Last Friday in the Wall Street Journal I reviewed jazz singer Giacomo Gates' new CD, The Revolution Will Be Jazz: The Songs of Gil Scott- Heron (go here). It's one of the most exciting and intelligent vocal albums I've heard in some time. Giacomo doesn't try to cute-up Scott-Heron nor does he over-hip the songs. Instead, he plays it straight—giving the material a baritone bopping in the vocalese tradition of Eddie Jefferson and Mark Murphy.
The last time I posted about Gil Scott-Heron was back in May, when the singer-songwriter died. Scott-Heron's novel, talk-singing approach caused some to crown him the unintentional originator of rap. Scott-Heron scoffed at this when he heard the remark, insisting he wanted nothing to do with that accolade.
As I noted in my review, Scott-Heron is really jazz's last great storyteller, a socially conscious prophet whose passion and concern about poverty, war, pollution, addiction and racial tension inspired many soul artists of the early '70s and beyond.
The idea for this album was Mark Ruffin's [pictured]. The producer, musician, arranger and songwriter mentioned the concept to Giacomo while Scott-Heron was still alive. Ruffin presented Giacomo with 45 tracks on a burned CD, and Giacomo chose 10, careful to stick to ones that had strong jazz sensibilities. Ruffin had hoped to present the finished product to Scott-Heron. But the singer died at age 62.
Giacomo now is two years younger than Scott-Heron was at his death, which may be why Giacomo brings so much understanding to the music. The songs that Giacomo chose are so hip. Songs like Lady Day and John Coltrane, Winter in America, Is That Jazz, Show Bizness, and, my favorite, This Is a Prayer for Everybody to Be Free.
The group backing Giacomo here is top shelf. John Di Martino on piano, Tony Lombardozzi on guitar, Lonnie Plaxico on bass, Vincent Ector on drums and Claire Daly on baritone sax and flute.
You listen to this album and it could easily have been recorded in 1964. Giacomo brings a Greenwich Village feel to this music—the summer strum of acoustic guitars in Washington Square, the gentle energy of Vespa scooters and the toy-like grind of the old VW Bug engine accelerating at a traffic-light change.
Don't know much about Scott-Heron? Makes no difference. This is a giant jazz-vocal album rich with soul and Giacomo's heart.
JazzWax tracks: Giacomo Gates' The Revolution Will Be Jazz: The Songs of Gil Scott-Heron (Savant) can be found at iTunes or here.
JazzWax clip: Here's Gil Scott-Heron's original version of Lady Day and John Coltrane from his 1971 album Pieces of Man...
Back in May, I posted about a 15-minute documentary made by filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker in 1964 called Audition at RCA. It features producer George Avakian accompanying Dave Lambert and his new group of vocalese singers while they auditioned new material for RCA that Lambert had written and hoped to record. For whatever reason, RCA suits passed. Then they wiped the tapes, meaning all that remains exists on Pennebaker's film. Sadly, Lambert would be killed on a Connecticut highway two years later in 1966.
Here's the film, from beginning to closing credits:
The singers were Dave Lambert, Sarah Boatner, David Lucas, and Leslie Dorsey. But the vocalist the camera seemed to have the biggest crush on was Mary Vonnie, a sultry, hep singer with the high parts. Intrigued, I started to do a little research and found someone who looked like Mary but with a different last name. So I sent an email and crossed my fingers.
Like all good JazzWax stories, this one ends with Mary responding. Here's Mary's email from last week:
"Back in 1964, I had just graduated from high school in New York when a friend who knew Dave told me he was looking for singers to start a vocalese quintet. My friend recommended me because he had heard me fooling around singing Annie Ross' solos in school. I was very familiar with Lambert, Hendricks and Ross. I said I'd love to do it, so my friend arranged a meeting. I auditioned at Dave's apartment, where I was hired and met the other singers.
"Dave didn't say much while we rehearsed. He taught us to sing like an instrument. I was a trumpet. He was a sax. He taught us syncopation and how to sing just before or just after the beat.
"We did some gigs in and out of town to get started. Some of them were at clubs in upstate New York, near Niagara Falls. I remember we went out in a boat to see the falls.
"Then came the audition at RCA. As we all drove over that day, Dave was cheerful as usual and not noticeably anxious. We recorded four songs—Blow the Man Down, Leaving Me, Think of Me and Comfy Cozy. All were written by Dave.
"Standing around the mike, each of us sang our parts and kept it tight with the other singers. It's kind of an inside-outside focus of attention. Very intent on precision but at the same time blending with the others while riding the music.
"I don't know what happened with the audition and why it didn't work out. Dave never explained. I guess I assumed we'd just do another one, but we never did. I do know that the group didn't have any official breakup. I think we were on hold for a while, but it doesn't seem as long as two years. I'm sure Dave would have followed up with other record companies if he could, but he might have been sick or out of commission at some point. I know he really wanted to do an album featuring his own compositions.
"In the years that followed, I was in a theatre company in Los Angeles called 'The Colony,' which appeared at the Studio Theatre Playhouse. Then I was in a completely different field, working with people to enhance their lives. Today, when I listen to music, I like the Klazz Brothers, and I love Latin and salsa, which I learned to dance to at the Palladium in New York.
"Dave was such a pleasure to work with, always funny and laid back and amazingly gifted. He was an inspiration to all of us, not only for his outstanding musicianship but the way he was able to make magic happen while teaching us all his songs. It seemed like the sound he wanted was effortlessly transmitted directly from his head into our voices. To this day I remember the songs and I sing them or parts of them from time to time.
"The last time I saw Audition at RCA was at a memorial for Dave in 1966 at the Village Gate. I will never forget the great time we had together."
Jimmy Roselli (1925-2011). My dad was a tough guy. Born poor and raised in the Bronx in the 1920s and '30s, he served in the Navy during World War II as a war artist, traveling throughout shattered Europe dispatched to paint portraits of officers and battle scenes. When my dad was alive, if I put on Frank Sinatra, he'd fly into a rage. Something about Sinatra not serving in the war or some such.
I never could figure out the true basis of my dad's Sinatra animosity. Then again, that was true of most of my father's many beefs and rages. He was an artist and had that temperament. Secretly, I always suspected that his bilious distaste for Frankie had more to do with losing a girl to some guy who adored the singer. Or maybe the girl did. Who knows?
Having grown up in a rough Italian neighborhood in the Bronx, my dad was well-versed in bel canto and recordings of Italian street singers who could bring you to tears—if you understood the lyrics. Or even if you didn't. My father's Italian vocalist of choice—or at least the one he'd throw in my face whenever I'd ask him to listen to Sinatra—was Jimmy Roselli.
When I grew up, Roselli was always rumored to be a mob entertainer. I'm not sure what that meant, since even mobsters had to listen to someone. While Sinatra was slick and made guys feels like guys, he was considered a squirt by some street guys who really knew this kind of singing. Roselli, by contrast, made Italians of another era yearn for their broken-English parents, crowded stoops in the summer, and large Sunday dinners.
