Tony Flood's House of Hard Bop

“I’m gonna tell Benny about you”: When Barney Met Charlie

2011-10-17T09:23:00.000-07:00

Onthe occasion of what would be the 88th birthday of Barney Kessel (1923-2004) . . .

. . . andalso, remarkably, what is the 53rd of another guitar virtuoso, Howard Alden, akeeper of Barney Kessel’s flame . . .

. . . I reproduce this reminiscence of Kessel’s citedby Wayne E. Goins and Craig McKinney in TheBiography of Charlie Christian, JazzGuitar’s King of Swing (Edwin Mellen Press, 2005, 286-88).

In 1981, inpreparation for a special Charlie Christian issue, Jas Obrecht, who had editedBarney’s column for Guitar Player magazinesince the late ‘70s, interviewed him. In that interview Barney elaborated upon not only what Charlie meant to him personally, but also upon the context of jazz guitar playing that Charlie had burst into and then transformed. This valuable interview was never published until earlier this yearwhen Mr.Obrecht posted it on his blog, to which I hope jazz aficionados will turn after visiting mine. What now follows is Goins and McKinney's introduction to Barney Kessel recollection taken from that earlier interview:

Oneof the places Charles [Christian] dropped by while on vacation, at the behestof a friend who worked there as a waiter, was the Oklahoma Club. As he worked, the waiter listened to the bandblow and was quite taken by a young guitarist whose style had shadings similarto the unique Charlie Christian approach. The guitarist was Barney Kessel, whowas still in his teens. Years later, Kessel recounted the incredible story ofhow he got to know Charlie Christian for GuitarPlayer magazine:

Around October of 1940 [i.e., the month Kessel wouldturn 17.--T.F.] I was going to high school and playing with a college band fromStillwater, Oklahoma called the Varsitonians. We were playing three nights atthe Oklahoma Club in Oklahoma City during some time off from classes. The firstnight I was taking a lot of solos on electric guitar, and throughout theevening I noticed that a young black waiter kept looking at the bandstand listeningand smiling, and when I would play a solo he would nod and grin. He became veryanimated and showed me from a distance that he really did like what I wasdoing.

When we took an intermission this waiter approached meand told me that he did enjoy the way I played and was surprised to find someone so youngplaying solo guitar. He went on to say that he knew Charlie Christian. He alsosaid Charlie was there in Oklahoma City at the time, and that he intended tocall him and tell him about my playing. Well, I didn’t believe that at all; asfar as I knew, Charlie Christian was playing with the Benny Goodman Sextetsomewhere in New York—certainly not in Oklahoma.

So in the middle of the next set I was absolutelyastounded and bowled over when I looked down and in front of my very own eyesthere was Charlie Christian looking up at me, registering his approval of themusic and what we were doing. He was tall and very lean, and he must have beenabout twenty-one then. [Born in July 29, 1916, Charlie Christian was 24 inOctober 1940.--T.F.] I was just overwhelmed! I guess for me to see Charlie Christianat that time would be very much like a twelve-year-old girl having The Beatleslook at her during their hey-day.

He seemed genuinely happy to be in my company, and ofcourse I was delighted to be in his; so when he found out I was going to be intown for two more nights, he suggested that we might get together the followingafternoon to jam. Well, I hadn’t daredto bring this up, just out of respect for his artistry and his stature, butsince he suggest it I was all for it.

So that night I went to bed almost unable to sleep,just thrilled beyond belief over being able to meet this man and have him be sonice and helpful. I say it over and over again, because I did respect him somuch.

Charliekept his word, and over the next two days, he spent some quality time with theyoung Kessel, who couldn’t believe what he was experiencing.

Finally, when we had finished playing and Charlie wastaking his leave, I just thanked him over and over for having allowed me to jamwith him and told him how I would never forget him or that day. He walked awaya few steps, then turned and smiled. I can recall today his last words to meand just the way he said them, they inspired me so much. I lived on these wordsfor a long, long time, and they helped me to build a sense of worth in myself. Hewalked away just a few steps and turned around and said, “I’m gonna tell Bennyabout you.”

[Barneywould first play in Goodman’s orchestra seven years later.--T.F.]

Happy Birthday, Grant Green (1935-1979)

2011-06-06T13:29:00.000-07:00

The basic facts about the legendary jazz guitarist Grant Green's life (June 6, 1935-January 31, 1979) and career can be found easily enough. Here's the Wiki entry for him. Here's the complete discography (although I prefer the more colorful version with its thumbnails of album covers, compiled by a Japanese fan). While he was at Blue Note records, he was its most recorded artist.

A technical discussion of Grant's distinctive tone (over the years: tones) is here. Sharony Andrews Green's Grant Green: Rediscovering the Forgotten Genius of Jazz Guitar, his daughter-in-law's biography, fills in the many blanks left by his albums' liner notes. (Here's Bill Milkowski's helpful review.)

I prefer to devote this birthday tribute to Grant Green by recalling my long road to appreciating his playing.

I began playing the guitar shortly after the Beatles performed on the Ed Sullivan Show, and jazz guitar became a topic for me in 1971 when I heard Melvin Sparks on the radio. One by one, I investigated all the names my jazz aficionada mother dropped on me: George Benson, Wes Montgomery, Barney Kessel. A friend of hers, who had played briefly in the '50s, turned me on to Kenny Burrell, and in his living room I discovered one of the more powerful influences on my playing, Pat Martino. (In my mind's eye, I can still see his Strings! album on Charlie's living room floor.)

A few months passed, and Grant Green's name was in the air, but I knew of no one who really knew or dug his playing. I took it on faith that he was great, and bought one LP album after the other every payday at J&R's on Park Row. Here are three I remember buying (and still have, but listen to them on my iPod):

Unfortunately for my musical ears at the time, however, nothing "clicked."

I wanted "more" from Grant's playing. More what? More notes. Notes, notes, notes. He was a "single-note" player, that is, you didn't go to him for innovations in voice-leading chord progressions from him. I liked that. But I thought others, Pat Martino, for example, doled out in bushels what Grant Green seemed only to be hinting at. I had thought, and continued to think, that Pat and George Benson "said" more.

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." (1 Cor. 13:11)

I was looking for the evidence that others had apparently found. Several times in the early '70s, before Breezin' changed his life, Benson and I -- separately and coincidentally -- would come into the same New York clubs to catch one or more of Pat's shows, which offered me a chance to chat with him. On one of those between-set occasions (at "Folk City" on West Third Street, as I recall), I asked George, seated on a barstool, straight up:

"What is 'it' about Grant Green? What am I missing?"

"Aw, man! . . . "

Smiling easily, but unable to hide a "where-do-I-begin?" look, George began to express his apparently limitless admiration for Grant's musicality. His touch, his taste and, yes, technique were exquisite (not George's exact words, which not even my diary holds, but those were the bases he covered). Grant's "chops" or technique was perfectly suited to his musical intention. (And what are "chops" without that correspondence but so much unmusical showing off?) His intention was simply to groove, high and hard.

Grant with Larry Young on Hammond B-3. The picture was allegedly taken in 1966,

making a mystery out of the display of the LP of a '63 recording.

I sensed that perhaps George was merely being gracious: if I couldn't hear "it" in Grant's playing, his words weren't going achieve what only further listening, and living, could.

When I made a firm intention in October 2007 to return to jazz guitar with a renewed sense of purpose, I engorged myself on a great deal of music, much of which I had heard decades ago, but never listened to with the ears of someone who intended to do this one day for a living. Tunes became objects of study, not just vehicles for jamming.

I bring my autobiographical musings to a grinding halt to say that during the next few years I finally "got" Grant Green. After downloading over a dozen of his albums as .mp3's, I understood and respected his ability to express himself in diverse genres in diverse settings, to lead a trio, a quartet, or a hard bop band that could rival Blakey and his Messengers, or to play whatever was called for in someone else's setting.

Grant with a 22-year-old Herbie Hancock at piano.

From the Goin' West or Feelin' the Spirit recording sessions.

Most pleasantly, and surprisingly so, I found myself wanting, not to "sound" like Grant Green, but make others feel the way I feel when I listen to him, the joy and happiness carried by those clean, articulate lines. That's what his playing exudes. But the process of "entering into" the music of another, like entering into the thought of another, is not something done without intention.

My appreciation of Grant Green has not lessened my regard for anyone else's playing. It is tinged only with the regret that although I have lived simultaneously with his music (albeit it was "below my radar" until 1971), I was never got to hear him "live."

I cannot repay someone on whom I can count to make me happy with his music, but I can try to pay it forward.

Enough feeling-diluting words! Here is the only known footage of his playing (alongside legends Kenny Burrell [left], Barney Kessel [center]). Grant solos first. Enjoy it, and then with the help of the links provided above, explore and share his legacy!

The Coltrane-Hartman Collaboration, March 7, 1963

2011-03-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

47 years ago today, two men named John walked into Rudy van Gelder's studio and made music history, John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman, with the indispensable assistance of McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums.

