As far back as medieval times, well-known songs were routinely recycled as new compositions with slight modifications. Then came copyright law in 1710 to protect composers and a pivotal case in 1946 that allowed bebop to flourish in the 1940s. [Photo above of Dizzy Gillespie on Manhattan’s 52nd Street in 1947 by William P. Gottlieb]

The first landmark legal case over music copyright was Britain’s Bach v. Longman. Johann Christian Bach—the youngest son of Johann Sebastian Bach—and composer Karl Friedrich Abel took London music publishers James Longman and Charles Lukey to court in 1777. At issue was whether printed music was protected under the copyright regulations outlined in Britain’s Statute of Anne, enacted in 1710.

The court ruled in Bach’s favor, stating that printed sheet music did qualify as “writing” by its composer and was protected. America’s Copyright Act of 1790 was modeled after the Statute of Anne and protected original works, such as books and maps. Music was added to the Act in 1831.

Britain’s D’Almaine v. Boosey (1835) was the first case of a music publisher being successfully sued for plagiarism. The court established that turning copyrighted musical themes into dance arrangements did indeed constitute copyright infringement.

In the years ahead, the focus of music copyright law centered on song melodies. Cases brought to court by composers who claimed new songs used their original song’s chord progressions were routinely thrown out. Courts viewed chords as unprotected under copyright law, since they were akin to words vs. original ideas articulated in paragraphs. By contrast, melodies were considered creative thoughts and therefore protected.

Then came Arnstein v. Porter (1946), which ironed out the nettlesome issue of what constituted similarity between two songs and set standards for proving song theft.

Ira Arnstein was a professional songwriter who claimed that Cole Porter had sent spies to steal his songs, notably The Lord is My Shepherd and A Mother’s Prayer. The specific Porter hits at issue were Don’t Fence Me In, Begin the Beguine, I Love You, You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To and My Heart Belongs to Daddy.

The trial court ruled on behalf of Porter, who claimed he had never heard Arnstein’s songs and that there was no substantial similarity between the melodies. Arnstein appealed and lost, but the case led the appellate court to establish two elements for copyright infringement:

First, there had to be evidence that the defendant being sued had to be aware of the work (through widely circulated sheet music and recordings).

Second, there had to be evidence that the songs were substantially similar. In other words, chords by themselves were not grounds for copyright infringement, only original melodies of published compositions.

This case allowed the emerging bebop movement in 1946 to flourish. Bebop songs that featured original melodies using the chord progressions of standards were immune from royalty payments or litigation. While this trend had started among early bebop musicians in 1945 with Parker’s Ko-Ko (Cherokee) and Dizzy Gillespie’s Groovin’ High (Whispering), Parker and Gillespie were on thin ice, which is probably why they masked the chord progressions with fast, complex melodies.

Arnstein V. Porter in 1946 clarified what was problematic and what wasn’t. Not only could original bebop melodies be published without fear of royalty payments and litigation but they also could be parlayed on recordings, sheet music and in concert.

And those new bebop melodies were now protected. So rather than relying solely on the blues as a rights-free foundation for melodies, more bebop musicians began using chord progressions of popular songs to create newly improvised melodies.

It’s doubtful bebop musicians knew that this case had opened the door for them. More likely, music publishing companies with attorneys informed them or a record label that handled their publishing filled them in on what was fair game.

In the wake of the case, dozens of bebop songs began surfacing in the 1940s that were based on the chord progressions of standards, giving rise to what we now call contrafacts.

These contrafacts included Charlie Parker and Benny Harris’s Ornithology, (which was based on the chord changes to How High the Moon); Miles Davis’s Donna Lee (Back Home in Indiana); Parker’s Scrapple From the Apple (Honeysuckle Rose); Parker and Dizzy Gillespie’s Anthropology (I Got Rhythm); and Miles Davis’s Dig, Clifford Brown’s Sweet Clifford and Thelonious Monk’s Bright Mississippi (Sweet Georgia Brown).

To show you how ingenious bebop musicians were using the chord progressions of standards to create new melodies, let’s listen to a few pairings:

Here’s Benny Goodman’s How High the Moon in 1940, the first recording of the song…

And here’s Charlie Parker and Benny Harris’s Ornithology in 1946…

Here’s the first recording of Back Home in Indiana by the Sterling Trio in 1917…

And here’s Charlie Parker and Miles Davis in 1947 playing Davis’s Donna Lee, which uses the same chord progressions…

Here’s the first recording of Sweet Georgia Brown, by Ben Bernie, in 1925…

And here’s Miles Davis’s Dig, in 1956…

Many people who have never heard a single album by tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins know he spent two years on New York’s Williamsburg Bridge practicing. It’s one of jazz’s most romantic stories—a frustrated artist taking a commercial break to be out in the open getting to know himself better and advance his art form. But were those two years a fruitful use of Sonny’s time? [Photo above of the Williamsburg Bridge walkway by Alexandra Charian]

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René Urtreger, a French jazz pianist who, as an adolescent, was hidden from the Nazis during the German occupation of Paris and went on to become one of the country’s most accomplished players, died on July 16 at age 92. [Photo above of René Urtreger]

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Yesterday was the 100th anniversary of Tony Bennett’s birth, on Aug. 3, 1926. The pop-jazz singer died on July 21, 2023, following a seven-year battle with Alzheimer’s disease. [Photo of Tony Bennett in Central Park]

I interviewed Tony five times for the Wall Street Journal, four times in his art studio on Central Park South and once by phone. Tony, of course, was a huge admirer of jazz, viewing it as America’s most pure form of music.

About 10 years ago, Tony asked me to give a talk at Frank Sinatra High School, which he founded in Astoria, Queens in 2001. I gladly obliged and had a fun time.

Tony also could be very funny, adding a touch of street if he had to. When I told him some years ago that in 2010 I had sung I Left My Heart in San Francisco in the Venetian Room of San Francisco’s Fairmont Hotel, where he had first sung the song in 1961, he was momentarily puzzled.

I told him the space was about to be renovated, the lights were off and no one was in there when I slipped in and got up on the purple-lit stage and sang the introduction (“The loveliness of Paris…”). Tony flashed that smile and said, “How’d that go for you?” I told him I got a “sanding ovation,” that there was a sander among the construction equipment in the back. He had a good laugh.

A couple of years before the pandemic, he asked me to interview him at the Village Vanguard one winter afternoon for a Dutch documentary; I was off-camera facing him on a director’s chair. I don’t know whatever happened to that project, but when Tony tried to pay me, I waved him off. He sent me a signed print of his painting of the Golden Gate Bridge as a thanks.

What made Tony special was his powerful street-singer voice, his enthusiasm for performing, his ability to reduce a massive concert hall to a club, his admiration of jazz and improvisation at the highest levels and his signature endings on ballads that built to a crescendo. And his kindness.

So today, in celebration of Tony’s 100th, I’ve selected 11 of my favorite performances that are sure to move you:

Here’s Tony at 25, singing Because of You on the Ed Sullivan Show in September 1951…

Here’s Tony in June 1958 on the Steve Allen Show singing Pennies From Heaven (move the time bar to 1:47) in a rare outdoor shoot….