Roselli had a strange hypnotic effect on pre-war urban types like my dad, but you kind of understood it when you heard Roselli's chianti pipes. He was authentic and an underdog, someone who paid his dues but still couldn't quite make it—a guy who got left back repeatedly in the school of hard knocks and never complained or brought shame on those who loved him.
So for my dad, wherever you are up there, here's your favorite Jimmy Roselli song. Hey dad, let's just say that Frank and Jimmy were both good, OK?
Quincy Jones documentary. I had no idea that the financial network CNBC featured a biography series called CNBC Titans. Last week producer Bob Waldman sent along an advance copy of his upcoming Quincy Jones profile, and it's terrific. I had my doubts, of course. Many of these made-for-TV docs can slip into infomercial territory or shamelessly suck up to subjects, becoming all but worthless. This one defies those assumptions. It's beautifully shot, there's terrific rare footage, A-list talking heads (including Jones), and you come away with a fine sense of what makes the arranger-composer-conductor-producer special, whatever you think of him and no matter how much you believe you already know. The first airing on CNBC is next Thursday at 10 p.m. (EDT). For more information on the Quincy Jones profile and its broadcast schedule, go here.
iTunes solution. As you may recall, last week I complained about how Apple prevents you from playing songs that you've purchased at iTunes if you've registered more than five computers with the same email account. Such an event can occur if you've owned that many computers. And over many years, it's quite possible. Further complicating matters is that many people originally signed up with email accounts that are dormant or no longer exist.
There's an easy solution. Several readers pointed out last week that you can unregister all of your computers and then register just your current one. This can be done in iTunes under "Store" in the menu, selecting "View My Account." If you have complications related to old email accounts, call AppleCare, and they'll walk you through what to do.
In short, you need to sign into your old account, unregister all of your computers, re-register your current computer and then simply log in under your current email address. Then all music that you've purchased over the years will play just fine.
Wrecking Crew hits the road. One of the great rock-umentaries that still has not seen the light of day on DVD due to staggering music-rights payments is Denny Tedesco's The Wrecking Crew. It features original members of the Los Angeles studio band that recorded the instrumental tracks on most of the early and mid-'60s pop-rock singles, including Denny's dad, Tommy Tedesco.
Now Denny is taking the film on the road. To see where this documentary will be screened in coming months, go here.
Stevie Wonder plays John Coltrane. Think I'm kidding? Here's Stevie Wonder improvising on Giant Steps...
Jim Hall and Art Farmer. Following my post last week on Jim Hall and Art Farmer's Interaction, JazzWax reader Bruce Armstrong sent along the following email:
"I had the great pleasure of hearing this wonderful quartet during their appearance at a Washington D.C. nightclub in the Spring of 1963, right before I graduated from high school. Art Farmer had always been one of my favorites—and he did not disappoint! Jim Hall's melodic playing was also a real bonus. The blend of that group was exceptional. I would also like to mention that on the breaks my buddy and I—a trumpet player—had the opportunity to talk with all of them and they just could not have been more accommodating to us. We even got autographs! Thanks for bringing back some great musical memories."
And this one from Michael Pettersen...
"I met Jim Hall in 1972 while I was attending University of Illinois/Urbana. He was my favorite jazz guitarist and he came to perform with the U of I Big Band, under John Garvey. I could not believe how humble and nice Jim was. He gave me a long lesson (for free) after the concert. We went out for pizza, which was surreal for me: having pizza with Jim Hall! He came back the following year, and brought with him guitar arrangements that I had sent him. We went over these and he offered ways to improve. Those two lessons completely changed my approach to jazz guitar.
"I loved Jim's tone but I could not duplicate it. He let me try his guitar and his amp, and I did not sound like Jim Hall. Then he played my guitar, and he sounded like Jim Hall! Lesson learned: the sound was in his hands.
"My favorite Jim Hall recording is Jim Hall In Berlin: It’s Nice To Be With You."
Chris Jordan. Director Raymond De Felitta send along a link to a clip by pianist Chris Jordan, who has Art Tatum down cold...
Free big-band radio. Radio legend Dick Carr hosts Big Bands, Ballads and Blues. Listen to his show for free at any time. When you click, let the video ad play out for 20 seconds. Then drop the screen down so it's out of your way while the music plays. If you dig New York's beloved WNEW (now long gone), you'll love Dick's show—probably because he used to run WNEW in its heyday. To listen on your computer from anywhere in the world, go here.
CD discoveries of the week. When I wrote about Iron City last year, the band had just released Sparks, its second CD. Here comes the followup: The Business (CArlo Music). With guitarist Dave Stryker producing, their new album has a funkier edge and a deeper groove reminiscent of Prestige in the '70s. On track after track, guitarist Charlie Apicella, organist Dave Mattlock and drummer Alan Korzin along with tenor saxophonist Stephen Riley and percussionist Mayra Casales swing with an easy-going ambition that is immediately infectious. Dig the hip snap of '64 Cadillac and Ironicity. Or catch what they do with Can't Help Falling in Love. It's easy for organ trios to make a ton of noise but wind up saying very little. These guys know their green-label vinyl, and it shows. For more on Iron City, go here. You'll find this one at iTunes and here.
If you don't understand French, you'll love Zaz (Sony Music Independent Network). Zaz is the stage name of Isabelle Geffroy, a hot-selling pop singer in France. Each track is rollicking and upbeat, with plenty of passion, fizz and zest. Think Edith Piaf in a good mood. I can manage a little "restaurant French" and understand almost none when spoken to. But I love the way the language sounds in Zaz's singing voice. If I were riding a motorcycle in Paris, this is the music I would be listening to on my iPod. Sample Le Long De La Route and J'aime À Nouveau. There's a lot of jazz in Zaz's phrasing. An all-around spirits-lifter. More about Zaz here. You'll find her CD here.
Oddball album cover of the week. This 1962 release from Warner Bros. featured trumpeters and brothers Pete and Conte Candoli with Gary Peacock (b) Shelly Manne (d), along with Max Bennett and Frank Capp (d) on other tracks. In addition to being politically incorrect, it's unclear whether these women are jumping or being dropped from on high. One suspects a few trampolines were involved. Or a crane.
Steely Dan's Aja is one of the finest albums of the 1970s and easily one of the group's most exotic and captivating works. The title track has always been particularly special, since it features an extended robust solo by tenor saxophonist Wayne Shorter [pictured]. Donald Fagen and Walter Becker specifically wanted Shorter, but he almost wasn't on the album. More on how that came to be in a moment.
