Last Friday, I assembled a band based on the beefy names
of artists. This week, I offer a new ensemble featuring musicians with mini monikers or slight of height names. For those adding Comments, this list is about the names only, not whether they were truly big or small:
Whenever a jazz artist is packaged on an album as
joining, meeting or leading a "sax section," I'm instantly hooked. In every case, the result is exciting, since no one in his right mind would be paired with a sax section unless the results and collective talent were sterling. Examples of this approach that come to mind include Al Cohn and the Sax Section (1956), Coleman
Hawkins Meets the Saxophone Section (1958) and That's Right: Nat Adderley and the Big Sax Section (1960). Then, of course, there was Supersax, starting in 1972, playing dense-packed arrangements of Charlie Parker solos. I recently discovered another album in this category that, like the other sax summit efforts, is terrific: Bud Shank and the Sax Section (1968). [Black-and-white photos of Bud Shank above and below by William Claxton]
Using the phrase "the sax section" in an album title carries
major connotations and responsibilities. The implications always are that the reeds separately and together are all muscle, that the tracks on the album are shrewdly chosen and that the arrangements are tight and adventurous to the ear. All are certainly the case with this Bud Shank album.
The West Coast band assembled for the Pacific Jazz date featured Bud Shank and Bill Perkins (alto saxes), Bob Hardaway and Bob Cooper (tenor saxes), Jack Nimitz and John Lowe (baritone and bass saxes), Dennis Budimir (guitar), Ray Brown (bass) and Larry Bunker (drums). Bob Florence [pictured] handled the arrangements and conducted the band.
Bud Shank had a split musical personality during the 1960s. On the one hand he could tear your heart out with
edgy playing on ballads and up-tempo pieces. But Bud also could lay back and surf melodies beautifully. He recorded this album in the middle of a highly commercial period for Pacific Jazz. At the time he was recording bossa nova albums (Brasil! Brasil! Brasil!) and LPs that tried to capitalize on the surging rock trend (A Spoonful of Jazz and Magical Mystery). Some were more successful than others and all had heart.
Tracks on The Sax Section include Summer Samba, On a Clear Day, the Sidewinder and And I Love Her. As you can
see, the material was all over the lot hoping to appeal to everyone. And yet the album works, largely because of Bob Florence's arrangements and the shrewd doubling of the baritone and bass sax parts, which give the charts heft at the bottom. Florence also had the good sense to widen out the voicings and extend the counterpoint—making the section sound like a full band rather than one instrument. The overall sound remains wonderfully reedy and flighty. Interestingly, Jack Nimitz was the sole member of this sax section who wound up as a member of Supersax.
JazzWax tracks: Unfortunately Bud Shank and the Sax Section album isn't available on CD.
Blue Note, which owns the Pacific Jazz catalog, should really consider re-issuing it. In fact, since we're on the subject, a box of Bud's 1960s World Pacific albums is in order. The album is available on eBay and Amazon from independent sellers as a vinyl LP.
A special JazzWax thanks David Langner and Wen Mew.
Last week over lunch, my editor at the Wall Street Journal asked me to travel to Memphis for the weekend to cover Elvis Week. I've long wanted to attend the event marking the anniversary of the rocker's passing. I was never a big Elvis fan beyond the 30 # 1 Hits CD. I had always assumed there was something oddly Gothic and sticky about the whole obsession. But I was curious.
The more my editor and I talked, the more we recognized that the story's angle couldn't and shouldn't cast
the event as a novelty or freak show. That wouldn't be respectful. The harder and more interesting story would be to figure out what makes today's fans tick and why so many keep returning each year to Memphis in August. [Photo of Elvis fan Jim Hamilton at Graceland by Marc Myers]
So I hopped a flight to Memphis on Saturday morning. Today's issue of the Wall Street Journal carries the result of my visit and reporting. You'll have to pick up a copy at the newsstand or go here if you have an online subscription.
Here are the first few paragraphs:
"As Elvis Week wound down Sunday night, nearly
20,000 fans held a candlelight vigil outside the gates of Graceland. Yet the question hanging in the 100-degree heat was why so many of these same fans continue to celebrate the life of a man who died on Aug. 16, 33 years ago—before some of them were even born. [Pictured: Elvis Impersonator by Marc Myers]
"From afar, it's easy to write off the 29th annual event as a gathering of freaky Elvis Presley wannabes and silly like-minded vacationers stuck in a polyester time warp. But after a multiday visit, you quickly learn that both assumptions are unfair and completely miss the point.
