JazzWax

JazzWax List: 10 Singing Boppers

By the late 1940s, bebop was all the rage—thanks largely to radio disc jockeys who hyped the music and artists through the air-play of records on late-night shows. What began in the mid-'40s as a spectacular, secular jazz style flourished by 1948 as more musicians figured out how to play and arrange it for small groups and big bands. [Photo by Herman Leonard/CTSImages.com]

By 1949, more singers were glamorizing bop, giving the novel form a novelty feel. Here are 10 examples of bop vocal recordings in the '40s—before vocalese artists in the early '50s took jazz singing to a new level:

• What's This? (1945)—Dave Lambert and Buddy Stewart with Gene Krupa.
• Charge Account (1946)—Dave Lambert and Buddy Stewart with Red Rodney.
• Lop-Pow (1947)—Babs Gonzales with Three Bips and a Bop.
• Ool-ya-koo (1947)—Kenny Hagood and Dizzy Gillespie.
• I'm Be Boppin' Too (1948)—Dizzy Gillespie.
• Euphoria (1948)—Jackie Cain and Roy Kral with Charlie Ventura. [Pictured: Jackie Cain with Charlie Ventura]
• O'Henry (1949)—Bunny Briggs with Charlie Barnet.
• Bebop Spoken Here (1949)—Dave Lambert, Buddy Stewart and Trudy Richards with Charlie Barnet.
• Hey Pete, Let's Eat Mo Meat! (1949)—Joe Carroll with Dizzy Gillespie.
• Land of Oo-Bla-Dee (1949)—Joe Carroll with Dizzy Gillespie.

JazzWax clip: Here's English accordionist Tito Burns and His Sextet with Burns and Terry Devon sharing the vocal on Bebop Spoken Here, recorded in London in June 1949 ...

Gary Burton on Lofty Fake Anagram

Toward the end of1966, vibist Gary Burton left the Stan Getz Quartet to form his own group. The personnel he chose for his quartet shifted over the early months of 1967, but by the time Gary recorded Duster in April, he was joined by guitarist Larry Coryell, bassist Steve Swallow and drummer Roy Haynes. But in the summer, drummer Bob Moses had replaced Roy in the recording studio.

The Gary Burton Quartet's second recording in August 1967 was Lofty Fake Anagram. Puzzled by the title, I gave Gary a call last week:

"Typical of the weirdo '60's, there isn't any anagram in the title. It came from a longer statement conjured up by Paul Haines [pictured], a writer acquaintance at the time. He had created a computer program to see if he could come up with a sentence that could not be turned into an anagram.

"The result—"Your rappaplat bugle calls"—was what Paul referred to as his "lofty fake anagram." According to Paul, the computer couldn't turn that odd sentence into another series of words. For some reason, "lofty fake anagram" had a ring to it that I was looking for in a title—something that was both ambiguous and provocative. 

"That is also the last time I titled a record or a song with something that required an explanation. People kept asking what it meant, and I got tired of having to offer my pretty obtuse explanation."

Jazz, Rage and the Rampage

Here's a shocker: Alleged Arizona gunman Jared Loughner  played saxophone in two jazz bands while in high school and dug Charlie Parker and John Coltrane. According to yesterday's New York Times, Loughner, 22, was so passionate about jazz and dedicated to practicing that a career in music was once considered.

These details comes as something of a head-snapper. Most of us think of jazz as an intellectual art form favored by thoughtful, sensitive people who appreciate melody, harmony and dexterity. For us, jazz is an uplifting force and a guiding light, helping us remain optimistic, tolerant and productive. The very nature of jazz encourages freedom within the confines of structure, allowing an individual musician to be both an admired soloist and a respected team player. Loughner and jazz? There seems to be a disconnect. We just assume that murderous jack-in-the-boxes have spent their lives marinating in high-volume heavy metal.

We also assume that people who enjoy jazz and gravitate to musicians like Parker and Coltrane will be in a safe haven mentally. After all, the music is so beautiful and there is such a wide variety of recordings to choose from. Few music forms offer listeners a cozier cerebral retreat or as much history and variety. How many of us have faced a bad day, only to turn to our jazz collections for solace and rejuvenation? Jazz has a way of righting emotional ships.

And yet, here's someone who slipped though jazz's safety net, not to mention the mental health system. According to yesterdays New York Times...

"Jared seemed to find escape for awhile in music, developing a taste for the singular sounds of John Coltrane and Charlie Parker. A talented saxophonist, he could show off his own musical chops by sweetly performing such jazz classics as Summertime.

