JazzWax

Oscar Peterson: Duo Sessions

2010-02-08T05:32:48-05:00

The farther back in time you go, the more glorious pianist Oscar Peterson sounds. Like sliding a bar to and fro on the computer screen to find just where the hues are richest in a digital image, the Oscar Peterson Story is perhaps sweetest between 1949 and 1951. During this period, Clef Records' producer Norman Granz paired the mighty Peterson with just a bass—Ray Brown or Major Holley. The resulting recordings remain unrivaled for their ferocious sensitivity and grace.

This observation takes nothing away from the impeccable Peterson quartet and trio sessions that followed for Granz between 1951 and 1953. Nor does it diminish Peterson's accompanist period for Verve or his expansive centipede trio era in the early 1960s and beyond. It's just that over the course of a long jazz career, there's bound to be a "just right" zone. For me, those eye-widening moments exist in the hungry duo years.

For the longest time, these duo sessions were out of print in the U.S. Periodically they were bootlegged by European jazz labels. In response, jazz listeners have complained about American labels not releasing the bounty in their vaults. Well, Verve/Hip-O Select just re-issued these Peterson recordings on Debut: The Clef/Mercury Duo Recordings (1949-1951). It's a handsome set that warmly showcases all 49 recordings of the piano-bass pairing. To my ear, they have improved with age, if that's possible, revealing yet more secrets and delights.

As David Ritz brilliantly states in the set's superb liner notes, Oscar's true north inspiration wasn't Art Tatum but Nat King Cole, whose cool improvisational lines, glamorous taste and swinging syncopation were admired greatly by Peterson.

Ritz interviewed Peterson before his death in 2007. During that interview, Peterson spoke of his admiration for Cole:

"Nat brought something else to the table. In a certain way, Nat set the table. He had an aesthetic that reflected extraordinary taste and refinement without sacrificing an iota of rhythm pulse. Nat swung much harder than Tatum. You can feel the blues more viscerally in Nat than Art. I never wanted to venture far from the blues base. You do that at the risk of losing your soul. The same is true of swing, that quixotic spontaneity that both locks in time while extending time."

The Oscar Peterson Duo was formed by accident at the tail end of a Jazz at the Philharmonic concert at Carnegie Hall on September 18, 1949. Granz, the concert's promoter, decided to beat out customs officials by having the Canadian Peterson attend as an audience member. Then, shortly after midnight, Granz stepped to the mike and introduced Peterson, inviting him to the stage to play. Granz's move was designed to seem like a bonus or an afterthought, though Peterson certainly knew about his plans. Buddy Rich was supposed to be the drummer behind Peterson but there was a problem, depending on whose story you believe. Rich either was AWOL between acts or too whipped to go on following his previous performance and solo. Or both reasons might make the most sense—tired and off on an extended break.

Once Peterson began and Granz [pictured] heard the audience's roaring approval, he realized that Peterson could record without a drummer. Which, of course, would leave more money in Granz's pocket. Fortunately, money was an issue, since the results Granz eventually produced are startling on so many levels. Peterson not only re-invents the jazz piano on these studio recordings but also overtakes George Shearing and Erroll Garner as the instrument's most dynamic swinger.

One could pick any of the tracks on the new Verve set to illustrate Peterson's courage and genius. There's a Small Hotel is probably as good as any. The track opens with Peterson playing a relaxed fanfare of chords. Next comes a happy-go-lucky reading of the melody line, with a trill here and there. Peterson then begins to bend the melody line out of proportion, as though heating up metal just enough to twist it around.

Through the track, Peterson weaves a quilt of major and minor passages, adding blues tones here and there, and furtively referencing other pop tunes along the way. Then he winds down by launching a flock of lock chords, finishing with scrambling melody runs. Like all of the other tracks in this set, it's a perfect execution.

But so are Little White Lies, In the Middle of a Kiss (with its reference to Tadd Dameron's Good Bait) and Nameless. But wait, the disc jockey tributes Jumpin' With Symphony Sid and Robbins' Nest (with its wave to Clair de Lune) also are significant. Heck, all of the tracks defy gravity.

In the duos, you hear Peterson's tugging eagerness to show his stuff without going overboard. It's Peterson's restraint that's most fascinating. In his desire to make his mark, Peterson was wise enough to know that mass seduction requires tenderness and charm as well as technique.

JazzWax tracks: Oscar Peterson's Debut: The Clef/Mercury Duo Recordings (1949-1951) from Verve/Hip-O Select is a limited edition three-CD set. Which means once the copies that were printed are gone, that's it. The size of the set is unusual—the dimensions are roughly those of a 45-rpm sleeve—enabling a book with glossy photos of Peterson to be bound in and its words to be legible. The CDs slide into bound-in reproductions of the 10-inch albums that Granz released in the early 1950s. You'll find Debut as a download at iTunes or as a CD set here.

JazzWax clip: Here's a clip of Oscar Peterson backing Nat King Cole on Tenderly in 1957 during an appearance by Jazz at the Philharmonic musicians on Nat King Cole's TV show. Notice Cole's hand move instinctively to the top of the stool to play as the camera pans to Peterson at the start of his solo. And dig the brief flash of mutual admiration at the end as pianist Cole bows slightly to a gleaming Peterson...

Sunday Wax Bits

2010-02-07T06:32:00-05:00

From the Brubecks. Following my four-part interview with Dave Brubeck last week, I received the following email from Iola, Dave's wife of 67 years:

"Dave and I loved your series, in particular your introduction in Part 2, in which you drew comparisons between Dave's music and modern glass residential architecture of the 1950s. Our home in Connecticut is not far from Philip Johnson's Glass House and is modern in design—although not as sparsely furnished and clean of line as his. After all, we raised six kids in our house.

"Our house, designed by Beverley Thorne, is a bit of California transplanted to Connecticut—all glass, stone and redwood and a mixture of furniture from 'moderne' to inherited antiques. Beverley also built our modern home in California, where we lived in the 1950s before moving. [Photo: Dave Brubeck at home in Connecticut in 2006 by Hank O'Neal]

"You mentioned how much you enjoy Brubeck a la Mode. I, personally, agree with you and think the album is one of the finest made during this period. I was surprised that it was more or less overlooked when it was released, even though the concept of modal playing was of great interest at the time and just beginning to circulate.

"Dave's contract with Columbia Records allowed him to record one album a year for Fantasy Records providing that the personnel was not actually the entire Dave Brubeck Quartet. Thus, Bill Smith substituted for Paul Desmond on those dates. I think Paul had a similar agreement, as he made some recordings on his own using different rhythm sections, and I think on at least one of his albums he used Eugene Wright. Dave and Bill have enjoyed a long history together. Other wonderful albums with Bill are The Riddle and Near Myth."

Rip-off redux. I received a wave of emails and comments last week in response to my editorial on European CD labels. Among the many responses was this one from Terry Teachout, author of Pops: A Life of Louis Armstrong (Terry is about to start work on a new biography of Duke Ellington):

"The real problem with the Definitive sets is that at least some of them appear to be digital clones of the beautifully remastered U.S. sets that you praised in your posting. Hence, Definitive is not merely ripping off the original labels but ripping off legit reissue labels. These labels include Mosaic, which are putting time, money, and energy into releasing box sets to whose "care and consistent quality" you pay tribute. That, I think, is unconscionable—and also creates a significant disincentive for legit labels to undertake serious reissue work."

Reader Lynne Eldredge of Chicago had a different take:

"I totally agree with your views on the music coming out of Spain. I did not start building my jazz collection until 1990 and it was frustrating to hear great tunes on the radio and not be able to find this music. If it weren't for Lonehill, Definitive, et al., my library would be a third less in size. I'll be happy to purchase U.S. made albums so royalties can be paid to artists. Just make them available and I'll be there. Shame on our record companies."

Brubeck 'n' Roll. Reader Joel Lewis wrote in to highlight Dave Brubeck's influence on rock:

"In one of the early Beatles press conferences in the U.S., one of the Beatles said that the band dug Brubeck. And Keith Emerson, when he was with his first band The Nice, did two versions of Blue Rondo a la Turk (called Rondo, minus the jazzy middle). Most progressive rock bands such as Yes, Gentle Giant and King Crimson would not have existed without the influence of the Time Out-era Brubeck.

"Have you heard In His Own Sweet Way, a Brubeck tribute on the Japanese Avant label? It was executive produced by John Zorn and features deconstructed versions of Brubeck tunes by "downtown" art acts in the U.S. and Japan.

