When people talk about the "George Shearing sound," they are referring to a special combination of instruments that the pianist first assembled in late 1948—and how he arranged those instruments to produce a gentle, swinging approach to jazz. The instrument mix—piano, vibes, guitar, bass and drums—tricks the ear into thinking it's listening to a much larger band. Shearing then arranged the instruments so that they all moved together simultaneously along the melody line, but in harmony, like a vocal group. [Photo by Paul Slaughter]
The result was both relaxing and invigorating. When asked by pianist Billy Taylor some years back about his inspiration for this sound, Shearing responded that he combined the exciting block-chords blues style of pianist Milt Buckner and the moody grace of the Glenn Miller orchestra, with the clarinet in the reed section.
But Shearing didn't come to the concept for this sound alone. As Buddy DeFranco told me recently, the Shearing sound was first explored when the two of them began playing together at the Clique Club in 1948, with John Levy on bass and Denzil Best on drums.
Here's what Buddy told me recently:
"George had first come over from England in 1946. He had an engagement at the Clique Club, and if I recall correctly Sarah Vaughan was headlining. At the time, George was England's biggest jazz piano star and had come to New York at the invitation of Leonard Feather.
"One day in 1947, George called me and asked if I would join his trio. He wanted the clarinet voice in there along the lines of the Glenn Miller sound. Before I could join, though, George had to arrange something with the New York local of the musicians' union. I was still waiting out a certain time period before my union card became activated. Whatever George did, he was able to get the union to activate my card early for his three-week engagement at the club. Maybe Leonard had something to do with it. I don't know.
"The sound we created featured George playing the melody with octaves—where the top notes were doubled on the bottom. At the same time, I superimposed my melodic playing on clarinet on top of his melody lines. I was playing the top notes of those double octaves—sometimes with him and sometimes without him. Then he would solo or I would solo.
"We were both following that pattern. George had that sound in his mind first, and that’s how we tailored the group. However, I do remember hearing that sound earlier on radio station WHAT in Philadelphia by a group that played the melodic octave sound with vibes. I have no idea whether George was familiar with that group or not.
"It was almost automatic how the sound came together when we were playing. It was spontaneous, and we both nailed it at the same time.
"Soon after our engagement, I was offered a contract with Capitol Records to form a sextet and George signed with MGM. So we parted ways, and George put together what would become his famous quintet. Unfortunately, we never recorded together. We meant to do so through the years but we never found the time. It would have been fun."
Tomorrow and Friday: Two groundbreaking interviews with artists who played major roles in Shearing's recording career.
JazzWax tracks: The quintet configuration that George Shearing used was based on a suggestion from Leonard Feather. Feather had originally asked pianist Mary Lou Williams to use the same instrument mix for a record session he produced for Continental nearly three years earlier.
Interestingly, all of the musicians on Williams' July 1946 date were women. The musicians were Marjorie Hyams (vibes), Mary Lou Williams (piano), Mary Osborne (guitar and vocals), June Rotenberg (bass) and Rose Gottesman (drums). Marjorie, of course, would become Shearing's first vibist when he formed his quintet in late 1948.
You'll find the Mary Lou Williams tracks (Harmony Grits, Boogie Misterioso, Conversation and Humoresque) on Mary Lou Williams: 1945-1947 (Classics). Sadly, it's out of print but available on some download sites. You can hear samples here.
JazzWax clip: Here's Billy Taylor interviewing George Shearing on the Shearing sound...
George Shearing, a British-born pianist whose blindness at birth gave him a heightened sense of time and harmony, and whose fondness for elegant swing and bebop led to the development of an enormously successful quintet sound in 1949, died of heart failure yesterday, February 14, in Manhattan. He was 91.
A professional musician since the late 1930s, Shearing became England's top jazz pianist by the end of World War II. He was encouraged to come to the U.S. in November 1946 by Metronome editor Leonard Feather, a fellow Englishman. Shearing's technique was so powerful that initially he was cast in New York clubs on 52nd Street as the English Art Tatum, albeit a more delicate one.
Quickly tiring of being positioned as the white versions of Tatum, Fats Waller and Teddy Wilson, Shearing returned to London and arranged for English big-band leader Ted Heath and among others. But with bebop's surge in popularity in New York in 1947 and greater recording opportunities with the emergence of small labels, Shearing returned to the U.S. that year, this time as a bop pianist and accordionist.
In 1948, Shearing teamed with clarinetist Buddy De Franco [pictured], bassist John Levy and drummer Denzil Best. The bop quartet played New York's Clique Club, which would become Birdland the following year.
John Levy not only was the bassist in Shearing's quartet and quintet, he also became his manager starting in the early 1950s. I spoke to John yesterday about Shearing and the early sound:
“Originally our group was set up for George to play with clarinetist Buddy De Franco, me on bass, and Denzil Best on drums. We played mostly at the New York’s Clique Club. Then Buddy landed a big contract with Capitol and George was signed by MGM. The two could no longer record together. With Buddy gone, Leonard Feather, who was close with George, suggested he substitute vibes and guitar for the sound of the clarinet. [Pictured: John Levy]
“George had been a band arranger in Britain, so he knew all about writing and voicing instruments. The sound of Buddy and George together was great but limited. How much of a sound could you really have with a quartet? It was basically a rhythm section with a lead horn. George, of course, would be voicing things on the piano with his block-chord thing, and his harmonic ideas were so great. But he’d take a solo or Buddy would and that was it.
“When George formed the quintet in late 1948 with Marjorie [Hyams] on vibes, Chuck [Wayne] on guitar, me and Denzil, the sound was amazing. Playing inside that group was really something. I felt so moved as a listener and as a player contributing to that sound. George was like a tasteful orchestra on that keyboard. Most people don’t realize that those quintet pieces weren’t written out. They were rehearsed over and over again until everyone knew their parts. I used to write out my part because I couldn’t remember all of that the way those guys could.