"He belonged to the Arizona Jazz Academy, where the director, Doug Tidaback, found him to be withdrawn, though clearly dedicated. He played for two different ensembles, an 18-piece band and a smaller combo, which meant four hours of rehearsal on weekends and many discussions between the director and the mother about her son's musical prospects.

"But Mr. Tidaback did not recall ever seeing Jared's father at any of the rehearsals or performances. And one other thing: the music director suspected that the teenager might be using marijuana.

" 'Being around people who smoke pot, they tend to be a little paranoid,' Mr. Tidaback said. 'I got that sense from him. That might have been part of his being withdrawn.' "

Of course, one does not become a psychotic, strip-mall killer  by being exposed to jazz or any other form of art. Nor does the normal mind become twisted to this extent merely by watching bad movies or playing video games. And with all due respect to Mr. Tidaback, marijuana may induce mild feelings of paranoia (illegal things tend to do that to you), smoking it hardly results in Reefer Madness crimes or the monstrous acts in Arizona last week. Clearly other drugs—or a lack of the right ones—helped lead to the shootings.

Jazz artists throughout history have not been immune to mental illness. Depression is as common among jazz musicians as any group, perhaps more so in the '40s and '50s given the debilitating roles that racism, long road tours and loneliness played in everyday jazz life. The blues was invented and played routinely for a reason, and meds to treat severe mental illness are relatively new.

Jazz history also has had its share of self-destructive artists and those who have met with violent ends, either by their own hand or by someone else's. Some have even ended their lives horribly and taken innocents with them. Trombonist Frank Rosolino comes to mind. 

And let's face it—if marijuana or harder stuff led directly to mass murder, jazz would have imploded years ago. As far as I know, Louis Armstrong and Charlie Parker never hurt a fly. Clearly, every mind is different, and out of 300 million Americans, there will always be people who are delusional and wind up a menace to society. The neurological reasons for severe mental slides remain mystifying and the results terribly sad.

Perhaps we'll never know how a young person goes from a jazz-loving saxophonist to a glassy-eyed mass murderer. I'm sure certain environmental conditions have to occur along with emotional challenges like alienation, overexposure to the media, narcotics and mental issues that go unnoticed and unmedicated.

The victims of this tragedy and their families have suffered horribly, leaving the residents of Tucson and the rest of us puzzled and shattered. Questions about the alleged killer and what would possess him to commit such an act will take months if not years to sort out. It's quite possible we may never have a rational reason for why he or anyone does such things. As for Loughner's early fondness for jazz, we'll also never know why the music's supposed palliative powers failed to turn a negative mind into a positive force.

Sunday Wax Bits

Want more JazzWax? Simply subscribe to JazzWax Insider. It's a free extra monthly e-newsletter featuring thoughts, news and even movie reviews that I couldn't squeeze into my daily JazzWax posts. The January issue will be emailed to subscribers tomorrow (Monday) at noon (EST), so don't delay. To subscribe to JazzWax Insider now, just add your email address here. It takes 5 seconds (I timed it).

Miss the NEA concert? No problem. You can catch the entire January 11 concert, featuring the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra and the NEA's 2011 Jazz Masters, by going here.

Ernie Henry. Symphonious Sid Gribetz, the hep scholar with the collar, will seize the WKCR mike this afternoon to present the career of alto saxophonist Ernie Henry. The show airs from 2 to 7 PM (EST). You can tune in from anywhere in the world on your computer by going here.
 
Herbie Hancock. Jazz musician, writer and educator Bill Kirchner will host Jazz From the Archives tonight, spotlighting pianist Herbie Hancock's 1961 recordings for Warwick and Blue Note. The show airs on New York's WBGO from 11 to midnight (EST). You can tune in from anywhere in the world on your computer by going here.

CD discoveries of the week. Soprano saxophonist and electronic music pioneer Jane Ira Bloom recorded her first album in 1978 while wrapping up her studies at Yale. Known for her pure yearning sound on reeds, Bloom has just released Wingwalker (Outline), a collection of neo-fusion pieces that soar, swoop and make you see futurist landscapes. What has always set Bloom apart for me is her pinpoint concentration and blazing intensity, which is refreshing in an age saturated in funk hooks, riffs and jazz-house themes. Wingwalker simmers and wanders, triggering moods that are similar to what you feel when the weather changes. Life on Cloud 8, Freud's Convertible and the title track are particularly exceptional. The sole standard is I Could Have Danced All Night, which is quite exciting. Wingwalker can be found at iTunes or here.

