JazzWax

Backgrounder: Chet Baker - 'Pretty/Groovy'

In 1958, Dick Bock of World Pacific Records decided to put out a 12-inch compilation by Chet Baker of material released on earlier albums for the label as well as tracks previously unissued. What all of the tracks had in common was beauty and a groove. This album, little-known today, was called Pretty/Groovy.

The songs on the album are...

1. Look for the Silver Lining
2. Time After Time
3. Travelin' Light
4. My Funny Valentine
5. There Will Never Be Another You
6. The Thrill Is Gone
7. But Not for Me
8. Band Aid
9. The Lamp Is Low
10. Carson City Stage
11. Long Ago (and Far Away)
12. Easy to Love
13. Winter Wonderland
14. Batter Up

• Tracks 9–12 and 14 were recorded in L.A. on July 27, 29 & 30, 1953
• Tracks 6 and 8 were recorded in L.A. on October 3, 1953
• Track 13 was recorded in L.A. on October 27, 1953
• Tracks 1, 2, 4, 5 and 7 were recorded in L.A. on February 15, 1954 
• And track 3 was recorded in New York on December 9, 1957

The personnel:

• Chet Baker – trumpet, vocals
• Jimmy Giuffre – clarinet (track 5)
• Bill Perkins – tenor saxophone (tracks 1, 2, 4 and 7)
• Russ Freeman – piano (tracks 1, 2 and 4–14)
• Dave Wheat – guitar (track 3)
• Joe Mondragon - bass (track 13)
• Russ Saunders - bass (track 3)
• Carson Smith - bass (tracks 1, 2, 4–8, 10–12 and 14)
• Bob Whitlock - bass (track 9)
• Larry Bunker - drums (tracks 6, 8, 10–12 and 14)
• Shelly Manne - drums (track 13)
• Bob Neal - drums (tracks 1, 2, 4, 5 and 7)
• Bobby White - drums (track 9)

Here's Chet Baker's Pretty/Groovy without the interruption of ads...

Other ad-free Backgrounders in my series:

• Zoot Sims Plays Bossa Nova, go here.
• Lee Morgan: Lee-Way, go here.
• Bossa Nova for Swinging Lovers, go here.
• Leon Spencer: Louisiana Slim, go here.
• Bossa Nova Modern Quartet: Bossa Nova Jazz Samba, go here.
• Bill Evans & Luiz Eça: Piano Four Hands, go here.
• Ray Brown Trio: Don't Get Sassy, go here.
• Os Tatuis: Os Tatuis, go here.
• Waltel Branco: Mancini Tambem É Samba, go here.
• Jack Wilson Plays Brazilian Mancini, go here.
• Conjunto Copacabana Bossa: Bossa, go here.
• Ella Fitzgerald: Ella Swings Lightly, go here.
• Charles Earland: Charles Earland, go here.
• Kenny Burrell: Crash! w/ Jack McDuff, go here.
• Jack McDuff: The Heatin' System, go here.
• Horace Silver: Horace-Scope, go here.
• Antonio Carlos Jobim: Wave, go here.
• Sonny Stitt: Sonny Stitt Plays, go here.
• Sonny Stitt with Bennie Green: My Main Man, go here.
• Johnny Hodges and Earl Hines: Stride Right, go here.
• Lionel Hampton: Bossa Nova Jazz, go here.
• Johnny Hodges & Ben Webster: Cellar Session, go here.
• Bill Evans: Solo Sessions Vol. 1, go here.
• Frank Wess: Trombones & Flute, go here.
• Presenting the Buddy DeFranco & Tommy Gumina Quartet, go here.
• Ernest Ranglin: Wranglin', go here.
• Dave Pell Octet: Plays Rodgers & Hart, go here.
• Milt Buckner: Block Chords Parade, go here.
• Roberto Menescal: A Nova Bossa, go here.
• Count Basie: Have a Nice Day, go here.
• Freddie Green: Mr. Rhythm, go here.
• Leny Andrade: Leny Andrade, go here.
• Johnny Alf: Ele é Johnny Alf, go here.
• Dodo Marmarosa: Dodo's Back, go here.
• Freddie Redd: The Music From the Connection, go here.
• Nicola Stilo & Toninho Horta: Duets, go here.
• Urbie Green: Persuasive Trombone, go here.
• Johnny Richards: Something Else, go here.
• Wayne Shorter: JuJu, go here.
• Hampton Hawes: All Night Session!, go here.
• Shorty Rogers Plays Richard Rodgers, go here.