“Because George was blind, he had a stronger sense of hearing and feel. I remember he had this blind fellow from England who helped him with the arrangements. Both of them had seeing-eye dogs. Now dogs are pretty much dogs to most people when they’re walking around in the house on their padded feet. Yet George could tell these two dogs apart just by the way they walked.
“When we played in Detroit, we used to walk from the hotel where we were staying to the club. It was a short walk. But during a stretch on one block, there was a tree in the middle of the sidewalk. We’d be walking and George would instinctively pull off to one side even before reaching the tree. He could tell the difference in the air current, he said. The same was true with the spaces between parked cars. For George, it was all feel and hearing.
“When I think back on George, I think of a pianist with such a beautiful touch. His feeling on the keyboard was so special. It would grip you. I was always concerned with trying to listen to what the group was doing so I could keep time and fit in between the action. I didn’t want any solos. That wasn’t my thing. If I had four bars here or there, that was enough for me. And that was fine with George.
“What many people didn't know about George was his courage. Remember, in 1949, this guy had formed an integrated group with two white guys, two black guys and a white woman on stage together. Today, this might seem like so what. But back then, you just didn't do that, especially in some cities. [Pictured: John Levy and George Shearing in the early '50s]
"Many people told George that he’d do better if all of his musicians were white. He didn’t know what they were talking about. He’d get pissed and say, 'I don’t know what color they are. All I know is that they play what I like to hear and I love their intonation.' Only a few people had the nerve to come up to him and say stuff like that.
“We played mostly in New York but we toured a bit. We’d have to be careful in places like Salt Lake City, Kansas City and St. Louis where audiences were segregated by law. We’d play some clubs where blacks couldn’t even get in. But the white audiences loved the music we played. Funny, I think the fact that he was blind made them blind, too. They unconsciously put themselves in his position—caring only about the music, not who was playing. [Pictured: George Shearing with New York disc jockey William B. Williams in 1951]
"That was the amazing thing about it all. The music was what was important above all, and George was all about the music.” [Pictured: John Levy]
Rather than jam everything in on this post, I think I'll write about George Shearing for much of this week. I hope you don't mind.
JazzWax tracks: Probably the finest George Shearing collection is the four-disc Proper Box from the U.K., George Shearing: From Battersea to Broadway. It captures Shearing's recordings from 1939 to 1951. You'll find it here.
Want to dig Shearing's big band writing? He wrote two arrangements for England's Ted Heath that I know of: A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square and Ladybird, recorded by Heath in 1947 and 1949, respectively. You'll find them on a dynamite collection of Heath's recordings here. Sample the tracks.
JazzWax clip: Here's one of my favorite clips of the George Shearing Quintet in 1950, with Shearing on piano, Joe Roland on vibes, Chuck Wayne on guitar, Denzil Best on drums—and dig John Levy on the white bass...
I don't think of Herb Snitzer as a photographer, although that's exactly what he is. Herb to me is a sculptor, someone who uses his hands to preserve the souls of his jazz subjects. His images offer textured revelations and make me feel as though I've just run my own hands slowly across his subjects' faces. All of his photos seize fleeting moments that provide a window into who these musicians were as people and how they felt about life and art. Through Herb's photos, I always have the sense that I know something more about these musicians that I didn't know before and never could have learned through their music or a written profile. Herb's humanism and deep respect for jazz artists and their music is abundantly clear in his astonishing new book, Glorious Days and Nights: A Jazz Memoir (University Press of Mississippi).
About half the book is devoted to Herb's recollections about life, his struggles and the jazz subjects whose images he captured for magazines and record companies. The other half features 85 breathtaking black-and-white images. You can hear the music pouring off the pages. You can hear the energy and excitement of their genius. And you sense their humility and ambition. There are marvelous candids of Lester Young, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone and so many others. But these aren't snapshots or portraits. They are much more than that. They are emotional X-rays. Herb waited and waited and waited for just the right expression or situation, which often appeared once and in a split second. Somehow, his patience managed to pay off by summing up the artist perfectly.
In addition to being a superb photographer, Herb is a tender writer and story-teller. His recollections about jazz's great artists are remarkably well-told tales. Herb has great empathy and sensitivity in his writing and images, and you see this in the meditative stillness of his photos. Look at this one of John Coltrane in contemplation backstage at the Village Gate. Or the one in his book of Nina Simone perched on a stool, her body slightly twisted, passionately delivering a song from her heart. Herb's photos are as much about form as they are about content.
Here's the opening paragraphs from his first chapter:
"One day after graduating from college in June of 1957, I arrived in New York City to stay. You could park on the streets back then. I had driven my brother Ed's '51 Mercury from Philadelphia up New Jersey through the Lincoln Tunnel to Manhattan's West Side, where I rented a two-and-a-half room, fifth-floor walk-up on 70th Street right off Central Park West for $70 a month. I was ready to capture the world.
"Getting there had not been easy or fun. I was a child of the the thirties, a son of refugee parents who really had no idea how to raise children. They got off the boat and settled in Philadelphia, the cradle of liberty and the home of the Quakers, but I doubt they knew much about that. My brother and I had to suffer through a lower-middle class insulated Jewish life, where art and music were considered frivolous activities and where fear and poverty were never far away."
Or consider Herb's story about his attempt while on staff at Metronome magazine to convince President-elect Kennedy to include Dizzy Gillespie in his pending inaugural celebration:
"One time David Solomon, the magazine's managing editor, told me to call President-elect Kennedy, who was then at his family home in Florida—prior to his being inaugurated as the 35th president of the United States. I thought Dave was out of his mind, and I told him so. He said, 'There are no black performers and no jazz performers at Kennedy's inaugural, and we should call Kennedy and tell him to do something about that.'