Things Are Getting Better (Primrose Lane Music) is Luther Hughes and the Cannonball-Coltrane Project's fourth CD. Listening to it is like taking your third sip of a fabulous cup of coffee. After a few plays, you begin to think about how rich the interpretations—robust but not over the top. The album alternates between heaving heavyweights like McCoy, Things Are Getting Better and Take the Coltrane, and softer, more delicate numbers like The Primrose Star and hard-bop bossa novas Jive Samba, Sunset at Hermosa, Green Bananas and Samba Para Um Dia Chuvoso. Led by bassist Hughes, the quintet's musicianship and restraint is admirable. They channel the spirit of Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane without ever making the mistake of mimicking the reed giants—thanks largely to Glenn Cashman on tenor and Bruce Babad on alto. You'll find this one at iTunes and here.

Oddball album cover of the week. First oddity—that's not Annie Laurie on the cover. Laurie was a black r&b singer whose complexion apparently was not in keeping with this record label's marketing strategy. Especially odd since the title song was Laurie's biggest hit in 1957 (No. 3 on Billboard's R&B chart). Second oddity—it's not quite clear why love hurts based on this image. Given the contortion of the female model's hands, perhaps they left the "g" off the word love.

JazzWax List: Lou's Organists

Lou Donaldson was one of the first alto saxophonists to perform and record consistently with a Hammond B3 behind him. He used the sound extensively on the road in the '50s while touring across the country and developed a new jazz-funk approach in the '60s. Here's a list of the groovy organists who have recorded with him over the years. Dates signify their first recording session:

• Jimmy Smith (1957)
• Baby Face Willette (1961)
• Brother Jack McDuff (1961)
• Big John Patton (1962)
• Lloyd Mayers (1964)
• Billy Gardner (1965)
• Dr. Lonnie Smith (1967)
• Charles Earland (1968)
• Leon Spencer Jr. (1970)
• Paul Griffin (1973)
• David Braham (1992)
• Sonny Phillips (1993)

Sonny Stitt's Prestige Ballads

Between 1949 and 1952, saxophonist Sonny Stitt recorded  close to 70 sides for Prestige as a leader and sideman. Excluding Charlie Parker, Lester Young and James Moody, it's hard to think of too many other artists during this period who produced as much exciting and consistently dynamic material for a single label. Later, in the 12-inch LP era, Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane and others, of course, would come to define prolific recording excellence. [Photo: Popsie Randolph/Popsie Randolph Estate]

The box that comprehensively captures Stitt's early years at Prestige is Stitts Bitts: Sonny Stitt, the Bebop Recordings (1949-1952). For years, the big take-away from the LPs and box was Stitt's blazing speed with pianist Bud Powell on tracks like Strike Up the Band and Fine and Dandy and his swashbuckling tenor duels with Gene Ammons on Blues Up and Down and You Can Depend on Me. After giving the box a fresh listen the other day, what I find just as remarkable are Stitt's rich ballads during this period.

Stitt's sound on tenor sax often has been compared to Lester  Young's. But in truth, Stitt's engine ran way too hot for him to be a true Prez clone. There was too much impatience lurking beneath Stitt's lines, and his emphasis was less on Young's linear drawl and more on the quick-witted seamless blues ideas championed by Parker.

Stitt on ballads wasn't a disciple of Coleman Hawkins, either. Stitt's phrasing wasn't gruff nor did he exhibit Hawkins' brutish tone. Though Stitt's solos did tend to run up and down a song's chord changes, pretty always preceded explosive prowess. Stitt on tenor is like the guy who loves to rumble but stops every so often to check his reflection in the mirror. You get the sense he loved the sound of his own horn and marvelled at his own cleverness mid-solo.

On ballads Stitt sounds like, well, Stitt. Despite the knock by critics back in the '50s that he was too similar in style to Parker and Young when playing alto and tenor respecively—or that he sounded like both at the same time—he actually had his own thing that was distinct. On the early Prestige ballads, there's both a commanding presence and a shrewd tenderness that smartly combines Songbook charm with a sewing-machine blues attack.

Stitt on these ballads is only too happy to send notes up like fine smoke—curling and twisting and lingering in the air before moving on to the next idea. Dig Count Every Star or Stairway to the Stars. Or the mid-tempo P.S. I Love You. These are the hidden gems in a flawless collection.

