are sitting around with music on their stands. I don’t know what to do.”

JW: How did you resolve the problem?
CT: I stopped the date. From that point on, Don [pictured] made a guide track using a Fender Rhodes electric piano for Wes. Don would record it onto a tape. Then he’d give the tape to Wes, who would take it and rehearse on the road. Using the recording, Wes would get the songs down pat. He’d nail all the turnarounds and everything else. This way he’d know everything that was going to happen in the score. He was back in control of his environment. Even after that, we’d overdub the strings to minimize issues. The tapes got us through the problem with relatively complex arrangements. [Photos: Chuck Stewart]

Tomorrow, Creed talks about how he convinced a reluctant Wes Montgomery to record the career-changing Goin' Out of My Head, Brazilian organist Walter Wanderley's hit Summer Samba, who produced Oscar Peterson and Count Basie at Verve, and the events that led to Creed's departure in 1966 to A&M Records.

JazzWax tracks: All of Bill Evans' albums are available as downloads at iTunes. The same is true of Wes Montgomery's Movin' Wes and Bumpin'. Montgomery's CDs are available at Creed's site, CTIJazz.com.

To hear how hip Walk on the Wild Side still is with Oliver Nelson's swinging rock arrangement, go here. To hear a clip of Bill Evans playing the haunting waltz, Elsa, a song that appeared on Trio '65, go here. And here's a 1965 clip of Wes Montgomery playing Here's That Rainy Day, a song recorded for Bumpin'. Who's the pianist who gives Wes a run for his money? It's Harold Mabern. Tasty, right? Arthur Harper is on bass and Jimmy Lovelace is on drums.

Interview: Creed Taylor (Part 12)

By 1963, Creed Taylor had produced more than a half dozen successful jazz-bossa nova albums for Verve Records. Artists at the label taking a shot at the new Brazilian sound ranged from Stan Getz and Bob Brookmeyer to Gary McFarland and Cal Tjader. The next step for Creed was to try and duplicate the winning crossover formula he had developed with the bossa nova by identifying pop songs for jazz interpretation. Instead of treating pop as jazz's commercial nemesis, Creed viewed the genre as the contemporary equivalent of Tin Pan Alley, a modern repository of new standards that jazz artists could build on.

Creed's intention was to develop the potential of jazz-pop fusion and double or triple the label's record-buying audience. For the strategy to work, jazz artists had to turn pop hits of the day into jazz classics while retaining their edge and hard-core fan base. Much rested on an album's jazz-to-pop track ratio and the artist's execution. Creed also began signing leading jazz artists such as Bill Evans and Wes Montgomery with plans to create a more sophisticated and esteemed image for them through gatefold albums and art-photo covers.

Today, in Part 3 of my interview series with Creed Taylor on his Verve years, the legendary producer talks about Kai Winding's smash hit recording of More, Cal Tjader's Soul Sauce and Bill Evans' Grammy-winning Conversations with Myself. And, for the first time, Creed reflects on Evans' Plays the Theme from the V.I.P.s:

JazzWax: In May 1963, you recorded More with Kai Winding, one of only about two dozen singles by a jazz artist to make it onto Billboard's Top 40 pop chart. It peaked at an astounding #8. How did More come about?
Creed Taylor: I had just gone to see the film, Mondo Cane, and loved the theme song. In the movie, Nino Olivieri's theme was played five or six different ways. After the film in late '62, I was crossing Broadway and a worker in a manhole had a tinny transistor radio playing. The song coming out of there was Telstar, a big instrumental hit by the Tornados, a British group. For some reason, the song sounded different coming out of the bowels of Broadway. I wondered whether we could re-capture that sound on a theremin [an electronic instrument played by putting your hands near its antennas]. I thought the song would be ideal for Claus Ogerman and Kai Winding, whom I had recorded for years at Bethlehem and ABC.

JW: How did you decide on the rollicking tempo?
CT: When I got back to my office, I pulled all the popular records of More I could find. All had been recorded as ballads. To hear how the melody would sound at a faster clip, I took a 45-rpm of one of the ballads and doubled the speed to 78 rpm. The melody line sounded great. I told Claus, what I wanted to do. I said, “Let's have a theremin play the strong melody line.” He loved the idea. I might add that up to that point, none of the More ballads had become hits.

JW: The song certainly sounds odd, with the quirky theremin and galloping Marlboro Man beat.
CT: That’s funny. "Galloping" is exactly what I said to Claus when I told him what I wanted. Claus made it happen.