"I still thought he was asking for the moon. I said, 'Just pick up the phone and call the president-elect of the United States, and when he answers, I'll just introduce myself and ask him to include Dizzy Gillespie at the inaugural ball. Just like that?'
"Dave said, 'Yep, just like that, Herb. Do it.'
"I went to my desk and called the information operator in Palm Beach. I asked for the telephone number of President-elect John Kennedy. She gave it to me.
"I dialed, the phone rang, and a man answered. I said, 'This is Herb Snitzer from Metronome magazine. I'd like to talk with President-elect Kennedy.'
" 'He isn't available right now,' was the reply. 'I'm Pierre Salinger, his press secretary. May I help you?'
"Trying to stay composed, I told Salinger that Kennedy ought to invite Dizzy Gillespie to the inaugural ball. He said that Frank Sinatra was handling those details and I should talk to him about it. He gave me the number in California, thanked me for calling and hung up.
"I dialed Sinatra's number, and his manager answered. I told him the same thing I told Salinger, that Dizzy Gillespie should appear at the inaugural. He said he'd deliver my message to Frank, and we hung up...
On December 27, the magazine dispatched a telegram to the President-elect urging him to include Dizzy... But Mr. Kennedy, through the offices of Sinatra, declined the offer, saying, 'There wasn't enough time to squeeze John Birks in...'
"We later heard back that Sinatra was very angry with us for contacting the president-elect, but no more so than we were angry at Sinatra for forgetting his roots."
This is photography and story-telling at its best. You'll find that the images talk to you, that you'll hear the music and you'll feel you know these musicians more intimately than you did. Herb's images over the years let you see something fresh about the artist's true nature through an expression or a moment. This book is about a lifetime of waiting and acting. The result is sheer jazz poetry.
JazzWax note: Herb Snitzer's Glorious Days and Nights: A Jazz Memoir is available here. It's a coffee-table-size book, and the quality of reproductions is excellent, with the black-and-white images glistening as though someone has given them a fine shoeshine.
JazzWax Insider. My free monthly e-newsletter will be sent out to email boxes early next week. The JazzWax Insider is a bonus for JazzWax readers. The e-newsletter features insights and behind-the-scenes reportage that didn't fit into my daily JazzWax posts. There's only so much room, of course. The good news is the JazzWax Insider is free and fast to read.
If you don't already receive the JazzWax Insider and want the February issue, sign up here.
Thank you from Toni Harper. In the wake of my series of posts on retired singer Toni Harper, I received the following email from Toni last week that I thought I'd share with you—not so much for nice things that she said but for the graceful way in which she said it:
"I owe you a boatload of thanks. As a result of our meeting online and our relationship progressing to the point that it has, I have been able to see pictures of myself when I was performing as an adult. Until now I've only witnessed me singing as a kid. [Photo of Toni Harper, far right, at age 11 with her family in 1948 by John Florea for Life]
The pictures on your blog blew me away, having never seen them before.
Today I received the DVD you mentioned in your post. I purchased it from Amazon, and it includes me singing in Japan, probably from the television show we did there.
I noticed that the Cannonball Adderley's rhythm section did in fact play for me, despite the friction. John Levy's account had me wondering if they did or did not. And there they were on the DVD, all of them. Even Sam Jones, who for whatever reason did not like me. [Photo of Toni Harper at age 11 in Hollywood in 1948 by John Florea for Life]
Viewing that DVD gave me a sense of fulfillment and cured my curiosity. In this life, I cannot get over it. To see what I have wondered about for so long is a blessing. It is wonderful to leave a legacy as that. I am proud of what I saw and heard.
I had no idea how beautiful I was and how great I could sing. I cracked up watching it and could hardly wait to write and tell you that. If not for you, I might not have ever seen it. I also just finished writing to John Levy and his wife. I had to thank them for the joy they brought to my door.
It is all such wonderful music, Marc. What a great sextet indeed. Out of sight!"
Jerry Fuller. Curious about clarinetist Jerry Fuller, whose excellent 1959 album Clarinet Portrait I mentioned as part of my Hidden Downloads on Friday? Reader Roger Wade sent along a link to the following YouTube clip. As of a few years ago, Roger said, Jerry was still playing and living north of Boston. With any luck he'll send along an email to me, and we'll learn more about his career.
Gil Evans. If you're in New York on March 13, Saint Peter's Church is hosting an all-day tribute to arranger Gil Evans.
Participants will include Phil Woods, Andy Bey and Frank Kimbrough along with the Eastman School of Music Chamber Jazz Ensemble conducted by Ryan Truesdell. Other participants include Helen Merrill, Maria Schneider, Steve Wilson, Howard Johnson and Stephanie Crease. Location: 619 Lexington (at 54th Street). Advance tickets are $20 ($25 at the door and $10 with student ID). For event times and more information, go here (and scroll down).
Cool site. Jim Raposa, former national program director for Georgia's vast network of Music of Your Life radio stations, hosts the Standards Channel, a terrific site that includes a radio station playing American Songbook standards. Go here.
CD discoveries of the week: Dig the Singers Unlimited and other vocal groups that adore harmony? Take a listen to Inner Voices' Valentine. Produced and arranged by Morgan Ames, a composer and lyricist who began singing and playing piano in Los Angeles clubs at age 16, this album features 17 tracks, each displaying a tight tapestry of vocal purity. Morgan learned the business from Quincy Jones, for whom she worked for three years, and she has spent her career producing and singing in Hollywood recording and movie studios. Jazz fans may know her best as the co-writer with Johnny Mandel of Quietly There, which she sings accompanying herself on piano on this album.
Valentine is a choral masterclass and a reminder that some artists out there still love the sound of a cappella voices pressed together. More on the five-member Inner Voices vocal group here. More on Morgan Ames here. You'll find this album at iTunes or here.
