Archives for 2007

Glenn Mitchell’s account of the 90th birthday party for Howard Rumsey a month or so ago at Catalina’s in Los Angeles included this about Jack Sheldon’s appearance with his sextet:

They played a favorite of Rumsey’s, a tune that bassist Jimmy Blanton (his all-time favorite) was remembered in, “Do Nothing ‘Til You Hear From Me.” They continued with “Jumping At The Woodside” (same changes as “I’ve Got Rhythm”) and “I Can’t Get Started,” which Sheldon sang very well. Sheldon is not only a great horn player and vocalist but a comedian as well. He roasted Rumsey for a number of minutes, telling stories from the past and kidding him with, “This is your party, Howard, wake up, ” having fun with him about being 80 and surprised with 90 being actually realized. He acknowledged two great qualities of Rumsey — his kindness and generosity.

That triggered a vision from the past. In 1954, I drove from Seattle to Southern California on spring break from college. On a Sunday afternoon in Hermosa Beach I visited the Lighthouse, where Rumsey headed the famous band of all-stars named after the club. Between sets, he and I struck up a conversation. Rumsey said, “Be sure to stick around. A kid from the neighborhood is going to sit in. I think you’ll like him.” The kid was Jack Sheldon. I liked him. Ever since, I have wondered that a trumpet player so accomplished, so admired and respected by other musicians, has never got his due from critics or the jazz audience at large. Maybe it’s because of his comedy, which can be beyond raunchy. Maybe it’s because he sings. Maybe it’s because he has an acting career on the side. But make no mistake, for half a century Sheldon has been a formidable trumpet player.

Jack Sheldon
Here is a rare video example of his singing and playing. It was at a club in New Orleans. The rhythm section is Dave Frishberg, piano; Dave Stone, bass; Frankie Capp, drums; and John Pisano, guitar.
Googling, I found a promo for a documentary about Sheldon. I’ve turned up no information about when it will materialize.
Sheldon is the trumpeter who breaks your heart with the beauty of his playing in the main title and recurring “Shadow of Your Smile” theme of the motion picture The Sandpiper, a film whose only distinction is Johnny Mandel’s music. To hear some of it, including Sheldon’s solos, click here.
Jack Sheldon turned seventy-six a few days ago and seems to be flourishing. Hooray.

Rifftides reader and Bill Evans specialist Jan Stevens alerts us to a trove of Evans material that until now existed only in print archives. He reports that Win Hinkle, editor of Letter From Evans, has made all issues of his newsletter available free on the internet. Hinkle’s subscription newsletter was published from 1989 to 1994. It included interviews with Evans, transcriptions of his solos, reviews, and contributions from or interviews with musicians close to Evans. Among those musicians were Chuck Israels, Kenny Werner, Hal Galper and Jack Reilly. For details, go to Mr. Stevens’ website, The Bill Evans Webpages.

Well, it’s about time.
Exigencies of the past few weeks have required putting off a number of duties, including the posting of a new batch of Doug’s Picks. But there they are, in the right-hand column.

Here is a listening tip for Friday, December 7, gleaned from a Dave Brubeck Quartet listserve:

To celebrate pianist Dave Brubeck’s 87th birthday, Alyn Shipton introduces part of a conversation with Brubeck recorded during his quartet’s 40th anniversary tour of the UK, in which he selects some of his favourite recordings from a catalogue that includes over 100 albums.
As well as such perennial favourites as “Take Five” by his historic quartet with Paul Desmond, Brubeck also looks at his collaborations with Gerry Mulligan, the London Symphony Orchestra and his present day band with saxophonist Bobby Militello.

That will be on BBC Radio 3 at 10:30 pm London time. In the US that’s 5:30 pm EDT, 2:30 pm PDT. For internet listeners, BBC 3 has streaming audio.