Interview: Bill Crow, Part 4

Most non-musicians think all jazz bass players are fundamentally alike. They believe they aren't there for us but simply to keep time for the band, the way an unseen transmission is essential for a car. As one person who isn't a bass fan told me some years ago, "There's a reason they stand in the back, behind the piano." To be fair, they are indeed there to keep time for the band, like a human metronome. And in many cases, they do stand in the back or off to the side. But how exactly they keep time—for the band and for us—is where their art thrives. What performing musicians listen for is time as well as swing and edge. In other words, buoyancy. It's hard to explain, but a great bassist will cause the other musicians to levitate, spiritually. The bass is the horse the other musicians ride, depending on the style of music being played. Jazz musicians feel those notes in their spines and when they're solid and strong, those notes give the music lift. And without the bass, music would not be complete, like food without salt or flavor. The bass is essential, and your ear would miss it. [Photo above of Bill Crow]

Bill Crow has always been one of those legendary, rock-solid, uplifting bass players, like Don Bagley, Chuck Israels, Curly Russell, Tommy Potter, Oscar Pettiford, Ray Brown, Milt Hinton, Eugene Wright and so many others. For the contrapuntal groups Bill played with in the 1950s, his style, power and articulation kept the other musicians on the beam and deeply rooted as they improvised or played harmony. In a trio, Bill framed pianists like Marian McPartland beautifully, reminding them where the fence was as they roamed. And in big bands, Bill locked the rhythm section in the pocket. I'm overjoyed to be reunited with Bill this week through our interview.  

Here's Part 4—the final part of my four-part series of interviews with Bill Crow:

JazzWax: Two performances I wanted to ask you about. The first is you with Duke Ellington in 1958. How did that come about?
Bill Crow: The Gerry Mulligan Quartet had a concert opposite Duke Ellington at Lewisohn Stadium on the campus of the City College of New York on July 24, 1958. As we're standing there backstage waiting for Duke to go on so we could listen, we saw Duke looking around. He couldn't find his bassist Jimmy Woode. And he was looking up at the sky, because it looked like it might rain. So he came over to me. I was standing there with my bass. He took me by the sleeve and said, "Come with me." Out we go onto the stage and he led me to the bass stand, which was right next to the piano in front of the trombone section. Sam Woodyard was the drummer.

JW: Were you flipping out?
BC: A little, but this band was my ideal. To be asked to play with the Duke Ellington Orchestra in 1958 was beyond thrilling. As Duke took me onstage, I walked with him as if in a dream. At the spot Duke left me, I saw the bass book on the floor underneath the stand. As I started to bend down to get it, trombonist Britt Woodman leaned over and said, "Don't do that. That's all been changed." I turned to look at him. He said, "For this first number, just hang around B-flat. We'll tell you when to change."

JW: What happened next?
BC: We started on a rhythm tune in B-flat. Then the trombone section started hollering chords to me. After the first couple of chords, I could see where the song was going, so it wasn't that hard of a structure. Meanwhile, Duke was out front doing his thing. He had sense enough to call his older tunes, but when he called an unfamiliar ballad, I really needed the music.

JW: Uh-oh.
BC: Instead of giving me a part for those, he did something else that was clever. He was at the piano right beside me, so just before I needed a note, he'd point to it on the keyboard. I would play that note. And as soon as he saw I was getting his messages, he just led me through the whole tune that way by pointing to the notes without playing them.

JW: Do you remember what tune it was?
BC: I have no idea. Just some ballad.

JW: How did the band sound?
BC: Glorious. I had such a big grin on my face and was obviously enjoying myself. So much so that Gerry's nose got a little bit out of joint.

JW: Why?
BC: Afterward, he came over to me backstage and said, "How come you don't have that much fun playing with my band?" I said, "Oh come on, Gerry, don't throw a wet blanket on my good time. You get to play with Duke all the time. This was my one shot."

