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Sully and the Singers: A Tale of Two Cruises

Collaboration Magic and the Beauty of Jazz

One benefit of retirement, obviously, is time flexibility. Sailing on two consecutive one-week cruises while working full time would have been unlikely, but that’s just what we did in January. First there was The Jazz Cruise (TJC) and then it was Blue Note At Sea (BNAS).

Each was run by Jazz Cruises, LLC, formerly Entertainment Cruise Productions, out of St. Louis and headed by Michael Lazaroff. The company also does two other cruises devoted to smooth Jazz, but the company’s history started with the first Jazz Cruise put together by Mr. Lazaroff’s mother, Anita Berry, in 2001.

Among the two cruises’ dozens of highlights were two concerts, one from each cruise, with a special commonality making them irresistible: collaboration magic with phenomenal pianist Sullivan Fortner accompanying an extraordinary vocalist.

Sullivan was scheduled to appear with Cecile McLorin Salvant on BNAS, which was one very good reason to book that cruise. In a similarly great reason to book, Dee Dee Bridgewater was bringing a working band with her for TJC the week before. When something came up to prevent Carmen Staaf from taking the piano with Dee Dee’s band, the call went out to Fortner to come aboard a week early. Now, that was a perfect phone call.

Dee Dee

It seems there is only one vocalist to attain the following trifecta: win a Grammy (three, actually), win a Tony, and become a National Endowment of the Arts Jazz Master. In truth, these are but three of a long list of accolades for Dee Dee Bridgewater. More impressive than the number of her achievements and awards, though, is their breadth. At 72, Dee Dee remains in her lengthy prime, a force of nature.

Known primarily as a Jazz singer, Bridgewater has also had successful forays into pop, R&B, acting, and philanthropy. In short, she does well and does good in virtually anything she undertakes. As a result, anyone about to see Dee Dee Bridgewater can be sure a treat is in store, with little idea what treat it will be. As a headliner on 2018’s Blue Note At Sea, for example, she did a concert of songs associated with her birthplace, from her 2017 album Memphis…Yes, I’m Ready.

Moments into her concert on this year’s Jazz Cruise, after thanking Fortner for taking the gig on such short notice, Dee Dee announced that she would be doing an entire set of Billie Holiday.

For many singers, this could be problematic. Taking on the music of the inimitable icon tempts lesser talents to make one of two mistakes: either try to imitate Lady Day or ignore her altogether in doing lame versions of her stuff. Adding to the potential for trouble was the timing: the show was just a few hours after the ship set sail on day 1, and immediately after the big Welcome Concert in which headliners participated. Bridgewater and Fortner may not have had a chance to say “hello”, much less rehearse.

This being a savvy crowd, however, there were no muffled groans, but rather murmured excitement, coming from the audience. Many undoubtedly were aware of Bridgewater’s celebrated portrayals of Billie in Lady Day in 1987 and 2014 and her 2010 Grammy for Eleonora Fagan: To Billie With Love. Sure enough, those lucky enough to be there soon witnessed the special magic that only Jazz can provide.

The Concert

Dee Dee did what masters do. She was her gifted self, but captured the spirit of Billie – wisdom drawn from painful experience, joy where salvageable, and the essence of the blues regardless of song form – without delving into imitation.

Thus, the evoking of a revered influence inspired Dee Dee to be a special version of herself. Any young musicians in attendance, and not just singers, could hardly miss the point; this is how the art form evolves and grows. Meanwhile, there was transcendent piano accompaniment, from the first note through the last. Drawing on his unique combination of virtuosity, taste, and command of Jazz piano history from Harlem stride through swing, bop and beyond, Fortner had something better than perfect at every turn.

By “perfect” here we mean standard classy comping, flawlessly executed. Sullivan went beyond that. The expected was nowhere to be heard. Whether weaving lines underneath the vocals, punctuating with phrases or individual notes, or soloing at Dee Dee’s nodded invitation, Fortner delivered sublime creations. They were better than the expected because they enhanced what a superb singer was creating, right there and then.

None of this was showing off. Everything was in service to the music, to the song in the moment, and to what Dee Dee was achieving – musically and emotionally. It wasn’t long before the two of them were luxuriating in each other’s brilliance, instantly and seamlessly responding to fresh ideas. It is in this rarefied air that real magic happens. In the one-hour set there were moments that took listeners’ breath away, from the understated hurt/anger of “Don’t Explain” to the ironic humor praising those stripes that are really yellow in “Fine and Mellow”.

Sullivan Fortner (p) and Cecile McLorin Salvant (v), Blue Note At Sea 1/16/23

Cecile

There is an exciting wave of remarkably gifted young (20s through mid-30s) singers making their mark in the music these days. Among those wowing audiences and listeners all over are Jazzmeia Horn, Veronica Swift, and Samara Joy (who lived up to her last name on this year’s Jazz Cruise). Leading the way, arguably, is Cecile McLorin Salvant.

Eclecticism comes naturally to Cecile. Born in Miami into both French and Haitian heritage, she studied classical piano and voice starting very young. Her household featured all genres of music. Extensive formal study in both France and the US included a move to Darius Milhaud Conservatory in Aix-en-Provence at age 18. Cecile was 21 when she won the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Competition for vocalists. Her second album, WomanChild, was Jazz Album of the Year in the 2014 Downbeat Critics Poll; it’s been a steady stream of critical acclaim for Salvant ever since.

Hers is a rare instrument, a voice with rich lows and ethereal highs. This tempts comparisons to Sarah and Ella, but her harmonic risk-taking brings to mind my favorite vocal explorer, Betty Carter. The thrill of seeing Carter had much to do with her use of dissonance, unexpected key shifts and other devices that left the listener wondering, “How is she ever going to get out of this one?” Then she would resolve everything brilliantly, of course; you imagined her winking at you.

When Cecile takes on a standard, she probes aspects seldom previously explored. Her other two sources of material, generally, are her own compositions and obscure songs from every realm, especially show tunes and folk songs from anywhere. If she launches into something unfamiliar, an initial impression from esoteric, dated or quirky lyrics can be that the piece’s obscurity was well earned. It isn’t long, however, before Salvant injects pain, humor, wisdom, irony, or other slices of humanity with an unexpected phrasing, bent note, or key change. Wonder quickly replaces skepticism for the listener paying attention.

Taking In the Set

Cecile does not so much sing a song as become its protagonist. She inhabits a song while performing it. Perhaps that’s why her interludes between selections can be a bit longer, and her exchanges with Fortner more substantive, than typically heard between singer and accompanist. She’s coming down from one role and taking on another.

Theirs was a true collaboration, as it always is, with exchanges both playful and knowing. One gets the feeling that Cecile and Sullivan take sly joy in proposing to each other songs to perform. Once one of them starts, however, they’re all business in creating something special with the piece.

There is something else that makes Salvant and Fortner an intriguing pairing. Each of them is on the artistic journey of discerning exactly what to do with their prodigious talents and how to utilize their limitless resources. Delights await those who search the Internet for their two names together. Imagine what’s to come.

Sullivan

Then there’s hearing Sullivan Fortner when he’s not accompanying, but leading, at the piano – whether alone, in a larger group, or leading a trio. We did, several times between the two cruises. Tellingly, so did a number of other pianists. One of the pleasures of being on a Jazz cruise is seeing the kick great musicians get out of listening to each other, as many of them do.

When Sullivan was playing in one of the ship’s venues, it seemed any pianist on board not playing elsewhere was there. The delight on their faces validated what I was feeling, and reflected an artist’s appreciation more profound than anything I could muster. (At https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuUUoMsRXTU, one can see him leading a trio in concert.)

In the pantheon of history’s pianists, one who does not always appear as high up on the lists as he deserves is Jaki Byard (1922-1999). One of the joys of seeing or hearing Byard was the command he had of virtually everything that had preceded him on the instrument right through the current cutting edge. Byard employed just about all of it on many of his wondrous solos with the great band Charles Mingus brought to Europe in 1964 (Eric Dolphy, Clifford Jordan, Johnny Coles, Byard, Mingus and Dannie Richmond). See in particular the versions of the masterpiece “Meditations on Integration” available from that tour. At only 36, Fortner seems intent on bringing similar mastery through the 21st Century.

How does one so young acquire such musical resources? An interview of Fortner by another astounding young pianist on both cruises, Emmet Cohen, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MTzH0QffiU) provides a hint, starting around the 19-minute mark. In going over Fortner’s musical upbringing in the church, Cohen has Fortner tell the story of how as a kid, he’d be handed a cassette of a new piece, listen to it once and “have it”. He had it not just for that day’s service but for years to come, and not just the piano part but what the altos and tenors in the choir were singing.

Emmet Cohen describes realizing “Wow, this is a different kind of mind that Sullivan has, to be able to channel everything he’s ever heard into something he can express through his fingers…this guy thinks differently than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

Indeed.

Appreciation

Generational talents of different generations (Dee Dee and Sullivan) and the same (Cecile and Sullivan) collaborated to create something truly special. In our two weeks of jazz cruising, they were hardly alone. It was, like Jazz itself, an embarrassment of riches, from and for all generations.

Recall a time when you had a really good idea, nobody squashed it, you brought it to fruition, and it worked. How did that feel?

Somewhere, right now, an unknown fourteen (or thirty, or seventy) year-old is working on something exciting that peers and even teachers may consider wrong, silly or crazy. Maybe that idea changes everything. Maybe the idea is in a setting other than music.

Happy Jazz Appreciation Month. What we celebrate is the music, of course, but it’s also the daring to be creative, to be open to all that is possible as human beings.

Ken Bossong

© 2023 Kenneth J. Bossong

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Fred Below: A Cut Above
Other Aspects’ Second Zebedee Award Goes To The Great Blues Drummer

A Lesson From “One of Those Records”

Music lovers tend to have different kinds of special recordings they cherish. There are those we consider “the greatest”, or “the most important”, or simply a “favorite” in various genres.

Then there’s another odd little group of recordings. These are ones we don’t consider among the greatest, most important, or favorite; we just play them. A lot. It’s a peculiar phenomenon, and it happens to me: songs and albums I’d never include on a top ten list, yet find myself playing more often than many I would.