"Elvis Week is a pilgrimage by fans of Presley's music and his life as America's most charismatic and fatalistic
phenomenon. But those who return annually seem to be on a secondary mission: To better understand why Presley is so captivating. The question is unanswerable, of course, but that doesn't stop them from trying."
What I discovered during my intensive 48 hours in Memphis is
that most Elvis fans seem drawn to the city for its warm Southern hospitality and for the friendships they've made. At a time when even airline personnel curse and chute, Memphis offers a polite, courteous respite. What I also discovered is that Elvis, even in his later years, was way more spectacular and charismatic a performer than I recalled.
Rather than make this a traditional post, I'm simply going to share with you my reporter's notebook—my jottings that didn't make it into the Wall Street Journal article because of space limitations:
At Graceland.
The proper way to pronounce Graceland in Memphis is "GRACE-lind."
Kevin Kern, Elvis Presley Enterprises' director of public relations, knows more facts about Graceland off the top of his head than anyone you'll meet.
Elvis bought the home in 1957 for $100,000 ($776,000 in today's dollars) because his neighbors in another part of town couldn't bear the crowds.
Graceland wasn't named for Elvis' mother, Gladys. The previous owner was named Grace and she gave the property to her niece, who in turn named the home Graceland. Elvis kept the name out of respect.
Graceland feels almost cramped by today's McMansion standards. The home's interior is frozen in time, untouched as though it were 1977.
RCA, Elvis' record label, provided him with most of the home's cutting-edge media technology. This includes 14 TV sets, though Memphis had only three TV stations at the time. [Pictured, center: The Jungle Room]
Elvis' kitchen [pictured] features Memphis' first microwave oven,
which cost $1,000 at the time.
Elvis traveled with one of the first so-called cellphones: military gear that combined a phone and shortwave built into a large attache case.
The famed Jungle Room was influenced by Elvis' love for Hawaii and the tranquility it provided him while filming there.
The TV Room boasts three built in TVs—installed because Elvis had heard President Johnson had three. Elvis watched three football games at a time on them.
Men lingered longest at the Jungle Room. Women lingered longest at the kitchen.
Graceland owns 80 Elvis jumpsuits. They were made by the IC Company. The IC stands for Ice Capades. The jump suits were designed by Bill Belew.
The jumpsuits have wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Based on the garb, Elvis' seems to have worn a 44-inch jacket with 32-inch sleeves and pants with a 32-inch waist. The big surprise, though, was his height. Elvis was taller than you'd expect—he was 6 foot.
Elvis and his family are buried on the property, in the Meditation Garden.
I passed up an opportunity to have my photo taken in front of Graceland, which startled Kevin. He said, "You're too cool for Graceland? People come from all over the world to have their pictures taken here. Are you kidding?" I tell him I store all my memories in my head. He shrugged.
Across from Graceland.
Two jets sit on Graceland property across Elvis Presley
Boulevard—the larger one was used by Elvis. The smaller one Elvis bought for Colonel Tom Parker, his manager. You can tour the interiors.
The Elvis impersonators here aren't strange at all. They are among the most friendly, kind and open people you'd ever want to meet.
Many of the fans I encounter are from France, Italy, Canada and Russia.
When the temperature outside reaches 110 degrees, drops of sweat pour down your face without any exertion at all.
At the screening of Elvis on Tour.
Many of the people I interview in the lobby of the historic Orpheum
Theater note that Elvis was a "family guy," "loved his mother" and was "very respectful." Many of the women say they wish they could take care of him. Many of the guys say they see aspects of Elvis in themselves, especially when they shave.
The 1972 documentary was influenced by the movie Woodstock.
Elvis on Tour is a mind-blowing film. The behind-the-scenes drama—from the green rooms to fast escapes in limos—make your hairs stand on end. You also learn that Elvis had stage fright.
Elvis was easily more passionate about gospel than any
other form of music, and he delivers gospel songs in the film in a huge, powerful voice.
Elvis easily is more charismatic and exciting to watch than any other show-business personality. More riveting to watch than the Beatles and Frank Sinatra. He's larger than life and remains so in every scene. You simply can't take your eyes off of him.
At the Sunday morning gospel concert.