Here’s Tony in 1963 recording So Long, Big Time in the studio, with Harold Arlen, the composer, conducting…

Here’s Tony at his absolute peak singing If I Ruled the World on the Ed Sullivan Show in March 1965, with the Woody Herman Orchestra featuring Bobby Hackett on cornet…

From the same show, here’s Who Can I Turn To…

Here’s Tony singing The Shadow of Your Smile on TV’s 38th Academy Awards presentation in 1966 at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in Los Angeles, honoring songs released in 1965. It won an Oscar for best original song…

Here’s For Once in My Life on the Ed Sullivan Show in November 1967...

Here’s Yesterday I Heard the Rain, with music by Armando Manzanero and English lyrics by Gene Lees, from the album of the same name arranged by Torrie Zito in 1968…

Here’s Tony in London singing The End of a Love Affair, arranged by Robert Farnon for the album The Good Things in Life, in 1972, with John Bunch on piano…

Here’s Tony in the studio in 1986, with Henry Mancini conducting Life in a Looking Glass from the 1987 film That’s Life!, with the great Chuck Findley on flugelhorn…

And finally, here’s Tony singing The Way You Look Tonight, accompanied by the magnificent Bill Charlap on piano, in 2015…

Marion Evans, one of the finest post-war, big-band arrangers based in New York whose work always aimed to astonish the listener without overwhelming the orchestra or the singer, died July 22. He was 100. [Photo above of Marion Evans in 2015 by Jack Firneno]

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Oliver Jones, a beloved Canadian arranger, organist, educator and jazz pianist with a pronounced, fleet keyboard style akin to Art Tatum, Oscar Peterson and Hank Jones, died on July 22 He was 91. [Photo above of Oliver Jones, courtesy of the Canadian Music Hall of Fame]

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Plas Johnson, a tenor saxophonist who was a jump-blues specialist in the late 1940s, an R&B sideman in the 1950s and a studio session player in the years ahead, often called upon to add a smooth, earthy touch on recordings such as Henry Mancini’s Pink Panther Theme, died on July 15. He was 94. [Photo above of Plas Johnson in the 1960s]

Johnson was largely self-taught by ear and picked up his early phrasing by mirroring the tone of his father, a professional saxophonist. In the early 1950s, he attended the Westlake School of Music in Los Angeles after serving in the Army starting in 1951.

The school was established in 1945 to capitalize on the GI Bill, which subsidized the tuitions of veterans. At Westlake, musicians skipped much of the classical training required by other more established music conservatories and was among the first to focus on teaching musicians how to be commercial arrangers, composers and players.

Johnson didn’t complete his schooling there due to his mounting recording schedule in Hollywood, thanks to the growing use of magnetic tape and recorders in studios and the 10-inch 33 1/3 LP, which was replaced by the 12-inch by 1955 and ‘56.

Early on in his career, Johnson played on R&B sessions with Art Farmer and other jazz players moonlighting on blues dates, pianist and arranger Ernie Freeman, and a virtual who’s who of players in soul, pop and jazz throughout his career. In the 1960s and ‘70s, he recorded extensively on boxes arranged by Billy May that re-recorded the books of swing-era big bands.

Johnson appeared on an extraordinary number of albums over the course of his career. Going through his discography, you find many jazz, R&B and jazz-pop albums that were huge sellers and many that are still little-known. One is Ray Anthony Plays Steve Allen, featured in full below.

I’ve pulled together 19 favorite tracks featuring Plas Johnson over the course of his lengthy career:

Here’s Johnson’s first recording session, backing singer Erline Harris on Jump & Shout. His brother Ray was on piano and the rest are unknown. It was recorded in New Orleans in 1949…

Here’s Johnson with vocalist Ike Lloyd singing The One I Love. He’s backed by Johnson along with Art Farmer and George Orendorff (tp), Earl Brown (as), Lloyd Glenn (p), Pee Wee Crayton (g), Billy Hadnott (b) and Bob Harvey (d) in 1951…

Here’s vocalist “Woo Woo” Moore singing Something’s Wrong, backed by Johnson, and Art Farmer (tp), Jewell Grant (as), Raymond Johnson (p), Roy Hayes (g), Eddie Williams (b) and Jesse Sailes (d) in 1953…

Here’s drummer George Jenkins playing Drum Tattoo, backed by Plas and Ray Johnson and Duke Harris (b) in 1955 (my apologies for the awful Drum Stuff cover along the way)…

Here’s Plas and Ray Johnson with an unknown baritone saxophonist, Duke Harris (b) and George Jenkins (d) playing Plas’s Blue Jean Shuffle in 1956…

Here’s the full rare album Scooby Doo, with Johnson soloing, backed by John Anderson (tp), John “Streamline” Ewing (tb), Dave Pell (bs), Raymond Martinez (reeds), Irving Ashby (g) Ad Alshbrod (b) Jewel Grant (d) and Jerry Leiber (dir) in 1956…

Here’s organist Earl Grant playing The Second Time Around with Johnson, backed by Al Hendrickson and Bobby Gibbons (g), Morty Corb (b) and Jack Sperling (d); the date is unknown…

Here are the Strollers playing Jumpin’ With Symphony Sid, featuring Plas Johnson (fl), Al Viola (g), Wilfred Middlebrooks (b) and Earl Palmer (d) in 1958…

Here’s the entire album Ray Anthony Plays Steve Allen, a killer, featuring Ray Anthony, Pete Candoli, Conrad Gozzo and Gene Duermeyer (tp); Frank Lane, Lewis McGreery and Tommy Pederson (tb); Skeets Herfurt and Ronnie Lang (cl,as); Bob Hardaway and Plas Johnson (ts); Med Flory (bs); John Bannister (p); Bobby Gibbons (g); Don Simpson (b,arr); Alvin Stoller (d) and the Skyliners (vcl) in 1958…

Here’s Johnson soloing on Spook!, from Henry Mancini’s More Music From Peter Gunn, in 1959. The band: Conrad Gozzo, Pete Candoli, Graham Young and Frank Beach (tp); Dick Nash, Jimmy Priddy, Hoyt Bohannon and Karl DeKarske (tb); Paul Horn (fl,as); Ted Nash (fl,pc,ts); Plas Johnson (ts); Gene Cipriano (saxes); Ronnie Lang (bs); John T. Williams (p); Victor Feldman (vib); Bob Bain (g); Rollie Bundock (b) and Shelly Manne (d)…

Here’s Plas and Ray Johnson on One Mint Julep in 1960, backed by Ernie Freeman (org), Rene Hall (g), Bill Pitman (g), Red Callender (b), Earl Palmer (d), strings and Gerald Wilson (arr)…

Here’s another little-known gem—Johnson playing on Pete Rugolo’s 10 Saxophones and 2 Basses. The track is a medley of Four Brothers and Early Autumn. The band: Skeets Herfurt, Bud Shank and Gus Bivona (as); Russ Cheever (sop); Bob Cooper, Plas Johnson and Gene Cipriano (ts); Bill Perkins (ts,bar); Chuck Gentry and Bill Hood (bassoon,bass sax); Jimmy Rowles (p); Howard Roberts (g); Red Mitchell and Joe Mondragon (b); Shelly Manne (d) and Pete Rugolo (arr,cond) in 1961…

In 1963, Johnson used a pseudonym—Johnny Beecher—and recorded a couple of albums for the Charter label, one of which was Sax 5th Avenue. Here he’s playing the title track backed by Emil Richards (vib), Bert Kendricks (org), Jimmy Bond (b) and Earl Palmer or Wayne Robinson (d)…

