Many of the greatest artists make their creations sound simple. Think of Bing Crosby, Joe Thomas, Benny Morton, Count Basie.
Clarinetist Rod Cless belongs to their ranks, but seems a forgotten man.
And he deserves better.
In the ensembles, he has some of the daredevil quality one associates with Pee Wee Russell and Frank Teschmacher, diving-off-the-high-board descents from a quavering note. But the rough edges are smoothed down, the vibrato more songful, less fierce.
In his solos, Cless sounds like someone who knows the beauty of the clarinet’s low register, the virtues of thoughtful space. He takes his time. He has something to convey, and it can’t be hurried; it needs a kind of plaintive candor.
And although his harmony is not abstruse, his phrases more regular than abrupt, what he has to tell us sounds familiar only because so many players coming after him have absorbed his message without even being entirely aware of it.
I hear the influence of Jimmie Noone in the full, round lower register, as well as touches of deep New Orleans blues. But also — even though there are no phrases copied from the master, it is not hard to hear the ghostly influence of Bix in Cless’s soulful restraint.
Here are three more sides with Hodes from a 1942 Decca date with an illustrious personnel that didn’t otherwise gather in the studios: Sidney DeParis, trumpet; Brad Gowans, valve-trombone; Cless; Hodes; Condon; Earl Murphy, bass; Zutty Singleton, drums.
LIBERTY INN DRAG, another slow blues, where Cless gets only a chorus, but the rest of the band is so fine:
On a sprightly INDIANA, Cless sounds at his most Russelian. Both he and Gowans play wonderful ensemble embroideries in the opening and closing choruses (the sound of Condon’s guitar thoughout is a special pleasure, as are Zutty’s drums behind Hodes):
GEORGIA CAKE WALK (also known as AT A GEORGIA CAMP MEETING) reminds of how well Sidney DeParis played in these settings. A floating Hodes interlude leads into one of those Cless statements that seem perfectly simple until one listens closely:
Who was Cless? Much of what I’ve learned comes from the biography by Bob Najouks to be found on http://www.kcck.org/iowa_jazz_connections.php. I’ve added some details from other surveys written by Eugene Chadbourne (whose account is to be found on the fine ON THIS DAY IN JAZZ AGE MUSIC site):
Cless was born in 1907 in Lennox, Iowa. He was a fine athlete and accomplished clarinetist who also doubled on saxophone. The start of his enlightenment seems to have been a six-week engagement that Bix Beiderbecke and the Wolverine Orchestra played in Riverview Park Ballroom in Des Moines in 1925: Cless came every night.
Frank Teschmacher, the brilliant young Chicagoan, befriended Cless, and Cless came to Chicago two years later as a professional musician — an intimate of Eddie Condon and Bud Freeman (Cless married Freeman’s sister). I’ve read that Cless played in the Varsity Five, a hot band much admired at Iowa State University, but do not know if he attended college there.
In Chicago, both Tesch and Cless worked with Charles Pierce, whose name is on a number of famous hot recordings of that period. He toured with Frank Quartrell’s band and visited New Orleans for the first time. (Did he hear Raymond Burke and Johnny Wiggs, and did they talk about Bix? One wonders.)
Returning to Chicago, he worked with trumpeter Louis Panico at the Wig Wam Club and found employment in reed section of dance orchestras. He also made extra money teaching clarinet.
He may have gained the most attention as a member of Muggsy Spanier’s Ragtime Band in 1939 — that band had an extended run at the Hotel Sherman in Chicago (where they played opposite Fats Waller and his Rhythm) and were enough of a sensation to make sixteen sides for the Bluebird label. (A CD reissue of this material, with alternate takes, brings the total to 24.)
After Spanier disbanded the Ragtime Band, Cless worked with Wild Bill Davison, Art Hodes, Ed Farley, Marty Marsala, George Brunis, and Bobby Hackett.
But Cless’s marriage failed, and his drinking grew heavier. Walking home from the last night of a job at the Pied Piper (where he played alongside his friend Max Kaminsky) in December 1944, Cless fell over the balcony of his apartment building and died four days later at 37. In his autobiography, Kaminsky blamed himself for not walking Cless home — even though Cless insisted that he could make it himself.
Here’s an extended solo by Cless on the Hodes-led FAREWELL BLUES, for Art’s short-lived Jazz Record label. The casual listener may hear in it only variations on familiar arpeggiated patterns, with suggestions of Johnny Dodds, but there’s more:
And to conclude (for this post), here’s something quite atypical — JAZZ ME BLUES by Frank Teschmacher’s Chicagoans, recorded in April 1928. Tesch plays clarinet and alto; Cless plays alto; Mezz Mezzrow is on tenor saxophone; the rhythm section is Joe Sullivan, Jim Lanigan, Eddie Condon, and Gene Krupa. This track comes from www.redhotjazz.com: http://www.redhotjazz.com/ftc.html.
Those fascinated by the sound of Rod Cless can find several more examples on YouTube — where a number of the Bluebird sides from 1939 by Muggsy Spanier and his Ragtime Band — are available.
Cless also turns up on a singularly relaxed session for Commodore which features Kaminsky, valve trombonist Frank Orchard, and James P. Johnson. Nearly the same band — with Willie “the Lion” Smith on piano recorded for Decca and for Black and White.
And in Cless’s last year, ironically, he had his only opportunity to lead a record session — for the Black and White label, featuring James P., Stirling Bose, and Pops Foster. Those four sides were once available on a Pickwick anthology CD.
Eight others (plus a few alternate takes) by a 1940 Hodes group called the CHICAGO RHYTHM KINGS (pictured at top) — one session featuring Marty Marsala, Cless, Hodes, Earl Murphy, and Jack Goss on guitar; four trio sides with Cless, Hodes, and Murphy (originally recorded by Bob Thiele and several of the trio sides reissued on Doctor Jazz) are difficult to find (the last complete issue of the issued takes was a 10″ Riverside lp, which is now fifty-five years ago).
More accessible are the recordings Hodes made for his own short-lived Jazz Record label, which have been reissued on a Jazzology CD. (One of the ironies is that Hodes admired Cless greatly and used him on record dates whenever possible, which is a great blessing — although many Hodes recordings have extended outings from their leader, sometimes restricting the other members of the band in their solos on a 78 issue.)
I plan to return to Cless as a subject in a future post, although from a different angle. I hope to interview one of the elder members of the jazz tribe, someone who actually took lessons from Cless in the early Forties. Until then, I suggest that Cless is worth close and repeated listenings.