Earl Coleman is an all-but-forgotten vocalist today. The barrel- voiced baritone was born in Port Huron, Mich., in 1925 and starting singing with bands led by Jay McShann and Earl Hines. In New York in the late 1940s, he became a fixture in the clubs of 52nd Street. Coleman brought enormous feeling to the ballads and blues he sang, sounding as though he were yawning and stretching while singing. Coleman also was a favorite of leading jazz musicians who recognized his special ability to crawl all the way inside a song's lyrics to tell a personal story. Coleman died in 1995.
Before Coleman recorded as a leader in the 1950s and beyond, he was featured on several dates led by major jazz instrumentalists who happily made room for him on their sessions.
Here are seven Coleman gems, the jazz leader on the date, the year of the recording and the CD on which the track can be found. Most are early, but there's one from 1963. Brace yourself. You're going to fall hard for Earl Coleman:
Don't Sing Me the Blues—with Miles Davis (1946). CD: Miles Davis: Boppin' the Blues.
This Is Always—with Charlie Parker (1947). CD: Charlie Parker: Complete Savoy and Dial Master Takes.
Hold That Money—with Gene Ammons (1947). CD: The Mercury Blues Story: 1945-1955.
Buddy Collette, a much in-demand Hollywood jazz and studio musician who appeared on 325 known recording sessions and courageously risked his burgeoning career to spearhead the merger of Los Angeles' segregated musicians' union locals in the early 1950s, died in L.A. on September 19. He was 89.
When I spoke to Buddy in July for my book, we talked at length about the segregated climate of Los Angeles in the 1940s and early 1950s, when sub-rosa real estate covenants between property owners and real estate brokers kept blacks from owning homes in the emerging and sprawling suburbs. Back then, the police also actively discouraged integration by pressuring clubs on Central Avenue and stopping vehicles occupied by blacks in white communities.
Despite working hard to carve out a career, Buddy risked everything while seeking fairness for black union musicians in the years just prior to the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954. Like several other cities in the country, the American Federation of Musicians operated two locals in Los Angeles—one for blacks and one for whites.
Though separate, they were hardly equal. The black Local 767 was hugely dependent on the white Local 47 for work and for influence, which meant that the black local often wound up with the scraps just as the studio system was expanding there. Whites were called by contractors for a disproportionate share of the work, in part, because many had formal training and experience as sight-readers.
But as Buddy recollected during our conversations, once the union locals were united, the better black musicians replaced those white musicians who were on the job merely because they were friends of friends or knew the contractors. [Buddy Collette is pictured on the album cover just to the right of conductor Nelson Riddle, left]
Buddy's early key recordings as a sideman were in the late 1940s with Charles Mingus, a childhood friend, and in the early 1950s with Lyle "Spud" Murphy, who had developed a novel and sophisticated 12-tone system. These sideman recordings remain extraordinary.
When Chico Hamilton assembled a quintet and performed at The Strollers, a rough and tumble bar in Long Beach, CA, Buddy was invited to join by Chico, who had grown up near Buddy's grandmother's house.
Buddy told me how the group was formed:
"Chico started at The Strollers in the summer of 1955 but he didn’t have the sound that he had in mind for the group. He had hired Bob Hardaway, a tenor sax player. That group played the Strollers for a week. Then Hardaway had to leave. When I arrived, I brought in four or five tunes, like Blue Sands, that were different. Chico liked the sound, but we weren't completely there yet. Something was missing. I could tell the group needed a different sound."
Buddy continued by relating a wonderful story about his inadvertent role in creating the original Chico Hamilton Quintet's signature sound:
"Fred Katz originally played piano with the group and then cello on the breaks. But Fred had a tendency to stay on stage too long during the breaks. Once he got going with the bow, there was no stopping him. One night he stayed too long, for 45 minutes or so, lost in thought while playing. Chico didn’t like that. I said to Chico, 'Let’s sneak on and start'—meaning me, Chico, bassist Carson Smith and guitarist Jim Hall. We got past Fred easily enough. He was still on the step to the bandstand lost in his own world. The piano where Fred was supposed to be was in the back but my horn was up front. I’m the lead player so I needed to be where people could see me.
"Everyone got in their place on stage. Then Chico started playing the drums, and Fred finally snapped out of it. But Fred couldn't get to the piano fast enough. We were all there and were starting to play. So Fred started bowing something and I played something on the flute. We didn’t have a pianist but we did have a guitar player in Jim Hall that no one can beat. When Fred had played the piano, we couldn’t really hear him anyway. As we played, Jim left space for the cello. That’s why the group’s sound was no one’s idea. It just happened by accident, as a prank that turned into a sound we all dug immediately."
Buddy's first leadership date was Man of Many Parts (1956) which featured him on alto and tenor saxes and flute. On albums that followed, Buddy recorded on 10 different instruments, including the clarinet. In fact, during the 1950s, Buddy often recorded several albums a month as a leader or sideman. His jazz output does not include his prolific movie studio or pop recording work, which are largely undocumented.