1. "They Say It's Wonderful" (Irving Berlin) - 5:15

2. "Dedicated to You" (Sammy Cahn, Saul Chaplin, Hy Zaret) - 5:27

3. "My One and Only Love" (Guy Wood, Robert Mellin) - 4:50

4. "Lush Life" (Billy Strayhorn) - 5:20

5. "You Are Too Beautiful" (Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart) - 5:32

6: "Autumn Serenade" (Peter DeRose, Sammy Gallop) - 4:11

At just over 31 minutes in length, it was shorter than the average LP, but incomparably richer esthetically:

"Though Coltrane and Hartman had known each other since their days playing with Dizzy Gillespie's band in the late 1940s (Hartman had been with the band on an on and off basis, and Coltrane played [third] alto with the band in 1949), Hartman is the only vocalist with whom the saxophonist would record as a leader. Initially when producer Bob Thiele approached Hartman with Coltrane's request that the two record together Hartman was hesitant as he did not consider himself a jazz singer and did not think he and Coltrane would complement one another musically. However, Thiele encouraged Hartman to go see Coltrane perform at Birdland in New York to see if something could be worked out. Hartman did so, and after the club closed he, Coltrane, and Coltrane's pianist McCoy Tyner, went over some songs together. On March 7, 1963 Coltrane and Hartman had decided on 10 songs for the record album, but en route to the studio they heard Nat King Cole on the radio performing "Lush Life", and Hartman immediately decided that song had to be included in their album. The legendary compilation was made that same day . . . ." (From the Wiki entry)

Now let's get lost in their classic take on Billy Strayhorn's "Lush Life":

And on Guy Woods and Robert Mellin's "My One and Only Love":

The last word (at least here) is from reviewer Jacob Teichroew:

"The most striking aspect of this album, filled with songs about love's shortcomings, is the simplicity with which both Coltrane and Hartman treat the melodies. Hartman, never much the bebop singer, chose to stay close to original melodies as a general rule, letting his velvety tone and thoughtful phrasing become the focus. Coltrane, who had a few years before recorded Giant Steps (Atlantic, 1959), a document of his technical wizardry, was inspired by Hartman's simplicity. On John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman, Coltrane plays as if he is singing. The result is a stunning combination of lyrical and emotional expression. Coltrane went on to produce many more albums, and developed an often-studied body of experimental work. Hartman never saw quite the same level of fame, and never strayed far from nuanced, romantic jazz. While Coltrane is now considered an American icon, Hartman is unknown to all but jazz enthusiasts. However, on this record, the two talents meet to create a dark and beautiful masterpiece."

March 6, 1923. Happy Birthday, Wes!

2011-03-06T17:50:00.000-08:00

Wish I had time to do more than to say I hope you'll enjoy this clip of Wes Montgomery's hard-boppin' lines on "Jingles." That's Harold Mabern on piano, very much still with us!

March 4th in Jazz History: Two Charlies, Too Soon Departed

2011-03-04T07:36:00.000-08:00

On March 4, 1941, "pre-bop" Jazz guitar legend Charlie Christian recorded (with the Benny Goodman Sextet) "Solo Flight," which reached the top of Billboard's Harlem Hit Parade and 20th from the top of Billboard's Hot 100 (Pop). (A very helpful analysis of Christian's distinctive ideas, some from "Solo Flight," is here.) A couple of days less than a year later, Christian died of complications of tuberculosis (contracted in the 1930s), age 25. If you have three minutes to spare, spend it on this, right now:

Exactly fourteen years later, March 4, 1955, at Birdland, the club named in his honor (and from which, ironically, he was once barred for lack of a cabaret license), Charlie Parker played in public for the last time. He died eight days later at the Stanhope Hotel in Manhattan at the age of 34. ("The official causes of death were lobar pneumonia and a bleeding ulcer, but Parker also had an advanced case of cirrhosis of the liver and had had a heart attack. Any one of the four ailments could have killed him." From the Wiki article.) A moving reminiscence by Jackie McLean was my favorite part of this video clip:

A Night at Birdland: February 21, 1954

2011-02-21T14:37:00.000-08:00

In 1954, February 21st fell on a Sunday.

In that morning’s New York Times you might have been amused by a little article on Atlantic City boardwalk chairs by Gay Talese. (He was then working as a copy boy at the Times.)

By 1954, you probably owned a black-and-white television. In April, RCA would launch its first color model. If you stayed home that evening, you could have seen Lucille Ball play mystery guest on What’s My Line?, which had premiered on CBS only a few weeks earlier. Or you could have bought a ticket to see her surprise hit comedy, The Long, Long Trailer, which had opened a few days earlier.

If you were au courant, you knew the war against polio would accelerate that Tuesday in Pittsburgh, where children would be vaccinated en masse, thanks to Dr. Jonas Salk and his colleagues. And, as in our time, Egypt was in the news with Gamal Abdel Nasser’s grabbing the helm of state two days later.

The same week What’s My Line? hit the airwaves, President Eisenhower used them to warn against American intervention in Vietnam—after authorizing $385 million to fight communists there (on top of the $400 million already committed).

To put those millions in perspective: gas was 29 cents a gallon; a loaf of bread, 17 cents; a stamp, 3. The average working stiff grossed $4,700 a year, putting that thousand-dollar color TV out of reach for most.

BUT . . .

If you loved jazz, then for the cost of a few drinks you could have witnessed heaven on earth at Birdland, Hard Bop’s Bethlehem, “The Jazz Corner of the World.” For an equivalent amount today, you can download the tracks that Alfred Lion produced and Rudy Van Gelder so expertly recorded there that night, which practically put you at a table down in that Broadway & 52nd Street basement. (Yes, you can find heaven in a basement.)

For February 21, 1954 was the night The Art Blakey Quintet (or, "Art Blakey and His All Stars," as Birdland's M.C. Pee Wee Marquette announced) recorded what became A Night at Birdland, Volumes 1 and 2 (Blue Note 1521 and 1522).

VOLUME 1

1. Split Kick (Silver)
2. Once In A While (Green-Edwards)
3. Quicksilver (Silver)
4. Wee-Dot (Johnson-Parker)
5. Blues (Traditional)
6. A Night In Tunisia (Gillespie-Paparelli)
7. Mayreh (Silver)

VOLUME 2

1. Wee-Dot (Johnson-Parker)
2. If I Had You (Shapiro-Campbell)
3. Quicksilver (Silver)
4. The Way You Look Tonight (Kern-Fields)
5. Lou's Blues (Donaldson)
6. Now's The Time (Parker)
7. Confirmation (Parker)

In his distinctive delivery, the M.C. appeals to the audience's vanity: their applause will be part of the recording session and then announces the line-up:

". . . the great Art Blakey, and his wonderful group, the new trumpet sensation, Clifford Brown, Horace Silver on piano, Lou Donaldson on alto, Curly Russell on bass."

Marquette does not announce them as "The Jazz Messengers," even though Blakey had used "Messengers" on and off for the title of his various groups since 1947 (e.g., "The Seventeen Messengers," reflecting Blakey's conversion to Islam). The album covers refer simply to "Art Blakey Quintet." They become "The Jazz Messengers" regularly after Hank Mobley joins the group later that year, and "Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers" permanently after co-leader Horace Silver leaves in 1958.

(Stephen Schwartz and Michael Fitzgerald's virtually complete discography of Blakey and his ensembles is enhanced by many excerpts from interviews with him, so I encourage you to explore their site.)

In the interest of accuracy, we should remember the joint leadership of Blakey and Silver who (unlike Blakey) contributed many songs to the band's book. Indeed, in 1955 the group was known as "Horace Silver and the Jazz Messengers," and it recorded under that very name.

Horace Silver is indisputably a father of hard bop. Or, as he dubs himself, "The Hardbop Grandpop."

Some of the stand-out tunes: "Split Kick" (a contrafact of Harry Warren's "There Will Never Be Another You"); two versions of Michael Edwards' "Once in a While"; two of Horace Silver's breakneck "Quicksilver" (which recalls, and rivals in inventiveness, Bird's most distinctive compositions); Dizzy Gillespie's "A Night in Tunisia" that could make me forget Blakey's 1960 studio version featuring Lee Morgan, Wayne Shorter, Bobby Timmons, and Jymie Merritt. (I am ashamed to admit that I have not yet encountered the recording of the 1957 line-up that tackled that classic: Jackie McLean, Johnny Griffin, Bill Hardman, Sam Dockery, and Spanky DeBrest. Both albums are titled, A Night in Tunisia.)

Two versions of a J. J. Johnson' and Leo Parker's fast blues, "Wee Dot," surround "Mayreh," another Silver bebopper. The featuring of two of Charlie Parker's signature tunes, "Confirmation" and "Now's the Time," nearly a decade after they heralded the birth of bop, shows Bird's continuing influence over the next generation.

The longest track (10:15) belongs to Jerome Kern's "The Way You Look Tonight," Oscar winner for Best Original Song (Fred Astaire crooned it to Ginger Rogers in Swing Time in 1936). It is exemplary of how the jazz improviser can mine and refine hitherto undiscovered harmonic and melodic possibilities of popular music. In his solo Lou Donaldson (born 1926), throws in the proverbial kitchen sink, including a taste of Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee" (just as his idol Bird, on that very stage three years earlier, interpolated the opening of Igor Stravinsky's Firebird Suite, to its composer's delight, into his solo on "Ko-Ko").

After finishing "Now's the Time" (vol. 2, track 3), Blakey with his crisp, resonant voice, acknowledges to his audience

"that I'm working now, and I hope forever, with the greatest musicians in the country today. That includes Horace Silver, Curly Russell, Lou Donaldson, and Clifford Brown. Let's give them a big round of applause! Yes sir, I'm gonna stay with the youngsters, and when these get too old I'm gonna get some younger ones. Keeps the mind active."