Here’s Johnson playing the title track from his 1964 album called Blue Martini, with an unknown orchestra conducted by John Neel…

Here’s Johnson soloing on Brunette in Yellow from Mancini’s soundtrack for the film The Party, in 1968…

Here’s Johnson playing Our Day Will Will Come from his 1975 album The Blues, with Mike Melvoin (p,el-p), Herb Ellis (g), Ray Brown (b), Jake Hanna (d) and Bobbye Hall (cga)…

Here’s Johnson playing That’s All from Wild Bill Davis’s 1990 album of the same name. The Super Trio featured Johnson (ts), Wild Bill Davis (org) and Butch Miles (d)…

Here’s Johnson on The Next Time You See Me, from Rhoda Scott’s From C to Shining C in 2006, with Scott (org), Carl Lockett (g) and Lucien Dobat (d)…

And finally, here’s Johnson in 1983 on the cable-TV variety show Steve Allen's Music Room reprising his 1963 solo on Mancini’s The Pink Panther Theme. I see Pete and Conte Candoli in the trumpet section and Med Flory in the reed section. See the comments below for the full personnel from Bill Kirchner…

A special thanks to reader James D. C. Barrall, a senior fellow in residence at the UCLA School of Law, for the heads-up last week.

For years, American bossa nova fans have come to believe that Astrud Gilberto was nudged into A&R Studio to sing two songs during the famed Getz/Gilberto recording session on March 18 and 19, 1963. It has long been assumed that her tentative, girlish singing voice on the album’s The Girl From Ipanema and Corcovado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars) was tapped simply because she could sing Brazilian songs in English. [Photo above of João and Astrud Gilberto in 1959]

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After Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie, Stan Getz is probably the best-known, household-name jazz star to emerge in the post-war years. I’d put him after Gillespie and just above Dave Brubeck and Chet Baker in terms of name recognition by the mass market. Which is interesting, since of the musicians I’ve just cited, he’s the only one who adapted another artist’s playing style—Lester Young’s. [Publicity still above of Stan Getz]

Getz began his recording career in 1943 with Jack Teagarden’s big band, followed by stints in the bands of Stan Kenton and Benny Goodman in the mid-1940s. He recorded as the leader of a small bebop group in 1946 before joining Woody Herman’s “Four Brothers” band, where he became a star. Prestige recorded him in 1949, billing him as Stan Getz Tenor Sax Stars and as the Stan Getz Quartet.

Throughout this period and beyond, he was probably among the best-known disciples of Young’s revolutionary laid-back style, which was heard during Young’s years with Count Basie and on his own after World War II. Getz idolized Young, adding a slickness to his sound over the years. Getz and Young never recorded or performed together, but they met on the road in 1959.

Their encounter occurred in Paris in February 1959—a day before Young was due to begin his eight-week engagement at Le Blue Note where Getz was wrapping up. Young reportedly said: “Nice eyes, Lady Getz, nice eyes,” a line Getz reportedly cherished. For lay jazz fans, I’ll translate: “Beautiful interpretation of my sound, pretty Stan.” Young would die on March 15.

Today, a batch of rare videos and recordings by Getz in the 1940s, ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s:

Here’s Stan Getz in February 1954 playing Out of Nowhere with the Gerald Wilson Big Band at the San Francisco War Memorial Building (now the San Francisco War Memorial and Performing Arts Center). Tenor saxophonists Wardell Gray and Zoot Sims were also part of the concert…

Here’s Getz at Zardi’s Jazzland in Los Angeles in 1956, with Lou Levy (p), Max Bennett (b) and Gary Frommer (d)…

Here’s Getz with tenor saxophonists Coleman Hawkins, Don Byas, Barney Wilen and Guy Lafitte with Martial Solal (p), Arvell Shaw (b) and J. C. Heard (d) live in Cannes, France, on July 13, 1958…

Here’s Getz with Jan Johansson (p), Ray Brown (b) and Ed Thigpen (dr) in Dusseldorf, Germany in 1960 playing Out of Nowhere…

Here’s Getz at the London School of Economics on Nov. 14, 1966, with Gary Burton (vib), Steve Swallow (b) and Roy Haynes (d), colorized…

Here’s Getz with Brazilian vocalist Flora Purim in Paris in 1969, with Stanley Cowell (p), Miroslav Vitous (b) and Jack Dejohnette (d)…

Here’s Getz in 1970 playing Desafinado at the Jazzhouse Montmartre in Copenhagen, with Mike Pyne (p), Ron Mathewson (b) and Spike Wells (d)…

Here’s Getz on Side 1 of a test pressing for Concord Jazz, recorded at Coast Recorders in San Francisco on Jan. 29, 1982 with Jim McNeely (p), Marc Johnson (b), Victor Lewis (d) and Billy Hart (d)…

And here’s Side 2…

Bonus: Here’s the solo on Ralph Burns’s arrangement of Early Autumn in 1948 that made Getz famous. The first solo is by Woody Herman on alto saxophone, followed by Terry Gibbs on vibes and then Getz…

Cool is a funny thing. You can’t really define it, and the word has no real synonym. Yet you know cool when you see and feel it. If I were taking a stab at a definition, I’d say a jazz artist who made excellence look easy, was understated, wasn’t a follower (or advanced whatever he or she was following), didn’t work hard at hipness, had enormous charisma, and established his or her own artistic vision. [Photo above of Lester Young and Miles Davis]

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Abdullah Ibrahim, a South African jazz pianist also known as Dollar Brand who brought a distinct and gentle spiritualism to his compositions and improvisation, died on June 15. He was 91. [Photo above of Abdullah Ibrahim, courtesy of the Kurland Agency]

In 2011, I interviewed Abdullah for JazzWax. In tribute to his passing, I’m reprising my interview with him here, along with clips down below:

***

The name Abdullah Ibrahim (also known as Dollar Brand) may or may not be familiar to you. The South African pianist comes to jazz from creative pressures that are different from most American jazz artists.

Ibrahim grew up in the 1940s and ‘50s under the African country’s brutal segregationist system of apartheid, which was in place from 1948 to 1993. His music celebrates American jazz but echoes his own cultural background and hardships in Africa.

As is evident on his latest album, Sotho Blue, Abdullah works from a rich and gentle spiritual tablet.

I was so moved by Abdullah’s album Sotho Blue with his band, Ekaya, that I wanted to reach out to tell him so. From South Africa, Abdullah generously took time out to answer my e-mailed questions.

JazzWax: You started playing professionally in South Africa in 1949 and began recording with the Tuxedo Slickers Orchestra in 1954, yes?
Abdullah Ibrahim: Yes. The Tuxedo Slickers was a big-band based in Cape Town’s District Six—one of the communities that the government later in the 1970s declared for whites only. Sixty-thousand life-long black residents were forcibly removed to townships. Back then, we played concerts and dance shows, with opening acts, vocal groups that were inspired by the Delta Rhythm Boys, and traditional choral music.