JW: Adding a jazz twist to pop songs was becoming a hallmark of yours at this point.
CT: You had to if you wanted albums to stand out in the shifting marketplace. For example, I had always loved Cal Tjader and became well acquainted with him in San Francisco in 1952. When I moved to Verve, I flew out West in 1961 and signed him. Cal recorded out there before moving to New York in 1963. When we recorded the album Soul Sauce in 1964, he had already recorded the title track as Guarachi Guaro for Fantasy in 1954. We changed the name to Soul Sauce because it sounded better than its original name, which wasn't attractive or easy to say or understand.

JW: What's the story behind the album cover?
CT: I had the art director put a bottle of Tabasco on there, and the album took off at the stores. McIlhenny, the maker of the sauce, sued Verve to take the bottle off. To settle, I told them we’d take it off in the next printing. Of course, it never happened. The company was selling a ton of hot sauce by then and quickly forgot about it.

JW: How did you get Bill Evans to sign with Verve in 1962?
CT: I just asked him, and he was available. I don’t know why he wasn’t still signed to Riverside. I had already known Bill for years. He had recorded for me as a sideman at Impulse.

JW: You recorded Conversations with Myself in February 1963. Whose idea was it to have Bill overdub himself twice?
CT: Bill came up with the idea for three pianos. He wanted to record three different lines. I knew about overdubbing and had multi-tracking equipment available. When we went into the studio, we’d record a lead track. Then Bill would accompany himself on the second track while listening to the lead track through headphones. Then he'd record the third track while listening to the other two. I was in the booth listening on my headphones. It was an amazing process.

JW: Was Bill captivated by his own sound or hindered by hearing it?
CT: He thoroughly enjoyed it. The music was coming out of Bill Evans’ brain and talent three times. Why do you ask?

JW: Many artists dislike listening to themselves. They hear mistakes and things they would have liked to have done differently. Bill didn’t have that problem?
CT: None of that stuff with Bill. We might have re-recorded the lead track to a song a few times and then the second and third. But he had no problem hearing himself and dealing with himself as a separate artist.

JW: Who came up with the album’s title?
CT: I did. It was obvious: Bill was having conversations with himself. He was talking to himself two times. Bill liked the title. That’s what he was doing.

JW: What did Bill think of the final result?
CT: He was happy, in as much as Bill Evans ever exhibited happiness. Bill was a very serious fellow. He had a great sense of humor, but he didn’t smile a lot. He was serious all the time.

JW: The album was recorded on three different dates. One track per date?
CT: No, Bill didn’t record all the lead tracks on one date, overdub second one on the next, and the third on the final date. Instead he’d finish one song at a time, all three tracks. Then we’d move on to the next one. New York's Webster Hall, where we recorded the album, is a huge ballroom with balconies. RCA leased it out Monday through Friday, and there was a glass booth you could roll in and out for the engineer and producer.

JW: How was the piano set up?
CT: We didn’t use gobos [baffles] on this date. There was a thick velvet drape on a runner up at the top near the ceiling, allowing you to move it around to adjust the reverberation. That’s the only thing we did as far as changing the sound in the room. We ran the drape around a few feet from the open side of the grand piano to minimize audio leakage.

JW: Who would call for alternate takes—you or Bill?
CT: It’s hard to remember. We worked together very comfortably. After Bill would finish a track, he’d look up and either he’d ask for a take or I would hold up a finger for another take. My index finger [laughs].

JW: In May 1963, you recorded Bill with Claus Ogerman for an album now known as Plays the Theme from the V.I.P.s. In retrospect, the album sounds odd, don’t you think?
CT: How so?

JW: Well, it seems out of character for Bill. You don’t hear his signature sound much, and the strings are somewhat oppressive. Plus the album's movie-music concept was a little unusual for him.
CT: It’s such ancient history. But I’ll tell you, since it’s what I told Bill. MGM owned Verve at the time, and Verve had an open door to MGM’s movie themes. I cooperated with the head of MGM when he had a movie with a good theme. For example, Walk On the Wild Side for Jimmy Smith I got from MGM. MGM executives would invite me to meetings where they’d preview movie themes and give me the soundtracks. I would hear about the movies that were coming out as well as their themes. The MGM people would give me a copy of the scores.

JW: So V.I.P.s in retrospect was an odd fit for Bill.
CT: I wasn’t crazy about doing the V.I.P.s album, but MGM wanted to get the songs out to promote the movies. My hands were somewhat tied.