Buddy took jazz playing, composing, arranging and studio work seriously, developing a reputation in Hollywood as a disciplined ironman and highly dependable reed and woodwind player. He also was an awfully nice guy. I miss Buddy.
JazzWax note: For more on Buddy Collette, see my five-part interview here.
JazzWax tracks: Here are my 10 favorite Buddy Collette albums:
Lyle "Spud" Murphy: New Orbits in Sound (1954)
Chico Hamilton: Live at the Strollers (1955)
Red Callender: Swingin' Suite (1955)
Music to Listen to Barney Kessel By (1956)
Man of Many Parts (1956)
Tanganyika Jazz (1956)
John Graas: Jazz Studio 3 (1957)
Flute Fraternity (1957)
Jazz Loves Paris (1958)
Buddy and the Four Swinging Shepherds (1958)
JazzWax clip:Here's Buddy and Herbie Mann on flutes playing Give a Little Whistle from Flute Fraternity in 1957. Musicians on the date were Mann and Collette plus Jimmy Rowles (piano), Buddy Clark (bass) and Mel Lewis (drums)...
Laurie Pepper is one smart cookie. When I interviewed her for my Wall Street Journalarticle on business-minded spouses of deceased jazz greats (Laurie is Art Pepper's widow), she told me the secret of her success: Making friends with worldwide collectors of bootleg recordings and releasing the material they send her on her Widow's Taste label. It's a brilliant move when you think about it. Why hate when you can love and make money?
Now Laurie has outdone herself—and has likely started a reactive trend. Recently, Disconforme, a Spanish label, released an album featuring Art Pepper performing at the Jazz Showcase in Chicago in 1977. It was issued under the Sunburn label. Somehow the label obtained the tapes Laurie had in her possession but had never released. The Spanish label issued the material in Europe.
As most people know, European copyright laws allow labels there to issue anything recorded more than 50 years ago without asking permission or paying royalties. This law has created a hornet's nest of opposition here, where labels routinely find that their remastering efforts are cloned and resold by European labels for less.
But rather than get mad, Laurie last week got even. Here's what she told me yesterday:
"I bought a copy of the album, transferred it into my iTunes library, uploaded the recording to my label [Widow's Taste], registered the album at CD Baby and now I'm offering it as a $4.75 download. I even scanned the photo used on their cover as well as the liner notes. All in all, I spent $150 to get all of this done and promote its availability. If I make back my $150, I'll make a profit."
If you can't beat 'em, plunder 'em.
JazzWax notes:Art Pepper: Jazz Showcase, Chicago (Widow's Taste) is available at CDBaby.com here.
Guitarist Joe Diorio recorded only two albums with saxophonist Sonny Stitt. Both are among my favorite Stitt recordings thanks to Diorio's extraordinary swinging rhythm guitar playing and soulful fills. The first of the pair was Move on Over (1963) and the second was My Main Man (1964). Both were recorded for the Argo label and both featured Stitt in peak form on alto and tenor saxes. On these dates, Diorio provides aggressive, rhythmic chord comping and ringing guitar solos that linger long after the albums are over. For me, Diorio on these albums rivals Stitt in excitement and catchy ideas—so much so that I often think of them as Diorio's sessions rather than Stitt's.
Diorio, 74, was born in Waterbury, Conn., and studied formally in the 1950s. He has played with Eddie Harris, Ira Sullivan, Stan Getz, Pat Metheny, Horace Silver, and Freddie Hubbard, among others. In 2005, Diorio suffered a debilitating stroke and has been struggling to regain use of his left arm ever since. For more on Diorio's background and career, Bill Milkowski wrote a fine piece in JazzTimes in 2008 here.
Move on Over was a quintet date with Stitt on alto and tenor saxes, Nicky Hill on tenor sax, Eddie Buster on organ, Diorio on guitar and Gerald Donovan on drums. Diorio here is tasteful and swinging, supporting Stitt perfectly with groovy chord voicings and tasty harmony lines. Many of the tracks open with Diorio's clarion chords setting the mood. Among the finest examples are Stormy Weather, Love Letters and Shut the Back Door.
My Main Man also was a quintet date, teaming Stitt with trombonist Bennie Green. Joining the front line was Bobby Buster on organ, Diorio on guitar and Dorrell Anderson on drums. This album features three hip bossa novas—Our Day Will Come, The Night Has a Thousand Eyes and Flame and Frost. Dig Diorio's rhythm playing here and his deep, rich solo on the last of the three tunes. The remaining tracks are blues.
I have not kept up with Joe Diorio's health progress, but I hope he's mending. These albums remain great rhythm guitar works, with Diorio courageously popping and swinging behind one of the most dynamic and dominant saxophonists of the period.