JW: What type of music did you play with the Tuxedo Slickers?
AI: We used Tuxedo Junction as our signature tune. We also played Tommy Dorsey’s Song of India, Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade and songs by Joe Liggins, Count Basie and Erskine Hawkins, who co-wrote Tuxedo Junction. Years later, I visited Hawkins’ home in Birmingham, Alabama, to pay my respects. We also played Xhosa and Zulu traditional music, and a keyboard style called Marabi that combined jazz, blues and ragtime with our music. I still play this form today. When the New York members of my band, Ekaya, visit, they call it South African r&b chord changes. Back in the early ‘50s, the Tuxedo Slickers’ arranger Caleb Ndimande wrote original African charts. He also wrote arrangements of jazz songs. I recall a very complex chart of pianist George Wallington’s Lemon Drop. We had heard Dizzy Gillespie’s recording.

JW: Given South Africa’s horrible apartheid policy back in the ‘50s, how did you perform there and record? Did the government try to prevent this?
AI: The apartheid regime was ruthless in controlling our daily movement. You’d need permits to travel anywhere and you always faced imminent arrest. We sneaked out of safe houses to jam with other musicians. We also organized our own community concerts. Then the white-owned recording companies would rip off naive and uninformed musicians and record their music without acknowledgment or compensation.

JW: How did you become familiar with American jazz in South Africa in the 1950s?
AI: We listened to Voice of America jazz programs hosted by Willis Conover. We also listened to local weekly jazz programs on the radio as well as LPs.

JW: Where was one of the most unusual places you heard American jazz in South Africa?
AI: The local ice-cream van blared Louis Jordan and his Tympani Five.

JW: How did you develop your style?
AI: Our local jazz hero, alto saxophonist Kippie Moketsi, was classically trained and played elaborate pieces such as Mozart’s clarinet concerto. On LP, I heard pianists Jimmy Yancey, Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis. They inspired me to woodshed boogie-woogie, developing left-hand independence and synchronizing it with traditional rhythms, leaving my right hand free to fly anywhere.

JW: What is the origin of the name “Dollar Brand?”
AI: My original last name was Brand. I was given my nickname while hanging out in Cape Town Harbor as a teen. I’d befriend African-American sailors, who were manning merchant vessels. They gave me a few dollars and the name stuck. I changed my name in the mid-70s when I converted to Islam.

JW: When you moved to Europe in 1962, did you find audiences there more receptive to your style of jazz? How did you escape South Africa?
AI: In the aftermath of the Sharpville Massacre of March 1960, the regime became even more oppressive. We joined the wave of people, young and old, leaving the country in 1962. European audiences and musicians were very receptive to what I was playing. Some were hostile, especially when I became identified as an avant-garde musician. But it was the feeling of total creative liberation. It was a wonderful feeling to finally present music written in South Africa, without worrying about restrictions, the market and political and social pressures.

JW: Whose music did you relate to most?
AI: Duke Ellington’s. Duke, for us, was always the wise old man of the village. Our link with the African-American community started with our local African Methodist Episcopal church in South Africa, of which my grandmother was a founding member. Missionaries and bishops from Mother Bethel in Philadelphia had been sent there as missionaries. Duke’s music embodied for us our common struggle and experience.

JW: Ellington must have been viewed as more than a great musician, as a cultural hero.
AI: He was. Similarly, we also had celebrated Joe Louis’ victories. I recall listening over and over to King Joe, also known as the Joe Louis Blues, recorded by the Count Basie Orchestra in 1941, with Langston Hughes’ lyrics and Paul Robeson on vocals.

JW: Your new album [in 2011], Sotho Blue, has a beautiful, soulful feel. Where did you compose many of the songs?
AI: We try to be as sincere as possible in our daily lives and in our music. Compositions have no fixed location or time limits.

JW: Do you view the music you create as jazz or as a different form born in South Africa with South African traditions?
AI: In the words of our illustrious poet Rumi, “There is only one sound, everything else is echo.”

Here’s Abdullah Ibrahim playing Blue Bolero, Signal on the Hill and Once Upon a Midnight in 2022 as part of NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert series…

Here’s the complete Abdullah Ibrahim With Carlos Ward - Live At Sweet Basil Vol. 1. in 1983…

Here’s Abdullah and Max Roach on the full Streams of Consciousness album in 1977…

Here’s African Space in 1974…

Here’s Is Where It’s Happening from Abdullah’s Mannenberg album in 1974…

If you’re old enough to know the name Herbie Mann, you probably think first of the beatnik flutist at New York’s Village Gate in 1961. Or his 1962 and ‘63 bossa nova albums. Or his 1969 funk-fusion album Memphis Underground. Or the groovy shirtless guy on the cover of his 1971 album Push. Or his 1975 disco hit Hi-Jack.

Before all of that, way back in the…

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If asked to make a list of leading jazz photographers, most aficionados would probably miss including Steve Schapiro.

Best known for his photojournalism during the civil rights movement, his movie-star portraits and his on-set film stills for classics such as The Godfather, Chinatown and Taxi Driver, Schapiro also worked extensively for magazines. He took the famous cover portrait of Mia Farrow on the first issue of People in March 1974.

Schapiro admired Henri Cartier-Bresson, who pioneered street photography, and W. Eugene Smith taught him the technical side of photography, including film development and printing. Smith also helped him develop his own perspective. [Photo of Steve Schapiro in the 1960s]

Lesser known are the photographs Schapiro took of jazz legends at two New York performance venues—the Apollo Theater and the Village Vanguard—and in the studio during recording sessions for Riverside Records. Now, a stunning new book of his never-before-seen images has just been published by ACC Art Books with text by Richard Scheinin: Steve Schapiro: Jazz, Best of the Apollo, Village Vanguard and Riverside Sessions.

Schapiro took the images in 1961 and ‘62, just before his career took off. The ones in the book have never been seen before because there either wasn’t a market for them or because only one from the contact sheet was sold and the others remained in Schapiro’s archives. He apparently had to leaf through about 20,000 images to make selections for the book before he died in 2022.

Jazz’s golden years have been documented mostly through black-and-white images and occasional black-and-white shorts or films. Photos of musicians wound up on album covers and in jazz magazines, so we’ve been stuck with the same limited number of pictures of these artists over the decades.

What this means is we don’t really know these musicians beyond the iconic images with which we’re most familiar. Most fascinating about the new book is we get to see our favorite jazz artists in human situations—waiting, reading, napping, lifting weights and more. As Sonny Rollins says in the book’s introduction, “It’s hard for me to look through these pictures with anything but great feeling.” [Photo of Sonny Rollins by Steve Schapiro courtesy of ACC Art Books]

I felt the same way, and I know what he meant. In addition to the nostalgia Sonny must have felt, he was seeing a different side of artists he knew well and worked with. In this regard, he was meeting them for the first time through the photographs.

Why should we care? Because these artists were exceptional, and the images give us a finer sense of their personalities, who they were off stage and at rest. Every single image in this 315-page hardcover, coffee-table book offers a fresh perspective of artists we thought we knew well from photos on album covers.