Of this stellar outfit, only Donaldson and Silver (born 1928) are still with us. (When I was being introduced to jazz in the early '70s, these two gentlemen had taken their music in a direction that didn't interest me, and so their improvisational and compositional gifts on so many historic recordings stayed below my radar for too many years. May no one reading this make that mistake.) A car accident took Brownie's life in June of 1956, and Blakey himself passed away in 1990. Bebop bass pioneer Dillon "Curly" Russell (1917-1986) had left music altogether by 1960. (Miles Davis' bop classic "Donna Lee" was named after his daughter.)

Hard bop expert Eric B. Olsen (who compiled the discography for Silver's autobiography Let's Get to the Nitty Gritty) does not list A Night at Birdland in his list of 100 Hard Bop albums which he lists chronologically. If he had, that session -- one of the first "live" recordings of jazz -- would have been listed third. Perhaps that's because while the players are all budding hard boppers, the music they made that night is bebop. There's no hint of gospel or rhythm & blues, elements that set that stage of jazz's evolution off from its predecessor. Listen to two other double-album sets by Blakey and the Messengers recorded six years later in the same club: At the Jazz Corner of the World and Meet You at the Jazz Corner of the World. It's Bebop-Plus.

No, A Night at Birdland isn't hard bop. But anyone, 57 years ago tonight, who wanted to see and hear its progenitors would have had to skip What's My Line? and make their way to Broadway & 52nd. A lucky few did, and as Pee Wee Marquette promised, their applause was immortalized on wax along with the searing sonorities they cheered.

Birdland, 1949-1965: Hard Bop Mecca

2010-12-15T06:15:00.000-08:00

First, happy birthday to Barry Harris (b. 1929) and Curtis Fuller (b. 1934)! (Two stories for future posts!)

61 years ago, December 15, 1949, a basement club -- following (I'm not sure of the order) the Ubangi, the Ebony, and The Clique -- opened as Birdland: The Jazz Corner of the World. Its birth coincided with the demise of "The Street," i.e., the serendipitous concatenation of jazz clubs that sprung up on 52nd Street between Fifth and Seventh Avenues in the wake of Prohibition. (For a complete history, see Patrick Burke's scholarly Come In and Hear the Truth: Jazz and Race on 52nd Street. Arnold Shaw's 52nd Street: The Street of Jazz makes an excellent companion reader.)

A daytime shot of legendary 52nd Street -- on its last legs in the late '40s.

The upscale jazz club and restaurant on Manhattan's West 44th Street possessing legal title to "Birdland" is therefore not topic of this post. (On its home page, take the "History" link to a fact-filled page about its historic predecessor.) With all due respect to that venue for the great music and food it offers, it is not the historic Birdland that was effectively the House of Hard Bop from its first stirrings in the early '50s to its ripening in the early '60s.

The address is 1674 Broadway, at the corner of 52nd Street . . .

A view of NE corner of Broadway & 52nd Street

. . . but Birdland had its own number, 1678 (probably to expedite delivery of the great volume of mail it must have received compared to that of other tenants), as can be seen on this flyer from 1955, every detail of which is worth savoring:

Above, left pane: Broadway looking north, fans line up for Sarah Vaughn;
right pane: looking south.
Below: This is what awaited them:

Above, right pane: George Shearing's "Lullaby of Birdland," the club's theme song is noted.
Below: cover of contemporary sheet music for "Lullaby of Birdland."

Above: notable guests included: Duke Ellington, Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Marlon Brando, . . . and Harry Belafonte, who helped open Birdland on December 15, 1949. Just a sampling of the stars who regarded Birdland as the place to see and be seen -- and hear - great jazz. Yet nothing marks the spot.

The cover of Birdland's menu:

For the first few weeks of its existence, Birdland's guests were greeted by birds in cages suspended from the ceiling. They were a nice touch, but the poor things could not survive the combination of smoke and air-conditioning.

The current occupant of that basement is Flash Dancers (part of its awning is visible, next to Leone's Pizza Pasta) -- of which I will say no more:

Here's a daytime shot, 1960, by William Caxton:

Clearly the inspiration for the cover art for Birdland Stars 1956:

At All About Jazz, Bertil Holgren sketches a portrait of Birdland as he experienced it one night in June 1962, when the John Coltrane Quartet was "on duty":

A rather small club, maybe 150 square meters, after descending down the stairs from 52nd Street [that makes no sense to me; but in our exchange of comments, Mr. Holgren stood by his memory], which is a side street to Broadway at Times Square [Birdland was situated in the Times Square area, but Times Square, where the New York Times was once published, like Longacre Square before it, was ten blocks south of Birdland], the room opened up with the bandstand right in front and with a bar along the left wall.

Behold, the left wall (that's Jay McNeely on tenor sax):

[Holgren continues:] To the right, on the opposite side from the bar, as well as just in front of it, there were rows of chairs reserved for listeners only, and in the middle a number of tables, maybe ten to fifteen, were placed where certain solid and liquid nourishments could be taken.

Behold, the right wall: Erroll Garner and Art Tatum

On stage: Bud Powell, Miles Davis, Lee Konitz, Art Blakey

Bird with Strings, 1951

[Holgren continues:] On the tables were nothing but white-and-red-chequered cloths and black plastic ashtrays carrying the words “Birdland - The Jazz Corner of the World” in white. . . .

[Holgren continues:] Since the drinking age limit was 21, how I, younger than that, managed entrance belongs to the secrets you learn when you are desperate to gain admission! Initially I would be sitting as far from the bar as possible (an imperative requirement by the door guard), but eventually I would slowly move forward and by the time Trane started set no. 2, I'd have him one meter in front of me, the McCoy [Tyner] piano to the left, [Jimmy] Garrison to the right and a steam boiler called Elvin [Jones] further back. This felt to me a bit like being in the middle of the engine room on The Titanic . . . . I believe they started playing at around 9:00 P.M., in forty-five minute sets interrupted by half hour intermissions, and the place closed at 5:00 A.M.

The roster for opening night is worth a study in itself:

For ninety-eight cents -- "including tax" -- one could have the history of jazz parade before one's ears "from Dixieland to Bop." Imagine Charlie Parker, Lennie Tristano, and Lester Young on the same stage! (Is that Max Kaminsky and Kenny Dorham on trumpets in the photo below? And who's the fellow looking at the camera? Where is he now?)

The "Roy Haines" listed on the poster is, of course, Roy Haynes, still going strong at 85. He played the new Birdland on the original's 60th anniversary last year (and was there again last week)!

On August 25, 1959, on the Broadway sidewalk just outside Birdland, Miles Davis was beaten and arrested by police for insisting that they misapprehended his chivalry. As the Wikipedia article on Miles summarizes the altercation:

After finishing a 27-minute recording for the armed service, Davis took a break outside the club. As he was escorting an attractive blonde woman across the sidewalk to a taxi, Davis was told by Patrolman Gerald Kilduff to "move on." Davis explained that he worked at the nightclub and refused to move. The officer said that he would arrest Davis and grabbed him as Davis protected himself. Witnesses said that Kilduff punched Davis in the stomach with his nightstick without provocation. Two nearby detectives held the crowd back as a third detective, Don Rolker, approached Davis from behind and beat him about the head. Davis was then arrested and taken to jail where he was charged with feloniously assaulting an officer. He was then taken to St. Clary Hospital where he received five stitches for a wound on his head.

Davis attempted to pursue the case in the courts, before eventually dropping the proceedings in a plea bargain in order to recover his suspended Cabaret Card, enabling him to return to work in New York clubs. [End of Wikipedia account.]

More details are provided on this blog post on last year's anniversary of the beating.

A while back, with this event on my mind, meandering near that spot, I was startled by a billboard-size advertising of VH-1's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Awards. The huge poster hung on the north wall of the Sheraton Manhattan Hotel, just south of 1674 Broadway. Startled, because as though looking down on the spot where he was humiliated, across the street and across half a century, was the triumphant visage of Miles himself, a Hall inductee. I could not interest any passerby in this irony.

A collection of albums subtitled "Live at Birdland" would fill a shelf. Chronologically, this is probably the first:

Miles Davis' from 1951:

Here's "Lullaby of Birdland" composer George Shearing's from '52:

Bill Evans, 1960:

But this pair of 1954 albums (Volume 1 and Volume 2) turned Birdland into the Bethlehem of Hard Bop (which is, after all, what we're mainly about here):

I almost left out this classic from 1963!

Birdland still pleasantly haunts the memories of thousands of musicians and their fans. Their numbers dwindle daily, however, and the few who do remember seem to wish not to be bothered about it.

(One exception is Nat Hentoff who, during a phone chat, confirmed its location for me and related his brief encounter with Bird himself [once banned from the club named after him for want of a cabaret license] on the stairs between the club and a street-level eatery, which was probably where Leone's pizza parlor is.)

For sixteen years the greatest music in the world was generated nightly within its walls until it succumbed to the accounting ledger logic that doomed The Street a generation earlier. Birdland deserves its historian. May those of us who can offer oral testimony, artifacts, and other evidence be ready when he or she makes inquiry.

In the meantime, if you wish to share your knowledge about or memories of Birdland on this blog, by all means, do so!

"Hard Bop and Its Critics": Now in The Jazz Annex

2010-10-24T19:03:00.000-07:00

From the perspective of 50+ years, it is easy to romanticize, and thereby distort, the era of Hard Bop. Jazz scholarship is the antidote. To remind us what Hard Bop was up against, the late David H. Rosenthal wrote "Hard Bop and Its Critics," published in The Black Perspective in Music in 1988, the text of which is now available in The Jazz Annex. (Take the link in the preceding sentence.) It should whet your appetite for the book he produced five years later, Hard Bop: Jazz and Black Music, 1955-1965.