JW: Ever run into Duke again?
BC: About a month later, the sextet was in French Lick, Ind., at a jazz festival, and I'm standing waiting for the elevator. The door opens and out stepped Duke. He said, "Oh, Mr. Crow. I never did remunerate you for your excellent services at Lewisohn Stadium that day." I said, "Duke, that was the thrill of my life. It was my pleasure.” And we both bowed to each other.

JW: The other performance—or performances—I'm curious about were in 1962. What the heck happened on the Benny Goodman band during its Soviet Union tour that year?
BC: As you know, I wrote about it in my book. But here’s the short version: On our tour heading to Moscow and other Soviet cities, everybody in the band had their guard up a little bit. We'd all heard the many stories about Benny's odd temper and personality. Pianist John Bunch was the one who told Benny to hire drummer Mel Lewis and me because we were in Gerry Mulligan's big band at the time. John and Benny agreed we played awfully well together.

JW: What happened early on?
BC: We had several rehearsals in New York, and then we did two concerts on the way out to Seattle. We were heading there to play a week at the Seattle World's Fair as a break-in before flying to the Soviet Union. By the time our week in Seattle was over, we were ready to kill Benny.

JW: Why?
BC: A short illustration was Benny's unfortunate habit of moving players in sections around so he could figure out what each guy did well. Which was unnerving once you're on the road, since everyone liked to get set and comfortable with their part. When Benny was putting the band together, he insisted on having Jimmy Maxwell as his lead trumpet player. Jimmy was an old friend of his and had played with with him many times. At the time, he was happy playing in the band backing NBC’s Perry Como Show. He told Benny he really didn’t want to go out on tour.

JW: So Benny offered Maxwell more money?
BC: Not quite. Benny called David Sarnoff, NBC's founder, and asked him to lean on Jimmy. Additional pressure was needed. Benny offered to take Jimmy's son along with us, so he agreed to go. Then Benny brought in trumpeters Joe Newman, Joe Wilder and Johnny Frosk. These guys were all great players, but Benny started to do dumb things on the bandstand in front of audiences.

JW: Like what?
BC: Between songs, he'd motion to the brass section and say, "Jimmy, give John your part." This went on for several concerts. By the time we reached the Soviet Union, Jimmy was playing fourth trumpet. He was the most expensive fourth trumpet player Benny ever had. Benny wanted to put it to Jimmy for not immediately jumping at the opportunity to be on the band and for making him spend time putting the squeeze on. Benny was just a weird guy like that. And they were old friends!

JW: So he would just rattle musicians for sport because he could?
BC: That was it. Then he brought along pianist Teddy Wilson, who had been with Benny since the early 1930s. At the last minute, he insisted that John Bunch play in the band instead. John had been advising him on putting the band together, and Benny was afraid Teddy wouldn't sound modern enough if he bought arrangements from contemporary arrangers. It wasn't handled elegantly and without any care for Teddy's time or feelings. It was Benny being Benny.

JW: Obviously you guys are disgusted and on edge based on how Benny's is snapping the proverbial towel.
BC: Yeah. And by the time we reached the end of the Seattle leg, we had joyous Joya Sherrill lined up to be the featured vocalist. A beautiful set of songs was put together for her. Joya opened with a combination of two tunes—Riding High and Shooting High. Al Cohn’s chart really burned. It was wonderful. The band understood it and played it well. After this medley, I had a bass vamp that opened her next song. It could go on as long as needed until the audience stopped applauding and settled back down. The vamp also allowed her to go into her next tune anytime she wanted, audience noise permitting. For some reason, Benny grew to hate the arrangement. [Photo above of Joya Sherrill on what must be the Benny Goodman Soviet Union tour, since that's Bill Crow on bass on the left and guitarist Turk Van Lake on the right]

JW: Why?
BC: I don't think he liked that Joya was such a big hit with audiences. So what he did was take away her opening number and had her start with the second number—the medium-paced one with the bass vamp. Instead of letting me start the bass vamp while she walked out and got settled, he would announce her without my vamp or the band playing. She'd walk out to the microphone and have to stand there in silence as Benny thought about the tempo for around 10 seconds. Then he'd turn to me and count off the tempo, and I would start the vamp. Which means she had to stand there for four bars until I finished before she could start her vocal. Benny killed the excitement and drama leading up to her appearance. Despite his antics, she was a big hit with audiences.

