Because it has been too long since you’ve heard him, and because these two videos are—by all accounts—the only ones in existence that show him playing. His rhythm section at the Golden Circle in Stockholm in 1963 was Goran Lindberg, piano; Goran Peterson, bass; and Leif Wennerstron, drums. Please disregard the lead-in advertisement and the dreadful picture quality. Let us simply be grateful that these films exist.

Dorham’s solo in this brief second clip is some of his most astonishingly beautiful playing.

Kenny Dorham died in 1972 at the age of 48. The album Blues In Bebop has his early work with Billy Eckstine, Bud Powell, Milt Jackson, Charlie Parker and Bud Powell, in that order. Our Thing, a basic repertoire item, documents his 1963 partnership with tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson.

Joe Morello, the drummer best known for his long tenure with the Dave Brubeck Quartet, died this morning at his home in New Jersey. Morello joined Brubeck in 1956, remained with the group until it disbanded in 1967 and later played with it in reunions. He joined Brubeck after three years in Marian McPartland’s trio.  Earlier in the 1950s he worked with Gil Melle, Johnny Smith and, briefly, with Stan Kenton. His eyesight, always troublesome, began to fail in the later Brubeck years and by 1976 was gone. He continued to teach. It was not unusual for students from far-flung parts of the world to come to him for lessons.

When Brubeck offered him the drum chair after Joe Dodge left the quartet, Morello accepted on the condition that he be featured as a soloist. His solos became an attraction that, combined with Brubeck’s and alto saxophonist Paul Desmond’s established fame, helped make the quartet one of the best-known groups in jazz. That came about despite strong objection from Desmond, who had recommended Morello for the job. Desmond’s preference in drum accompaniment was for discreet time-keeping. At first, that is what Morello provided in rhythm partnership with bassist Norman Bates. “So, it went fine,” Morello told me in 2003,” then we went into the Blue Note for a week.”

From Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond, here are excerpts from the longer account of what happened.

That night at the club, Brubeck urged Morello to use sticks and assigned him a solo. Morello said that the solo got “a little standing ovation.” Desmond left the stand for the dressing room. “At the end of the drum solo, he just took off,” Morello said. When Brubeck got there at the end of the set, Desmond wheeled on him and presented an ultimatum: “Morello goes or I go.” Brubeck said, “Well, he’s not going.”

“Joe could do things I’d never heard anybody else do,” Brubeck said. “I wanted to feature him. Paul objected. He wanted a guy who played time and was unobtrusive. I discovered that Joe’s time concept was like mine, and I wanted to move in that direction. Paul said I had to get another drummer, I told him I wouldn’t. I didn’t know whether Paul and Norman would show up the next night. They came to a record session at Columbia in Chicago during the day, but they wouldn’t play. So Joe and I played for three hours. And they told me they were going to leave the group. And I said, ‘well, there’ll be a void on the stand tonight because Joe’s not leaving.’

“So, I went to the job and, boy, was I relieved to see Paul and Norman. But I wasn’t going to be bluffed out of Joe. It was not discussed again. That was the end of it.

What Brubeck described as an “armistice” went into effect, holding Desmond and Morello at arm’s length and continuing after Eugene Wright replaced Bates.

Brubeck was able to make the center hold through all the internecine battles over tempos, volume, and drum fills during Desmond’s solos. Despite their powerful disagreements about how Morello’s skills should be deployed, Brubeck was able to take advantage of the respect Morello and Desmond had for one another’s abilities. The respect was ultimately to grow into genuine affection, but that was at the end of a rough road.

“For a while it was uncomfortable with Paul,” Morello told me. “But as time went on, it worked out. We became very close and used to hang out together. The last four or five years we hung out quite a lot, actually.”

Morello’s skill with unorthodox time signatures allowed Brubeck to undertake the explorations in rhythm that he had long wanted to initiate. They led to the 1959 Time Out album and the group’s enduring hit “Take Five,” written by Desmond, which featured a Morello solo in 5/4 time. The piece became a concert feature for Morello, one that audiences demanded for the rest of the life of the quartet.

Joe Morello would have been 83 in July.

(Added on 3/14): On his JazzWax blog, Marc Myers includes another excerpt from the Desmond biography and a video of Joe demonstrating and explaining his basic brush technique.

(Added on 3/16): On the Brubeck Brothers website, Danny Brubeck writes:

Through a stroke of pure luck, the first drumming I consciously witnessed was Joe Morello’s. He started playing in the Dave Brubeck Quartet in 1956 (when I was only one year old) and played in my dad’s group until 1967. By that time, I was all of 12 and a drummer recording and performing in my own right, thanks to his influence.

To read all of Dan Brubeck’s tribute, go here.