JW: What did you tell Bill?
CT: I said to Bill, “Let’s do this album. I don’t think you or I are that gung-ho on having you do movie music, but let’s get Claus [pictured] to cover us. It’ll be an endless benefit to both of us from a marketing and promotional point of view with MGM’s people.” And it was. That was the only blatant business thing Bill and I got into. Bill understood it. He had no artistic temperament about it. 

JW: Looking back, would you have done that album differently? Or would you have done it at all?
CT: There are quite a few things in life I would have done differently or not at all. But one moves ahead. Sometimes you leave a trail of dust you’d wish would go away.

JW: Is that album one of them?
CT: I didn’t say that.

Tomorrow, Creed talks about Bill Evans' Trio '64, his conversations with Evans during drives to Rudy Van Gelder's recording studio in New Jersey, the shortcomings of the Evans-Stan Getz dates, and recording Wes Montgomery's Movin' Wes and Bumpin'.

JazzWax tracks: Kai Winding's More is hard to come by as a download or CD. Go here to listen to the track and then compare it to the Tornados' Telstar here. Shortly after Winding's single began climbing the Billboard pop chart, reaching #8, Vic Dana recorded a vocal version with virtually the same arrangement. Go here to hear it. Dana's single peaked only at #42.

Cal Tjader's Soul Sauce, Bill Evans' Conversations With Myself and Plays the Theme from the V.I.P.s can be downloaded at iTunes. Jimmy Smith's Bashin' and Evans' Conversations can be found on CD at Creed's site, CTIJazz.com.

Interview: Creed Taylor (Part 11)

As soon as Creed Taylor heard the Brazilian records that guitarist Charlie Byrd played for him over the phone in 1961, he knew the feel would be perfect for tenor saxophonist Stan Getz. Creed called Getz and told him about the records. Then he asked Byrd to play the records for him. After hearing the music, Getz agreed to record a Brazilian album with Byrd. In February 1962, Creed and Getz flew from New York to Washington, D.C., where Byrd and his rhythm section were based.

The result was recorded at Washington's All Souls Unitarian Church and would turn out to be the first in a long line of wildly successful jazz-bossa nova albums that Creed produced for Verve. In short, Creed imagined the beauty of Getz pressed up against a Brazilian soft samba, visualized the sensual result and even anticipated the popularity of this new intimate form of Latin-jazz.

Today, in Part 2 of my five-part series with Creed on his Verve years, the legendary producer talks about how Jazz Samba got its name, the making of Getz/Gilberto, why Joao Gilberto was late to the session, and who initially opposed Astrud Gilberto [pictured] singing the English lyrics to The Girl from Ipanema:

JazzWax: What happened when you returned to New York and listened back to the tape of the Stan Getz-Charlie Byrd recording?
Creed Taylor: I knew instantly that something new was happening there. I called Stan and told him I was going to call the album Jazz Samba. He said, “Great, OK” [laughs]. He didn’t care. You had to know Stan. He didn’t care one way or the other. It was only about the music. He was nonchalant about almost everything else.

JW: What did the Verve marketing people think about the album's title? 
CT: I didn’t bother running it by management. I never did. After I mixed the album and added Jazz Samba to my in-production list, that’s when they saw the title for the first time.

JW: What did they say?
CT: They weren’t happy. They said, “You can’t put the word ‘jazz’ on the cover if you want to sell copies.” I said, “Look it’s simple: It’s jazz and it’s samba. We don’t have any other way to describe the music. That’s the way it has to be.” There was no such term as “bossa nova” then, and this was the clearest way to describe the music for buyers.

JW: What was their reaction?
CT: They didn’t like it, but they didn’t have a better alternative. So we went with Jazz Samba. I guess the title turned out OK after all [laughs].

JW: You knew in your gut that the bossa thing was going to be hot right away, didn’t you?
CT: I had no idea what was going to happen except that I heard the songs on the phone when Charlie Byrd called and liked them and wanted Stan to record similar material.

JW: What happened next?
CT: We released Jazz Samba in April 1962, and it steadily climbed the pop album charts. The single reached No. 15 in September 1962. The album hit No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart in March 1963.

JW: As soon as the single started moving, you knew that the bossa nova concept was hot, yes?
CT: Sure. After that album, we bossa-ed all over the place. I knew early on that Antonio Carlos Jobim was special. At the time, I didn’t know he would wind up being called Brazil’s George Gershwin. But I knew that here was a composer who could take what seemed to be a mundane song structure and turn it into a gorgeous gem.