40 Acres and a Burro, from Arturo O'Farrill & the Afro Latin Jazz Orchestra, roars out of the gate and never quits. Founded in 2003, the ALJO under Arturo's direction has consistently turned out solid albums, and this one is no exception. What makes this CD more special is greater cohesion and the patient blending of old and new. Sample Almendra, a cha-cha-cha, or the simmering A Night in Tunisia. Arturo's A Wise Latina demonstrates instantly why he is so important as a Duke Ellington- and Chico O'Farrill-inspired arranger and composer. You'll find this one at iTunes or here.
Bassist Matthew Rybicki's new album, Driven, is his first. The album harkens back to hard bop of the late '60s, when tightly arranged horns embraced modal scales and flirted with free jazz. All of the tracks are determined and strong. Smart horn work by trumpeter Freddie Hendrix and saxophonist Ron Blake. You'll find this at iTunes or here.
Ozay is a captivating vocalist—a Marlene Dietrich-ian offspring of sorts with a mysterious air about her. She's featured on a newly issued and equally mysterious album that doesn't appear to have a name and was recorded in 1994 and 1995. The album features saxophonists David Murray and Chico Freeman, but Ozay clearly is the standout here. To see what I mean, sample Antiquated Love and Intuitively. And catch how she steams up I Thought About You. You'll find this one at iTunes or here.
If you want to hear some refreshing post hard-bop, dig Anthony Branker & Ascent's Dance Music. Branker is the composer and arranger of the album's tracks, and each packs power and instrumental discovery. In particular, tenor saxophonist Ralph Bowen has a big strong sound that's enhanced by trombonist Clifford Adams Jr. and alto saxophonist Tia Fuller. Pianist Johnny King brings everything together neatly. Sample A Smile Awaits and Truth. What's more, the album has been crisply recorded with enormous sonic depth and dimension. You'll find this one at iTunes or here.
Saxophonist Ric Cunningham's Adventures in the Modern Lounge is a tad on the soundscape side, but it's sufficiently textured to qualify as a breather from heavier fare. Many of the tracks sound like air conditioning feels on its highest speed—cool and frantic. Cunningham plays alto, tenor and a vintage Conn baritone sax, which can be heard on Les Amis. Most of the tracks, like Powerhouse, mash his reeds with electronica, creating a cunning collage. NaNa La ChaCha and Jazzed may not be heavy-duty stuff but they are fun. You'll find this at iTunes or here.
Oddball album covers of the week: Here's another one of those strange covers issued by the Fontana label from the Netherlands, casting jazz musicians as leering perverts. This time around, the victim is Cannonball Adderley. The art department even did a bit of ham-handed retouching to make Adderley look as though he's giving the lass a wink. Can't quite tell whether she's encouraging or chastising the great alto saxophonist—or why she's yelling.
Have your allowance money for this week? Good, because it's time once again for Hidden Jazz Downloads, a regular JazzWax feature. Since we no longer can hang around record stores reading the liner notes on the backs of new LPs or cruise CD stores pawing the latest discs in racks above the bins, I have roamed around to see what's old online. Retailers haven't found a way yet to let us know what great jazz albums of the past have entered their online catalogs. In other cases, readers have hipped me to hidden gems.
Here are five tasty downloads:
1. Clarinet Portrait: Jerry Fuller Sextet (1959). This one is a blindfold test if ever there was one. Put it on and see if friends can guess who's playing. You'll win every time. Fuller was an exceptional clarinetist, yet he doesn't appear in the Encyclopedia of Jazz or the Grove Dictionary of Jazz. This album features Jerry Fuller (cl), Gene Estes (vib), Bob Florence (p), Howard Roberts (g), Mel Pollan (b) and Frank Capp (d). Dig On Green Dolphin Street. It's solid all the way, with nice clean playing by Fuller. It's at Amazon here.
Jazz at the Academy: Hal McKusick (1956). Enjoy Hal's smooth sound on alto sax and clarinet? Fond of guitarist Barry Galbraith? This one will do the trick. It was recorded at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and features Hal McKusick (cl,as), Barry Galbraith (g), Milt Hinton (b) and Osie Johnson (d). It's at iTunes.
Dave Pike and Cedar Walton: Pike's Groove (1986). Dave Pike is a vibist who recorded often in the '60s and '70s with Latin bands. Cedar Walton is easily one of the most important pianists on the scene today. This album is a happy marriage of both musicians' impeccable styles. The personnel: Dave Pike (vib), Cedar Walton (p), David Williams (b) and Billy Higgins (d). It's at iTunes and here.
Mike Mainieri: Blues on the Other Side (1962). Reader Eric Evans recommended this one by vibist Mainieri. It has a gorgeous, early '60s Greenwich Village swing feel. Personnel: Mike Mainieri (vib), Bruce Martin (p), Julius Ruggiero (b) and Joe Porcaro (d). It's at iTunes and here.
Marc Halbheer's LA Edition: Mood Swings (2009). This recommendation by reader Pat Gannon was issued shortly before trumpeter and vocalist Stacy Rowles' untimely death in 2009 following an auto accident. The album features Stacy Rowles (tp), Frank Strazzeri (p), David Angel (b), Joel Hamilton (g) and Marc Halbheer (d). You'll find it here.
Want more? At JazzWax, scroll down the right-hand side to "Hidden CDs," where you'll find links to earlier entries.
Fayard Nicholas was half the Nicholas Brothers dance team, whose spectacular gravity-defying routines were the highlights of films like Sun Valley Serenade (1941), Orchestra Wives (1942), Stormy Weather (1943), The Pirate (1948) and many others. Paul Slaughter had the honor of photographing Fayard Nicholas several times. [Photo of Fayard Nicholas in 1983 by Paul Slaughter]
Here's Paul in his own words on the story behind the photos in this post:
"I first met Fayard and Harold Nicholas in 1970. Fayard, his wife Barbara and their daughter lived in a duplex apartment building next to mine on North Harper St. in West Hollywood, California. My apartment was large enough for me to set up a small studio, where I did some of my first early portrait photographs.