JW: She must have been happy about that.
BC: He wasn't finished with her. Then he started fooling around by going back into his band book and pulling out old Fletcher Henderson charts. On those, the vocalist had the third chorus after two by the band. He wanted her to sing on a couple of those that were arranged originally for Martha Tilton. She said, "Mr. Goodman, I have my material. I'm not the band singer, I'm the featured vocalist." Benny just looked at her. From then on, they weren't speaking. When we came back, he told RCA producer George Avakian not to use her vocals on the album that was going to be released. She wasn't even in the liner notes as part of the tour.

JW: Good God. So when you get to Moscow, the band's mood must have been sour.
BC: Oh, yeah. We were fed up with him trying to bring the band down. He had good players in there, and we were all there to play for him. But if Phil Woods, for example, played great and got a great audience reaction, Benny wouldn't have him play that chart again. Things like that.

JW: What ultimately happened?
BC: Everything I just told you took place in the early weeks of the tour. During the early days, management handed us contracts to sign that they said were necessary in order for us to get paid. The front page was about our pay. The remaining three pages sounded like we were joining the Army. They included all the things we were agreeing not to do, and that violations gave management the option not to pay in full or at all. There also were options on our services for around three months after we got back to the States. If signed, we'd have to postpone booking work until the time period elapsed for fear of being needed and in violation of the agreement.

JW: What did you do?
BC: I said to a musician friend on the band, "I don't think he needs the back pages of this contract, and I'm not going to sign anything without legal advice because I don't trust him." Originally, they were just going to hand us checks in Moscow. We said, "What are we going to do with that?" So they had arranged for us to have some of our pay sent home to our families while we were away.

JW: What about those contracts?
BC: During the last couple of weeks of the tour, management put their foot down, "You’ve got to sign these contracts or no more paychecks." We still refused to sign. We were in Leningrad by then. It finally came down to whether or not we were going to sign the first page and throw away the rest. Most of us signed just the first page. Then Joe Wilder discovered that when he got his paycheck, they had deducted the steamer trunk he'd brought along. We all knew this was crap because Benny wasn't paying for any of this stuff, the U.S. State Department was. They sponsored the trip. We refused to go on stage until we were given our paychecks. And so they cut them and we went on and played.

JW: How were the performances in Leningrad?
BC: The thing that stuck in my mind most about Leningrad was the decision to have us perform with American classical pianist Byron Janis. He had just had enormous success playing two major concertos and was ready to fly home. Predictably, Benny screwed around. He didn't like having to bend to another artist he felt was less popular. The original deal was that Benny would not only present jazz on stage, he'd also play some classical music, which mollified Soviet bureaucrats fearful of wild audiences and riots if we played just jazz. So during our first week in Moscow, Benny was supposed to get together and rehearse with the Moscow Philharmonic.

JW: And?
BC: Benny still hadn't decided which of the three pieces he wanted to play. He kept changing his mind. By the time we got to Sochi, the Soviet Union's largest resort city, Benny had changed his mind so many times that the Moscow Philharmonic felt a draft and canceled the performance. [Photo above of Joya Sherrill and Turk Van Lake off the coast of what I believe is Sochi in the former Soviet Union]

JW: Where did that leave you?
BC: The State Department was in a panic and leaned in. The result was we'd play the Ferde Grofé arrangement of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue in Leningrad, and Byron Janis would play the piano part. Which meant Byron had to stay in Russia a few days longer than he intended. The State Department liaison spoke to him and he agreed to do it. We had one rehearsal, with Byron looking for Benny to conduct. But Benny never made a move and stood behind the piano's lid. Byron kept saying, "Mr. Goodman, I can't see you." So every tempo change was a train wreck because Benny wasn't conducting to keep everyone in sync, with Byron was looking to him for the next tempo change.

JW: Was Benny doing this on purpose?
BC: Who knows. Probably another ego issue: "Oh, this guy thinks he's better than me and wants me to wave a stick. I don't think so. If you're so good, figure it out yourself. I'm a global sensation, you're not. They're here to see me." Or some variation of that thought process regarding ego and stardom.

JW: So who was the bigger jerk, Benny Goodman or Stan Getz?
BC: Oh, Benny.

JW: Bigger scale?
BC: And bigger stakes. As for that Benny-Byron get-together, we were supposed to straighten all that out on the second rehearsal. Then Benny canceled the rehearsal to go fishing.