JW: The album’s success led to Jazz Samba Encore!, recorded in February 1963. Now you had Jobim and Luiz Bonfa joining Getz. What happened between the two dates?
CT: I knew that this music had enormous appeal. I thought, who better to help express it with Stan than two of Brazil’s best artists. I called Jobim in Brazil and said why don’t you get Bonfa and come up and record with Stan. Jobim knew who I was. We had already met when I was down in Rio years earlier.

JW: A month later you recorded Getz/Gilberto, with Brazilian vocals by guitarist Joao Gilberto. How did the recording come about?
CT: All of the previous bossa nova albums I recorded had been instrumentals, except for Maria Toledo's vocals on Jazz Samba Encore! Now I wanted to record an album that included a few male vocals by Joao. Astrud Gilberto was married to Joao at the time and was tagging along. Including her vocal on The Girl From Ipanema was an afterthought by Stan. No female vocal had been planned. I didn’t even know who she was until Jobim introduced me to her at the session. I think at the time, Jobim and Joao may have been against her singing. She was viewed simply as Joao's wife and not a trained singer. I think they were afraid she was going to bring the session down or something. But Stan pushed.

JW: What did you think when you heard her sing?
CT: I heard her accent and thought it was great. She was the girl from Ipanema that Joao was singing about. As soon as Stan suggested it, the idea sounded like the smart thing to do. I told her when she got to the “ah’s,” like at the end of the line “each one she passes goes ah,” to make the “ah” sound like a sigh. It was perfect. [Photo of Getz and Gilberto by Chuck Stewart]

JW: You had Joao sing the lyrics in Portuguese and Astrud sing them in English. Why?
CT: Guess [laughs].

JW: Because it would sell more albums?
CT: Well, yeah. Look, if you want to get people to spend their cash on something, you’ve got to give them a reason to do so.

JW: Stan really didn’t mind Astrud singing?
CT: Not at all. You've probably heard stories about what a nasty sort of guy Stan was. When it came to music, all bets were off regarding that side of his personality. [Photo by Chuck Stewart]

JW: What about all those stories that Stan didn’t treat her well.
CT: Stan treated a lot of people not well [laughs]. There was no tension in the studio that day whatsoever. At the end of the session, Stan said, “Astrud, you’re going to be famous.” He had an intuitive genius for sound, as crazy as he was.

JW: Anything from the Getz/Gilberto session that stands out as you look back?
CT: Yes. On the first day of recording at A&R Recording, everyone was there except Joao Gilberto. Which is why Jobim had to introduce me to Astrud. So I asked Monica Getz [pictured], Stan's wife, whether she could go over to Joao’s hotel and get him to the studio to record. Monica went the three blocks to where Joao was staying, between Sixth Ave. and Broadway.

JW: Did she find him?
CT: Monica went up to Joao’s [pictured] room and found him sitting in the dark playing the guitar. I think he was agoraphobic. Anyway, she got him downstairs, put him in a cab and drove three blocks to the studio.

JW: What happened when he got there?
CT: He just took out his guitar and started playing, as if he had arrived on time.

JW: As the music was being recorded, did you feel swept away?
CT: One of the most standout things from the session was the sound that Jobim got out of the piano. Those simple little one-note lines were incredible. When he played chord clusters, they sounded different from anything anyone else had ever played on the keyboard. Jobim had a sensitivity that stood out for me from the get go. Joao’s guitar, too, for that matter. 

JW: Anything that you had to do as a producer on the session?
CT: This was a very loose date. I just talked to everybody when necessary to get them to take a different position at the mike and so on. There were no musical arrangements, you know. A&R Recording was a great place to record, but the best thing technically about the session was engineer Phil Ramone [pictured]. He was and is very personable and good at putting the artist at ease. He's also superb at placing mikes in just the right position. He had been doing a lot of dates for me up to that point.

JW: In May 1963, you put Jobim together with arranger Claus Ogerman for The Composer Plays, a piano-strings bossa nova date.
CT: I had started recording with Claus early on. Claus has this European graciousness and air about him that everything is wonderful. He’s just a gentle guy, and he got along with Jobim beautifully. Nobody else to my knowledge can write unison strings like Claus. It’s a technical thing he does with all the strings playing notes in tight configuration. That sound also is a specialty of Phil Ramone’s. He knows exactly how to mike the strings. That was a fantastic date.