Yesterday I spoke with Ira Gitler [pictured] about Stitt's early Prestige recordings. Ira was at several of them...

"Stitt's ballad work was very soulful. I liked everything he played then—ballads and uptempo. What makes his ballads special is that they're always lyrical and high-energy.

"Sonny had a pretty good ego, too. Stan Getz once told me that Sonny came by one of his gigs and jumped up on the stage and wailed away. At the end, Getz said, "You didn't even let me get even with a ballad" [laughs].

"I remember Sonny's Imagination session in 1950. [Prestige owner] Bob Weinstock told me that Stitt was having trouble with his alto horn and asked me to bring mine to the date. I was momentarily apprehensive about lending it to Stitt. Sonny had a reputation for disappearing with other people's instruments and hocking them for cash.

"But I didn't mind since I was going to be there and could keep an eye on it. Sonny took my horn and recorded Imagination and Cherokee flawlessly. When I got my alto back, I did feel as though something special had happened to it. But I didn't sound like Sonny when I played it."

JazzWax note: The ballads on the Stitt's Bits box include...

• Ain't Misbehaving
• Mean to Me 
• Stairway to the Stars
• Count Every Star
• There Will Never Be Another You
• To Think You've Chosen Me
• Our Very Own
• Imagination
• P.S. I Love You

JazzWax tracks: Stitts Bitts: Sonny Stitt, the Bebop Recordings (1949-1952) is a three-disc, remastered set on Prestige. You'll find the box at iTunes or here.

Want more Stitt in his prime? The Complete Roost Sonny Stitt Studio Sessions box from Mosaic picks up the story in 1952 and offers track after track of remastered brilliance on nine CDs. Go here.

JazzWax clips: Here's Stitt in 1951 on a mid-tempo ballad, P.S. I Love You. It's also one of the rare examples of Stitt playing baritone sax. He was joined by Charles Bateman (piano), Gene Wright (bass) and Teddy Stewart (drums). Listen how he gently saws through this standard, each of his lines more interesting and prettier than the one he played moments earlier...

Tony Bennett, San Francisco and Me

A week before Christmas I was in San Francisco to interview Orrin Keepnews for the Wall Street Journal. While I was there, I stayed overnight at the Fairmont, which has to be the city's most stately and grand hotel. Perched high atop Nob Hill overlooking the city and bay, the Fairmont opened in 1907 and has been restored to its original grandeur. Of all the hotels I've checked into in the U.S., the Fairmont ranks at the very top in terms of service, attention to detail, concierge smarts and panoramic views. But for music fans, the hotel is famous for another reason.

The Fairmont's interior originally was designed as an enlarged Venetian palace, and the lobby's butterscotch marble columns and floors drive this motif home. Like all great American hotels of a certain vintage, this one housed a nightclub. Known as the Venetian Room, the opulent supper club opened in 1947 and was host to music royalty. Among the stars who played the space were Ella Fitzgerald, Nat "King" Cole, Marlene Dietrich, Vic Damone, the Supremes and James Brown. The club ended its run in 1989, and today the room is used for parties and large affairs.

But perhaps the Venetian Room's most famous headliner was Tony Bennett, who sang I Left My Heart in San Francisco for the very first time from the club's stage. Here's Tony Bennett (with Will Friedwald) in The Good Life: The Autobiography of Tony Bennett...

"George Cory and Douglass Cross were an aspiring songwriting team living in New York in the mid-fifties... They met [my pianist] Ralph Sharon when he was playing around town, and they frequently gave him some of their songs, hoping he'd pass them along.

"One particular day Cory and Cross bumped into Ralph [pictured] on the street, and true to form handed him some more songs. Ralph promised he'd take a look, but our lives being as hectic as they were, he simply stuck them in a dresser drawer and forgot about them.

"We were home in New York for a brief stay in mid-1961. We would be heading to Hot Springs, Arkansas, and then moving on to the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco. Ralph was packing, looking through his dresser for some shirts, when he saw the batch of songs that Cory and Cross had given him two years earlier. On top of the pile was a song called I Left My Heart in San Francisco, and Ralph took it along because that's where we were headed...

"I was happy to have a special song for my San Francisco show because I'd never performed in that town and had heard that if audiences didn't know you, they didn't warm up to you quickly. Ralph wrote up a great chart, and I sang it on opening night at the Fairmont Hotel. It really went over like gang-busters. It might have ended right there, but as fate would have it, local Columbia reps heard the song at rehearsal that afternoon and loved it... On January 23, 1962, I recorded San Francisco in one take."

