Tag Archives: London House

DAN MORGENSTERN REMEMBERS STAN GETZ (March 3, 2017)

This is the sixth part of a series of video-interviews the irreplaceable Dan Morgenstern sat for on the afternoon of Friday, March 3, 2017.  The previous five parts can be found here.

In those segments, Dan shares remarkable stories about the people he’s heard and met and become close with: everyone, including Lester Young, Jimmy Rowles, Tony Fruscella, Tommy Benford, Brew Moore, John Carisi, Nat Lorber, Coleman Hawkins, Jimmy Rushing, and two dozen more.

Here he speaks lovingly of the magnificent Stan Getz — including an anecdote of one way to deal with noisy spectators at a jazz club:

I would have you notice — as well as Dan’s eye for the telling detail (that quality that makes great storytellers as well as novelists) — that even his retelling of incidents that might be painful is shot through with kindness.  These interviews are not a settling of scores; rather, they are graceful homages to the giants and friends he has known — and Dan continues to make friends in 2017.

Here, for those who have other thoughts about Stan, a sweet yet little-known 1954 performance by him, Jimmy, Bob Whitlock, and Max Roach, of the early-Thirties song, DOWN BY THE SYCAMORE TREE:

Dan refers to Stan’s PARKER 51:

and one of Stan’s duets with Kenny Barron at the end of his life:

I look forward to a second set of interviews.  Dan has hinted that he has tales of Cecil Scott.  Who could resist such knowledge?

May your happiness increase!

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JAZZ IS “PLAYING YOUR PERSONALITY,” SAYS ROSWELL RUDD

Years ago, my beloved collector-friend John L. Fell sent me a cassette of “One Night Stand” broadcasts from Chicago’s London House, featuring an Eddie Condon unit.  The trumpet and clarinet were immediately identifiable as Johnny Windhurst and Pee Wee Russell, but I had no idea who made up the rest of the excellent small ensemble.  In the last few months, I found out that the pianist was someone I had seen once or twice in New York City (circa 1972) named Buddy Blacklock and that the trombonist was exceedingly famous as a bold explorer, someone still with us: Roswell Rudd.  I’d known that Roswell had played early on with a Yale Dixieland band called ELI’S CHOSEN SIX — but had not recognized him on these tapes.  I sent him a copy through Jerry Suls and, thanks to Verna Gillis, finally got to talk to him about the music:

Boy, that music sure brought back a time and place — the personalities.  These were my heroes — I was a twenty-five year old guy.  It was definitely a high point — exhilarating and humbling at the same time.  I wasn’t copying anybody, and I’ve held on to that.  Really, that’s all I’ve had, and I’ve learned from other musicians — particularly improvisers, that playing your personality is what this music is all about.  And so if I don’t sound like somebody else — and it’s not for lack of trying! — it’s probably because I try to play my personality and get better and better at it. 

I ended up in that band because my friend Buddy Blacklock, who occasionally played piano with Eli’s Chosen Six, the college band that I came up with, was able to bring me on board with Eddie Condon.  And also with Johnny Windhurst, I think Wild Bill Davison a few times, and Jimmy McPartland a few times.  These were the older musicians I came up with, as a kid, so to have finally got to where I could hold my own with them, that was a great feeling and it was very inspiring.  Inspiring and encouraging.  Cutty Cutshall was nice about my sitting in. 

I was lucky.  A lucky guy.  I stood next to Pee Wee Russell, who played his personality — as Louis Armstrong did, and only the greatest people in this music have.  He really achieved something there, and all you can say about him is that you know who it is after a couple of notes — and you know it’s going to be a great musical ride.  Yeah, Pee Wee — it’s all in there with Charlie Parker, it’s all in there with Duke Ellington . . . I think you know the folks!  The musical ingredients, the elements, all the stuff that you need, and they are putting it together in ways nobody else can. 

What a great privilege to be in the same room with it, and also to be on the bandstand.  I wanted to bring everything that I could to the music.  You know, this is a music where you are playing off other people, and you really have to be listening and responding and respecting and complementing what’s going on around you.  This process has been with me all along, and the more I could learn about music — especially being able to hear and react — the better I could play with anybody.  It didn’t really matter who.  It’s a question of how well you can hear and what you can bring to your response.  You know, it’s all about call-and-response.

I can’t play the London House tapes for you — here is what might be a sequence of Roswell in the past, footage from the 1958 JAZZ ON A SUMMER’S DAY with Eli’s Chosen Six, also featuring Lee Lorenz (cornet) and Walt Gifford (drums):

The present and future, for Roswell and for us, are encapsulated in his new project — a CD to be called TROMBONE FOR LOVERS, concentrating on beautiful jazz treatments of standards.  I’ve written about it here: beautiful-standards/ and hope you will read about and then support this project.