Tomorrow, Creed talks about the Kai Winding hit that was inspired by a transistor radio in a manhole, recording Cal Tjader's Soul Sauce, how Bill Evans' Grammy-winning Conversations with Myself was recorded, and, for the first time, sheds light on Evans' ill-conceived Plays the Theme from the V.I.P.s.

JazzWax tracks: The albums Jazz Samba, Jazz Samba Encore! and Getz/Gilberto are available as downloads at iTunes and as CDs at Creed's site, CTIJazz.com.

Interview: Creed Taylor (Part 10)

When Creed Taylor last spoke with JazzWax in July (Parts 5-9), the legendary record producer and I talked about his years at ABC Paramount from 1956 to 1961. His many jazz coups at the label included launching Impulse Records, signing and recording John Coltrane, and establishing a design formula that revolutionized album packaging. Such innovations included laminated covers, gallery-quality cover photography and gatefolds, which let covers swing open to reveal liner notes and more photography. Gatefolds not only further engaged consumers, they also widened Impulse LP spines so albums would stand out on retailers' and consumers' shelves.

Soon after joining Verve Records in 1961, Creed sensed the commercial power of contemporary pop and used the genre as a hunting ground for new jazz standards. He also set to work transitioning the careers of leading jazz artists into the 1960s. In five short years, Creed helped popularize the bossa nova with tenor saxophonist Stan Getz and other artists, developed a more erudite and contemporary image for pianist Bill Evans, and created a new adult- pop-jazz genre with guitarist Wes Montgomery. For his efforts, Creed and the albums he produced won nine Grammy awards during this period, adding four more in later years when the albums entered the Grammy Hall of Fame.

Today, in Part 1 of my five-part interview with Creed on his years at Verve Records, from 1961 to 1966, the esteemed producer talks about joining Verve, recording saxophonists Sonny Stitt and Gene Ammons, working with Stan Getz on Focus, and recording the ground-breaking Jazz Samba with Getz and guitarist Charlie Byrd:

JazzWax: When you joined Verve Records in 1961, how did you hit the ground running, recording artists you had not recorded before at Bethlehem, ABC Paramount or Impulse?
Creed Taylor: Actually, many of the people I eventually signed at Verve I first met in San Francisco in 1952, when I was stationed at Treasure Island [pictured] just before being discharged from the Marine Corps. Within that short two-week period back in 1952, I was at the Blackhawk Club every night. That’s where I first met and spoke at length to Paul Desmond, Dave Brubeck, Cal Tjader, Chet Baker and many other artists.

JW: Were there any other reasons why you jumped from Impulse to Verve, besides the opportunity and a deeper artist roster?
CT: Yes, Stan Getz. I had thought about Stan for years and how much I wanted to record him. When I was at Duke University, in 1950, I had heard Stan on Early Autumn, when he was on Woody Herman’s band. Ralph Burns' arrangement was beautiful. And then came Stan’s solo. Man, that was something. From that moment on, I kept telling myself that I had to find some way to get the guy into a studio.

JW: Did you meet Stan in the 1950s?
CT: Yes, in San Francisco, when I was being mustered out of the Marines. He was playing at a club with Jimmy Raney [pictured], and I spoke with him there over several nights.

JW: When did you have your first professional conversation with him?
CT: Not until I was at Verve.

JW: So from 1950 to 1961, you’re thinking about recording Getz?
CT: Yes. The entire time I wanted to record Stan but couldn’t because he was signed to Verve when I was at Bethlehem and ABC/Impulse. At Verve, I knew I’d finally get the chance. Before I arrived, he had been cranking out album after album of mostly standards. All great stuff, but he was weary of the format.

JW: What did you have in mind for him?
CT: The first album I wanted to record with Stan was an unusual concept that eventually became Focus. It was Stan with just a full string ensemble. John Neves on bass and Roy Haynes on drums were added for I'm Late, I'm Late.

JW: What did Stan say?
CT: I mentioned the idea to him, and he discussed the concept in detail with arranger Eddie Sauter [pictured]. Stan was familiar with the Sauter-Finegan orchestra and wanted to record with Eddie. I knew if I did this album for Stan, he’d be on my side for whatever I wanted to do with him going forward. We recorded Focus in July 1961. There were no rehearsals except at the studio the day of the recording. That’s how Stan liked to work. Hershy Kay was the conductor. Kay chose the string section and knew the nuances of all the players. Kay had the score from Eddie, and Stan just played. Kay conducted the strings and was doing rhythmic accents you wouldn’t hear from a symphonic conductor. The album won a Grammy, so I guess it turned out all right.