One of those records is a 1969 vinyl called Electric Blues “Chicago Style” (Buddah Records BDS 7511). It’s a compilation of singles issued by Blues artists a tier lower in fame than the BB Kings and Muddy Waters of the world: Floyd Jones, Billy Boy Arnold, Snooky Pryor, and Eddie Taylor. At first, I assumed I played it often simply because of the tough, straight-ahead, no-nonsense urban blues in its grooves.

Then I realized that when I replayed individual tracks they tended to be Billy Boy Arnold’s. Why the cuts on Side 2 especially? Arnold’s vocals and harmonica were marvelous across the board, but I finally noticed there was one track I wanted to hear over and over – very unusual for me. So, I decided finally to actually listen to “My Heart Is Crying” to figure out why.

Mystery Solved

Seconds in, I knew; it was obvious. The drummer was the incomparable Fred Below. The beat was an irresistible shuffle, compellingly driving Arnold and the rest of the band to expressive heights. It wasn’t just the beat, though. Accents and virtuosic little fills perfectly placed in non-obvious places lent texture and nuance to every measure. The drummers on the album’s other tracks range from fine to quite good, but there was only one Fred Below.

This little light-bulb moment epitomizes why Fred is a suitable choice for our second Zebedee Award. The award gets its name from the first recipient, singer and master guitarist Earl Zebedee Hooker. (See post of 12/27/20.) The point is to honor musicians unknown to many who should be national heroes. I can’t live long enough to get to them all.

With apologies to Jump Jackson, Elgin Evans, Odie Payne, Bill Stepney, S. P. Leary, Clifton James, Earl Phillips, Sam Lay, Willie “Big Eyes” Smith, and others, Fred Below set the standard for Blues drumming.

Brief Bio

Fred Below was born (September 16, 1926), raised, and died (August 14, 1988) in Chicago. Thus, he was one of the few major figures in the birth of urban blues who was not part of the great migration north from the Mississippi Delta or Texas. Following high school and study at the Roy C. Knapp School of Percussion, Below served in the Army, playing for the 427th Army Band.

Fred came to the Blues by way of Jazz training and playing. Before and during his service he got to meet, learn from, and play with any number of Jazz greats. Arriving back home in Chicago from his Army stint, Fred found a burgeoning Blues scene in the early ‘Fifties that dwarfed anything happening in Jazz.

While Fred had to adjust to the nuanced requirements of blues drumming, he would find the virtuosic skills developed while steeping himself in both swing and bebop serving him well the rest of his life. Specifically, his use of the entire drum set – tom-toms, all the cymbals, blocks, rims, bass drum, and so forth – and sophisticated use of elegant rhythms and poly-rhythms made him highly desirable just as the masters (Muddy, Wolf, Walter, Sonny Boy, etc.) were creating the framework for urban blues and all that followed.

Starter Kit for Listeners

Fred Below has an enormous discography. It’s difficult to think of a major figure in the first several decades of Chicago blues with whom Below did not play and record. The house drummer for Leonard and Phil Chess (Chess, Checker and Argo record labels), Fred propels any number of landmark urban blues records. It’s tempting to say, most of them.

Any exploring you do will be amply rewarded. Allow me to get you started.

Audio

Not just the founding fathers of city blues, but also the then-rising generation benefited from collaborating with Fred. A perfect example is Buddy Guy’s early singles on Chess. All are recommended, especially “The First Time I Met the Blues” in which Buddy’s explosive new attack paired perfectly with the thunder provided by Below’s drums. Here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exutWZUTl44

Guy’s first album was on Vanguard. A Man and the Blues is special for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the personnel. The quartet consisted of Buddy on guitar and vocal, Otis Spann on piano, Jack Myers on electric bass, and Fred. Remarkably, each of the four gets my vote as the greatest in Blues history on his instrument. They play like it throughout, but there is a special treat.

The version of Big Maceo’s “One Room Country Shack” is simply exquisite. Maceo was one of Spann’s favorite influences, and he is really feeling it here. The interplay of the four with Buddy’s best recorded vocal is extraordinary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEiBlzrwxh0
Holding it all together is Fred’s sublime brushwork. When was the last time someone recommended a Blues cut to you for the drummer’s brushwork?

A previous post (5/10/2020) described Buddy and Junior Wells as one of music’s “dynamic duos”.  Junior’s album on Vanguard It’s My Life, Baby features Buddy, Fred, and Jack Myers behind Junior on harmonica and vocals. If you want to hear Blues virtuosos play Jazz, do the title track. On one special cut, though, “Look How Baby”, Buddy’s guitar solo turns into a freely-improvised duet with Fred’s drums. Only half-jokingly I’ve referred to this as Avant-garde blues: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxwI53XRP5o
No one but Fred and Buddy, with Jack Myers, could have done this. Almost as noteworthy is the restraint of Junior Wells – not always as generous sharing the spotlight – in having them stretch out to this extent.

Video

Luckily, there is also some video.  Here, Fred (with Jack Myers again on bass) backs the great Otis Rush in Europe in a stunning version of “I Can’t Quit You, Baby”. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uy2tEP3I3DM&list=RDtMMjurLqYJQ&index=1

Fred’s regular gig was with The Aces. When brothers Louis Myers on guitar and Dave Myers on bass took on Below as the drummer, they indeed became the Aces, the most sought-after rhythm section in Chicago. Little Walter made the Aces his band after he left Muddy Waters to become a star in his own right, with remarkable success. (Sometimes they called themselves the Jukes, after Walter’s classic hit instrumental.) Everyone wanted to play with them.

Here the Aces back another underrated hero, Eddie Taylor, lead guitarist on all of Jimmy Reed’s hits but a monster in his own right. This is rare footage of Eddie as a leader: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZrUb4N37RU&list=RDtMMjurLqYJQ&index=5

An unusually good view of Fred in action is also with the Aces:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5m7Dve4ibo

One last treat for now – exploring YouTube further yields great rewards – is this video of Fred, Buddy and pianist Eddie Boyd backing Big Mama Thornton on “Hound Dog”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvbSXVc451Q

Not Just the Blues

The records that guaranteed rock ‘n’ roll was not going to be just another passing trend in American pop music were Chuck Berry’s on Chess. These anthems of rock, “Johnny B Goode”, “School Days”, “Roll Over Beethoven”, “Rock and Roll Music”, “Sweet Little Sixteen”, et al, established both the guitar as THE instrument of Rock and the beat that would rule. Fred Below was the drummer.

Another early R’n’R guitar master was almost as famous for his “Bo Diddley beat” as his guitar licks. Fred was not the drummer on most of Bo’s hits; Clifton James was. James cited Below as a top influence, however, and Fred claimed a significant role in creating the iconic beat (https://scottkfish.com/2016/03/09/fred-below-the-beatles-wouldnt-have-been-the-beatles/).

When he wasn’t driving the greatest blues bands or rock innovators in the world, Below drummed for artists as diverse as Dinah Washington, the Moonglows (yes, he’s the drummer on “Sincerely”), and the Platters.

Summing Up

For decades, when dancers on American Bandstand rated a record, that single was headed to a high score if “It had a great beat” and “I could dance to it”. Suffice it to say that Fred Below had a lot to do with what “a great beat” was in American popular music.

Drummers were my entre into Jazz (in order of my becoming aware: Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, Sonny Payne, Max Roach, Art Blakey, Elvin Jones, and Philly Joe Jones). Not so, Blues. For me, like most, it was singer-guitarists at first, then pianists and harmonica players. Instances of real listening, as described at the top of this post, brought appreciation for great drumming in Blues.

With space my senior year at Rutgers for an elective, I took bassist Larry Ridley’s superb course on the History of Jazz. One of the most memorable classes was given by guest master drummer Philly Joe Jones. PJ sat on stage at his drum set, explaining and demonstrating the rhythms of world music through 20th Century American popular music. I’ve never learned more on any topic in one one-hour session in my life. Interestingly, he had a kind word for Rock.

“It’s easy to look down on Rock, musically,” he said, “but actually the real Rock ‘n’ Roll beat, done right, is intricate and compelling. It’s derived from the Blues’ shuffle rhythm [demonstrating] and not easy to do, either” [transitioning into rock ’n’ roll]”. No one in the class could sit still as one of the greatest Jazz drummers went back and forth between Fred Below’s Blues and Fred Below’s Rock – and that’s exactly what PJ was doing to epitomize each.

The timing couldn’t have been better for me, to reinforce what I had recently realized about the difference a Fred Below (or a Jack Myers on bass) can make. The least I can do is share the notion.

Enjoy.

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Another Other Aspect: Grachan Moncur III

The main focus here is to honor Fred Below.

I’d be remiss, however, not to mark the passing of Grachan Moncur III on his 85th birthday, this past June 3. He was my “other favorite” trombonist. Not coincidentally, and more importantly, he was tenor sax great Archie Shepp’s other favorite trombonist.

I had paid little attention to the instrument until I first heard Shepp’s first album as a leader, Four For Trane. Featured throughout was the robust playing and imaginative arranging of Roswell Rudd. Wow. Then I discovered my second favorite Shepp album, The Way Ahead. It was my introduction to Moncur, and from then to now I’d be hard pressed to choose between Rudd and Moncur – not that there’s any need to do so. Here’s “Fiesta” from the album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4rkRpaA63Y

As a sideman, Moncur did stellar work not only for Archie Shepp, but for other notables, especially alto great Jackie McLean.

Grachan’s writing and arranging take center stage in two albums as a leader of all-star ensembles: Evolution on Blue Note (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hIqmji2wlY)and New Africa on BYG. A standout on the latter is “When” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aN5VTUUsQ8), a remarkable 12-minute performance featuring one of Shepp’s greatest solos on record.

RIP, Grachan Moncur III. Again, if you can find the time to explore this music, you’ll be glad you did.

Ken Bossong

© 2022 Kenneth J. Bossong

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Reflections on a JAM – and the Jam We’re In

Art tends to both reflect and affect the cultural milieu in which it’s created. That seems especially so in the case of Jazz music.

April is designated Jazz Appreciation Month (JAM). Reflecting on that during this April revealed few aspects of Jazz history more worthy of appreciation than its significant role in Civil Rights. This is in homage to just a few of the most notable highlights – out of countless works worthy of mention.

