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Thanks to Michael Cuscuna and his colleagues at Mosaic Records for a reminder in their Daily Gazette of an interview with the forthright Miles Davis. Nat Hentoff spoke with the 29-year-old Davis for a 1955 Down Beat article. Full of opinions, the trumpeter took on conventional wisdom about a number of players and genres. For instance, this observation about a hot new band, the Max Roach-Clifford Brown Quintet:

I don’t like their current group too much because there’s too much going on. I mean, for example, that Richie Powell plays too much comp. Max needs a piano player that doesn’t play much in the background. Actually, Brownie and Max are the whole group. You don’t need anybody but those two. They can go out on stage by themselves. What happens is that the band gets in Brownie’s way the way it is now.

And this about Dave Brubeck:

Well, Dave made one record I liked—‘Don’t Worry ’bout Me.’ Do I think he swings? He doesn’t know how. Desmond doesn’t swing, either, though I think he’d play different with another rhythm section. Frankly, I’d rather hear Lennie (Tristano). Or for that matter, I’d rather hear Dizzy play the piano than Brubeck, because Dizzy knows how to touch the piano and he doesn’t play too much.

On clarinetists:

I only like Benny Goodman very much. I don’t like Buddy DeFranco at all, because he plays a lot of cliches and is very cold. Tony Scott plays good, but not like Benny, because Benny used to swing so much.

To read the entire Hentoff piece for Davis’s thoughts about Stan Kenton, Jimmy Giuffre, Charles Mingus and Charlie Parker, among others, go here.

As for Davis’s work in 1955, here’s a sample, Davis playing a Ray Bryant composition that used intriguing altered blues changes, hence the piece’s title. His colleagues are Bryant, piano; Milt Jackson, vibes; Percy Heath, bass; Arthur Taylor, drums. August 5, 1955.

Earlier in 1955 Davis appeared at the Newport Jazz Festival with an all-star group that also included Gerry Mulligan, Zoot Sims, Thelonious Monk, Percy Heath and Connie Kay. He was so well received that his flagging career revived. Before the year ended, he established his quintet with John Coltrane, Red Garland, Paul Chambers and Philly Joe Jones and went on to become one of the most successful jazz artists of the 20th century.

The ceaselessly innovative and searching composer and Butch Morris died yesterday in New York. He had been under treatment of cancer for several years. Morris was 65. He developed an approach to big band music that he called conduction. It made demands on musicians by insisting on intensive, intuitive listening, reaction and interaction. The effort involved adjustment to Morris’s highly personalized methods of conducting while simultaneously composing and arranging through a system of cues and hand motions. Sometimes combined with written scores, the technique required rigor and concentration that not all players and audiences were willing to bring to his efforts. Many who found the results rewarding considered him a genius. Ben Ratliff’s obituary in The New York Times traces Morris’s career.

Morris was not merely a composer, arranger, bandleader or conductor. Or he was all of those things and more. In a film about Morris, our colleague Howard Mandel, a specialist on the avant garde, says Morris’s music “is not jazz.” Or it is. This promotional clip for the film will give you a hint.

For a full sample of how Butch Morris worked, here he is at a festival in Italy in 2010. The players are J. Paul Bourelly (Guitar), On Ka’a Davis (Guitar), Harrison Bankhead (Acoustic Bass), Greg Ward (Sax), Evan Parker (Sax), Pasquale Innarella (Sax), Hamid Drake (Percussion), Chad Taylor (Drums — Vibraphone), Riccardo Pittau (Trumpet), Meg Montgomery (Electro Trumpet), Alan Silva (Synthesizer), Tony Cattano (Trombone), Joe Bowie (Trombone), David Murray (Sax)—an elite of the outcats.

To listen to Howard Mandel’s appreciation of Morris on National Public Radio’s All Things Considered, click here.

It is not news that J.S. Bach influenced John Lewis. The Modern Jazz Quartet pianist and his wife Mirjana recorded two-keyboard albums of pieces by Bach, and many of Lewis’s compositions for the MJQ contain harmonic and fugal elements that are direct reflections of Bach. The Baroque master introduced into music so many structural, rhythmic and harmonic aspects beloved by jazz players that Dave Brubeck, among others, said if Bach had lived in the 20th century, he would have been a jazz musician.

