In 1981, guitarist John Scofield received a phone call at his hotel in the Netherlands while touring with his band. On the other line was a local TV-show producer. He needed a sub to play with valve trombonist Bob Brookmeyer that night on a show. John jumped at the chance.
The result of that appearance is below and features Bob and John performing Moonlight in Vermont as a duet. Listen to what Bob does with the melody and where he goes with the lines. Listen for the traps he creates while taking creative risks—and how he turns the tables on them to produce completely new melody lines. And dig John's tender fusion voicings that are both distinct and supportive...
Over the weekend, I spoke to John about this clip and Bob. Here's what he had to say...
"The show's producer needed me to sub for Jim Hall at the last minute. I don't recall why. The show was very pop—sort of like Lawrence Welk's show here. It was hosted by Pim Jacobs, a Dutch TV personality and pianist who liked to feature jazz. I was at the end of a European tour with my band.
"Music is so ephemeral, you play it, and it vanishes. But I remember that when I played with Bob, I knew that everything he played was right and that I simply had to follow along. When you have that kind of trust and respect for a player, it makes playing easier. The part of your brain that worries doesn't have to do that anymore and is freed-up to support the rest of the creative process.
"I also remember the support and generosity of spirit that Bob displayed. He may have been thinking at the time, 'Where's Jim? I'm stuck on TV with this kid?' But he made me feel like an equal, and that was quite a confidence-builder and lesson for me. After our appearance that night, Bob and I played a gig in Laren [the Netherlands] with a local big band.
"Back home in the States, I had an opportunity to play with Bob a few times. Bob had just relocated to New York from Los Angeles, and we played the first week he was back at the Blue Note, which had just opened. We were backed by drummer Mel Lewis, bassist George Mraz and pianist Jim McNeely.
"Bob was so great with younger players. Bob—and all the older cats I've worked with back then—recognized that the younger guys are playing the music and trying to learn. They saw themselves in our struggle and search, so they instantly identify and love us, for lack of a better word."
JazzWax tracks: John Scofield's latest albums, Time on My Hands , Piety and 54 (all EmArcy), are available at iTunes as well as here, here and here at Amazon.
By 1964, Chet Baker was damaged goods. The '50s had been a series of ego flights and emotional letdowns for the trumpeter. The vulnerable and naturally pretty look he had coolly projected at the start of the decade was lifted by Hollywood in the form of James Dean and Montgomery Clift. By 1958, Baker's sensitive-victim look was out, replaced by tough guys like Marlon Brando, Paul Newman and Burt Lancaster. Even jazz on the West Coast had lifted much of his moody, melodic style. Baker's temperament and disposition weren't helped by his drug addiction in the early '50s, which set Baker on a life-long crash course.
In late 1959 and 1960, Baker toured Italy and the rest of Europe, a trip that once again fired-up his ego. But his new-found fame and movie stardom led to cockiness and, eventually, to an arrest for drug smuggling and forgery. The result was two years in an Italian prison (he had been sentenced to three).
Upon his release in 1962, Baker began touring Europe again, recording extensively in Italy. After exhausting all commercial possibilities there and likely eager to resume his drug habit without having to wheedle pills in Europe and risk a longer prison stretch, Baker returned to the U.S. in 1964, winding up first in New York.
Upon his return, Baker recorded The Most Important Jazz Album of 1964-65 for Colpix, his first U.S. studio date in five years. On the session, Baker played flugelhorn and sang on two tracks. The results were sublime. He was joined on the date by Phil Urso (ts,cl), Hal Galper (p), Jymie Merritt (b) and Charlie Rice (d). Many of the arrangements were by Tadd Dameron and Jimmy Mundy.
What makes this recording special is Baker's lyricism and musical maturity on pure jazz songs. His solos, phrasing and intonation are all deeply profound, while his ideas are clear and mellow. How he managed to retain such beauty and clarity given his reckless self-abuse is baffling.
By taking on serious works like Dameron's [pictured above] Soultrane, Tadd's Delight, Gnid, Mating Call and Whatever Possessed Me, Baker displays enormous tenderness and sensitivity for the material. He even delivers a vocal on Walkin'—lyrics by Quincy Jones:
Love is quite the joker
He likes to have his fun
He sets you down in clover
Till he wins you over
Then suddlenly leaves you flat
Just like that, here's your hat
Start walkin'
For some reason, Phil Urso [pictured above] never received the proper amount of credit for being a perfect musical foil for Baker's sound. Urso could swing smartly, and his lines and tone were gritty, hefty and tasteful. Unfortunately, the pair also were heroin-mates, visiting 157th St. in Harlem together often to score.
Pianist Galper is another forgotten artist of great merit, contributing two originals—Retsim B. (for Baker, not Billy Eckstine) and Margarine. On Whatever Possessed Me, we hear Urso play clarinet while Baker sings. Positively gorgeous.
Jimmy Mundy, in addition to arranging Gnid and Soultrane also scored Duke Jordan's Flight to Jordan and Ann, Wonderful One.
When this album was recorded in May 1964, Baker was an emotional, drug-dependent wreck, already at the start of his long decline of no return. But during the months that preceded this session, his playing was among his finest jazz works from a patient, expressive standpoint.
There really isn't a bad note or throwaway line on his 1964 album, and Baker's tone is pure honey. How this was possible given his emotional state will always remain one of life's great mysteries.
JazzWax tracks: You can find Chet Baker's The Most Important Jazz Album of 1964-65 at Amazon.
JazzWax notes: James Gavin's distinct and haunting biography of Chet Baker, Deep in a Dream, can be found here.
My interview with Phil Urso's brother, Joe, can be found here.
Jazzwax clip: Here's Chet Baker playing Tadd's Delight. Dig Phil Urso's Coltrane-esque solo, setting up Baker's tender reading...