Wes Montgomery, Live in ’65 (Jazz Icons). Anyone interested in guitar at the highest level will be fascinated by this DVD. If you are intrigued by the democratic, cooperative nature of jazz, you will relish the first segment. Sitting in a television studio in Holland with a rhythm section he is apparently meeting for the first time, Montgomery walks pianist Pim Jacobs through a tune whose name the guitarist doesn’t know. The song turns out to be “The End of a Love Affair.” Montgomery is relaxed and articulate. He is definite and specific about the altered harmonic progression he wants, spelling out the chords both instrumentally and verbally.
As Pat Metheny emphasizes in his erudite liner notes, this is not the instinctual primitive genius of the myth that has been built up around Montgomery’s memory. Montgomery knows what he is doing and articulates it in specific musical terms. He and Jacobs negotiate the nature and placement of the chords, and the band comes to agreement about how to proceed. Montgomery is at ease with Jacobs, Pim’s bassist brother Ruud and the energetic young drummer Han Bennink, who was becoming the ubiquitous and eclectic force in European music that he remains today. They clearly adore Montgomery and seem a bit stunned at finding themselves playing with him. But play they do, soaring on the energy and thrust that Montgomery inspires with his virtuosity. They nail not only “The End of a Love Affair,” but also a fine version of “Nica’s Dream” and a spontaneous blues. From his smiles, it is clear that Montgomery is pleased.
Two days later in a TV studio in Belgium, Montgomery is with a familiar rhythm section, pianist Harold Mabern, bassist Arthur Harper and drummer Jimmy Lovelace. If there were runthroughs, we don’t see them. The quartet cooks through five pieces including Coltrane’s “Impressions” and Montgomery’s challenging “Jingles.” As in Holland, excellent camera work and direction give the viewer vantage points from which to observe Montgomery’s celebrated use of his thumb rather than a pick. His unorthodox technique, his octave lines, his polyphony, his harmonic and rhythmic daring have merged into standard jazz guitar language, but forty-two years ago they still seemed revolutionary. This is a rare opportunity to observe details of his approach. Guitarists will be studying the closeups of Montgomery’s hands on the strings and fingerboard for a long time.
The final segment on the disc is from March, 1965, recorded in London under somewhat contrived conditions. Saxophonist and entrepeneur Ronnie Scott, with his back to Montgomery, explains the musician and his music as Montgomery sits like a studio prop. Scott does his part to perpetuate the legend of Montgomery as unable to read music. If that was technically correct on some level, Montgomery was fully schooled in detailed understanding of harmony, as he proved in Holland. A bit more subdued than in the earlier segments, Montgomery nonetheless plays beautifully with the rhythm section that was accompanying him at Scott’s club; pianist Stan Tracey, bassist Rick Laird and drummer Jackie Dougan. There are versions of “Twisted Blues” and “Here’s That Rainy Day” to compare with those a month earlier in Belgium. We also see and hear workouts on “Full House” and “Four on Six,” Tracey’s solo on the latter disclosing his appreciation of Thelonious Monk.
One of the most telling sequences showing Montgomery’s thumb at work comes behind the DVD’s closing credits as he plays “West Coast Blues.” This disc is a highlight of the superb second batch of Jazz Icons DVDs.

Have you ever wondered what happened to Hal Gaylor?
Oh. You don’t know about Hal Gaylor.
In the 1950s and ’60s, Gaylor was one of the most respected bassists in jazz, working with a range of musicians. Here is what I mean by range; his colleagues included Chico Hamilton, Paul Bley, Stan Getz, Bill Evans, Clark Terry, Roger Kellaway, Lena Horne, Mel Torme, Anita O’Day, Jeremy Steig and Benny Goodman. There were many others of equal stature. Later, he was in the rhythm section that backed Tony Bennett. For a time, his trio with Walter Norris and Billy Bean collaborated with Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry. Here is what I wrote about The Trio when its only album was reissued on CD in 1999.

Of the many groups that have caused ripples on the surface of jazz and then sunk out of sight, none was more intriguing or seemed to have greater musical possibilities than The Trio. It was a cooperative group whose members poured all of their considerable abilities into creating a piano-guitar-bass group that was much more than just another wannabe Nat Cole Trio. Conceived by bassist Hal Gaylor, it was also an outlet for pianist Walter Norris and guitarist Billy Bean. The trio’s intricacies were reminiscent of Cole at times but also of the Red Norvo Trio and of adventurous groups like those of Lennie Tristano. Not long after this recording, Bean disappeared into his native Philadelphia. Gaylor left jazz to become a certified drug counselor. Only Norris remains active in music. The Trio is a valuable reminder of a splendid group.

As Robert Gados reported over the weekend in the Middletown (New York) Times Herald-Record, Gaylor did not leave jazz on a whim.

THE MUSIC STOPPED FOR GAYLOR, who lives in Scotchtown, in 1973, when a virus left him deaf in the right ear. He was 44 years old. He went to a doctor in San Francisco because his ear was clogged. The doctor told him, “The cochlea is dead.” Tough news to hear for anyone; for a top jazz musician, a professional death sentence.

To read all of Gados’s story, go here.
Then go to Gaylor’s own web site to read more details of his life as musician, architect and artist, and to see his portraits of musicians.