JazzWax tracks: Sonny Stitt's Move on Over with Joe Diorio is available on Move on Over: The Eddie Buster Sides (Jazz Beat). The CD includes Move on Over and Stitt's At the DJ Lounge (1961), recorded live in Washington, D.C. The CD is available here. My Main Man is available at iTunes or here. You'll find Diorio's other albums as a sideman and a leader at iTunes and at the sites of online CD retailers.
JazzWax clip: For a sense of Joe Diorio's enormous technique and taste, here's a clip of him playing Autumn Leaves...
As a jazz guitarist, it's not easy to play pretty. You have to worship harmony, you have to love the sound of the instrument, and you have to want to seduce audiences. Back in the 1950s and 1960s, guitarists like Barry Galbraith, Jimmy Raney, Chuck Wayne, Mundell Lowe, Wes Montgomery and others understood the conversational quality and beckoning nature of the instrument. One guitarist around today who is carrying that torch is Royce Campbell.
Royce's name might not ring a bell, since he rarely performs publicly these days. I've enjoyed his music for years through his magnificent 1996 album, A Tribute to Henry Mancini. So it was a surprise a week or so ago when I received a lovely email from him complimenting me on a post. I've long wanted to tell him how much I enjoy his playing. Royce today spends much of his time recording and composing down in Virginia. But he's considering offers to play clubs again, and I hope he does. He's an absolute joy on the ears, and I can listen to his patient, lyrical playing for hours on end.
Royce and I spoke yesterday about his early life and playing with Marvin Gaye and Henry Mancini:
JazzWax: When were you born? Royce Campbell: In North Vernon, Indiana, in 1952. I lived there for the first five years. Then my mom remarried a career Naval officer, and we moved around a lot when I was a kid. I've lived in three foreign countries—Barbados, Japan and Spain—and in many U.S. cities.
JW: When did you start playing guitar? RC: At age 9 after seeing Chuck Berry on TV. I told my mom I wanted a guitar and she bought one for me. But I didn’t get serious about music until age 16, when my uncle Carroll DeCamp exposed me to jazz. He had arranged for Stan Kenton and Eddie Daniels. He arranged my album with strings, Plays for Lovers. Having a world-class musician in the family actually made it easier when I told my parents that I wanted to be a musician. They were very supportive.
JW: Where did you go to music school? RC: I didn’t. I didn't have a formal music education. My uncle was my education. When I graduated from high school in Spain, he invited me to live with him for a few years in Indianapolis, and I welcomed the stability after moving around so much. He showed me things and was always there to answer questions. So I’m primarily self-taught.
JW: Can you read music? RC: Yes. I had music lessons at a music store in Louisville, Kentucky, when my family lived there. When I lived with my uncle later, I began playing locally. Then I began to get noticed. Soon I was the first-call guitarist in Indianapolis.
JW: Is that how you landed a job with Marvin Gaye? RC: Yes. I was called to join his concert orchestra in late 1973. At the time, his big hit was Let’s Get It On. I was 21 years old and did three tours with him—at three or four days apiece. All of the charts were written out. I knew at the time it was kind of a big deal, especially when we started playing major arenas with screaming fans. They had bouncers at the edge of the stages who would throw women back into the audience when they tried to climb up there. I really got an education about the music business on those tours.
JW: How so? RC: For one, we were paid poorly. Marvin's band hired young musicians so they didn't have to pay us much. We also traveled on buses without hotel stays, again for savings. Being on the road was very rough, even by the 1970s. The rhythm section was huge—there were eight pieces. Marvin didn’t have many interactions with band members. He’d just come in toward the end of a sound check and then show up for the concert.
JW: What was your overall impression of Gaye? RC: He seemed introverted for a star. He seemed almost like a reluctant celebrity. You don’t really run into that anymore. Anyone who has a high profile today is completely committed to touring and fully understands their responsibilities to audiences and musicians. But back then, concerts were an afterthought, a replay of albums that crowds had already owned. Today, concerts mean everything. It's where the money is made. So a star's commitment to performing and stamina have to be there.
JW: What was your favorite Gaye song to play? RC:Inner City Blues. I love the phrasing. The other thing about Marvin is that he never did the same song the same way twice. He changed them up every night. He could improvise.
JW: How did you wind up touring with Henry Mancini for 19 years? RC: The same way. An Indianapolis music contractor called me in 1975. It was a time when Henry was thinking about taking on a regular guitar player. Then I impressed him enough to stay on for all his live gigs going forward. The venues for those concerts were large auditoriums. Over the years he kept adding instruments to the point where we were eventually the size of a symphony orchestra.
JW: Do you think your years with Mancini influenced your tasteful, patient style? RC: Thank you. Yes, absolutely. After all that time with Henry, playing his music, I came to understand what a master of melody and romance he was. I feel it rubbed off on me.