Coltrane's "My Favorite Things": Recorded 50 Years Ago Today

2010-10-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

“I’ve found you’ve got to look back at the old things and see them in a new light.”— John Coltrane, 1960

Thanks to visitor Dave Lull, I was alerted to Robin Washington's reminiscence of that time, published a few days ago in the Duluth News Tribune. The article refers to a wonderful radio documentary on Trane: this 29 minutes of heaven can be enjoyed here. Hear Trane himself speak, along with McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, Steve Kuhn (Trane's pianist immediately before Tyner), and Harvard jazz scholar Ingrid Monson (whose perceptive comments heard in this documentary have moved me to put several of her books on reserve at my library).

In 1996, Scott Anderson wrote his thesis on Trane's revolutionary appropriation of that lilting waltz, which sets it in its late '50s context (Rogers and Hammerstein's "The Sound of Music"), analyzes its form, and provides copious information on Trane's main recordings of this classic (including the one that knocked me out in the early '70s, the performance at Newport Jazz Festival, July 2, 1965). This study deserves the widest possible dissemination among Coltrane fans.

Two great documents, using the written and spoken word, to help make present to us what occurred fifty years ago.

Finally, my favorite video of "My Favorite Things," not least of which because it shows, not only regular quartet members Tyner, Jones, and Jimmy Garrison, but also Eric Dolphy (on flute) .

Jimmy Ponder, In Depth

2010-10-17T19:24:00.000-07:00

In the interest of bringing jazz guitarist Jimmy Ponder out of the "out of the background to the foreground of our minds," as I recently said I hope to do, I am happy to bring to your attention a detailed analysis and stimulating discussion of Ponder's career and music entitled, "Jimmy Ponder: A Case Study of Creative Processes and Identity Formation in American Popular Music." It is the Master's Thesis of Pittsburgh-based guitarist Colter Harper, and the University of Pittsburgh has made it available online.

In his introduction, Harper says that as

"a student and friend of Jimmy Ponder’s, I have been struck by the conviction of his musical values and their relationship to all aspects of his life. I am deeply indebted to Ponder for sharing his artistic vision with such vehement dedication and will carry his lessons in all of my artistic endeavors. This study is my offering of appreciation for his teachings and lifelong dedication to the art of music."

(In my previous post on Ponder, I opined that Pittsburgh "needs its counterpart to Before Motown: A History of Jazz in Detroit, 1920-1960. Well, Harper, who is currently working toward his doctorate at Duquesne University, has chosen for his dissertation topic "Jazz in Pittsburgh, 1948-1968." Something to look forward to.)

Although I needed nothing more than the title to be drawn to Harper's monograph, I was pleasantly surprised by how much more it contained than the usual thesis ingredients (biosketch, discography, bibliography, quotation, etc.) Among the many topics he explores are: "Soul and Hammond Organ Jazz," "Race and Ideology," "The Chitlin' Circuit," "Authenticity and the Creation of 'Voice' in Jazz," "The Aesthetics of Soul Jazz," and "Ponder as a Band Leader." Harper weaves the content of interviews with Ponder and his colleagues into an historical narrative supported by solid reading, and renders his synthesis with journalistic concision. His brief forays into social theory do not derail but rather enrich his narrative.

(One quibble: I find "meaningful" meaningless, but it seems to be Harper's his one verbal crutch. He never defines it, but uses it seventeen times. It is out of place in a scholarly effort in which he otherwise made the meaning of all his distinctive assertions clear.)

Harper's insights into jazz's social dynamics have forced me to think differently, and harder, about what I have to work on to further my own musical growth. In themselves, one's practice materials, no matter how diligently attended to, can shed no light on the experience of "locking in" with one's fellow musicians or on communicating with the audience.

Other writers have noted the difference between playing before an audience and recording in a studio, but Harper illuminated it for me in a few sentences:

"Part of the creative energy of the live performance is the close proximity of the musicians, which aids their ability to communicate musically, visually, and orally. Separation in a recording studio removes the physical experience of creating music, replacing it with a purely aural one. . . . "

"[M]usicians in a studio environment are conscious of the fact that the performance will become a lasting statement of their abilities and so are less likely to experiment with new ideas. What may feel and sound like an inspired moment in a live environment may appear faulty out of context."

Don't be put off by the words "master's thesis." Minus the scholarly paraphernalia, the text takes up about 90 pages of double-spaced typescript. Think of it as a long magazine article about something you love. Then tell others about it. Jimmy Ponder will be in the foreground of our musical minds in no time.

Now sit back and dig Jimmy's tone and groove on "Jennifer" from his 1976 release for ABC Impulse, Illusions.

Art Blakey: 1919-1990, Jazz Dispatcher

2010-10-11T14:23:00.000-07:00

For more than 35 years, from the mid-50s to his death in 1990, Art Blakey gathered around him the finest musicians in the post-Bebop era and crystallized a new sound, that of The Jazz Messengers.

Art Blakey w/Messengers Benny Golson, Bobby Timmons, Lee Morgan and Jymie Merritt.

Zurich, 1958. From Newstalgia.

There were previous incarnations of this idea, one of a rehearsal band called The Seventeen Messengers, the key term evocative of Blakey's conversion to Islam in the late '40s. The moving parade of stellar personnel over the years revealed Blakey to have been The Jazz Dispatcher.

Since to reproduce here the list of the messengers he dispatched to the four corners, and his discography, might shift focus away from him, I direct you to this page where Steve Schwartz and Michael Fitzgerald have laid it all out. Wikipedia's shorter version is here. JazzDisco.org's Blakey page is also essential. (My desert-island album picks? A Night in Tunisia, Mosaic, Free for All, and all three volumes of A Night at Birdland, which features the pantheon of Horace Silver, Lou Donaldson, and Clifford Brown along with Curly Russell on bass.)

There was, of course, Blakey's drumming, which seemed to announce the opening of Heaven's Gate:

Jazz has been blessed with many great drummers. Art Blakey, however, was unique: one cannot imagine the history of Jazz over the last sixty years without his eagle eye for talent; his ability to motivate them to reach their potential; leadership skills that turned a half a dozen of them at a time into musically cohesive working units (and entrepreneurial foresight to keep them working!); and "tough love" that made room for new blood when it was "time," often regardless of whether the musician on the receiving end of the news agreed with the timing. The Jazz Messengers never were, thank God, a "nostalgia band." They were more like an Academy of Hard Bop, of which Blakey was the Dean.

Having worked with many of the giants of Swing and Bebop, including Fletcher Henderson, Mary Lou Williams, Billy Eckstine, Theolonious Monk, and Charlie Parker, Blakey was the conduit of that legacy to every young person who came under his wing, including Benny Golson, Curtis Fuller, Wayne Shorter, Cedar Walton, and Valery Ponomarev, all of whom create music to this day. (Ponomarev cleverly pays tribute to his former boss by calling his big band "Our Father Who Art Blakey.") Blakey personally represented to them living tradition while spearheading the movement that made Hard Bop, not an acquired taste as it is today, but one form of Black popular music. (David Rosenthal's Hard Bop: Jazz and Black Music, 1955-1965 tells the story.)

One night in the mid-'70s I found myself standing in front of Art Blakey inside The Village Gate. Having just finished a set, he was listening to two other musicians conversing off-stage where I happened to be. He didn't speak while I was standing there, and as I had no particular reason to continue to do so, I moved on. Once again, this was case of my not knowing then what I know now, and wishing I could have asked him something, anything. In any case, I recall being struck by how short and stocky, relatively speaking, this man was. (I'm taken aback when I realize that he was then as old as I am now.) More pertinently, I had just been impressed by how thunderous was his playing, thinking for a moment that perhaps I could have saved a few bucks merely by standing outside the club and listening. But that there was more to the experience than percussive power, this neophyte even then knew.

In this rare color video from 1986, following (at around 3:00) former Messenger Bobby Watson's appreciation of the man, Blakey personifies not only the passion that must fuel commitment to Jazz as a way of life, but also the knowledge that music is a three-way encounter among the Creator, the musician, and the audience. Finding this sermon -- there is no other word for it -- made my day. I hope it will makes yours.

My favorite saying attributed to him is that "music washes away the dust of everyday life," for which dust the Shakespearean metaphor is "mortal coil." [Note: I've just learned that this revises an aphorism of poet Berthold Auerbach (1812-1882): "Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life."--T.F. 2/8/11] Art Blakey, born 91 years ago today, shuffled off his twenty years ago this Saturday. I can only imagine that he is in heaven preparing to accompany The Second Coming.

John Coltrane Fifty Years Ago: "Giant Steps," First Quartet, and Beyond

2010-09-23T06:26:00.000-07:00

That tone . . . that cry, from the depths of his soul . . . that aural taste of the divine, gladdening our hearts . . . that signature lead-in to every solo ("Green Dolphin Street," "Blue Train," "Black Pearls," and others too many to list), breaking down our defenses and carrying us aloft, allowing us to soar with him above the mundane, and in doing so wash away, as Art Blakey observed, the dust of everyday life.

The mortal vessel of John William Coltrane, this pneumatic and therapeutic force, emerged into the light 84 years ago today in a hamlet called Hamlet, North Carolina, and was raised in that state's larger municipality of High Point.

At 19, roughly 65 years ago, Trane (and thousands of his contemporaries) experienced the musical equivalent of an epiphany in the form of Charlie Parker, with whom he would soon practice and perform.

". . . the first time I heard Bird play [June 5, 1945], it hit me right between the eyes."