New subject: Dick LaPalm is one of the greatest living legends of the record business. He worked with Nat King Cole in the '50s up until the singer's death in 1965 to promote his Capitol records. Dick's many clients during this period included Sarah Vaughan, Woody Herman, Peggy Lee, Mel Torme and the Modern Jazz Quartet. Dick also worked as a jazz consultant to Chess Records before joining the Chicago label fulltime in the '60s. In the '70s, Dick ran the Village Recorder, one of Los Angeles' finest recording studios where many rock albums of the era were made.
Rather than let any cats out of the bag, let me have Dick take over from here:
"I first met Donald Fagen and Walter Becker through Gary Katz, Steely Dan's producer. He had run Bobby Darin’s music publishing company in New York when I was there working with Nat as his record promoter and partner in his company, KC Records.
"After Nat died in February 1965, I worked for Chess Records in Chicago in the '60s. But when the label was sold in 1969 to GRT [General Recorded Tape], I quickly realized I wasn’t happy. The new owner was focusing more and more on its 8-track and cassette tape formats rather than the music itself. Today, it's easy to forget how radical those formats were when they first came out. They were the iTunes or iPod of their day. For the first time, you could travel around with your music in cars and on headsets.
"But GRT wasn’t for me, and I soon handed in my letter of resignation. Afterward, I called Mike Maitland [pictured], president of Warner Bros. Records. Mike asked me to come to L.A. to meet with him. When we met, Mike talked about me joining the company. We talked about everything except salary. When he finally got around to asking me what I wanted, I told him. But we couldn’t come to terms. I finally said I’d think about his offer.
"When I left Mike’s office, I called Geordie Hormel [pictured], an old friend since 1952. Geordie was the grandson of George Hormel, who had founded the giant meatpacking company. Geordie was a musician and owner of a recording studio in L.A. called the Village Recorder. Geordie said on the phone, “Why don’t you come over to the house.” When I arrived, I told him about the Warner Bros. offer and that I was considering it.
"Geordie then drove me over to the Village Recorder [pictured], which he had started in 1968. Geordie took me on a tour. He said the studio was state of the art, with Dolby systems no one else in town had. I told him, 'I know music and how to move records but virtually nothing about Dolby or recording studios.'
"Geordie said that didn’t matter and asked if I would be interested in running the Village Recorder. Again, I told him, 'Geordie, I don’t’ know anything about studios.' He said, 'Yeah, but you know everyone in the record business and that matters for what you’ll need to do here.'
"So I took the job as general manager. The first group I brought in to record was Steely Dan in August 1972. One day, just before Donald and Walter had started to record Can't Buy a Thrill, their first album, I was in the studio talking to Gary [Katz], telling him a story that involved legendary disc jockey Mort Fega.
"All of a sudden, Donald turns around and says, 'You know Mort Fega?' Donald and Walter apparently knew all about him. They had grown up listening to Fega and were huge fans. We all talked at length, and I couldn’t believe the depth of Donald and Walter’s knowledge of jazz.
"In the years that followed, all went well with the Village Recorder. We had all the major rock groups of the day in to record—including the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac and Supertramp. Then in 1977, Donald and Walter were in to record Aja.
"During the session, I was in my office sitting at my desk one day when Gary came up. He said, 'Dick, are you still tight with Wayne Shorter?' I told him that I was and that Wayne and I had spoken just a few weeks earlier.
"Gary said, 'Well Donald and Walter need a favor. They want Wayne to do the solo on the title track. Will you call him? They’d appreciate it so much.' I said, 'Sure, Gary, happy to.' But on his way out of my office, Gary wheeled around and said, 'Oh, I guess I had better tell you that Wayne turned us down a couple of days ago.' Gary told me that Steve Diener, president of ABC Records, Steely Dan’s label, had called him.
After Gary left, thought about what he had said and realized that Steve must have called Wayne and proudly said something like, 'Wayne, will you do an overdub for Steely Dan?'
"Now from Wayne’s perspective, that’s like saying Iron Butterfly or the Purple Cabbage. It’s just another odd-named rock group to him, nothing special. Wayne didn’t realize who Steely Dan was and how good Donald and Walter were.
"So I picked up the phone and called Wayne. I had known him for years and loved his writing and playing. We chatted for a bit, and I said, 'Listen, are you available to come into the Village Recorder and do an overdub for me this week in Studio A?' That’s where we recorded all of our top acts.
"Wayne asked me who the group was. I said, 'I don’t remember. But you’re going to love the music.' He said, 'When? I said, 'You tell me.' He said, 'How’s Friday at 1 p.m.?' I said, 'Great.'
"So I walked down to the studio, Roger Nichols, Steely Dan’s engineer; Gary; Donald and Walter were in there. I said, 'Wayne will be here on Friday at 1 p.m.' That's when someone cracked, 'Yeah, sure he will.' Gary jumped in and said, 'Hey, Dick isn’t going to say Wayne is going to be here unless Wayne is going to be here.'
"That Friday, I walked down to Studio A. Donald was dressed in a starched striped shirt—white with blue stripes—pretty spiffy compared to the T-shirts he customarily wore in the studio.
"When Wayne arrived at the Village Recorder, I met him before Donald and Walter. Wayne asked if before he got started he could chant. I said, “Sure” and sent him into Studio C. When he was done, he came into Studio A.
"I introduced him around and then walked out. Wayne did his solos—six passes in all. He loved the music, and was gone in 35 minutes. The guys were sitting around watching, stunned. After he left, Donald and Walter spliced together the six passes, and that’s what you hear on the album. Donald and Walter couldn’t thank me enough.
"During the same recording session, the second engineer, Lenise Bent [pictured], came into my office. She said, 'Dick, I have to talk to you.' She put her head down on the desk in her arms and said, 'Well-the, well-the, well-the.' I said, 'What are you doing?'
Lenise looked up and said, 'Dick, I have to get off the Aja session. They worked on the words ‘well the’ for six hours last night. It's on Home at Last, for the the line, Well the danger on the rocks is surely past. All they did was work those two words for just the right sound for hours. I really have to get off the session.'
"I said, 'Look Lenise, if you want off, that’s no problem. I’ll get another second. But it will be the biggest mistake you will ever make. You’re going to have a credit on Aja, and the album is going to be huge.' So she stayed, and to this day she thanks me as a running joke [laughs]."
JazzWax clip:Here'sAja with Wayne Shorter's solo...
Fifty-four years ago this month, baritone saxophonist Pepper Adams was in a Hollywood studio for Mode Records. The date featured Adams, Stu Williamson on trumpet and valve trombone, Carl Perkins on piano, Leroy Vinnegar on bass and Mel Lewis on drums. West Coast baritone saxophonist Bob Gordon had died two years earlier in a car crash and Gerry Mulligan was in New York co-leading a quartet with Bob Brookmeyer. While guys like Chuck Gentry, Marty Berman, Ronnie Lang and Jimmy Giuffre were called for much of the baritone session work in Los Angeles at the time, Adams was known for a much more aggressive, East Coast sound. The result was The Pepper Adams Quintet, a very un-West Coast session recorded on July 10, 1957.