Whether the adagio movement of the Violin Concerto 2 in E Major and Lewis’s celebrated “Django” share technical elements, I will leave to the analysis of musicologists. However, it seems beyond doubt that they have common spiritual DNA. Here is the young violinist Kyung Wha Chung in 1982 with the second movement of the Bach.

Now, let’s hear the MJQ—John Lewis, Milt Jackson, Percy Heath and Connie Kay—in a slightly eccentric, brilliant, performance of “Django” at the Zelt Musik Festival in Freiburg, Germany in 1987. It doesn’t take the MJQ long to get the unruly audience’s attention.

For an appreciation of Django Reinhardt, some of his music and a fresh take on Lewis’s “Django” by bright young stars of 21st century jazz, see this recent Rifftides post.

Josh Rutner wrote to remind me of this Rifftides piece that ran nearly five years ago. When I exhumed it from the archive, I discovered that digital gremlins had stolen the subject’s picture and destroyed some of the links. The staff has restored the post, and that’s reason enough to remind us all of this wonderful pianist.

For weeks, the CD reissue of Phineas Newborn, Jr.’s 1961 album A World of Piano! has been propped up near my computer as a reminder to post something about him. It is neither his birthday (December 14, 1931) nor the anniversary of his death (May 26, 1989), and no recently discovered Newborn recording has been released, but we need no special occasion to remember his astonishing talent.

Because he was sporadically troubled by emotional instability, Newborn’s career was spotty. He never got the recognition his virtuosity might have brought him if his health had been on an even keel. Still, from the time the young man from Memphis debuted with Lionel Hampton in 1950, musicians and informed listeners were aware that he was a phenomenon. He made a splash in New York in the mid-fifties when Count Basie and the producer-promoter John Hammond gave him a boost. He worked in a duo with Charles Mingus and played with the bassist on the soundtrack of John Cassevetes’ celebrated art film Shadows. His recordings on RCA, Atlantic, Roulette, Steeplechase, Pablo and a smattering of other labels remain available and sell steadily if modestly. Few serious jazz pianists are without Newborn shelves in their collections.

Through the ’60s and ’70s he recorded a series of albums for Contemporary, at first as a sideman with Howard McGhee and Teddy Edwards, then four under his own name. Concord Records, the custodian of the Newborn Contemporary CDs, has allowed several of them to drop out of the Original Jazz Classics catalogue. Some of them have resurfaced as imports and may be found, along with other Newborns, at this web site. It would be difficult to go wrong with any of them. There are, as far as I can determine, no Phineas Newborn albums worthy of fewer than four-and-a-half stars out of five. You will find his complete discography here.

A few clips of Newborn playing with the monumental bassist Al McKibbon and drummer Kenny Dennis have shown up on You Tube. They all seem to come from the Jazz Scene USA televison program hosted by Oscar Brown, Jr., in the early 1960s. If you’re unfamiliar with Newborn, try “Oleo” for an introduction to the piston-perfect technique of his fast playing and “Lush Life” for proof that his harshest critics were wrong when they accused him of being without feeling.

As for the pronunciation of Newborn’s first name, it has been solidly established by family and close friends that he preferred “Fín-uhs” (as in “finest”).

At The Seasons last night, Jay Thomas arrayed his arsenal of reed and brass instruments across the front of the stage, some on stands, others lying at the ready. As in his new album, The Cats (Pony Boy Records), Thomas, pianist John Hansen, bassist Chuck Kistler and drummer Adam Kessler lived up to the CD’s subtitle, “Neo-Boogaloo.” Their tune list is replete with such ‘50s and ‘60s pieces as “The Jody Grind, “Soul Station,” “Nica’s Tempo,” and two fruitful boogaloo standards, Herbie Hancock’s “Canteloupe Island” and Grant Green’s “Canteloupe Woman.”

Thomas disclosed that his quartet’s repertoire has inspired a new name for the band. Henceforth, he announced, they would be known as The Canteloupes. Whether or not that proves to be a marketable handle, he is profitably mining a rhythmic vein of music. Early in the concert, Hank Mobley’s “Soul Station” set the audience to bobbing and weaving in their pews in the elegant performance hall in Yakima, Washington. The Seasons is a converted Christian Science Church noted for its acoustic purity.

