Waxings & musings. Watching a clip of Your Show of Shows the other day from the early 1950s made me realize that bloggers and TV's pioneers have a lot in common. To blog passionately about jazz or anything else today, you have to believe in your heart that the Web represents the future of content and communication. Logic tells you, of course, that this is the case, since the Internet is faster to access than traditional print, easier to absorb and a lot more fun.
My complaint with many books these days isn't that they're heavy or that fonts are too small (both frequently true). It's that the writing often isn't fast enough. The web has changed the English language and storytelling in more ways than we realize. Online content has to fly. It has to be conversational and get to the point. Fast. Because readers' attention spans fade quickly. So bloggers must constantly push themselves to pick up the pace. On the web, writers are going through what early television writers and performers endured. For bloggers who succeed in satisfying their readers' interests in a flash, the world of tomorrow is plenty exciting.
Benny Goodman. Reader Greg Lee sent along a note last week letting me know about a National Public Radio podcast on Benny Goodman and his overnight success in the mid-1930s. Go here to listen free.
Bobby Scott. Following my post on Friday about Bobby Scott, I received the following from Richard Dubin:
"The Xerox commercial you mention that kicked off the campaign centered on Jackie Eagle's character was shot on April 23, 1975. The production was elaborate, a two-minute piece for initial airing during the 1976 Super Bowl. It told the story of two monks traveling by bus from their cloister in New Jersey to the Xerox building in New York to explore an alternative to the ardors of calligraphy. I was the other monk, the bigger one. What are the chances of two trumpet players turned actors in that spot?"
From Ira Gitler:
"Wonderful post on Bobby Scott. Thanks for including my recollections. After reading it, I went through my 10-inch recordings by Scott and realized that I had written the liner notes for Great Scott, Bobby's first LP for Bethlehem in 1954. In the first paragraph I wrote, "Precocity, awareness and intensity are three words very descriptive of Bobby Scott." In the last paragraph I wrote, "When you listen to these sides, don't judge Bobby Scott as a 17-year-old, for his playing has the merit to stand by itself. You can however bear in mind the 17 in another sense, the vast time which lies ahead of this young man, Look out!" I also remember that Lester Young used to call him 'Bobby Sox.' "
Fables of Faubus. My post last week on Charles Mingus' Fables of Faubus triggered several e-mails. Here are three...
From Sue Mingus:
"Thank you for your post. Just a little clarification: When Charles said he just
wrote tunes and put political titles on them, he was essentially
referring to two tunes he wrote in the mid-1970s: Remember
Rockefeller at Attica and Free Cell Block F Tis Nazi USA, to which he
added the titles later based on what was going on at the time.
"Other
pieces like Oh Lord Don't Drop That Atomic Bomb on Me," Freedom and Don't Let It Happen Here were definitely political pieces. It
isn't that he didn't write political pieces. I was just pointing out
that it was one element in a broad swath of composition, unlike the
reductive summaries by Ken Burns or Wynton Marsalis of MIngus's musical
legacy, heralding him as a civil rights protester and little more."
From Doug Zielke:
"I enjoyed your piece on Mingus’ Fables of Faubus. As a matter of fact, your article comes shortly after my attendance May 23d at a concert in Bellevue, WA, by the Mingus Big Band. And yes, the band played Faubus, with the incomparable Frank Lacy supplying authentic vocals. Ms. Mingus was regrettably not along for this road-trip, but she can be assured that the band was in its most magnificent and hard-swinging form."
From Ted Steinberg:
"Your post was wide of the mark, very wide! In fact some of it was ridiculous. Insightful, not really. Incite-ful, certainly. Despite your bonfire, I still love my seven tracks of Fables of Faubus. I thought Eisenhower acted judiciously! He did not drag his feet, nor did he "finally" do something about it. He was constantly in contact with Governor Faubus, directly and indirectly, doing his diplomatic best to get him to come to his senses. Eisenhower was smart enough to gather his resources so that when he made the move, other Southern prejudiced "leaders" would get the message that the time had come and that inevitably integration was going to happen!"
Hal McKusick in concert. Saxophonist Hal McKusick will lead his quartet on June 7th at the Fifth Annual “Strawberry Jazz” Concert at 2 p.m. at the Christ Episcopal Church of Sag Harbor (N.Y.). For ticket prices and more information: (631) 725-0128.
Mary Tyler Moore, Latin-jazz model. Bobby Sanabria sent along a link featuring Mary Tyler Moore's early modeling years. Turns out she appeared on the covers of several Latin albums before her TV comedy break. Go here.
CD Discovery of the Week: Vibraphonist Gary Burton's new album was recorded live at Yoshi's in Oakland, CA, in 2006 and is a reunion of sorts. Bassist Steve Swallow played with Burton's 1967 quartet, and guitarist Pat Metheny joined Burton in 1974. Drummer Antonio Sanchez has been a part of the Pat Metheny Group for 10 years. By bringing together old hands, Burton stretches out in an interesting and relaxed way. When you have a decades-long history with bandmates, you can roll back into yourself a bit and offer expressions that are old and new. (Yes, that's a Peter Max illustration on the cover.)
I never tire of listening to Burton, and this album is no exception. There's always a tug of war going on in Burton's playing. You hear the four-mallet formalism of the early 1960s and the strong fusion influences of the 1970s constantly circling each other. The beauty is that neither side ever truly wins out. Like two tussling brothers, there are no victors, just bouts. Especially smart are Coral and Syndrome. Metheny's solos backed by Burton also have a distinct, almost nostalgic seventies sound.
You can find Gary Burton: Quartet Live! as a download at iTunes or as a CD here.
Oddball Album Cover of the Week. Googie Rene recorded just one near-jazz album: Romesville, in 1959. Rene was a lounge boogie-woogie player who belongs more snugly in the early rock genre than jazz. Despite the LP's dopey track lineup (Cool It at the Coliseum, Flippin' the Pizza, etc.), Rene was joined by quite a big band, including Conrad Gozzo, saxophonists Buddy Collette and Willie Smith, bassist Red Callender and drummer Larry Bunker. The cover design remains a puzzle. I guess it was every guy's dream to take two models to fake ruins and let them strike poses in the parking lot while playing the bongos. Actually, the dream is the car. Looks like a 1959 Ferrari Superamerica to me. And the LP label? Class Records. I kid you not.
Bobby Scott is one of those virtually unknown jazz artists today who had a brief career as a top-flight pianist, composer and arranger in the 1950s. Then he moved into the pop world and disappeared from the jazz scene as a leader, working instead mostly as a studio sideman. In the 1960s and beyond, Scott worked extensively with Quincy Jones and wrote the music for two enormous pop hits: A Taste of Honey with Ric Marlow and He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother with Bob Russell. But before his pop success, Scott was a fascinating jazz player, composer and arranger, as evidenced by three albums now on one CD from the early 1950s. Yesterday I spoke with Ira Gitler and Hal McKusick, both of whom knew Scott.
Born in 1937, pianist Scott was a music prodigy. By age 8 he was studying composition intensively, and he worked his first professional gig at age 11. By the time he was 15, Scott had performed with Louis Prima and other name bands. In the mid-1950s he played with Tony Scott (no relation), Hal McKusick and Gene Krupa. He also recorded as a leader on his own trio dates. In the late 1950s he resumed his studies, and recorded several albums as a singer.
In 1960, after A Taste of Honey was released, Scott recorded with Jackie Paris (The Song Is Paris), Coleman Hawkins, Wes Montgomery, and Quincy Jones, appearing on a dozen or more of the West Coast arranger's albums. In the 1970s and beyond, Scott turned up as the arranger and pianist on albums jazz-pop albums. Scott died in November 1990.