JW: What surprised you most about Mancini? RC: Henry told me that he wished he could play jazz, which came as a surprise. He said, “I’d love a genie to give me the power to be a jazz pianist, to be able to improvise.” Henry wrote beautifully and played beautifully. But he also wanted to improvise and was lightly frustrated that he couldn't do so with conviction.
JW: As an insider, what's special about Mancini’s music? RC: Henry's style and how clear his ideas were. A lot of arrangers get carried away. They write cluttered arrangements or go too far. Henry learned early what not to do. He told me one of his first arranging jobs was for Benny Goodman. Eager to impress, he wrote a chart that was hard on the trumpets. The first trumpet took him aside and told him that he had to learn to write cleaner lines. That was a wake-up call for him.
JW: What did he learn? RC: He learned that when it came to writing and composing, you have to take out all the fluff. He said, “You just want to leave the meat and potatoes.”
JW: Anything else? RC: Henry knew how to figure out the right balance between creating music that musicians would like to play and music that audiences wanted to hear. I strive for that, too. I can write and play stuff that’s far out, things that certainly would impress musicians. I love free jazz. It’s a lot of fun. But it’s a stretch for audiences. Most listeners have a hard time getting it.
JW: What’s the hardest thing about playing pretty? RC: Keeping it simple. That's hard. If you play notes that don’t fit the melody or you play too fast, you start to lose your listeners. A guitar is different than most other instruments. It’s highly audible and most often you're playing one note at a time. So listeners’ ears catch every one of them. If you play notes that don’t fit or you jam in too many notes, audiences stop listening to the instrument's storyline.
JW: What’s most important? RC: As a guitarist, you must know harmony inside and out to play melodically. You have to know how the notes you play relate to the melody. It’s not about scales. It’s about the harmony, about the notes the listener will find familiar and will welcome even more than the melody itself.
JazzWax clips: Royce Campbell's playing is gorgeous. Like Henry Mancini's music, Royce's lines caress your ears until you're won over to what he's playing.
Three of my favorite albums by Royce are A Tribute to Henry Mancini, Plays for Lovers and What Is This Thing Called. You'll find them iTunes or here, here and here.
The first album is one of the finest tribute albums to the late composer. On the second album, Royce is backed by a string section beautifully arranged by Carroll DeCamp. The third CD is a clever concept. Each song is based on the chord changes to standards but Royce has given them different melody lines and new titles. So we have I Fall in Love Too Hard, Have You Met Miss Smith and How About Me?
JazzWax clip: Here's Royce Campbell playing a blues with all chords...
Pianist-singer Mose Allison is perhaps rock's least likely muse. A Southern blues singer-pianist, Mose's lyrics are sophisticated and riddled with puns while his voice has a distinct twang. But it's this subversive originality and "who cares" approach that has made his music attractive to artists such as Georgie Fame, the Yardbirds, the Clash, Leon Russell, Van Morrison, Elvis Costello and Bonnie Raitt. You also can hear his flinty phrasing in the voices of Bob Dylan, Mungo Jerry, Gregg Allman, Neil Young, Boz Scaggs and Donald Fagen of Steely Dan.
But perhaps Mose's biggest rock-group fan was The Who, which heard his version of Sonny Boy Williamson's Eyesight to the Blind from Autumn Song and recorded it on Tommy. Then The Who performed Mose's Young Man Blues on Live at Leeds (1970). On the album, before playing the song, you hear Roger Daltrey credit Mose and praise him.
Mose's latest album, The Way of the World, is as good as any he has recorded. For my Wall Street Journal article on Mose from last week, go here. Now, here's Part 2 of my conversation with Mose:
JazzWax: In 1956, how did you meet Stan Getz? Mose Allison: I used to go to these jam sessions at night at a loft on 34th St. that belonged to trombonist Clyde Cox. Many of the guys who were there were from the South. At these sessions, I met drummer Frank Isola, who put me in touch with Stan.
JW: How did you get along with Getz? MA: Just fine. No problems. I worked off and on with him. He was a great player. I made one album with him and bassist Addison Farmer and drummer Jerry Segal. It was The Soft Swing in 1957. I didn’t have to adapt to Stan’s style. He liked me just as I was. My models as far as a rhythm piano player goes were Al Haig [pictured] and John Lewis. Stan had a lush intensity. We talked a lot. I liked him. He was a great player.
JW: Where is Parchman Farm, which you recorded on Local Color in 1957? MA: Parchman Farm is in Parchman Miss. That’s what they used to call the Mississippi State Penitentiary. They used to take prisoners to work in the fields. When I was 10 years old I was in a gas station in Tippo when a team of horses and bloodhounds came thundering through, looking for an escaped prisoner. It left a deep impression on me.
JW: What about Seventh Son from Creek Bank in 1958? MA: I didn’t write that song. That’s Willie Dixon's. I first heard the song on a record by Willie Maybon. I liked it so much I decided to record it.