Adams was born in Michigan but relocated to Rochester, N.Y., with his family. At age 16, he moved to Detroit, and a year later he was playing baritone sax in Lucky Thompson's band. His first major recording date was in 1956, in Boston, with John Coltrane and Paul Chambers. The record was called High Step, for the short-lived Transition Records.
After a stint that year with Stan Kenton in San Francisco, Adams moved to Los Angeles to sop up some of the abundant and lucrative studio work, recording The James Dean Story film soundtrack in '56 with all-star musicians. In 1957, more work with Kenton followed, along with recordings led by Shorty Rogers and Quincy Jones. In April '57, Adams traveled to New York to record again with John Coltrane, this time for an album that would become known as Dakar.
Then in July, Pepper was given a chance to record as a leader for the first time. The Pepper Adams Quintet is exceptional stuff. For one, the guys on the date were among the hippest and moodiest West Coast jazz-studio guys on the scene. For another, this is pure East Coast music recorded just miles from the Pacific Ocean. What's interesting is that while the recording has all the heat of a New York date, there's still a plaid shirt and chinos feel, albeit subtle.
All in all, you can't believe how good this album is. Adams' ideas are spectacular, while his dig-deep, walrus-bark phrasing is offset by the lighter, open-horn style of Williamson.
The opener is a mid-tempo and sassy Unforgettable, followed by a rip-roaring Baubles, Bangles and Beads, on which Adams fires off idea after idea. Freddie Froo is pure bop, and here you'd have great trouble believing it was recorded in Hollywood if you didn't already know. My One and Only Love is taken as a ballad, with Adams all but singing the song through his deep horn. The album closes out with Muezzin', a minor-key tune that opens with a Latin beat and then switches to jazz time.
If you're unfamiliar with Pepper Adams, this album serves as a perfect introduction. If you're already hip to him, this recording will confirm what you already know about the saxophonist, only you'll likely be surprised by what a monster he was at a time when most baritone players were only too happy to iron out their edges.
JazzWax tracks: You'll find The Pepper Adams Quintethere as a download for $4.95. But if you opt for Pepper Adams: The Hollywood Quintet Sessions, you'll get The Pepper Adams Quintet plus the other equally excellent Adams quintet album recorded in Hollywood the following month called Critics' Choice, with a slightly different personnel: Lee Katzman (tp) Pepper Adams (bar) Jimmy Rowles (p) Doug Watkins (b) and Mel Lewis (d). This Fresh Sound release is available here.
JazzWax clip: Here'sBaubles, Bangles and Beads from The Pepper Adams Quintet. Crank it up and dig Adams swing like mad...
After Jim Hall's dynamic and experimental work as a member of the Jimmy Giuffre 3 in the mid- and late '50s, the guitarist became an in-demand partner of small-group leaders. This period in the early '60s began with Sonny Rollins' The Bridge and What's New (January and April 1962, respectively), continuing with Bill Evans on Undercurrent and Interplay (April and July 1962). Then came Gary Burton's Something's Coming (August 1963) and a series of albums with Paul Desmond. One small-group recording that's often overlooked during this period is Art Farmer's Interaction (Atlantic). [Pictured clockwise, from right: Jim Hall, Art Farmer, Steve Swallow and Walter Perkins]
Yesterday, Jim told me he hadn't heard the album in about "80 years." More with Jim in a moment.
Recorded in July 1963 with bassist Steve Swallow and drummer Walter Perkins, the album features Jim and flugelhornist Farmer conversing calmly throughout on their instruments. In most cases, Farmer takes the first solo, with Jim providing voicings behind, followed by Jim soloing, backed by Swallow and Perkins. Farmer plays warmly and is an ideal foil. Unlike Jim's other small-group dates, this one is the sound of two artists thinking, especially given the laid-back pace.
Jim and Farmer first recorded together on Listen to Art Farmer, a big band session for Mercury in 1962, and again as members of the Gerry Mulligan Sextet at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1963. After Farmer and Benny Golson's Jazztet broke up, Farmer united with Jim.
Billed here as the Art Farmer Quartet, this was a working group. Farmer and Jim had been playing for about a year in Boston, New York and Washington prior to entering the studio. The group was formed in the summer of 1962, and Farmer was featured on the more mellow flugelhorn rather than trumpet, springing softly off Jim's ringing guitar lines.
Interestingly, the quartet recorded all gentle standards on Interaction, starting with Henry Mancini's Days of Wine and Roses. Taken at a trot, Farmer rolls out the melody while Jim plays four-beat rhythm guitar. After running through the song straight, they shift gears, with Farmer wandering around the melody and Jim playing jazz chords. When it's Jim's turn to solo, the result is pure bliss as he intermingles chords with his signature string-bending lines. By Myself, My Little Suede Shoes and Embraceable You are taken with the same velvet-slipper sound, allowing for a hushed musical dialogue.
The last two tunes on the album were new gems at the time. The first was Loads of Love by Richard Rodgers from his show, ironically titled No Strings (1962). The other was Sometime Ago by Sergio Mihanovich, an Argentinian singer. The latter song is a waltz and is a quintessential early '60s jazz tune. It's a tender, dance melody that all but shouts "Greenwich Village in the early fall."
I gave Jim Hall a call yesterday to chat about the album:
"I had bumped into Art in a few situations around New York before we started the quartet. We also recorded together a couple of times in other settings. When we formed the group in 1962, Ron Carter was originally on bass. Then Miles Davis stole Ron away for his group, and we got Steve [Swallow]. A year or so later, Walter left and Pete LaRoca joined on drums.
"Art was such a beautiful, melodic player. So thoughtful. It was a pleasure working with him. He approached music the same way Bill Evans did, with that same level of intensity.
"By the way, Bill was the one who got me to do those two albums with him [Undercurrent and Intermodulation].I had known Bill when he worked with clarinetist Tony Scott in the '50s. I also worked opposite Bill when he was with Miles Davis and I was with Jimmy Giuffre.
"One day, when I was working with Sonny [Rollins] in early '62, Bill came into the club where we were playing and on a break asked me if I wanted to record with him. That's how Undercurrent came about.
"As with Bill, every note had meaning with Art. There were no frills or showoff stuff. It was pure thoughtful pleasure."
JazzWax tracks:Interaction by the Art Farmer Quartet, featuring Jim Hall, is available as a download here.
Farmer and Jim recorded two additional albums together in the early '60s: Live at the Half Notehere and To Sweden With Lovehere. The quartet also recorded three tracks on Anamari, an Atlantic release from 1964 featuring the singer Anna Schofield. The tracks are Blame It on My Youth, The More I See You and Love Look Away. It's available only on vinyl, and there are copies at eBay here.
JazzWax note: Anna Schofield died last year. For more on her, go here.