It's a shame Scott's jazz work isn't better known today. In late 1954 he recorded The Compositions of Bobby Scott Vol. 1, which featured Ronnie Woellemer (trumpet), Eddie Bert (trombone), Hal McKusick (alto sax), Al Epstein (baritone sax), Scott (piano), Milt Hinton (bass) and Osie Johnson (drums). A little over a month later, Scott recorded Vol. 2 in Los Angeles with an all-star West Coast personnel: Conte Candoli (trumpet), Frank Rosolino (trombone), Charlie Mariano (alto sax), Bill Holman
(tenor sax), Jimmy Giuffre (baritone sax), Scott (piano), Max Bennett (bass) and Stan Levey (drums).
In 1956, Scott recorded Bobby Scott and Two Horns for ABC Paramount with John Murtaugh (tenor sax), Marty Flax (baritone sax), Scott (piano), Whitey Mitchell (bass) and Howie Mann (drums).
All of these sessions have a certain understated confidence and charisma that sound terrific today. Clearly inspired by Gerry Mulligan's writing of the time, Scott had a seductive way with counterpoint, choosing to have instruments function as choral voices rather than relentlessly resolving competitors. He also had a fine ear for the distinct sounds of individual instrumentalists and where each should solo. You also can hear the kind of restlessness in the writing that comes from someone whose intellect is ahead of his years.
Recalls jazz writer and historian Ira Gitler...
"I knew Bobby very well. When we'd meet in the supermarket on the Upper West Side from time to time in the 1950s, that would be the end of shopping. He'd jump into subjects, and we'd cover many topics in a single chance meeting. Bobby had a brilliant mind that went far beyond music. He was tall and lanky and also a bit manic. He had kind of a hyper edge, going a mile a minute on a topic. When I think of Bobby I remember a guy who was very passionate about jazz." [Photo of Ira Gitler by Michael Wolff]
In 1955, Scott wrote and arranged Immortal for Hal McKusick's In a Twentieth-Century Drawing Room LP (RCA). The composition was an elegy to Charlie Parker just months after the alto saxophonist's death. Scott also teamed up with Hal on Triple Exposure (1957), arranging Saturday Night, A Touch of Spring, Con Alma, and The Settlers and the Indians. This Prestige album is staggeringly great and features Billy Byers (trombone), Hal McKusick (clarinet, tenor sax and alto sax), Eddie Costa (piano), Paul Chambers (bass) and Charlie Persip (drums).
Recalls Hal:
"When I first started working with Bobby in the early 1950s, he was 16 years old. He put together a band for a summer job at a hotel in the Catskill Mountains. Bobby was playing piano and composing and arranging—at that age. The rest of us were already in our 20s, so seeing Bobby in action was amazing. I remember Jack Eagle was on trumpet. Jack [pictured] went on to do a lot of work in advertising as an actor, including playing a monk in ads for Xerox in the 1970s.
"Up in the Catskills, Bobby wrote all these wild, far out things in strange keys. It was a nice Jewish hotel, and the people vacationing there couldn't figure out what he was doing. But they liked him because of his energy and spirit. We had a blast.
"Soon after we did those sessions for Bethlehem Records [The Compositions of Bobby Scott]. I remember Bobby as being proud, self-confident and cocky. He was friendly, but as time went on he became more and more concerned about being perfect. I remember sitting with him in his Upper West Side apartment for many hours as he'd crank out charts.
"Toward the end of his life in the late 1980s, I was going to play a concert at Southampton College [on the east end of New York's Long Island]. Bobby called and I asked him to play with us. He said he wasn't in the best of health. I urged him to come out to Southampton, saying that playing would probably make him feel better. So he did, and it raised his spirits. He played piano with my quartet, a few piano solo numbers, and he sang a few. I remember he didn't like the position of the enormous concert grand on the stage, so we had to turn it and set up the mikes in a special way for him. That was the last I saw of Bobby. He passed away not long afterward. What a great talent." [Pictured: Hal McKusick]
Brash and musically mature beyond his years, Scott's writing in the early 1950s was lyrical and compelling. As arranger Sy Oliver said at one of Scott's early recording sessions, "How did he get so good so young?"
JazzWax tracks: Scott's two albums for Bethlehem, in November 1954 and January 1955, as well as Bobby Scott and Two Horns in 1956 for ABC Paramount, have been issued on one CD: The Compositions of Bobby Scott (Fresh Sound). The material is terrific, using a patient linear approach that meshes both East and West coast jazz sounds of the time. The "Birth of the Cool" recordings by Mulligan and Miles Davis were certain influences. Scott also had a marvelous ear for voicing and texture. Arrangements have horns coming and going in harmony and then uniting to gently move a composition's rich melody forward. Tender stuff with edgy soloists.
The Compositions of Bobby Scott can be found here used from independent sellers.
As for Scott's work with Hal McKusick, you'll find In a Twentieth-Century Drawing Room as part of a two-CD set from Lonehill Records here, and Triple Exposure is here. Both are shrewd examples of mid-1950s small-group writing, arranging and playing, featuring leading first-call musicians of the day.
If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know by now that I love photography, especially black-and-white works from the New York School between 1936 and 1963. So from time to time I enjoy inviting photographers of jazz images I admire to explain what happened at the precise moment the shutter closed on their subject. Here's photographer Brian McMillen on the story behind his gripping image of Bill Evans above:
"This photo was
taken at the 1978 Montreux Jazz Festival. Bill was appearing with his trio—bassist Marc Johnson and drummer Philly Joe Jones, with guitarist Kenny Burrell as guest. I
was in the audience and noticed that there was a pedestal-like platform behind Bill, to his left. I had seen the videographers use
it earlier to get a higher angle.
"I wanted a full shot including the
keyboard. So I brazenly jumped up there—and I must have been quite
obvious to the whole crowd (I was 23 years old). Then I just waited for Bill to
move so I could get his visual "thing"—the visual intensity of his expression during the creative process. I also wanted a geometrically pleasing pose and proper lighting, illuminating the pertinent areas. It all had to come together.
"In situations like that, while I'm waiting for a singular moment, my own concentration is total. If the wait lasts a while, it can get exhausting. I wasn't nervous being on the pedestal, but I was aware that I probably wasn't supposed to be there. I think there were a few thousand people in the audience, including the four high school bands I was chaperoning. The concert was held in what I believe is now called Miles Davis Hall. I don't remember the song Bill was playing. No doubt one of the beautiful standards in his book.
"Finally, the moment arrived. I grabbed a couple of shots, and
then got off the platform. One of the images was used on the cover of The Last Waltz, an Evans box released by Milestone Records in 2000."
Up until May 1959, no jazz composition recorded by Charles Mingus had been ascontroversial or as politically charged asFables of Faubus. The song, first recorded 50 years ago this month on Mingus Ah Um, was meant to be a condemnation of Arkansas governor Orval Faubus. In 1957 Faubus had ordered the state's National Guard to prevent the integration of Little Rock Central High School by nine African-American teenagers. With the reissue of Mingus Ah Um by Sony Legacy yesterday (along with Mingus Dynasty), I am struck yet again by the boldness of Fables of Faubus' breathy, lumbering indignation. [Photo of Charles Mingus in 1959 by Lee Friedlander]
Along with Sonny Rollins' Freedom Suite in 1958, Mingus' composition courageously raised the ante among jazz artists, insisting they become creative agitators for change rather than just concerned bystanders. Interestingly, Louis Armstrong played a role. I spoke to Nat Hentoff and Sue Mingus yesterday about the significance of Fables of Faubus and the Civil Rights Movement. More from them in a moment.
Contrary to most fans' impressions, Mingus wasn't a political protester, per se. He was first and foremost a composer who was vocal from the bandstand about all things unfair and unjust—from noisy ice in glasses to Jim Crow. As Mingus told Brian Priestley in Mingus: A Critical Biography:
"I just write tunes and put political titles on them. Fables of Faubus was different, though—I wrote that because I wanted to."
More than a year after Mingus Ah Um, Mingus recorded the Original Fables of
Faubus onCharles Mingus Presents Charles Mingus (Candid Records), this time with a brazen set of lyrics. The words were talk-sung by Mingus and shouted by drummer Dannie Richmond and other band members, who function as a Greek chorus ferociously condemning racism and racists.