The Boogaloo style and designation go back to New York in the early sixties when young Cubans and Puerto Ricans combined guanguancó, guajira, son montuno and other Latin rhythm constructs with elements of soul, funk and R&B in the Nuyorícan mix. Broadly applied, boogaloo seeped into the jazz mainstream, providing strength and seasoning in the work of musicians including Horace Silver, Herbie Hancock, Mongo Santamaría and Ray Barretto.

For all of the boogalooing during the Thomas concert, the high points of passion came with the leader on tenor saxophone in slow pieces—Freddie Redd’s “Just a Ballad For My Baby” and Billy Eckstine’s “I Want to Talk About You.” When he finished the Eckstine song, Thomas told the crowd that when he first heard John Coltrane’s recording, “my hair stood up and I got chills.” His own playing on the piece generated a similar sensation. Johnny Hodges’ 1941 “I Got Rhythm” contrafact “Squatty Roo” didn’t have much to do with boogaloo or balladry, but it gave the quartet an outlet for swing in the spirit of the jam session.

Thomas may be best known as a brass player, but Saturday night he went light on trumpet and flugelhorn, concentrating on tenor, soprano and alto saxophones. Hansen, a seasoned Seattle jazz veteran, found a productive middle way between his light touch on the keyboard and vigor powered by harmonic depth and an innate sense of swing. Frequent glances and smiles of approval among Hansen, Kistler and Kessler gave visual affirmation of what the audience could hear; the three enjoyed the unity and interaction that develops among a superior rhythm section in a working band.

Whatever you may make of some of the illustrations in the following video, this track from The Cats will let you hear a bright new band and see a few pictures of them.

Scouring the web in search of something unrelated, I came across a clip from a 1967 Ed Sullivan show that brought to mind—as if a reminder were needed—Harry James’s stunning musicianship. The trumpeter teamed up with Nancy Ames in a performance of one of Ethel Merman’s signature songs from Cole Porter’s Anything Goes. A couple of his licks in the piece emphasize James’s ability as a blues player, an attribute often ignored by critics who downgraded him for his sugary playing in hits like “Sleepy Lagoon.” On the Sullivan broadcast, he showed his jazz side.

Ames seemed omnipresent on television for a few years. She came to fame on a program called Hootnenanny, something of a sensation in the early 1960s. She also sang the introductory news summary on the US version of the satirical This Was The Week That Was. Ames was typecast as a folk singer, but her stylistic range was wide. Part of her appeal came from relaxation and naturalness reminiscent of Peggy Lee. When bossa nova was still making modest waves in popular music, Nancy Ames showed that she had a nice touch with Brazilian songs. Her duet on “So Nice” (“Summer Samba”) with Andy Williams in a 1967 episode of his television show is an example. YouTube doesn’t allow us to embed the clip. To see it, click here.

As for Harry James’s blues authenticity, he established it convincingly on record in 1938 when he was a 22-year-old making his name as a sideman with Benny Goodman. He validated his credentials on two sides of a 78 with the boogie woogie piano giants Pete Johnson and Albert Ammons, drummer Eddie Dougherty and bassist Johnny Williams. Here are both takes, “Boo Woo” and “Woo Woo.” Video of the original 78s is presented on YouTube by Emile Dumur, who takes pains to show you the labels with personnel listings before he plays the records.

Less than a year later, in January, 1939, James left Goodman to form his own band. A string of hits lay ahead of him.

The death of George Gruntz last Thursday brought responses from dozens of the musicians who played in his Concert Jazz Band over the past 40 years. The Swiss pianist, composer and arranger hired an international who’s-who of players for his annual tours in Europe, the United States and South America, among other places around the globe. To name a few, his sidemen or guest soloists included established stars like Elvin Jones, Jimmy Knepper, Dexter Gordon, Sheila Jordan and Herb Geller.