In particular, I loved the series of Bill Evans images, which include alternate takes of his first trio in 1961 backstage at the Village Vanguard. Also captivating are Sonny Stitt playing the tenor with a leg bent and raised, and the one of him kissing his wife, Pamela; and a series of Billy Strayhorn images. [Photo of Sonny Stitt kissing his wife, Pamela, by Steve Schapiro, courtesy of ACC Art Books]

There are photos of Sonny Rollins lifting weights backstage at the Apollo in a T-shirt; candids of Count Basie; one of Riverside producer Orrin Keepnews pretending to throw a left jab at Red Garland, whose head has playfully snapped back; a rare photo of Frank Strozier and one of a young Ray Barretto; and a delightful image of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis grinning broadly with his tenor in his lap. [Photo of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis by Steve Schapiro, courtesy of ACC Art Books]

Leafing through the book was like looking at the images beamed back to earth by the astronauts who recently circled the moon. We know the moon is round and pocked with asteroid craters. But seeing the back side for the first time gave me chills. It didn’t look much different than the moon’s face we see all the time, but it was the moon without makeup on, the one napping in the back. As with the other side of the moon, this book shows us a new, unseen side of famed jazz musicians, and all provide us with a greater sense of their humanity.

The images also show us the love these musicians had for each other and the joy they felt playing this music. In many ways, Steve Schapiro was William Claxton East. All of the musicians he photographed were cool. His images make them even cooler. [Photo of Elvin Jones by Steve Schapiro courtesy of ACC Art Books]

Steve Schapiro died from pancreatic cancer at his home in Chicago, on January 15, 2022, at the age of 87.

You can buy the book here. If you’re remotely curious, spring for it. Just don’t wait until it’s out of print and selling for $1,000 on Ebay.

Sonny Rollins, who revolutionized the sound of the tenor saxophone in the early 1950s when most players modeled themselves after Coleman Hawkins or Lester Young, and the last living jazz musician from Art Kane’s “Great Day in Harlem” photographs for Esquire in 1958, died on Monday. He was 95. [Photo above of Sonny Rollins at home in early 2013 by Marc Myers]

Sonny was a complete artist and complex man. A deeply spiritual person who rolled up his sleeves to work hard and looked up to the heavens for guidance on how to live his life simply, Sonny knew he was special and among the best but couldn’t tell you why. Those things, he told me, were above his station in life.

Over the years, I had roughly 25 lengthy conversations with Sonny by phone. My first was in 2009, for a JazzWax interview (go here). Once we became friends, we spoke every month or two, and he was always effusive and supportive. I called him Mr. Rollins, and he called me Mr. Myers. He loved being old school.

In 2010, when I began writing for The Wall Street Journal, I had an idea for a profile. I approached Sonny’s publicist, Terri Hinte, with the concept. I wanted to hire a Town Car and take Sonny downtown to the locations of clubs still standing and long gone where he made a name for himself in the 1950s.

Terri had a better idea. “Why don’t you take him to his old neighborhood in Harlem,” she said. Sold. She reached out, he was overjoyed and I picked him up at his hotel on 57th St. on the appointed morning in August 2010. Away we went. For the next two hours, with my two tape recorders running, Sonny took me to the eight most important locations that shaped who he became.

We went from the apartment building where he was born to his public school where riots nearly broke out in the mid-1940s between black and Italian kids. The riots were averted thanks to Frank Sinatra, who showed up to lecture everyone in the assembly on togetherness. Then he sang, and the tension was eased. Sonny never forgot the singer’s efforts that day and always loved his voice and records. [Graphic above courtesy of The Wall Street Journal]

The headline on my WSJ piece (go here) said it all: Sonny Rollins Takes a Ride Uptown. Sonny loved it, and from then on he knew he could talk to me openly and emotionally. One day I’ll have them all transcribed. I also visited him at home in 2013 for my House Call column (go here). To read my remembrance of Sonny on WSJ.com today, go here.

Sonny was notorious for never listening to his recordings. He said he was rarely happy with what he heard (“You hear me; I hear mistakes”). But over the years, I would bring up recordings and he’d tell me whether he was happy with them or not:

Sonny Rollins Quartet—I Know (1951)…

Sonny Rollins with the Modern Jazz Quartet—Scoops (1951)

Miles Davis With Sonny Rollins—full 10-inch album in 1954. Three Sonny originals and a standard…

Sonny Rollins and Thelonious Monk in 1954—full 10-inch LP…

Sonny Rollins: Tour De Force—Two Different Worlds (1956), with Earl Coleman on vocal…

Sonny Rollins Plus 4—Pent-Up House (1956)…

Tenor Madness—Paul’s Paul (1956)…

Sonny Rollins Quintet—Plays for Bird (1956) full album…

Sonny Rollins: The Sound of Sonny (1957) full album…

And Sonny Rollins—Alfie: Original Music From the Score (1966)…

More Sonny Rollins? WKCR-FM will celebrate the life and career of Sonny in a 48-hour memorial tribute, all day Friday and Saturday. To listen to the radio station from anywhere in the world, go here.

Today is the 100th anniversary of Miles Davis’s birth. The trumpeter’s accomplishments are many, especially his ability to pioneer many of jazz’s post-war movements. [Photo above of Miles Davis and Charlie Parker in 1947 by William P. Gottlieb]

In the 1940s, Davis became an accomplished bebop trumpeter, joining the Charlie Parker Quintet in late 1945 and leaving the group in 1948. In 1949 and ‘50, he led a nonet of notable musicians that recorded 11 tracks that were later assembled on a landmark LP known as Birth of the Cool.

Davis was early to record cool jazz with Lee Konitz in 1951 and hard bop, with his rendition of Walkin’ in 1954. A string of albums followed on Prestige, showing off his refined, elegant trumpet style.

Producer George Avakian signed Davis to Columbia in 1955 after hearing him play Thelonious Monk’s ‘Round Midnight weeks earlier at the Newport Jazz Festival. After Davis’s first album for the label, ‘Round About Midnight, in 1957, he quickly became jazz’s first superstar.

In early 1958, Davis formed his second working quintet, extending it to a sextet and recording Kind of Blue, the first modal album to become a major hit. Then came the third great quintet in 1964, followed by his first explorations of electronic music on Miles in the Sky (1968) and In a Silent Way (1969). Abstract fusion was launched with Bitches Brew (1970).

During these years, we also had Miles Davis’s brand of stardom and drama—the fashion icon, the car enthusiast, the addict, the guy who turned his back on audiences and the musician envious of Sly Stone’s style and John Lennon’s fame. Despite his excesses and flaws, Davis is the most influential and dynamic force in the second half of the 20th century, and his impact is still felt today.

Davis died on Sept. 28, 1991, at age 65. The cause was attributed to the combined effects of a stroke, pneumonia and respiratory failure.

Let’s dig into my 19 favorite tracks by Davis between 1947 and 1970.

Here’s Davis’s Milestones with the Charlie Parker All-Stars in 1947…

Here’s Budo, by Davis and Bud Powell, recorded by the Miles Davis Nonet and arranged by John Lewis in 1949…

Here’s Davis’s complete 10-inch album for Prestige called The New Sounds (1951), with Miles Davis (tp), Jackie McLean (as), Sonny Rollins (ts), Walter Bishop (p), Tommy Potter (b) and Art Blakey (d)…

Here’s Davis’s Plays the Compositions of Al Cohn in 1953, with Miles Davis (tp), Al Cohn and Zoot Sims (ts), Sonny Truitt (tb), John Lewis (p), Leonard Gaskin (b) and Kenny Clarke (d)…

Here’s George Russell’s Ezz-thetic, recorded by Davis with the Lee Konitz Sextet in 1951: Miles Davis (tp), Lee Konitz (as), Sal Mosca (p), Billy Bauer (g), Arnold Fishkin (b) and Max Roach (d)…

Here’s Davis playing Walkin’ in 1954, featuring Miles Davis (tp), J.J. Johnson (tb), Lucky Thompson (ts), Horace Silver (p), Percy Heath (b) and Kenny Clarke (d)…

Here’s Davis playing Will You Still Be Mine in 1955, for Musings of Miles on Prestige, with Miles Davis (tp), Red Garland (p), Oscar Pettiford (b) and Philly Joe Jones (d)…

Here’s Davis at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1955 playing ‘Round Midnight, a performance that motivated George Avakian to sign him to Columbia. Davis was backed by Zoot Sims (ts), Gerry Mulligan (bar), Thelonious Monk (p), Percy Heath (b) and Connie Kay (d)...