Why the song's lyrics weren't recorded the first time around on Mingus Ah Um isn't clear. Most likely the omission came at the behest of Columbia executives, who at the time didn't want to overly inflame the label's Southern markets. Writes Gene Santoro in Myself When I Am Real: The Life and Music of Charles Mingus:
"[The group recorded] Fables of Faubus, but Columbia, Mingus said, wouldn't let them record the lyrics."
When Mingus wrote the song in late 1957, the Little Rock standoff had been the most shocking and dramatic episode to take place in the Civil Rights Movement. The event marked the first time that Southern racism was exposed on network television, and the news story unfolded slowly in September 1957. The sight of armed National Guard soldiers preventing nine students from attending a public school and the federal government's slow reaction was harrowing. The month-long televised drama deeply affected jazz musicians and people throughout the country who had heard about unjust conditions in the South but had never seen them in action.
Ultimately, the Justice Department sought and was granted an injunction against Faubus' order, and the governor had to withdraw National Guard troops. But the move offered little protection for the students or assurance that the community wouldn't riot or bar them from the school. So on September 24th—20 days after the incident's start—President Eisenhower finally federalized the Arkansas National Guard and sent the army's 101st Airborne Division to Little Rock enforce integration and safeguard the African-American students.
To gain insight into Mingus' strident recording of Original Fables of Faubus in 1960, I spoke briefly yesterday with Nat Hentoff, who produced the Candid session:
"The Little Rock standoff in 1957 had been extraordinary. The Supreme Court's decision three years earlier [Brown v. Board of Education] had made integration possible. The decision was unanimous and had been signed individually by each justice. Never before had that happened. Little Rock was an attempt to put the decision to test.
"During the Little Rock standoff, President Eisenhower dragged his feet, which angered Louis Armstrong. Louis made uncharacteristically heated comments about Eisenhower during a newspaper interview that belied his cheery disposition. I'm sure his unrestrained public statement partly motivated Mingus to write Fables of Faubus. Louis simply said what many in the jazz community were thinking and feeling at the time.
"I remember the recording session. I think I sent out for sandwiches and that's about it [laughs]. You didn't have to manage a Mingus session. The lyrics? They didn't seem controversial to me. They were as natural as sunlight.
"The one thing about [Candid owner] Archie Bleyer is I never knew what he thought about any of the recordings we made. He never interfered and he stood by his word. I had total freedom, and I approached the Mingus date with that frame of mind."
The comments Armstrong made to a newspaper reporter on September 17, 1957, two weeks into the Little Rock standoff, were widely reported at the time:
"It's getting almost so bad a colored man hasn't got any country," Armstrong said. President Eisenhower, Armstrong charged, was
"two faced," and had "no guts." For Governor Faubus, Armstrong used a hyphenated expletive that was unfit for print. So the reporter and Armstrong came up with a safer expression: "uneducated plow boy." The euphemism, the reporter recalled years later, was far more his than Mr. Armstrong's.
I also spoke yesterday to Sue Mingus, who met her husband in 1964:
"One of the first times I went to see Mingus in 1964, the group was playing Fables of Faubus at New York's Five Spot. Mingus and Dannie [Richmond] would exchange the song's lyrics, and they'd often change them from night to night. Every version was rousing.
"Mingus, as you know, was outspoken. He used the bandstand as a soapbox to communicate what was on his mind—about the ills of society, the inequities and the social injustice. He spoke out at all times, not just about people making noise in clubs during performances but also about political and social issues.
"This was a musical communication about his feelings, not to be confused with political protest. Mingus only wrote six or seven political compositions with lyrics, but he was not didactic. His purpose with his music wasn’t to confront social injustice. He was too much of a composer for that. But he did vent on the bandstand vocally about anything he felt was wrong or unfair. Back then, that took courage."
Finally, what are we to make of the odd LP title Mingus Ah Um? According to Sue Mingus, it has nothing to do with the bassist's proclivity for minimalist responses. Instead, Sue said, "Mingus was treating his name like a Latin noun declension—Ming-us, ah um—with his own private spin. Latin entered his sphere of reference at some point, and he was always very Joycean in his manipulation of the language."
Like Billie Holiday's Strange Fruit in 1939, Mingus' Fables of Faubus must be viewed both as a masterful composition and a powerful folk expression that helped give voice to the Civil Rights Movement.
JazzWax tracks: The Sony Legacy reissue of Mingus Ah Umincludes the original album, six alternate takes and bonus tracks, as well as Mingus Dynasty and bonus tracks. The two-CD release can be found here. The Original Fables of Faubus with lyrics can be found as a download at iTunes and Amazon off of Charles Mingus Presents Charles Mingus. You'll also find longer versions with lyrics at both places. It's fascinating to play several versions one after the other and compare the energy.
JazzWax lyrics. I've noticed that people in web chat rooms often request the call-and-response lyrics to Charles Mingus' Original Fables of Faubus. Here they are, courtesy of Brian Priestley's Mingus: A Critical Biography:
Oh Lord, don't let them shoot us
Oh Lord, don't let them stab us
Oh Lord, don't let them tar and feather us
Oh Lord, no more swastikas!
Oh Lord, no more Ku Klux Klan!
Name me someone ridiculous, Dannie
[Dannie:] Governor Faubus
Why is he sick and ridiculous?
[Dannie:] He won't permit integrated schools (Mingus: Then he's a fool)
Boo! Nazi fascist supremacists/Boo Ku Klux Klan!
Name me a handful that's ridiculous. Dannie Richmond?
To date, the Latin dance album that holds the record for sales remains Tito Puente's Dance Mania. Recorded in November and December of 1957 and released in early 1958, Dance Mania was the first recording for a major label (RCA) to feature Cuban dance rhythms without relying on commercial gimmicks or jazz constructs. It also was the first popular mambo album to feature vocals sung in Spanish—recreating the sound heard at New York's Palladium dance hall in the 1950s. To celebrate this album's magnificence, Sony Legacy has reissued Dance Mania (1957) and Dance Mania Vol. 2 (1960) in a new two-CD set. It's a joy to have the albums together with outtakes, bonus tracks and comprehensive liner notes by Charles Granata and Joe Conzo.
Virtually all modern Latin music has its roots in the spirit and execution of this album, as does all post-1960 Latin-jazz. If this game-changing album had jazz cousins, they would be Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker's Groovin' High of February 1945 and Miles Davis' "Birth of the Cool" recordings of 1949 and 1950. And like those seminal jazz recordings, Dance Mania sounds as electrifying today as it did the day the album was released.
Born in New York's Spanish Harlem, Puente learned to play percussion in his teens from local musicians Carlos Montesino and Tony Escollies. After serving in the Navy during World War II, Puente attended Juilliard. He studied conducting, orchestration and music theory, all of which would come in handy after graduation in the second half of the 1940s.
After Juilliard, Puente merged his formal training with skills as a percussionist and vibraphonist, and began leading a Latin-jazz group in 1949. He recorded steadily for RCA between 1949 and 1951 and for Tico Records between 1951 and 1955. During this period, the mambo became a commercial dance phenomenon popularized most notably by Perez Prado after jazz abandoned dance music. [Photo of "The Big 3," from left: Tito Rodriguez, Frank "Machito" Grillo and Tito Puente at the Palladium, circa 1950]
By 1956, Puente's popularity was surging, thanks largely to his dual abilities as a fast arranger and dynamic performer of both big-band mambo and jazz. Mambo originally was a riff contained within the formal Cuban "son," an up-tempo style that fused Spanish guitar with African percussion. But in the hands of Perez Prado, Machito, Puente and Tito Rodriguez, the mambo riff coupled with jazz infusions became the basis for an entire popular dance genre. With the rise of the 12-inch LP in 1956, RCA signed Puente to an exclusive multi-year contract.