Bassist Bill Crow did not appear with the CJB, but he was impressed with the pianist long before Gruntz organized his big band. Bill sent this recollection:

Dave Bailey and I met young George Grunz at a jam session in Switzerland while touring with the Gerry Mulligan quartet in the fifties. We liked the way he played, and later, in Milano, when we were hired for a record session with Lars Gullin, we recommended George, and they flew him down for the date. We thought the music turned out well, but for some reason the recording was never released, as far as I know. RIP, George.

The Jepsen discography shows that the session Bill mentions was recorded by a label called General Jazz on June 13, 1959 with Gruntz, Crow on bass and Bailey on drums. It lists two blues and six standard tunes as “unissued.” I have been unable to find any other trace of the date.

Tom Varner, the French horn virtuoso, toured six times with Gruntz. He sent this message:

Here is a great link that shows all the incredible players in all of George’s many varied big bands. Sad day. I played in the band in ’83, ’84, ’87, ’88, ’89, and 91. What great times. An amazing variety of players. Somehow, GG made it work. Thank you George.

Marvin Stamm became a key member of the Gruntz organization, playing lead trumpet and frequently assigned crucial solo spots. At my request, Marvin wrote for Rifftides about his Gruntz experience.

My Friend George

By Marvin Stamm

George formed relationships with many great musicians over his career. I know that I am not alone feeling bereft of a dear friend.

I didn’t realize in 1987, when I first went to Switzerland to work with George and the CJB that it would lead me to change the course of my life. That tour and the ones that followed made me realize that I wanted to leave the studio scene in NYC to return to the life of a jazz artist, the life I loved, my reason to be a musician. Since I made that change in 1990, the subsequent years have been most fulfilling for me both musically and personally. I owe much to George for my decision to make this life-changing move.

But just as important and rewarding has been the friendship that accompanied the musical relationship. Over our time together, George, his wife Lilly, and his daughter Philine also became friends with my wife and daughters. And I have become close to George’s son Felix and his wife Valentina. All these personal ties meant a lot to me and my family, and we value so much all the times spent together and all the experiences we shared over all the years.

I joined the George Gruntz Concert Jazz Band (CJB) in 1987 and was with George steadily for twenty-one years, the exceptions being a two-year hiatus in the mid-1990’s and my missing a couple of tours because of previous bookings. During that time, I was George’s lead trumpet player, beginning in 1987 through the 2008 tour to Russia.

As is true of all the players on the band, I was also a soloist with the group. Every player on the band was a soloist, and George’s policy was that the book he wrote for each tour must include two solos for every player, something that showed his great respect for the musicians he asked to tour with the CJB. There were many of them. Over the years, George had a Who’s Who of players in the CJB, and if you might be interested to see who these musicians were, go to the link Tom Varner provides above.

George was a restless soul, and he was never idle. He was a prolific composer, arranger, and musician and was always creating. When he finished one tour or project, either writing or playing, he was on to the next. George was an eclectic musician, very sincere and serious about his writing. Over the years, I experienced a great many musical sides of George, the many shifts in style, texture and colors in his writing. Each tour of the CJB featured a number of George’s original pieces, but also several arrangements of compositions of the then current members of the CJB. I was highly complimented that in the later years of my tenure on the band, George arranged, performed, and recorded three of my pieces. Moreover, the two soloists featured on those arrangements were always George and me.

Marvin Stamm and George Gruntz, Lugano, Switzerland, 2007

 

George and I shared many one-on-one times, all great fun, wonderful moments. Staying at his the cottage in the Bernese Oberlands between tours in the early years, on the road sharing meals together, and the occasional special wines shared with his boyhood friend and manager of many years, Gerard Lüll. So many special moments together, and, for sure, I will miss them all.

George had a great sense of humor. I will share one of many stories with you. During one of the last tours I played, he and I decided to walk back to our hotel from whatever after-concert function we attended. It was dark. George suddenly tripped and fell from a high curb, scratching his face rather badly and leaving him looking as if he had been in a fight. The next day, I jokingly said to him, “George, let’s tell everyone that we came upon a pair of hoodlums harassing two women, and we jumped in to rescue the ladies.”