Hal Gaylor wearing
his portrait of
Ornette Coleman
I asked the writer Gene Lees and the pianist Roger Kellaway for a few words about Gaylor.

Lees: I first knew him in Montreal when we were kids, twenty-three or twenty-four years old. He was already established. I was working as a reporter and hanging out in the jazz joints. He was a great man and a great musician. We have been extremely close friends from that time ’til this. An amazingly multi-talented guy. He’s like a brother to me. I haven’t seen him in years, but we talk on the phone all the time.

Kellaway: Hal was in my first recorded trio, when he was with Tony Bennett. I just loved his playing. He was a fabulous bassist, very musical, and swung his ass off. We’ve made the masters of those recordings into a CD. We haven’t released it.

That’s something to look forward to.

This is short notice, but here’s a message from pianist-composer Joan Stiles:

Tonight, Sunday, Dec. 2nd, 11pm-midnight EST: “Jazz from the Archives” show on WBGO (88.3 FM). I’ll be interviewed by Annie Kuebler, archivist and curator of the Mary Lou Williams collection at the Institute of Jazz Studies. We’ll be playing selections from Hurly-Burly. You can listen online by going here.

Apropos of nothing, I love this picture of Jelly Roll Morton, evidently lecturing the members of his Red Hot Peppers.

This was 1926 or ’27 in Chicago. Behind Morton from left to right are Omer Simeon, clarinet; Andrew Hilaire, drums; John Lindsay, bass; Johnny St. Cyr, banjo; Kid Ory, trombone; and George Mitchell, trumpet. To hear them play “Grandpa’s Spells”, click here.

The world lost Cecil Payne today. He didn’t quite make it to his eighty-fifth birthday. Born on December 14, 1922, Payne was thought by many of his peers to be the greatest baritone saxophonist of the first bop generation. He anchored Dizzy Gillespie’s seminal big band from 1946 to 1949 and went on to play with dozens of leaders including James Moody, Duke Jordan, Kenny Dorham, Randy Weston, John Coltrane, Woody Herman, Tadd Dameron, Coleman Hawkins, Count Basie and Lionel Hampton.

Cecil Payne
Payne never got the recognition his talent should have brought him. The kindest and most considerate of men, his personality was reflected in the gentle tone with which he played even the most involved lines. Early in this century, beginning to lose his eyesight and not wishing to be a bother, he disappeared into the life of a virtual hermit in his Brooklyn home, eating little and growing weak. Concerned friends eventually arranged for meals to be taken to him and when he got his strength back saw that he had transportation to engagements with close colleagues and younger musicians. He continued playing until he went into a nursing home about a year ago. For a combination obituary and tribute go here.
This page has a selection of many of Cecil Payne’s CDs. The first album under his own name, Patterns Of Jazz (1956) is there, without a picture of the cover. Don’t overlook it. Savoy has evidently let that classic 1956 album with Kenny Dorham and Duke Jordan go out of print. It has an unforgettable version of Randy Weston’s “Saucer Eyes.” It is available from various web sites and auctions for as much as seventy-eight dollars. That makes this twenty-seven-dollar offering a bargain.

Rifftides Reader Chuck Mitchell, a veteran of print journalism and television production, writes concerning Dizzy’s Bebop Reunion.

As it happens, I was a 24 year-old associate producer on Soundstage in 1976 when this program was shot at Chicago Public Television, having been hired away from my Down Beat job by the series creator, Ken Ehrlich, who went on to greater fame as the producer of the yearly Grammy broadcasts and other shows. Ken had decamped to Hollywood from Chicago after booking this show, however. I had about a month’s worth of TV experience at the time of taping.
The idea behind the Dizzy show belonged to Ben Sidran, who had developed the concept with Ken and Diz, booked several of the artists, and provided much of the musical glue behind the scenes. I don’t recall any (or at least very many) lead sheets, so rehearsals were a process of creating arrangements on the spot and reconstructing some pretty tricky tunes from the collective memory of the players. I have a particular recollection of the effort to work out the ending of ‘Round Midnight, a vocal spotlight for Sarah Vaughan. Almost everyone took turns at the piano trying to get it exactly right. As I recall, it was the Divine One who nailed it after all. But it was over 30 years and a thousand gigs ago, so things may have gotten a little fuzzy for me.
Most importantly, Dizzy had developed a nasty cyst on his upper lip, which caused him so much pain that he could only play on the first of the two taping nights, and with great difficulty. As you might expect, he was extremely upset and disturbed about not being able to acquit himself well on his own program, not to mention apprehensive about what this condition might mean for his future as a player. We took him to the Bah’ai Temple on Lake Michigan as a way of giving him some comfort, with the bonus of a beautiful setting for the interview intended to give the viewers some historical perspective and a brief insight into Dizzy’s own personality. Upon returning for the second night’s taping, Dizzy, ever the showman, played the role of host perfectly, and we were able to intercut the two nights so that unless you know what’s going on, you might not notice.
Fortunately, Diz got the problem taken care of and returned the following year to guest on a show we did based on the life and music of the irrepressible David Amram. He played splendidly.