"And let us not forget Dave's own contribution to jazz-rock fusion—Two Generations of Brubeck, a rather underestimated group that deserves a new hearing. Sadly, the album emerged during a low period and was largely ignored by fans."

Jazz's health. Videographer Bret Primack adds his voice to the ongoing "Is Jazz Dead" debate...

Buddy De Franco and Anita O'Day. Reader Tony Park sent along a clip of Anita O'Day backed by Buddy, who makes an appearance on stage toward the end...

CareFusion Jazz Festival 2010. George Wein, founder of Boston's Storyville and the Newport Jazz Festival, announced the dates of this summer's CareFusion Jazz Festival in New York: June 17-26. CareFusion, a leading global medical device company, is the festival's sponsor. George also posted remarks about the festival's mission and his love of jazz here.

Mystery men. Wall Street Journal jazz writer Will Friedwald sent along a link to a smart list of jazz-artist pseudonyms. Artists who recorded on albums while under contract to another label hid their identity by providing a fake one. Go here for the list.

Rat Pack clip. Jazz.FM91 CEO Ross Porter sent along this clip of Johnny Carson singing with the Rat Pack in 1965...

Jane Jarvis (1915-2010), a demure Indiana jazz pianist who became a stadium organist for the New York Mets, figuring out how to swing bebop classics between innings, died January 18th in Englewood, N.J. She was 94.

Jarvis' major contribution during the rock era was helping jazz greats feed their families. As the Muzak Corp.'s vice president of programming and recording, Jarvis hired Lionel Hampton, Clark Terry, Milt Hinton, Major Holley and many other jazz greats to record swinging easy-listening versions of songs, enabling them to make ends meet when club and concert gigs slowed. [Photo of Jane Jarvis by Brownie Harris]

CD discoveries of the week. A New Promise by guitarist Sheryl Bailey is a tribute to guitarist Emily Remler, who Bailey saw in concert in 1984. As a result, this album has all of the sensitivity and feel of Remler, with the type of big band arranging Creed Taylor was fond of on those Wes Montgomery recordings for A&M. Among the standouts are Remler's East to Wes, Mocha Spice and Carenia, which reminds you how sublime Remler was. You can find the CD at iTunes or here.

Bassist Michael Janisch's first album, Purpose Built, grabs your ear and won't let go. What's most compelling are the textures Janisch and other arrangers on the album extract through a shifting mix of instrumentation. Janisch's bass playing is firm and smooth, and the album's moodier moments featuring three saxophones and a trumpet are coolly tempered by icy vibes. You'll find the CD at iTunes or here

Mike Jones is one of the finest pianists around today you don't know. Jones opens for Penn & Teller's Las Vegas shows and fully understands the importance of entertainment. I wouldn't have known about him if it weren't for photographer Hank O'Neal, who brought him to my attention. Sample Jones' Live at Steinway Hall from 1999. You'll find the album at iTunes or here.

Oddball album cover of the week. Manny Albam's Double Exposures was recorded in 1960. The audiophile who looks at this cover isn't likely captivated by the Capri-clad models but instead is more concerned about the carefree and careless way in which they're handling Albam's albums.

PhotoStory15: Miles Davis

2010-02-05T07:17:46-05:00

When I first saw this image of Miles Davis playing the tenor saxophone, I had a "what's wrong with this picture" moment. The photo of the trumpeter clearly was taken in the early 1960s, and Davis was never known to have doubled on the instrument. The blurry nature of the image also signified urgency. So I asked the person who sent it to me and was told the image is from Swing, Bop & Free, a magnificent new book available only in Italy by Roberto Polillo, a photographer with a superb eye for jazz drama and poetry. Why is Miles playing tenor? Whose tenor is it? Why is the image blurry? Roberto picks up the story:

"I took the blurred image of Miles Davis playing the tenor saxophone after a concert at the Teatro dell’Arte in Milano, on October 12, 1964. The concert was part of a two-day, four-concert jazz festival that was organized by George Wein and brought to Milano by my father, Arrigo Polillo. My father was, as always, heavily involved in the Italian jazz scene—as a critic, journalist and concert organizer. [Photo of Roberto Polillo in 1964 by Marco Polillo]
"The list of musicians was impressive. The first day included Pee Wee Russell, Bud Freeman, Ruby Braff, J.J. Johnson, Howard McGhee, Sonny Stitt, Walter Bishop Jr., Tommy Potter and Kenny Clarke. The second day featured the Miles Davis Quintet—with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and a very young Tony Williams, who was all of 18 years old at the time! [Photo of Roberto's father, Arrigo Polillo]
"I, too, was 18. A couple of years earlier, I had begun to accompany my father at jazz concerts to take photos for his jazz magazine, Musica Jazz. I was inexperienced and shy, and I worried about the difficult task of photographing Miles Davis. On that day, Miles was even more bad-tempered than usual.
"Before the afternoon concert that day, a journalist gently asked Miles if he could interview him. The journalist received no answer. But the fact that Miles had not been protected by my father from such an intrusion made him furious. He told my father coldly that he was not going to play. [Photo of Miles Davis in 1964 by Roberto Polillo]
"A few minutes before the scheduled start time, my father politely asked Miles whether he needed something. The answer from Miles was a whistled, “YOU need a trumpet player.” Of course, Miles was just raising a fuss. He played the concert, and the group's performance was an enormous success.
"Every quarrel needs a reconciliation, and so it was with this one. After the concert, when the curtain had come down and my father and I were backstage, Miles suddenly seized Wayne Shorter’s saxophone. Smiling to my father, Miles began to blow into the sax, staggering in a curious way. It was his imitation of a “junky cat.” All the people around him laughed, and the earlier problems were forgotten and forgiven.
"I was nearby with my camera and just had time to make only one shot. There was no light, so I set a long exposure time, which resulted in the photo being blurred. That happened to be a good thing, I think, because it caught the dynamics of the scene.
"I believe I took the photograph with a Nikon F camera and a 105 mm lens using Ilford HPS film, which I stopped using shortly afterward in favor of the much better Kodak Tri-X.
"By the way, the man in the background smiling? That's my father."

—Roberto Polillo

JazzWax note: Roberto is looking for an American publisher of Swing, Bop & Free, his book of jazz legend photos published in Italy. To contact Roberto, you can e-mail him here: roberto_polillo@fastwebnet.it

JazzWax exhibit: The Siena Jazz Foundation is currently featuring an exhibit of Roberto's work in Siena, Italy. Go here for more information.

JazzWax pages: For more jazz images by Roberto, go here. For more on Swing, Bop & Free, go here. Unfortunately, the book cannot be ordered from the U.S. It is available at this Italian book site.

A special JazzWax thanks to Carl Woideck and Francesco Martinelli.

Interview: Dave Brubeck (Part 4)

2010-02-04T07:54:50-05:00

In 1956, the U.S. State Department began sending jazz musicians on world tours as a way to showcase the excitement of American creativity and the spirit of American culture. The move was an attempt to checkmate Soviet influence in vulnerable areas during the Cold War. In 1958 the Dave Brubeck Quartet visited Eastern Europe and the Near East on such a tour. The result for Dave was exposure to a range of new and fascinating cultures. For the group, the tour meant worldwide audiences. And for Columbia Records, the tour ignited a new global market for Dave Brubeck Quartet recordings. [Photo of Dave Brubeck at a Harvard performance in 1982 by Herb Snitzer]

When Dave, Paul Desmond, Gene Wright and Joe Morello returned to the U.S., they began rehearsing the material for Time Out, now one of jazz's best-known and biggest-selling albums. The only track not credited to Dave was Take Five, the tune with the hypnotic rhythm and 5/4 time signature. Paul Desmond is listed as the sole writer. And yet the song seems to have Dave's fingerprints all over it, from its churning tempo to its percussive feel.

In Part 4 of my interview with Dave, the piano legend talks about the State Department tour of 1958, why The Real Ambassadors with Louis Armstrong and others wasn't performed on Broadway, and Dave's dominant role in the development of Take Five:

JazzWax: Did the State Department tour of 1958 have an impact on the Dave Brubeck Quartet?
Dave Brubeck: Oh, sure. It exposed us to wonderful things. We toured for about 120 days, without much of a break. On this trip, we had a worldwide audience. That was very exciting back then. We went to Poland and performed 12 concerts. From there, we went to Turkey, Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, Ceylon—which now is Sri Lanka—Iran and Iraq. Right after we left Iraq, there was a regime change. The army tried to rescue the people from the hotel where we had been staying. But after they took everyone out, the trucks got stuck. Everyone was shot and killed. We were lucky to have left when we did.