JazzWax clip:Here's Art Farmer and Jim Hall in 1964...
Back in 1947, while Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were pioneering bebop, another jazz group was developing a different style of music that would have a lasting impact on American music in the three decades that followed. The group was comprised of four black vocalists, and as The Ravens they recorded singles that wound up inspiring Doo-wop groups in the '50s, soul ensembles of the '60s, and the Philadelphia and Detroit disco sound of the '70s.
Black vocal groups were nothing new when The Ravens began recording for National Records in 1947. The Mills Brothers, The Charioteers, the Ink Spots and the Delta Rhythm Boys all had famously harmonized on 78-rpms and in movie shorts. The big difference was in the phrasing. The earlier groups were largely swing and gospel ensembles that were marketed to white audiences. The Ravens, by contrast, had a hipper sound, with an emphasis on romantic ballads aimed at the black market.
As with Parker and Gillespie, The Ravens were possible on record only because of the American Federation of Musicians' recording ban of 1942-44. When the AFM decided to prohibit its members from recording in August 1942, there were three major record companies–RCA, Columbia and Decca. A year later, cash-strapped Decca threw in the towel and signed with the AFM. By capitulating, Decca agreed to pay a royalty on record sales to a union retirement fund. RCA and Columbia continued to refuse to sign, fully expecting the federal government to step in and force the musicians back to work during the war years.
But Washington never rode to the labels' rescue, and at the end of 1944, RCA and Columbia finally took the same deal as Decca. But by then, hundreds of smaller labels had emerged to fill the vacuum left by the sidelined majors. The trend continued as Decca made its transcription recording studios available to micro-labels, ushering in the age of the independent record company.
National Records was one of those upstarts. Founded in 1945 in New York, the company went on to record many jazz and R&B artists, including Big Joe Turner, Billy Eckstine, Eileen Barton and Jackie Paris. The label lasted until 1951, when it was leased by Mercury. Then Savoy purchased National later in the decade.
But back to The Ravens. The vocal group was formed in 1945, largely inspired by the Ink Spots. But rather than fashion themselves as mainstream entertainers, The Ravens' records were positioned as slow-dance, make-out music for black record buyers. In addition to recording ballads with rich harmonies, The Ravens also hipped up standards, with the group's different voice parts coming in and out—at times the bass for emphasis and at other times the falsetto for passion.
The Ravens also were famous for their song endings, which featured strong tags with soaring, complex harmonies. They even were paired with Dinah Washington in 1951, after Mercury acquired the label and its artists.
Naturally, The Ravens soon found themselves competing with a long string of copy-cat groups. After The Ravens hit with a series of strong R&B singles, including Old Man River, September Song and There Is No You (all from 1947) and Count Every Star (1950)—other "bird" groups were formed. The winged list includes The Orioles, The Crows, The Swallows, The Swans and The Wrens.
As the 1950s progressed, The Ravens' harmony-heavy style and a romantic approach was copied over and over again by non-bird groups, eventually leading to Doo-wop streetcorner harmony groups like the Channels and the Jesters in the '50s, Motown groups in the '60s, and soul-disco vocal groups such as Tavares, The Trammps and The Originals in the '70s.
In post-war American music history, The Ravens' National recordings represent a little-known turning point. The vocal group not only marked the end of black vocal groups packaged solely for white audiences but also represented the gateway to modern black vocal R&B. Best of all, their recordings are as hip today as they were back in the late '40s and early '50s.
JazzWax tracks: The best set from this period is The Ravens: Their Complete National Recordings 1947-1950 (Savoy Jazz). The remastered three-disc set is out of print, but several sellers are offering it at reasonable prices. In addition, it's available as a download. Both are here.
JazzWax note: To hear tracks by The Ravens, dig the Vocal Group Harmony site here.
JazzWax clips: The Ravens' Count Every Star represents a major turning point in R&B history. With this one single, The Ravens transformed harmony from a novelty act into an R&B experience to be enjoyed by couples parked in cars at hillside overlooks. Hereare The Ravens singing Count Every Star...
Here's The Ravens' There Is No You from 1947. Dig the ending tag...
Here's The Ravens with Dinah Washington in 1951 for Mercury singing Out in the Cold Again.
The market for Bill Evans is bottomless. Part of the insatiable demand is nostalgia. Anyone who has been listening to jazz since the '60s or '70s remembers seeing Evans with enormous fondness, and the music transports you back to those evenings. The other part is an unyielding desire to hear great music, and virtually everything Evans recorded is rich with seductive emotion. Anyone who loves jazz has a soft spot for Evans, making it hard to resist a newly unearthed recording.
The latest entry is Bill Evans: The Sesjun Radio Shows. Recorded in 1973, 1975 and 1979 at clubs in Loren and Lelystad in the Netherlands for Dutch radio, this two-CD set offers a revealing look at the revered pianist. Evans loved playing in Europe, especially in the '70s. There was something calming for him about the European lifestyle and the unbridled exuberance of the audiences there. Both tended to push his already high game up a notch.
With this set, you wind up with an interesting sample of styles and instrumental configurations during his last seven years. The first CD features material from '73 and '75 while the second CD is devoted to '79. If there's a narrative to the set, it's that Evans' style grew stronger and more commanding over the years and that he could have been much more compelling if he had chosen to stick to a duo or solo format.
Overall, Evans' playing here is autumnal. Though not yet in the throes of physical deterioration in '73 and '75, you sense the wind is already rustling through the leaves. While much of the playlist has been recorded endlessly by Evans (Up With the Lark, Some Other Time, T.T.T., etc.), there are a few surprising entries: Mercer Ellington's Blue Serge, which Evans recorded only once, on Intuition shortly after this tour, and Toots Thielemans' Bluesette, which he never recorded on any of the albums that have surfaced thus far.
The 1973 date was recorded December 13 with just Eddie Gomez on bass. The 1975 tracks were captured on February 13 with Gomez and drummer Eliot Zigmund [all pictured]. And the 1979 session featured his final trio of bassist Marc Johnson and drummer Joe LaBarbera, with Thielemans added on five of the nine tracks.
The earliest tracks feature Evans in superb form. He's pensive and thoughtful, but there's also an innocence at play, an optimistic skip in his step reminiscent of his glorious '60s period. Gomez here functions largely as Evans' heartbeat, sans extensive solos. During this period, they worked together as a duo, dropping the drums, which I always found redundant anyway, since Evans' astonishing sense of swing was always built into everything he played. The impossible perfection of Some Other Time from the '73 session says it all.
When the CD set shifts to 1975, we hear more notes per measure, as Evans tickles his way through songs, creating a sound that's akin to a cascading light rain on a window pane. In other cases, he's a bit more rushed and impetuous in his attack.