Billie Holiday – “Strange Fruit”

It has been argued that the recording on April 30, 1939 and subsequent release of this song was the first act of America’s Civil Rights movement. Indeed, an entire book was written to make the point – Strange Fruit: Billie Holiday and the Biography of a Song by David Margolick. (Echo Press, 2001. It is also found as Strange Fruit: Billie Holiday, Cafe Society, and an Early Cry for Civil Rights. Running Press, 2000.)

The details vary with who’s telling the story, but one account of the song’s creation is that the incomparable Lady Day was accompanied by Frankie Newton’s band at Café Society in Greenwich Village when a fan approached her with a poem he had written excoriating lynchings. The song is credited to a “Lewis Allan”; his real name was Abel Meeropol, an English teacher from the Bronx. Holiday and Newton’s pianist, Sonny White, worked out a melody and the rest is history.

It’s better, though, to read the book. It presents as more likely that Meeropol created the melody as well, and had it performed publicly a few times before it found its way to Billie. Sonny White did create the recording’s piano intro. Milt Gabler’s Commodore recorded the song when Columbia found it too hot to handle.

If you have ever heard Billie Holiday’s original rendition, you’ve likely never forgotten it. If you haven’t, as with any piece mentioned here, you owe it to yourself. She uses understatement (soft, even tones and precise diction) for one of the most effective presentations of smoldering rage ever captured. One can only imagine experiencing it live. Most accounts speak of stunned, total silence following the song’s harrowing conclusion – giving way eventually to a groundswell of applause.  It was Time Magazine’s Song of the Century.

Yusef Lateef – “Juba Juba”

The album The Blue Yusef Lateef (Atlantic 1508) contains this striking piece that manages to capture a vast swath of American music in 4:20. Based on the field holler/work song format and inspired by a prison song, the performance features wailing blues harmonica and Lateef’s masterful jazz flute. Cissy Houston’s Sweet Inspirations frame the proceedings with a gorgeous spiritual-infused vocal background. The only actual word they sing is “freedom”.

Lateef’s liner notes dedicate the piece to nineteenth-century dancer William Henry Lane, known as Juba. The art of Pattin’ Juba (also called Hambone) involved clapping hands or slapping them on thighs, knees, or ribs for complex rhythmic patterns to accompany dance. Juba was an ingenious African-American form utilizing the human body as percussive instrument.

For the listener, though, the piece needs no explanation.

Duke Ellington – “Come Sunday”

The centerpiece of Ellington’s momentous suite Black, Brown and Beige is this beloved hymn-like ballad that was the forerunner to Duke’s celebrated “sacred concerts”. Apart from rehearsal performance, the premiere was in Carnegie Hall on January 23, 1943. While words weren’t necessary to convey the meaning, Duke added lyrics later. The refrain: “Ooh Lord, dear Lord above/ God almighty, God of love/ Please look down, and see my people through.”  

The February 1958 version featuring Mahalia Jackson on Columbia (CK65566) is especially recommended.

Nina Simone – “Mississippi Goddam”

For the gifted, classically-trained pianist Eunice Kathleen Waymon, a career as a concert pianist was foreclosed before having a chance to commence. (Need we say why?) This gave the world the one-and-only singer/pianist Nina Simone. Any number of her recordings could be mentioned here, of course, but no such list would be complete without “Mississippi Goddam”. (The song’s title is usually spelled without the “n”.)

Simone recorded it often and was incapable of a poor performance. A special treat is available, however: you can watch her perform it live in Holland in 1965 on her Jazz Icons DVD. Whatever version is available, though, the most striking aspect is one of contrast.

If one were to listen casually, paying no attention to the lyrics, the impression would be of an irresistibly jaunty, even catchy, pop tune. Just reading the lyrics, however, leaves the unmistakable impression of exasperated fury. Paying attention to the integrated performance rewards the careful listener with the compelling experience of art.

Charles Mingus – “Fables of Faubus” and “Meditations on Integration”

Composer, arranger and bassist extraordinaire, Mingus is another artist for whom many brilliant works could be cited. Let’s do two.

The trauma surrounding the integration of Little Rock’s Central High School in 1957 inspired “Fables of Faubus”. It is available as an instrumental, as on the Columbia album Mingus, Ah, Um. The version you definitely want to hear, however, is from 1960 on Barnaby Candid Series Z 30561, Charles Mingus Presents the Charles Mingus Quartet. Here you get the benefit of the “vocals” between Mingus and drummer Danny Richmond as they heap invective on Arkansas governor Orval Faubus and other deserving targets. Eric Dolphy’s scathing alto sax puts finishing touches on a classic satirical put-down.

It is said Mingus considered the band he took on tour to Europe in 1964 his greatest ever. You’ll get no argument here. Even considering the formidable competition other groups present, Eric Dolphy (as, bc, and f), Clifford Jordan (ts), Jaki Byard (p), and the ever-present Dannie Richmond (d) created astounding fireworks with Mingus’s bass, apparently every night. (Johnny Coles (t) was sidelined by illness not long into the tour.) Luckily, this group was both recorded (Prestige 34001) and filmed (Jazz Icons DVD).

From this tour emerged one of Mingus’s masterpieces, the complex and beautiful “Meditations on Integration”. The DVD has three different versions. With improvisers of this caliber, each version has much to commend it. The tour-de-force recorded in Belgium, however, is astounding. Dolphy is at his incomparable best on both bass clarinet and flute; Byard takes us on a tour of 20th Century piano form Harlem stride to swing to bebop and beyond; and Jordan does some serious testifying on tenor. The band is telepathic in response to each other’s inventions; seeing creativity on this level with such skill and passion is a thrill.

John Coltrane – “Alabama” (Live at Birdland and Jazz Casual)

Musicians and fans alike eagerly awaited each recording of Coltrane’s Classic Quartet (McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison, Elvin Jones); Live At Birdland (Impulse A-50) was no different. The incendiary “Afro-Blue” was thrilling, but the haunting “Alabama” was the perfect example of no-lyrics-necessary.

One of the most heinous acts of the 1960s was the bombing by Klan cowards of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham on September 15, 1963. Set to maximize harm on a Sunday morning, the bomb injured many and killed four little girls – Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson, and Cynthia Wesley.

Even on first listening, there can be no doubt what “Alabama” is, and what it means.

Luckily, this too has a version to be viewed. On December 7, 1963, ‘Trane’s Quartet appeared on Jazz critic Ralph Gleason’s TV show, Jazz Casual. The DVD features “Afro-Blue”, “Alabama”, and “Impressions”.

Max Roach – “The Dream/It’s Time”, “Mendacity”; and We Insist! Freedom Now Suite (entire album)

Chattahoochee Red (Columbia FC 37376) is not one of master drummer Max Roach’s most famous albums, but it features the two-part “The Dream/It’s Time”. The piece opens with an amazing duet of sorts: Max drumming accompaniment to Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. It then morphs into “It’s Time”, the title track from a marvelous Roach record on Impulse (A-16).

Another Impulse album (A-8), and one of his best, Percussion Bitter Sweet, gives us Max’s celebrated tribute to Marcus Garvey, “Garvey’s Ghost” and “Mendacity”, a send-up of the dishonesty that is inevitably built into systemic racism. Each cut highlights the remarkable vocalist Abbey Lincoln, who had rejected record producers’ attempts to rely on her physical beauty to sell comfortably popular music.

Then there is We Insist! Freedom Now Suite, originally recorded on Candid in 1960 and re-released by Columbia (JC 36390) twenty years later. Abbey Lincoln is featured throughout an album that took all-in commitment from the leader and each musician to achieve.

Start with “Driva’ Man” as it invokes history’s harsh realities, then the elegant and hopeful “Freedom Day”, before proceeding (if you dare) to “Tryptich: Prayer/Protest/Peace”. On the latter’s challenging journey, Lincoln’s wordless vocals pair with Roach’s drums. How challenging is it? The middle section is the primal scream of these works; it’s hard to imagine Abbey did not harm her vocal chords conveying such rage. She is back to chant the names of African tribes in “All Africa”, which transitions into “Tears for Johannesburg”, and the close.

Conclusion: What a JAM!

About a century after passage of the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments to the Constitution, it took real courage in addition to unmatched skill to record the works mentioned here. Such music (and much else like it) clearly made inroads. Thus the unforgivable Jim Crow era was interrupted by occasional, sporadic events encompassing or resembling progress, like Brown v. Board of Education, and passage of the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act.

I have marked anniversaries of the Supreme Court decision in Brown with presentations that use these and other musical triumphs. The presentation is called “With All Deliberate Speed”, which was how the Court directed that Brown be implemented in the 1955 follow-up case Brown II. Since there is still de facto segregation in many areas’ schools, despite some progress, we can see how that’s gone. It’s been deliberate, alright.

Yet, another half century has passed and we are relieved (!) that a murder committed in plain view, and recorded for all to see, actually results in a conviction. A political party loses the Presidency and the Senate, and concludes the lesson to be learned is not the need to earn back the voters’ trust and support, but the need to suppress votes.

We’ve been in a major “jam” of our own making for decades, indeed for centuries. It is the sheer, destructive insanity of racism.

Jazz Appreciation Month 2021 provided a perfect opportunity to reflect on all this. I kept coming back to perhaps my favorite song of all from this period, “Retribution “, from one of Abbey Lincoln’s two greatest albums as a leader, Straight Ahead. (The title track is almost as good, by the way: “Straight ahead, the road keeps winding…”)

Nothing replaces hearing it, of course – “Give me…NOTHING” – but Abbey’s “Retribution” lyrics perfectly capture the proper perspective:

Never was a child
Living life since I was ten
Heard every story told
Been everywhere but in
And I ain’t disillusioned
Always knew confusion’s story

Don’t want no silver spoon
Ain’t asking for the moon
Give me nothing
Don’t want no favors done
Just let the retribution
Match the contribution, baby

No street that’s paved with gold
Don’t need no hand to hold
Hand me nothing
Don’t want no sad song sung
Just let the retribution
Match the contribution, baby

Suggesting “It’s Time!” branded Max Roach a daring radical in 1962. In truth, it was ridiculously, appallingly past time even then – and that was 59 years ago.

For God’s sake.

Ken Bossong

© 2021 Kenneth J. Bossong

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Earl Hooker (1929-1970)

Other Aspects Names First Winner of its Zebedee Award: the Greatest Guitarist All Should Know

Some artists are so far ahead of their time that the world isn’t ready for their genius. Some are their own worst enemies. Others are simply unlucky. Racism can raise its ugly head. Sometimes it’s a combination of factors. Whatever the cause, though, too many truly great musicians live, create, and die in relative obscurity.