Shortly after re-joining the label, Puente recorded a string of successful Latin-jazz LPs, starting with Puente Goes Jazz in 1956 and Night Beat in 1957, which featured trumpeter Doc Severinsen, trombonist Eddie Bert and other seasoned jazz players. One of Puente’s trademark innovations was to move the timbales—mounted drums
played with sticks—to the front of the bandstand from behind, and he
typically played them standing up. And like Lionel Hampton, Puente played with enormous physicality and expression, which translated into charisma, especially from the dance floor.
When Dance Mania was released, its special appeal was its breathtaking authenticity. The album captured mambo and other rhythms as they were heard in dance clubs—without influence from its earlier commercial chaperones. More important, Puente included the Spanish-language vocals of Santos Colon [pictured]. This was a commercial gambit considering that up until 1957, mambo albums had been largely instrumental affairs to avoid alienating buyers who did not speak Spanish and could not understand the lyrics. Dance Mania broke through that barrier and allowed the music to be played authentically, and at its natural length of more than three minutes.
Said Puente in Tito Puente: When the Drums Are Dreaming by Josephine Powell:
“In those days, the DJs wanted less than three minutes, because they wanted short numbers for their radio programs. For American tunes, it is different; you can do it. Not for Latin. We need the time to crack that big market out there. We were inhibited by that time limit.”
When Dance Mania was released, the LP catapulted Puente to extraordinary popularity both in Latin and dance circles. The significance of Dance Mania was instant. Its infectious rhythms and tight in-and-out horn arrangements put Latin music on par with big band jazz and opened the doors for dozens of Latin artists in the 1960s and beyond. The LP also popularized the steamy sensitivity of bolero and son vocalist Colon, particularly on Estoy Siempre Junto a Ti. [Photo of dancers performing the mambo in 1954 by Yale Joel for Life]
“There was no question about what Tito had done to the music,” recalls [journalist] Max Salazar in Tito Puente: King of Latin Music by Jim Payne and Tito Puente. “He took it light years ahead. When Dance Mania came out, that’s all you heard for three years.” Adds pianist Hilton Ruiz: “Tito’s horn lines are percussive, based on the drum beats. You just add a melody, and the whole band becomes a drum.”
For modern perspective, I checked in yesterday with percussionist, educator and Latin-jazz historian Bobby Sanabria [pictured], asking him to summarize Dance Mania's significance:
"Dance Mania is probably the most important album in the history of big band Afro-Cuban dance music. Up until 1958, when the album was released, Tito [Puente] had been recording Afro-Cuban jazz-oriented material for RCA with some occasional vocal-oriented dance tunes interjected in those recordings repertoire.
"During the period from 1955 to 1957, Tito recorded Cuban Carnival, Puente Goes Jazz and Night Beat for RCA. All those recordings in their own right have achieved cult status among the cognoscenti, and they had established Tito's reputation as a master musician in the jazz community.
"But on Dance Mania, Tito displayed what it was like to hear the majesty and power of his big band when he performed at 'New York City's Home of the Mambo,' The Palladium. Dance Mania gave voice to why New York's mambonik dance community considered Tito a god.
"The album features a variety of tempos/styles for the knowledgeable dancer, including cha-cha-cha, mambo, son montuno, guaguanco, bolero, a jazz mambo (3-D Mambo), and even 6/8 bembe (a rhythm rooted in the West African Yoruba based religion that is known in the Caribbean as Santeria). [Photo of mambo dancers by Yale Joel for Life]
"On an individual level, all of the tunes on Dance Mania are instantly recognizable to mambo fans. It also established the career of vocalist Santos Colon who remained with the Puente Orchestra for 18 years. Dance Mania features Ray Barretto on congas who had just joined the band a few days before, replacing Mongo Santamaria.
"To this day, Dance Mania is the highest selling recording in the history of Latin dance music and practically every dance school that teaches mambo and cha-cha-cha uses it as a teaching tool."
JazzWax tracks: Sony Legacy's release of Dance Mania and Dance Mania Vol. 2, the 1960 follow-up, can be found here. In addition to being a magnificent Latin dance album, the recording features incredible arranging and playing by Puente and enormous taste. Hats off to Fred Reynolds, RCA Records' musical director, who at the time dared to give Puente the green light to express the pure Latin experience. Ultimately, this is thrilling music that expresses the energy, excitement and perfectionism of Latin dance music of the late 1950s and the musicians who pioneered the art form.
"On this session, [John Gilmore] didn't play like Wayne Shorter
or Joe Henderson, but he played the type of sound that I heard for the album. When he played that solo on Caravan, I said, 'Man, what is this?'... It was kind of a Coltrane sound, and I liked that because he didn't play like anybody else. When I wrote those arrangements, I didn't really know what they were going to sound like. But I had an idea that by getting Art [Davis] and Louis [Hayes] and Tommy [Flanagan] and John [Gilmore] that they would, some kind
of way, gel. See, if you get certain combination of guys, they can get a sound... I was going through some changes then, man. I was getting ready to break up with my wife, I had a son that I had to leave. I've listened to that one a lot over the years. I did some of my best playing on that."
—Freddie Hubbard on The Artistry of Freddie Hubbard, his first leadership date for Impulse in 1962, from Ashley Kahn's The House That Trane Built (2006).
Waxings & musings. All that's standing between CDs and the dustbin are liner notes. Like you, I've ripped a good portion of my favorite CDs onto my computer. Which means I don't really need the CDs hanging around anymore. But I keep them anyway for the liner notes. Without the notes, there's no story behind the music. And without the story, the music is almost meaningless. Just ask kids today who download jazz tracks and albums and haven't a clue about the artists' bios, why artists are significant, who wrote the songs that the artists are playing, and why the songs have meaning. Liner notes will always be necessary for jazz listening, even if the folks at e-stores still don't get it. Over the coming few years, I suspect someone will create a web-based service that lets you download original and updated notes. Then and only then will the CDs era truly be over.
Jackie Cain. During last week's interview series with vocalist Jackie Cain, I received many e-mails from her fans and from people who weren't aware of Jackie's husband Roy Kral. Among the e-mails was this one from musician, educator and writer Bill Kirchner:
"Thanks for mentioning my 2004 album Everything I Love. The two songs that featured Jackie have unconventional chord changes and challenging melodies, but she sang them beautifully. Which is all the more extraordinary (as are her many accomplishments with Roy), because, as she mentioned in your interview, she doesn't read music. She has ears unsurpassed by any singer I've ever worked with.
"In 2005, my wife Judy Kahn was organizing Jackie and Roy's music library and found the scores and parts to the couple's Bits and Pieces and Free and Easy big-band albums in a closet. They were in pristine condition—untouched since they were recorded in 1957. Wonderful charts by Ralph Burns, Bill Holman, Quincy Jones, Ernie Wilkins, and Roy.
"I immediately contacted pianist Diane Moser, and in January 2006 we performed this music with Diane's Composers Big Band for an SRO audience at Trumpets, a club in Montclair, N.J. That night, Jackie sang the music for the first time since 1957. The drummer and arranger Rich DeRosa (who had worked with Jackie and Roy for years) sang Roy's parts. I conducted.
"The band, full of first-rate New York City-area players, nailed the charts after only one two-hour rehearsal. It was a wonderful evening that none of us there will ever forget."
Memorial Day jazz. David Brent Johnson, host of WFIU-FM'sNight Lights, offers a brilliant podcast this weekend featuring moving recordings by jazz artists paying tribute to deceased jazz legends. Tracks include vibraphonist Joe Roland's Goodbye, Bird (1955) and Thad Jones' The Summary, part of an elegiac suite in honor of Louis Armstrong (1972). Go here to listen free.
Evan Christopher. Last week I dropped in on clarinetist Evan Christopher's recording session at Nola Recording Studio, one of the most historic jazz recording spaces in New York. I was invited down by Mat Domber of Arbors Records. Joining Evan were guitar legend Bucky Pizzarelli, guitarist James Chirillo and bassist Greg Cohen. What a superb lineup—two guitars and a bass behind Evan's clarinet. No drums. No piano. From what I heard, it's a beautiful session with a focus on the music of New Orleans. Evan has a wonderful, sensitive sound.