JW: What about your unusual vocal style? MA: I’m just doing it. I developed the style over the years. My inspirations were Ray Charles, Charles Brown and Percy Mayfield [pictured]. I didn’t run away from where I was from. I never felt that was necessary. I just did my thing. I hoped it would impress people. Back Country Suite got real good reviews so I continued doing what I did with a trio.
JW: You went to Britain in the mid-1960s? MA: Yes, I went to England after a guy who booked Sonny Boy Williamson and others blues artists invited me to go on tour there.
JW: Who was the first English rocker to take on your work? MA: Georgie Fame [pictured] was one of the first. I’ve known him for years. I met The Who later, after they had recorded Young Man Blues, which was a surprise to me.
JW: When you heard it, what did you think? MA: I figured that’s great. Their version is really the command performance on my song. I like anything that anybody does with my material. I do what I want with other people's material, so I don't quibble when they interpret mine.
JW: Did you like rock? MA: It was alright. I had already heard all the music on which rock was based, so it was just an extension of the blues to me. Muddy Waters [pictured] said something like, “Rock is just the blues but with a backbeat.” All the rock guys used a heavy backbeat.
JW: Did you like it? MA: Not really. I didn’t like the constant backbeat because it limits you as far as improvisation goes. But I appreciated rock and what they were trying to do with the blues. Recently I did a tribute to The Who’s Pete Townshend. They just rolled the piano out. There were mostly guitar players. They rolled the piano out in front of audience and I did Young Man Blues and Old Man Blues.
JW: Why do you think you’re not better known? MA: Probably because I’m so many different things. They don’t know where to put me. The advertising world has to say someone is the best at something. I’ve never been the best at anything. I do a lot of things.
JW: Your new album, The Way of the World, is terrific. MA: Thank you. I met guitarist-producer Joe Henry in Dusseldorf, Germany. He said at the time that he wanted to record me. I hadn't recorded in about 12 years and I didn’t figure on making any more records.
JW: Why not? MA: With the reissues and so forth, I have put out about 50 albums. None of them have sold very well according to the royalty statements I get [laughs]. I didn’t see a need to make a new one.
JW: What changed your mind? MA: Joe kept at me and mailed my wife and so forth. I kept putting him off. Finally I said to myself, Joe has a great reputation as a producer and he’s also a great musician. I eventually came to the conclusion, "Why not?" We recorded at his studio, and I like how it came out. [Pause] Never underestimate the power of relentless persuasion [laughs].
JazzWax notes: Here are quotes from rock and blues musicians featured at a Mose Allison fan site:
"The man’s voice was heaven. So cool, so decisively hip... Mose was my man. I felt him to be the epitome of restrained screaming power." —Pete Townshend of The Who
"When I discovered Mose Allison I felt I had discovered the missing link between jazz and blues" —Ray Davies of The Kinks
"Everybody I know in England was raised on Mose Allison." —John Mayall [pictured]
"Mose Allison is a beautiful musician." —Willie Dixon
"Mose, you got a good thing goin' on." —Sonny Boy Williamson
JazzWax tracks: Mose's The Way of the World (ANTI) is superb and includes a charming duet with his singer-songwriter daughter Amy on This New Situation. You'll find the album at iTunes or here.
JazzWax clip:Here's Mose's My Brain, the first song on his new album, The Way of the World. Dig the wordplay!...
Mose Allison sings like he’s taking a bath with his clothes on. There's a lovely howling casualness about his vocal style, but what you hear is somewhat deceptive. Within that rural yowl is wisdom and depth, not only in the lyrics of the songs he chooses but also in his piano playing. Mose may initially sound like he just fell off the turnip truck, but he played and recorded with Al Cohn and Zoot Sims, Stan Getz and Gerry Mulligan in the late 1950s before recording as a leader. There's a lot going on there. My profile of Mose ran last week in the Wall Street Journal and can be found here.
When I went to see Mose perform at the Jazz Standard last week, I was surprised that he knew all of his songs by number. He'd quietly say to bassist Ratzo Harris and drummer Tom Whaley "No. 4" or "No. 36." Harris had a book of lead sheets mounted on a music stand. I also was surprised by how syncopated and rhythmic Mose plays today, especially with his left hand. You close your eyes and it's as if a hard-shell crab has mounted the keyboard and is playing with its claws.
Here's Part 1 of my interview with Mose, 82, one of the legendary originators of jazz-folk and a favorite of British rock groups of the 1960s:
JazzWax: Your lyrics and blues are so utterly original. How many songs have you written? Mose Allison: [Laughs] About 150.
JW: Where were you born? MA: On my grandfather’s farm three miles south of Tippo Mississippi. There were just a couple of general stores there, a gas station and a cotton gin.
JW: You’re probably one of the few blues singers around today who actually picked cotton, yes? MA: My father made sure I learned the value of a dollar at a young age.