One goal of this blog is to shine a light on musicians who are not as known or appreciated as they should be. There are at least two reasons. (1) The musicians deserve wider recognition, usually both for their brilliance and their importance as artists. (2) Listeners deserve to have their lives enriched by hearing them.

Henceforth, Other Aspects will recognize special, underappreciated musicians with its soon-to-be-coveted Zebedee Award (the “Zeb”, for short).

The first Zeb goes to the blues guitarist after whom it is named: Earl Zebedee Hooker. If you’ve never heard of him, do yourself a favor and dig in. If you play the guitar, or love listening to someone who really can, you are in for a treat.

Guitar Wizard

Virtuosity

Whatever one’s favorite manifestation of virtuosity on the guitar – sheer speed, tone, swing, timing, taste, or inventive improvisation – it’s in ample supply with Hooker. From exhilarating single-note runs to impeccable accompaniment, delights come at the listener from all angles, no matter the setting or the song.

That taste element is worth emphasizing. With his chops, it must have been tempting to use everything in his arsenal to just blister any musician around him. That never happens. Whether leader or sideman on a given date, Earl made everything being played and everyone around him better – even as he dazzled. He also made it seem easy.

Versatility

Hooker was a bluesman through and through, but there seems nothing he couldn’t play, and well. On the list of the great Blues guitarists, no one can match Earl’s amazing versatility. Jazz, rock, country and western –all could be featured in improvised bursts or sustained throughout a piece. That last genre is neither a misprint nor just thrown onto the list, by the way. If the Blues scene were slow, Earl Hooker would just gig with a band playing (as the joke goes) country OR western.

Bottleneck/Slide

Like all other guitarists, Earl was influenced by T-Bone Walker and B.B. King. Unlike many of his generation, though, B.B. was not his principal mentor. That distinction goes to the much less famous Robert Nighthawk, especially with regard to bottlenecking. As country blues morphed into urban, the technique of bottlenecking wasn’t dropped, but changed.

Metal slides replaced broken or sawed off necks of glass bottles on the finger, but the big change was the eerie sustain possible with electrical amplification. Muddy Waters and Elmore James created unmistakably personal sounds with the slide, even while bringing the essence of masters like Blind Willie Johnson, Son House, and Robert Johnson to the city.

Nighthawk, an interesting character in his own right, seems to have created a lithe approach more out of Tampa Red’s influence. He certainly took the young Earl Hooker under his wing; Hooker’s talent and skill would take Nighthawk’s approach to unimagined heights. One key was the use of a smaller slide to allow rapid alternating between it and regular fretting – even within the same note. While Elmore often created his majestic sound by sliding chords, Earl was just as inclined to use it on individual notes.

Other Devices

No purist he, Hooker was on the cutting edge of technical advances as they became available. Echo, delay, and especially the wah-wah pedal were eagerly embraced. As much as Earl loved his gizmos, though, he insisted they be musical instruments- not just gimmicks. He demanded of himself both mastery and integration of the toys into his approach to music before subjecting the public to the new sound. Once mastered, though, each tool was instantly available to Hooker.

Vocalist

Earl Hooker as a singer is an oddly complicated topic. The easy facts to relate are that he didn’t sing much, and the lack of vocals almost certainly were an impediment to stardom. Some say he couldn’t sing, yet there are recorded examples that range from effective to rather good.

So, is it that Earl couldn’t, or simply didn’t, sing much? The topic is addressed in Danchin’s biography, and it does seem that Hooker both did not like to sing and simply loved to play guitar – his real voice. Interestingly, Hooker was remarkably adept at making his guitar sound like a human voice, even to the point of simulating words.

In an interview with the founder of Arhoolie records, Chris Strachwitz, Earl uses the word “ashamed” in reference to his singing. He seems to be referring to a lack of strength and wind, which would result from his lifelong battle with tuberculosis. Another possible factor is a trait he shared with his cousin John Lee Hooker – a fairly pronounced stutter when speaking. Though not evident in Earl’s recorded vocals, it may have contributed to his reluctance to sing.

In any event, there was no telling who besides Earl might be handling the vocal on an Earl Hooker record – from A. C. Reed, Lillian Offitt, Harold Tidwell, and Junior Wells in the earlier years to Andrew “Voice” Odom, Johnny “Big Moose” Walker. Toward the end, as we’ll see, ABC Bluesway had the good sense to have Earl play lead guitar on a series of great albums featuring well-known singers. While Earl was a better singer than he thought he was, finding singers willing to work with a guitarist of Hooker’s ability was not a problem.

Relative Obscurity

Earl Hooker’s too-short life is packed with contradictions and unique aspects; even his obscurity is unique. While true that, during his life as now, few music fans could tell you who he is, there were many small pockets of devoted fans all over the country. Those who got to see this itinerant bluesman perform live in small clubs and juke joints wouldn’t forget his electrifying performances and couldn’t wait until he got back to their town.

Earl was a superstar mainly to other musicians. Their regard for Hooker’s artistry was the impetus for a full-fledged biography, Earl Hooker, Blues Master, by Sebastian Danchin (2001, University Press of Mississippi). The Blues Music Hall of Fame named the book its 2020 Classic of Blues Literature – and deservedly so, for the exhaustive research, documentation, insights, and quality writing. The book’s subject was a 2016 HOF inductee.

If you haven’t heard Earl, but his last name sounds familiar, that is probably because of his much more famous second cousin, the iconic John Lee Hooker. One doesn’t have to be a Blues aficionado to know who he is. Before moving on from John Lee, however, let’s say this: If you know him just for his guitar boogies, you’ve missed the best parts. Go back to earlier stuff, where he was one of the essential bridges between rural and urban blues, and one of the most moving primal forces ever to sing the Blues.

Born near Clarksdale, Mississippi probably (though not certainly) on January 15, 1929, Earl Hooker moved with his parents to Chicago sometime in 1930. Thus, he was born into Jim Crow America and was part of the great migration from the Delta to the urban North.

He started playing guitar as a kid. Spectacularly disinterested in schooling, an eleven to twelve year old Earl would dodge truant officers while playing for change with his buddies on Southside street corners. One of those friends was Ellas McDaniel, later known as rock pioneer Bo Diddley. By later in his teens, he was traveling and playing all over the South and Midwest. Except as limited by the tuberculosis that eventually would take him, Earl Hooker was the urban version of the itinerant bluesman for the rest of his life.

Character-and-a-Half

Playing For the Door

Those who knew Earl loved him, except when they wanted to kill him. Hooker was a piece of work, alright, and in several different, exasperating ways. While very few could stay mad at him indefinitely, there can be little doubt that Hooker’s eccentricities and flaws hurt him over the long haul.

Of course, the life of an itinerant musician, especially a Black blues man in the ‘50s and ‘60s, was no walk in the park under the best circumstances. A favorite story in Danchin’s biography involves the common practice of a traveling band “playing for the door”. This meant the club made what it could on food and drink, while the band got paid what was collected at the entrance door in cover charges. In the Social-Darwinism world of the music circuit, club owners had every incentive to understate the cover charges collected.

One night, after playing to a packed house all night in Lake Charles, Louisiana, the owner told Earl he didn’t have much coming. When Earl told him he had seen the SRO crowd in the club, the owner dismissed him with “You were playing for the door, and this is all we got at the door.” So, Hooker and others in the band took the club’s door off its hinges and put it in their bus. “Hey, what you all doin’?!” “We just played for the door”, Hooker replied, “and now it’s mine.” More appropriate negotiations ensued.

Other Misadventures

As funny as the story is, it is no less dismaying to learn that Earl would turn around and do exactly the same thing to his sidemen. He was notorious for underpaying his band. Earl owned the band’s limo or bus and did all the driving, which made it difficult for band members to quit in the middle of a road trip. Some quit anyway and used what was left of their money (or earned some if there wasn’t enough) for bus fare home.  Apart from a few mainstays in the band who did better, there was constant turnover. Earl just recruited talented but less experienced and more naïve young talent.

Yet, Earl Hooker was also renowned for generously sharing his time and expertise with young musicians, including tips on how to play and how to cope. Earl may have brought more good young talent to Chicago, and into the Blues, than anyone.

When he recruited singers who sounded like someone with hit records, Earl encouraged them to call themselves a name reminiscent of the more famous singer. His tenor sax man Aaron Corthen sounded a lot like Jimmy Reed (dozens of hits for Vee-Jay records) when he sang. So Earl had him change his name to A. C. Reed, suggesting without saying that he was Jimmy’s younger brother. Soon there were Little [Famous Singer]s or [Famous Singer] Juniors all over the place.

Sometimes Earl had his newfound talents pretend to actually be the star. Once singer Ricky Allen, who had had a few hits with Earl, booked a gig only to learn he was competing with himself. Hooker was playing right down the street featuring singer “Ricky Allen”.

The book mentions another bad habit, previously unknown to me, that undoubtedly hurt Hooker over time: helping himself to stuff, including equipment. If a club owner notices a microphone missing after you’ve played, how likely is he to book you in the future?

As for the women and children in his life: Let’s just say Earl’s funeral was chaotic, adding to the distress of Bertha, Earl’s wife of seven years. Bertha, whose favorable portrayal in Danchin’s bio rings true, maintained her Catron home in southern Missouri. It was Earl’s other home base, but his legal residence remained his mother’s place in Chicago. Yet, whatever his ramblings had been, Earl was a loving, caring and generous husband to Bertha and her two children from a previous marriage – when he was there.

Recordings

The quantity is not what it should have been, but Earl took care of the quality. It’s helpful to divide Hooker’s recording career into three segments.

The first, consisting of most of his career from the Fifties into the early Sixties, saw sporadic recording of singles on small labels like King, Argo, States, Bea & Baby, Chief, Age, and Mel-Lon. The last three of these labels were owned and run by Mel London.

Acting on a tip from Buddy Guy that Hooker was the Chicago guitarist to record next, Chris Strachwitz signed Earl on the spot for his Arhoolie label after seeing him at the White Rose in Chicago on November 9, 1968. The resulting records are the second segment.

A third phase of Hooker’s recording career came about when cousin John Lee used Earl’s group as his band for a few engagements in California and then a recording session for ABC Bluesway. Producer Ed Michel quickly signed Earl for future recordings.