So while I was staying at the Fairmont in December, I decided to wander down to the lobby and inquire about the old Venetian Room. Pointed in the right direction, I headed through the main restaurant and wound up in front of two white wooden doors. I gave a gentle pull. The door opened. Peering inside, I saw that the room was dark—except for faint daylight spilling through the large, draped windows and a hushed purple light illuminating the stage.

Stepping inside, I let the door close quietly behind me. Clearly, the room was in the middle of being transformed into private-party dining space. After walking the interior, I headed up the few steps to the compact stage. From there, I looked out on what Tony Bennett and so many others must have seen over the years. Quite a chilling moment.

And then it hit me. Facing an empty room of stacked chairs and bare tables, I began to sing the intro to I Left My Heart in San Francisco:

The loveliness of Paris
Seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome
Is of another day
I've been terribly alone
And forgotten in Manhattan
I'm going home to my city by the bay.

I don't have much of a singing voice. But being the only one in the room, I had no fear or shame. I did notice, though, that the acoustics were fabulous. My voice—sour notes and all—echoed throughout the room and rushed back at me.

Leaving the stage, I felt both foolish and excited. Where did I get off? On the other hand, now Tony Bennett and I had something in common: We both had played the Venetian Room and we both sang his trademark song there—or at least part of it.

Heading for the door, I noticed that I had had an audience after all: There in the corner sat a bunch of carpentry tools parked under some canvas. Which made me laugh: I had received a sanding ovation.

JazzWax clip: Here's Tony Bennett singing I Left My Heart in San Francisco in 1963 on the Judy Garland Show...

Orrin Keepnews, Jazz Master

What makes Orrin Keepnews special? As I point out in my Wall Street Journal profile today here, the 87-year-old former Riverside Records producer is arguably responsible for some of jazz's greatest recordings. Through his vision and encouragement, Riverside recorded many of the finest jazz works by Thelonious Monk, Bill Evans, Cannonball Adderley, Wes Montgomery and so many others in the '50s and early '60s. Not to mention his work on his Milestone and Landmark labels in the years that followed. That's why the National Endowment for the Arts is celebrating him tonight at Jazz at Lincoln Center in New York as one of its 2010 Jazz Masters.

From 1954 to 1964, Orrin's jazz taste and determination resulted in quintessential recordings for Riverside by some of jazz's greatest talents. Classics include Monk's Brilliant Corners, Evans' Sunday at the Village Vanguard, Adderley's In San Francisco, Montgomery's Incredible Jazz Guitar and about 300 others. The list really could go on and on.

Considering that Orrin does not know how to play an instrument or read music, and didn't know much about jazz when he started out in 1948, his efforts and accomplishments have been truly extraordinary. For my Wall Street Journal article, I traveled to Orrin's home outside San Francisco in search of how he managed to accomplish so much with so little initial facility.

When asked that very question, Orrin said he didn't know—or pretended not to know the answer in his huffy, humble manner. But little by little, a sense of what made his style as a producer special emerged during our lengthy conversation. Orrin's great skill was to find exceptional talent early and let leading lights record what they wanted—without trying to badger weasel, cheat or belittle them.

Seems simple enough, but the record business wasn't quite as noble as the music sounded in the '50s. Some independent producers were cool, determined characters who saw musicians as commodities. The goal often was to shuttle them through the process by having them record sellable album concepts, extracting the most amount of work as quickly as possible and holding less bankable original works to a minimum.

Unlike most of his independent-label contemporaries, Orrin allowed musicians to conceptualize albums. He made them feel as though they were part of the business of producing art, not merely employees. And he always showed profound respect and admiration for them as people and artists. In return, the musicians who worked for him delivered exceptional work in most cases, all of which is documented on the Riverside and Jazzland labels.

Though Orrin didn't know much about jazz at first and he learned how to produce on the job, what he did know well from the get-go was how to write. His literary liner notes cover the backs of most of the albums he produced at his labels and they are always precise and passionate. In fact, the reason he began as a producer was to write about what made the music special. His measured prose was especially admired by musicians like Monk and Adderley. In recent years, Orrin has updated his original notes for remastered Concord editions, providing fresh detail and drama.