Bob Mover. Bret Primack, the Jazz Video Guy, interviews saxophonist Bob Mover at his vid-blog this week. In Bret's revealing clip, entitled Who Is Bob Mover?, the saxophonist talks about working with Charles Mingus and Chet Baker and shares several touching anecdotes...
Free jazz—literally. Tomas de Utrera found several jazz downloads at Amazon that are absolutely free. You'll find the free downloads here and here. Looks like a new trend.
Jazz art. Thomas Andersen sent along a lovely note last week and a sample of his jazz-inspired art. His works can be seen here.
More radio themes. Following my post on radio DJ themes from the 1970s, readers continue to send along their favorites.
From photographer Paul Slaughter:
"In 1967 in Los Angeles, I landed a job on the leading all-night jazz
station, KBCA-FM. I had a three-hour program each evening. We also had
to have an FCC license and engineer our own show. All the DJs got
invited to jazz clubs and concerts for free. It was a real blast!
"I
started interviewing jazz greats for my program. Artists included Duke Ellington,
Count Basie, Wes Montgomery, Stan Kenton, Charles Lloyd, and many more.
(I recently had all these taped interviews transferred to CDs.) I
would incorporate the interviews into a program with tracks of music.
"I had a good interview with Thelonious Monk but the tape was either lost or
stolen. I found a translated version of the interview on the web, in
the Jazz magazine of France. But the slant of their translation was a
bit off. I don't know how they got the interview. Perhaps recorded
from the radio broadcast, somehow. [Photo of Thelonious Monk by Paul Slaughter]
"For my regular shows I would start
off with a music track and then just improvise with other musical
selections. My show got favorable reviews in Variety and Billboard. It
was a great three-year run, and then I started my photography career."
Here's a portion my Monk interview...
Q. Monk, What time of day do you like to compose and practice? A. After I come home in the morning, when the clubs have closed. Q. Don't your neighbors complain? A. Paul, they complained about me before my piano moved in.
From Don Frese:
"Mort Fega opened with Woofin' and Tweetin' by Gene Ammons. His background theme was Mort's Report by Red Garland, and the closer was Woody Herman's Early Autumn.
"Sid Torin [pictured] naturally used Jumpin' with Symphony Sid and alternated between versions by Dizzy, Lester and King Pleasure. Django, the original Prestige recording, was his background music while talking.
"I think Frame for the Blues was actually a Slide Hampton piece. And I agree with Bob Rusch—my night began with Jean Shepherd and ended with Mort Fega."
From Michael Bloom:
"During my eight-year run as a five-night-a-week jazz DJ in Honolulu, I always opened with Babs Gonzales' Professor Bop and closed with Miles Davis' Bye Bye from one of the Live at the Blackhawk LPs. If there was time left, I'd let it segue into Wynton Kelly's exquisite solo piano rendition of Love, I've Found You."
CD discovery of the week. From 1957 to 1962, Lucky Thompson lived in France working primarily on the soprano saxophone. Shortly after returning to the U.S. in December 1962, Thompson's wife died of a cerebral hemorrhage, leaving him to care for the couple's two young sons. To make ends meet, Thompson began an aggressive period of recording and performing. During 1963 and 1964, Thompson recorded for Prestige, most notably Lucky Strikes, as well as for the fledgling Rivoli label. He also was recorded playing on two live dates. Both are captured on a fabulous two-CD set, Lucky Thompson: New York City 1964-65 (Uptown Records).
The CDs feature Thompson's performances on the soprano sax at The Little Theater in February 1964 and at the Half Note one year later. On the first disc, we hear Thompson in transition, working through original material arranged for a little big band consisting of Dave Burns (trumpet), Danny Turner (alto sax), Cecil Payne (baritone sax), Benny Powell (trombone), Hank Jones (piano), Richard Davis (bass) and Al Dreares (drums). His sound on soprano naturally bears shades of John Coltrane.
On the second CD (a radio broadcast superbly remastered), Thompson is accompanied by his working trio at the time: Paul Neves (piano), George Tucker (bass) and Oliver Jackson (drums). Here we have Thompson gracefully weaving in and out of three standards and one magnificent original, The World Awakens. Both CDs are a welcome addition to the Thompson canon.
Lucky Thompson: New York City 1964-65 can be found as a download at iTunes or on CD here.
Oddball album cover of the week. This one from 1956 is the wet version of Sonny Rollins' arid Way Out West (1957). Both were photographed by William Claxton. Despite Clax's knack for composition and his unfailing journalistic taste, this one for a Pacific Jazz Records compilation was a novelty shot and somewhat forced for the master lensman. It's unclear here whether the emerging frogman filched the cool-jazz horn out of the surf or whether he took it with him for a jam session under the sea. Also unclear is whether the hep snorkler pictured was a model or a real live West Coast jazz musician. Looks a little Shelly Manne-ish to me.
By the mid-1960s, Jackie Cain and Roy Kral were slowly becoming victims of a dramatic shift in music tastes. As rock swept away a generation of young listeners, Jackie and Roy's tightly choreographed vocal sound no longer was as radical as it once had been. The couple recorded from time to time and, to reach their already established fan base, they toured extensively. No matter what the couple sang, they always adhered to the same formula of swing, clever chord changes and exploding optimism. From time to time they also squeezed in a few advertisement jingles to pay the bills. [Photo of Jackie and Roy in 1982 by Brian McMillen]
As luck would have it, today is Jackie Cain's birthday. (Happy Birthday, Jackie!) Here in the East, it's a gorgeous, fragrant spring day. Which is exactly the kind of weather you'd want for someone like Jackie, who has made so many jazz fans feel positively great.
In Part 5 of my interview with Jackie, the legendary singer talks about Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan, recording jingles with husband Roy, making records with Andre and Dory Previn and Don Sebesky, and the tragic death of her daughter Niki in 1973:
JazzWax: Many jazz singers were fans of Jackie and Roy, yes? Jackie Cain: Oh sure. Billie Holiday was a fan. I remember she took a blindfold test for Metronome in the early 1950s. They playedone of our records for her, and she said something like, "Oh, that’s Jackie and Roy. That’s wonderful. If people want to sing this way, this is how to do it.” We were in her company a lot. She always wanted to touch my hair because it was unusually silky. Billie was very complimentary and very sweet. We’d sit together and listen to music.
JW: Who else did you know well? JC: Sarah Vaughan also liked us. She called me her “Buddy Girl.” We worked on the same strip in Evanston, IL. I’d go over to hear her on my intermission and she’d come hear us on hers. Carmen McRae didn’t say much, but you could sense she liked us. Musicians and singers aren’t fawning kind of people. They’re genuine. They just give you a big hug and are warm to you, and you just know from that that they like you. JW: Did you enjoy recording for Columbia Records starting in 1960? JC: We had a good time. A producer there put us together with Andre Previn. In 1962, Andre and his wife Dory wrote a few songs for us. We recorded an album of their music [Like Sing: Songs by Dory and Andre Previn] and had a great time. Dory and Andre provided a blurb on the back. It said: “Jackie and Roy is our favorite singer.” Which I thought was quite clever. They were very aware of how together we were. JW: You recorded for a range of labels after that. JC: The rock thing had become very popular, and our manager insisted we do some songs of the day. We didn’t want to do it because we weren’t familiar with the music. But then we figured out a few artists whose music would work, like Simon and Garfunkel. We did an album in 1966 called Changes for Verve. Roy wrote the vocal arrangements to a handful of songs he had found and Claus Ogerman adapted them for a large orchestra and added some colors, too. I think there were a bunch of Beatles songs on there as well.
