Near the end of the Whitley Bay International Jazz Festival, I left one session featuring a medium-sized band, preferring to be in a corner in the lobby of the “Cotton Club” bar.
What awaited me there was a half-hour set of duets between clarinet goddess Aurelie Tropez (of the Red Hot Reedwarmers) and soft-spoken stride monarch Paul Asaro. Their brand of chamber jazz was more than rewarding — but what amused me was the streams of people, leaving the “Cotton Club,” who paraded along while the music was playing, oblvious to the music or perhaps sated by what they had just heard.
I wanted to call this post WALK ON BY or WALK THIS WAY, but decided that an excess of whimsy might be . . . excessive. So the first two performances here are punctuated by headless torsos ambling across the screen. Viewers who are easily distracted by such things might choose to turn away from the monitor — but don’t be swayed, because the soundtrack is too good to pass by.
They began with a slow-medium reading of SHOE SHINE BOY, much closer to Louis than to Jones-Smith, Inc.:
To change the mood, Aurelie suggested THEM THERE EYES:
A nearly ominous BLUES MY NAUGHTY SWEETIE GAVE (or GIVES?) TO ME, a la Jimmie Noone:
HONEYSUCKLE ROSE, for Tom Waller:
And, finally, SHINE (or (S-H-I-N-E), depending. They stomp it off, don’t they?
Two players having a good time, listening to one another, with nary a cliche in sight. Paul made that slightly recalcitrant piano sing, and Aurelie is long overdue for her own CD. What tonation and phrasing!
P.S. This post is for Bridget Calzaretta, Martin Seck, Stompy Jones, and Boris, of course . . .
Much earlier in 2009, a number of jazz photographs came up for sale on eBay. They were taken at Stuyvesant Casino in 1950, and the musicians depicted were heroic figures to me. As always on eBay, two things happened: the bidding skyrocketed at the last minute, and (in the calming grip of Prudence) I refused to plunge into three-digit prices . . . so I ended up the proud purchaser of two of a lot of five or six. (The photograph that isn’t the subject of this blogpost showed Wild Bill Davison and Benny Morton.) The other mild disappointment was the size of the originals, approximately two by four. Inches.
Our subject for today is a little band of deities. Hot Lips Page, Sidney Catlett, Pee Wee Russell, Ralph Sutton. It’s a poignant photograph, because both Lips and Big Sid wouldn’t live much longer. Pee Wee was months away from his hospitalization and looks gaunt; Sidney, who had suffered a heart attack, looks sadly small behind his drums. Perhaps some of this is the camera angle and that the horns are sitting down, which isn’t the way we usually see them in photographs.
The title of this post, however, refers to the gentleman on the far right, busily playing the baritone saxophone. He isn’t the man you would expect — Ernie Caceres — and even the photographer didn’t know who he was. I showed a copy of this photograph around at Whitley Bay to a number of jazz scholars who happen to be splendid players: Bent Persson, frans Sjostrom, the erudite Norman Field, and Matthias Seuffert — and no one recognized the saxophonist. Of course, it could have been someone sitting in, some alto / baritone player from a big band — but I don’t know if mere mortals ascended the stage at the Stuyvesant Casino to play alongside such deities.
Olympus, 1950
I ask my readers: who’s that man? And while they’re at it, I ask them to consider — in their mind’s ear, if there is such a thing — what this little band might have sounded like. “Celestial” is an understatement as far as I’m concerned.
Final afterthoughts: does anyone recognize the photographer — by style or by handwriting? Somehow I don’t think this is an amateur’s snapshot, not least because of the pencil notation “1432” we see above. And did the Stuyvesant Casino have a bandstand like this one? The upholstered wall (leather or naugahyde) resembles the backdrop I’ve seen in photographs of the Three Deuces. Research!
I was very pleased to find Jazz Lives listed among the Jazz Блоги — that’s jazz blogs for the monolingual — on the Jazz in Kiev website: http://jazzinkiev.com/?page=static&static_id=40. Honored, in fact. Now, will someone tell me how to say (and to pronounce properly), “Yeah, man!” in Russian?
Thanks to Thorbye Flemming (www.thorbye.net) — our Danish hot-jazz benefactor — for posting these jubilant performances on YouTube — featuring cornetist and youthful icon Andy Schumm leaping into solos, his sidekick Dave Bock on trombone, John Otto on alto sax and clarinet, Leah Bezin on banjo, Striding Paul Asaro on the piano (he’s bathed in an otherworldly blue light, but it doesn’t get in the way of his Waller-Morton-James P. capers), Vince Giordano, rocking the band on his aluminum string bass, and Josh Duffee on drums. Neither IDOLIZING nor BABY FACE is a sophisticated tune, but their wide-open spaces bring out the best in the Bixians.
Three more hot performances from “South Side Special,” recorded live at the Whitley Bay International Jazz Festival, July 11, 2009, featuring the incendiary combination of Matthias Seuffert (clarinet), Rene Hagmann (trumpet), Paul Munnery (trombone), Martin Seck (piano), Jacob Ullberger (banjo / guitar), Bruce Rollo (bass), and Olivier Clerc (washboard) — concluding their program of music associated with Johnny Dodds and colleagues.