After Orrin and I spent two hours talking, I finally could sense why artists rose to the occasion under his direction. To those who don't know Orrin well, he certainly can be intimidating and off-putting. But that's merely a defense mechanism to discourage fools and time-wasters.

Deep down, Orrin is a kindred spirit who cares ferociously about art and those who are capable of making it. Once Orrin senses that an artist is special, he's only too happy to serve as a radar operator—his job during World War II—confidently guiding them through unknown territory to their creative destination.

JazzWax note: Missed the NEA concert on January 11? To see and hear the event on your computer from anywhere in the world, go here.

JazzWax clip: Here's Wes Montgomery's recording of Lolita for Orrin and Riverside in October 1963, with Melvin Rhyne on organ and George Brown on drums...

Marty Sheller and Joe Magnarelli

The history of the jazz trumpet backed by strings probably dates back to Louis Armstrong and the Song of the Islands in 1930. But in those days, strings meant a clutch of violins that sounded more like fiddles than an orchestral backdrop. Harry James began including a full string section starting in 1941, but the effect was more drama and movie soundtrack than hip accompaniment. Bebop musicians avoided longhair strings until Charlie Parker's Just Friends and April in Paris became jukebox hits in 1950. Dizzy Gillespie took a shot with strings in 1950 and in 1952, and Chet Baker in 1953. Clifford Brown recorded his masterpiece in 1955.

Following in this tradition, trumpeter Joe Magnarelli has just released My Old Flame, a CD with strings arranged by Marty Sheller. I spoke to Marty yesterday about the album and his strings writing. More with Marty in a moment.

Born in Syracuse, N.Y., Magnarelli moved to New York in 1986 and has recorded with Lionel Hampton, Toshiko Akiyoshi, Grant Stewart, Brother Jack McDuff and Chris Connor. He also has performed with Jon Hendricks, the Carnegie Hall Jazz Orchestra, Ray Barretto, Louis Hayes, Marty Sheller, Maria Schneider, Dado Maroni, Rosemary Clooney, Tom Harrell, Junior Mance, John Pizzarelli, Jane Monheit and Don Sebesky.

Marty Sheller's career began in the late '50s. He perhaps is best known for his trumpet solo on Mongo Santamaria's Watermelon Man in 1962. He spent much of the '60s and early '70s writing for Santamaria and many other bands during this period and beyond, becoming a legendary Latin arranger, though he doesn't speak Spanish. You can read my interview with Marty here.

My Old Flame gives Magnarelli a chance to exhibit his tender side, and the result is warm and lilting. Tracks include My Old Flame, I'll Be Seeing You, The Duke, When Your Lover Has Gone and five originals. In each case, Magnarelli soars and sustains notes sensitively without overplaying or scorching Marty's string arrangements.

As for Marty's writing, it's quite remarkable. His string-writing style clearly is rooted in the '50s, creating an enormous sighing mood for Magnarelli's trumpet. Strings rise and hover sweetly before descending with an aching swoop.

Yesterday I gave Marty a buzz to talk about the new album. Here's what he had to say:

"How did I learn to write for strings? Trial and error [laughs]. I never studied formally, which may sound strange for someone who spent so much of his career arranging. I was very lucky. I was always around good musicians—learning and asking questions.

"My arrangements for Mongo Santamaria were things I heard in my head and just figured out how to arrange on score paper. The first time I wrote for strings was in 1970, for vocalist Joe Bataan. He was signed to Fania Records, and they wanted him to record a softer soul album called Singin’ Some Soul. Since I was writing for Mongo at the time, the label asked me if I had written for strings. I never had but told them I did.

"When I got home with the assignment, I figured I had better check my theory book on how strings might be transposed. I looked at the violin section and saw that the instrument is written in the treble clef and appears as written: If there's a C on the piano, the violin reads the same C on the music sheet. Then I looked at the cello section and saw it was in the bass clef, also without a need for transposition.

"But when I looked at the viola, I said to myself, “Oh, man, what is that?” The viola is written in an unusual looking clef [pictured]. What’s more, notes on the piano have to be transposed through a tricky process.

"Since I had never written for strings before, I wrote out a scale for the piano and next to it the corresponding notes for the viola, but transposed. This gave me a master sheet to work from. By the end of the first arrangement, the writing and transposing came fairly easily.

"The funny thing is that after we recorded the Bataan strings, the viola player came over to me and said, “Marty, it was a pleasure to play a real viola part.” I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “Usually arrangers just write the viola part in the treble clef and we have to transpose it while we play” [laughs].

