Lee Konitz, Brad Mehldau, Charlie Haden, Paul Motian, Live at Birdland (ECM).

When he’s working with people whose knowledge and ears he trusts, Konitz sometimes simply begins. The first track starts with seven seconds of silence. Then, Konitz, accompanied by Motian’s brushes, embarks on an alto saxophone abstraction. The listener who hasn’t looked at the listing on the CD box has no idea what tune this is going to be—and wonders if the rhythm section knows. After a few seconds, Mehldau’s piano and Haden’s bass appear, but it isn’t clear what will emerge from Konitz’s pensiveness. Thirty seconds in, vague recognition dawns. He’s not giving away the melody, but there’s something about those chord changes. At 59 seconds, he plays an approximation of the first phrase of the bridge of “Lover Man,” not an outright quote; a hint. Blatancy is not his way. This one-chorus solo is a new melody created by an 81-year-old who has played the song hundreds of times. It’s a safe bet that none of those solos had the shape of this one. This may even be the first time that he slipped in a bar of “The Last Time I Saw Paris.”

Not all of the standards by this ad hoc quartet begin as mysteriously as “Lover Man.” From the top of his introduction, Mehldau gives away “Lullaby of Birdland.” That’s good enough for Konitz. He builds another tower of dreams, then yields to Mehldau whose stunning solo might be the highlight of the album if his dazzle on “Solar” and “Oleo” didn’t match or surpass it. Haden’s deliberative solos are the antithesis of the school of high, fast, acrobatic bass playing. The ones on “Lullaby of Birdland” and “I Fall in Love Too Easily” are as heartening as country walks with a friendly sheep dog. Haden’s and Motian’s empathy began building forty years ago when they were together in Keith Jarrett’s group. Their rhythmic extrasensory perception is the foundation of these performances. Motian’s and Konitz’s interaction in the opening duo section of “Oleo” is a wonder.

I was at The Jazz Bakery in Los Angeles in 1997 when Haden, Konitz and Mehldau played a two-night gig. It was Konitz’s first encounter with the pianist, and he privately expressed concern about being thrown together with “another young virtuoso.” In the course of the performances, his edginess evaporated. The engagement produced a splendid recording, but this new one is in a different dimension. To compare the 1997 and 2009 versions of “You Stepped Out of a Dream” is to hear how the addition of Motian’s drums transforms the music.

In the happiest circumstances, a jam session can be the essence of the jazz experience. Here, four musicians came together with no plan, no arrangements, no tune list. They depended on their musicianship, taste, mutual knowledge of standard songs and senses of adventure and humor. The music they made has the freshness of spontaneity and the wisdom of experience. The ECM publicity about this album indicates that it was a one-time band. “There are no reunion gigs planned,” it says.

Plans—and non-plans—can change.

There is someone I think of every Memorial Day, and many other days. Cornelius Ram and I were among a collection of young men who accepted the United States Marine Corps’ bet that we weren’t tough or smart enough to wrestle commissions from it. It quickly became apparent to everyone, including the drill instructors charged with pounding us into the shape of Marines, that Corky Ram would have no problem. He was a standout in the grueling weeks of officer candidate competition and then in the months of physical and mental rigor designed to make us worthy of those little gold bars on the collars of our fatigues. After high school in Jersey City, New Jersey, he had served a hitch as a Navy enlisted man, and then got a college degree before he chose the Corps. He was two or three years older than most of us, and a natural leader. He could tell when the pressure was about to cave a green lieutenant exhausted from a 20-mile forced march with full field pack or demoralized after a classroom test he was sure he had flunked. Corky knew how to use encouragement or cajolery to restore flagging determination. He helped a lot of us make it through. The picture on the left is how I remember him from that period.

Unlike most of us who served our few years and got out, Corky made the Marine Corps his career. He served two tours in Viet Nam. Here is the official 5th Marines’ Command Chronology of what happened to him and another officer on his second tour in January of 1971, as the war was slogging to its demoralizing conclusion:

“On 10 January Major Ram (2/5 XO) and Captain Ford (E Co., CO), while attempting to aid two wounded Marines, were killed by a 60mm surprise firing device.”