First, PERDIDO STREET BLUES (associated, as Matthias points out, not only with Dodds and Mitchell but also with Louis and Bechet, in a famous Decca session from 1940 whose results belie the stories of musical acrimony). Catch Maestro Hagmann in charge of the ensemble:
Then, WILD MAN BLUES — not taken at the melodramatic tempo we know from 1927 recordings by Louis and Jelly Roll Morton, but as a swinging bounce — the tempo at which Dodds recorded it in 1938 with Charlie Shavers, Teddy Bunn, John Kirby, and O’Neil Spencer — as “His Chicago Boys” in 1938:
Finally, BALLIN’ THE JACK (or is it BALLIN’ A JACK?) — not the more widely known Chris Smith composition, but one whose title surely has the same erotic implications:
World traveler Bill Gallagher sent along his photograph of the latest Nice Jazz Festival lineup:
Some of my readers will rejoice at the names of venerable jazz players Rollins, Corea, and Burton; others will be pleased to see younger players.
It must mark me as someone of a nearly-extinct generation when I write that I miss the old days. European friends, over the years, sent me on-location tapes from Nice festivals in the Seventies, featuring Bobby Hackett, Ruby Braff, Sweets Edison, Bill Coleman, Vic Dickenson, Benny Carter, Teddy Wilson, Joe Venuti, Jo Jones, Sir Charles Thompson, Mark Shane . . . proving that swinging jazz was what prevailed.
Now they’ve been replaced by James Taylor?
Of course, many of the players at Nice in the Seventies are now dead. But there are five or six dozen younger musicians — from Kellso to Caparone, Block to Blake, Dorn to Nick Ward . . . who would show anyone that jazz existed before Madeline Peyroux.
The title of this post caught my eye on a recent amble through eBay. I don’t often visit that famous site, for fear of stumbling across something I feel seized by . . . but this was vague and enticing both.
As as aside, I know that I have written about the allure of autographs — the intense desire some of us have to possess an artifact that one of our heroes has, by signing his or her name, said I WAS HERE. The other side of that emotion, of course, is the practical: what does one do with an autograph once one has acquired it? Frame it and hang it on the wall? Fine — it can be seen, admired, bowed to — but it does tend to turn the overall decor into some uneasy blend of museum and adolescent atelier. Put the autograph in an acid-free folder where it will be safe from its eventual decomposition? Wonderful, except it is now reasonably invisible. Thus, I have coveted many more autographs than I will ever purchase.
These photos greeted me the other day as I idly scrolled through eBay.
A well-preserved, elaborate restaurant menu — its blue cord and tassel still intact. Someone took good care of this!
Nothing particularly vivid here . . . except for the very clear signature of pianist Billy Kyle, top left. I knew what jazz band he had been part of in 1955. More to come!
Small print. Would I have liked to eat there?
Useful to verify the date . . . but where are my Jazz Band Greats?
Another clear signature, although Guy Lombardo was not my idea of a Jazz Band Great.
Well, the signatures of Velma Middleton and Louis Armstrong are sufficient for me! So Louis and his All-Stars were on the same bill as Guy Lombardo at this Atlantic City club whose restaurant had chocolate mint ice cream. (Louis must have been thrilled.) Driver, let’s go!
The seller had written:
Hello! Up for auction is this RARE! c.1955 Autographed Menu from Atlantic City (The Traymore). Some of the autographs are hard to Identify….This menu has only been owned by 1 person since 1955…Their are NO COA’s with this menu. These autographs are REAL. They are all uncanny from the auto’s I have seen for sale. You be the judge! The menu is in Excellent condition. Any questions feel free to email me at anytime. Thanks for looking and Good Luck!
Was it that the seller didn’t know or understand what she or he had? (his or her other items for sale had been automotive, which might make this piece of jazz arcana particularly arcane.) As I wrote this post, there had been no bidding on this item, which suggests someone from a generation to whom the names LOUIS ARMSTRONG and GUY LOMBARDO were nearly devoid of meaning, which is sad.
Update: the biddind ended well past my bedtime. The next morning, three bids had been entered, and someone purchased this for the magisterial sum of $22.50. It is true that Louis must have autographed pieces of paper, menus, and pictures many times between the middle Twenties and 1971, but each one is, in its own way, precious.
This wonderful jazz artifact emerged from an antique store somewhere near Hillsdale, New York — a hot little room with too much sheet music to go through in one visit. (The double and triple copies of songs that must have been popular are always revealing: in Maine, everyone must have been singing CHONG, HE CAME FROM HONG KONG in 1931; here, I perceived a collective obsession with songs about Old Wyoming. Go figure.) I picked out about a dozen pieces of music — Ray Noble, Connee Boswell, and others — and took them to the counter to find out the prices the amiable proprietor had in mind. Of course, when she began to mutter after every other sheet, “Oh, this one’s going to be expensive,” I knew I was in trouble. But I had to have the Waller-Razaf one above.
I admire its Deco caricatures, top and bottom, as well as the list of other Waller-Razaf songs (all obscure) that made up the musical score. And, of course, this post is another example of cyber cross-pollination: Ricky Riccardi — sole proprietor of The Wonderful World of Louis Armstrong online — has been posting extensively researched segments on Louis’s recordings of the song from 1929 on. Extremely rewarding reading!
But there’s more. Songs of that period had both choruses and verses — the verse serving to set up the song’s dramatic situation. And the whole idea of chorus and verse was tied to theatrical presentation. AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ has two simultaneous verses. One I knew (as recorded by Seger Ellis and others) turns out to have been the boy’s part. But I had never heard the girl’s . . .
Here they are, for your edification and for singing around the parlor piano. Or perhaps in the car – – –
BOY: Though it’s a fickle age, With flirting all the rage, Here is one bird with self-control; Happy inside my cage.
GIRL: Your type of man is rare, I know you really care, That’s why my conscience never sleeps; When you’re away somewhere.