About 500 people stand in line in an orderly, friendly
manner, despite the early-morning heat. No one complains. No one pushes. And no one rushes the gate.
Everyone on line is making conversation with people in front and back, sharing their views on what makes Elvis special and offering tips on what to do in town.
Donnie Sumner [pictured] of The Stamps, Elvis' backup group in the 1970s, says, "Gospel gave Elvis balance. Despite all the stress of touring and appearing on stage, gospel made him the most peaceful, reposed person."
At Sun Studio.
Here, you get to see the history of early rock 'n' roll.
Upstairs, cases are filled with a smart, accurate and orderly exhibit of equipment and information about r&b artists who most influenced Elvis.
The studio was started by Sam Phillips as a place to offer inexpensive recording services. But after Phillips recorded Jackie Brenston's Rocket 88 for Chess Records and it went to No. 1 on Billboard's R&B chart in 1951, Phillips decided to start Sun and record R&B hits of his own.
Elvis' social security card is here behind glass. His number was 409-52-2002.
Incredibly, the Sun tour ends right smack in the studio where Elvis
recorded his five Sun 45-rpms and Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison all made their records. The floor, walls and ceiling tiles are all original.
Electrical tape marks where Elvis and the other two musicians stood when they recorded. According to Jayne White, my tour guide, Bob Dylan came in, kissed the "X" where Elvis stood and left.
The tour lets you hold and even pose with the original
Shure 55 microphone Elvis used to record. Mike Schorr, one of Sun's co-owners, explains that the studio goes out of its way to provide guests with as much proximity to history as possible.
Stax: Soulsville, USA.
The record-label rival to Motown was named by Jim
Stewart and his sister Estelle Axton—by combining parts of their last names.
Tim Sampson, Stax's public relations director, notes that Hooper’s Chapel AME Church, originally in Duncan, Miss., was disassembled piece by piece and then rebuilt inside the Stax Museum.
Some of the most amazing Elvis photos are now on exhibit
at Stax. Elvis: From Memphis to Manhattan features images from CBS' photo archive. Dig this one of a wily Colonel Parker, an uneasy Elvis and an insistent Ed Sullivan.
A special thanks to June Balish and husband Rob, who generously gave me a lift back to my hotel and made a stop at the National Civil Rights Museum so I could see the old Lorraine Motel.
Summary.
Pulled pork (at Neely's), sweet tea and Elvis go together neatly in Memphis.
Memphians are the nicest, kindest, most soulful and respectful people you'd ever want to meet. By Sunday morning, I get the whole Elvis Week thing. It's about friends and Southern hospitality. I can relate completely.
On Sunday, I called Kevin back to tell him I made a terrible
mistake. He asked what happened. I told him I should have listened to him and taken a picture up at Graceland. Kevin laughs and urges me to come back. I do, and he snaps a shot of me in the 110-degree heat.
JazzWax clip:Here are the opening scenes from Elvis on Tour, which has just been remastered and reissued on DVD and Blu-ray...
Back in January, I posted about baritone saxophonist Gil Melle and his Blue Note
and Prestige sessions. For the post, I spoke with Hal McKusick, who played with him, and Raymond De Felitta, who grew up down the block from the Melle house in Hollywood. Both Hal and Raymond shed light on the visionary saxophonist, composer, artist, designer and inventor. In fact, all of the Blue Note album covers in this post were designed by Melle.
Last week, I received a lovely email from Denny Melle, wife of the late Gil Melle:
"[Director] Raymond De Felitta sent me a copy of the
wonderful article you wrote about Gil. Too bad tributes
always start
appearing after an artist has died. But at least it's gratifying to know
that jazz lovers like yourself won't allow them to be forgotten or
their contribution to this unique American art form left
un-acknowledged. Hal McKusick's recollections as well as those of
Raymond's were heart-warming as well.
"You really did your research on Gil, and there were facts I didn't
even know, even though I was married to him for close to 40 years. One thing
that really stood
out in your article—and you got this one so
right—was 'his complete lack of fear about what others thought.' This attribute is what gave him the freedom and daring to explore beyond what was
accepted as the norm.
"Although many in the jazz world felt Gil
had abandoned his jazz roots when he
came to Hollywood to write for
film, jazz was always his first and foremost love, and he would always
try and find a way to weave in an element of it in his film and
television scores.