There’s a bit more to the story. Major Ram, Executive Officer of 2/5 Marines, and Captain Ford (of Glen Rock, NJ), Commanding Officer of Echo Company, were overhead in a command helicopter when they spotted the wounded Marines in the open and in the path of oncoming enemy troops. The helicopter pilot, convinced that the open area was mined, refused to land in the vicinity of the wounded Marines and instead put down at a distance. Major Ram and Captain Ford exited the helicopter and began to cross the open area toward the wounded men. The pilot was right – the area was mined, and both Major Ram and Captain Ford died as a result. At least one of the two wounded Marines survived; he visited the Ram family several years later and described the circumstances.

Corky Ram was one of 13,085 Marines who died in hostile action in Viet Nam. I knew others, but he was the one I knew best. More than once, I have stood gazing at his name on the wall at the Viet Nam Memorial in Washington, DC. When Memorial Day comes around, he symbolizes for me the American service men and women who have died in the nation’s wars. What we and all of the free world owe them is beyond calculation.

After the American Red Cross acknowledged the millions of dollars Paul Desmond left the organization (see this recent item), it also named a training room after him. The facility is in the national Red Cross headquarters in Washington, DC. We’re working on getting a picture of the training room and what goes on in it. In the meantime, Rifftides reader Frank Roellinger (thank you, sir) persuaded someone at the ARC to get a photograph of the plaque outside the room.

Desmond died on Memorial Day, 1977, which also fell on Monday. To once again quote what Dave Brubeck said on another such anniversary:

“Boy, do I miss Paul Desmond.”

Today is the 85th anniversary of the birth of alto saxophonist and flutist Bud Shank. One of the most respected of the musicians who flourished on the west coast in the fifties, he went on to gain worldwide popularity. Shank was especially popular in Brazil, whose music he was one of the first American jazz artists to adapt when he made the Brazilliance recordings with guitarist Laurindo Almeida in 1954. Here is a good way to remember him, in São Paulo in 2004, playing his composition “Carousels.” The rhythm section is one of Shank’s favorites, Bill Mays, Bob Magnusson and Joe La Barbera. (note: the sound track seems to be restricted to the right channel, but you can hear everything.)

Bud Shank died in April of 2009, hours after his final record session.

James Carter, Caribbean Rhapsody (Emarcy)

Carter tailors his saxophone virtuosity to “Caribbean Rhapsody” and “Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra,” by the American composer Roberto Sierra. Sierra studied with György Ligeti, the Hungarian master of tone clusters and chromaticism, but there is no Ligeti atonality here. Sierra bases the pieces in lyricism and accessible melody. In the concerto with the Sinfonia Varsonia of Poland, and the rhapsody with a string quintet led by cellist Akua Dixon, Carter moderates the tendency toward excess that has marred some of his work. His playing on tenor and soprano saxophones is in a range between gruff expansiveness and tip-toe delicacy, always within the mood established by Sierra’s scores. The last of the concerto’s three movements, titled “Playful—Fast (with Swing)” evolves into a blues with hip changes. Carter declaims on tenor, incorporating a boogie woogie figure leading to an orchestral ending with the power of a supercharger.

Sierra opens spots in the title piece for Carter to roam without accompaniment. He does so observing the spirit and harmonic tendencies of the composition, which may remind listeners that the composer is from Puerto Rico. Carter has a series of brilliant exchanges and mutual improvisation with a guest soloist, his violinist cousin Regina Carter, another virtuoso from Detroit. He employs to sensible effect the pops and honks that in some of his previous performances have been irritants. The two Carters achieve dance-like joy, even abandon, in tune (in every sense) with Sierra’s Latin intentions. The piece is a delight.

In two unaccompanied interludes, Carter on tenor alludes to the character of the concerto and on soprano to that of the rhapsody. Untethered to prescribed outlines, he nonetheless displays discipline and order that have not always been apparent when he was on his own.