BOY: I know who I love best, Thumbs down on all the rest, My love was given heart and soul; So it can stand the test.
GIRL: Sure was a lucky day; When fate sent you my way, And made you mine alone for keeps, Ditto to all you say.
The Boy’s lines are slangy; the Girl’s much more sentimentally pedestrian (and perhaps the logic of her conscience never sleeping is awry) but they do Andy Razaf every credit.
I was impressed by Michael McQuaid before I met him in person, which is always a pleasant state.
A disclaimer: he doesn’t ordinarily pose for photographs in front of the American flag, but the room in which Bent Persson’s band was rehearsing at Whitley Bay was festooned, United Nations-style, with the flags of many countries. No political statement expressed or implied!
Why was I impressed? I had been asked to write notes for a new NifNuf CD capturing highlights from Bob Barnard’s 2008 jazz party, sadly his last one. The first track paired Bob with a band led by Michael — then new to me — and they roared through STOMP OFF, LET’S GO with the force of a very intelligent swinging whirlwind — not speed but hot intensity. I know it’s a cliche, but I sat up much straighter in my chair, and played this track several times before I decided to move on to the rest of the CD, which, by the way, is a wonderful assortment, taken from different sessions, and hugely gratifying.
I did a bit of online research on Michael and found that he is the leader or co-leader of two fine bands, both websites listed on my blogroll: the Red Hot Rhythmakers (www.redhotrhythmakers.com) and the Sweet Lowdowns ( http://www.sweetlowdowns.com.au/about.htm) . Happily for us, the RHR have clips on YouTube, and both bands have CDs.
The RHR are a galloping group with every energetic nuance of the late-Twenties jazz style in place: hot solos, shouting ensembles, although they can slow down and play lovely dance music, even rhythm ballads (I’LL BE SEEING YOU, for instance). But that’s not the best part. Half of the twenty selections on SWEET LIKE THIS, their second CD, were new to me — some of them Michael’s own compositions, others by fellow Oz composers. I listened to the CD for the first time without access to the liner notes, so I got one pleasant surprise after another — as the “new” compositions or originals seemed wholly idiomatic even when I couldn’t place them. Wonderful to hear a band that’s not only faithful to the old recordings but busy adding to the music. Michael told me that this was an Oz jazz tradition: musicians at recording sessions were required to bring along a certain percentage of originals, which seems like a first-rate idea.
Did I mention that Michael is a first-class jazz improviser on a variety of reeds as well as the trumpet? When I saw him as a member of Bent Persson’s all-star big band, paying tribute to Thirties Louis, he shifted from one to the other, turning slightly in his chair to become a member of the brass section, then back to the reeds. Easy, unaffected mastery, quite impressive!
The Sweet Lowdowns, who take their bandname from the Woody Allen film, are something different: a tidy, fervent quartet of vocals and drums (Sandra Talty), reeds (Michael), guitar (Liam O’Connell), and bass (Richard Mander). They suggest a light-hearted combination of all things good between, say, 1930 and 1945 — a Mildred meets Ed Hall meets Django jam session, but no heavy-handed copying. The CD sounds as if four gifted musicians had decided to get together after the gig and play some nice tunes that reminded them of the intimate jass masterpieces, as well as a few emotionally-affecting originals. No striving for effects, just fine chamber music with deep feeling and innate swing, sparked by Sandra’s neat, perfectly-focused singing and the telepathic interplay of the group.
As a postscript: the stereotypical jazz musician of great inarticulateness who can speak only to the fellows on the stand is by now an unaccurate caricature. But when I met Michael and his sweetheart Anna Lyttle (a fine young actress and trumpet player — see their portrait in an earlier Whitley Bay post), we had a wonderfully thoughtful conversation about the invisible barriers between musicians and “fans,” about working in academia, about making a living from your art — serious, necessary topics.
Michael and his friends are inspiring jazz players and people to watch — if you can’t meet them in person, the CDs are well worth dipping into the disposible income. Let the grandchildren look out for themselves!
Some time ago, I found a document for sale on eBay that was presented as being signed by Art Tatum. I wrote a brief post about it, which sparked a heated comment-controversy between the seller and a relative of Art’s. Today, in the spirit of fairness, I allowed the most recent and perhaps most vehement comments (you could look them up, if you care to) to be posted, but decided to shut the metaphorical door. Enough! Genug! Basta!
I’d rather watch and hear Mr. Tatum play the piano . . . which, after all, is what we will remember him for. There’s quite enough acrimony in the world for me already.
People who have never held an original 78 rpm recording from the great jazz past might not understand why these pictures are so exciting, but they are. I’ve heard this music for almost forty years now, and I’ve got the digital versions on my iPod and on CDs, but when I saw these pictures of records for sale on eBay, I thought it would be worth sharing them with my readers:
Jazz has never quite shaken the notion that newer is better. Musician C, born in 1956, is an improvement on B, born in 1936, and we are affectionate about A, born in 1916, while casting kindly eyes at his shortcomings. And these assumptions creep into the critical language, as if playing a “harmonically sophisticated” chord was more “advanced” than a seventh. Perhaps this ideology has something to do with our desire for novelty, our short attention spans — listeners getting bored with perfection. Yes, artists do stand on the shoulders of previous generations — but such reasoning is ultimately limiting.