Had he lived, Paul Desmond would have been eighty-three years old today. Jim Hall said it best, “He would have been a great old man.”
Here’s a good way to remember Desmond–having fun with Dave Brubeck, Gene Wright and Joe Morello in 1976, fourteen months before his death.
At CKUT-FM in Montreal, the veteran broadcaster Len Dobbin played Desmond’s music today on his Dobbin’s Den. It was part of the station’s celebration of its twentieth anniversary. The program is archived. You can listen to it by going here. He kindly recommended this book to those who want to know more about Desmond.

It turns out that the exhilirating version of “Groovin’ High” that was the subject of yesterday’s post was only a sample. It came from an hour television program that, if you have enough bandwidth, you may watch in its entirety. Rifftides reader Richard Carlson again does the setup:

Now that I’ve recovered a bit from yesterday’s feast, maybe I can supply some details about the clip—and, I’m assured, more to come from that show. It’s an early Soundstage production, the PBS series that features the kind of artists they usually show us during the fund-raising “festivals”. The program was titled “Dizzy Gillespie’s Bebop Reunion,” and if you Google that title it appears commercial release may have occurred at some point. Soundstage does not offer it among its merchandise.
Each artist gets a feature and “Groovin’ High” turned out to be Moody’s. Milt Jackson also is on hand, as are Sarah Vaughan and Joe Carroll…so there is much to look forward to. Everybody is in positively peak form! There also are segments in which Diz theologizes about his spiritual life and, since it was shot in Chicago, takes us to the Baha’i temple there.
I found out about the session when Grange Rutan, Al Haig’s widow, gifted me with a DVD of it she made. Grange, dubbed Lady Haig by Dizzy, published her book about Al this year, entitled Death Of A Bebop Wife, and it sold out almost immediately. If anybody wants a copy you might write Cadence and ask for a second printing.

Grange Rutan is also in touch with Rifftides, a bit miffed about the pricing of her Haig book on the internet and happy to provide further ordering information.

I almost fainted when I saw that amazon.com was out of it but had nine reviews and a used copy they are willing to sell for $75.00 when the going rate is $28.00 plus $6.75 with Cadence Jazz Books at 315-287-2852. I have a few autographed copies at my office that I would be glad to personally sell. You could reach me by e-mail at alhaigbebop@aol.com.

Lady Haig offers a description of the segment of the show in which Gillespie, Moody, Sarah Vaughan, Milt Jackson and Joe Carroll create a first-generation bebop scatfest:

The endorphins will really kick in when they all scat…Al laughing at the piano propelling them into a magcial and chaotic blending of bebop at it’s finest. Kenny Clarke is his elegant self and Joe Carroll is so hip.

Intrigued? You can watch the whole thing by clicking here. Don’t let the opening sequence of artsy-craftsy 1970s psychedelic jump cuts throw you. After a few minutes, things settle down.
Grange Rutan says she knows of no plan to release this as a commercial DVD. Too bad.

The Rifftides staff thanks reader Richard Carlson for alerting us to a piece of video from a 1976 television program. It gives us James Moody, Ray Brown, Al Haig and Kenny Clarke playing Dizzy Gillespie’s “Groovin’ High.” This is a rare opportunity to see Haig, one of the most influential bebop pianists. We glimpse Gillespie at the beginning of the clip, but he disappears behind Brown and doesn’t play a note. Brown’s ebullience may have been set off by what Dizzy said to him as he passed by. Note Clarke’s admiration as Brown solos.
I once introduced Moody as an alto saxophonist. He quickly said, “Tenor saxophonist. I play alto only when I have to.” The way he plays it here doesn’t sound as if he was under duress.
To view the clip, click here.

This is an important American national holiday. To those in or from the United States, the Rifftides staff sends wishes for a happy Thanksgiving. To readers around the world: we appreciate your interest, attendance and comments. Wherever you are, we hope that you have much for which to be thankful.