JW: How does one pick cotton? MA: It's been a while, but you have an 11-foot sack. The pod is a seeded thing on a branch and it comes off pretty easy. The trick isn’t in the picking but the volume, moving fast and getting a lot in that sack.
JW: Where did you learn to play boogie-woogie piano? MA: From my cousin’s records. My dad didn’t like boogie-woogie. He loved stride. He was locked into the Fats Waller thing. I liked Albert Ammons.
JW: Did you take piano lessons? MA: Yes, starting at age 5. I took lessons for a few years at Miss Etta Oliver’s just across the creek. Then I started picking up things off the jukebox, learning to play by ear. So I quit taking lessons. I didn’t learn to read music that well anyway.
JW: You played trumpet professionally first, didn’t you? MA: Yes. I learned trumpet in high school.
JW: Where did you play your first public performance? MA: At Charleston High School in Mississippi. I played Fats Waller’s Hold Tight, as a boogie-woogie. But I didn’t win.
JW: Who did? MA: The guy who played Washington and Lee Swing on the fiddle [laughs].
JW: What did you do after high school? MA: I attended the University of Mississippi for a couple of semesters. Then I joined the Army in 1946 with two friends. I was going to be drafted anyhow. I went into the infantry. I was going to be shipped abroad, so we were sent to Seattle by troop train. My duffel bag was all packed and ready. But then Congress passed a law that said a soldier couldn’t be sent overseas if he had less than 10 weeks of basic training. I had less than that. I was discharged in 1947.
JW: What did you do after you got out? MA: I went back to Ole Miss. I was studying mechanical drawing and chemical engineering. But I didn’t last long. Analytical geometry stumped me pretty good [laughs].
JW: What did you do? MA: I left Ole Miss and went on the road, playing trumpet with a couple of friends.
JW: Did you make it to Memphis? MA: Yes. Before I left Ole Miss, I headed up there. I knew Bill Harvey, B.B. King’s first musical director. He got me to sit in with the band that warmed up the audience before B.B. came on stage. In Memphis, I met black players and white players. I used to go to jam sessions.
JW: What did you do after leaving college in 1951? MA: I went up to New York to have a look at New York University and check out the jazz scene. NYU was so different than the schools down South. For one, there was no campus there. The college was all buildings. There was no portico, no lawns, no trees. As for jazz, no one was working at the time. So I went home.
JW: Who was your biggest singing and composing inspiration at this point? MA: I had heard Charles Brown, Muddy Waters and so forth. I also loved Nat King Cole.
JW: Then what happened? MA: I met my wife and got married. She urged me to resume my studies so I enrolled at Louisiana State University. I took courses in esthetics. That’s what opened me up. I had a book called Principles of Art by R.G. Collingwood. It opened my eyes to the fact that some of the stuff that I had been listening to all my life was actually art.
JW: Your trumpet was stolen in a Philadelphia nightclub? MA: Yes, an old, lacquer one. I liked it a lot. But after it was stolen, I never bothered to get a new one. My decision to concentrate on the piano instead was economic and esthetic [laughs].
JW: By 1956, you had begun to record. MA: Yes, with Al Cohn and Bob Brookmeyer. Then I started writing the Back Country Suite. I knew how to write music. I could write single lines and things, and could make charts. Later, I arranged an album for Columbia Records called Hello There, Universe in 1969.
JW: Back in 1956, how did you start working with Al Cohn? MA: That’s a funny story. I met Marilyn Moore, Al’s wife at the time, in Galveston, Texas, in 1955. I was working a gig down there with a girl singer. Al’s wife was there on vacation. She heard me and liked what she heard. She said that if I ever came to New York that I should get in touch with Al. So when I moved up with my wife and young daughter in 1956, I did.
JW: What happened? MA: I contacted Al, and he had me right out to his house in Flushing, Queens. He gave me some pointers on how to write. I was finally a New Yorker. My wife and I and our daughter moved into an apartment on 103rd St., right off Central Park.
Tomorrow, Mose talks about making a name for himself in New York and his tours of Great Britain.
JazzWax tracks: Mose's superb early works are on Prestige. His excellent leadership dates for the label include Back Country Suite (1957),Local Color (1957), Young Man Mose (1958), Ramblin' with Mose (1958), Creek Bank (1958) and Autumn Song (1959). You can sample these at iTunes or by clicking on the links above to Amazon. If you're looking for a Mose starter, go with Creek Bank. For a mind-blower, dig what he does with Cabin in the Sky.
JazzWax clip: Here's one of my favorites by Mose, Willie Dixon's The Seventh Son, off of Creek Bank. Caution, Mose gets mighty addictive fast...