As my counter-truth, I present four performances by the Anachronic Jazz Band, recorded at the Nice Jazz Festival on July 16, 1977. The AJB hasn’t existed since 1980, which is a pity: we always need such romping enlightenment. Its members were Patrick Artero, trumpet; Daniel Barda, trombone; Marc Richard, André Villéger, Daniel Huck, clarinet; Philippe Baudoin, piano; Patrick Diaz, banjo; Gérard Gervois, brass bass; Bernard Laye, drums. Goran Eriksson sits in on recorder on the third performance.
The band’s comic spirit is witty and knowing; the music isn’t mean-spirited or broadly knockabout. You’ll see!
Heartfelt evidence that “progress” in jazz is illusory; rather, art is a Mobius strip, where beginnings and endings cease to matter. ASK ME NOW would have gladdened the hearts of both Thelonious and Louis. Bless every one of them.
I was first impressed by the playing of reedman Matthias Seuffert on a few Stomp Off releases several years ago. One, the BLUE RHYTHMAKERS, paired him with Bent Persson and Keith Nichols; another, PERCOLATIN’ BLUES (by the Chalumeau Serenaders) found him with Norman Field, with Nick Ward on the drums. Happily for me, I was asked to write the liner notes for the second volume of a Johnny Dodds tribute organized by “Pam” Pameijer — a session also featuring Jon-Erik Kellso and Jim Snyder. On all of these discs, I had the opportunity to marvel at Matthias’s fluent technique and gritty intensity — when he’s playing Twenties clarinet, he could show Johnny Dodds a few things; when he’s playing Thirties tenor, he echoes the early, rhapsodic lines of Hawkins. But, best of all, Matthias is his own man, choosing novel approaches for each song.
His originality and down-home ardor are well demonstrated in two very different contexts. One is a CD, SWINGIN’ DUO BY THE LAGO (Styx CD 1026, available from CDBaby) that I fear hasn’t gotten the attention it deserves, considering its personnel includes Matthias, piano king Rossano Sportiello, and tenor star Harry Allen. Recorded in 2005 and 2006, it finds Matthias in seven duets with Rossano, three quartet selections with Harry, Rossano, and drummer Anthony Howe, and three “bonus tracks,” featuring Matthias with a piano-less rhythm trio. On it, Matthias takes wise and refreshing approaches to the sometimes familiar songs: rubbing the sharp corners off Monk’s ASK ME NOW to make a clarinet-piano duet of it that suggests both a cooler, more pensive Goodman; on a Benny Carter line, BLUE FIVE JIVE, he has all the tough swagger of a late-Fifties hard bopper. Standing next to Harry Allen, Matthias is never combative, but it’s clear that this is a meeting of equals, whether the song is a tender CHELSEA BRIDGE or an assertive LESTER LEAPS IN. I read about this consistently rewarding disc thanks to John Herr; it’s also music for people who say they dislike jazz — soothing without being soporific, easy to take but never “easy listening.”
At Whitley Bay, I could greet Matthias face to face (he’s charming) and hear his “South Side Special,” a tribute to the Chicago ambiance that produced some classic Twenties sides with Johnny Dodds, George Mitchell, and Natty Dominique. Matthias’s front-line partner was the revered Swiss multi-instrumentalist Rene Hagmann, who played magnificiently on trumpet and the reeds. (I also saw him play air trombone with the Swiss Yerba Buena Creole Rice Jazz Band — more about them in a future posting — and Bent Persson raved about Rene’s real trombone playing to me.) The band also included Paul Munnery (trombone), Bruce Rollo (bass), Martin Seck on piano (who’s usually a charter member of the Red Hot Reedwarmers), Jacob Ullberger on banjo (a Swedish colleague of Bent’s), and the dazzling young Swiss washboardist Olivier Clerc. Here they are!
I am embarrassed to admit that I don’t recall the title of this first song (I believe it comes from the Dodds Victor sessions — surely one of my readers will know?) but I wasn’t about to leave it off the blog for such a trifling detail:
Matthias announced this one, pianist Lovie Austin’s MOJO BLUES:
For the more literal-minded members of the audience, this selection might have required a leap of faith. Johnny Dodds Plays ColePorter? But YOU DO SOMETHING TO ME existed in 1929, and it pleases me to imagine the Dodds brothers playing this on the gig, where pop songs of the day might well have been requested. Matthias and the group show that it’s no stretch, aesthetically:
Finally, they concluded the session with BROWN SKIN (or perhaps BROWNSKIN) GAL:
I should point out that all of this ferociously hot music was created around lunchtime: so much for the legends of jazzmen who, like bats, are nocturnal. The sun was shining outside, although we knew such things were of lesser import.
It’s possible that only bloggers will recognize my title, which refers to one of those activities that takes place behind the scenes, where a b logger can see a daily list of those words or phrases someone has entered into a search engine, usually Google, to find him or herself at my blog.
Many of these terms are straightforward and relevant. Luckily for JAZZ LIVES, many people find it by typing in “louis armstrong,” which is as it should be. But I’ve been collecting the oddities and present several dozen below. I hope you find them amusing, perplexing, or simply weird.
“fast waller” a) an incredibly dextrous stride pianist, or b) a quick jump into the pond?
“art titan-tiger rug” Who knew that Art Tatum was so famous as a big-game hunter?
“yukalaylee lady liky you” Phonetic spelling triumphs.
“don’t swat a fly song” Could it be NEVER SWAT A FLY? Close enough.
“lapse in training young army officers” This person found my blog because I had written about Lester Young in the army.
“hot barbara” This suggests hormonal pursuits, and led the searcher to Barbara Rosene, both sweet and hot.
“hot girls named cangelosi” More of the same. The Cangelosi Cards, of course.
“buster keaton cobb salad” Search me. Did I write about eating a salad in one of my posts?