If you think of Roswell as someone far distanced from beautiful melodies, please listen to what follows — an idiosyncratic but powerfully lyrical trio performance of DANNY BOY from February 10, 2012 with Lafayette Harris, piano; Ken Filiano, bass:

ART TATUM TRIO, CHICAGO

A good deal of energetic call-and-response was stirred up on this site by my posting what was proposed as an authentic Art Tatum signature.  Reader Gary Pajer has generously shared with us his father’s postcard from the London House in Chicago, signed by the three members of a notable trio:

Gary’s father didn’t remember an exact date for this (he’s 89 now) but recalled that Tatum was very friendly and personable, his fingers “very fast.”  And he did recall having a wonderful time in Chicago!

Let’s add this one to the sometimes heated discussion of what Art’s signature looked like . . . with thanks to both Mr. Pajers — and to the Art Tatum Trio of yore!

EDDIE HIGGINS (1932-2009)

My good friend Bill Gallagher was lucky enough to know the late pianist Eddie Higgins.  With Eddie’s help, Bill became his discographer as well.  Here is Bill’s beautiful elegy for Eddie:

Eddie Higgins: 2/21/1932 – 8/31/2009

The world of jazz has lost one of its most talented pianists and I have lost a good friend.  Eddie Higgins’ life was brought to an end by complications of lymphatic and lung cancer, an event that seemed to have developed in a matter of a few months.  I had seen Eddie perform in Sacramento in late May, had dinner with him, and he showed no evidence or indication of what was to come in a few brief months.

Eddie was a generous and talented person in so many ways.  He not only played great piano, but he could write well and discuss matters outside of music in ways that were thoughtful and revealing.  Although he could be generous with his time, it took a while to crack the veneer of New England reserve that was part of his persona.  But the effort and the result was worth it.  Underneath was a man who was a gentleman in every sense of the word, a man of taste, a highly developed wit, and one hell of a pianist.

His career was established in Chicago during the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s where his longest running gig was a 12 year stint as the resident trio at the London House.  Eddie could play just about anything and with anybody, but he mainly stuck to Mainstream.  He once described Free Jazz as sounding like “a fire in a pet store.” Over the course of a number of years, he played with Stan Getz, Dizzy Gillespie, Coleman Hawkins, Jack Teagarden, Freddie Hubbard, Lee Morgan, Wayne Shorter, Al Grey and Eddie South. And that’s just the short list. Other well known piano trios that performed at the London House were intimidated by Eddie’s group. Some of the tales that came out of his London House experience were more than entertaining, such as the one involving Buddy Rich. Buddy was drumming like crazy but the customers were leaving because of the volume. The manager asked Eddie to turn down the amplifiers before everyone had left and Eddie did so – but Buddy caught him at it. Accusations were hurled at Eddie, Buddy drummed louder and threatened to get Eddie after the set. Sure enough, he came after Eddie and Eddie hightailed it into the restroom and locked himself in a stall. Buddy found the locked stall and proceeded to do a limbo under the door while Eddie vaulted over the top of the door and out the building. Later, each would avoid bringing up the event when their paths crossed.

Also during his Chicago years, Eddie was invited by Art Blakey to join his Jazz Messengers. Eddie refused because he had two young children at the time and it wasn’t a good time to go on the road. He also had an offer to become Carmen McRae’s accompanist but he turned down the opportunity for the same reasons and the job went to Norman Simmons. When further pressed for his reasons for turning down Blakey, he said that he didn’t want to be the odd man in the group. Eddie would have been the only white musician, the only non-user and Blakey had a habit of paying his connections before he paid his musicians.

Eddie’s versatility was amazing. During the 70’s he was exposed to some of the early recordings coming out of Brazil and was taken by the new rhythms of the Bossa Nova. Many of his albums include a track or two of a South American composition, but he also produced one of the finest albums of Jobim compositions that exists, “Speaking of Jobim.” If you haven’t heard it, you must.

There will be some who read this who will have no idea who Eddie Higgins was or how brilliantly he played. This won’t surprise me because Eddie traveled in certain jazz circuits and was probably better known in Japan and Korea, where his recordings on the Japanese Venus label are among the top jazz sellers. However, Eddie enjoyed deep respect among fellow musicians who admired him as a consummate professional. So, to those who might say, “Eddie, we hardly knew ye,” I understand. But to those who did know him, he was a national treasure and will be missed more than words can express.

Bill and Eddie at Sacramento

Bill and Eddie at Sacramento

About Eddie: he was one of those rare musicians who can make a melody, apparently unadorned, sing.  Any of his Venus recordings (solo, trio, or quartet) demonstrate that he was someone working beneath the surface of the music, giving himself fully to the song.  I also can testify to his gracious nature: having reviewed a Venus CD in Cadence (I believe it was his quartet with Scott Hamilton) I got a letter from Eddie, thanking me for what I had written in the most perceptive way.  I hope that more people come to his music as the years pass.

Jazz photographer John Herr, another Higgins devotee, captured Eddie at the leyboard during the April 2006 Atlanta Jazz Party:

Eddie Herr 406

Eddie’s widow, the singer Meredith D’Ambrosio, sent along this piece on Eddie from the Chicago Tribune — http://www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment/music/chi-obit-ed-higgins-02sep02,0,1489219.story — a fitting tribute to a man who brought so much music to that city.  We send our condolences to Meredith and to Eddie’s family.  Thanks to Judith Schlesinger, Bill Gallagher, and John Herr.