Here’s Jeanne Moreau in a scene from the 1957 French film Ascenseur Pour L’echafaud, featuring Miles Davis (tp), Barney Wilen (ts), Rene Urtreger (p), Pierre Michelot (b) and Kenny Clarke (d)…

Here’s Miles Davis playing John Carisi’s Springsville from Miles Ahead: Miles Davis + 19 in 1957…

Here’s Miles Davis and his first great working sextet in 1958 playing On Green Dolphin Street, with Miles Davis (tp), Cannonball Adderley (as)_, John Coltrane (ts), Bill Evans (p), Paul Chambers (b) and Jimmy Cobb (d)…

Here’s Miles Davis playing Freddie Freeloader in 1959 for Kind of Blue, with Miles Davis (tp), Cannonball Adderley (as), John Coltrane (ts), Wynton Kelly (p), Paul Chambers (b) and Jimmy Cobb (d)…

Here’s Miles Davis with his second great quintet in 1965 playing Wayne Shorter’s title track for E.S.P, with Miles Davis (tp), Wayne Shorter (ts), Herbie Hancock (p), Ron Carter (b) and Tony Williams (d)…

Here’s Miles Davis playing Wayne Shorter’s Footprints, from Miles Smiles (1967). with the same quintet…

Here’s Miles Davis playing Herbie Hancock’s title track The Sorcerer (1967), with the same personnel…

Here’s Miles Davis playing Wayne Shorter’s title track for Nefertiti (1968), with the same personnel…

Here’s Miles Davis playing his composition Stuff from Miles in the Sky (1968), with Davis on cornet, Herbie Hancock on electric piano and Ron Carter on electric bass…

Here’s Miles Davis playing his compositions Shhh and Peaceful from In a Silent Way (1969), with Miles Davis (tp), Wayne Shorter (ss), John McLaughlin (g), Chick Corea and Herbie Hancock (el-piano), Joe Zawinul (el-piano,org) Dave Holland (upright bass) and Tony Williams (d)…

And here’s Miles Davis playing Wayne Shorter’s Sanctuary from Bitches Brew (1970), with Miles Davis (tp), Wayne Shorter (ss), Chick Corea and Joe Zawinul (el-p), John McLaughlin (g), Dave Holland (b), Jack DeJohnette (d), Don Alias (cga) and Jim Riley ((shaker)…

One never thinks of Thelonious Monk as a pianist who accompanied vocalists. The very thought seems inconceivable, given how tough it would be for a singer to stay focused given his jagged, cubist keyboard style. But over the course of his recording career (from 1941 to 1975), Monk did indeed work behind vocalists. [Photo above of Thelonious Monk at Mint…

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In jazz circles, the name Juliette Gréco has almost always been followed by the name Miles Davis, the trumpeter and her one-time lover. Most jazz fans know almost nothing about her, her stardom in France or the astonishing quality of her voice and her captivating delivery. In France, she was as big a deal as Davis, perhaps bigger given her movie presence, and he knew it. [Photo above of Juliette Gréco, courtesy of Ebay]

I have a soft spot for all French singers of the 1950s. My parents had about two dozen records that they brought home from Paris after moving there in 1952. My father was born there in 1915 before his family continued their journey to New York from Poland. He also had spent time in the city in the Navy, during and after World War II,

My father, Lou, was a war artist with an uncanny gift for capturing likenesses. Before enlisting, he worked creating movie posters for 20th Century Fox, when studios had their business offices in New York. When he was in the Navy, the Army and Navy sent him around Europe just after D-Day to paint the portraits of top military brass on leave in Paris, Rome and other liberated cities.

In Paris, just after the war and while still in the Navy, he drew caricatures of stars at events for fun. In the photo above, Noël Coward takes a faux swing at my father for a Life magazine photographer as Marlene Dietrich looks on after he showed them his caricature of them in 1946.

My mother, Bernice, was 10 years younger than my father and an aspiring artist who was up for adventure. They had met while working at Columbia Pictures in New York. After the war, he returned to illustrating posters of stars put up outside theaters where the studio’s films were being shown. At the time, she was a model and the art department’s “photostat girl.” [Photo above of my mother in Paris in 1955 at Pont du Carrousel (Carrousel Bridge), with her back to the Louvre]

My parents left for Paris in 1952 and returned to the U.S. in 1956. My mother wanted me to be born in New York. Homesick for France, she stuck a “C” on the end of my name after I was born rather than the traditional “K.” I was a souvenir of sorts.

The covers of the French LPs they brought home were glossy—the male singers were ruggedly handsome and the women splendidly dressed and impeccably made up. The female singers seemed to crawl inside songs to express enormous joy, deep pain or regret. As with all things French, their interpretations were deeply personal, as if whatever they were singing about happened to them hours earlier.

My mother often reserved these records for her hours spent writing and illustrating children’s books, probably wishing she was still in Paris at a cafe with my father. In my adolescence, I couldn’t understand a word of what Edith Piaf, Patachou, Yves Montand, Maurice Chevalier, Line Renaud, Charles Aznavour, Cora Vaucaire, Catherine Sauvage or others were singing, but those records taught me to feel music and art in general.

Juliette Gréco was my favorite, and the finest. She was less about pop, though some of her recordings had a pop orchestration. Instead, there was a quality about her husky voice that compelled me to take notice. She seemed to be imparting a life lesson learned from a past event. She could be serious or wistful, dismissing bad luck with a shrug and treating it as a passing cloud. I miss Paris most when I listen to her records.

Gréco was born in Montpellier, France, in 1927, and endured a harsh childhood. Her mother lacked warmth toward her, largely because Gréco was unwanted, telling her she was the product of a rape, a fabrication. During World War II, the family moved to southwest France and became active in the Resistance. Her mother was arrested by the Gestapo in 1943, prompting Gréco and her older sister to return to Paris. En route, they, too, were arrested, tortured and imprisoned just south of Paris. Her mother and sister were subsequently were sent to the Ravensbrück concentration camp. Gréco remained in prison until the end of the war.

Upon her release, she walked the eight miles to Paris to retrieve her belongings from what had been Gestapo headquarters. Her mother moved to Indochina, leaving Gréco and her sister behind. Gréco gravitated to the emerging bohemian scene on the Left Bank and studied acting with Solange Sicard and befriended intellectuals such as Jean-Paul Sartre, who said she had “millions of poems in her head.”