[Bird, Diz, Trane, Tommy Potter on bass, at Birdland; this pic is from 1951]

This year also marks the 50th anniversary of both the landmark album Giant Steps and of his first quartet, which included pianist McCoy Tyner and drummer Elvin Jones.

The multi-tonic revolution he had introduced to the world in the late '50s with "Blue Train" and most assertively with "Giant Steps" helped jazz musicians re-interpret the ii-V-I cadence.

Trane had been one of the apostles of Hard Bop, but after he had said all he had to say (and arguably all that could be said) in that subidiom of Jazz, he went on to help found an idiom or two of his own. From 1960 to 1962 he explored the soprano sax with such creavity and intensity -- most famously (and perhaps ironically) on Rodgers and Hammerstein's "My Favorite Things" -- that it was almost as if he gave the world a new instrument (no slight to Sidney Bechet, whom Trane's admired, intended).

From 1962 to 1965, both his continuity and discontinuity with Hard Bop were on display, through the modal explorations. (The chord changes maybe have been fewer, but the groove and drive were unmistakeably urban and Black.)

The sound whose development he spearheaded during this period (with Eric Dolphy, it must be noted) found outlets even in Hard Bop hot houses like Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. (I adduce as "Exhibit A" Wayne Shorter's "Free for All" on the 1962 album of that name. That track's Trane-ish spirit points forward and harkens back.)

Then there's the aptly titled Transition, the classic A Love Supreme and its free-jazz aftermath, Ascension, compared to which the first two sound downright conventional.

While Trane lived in Philadelphia ('43-'58: from '52-'58 in the boarded-up house on the right, below, 1511 N. 33rd: story here and here) . . .

. . . he studied musical theory under the guidance of Dennis Sandole, as did a much younger Philly native (and my former teacher) Pat Martino (who learned as much from observing Sandole's interactions with his students as from his teaching). From the earliest sketches of Pat's life we know that when he was 14 (and therefore in 1958), Trane once treated him to a hot chocolate after lessons.

Thus Trane's last year in Philly was also Pat's: in 1959 the Hard Bop generation-straddling kid would leave home to enter the world that Trane was about to dominate.

"During the year 1957, I experienced, by the grace of God, a spiritual awakening which was to lead me to a richer, fuller, more productive life. At that time, in gratitude, I humbly asked to be given the means and privilege to make others happy through music." -- John Coltrane, A Love Supreme, liner notes.

On Bird's 90th, a Stop at 151 Avenue B

2010-08-29T19:47:00.000-07:00

Before meeting my wife in the seating area near the stage inside Tompkins Square Park, the site of an annual (since 1993) musical birthday tribute to Charlie Parker (1920-1955), I asked a gentleman standing on the park's east side (a three-block segment of Avenue B christened "Charlie Parker Place" in 1992), if he happened to know which of the buildings across the street from where we were standing housed Bird and his family from late 1950 (no source to my knowledge is more specific) to September 1954. (As the chap was sporting a black tee shirt with Lester Young's image, I guessed rightly that he wouldn't respond with, "Who?") He wasn't sure, and as it turned out his educated guess was off only by one building, for neither he nor I could see the plaque noting the landmark status of the 1849 Gothic Revival townhouse at 151 Avenue B.

Later that night at home I found this unambiguous graphic:

There's the plaque between the two staircase-level windows.

An excellent place to start one's research on the Charlie Parker Residence is this site, which has a page on Charles Lockwood's Brick and Brownstone, which used an elevation of 151 Avenue B's façade for one of its many illustrations. According to Chan Parker's memoir, My Life in E-Flat, "Before Pree was born [on July 17, 1951], we moved to a large apartment on Avenue B and 10th Street. For the first time in his life Bird had a stable family life. He played his role of husband and father to the hilt." (Page 31) For what it was like to live there with Bird, one could hardly do better than this interview with his step-daughter Kim.

The site of the original Birdland is now a strip joint, but at least the townhouse wherein Bird did his utmost to be husband to Chan and daddy to Kim, Baird, and Pree has suffered no such indignity.

I mean no disrespect to the fine musicians who played their hearts out in the park today from 3:00 to 7:00. Their virtuosity notwithstanding--and there were a few transcendent moments--by the tribute's end, all I longed to do was to don my headphones and lose myself in something like this:

Clifford Brown, First Recording as Leader, August 28, 1953

2010-08-28T07:08:00.000-07:00

Clifford Brown Memorial Album, Blue Note 1526

Tracks 10-18. Audio-Video Studios, NYC, August 28, 1953.

Clifford Brown (trumpet), Gigi Gryce (alto sax, flute), Charlie Rouse (tenor sax), John Lewis (piano), Percy Heath (bass), Art Blakey (drums).

Track 10. Wail Bait
Track 11. Hymn of the Orient
Track 12. Brownie Eyes
Track 13. Cherokee
Track 14. Easy Living
Track 15. Minor Mood
Track 16. Wail Bait (alt. take)
Track 17. Cherokee (alt. take)
Track 18, Hymn Of The Orient (alt. take)

From Stuart Broomer's Review on Amazon:

Clifford Brown emerged fully formed in 1953, a trumpeter gifted with an ebullient swing and technical skills that added polish and precision to fresh invention. Foregoing both the manic pyrotechnics of Dizzy Gillespie and the laconic introversion of Miles Davis, he also provided a stylistic model for jazz trumpeters that has never gone out of style. This CD combines Brown's first two recording dates as leader, placing him in quintet and sextet settings with some of the core musicians of the New York bop scene. The first nine tracks [recorded June 9, 1953] have Brown in an inspired quintet, prodded by the twisting, off-kilter solos and comping of the brilliant and underrated pianist Elmo Hope and the sparkling complexity of drummer Philly Joe Jones. While altoist Lou Donaldson is deeply in the sway of Charlie Parker, Brown sets his own course, whether it's the boppish "Cookin'" or the standard "You Go to My Head."

The final nine tracks [recorded August 28, 1953] have Art Blakey's drums driving the sextet, while altoist Gigi Gryce's understated concentration acts as an effective foil to Brown's joyous, dancing lines. Taken at a medium up-tempo, "Cherokee" is one of Brown's most effective vehicles. The alternate takes from each session highlight Brown's spontaneous creativity, while Rudy Van Gelder's remastering adds fresh focus to both his gorgeous tone and the explosive drumming.

From Bob Blumenthal's liner notes (2001):

. . . It was at this last session [trombonist J.J. Johnson's first for Blue Note] that [Blue Note founder] Alfred Lion offered the trumpeter a date of his own, which was held on August 28. By that time, Brown had become a member of Lionel Hampton's orchestra. he included another Hampton sideman, Gigi Gryce, on alto sax and flute,

as well as Charlie Rouse on tenor.

Heath was again on bass, together with one of his partners in the recently-formed Modern jazz Quartet, pianist John Lewis. The drummer was Art Blakey, who would feature Brown on the memorable A Night at Birdland recording for the label six months later. . . .

The final two years of Brown's abbreviated career were spent in partnership with Max Roach and produced his most famous recordings, yet the present performances are in no way inferior. On the contrary, they announced the musician Blue Note justifiably failed when the sextet session was first released as a New Star on the Horizon--a star that unfortunately shone all too briefly.

Beside musical delight, this recording has personal significance to me: it took place the very day I emerged from the womb into the light.

I sometimes romantically imagine the synchronicity of Brownie's wailing in the studio and mine in labor and delivery.

C'mon, by how many hours could I be off?

Pat Martino: The Hard Bop Years -- Happy Birthday!

2010-08-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows how central to my musical universe Pat Martino has been for almost 40 years. Today, however, on the occasion of his 66th birthday, I will celebrate a period of his evolution that preceded this personal influence by a decade. Pat Azzara (his birth name) is the Pat Martino I wish my parents had taken me to see when I thought George Harrison's opening riff on "Ticket to Ride" was the apex of guitar improvization.

Pat Azzara at a Boston club, 1963, with Jack McDuff (organ),

Red Holloway (reeds), Joe Dukes (drums), Al Hibbler (vocals).

[Pat made made this pic available on his All About Jazz bulletin board.]

This Pat is virtually "another guitarist" than the one who, in a few precious lessons in the '70s and in countless live performances over the past four decades, altered how I contemplated the guitar's possibilities.

With Pat, Folk City, 1/1/73, 3:20 A.M.

A few weeks later, on the day the Paris Peace

Accords (ending the Vietnam War) were signed,

I traveled from New York to Philly for my first lesson.

Pat Azzara, the Wunderkind, was socially as well as professionally surrounded by almost every cat to whose collective legacy this site is dedicated, most notably John Coltrane and Wes Montgomery. They guided him, taught him, shaped him. In the early '60s, they constituted his musical milieu, even if it changed and he with it to become a major guide, teacher, and life-shaper himself.

The solos you must hear are on the sides he cut with with Willis Jackson, 1963-1964, when Pat was in his late teens. (Pat's time with Jackson goes back to '61, but I know of no recording before '63). Those stellar solos are on the following eight albums (given chronologically by date of recording, not of release):

I. Willis Jackson, Grease 'n' Gravy (Prestige 7285, recorded May 23-24, 1963) and Willis Jackson, The Good Life (Prestige 7296, recorded May 23-24, 1963). Remastered in 2001 and re-issued together on CD as Willis Jackson with Pat Martino, Gravy (PRCD 24254-2).