Hal McKusick, an East Coast jazz saxophonist, composer and arranger whose seductively smooth sound, tireless work ethic and flawless technique were admired by Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Clark Terry, Art Farmer, Johnny Mandel and every other musician he worked with since the early 1940s, died on April 10 of complications from a fractured hip. He was 87.
If all that you owned were the albums Hal recorded, you would have a sizable chunk of post-war jazz history. Though other jazz musicians appeared on more dates (Hal clocks in at 233 known sessions), few sidemen could rival the sheer number of significant recordings. Starting with Les Brown in 1943, Hal recorded with many of the most challenging bands of the decade—including Boyd Raeburn, Alvino Rey, Buddy Rich, Ralph Burns, George Handy, Tom Talbert, Claude Thornhill and Neal Hefti.
In the 1950s, Hal continued his band career with Elliot Lawrence, Bill Harris, Al Cohn, Quincy Jones, Ernie Wilkins, Gene Krupa, Manny Albam and many others. With the widespread adoption of the 33 1/3 LP in the early 1950s and growing demand by labels for inventive small groups, Hal again wound up on some of the most dynamic sessions—as a sideman and leader. His output in 1956 alone is daunting (go here). His recollections of recording with Charlie Parker in 1953 can be found here.
What distinguished Hal—in bands and groups—was his sound on the alto saxophone. Hal recorded on virtually all reed instruments and the flute, but the alto was his primary horn. Starting in the late 1940s, he pioneered a lighter, dryer tone —without sacrificing the aggression or inventiveness needed to hold the knowing ear.
His technique minimized vibrato and leaned on lyrical phrasing and the instrument's higher register, resulting in an appealing, wistful lightness. This approach wasn't lost on Paul Desmond, Lee Konitz and other cool masters of the instrument during the era.
Hal brought virtuosity to everything he did, including his many hobbies. Hal was one of those guys who bothered only if he could go all the way. In the 1970s, he became a pilot and flew to gigs, eventually earning a nice payday ferrying passengers down to St. Barts in the Caribbean, an island with one of the region's most difficult and treacherous runways.
As a woodworker, Hal crafted bowls, tables and cupboards in his workshop out back for clients, perfecting the craft's techniques by reading books. He also was a superb photographer, taking candids of many of the artists he played with, including Bill Evans, whose portrait sat over his piano in his studio.
On a personal note, Hal's passing leaves me with a particularly heavy heart. We spoke by email or phone almost weekly. Hal was the second jazz legend I interviewed for this site (baritone saxophonist Danny Bank was the first), and he is probably the source I turned to most for details and insights about other artists and jazz events.
I had known about Hal since the 1970s, after hearing Cross-Section Saxes (1958). When I started JazzWax in the summer of 2007, I decided to start calling musicians I admired most for interviews. Many of my favorites weren't necessarily well-known. Instead, they were major players to me because they appeared on my favorite albums. I could hear what they were doing, and it was special. Hal was at the top of my list of desired interview subjects and, if I recall correctly, Rob Rusch, founder of Cadence magazine, pointed me in the right direction.
My multipart interview with Hal in October 2007 was done in the dark. Hal insisted I call him back so he could sit in his studio with the lights out, to better recall the events of his past. The result was a colorful, honest recitation of his career, giving readers a sense of his start and his life-long devotion to jazz.
Over time, the increasing frequency of our conversations drew us close, with Hal taking on the role of mentor and father-figure. He'd frequently call when he sensed from my blog that I was over-working, which was almost always the case.
"Hey, man, you're doing amazing things," Hal would say in that smooth, knowing voice of his. "But are you doing too much? Are you sure? I've been there, and you're there now. I know you can't help it. But pace it, and keep it cool."
Few artists I've interviewed have said the word "cool" as delightfully as Hal—as if he had invented the word. The middle of the word was extended ever-so-slightly but never to the point of ridicule. Just enough so that saying the word "cool" was truly cool.
Most days we'd talk late in the afternoon, after he finished giving a grateful high-schooler a lesson. There was something about talking to Hal on the phone that was similar to sitting in front of a fireplace. The sessions were relaxing, educational and hugely rewarding for me. Like many musicians, Hal sounded like he played—his voice was melodic and relaxed.
Last December, he asked me to come out to Sag Harbor. His lovely wife Jan was away with family, and he was looking for some musical company. "Come out. We'll just hang and listen to music." Neck-deep in writing assignments and my book, and just days from a trip to Venice, I couldn't pull away.
"Hal, I wish I could, but I'm tied three different ways," I said.
"I know. Would be fun, but I know you're busy," he said. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've made a big difference. You're preserving the music, and what you've done for the musicians is great. You won't realize how important your work has been until years from now."
Now, of course, I'm sorry I didn't drop what I was doing and spend the day out there. Nevertheless, Hal's voice remains in my head, urging me on, and his passion for doing a solid job is still awe-inspiring and a part of my own drive.
Hal has been a solid mentor, an inspiration, a kind soul and a very cool cat. But cool—the way Hal would say it.
JazzWax tracks: I have nearly all of Hal's recordings. So let me give you a list of 10 starter albums that are essential listening to fully appreciate the beauty of his playing and his artistry:
Easy Coast Jazz Vol. 8 (1955)
Terry Gibbs: Vibes on Velvet (1955)
In a 20th Century Drawing Room (1955)
Manhattan Jazz Septet (1956)
George Russell: Jazz Workshop (1956)
Hal McKusick: Jazz Workshop (1956)
Jazz at the Academy (1956)
Jazz Cornucopia (1957)
Triple Exposure (1957)
Cross-Section Saxes (1958)
JazzWax clips: Here's Hal on Minor Matters, from East Coast Jazz...
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.