JW: And the concert?
BC: Byron wanted to take a walk before the concert to clear his head, but the State Department prevailed on him not to. There was too much at stake, diplomatically. "All right," he said, "but the piano must remain where I've marked it, and I have to be on the first half of the concert so I can catch my plane." The State Department assured him all was good.

JW: Why am I sensing this story doesn't end well?
BC: Benny walked on stage that night and, during the first half of the concert, he didn't say a word about Byron. He also had the piano moved into a position he favored for Teddy Wilson. When the curtain came down on the first half, Byron was back there ready to kill him. They finally put him on but the piano wasn't where he'd marked it. And once again, he can't see Benny and ends up trying to conduct the damn thing himself with his left hand. He probably played worse than he ever had in his life that night. Then he stormed off stage seemingly ready to murder Benny. After the tour, Time magazine printed a long letter from Byron on what an asshole Benny had been.

JW: We could talk for days about your many great albums. We didn't even touch on Bob Brookmeyer's The Street Swingers (1957), the Gerry Mulligan Quartet with Art Farmer recordings, you recording with Swedish baritone saxophonist Lars Gullin (1959), Gerry Mulligan's Concert Jazz Band [starting in 1960], and so many other terrific albums that followed. Did you ever take lessons?
BC: I did finally have to get to a teacher. When I got with Gerry in the 1950s, I'd never heard anyone talk about studying the bass, except Trigger Alpert, who had mentioned he was studying with somebody. So I called Trigger and got the teacher's name—Fred Zimmermann, who was with the New York Philharmonic. This is in the mid-1950s. I studied with him whenever I was in town. I didn't know how to use the bow until he showed me how to hold it and what to do with it.

JW: Did you have to undo some things?
BC: A few. But Fred taught me a fingering system that I didn't know existed and showed me how to be accurate in the upper register and all that sort of thing. He was very helpful.

JazzWax notes: For more on Duke Ellington and the Gerry Mulligan Sextet at Lewisohn Stadium, go here.

I highly recommend Bill Crow's books: From Birdland to Broadway (here) and Jazz Anecdotes: Second Time Around (here).

JazzWax tracks: Here's the title track from The Street Swingers (1957), with Bob Brookmeyer on piano, Jim Hall and Jimmy Raney (g), Bill Crow (b) and Osie Johnson (d)...

Here's the full album of News From Blueport (1959), with Gerry Mulligan (bs), Art Farmer (tp), Bill Crow (b) and Dave Bailey (d). Dig Bill's solo on Just in Time...

Here's the full album of Gerry Mulligan and the Concert Jazz Band at the Village Vanguard (1961), with Bill Crow on bass...

And here's one of my favorite contemporary Bill Crow albums: Reprise : Marian McPartland's Hickory House Trio, featuring Marian McPartland (p), Bill Crow (b) and Joe Morello (d), playing Falling in Love With Love, recorded live at Birdland in September 1998...

Here's the same song with the same personnel in 1955...

Interview: Bill Crow, Part 3

In the early 1950s, Bill Crow began to develop a style and prominent sound on the bass while playing and recording with some of the era's finest East Coast jazz musicians. Yesterday, Bill and I talked about his year with Stan Getz. Today, Bill talks the evolution of his career working with Al Haig, Jimmy Raney, Marian McPartland, Jackie Cain and Roy Kral, Phil Woods, Sal Salvador, Sam Most and Gerry Mulligan. Along the way, he developed a reputation for being a warm, straight-up muscular player. His sound was thick, punchy and pronounced, making him a forceful time-keeper for both the ensembles he was in and the tapping feet of audiences. As you listen to Bill's recordings, you'll find that the activity of your foot is actually motivated by his swinging bass lines. [Photo above of Bill Crow in Greenwich Village in 1958]

Here's Part 3 of my interview with Bill Crow:

JazzWax: Why did Stan Getz let you go in 1953?
Bill Crow: The band had evolved two or three times. And by '53, we had pianist Johnny Williams, drummer Al Levitt, Bob Brokmeyer on valve trombone, Stan and me. That particular rhythm section had never gelled. We played some hot things that you can hear on those early records, but Johnny wanted to be up on top of the beat all the time. He was constantly like, "Come on. Come on. Come on," and "shuffle, shuffle, shuffle." His rhythmic feel was very forward. Al liked to lay back and smooth things out. And I was kind of in the middle of their tug of war. I didn't know which way to go.