"Gil often liked to tell a story about Blue Note's Alfred Lion and Gil's early association with engineer Rudy van
Gelder at the start of the 1950s. Gil said that when he first told Alfred about Rudy and how blown away he was by the new form of recording Rudy was using called 'tape,' he wanted Alfred to come over right away to Rudy's studio to take a
listen.
"Alfred, with that thick German accent of his said, "Vas ist tape?" Of
course, the rest is history.
Herman Leonard, a photographer with a commanding mastery of light whose
dramatic and expressive nightclub portraits of jazz artists starting in the 1940s helped shape and
promote jazz's nocturnal image and mystique, died on August 14 in Los Angeles. He was 87. [All photos by Herman Leonard/CTSImages.com]
In the years before the Internet, television and
even jazz album covers, jazz musicians in the 1940s had only two ways of making their music, names and images recognizable to potential consumers unable to visit nightclubs. Their music could appear on the radio or jukebox—or the artists could be championed by jazz writers and photographers.
Of all the media and technology,
none could beat an image for its instant appeal. A single photo of Billie Holiday or Duke Ellington, for example, could be more evocative and poetic in a split second than a three-minute recording or print article or review. Photography had been the third rung on the media ladder back then, but in Herman's hands, images became increasingly vital to project the pathos, sorrow, joy and beauty of jazz.
Few photographers of the period so fully understood the
jazz spirit as Herman. When I interviewed him in October 2009 (go here), he was excited and forthcoming about his technique, explaining how he captured jazz artists seemingly in mid-performance without bearing the brunt of patrons' hurled scotch glasses:
JW: How did you do it? HL: I put
one strobe light next to the club spotlight
in the ceiling. The other I
placed behind the artist in the background. I used wireless units to
trigger the strobes, but I'd use these strobes only if I had to. The
light was disturbing to the artists. But most of the photos I took were
during rehearsals, so it wasn't too bad.
I will miss Herman. He was an artist who was as totemic as any subject he photographed and in harmony with what jazz musicians were trying to express.
JazzWax note: For more of Herman Leonard's iconic images, go here and here.
JazzWax clip:Here's Herman Leonard on his famous photo of Charlie Parker staring into space...
Jazz listeners are like archeologists. No matter how many
albums or artists we dig up, we are as excited as kids when we unearth
yet another one. We see an unfamiliar album cover and wonder, "Is this
album as good as it looks? Will I find it exciting? Will it be one of
the best albums in my collection? Will I have a new understanding of
this artist? Will I be amazed?" The anticipation is half the thrill.
I'm constantly amazed at how much jazz was recorded
between 1925 and 1965, the art form's golden era. Thousands upon thousands of recordings. How much of everything do we have available digitally today? A quarter? Less? Probably.
After all, what we have on CD and as downloads now still excludes quite a few albums
we bought as teens and certainly misses countless 78-rpms that were
never transferred to LP in the 1950s.
Coming to jazz can only be equated with going to Italy. No matter how many times you travel there, you can't believe how much
impossibly great art and architecture was created during the
Renaissance—and how much of it jams museums around the world today.
Imagine how much of the total output was lost over the years and will
never be known. Or how much you'll never get to see simply because
there's not enough time in life to consume it all.
There's seemingly no end to the jazz recordings one can listen to, no matter how much
listening you do each day. Some jazz fans prefer to specialize in a few artists and
dig deep for everything and anything those musicians recorded. Others favor
specific periods of time. Still others just like to find things they
love and absorb the messages without worrying too much about who was
doing what with whom when.
I, for one, do not look forward to the day when I've heard it all, know the sound of every artist, can
click off all recordings and artists, and find little that's new. Part
of the joy of this music is the endless adventure—that you can always
uncover a new artist or album and be wowed by what you experience. There's something mildly depressing about coming to the end
of that road.
Time may not be on
our side, but living in an era when so much is available and convenient
to consume is a blessing. I can't wait to discover the next old thing.
Pauly Cohen. Filmmaker Bret Primack recently spent time in Florida interviewing trumpeter Pauly Cohen, who began his recording career with Bob Chester in 1941. Cohen played in dozens of top bands, including orchestras led by Roy Eldridge, Benny Carter, Artie Shaw, Barney Bigard, Claude Thornhill, Boyd Raeburn and Buddy DeFranco. Here, Cohen talks about his days with Count Basie in the 1970s...
