The Rifftides staff discovered, by chance, that an essential element in a two-and-a-half-year-old entry about Dick Wellstood and two other pianists had suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous YouTube fortune. The video of Wellstood playing was removed by whoever posted it. We managed to find an even better one, so here is the reconstituted piece, including video. Call it a Rifftides encore or golden oldie. This first ran on August 8, 2008.
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Dick Wellstood has been on my mind. Maybe it’s because I heard Dave Frishberg play the piano the other night at The Seasons. Frishberg was in concert singing his inimitable songs and accompanying himself, but he opened up plenty of space for piano solos. Before he became famous for performing his songs, Frishberg worked with Zoot Sims, Al Cohn, Ben Webster, Jack Sheldon and Carmen McRae, among other demanding leaders. He was, and is, a versatile and idiosyncratic pianist who wraps several jazz eras into a style of his own. A couple of times on Saturday night, he pulled off stride passages that Wellstood would have appreciated.

In the mid-1940s when Wellstood was a young man working toward a career as a pianist, he was under the spell of Joe Sullivan (pictured). Sullivan (1906-1971) came from Chicago and

began recording in 1927. By 1933, he was Bing Crosby’s accompanist and established as one of the brightest of the young pianists influenced by Earl Hines, James P. Johnson and Fats Waller. He in turn influenced Wellstood, who had cards printed that read, “Perhaps you can help me to meet Joe Sullivan. My name is Dick Wellstood.” He distributed the cards in musicians’ hangouts. Finally, the cornetist Muggsy Spanier told Wellstood where Sullivan lived. According to clarinetist Kenny Davern’s account of the meeting, quoted in Edward N. Meyer’s Giant Strides: The Legacy of Dick Wellstood, the pianist knocked on Sullivan’s apartment door well after midnight.

Soon this disheveled figure in slippers and a bathrobe comes shuffling through. Joe opens the door and says, “Yeah?” Dick says, “Hi, my name is Dick Wellstood and Muggsy Spanier said to say hello.” And Joe Sullivan said, “Tell Muggsy Spanier to go f___ himself,” and slammed the door right in Dick’s face.

Nonetheless, Wellstood remained a steadfast admirer of Sullivan. Here is one reason, Sullivan’s 1933 recording of “Gin Mill Blues.”

There is little video of Wellstood performing, but this clip from a concert in Germany in 1982, five years before he died, catches him in full stride, concentration and swing.

I’m still tucking in the frayed ends of daily life after extended duty in the trenches of extracurricular writing. Soon, there will be a new batch of Doug’s Picks as the blogging routine returns to normal, whatever that is.

I am told that the first rule of survival in the weblog game is to keep the blog fresh. So—to give you useful information and avoid turning this into a mere video disc jockey operation—here is a cross-generational performance of Bud Powell’s “Webb City.” The older generation is represented by Phil Woods, the man in the hat, the younger by Grace Kelly, the woman in the magenta dress, and her band: Jason Palmer, trumpet; Doug Johnson, piano; Evan Gregor, bass; and Jordan Perison, drums. “Webb City” became famous in bebop circles because of a brilliant 1946 recording by Fats Navarro. Powell named the tune not after the southwest Missouri town of 10,000 but for Freddie Webster, one of the heros of pre-bop trumpet. Thanks to Ira Gitler, the fount of all bebop knowledge, for that nugget. There——wasn’t that useful?

This performance took place recently at Sculler’s, a jazz emporium in Boston, Massachusetts, a large city on the east coast of the United States.

“Webb City” is not on Ms. Kelly’s new CD, Man With the Hat, but Mr. Woods is. Here’s a sign of changing times in the record business and in earning prospects for musicians: the album sells on Amazon as a digital download for $6.93, as a CD for $24.72 plus shipping. There are still lots of diehard CD lovers, but remaining one is not getting easier.

Blogging is going on the back burner—or maybe a side burner—for a few days while I wrap up an assignment. I am writing the essay and program notes for a seven-CD Mosaic box of the Modern Jazz Quartet’s Atlantic studio recordings from 1956 to 1964. It involves a lot of listening, a lot of interviewing, a lot of work and an enormous amount of pleasure. This video from an MJQ concert in Holland in 1982 underlines the point about pleasure. The piece includes a splendid John Lewis solo, Connie Kay’s irresistible time keeping and at the end, following Milt Jackson’s dazzling vibes passage, something even rarer than the Percy Heath bass solo—what may be a smile from Jackson. Mr. Lewis announces the tune.

Percy Heath’s work before and after that solo brings to mind this Rifftides archive item about the importance of the bass line to understanding the nature of a jazz performance. The first installment of a six-part series, it contains a bonus video from the MJQ and another solo by Percy. I’m told that the Mosaic box will be out in late spring or early summer.

In today’s Wall Street Journal, Terry Teachout writes about George Shearing’s popularity. He finds it admirable. A sample observation:

Mr. Shearing’s willingness to work both sides of the street vexed jazz critics, who are not an especially tolerant lot, and by the ’60s he had been written off as a popularizer. In fact, though, he was something completely different, a dead-serious artist who enjoyed playing well-crafted music that was accessible to a popular audience.

To read the whole thing, go here.
As Teachout said this morning in a message, Marc Myers of JazzWax accomplished a coup when he tracked down Marjorie Hyams, the vibes player in the original Shearing quintet. She is 90 and has a great memory. To read Marc’s interview with Ms. Hyams, go here.
You will find a Rifftides reflection on Shearing two exhibits down.