Interestingly, after the duo session from '73, the addition of the drums sounds almost crowded and less intimate. With drums, Evans always seems to be behind a screen door of brush whisks and cymbal hits. Also, Gomez's bass solos run a bit heavy and long. The high point here is Morning Glory, which Evans approaches so gracefully, you imagine a large-winged bird taking flight.
I thought the 1979 session—recorded less than a year before his death in September 1980—would be the least interesting on this set. But tracks like If You Could See Me Now and My Romance have an overpowering presence, with Evans playing firmly but retaining a cat-like feel. For my money, this set includes one of the finest recordings of Laurie, written for his partner at the time, Laurie Verchomin (interview here). Evans' execution heaves and rolls beautifully, with brisk, delicate flourishes, and he never comes across as rushed or bombastic.
As for the Thielemans tracks, they are without question a bit odd. The introduction of the harmonica feels contrived, like an afixed strip of chrome on a piece of fine wood furniture. But Evans is such a spectacular accompanist that he effortlessly manages compelling chord changes and voicings that are front and center. Unfortunately, the sound of the harmonica grows annoying fast. Thielemans is a technically excellent player, but up against Evans, one is instantly at a severe disadvantage. This would be the case for pretty much anyone, since Evans was unrivaled for his torrent of ideas.
Evans, of course, thrived on waltzes, and he has a good time on Bluesette. But its slick veneer lacks depth, and for Evans it's a creative wheel-spinner, which likely explains why he steered clear of it going forward.
On the Sesjun Radio Show sessions, you're provided with a fascinating cross-section of Evans in different instrumental settings. Though you may own lots of versions of the songs covered here, these are clearly elevated versions.
All in all, the '73 tracks wind up being my favorites, but not because the others are lacking. I just happen to like Evans close to my ear and heart, the fewer the instrumental distractions and intrusions the better. But that's just me.
JazzWax tracks: You'll find Bill Evans: The Sesjun Radio Showshere. Another set in the same series that's worthwhile is a series of Netherlands recordings by Chet Baker here.
JazzWax clip:Here's If You Could See Me Now from the Sesjun Radio Shows...
Are you making a mistake downloading music at the iTunes store? Apparently so. Apple, it seems, has a policy that allows only a set number of your computers to access the music you purchased from its retail arm.
What does this mean? If you buy computers over the years, as most people do when they wear out, then each computer you registered with iTunes counts as one. Of course, if you use iTunes, then you're going to register each new computer you purchase. Naturally, the registrations add up eventually.
Here's the problem: When you finally reach Apple's limit of five computers, you no longer can access your music. Unless, that is, you can find your old computers and de-register them. Except that the music you purchased is your property, not Apple's. For some strange reason, Apple seems to think the music you paid for and downloaded is on loan from them.
Meanwhile, Amazon and other online download sites don't have this mousetrap problem. You pay for a song, it's yours. Period. Which makes downloading at sites other than iTunes much smarter from a consumer's standpoint.
Given the news on Friday that top Internet providers are joining to develop a systematic approach to identifying customers suspected of digital copyright infringement through illegal downloads, one can only hope that someone will have a look at Apple's iTunes policies. The key question is this: Why does a company that sells you a product feel it can bar you from using it—even though you paid for it?
Dig Al Haig? Then you're in luck. Today, my boy Sid Gribetz of WKCR in New York is devoting five hours to the spring-loaded bebop pianist and his prolific recording career over four decades—from Charlie Parker and Stan Getz to his lush and restless trio outings. When: Today, from 2 to 7 p.m. (EDT). Where: You can listen from anywhere in the world on your computer by going here.
How about Booker Little and Eric Dolphy? In that case, jazz musician, educator and writer Bill Kirchner tonight is hosting Jazz From the Archives on New York's WBGO. Bill's show will spotlight Little and Dolphy over a seven-month period—from December 1960 to July 1961—including Dolphy's Far Cry and At the Five Spot, and Little's Out Front. When: Tonight, from 11 p.m. to midnight (EDT). Where: You can listen from anywhere in the world on your computer by going here.
Tenor gladness. Bret Primack filmed saxophonists Bootsie Barnes, Tim Warfield and Quamon Fowler battling at the Mid-Atlantic Jazz Festival...
Time out. If you dig wristwatches, as I do (purely for the design), you'll enjoy Hodinkee (Czech for "watch"), a smart blog for watch collectors and enthusiasts. JazzWax reader Eric Wind writes a column there. Good stuff. Go here.
One more This or That. Sorry, I can't help it. I love this tune and came across yet another super version, this time from Benny Goodman's Swing Into Spring from April 1958. That's Jo Stafford, Harry James, Teddy Wilson, Ella Fitzgerald, Red Norvo and the McGuire Sisters...
The lousy sound of CDs. In response to my earlier post on the deteriorating sound of new CDs, JazzWax reader Michael Pettersen, host of the Freddie Green tribute site and an executive at a major manufacturer of professional microphones, had this to say:
"There generally are three reasons for poor fidelity today: 1) Microphone selections and placements that work for live sound are often not the best choice for recordings. 2) Many engineers and producers today are 'knob twisters' but do not understand the fundamental reason for the knob being there in the first place. 3) Ears that have learned sound from compressed mp3 files and do not know what 'good sound' actually is."
Women and the big bands. In response to my interview with big-band vocalist Betty Bennett, JazzWax reader Kurt Kolstad sent along the following clip...
Before you laugh. When JazzWax reader Pat Gannon sent along a clip of a senior gentleman with a tenor sax facing a stereo system, I groaned and said to myself, "Oh no, now what?:" Then I clicked on the clip. Here's what I heard from Texas tenor Aubra Graves (hope you're sitting down)...
CD discoveries of the week.Itai Kriss is one of the most exciting new flutist-composers I've heard in some time. If you dig Herbie Mann, Sam Most and Bobby Jaspar from the '50s, you'll relate to Kriss' approach. On The Shark (Avenue K), Kriss employs a soaring technique and phrasing that is both aggressive and pastoral. You don't hear too many pure jazz flutists today, and when you do they don't seem to have listened to predecessors prior to 1979. Here, you sense Kriss has dug everything and everyone but still retains a modern feel and his own bag. There are hardbop, fusion, free, funk and World flavored tracks here, each offering swing and tension. More about Kriss here. And you'll find this album here.
Taste is everything to me. So when pianist Peter Zak opens Down East (Steeplechase) with Duke Pearson's Is That So?, the choice tells me Zak does a lot of listening and wants to be taken seriously. And his passion shows in the most delicate way. Joined by bassist Peter Washington and drummer Rodney Green, Zak exhibits maturity and an exuberance for the melodic essence of jazz. Also on the album are Clifford Brown's Tiny Capers, Henry Mancini's Dreamsville and Harry Revel's Love Thy Neighbor, in waltz time no less. See what I mean? Very, very satisfying stuff. More about Zak here. You'll find this one here.