Today is Sonny Rollins' 80th birthday. In addition to his much-anticipated concert at New York's Beacon Theater this Friday night, a new coffee-table book has just arrived that features lush color photographs by John Abbott and engaging text by Bob Blumenthal. Saxophone Colossus: A Portrait of Sonny Rollins (Abrams) is about as close as you will get to Sonny short of actually meeting or spending time with him. Through the nearly 100 images and probing text, you wind up with a fine sense of who Sonny is as a jazz superstar and as a person. Though Sonny didn't authorize the book, he also didn't stand in its way or hold anything against the authors for proceeding. [All photos of Sonny Rollins in this post by John Abbott]
As a musician, Sonny continues to dominate jazz 61 years after his first recording. Off stage, Sonny is as graceful and as kind as can be. This hardly means he's a soft touch. He isn't. Sonny is about as dainty as a lion tearing across a field. His voice booms with power, energy and excitement, and his thought process is equally vivid and dynamic. When Sonny talks, he develops a point out loud, searching and circling an idea for just the right articulation. When he finds the words that best sum up his view, he goes right in for the kill.
But Sonny also is a gentleman whose manner is as regal as his jazz-world status. This book captures all of these qualities along with his artistic commitment and rich sense of humor—and the book's images and content treat him with enormous respect.
Few photographers have had John Abbott's behind-the-scenes access over the past 15 years. John's jazz images have appeared on the covers of more than 250 albums and magazines, most notably JazzTimes. The pages of this book are filled with close-ups and candids of Sonny, leaving you with a fine feel for the subject. [Photo of John Abbott by Graham Morrison]
Like jazz photographers of the 1940s and 1950s, John comes at Sonny from two directions. His camera is fully aware that Sonny is a legend who needs to be celebrated in a grand way. But John also clearly is a patient photographer, waiting and watching for just the right moments that will reveal something new about Sonny, something previously unsaid. And he succeeds, page after page. No two photos of Sonny capture the same mood or expression.
Bob Blumenthal [pictured] has won two Grammy awards for jazz album liner notes and is a former contributor to the Boston Globe and Boston Phoenix. He has interviewed Sonny multiple times, and his writing here is first rate, never dwelling on worn-thin history or overdoing adulation. Instead, Blumenthal puts Sonny in perspective, explaining tersely and carefully why he's special and essential.
One of my favorite images in the book is of Sonny at a rehearsal in September 1998. Dressed all in black, he's sitting in a folding chair with his saxophone off to the side, wearing dark glasses, with his right leg stretched out while his left is bent slightly. Everyone in the band is watching him intently. The juxtaposition of Sonny in another zone while everyone else is in the here and now is fascinating. This is Sonny at work—naturally cool, completely in control and thoroughly magical.
Of course, it's impossible to pick a true favorite image, since each photo individually is a fragment of the larger portrait expressed by the entire book. Only when these images are absorbed collectively do you have a firm sense of who Sonny is, what makes him tick and how hard he works to create music that's new and exciting.
Going through the book for the first time, I stopped after the third page, realizing that something was missing: Sonny's music. So I pulled three albums that I thought would go best with Abbott's images and Blumenthal's appraisal. The albums I chose were The Sonny Rollins Quartet with Thelonious Monk (1954), Newk's Time (1957) and Alfie: Original Music From the Score (1966). You may have albums you prefer over mine. My point here is this book requires Sonny's music to fully enhance and appreciate the words and images.
Sonny never ceases to amaze, and Saxophone Colossus brings all of his many qualities into fine relief.
JazzWax pages: John Abbott and Bob Blumenthal's Saxophone Colossus: A Portrait of Sonny Rollins (Abrams) can be found here.
A couple of months ago, I asked Sonny Rollins if he would be willing to visit his old neighborhood in Harlem with me from the back of a comfortable car for the Wall Street Journal. His 80th birthday was coming (September 7). So was a much heralded concert at New York's Beacon Theater (September 10). Now was an ideal time to reflect and look ahead. [Photo by John Abbott]
Sonny agreed.
So several Sundays ago, Sonny and I traveled uptown in a Lincoln Town Car. For the next two hours, we visited three different areas of Harlem, with Sonny commenting on the places and childhood events that helped shape him as an artist. He had never made such a personal trip with a writer before, and the result appears in today's "Greater New York" section of the Wall Street Journal. You'll find it online here. [Photo by John Abbott]
During our ride uptown, Sonny and I talked about his 1995 performance at the Beacon Theater and the struggles he encounters when trying to give an audience a powerful performance. There wasn't room for the following conversation in my Wall Street Journal article, but here it is as a bonus:
JazzWax: Did you enjoy playing at New York's Beacon Theater in 1995? Sonny Rollins: Actually, I wasn’t happy with my performance. I don't blame anyone but myself. When the curtain goes up, it’s up to Sonny Rollins in terms of how I sound and what I'm doing. It’s my responsibility to be Sonny Rollins. I always try to make sure that is my No. 1 priority—making sure I sound good. Whenever I play, I take responsibility. I’m old school. It’s my job to satisfy the public.