Her cabaret career began in 1949, and she befriended Albert Camus, Jacques Prévert and Boris Vian, resulting in her nickname, “La Muse de L’Existentialisme” (the Muse of Existentialism). Eventually, she was introduced to director Jean Cocteau and cast in one of his films, Orphée (1950). By then, Gréco had already been cast in films, starting in 1947 (her first was Louis Daquin’s The Bouquinquant Brothers). Her first 78 was released in 1950—Si tu t’imagines.

In addition to her relationship with Miles Davis in 1949, she had affairs with Albert Camus, French singer Sacha Distel, Hollywood producer Darryl F. Zanuck, and Quincy Jones, when he was in Paris in the late 1950s. The Beatles were also smitten by her in the early 1960s, and Paul McCartney has said that his song, Michelle, was inspired by her. [Photo above of Gréco and Miles Davis by Jean-Philippe Charbonnie]

It’s gratifying to pull Gréco loose from Miles Davis’s shadow and shed light on what made her so special and heroic to the people of France. [Photo above of Gréco in the studio with Andre Popp in the late 1950s or early 1960s, courtesy of Ebay]

Gréco died in 2020 at age 93. Let’s give a look and listen:

Here’s a short documentary on Gréco and Miles Davis..

Here’s the trailer for Orphée (1950); you’ll see Gréco at 2:40…

Here’s Gréco singing Si tu t’imagine (1950)…

Here’s Gréco in the early 1960s singing Sous le ciel de Paris, her 1951 recording. Her rendition is credited for popularizing the song worldwide…

Here’s Gréco singing with the Andre Popp Orchestra in the late 1950s; she recorded several albums with Popp…

Here’s Gréco singing La Mer in 1963, (which became Beyond the Sea with English lyrics by Jack Lawrence)…

Here’s an hour of Gréco in concert in Tokyo in 1961. Her intimacy and grace were unrivaled...

And here’s Gréco on a French TV talk show in 1990 being surprised by guest Miles Davis, less than a year before his death…

Over the past several years, I posted a series on vital Brazilian female singers who have championed the bossa nova. Unfortunately, JazzWax readers haven’t been able to access these posts because they were scattered in time. Unless you remembered their names, you were out of luck.

Now, I have assembled a handy index to the series. When I post on addition…

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Last week, I received an email from Melodi Graf McCraine. She wrote that she was the daughter of tenor saxophonist Bob Graf and that she had researched her father and created a website to honor him. I said how about an interview? She said, Sure!” [Photo above of Bob Graf courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

Melodi told me that Graf was the first tenor saxophonist in the Count Basie Septet in 1950, thanks to a recommendation by trumpeter Clark Terry. He was soon recruited to join Woody Herman’s Third Herd, and Wardell Gray replaced Graf in Basie’s group. Graf also pops up in recordings with the Chet Baker Big Band, leading a quartet backing jazz vocalist Bev Kelly and with Grant Green in 1960. [Photo above of Bob Graf courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

Then the trail goes cold. I interviewed Mel by email and rounded up my favorite Bob Graf clips so you could have a listen:

JazzWax: How old were you when your father, Bob Graf, died?

Melodi Graf McCraine: He died when I was 15, in 1981, at age 54. For most of my life, his jazz years felt just out of reach. I knew that music filled our house. I knew that people lit up when he walked into a room. But the full extent of his career—who he played with, where he toured and the reputation he had built up before walking away from that life—is something I’m still piecing together through research.

JW: Where was your dad born?

MGM: My father was born in St. Louis in 1927. His mother, Emily, was a telephone operator for Southwestern Bell. His father, Otto, was an executive at a tool-and-die company that held patents on airplane parts. Bob was their only child, and his mother encouraged his love of music.

JW: What inspired him at the start?

MGM: I don’t know yet. What I can tell you is that something got into him early. Just this morning, I found a photograph of him at around age 7 already holding a saxophone. [Photo above of Bob Graf at age 7 courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

JW: Who was his biggest Influence?

MGM: Zoot Sims. His mother had taken him to see Zoot play when Bob was around 13. That concert changed everything but I’m not sure where it took place. What I know is that Zoot was a stylistic influence. Since my father was born in 1927 and Zoot in 1925, they were almost exactly the same age, so it was likely a peer influence from Zoot’s recordings. Their paths crossed when my father was in the Woody Herman band from 1950 to 1951.

JW: How did your dad learn to play?

MGM: His mother got him a saxophone, and he began with formal lessons and learned to read music. He practiced in the bathroom for the acoustics. He loved hearing the sound of his King saxophone bouncing off the tile walls. But his true gift was his ear, which greatly helped his improvising.

JW: What did you learn through your research?

MGM: By digging through the Smithsonian Institution’s archives in Washington, D.C., I learned who he played with and how prominent he was. As for when he began playing professionally in St. Louis and with whom, I’m still piecing that together. What I do know is that he was deeply embedded in the local scene before his first big break.

JW: What was that break?

MGM: Trumpeter Clark Terry knew my father well enough that he recommended him to Count Basie in 1950, when he was forming a small group. My dad was 23. That level of trust between musicians doesn’t happen overnight. In his Smithsonian oral history transcript, Clark recalled recommending my father to Basie when Basie was looking for a tenor saxophonist. Clark said he described my dad as “a young Caucasian kid named Bob Graf.” Basie’s response, Clark said, was “Get the kid.” Bob joined, and the septet opened at the Brass Rail in Chicago.

JW: Who else talked about your dad in the Smithsonian oral histories?

MGM: Buddy De Franco named him directly as “Bobby Graf from St. Louis,” the original tenor saxophonist in Basie’s first group before Wardell Gray.

JW: Your dad must have left Basie pretty quickly, since his first recording with Woody Herman took place on May 5, 1950.

MGM: I suppose so. My dad was recruited at the Brass Rail in Chicago, where the Basie group was playing. Carlos Gastel, Woody Herman’s manager, kept coming into the club and hired him away for Woody’s band. We know the band was on the road in Nashville by June 25, 1950 because my dad and the band recorded in a studio there. This was Woody’s Third Herd, which recorded for Capitol. The late Steve Voce, a longtime BBC jazz broadcaster who wrote for Jazz Journal International for nearly 60 years, did an extensive study of the Herman bands. He identified my dad as the featured tenor saxophone soloist who follows trombonist Bill Harris on the Capitol track Sonny Speaks. Four more sides followed for MGM Records in January 1951. On this session, Bob was teamed with fellow tenor saxophonists Phil Urso and Jack DuLong.

JW: You dad’s jazz recording discography is silent until 1956. Do you know why he left Herman and what he did in between?

MGM: Not yet. I know he worked the West Coast circuit through the mid-50s, including with the Lighthouse All-Stars at Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse Cafe in Hermosa Beach. But he wasn’t working off his card to join Local 47. St. Louis was still his home. On Oct. 18 1956, he was in Los Angeles recording with the Chet Baker Big Band for Pacific Jazz. He played alongside Fred Waters on alto saxophone, Phil Urso on tenor and Bill Hood on baritone.

JW: What about his family life at this point in time?

MGM: My dad was married to his first wife, Helen. They had two sons—Bobby Jr. and Kirby, who, sadly, took his own life when he was young. Helen never recovered.

JW: What did your father do after his Chet Baker recording session?