“vince giordano play dates” Of course I’ve celebrated Maestro Giordano; this search suggests that he’s a pre-schooler looking for fun.
“naughty pickle productions” I like pickles, and have used “naughty” in this blog, which I hope is productive. Beyond that . . . ?
The Three Pods of Pepper (reedman Norman Field, plectrist and singer Spats Langham, and bass saxophonist Frans Sjostrom — hot wizards all!) got together at the Whitley Bay International Jazz Festival just a few days ago. Gracious hosts, they invited my hero Bent Persson to join them for a set. I originally thought of calling this post THE PEERLESS QUARTET, and you’ll see why. They were in a Bixish mood, with four of their six performances songs he recorded, and the other two related by many degrees of separation.
They began their set with an easy, Rollini-flavored SOMEBODY LOVES ME:
And the first of the Bix-related classic Twenties songs, which I first heard in a live performance by Dick Sudhalter, WAIT TILL YOU SEE ‘MA CHERIE,’ its French conclusion perhaps being something coming from the First World War. (Was she a pretty war bride?):
Usually the requests (bidden or unbidden) come from the audience: the next song was one Norman Field wanted to play — a good old good one from the repertoire of the Louis Armstrong Hot Seven, WEARY BLUES, in a performance that easily gave the lie to the title:
After an erudite discussion of the original recording (I didn’t know that the 78 played in the wrong key — too fast!) the band took up the self-imposed challenge of making the entire 1927 Paul Whiteman band (with vocal chorus by a young, exuberant Bing Crosby) occupy the “One Cent Club,” a cozy room in the Newcastle Village Hotel with room for forty — on YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME, courtesy of Rodgers and Hart. Norman, by the way, shows himself a reed master of the most humble of instruments, the penny whistle:
If they could do Whiteman, why not Jean Goldkette? CLEMENTINE (FROM NEW ORLEANS) — and I was thrilled when Norman launched into the lyrics, which I’d never heard before, including the saga of “a boy named James,” who, when Clementine kissed him, “his roman collar burst into flames.” Worth a trip from anywhere! I had known that the lady’s name didn’t rhyme with “lemon thyme,” but let everyone now know it:
Finally, this wonderful quartet decided to play that rarity, a Fats Waller composition recorded by Bix and Tram (as “The Chicago Loopers”) in 1927, which I’ve taken as the title of this post, I’M MORE THAN SATISFIED:
P.S. About my chosen title: it wholly conveys my feelings about the Whitley Bay experience: people listened intently to the music, and the atmosphere was jubilant without being raucous. The festival made it possible for me to hear musicians I never knew existed, and to meet and admire those I had known only through recordings. All of this was created by trumpeter Mike Durham and his wife Patti — people you’d like and celebrate even if there was no music involved. Festival promoters put their emotional stamp on the proceedings, and the Durhams are witty, diligent, and perceptive folks. “More than satisfied” is vigorous understatement.
P.P.S. the Three Pods of Pepper have their own marvelous CD — HOT STUFF! — on the WVR label (1003) which also features guest appearances by pianist Keith Nichols and Mike Durham Unabashedly recommended!
I had heard the British jazz drummer Nick Ward on several compact discs before visiting the most recent Whitley Bay International Jazz Festival, and looked forward to seeing him play. (He has the Kevin Dorn Seal of Approval, which counts a great deal.)
My drumming idols all were and are masterful sound-creators, varying timbres and emphases as they move from one part of their drum kit to another. It isn’t a restless, impatient varying of sound — Jo Jones could stay on his hi-hat for choruses if it felt right to him and to the band — but these drummers are great listeners, commenting on and participating in the collective musical improvisation that flows from them and around them.
Nick Ward embodies what’s best in jazz drumming, empathic, swinging, never overbearing. He’s not afraid to vary what he’s doing as the situation demands, but will explore the possibilities of one sound for a period of time, getting the beauty of it hot, as someone in a T.S. Eliot poem says. His rimshots are perfect punctuations; his snare-drum roll is smoother than the law allows; he is visually as well as aurally gratifying.
Here Nick is driving and encouraging a whole raft of clarinet players — some whose names have eluded me! — in a session, CLARINET CRESCENDO, led by the brilliant reedman Matthias Seuffert. On the bandstand are Aurelie Tropez and Stephane Gillot, of the Red Hot Reedwarmers, Janet Shaw from Canada, and a rhythm section of Brian Chester, piano; Rachel Hayward, banjo and guitar, and Henry Lemaire, bass. They romp through a nearly ten-minute heated tribute to Jimmie Noone and James P. Johnson, jamming happily on the latter’s A PORTER’S LOVE SONG TO A CHAMBERMAID. And all this musical bliss took place on July 11, 2009. Not 1930, but now!
I read somewhere that the British monarchy awards knighthoods for “services rendered to society.” Jelly Roll Morton wrote a song in which the King made Jelly a Lord for his hot piano. I hope that the Queen sees this clip: arise, Sir Nick Ward!
Whose honey are you? In the hotel breakfast bar, Billie oversees the butter, buttery spread, jam, and honey
I’ve just returned from the nineteenth Whitley Bay International Jazz Festival, which was delightful. I didn’t take as many still pictures as I should have, perhaps because I had my video camera glued to my eye . . . the results will, I hope, emerge soon. But here are some portraits from the three days of elation and emotion:
Mike Durham's bass sax waits for true fulfillment -- to be played majestically by Frans Sjostrom
Warming up before a rehearsal
Warming up with long tones
Bent Persson listens
Martin Litton
Elena P. Paynes, vocalist with the Chicago Stompers, at rehearsal
Nick Ward, having a ball
John Carstairs Hallam, thinking it through
In the brass section
Cousin Bob
Cousin John
On Bent Persson's music stand
Mike Durham (left) and Rene Hagmann listen intently to jazz erudition from an off-camera Norman Field
Last night — Thursday, July 9, 2009 — I witnessed the kind of jazz creativity and bravery that at times left me with tears in my eyes.