JW: You released two singles from the album, I’m Late, I’m Late and I Remember When. How did they do?
CT: They weren’t huge hits, but they made enough jukebox appearances that they became an “in” thing to listen to.

JW: In August 1961 you produced Boss Tenors, with tenor saxophonists Sonny Stitt and Gene Ammons. How were they to record?
CT: Great. They just took their horns out and played. We recorded in Chicago, where they were working with their rhythm section. Nobody played like either one of them and no tenor duo played like both of them together.

JW: As you watched them from the booth, how did they interact?
CT: I don’t know. I was listening. We were making a recording. It wasn’t a movie. [laughs]

JW: What makes the album a favorite of yours?
CT: It’s so real, so true to what was going on or ever will be going on with jazz. Each one could read the other guy’s mind before he finished a phrase. They were trading stuff all the time. It was like two extremely intelligent people talking to each other. They never stepped on each other's toes.

JW: You recorded Ammons and Stitt again in August 1962, which became Boss Tenors in Orbit.
CT: I especially love the ballad on there, Long Ago and Far Away. It was a great track because it had all those spaces in the melody, allowing them to comment musically on each other’s lines. They were playing with and against each other there.

JW: What came next for Stan?
CT: After Focus we recorded an album with Bob Brookmeyer in September 1961. Around this time I got a call from guitarist Charlie Byrd. He wanted to play some records for me over the phone.

JW: Over the phone?
CT: Charlie [pictured] said the music was new, from Brazil. He knew I liked Latin stuff. As soon as I finished listening to the songs Charlie played through the phone, I called Stan and told him about what I had heard. Then I had Charlie play the music over the phone for Stan.

JW: What did Stan say?
CT: Stan also liked what Charlie played. I told Stan he should record a Brazilian music album with Charlie. Stan said great. Charlie and his rhythm section were based in Washington, D.C., so it was easier for me and Stan to go down there from New York. In February 1962, Stan and I flew down to record with Charlie at a small black church Charlie had found called All Souls Unitarian [pictured]. It wasn’t an official studio or anything, but the church's auditorium had good acoustics. Charlie’s rhythm section knew the material and was well rehearsed. He had taken the group with him to Brazil months earlier. 

JW: What happened?
CT: Stan and I arrived in D.C. at 2 pm and left at 6 pm. The album was recorded in that short a period of time. The engineer, Ed Green, set up this little 2-track, 7½-ips Ampex tape recorder with three microphones. There was one solo mike, one on the group, and one on the bass. I hadn’t heard Stan play these Brazilian melodies before but I knew he could play Jingle Bells and it would sound fantastic.

CT: As the album’s producer, you were essentially the first person to hear Stan play what would eventually be called bossa nova. How did it sound?
JW: Stan played the first song, Desafinado, and I said, “Wow, what a weird sounding thing.” As I was listening, I started to realize that the song had a flatted 5th, which is what Dizzy Gillespie had come up with in his song Bebop.

JW: What's the connection?
CT: In the months that followed, I spoke to Antonio Carlos Jobim, Desafinado's composer, about that flatted 5th. He told me about all the American jazz artists he had listened to in Rio [pictured]. Of course, the title of Desafinado translated means “slightly out of tune.” He had used the flatted 5th in Desafinado, and I found that intriguing.

JT: Were you happy with the Stan Getz-Charlie Byrd date?
CT: Overjoyed. The only thing that bothered me a little was the rhythm section. They were playing more on the beat rather than laid back Brazilian. But all the songs on the date sounded wow.

JW: But as a producer, you hedged your bets a little, didn’t you?
CT: It’s funny. I asked Stan to record Bahia, a standard written by Brazilian composer Ary Barroso that had been recorded by jazz artists since the early 1950s. I asked Stan and Charlie to record the composition so there would be at least one song on the album in this new Brazilian idiom that listeners would recognize. Lo and behold, the song that hit was Desafinado, the very first track on the album.

JW: On the plane back to New York, did Stan realize how big a deal the album was?
CT: I don’t think so. It was just another date for him. I think he said it was fun. [laughs] Stan was always pretty low key. I think I said, “Yeah, I enjoyed it, too.” At the time, I may have mentioned that I wasn’t 100% happy with how we captured the audio on the bass. It was a little boomy. But we exchanged casual comments about it. Neither one of us said “Wow, what just happened?” It took a little while to sink in.