JW: How did you and Roy earn a living as rock began to dominate? JC: We toured and played a lot of clubs, occasionally recording jingles. Probably the best-known one at the time was an ad for Halo Shampoo. It was a little bossa nova thing. We were out of town when we got a call from our bassist, who said the ad executives wanted us singing in the spot. I said, “Oh, we can't, we’re going to be away.”
JW: What did your bassist say? JC: He kept saying we had to do it, that it was too good to pass up. He told us to postpone our flight. He said: “You won’t be sorry. This will be worth something to you.” So we did it. We canceled our flight and made the ad, which was easy and wonderful to do. When we got back to our gig, we just kept thinking, “Wow that’s great, we did a commercial.”
JW: Was the ad profitable to do? JC: Yes. The checks started coming and in and we couldn't believe it. In one check we had made more than we had in a month. It was a wordless song. Then we did a Cheerios commercial in which we sang, “Feelin’ groovy, I just had my Cheerios, Groovy, groovy" [laughs]. Joe Beck wrote the arrangement.
JW: Which recording of yours still gives you the biggest thrill? JC: Probably Time and Love for CTI [1972], with the huge orchestra arranged by Don Sebesky.
JW: How did the session work? JC: Roy and I put down the vocal tracks. Then Don came in and overdubbed the orchestra. Roy and I already had a recording of all the tracks at home so we could learn the arrangements. Don made it for us. [Producer] Creed [Taylor] and Don helped us through it. A lot of places had to be conducted for us because there were so many open spaces. Don would bring me in with his hand conducting when it was time for me to sing. Creed was in the control room, listening to us and enjoying it. We recorded at Rudy Van Gelder’s studio in New Jersey. Rudy was ecstatic. He kept saying, “This is the way albums should sound” [laughs].
JW: Was working with Creed at CTI different than when he was at ABC? JC: No, not really. What I've always liked about Creed is that he cared but he wasn’t going to make you do what he wanted. He was very understanding and had a good vibe in the studio. You didn’t feel a lot of anxiety. I also liked some of the things we did on Sweet and Low Down [1960]. Roy had just discovered a new niche with his harmonies. But the LP has never gone to CD, which is a shame. [Photo: Bobby Short, Jean Bach and Jackie in the 1990s]
JW: Alec Wilder wrote Niki's Song for your daughter, Niki, didn't he? JC: Yes. Niki died in 1973 when she was almost 21 years old, in an auto accident. It was horrible. We were like zombies for years after that. We didn’t work. We were stricken. Dana, our other daughter, was only 16, and she and Niki were very close. They traveled with us when they weren’t in school as kids. They had to be best buddies because all they had was each other on those trips.
JW: Did the girls enjoy those cross-country trips? JC: Yes. We all drove across country several times on Route 66. But we never tried to cover too much ground in one day. We’d leave four to five days for the trip so we had plenty of time. Each afternoon we’d look for a motel and a pool. And the next day we’d get up and go sightseeing. It was so much fun.
JW: What happened to Niki? JC: The accident happened in 1973. It was the day we had moved into a new house in New Jersey. We had had to vacate our place in Riverdale, N.Y., because after 11 years the owners of the home we were subletting were returning from abroad. We had friends living in the area in New Jersey, and it was a nice town. Five days after we moved in, Niki died.
JW: Was it a drunken driver? JC: No, no, she fell asleep at the wheel early in the morning, and her car hit a tree. Niki loved horses. She and her boyfriend were planning to buy a horse eventually. They both liked to ride and were outdoorsy. She was driving to a local racetrack every morning to cool the horses down, by walking them around and drying them off. She had a little car that she had recently bought. Driving to the track that morning, there was a shoulder that wasn't too deep. That’s where it happened. When she fell asleep, the car went off the road there. It was horrible.
JW: Where were you and Roy when you got the call? JC: Roy and I had worked the night before in New York and had gotten to sleep very late. The next morning, early, the phone rang. The person on the other end said, “Your daughter’s been in an accident. You had better get here.” So just we jumped in our clothes and went down. When we got there, she was already dead. I never even got to see her.
JW: How did that terrible day affect you and Roy? JC: It was so hard to pick our spirits up. A lot of our friends were a tremendous help. One friend came by and rang the doorbell just to bring food and show us a rainbow outside. Irene, Roy’s sister, and her family, were very helpful even though they were in California and we were in New York.
JW: How was Dana? JC: I think Niki’s accident had a profound effect on her. I think she still has that feeling of loss, as do I. I still think of Niki all the time.
JW: You and Roy personify sunny optimism. Her death must have nearly crushed you. JC: It was tough. I remember we went on tour afterward. Every place we went we knew people from working there previously. They would come up to us and ask, “How are your daughters?” Then I’d have to tell them, and it wasn’t easy. Then they’d feel bad for asking. I realized early on that Niki's death was a fact of life and that I had to live with it. I also found that the more I talked about it and faced it, the easier it was to get past it. Not to "get over it" but to get past it. You never get over it. Never.
JW: An event that tragic could have split up you and Roy. JC: Yes. We turned to each other for support, though. We had been married for 24 years at that point and grew even closer.
JW: What would you say was one of the most exciting moments of your career? JC: Wow, that’s a big question. On the Dick Van Dyke Show, there was an episode where Dick and Mary Tyler Moore had to get up and perform at a party. When it was their turn, they did our arrangement of Mountain Greenery. The only reason I know this is because someone heard Mary Tyler Moore being interviewed by David Letterman. He asked her, "What’s one of the hardest things you've had to do?" Mary said, “Well, I had to learn this song by Jackie and Roy, and sing it on the show. I was so nervous.” She was a good singer. But that was a tough thing to try and duplicate. It felt great to be recognized that way.
JazzWax clip: In 1961, on their Double Take LP, Jackie and Roy revived You Smell So Good, which they first recorded in 1955. Focus carefully on what the duo does in the second half, speeding up some lyrics and then switching into vocalese. This Tommy Wolf tune is a perfect example of why Jackie and Roy were so special—and so often mischaracterized as pop singers rather than the swinging jazz artists they were...
And here's what I believe is the "groovy" Cheerios ad Jackie referred to above...
The popularization of the 12-inch LP in 1956 boosted the fortunes of Jackie Cain and Roy Kral. On the larger color covers, the attractive duo was portrayed as hopelessly upbeat lovebirds, while their vocals inside sounded more like personal diary entries than the works of third-party songwriters. Producers and LP art directors cast Jackie and Roy as typical fun-loving suburbanites, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
By the mid-1950s, Jackie and Roy were the parents of two young daughters, and the couple had to perform, record and tour to earn a living and raise a family. Club dates meant rehearsals and working out routines for new material. Record dates meant working with top studio perfectionists on the East and West coasts. Yet despite career and family pressures, Jackie and Roy's love for each other never diminished.
In Part 4 of my conversation with Jackie, the legendary singer talks about being both a mother and recording artist, working for producer Creed Taylor at ABC Paramount in the late 1950s, walking a fine line between jazz and pop, and why one of the most challenging songs of her career was for an album recorded just five years ago:
JazzWax: In 1956, your second daughter, Dana, was born. At this point, you had two children. How were you and Roy managing with your hectic national work schedule? Jackie Cain: We couldn’t do as much as we wanted to, of course. We were offered a lot of jobs we couldn’t take because we always thought of our kids first.
JW: How did you manage when you had to travel all over the country to perform and record? JC: Solving that problem was always on our minds. In the mid-1950s, we stopped over in Las Vegas while driving from Los Angeles to Chicago to open at Mister Kelly’s. Roy was walking down the street and bumped into Don Palmer, Charlie Ventura's manager. Don said, “Gee Roy, am I glad to see you. I have a band due to open at the Thunderbird, but they were in an automobile accident and can't appear. Could you and Jackie open instead?” Roy told him about our Chicago commitment. We liked to get to a place about four days early to rehearse. But Don pleaded. He said if we could just open, it would give him enough time to find someone else. Roy told Don that he didn’t have his arrangements with him nor did he have any members of our group.