JW: Too tough to be where Johnny Williams wanted you?
BC: I tried to move up but I never seemed to satisfy him and never felt that the rhythm section was as tight as some of the others we'd had.

JW: How did it go down?
BC: After a job in Philadelphia in ‘53, Stan came up to me and said, "Look, we're going out to the West Coast and I want to get [bassist] Teddy Kotick to come back with the band. I don't have the two weeks’ notice to give you, but I hope you'll see what my problem is, that I don't want to take you out for two weeks and then send you home."

JW: What did you say?
BC: I said, "No, that's cool. Just let this be the end of it." I drove back up to New York that night and went into Charlie’s Tavern feeling very glum. There, I ran into Winston Welch, who was with Claude Thornhill's band at the time. I said, "What's happening, Winston?" He said, "Oh, we just lost our bass player." I said, "Teddy Kotick’s going with Stan Getz." He said, "Oh, does that mean you're open?" I said, "Sure." He called the band’s manager, and I went right onto Claude’s band.

JW: That was a nice band.
BC: Oh, it was a wonderful band. Trumpeters Dale Pierce, Sonny Rich and Dick Sherman were in there, Billy Ver Planck was on trombone, the saxophones were Gene Quill and Ralph Aldridge on altos, Red Norman and Dave Figg on tenors, and Dick Zubak on baritone. I was there on the road with the band for about seven months doing one-nighters. I loved Claude. He was a bizarre man, but he was a darling guy.

JW: Why bizarre?
BC: He didn't like the limelight. If the band had a hit record, Claude would go fishing for a couple of months until things died down a little bit. He hated all of the attention that accompanied good press.

JW: Thornhill is the father of mood music, Claude and Paul Weston. Was he influenced by Gil Evans?
BC: Claude loved Gil Evans's writing, including his lush stuff. Claude had a way with the piano. No matter how rotten the pianos were on those road trips, he'd come in and run a couple of chromatic scales and find all the notes he never wanted to hear again. By fooling around with the soft pedal, He would get some little chime notes that sounded beautiful. He’d tuck those into the arrangements and not play too much when the pianos were bad.

JW: In 1954, you recorded one of the great piano trio albums, what originally was called The Al Haig Trio and became Jazz Will-O'-the Wisp, with Al Haig on piano, you on bass and Lee Abrams on drums. Extraordinary music. How did that come about?
BC: I lived in Greenwich Village at the time. One day my phone rang and it was Jerry Newman, the recording engineer. He said, "Hey, this guy from Paris is in town with some money and wants to record Al Haig for the French Swing label. Can you come up tonight?" I must have been the first bassist who answered the call. I said yes because I admired Al, but I'd never met him or Lee before that date. We all went up to Jerry’s studio. Jerry was into some kick of wanting to record everything with one microphone.

JW: What did he do?
BC: He placed the mic over the topless piano and stood me on a box in the curve of the piano so I’d be as close to the mic as possible. Then he kept moving Lee back until Lee ended up sitting in the doorway across the room

JW: The album sounds great.
BC: I was still just playing by ear. Al would play three or four bars of some standard tune and say, "You know this?" I'd say, "Yeah." We would record it with no run-throughs, nothing. I never got a chance to find out what chord substitutions Al was going to use or how he was going to do the tune. And every one of those things was one take. We recorded nine songs for Swing. And as I'm playing, I'm hearing notes all the way through that I wish to God I hadn't played. But I didn't get a second chance. 

JW: But many more songs were recorded that night on March 13, 1954, yes?
BC: Well, we got through the nine-song date so quickly that Jerry said, "Hey, Jesus, we still have a couple of hours left. Why don't we do an album for my Esoteric label in the States?" Al said, "Sure." He sat down and we did another 13 tunes. Eight of those were originally released in the U.S. on Jerry's 10-inch Esoteric label. Jerry eventually released all 13 songs recorded for the U.S. portion of the session on a 12-inch LP for his renamed Counterpoint label. That was Jazz Will-O-the-Wisp. Al had recorded three solo songs, which were included. 