JW: Blue Rondo a la Turk from Time Out has an intoxicating pattern.
DB: I think it's equally as important as Take Five. But Columbia wanted to push Take Five. Blue Rondo is based on a street rhythm I heard while we were in Turkey. It's in 9/8 time, with the blues section in 4/4. People loved that song and still do.

JW: Why do you think Columbia wanted to push Take Five over Blue Rondo?
DB: Take Five is a title you could put on a jukebox and remember more easily in a record store. Blue Rondo a la Turk was too long a song title. In those days the jukebox determined what became a hit. I should have called it just Blue Rondo. Blue Rondo a la Turk wound up on the B-side of the single.

JW: What became of The Real Ambassadors, which was recorded in 1961 and performed in 1962?
DB: We performed it only once publicly at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1962. Annie Ross was in England at the time, and Yolande Bavan took Annie’s place with Dave Lambert and Jon Hendricks. Yolande and I first met in Ceylon when she was still there. She did a terrific job in that performance.

JW: How was the performance? There only are photos of it, no recordings or film.
DB: Fantastic. All the jazz musicians who were playing at the festival came to hear us. Louis Armstrong was in the show, of course. So was Carmen McRae. Everyone was so moved by Louis’ performance. Louis was making a political statement through our words. He had tears in his eyes as he sang.

JW: Why?
DB: The lyrics expressed what Louis felt in his heart. After his State Department tour in 1960, it was clear that he was America's real ambassador to the world. He was the person most identified with America worldwide. The words written by Iola, my wife, and sung by Louis said there should be no black or white distinctions, that people should be measured as individuals.

JW: How did Louis singing They Say I Look Like God go over?
DB: Incredible. On stage, Lambert, Hendricks and Bavan were wearing sackcloths and hoods. When they sang from the Bible, “God created man in his image and likeness,” they brought their hoods up over their heads. When they weren’t singing from the Bible, they put their hoods down. It was reverential and worked beautifully.

JW: What was the emotional high point in the show?
DB: I think that came in They Say I Look Like God, when Louis sang his opening statement, “They say I look like God. Could God be black? My God. If I were made in the image of thee, could thou perchance a zebra be? Can it be?” We thought he’d deliver that line and get a laugh. But instead, the audience was quiet and he had tears in his eyes, especially when he sang, “An act of God to set man free.”

JW: Was the performance recorded?
DB: We could have had it filmed the night we performed it at Monterey. A camera crew asked me if they could shoot it. I said, “That would be great.” They said it would cost me $750. I said I didn’t have that kind of money for the film. In retrospect, boy, what a terrible goof that was.

JW: Why wasn’t The Real Ambassadors performed ever again?
DB: We were going to do it on Broadway, but Joe Glaser was Louis’ manager and my manager. Joe didn’t want two of his main moneymakers tied up night after night plus two matinees weekly on the same stage. That’s eight performances a week.

JW: Did you try to get Glaser to pay for the film?
DB: I did. I called Glaser but he wouldn’t sponsor or produce it. He was against The Real Ambassadors. When I was trying to bring it to Broadway, I went to top producers. They liked it but they passed. They said, “You’re lecturing, you’re not entertaining.” Two or three of them turned it down for the same reason. [Photo of Joe Glaser and Louis Armstrong in 1965 for Life by John Loengard]

JW: How could Take Five possibly have been so popular with so many people?
DB: [Laughs] Why?

JW: The tempo is tough, it has a classical feel and what was considered popular back in 1959 was quite different from the music recorded.
DB: The secret is the drumbeat, which was Joe Morello’s. You can't sit still when you hear it.

JW: Did Joe initiate the song's thematic concept?
DB: When I first heard Joe play that beat backstage and Paul improvised against it, I said to Paul at our rehearsal for Time Out, “Try to write down some of your improvisations.”

JW: What happened?
DB: When he came back to the rehearsal, he said, “I can’t write anything in 5/4.” I said, “Well, I just heard you improvising on it and you sounded great.” Paul said, “I wrote down some of those things.” I said, “Great, let me see what you have.”

JW: What did you think?
DB: I looked at what Paul had done and said, “Paul, I can put this together, and it will be a great tune.” We gave it a try, and the approach worked.

JW: Wow, you really should have received co-credit on Take Five.
DB: More than that. The title is mine and so were the lyrics: “Won't you stop and take a little time out with me, just take five. Stop your busy day and take the time out, to see, I'm alive."

JW: When did you write the lyrics?
DB: Right away. Teo Macero [pictured], the album’s producer, said there had to be a cover of the song with words to it. That was Columbia's way of covering its bases with the tricky 5/4 time, to have a vocal version. When I told that to Paul, he said he wanted his father to write them. But they didn’t come in as soon as we needed them. Teo wanted words so Carmen McRae could sing the cover almost immediately.

JW: How soon after the recording session did you finish writing the lyrics?
DB: Probably a month or two after. Some lyricist told me later I had written some clever things that didn't quite come across in some of the vocal versions.

JW: Which line, specifically?
DB: The second stanza where the melody changes to a major key: "Though I'm going out of my way, just so I can pass by each day; not a single word do we say, it's a pantomime and not a play." Most singers miss the nuance. “It’s a pantomime and not a play.” There’s a double meaning there—a play can mean a spoken performance or it can mean a romantic pitch. A lyricist told me that was one of the cleverest lines ever written [laughs].

JW: And yet Columbia held up the single of Take Five until 1961.
DB: They said no one would be able to dance to it.

JW: Did you buy that?
DB: No. I’ve seen people of all ages dance to that song.

JW: Do you think Columbia held it up to avoid having it steal thunder from other jazz recordings it was marketing, like Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, which was released at about the same time and also had a different sound?
DB: I’ll never know.

JW: So the beat on Time Out was Joe Morello’s?
DB: Yes. Joe warned me, “Dave, you’re going to have to keep that rhythm going when I take a drum solo” [laughs]. Paul and I framed it to feature Joe on drums. If you listen to the original recording, you can hear that the song was built around Joe's drum solo. At any rate, Paul took credit for writing the song.

JW: And yet the song has your sensibility and approach.
DB: I wish more people realized that.

JW: Desmond never said, “Let's split the writing credit?”
DB: It’s hard for me to remember. He thought it was his tune. I said, “All of the tunes are being copyrighted by my company. It will be confusing if you copyright it separately.” He wasn’t crazy about doing it my way but he agreed just the same, adding, “But it’s going to be my tune.”

JW: You must have felt that it was a little unfair.
DB: That’s the way it goes.

JW: And yet you two remained good friends.
DB: Oh, of course.

JazzWax tracks: Sony last year released a 50th anniversary edition of Time Out with a second disc of previously unreleased tracks from three different Newport Jazz Festivals plus a DVD interview with Dave on the making of the album. You'll find it here.

Dave recorded dozens of excellent studio and live albums after Time Out. Among my favorites on Columbia from the early 1960s are Angel Eyes (1962), Jazz Impressions of Japan (1964), Jazz Impressions of New York (1964) and Anything Goes (1965).

But perhaps my favorite of all from this period is Brubeck a La Mode. This little-known album was recorded for Fantasy Records in 1960 and featured octet-mate Bill Smith on clarinet instead of Desmond as the fourth player. There's a feel here that takes Dave back to the days when he and Smith were studying with Darius Milhaud. It's a must-own. You'll find it at iTunes and here.

JazzWax note: The uncropped image of Herb Snitzer's photo of Dave Brubeck used at the top of this post is available as a fine-art print. More information at Herb's site here or contact him at Herbsnitzer@aol.com.

JazzWax clip: Go here for Carmen McRae's vocal version of Take Five. If you think 5/4 sounds tough to play, dig how tricky it is to sing—and how easy McRae makes it sound.

To hear the fraternal bond between Dave and Desmond, dig this clip of Alice in Wonderland from Brubeck/Desmond Duets (1975)...