"It appeared to be a difficult period for Fayard, financially. I recall many an afternoon when I'd see him leave his apartment building with a lunch box in hand, strolling off in his uniform to work as a night watchman. Despite the job—which surely was a come-down from where he had been and what he had done for jazz, dance and film—there always was a snap in his step. Many times I heard him whistling.
"Anyone who met Fayard immediately was warmed by his smile, his laughter and exuberance for life. I'd often visit with the Nicholases back then, and Fayard would break into an impromptu dance step or two. How exciting to be with him.
"In 1983, the Los Angeles Times assigned me to photograph Fayard with the Tony-nominated African-American dancer and choreographer Donald McKayle. Both were working at the time on a new routine at a dance studio in Hollywood. It was good to see Fayard again and catch up with our respective lives. [Photo of Donald McKayle, left, and Fayard Nicholas in 1983 by Paul Slaughter]
"In 1985 the Los Angeles Baha'i community held a celebration for Dizzy Gillespie's 50 years in music. Fayard Nicholas attended, as did the great trumpet player Buddy Childers. As always, dear Dizzy was having a good time taking a picture within the picture. Fayard, Buddy, Dizzy and I all had embraced the Baha'i faith. [Photo, from left, of Fayard Nicholas, Dizzy Gillespie and Buddy Childers in 1985 by Paul Slaughter]
"I recall a lovely dinner I had with Fayard and Barbara in the late 1980s at the Motion Picture Home, a residential facility, in Woodland Hills, California, where they were living at the time. Sadly, both are gone on now. Fayard died in 2006.
"When you are in the presence of a great talent like Fayard or Dizzy, the air is wonderful and quiet. I find it's only later that you realize how very fortunate your were to have had the gift you were given, the experience of being with them."
Want more PhotoStory? Scroll down the right-hand column of JazzWax to the "PhotoStory" heading. There you'll find links to other posts in this series featuring photographers talking about their jazz images.
My posts on singer Toni Harper began back in December, after I discovered an obscure album in Oscar Peterson's discography called Toni Harper Sings! (1956). At the end of January, to my great surprise and delight, Toni emailed me and answered many of the questions that I had raised about the Peterson session. [Pictured: An extended play LP released in Japan, courtesy of Makoto Gotoh]
Next, readers wondered in the Comments section of these posts about Toni's trip to Japan in 1963 with the Cannonball Adderley Sextet. So last week, legendary bassist and Cannonball Adderley's manager John Levy wrote me to provide insight into how Toni came to accompany the group and how she was treated by bassist Sam Jones. Earlier this week, Toni sent along another email with more details and gave me permission to post her remarks.
The beauty of the web, of course, is that history is a moving target, a work in progress. Hence, the "Toni Harper Story" is an ongoing one at JazzWax, providing a glimpse into the life of the singer and the volatile dynamics that occasionally cropped up within jazz groups. I am grateful to Toni and to John for sharing their important stories, since such details add dimension to our knowledge of jazz and might have been lost forever had they not agreed to express them.
Here is Toni's latest email from earlier this week:
"As I read John Levy's accounting of our 1963 tour in Japan, the coldness of some of the musicians toward me—with the exception of Cannonball and Yusef Lateef—came rushing back. Like me, Yusef seemed to be a person outside of the group. Yusef was easy to talk to, and I remember him with fond thoughts.
"When you originally asked me if I could recall anything about that time, I took my time thinking about it. Now having read your posts, my thoughts have more meaning. Living this life of mine is so very enlightening. It is absolutely marvelous. I am so happy to be breathing and experiencing life. And now, having befriended you and having the fun you bring is great. I love it. Too much fun for an old dame like me. Really!!!
"Thinking back, I remember the band being cold and distant, but not rude. But I guess there was that chill. It didn't bother me at all. By that time in my career, I was accustomed to being with and singing with musicians. Just about all of those musicians were men, so I was used to being treated many different ways.
"You have to understand, as I was growing up, my life was a lonely one anyway. I had no close relationships. It wasn't allowed. Just work. So the aloofness of the musicians in Cannonball's sextet was a matter of course, and I just focused on my work.
"However, I have fantastic memories of how I was accepted by the Japanese audiences and of the Japanese officials who handled the arrangements for the tour. Not always but frequently I found that I was the only woman sitting at dinner with just men. At the time I couldn't understand why no women were present. [Pictured below: Rare dinner in Japan that included musicians' wives. From left, Ann and Nat Adderley, Joe Zawinul, Yusef Lateef, Toni Harper, Gladys and John Levy (partially obscured), Louis Hayes and Japanese hosts; photo courtesy of John Levy]
"When I asked the Japanese men about that, they might have thought I was uncomfortable with it. I am not sure. But what ensued was that they invited me to their homes to meet their families. I was so fortunate to have been invited to go through the ritual of Japanese tea ceremonies. Those experiences changed my life forever and helped shape my life as it is today.
"I came to learn that only men typically attended dinners involving business matters and that it was part of the culture. For these men, I was a unique part of the equation. Everything was done by these men to make me feel comfortable and happy. In fact, I got along better with them than some members of Cannonball's group.
"While we were on tour, I learned two Japanese songs—one that I performed at each performance. I recall that Joe Zawinul was forced to play it. The other was a Japanese lullaby that one of the women I had met taught me. I still sing it to myself today and sometimes to my Japanese friends when they visit my home and I am in the mood to sing. We laugh. It is fun.