JW: You're right: Don't Blame Me, April in Paris and My Old Flame.
BC: Even though we wound up recording two albums, I only got paid for the one French date. Jerry slipped one in there.

JW: In the summer of 1954, you wind up with the Jimmy Raney Ensemble. That’s another unbelievable group.
BC: That was wonderful. We rehearsed down at Jimmy's apartment in Greenwich Village. Sal Salvador came down and took the photo that's on the cover of the album. Then we went over to Rudy Van Gelder's parents’ house in Hackensack, N.J., where he had his studio then. He didn't have a piano then, which was perfect since we didn't have a piano in the group. That was the first time I played with trumpeter John Wilson and alto saxophonist Phil Woods. Joe Morello was the drummer. I knew Phil through Joe, because they were all from the Springfield, Mass., area.

JW: How did that group sound compared to the Stan Getz Quintet?
BC: It was much more aggressive because of Phil. He had that strong, lead-player's edge. And John was more laid back on the time, but they worked well together.

JW: Without a piano in there, did more rest on your shoulders?
BC: I just followed Jimmy Raney. I figured if I could match his chords, I was all set. Joe was an interesting drummer. I was working with him and Marian McPartland around this time at Manhattan’s Hickory House. It was easy for people to drop in there. We were in the middle of a big oval bar and people would come and have a drink and listen to the jazz. It was an audition for Joe and me to see how we worked as a rhythm section. We got hired by people that would come in and listen to us and think that we played well together. We wound up doing albums with Jimmy, Jackie and Roy, and others. [Photo above of Marian McPartland at the Hickory House with Bill Crow on bass and Joe Morello on drums, courtesy of Bill Crow]

JW: What were Jackie Cain and Roy Kral like to work with?
BC: Wonderful. I knew them because when I was in the Army in 1948, I went to see Charlie Ventura's band with Jackie and Roy several times when stationed at Fort Meade, Md., between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. My Army buddies and I got friendly with the guys on the band just because we were hanging around so much. Charlie Ventura's brother, Benny, was very kind to us. He was playing baritone sax. We also got to know Jackie and Roy and drummer Ed Shaughnessy, mainly.

JW: Speaking of Jackie and Roy, you record with guitarist Barry Galbraith on Jackie and Roy's Storyville album in 1955 that included Mountain Greenery. How did Galbraith differ from Jimmy Raney?
BC: I got to know him in the studios as a very good sight reader, but I didn't really think of him as having a particular style of his own, because the job was to figure out the music and get it played during the time you were in the studio. But I always felt he had really solid rhythm and a nice selection of voicings for chords.

JW: What did Marian McPartland teach you?
BC: She modulated all over the place. She liked to play in all the sharp keys. I was scuffling with my technique at that time. I didn't know what the fingering system was on the bass other than what I'd figured out for myself. So sometimes, you'd get into keys with her that didn't have many open strings in the scale, like D-flat and F-sharp. But it was really good for me because by the time I got off of that group and joined Gerry Mulligan, my technique had improved tremendously.

JW: Is that because of things that other musicians showed you or because you worked hard and figured it out?
BC: I finally found a teacher who gave me a better fingering system and taught me to use the bow. When I went with Gerry in 1956 and found out that there were parts he had written that started in the upper register, I had no idea how to find those notes accurately without working my way up to them. As long as I was able to pick out my own lines, I could construct something musical that was within my technical grasp.

JW: How did you wind up with the Gerry Mulligan Sextet in '56?
BC: Bob Brookmeyer recommended me. Which was weird, since he was the one who recommended that Stan fire me. Three years earlier he felt the rhythm section wasn't hot enough and complained to Stan. Stan said, "Well, what do you think we should do?" And Bob said, "Well, maybe we should go back to Teddy Kotick." [Photo above, from left, of Bill Crow, Gerry Mulligan and Bob Brookmeyer]

JW: Then why would he turn around and recommend you to Gerry?
BC: When he was on the West Coast, Gerry had established that he wanted guys who were more interested in accompanying others on the bandstand rather than just soloing. He found Chico Hamilton, who was good that way, and two or three bass players who he had played with out there. So when he came back to New York, his original sextet was trumpeter Idrees Sulieman, tenor saxophonist Zoot Sims, valve trombonist Bobby Brookmeyer, bassist Peck Morrison and drummer Dave Bailey. Idrees didn't stay too long, so Gerry got trumpeter Jon Eardley, and then Peck had a chance to go with Johnny Hodges or somebody. Gerry and Bobby were wondering who they should get on bass. Bobby said, "Well, Bill Crow's there. And he may be the kind of bass player you're looking for. He has good ears, and he’s an an accompanist."