TV Action Jazz. Reader Joe Lang sent along an email noting
that the albums I wrote about on Thursday—Mundell Lowe's TV Action Jazz! and TV Action Jazz Vol. 2—are now available on one CD (LoneHill) for $15.99. Go here.
Stax Records. Back in May, Chris Cowles and Tom Shaker hosted a 6 1/2-hour radio show on the history of Stax Records,
complete with on-air interviews. Formed in 1957 as Satellite Records, the Memphis label changed its name to Stax in 1961 and recorded the emerging wave of gospel-soul talent of the South. With the rise of Motown in the early 1960s, Stax created its own competing sound that was earthier and funkier, thanks largely to its house band, Booker T. and the MGs.
Why am I telling you all of this since it's August now? Chris and Tom's superb marathon show—complete with interviews with
William Bell, Memphis horns co-founder Wayne Jackson, Stax Museum executives Sherman Willmott and Tim Sampson, and others—has just become available as free podcasts. Hats off to Chris and Tom and their team at WRTC-FM in Hartford, CT.
Here are links to the six parts (the segments start automatically when you arrive at the page):
Chris and Tom's show, Greasy Tracks, airs every Saturday on Trinity College's WRTC in Hartford, CT, from 3:30 to 5:30. Go here to listen live.
CD discoveries of the week: I remember Bettye LaVette's 1978 disco hit Doin' the Best That I Can. But many of her other
releases from the 1960s onward are less memorable—mainly because her work wasn't well distributed or smartly plugged. LaVette also had a series of bad career breaks just as other artists with a similar sound (Janis Joplin in the 1960s and Tina Turner in the 1970s) were on their way up. So it's a joy to hear her deliver the goods on Interpretations: The British Rock Songbook.
On this ingenious and intelligent album, LaVette treats songs by British Invasion artists as though they were American
Songbook classics. Best of all, she doesn't try to flatter the material but instead delivers snarling soul-rock interpretations. Included here are the Beatles The Word, Steve Winwood's No Time to Live, the Animals' Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, Paul McCartney's Maybe I'm Amazed, Elton John's Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me and other unpredictable choices.
But what makes this album particularly special is how LaVette handles each song. Rather than caving in to the original versions,
LaVette gives the proverbial leash a hard snap and the songs come to heel. Each interpretation has a thick, soul-rock feel, with LaVette vocally prowling the material like a teeth-bearing cheetah. With any luck, this album will put her in her rightful place as one of the great soul-rock singers. As far as I'm concerned, this has female r&b Grammy winner written all over it.
Bettye LaVette's Interpretations: The British Rock Songbook (Anti) can be found at iTunes and here.
A jazz-rock album that makes refreshing sense is Suresh Singaratnam's Lost in New York. Everything about this new CD from trumpeter Singaratnam is exciting, from the tight jazz
lines to the restless fusion arrangements. None of the songs overstay their welcome and all delight with energy and innovation. What's notable about this album is what happens when you start to play any of the tracks. You find you want the track to remain on. Sample Temporal Incursions and Chrysanthemum to see what I mean. What's more, all compositions and arrangements are by Singaratnam. This is hot stuff.
Suresh Singaratnam's Lost in New York (SureSong) can be found at iTunes and here.
Oddball album cover of the week: Recorded in 1965, this
album on BGP featured Red Holloway (ts), Brother Jack McDuff (org), George Benson (g) and Joe Dukes (d). I guess just having McDuff sitting at a nice table with a sandwich eating like a normal human being was out of the question.
Extra-large jazz artists typically wound up with colorful nicknames that
suited their silhouettes. But what if we were to assemble an ensemble of musicians whose names fit the bill, forgetting about whether or not they were contemporaries or even that portly? Here's my list of entries for our playful Giants of Jazz sextet, complete with a vocalist and arranger...
Fats Navarro (trumpet)
Tubby Hayes (tenor)
Porky Cohen (trombone)
Fats Waller (piano)
Chubby Jackson (bass)
Big Sid Catlett (drums)
Big Joe Turner (vocals)
Neal Hefti (arranger)
If you have names of other musicians who belong in this "big" band, please add them to the Comments section. [Pictured above: Chubby Jackson]
Among Mundell Lowe's finest albums (and there are many) are
the two TV Action Jazz LPs he recorded in 1959 and 1960. Most jazz fans think of Mundell solely as a polished guitarist in both club and studio settings. In fact, Mundell also is a terrific swinging arranger, and the TV Action Jazz albums bear this out.