Early Stuff/Mel London

Most of Earl’s best early stuff was done for Mel London. He was a musician and talented song-writer (Junior Wells’ first two hits “Little By Little” and “Messin’ With the Kid”). That, combined with decency and attention to detail, allowed Earl to flourish. Classic instrumentals like “Blue Guitar”, “Universal Rock”, “Blues in D Natural” and “Rockin’ Wild” will be featured in any compilation of this material one can find.

Then there’s the soaring “Calling All Blues”, one of the masterpieces of instrumental blues. Earl’s slide guitar and Junior Wells’ chromatic harmonica push each other to astounding heights. (Yes, Junior did go from one of the all-time great guitarists, Earl, to another, Buddy Guy. See the 5/10/20 post “Dynamic Musical Duos”.)

Some of the singles feature fine vocals by saxophonist A. C. Reed (“This Little Voice”, “Lotta Lovin’”), drummer Harold Tidwell (“Swear to Tell the Truth” also featuring Big Moose Walker’s early electric piano), and Lillian Offitt (“Oh Mama”, “Will My Man Be Home Tonight”). That last is notable for two things: (1) Offitt’s vocal includes an ill-advised (to these  ears) crying sequence that manages not to ruin a good song; and (2) The tune’s melody became a favorite warm-up instrumental, called “I Wonder Why”, for other great guitarists like Otis Rush.

The instrumental “Blue Guitar” later became a vocal when Muddy Waters took the entire performance and dubbed a vocal, “You Shook Me”, over it. There are a few oddities in the early stuff, like” Apache War Dance” and “Galloping Horses, A Lazy Mule”, but even these are salvaged somewhat by Earl’s guitar.

Arhoolie

There were three LPs – Two Bugs and a Roach, Hooker And Steve, and Earl Hooker, His First and Last Recordings. They more-or-less became two CDs – Two Bugs and a Roach, with some of his first recordings added and The Moon Is Rising, which is the Hooker And Steve LP, with some of his last recordings. The recommendation here is for both CDs.

The first Arhoolie, Two Bugs and a Roach, is essential, the album to get if you’re only getting one. The CD features three (!) very good vocals by Earl: his superb redo of Robert Blackhawk’s “Anna Lee”, “You Don’t Want Me”, and an early “I’m Going Down the Line” from 1953. Other highlights include the title track (discussed below), harmonica great Carey Bell’s first appearance on record, a vocal by Andrew Odom, and the steel guitar of Fred Roulette, (blending beautifully with Earl’s guitar stylings).

Then there’s “Wah Wah Blues” – masterful almost beyond description, it is the epitome of turning what could be a gimmick into beautiful music. Jimi Hendrix took the pedal in a different direction to enormous success, but there can be little doubt where his inspiration arose.

The second Arhoolie starts with another lengthy cover of a Blackhawk number that gives the CD its name; it’s nearly as good as “Anna Lee”. While still mostly quite good, the LP is no match for Two Bugs and a Roach, but the CD The Moon Is Rising is hugely enhanced by the add-ons. These consist of four improvisations by Earl recorded live by Hooker’s friend Dick Shurman in Chicago clubs – “Dust My Broom”, “Frosty”, “Can’t Hold Out Much Longer”, and “Swingin’ at Theresa’s”. This is the closest we will ever come to experiencing Earl Hooker in the setting he loved best: just playing for the people in a club he liked. It’s tempting to put these cuts on continuous loop and listen indefinitely.

The ABC Bluesway Series

Thank goodness John Lee Hooker brought Earl and his guys to the recording session. Understandably delighted with the album featuring the Hooker cousins, If You Miss ‘Im…I Got ‘Im, producer Ed Michel signed Earl and the band. It turned into a marvelous series of six more albums featuring Earl:

  1. Earl Hooker, Don’t Have To Worry (recorded same day as John Lee’s album, 5/29/69)
  2. Andrew “Voice” Odom, Farther On Down The Road (6/4/69)
  3. Johnny Big Moose Walker, Rambling Woman (6/9/69)
  4. Jimmy Witherspoon, Hunh! (9/15/69)
  5. Charles Brown, Legend (9/16/69)
  6. Brownie McGhee & Sonny Terry with Earl Hooker, I Couldn’t Believe My Eyes (9/24/69)

So, the first three headlined Earl and two of his band members, who were also two of his best friends and collaborators over the years. The last three had Earl playing lead guitar for world-famous Blues singers with good supporting casts. Earl is superb on all. Any fan of Witherspoon, Brown, or Sonny & Brownie must hear albums 4, 5, and 6 respectively. They, along with albums 1 and 2 and the John Lee are recommended without reservation.

There are two aspects of Walker’s album #3 worth mentioning. Terrific over the years on both piano and organ, Big Moose’s vocals are, to me, uneven. With the right vehicle (“Would You Baby”), he’s effective. Otherwise, it seems a reach.  The record’s other acquired taste is Otis Hale’s tenor sax. It is electrified, with a wah-wah pedal that is used incessantly. Though fun in spots, sublime it is not.

Here are a few thoughts on the other albums. #1 would be another good place to start exploring Earl Hooker, with two good vocals by Earl, three by Odom, and great instrumentals, including a “Universal Rock” even better than the original. #5’s critical acclaim was richly deserved. Re-creations of Charles Brown’s classics “Drifting Blues”, Black Night”, and “Merry Christmas Baby” are the highlights. Andrew Odom was nobody’s junior as a fine blues singer, as #2 attests, even if Hooker called him “B.B. King, Jr.”  Earl is incredible supporting his favorite singer, including one of the best versions ever of T-Bone Walker’s anthem, “Stormy Monday”.

Finally, there’s #6, Earl’s last studio recording. From the bio, Ed Michel and Danchin apparently both considered the pairing of Terry and McGhee with urban bluesmen disappointing – “the mixing of these various ingredients sounds pointless because the musicians fail to adjust themselves to the situation” (p. 300). I couldn’t disagree more. It’s a wonderful album, well worthy of anyone’s attention. The playing, the singing, and the songs themselves are all top-notch. A few of the songs, including the title track and “Tell Me Why”, are sadly and startlingly relevant to this day.

Video

There is very little video of Earl Hooker, unfortunately. What little exists all seems to come from the American Folk Blues Festival tour in 1969. This is Volume 2 of a DVD series, all of which is priceless for capturing blues legends performing for appreciative European audiences in the ‘60s. Earl’s individual on-stage performances are limited to two instrumentals. Backstage snippets, including him entertaining the entourage with Ernest Tubbs’ “Walking The Floor Over You”, give a glimpse of Earl’s persona.

That TB Bug

One should not have to die of TB in 1970, but Earl Hooker did. Whether he simply wouldn’t or just couldn’t, Earl Hooker certainly didn’t take care of himself. He traveled, worked, and played himself to exhaustion – stopping only when he had to be admitted to the hospital. Then he’d leave medical care too soon and start the cycle all over again.

In addition to Earl’s typically stellar playing, the title track from Two Bugs and a Roach features a spoken interplay between Hooker and Andrew “Voice” Odom. Odom opens, asking Earl where he’s been so long. 1919 West Taylor, Hooker replies, giving the State TB Hospital’s address where he’d been confined for months. He’d been messing around with Dr. Newhouse; he had to get rid of that TB Bug. How’d he do that? By hittin’ it something like this! Then Earl launches into a rip roaring guitar solo.

The humor in this exchange is more literally of a “whistling past the graveyard” nature than anyone would have wanted for Earl. He played, and lived, like someone well aware of how finite one’s life is. It was recorded on November 16, 1968; TB took Earl Hooker on April 21, 1970. He did indeed attack life’s difficulties by hitting it on his guitar.

Coda

Without Mel London, Chris Strachwitz, and Ed Michel, we’d have little but stories to celebrate. Thanks to them, we get to revel in a singular man’s gifts. At one time or another, a very long list of the greatest guitarists has called Earl Hooker the best electric guitarist of his generation, or ever. Enjoy!

In a season for the blessings of Hope and aspirations for Peace that is darker than usual, there’s this: Amid our faults, limitations and idiosyncrasies, the glory is in the striving. Whatever unique gifts and flaws are ours, how special what’s possible can be.

Ken Bossong

© 2020 Kenneth J. Bossong

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Dynamic Musical Duos

In the tribute to McCoy Tyner (post of 3/9/20), I referred to him and Bobby Hutcherson as a “dynamic duo”. This got me thinking about other such musical pairings. There are many, and what makes the best collaborations special varies tremendously.

Perhaps they push one another, or enhance each other’s strengths by contrast. It might be a case of talents that mesh so perfectly that they seem to have been born to play together. Maybe it’s just inexplicable. Whatever it is in any given case, the listener knows that when these two artists got together, live or in studio, magic happened.  

Here, then, are five dynamic duos to savor: two Blues, two Jazz, and one where Jazz and Blues meet.

Leroy Carr and Scrapper Blackwell

Already familiar with Leroy Carr? If so, you are (or are on your way to becoming) a Blues aficionado. Yet, he should be better known, as one of the greatest and most important early stars of the Blues. His songs have been covered, in whole or in part, by countless artists. Legendary singer/pianists, from Nat King Cole to Memphis Slim to Charles Brown to Mose Allison to Ray Charles and beyond, are in his debt.

Francis “Scrapper” Blackwell’s single-line runs on the guitar perfectly complemented Carr’s piano and vocals – making them the first duo who simply had to be included here. And what piano and vocals they were! Carr’s voice was a remarkably rich yet supple instrument. It might have been the envy of the smoothest crooners, if not being used to sing unflinching blues. Similarly, his piano playing, while firmly rooted in barrelhouse blues piano (the gut-bucket precursor to boogie-woogie), was somehow suavely sophisticated without giving an inch on grit.

Some call Carr the first urban blues musician. He and Blackwell both moved to Indianapolis as children, Leroy having been born in Nashville and Scrapper in Syracuse, South Carolina. Together, they created a sound less raw than early rural blues of the deep South, and paved the way for the plugged-in city blues that later evolved in Chicago and elsewhere. If not urban, they were certainly urbane.