II. Willis Jackson, More Gravy (Prestige 7317, recorded October 24, 1963) and Willis Jackson, Boss Shoutin' (Prestige 7320, recorded January 9, 1964). Remastered in 2002 and re-issued together on CD as Willis Jackson, Nuther'n Like Thuther'n (PRCD 24265-2).
III. Willis Jackson, Jackson's Action (Prestige 7348, recorded live at the Allegro, New York City, March 21, 1964) and Willis Jackson, Live! Action (Prestige 7380, same place, same date). Remastered in 1995 and re-issued together on CD as Willis Jackson with Pat Martino (PRCD 24161-2).
IV. Willis Jackson, Soul Night/Live (Prestige 7396, recorded live at the Allegro, New York City, March 21, 1964) and Willis Jackson, Tell It (Prestige 7412, same place, same date). Remastered in 2002 and re-issued together on CD as Willis Jackson, Soul Night Live! with Pat Martino (PRCD 24272-2).
Now, to the solos themselves. Following the CD compilation's track number is the title of the track on which Pat solos (he doesn't on every track); the location of his solos on the track; song type; and number of choruses Pat takes.

I. Willis Jackson with Pat Martino, Gravy (PRCD 24254-2):

1: "Brother Elijah," 3:36-4:32 (blues, 4)
2: "Doot Dat," 2:04-3:52 (blues, 7)
3: "Stompin' at the Savoy," 1:14-1:49 (rhythm changes, 1)
4: "Gra-a-a-vy," 8:17-10:28 (slow blues, 3)
5: "Grease," 2:31-4:37 (blues, 8)
9: "Fly Me to the Moon," 1:15-1:56 (ballad, up-tempo, 1)
10: "Angel Eyes," 0:01-0:10 (intro), 0:10-4:11 (ballad, mod. slow/bluesy, 1, except for trumpet on B section)
11: "Troubled Times," 0:59-2:02 (blues, 4)

II. Willis Jackson, Nuther'n Like Thuther'n (PRCD 24265-2).
3. "Stuffin," 3:24-4:46 (blues, 5)
4. "Nuther'n Like Thuther'n," 1:16-2:28 (Vamp tune, 1)
6. "Fiddlin'," 1:51-2:29 (blues, 3)
8. "Que Sera, Sweetie," 2:48-4:37 (minor blues, 5)
9. "Shoutin'," 3:18-5:00 (fast blues, 9)
10. "Nice 'n' Easy," 3:16-5:19 (pop tune, 2)

III. Willis Jackson with Pat Martino (PRCD 24161-2)
2. "A Lot of Living to Do," 3:33-4:26 (show tune, 1)
3. "I Wish You Love," 0:11-2:09 (ballad, 2; Jackson takes it out from B section of second chorus)
7. "Hello, Dolly," 1:11-1:44 (show tune, 1)
11. "I'm a Fool to Want You," 1:06-1:44 (ballad, lines behind Jackson)
12. "Gator Tail," 4:39-7:23 (fast blues, 12)*
13. "Satin Doll," 5:32-7:41 (jazz standard, 2)

IV. Willis Jackson, Soul Night Live! with Pat Martino (PRCD 24272-2).
1. "The Man I Love," 3:10-3:54 (ballad, "manic" uptempo, 1)
2. "Perdido," 4:02-5:33 (pop tune, 2)
3. "Thunderbird," 2:40-4:25 (rock blues, 5)
4. "Polka Dots and Moonbeams," 0:19-5:50 (ballad, 2; cadenza from 5:04 to 5:50. Note: The more one concentrates on Pat's playing, the more painful are the charming atmospherics provided by the live audience, e.g., "What the hell are you doing over there?" at 0:43.)
6. "Flamingo," 0:17-5:36 (ballad, 2; cadenza from 4:48-5:36)
8. "One Mint Julip," 1:11-3:20 (rock blues with a bridge, 2)
9. "Up a Lazy River," 0:35-1:22 (pop tune, 2)
11. "Tangerine," 0:33-1:08 (ballad, uptempo, break + 1)
14. "Secret Love," 1:28-2:30 (ballad, uptempo, 1)

* This takes the crown. No lover of soul-jazz-blues guitar should go to his grave before hearing Pat's twelve break-neck blues choruses on "Gator Tail." Every listener has been left speechless (at least in my presence; at least initially speechless). As more words will sound like hype, I implore you, listen to them as soon as you can, and then ask: "Who else, of whatever age, of no matter how many years of experience, was doing that in those years?" And then remember that Pat was all of 19 when he laid down that solo before the Allegro's live audience on March 21, 1964.

Twelve of the above-listed 29 tracks are blues. Remarkable, apart from their groove and clean articulation, is their linear and rhythmic variety. There is, of course, a discernible common vocabulary, but at no time is one driven to say, "Oh, that again!" Not only from one track to another, but from one chorus to another, inventiveness reigns. The seven choruses of "Doot Dat" and the eight of "Grease" are excellent examples of this. And, again, "Gator Tail"'s dozen are in a class of their own.

On several ballads, "Angel Eyes," "I Wish You Love," "Polka Dots and Moonbeams," and "Flamingo," Jackson lets his young guitarist show off his hard bop chops virtually from start to finish. Pat's sound here invites comparison, and contrast, to the one he would achieve a few years later on El Hombre, his first released album as a leader. For a taste of the latter period, dig this rare, live, 1969 recording of "Who Can I Turn To" with Gene Ludwig (who passed away last month) on organ, recently posted on YouTube and graced by an equally rare still shot:

I dedicate this bit of discographical mining to Pat on the occasion of his birthday, hoping it will send others to all of his recorded work (and to his gigs). Our paths have crossed many times since September 9, 1972 at New York's Folk City; may they do so again and again.

With Pat and my wife at the Blue Note, New York, 9/9/95
(22 years after I first approached him after a set at Folk City across the street)

Happy Birthday, Eddie McFadden, Wherever You May Be

2010-08-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

Not much is known about Jimmy Smith's late '50s/early '60s guitarist beyond the fact that he was born on this date in 1928. (The above rare pic was found on organist Dan Fogel's site.) For discographical information, go to jazzdisco.org, search his name, go to each “hit” on the results page and search his name again. It seems all the tracks listed were made on recording dates with Mr. Smith.

I found this wonderful item on a 2008 post by another McFadden seeker.

Got a minute? If you do, consider spending it listening to Eddie's solo from 0:48 to 1:48 before Lou Donaldson's. Exactly one minute:

I'm not alone in my interest in Mr. McFadden's career and his understated, quietly intense improvisations. If you have information worth sharing, please do so so I can post it here. Thanks!

Can someone at least confirm that he is still "on the planet"?

Jimmy Ponder, Keeper of the Flame

2010-08-04T13:35:00.000-07:00

I blog about Jimmy Ponder today, not because I have been one of his fans, but because I should have been. In a rare 1994 interview extant online only in a "second-hand" version (because all of the sites associated with guitarist Tim Berens, the interviewer, seem to be defunct), Ponder said some things that touched me both as a guitarist and personally. When you read it, you will know which statements I mean.

We can see Jimmy play beautifully in some grainy online videos. There are too few of them, but they at least give us a glimpse of the soulful playing this site seeks to draw attention to. For example, here's the instrumental (and vocal!) treatment of "Summertime" he provided at a Pittsburgh club:

And this version of "Autumn Leaves" (from August 4, 1984 at Mikell's ['69-'91]) just made me want to play, play, play my guitar:

He has an impressive resume of recordings and performances. His albums have been favorably reviewed over the years. If the comments sections of blogs are an accurate indication, there is a widespread affection for Jimmy Ponder, and deep respect for both his accomplishments and equally deep appreciation to him for the joy he brings his audiences.

He has yet to "break through." Like George Benson, he is a Pittsburgh native, but unlike his near-contemporary he remains a denizen of that "City of Bridges" (which desperately needs its counterpart to Before Motown: A History of Jazz in Detroit, 1920-1960). He is an active player and teacher, but I've never seen his name in a lineup for any New York jazz club or festival. Never.

But who else is doing what he's doing? No one.

He is a (if not the) keeper of Wes Montgomery's Hard Bop/Soul Jazz flame -- "legacy" is the word Wes himself used, according to that interview. Therefore, since Jimmy rightly declares that "there's no guitar player that's aware of jazz that is not aware of me," he must be brought out of the background to the foreground of our minds.

Let it begin, or at least continue, with me.

Baker's, A Hard Bop Home: A Hat Tip to Dennis Coffey

2010-08-03T09:44:00.000-07:00

Although I savored every page of Lars Björn and Jim Gallert's scholarly and profusely illustrated Before Motown: A History of Jazz in Detroit last year, its brief mention of Baker's Keyboard Lounge did not make a deep impression. Ironically, it took a chat with Motown studio legend Dennis Coffey last Saturday to begin to remedy my near-nescience on this under-recognized jazz venue.

Coffey was always in my peripheral vision. I was never a rocker, having embraced jazz in earnest only in 1971, a few years after my musical interest had shifted from the Beatles and kindred groups to Soul Music, Coffey's bread-and-butter. I therefore had known his playing, but not as his playing. He was "Author Anonymous" for me and for millions of others (as were all the "Funk Brothers"). His 1971 debut album, Goin' for Myself, sported this image:

At Lincoln Center Out-of-Doors' "Motor City Soul Review," it was closer to this:

I hope I'll be playing with equivalent conviction and energy when I'm pushing 70.

As he was packing his gear, the only thing I could think of to ask him about was the Detroit jazz scene. I broke the ice by mentioning to him that Before Motown leaves the post-1960 period a blank. Coffey assured me that the scene is alive and well and that he plays "about once a month at Baker's." A research assignment.