The occasion was a concert organized by the Swedish trumpeter / cornetist / Louis Armstrong scholar Bent Persson, one of my heroes, in tribute to his hero Louis: “YOUNG LOUIS,” which — in two hour-long sets — demonstrated much about Louis’s first six years of recordings as well as the majesty of players now alive.
The band was a stellar international crew: Mike Durham, tpt, joining Bent at the start and finish, as well as being a most adept and witty master of ceremonies; the gruff trombonist Paul Munnery; the brilliant reedman (clarinet and alto this time) Matthias Seuffert; the nimble pianist Martin Litton; the remarkable plectrist (banjos and guitar) Jacob Ullberger; the very fine brass bassist Phil Rutherford; the frankly astonishing percussionist Nick Ward. The concert took place at the very modern Sage Gateshead in Newcastle, UK — lovely acoustics and a sound engineer at the back who was truly paying attention! I attempted to videotape the whole thing (being a man of daring but not much discretion) but was stopped by an usher who whispered ferociously that there was NO photography of any kind allowed and I would have to leave if I continued . . . so I stopped. But I did capture the band’s second song, a stately rock through King Joe Oliver’s WHERE DID YOU STAY LAST NIGHT? — much as it might have sounded in Chicago, 1922-23. My video doesn’t capture everything — but you can see the graceful arcs of Nick Ward’s arms behind his drum set: I had a hard time taking my eyes off of him.
Lovely as it is, that performance can’t summon up all of what I found so moving in this concert. It wasn’t a pure repertory performance, where musicians strive to reproduce old records “live”; no, what was fascinating was the fervent interplay between the Past and Now, between the Great Figures and the living players onstage. Everyone in this band knew the original records, but they were encouraged to dance back and forth between honoring the past by playing it note-for-note and by going for themselves. Thus, Bent created solos that sounded like ones Louis might have — should have! — recorded, and his bravery and risk-taking were more than heartening. I have never seen him in person, and he would give the most timid of us courage to learn the craft, to shut our eyes, and to make something new. His playing on POTATO HEAD BLUES was immensely moving — watching him dare the Fates and declare his love for Louis in front of our eyes. Bent also sang in several performances — mostly scatting, but once or twice delivering the lyrics in a sweetly earnest way — another example of an artist going beyond the amazing things we’ve already come to expect. It was also delightful to watch the musicians grin broadly at each other as the beautiful solos and ensemble work unfolded.
The concert moved briskly from Louis’s sojourn with Oliver to his work with Clarence Williams small groups, his own Hot Five and Seven, an evocation of Jimmy Bertrand’s Washboard Wizards, Louis’s duet with Earl Hines, his Hot Choruses (as reimagined by Bent over a thirty-year period), with more than a few surprises. One of them — gloriously — was the appearance of bass saxophone titan Frans Sjostrom for a version of BEAU KOO JACK by the trio called, so correctly, the Hot Jazz Trio (their one CD is under that name on the Kenneth label): Bent, Jacob, and Frans. Wonderful both in itself and as a reinvention of that brightly ornate recording. Sjostrom stayed around for the final ensemble celebration on HIGH SOCIETY, which brought tears to my eyes.
I am posting this on Friday morning, hours before the Whitley Bay extravaganza — some 130 bands playing in rotation for three days in four simultaneous locations — is scheduled to begin. There’ll be more magnificent, moving jazz, I am sure! It promises to be both uplifting and overwhelming. (And, as an extra delight, I am joined here by two of my three Official British Cousins — Bob Cox and John Whitehorn — men of great humor, generosity, and sensibility — whom I first met at Westoverledingen, Germany, in 2007, when we were rapt attendees at another Manfred Selchow jazz festival. Always nice to have friends nearby!)
A postscript: at the concert, copies of an otherwise unknown compact disc were for sale — a recording of a similar YOUNG LOUIS concert from 2002, with many of the same players. I snapped up one copy (paying for it, of course) and by the end of the concert, the CDs were all gone. Let us hope that Bent and Co. choose to reissue that one and other versions. I’m going to treasure it, as well as my memories of the concert I experienced.
David Ostwald, the tuba-playing, wise-cracking leader of the Louis Armstrong Centennial Band, has created a brand-new website: www.ostwaldjazz.com.
You haven’t visited David’s new site yet to hear the free hot jazz, see the lively videos, read about the band and David’s own fine writing about Louis Armstrong? Feel all right? Your eyes look a little glassy. Let me feel your forehead . . . .
Don’t be the last one on your block to be enlightened!
In the past year, there’s been much well-deserved attention paid to the life and music of Benjamin David Goodman, clarinetist supreme, cultural icon, King of Swing, trail-blazer and phenomenal improviser — because he was born a hundred years ago. In 2008, there was another reason to celebrate while invoking his name — the seventieth anniversary of his Carnegie Hall concert.