Carr’s very first record, 1928’s “How Long, How Long Blues”, was a big hit for the time. There followed many songs that would take their place among classics of the Blues canon, and Carr wrote most of what he sang. Among them are “Hurry Down Sunshine”, “Midnight Hour Blues”, “Barrelhouse Woman”, “Southbound Blues”, the dance tune “Bobo Stomp” and “I Believe I’ll Make A Change”.

That last one, recorded 8/14/34, may well have inspired Robert Johnson’s “Dust My Broom” in 1936 (which later evolved into Elmore James’ signature song). It features superb lead guitar by Scrapper Blackwell. In truth, he was always more than an accompanist; every one of Carr’s greatest recordings was enhanced greatly by Blackwell’s telepathic interplay. There is some scholarly support for the notion that Scrapper had significant input in the composing as well.

To my ears, the masterpiece is “Blues Before Sunrise”.  It follows the Blues’ standard AAB format (opening line, repeated, then resolved by a closing line), but the lyricism, set to a majestic melody, is striking:

I have the blues before sunrise, with tears standing in my eyes    (X2)
It’s such a miserable feeling, a feeling I do despise…
Today has been such a long, old lonesome day (X2)
I’ve been sitting here thinking, with my mind a million miles away.

While there is grace, majesty, and poetry to his blues, Carr (like most songwriters) wrote about what he knew. His entire, brief life was spent in the Jim Crow era and his recording career (1928-35) straddled the Great Depression. The menace of violence is often present, sometimes front-and-center, and Carr’s lyrics celebrate his alcoholism. The juxtaposition of such content with his pleasing, skillful delivery can be as jarring as it is understandable.

When Carr sang he’d “rather be sloppy drunk than anything I know”, he apparently meant it. In “Hustler’s Blues” he sang, ”Whiskey is my habit; good women is all I crave” before matter-of-factly predicting “I do believe the two will carry me to my grave”. He was right about the whiskey; it shut his organs down in April of 1935, a month past his 30th birthday.

Buddy Guy and Junior Wells

Although they individually established themselves on the Blues scene, Buddy Guy and Junior Wells spent more time touring and recording together than any other dynamic duo mentioned here – despite periodic breaks. An album cover once referred to them as The Original Blues Brothers – an apt description, considering the dues they paid together through the years. I’ve seen Buddy Guy more often than any other musician or group. Nearly half of those shows were with Junior, even though he died 22 years ago, .

Each was a master of his instrument, and each sang more than well enough to be the lead star in a band. Any group they co-led was automatically an all-star band. On harmonica, most players in the generation following Little Walter Jacobs and Sonny Boy Williamson II (Rice Miller, as opposed to Sonny Boy I, John Lee Williamson) clearly followed one master or the other. Wells was the most intriguing blend of the two, combining Walter’s powerful, saxophone-like attack with Sonny Boy’s plaintive lyricism. Among guitarists, Buddy has no peer. Calling anyone “the greatest guitarist” is looking for trouble, of course. So, let’s just say he’s my favorite, because I’ve seen him play things no one else could conceive of, much less attempt.

Junior always struck me as a real character, and top billing seemed more important to him than to Buddy when they were together. Live, they handled it as Muddy Waters might have suggested: A set would begin with the band playing an instrumental or two. Then: “Are you ready for Star Time? Ladies and gentlemen, BUDDY GUY!” Buddy would make his entrance, sing a couple, and then say something like this: “It’s Star Time again. Put your hands together for JUNIOR WELLS!” Junior would sing three or four and then they’d alternate the rest of the set.

Here’s the thing: they did not sulk or go through the motions when not singing. Indeed, they each played their best behind the other. This might help explain why some of the best Buddy Guy records are Junior Wells albums. There are plenty; I’ll mention two.

Hoodoo Man Blues on Delmark (1965) is a landmark as the first urban blues album: (a) for Delmark records; (b) for Junior and Buddy; and (c) to capture a working Chicago blues band in studio as they would sound in a club. It’s Delmark’s #1 seller and appears regularly on “best ever” and “dessert island album” lists. Recommended tracks? Yes, all of them. (Amusing sidenote: early pressings list Buddy Guy as “Friendly Chap”, mistakenly thinking Chess would object.)

Some tracks on It’s My Life, Baby! on Vanguard were recorded live at Pepper’s Lounge in Chicago; others in studio. All capture Junior and Buddy at the top of their game. Even the rather silly “Stomach Ache” features phenomenal guitar by Buddy. The title track is Chicago blues as rip roaring jazz. The top highlight, though, is “Look How Baby” with Junior’s impassioned vocal and a remarkable duet between Buddy’s guitar and Fred Below’s drums. It’s avant-garde blues. (BTW, most of the same tracks, with a few others, also appear on Best of the Vanguard Years.)

The first time I saw Buddy after Junior died in 1998, he spoke of him, then said “Damn, I miss him.”

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

On first blush, this might seem an odd pairing. Yes, they were two icons of American music, but…

Ella was the First Lady of Song, a virtuosic singer’s singer. With perfect pitch and an encyclopedic memory for songs, Ella brought a beautiful and personal tone across a huge range.

Louis had brought unprecedented virtuosity to Jazz on cornet and trumpet, but his voice was gruff and gravelly through a limited range. His approach to singing seemed playful, sly, almost casual. Many know Louis as the cute older fella who had a hit with “Hello Dolly”. That misses not only his earlier Hot 5 and Hot 7 masterpieces that were arguably the most important popular recordings of the 20th Century, but also the astounding gifts he brought going forward.

Jazz impresario Norman Granz brought them together on his Verve record label, and provided them with stellar support. Three albums issued: Ella and Louis, Ella and Louis Again, and Porgy and Bess. Each was met with deserved critical acclaim and commercial success. If you love the great American songbook, you’ll want them all. If you don’t, you still might want them all. Other options include compilation and “Best of” albums.

Riches abound; you can’t go wrong as a listener. “Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off” has never been a favorite of mine, but I couldn’t help but smile at their rendition. Virtually everything else is sublime. What Louis creates as counterpoint to Ella’s lead in the first chorus of “Stars Fell On Alabama” must be heard to be believed. Then they switch and Ella returns the favor. There is “Summertime” as you’ve never heard it, and the best version of “Stompin’ At The Savoy” since Chick Webb’s original.

Any notion that this is a questionable pairing fades quickly into other impressions: (1) While it is true that Louis’s vocal instrument lacked the beauty and range of Ella’s, in his own way he was no less the virtuoso vocalist. And, of course, Louis’s trumpet gave him a second voice. (2) Ella could be as sly and playful as Louis. (3) The cliché that “Timing is everything” is true. (4) In the end, these are kindred spirits as well as other-worldly talents. Their contrasting mastery accentuates each other’s genius.

As in sports, the truly great make it look, or sound, easy.

Art Blakey and Thelonious Monk

Again we have two icons. Pianist Thelonious Monk is often and justly called one of the high priests of Bebop. Actually, he is a genre unto himself, a game-changer who re-imagined space and time in music. Art Blakey served as the talent scout, bandleader, and poly-rhythmic drummer extraordinaire of Hard Bop.

Blue Note co-founder Alfred Lion was one of the few who “got” Monk right away. He acted on his convictions by recording him from 1947 to 1952 even though sales were lackluster. By the time fans, critics and even musicians finally caught on, Monk was elsewhere. But the originals of some of Monk’s greatest compositions (e.g. ”Straight, No Chaser”, “Epistrophy”, “Misterioso”, “Evidence”, “I Mean You”, “’Round Midnight” “In Walked Bud” and “Criss Cross”) are on these early Blue Note records. On every one of them, the drummer is Art Blakey.

So, the uncanny chemistry between Monk and Blakey had early origins. It helped that Monk was a particularly percussive pianist and Blakey was (along with Max Roach) the most melodic of drummers. They went their separate, legendary ways, but any recording on which they both appear is a must-have. The early Blue Notes are highly recommended, of course. My favorite, though, and indeed one of my all-time go-to records, is a reunion on Atlantic records (#1278) aptly called Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers With Thelonious Monk.

Any of the six tracks is a marvel. I use “I Mean You” in presentations to demonstrate all that is possible in Jazz when great players, who are also great listeners, improvise. Never coasting when comping (accompanying a soloist), Blakey and Monk are constant sources of ideas, perfectly fitting whatever the soloist is creating. At one point behind Bill Hardman’s trumpet solo, Monk’s piano and Blakey’s drums have such a call-and-response blizzard going, I can’t imagine how Hardman kept his bearings. Such instantaneous and spontaneous invention leaves one in delighted awe. So does Blakey’s drum solo, a poly-rhythmic tour-de-force.

Big Joe Turner and Pete Johnson

Shortly after Jay McShann passed away on December 7, 2006, a radio station (probably NPR) aired an archived interview with the pianist/bandleader that contained a notable story. The story (paraphrasing it from memory) was of an impressionable young McShann on his first night in Kansas City.

He was a pianist from Oklahoma looking to make a name for himself in the Big City. His first stop was at the largest musical venue in town. When he stepped inside the cavernous space, he saw a piano player on stage banging out furious boogie-woogie. There was also a very large man making his way up to the stage.

McShann wondered what the man clambering up the steps was going to do. He wasn’t carrying an instrument, and there was nothing awaiting him on the stage – not even a microphone. He reached center stage just as the pianist completed one chorus and began the next. Opening his mouth as he turned toward the audience, Big Joe Turner filled the room with sound. Big Joe Turner didn’t need a microphone, no matter how large the room – especially when singing with Pete Johnson.

Jay McShann was transfixed as chorus after chorus washed over him, singer and pianist pushing each other to ever greater heights. He quickly realized two things: (1) He was in the right place; and (2) he had work to do if he was to make his mark in this town.

Any list of the greatest boogie-woogie pianists includes Johnson, along with Albert Ammons, Meade Lux Lewis, and Jimmy Yancey. The form is either bluesy Jazz or jazzy Blues, or both, combining the feel of the Blues with the swing of Jazz. Propelled by insistent bass patterns played with the left hand, boogie-woogie freed pianists to improvise blues-drenched melody endlessly with the right hand. Recordings featuring Johnson, Ammons, and Lewis in various combinations (occasionally all three) in rollicking face-offs make for exhilarating listening, but there’s no better way to hear Pete Johnson than backing Big Joe.