Sue Raney with Alan Broadbent, Listen Here (Sinatra Society of Japan)

Raney is an interpreter of classic popular song whose creative gift and technical skill are matched by few singers in any category. Her empathy with Alan Broadbent was on display in their last collaboration four years ago. In that instance, her accompaniment was an orchestra that Broadbent arranged and conducted. This time, the orchestra is Broadbent at the piano, providing support and full partnership. After years of mutual admiration and occasional gigs, they have come forth with the duo album their admirers yearned for. It is a collection of ballads, but that by no means indicates that it lacks rhythmic interest. These two can swing at any tempo. That gift is striking in the medium bounce of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.” “Aren’t You Glad You’re You?” and “It Might As Well Be Spring” with Broadbent’s “Joy Spring” introduction. In slow tunes, Raney can break hearts and moisten eyes. She finds the pathos in “He Was Too Good To Me;” uncloying sentiment in “My Melancholy Baby;” the poetry of longing in “Skylark,” “The Bad and the Beautiful” and “Listen Here,” the inspired title song with words and music by Dave Frishberg.

When Raney enters a note, it is never by a side door. When she bends one, it is to enhance mood or feeling. Broadbent comps and solos with chord voicings that enrich not just a song’s harmonies but its meaning. Their version of “There Used to be a Ballpark” could almost make you forget Sinatra’s. This collection of 14 songs is bound to become a classic, if it reaches an audience. That could be a problem for an expensive album on the label of the Sinatra Society of Japan, which has limited distribution.

Chuck Deardorf, Transparence (Origin)

Deardorf’s prowess is hardly unknown outside Seattle, even though he rarely leaves the Pacific Northwest. For a quarter-century or more he has been a mainstay of the Seattle scene and a primary on-call bassist for dozens of visiting musicians including Chet Baker, Zoot Sims, George Cables, Art Farmer, Jimmy Rowles and Kenny Burrell. In Transparence, he is out front in a collection that underlines his musicianship, versatility and leadership. The settings encompass a variety of moods and genres—mainstream bop, Brazilian impressionism, standard ballads, a flirtation with freebop, a bow toward Deardorf’s rock beginnings. But it is far from a hodgepodge. Despite changing combinations of players from track to track, the strength of Deardorf’s overarching musical personality provides consistency.

The wholeness is enhanced by his choice of sidemen, not only Seattle and Portland stalwarts like saxophonists Hans Teuber and Richard Cole, drummers Mark Ivester and Gary Hobbs, and pianist Jovino Santos Neto, but also visiting firemen, pianist Bill Mays and guitarist Bruce Forman. Among the highlights: Deardorf’s “Collage” with Teuber, Mays and Hobbs; duets with Mays on Alec Wilder’s “Moon and Sand” and Forman on “Sweet Lorraine;” the atmospherics Deardorf generates on electric bass in Lennon and McCartney’s “Dear Prudence” and on acoustic bass guitar with Santos Neto on “De Mansinho.” Deardorf is the melody voice in a memorable colloquy with Mays’ piano and Teuber’s tenor sax on Rowles’ “The Peacocks.” This is an album of substance.

Chris Brubeck writes about the death of jazz film producer and director Bruce Ricker:

The entire Brubeck family shares in the sorrow and shock of Bruce’s death. We were aware of his hospitalization but felt comforted that modern medicine would triumph as usual. This time it didn’t and I think Bruce Ricker’s passing is a huge loss for his family, friends and also for the entire jazz community. Bruce had incredibly unique passions and talents which he poured into his film projects. There are thousands of great musicians in the jazz world but very few filmmakers who have the passion, vision, knowledge and discipline to create moving and exciting documentaries.

Bruce was so respectful of our family and went to great lengths to try to capture the dynamics and rhythms of our clan. When I saw the film for the first and only time, I was with my father and the rest of my family on Dave’s 90th birthday. We watched it on television when it was broadcast across America. I expected a lot of nuts and bolts about Dave’s storied career but I was surprised because the overall tone of the film was of a spiritual nature. Bruce opened the film with a poem by my brother Michael, who had passed away recently; he closed it with footage of our family climbing a wooded hill into the light. This reflected what he felt, that Dave’s unusual life took us all on a family journey.