Christian Pabst has an ear for texture. On Days of Infinity (Challenge), Pabst plays both acoustic piano and Fender Rhodes, and the result is a cool heat found in Bobby Hutcherson's vibes in the late '60s. Playing original compositions, Pabst reaches inside for a brooding, think-out-loud approach that never loses sight of melody or drama. On tracks where he adds the Fender Rhodes, there's a completely different mood—a little more pensive and fully aware of how the ringing chimes sound of the notes will affect the listener. Pabst's trio is joined on some tracks by guest trumpeter and flugelhornist Gerard Presencer. A solid album. More about Pabst here. You'll find this one here.
Miles Davis during his electric period takes a different kind of listening head. His recordings can be onerous, in some cases dated today, and at times half-baked—with impromptu squeaks and squawks. But actually seeing Miles and his bands in action on stage during this period is another matter. A new DVD, Miles Davis: Live at Montreux Highlights 1973-1991 (Eagle Rock), puts you up close to the action, which is exciting. This video compilation not only features some of Davis' best performances from the period but also gives you a vivid feel for the trumpeter's sense of smoldering drama and taut cool as he struggled to reinvent his sound. Included are two '91 performances of The Pan Piper and Solea from Sketches of Spain as well as an interview with Carlos Santana. You'll find this one here.
Oddball album cover of the week. There's literal and then there's downright unimaginative. This cover was for a 1957 album by the Pepper Adams Quintet. Not content to have an assistant rush out to buy a peck of peppers at the produce stand (get it, Pepper and peppers?), our art director also rustled up a feline model to spice things up. Why she's sneaking up on the skewered peperoncini is hard to fathom. And upon careful inspection of her pupils, it would seem her eyeballs are rolling up in her head from the piquant photo shoot.
Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, co-founders of Steely Dan, wrote life's soundtrack for anyone who attended college in the 1970s. Their music was adored by dorm-bound jazz heads who sought contemporary music but didn't want to give up the sound of horns and an acoustic piano. In today's Wall Street Journal (go here), I interview Mr. Fagen, catching up with him just before the start of Steely Dan's world tour last Saturday. My outtakes from our conversation are below.
In addition to original melody lines, slinky riffs and sophisticated harmonies, Steely Dan's appeal rests heavily in Fagen and Becker's lyrics. They are complex and random, in a poetic way. At times, lines seem joined just for the sake of hearing them bang against each other, like row boats roped close together.
Steely Dan's music hits jazz fans particularly hard. This may be due partly to the '70s cutlure, when jazz was played too loud and too fast by many fusion artists. The music also tends to be personal. Back then, you owned something called a stereo. Which usually meant a receiver, turntable and a pair of heavy speakers, You had to burn the plastic ends of cables to expose the wire to attach your speakers. You also needed to know how to balance your turntable's tonearm once the cartridge was attached. And then there were the many milk crates of LPs—heavy and highly organized. Music at college was a physical experience, and you were intimately involved with the records you owned.
Steely Dan was part of that scene for those who cared about music. Fagen and Becker's recording technique was pinpoint sharp, and a good stereo system teased out all of the texture. But for years, most people had no idea what Donald Fagen or Walter Becker looked like—or whether Steely Dan had a consistent band personnel. They never toured, and were reportedly highly introverted—the equivalent today, I suppose, of computer hackers.
When I told friends of a certain age a few weeks ago that I had interviewed Donald Fagen, their email answers were remarkably similar: "Fagen? A God. So envious." For years I've wanted to tell Mr. Fagen how much I appreciated Aja and how it got me through the Boston Blizzard of '78. I finally had that chance a couple of weeks ago. Talk about closure.
Here are the outtakes from my Wall Street Journal interview with the 63-year-old Donald Fagen:
Marc Myers: Sorry to hear about the passing of Roger Nichols [pictured], your long-time engineer. For the average listener, what did he bring to your albums? Donald Fagen: Thank you. Roger was able to execute the kind of production we were looking for in terms of sound. From the beginning in the early 1970s, Walter and I were looking for the hi-fidelity sound that you didn’t hear too much in rock music at the time. Roger was familiar with the jazz records that Walter and I used to listen to growing up. Roger taught us about recording—what mikes to use and so on. The ideal engineer for all of us was Rudy Van Gelder. The technique he used was simple but not that easy to get down in a studio. A studio isn’t live. It’s kind of dry and clear. [Photo at top of Roger Nichols by Ashlee Nichols]
MM: Who specifically named the band after a sex toy? DF: It was a spur of the moment thing in '72. We needed a name quickly. They had an album cover made up, and Walter and I were both fans of William Burroughs. We would have come up with something else but we went with it. Now, of course, we’re stuck with it. I like it, though. It’s a good name. We weren’t trying to shock or anything. In those days you didn’t think much about those things. It's not like today, where every inside joke is immediately exposed.
MM: Do you see a lot of people under age 45 at your concerts? DF: We don’t care as long as people come [laughs]. We’re sort of free of audience influence. We want everyone to have a good time. We figure that the both of us are our ideal fans and figure that they’re going to like what we like. Who says audiences know more than we do about what’s good?
MM: Did you have music training before or after Bard College? DF: I took some piano lessons but I trained myself by ear. I did it the way jazz musicians used to learn—by slowing down jazz records and playing along until you figured out what they were doing. At first I used to imitate Red Garland [pictured]. Of course, I never achieved that level. Then I listened to Bud Powell and Bill Evans. I liked Horace Silver but not a lot. I was so snobby in high school. I didn’t like funky jazz that much. I never bought Blue Note records. I thought Alfred Lion had too much influence over the music that was being played and recorded. Now, of course, I like those albums.
MM: Do you and Walter Becker still care what each other thinks? DF: We’ve had our moments. Between 1980 and 1985, we split up. The break wasn’t really anything personal. We just ran out of steam. A few years later we started writing again. Our relationship is based on entertaining ourselves.
MM: Which poets did you read? DF: In high school I was heavy into W.B. Yeats. I read Richard Ellmann’s biography of Yeats. I read all of his works. I also liked William Blake. And Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I had older cousins who were jazz fans and sort of beatniks. I’d see these slim volumes of Ferlinghetti's laying around their house and I’d pick them up.
MM: How do you come up with such imaginative word combos in your lyrics? DF: It’s mostly intuitive. I grew up in New Jersey and traveled into New york a lot. I went to public school, and the way kids used to talk got into the songs. It's demotic slang. Walter and I enjoy making up our own slang. We'd make up slang advertising slogans.
MM: For example? DF: For example, in Josie [from Aja], a street gang uses a weapon called a "battle apple." I don't know what that is, but it sounded better than anything else we could come up with.
MM: What else did you read? DF: Walter and I enjoyed reading science fiction as kids. Writers like Alfred Bester, Fredric Brown and Robert Heinlein. They were mainly writing satire under the guise of science fiction. They created this alternate reality that's sort of like this one. They all had a sense of humor. Frederic Brown, Theodore Sturgeon and Frederik Pohl also were great science fiction writers. Cyril Kornbluth, too. They got you to think expansively.