The first one, recorded in February 1959, was called TV
Action Jazz! The album featured Donald Byrd (tp), Jimmy Cleveland (tb), Herbie Mann (fl,ts), Tony Scott (cl,bar), Eddie Costa (p,vib), Mundell Lowe (g), Don Payne (b) and Ed Shaughnessy (d). The album's concept was to take the hottest detective shows on TV at the time and create swinging arrangements of their themes. Quite a challenge considering how hip these themes already were.
The track list will bring back memories for those who remember
what TV was like in 1959. On the album are jazz interpretations of the themes to Peter Gunn, Mike Hammer, Perry Mason, 77 Sunset Strip, M Squad, The Thin Man, Naked City and Fallout!
Among the highlights are the late-night ballad treatment of the Naked City theme and the rapid-fireThe Thin Man. Throughout, Mundell offers juicy, thick guitar lines, with nifty solos by each of the players, particularly trombonist Jimmy Cleveland and Tony Scott on baritone sax.
The second album, simply called Themes From... was recorded in June 1960. The personnel shifted slightly: Clark Terry (tp); Willie
Dennis, Urbie Green and Frank Rehak (tb); Rod Levitt (b-tb); Phil Bodner (reeds); Eddie Costa (p,vib); Mundell Lowe (g); George Duvivier (b) and Ed Shaughnessy (d). By featuring Clark Terry on solo trumpet and beefing up the trombone section, the second volume has an even more detective-y feel. For some reason, trombones best express the hip, cool nature of TV's private eyes.
The tracks on the second album are themes to Tightrope,
Hawaiian Eye, Mr. Lucky, The Untouchables, Bourbon Street Beat, Detectives, Markham and Johnny Staccato. Of particular note are Tightrope, Mr. Lucky and Markham.
As Mundell said in the first album's liner notes:
"One thing that impressed me strongly while I was doing this is what a pleasure it is to watch a TV show on which the music has been composed and recorded in this country. There's such a difference not only in the quality of the playing but the writing and recording, too."
Or put differently, it was great back then to flip on the tube and hear jazz themes behind the shows. What's particularly
interesting about these two albums is that they are East Coast
interpretations of West Coast TV-studio themes. All of Mundell's charts have a New York feel and all featured largely East Coast musicians. Very snappy stuff.
JazzWax note: For Part 1 of my interview series with Mundell Lowe, go here.
JazzWax tracks: Now for the big surprise. Are you sitting down? Good. Because instead of
shelling out upward of $40 for the CD that combines both albums, I noticed that the first album, TV Action Jazz!, is now at iTunes for just $5.99. But if you want the second volume, too, both are available together for $15.99 on Complete TV Action Jazz (LoneHill) here.
JazzWax clip:Here's Nelson Riddle's Naked City Theme, to give you a sense of how cool this song is. Mundell Lowe's arrangement, by contrast, is slower and moodier, and likely based on the show's end theme as credits rolled...
One of pianist Horace Silver's most haunting and sophisticated
compositions is Ecaroh, a song that defied convention and gravity, for that matter. The song packs an eclectic punch, shifting restlessly between major and minor keys and employing several brooding rhythms that build with drama and mystery. There's the mildly Latin introduction, which halts abruptly and springs into swing before resolving in funk. The song's urgent motifs never seem to repeat, and yet they do, in variation. [Photo by Francis Wolff]
To me, Ecaroh (pronounced EK-ah-row] sounds like someone running through the interior of a cloister, with each sanctuary different and no clear
path out of the monastic setting. Or a giant wooden puzzle with different shaped pieces that are impossible to replace once you remove them. Which makes you wonder how Silver ever managed to compose this intricate and singular work.
Interestingly, Silver recorded Ecaroh only twice—once in 1952 and again in 1956. It's unclear why he never bothered to revisit the song with his own quintet. Then again, given his prolific composing career, he perhaps didn't feel the need to or didn't think to bother.
Ecaroh was first recorded by Silver in October 1952 in a
trio setting for Blue Note with bassist Curly Russell and drummer Art Blakey. Despite the year, what Silver records isn't bebop. It's something else—something more complex and introspective. There are touches of Baptist gospel here along with the tautness of mambo and temperament of swing. Ultimately, Ecaroh's density and purpose would pave the way for hard bop in the years that followed. But in 1952, it clearly was way ahead of its time from a harmonic and chromatic standpoint.