What a revelation! Baker's Keyboard Lounge in Detroit has been in continuous operation since 1934, and thus its claim to be "the world's oldest jazz club," which it broadcasts on its site. It may have been in continuous operation since '34, when Chris Baker opened it as a sandwich shop, but his son Clarence (owner since '39) booked no "name" acts, only local jazz talent, until '54. (What about The Village Vanguard? It opened in '35 and didn't have a fulltime jazz policy until the late '50s.) Every jazz great, including every Hard Bop giant, played Baker's. But why not hear the story from the lips of Clarence Baker himself?

Current co-owner John Colbert proudly drives home the historical importance of Baker's in the following clip (which morphs into a rousing performance of Miles Davis' "Four" by Dwight Adams and his colleagues):

Colbert mentions that the club's original piano is being restored. This informative Detroit News article notes that it was Art Tatum who had selected it in New York and had it shipped to Baker's!

And so this expansion of my inventory of jazz historical knowledge was occasioned by an unplanned encounter with a soul guitar master. In a short exchange of e-mails with me yesterday Dennis Coffey recalled having seen, "back in the day," fellow Detroiter Kenny Burrell not only at Baker's but also at the Minor Key (which would have had to be sometime between Winter '58-'59 and 1963, the club's short lifespan). Coffey also remembers catching Wes Montgomery at a club called "the Drome Lounge . . . a small club on Dexter" (he must have meant the Bowl-o-Drome, which was on Dexter) and hanging out with Joe Pass at his house in Los Angeles.

I close this post of gratitude to Mr. Coffey (you see why I wasn't so formal until now?) for his graciousness in opening my eyes (and, yes, even my ears) over the past few days by posting a clip of his playing -- his music -- at Baker's this past February.

A Welcome Mat for The House!

2010-08-02T17:42:00.000-07:00

Doug Ramsey, a seasoned writer of all things jazz, became aware of this blog thanks to Dave Lull, a visitor we have in common -- thanks, Dave! -- and welcomed it to the "the neighborhood" yesterday on his blog. (Every major jazz figure should be lucky enough to get the treatment -- equal parts passion and hard research -- that Mr. Ramsey give his subject's life and work in Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond.)

Mr. Ramsey chose to hold up the text of my inaugural post for his readers' consideration. Thus began my side of what already threatens to be a battle to focus on Hard Bop rather than on the words we use to pick it out from the rest of the jazz universe. Mr. Ramsey invites us to consider (and links to) his past posts on Hard Bop and the comments they stimulated in his visitors. I read them all with interest--and with more determination than ever to keep to an absolute minimum the space that dialectic will consume on this blog. I can no sooner say something than someone else immediately asks in all sincerity, "Whatever are you talking about?" My inevitably poor answer -- suggesting a unity of gospel plus blues plus virtuosity -- invites only more of the same: "Oh, no, no, no! You've got it all wrong! What about the following counterexamples!" (And "What is 'jazz,' anyway?") And we're off to the races.

The day the fog of contentiousness threatens to descend on this blog -- whether on little cat feet or with seven-league boots -- to obscure its eirenic aim is the day I'll shut it down. For forty years I've lived and breathed the negativity of dialectic (that is, of affirmation and denial, not of "negative vibes, man," of the dynamism of the human mind, not of depressed moods). This is where I take a break from it, not where I force upon my readers the alternative of either tolerating or combatting my "beautiful theories."

Even to say that bare minimum required participation in dialectic, and it leaves a bad taste, the very opposite of Hard Bop.

Lubricant for Someone "Stuck in '62"?

2010-07-26T07:43:00.000-07:00

Someone like me.

The promotional site for Cicily Janus' new book, The New Face of Jazz, An Intimate Look at Today's Living Legends and the Artists of Tomorrow, has a promotional page with a message that I must take to heart:

"You’ve heard about them time and time again. Their music—the most influential notes ever played. Bird, `Trane, Miles, Ella and their peers are immortalized in personal CD and iTunes libraries around the world. You can find their histories, the dirt behind their careers and endless archives in hundreds of books, encyclopedias and limitless websites

"Oh . . . and one more thing.

"They’re dead.

"The musicians cataloged in these pages are not. They eat, breathe, sleep and live for Jazz. As unsung heroes of America’s only original art form, you need to know them. As a matter of fact, you already should.

"Because they’re accessible.

"Prolific.

"Entertaining. . . ."

All right. I'll re-think my stuck-ness.

The Grand Opening of "The Jazz Annex"

2010-07-21T18:58:00.000-07:00

I have decided to open a "jazz portal" within my philosophical website. If this is my Hard Bop House, then consider that portal its annex. I don't want to be restricted to ten "stand-alone" pages on this blog, and since I have a capacious site, I don't have to.

The first offering, following up our recent tribute to Sadik Hakim, is the text of his long-out-of-print memoir, "Reflections of an Era: My Experiences with Bird and Prez." I hope you enjoy it as much as I did formatting it.

July 20, 1969: I Was There.

2010-07-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

No, not the Moon. Mount Morris Park (renamed Marcus Garvey Park four years later).

A few days before, I had seen an ad for the concert on the 27 Bus, so around noon the day Neil Armstrong would do the first "Moonwalk," I took the No. 6 train (of J.Lo's debut album fame -- she would be born four days later) from the Sound View Avenue Station (now Morrison-Sound View Avenues) down to 125th Street to enjoy a Soul Music concert of arguably historic proportions.

According to kamau blogging last year about the whole festival, "producer Hal Tulchin took over 50 hours of footage of the festival, but was unable to get it aired on the American TV networks of the day. Currently that footage lies languishing in vaults; apart from Nina Simone’s performance that is making the rounds of YouTube . . . , most of that footage has not seen the light of day."

Below is the text of the original press release for the July 20th concert. (Notice the area code for the whole city is "212"; "718" for the "outer boroughs" won't be created until 1984.) Below the press release is the poster for the festival.

Headliner Stevie Wonder was only 18. Chuck Jackson will turn 73 this Thursday.

What has this to do with Hard Bop? I'll think of some excuse.

City of New York
Administration of Parks,
Recreation and
Cultural Affairs
Arsenal, Central Park 10021

For Release

UPON RECEIPT

For Further Information:

Janice Brophy - 360-8141

SOUL FESTIVAL IN HARLEM

    Harlem will host the sounds of soul this Sunday, July 20th, at 2:00 p.m. at Mount Morris Park, 124th Street and Fifth Avenue. The concert climaxes "Soul Music Festival Week." proclaimed by Mayor Lindsay for July 15th to July 20th.

    Stevie Wonder, David Ruffin, Chuck Jackson, Gladys Knight and the Pips, and the Lou Parks Dancers are featured at the Soul Festival, the third concert in the Harlem Cultural Festival 1969, sponsored by the New York City's Parks, Recreation and Cultural Affairs Administration and Maxwell House Coffee, and produced and directed by Tony Lawrence. Admission is free.

    The Harlem Cultural Festival 1969 will continue through the summer with three more concerts at Mount Morris Park, all at 2:00 p.m. A Caribbean Festival on July 27th, featuring Mongo Santamaria, Ray Barretto, Cal Tjader, Herbie Mann, and the Harlem Festival Calypso Band; a Blues & Jazz Festival on August 17 with Nina Simone, B. B. King, Hugh Masakela, and the Harlem Festival Jazz Band; on August 24th, a Miss Harlem Beauty Pageant & Local Talent Festival, featuring La Rocque Bey & Co., and Listen My Brothers & Co.

-30-

7/16/69

#866

FOR DAILY RECORDINGS ON PARK EVENTS: in Manhattan and Bronx-
755-4100. For Queens, Staten Island and Brooklyn - 691-5858.

Sadik Hakim, 1919-1983: A Vignette from My Diary

2010-07-15T14:47:00.000-07:00

It may be, as the Buddhist proverb has it, that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. When Sadik Hakim briefly appeared in my life, however, I wasn't ready, and wouldn't be for more than a third of a century, that is, until it was too late. So, maybe he wasn't supposed to be "the teacher," right? He was certainly, however, "present at the creation" of arguably the world's greatest music, and if I had known then what I learned later, I could have benefited from our chance encounter even more than I did.

He was born 91 years ago today in Duluth, christened Argonne Thornton. On November 26, 1945, this denizen of 52nd Street in its glorious Bebop period had alternated with Dizzy Gillespie on piano on Charlie Parker's immortal "Ko-Ko" date. According to his Wikipedia entry, "Hakim is credited with co-writing Thelonious Monk's standard 'Eronel' and is rumored to have written a few famous bop tunes credited to other composers. He adopted his Muslim name in 1947."

The most common, and most apt, adjective associated with Sadik Hakim is "unsung." Although the average jazz fan cannot recognize his name, I have run into it repeatedly, and unexpectedly, in many of the jazz biographies I've read in the last few years. For example, I'll pick up From Swing to Bop (p. 305), only to read Shelly Manne's memory of a night at the Onyx on 52nd Street in the early '40s when big Ben Webster knocked over nearly every table to dissuade some rowdy solider on leave from further pestering his pianist. Or just today, when I consulted Feather and Gitler's The Biographical Encyclopedia of Jazz for information on a former music teacher of mine, saxist Paul Jeffrey (with whom I took a single, but valuable, lesson in 1974), I learned that Professor Jeffrey had played with Hakim in 1961.