George laughed. He said that was a splendid idea. I thought he might only joke about it with the musicians, nothing more. Instead, each night of the remaining three or four dates of the tour, George explained to the audiences why his face was so banged up – that he and I had gotten into a scuffle with a couple of hoods and rescued two damsels in distress. The audience loved it. George and I got a big kick out of it too.

George was generous. He loved good food and wine, as did most of the members of the CJB. The group shared many excellent meals together. We would pay for our food, but many times George would pick up the bill for our wine and drinks.

Though I have not toured with the CJB since the 2008 tour, our friendship was not affected. Our relationship was not built only on working together. Our friendship was stronger and deeper than that.

I was taken aback and quite sad when I heard that George became seriously ill this past fall. I knew he had dealt with various health issues over the past few years, but never imagined things to be this serious. Regardless, George journeyed to the U.S. last December to record again with the CJB. I was not involved, but Howard Johnson told me that the music was very good and George’s spirits were fine although he wasn’t as physically strong as before his illness. I don’t think anyone expected what happened last week. I’m sure that all who knew George are deeply saddened by his passing.

George had a great impact on my life, and I will always keep him in my thoughts. I will always carry a picture in my mind of George onstage at the piano, the image that represents who he was to me during all the times we performed together. He will always be an important and living presence to me.

Rest in peace, my friend.

To see and hear an hour-and-a-half concert by the George Gruntz Concert Jazz Band, with Marvin Stamm as a soloist, go here.

Claude Nobs, who made the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland one of the world’s premier performing arts events, died yesterday in Geneva. He was injured Christmas Eve while skiing in Caux-sur-Montreux near his home. Taken to a hospital, Nobs fell into a coma from which he never awoke. He was 76.

Nobs was born in Montreux, apprenticed as a cook, then worked in the Montreux tourism office. As tourism director, in 1967 he organized his first jazz festival. It included the newly popular Charles Lloyd Quartet with Keith Jarrett, Ron McClure and Jack DeJohnette. The festival was a success and quickly gave Montreux status among European festivals equal to George Wein’s Newport in the United States. The following year, Bill Evans brought the festival added exposure through the release of At The Montreux Jazz Festival, preserving one of the pianist’s most powerful trio performances.

In addition to a panoply of jazz stars, over the years Nobs and the Montreux festival also presented pop, blues and rock performers, among them Roberta Flack, Aretha Franklin, Deep Purple, Prince, Ray Charles and Frank Zappa. In 1971, he was lauded as a hero for rescuing several youngsters caught in the Montreux Casino after it caught fire during a Zappa concert.

In an interview with the Swiss video magazine NVP3d, Nobs demonstrated that his love of music went beyond presenting others.

In later years, Nobs shared directorship of the Montreux festival with Quincy Jones, who conducted Miles Davis’s 1993 revival of Davis’s collaborations with Gil Evans. Jones returns each year to present new artists. In addition to the 1968 Bill Evans recording, the dozens of albums made at the Montreux festival when it was under Nobs’ direction included Evans’ 1970 and 1991 return engagements and memorable appearances by Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis and a 1977 summit meeting of players as disparate as Dexter Gordon, Woody Herman, Stan Getz, Bob James and Woody Shaw.

Here is a listening tip for Rifftides readers in or near New York City.

On one of his periodic visits to the United States, the Czech pianist Emil Viklický will have a return engagement this week with the multi-instrumentalist Scott Robinson. (In the photo, Robinson is on the right.) They will play on Wednesday evening at the Bohemian National Hall of the Czech Center in Manhattan. The occasion will be a program of music in memory of Josef Škvorecký (1924-2012), the writer known for Dvorák in Love, The Bass Saxophone and The Engineer of Human Souls, among other novels. Martin Wind will be on bass, the Finnish drummer Klaus Suonsaari on drums. For concert details, go here.

The center’s announcement did not say which of his dozens of horns Robinson will import from his New Jersey instrument farm. They could include anything from the sopranino saxophone to the contrabass sax, the trumpet to the tuba to the theremin. Given the Škvorecký connection, the bass saxophone would make sense. Almost certainly, he will bring the tenor sax, on which he has been doing some of his most expressive work. In this video from their Czech Center concert in a 2010 encounter, Viklický and Robinson play “Touha” (Desire) from Viklický’s 2009 album Sinfonietta.