"It was Joe’s idea to record an album with strings. After he heard my album Why Deny in 2008, Joe asked me if he could read over the scores. After he looked them over, he asked if I’d be interested in an album with strings. I told him that the concept sounded great. We started talking about the album early last year. Each arrangement took me about two to three weeks. I like to take my time. Plus there were times when Joe would be out of town on tour.

"Joe put together a list of great standards and wrote some originals. After I went over Joe’s list, we discussed the structure of each song. Then I started to write. But I wanted the strings to have the old school feel I had in mind.

"My inspiration for Joe’s album was Neal Hefti’s [pictured] arrangements for Clifford Brown with Strings in 1955. Joe Magnarelli also loves the album. Even the late Woody Shaw, who was an old friend of mine from Newark, N.J., loved that album. 

"So, for example, on the standard My Old Flame, I naturally had the formal piano sheet. But I also wanted to consider alternate chords. I called Herb Mickman, who’s a great bass and piano player in California and a good friend. He had come up in the Newport Youth Band in 1959. He’s one of these guys who loves creating hip chord changes to songs.

"I said to Herb, “I’m arranging My Old Flame. I know the song and have my own changes. But do you have changes?” He said, “Oh, sure.” He was a big fan of Hank Jones’ [pictured] and has many of his recordings. Hank was a master of alternative chord changes to songs. Herb sent me a sheet to My Old Flame with his changes over the music. Between the standard changes, my changes and Herb’s, that’s how I decided how to arrange My Old Flame for Joe.

"When I’d finish a chart, I’ll roll it up and send it off to Joe. Then Joe studied all the instrument parts as well as his own. I wanted his input because I always want as much information from whomever I’m writing for. Also, Joe is pretty serious about what he does and wanted to make sure he knew everything before we got together to rehearse. [Pictured: Marty Sheller and Joe Magnarelli]

"The Duke was Joe’s idea. I thought it was a great choice but I wanted to come at it a different way. I told Joe that I wanted to give in a cha-cha-cha kind of groove. Joe had played in Ray Barretto’s group, so I knew he was comfortable with Latin rhythms. Joe loved the idea. That's Dick Oatts on alto sax, who has a terrific solo.

"I arranged six of the nine pieces—just the ones with strings. Joe arranged the balance that featured just the band."

"I had a lot of fun writing strings for Joe. I had the freedom to do it my way. I love what Eddie Sauter did with strings on Stan Getz’ Focus album in 1961, but that’s not the kind of music I hear. In addition to Neal Hefti’s writing for Clifford Brown's album, I also love the way Johnny Mandel writes for strings. Manny Albam and Gordon Jenkins, too. Strings have to fall in love with the singer or instrumentalist, but they also have to provoke and tease."

 JazzWax tracks: If you're looking for a new album with a '50s feel to take the winter chill off, sample the tracks. You'll find Joe Magnarelli's My Old Flame with Marty Sheller's string arrangements at iTunes and here. (And yes, the cover does look exactly like Miles Davis' Miles Ahead.)

Sunday Wax Bits

In my three-part interview with Junior Mance last week, the pianist told me that Cannonball Adderley saved his life while they both were in the Army and stationed at Fort Knox in the early '50s. Which made me think: Junior was lucky, but imagine how many potentially great jazz musicians in the '40s and '50 we know nothing about because they died young for one reason or another.

We know the names Chu Berry, Clifford Brown, Richie Powell, Eddie Costa, Freddy Webster, Scott LaFaro and Fats Navarro because they managed to record masterpieces before they died young. They left a musical fingerprint, a record of their contribution. But how many other exceptional jazz artists remain unknown because they recorded too little or not at all? Or never were able to flower because of car crashes, overdoses, illness and war? Would the history of jazz have been altered if they survived? Would Miles Davis be little known if Fats Navarro had flourished?

The only ones who know of these so-called jazz ghosts are jazz musicians from that era who are still with us. The names of these little-known artists are mentioned like a hidden deck of cards. Whenever I interview jazz legends, they often mention artists they respected and loved but who never caught a break for one reason or another. They'll often say to me, "Oh, if you think he was great you should have heard so and so. What a sound he had. What a shame he left town so young."

It's mind boggling to think that the music we listen to and love represents just a percentage of the talent pool that existed during America's jazz renaissance after World War II. Our album collections might be twice or three times as large if more of the potential greats survived.

