Happy Birthday, Grant Green (1935-1979)

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!

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

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.

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

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)