Ernie Krivda, Live At The Dirty Dog (CIMPoL).  Except for three years in New York in the 1970s and occasional tours out of town, Krivda has remained in Cleveland during his five decades as a hard-driving soloist, bandleader, composer, arranger and educator. If he had stayed in New York, he might be famous, or as famous as a journeyman jazz musician can become these days. He recorded this, his 36th album, at The Dirty Dog in Grosse Point, Michigan, with a Detroit Rhythm section headed by the veteran pianist Claude Black. The prolific tenor saxophonist plays chorus after chorus on each of four standards and a blues. His ideas flow without repetition even through the album’s longest track, 14-and-a-half minutes of “I’ll Remember April.”

Krivda’s style is centered in a highly individual—even eccentric— treatment of the bebop convention. As I listened to the way he constructs his choruses here, I found myself thinking not of another saxophonist, but of trumpeter Clifford Brown, one of the great improvisational architects. Rather than simply applying occasional accents in strings of eighth notes, Krivda achieves variety by alternating long tones, swoops and declamatory phrases that give his solos the quality of speech. That practice is striking in his solo on “All The Things You Are,” particularly so in the cadenza, where he flies in the face of contemporary hipness and uses a wide vibrato. At moments like that, Krivda shows traces of Coleman Hawkins, his earliest inspiration. Stan Getz and Dexter Gordon may also be on his mind, but only as points of reference; the evolution of his originality is long since complete and his playing is virtually free of cliché. If he had ended “You Stepped Out of a Dream” with his deep-throated exposition of the melody, the performance would have been satisfying, but he goes on to improvise a solo with logic and intensity in perfect balance.

There is a delicious moment following Black’s subtle glissando introduction to “’Round Midnight.” We hear a group of women in the audience continuing their chatter. Krivda holds himself in suspension for several seconds until they get the hint and fall silent. Then he begins the famous melody and plays it with longing that makes you wonder about the source of the ache.

Pianist Black spent much of his career working with singers, including Aretha Franklin. His effectiveness as an accompanist is an important factor here. He solos with imagination, a rich fund of harmonic knowledge and lyrical little turns of phrase. In “A Blues by Any Other Name,” he manages to quote “Old Man River” without being a cornball. Black’s thoroughly compatible rhythm section compadres are bassist Dan Kolton and drummer Renell Gonsalves, the son of Duke Ellington’s tenor saxophone star Paul Gonsalves. Gonsalves’ brush work is impeccable, and he has exquisite timing in the placement of cymbal splashes.

The CD booklet contains an essay by Krivda in which he reflects on the fundamental values that he considers essential to jazz performance. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he writes as well as he plays, but his ideas are powerful and clearly presented.  One of them involves the importance of swinging. I hope that a new generation of jazz players reads them and takes them to heart.

In The Wall Street Journal, Nat Hentoff reminisces about his relationship with Duke Ellington. The occasion is the release of a massive Mosaic CD box set of early Ellington recordings remastered by Steven Lasker. The column is packed with anecdotes, including this one from the early 1940s, when Hentoff was a young broadcaster in Boston:

Off the air, he once told me: “I don’t want listeners to analyze my music. I want them open to it as a whole.”

And I was there when he played dances, just to get as close to the bandstand as I could. One night, the band played a number entirely new to me. During one of their quick breaks I whispered to a sideman, baritone saxophonist Harry Carney, “What’s the name of that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “He just wrote it.”

Hentoff gives historical context to his enthusiasm for the Mosaic collection:

During the summer of 1929, the orchestra appeared in Florenz Ziegfeld’s revue “Showgirl.” Its performance roused that legendary producer to call the orchestra “the finest exponent of syncopated music in existence. . . . Some of the best exponents of modern music who have heard them during rehearsal almost jumped out of their seats over their extraordinary harmonies and exciting rhythms.”

Now, thanks to Mosaic, I have almost jumped out of my seat because the sound engineering by Mr. Lasker and Andreas Meyer brings these Ellington orchestras swinging right into the room. As Billy Strayhorn (eventually Ellington’s associate arranger) put it in Down Beat in 1952: “Ellington plays the piano, but his real instrument is the band. Each member of the band is to him a distinctive tone color and set of emotions, which he mixes with others equally distinctive to produce a third thing, which I call the Ellington Effect.” That characteristic sound is as present in these recordings as it would later be in the 1940s and beyond.

To read the entire article, go here.

Don’t go away. You’ve come to the right place. This is Rifftides, but with a new design. The publishing platform called WordPress is a significant advance over the old Moveable Type platform. Artsjournal.com founder and editor Doug McLennan has been beta testing WordPress on his own blog. Now he’s helping us switch to the new system. It makes management of the blog easier for the Rifftides staff and—more important—makes the site more enjoyable and efficient for you to navigate. We’re still learning the ropes, but expect to build in new features as we go along.

Under Doug’s Picks in the right column you will find recommendations of a DVD about a trailblazing band leader, CDs by a trumpeter and a pianist leading the way in their generation of young jazz artists, and the autobiography of a leading light in an older generation.

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.