At any rate, we have Cannonball Adderley to thank for Junior Mance [pictured]. And we have Junior to thank for all of his great recordings, his good cheer, and his inspirational work as an educator at the New School.

Billy Taylor remembered. Producer Creed Taylor called me on Friday to reminisce about the late pianist Billy Taylor, whom Creed knew well and produced. Among Creed's recollections:

"I met Billy when I came to New York for the first time to visit in the late '40s. The first place I went was a club on 52nd Street. The name escapes me but I had heard it on the radio often while listening late at night growing up in Virginia. I still recall that when I walked into the club, I saw Billy at the piano playing with Ben Webster. I couldn't believe what I had heard that night and the easy-going, engaging look on Billy's face.

"Years later in 1956, when I began producing jazz records at ABC Paramount, I recorded an album called Know Your Jazz. It was a compilation package that featured my favorite New York jazz artists. The first person I called was Billy, who recorded Indiana.

"A year later, I produced Billy's My Fair Lady Loves Jazz. My vision there was to unite jazz and Broadway in an orchestral, hip way, with Billy and his rich style taking the lead. At the time,he put up a fuss over recording Get Me to the Church on Time. Billy was deeply religious and he felt at the time that the song had sacrilegious overtones. Later, he thanked me for pushing him to record it once he realized the song's context in the musical.

"That one recollection says so much about Billy's sensitivity and his lifelong belief that making great jazz was possible without offending or hurting anyone else's feelings. Billy was a gorgeous musician. He was a brilliant advocate for jazz. And he was a spectacular human being."

Billy Taylor memorial. A service for Billy Taylor, who passed away on December 28, 2010 at the age of 89, will be held at Riverside Church in Manhattan on Monday, January 10 at 6 pm. Location: 490 Riverside Drive in Manhattan.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in Dr. Taylor's name to the organization that he founded, Jazzmobile. Donations can also be made online:

Jazzmobile, Inc
154 West 127th Street
New York, NY 10027
http://www.jazzmobile.org

David, Larry, Howard and me. I had the pleasure on Saturday of appearing on a panel discussion in New York with fellow jazz writers David Hajdu [below] of The New Republic and Columbia University School of Journalism; Larry Blumenfeld [above right] of the Wall Street Journal and Village Voice; and Howard Mandel [below], the president of the Jazz Journalists Association. We discussed the state of jazz feature writing and the pressures the "long form" faces in the online world of hurry-up-already jazz journalism.

David's blog (The Famous Door) can be  found here, Howard's blog (Jazz Beyond Jazz) can be found here and Larry's fine work on New Orleans and other jazz matters can be found by typing his name into Google.

Hanging at the Ear. Blogger Michael Steinman often can be found at New York's Ear Inn at 326 Spring St. He loves the place and often writes fondly about the good cheer and young jazz artists who play there. Recently he posted about the Ear and captured on video some of the sights and jazz sounds. Have a look at a cozy space that preserves the feel of jazz clubs of yore. Go here.

Max Roach radio. Starting tonight, WKCR in New York will feature its annual Max Roach Birthday Broadcast at midnight (EDT) and running all day and night tomorrow (Monday). You can access this program on your computer from anywhere in the world by going here.

CD discovery of the week: Bud Shank's final recording was made one day before he died on April 2, 2009. The album, In Good Company (Capri), was recorded with British alto saxophonist Jake Fryer. Accompanying the dueling reedsmen were Mike Wofford on piano, Bob Magnusson on bass and Joe La Barbara on drums. The recording has just been released and we hear Bud on a range of standards and originals by Fryer.

If Bud was ailing, you can't tell from this recording. Bud plays hard, giving it his all. Among the standouts are Boppin' with Bud and Agnieszka, a Key Largo-esque ballad with a light bossa beat. What's particularly interesting is that Fryer has a sweet, tiptoeing Benny Carter feel, which when paired with Bud's flinty intonation results in a forceful, finger-in-your-chest sound. It's still hard to believe that Bud died of a pulmonary embolism a day after returning from this session in San Diego. You'll find this CD at iTunes and here.

Oddball album cover of the week: Jim Eigo of Jazz Promo Services sent along this Mitch Miller album from the early '50s based on a TV series featuring Tom Corbett, Space Cadet. No comment on the album's title.

As for the TV show, it had a marching song and a pledge:

"I solemnly swear to defend the liberty of the Planets; to safeguard the freedom of space
and uphold the cause of peace throughout the universe. To this end, I dedicate my life."

Wing along with Mitch.