JW: What did Palmer say? JC: Don said he'd get us a rhythm section. Roy agreed, and Don got us a group that had never played our music, but it worked out just fine. The guy who managed the lounge at the Thunderbird really liked us. He offered us a contract to play the room anytime we were in town. So Roy and I got to thinking on our drive to Chicago. We decided that after our gig at Mister Kelly's, we'd return to Vegas.
JW: What about your daughters? JC: When we went back to Chicago, we brought the kids with us. They were at my mother's house. We'd often take them with us on our cross-country road trips when they were young. When they got older and were in school, we'd leave them at home with my mother and stepfather.
JW: Did you ever feel bad about doing that, since your mom had done that to you? JC: I did feel kind of guilty about it. I used to talk to my daughters’ teachers about this. They’d say if you're not happy, your children aren't going to be happy. I was a big believer in Margaret Mead [pictured]. She said countries that gave their kids more freedom were better off.
JW: What did performing in Las Vegas teach you? JC: That we were really good at what we did and really connected with audiences. We also realized that that if we bought a house there, we could live there and work in clubs throughout the gambling circuit. Both of our daughters were very young, and we had been crossing the country by car when Dana was just six months old. You can’t believe the amount of preparation I had to go through with the portions of food in jars and heating them up in the cigarette lighter.
JW: How was it working with producer Creed Taylor at ABC Paramount from 1956 to 1958? JC: Every time we worked with Creed he left us alone. Hewouldn't drive you crazy with endless instructions like many producers back then. He let you come in and do what you did best. And he always put us together with great musicians. Or in other situations there were superb musicians we wanted to work with, and Creed got them for us.
JW: Creed had been a big fan of yours since hearing you and Roy sing I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles in the late 1940s. JC: [Laughs] Really? Well, it showed. On one session, I said, “Creed, you know it would be so great if you could turn down the overhead florescent lights and put in music stands with lights." I wasn’t actually asking for those changes. I was just wishing off the top of my head. Well the next day, Creed had cables running through the studio, the lights were dim, and all the music stands had lights. He had created a club atmosphere. It was quite nice. Everyone was amazed that Creed had done that. I was amazed. Creed was always in our corner. There was even a time when work slowed up and we were at the beach the whole summer. So we called Creed to see if we could record for him. He said yes right away, and we recorded Time and Love in 1972. I’m sorry we didn’t make more money for him.
JW: In 1960 you recorded Sweet and Low Down, your first album for Columbia. JC: We were supposed to do that album with Red Norvo on vibes. This was right after his tour and recording in 1959 with Frank Sinatra. But Sinatra’s manager wouldn't let him record with us, saying he didn’t want Norvo on any other singer’s album. So we got Larry Bunker, who was no slouch [laughs].
JW: Did your approach to learning songs with Roy change by this point? JC: Not really. It's just that we'd do it at home. When Roy was working out changes on our piano, I’d be around the house somewhere and I’d hear him. After he mapped out a song, he’d teach it to me. Then we'd add the harmony. We wanted to make sure we knew the song so that audiences could recognize it.
JW: Your material became increasingly sophisticated, yes? JC: It did. We'd do the first eight bars slowly so we'd get every note right. Then we’d try to improve it. All the music came from Roy's head. He’d find ways to phrase a song to give it a jazz feel, which is something that came naturally to him. He was a good improviser. He’d improvise and find hooks he could use. Neither of us had to struggle to reach notes since we both had the same vocal range. I could go a little higher, but he got to be really good and stretched his voice higher.
JW: How did you work in the cute togetherness feel we hear on the ABC Paramount dates? JC: We always wanted to phrase lyrics the way you speak. We wanted it to sound almost conversational between us. Like we were reading a book to each other, a little drama. The song Glory of Love is a perfect example. It was a story, and it was about us. We’d also be able to relate to each other while we were performing or recording. While Roy was at the piano playing and singing, I’d be in the crook of the piano making eye contact with him. That was essential for us to stay together and read each other as we sang.
JW: Did you ever push back on Roy’s musical ideas? JC: Push back? Not me. Roy was the expert. He was an arranger and trained musician. He had experience and had studied music. I didn’t. He always sounded great. I miss his sound. His sound was very rich in harmony. And very deep.
JW: How did you strike the right balance between jazz and pop, and avoid being too, well, hammy? JC: By striving to be natural and relaxed, and not too dramatic or showy-acty. That's the fine line we had to walk. If you’re not careful, it’s easy to go too far with lyrics, and you wind up acting them out too literally. We always wanted to sound smart and in the groove, not sticky sweet. So our performance had to be just right.
JW: But how exactly did you avoid that? JC: By just drawing from our own wells and expressing how we felt about what we were singing. We could relate that way because we were married and cared about each other and were in love. Singing our way was like a string quartet rehearsing or playing a great piece of music that’s instrumental. You play it, and your goal is to be consistent, get everything right, and not forget any sections of it.
JW: How did you ever remember the lyrics to all those tricky songs? JC: It wasn’t hard. I’m very good with lyrics. I remember practically every song I ever knew. If you have a good memory to learn something, then you can do it. You just learn it and keep going over it in your mind. Sometimes I kept a lyric sheet on the piano in case I'd forget lyrics. But I never forgot, so I never had to use the sheets. I suppose it was comforting to know it was there.
JW: Which song's lyrics gave you the most trouble? JC: Probably Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most. It has a lot of range, unusual intervals, and you have to attune your mind to it.
JW: What was the most challenging song? JC: A few years ago I recorded tracks for an album by saxophonist Bill Kirchner [pictured]. Bill's compositions were avant-garde, with a lot of dissonance in them. I had trouble at first because I wasn’t used to singing those kinds of things. But I learned the songs, and I thought they came off well.
Tomorrow in Part 5, Jackie talks about the rise of rock and how it affected her routine with Roy, the couple's decision to record advertising jingles, recording for Creed Taylor at Verve and CTI Records, and the tragic death of their younger daughter Niki in 1973.
JazzWax tracks: Jackie and Roy's ABC Paramount albums, Bits and Pieces and Glory of Love, are available on one CD here from Jasmine Music. A terrific compilation of the couple's ABC years is available here used, starting at $10. I'm guessing the reason these copies haven't yet been snapped up is because Amazon never included the picture of the album on the opening display. It's a fabulous CD, as are the liner notes.
Bill Kirchner's 2004 album, Everything I Love, which features Jackie singing on two tracks, is available here. The compositions are a bit outside of the box for Jackie, but that's what makes them exciting and novel. You hear Jackie feeling her way through the difficult, unconventional material, ultimately giving them a Jackie Cain touch.
Working with Charlie Ventura in 1948 and 1949 thrust Jackie Cain and her singing partner Roy Kral into a high-anxiety environment. In addition to performing with Ventura almost nightly, Roy had to arrange the band's book, rehearse the Ventura group when charts were completed, and work with Jackie on complex vocalese treatments. During this period of high stress and little sleep, the duo fell in love as they provided each other with emotional and creative support. But by mid-1949, the Ventura experience had run its course for the couple, and they were ready strike out on their own.
When Jackie talks of her late husband today, the brightness in her voice dims ever so slightly. This is to be expected, considering they were married for more than 50 years and spent virtually every waking minute together. As we spoke recently, Jackie softy reminded me that she has been a widow for seven years, always aware of how long she has been on her own, without her other loving, creative half.
In Part 3 of my interview series with Jackie, the legendary singer talks about working with Ventura, the basis for Roy's Euphoria, leaving Ventura, and meeting Tommy Wolf and Fran Landesman in the early 1950s:
JazzWax: Charlie Ventura sounds like a guy who could hold a grudge. Jackie Cain: He was. When we were singing at the Blue Note in Chicago, if I got too much audience attention on my solo number, Charlie wouldn’t let me do another during the next set. This went on for the entire time Roy and I were with the band. On other occasions Charlie wouldn't even talk to us. After the press mix-up early on [when a newspaper wrote about Jackie and Roy rather than Ventura], Charlie raised hell with his manager, saying, “Hey, I’m paying for the publicity and the press is focusing on them?” I never understood his reaction. We were part of his band. We couldn't control what the newspaper was going to report. And whatever happened good for us was good for him, too. I think he was just terribly sensitive. And jealous, I guess.