Interview: Dave Brubeck (Part 3)

2010-02-03T07:47:12-05:00

Many listeners who are new to jazz tend to think of Dave Brubeck as a pianist who flowered in 1959 with Time Out, the album that gave us Take Five. In truth, the promise of Dave's musical brilliance actually can be heard on recordings 13 years earlier. If you want to hear why Dave's commanding officer in World War II protected him from the front or why composer Darius Milhaud was willing to teach Dave for free, you need only listen to Dave's hair-raising octet sessions between 1946 and 1950. [Photo of Dave Brubeck in Albuquerque, NM, in 2003 by Paul Slaughter]

On those early recordings, Dave's virtuosity and command of jazz and modern classical forms are evident and astonishing. Then in 1954, Dave was on the cover of Time magazine. In 1957, his composition The Duke, was arranged by Gil Evans and recorded by Miles Davis on Miles Ahead. As you can see, by 1959 Dave had had nearly a full career as a celebrated composer, arranger and player, and his recordings from the period remain as exciting today as they were back then.

In Part 3 of my four-part interview with Dave, the legendary pianist talks about the formation of his octet, why his early groups first played on college campuses, the terrible accident in Hawaii that nearly cost him his life, how the accident led to the formation of the famed quartet, and the rain storm that led to Dave's composition of The Duke:

JazzWax: Once you started playing professionally with a group, why did you target colleges for gigs?
Dave Brubeck: Initially Darius Milhaud had us play concerts for Mills College girls in 1946. We were very popular there. While I was still at Mills in 1946, my first group was an octet [pictured]. It was started in Milhaud’s class, after he asked us, “How many of you can play jazz?” He assigned eight of us who raised our hands to write a jazz piece, which we did. We had so much fun doing so that we eventually called our group Les Eight, after Milhaud’s famous classical group, Les Six.

JW: Did Les Eight perform off campus?
DB: We tried [laughs]. But we couldn’t get a job outside of Mills College. Les Eight was too far out. Eventually the group was renamed the Jazz Workshop Ensemble and then the Dave Brubeck Octet.

JW: What happened to the arrangements for Les Eight?
DB: The whole book was lost. Saxophonist Dave Van Kriedt [pictured] took it to Australia, and it was lost in a flood. All the good stuff that Bill Smith, Dave, Jack Weeks, Dick Collins and I wrote—it was all lost. We all had been studying with Milhaud.

JW: Did your personal passion for rhythmic risk-taking come from your training with Milhaud?
DB: Possibly, yeah.

JW: So who made the decision to go after the college circuit?
DB: Iola, my wife. When Iola saw how well we did with the Mills girls, she started writing to all the other colleges to have us perform. Iola's actually the one who got us going in that direction. She saw how successful the Mills concert was. When I formed the quartet in 1951, we went to the College of the Pacific a year later and played for the students there. Recordings were made of those performances. That’s where I am now, with my Brubeck Institute. [Photo of Dave and Iola Brubeck in 2006 by Hank O'Neal]

JW: Did college students at the College of the Pacific appreciate the quartet?
DB: Yes, it was equally successful as our earlier college performances but not as well attended as they had hoped. The person who reviewed the concert for the Stockton Record loved what he had heard so much that he predicted within five years the quartet would be a huge success. Five years later, I was on the cover of Time magazine [laughs].

JW: At first, you and Paul Desmond didn’t see eye to eye.
DB: Paul [pictured] had hired me to play in his group in San Francisco in the late 1940s. Then he abandoned the group and left me without a job. Being that I had two children then and was broke, that was a terrible thing he did. I told Iola never to let Paul into the clubs where I was playing. He was always trying to get into my trio. Eventually Iola had a change of heart.

JW: What happened?
DB: I had a foolish accident in Hawaii that nearly left me paralyzed. In 1951, at Waikiki Beach, I was showing my kids how to dive through an incoming wave. When I went through the wave, I hit a sandbar full force and nearly severed my spinal cord.

JW: How did you get out of the surf?
DB: People nearby brought me onto the beach. Medics came and placed me in an ambulance. On our way to the Army hospital at Tripler, I could hear them radio ahead, "It looks like a D.O.A." I couldn't move, and they must have assumed the worst.

JW: How did you regain movement?
DB: After weeks in traction, feeling started to come back into my limbs. But given the severity of the accident, I knew that when I started to play again, I'd need another solo instrumental voice in the group to help carry the load.

JW: What did you do?
DB: I wrote to Paul from my hospital bed. I told him, "I think it's time to form that quartet you've been pushing for." I urged him to find a rhythm section, which would give us the quartet. I had to write to him in traction, with my hands over my head. Paul kept that letter in his wallet all his life.

JW: Why does Desmond sound so seductive on his alto saxophone?
DB: I... I don’t know

JW: Is it because he plays so high up on the instrument? For some reason, those notes always have a vulnerable, pleading sound.
DB: Interesting. Paul could play an octave above most people, earlier than anybody I had heard. That was kind of his thing. He’d go to study with different sax teachers and they’d tell him, “You’re going to ruin your tone playing up there. You shouldn’t do it.”

JW: Did he play lower on the register?
DB: He’d go into a slump creatively on the job because he’d work so hard to avoid playing high up. I told him, “Play your usual way. That’s the way you sound the best.” So he did.

JW: There’s a magical harmony between you two in that regard on recordings.
DB: Paul always said we had ESP. I didn’t say that, but he believed it. And Iola believed we should be together when she first heard us play.

JW: Did you ever consider using a different saxophonist with a high alto sound?
DB: Once Paul got past our misunderstanding and I forgave him for what he had done to me, we got along great the rest of our lives.

JW: Was Marion McPartland upset when you hired Joe Morello in 1956 for the quartet?
DB: She laughs about it but she was upset at the time. But I didn’t hire him away. Marian had gone to England and Joe was without a job.

JW: Why did you choose bassist Eugene Wright?
DB: I had heard Gene with Cal Tjader’s group and with other groups that came to perform at San Francisco’s Blackhawk, where I was the house band for half the year. So I heard everybody. I was always impressed with Gene as a man and as a musician. He had a terrific sound.

JW: How did you come to write The Duke in 1954?
DB: The Duke I wrote after taking my son Chris to nursery school. On the way home, it was raining and I was watching the windshield wipers. The wipers were loud and sounded like a cushioned metronome [sings "boom-chung, boom chung, boom chung" to mimic the sound]. That's when I started to sing the melody that had come to mind as I listened to the beat. It fit perfectly with the bump-bump of the wipers.

JW: What kind of car was it?
DB: A Kaiser Vagabond. Back then, after the war, Kaiser, a boat company, made a great car from parts left over from scrap. The melody line just popped into my head.

JW: Did you like the version that Miles Davis recorded with Gil Evans in 1957?
DB: I loved it. They invited me to the playback session. I thought it was great. At the date, Miles introduced me to Gil, and Gil said, “Brubeck… do you have a brother named Henry?” I said, “Yeah.” Gil said, “He played drums in my first orchestra, and he was a great drummer.” Isn’t that something? My oldest brother played with Gil. In those days, there was so much coming out of Stockton, CA. Gil’s first band was out of Stockton.

JW: The Duke is pretty remarkable, and it set the tone for the quartet's sound.
DB: I was playing The Duke at a college concert once, and the head of the jazz department came up to me and said, “I love how you use a 12-note tone row in The Duke.” That's when all 12 notes of the chromatic scale are used in a composition with equal significance. [Photo of Dave Brubeck in 2006 by Hank O'Neal]

JW: What did you say?
DB: I said, “I didn’t know I was using a tone row. Where did you read that?” I thought a writer or reviewer had incorrectly come up with it. He said, “I didn’t read it. Check out the bass line.” So I did, and sure enough he was right. I must have done that unconsciously. Marian McPartland [pictured] has said The Duke’s bass line is the best one ever written in jazz.

Tomorrow, Dave talks about the State Department tour of 1958, his role in the creation of Take Five and what prevented The Real Ambassadors (written by Dave and Iola) from being made into a Broadway production.

JazzWax tracks: Dave's pre-Time Out (1959) recordings are fascinating works for their ambition, lyricism and percussive quality.

If you enjoy the Miles Davis "Birth of the Cool" recordings, you're going to flip over the Dave Brubeck Octet. The group's recordings between 1946 and 1950 are a must-own for their dynamic arrangements, spectacular musicianship and West Coast "Birth of the Cool" approach. You must hear the group's many jazz variations on How High the Moon during a live performance in 1948. The recordings can be found on the Dave Brubeck Octet at iTunes or here.