"I also remember being given the name, 'Toni With the Good Heart.' That was touching. In 1965, two years after our Japanese tour, I accepted the Buddhist faith and remain a Buddhist today. I am sure that my life-changing tour in Japan had everything to do with my becoming a Buddhist and with my decision to leave the entertainment field.
"I've taken the time to write this to you now as I think of it for if had I waited I fear I might have lost the thoughts or gumption. I am so happy we have met over the computer. You and JazzWax bring me more joy than I know how to express."
Proud of your vast CD collection? Think your iTunes library is bursting with great stuff? Trust me, B.B. King has you beat. Two weeks ago, when I was in Missouri to interview the 85-year-old blues legend while he was touring on the road, I spent time with "the Boss" in the back of his cozy bus. My interview appears in today's Wall Street Journal (go here). Like a kid eager to show off a cool toy, B.B. was only too happy to walk me through his stereo system and his large digital collection.
Actually, "stereo system" is probably an antiquated term for the rig B.B. has installed back there. Technically, it's a Kaleidoscope home-theater system that stores thousands of digital music and movie files. To display the system's library, B.B. touches a small screen that functions as a remote. This displays all of the albums and DVDs loaded into the system on a large flat screen. They come up first as covers. Then B.B. moves a white frame around on the big screen to the album he wants to hear and touches the small screen again to call up the tracks.
If you know enough about B.B.'s background, all of this makes perfect sense. B.B. started out as a guitar-playing, record-spinning disc jockey at WDIA in Memphis back in 1949. "I think you're right," he said. "My passion for music—all kinds—started back on that radio show."
Sitting on a leather banquette in B.B.'s tour bus almost knee to knee with the King of the Blues, I couldn't help but sense that the guitarist was a little shy. It wasn't the meek kind of shy but the shy that comes when you spend large amounts of time alone and suddenly your space is invaded.
But within minutes, we had bonded—over jazz. It turns out B.B. is a big jazz fan—Charlie Parker, Chu Berry [pictured], Count Basie, you name the artist and B.B. knows the artist and likely saw him perform. And why not? The jazz greats are rooted in the blues.
"I saw all of them—and I emphasize saw. The blues is like high school and jazz is like college. These guys could do things no one could imitate. I'd hang around and watch them. Freddie Green could drive the whole Basie band with just his acoustic guitar. There may have been a microphone in front of him from time to time. But he played an acoustic instrument back then. Now that's really something. Freddie was a whole orchestra by himself. You know who reminds me of him? The Edge [pictured] from U2. .
"I'm from the South. I didn't live in Chicago, like Muddy and a lot of the other blues guys did. Same with Kansas City. I'd come in to Kansas City, like I am tonight, play a show and get out. But I knew about these jazz guys. After concerts, no matter where we were playing in the country, most of the blues musicians of my generation would go out and try to find these jazz guys at local jam sessions. That's where we got our feel, if you will. [Pictured: Kansas City, at 18th and Vine, in the 1940s; Driggs Collection]
"Did I go out and find Basie? Oooh, yes I did [huge laughter].
"On most of my early recordings, whenever the Bihari brothers [owners of Modern Records] needed a record, they would come out on the road and find me. Then we'd go to the nearest place to record. One time we recorded at a bass player's house—Tuff Green, one of the leading r&b musicians at the time. Actually, he had been in one of my earlier bands. In that band I had Tuff, Phineas Newborn on piano, his father on drums, and his brother Calvin on guitar, among others.
"When I was young growing up in Kilmichael, Mississippi, I sang in a choir in our Baptist church and later started a gospel quartet. That was the first time I dreamed about becoming popular. I had wanted to be a gospel singer. We had several vocal quartets down there that were very popular. I still like gospel today.
"Our preacher, Archie Fair, was my mother's brother's brother-in-law—I know, that's a mouthful. He played the electric guitar and sang in the church. It was the first electric guitar I had ever seen or heard. He'd make you feel so good in church on Sundays. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be a gospel singer and preacher.
"Down in Kilmichael, kids weren't allowed to eat with adults during Sunday dinners. After the chicken was put out on the table, the adults would eat and the kids would go off and play. Well, before Archie came to eat, he would leave his guitar on the bed. Usually I climbed up on the bed and fooled around with it. One time he and my uncle caught me. Electric guitars were rare and expensive then, and my uncle wanted to beat me up for messing with it. But Mr. Fair made him not do that. Then Mr. Fair showed me three chords that I still use today—one, four and five. It can be played in any key. Its the pattern, the positions. It's country music.
"When I played the Fillmore Auditorium in 1967, I saw so many white kids, it scared me half to death. I had played the Fillmore many times before—but for black audiences. I had never played for white people. All of my many gigs over the years had been at black clubs. So I didn't know what was going to happen, how they would react. It was like going from here to Afghanistan [laughs].
"We had a bus then that I called Big Red. When we pulled up in Big Red in 1967 at the Fillmore in San Francisco, I didn't realize I'd be playing for a young white audience. I had heard of the hippie movement, you see, but I had never seen them. We had always played all the way down South and in the Middle West on a circuit. Occasionally we'd play outside of New York City. When we'd play Manhattan, it would be the Apollo Theater in Harlem.
"We didn't go out West much. My record company was in Los Angeles, of course, but I was always on the road. When we would play in California, we'd play around Los Angeles in black clubs. We had also played a few times at the Broadway Club in Los Angeles. All of the places I had played were small—200 to 250 people. Nothing like the 2,000 or more people who were at the Fillmore that day in 1967.
"When we got out at the Fillmore, white kids were sitting on all those hard concrete benches in there talking to themselves. They all had long hair. I had never seen anything like that. I told my road manager, 'Go and get the promoter.' I had never met Bill Graham before. When he came out, he was real business. One of the best promoters ever. Real business.