Tomorrow, Creed reflects on how Verve's marketing executives reacted to his name for the new Stan Getz-Charlie Byrd album, the role that Stan Getz's wife, Monica, played in helping to make Getz/Gilberto happen, who pushed to have Astrud Gilberto sing The Girl From Ipanema, and how The Composer of Desafinado Plays was recorded.

JazzWax tracks: Sonny Stitt and Gene Ammons' Boss Tenors and Boss Tenors in Orbit and Stan Getz's Focus can all be found as downloads at iTunes or as CDs at Creed's site, CTIJazz.com.

Sunday Wax Bits

Pannonica de Koenigswarter. Known fondly as "Nica" or "the Baroness," jazz's most generous and colorful benefactor in the 1950s and beyond had extraordinary access to Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Art Blakey, Bud Powell, Miles Davis and many other jazz greats. Such access allowed Nica to compile an extraordinary collection of candid snapshots of the jazz greats she knew and assisted.

In a handsome new book, Three Wishes: An Intimate Look at Jazz Greats, Nica's photographs have been assembled by her granddaughter, Nadine de Koenigswarter, who wrote a detail-rich introduction. Gary Giddins penned the forward. From the dozens of color and black-and-white images, we see clearly that Nica truly was jazz's best friend. The wealthy anti-socialite provided America's greatest jazz artists with much-needed camaraderie, health assistance, financial support and shelter. It's not a stretch to say that without Nica's financial and emotional backing, some artists might not have been as productive in the recording studio and clubs while others might have become ill and remained so longer.

Born in 1913, Nica was the daughter of Charles Rothschild, a banker and entomologist. Her formal first name, Pannonica, came from the name of an exotic butterfly her father discovered in Hungary. Nica married Jules de Koenigswarter in 1935, traveled to Africa with him, and served in the Free French army during World War II. After the war, her husband became a diplomat, plunging Nica into a life of stark loneliness that she soon grew to detest.

After separating from her husband in 1952, Nica moved to New York, to the Hotel Stanhope across from the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Ave. Captivated as a child by her father's extensive jazz record collection, Nica began attending jazz clubs and concerts. At Teddy Wilson's home, she was introduced to the music of Thelonious Monk. In 1954, upon hearing Monk was to perform in Paris, Nica flew to France and was introduced to him. The two would forge an unusual relationship, despite Monk's marital status.

Back in New York, Nica achieved some tabloid notoriety when Charlie Parker died in her Stanhope Hotel apartment in March 1955 ("Bop King Dies in Heiress' Flat"). Nica had thick skin and ignored the flack. Art always meant more to Nica than stuff or the banality of color. When she wasn't club-hopping in her Bentley S1, Nica taught many musicians how to deal tactfully with club owners and helped Monk win back his cabaret card in 1957. She also convinced New York Mayor John Lindsay to scrap the discriminatory rule that required nightclub musicians to have their fingerprints on file.

Nica eventually bought a home in Weehawken, N.J., that was fondly named "the Cathouse," for the large number of felines she took in and the jazz artists who hung out there. In 1988, in failing health, Nica underwent triple bypass surgery but died during the operation. In accordance with Nica's will, her ashes were scattered in the Hudson River around midnight, in tribute to Monk's 'Round Midnight. [Pictured: Nica and Bud Powell at the Cathouse in Weehawken, N.J.]

The title of the book Three Wishes, refers to the question Nica asked many of the musicians she knew: "If you were given three wishes, to be instantly granted, what would they be?" Their answers appear throughout the book and are both whimsical and revealing. For example, Monk's wishes were: "To be successful musically, to have a happy family, and to have a crazy friend like you."

What makes the photos in Three Wishes so remarkable is their rawness. Many of the unpretentious snapshots show jazz legends "off duty." Lacking the professional photographer's eye or training to set up subjects, Nica simply fired off shots that today tell a fascinating silent story. They also are revealing, since we see jazz legends' faces relaxed rather than contorted or posed for a professional photographer's lens.

The unfiltered images wind up seeming like stills from some unfinished jazz documentary. There's also a quiet quality to them that doesn't exist in many professional photographs, which too often try too hard to tease out a subject's cool side.

Nica's photos in Three Wishes are delightfully un-cool. Which, of course, makes them extremely cool. Going through the pages, you're instantly struck by how unassuming these legends are. It's the same sensation you feel when viewing photos of movie stars without their hair or makeup done. We see artists sitting, eating, talking and playing their instruments. Most of all, we see photos of Nica's friends who just also happened to be jazz greats.