It takes nothing away from the great Jimmy Rushing (“Mr. Five-by-Five”) to call Turner the best of the Kansas City Blues shouters. Those thinking they’re unfamiliar have probably heard him belt out the original “Shake, Rattle and Roll” among other essential precursors to Rock‘n’Roll. These rhythm and blues staples are as entertaining as they are important, but earlier work with Pete Johnson had already long established Big Joe as the Boss of the Blues.

Friends and collaborators since teen years in Kansas City, Turner and Johnson paved the way for a boogie-woogie craze ignited by their appearance at John Hammond’s legendary Carnegie Hall concert From Spirituals To Swing on December 23, 1938. Their seminal work isn’t always easy to come by, but the Atlantic label got them together again in 1956 for Turner’s The Boss of the Blues Sings Kansas City Jazz. Highlights include versions of classics like “Roll ‘Em Pete” (probably the song that first inspired Jay McShann), “Cherry Red”, and one of the greatest covers of Leroy Carr’s “How Long Blues” ever recorded.

Conclusion

There are dynamic duos, presumably, in all musical genres, but those settings in which improvisation is central provide extra room for dynamism to flourish. Thus, we focus here on Jazz and Blues. (That, and the fact that I don’t have anything to say about Simon and Garfunkel you haven’t heard before, or thought yourself.) A long list of pairings to consider immediately came to mind; narrowing down which duos to include was the hard part.

If you’re thinking “How could he not do ________ and ________?” , well, maybe I should have. If this post is well received, it won’t take much persuading to do it again. I also feel the urge to write about unsung heroes: that is, great but relatively unknown or perpetually underappreciated musicians who have made a difference.

Happy listening!

Ken Bossong

© 2020 Kenneth J. Bossong

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McCoy Tyner, Philly’s Pianist Supreme

Others are doing a good job memorializing McCoy Tyner in widely-available tributes since his passing on Friday, March 6. See, for example, Ben Ratliff’s piece in the New York Times and Dan DeLuca’s in Saturday’s Philadelphia Inquirer. This, then, will not be a comprehensive retrospective of the great pianist’s life or work.

I would be remiss, however, to let the moment pass without expressing appreciation for one of the true masters, and a critical stylistic link between bebop and the avant-garde. Simply put, McCoy Tyner was one of the all-time greats. If you have never heard him, you owe it to yourself.

Among His Influences

Innovation is paramount in Jazz. There are special places of honor reserved for those who create a sound on their instruments that is new, vital, and unmistakably their own. Within a few notes of any recording, there is no doubt when the pianist is McCoy Tyner. He did not come from nowhere, however, and his obvious inspirations constitute a piano Hall of Fame.

Earl Hines is considered an early virtuoso of Jazz piano for his “orchestral” approach to the instrument. That is to say, Hines used unprecedented two-handed skill and facility to unleash all that the keyboard offers. It is no coincidence that Hines is the one pushing a young Louis Armstrong to new heights on some of the latter’s most important early recordings, like “Weather Bird” and the incomparable “West End Blues”.

The Harlem Stride pianists, like James P. Johnson, Willie “The Lion” Smith, and Fats Waller, were so named for the patterns of powerful chords they used to propel their music. Their left hand did the “striding” while belting out the chords that set the foundation for the right hand’s melodic improvisations .

The two high priests of bebop piano were Thelonious Monk and Bud Powell. From Monk, Tyner clearly gleaned the importance of space in music, and the rhythmic and percussive aspects of the instrument. Powell was his hero, though. The Powell influence is unmistakable in the grace, fluidity and melodic majesty of Tyner’s playing. McCoy added to these bop innovations the fullness of his expanded orchestral approach and the propulsive force of his amazing left hand. Thus, he became uniquely capable of creating thrilling tension and beauty.

As explained in an earlier post (“What Makes Jazz So Endearing and Enduring”, 3/4/19), tension and release is one of the most compelling techniques in the music. Tyner’s remarkable ability to build tension, even while creating melodically and harmonically, made him the perfect pianist for a quartet many consider the greatest ever.

The Quartet

John Coltrane made astounding music both before and after his “Classic Quartet”, but there has never been anything like that group – Tyner, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums. Jones described the group’s interaction as “telepathic”. It’s a good thing they were, too, given the passion, virtuosity, energy, and inventiveness with which they played.

Every Coltrane album on which McCoy plays is a genuine classic. I’ll just mention two. The first of them, My Favorite Things on Atlantic was, as mentioned in a prior post (“Missing The Trane”, 7/18/19), my first Coltrane record. One reason I listened to the title track every day for a year was how often I discovered an idea in Tyner’s solo that developed into something magical in Coltrane’s second turn on the soprano.

It is impossible to present A Love Supreme, as I’m doing in this 55th anniversary year of the iconic Impulse album’s release, without pointing out Tyner’s contributions.

The truth, though, is that you can pick any album from this group’s era in the early Sixties and just sit back in wonder at what is possible in improvised music. In the middle of it all is Tyner’s grounded but relentless attack setting the table for the bristling passion of everyone else’s playing. You can feel Coltrane gearing up for his next solo.

McCoy was the surviving member of The Quartet; his passing will make any presentation of A Love Supreme that much more poignant.

Post ‘Trane

As far as I can tell, there is no such thing as a bad McCoy Tyner recording. Whether leader or sideman, in whatever setting – solo, trio, small group with horns, big band – he guaranteed a level of excellence for the proceedings.

There are Tyner records that will be mentioned by all, like The Real McCoy on Blue Note. (Emails seeking further listening recommendations will be met with enthused reply, by the way.) For now, let’s just mention Time For Tyner, also on Blue Note. As exhilarating as it is beautiful, this is a wonderful example of the special chemistry Tyner had with the extraordinary vibraphonist, Bobby Hutcherson. Other excellent outings feature saxophonists like Gary Bartz, Sonny Fortune, and Azar Lawrence.

Seeing McCoy Tyner live was always a memorable treat, whether as a solo in San Francisco or with a group at the Berks County Jazz Festival. The latter was with a good friend who is a gifted musician in his own right. When the concert was over, we just sat there for a while, speechless. This can happen after experiencing one of the best who ever lived.

Final Note

I have never read or heard a bad word about McCoy Tyner, as a musician or as a person. He has influenced virtually every pianist who has followed him, many profoundly. They have chosen well in selecting a mentor.

The magnitude of such a loss is tempered somewhat by the opportunity (actually, the need) to celebrate the man. And, as always with truly great music, riches await the adventurous listener.

Ken Bossong

© 2020 Kenneth J. Bossong

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Missing the Trane

John William Coltrane died 52 years ago, on July 17, 1967. Thus, he is gone about 30% longer than the 40 years he lived. Yet, his stature and impact actually have grown in the half century since his passing. There has never been anyone like him.

It would take a college level course to explain fully why that is; for now, we’ll content ourselves with this post.

The biographical details are available elsewhere, so I’ll just mention the basics. Born on September 23, 1926 in Hamlet, NC, John was raised in High Point, NC. Both of his grandfathers were ministers of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. The year 1940 was traumatic for a thirteen year old John, as he lost his father, maternal grandparents and an uncle within a few months of each other. Immediately upon graduating high school at 16, John followed his mother, who had moved to Philadelphia for better paying work. Happily, it was also a hotbed of music.

Unlike some Jazz stars, Coltrane was not a musical child prodigy. He was a quiet kid, a good student, and very enthused to take on a beaten-up clarinet in school. At 14, he tried an alto sax. Eventually, he was good enough to play in a Navy band, and later to attain gigs on tenor sax with Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson and Dizzy Gillespie (among others). He was no household name, though, when Miles Davis hired him for his quintet. The year was 1955; Coltrane had just turned 29.

Miles

If Miles heard something special in Coltrane, it probably had something to do with the musical journey Miles had experienced. He emerged as Charlie Parker’s second horn at the age of 19, after Dizzy Gillespie went his separate way. Where Bird and Diz had each been soaring, incendiary virtuosos, Bird and Miles created a classic fire and ice dynamic. Davis presumably saw in young Coltrane another perfect foil for his own understated passion. It certainly worked out that way.

Prestige and then Columbia

The new quintet with an unleashed Coltrane was a sensation based on a series of appearances and albums for the Prestige record label, including Cookin’, Relaxin’, Steamin’, and Workin’. These albums combined compelling versions of ballads, blues, standards, show tunes, and originals. A stellar rhythm section (Red Garland, piano, Paul Chambers, bass, Philly Joe Jones, drums) supported and pushed the horns to expressive heights. It wasn’t long before Coltrane was being mentioned with the first rank of tenors, like Dexter Gordon and the amazing Sonny Rollins.

If asked to name one recording to hear from the years with Miles, almost everyone would say Kind of Blue, understandably. It is probably the biggest selling true Jazz album ever, and with good reason. So, if you’ve never heard it, by all means do yourself the favor. There is an earlier gem not to miss.

When Prestige ran out of gerunds to use as titles for his albums, Miles left for Columbia, where his first record was the storied ‘Round About Midnight. The jewel of the set is Monk’s “‘Round Midnight”. While it is an outstanding quintet’s take on one of Monk’s great compositions, the show-stopper is Coltrane’s solo. His re-imagining of the tune is so strikingly original that people sometimes think of it as being the composition. At this point, it would be surprising to hear a version that does not reference the solo. To listen is to experience the thrilling convergence of virtuosity and creativity that Jazz improvisation can provide.

Monk

The year 1957 was momentous for Coltrane, for at least two reasons. First, he left Miles and the music to kick the heroin habit that afflicted so many musicians of the era. This he did cold turkey. While he was at it, Coltrane also left behind the alcohol he had tried to use as a substitute. Second, when he came back on the scene, John joined Thelonious Monk. Although Trane never stopped learning, the months with Monk seem especially important to his development.

All possibilities regarding space and time in music opened up to him. (The specifics, such as the use of large intervals, would take up another whole post.) The experience could be unsettling. Trane once remarked that there were moments on stage with Monk when he felt like he had “walked into an empty elevator shaft”. For a man with an insatiable appetite for new ideas, sounds and perspectives, though, this was the ultimate graduate school. Recordings of this band had been severely limited, but newly discovered material issued in the last few years, like At Carnegie Hall and Live at the Five Spot, has been superb.

Coltrane rejoined Miles in time to record classics like Milestones and Kind of Blue and to tour. However, a restless Coltrane was ready to lead and to take on a whole new level of innovation.