"We shook hands and I asked him if I was in the wrong place. He said, 'No B., this is the right place. Come on in.' He took me to the old dressing room but as we went up, we had to wade through kids who were sitting all over the floor. In order to get through, we had to carefully step around and through them. [Pictured: Bill Graham]
"They were completely serene. That was was unusual to me because if we had been in a black place, the people sitting there would have said, 'Hey, watch it, man! What are you doing? Don't step on me." These kids didn't seem to care at all. They just sat there.
"When we got up to the dressing room, I said to Bill, 'I don't drink a lot but you have to get me a drink or I ain't gonna make it.' He got me half a pint of something and I took a slug or two. Bill said, 'B., I'm going to leave you here to take care of some business. When it's time to go on stage, I'm going to come and get you.'
"And he did. When he went out on the stage, he gave me one of the best introductions I had ever received in my life. While I was waiting to come on, he said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the Chairman of the Board, B.B. King.' Wow, the chairman of the board.
"That's when the audience went crazy. I came out, and there I was, standing there crying. I had never had that happen to me. I had never been introduced like that. I didn't think that white people had heard of me or knew anything about my music. People ask me about crossing over, and that for me was the first time. Tears were coming down my face because I had never played in front of a white audience before and had never been treated like that, recognized for who I was. [Pictured: Bill Graham in his office at the Fillmore Auditorium in 1967]
"Remember, in my whole life, I've only had one record they played on the radio like other people's—The Thrill Is Gone in 1970. I've had hits, but not like that one.
"Most people think my favorite album is Live at the Regal [1965], which critics love. It's good, but it's not my favorite. My favorite is My Kind of Blues [1961]. No one liked it but me [laughs]. I still love it today.
"Eventually I left the Bihari brothers [in 1962]. It was around the time they started selling my records for 99 cents at truck stops. That's why I left. I wasn't being properly recognized or promoted, so I went to ABC.
"The blues is a good feeling when everything is working just right. If you have a good group behind you, a good setting, there's nothing like it. It's a feeling that you don't get any other way. When the band plays strong behind me, I feel like crying. I feel emotional inside when I hear or sing the blues. It's a good feeling. It's like church for me.
"I used to have a pretty good voice when i was younger. As I get older, it sounds heavier and doesn't often suit me. I always do my best, but a lot of times my best isn't like what it used to be.
"What happened to my large LP collection? I've been divorced twice [laughs]. My ex-wives took them. Always. But now I have everything here in this Kaleidoscope. And it's a lot easier. I just love music. And it doesn't have to be just the blues."
JazzWax tracks: Love B.B. King but unsure which albums to download or buy? You can cover a vast stretch of his extensive career with four albums. My favorites are:
Singin' the Blues and The Blues on a single CD or download here.
Last week, singer Toni Harper reflected on the albums she recorded with Oscar Peterson in 1956 and Marty Paich in 1959 and 1960. In 1963 she traveled to Japan with the Cannonball Adderley Sextet. John Levy [pictured], Adderley's personal manager at the time, wrote me an email last week about that tour:
"Cannonball and his group were contracted to do their first tour of Japan's major cities in 1963. When the Japanese promoters called me to complete the details, they asked if we could include Toni Harper, whose Candy Store Blues from 1947 had been a hit in Japan and whose more recent albums had been released there. The promoters asked if Cannonball's rhythm section—Joe Zawinul, Louis Hayes and Sam Jones—could accompany her.
"Not being a jazz singer, per se, Toni was not known to the group at the time. I recall that some of the musicians weren't thrilled to be asked to back up a singer, since the sextet took enormous pride in themselves as celebrated jazz instrumentalists, which they were. [Pictured below, from left: Yusef Lateef, Toni Harper and Nat Adderley at a Tokyo airport press conference in 1963; photo by John Levy]
"At any rate, that was the offer, and we accepted. The deal included a taping with Toni for a television broadcast. I explained it all to Nat, who handled the group's internal business.
"When we arrived in Japan, everything went fine. But when it came time to do the television show, bassist Sam Jones grew unhappy. Even though the TV show was going to be shown only once, and only in Japan, Sam didn't want to play. He was huddled in a corner with Nat when the Japanese promoter came over to ask what was wrong. [Pictured, below, from left: Yusef Lateef, Toni Harper, Louis Hayes, Nat Adderley, Cannonball Adderley and a member of the Japanese press; photo by John Levy]
"When I went over to see what was going on, Sam was furious. He said, 'Man, you didn't tell us she was gonna be on our television show. We don't want to be playing for her.'
"I said to Sam, 'This was part of the deal.' Then, looking straight at Nat, I said, 'Before I even accepted this offer, I explained to you that Toni would be on the show with us.' Sam started to grumble some more, and his attitude was wrong. So I got mad. [Photo below, from left: Sam Jones, Joe Zawinul, Toni Harper, Louis Hayes, Nat Adderley and Cannonball Adderley; photo by John Levy]
" 'I don't know what you want,' I said. 'All you're doing is stirring up a lot of trouble within the band. Everybody was willing to do this, and you come up with this stuff now. I will not let you make me look like a fool in front of these people.'
"We were about to square off when Cannonball got in the middle and cooled everything out. Cannon was always the peacemaker.
"They all went on and did the show, but I was really upset with Nat [pictured]. He could have and should have prevented it from becoming a problem situation. It was embarrassing.
"It also must have been hard on Toni, who was an innocent victim in all of this. As I recall, the balance of the tour went very well and Toni was very professional at a relatively young age. Louis Hayes, Cannonball's drummer, recalled her being very friendly to everyone in the group.
"Looking back, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Toni felt like an outsider at the time. The drama and hostility was unnecessary, but we made the best of a difficult situation."
JazzWax video: There appears to be a DVD of the Cannonball Adderley Sextet with Toni Harper, probably from the Japanese TV show. I have not seen it but you can find the DVD here.