The second version of Ecaroh was recorded in May 1956 for The Jazz Messengers, a Columbia album released under the direction of producer George Avakian. The group
on this date featured trumpeter Donald Byrd, saxophonist Hank Mobley, Silver on piano, bassist Doug Watkins and drummer Art Blakey. This later version has a more fully formed hard bop feel, with Silver building drama percussively and Blakey adding press rolls and random stick patterns. It also struts harder, with rooster-like insistence.
Silver shed some light on the song's title in his autobiography
Let's Get to the Nitty Gritty:
"When I gigged around Connecticut with some of the other teenage musicians, we got into a kick of calling each other by our names spelled backward... I was Ecaroh. Later, when I started my own music publishing company, I named it Ecaroh Music Inc."
His thinking behind the song and how he came to write it remain a mystery. Nevertheless, the two versions are fun to compare. For example, listen to Silver's left hand in the 1952 introduction
function almost like a one-note stride player, hitting bass notes like a metronome. On the 1956 version, Silver hits a tight chord to create a Morse code pattern, countering Blakey's drums.
Without belaboring the point, Ecaroh is a fascinating song with a house of mirrors feel that charms and captivates as it pulls you in. Just trying to figure out whether sections repeat will keep you busy for hours.
JazzWax tracks:Ecaroh appears on
two albums: Horace Silver (Blue Note) and The Jazz Messengers (Columbia). They can be found at iTunes or here and here. Both are must-own albums.
JazzWax clips: Here are the two versions of Ecaroh. First, here's the 1952 trio version...
And here's the version from The Jazz Messengers in 1956...
My conversation with Little Richard in today's Wall Street Journal (go here or pick up a copy) was a mind-opener. This is the guy who started rock 'n' roll as we know it, for goodness sake. With his first hit Tutti Frutti in 1955, Little Richard single-handedly unleashed a new form of music that to this day continues to influence musicians worldwide. Virtually every major rock and rap act since 1955 owes a debt to Little Richard—and all have said as much in interviews and memoirs.
Though r&b's origins date back to the late 1930s, and rock 'n' roll's backbeat starts to emerge in the late 1940s, Little Richard
changed everything in 1955. Tutti Frutti, recorded 55 years ago in September, introduced a new form of rock that had urgency, sexual energy and stagecraft. Within months, the sizzling form was embraced by a generation of young listeners who by then owned radios and bought 45-rpms. By 1956, Bill Haley was already dated.
Even Elvis Presley's career path was altered by Tutti Frutti's electric appeal. In 1956, the year of his meteoric rise, Elvis recorded four of Little Richard's records to break out and cross over. But Little Richard's influence didn't end in the 1950s. As I note in my Wall Street Journal article today, Little Richard taught Paul McCartney his signature "Wooo," was first to hire Jimi Hendrix, gave a young Tina Turner charisma lessons, and out Janis-ed a screaming Janis Joplin at the Atlantic City Pop Festival two weeks before Woodstock in August 1969.
For me, interviewing Little Richard was a thrill. It's a jolt to interview historic music figures—whether they play jazz,
pop, r&b, reggae, disco or rock. (My interview with Billy Joel can be found in the right-hand column of this blog under "JazzWax Interviews.") There's a certain intimacy and excitement that comes from a one-on-one conversation with any artist, especially one who has changed the course of music.
But not every question I posed to Little Richard, 77, could fit into my Wall Street Journal Cultural Conversation:
JazzWax: Did you listen to jazz growing up in Macon, GA? Little Richard: Oh, yes. Charlie Parker, Tab Smith, Cootie
Williams, Hot Lips Page, Duke Ellington—all of them. I sang all those standard ballads coming up as a gospel singer. I especially liked the jazz vocalists. I listened to Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Dinah Washington and Georgia White. Do you know her? She was big in the late 1930s. I used to sing all their songs.
JW: Did you separate music as jazz and r&b in the late 1940s? LR: Growing up, there was no such thing as jazz in my neighborhood. Everything was everything, and music was either good or bad. [Sings] What can I say dear after I say I’m sorry [laughs]. See what I mean? That sounds good no matter who sings it [laughs].