Dave's concerts at Oberlin College (1953 and 1954) and the College of the Pacific (1953) can be found at iTunes or here, here and here, respectively. Jazz at the College of the Pacific recordings (volumes 1 and 2) remain brilliant documents of a new form of small-group jazz.

Dave's albums for Columbia before Time Out also are tremendous. Among my favorites are Red, Hot and Cool (1954), Dave Digs Disney (1957), Jazz Impressions of Eurasia (1958) and Gone with the Wind (1959). Each packs enormous creative power and sensitivity.

JazzWax note: Paul Slaughter's photo of Dave Brubeck at the top of this post is available as a fine-art print. More information at Paul's site here.

JazzWax clip: Here's the Dave Brubeck Quartet in 1954, on Jazz Goes to College, recorded at the University of Cincinnati...

Interview: Dave Brubeck (Part 2)

2010-02-02T07:34:37-05:00

Dave Brubeck brings enormous enthusiasm and swinging delight to every original and standard piece he plays. Whether it's Will You Still Be Mine from Angel Eyes (1962), So This Is Love from Dave Digs Disney (1957) or Nomad from Jazz Impressions of Eurasia (1958), Dave always sounds vibrant and airy. In Dave's playing exists the same spirit and heart that went into those postmodernist glass homes built in the 1950s by Mies van der Rohe, Pierre Koenig and Richard Neutra. A yearning for open spaces and a view of the horizon.

In fact, if I could choose one setting in which to spend an afternoon listening to Dave's albums, it would be Philip Johnson's Glass House in New Canaan, CT [pictured]. I'd be perched on one of those spare Barcelona chairs, listening to Dave's music and watching the light shift on the landscape. Dave's piano has that effect, probably because he comes from an age when the future was brimming with bright colors, transparency and a clean line. Of course, the future turned out to be a little different. But Dave's playing still stirs in us the sound of anticipation and possibility.

In Part 2 of my four-part interview with Dave, the legendary pianist talks about a wrong turn with two near-fatal consequences in the Ardennes Forest during World War II, and returning to California in 1946 to study with Darius Milhaud:

JazzWax: Turning back to World War II, did you ever wind up at the front in northern France?
Dave Brubeck: As musicians, we’d go there all the time to play for soldiers. One day, shortly before Colonel Brown left for his new position feeding German civilians, he came up to me and said, “Take the band on a Cook’s Tour.” I had no idea at the time what he was talking about or who Cook was [laughs]. The Colonel said, “Just take a truck and get out of here. I have to send every able-bodied man to the front today.” So I took his advice. [Pictured: Dave Brubeck in Germany in1945]

JW: Where did you go?
DB: Colonel Brown didn’t tell me where to go, just to get out of the area and see if we could play for soldiers. I got all the musicians together, and we got on the truck and drove off.

JW: Which direction did you head in?
DB: The wrong one. We went right to the front, unaware that the Battle of the Bulge was about to begin. As we drove along, I saw a bunch of Americans in a clearing. We figured we’d play for them, so we pulled off the road.

JW: Were you using stock arrangements?
DB: I wish. We didn’t have anything. We had to hock cigarettes and soap for instruments. There were 18 guys in this band. We had Duke Marconi and Attilio Capra on trumpets. Duke had played lead trumpet for the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. That’s one of the hardest trumpet books in the world. You had to play solidly for hours. Attilio was a great player, too. He's still with us.

JW: Did you play for the soldiers in the field?
DB: As we were unloading our instruments from the truck, a plane flew over. One of the guys in the field said, “I think that’s a German plane.” Everyone said, “But we haven’t seen an airplane from the German Air Force for about a month.” The guy said, “No, no, he’s coming back. You'd better get out of here.” By this time it was turning dark. Our driver didn’t know the area at all and didn’t have a map. So we just took off in the truck. We thought the plane would start strafing us.

JW: Where did you wind up?
DB: As we drove down a road, we wound up in traffic with other trucks. It was nightfall. As we drove along, a soldier waved us on with a hooded flashlight, which produces just enough light but can't be seen far. As we passed the soldier, I realized from a glimpse of the helmet that he was German. We had accidentally had joined a German convoy. But in the darkness, no one knew. I told the guy driving our truck, “Go over the hill with the trucks where the guy directing traffic can’t see us, turn around and head back past him as fast as possible.” So we did that.

JW: What happened?
DB: We drove wide open in the opposite direction of those tructs for a few miles.

JW: Back to safety?
DB: Almost. Along the way we were blocked by American soldiers at a checkpoint. When we stopped, they came up to the truck. One of the soldiers had a hand grenade in each hand with the pins pulled. He did this to show that if he were shot, he would take everyone nearby with him.

JW: What did he do?
DB: The soldier leaned on the side of the truck where I was and started asking me questions. No matter what I told him, he wouldn’t believe me, which I thought was strange. Then he said, “Just a few hours ago, many of my friends were killed right here by Germans in an American truck and in American uniforms speaking perfect English.”

JW: What did you think?
DB: That's when my guys in the back noticed that there were bundles of dynamite tied in the trees above us. These could be detonated with a single shot. I then realized that the guys at the checkpoint seriously believed we were Germans. The problem was I couldn’t remember the password you had to provide to prove you were really an American. Finally I remembered it and they let us through. [Pictured: Dave Brubeck after crossing the Rhine River into Germany in 1945]

JW: What was the password?
DB: I can’t remember [laughs]. But remembering it that day sure as hell saved my life and the lives of my guys. [Pictured: Dave and his wife Iola in the early 1940s]

JW: In 1946, when you were discharged, you returned to California and attended Mills College, an all-girls school. Why?
DB: Because Darius Milhaud taught there. Milhaud was an enormously gifted classical composer and teacher who loved jazz and incorporated it into his work. My older brother Howard was his assistant and had taken all of his classes. Howard composed Dialogue for Jazz Combo and Symphony Orchestra. Do you know it? You simply must listen to it. Howard was an extraordinary musician.

JW: Did you have to audition for Milhaud?
DB: No. I had visited with Milhaud before I went into the service. Milhaud at the time said, “When you come back, come study with me.”

JW: Was Milhaud [pictured] aware that you couldn’t read music?
DB: Yes. He said not to worry about it, that I’d just have to be a composer. He said, “You can’t give up jazz. It’s something you do so well. Just incorporate jazz into your compositions for school.”

JW: So you could write music?
DB: Yes, I could write, thanks to my counterpoint studies. I just couldn’t read while playing. I couldn’t spell very well, either. When I took a final exam during my first year, I feared that my teacher would make fun of me for misspelling words. So I didn’t hand in the exam’s blue essay book. When my teacher realized I had done that, she went straight to the head of the graduate school and told him the story and gave me an F. That’s when I found out you can’t have an F in graduate school. When you received an F, you were automatically removed from the school.

JW: What did you do?
DB: I told Milhaud that I couldn’t study with him anymore. He said, “Dave, I’ll teach you privately. Just don’t tell anyone, and the lessons won’t cost you anything.” That’s how I stayed with Milhaud. I was at Mills only from 1946 to 1947, after which I became a working jazz musician. But I kept studying privately with Milhaud through 1949 whenever I had the time.

JW: What did Milhaud teach you?
DB: Since I couldn’t read music, he taught me by osmosis and encouragement. He also taught me by showing me a chart of all the polytonality possibilities.

JW: Did you eventually learn how to read music?
DB: You can’t teach me. Everyone has tried, starting with my mother. I have some kind of block. I’m not alone. There are a lot of guys who have a name like mine who can’t read music [laughs].

Tomorrow, Dave talks about why he began playing on college campuses, the decision to hire drummer Joe Morello, why alto saxophonist Paul Desmond sounds so good, and the story behind The Duke—one of Dave's best loved compositions.

JazzWax tracks: Howard Brubeck's Dialogue for Jazz Combo and Symphony Orchestra can be found on Bernstein Century: Bernstein on Jazz (Sony) here. Howard Brubeck, Dave's older brother, died in 1993.

JazzWax clip: Here's the Dave Brubeck Quartet in London in 1964 playing the second movement from Howard Brubeck's Dialogue for Jazz Combo and Symphony Orchestra...

Interview: Dave Brubeck (Part 1)

2010-02-01T05:52:51-05:00

You can actually hear Dave Brubeck's two-octave grin over the phone. Dave talks slowly, at a measured pace, as though playing a ballad. His Memories of You speaking pace gives him plenty of time to be pinpoint accurate and to pause for reflection. It's at those moments, when he happily thinks back in time, that the image of his winning smile and squinting, almond-shaped eyes spring to mind. His optimistic disposition has been toasted by the sun, refueled by a lifetime of successes and stirred by the sound of music.