MGM: He didn’t disappear from music. In January 1958, he performed at Westminster College and Peacock Alley in St. Louis with local musicians Ron Ruff (ts,fl), Jimmy Williams (p), Bob Maisel (b) and Al St. James (d). The gigs were recorded by Delmark Records, produced by label founder Robert Koester. His playing on Street of Dreams was singled out in the liner notes. [Photo above of Bob Graf courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

JW: In November 1959, his quartet backed vocalist Bev Kelly in St. Louis for VGM records.

MGM: Yes, that recording sat unreleased for more than 20 years before surfacing on VGM the year he died.

JW: His final jazz recording was with Grant Green.

MGM: In December 1959 and February 1960, he performed alongside guitarist Grant Green, organist Sam Lazar and drummer Chauncey Williams at the Holy Barbarian Coffee House in St. Louis. In 1963, Down Beat magazine mentioned that he was leading a bossa nova quartet at a St. Louis club called the Fallen Angel. The music never left him. It simply lived in smaller rooms.

JW: When did he meet your mom, Martha?

MGM: He met her at a St. Louis gig, around 1959. She was 12 years younger and completely unimpressed by the Hollywood stories. She told him flat out there was no future if he kept traveling. He had some obligations to finish but he chose her. My older sister, Vicki, was born in 1961. To make ends meet, he started taking gigs in St. Louis but soon went into business repairing instruments full time. He had contracts with local schools covering everything from clarinets to flutes. Occasionally, he played local gigs. That was their deal. [Photo above of Bob and Martha Graf courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

JW: How was your parents’ relationship?

MGM: My parents were married for a couple of decades. My mother passed away nine years ago. She never remarried. He was the love of her life. They had their struggles, but they always found their way back to each other. He died of health complications just months after their last reconciliation. He had lived hard and the years caught up with him. [Photo above of Bob Graf with Melodi, left, and Vicki, courtesy of Melodi Graf McCraine]

JW: And his first wife?

MGM: I believe Helen passed away in the early 1980s, not long after my dad died.Their divorce wasn’t related to Kirby’s death. There was a long period of estrangement between my dad and his first family. I didn’t meet my half-brothers until I was around 8 or 9.

JW: How did your mother take his death?

MGM: It was hard. She talked about him until the end. I remember being in Best Buy with her years ago and coming across a Chet Baker CD. That opened up a whole conversation about those California years. I would show her YouTube clips of his recordings and she would watch quietly and then start talking.

JW: Do you feel now that you know your father better?

MGM: For sure. In a way, my research has given me an opportunity to get to know him through articles and oral history transcripts. I’ve built a full archive of recordings, photographs, personnel lists and source citations at BobGrafMusic.com (go here). He deserves to be remembered. It just took a daughter who wouldn’t let go. I only wish he were still around. I have a zillion questions.

Tracks with Bob Graf:

Here’s Graf in May 1950 with Woody Herman’s superb reed section playing Neal Hefti’s arrangement of Pennies From Heaven, with a vocal by Herman and the Alyce King Vokettes. The band: Conte Candoli, Bernie Glow, Paul Cohen and Don Ferrara (tp); Neal Hefti (tp,arr); Eddie Bert, Bill Harris and Jerry Dorn (tb); Woody Herman (cl,as,vcl); Al Cohn, Buddy Wise and Bob Graf (ts); Marty Flax (bar); Dave McKenna (p); Red Mitchell (b); Sonny Igoe (d); Milt Jackson (vibes) and Alyce King Vokettes (vcl)…

Here’s the Herman band on June 25, 1950 playing Al Cohn’s arrangement of Sonny Speaks. The band: Doug Mettome, Conte Candoli, Don Ferrara and Rolf Ericson (tp); Herb Randel, Bill Harris and Jerry Dorn (tb); Woody Herman (cl,as); Phil Urso, Buddy Wise and Bob Graf (ts); Marty Flax (bar); Dave McKenna (p); Red Mitchell (b) and Sonny Igoe (d)…

Here’s the Chet Baker Big Band on October 19, 1956 playing Phil Urso’s arrangement of Worrying the Life Out of Me. The band: Chet Baker (tp); Bob Burgess (tb); Fred Waters (as); Phil Urso (as,ts,bs); Bob Graf (ts); Bill Hood (bs); Bobby Timmons (p); Jimmy Bond (b) and James McKean (d). The tenor solo sounds like Graf…

Here’s Street of Dreams from Bob Graf at Westminster in St. Louis on Jan. 11, 1958…

Here’s singer Bev Kelly on Nov. 29, 1959 with the Bob Graf Quartet singing Detour Ahead. The fidelity is miserable but you do catch some terrific Bob Graf and a taste of Kelly…

And finally, here’s Bob Graf (ts), Sam Lazar (org), Grant Green (g) and Chauncey Williams (d) at the Holy Barbarian in St. Louis on December 25, 1959 or February 20, 1960 playing The Holy Barbarian Blues…

While hitchhiking through Europe alone in the second half of 1979, I spent a great deal of time in pubs, especially on rainy days when rides were spare. My first stop was London and then Wales, for a month. During my journey through the Welsh countryside, I received quite an education in Jamaican rocksteady. Jukeboxes were loaded with singles.

Rocksteady was a popular home-grown Jamaican style that cropped up in 1966 and continues today. It appeared in the wake of Jamaica’s horn-dominated ska of the late 1950s and early ‘60s and before the bass-heavy reggae emerged in the late 1960s.

The lilting rocksteady merged Jamaica’s rhythms with American romantic soul capped with a beckoning Jamaican vocal. The laid-back genre was perfect for slow-dancing and a welcome alternative to the fast-paced, celebratory ska. In jazz, a parallel would be Lester Young’s tenor saxophone playing American songbook ballads.

Rocksteady was romantic, jazzy and hypnotic, music that let dancers rock to a steady beat. In many instances, the rocksteady versions of American soul were equal to the originals. Overall, the music is tranquil and locks into a seductive groove.

Yesterday, I spent the day listening to rocksteady while writing. Today, I’m sharing 10 tracks plus bonus videos that will likely make you fall in love with the music, if you aren’t already a fan.

Here’s Hopeton Lewis’s Take It Easy (1967), which is widely considered rocksteady’s first release…

Here’s Alton Ellis and the Flames’ Rock Steady (1967), the namesake of the genre…

Here are the Paragons’ The Tide Is High (1967), which was covered by Blondie in 1980…

Here’s Phillis Dean, known as the “Queen of Rocksteady,” singing Perfidia in 1967…

Here’s Alton Ellis, known as the “Godfather of Rocksteady,” singing You’ve Made Me So Very Happy, a 1970 cover of the Blood, Sweat & Tears 1969 hit…

Here’s Freddie McGregor singing Sitting in the Park in 1979, a cover of Billy Stewart’s 1965 hit…

Here’s Johnny Osborne’s 1972 cover of Ready or Not Here I Come, a 1968 Delfonics hit…

Here’s Claudia Fontaine’s 1981 cover of Bloodstone’s 1973 hit Natural High…

Here’s Alton Ellis singing his 1993 cover of the Delfonics’ 1968 hit La La Means I Love You…

And here’s Bitty McLean’s 2004 cover of David Ruffin’s 1975 hit Walk Away From Love…

Bonus: Here’s a concert by rocksteady all-stars at the 2009 Montreal International Jazz Festival…

Here’s Freddie McGregor followed by John Holt in concert in London with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in 2003…

And here’s a documentary on rocksteady…