Ultimately, you come to view Three Wishes as a family scrapbook rather than the stylistic portfolio of a hot-shot magazine photographer. The difference between the two is that in Nica's book, you can hear the music playing.

Johnny Mandel redux. Last week more emails arrived in response to my interview series with Johnny Mandel. [Oil painting by Merryl Jaye]

From reader David Langner:

"Great piece on Johnny Mandel. I thought I'd pass along two of my favorite sides that feature Mandel's arrangements. The first is the 1955 Cy Touff Octet/Quintet side on Pacific Jazz featuring Richie Kamuca, plus Sweets Edison and the legendary Conrad Gozzo on lead trumpet on the octet numbers.  This is an extraordinary record that features Keester Parade.  The second is a circa 1960 Mel Torme big band date for Verve called I Dig The Duke, I Dig the Count." Check it out—it's a winner with Mel in top form, great charts and a fabulous band."

Editor's note: The Cy Touff date is here, and the Mel Torme date is here.

From Bruce Armstrong, grandson of Harry Reser, the bandleader who headed the Clicquot Club Eskimos and for whom Johnny's cousin played drums:

"I just recently became aware of JazzWax and have really enjoyed reading it. Your interviews and historical articles are excellent. There is no place else that I know of—Internet or print—that compares.

I really enjoyed the interviews with Johnny Mandel. Despite the fact that Johnny is an absolute legend of modern music, I have not read much about him. It filled in a lot of biographical gaps for me.

On a personal note, I really got a kick out of Johnny mentioning his cousin, Mel Rosenbach, as one who was an early influence in his making music a career. As Johnny correctly states, Mel was playing drums with Harry Reser’s Clicquot Club Eskimos at the time. Harry Reser was my grandfather. My late mother (Gerry) was Harry's youngest daughter.

I knew Mel quite well back in the 1970s. Mel would often visit my mother, and he had a million stories to tell about his years in the music business (he toured for many years with the international chanteuse Hildegarde) and about his young cousin, Johnny Mandel. What a small world!"

From Michael Palmer in Australia:

"Congratulations on the Johnny Mandel interview. Up to your usual high standards. I may have missed it but did one of my favorites not get a mention?  This would be Jo + Jazz, a wonderful recording that was hidden away for years and is now available on Corinthian. It features the magnificent Jo Stafford, Johnny Mandel, Johnny Hodges and Ben Webster.  Who could ask for anything more?"

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes. Following my post last week on the 1948 film theme song that wound up becoming a jazz standard, I received a bunch of emails from fans of the standard:

From Ira Gitler, the legendary jazz writer, producer and author:

"As your post appeared on my screen, I immediately readied myself as I scrolled down to hip you to Harry Belafonte's recording. Then, lo and behold, there it was in 10th place. I can't rate it because it's in a class by itself thanks to Zoot's solo, which I once described as listening to it from the back end of an empty ballroom."

From WKCR-NY disc jockey Sid Gribetz:

"The Night Has a Thousand Eyes is right up there as one of my favorite "obscure" standards. And the John Coltrane, and Horace Silver-Hank Mobley versions are both special to me, as they are on your list. A couple more for your consideration:

Nick Brignola, on Like Old Times. It's a little fast, but still captures the mysterioso meaningfulness of the song. And Dick Katz's piano trio on 3 Way Play. This one's a little playful, but still intriguing."

From reader Bruce Armstrong:

"The song has always been one of my favorites. I first became aware of it in college through the John Coltrane recording, but always enjoyed Carmen McRae’s vocal version on her Second To None LP, a forgotten gem that is almost impossible to find as a CD. I bought that album when I was in college in the mid-60s and I still consider it one of Carmen’s greatest. Peter Matz wrote wonderful arrangements of a whole lineup of great tunes, including Once Upon a Summertime, Blame It on My Youth and In Love In Vain."

Nelson Riddle. Rosemary Acerra, daughter of the late, great Hollywood arranger Nelson Riddle, has started a newsletter that focuses on news about her dad's recordings, scores and tributes. To subscribe to the thrice-annual publication, send a $20 check (payable to Nelson Riddle Music) to:

Nelson Riddle Music
186 Enclave Blvd.
Lakewood, N.J. 08701

Defending jazz magazines. WFIU's David Brent Johnson, host of the station's Night Lights jazz radio show, this week wrote an editorial that took exception with a blog post at the Princeton Record Exchange. The blogger argued that jazz magazines offer little more than "PR cliches and tame thinking." David wages a smart argument against that point. Go here to read both views.