Bruce really deeply understood the unsung heroine of Dave’s career, our mother Iola Brubeck. It was a beautiful , emotional (and with all the footage of us as kids when we are now hovering in the 60ish zone) a surreal experience to watch the movie. In fact I wrote to Bruce that I could only watch it once, it was an uplifting yet “heavy” experience. I am so glad that I wrote to him so he knew the depths of my appreciation for what he accomplished. Now, with Bruce’s passing, and knowing this was the last film he will complete, I have yet another reason why it will take some time before I can watch his “art” again. He was a very perceptive man who understood the music and the people who created it. His films about jazz will enlighten and inspire generations of jazz musicians and fans in the coming years. Perhaps even more importantly, his insightful films will lead non-jazz fans to explore this wonderful music.

(Photo of Chris and Iola Brubeck by Dr. Jazz)

The cycling schedule is full again. So are the rivers around here, swollen with snowmelt from the mountains, and roaring. Here’s some of what I saw on a ride this afternoon, a section of the Yakima roaring along muddy and almost into the fields and towns. In the upper center, you see an enormous tree that the force of the water tore out of the bank somewhere upstream.

Fifty yards from the river, all was serene. The view is west, toward the Cascades, where in spring the snow becomes water that runs down into the tributaries that fill the Yakima, which feeds the mighty Columbia.

The Columbia, as Woody Guthrie made everyone aware, rolls on.

The veteran writer and broadcaster Ted Panken has joined the burgeoning community of folks who blog about jazz. His weblog is called Today Is The Question. I have added it to the blogroll in the right-hand column. If you want to be sure Ted knows what he’s blogging about before you punch him up, read this first. It comes from pianist George Colligan’s jazztruth, whose address also goes into the blogroll. It’s getting crowded down there. You can’t blame anyone for wanting to get into so lucrative a field. Welcome to the club, gentlemen. Tip: periodic naps help.

We are happy to report that the artsjournal.com technical wizards have tracked down and liquidated the gremlin that was disabling the “Older Posts” function at the bottom of the main page. Now, when you click on that command, it will take you to the previous 20 posts. Click on it again, you will see another 20, and so on back through the mists of time to the primitive beginnings of this blog in June of 2005. There are two other ways to search Rifftides:

1. Scroll down to “Archives” in the right-hand column. Select the month and year you want to see.

2. Enter a name or term in the box under the artsjournalblog logo at the top of the right column and click on “Search.” I just tried it with Count Basie and came up 83 Rifftides items about Basie or mentioning him. Happy exploring.

Here’s a reward for paying attention to our little tutorial. The clip is from an episode of Art Ford’s Jazz Party, a program that survived for eight months of 1958 on WNTA-TV in New York. This kind of eclectic assemblage of musicians was still possible then. The tune is “I’ve Found a New Baby.” The players are Tyree Glenn, trombone; Coleman Hawkins, tenor saxophone; Johnny Windhurst, trumpet; Hank D’Amico, clarinet; Alex Templeton, piano; Mary Osborne, guitar; Teddy Charles, vibes; Morey Feld, drums; Doc Goldberg, bass.

Rifftides reader Charlton Price alerts us to an article that provides detail about Bruce Ricker’s days in Kansas City (see the post below) and the genesis of his film The Last of the Blue Devils. The piece is by Steve Paul in The Kansas City Star. It begins:

Some of the details remain hazy, but it was 1975 in a small midtown supper club where a crowd of serious jazz people gathered to celebrate the past.
Bruce Ricker, an attorney turned local activist and filmmaker, had been spending time here with a graying generation of musicians, recording their memories, stories and music from the heyday of Kansas City jazz.

And now he and his fellow filmmakers, John Arnoldy and Eric Menn, were showing a sprawling rough cut of the film…

To read the whole thing, go here.