Viklický’s involvement in a program honoring Škvorecký makes sense. The two were friends, fellow survivors of the Soviet occupation of their country. See this Rifftides archive post for the story.

Since his death on December 5, the tributes to Dave Brubeck keep appearing all over the world in print, on the air and through the internet. His oldest son Darius, who was with his father at the end, sent us a link to the article he wrote at the request of South Africa’s Mail and Guardian newspaper. This excerpt touches on the social consciousness that guided Brubeck from the earliest days of his career:

I lived in South Africa from 1983 to 2005, teaching jazz at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in Durban, and my wife, Cathy, is South African, so sometimes people assume Dave must have had a South African connection too. Actually there is no ancestral or other background connection, but through us, South Africa became important to him.

The New Brubeck Quartet (Dave, Chris, Dan and I) toured South Africa in 1976, of all years, albeit before the declaration of the UN cultural boycott. Dave had been an outspoken campaigner for civil rights in the American South in the 1960s and it didn’t take long for him to see that while coming to South Africa may have been a mistake, he could also make demands that might do some good.

He insisted on a local opening act, Malombo, and hired Victor Ntoni to play acoustic bass with us. Even though we were self-contained with my brother Chris playing electric bass, this was a way to ‘integrate’ our group.

To read all of Darius Brubeck’s remembrance, go here.

In this video from the tribute to Brubeck, Sr. at the Kennedy Center Honors ceremony, his sons—Darius, Chris, Danny and Matthew—surprised their dad as part of an all-star tribute. It was December 6, 2009, his 89th birthday.

Since Brubeck’s death, that clip has been seen on YouTube more than a quarter of a million times.

This bit of Rifftides revisited is from an earlier encounter with the mortality of someone close. When I posted it, I was executor of the estate of a lifelong friend and influence, the pianist Jack Brownlow, recently profiled by Steve Cerra.
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Respite
Seattle, Washington
November 10, 2007

Preoccupied with death and its aftermath for two weeks, I decided to seek out life, so I went to Serafina.

Serafina is not a girl friend. It’s a restaurant. Arriving at 7:15, I asked the hostess for a table for one. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but she refrained from saying, “In your dreams.”

“Maybe by 9:30,” she said, “but if you’d like to wait for something to open up at the bar, you can eat there. Full menu.” It was like being back in New York, even unto the fashionably hip, mostly young, crowd.

The bar has maybe ten stools. They were all occupied, and there was a phalanx three deep trying to find enough elbow room to hoist their aperitifs. Fat chance, I thought, but I ordered a glass of wine and stood chatting with a woman who lives in the neighborhood. She asked what I do. I told her. She asked what I’d written lately. “Ah,” she politely responded, and asked me to spell Poodie. “I read a lot,” she said. “Mysteries. Can’t get enough of them. Lately, it’s been James Lee Burke. I knew I should have come earlier. It’s like this on Saturdays.” She disappeared into the Eastlake Avenue night.

A man yielded his stool. The heftier bartender with the grey beard waved me forward. I indicated the rest of the waiting crowd. He shrugged. We shook hands and exchanged names. He was Matthew. His colleague, tall and lean, was Matthias. “Matt and Matt,” he said. There is little more satisfying than the pleasure of watching people do what they do well and enjoying it. These guys were craftsmen. Matthew’s creation of a chocolate martini, something I can’t imagine drinking, was bartender ballet.

I ordered the Trota al Tortufo, roasted trout stuffed with artichokes and truffles finished with a black truffle-butter sauce, served with sautéed spinach. Matthias suggested an Italian white wine, Vermentino Sardegna Pala Crabilis. It was an inspired pairing. For dessert, he recommended a pumpkin something or other, but I had a double espresso and the chocolate tort, or Torta di Cioccolata e Mandorla, as such things are called when they cost a lot.

“The pastry chef shows up every afternoon and does these incredible things,” Matthew said, “then she disappears. Her name is Mei.” With Mei’s tort and the espresso, I hit my second daily double of the meal.

Serafina was beyond crowded, pulsing with life, noise and happiness. Just what I needed.

This is quite likely the only restaurant review I will ever write. Grazie, Serafina.