Some of Sadik Hakim's memories of befriending as well as working with Bird are recorded in Bird: The Legend of Charlie Parker, edited by Robert Reisner. It was because I had read this book sometime before November 19, 1976, that I was able to appreciate to some extent the good fortune of his gregariously striking up a conversation with me, a total stranger, that night at Bradley's (70 University Place, 1969-1996).

I was there to see legendary bop-era guitarist Jimmy Raney, who did not disappoint. (He played Bird's "Billie's Bounce" at my request, and his son, Doug, sat in for one or two numbers.) During the second set I was, according to my diary, "joined at my table by Sadik (I think that's it) who knew all the greats. It was great talking to him. After the second set I walked him over to Sweet Basil's [88 Seventh Avenue South] where George Coleman was blowing an alto [sax] apart. On the way, I recall [to him] somebody from a book on Charlie Parker who had a Moslem name and who knew Bird well. It turns out it was he!! He doesn't drink or smoke; he lives his religion. I was very impressed with him. He's going on tour now with somebody."

In 1978, he recorded Sonny Stitt Meets Sadik Hakim. Listen to clips from Witches, Goblins, etc. on Amazon for instant evidence that he was "the real thing."

He accomplished much more than I can summarize usefully in a post, but a quick search will bring you to the most salient facts. He passed away in June of 1983, about a year after playing "Round Midnight" at the funeral of Thelonious Monk.

In 1976 I could not have imagined paying tribute to him this way. Thank you, Sadik, for going out of your way to touch my life, however fleetingly, not in cyberspace, but at Bradley's. I wish I had gone out of my way to keep in touch, but my self-esteem, or lack thereof, wasn't up to the task. I had foolishly undervalued the evidence of your accessibility and ruled myself out.

Perhaps I'm learning from you after all. Happy Birthday, Teacher. Requiescas in pace.

"Stuck in '62"? With qualifications, Yes!

2010-07-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

In 2004, Jazz Guitar Life asked free jazz guitarist Dom Minasi (during its interview with him) whether there was a bias against his music. His answer contains a phrase which I clipped and now use as shorthand by which I indicate, quite lightheartedly, my general orientation in jazz. After naming notable bias-free exceptions, Minasi bemoaned the fact that "the guitar community in general is stuck somewhere between 1940 and 1962 and they put anyone down who doesn't fit into that mold of what they think jazz guitar should be. It's a shame too. There's room for everyone. We should be supporting one another not criticizing each other."

Stuck in '62? Yup, guilty as charged! The range of years that Minasi referred to covers "Pre-Bop," Bebop, and Hard Bop. After that, the Flood (no pun intended), otherwise known as the British invasion. I have no desire to dictate and demand adherence to the One Correct Theory of Art or to put down anyone who does not dig as I do. Neither do I romanticize the world of fifty, sixty, or seventy years ago. But there were things about it that I wished had "stayed put" until I was old enough to appreciate them. One of those things was Hard Bop. I make no apologize for intending to spend the rest of my days honoring it, and if that leaves me less room for free jazz's musical "adventure," I am more than happy to incur that cost.

Lee Morgan: Another Hero Gone Too Soon

2010-07-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

The very idea of Lee Morgan at age 72, which birthday he would have reached today, verges on the incongruous. For jazz lovers he will ever be the youngster who inherited the hard bop trumpet mantle that the magnificent Clifford Brown (briefly Lee's teacher) relinquished tragically at age 25 in 1956. On November 4-6 of that year Lee, a little more than four months after Brown perished in a car accident, recorded two inaugural albums, Lee Morgan Indeed! and Introducing Lee Morgan.

Lee's own voice escaped Brownie's gravitational pull during his tenure with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. (You haven't lived until you heard his solos on their 1960 A Night in Tunisia!) If Lee had done nothing more than contribute to the success of Coltrane's iconic Blue Train session for Blue Note Records, which he did in 1957 while still a teenager, his place in history would have been secure. But as his discography reveals, he created so much more before he was gunned down at Slug's on February 19, 1972 at age 33, including his soul-jazz breakthrough The Sidewinder.

I appreciated him too late. I saw him perform only once, at a fundraiser for Angela Davis at the City Center on West 55th Street in Manhattan, about a year before he was killed. (I'd appreciate hearing from anyone who has the exact date.) At the time, my grasp of the history of the music I loved was weak. Now that is less so, I have the pleasure of bringing Lee Morgan to the attention of others.

Hard Bop = Blues + Gospel + Virtuosity

2010-07-09T08:05:00.000-07:00

It's not just the feel, it's not just the chops. It's the blending of both.

Bebop, Hard Bop's immediate predecessor, boasted many instrumental masters, but in their effort to realize more of Swing's harmonic and melodic potential, sacrificed the "down home" quality with which jazz had originally been associated. (The notable exception, of course, is Charlie Parker, whose nearly every solo was blues-drenched.)

The creators of Hard Bop brought that feeling back, adapting chord progressions from the church, and melodies from the rhythm-and-blues groups that sprung up in the 'fifties, and so restored jazz to its former place as a popular music, at least in black neighborhoods. As they did this, they expanded the vocabulary of all jazz instrumentalists to the same as degree as, if not to a greater degree than, their bebopping forebears.

A Dream Come True: Grant Green Leads a Hard Bop Band on "Solid"

2010-07-08T18:45:00.000-07:00

This past June 12 marked 46 years since a 34-year-old Grant Green recorded Solid with McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones (i.e., half of John Coltrane's famous quartet), James Spaulding, Joe Henderson, and Bob Cranshaw. Fortunately for the verdict on Green's contribution to the evolution of jazz guitar, Blue Note eventually released these tracks. Unfortunately for Green himself, Blue Note did not do so until 1979, after his death. If you were to try to imagine a guitarist's meeting the challenge of fronting a band whose energy and creativity recall that of the Jazz Messengers, dominated as such bands usually are by brass and reeds, you could not come up with something better than this.

Ken Watkins' extended review of Solid discusses Grant's musical distinctiveness in his "100 Greatest Jazz Albums" series.

Hard Bop: From the Wikipedia Entry

2010-07-08T18:14:00.000-07:00

"Hard bop is a style of jazz that is an extension of bebop (or "bop") music. Hard bop incorporates influences from rhythm and blues, gospel music, and blues, especially in the saxophone and piano playing.

"David H. Rosenthal also contends in his book Hard Bop that it is to a large degree the natural creation of a generation of black American musicians who grew up at a time when bop and rhythm and blues were the dominant forms of black American music and prominent jazz musicians like Tadd Dameron worked in both genres. Another major influence in this genre was Miles Davis.

"Hard bop was developed in the mid-1950s, partly in response to the vogue for cool jazz that became popular in the early 1950s. A simplistic definition states that 'cool jazz,' or 'west coast jazz,' emphasized the more European elements of the music, deriving to a great extent from the 'chamber jazz' experiments of the Miles Davis nonet and Dave Brubeck's various quartets, while hard bop brought the church and gospel music back into jazz, emphasizing the African elements. In fact, both cool and hard bop contain European and African elements, but the simplistic definition offers a shorthand way of addressing the difference. The hard bop style coalesced in 1953 and 1954, paralleling the rise of rhythm and blues, the latter developed by African-American musicians in part as a means of giving their audiences dance music in the wake of the decline of the swing bands, and the abandonment of jazz as a music to dance by as bebop emerged, with its intricacies and emphasis on a serious listening experience.

"In 1954, Davis's performance of the title track of his album Walkin' at the inaugural Newport Jazz Festival, held that same year, announced the style to the jazz world. Davis would form his first great quintet with John Coltrane in 1955 to play hard bop, before moving on to other things. Other key documents were the two volumes of the Blue Note albums A Night at Birdland, also from 1954, recorded at the legendary jazz club months before the Davis set at Newport. The quintet by Art Blakey featured pianist Horace Silver and trumpeter Clifford Brown, all of whom would be leaders in the hard bop movement along with Davis. Blakey and Silver would start the seminal band The Jazz Messengers, although Silver would leave to front his own hard bop groups in 1956, and Brown formed the other trend-setting hard bop band with drummer Max Roach, the Brown-Roach Quintet.

"The hard bop style enjoyed its greatest popularity in the 1950s and 1960s, but hard bop performers, and elements of the music, remain popular in jazz. According to Nat Hentoff in his 1957 liner notes for the Blakey Columbia LP of the same name, the phrase "hard bop" was originated by author-critic-pianist John Mehegan, jazz reviewer of the New York Herald Tribune at that time. Soul jazz developed from hard bop.

"Horace Silver was a musician who was largely instrumental in the development of the style through his original compositions and soulful piano style. Art Blakey and his Jazz Messengers also deserve a large credit for the development of the style as well.

"Other musicians who contributed prominently to the hard bop style include Cannonball Adderley, Sonny Stitt, Donald Byrd, Sonny Clark, Lou Donaldson, Kenny Drew, Benny Golson, Dexter Gordon, Joe Henderson, Andrew Hill, Freddie Hubbard, Jackie McLean, Charles Mingus, Blue Mitchell, Hank Mobley, Johnny Griffin, Thelonious Monk, Lee Morgan, and Sonny Rollins."

Hard Bop: the Dominant, Not Sole, Focus Here.

2010-07-06T17:51:00.000-07:00

I care a great deal about what came before it, and what came out of it, most of all the remarkable musicians who faced challenges (pardon the euphemism) posed by the British invasion of 1964. "Hard bop" is an abstraction, but if I manage to lead my visitor away from words about it and to the music itself, which my words might as easily dilute as illuminate, he or she will be able to put meat on the literary bones I offer.