JW: How do you do that? SR: By practicing hard every day. I also compose every day when I can.
JW: Why? SR: I’m trying to get a certain perfection in my music, in my playing, in my performance, in my ability to make sense and ultimately to satisfy my audiences. It's all of these things. I am an artist seeking perfection.
JW: What has to happen for this to take place? SR: Of course, my embouchure has to be in great shape and my reed has to be just right, but I also have to be in a good place mentally. When that happens, hopefully the audience reacts. If I'm happy, Marc, people will react. [Photo by John Abbott]
JW: But don't your audiences always react positively? SR: To an extent. But I have stringent standards for myself that they don’t know about. Once I satisfy some of my demands, they will be even happier. That's when a performance comes together magically. There’s no explaining it. Every concert doesn’t come out the way I would have liked it to. Even the ones that people did think came out well, I sometimes wasn't happy with them. Every time I walk on stage I'm trying to create an extraordinary event.
JW: What are you doing when such events happen? SR: Who knows why these things happen? That’s the unknown that makes music great. It's not something you can quantify all the time. That’s the beauty of the arts. You have to know when you did that stroke that opened up a new vista for you. You don’t know why you did it or how. You enter a place creatively and it happens. [Photo by Jamie-James Medina]
JW: So when you’re not feeling a specific way on stage, the odds are greater that you're not going to produce what you want? SR: I would think so. There are times when negative things happen, like feeling it isn't my night or that things aren't in place musically. I’m trying all the time, of course, to overcome those things. You have to take that into consideration as an artist. Even if things aren’t falling into place right away, I’m working like heck to make it happen.
JW: Do you ever think you’re too hard on yourself? SR: No. I don’t think I’m too hard. I probably could be harder.
JW: But does a point ever come as an artist when you're being too hard on yourself, that your discipline will trample the creative aspects of what you want to do? SR: No, I don’t think so.
JW: How do you avoid becoming too rigid or formulaic? SR: When I say I'm hard on myself, I don't mean that I'm rigid. When young people call me up, they say, "Sonny, what do you practice?" My answer always is that they must first absorb the rudiments that they need to know. You have to be sure you practice those every day. But then you have to make time to be creative and free. [Photo by Michael Jackson]
JW: So a jazz artist in performance constantly has to fight to be free? SR: I think so. You don't want to say, "Gee I have to practice this or that over and over again." No. Of course, certain things are important. For instance, I know that I have to hold whole tones to build up my embouchure, so I do these exercises. But I don’t make it a big deal. If you do, then practicing becomes a chore. Practicing has to be viewed as fun, it has to be easy. You’ve got to leave time for expression, to keep yourself open to expression. That’s what I do.
JW: I have to assume that when you perform, you’re not even there, that you’ve left the stage mentally. SR: Exactly. That’s my whole thing, the process of improvising. You have to know your materials, you know the songs, you know the harmonics—all these things. You have to learn those back and forth. Then when you get on the stage, you forget all of it [laughs]. See what I mean? [Photo by John Abbott]
JW: And then? SR: And then you let the subconscious take over. That’s my thing. My subconscious takes over quickly and I don’t know what I do. I surprise myself by what I play, and that’s great.
JW: Are you letting yourself be more emotional when this happens? SR: Emotional. Hmmm, that’s a tricky word.
JW: I mean soulful—emotional rather than rational? SR: My mind is trained to do the things I'm trying to do. What happens after that I don’t know. It’s something else. It's magical. I'm not consciously aware of what I’m doing. My mind is blank and not consciously going after one thing or another. If everything comes together, then the creative part becomes an exciting experience for the audience. And for me. [Photo by John Abbott]
During the 1940s and 1950s, many jazz musicians had nicknames. Some were bestowed on them by band members. Others were affixed by parents or friends while they were growing up. One of the most popular sobriquets during this period was "Sonny." It seems to have been given most often by parents in need of differentiating between children or between the child and the father or grandfather in the home.
What if all of the best-known Sonnys in jazz were united for a big-band session? If you have a Sonny I've overlooked below, please add to the Comments section for all to see:
Sonny Berman, Sonny Cohn (trumpets)
Sonny Lee, Sonny Russo (trombones)
Sonny Criss and Sonny Simmons (alto saxes)
Sonny Rollins and Sonny Fortune (tenor saxes)
Sonny Stitt (baritone sax)
Sonny Clark (piano)
Sonny Sharrock (guitar)
Sonny Dallas (bass)
Sonny Igoe, Sonny Payne, Sonny Johnson and Sonny Greer (drums)
Marc Myers writes regularly for The Wall Street Journal and is author of "Anatomy of 55 More Songs," "Anatomy of a Song," "Rock Concert: An Oral History" and "Why Jazz Happened." Founded in 2007, JazzWax has won three Jazz Journalists Association awards.
Miles Davis: Boppin' the Blues.
Bebop Revisited Vo. 1.