I don’t wish to take an iota away from the significance of that event, nor do I wish to dull our reverence both for it and the recordings of that evening. It may be heretical that I find the records uneven — but, then again, attempting to capture any live jazz is risky, and that Carnegie came off so spectacularly is a tribute to everyone’s creative energies. (As an aside, I don’t have much enthusiasm for the recent concert recreations where a first-rate jazz band plays the concert, from first note to last, “live.” The original event is irreproducible, another tribute to its essence.) Perhaps my reaction is the result of having listened to the original recordings too many times in my youth, although the jam session on HONEYSUCKLE ROSE is still thrilling.
Here, to celebrate the event, is a snippet from a Goodman documentary: I include it not because of the leaden commentary, but for the silent newsreel footage taken in the hall that night.
A celebration of January 16, 1938 that I can applaud whole-heartedly is Jon Hancock’s wonderful book: BENNY GOODMAN – THE FAMOUS 1938 CARNEGIE HALL CONCERT (Prancing Fish Publishing, 2009).
Before I explain this book’s virtues, I must reveal my own reactions to much of what is published on the subject of jazz in general and Goodman in specific. Having read the best prose and criticism, I dislike sloppy research, poor attribution and inept paraphrase, polemical ideological statements passed off as evidence. I applaud Whitney Balliett and Martin Williams, Dan Morgenstern and Richard M. Sudhalter even when I disagree with them, because of their insight and their evidence-gathering. But many “jazz writers” have only the opinions and attitudes of others to offer: leftovers presented as fresh.
Goodman, too, is a special case. I have savored Bill Crow’s brilliantly lacerating memoir of the 1962 trip to Russia; Ross Firestone’s affectionate, forgiving biography of Benny, SWING, SWING, SWING told me things I hadn’t known and was therefore valuable. Ultimately, Goodman the musician is a more absorbing study than Benny the neurotic.
Hancock’s book is exciting because it does offer new information about this most singular event. Even better, he has made a point of not taking familiar statements as gospel without tracing them back to their original sources. The result is a fascinating mosaic. I knew, for instance, that Harry James said, “I feel like a whore in church,” joking about his being in the august hall, but I knew nothing of the newspaper reports before the concert: predictions that Big Joe Turner might sing and W.C. Handy might appear, that Mary Lou Williams was writing a “Jazz concerto,” and, even better, that Lionel Hampton was composing a “Swing Symphony” for the occasion.
And there’s just as much pleasure in the visual memorabilia. John Totten was the stage manager at Carnegie, and he collected signatures in his autograph book. One page of this book (beautifully reporduced) has the signatures of Benny, Jess Stacy, Hampton, “Ziggie” Elman, Gordon Griffin, and others; another page has the signatures of George Koenig, Martha Tilton, Pee Wee Monte, and “best remembrances” from Joseph Szigeti. That’s priceless.
There’s also a photogrraph from the Ferbuary 1938 Tempo Magazine of a pre-concert rehearsal for the jam session: Freddie Green, Benny, Lester Young, his high-crowned hat pushed back on his head, a grinning Gene Krupa, an intent Harry James. Is it evidence of Benny’s over-preparation that he would have musicians rehearse to jam on HONEYSUCKLE ROSE — or is it just that he wanted the opportunity to play a few choruses with Lester and Freddie?
A beautiful picture of a young (he had just turned 29) Gene Krupa adjusting his tie between sets in the Madhattan Room has him against a background of brass instruments that, curiously, looks like the work of Stuart Davis or someone inspired — at first glance, I thought that the painter (and occasional drummer) George Wettling had been the artist.
Hancock’s book also reproduces the twelve-page concert program; here one finds announcements for upcoming concerts by Rudolf Serkin and Adolf Busch, advertisements for Schrafft’s and the Russian Tea Room, for Maiden Form brassieres and Chesterfield cigarettes, and (something to live for) notice that the Gramophone Shop would have on sale on January 22, 1938, Teddy Wilson’s Brunswick record of MY FIRST IMPRESSION OF YOU and IF DREAMS COME TRUE.
These lovely artifacts, including a ticket from the concert, shouldn’t make us forget that the real glory of the book is Hancock’s meticulous (but never stuffy) eye for detail — that pro-Franco demonstrators picketed Carnegie the night of the concert, chanting “Benny Goodman is a red from Spain,” necause Benny had played a concert for the Spanish Loyalists in December 1937. Ziggy Elman’s rejoinder, “No, he isn’t, he’s a clarinet player from Chicago!” satisfies me, even if it did little to placate the protesters.
The centerpiece of the book is Hancock’s easy, unforced commentary on the music played at the concert — forty pages of analysis and commentary, neither highflown musicology in the Gunther Schuller way or a fan’s yipping enthusiasm — something to read while the compact discs of the concert are playing. Anything about the concert — the microphone setup, the photographs and newsreel footage — as well as the recordings made, the mythic story of their re-discovery, their various issues . . . . up to Benny’s later appearances at Carnegie — all are meticulously covered by Hancock. And there’s a touching reminiscence of BG at home by his daughter Rachel Edelson that is a masterpiece of gentle honesty.
Reviewers have to find flaws, so I will say that a few names are misspelled, as in the pastoral “Glen Miller,” but since none of these musicians were in the Goodman band, I and other enthusiasts forgive Hancock . . . while applauding his tremendous effort, both enthusiastic and careful. Writing this post, I must add, took a long time — not because my mind wasn’t made up within the first fifteen minutes of looking at the book, but because I kept getting distracted from writing to reading and re-reading. Good job!
Jon has a website, www.bg1938.com., where you can find out more about the book — and the more important information about how to get your own copy. And you can add your own opinion about Just Who the Mystery Man is. Someone has to know!