MM: Was Horace Silver a major influence? DF: How do you mean?
MM: I hear Peg in Outlaw and Aja in Moon Rays. Or am I hearing things? DF: Interesting. There was no thought of that.
MM: What about the intro to Rikki Don't Lose That Number and Silver's Song for My Father? DF: There was never a conscious thought about picking up Horace Silver's intro. We wrote this Brazilian bass line and when drummer Jim Gordon heard it, he played his figures. As for the piano line, I think I had heard it on an old Sergio Mendes album. Maybe that's where Horace heard it, too [laughs].
MM: Do you still enjoy Woody Herman’s Chick, Donald, Walter & Woodrow from 1978? DF: Very much. We were invited to the session back then, and it was a lot of fun meeting Woody and the guys in his band. I thought the charts of our songs were smart.
MM: Among rock musicians, you have perhaps the strongest affinity for jazz and jazz musicians. Is it the outcast thing? DF: Being an outcast is secondary. The primary motive is the music and freedom. Walter and I started out as hardcore jazz fans. When we were growing up, there were still late-night radio shows. Walter and I were both insomniacs. We'd find these jazz shows on the radio and go into them. We were 10 or 11 years old.
MM: What were you listening to in the late '50s? DF: I was buying Chuck Berry records at the time—or I had my mother buy them for me. Around the time rock went vanilla I discovered all these radio shows. So I gave all my rock records to my younger sister and only listened to jazz. I loved the mystique of the nighttime radio scene. You’d see these pictures of Coltrane, Monk and Miles—these dark blue photos on album covers. After a while I subscribed to Down Beat. When I was 13 or 14, my cousin started to get me into the Village Vanguard, where I saw Coleman Hawkins, Charles Mingus, Count Basie and so many others. [Owner] Max [Gordon] got to know me and let me sit near the drums and nurse a Coke.
MM: What about a Donald Fagen jazz album? DF: I’ve always thought of my style as quirky. I always thought I could do something the way Thelonious Monk does, where he has his own eccentric way of improvising that wouldn't require great speed. But it seems the more I practice, the worse I get. I started late, and muscles and reflexes don't develop properly. Fingers four and five don't work so well. [Photo of Thelonious Monk by Herb Snitzer]
MM: You're married to Libby Titus. What’s it like for two Type-A songwriters to be married to each other? Do you fight over the piano? DF: [Laughs] Libby got out of music years ago to produce. She was producing some live shows in small venues when we met. She's no longer producing.
MM: I wonder why her albums are no longer in print? They're quite good. DF: Yeah, I think so.
MM: Your upcoming tour schedule looks like a triathlon. Is touring as arduous as it looks? DF: At this point I’m used to traveling. We travel well. We have a chartered plane for a lot of it. And nice hotels. I’m 63, so I get tired. On these tours, you tend to do a lot of sleeping. You don’t go back the hotel and cut loose.
MM: Sometimes you don’t seem comfortable on stage. Is it boredom? Stage fright? DF: I’ve never been comfortable as a lead performer. I never wanted to be a singer particularly. But we couldn’t find anyone to be the lead singer who had the right attitude to put over the material. We tried. At one point we asked Loudon Wainwright [pictured] but he was underwhelmed by the idea. The music needs that smirky feel. I just do it without thinking.
MM: From the creator’s standpoint, what makes Aja magical? DF: That’s for the listeners to decide. We just make ‘em.
MM: But isn't there something special there? DF: The only thing I can say is that we used a lot of session musicians then. We were hiring session musicians who we thought were right for the material. Right around that time, in the mid-‘70s, there was a style change, a paradigm shift, in the way session musicians were playing. Younger players had started to add more jazz flavored stuff in their playing. In the early days, it was hard to find a player who was familiar with r&b's backbeat and could negotiate jazz harmony with ease. And a jazz player tended to play much looser than we required. But by the mid-‘70s, there were players like Steve Gadd and Larry Carlton who could do both. They had no trouble playing jazz chords and also had a very rhythmic sense.
MM:Aja is very much a jazz album. DF: Well, I don’t really label them. When I think of jazz, I think of Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. The change in our sound had to do with the musicians we were using more than what we were doing.
MM: What haven’t you ever told anyone before about the album Aja? DF: Wow. Well, I know that halfway through we decided we wanted to go back to NY and do some tracks with some of the people we knew in the city. We felt that although there were great musicians in L.A., we were missing a little bit of soul from the days we were doing New York sessions. Half the album was done in L.A. and half was done in New York. We brought Larry Carlton [pictured] back with us to New York to supervise. Other than Larry, we used New York players. It gave the album soul. We were able to use Paul Griffin and Don Grolnick on keyboards and engineer Elliot Scheiner—guys we knew from the early days. Also drummers like Rick Marotta and Bernard Purdie.
MM: You seem to take special pleasure in singing Hey Nineteen. Why? DF: I know the audience likes it, and also it’s maybe a little simpler than our other stuff. It’s easy to sing. I don’t have to think about it that much. By the way—getting back to something you said earlier—if I seem uncomfortable on stage, it’s because I am. Not being a trained singer—I mean, I have had some coaching over the years—In order to sing what’s not the easiest stuff to sing, because I’m basically singing a lot of horn lines and stuff like that. I have to really concentrate. You know, I’d really rather be playing in a way. But I’ve come to enjoy the singing part as well.
MM: You seem to be playing different characters up there. DF: Everyone has a stage persona. It’s hard to escape that. I don’t really have an act. That’s just it. Sort of what you see is what you get. I sort of have to psychologically prepare myself to not give a shit—what I look like and so on. Then I just go out and do it. That’s just it. I just grew up that way. I can’t help it.
MM: In your band, is Michael Leonhart related to the jazz bass player Jay Leonhart? DF: Yes, Michael is his son. We have two of his children in our band. Michael is the trumpet player and his sister Carolyn [pictured] is one of our singers.
MM: Will the Steely Dan catalog finally be remastered with today's technology? What’s holding it up? DF: You got me. They don’t really communicate with me. As the years go by, you kind of lose touch with that stuff. We have always been very careful with the mastering process.
MM: But you’d be open to it now? DF: Yeah, sure.
JazzWax tracks: All of Steely Dan's albums can be found at iTunes or Amazon. Donald Fagen has recorded three solo albums—The Nightfly, Kamakiriad and Morph the Cat—with a fourth on the way in 2012.
There are three solid instrumental albums of Steely Dan's music: No Static at All (various artists), The Hoops McCann Band Plays the Music of Steely Dan and Woody Herman's Chick, Donald, Walter & Woodrow.
JazzWax clip:Here's Donald Fagen and Walter Becker performing FM...
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."