JazzWax pages: John Levy's lifelong recollections can be found in his candid and insightful autobiography, Men, Women and Girl Singers, co-authored with his wife, Devra Hall Levy. The book covers John's years as manager for George Shearing, Nancy Wilson, Dakota Staton, Cannonball Adderley and many other jazz stars. His autobiography is here. John also published Strollin', a book of his jazz photos. You can find it here.
Memo to jazz musicians: take it up a notch or stop complaining about how little work there is. All forms of revenue-generating live music today work hard to entertain and engage audiences in a big way. Cab Calloway, Jimmie Lunceford [pictured], Louis Armstrong and other leading jazz stars of the '30s understood this.
Charisma isn't easy but it can be learned. You either want to be outgoing or you don't. It's a choice. Of course, not everyone is comfortable on stage, but those who are worked hard to overcome their shyness and unease, and found ways to make audiences fall in love with them. At the heart of charisma is passion, optimism and a warm smile. Tony Bennett is a great example. Nancy Wilson, too. Dionne Warwick—absolutely. And Jon Hendricks. I recently watched Jon enter a room where someone else was appearing and literally take over the entire event with his sunburst personality and jolly laugh. And he's about as hip as you can get.
Back in the mid-'50s, jazz became brooding and introverted art music with the advent of the LP and at-home listening. Cool was an image and attitude that sold records. Rock and soul came along and captured large live market share with flamboyance and sex-appeal. Jazz never made the leap. Arena rock in the '70s thrived on outrage. In the '80s, MTV did the job. By the '90s, stage theatrics took rock and rap to new levels. But today, the screaming, blasting volume and pyrotechnics have become rather predictable and old school. [Pictured: David Bowie in the early '70s]
Now, live music that packs large venues is taking on jaw-dropping visual elements, primarily to survive softening attendance figures. Consider this quote by pop star Katy Perry (who is about to start a 95-date world tour) in the current issue of Rolling Stone:
"Touring is no longer an ordinary thing where you play an instrument in jeans and a T-shirt. It has to have some pizazz these days. [My new] show has a Broadway feel to it. It's got a story line that's going to be very interesting, kind of loosely based on my life, but a cartoon version.'
Mind you, I'm not advocating that jazz artists start tap dancing or study Barnum & Bailey or Walt Disney. They can't and shouldn't. But I think we can all agree that the introspective, serious, dour thing is a dated bore. If you want to reach more people, especially younger listeners, start figuring out how to add a little jazz to your jazz. Start with a smile and warmth, and make a connection with the audience. You're on stage—use it. And please remember: For all intents and purposes, the cool of old is tired and done. Seriously.
Steel magnolia. I came across Jeremy Wakefield purely by chance last week. I happened to be listening to Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys, which made me wonder who today plays the steel guitar with zip and zest. I just love the sound of that instrument. Steel guitar is to Country as vibes is to jazz. The steel sound adds instant hipness and excitement to songs, giving everything an authentic Western Swing feel.
Curious, I went to iTunes and typed in "steel guitar." Up came an album called Steel Guitar Caviar. Strange title, I thought. Also, it was hard to tell from the cover whether Jeremy Wakefield was from the '60s or from the here and now. So I swung over to YouTube and typed in his name.
Turns out Wakefield is new and quite something. Plus he has that modest, Grand Ole Opry look, which only enhances his authenticity. As soon as I saw the following video, I went back to iTunes and downloaded the album (it's here, too). Great stuff. Here's Wakefield with Dave Stucky in 2007 (in Spain, no less) singing Everybody's Truckin'. See what you think...
And here he is performing Santo & Johnny's Sleepwalk...
Chris Potter was captured recently in performance and conversation in the Arizona desert by filmmaker Bret Primack.
CD discoveries of the week: Randy Brecker's Nostalgic Journey: Tykocin Jazz Suite, is something of a Euro trip for the trumpeter. Randy was one of the founding members of Blood, Sweat & Tears and co-founder with his late brother Michael of Dreams and The Brecker Brothers. He has recorded on 640 known jazz dates, won five Grammys and appeared on dozens of pop, rock and commercial sessions.
On this new album, he plays a suite by Wlodek Pawlik, the contemporary Polish jazz and classical pianist, composer and orchestrator. This orchestral album is a jazz-classical work of the highest order and was written by Pawlik specifically to showcase Randy's solo trumpet. Think Thad Jones-Mel Lewis meets Stravinsky. Randy's playing here is flawless and packs enormous energy and verve, soaring and swooping over the swelling score, eagle-like. Sample Let's All Go to Heaven for a taste of what makes Randy special. You can find this CD at iTunes or here.
I love Giacomo Gates, and let me tell you why. The vocalist has that 1950s "meet you in the Village for coffee and poetry" sound, an authentic, sensitive feel that is all but lost today. Despite shifts in how the male jazz singer is supposed to sound today (sticky croony with faux Songbook passion), Giacomo has managed to remain a bohemian romantic rooted in the honest, nuanced style of Eddie Jefferson and Mark Murphy. His most recent album, Luminosity, expresses this perfectly. Giacomo sounds like the smell of pipe smoke or beef stew. There's enormous feeling and heft in everything he sings. Best of all, he swings swiftly on uptempo numbers and digs deep on ballads. Sample Peace of Mind and The Blues Are Out of Town. Great work by pianist John diMartino. You can find Luminosity at iTunes or here.
Oddball album cover of the week: In an attempt to appeal to a younger, Jetsonian audience in the early '60s, Don Elliott on the cover of this Design album touched on two themes at once. Here, Elliott is depicted riding a beat Vespa scooter with mellophone in hand, all while crossing the Milky Way. It also looks like he went straight from the gig to the launch pad, since he's dressed in tails.
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."