Born in Concord, CA, Dave began taking piano lessons from his mother at age 4, studied cello at age 9 and played piano in local bands at age 13. He led a 12-piece band while studying at College of the Pacific in the late 1930s and early 1940s. After graduation in 1942, he joined the Army. Upon his return from Europe after World War II, Dave studied with composer Darius Milhaud [pictured] starting in January 1946, forming a group with Milhaud students Paul Desmond and Cal Tjader. Dave soon formed a working trio with Tjader and Ron Crotty, starting his famed quartet with Desmond in 1951. The quartet recorded and toured steadily throughout the 1950s, finishing the decade with a massive hit album, Time Out. The quartet remained together until 1967. Dave has recorded and performed steadily over the years, and late last year was celebrated nationally as a Kennedy Center Honoree.

In Part 1 of my four-part interview with Dave, 89, the piano legend talks about his early days at the College of the Pacific and his harrowing days during World War II at the Battle of the Bulge:
JazzWax: Is it true that you could not read music while attending music school at the College of the Pacific?
Dave Brubeck: Absolutely. I couldn’t read music while I was there.

JW: Were you afraid that your secret would become known?
DB: Yes, I felt that I was hiding all the time. When the dean of the school wouldn’t let me graduate, the two best teachers came to my rescue. The counterpoint teacher said to the dean, “You’re making a mistake. He’s written the best counterpoint I ever heard from a student.” My harmony and ear training teacher said, “Dave is way advanced harmonically.”

JW: What happened?
DB: The dean called me into his office and said, “I'll let you graduate with the class if you promise never to teach” [laughs]. I kept that promise ever since, even when I was starving [laughs].

JW: How did you manage to steer clear of detection?
DB: I skipped taking piano until my fourth year. At the College of the Pacific, you had to be proficient on a string instrument and a reed instrument to graduate. When you’re playing an instrument that’s new to you, you only have to play scales and exercises, and I could read those. I knew that if I took piano, however, they’d figure out I couldn’t read music.

JW: How did you get accepted by the school in the first place?
DB: I don’t know. For some reason, they didn’t audition me. See, I excelled in ear training, and my teacher in that subject liked me a lot. He followed my career, right up until the time of his death. His name was J. Russell Bodley.

JW: He must have felt great knowing that he had pushed to let you graduate.
DB: Oh, man, did he ever. We remained friends throughout his life. He got cancer in his 70s. The last time I saw him he came to hear the premiere of a piece I performed at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Sacramento. Being in Stockton, CA, he just drove up there and liked it very much. He was beaming. That made me very happy.

JW: You enlisted in the Army in 1942. Were you placed in an Army band?
DB: Yes. Ernie Farmer, my closest friend from the College of the Pacific was a member of the Army band at a base near Los Angeles. That's why I enlisted, believe it or not. When I arrived at boot camp, there were four complete Army bands at the two camps where we trained: Camp Haan near Riverside and Camp Irwin, which was out in the Mojave Desert 40 miles south of Barstow toward Death Valley. [Photo: Dave Brubeck, right, courtesy of University of the Pacific]

JW: How did that work?
DB: You stayed three months in the desert at Irwin and then three months at Haan. When D-Day was imminent, the Army needed to send men over to Europe. They broke up three of the bands and kept one. My band was broken up, and I was sent to the infantry.

JW: That must have been frightening for someone who had signed on to play piano.
DB: Yeah. We weren’t really trained for fighting, being band musicians. We had just played on the base and hadn’t had basic training yet. I took it quickly in Texas.

JW: When did you arrive in France?
DB: Ninety days after D-Day, which would have been early September 1944. I went over in a big troop ship called the George Washington [pictured], a converted ocean liner. We were in a convoy, and the captain of the ship got bored with it. The captain had to maneuver the ship the way the Navy told him to. So he cut out on his own, away from the protection of the convoy. He had figured out that the German subs, which were very active out there, couldn't get a bead on you if you zig-zagged for a certain number of seconds one way and then the other. We were out there hoping the captain was right.

JW: Was he?
DB: Fortunately he was [laughs]. I slept on the open deck every night going across. We had to go inside when the sun came up. The ship was a silhouette easily seen by subs. The sailors didn’t mind if we slept on the deck at night so long as we went inside and down a deck in the morning.

JW: What happened in Europe?
DB: The ship docked in Liverpool, England. We were loaded onto a train and sent to Southhampton. There, we boarded a smaller ship, which took us to Omaha Beach in France. There were no formal ports built yet for troop ships. Once on shore, we boarded a train, in cattle cars, and traveled north to Verdun, to a place called the Mud Hole. Soon after I arrived, I was sitting in the mud on my steel helmet so I wouldn’t get dirty when girls with the Red Cross drove up in a truck. The truck’s back opened up into a little stage and a piano was in there. They called out asking if anyone could play the piano because they wanted to sing. [Photo Dave Brubeck in 1942]

JW: What happened?
DB: No one raised their hand so I finally did. I played for them. The next day I was in a lineup to go into battle. Three names were called, two guys who had been in the Camp Haan band and me. We were all musicians.

JW: Were you in trouble?
DB: Actually the opposite. Colonel Brown, the head of the outfit, which was called the 17th Replacement Depot, had heard me play the day before and liked me. He said about me, "I never want that soldier to go to the front." He hid my records so nobody would know where I was, including my wife. She later received a letter saying, “Where is your husband. We lost track of him.” That scared her, but one of my letters had gotten through to one of mother’s best friends, so they knew I was alive. [Photo: General George S. Patton, commander of the Third Army in northern France in 1944]

JW: What happened next?
DB: Colonel Brown wanted me to put together a band. He said to form it from musicians who came back from the front with injuries not severe enough to send them to a hospital way behind the lines. We were the real frontline band. I told my guys, “Wear your Purple Hearts and you can play for frontline guys. They won’t reject you, like they do USO entertainers.” There were times when battles were so tough that entertainers who just came in to perform and left afterward weren’t fully welcomed. [Pictured: An M-36 Tank Destroyer in the Ardennes Forest during the Battle of the Bulge]

JW: So you avoided being sent to the Battle of Bulge's front lines by Colonel Brown?
DB: That’s right. Our band was absolutely protected by him. Colonel Brown eventually was reassigned and put in charge of feeding German civilians as the Allies took German territory. He could speak German. He had been in World War I and had fed the Germans after that war. He had experience doing it. But before he left he let it be known that I was never to be sent to the front. [Photo: An M-36 Tank Destroyer crossing a field in Luxembourg]
Tomorrow, Dave talks about accidentally winding up at the front, narrowly escaping death and returning home in 1946 to resume his studies with Darius Milhaud.
JazzWax tracks: In 2004, Dave Brubeck recorded Private Brubeck Remembers (Telarc) a heartfelt solo piano album that pays tribute to the songs of his war years. It's a gorgeous album, and you can almost hear Dave reminiscing out loud as he plays these touching songs. You'll find the album at iTunes or on CD here.
A special JazzWax thanks to Iola Brubeck and Hank O'Neal.

Sunday Wax Bits

2010-01-31T06:00:00-05:00

Waxing and musings. Are jazz releases from Spain the dirty little secret of passionate jazz listeners? A close friend wrote me an email last week crisply reminding me that the Definitive label out of Spain is among the most abusive 'rip-off' labels of the European Union. Last week I had mentioned that the complete Buddy De Franco-Sonny Clark sessions were available on Definitive in my interview series with Buddy.

For those unaware of what the fuss is about, here's a recap—and my friend isn't completely off base. European copyright laws last 50 years, tossing recordings into the public domain once that period elapses. What does this mean? Anyone in Europe can copy recordings and sell them—including all U.S. albums released prior to 1961—and not be in violation of laws or owe a Euro in royalties. So labels like Fresh Sound, LoneHill Jazz, Definitive and others find clean LPs or CDs, make copies, re-package them with cover and liner-notes art and issue them to consumers worldwide, including in the U.S. [The U.S. version of the Teddy Charles Tentet, left, and the European Complete Teddy Charles Tentet version, right]

Two problems: First, the artists don't receive royalty payments. Second, these European releases often are timed to coincide with the issue of U.S. box sets. U.S. labels typically invest hard time and money to create lovingly restored jazz discs, often with comprehensive liner notes. Definitive's goal is to create a dirt cheap (by comparison) set and provide a knock-off alternative at roughly the same time.