JW: Gospel was a big influence? LR: Oh yes. I first sang with gospel star Sister Rosetta Tharpe at the Macon City Auditorium. She could make that
guitar of hers talk and walk. I was just a kid and used to go to the theater with a bucket and ice and sell drinks. I'd get lost in the music. I was singing on my own when Sister Rosetta heard me. She asked me to come up on stage with her to sing Five Loaves and Two Fishes. When I heard the audience go wild when we were finished, I knew what I wanted to do.
JW: Your first record in 1951 was for RCA. LR: I was sort of a gospel-ballad singer then. Actually it was for RCA’s Camden label. RCA was for white artists. Camden was for black folks.
JW: Is r&b closer to gospel than jazz? LR: R&B comes from the emotional feel of
gospel. R&B's energy came from the church so the physical excitement of the music was there. The theatrical part of r&b came from the many different acts that toured the black clubs in the South at the time and added their own little eccentric things to stand out. The boogie-woogie came from the blues.
JW: You knew how to play piano early on but not boogie-woogie, is that correct? LR: Yes, Mrs. Clemmons had taught me to play piano when I was young in Macon.
Then later I met Esquerita [pictured], an r&b singer whose real name was S.Q. Reeder. He also played piano. He had come to Macon with Sister Rosetta. I watched him play and loved what he did on the piano. I told him I wanted to play like that. He took my hands and showed me how to do what he did.
JW: How did you come up with Tutti Frutti? LR: I used to go up on stage in clubs to sing boogie-woogie blues but I’d forget the words. So I made up dirty
ones to fill out the songs [laughs]. I was doing then what the rap groups do today. When I recorded Tutti Frutti for Specialty, we cleaned up the words [laughs]. We had to. No radio station was going to put those original words on the air.
JW:Tutti Frutti was covered by several artists soon after your single began climbing the charts, including versions by Elvis and Pat Boone, who also had a hit with it. LR: Yes. It was obvious to me that I had to do something different on the next single. Otherwise, white
singers were going to keep copying my songs and standing out more, since their record companies had more money to promote them than mine did.
JW: What did you do with Long Tall Sally, your follow-up single? LR: I sang it as fast as I could because I knew Pat Boone wouldn't be able to knock off what I did [laughs]. I ran for my life with that song and made it hard to copy.
JW: You taught Paul McCartney your signature falsetto "Wooo" in Hamburg, Germany, in 1962, before the Beatles were the Beatles. LR: Oh yes. Paul’s my buddy. He’s a real gentleman. He’s
beautiful. The Beatles were barely known then. They opened for me at the Star-Club [laughs]. I had gotten the inspiration for that 'Wooo' from gospel singer Marion Williams.
JW: What about Elvis? LR: Elvis was a good friend. One of the sweetest gentlemen. A good singer, especially with gospel.
JW: Which jazz musicians told you they enjoyed your music? LR: Tab Smith, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Carmen McRae—all of them. Peggy Lee used to come to hear me.
JW: So, did Little Richard kill jazz? LR: Kill jazz? Oh no, no, no. I don’t believe rock 'n' roll could kill
jazz. Nothing can kill jazz. Jazz is an original. Jazz is beautiful music. I don’t believe that. Jazz is still here. Real rock 'n' roll musicians love jazz. A real musician loves all types of music.
JazzWax note: Paul McCartney can be heard employing Little Richard's falsetto "Wooo" on the Beatles' I Saw Her Standing There, She Loves You and Long Tall Sally.
JazzWax clips: To hear where Little Richard picked up his "Wooo," here's Marion Williams singing Packin' Up...
Here's Little Richard singing Tutti Frutti (with his famous "Wooo"), from the film Don't Knock the Rock (1956)...
Here's Little Richard singing Lucille from Mister Rock and Roll (1957). Dig the energy and groove on this thing...
Herehe is singing Lucille in what looks to be his 1962 U.K. tour...
And finally, here's Little Richard in the trailer for The Girl Can't Help It (1956), a title song Bobby Troup wrote and Little Richard sang. Dig how his new brand of rock and roll shatters every other act in the film, which includes a few jazz artists...
Marc Myers writes frequently on music and the arts for the Wall Street Journal. He is author of "Why Jazz Happened" (University of California Press). In 2012, JazzWax was named the Jazz Journalists Association's "Blog of the Year."