JW: What happened?
BC: Gerry or Bob reached out to me and I gave Marian my two weeks’ notice. I said to her, "I loved this job with you, but I can't pass up the chance to go play with Gerry, Bobby and Zoot." She understood. In fact, after I'd been with Gerry for six or eight months, we had a disagreement about something that didn't have anything to do with the music, and I quit.

JW: And?
BC: Marian immediately hired me back at the Hickory House and I stayed.

JW: What was the disagreement with Mulligan about?
BC: About me not giving the group enough attitude on the bass. Many of Gerry's originals were based on another song that I knew. So most of his originals were lyrical and easy. They didn't usually give me anything written out to follow. Once in a while, Gerry would have a lead sheet.

JW: How was Zoot in that group? What made him special?
BC: It's his spirit. Besides the years and the technique under his belt, he had a spirit for swing that he tried to inject into everything he played. In fact, I was with him on some pub crawls in Europe where he would end up so drunk he couldn't articulate fast phrases, but he could still swing on his horn. 

JW: In 1956, you recorded Musically Yours with flutist and clarinetist Sam Most. Nice player, yes?
BC: Yeah, Sam was a sweet guy. He didn't stay around New York too long. He went out to the West Coast, and I didn't seem him again. But we did get that one album made.

JW: You also recorded with Sal Salvador on Shades of Sal Salvador for Bethlehem in October 1956. Then you went back with Mulligan?
BC: I did. I stayed with the sextet until the sextet became a quartet. And then I left. I was only away for couple of years when Gerry called me up in 1958. He said, "I'm putting together a new quartet with Art Farmer. Do you want to be on it?" I said, sure. So we got ready for the Newport Jazz Festival. That was a nice stretch. We did some European tours with that group.

JW: Backing up, the earlier quartet recorded for World Pacific in 1956.
BC: Oh, yeah, in Boston. Owner Dick Bock was really an amazing guy. Gerry told me that when he had his original quartet at the Haig in L.A. in the summer of 1952, Bock came in and told Gerry, "Oh man, I love this band. Where can I buy a record?" Gerry said, "We haven't recorded yet." Gerry said, "How much does it cost to make a record?" I think they did it for $300 or $400. That quartet's 10-inch record got Dick's Pacific Jazz label off the ground.

JW: How was Dick to work with in Boston?
BC: When Dick Bock came up there to record us, he was really grateful to Gerry, who had created a career for him. He paid us for the album and gave us bonuses because it was near Christmas and he took us out to dinner. He brought Bill Claxton along to do the cover shoot. Bill spread reflective paper on the floor and stood on a ladder while we looked up. It was a play on cover photo that Dave Pell took of the the first Gerry Mulligan Quartet in 1952 for the Pacific Jazz cover by standing on a ladder and shooting down. We took the photo after the last set.

JazzWax tracks: Here are a bunch of Bill's recordings covered in this post:

Here's Bill with the Al Haig Trio on the full Jazz Will-O-the-Wisp...

Here's Marian McPartland live at the Hickory House with Bill on bass and Joe Morello on drums...

Here's Bill with the Jimmy Raney Ensemble playing Stella by Starlight...

Here's Bill with Jackie and Roy on Mountain Greenery...

Here's Two Sleepy People from Shades of Sal Salvador with Eddie Costa (p), Sal Salvador (g), Bill Crow (b) and Joe Morello (d)...

Here's the Gerry Mulligan Sextet playing Elevation, with Don Ferrara (tp), Bob Brookmeyer (v-tb), Zoot Sims (ts), Gerry Mulligan (bar), Bill Crow (b) and Dave Bailey (d)...

And here's the entire Gerry Mulligan Quartet Live at Storyville...

And here's the Gerry Mulligan Quartet at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1958, with Mulligan (bs), Art Farmer (tp), Bill Crow (b) and Dave Bailey (d)...