Am I the only one cognizant of this golden anniversary? I hope not. Recorded at Plaza Studios in New York City on April 22, 1963 Boss Guitar is more than enjoyable: it is essential Wes Montgomery. (I'm merely contradicting Scott Yanow's opinion, as excerpted in the Wiki article on the album.) The sensibility of his later albums (Boss Guitar was his ninth) provides the session's "popular" atmosphere, but it is drenched in the mind-engaging improvisational chops the world had already heard on The Incredible Jazz Guitar of Wes Montgomery and other LPs.
I recommend to jazz guitarists reading this that they "live" with each of Wes's solos for a concentrated period (if they have not already done so), immerse themselves in these gems of spontaneous musical composition, intently notice how he builds them, "dig" the signature earthy texture with which his calloused right thumb incarnated their every note. They are as emotionally accessible to the casual listener as they are challenging to the veteran player.
It's a trio date -- the recently deceased Mel Rhyne on Hammond B-3, the apparently immortal Jimmy Cobb on drums -- that packs the punch of a big band. If you feel you must sample what I'm talking about before acquiring this CD, I am pleased to note that the tracks are available on YouTube, but I'm embedding it here for your convenience:
Not seven weeks earlier, the eponymously titled, and classic, collaboration of John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman, which we have celebrated, to mention no other great contemporaneous jazz recording, had transpired. 1963 was memorable for transition (Pope John XXIII dies mid-Vatican Council on June 3, Paul VI is elected), trail-blazing (the March on Washington on August 28th, but also many other sentinel events in the history of the civil rights movement), and tragedy (JFK's assassination, subsequent/consequent escalation of US involvement in Vietnam).
But it was also the year the Beatles made pop culture history with Please, Please Me and Meet the Beatles. Comic book superheroes Iron Man and the X-Men continue to do that, but those superheroes debuted fifty years ago. James Bond's second cinematic adventure, From Russia with Love, hit the big screen.
That year Blue Note Records released Blues for Lou, Am I Blue, and Idle Moments all three albums helmed by its most prolific musician, Grant Green. But as wonderful as they are, and as much as they continue to delight, Boss Guitar must be singled out for the extraordinary gifts it bestows. And as infrequently as I tend this blog, I could not proceed with anything else today without saying so.
The
great pianist Harold Mabern turned 76 last Tuesday. He's on several of my
favorite sides: Grant Green's earliest recordings (with Jimmy Forrest, December
10, 1959), 1964's now-classic Inside Betty Carter and, the
subject of today's post, Wes Montgomery's trio dates in Paris and
Belgium 1965. As Thom Jurek describes it for his CD Universe review
of the recording of the Paris concert, performed 48 years ago this evening:
Wes
Montgomery's 1965 concert at the Theatre des Champs Elysees [let Google translate the French for you, if necessary.--T.F.] in Paris is one of
the greatest live dates ever recorded from the decade. Here, Montgomery,
pianist Harold Mabern, drummer Jimmy Lovelace, bassist Arthur Harper, and
saxophonist Johnny Griffin—who guested on three selections at the end of the
gig—tore the City of Light apart with an elegant yet raw and immediate jazz
of incomparable musicianship and communication.
Montgomery was literally on
fire and Mabern has never, ever been heard better on record. From the opening
bars of "Four on Six," Montgomery is playing full-on, doing a long
solo entirely based on chord voicings that is as stellar as any plectrum solo
he ever recorded. Mabern's ostinato and legato phrasing is not only blinding in
speed, but completely gorgeous in its melodic counterpoint. And while the bop
and hard bop phrasing here is in abundance, Montgomery does not leave the funk
behind. It's as if he never played with George Shearing, so aggressive is his
playing here.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the tonal inquiry that goes
on in the band's read of John Coltrane's "Impressions," in which the
entire harmonic palette is required by Montgomery's series of staggered
intervals and architectural peaks in the restructuring of the head. Likewise,
in Griffin Montgomery finds a worthy foil on "'Round Midnight" and
the medley of "Blue and Boogie/West Coast Blues." Montgomery assumes
the contrapuntal role as Mabern floods the bottom with rich, bright chords and
killer vamps in the choruses. Highly recommended.
A few weeks later in April of 1965, Montgomery and Mabern appeared (again with Arthur Harper on bass) on Belgian television and, thanks to YouTube, we can get a glimpse of what Mr. Jurek enthused over:
Although we lost Wes on June 15, 1968, Harold Mabern has been teaching several generations of jazz musicians at William Paterson University. He also continues to perform, often in ensembles led by tenor saxist (and one of his former WPU students) Eric Alexander. Last year he gave a priceless interview in which he tells about his being "at the right place at the right time" in late 'fifties and early 'sixties in Chicago and New York (including his first Birdland gig) and, more touchingly, about the trauma of witnessing the murder of his friend, Lee Morgan (at Slug's jazz club forty years ago last February 19).
Simply put, Mabern has played with nearly all of the jazz greats who were his contemporaries. But now he's one of the greats with whom it is the privilege of others to play. A belated Happy Birthday, Harold! Thanks for keeping the flame.
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.
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!
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!
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.
Although I savored every page of Lars Björn and Jim Gallert's scholarly and profusely illustrated Before Motown: A History of Jazz in Detroitlast 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.