In what may have been her motion picture debut, here is Ella Fizgerald at 25 in the 1942 Abbott and Costello comedy Ride ‘Em Cowboy. With her in the sequence are the Merry Macs singing and the Lindy Hoppers lindy-hopping. This was at about the time she had stopped fronting the Chick Webb band and moved into a solo career. Fitzgerald’s first professional ambition was to be a dancer. That’s not her job here, but check out her moves as she comes onto the set.

Rifftides Reader Andrew Dowd writes:

You may recall me as the fellow who hosts a jazz show on KMHD in Portland OR, on Saturday nights. A few weeks ago I got out an old dusty copy of The Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Jazz Goes to Junior College, (Columbia CL1034, 1957), that I had in my collection and played a track from it on my show. I was glancing at the cover illustration, as I often do, and noticed that there is a photo of an old late-40’s black convertible with three children sitting in the front seat. I recall reading in either your bio of Paul Desmond (or in Fred M. Hall’s The Dave Brubeck Story) that this car belonged to Dave Brubeck and his wife and when it got old they abandoned it in the Brubeck back yard and that it became a “playhouse” of sorts for Dave’s sons. Could the photo on the cover of Jazz Goes to Junior College be this same car and Dave’s sons?

From the back and at that distance, it is impossible to say whose sons the boys are. It is not the same car. According to a friend who knows cars, the one on the cover is a 1950 Mercury convertible. The Brubeck road warrior vehicle was a 1949 Kaiser Vagabond sedan. Its picture and the story of those impecunious early days of few gigs and long drives is in Chapter 24 of Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond (the link is another shameless attempt to sell books). When funds for accommodations lagged behind the band’s compensation, bassist Bull Ruther and Desmond occasionally spent the night in the Kaiser. They are seen here with it in 1952 in Newark, New Jersey, as Ruther watches Paul on a milk break.

Jazz Goes to Junior College is an underrated album by the quartet, surprisingly hard to find and never reissued as a single CD. It has shown up recently as part of a CD that contains three of the band’s late-fifties Columbia LPs. Below is one track from the album. The visual is not the album cover but a publicity shot distorted and tinted a bilious green, and it shows Ruther and drummer Herb Barman rather than Norman Bates and Joe Morello. Close your eyes and ignore it; the music is what matters. Desmond’s and Brubeck’s solos put a significant dent in the theory that white guys can’t play the blues. They end with an example of the spontaneous counterpoint that in the 1950s was an important aspect of their partnership.

Intial reports that Snooky Young died on May 5 were in error. He died on Wednesday, May 11, at home in Newport Beach, California. He was 92. The cause of death was a lung disease that developed recently.

Young was that rare combination, a great lead trumpeter who was also a soloist of exceptional imagination, taste and humor. He began as a professional musician when he was a teenager in Dayton, Ohio. At 20, he joined the Jimmie Lunceford band and in the course of his career played key roles in virtually every big jazz band of importance except Duke Ellington’s. He was with Count Basie, Lionel Hampton, Benny Carter, Gerald Wilson, Benny Goodman, Charlie Barnet, Thad Jones-Mel Lewis, Kenny Clarke-Francy Boland and the Capp-Pierce Juggernaut.

A wizard of high notes and the plunger mute, Young was named a National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Master in 2008. His widest exposure came during 20 years in the brass section of Doc Severinsen’s Tonight Show band. Loved by his fellow musicians, viewers and Tonight’s host Johnny Carson, Young was occasionally featured on the program. In this clip, he sings and plays one of the Lunceford band’s signature tunes from the days when jazz often led the hit parade.

Young was the consummate sideman but he had a moment of glory as co-leader with the stalwart alto saxophonist Marshall Royal on a 1989 album called Snooky & Marshall’s Album. It had the remarkable rhythm section of Ross Tompkins, Freddie Green, Ray Brown and Louie Bellson—and Young at the top of his game.

Services are scheduled for May 25 at noon at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Los Angeles.

Snooky Young, RIP.