JW: Was he like this even at the famed Pasadena Concert in May 1949? JC: Yes, even then Charlie was still holding a grudge, although it wasn’t as noticeable. The Pasadena Concert actually was our last concert with the band. Roy and I left shortly afterward.
JW: During that famed concert, you and Roy had many standout moments, particularly on Euphoria. JC: [Laughs] That was wonderful. No words, just voices singing like instruments, which is what vocalese is, really. Charlie had asked Roy for an arrangement of 'S Wonderful, as an instrumental for the band. As Roy wrote it, he came up with this bop riff. We took the riff and turned it into Euphoria, which is based on 'S Wonderful's chord changes. We just lengthened the riff and put something in there that was distinctly ours.
JW: That was a very popular hit for you two. It still is. JC: Yes. Funny, as we toured with Charlie, we were often on the radio. The announcer would sometimes be back in the studio announcing the songs as though he was there. One time an announcer read the title [Euphoria] and said, “Now here’s a lovely ballad by trombonist Kai Winding." And on would come Euphoria [laughs]. Which was hardly a lovely ballad, you know. Other times radio DJs thought "Jackie" was a "he" and would announce me that way [laughs] [Photo from the Pasadena Concert].
JW: The Ventura band was pretty popular when you left. JC: Yes, that was the year the band won Down Beat's award for best group of the year. We attracted a lot of attention. Looking back, it was stupid that we left the band when we did. It was just getting hot. But we had had enough and wanted to do new things.
JW: Had your relationship with Roy changed by this point? JC: Yes. We had begun to date while we were in Charlie's band. I had had my eye on Roy right away, of course. I thought he was great. He was Czech and I’m part Polish and part German. So the chemistry felt right. He had started driving me home when I was living with Jay Burkhart's family in 1946. He’d borrow his father’s car and take me all the way out to where the Burkharts lived near Gary [Indiana]. I know Roy was starting to think differently about me.
JW: When did the relationship change? JC: We became an item gradually. It started in Chicago when we were at the Beehive, just before we joined Charlie. We both lived in Hyde Park Manor, an apartment hotel near the club. I had a room there. Roy had a room on another floor. By the time we were with Ventura, we were seeing each other.
JW: What did you think about Roy toward the end of your stay with Ventura? JC: Roy was seven years older than me and had been married twice before. He had married his high school sweetheart and had a child with her. He also had met someone while he was in Detroit after being discharged from the army. Some female disc jockey who had gotten the hots for him and kept coming into the club to see him. He had a child with her. By the time we met, he was divorced.
JW: Wow, talk about warning signs… JC: I know, but I was still gung-ho because I really cared about him. We saw everything the same way. My mother was shocked when I told her I wanted to marry a musician who had been married twice and had two children [laughs]. Both my mother and father were kind of upset at first. They said, “This isn’t good for you.” But once they met Roy and we had been together for a while, they saw what I saw and approved. Roy and I got married in 1949, after leaving Charlie's band.
JW: In late 1949, you and Roy recorded for Atlantic with your own sextet. Then your discography is quiet until 1953. Why? JC: Because we decided to start a family. We sang a great deal in clubs, and I had my first child, Nicoli, in 1952. We called her Niki. My girlfriend always used to call me Niki so we decided to call Nicoli by that name.
JW: In 1954, you and Roy recorded with Neal Hefti for Coral Records. JC: Neal [pictured] was wonderful. Bob Thiele, the producer, was there and unfortunately made us record songs we didn’t like, like Banana Split and Take Me to the Circus. Tunes that were so dumb and not much fun.
JW: In 1955, it looks as though you were billed for the first time on an album as “Jackie and Roy.” JC: By then we were known for choosing hip, little-known songs or tunes that were new and nobody was aware of yet. Roy found many of them by doing research in a lot of songbooks. We liked songs that were offbeat and playful but sophisticated. We loved to surprise audiences with out-of-the-way songs by great composers.
JW: Once you became a duo act, the voices-as-instruments sound began to recede and was replaced with a more modern, cooler duet sound. How did you and Roy work that? JC: The times were changing and we could hear that. There was only so much vocalese you could do before audience interest would wear thin. Audiences wanted to hear stories in the songs. When Roy and I worked together, the first thing that had to be perfect were the chord changes. Once Roy found a song he liked, he’d work on it alone to find the chord changes that he liked while I took care of chores around the house. This made the songs different and more fun to listen to. Roy would always alter the chord changes to make them more intricate or
more dissonant but trying not to go too far. Then we'd work out our
routine until it was perfect.
JW: In 1955 you were the first to record Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most. Did you know the song's composer? JC: Actually we did. We had met Tommy Wolf in St. Louis in 1954. Tommy had come to hear us at a local club. After we finished, he came up and introduced himself to us. He was very ecstatic about what we had done, and he told us we were great and how much he loved our work. He made us feel real good. He pointed out parts of the song that he liked best. Some things we did were contrapuntal, and we used a lot of harmony and we went in and out of harmony. So there was a lot to listen to. Tommy got it all.
JW: What happened next? JC: Tommy asked us to come see him at the Crystal Palace nearby, where he was the house pianist. The Crystal Palace was co-owned by the husband of Fran Landesman, a songwriter. Fran would write lovely lyrics and Tommy would put them to music. So we went over to hear him at the Crystal Palace on our night off. [Photo of Fran Landesman seated atop the piano and Tommy Wolf at the keyboard]
JW: How was Tommy? JC: Seeing him perform was an eye-opener. He was doing all these wonderful original tunes he had written with Fran. Tommy played and sang at the piano. His songs written with Fran included Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most, You Inspire Me and I Love You Real. Their songs were very clever and sounded as if they had been written for us. After the set, Tommy told us about Fran.
JW: What did you tell him? JC: We asked Tommy to send us a copy of Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most. He said many people had wanted to record it since he and Fran wrote it [in 1952] but that no one ever did.
JW: Why? JC: Tommy said it was too avant-garde for some audiences. Which is true. It's not an easy song. Once you hear a song enough and know it. It has become an underground hit and standard just by being done by so many artists because artist who do it love it. The lyrics don’t circle back and repeat. It’s not like a true pop song. It’s poignant, beautiful and one big, long story.
JW: You really paved the way for other modern singers who specialized in choosing off-beat songs. JC: [Laughs] We were always ahead of our time. That’s what arranger Ralph Burns [pictured] always used to tell us. “You guys are just too far ahead of your time.” We didn’t think about the audience so much. I mean we wanted to please people so we chose things that were strong pieces that we loved. But we knew that if we loved a song, we could do it well and that would translate to audiences. Most of the time it did.
JW: Your careers and visibility really start to take off once you signed with ABC Paramount in 1956. JC: Yes, that was Creed Taylor’s doing. He loved what we had done in the late 1940s with Charlie Ventura. At ABC, we started to shift into little-known songs and standards. We wanted to focus on an upbeat approach, with tight harmonies.
Tomorrow,Jackie talks about moving to Las Vegas with Roy, further refining their sound, the song that gave her the most trouble, and joining Columbia Records in 1961.
JazzWax tracks: Jackie Cain and Roy Kral's period with Charlie Ventura is well documented on a four disc box from Proper Records called Charlie Ventura: Bop for the People. It includes the complete Pasadena Concert of May 1949, which remains one of the great live concert recordings. You'll find it on CDhere. Or the concert is available on a single disc from Fresh Sound, also called Bop for the Peoplehere.
JazzWax clip: Here's a clip of Jackie and Roy riffing on Daahud, from their 1961 Columbia release, Double Take...
Marc Myers writes on music for the Wall Street Journal. His book, "Why Jazz Happened," will be published by the University of California Press in December 2012.