Which is dirty pool and a shame. But my response to my concerned friend was "So what?" Let me explain from the listener's perspective. No one loves jazz artists more than I do. If it were up to me, they'd receive a sizable government check each month just for their artistic service to this country. But 50 years after the fact, artists rarely see much in the way of royalties even when their material is reissued here. Creative accounting takes care of that. As for Euro labels submarining U.S. box sets, there's really no comparison between the high-end boxes created here and the Euro equivalent in terms of care and consistent quality (I recently read liner notes to a European set that consistently referred to the big band trombonist as "Tony Dorsey").
I think even the original artists would agree that after 50 years, they'd rather see their material available to young and old rather than watch the mailbox each day for a small royalty check. If there's a villain, it's the U.S. record companies that continue to sit on great music from the 1950s rather than issue it digitally. Which would undercut the European labels, since they are only available on CD here. Ask yourself this: Where would jazz listeners be if all those great recordings from the 1950s weren't available at all?
Ed Thigpen (1930-2010), a graceful drummer best known as a member of the Oscar Peterson Trio in the late 1950s and 1960s and whose brush technique could be as forceful as his stick work, died January 13th in Copenhagen, where he had lived since 1972. He was 79. [Photo by Philippe Lévy-Stab]
In the 1950s, Thigpen recorded with a wide range of leading artists, including Dinah Washington (After Hours with Miss D), Joe Newman (Jazz for Playboys), Billy Taylor (My Fair Lady Loves Jazz) and Gil Melle (Thigpen is on many of the Blue Note and Prestige recordings I wrote about last week here).
But it was Thigpen's lengthy tour of duty with Peterson and Ray Brown that brought him the most acclaim. His first album with the pianist was A Jazz Portrait of Frank Sinatra in 1959. The release was quickly followed by a marathon recording session in August 1959 during which the trio recorded songbook-album tributes to nine different composers.

Perhaps the highpoint of Thigpen's work with Peterson was West Side Story, which featured the drummer employing a seemingly endless series of drum techniques. Among my favorite examples of Thigpen's later work can be found on Wig Is Here, an album led by Gerald Wiggins on piano and Major Holley on bass. The 1974 Thigpen tracks are You Are the Sunshine of My Live, Oh Give Me Something to Remember You By, Lover, FBOT, Edith Is the Sweetest and There Is No Greater Love.

Here's Thigpen on Cubano Chant, exhibiting his broad range of delicate drumming techniques...

Nelson Riddle. Wish you had been on hand to see Nelson Riddle conduct a studio orchestra? On March 5th and 6th, singer Shawnn Monteiro will perform backed by a 17-piece orchestra in The Nelson Riddle Show: Studio Sessions, featuring arrangements by the late, great arranger-conductor.

The Riddle family has pulled original arrangements from their vault for the event. Many have not been performed in a generation. These include Lorelei from Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Gershwin Songbook, Peggy Lee's Jump for Joy and Sinatra's At Long Last Love. On hand will be Chris Riddle and sister Rosemary Acerra to recount memories of their legendary dad.

Where: Tim McLoone's Supper Club in Asbury Park, N.J. Time: Dinner at 6 pm; show at 7 pm. Tickets: $79.95, which includes a prix fixe dinner. More information: 732-774-1400.

Video clip 1: It's 11 degrees in New York. You know what that means? Time for another great bossa nova clip (stay with the opening dialogue)...

Video clip 2: Carl Woideck found this interesting mashup featuring Ellington's music against Beyonce's Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)...

Saluting the producers. Following my post last Sunday praising the contribution of jazz producers of the 1950s, Chris Fine, son of C. Robert Fine, the legendary engineer on sessions for Verve, EmArcy and other labels, sent along the following:
"I totally agree with you about the contribution jazz producers made. I would extend those comments to music in general of the time (late 1940s through the late 1960s). So many great albums of all genres owed their success to these producers as well as the musicians. Non-jazz pop examples: George Martin, Tommy Dowd, Paul Rothchild, Mitch Miller, Phil Spector, Lou Adler, Jerry Wexler [pictured] and many others. Classical examples abound as well.
In those days, you couldn’t have a credible record company without a professional producing staff. Lots of these folks were highly-trained musicians in their own right and could play right along, compose part or all of a tune, arrange or challenge the most ornery musician."
New blog. Pianist Joe Alterman had a field day at the recent National Endowment for the Arts event featuring a virtual who's who of jazz legends. You can read about Joe's stellar interactions here.
CD discovery of the week. Dig swinging big bands? Really raging, swinging bands? Back in 1996, drummer Frank Capp recorded Play It Again Sam (Concord) with his Juggernaut band. All of the compositions and arrangements are by Sammy Nestico (that's Sammy on the cover on the upright piano). The album rocks and purrs like crazy from beginning to end. Capp is a Stan Kenton veteran and a monster small group and big band West Coast stick-man. The album includes trumpeter Conte Candoli, saxophonists Jackie Kelso and Pete Christlieb, and pianist Gerald Wiggins. Best of all, this is a band led by a fierce drummer, and you can hear his leadership on every track.
By the way, if you're in Canoga Park, CA on February 12th, you can catch Capp with West Coast jazz legends Dave Pell, Med Flory, Bill Fulton and Jim Hughes at the Back Room at Henri's. More information: (818) 348-5582.
Sadly, Frank Capp's Play It Again Sam is out of print on CD but may be available at online download retailers. Try typing the album's name into Google. Hats off to Peter Sokolowski for bringing it to my attention.
Oddball album cover of the week. This gem showcasing three jazz cats swinging on a line was issued by Allegro in the 12-inch LP era. It included Standard radio transcriptions from 1951 with Norvo, guitarist Tal Farlow and bassist Charles Mingus. The art director was no mouse and certainly gets points for picking up the tabs.

Buddy De Franco + Sonny Clark, Pt 2

2010-01-29T06:05:03-05:00

By 1954, the clarinet was all but finished as a solo instrument. Benny Goodman was largely a nostalgia act. Artie Shaw was completing his final recordings with his Gramercy Five. And other leading jazz musicians who played the "stick" did so out of necessity for studio work or as a secondary instrument. One of the only full-time practitioners exploring new ground was Buddy De Franco. But Buddy was fully aware of the clarinet's image problem. Its happy, pleading sound was dated and too closely linked to pre-war jazz styles such as Dixieland, Chicago jazz and swing. So Buddy set out to reinvent the clarinet and its image by playing bebop. He was determined to find a way to make the clarinet relevant at a time when more hard-charging jazz styles were emerging and the trumpet was again becoming the dominant solo instrument of young jazz stars. [Photo of Buddy De Franco by Ray Avery/CTSImages.com]
In Part 2 of my interview with Buddy on his Sonny Clark recordings between 1954 and 1956, the legendary clarinetist talks about Clark's style, the group's breakup and the musician he and Clark worshiped most:
JazzWax: What was Clark like as a bandmember?
Buddy De Franco: Sonny was a great person. He not only was a great jazz player but he also was easy to work with. Some players you get in your group have an air of hostility or they present problems. Sonny was different. He was upbeat most of the time and had a great sense of humor.

JW: What made his playing style different?
BDF: He emulated Bud Powell and idolized Art Tatum [pictured]. At the time, Sonny was listening to all the good players. He loved Oscar Peterson, for instance. But his idolization of Tatum was essential to who he was. Many people forget that Tatum was the first truly modern jazz player—on any instrument.

JW: Is the appeal of Clark's sound in his chord voicings?
BDF: It wasn’t that the chords were different. It was how he employed them. It was the pulse and happy feeling he got on the keyboard. Some players I’ve had over time were excellent but had a more morose feeling to what they were doing. The bond between a soloist and pianist in a small group is strong. What one plays is often reflected in the other. That's what you hear on those recordings with Sonny.

JW: Do you have a favorite quartet or quintet recording with Clark?
BDF: I don't listen to them that way. The problem is that after I record and the tape is in the can, it’s very difficult for me to comfortably listen to the result. Even though there are plenty of good and exciting things on there, I’ll hear a number of areas I wish I had done differently.