I have a special fondness for those musicians who never get their share of the limelight — not only Joe Thomas but also Frank Chace, Mike Burgevin, Cliff Leeman, Benny Morton, Shorty Baker, Rod Cless come to mind.
It would be impossible to say who is most underrated or under-recognized, but trombonist Abe Lincoln is certainly a contender for Jazz’s Forgotten Man. Although his astonishing playing enlivens many recordings — the late Thirties West Coast sessions that Bing Crosby and Hoagy Carmichael made with small jamming bands (often including Andy Secrest on cornet) and later sessions with the Rampart Street Paraders and Matty Matlock’s Paducah Patrol, he’s not well known. I first heard him out in the open on a wondrous Bobby Hackett Capitol session, COAST CONCERT or COAST TO COAST, where Abe and Jack Teagarden stood side by side. It wasn’t a cutting contest, but Abe’s joyous exuberance was more than a match for Big T.
There are exceptions — cornetist Bob Barnard is a heroic one — but many jazz brassmen start their solos low and quiet, and work up to their higher registers for drama. Abe Lincoln reminds me of Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., leaping from a balcony, sword drawn. There’s no shilly-shallying; Abe starts his solos with a whoop in his highest register and STAYS THERE. He’s dazzling.
I’m currently writing the liner notes for a forthcoming CD on the JUMP label (Joe Boughton’s cherished enterprise) which will feature a “Rampart Street Paraders” group in performance. The venue was called “Storyville,” apparently located in San Francisco in the Sixties. The band? How about Billy Butterfield, Matty Matlock, Stan Wrightsman, Ray Leatherwood, Nick Fatool, and Abe Lincoln. Looking for information in my discographies, I found sketches of Lincoln’s associations: the California Ramblers, Ozzie Nelson, Paul Whiteman, Roger Wolfe Kahn, West Coast radio and film work, soundtrack work for Walter Lanz Woody Woodpecker cartoons, even!
Then I did what has become common practice for researchers: I Googled “Abe Lincoln” “jazz” “trombone” — to separate him from that other Abe who split rails and ended the Civil War.
And THIS came up — a whole website devoted to Abe: thorough, accurate, with photographs, articles, a discography, a video clip (!) and a biography:
It doesn’t make Abram Lincoln (not “Abraham,” by the way) a great deal more famous, but I applaud the site and bless the person who created it. Check it out and enjoy Mister Lincoln.
Egged on by the inestimable Messrs. Riccardi and Hutchinson, I present my unexpurgated and hugely idiosyncratic list of the first 25 selections on my iPod, no cheating. Readers of similar temperaments are encouraged to respond:
Perdido, Stuff Smith
Sleigh Ride, Mark Shane’s Xmas All-Stars
Good Little, Bad Little You, Cliff Edwards (Venuti and Lang)
Blame it On the Blues, Duke Heitger’s Big Four
It’s A Sin to Tell A Lie, Humphrey Lyttelton
Walk It To Me, Hot Lips Page
Gassin’ the Wig, Roy Porter
Under A Texas Moon, Seger Ellis
They Say, Echoes of Swing
Some Rainy Day, Hal Smith’s Roadrunners
Linden Blues, Rex Stewart
There’s Something In My Mind, Ruby Braff
Down By The Old Mill Stream, Benny Goodman
Sweet Sue, Jammin’ at Rudi’s (Rudi Blesh, 1951)
Take the “A” Train, Duke Ellington
My Blue Heaven, Eddie Condon (Town Hall)
Farewell Blues, Eddie Condon (Decca)
Stay On the Right Side of the Road, Bing Crosby
Oriental Man, Simon Stribling
All That Meat and No Potatoes, The Three Keys
Stompin’ at the Savoy – Fine and Dandy, Coleman Hawkins (1967 JATP with Teddy Wilson)
Corrine Corrina, Red Nichols
Fascinatin’ Rhythm, Cliff Edwards
St. Louis Bllues, The Boswell Sisters
I’ll See You In My Dreams, Jeff Healey
Perhaps not a scientific cross-section or a scholarly sample, but those tracks — in that idiosyncratic assortment — offer great happiness. Anyone care to join in?
His originality and down-home ardor are well demonstrated in two very different contexts. One is a CD, SWINGIN’ DUO BY THE LAGO (Styx CD 1026, available from CDBaby) that I fear hasn’t gotten the attention it deserves, considering its personnel includes Matthias, piano king Rossano Sportiello, and tenor star Harry Allen. Recorded in 2005 and 2006, it finds Matthias in seven duets with Rossano, three quartet selections with Harry, Rossano, and drummer Anthony Howe, and three “bonus tracks,” featuring Matthias with a piano-less rhythm trio. On it, Matthias takes wise and refreshing approaches to the sometimes familiar songs: rubbing the sharp corners off Monk’s ASK ME NOW to make a clarinet-piano duet of it that suggests both a cooler, more pensive Goodman; on a Benny Carter line, BLUE FIVE JIVE, he has all the tough swagger of a late-Fifties hard bopper. Standing next to Harry Allen, Matthias is never combative, but it’s clear that this is a meeting of equals, whether the song is a tender CHELSEA BRIDGE or an assertive LESTER LEAPS IN. I read about this consistently rewarding disc thanks to John Herr; it’s also music for people who say they dislike jazz — soothing without being soporific, easy to take but never “easy listening.” 
It’s possible that only bloggers will recognize my title, which refers to one of those activities that takes place behind the scenes, where a b logger can see a daily list of those words or phrases someone has entered into a search engine, usually Google, to find him or herself at my blog. 
JAZZ LIVES 