JW: Why did the group break up?
BDF: In part because of the growing number of recordings that I was doing for [Verve producer] Norman Granz [pictured] as the 12-inch LP era started in 1956. Remember, I was in Los Angeles during that period recording, which is where Norman was based, so the work picked up considerably. But mostly, there comes a time in any group's lifetime when you realize you did what you wanted to do and that’s it.

JW: So there was no single turning point or event?
BDF: No, there was nothing specific. There just comes a time and place where you say, “Well, let’s try something else.” You realize that you've contributed what you wanted to. I kept in touch with Sonny over the years until he died in 1963.

JW: Were these your most cutting-edge recordings?
BF: [Laughs] No. That would probably have to go to the albums I made in the early 1960s with accordionist Tommy Gumina. We were dealing with polytonal expression. It was the most technically advanced group I had worked with. So advanced that we could empty a room in 10 minutes [laughs]. Toward the latter months of that group's existence, Tommy had to go to the bank just to make payroll. The group was a refreshing experience for me.

JW: Where do your recordings with Sonny Clark stand in your list of accomplishments?
BDF: Definitely high up the list. Along with my recordings with Oscar Peterson, Art Tatum, Terry Gibbs and Rob Pronk with the Metropole Orchestra in Holland.

JW: Just curious—what did you and Sonny talk about during your down time?
BDF: We spent a lot of time talking about music. We’d meet for breakfast and spend the day doing different things and talking about the group and our musical preferences. For us, Charlie Parker was always in the picture. He influenced all of us and taught everyone who listened carefully that phrasing and the intuitive feeling of jazz have to come from you. [Photo of Charlie Parker by Esther Bubley]

JW: So what are we hearing in Parker’s playing that makes everyone stop and take notice?
BDF: You’re hearing the depth of his soul and being.

JazzWax tracks: The Buddy De Franco quartet recordings for Verve with Art Blakey, Kenny Drew and Milt Hinton can be found on Mr. Clarinet here or The Complete Mr. Clarinet Session here, which includes two additional tracks. Unfortunately, the MGM sessions (from June and July 1952) are available only on a Japanese CD. The Metropole Orchestra album (1981), Nobody Else But Me, with arrangements by Rob Pronk, is available here.
JazzWax clip: Here's a fascinating clip from Mr. Clarinet in April 1953. It's swing meets bop meets hard bop all in one track. The song is But Not For Me. Buddy is on clarinet, Kenny Drew on piano, Milt Hinton on bass and Art Blakey on drums. Pay particular attention to Buddy and Blakey playing off each other and the percussive chords used by Drew...

Buddy De Franco + Sonny Clark, Pt 1

2010-01-28T06:53:05-05:00

Clarinetist Buddy De Franco has had a series of astonishing careers. He has been a leading swing era musician, a big band leader, a bebop headliner, an early participant in merging small-group jazz with the American Songbook, a polytonal experimenter, and champion of all forms of the music. Buddy's first 10 years alone are remarkable. In 1943 he recorded with Gene Krupa, then joined Tommy Dorsey and Charlie Barnet's bands in the mid-1940s, played with George Shearing in the late 1940s, led his own orchestra from 1949-52, recorded in Count Basie's small group in 1950 and teamed up with Oscar Peterson starting in 1953. But in 1954, Buddy hired pianist Sonny Clark and for 2 1/2 years, the two musicians made a series of recordings that remain a gorgeous fusion of swing, bebop and hard bop.

In Part 1 of my two-part interview with Buddy, 86, the legendary clarinetist talks about forming a small bebop group and hiring pianist Sonny Clark:
JazzWax: Your bebop quartet actually started in 1952 and featured pianist Kenny Drew, bassist Curly Russell and drummer Art Blakey.
Buddy De Franco: Yes. Milt Hinton replaced Curly. That was an exciting group. Then in early 1954, Art [pictured] wanted to form his own group, The Jazz Messengers. That group became so successful that people would come up to me in later years and say that they remembered when I was in Art’s group [laughs].

JW: How did Sonny Clark replace Drew?
BDF: In 1954, Kenny Drew [pictured] gave notice and told me he had his replacement lined up. He said once we got to San Francisco, he’d have the pianist sit in so I could hear him. When we arrived at the Blackhawk [in San Francisco], Kenny brought Sonny Clark in. I loved him right away. He was interesting and intelligent, and played with a happy, skippy feel. When I heard Sonny, I knew instantly we were musically compatible in terms of what we were trying to do with modern jazz. Drummer Bobby White and bassist Gene Wright joined around this time, too.

JW: What was special about Clark from a musician's perspective?
BDF: It’s the give and take. I might be improvising a line and Sonny [pictured] would come through with an idea. And in a split second he’d embellish it. Everything happened fast, but in harmony. It was so exciting.

JW: Who wrote the arrangements for the group?
BDF: Everybody wrote. We’d start playing a song, and as we played, ideas would come and they’d become part of the song.

JW: Did your period with Clark change you as a musician?
BDF: I wouldn’t say the experience changed me. It’s not a question of someone simply pointing you in another direction. Our playing went along with my constant development. As a musician, you have to progress. And as you progress, whoever is playing with you either will hinder or help you. Kenny Drew and Sonny Clark [pictured] both were supportive. They helped and fueled my idea of what I was playing and where I wanted to go.

JW: What direction were you heading in?
BDF: I was aiming for a different harmonic approach, which finally became my signature sound on the clarinet. I had been listening a great deal to the classical composers—Ravel, Prokofiev, Shostakovich and Stravinsky, of course. All those classical writers influenced jazz players. They influenced my harmonic concept.

JW: How so?
BDF: I wanted to create a continuum, a free-thinking form. Even though the music in our quartet was structured, I played along those upper structured triads. Without getting too technical, they're the additional notes that belong to a basic, three-note chord.

JW: That's a lot to think about on the job.
BDF: [Laughs] You have to think about it when you’re practicing, not while you’re playing. The idea is to play fluently among three separate upper structure triads. And create and invent ideas while doing so. Sonny was doing the same thing. He was feeding me the basic chord structures and alternates at the same time. He would know in a split second which alternates I was working on at the time. You don’t do this stuff deliberately. It comes naturally. I used to practice six hours a day to ensure that it did.

JW: What was Clark's personality like?
BDF: Sonny was a lot of fun. He was lighthearted and happy, which is why we connected. I remember we were in Hawaii on tour. We had a job for four weeks in some club near Waikiki Beach [pictured in the 1950s]. During the day, we’d all go swimming. Sonny had a lady friend with him so he liked to spend time lounging on the sand. Bobby White, my drummer, was teaching me to snorkel. One day I was in the water by myself snorkeling, as an amateur. Sonny was on the beach. All of a sudden I panicked and started flailing around like an idiot. In my panic I lost the snorkel and thought I was going to drown.

JW: What happened?
BDF: In the middle of this turmoil, I remembered what Bobby had told me: "If you get in trouble, cool your brain, lie on your back and get your wits." So I did that. I relaxed on my back and I came around. Reason returned, and I swam back to the beach.

JW: What did Clark say?
BDF: When I came out of the water, Sonny said, “What were you doing out there?” I said, “Collecting my wits.” Sonny said, “It looked like you were collecting the blank out of your wits” [laughs]. That was Sonny. He always had that subtle little twist.

Tomorrow, Buddy talks about what made Clark special as a pianist, the musician who Clark and Buddy most admired, and why the group broke up.

JazzWax tracks: The Complete Verve Recordings of the Buddy De Franco Quartet/Quintet with Sonny Clark box set from Mosaic is out of print. But the Sonny Clark and Buddy De Franco Quartet Complete Sessions, a two-CD set (Definitive) is available here. And the quintet recordings (with guitarist Tal Farlow added) are on Cookin' the Blues and Sweet and Lovely (LoneHill) here. Buddy's playing on all of the Sonny Clark sessions swings with inspired determination. You can actually hear the musical conversation unfold. As for Clark, the pianist's melodic and harmonic ideas build and swell, making him a creative partner on these sessions rather than just a spirited sideman.
JazzWax note: For my complete series of interviews with Buddy De Franco, go to the right-hand column under "JazzWax Interviews."

JaxWax clip: Here's a clip of Buddy with Kenny Drew, Milt Hinton and Art Blakey in 1953 from the Mr. Clarinet sessions for Verve. It was recorded a little less than a year before Sonny Clark, Bobby White and Gene Wright came aboard. Dig how slippery Buddy's clarinet is on this uptempo bop execution with early hard-bop sidemen...