Taking the Lead: Giant Steps and Favorite Things

Prestige

Prestige got Coltrane into the studio as a session leader with Miles’ rhythm section when the impact he was having on musicians, critics and fans became apparent. The albums that ensued are great examples of what made “hard bop” hard. If you want to hear blues as only master Jazz musicians can do it, I particularly recommended a twelve-minute collaboration of Trane’s tenor with Red Garland’s piano called “By the Numbers” on the album The Last Trane .

Blue Note

Coltrane cut his only album as a leader for Blue Note in September of ‘57, but what an album Blue Train is! In control of the material (four out of the five tracks being his originals) and the musicians, John served notice that something special was unfolding. Then came John Coltrane’s extraordinary stint with Atlantic Records.

Atlantic

First up was the aptly named Giant Steps. Of the seven compositions, all Coltrane’s, six are absolute classics, likely to be covered to this day by top artists. The other, “Countdown”, is in some ways the most indicative of innovations to come. “Naima” is John’s most beloved ballad. The title track remains a piece used by young saxophonists to determine for themselves whether they have what it takes. You get the picture.

My first Coltrane album, and one of my first Jazz records, was My Favorite Things. This was dumb luck in a way; I bought it because I had heard Elvin Jones was a great drummer and drummers were my entre to Jazz. Mesmerized on first hearing, I quickly realized I was hearing something that would change my life. I listened to the title track after school every day for a year, and never failed to hear something new. My education as a listener accelerated. I didn’t yet understand that this piece would take the soprano sax from relative obscurity to prominence in one shot. I just knew that if music could be this intense and this beautiful at the same time, it was for me.

Another Atlantic disc, Ole, would probably not make many lists of Coltrane’s greatest. Yet, all he did on it was to (1) give another tour-de-force on the soprano; (2) first record with Eric Dolphy; (3) portray a culture, as he would later with “Africa”, “India”, “Brazilia”, and so forth; and (4) free the bass.

Wait, what was that last one? How did a saxophonist free the bass? Well, Coltrane hired two great bassists, adding Arthur Davis to Reggie Workman, and turned them loose on the title track. Neither is “walking” his bass, or even keeping time as such, for most of the 18 minute piece. Rather, they serve as horn-like voices; their improvised arco duet just before Trane’s second solo is astounding.

There’s more, of course, from the Atlantic years. Had this output been his last and had he never moved on to Impulse! Records, John Coltrane’s spot in any Jazz Hall of Fame would have been secured.

The Quartet

Impulse! Records’ Bob Thiele gave Coltrane unprecedented leeway in every aspect of producing his albums. Thank God. The result was a long string of astonishing triumphs.

At the core of the artistic and commercial success – at least until the last year and a half or so – was The Quartet. If Jazz fans speak simply of “The Quartet”, they are referring to Coltrane’s group with McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass and Elvin Jones on drums. Each is among the greatest ever on his instrument, but it was as a group that they attained mythic status. Music of such intensity and difficulty required improvisation, musicianship and communication at the highest levels. Both Tyner and Jones have described their interaction as “telepathic”.

By now, the release of every Coltrane album was a major event, eagerly awaited not just by his fans, but by musicians. All wanted to know what would be next, and he never failed to deliver something new and exciting. In fact, following Trane could be bewildering. If asked now which Coltrane record first blew your mind, 50 fans would mention at least 20 different titles. Back when the records were coming out, people could barely absorb what they were hearing before the next one appeared. Then, to see him live was to experience something else entirely. In the time it took to get records in the stores, Coltrane had moved on yet again, even from a brand new album.

One other point about seeing Trane live: the intensity of the performances was legendary. Once the group took off on a piece, they pushed each other to ever greater levels without regard to performance length. Fans hoping to hear My Favorite Things may have gotten their wish, but it bore little resemblance to the Atlantic record. Trane was known to play it for 90 minutes or more, which would drive club owners expecting 60-minute sets crazy. Elvin Jones said there were nights when playing with John was a “near-death experience”. Those lucky enough to have been present and open to such levels of energy and inventiveness heard music they’ll never forget.

Spirituality

In the middle of the great Impulse! albums, between the beautiful Crescent and the compelling Quartet Plays, was A Love Supreme. As a record about which an entire book is written (Ashley Kahn, 2002) and about which I have given 90-minute presentations, this is not the sort of work that lends itself to a quick paragraph. For now, suffice it to say that overstating its impact is very difficult.

Imagine it’s early February of 1965. Like many, you are awaiting the next work of the most exciting, cutting-edge artist around. It turns out to be a nearly perfect four-movement suite, presenting (a) his concept of God and what matters in life and (b) a prayer. No belief system is required to find the music enthralling, but the album has changed many lives. For John, it was the manifestation of a spiritual reawakening that began with his detox in 1957 and would inform the rest of his life.

Beyond

The inexorable trend as Coltrane pushed through every limit to his music was toward the avant-garde (or Energy Music, Free Jazz, the New Thing, etc.). This ultimately led to the gradual demise of the Quartet. Shortly after Rashied Ali joined the group as a second drummer, Elvin left, and McCoy was replaced on piano by John’s wife, Alice Coltrane. Pharaoh Sanders joined the group, bringing his fiery intensity and use of the tenor sax’s upper register to complement the leader’s.

Coltrane may be the only artist who was an essential innovator in two different movements in Jazz. Early on, he took hard bop to its outermost limits with his so-called “sheets of sound”. Many would have been satisfied being the “baddest” tenor in the land, but Trane was just warming up. He took one step at a time freeing his music from unnecessary constraints. 

Trane was not the first avant-garde figure in Jazz (see Sun Ra, Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman) but ended up arguably its most significant player and proponent. While he did lose some fans and critics at this portion of his career, his meticulous, incremental approach and unmatched musicianship lent credence to Free Jazz as not only a legitimate artistic movement but actually the inevitable next step after bebop.

The second Coltrane record I bought (soon after MFT) was from this last period. Meditations was recorded on November 23, 1965 and released in 1966. It was the last album with The Quartet intact, but with Sanders and Ali added. The album starts at a level of intensity reached by very few recordings in any genre, and builds from there. I listened to it once, and set it aside for two years. That’s how long it took to listen to what had come before so as to be ready for Meditations. It was time well spent.

A Force for Good

Obviously, there is much to admire in the life of John Coltrane as a musician and as a man. Summarizing from this scratching of the surface:

  • Openness to people, their beliefs, and their ideas
  • Interest in nearly everything – religion, philosophy, mathematics, world culture, and all music – inevitably enriching his music
  • Refusal to settle or be satisfied, where there was more to achieve – including a legendary work ethic (e.g. practicing between sets) resulting in mind-boggling virtuosity
  • Artistic integrity and fearlessness, whether facing withering criticism or praise
  • Confidence with humility and not a hint of arrogance
  • Relentless exploration of sound
  • Creation of entirely new sounds and vocabularies on both the tenor and soprano saxophones, to the point where master saxophonists built their own iconic careers inspired by specific slivers of Coltrane’s canon
  • Innovations in music that we’re still in the process of fully grasping

Consider that Coltrane achieved all this and more in a public career lasting a mere 12 years. It is difficult to conceive what he might have accomplished but for the liver cancer that took him. His last studio album, Expression, especially the piece called “Offering”, portends a next giant step forward as profound as anything before. As it is, he remains a figure of towering impact and significance – and not just in Jazz. As a result, there is a wealth of material to read and music to hear, including an excellent documentary, Chasing Trane (John Scheinfeld, 2017), loaded with commentary of remarkable insight.

In one of his last interviews, with Frank Kofsky in November of 1966, Coltrane said, “I want to be a force for real good…in other words, I know that there are bad forces. I know that there are forces out here that bring suffering to others, and misery to the world…But I want to be the opposite force, I want to be the force which is truly for good.”

Ken Bossong

© 2019 Kenneth J. Bossong

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What Makes Jazz So Endearing And Enduring

America’s Special Music

I have loved Jazz (and Blues) music for as long as I can remember, virtually from first exposure. It has enriched my life more than I can say. Therefore, I take particular pleasure in explaining why and how this music is so special. I have done that for years in personal presentations and I’ll do so now in occasional posts. Since I’m covering a vast topic in manageable portions, this is the first in a periodic series.

In a well written piece for the Smithsonian (https://music.si.edu/story/jazz), Dr. John Edward Hasse says, “Often acclaimed as America’s greatest art form, jazz has become accepted as a living expression of the nation’s history and culture, still youthful, difficult to define and impossible to contain, a music of beauty, sensitivity, and brilliance that has produced (and been produced by) an extraordinary progression of talented artists.”

Agreeing that it is futile to attempt a formal definition of Jazz, I think of it as America’s ultimate melting-pot art form, with something for everyone. Rather than defining Jazz, I find it more useful to explore characteristics that enhance the music’s impact and the listener’s pleasure. Let’s consider seven of them.

1. Call and Response Patterns

A leader calls out a theme and a chorus responds. The response might reflect or amplify the call, or it might diminish or contradict. The pattern may repeat or change. The tone of the exchange can be worshipful or profane, affectionate or adversarial, calm or feisty.

There is something especially satisfying about call and response. It can occur in any setting – between a preacher and the congregation; the lead singer and the backups; the reeds and the brass; or a singer and his or her guitar – or someone else’s. The back-and-forth works so well because it reflects our human need to communicate, whether the content is intellectual (thoughts/ideas) or emotional (feelings/passions).

Even amid the glories of Louis Armstrong’s Hot 5 and Hot 7 recordings, “West End Blues” is above and beyond. One of several reasons I think of it as the most important three minutes of popular music ever recorded is an extraordinary call and response passage between Armstrong’s voice and a clarinet.

Jazz is not the first music form to benefit from call and response. Indeed, Jazz inherited the technique from field hollers, work songs, spirituals, and the Blues. The trail does not stop with Jazz, either.

I remember realizing one day why “Sincerely” by the Moonglows is one of my two or three favorite Doo Wop songs: the lead guitarist sets up an exquisite call and response with the vocal. It makes a good record truly great. It’s amazing what I learn when I really listen.

2. Tension and Release

Nearly equal to call and response in impact and pervasiveness within Jazz is tension and release. There are dozens of ways to create tension in the music and equal numbers of ways to satisfactorily resolve it. This is another remarkably effective way to engage the listener emotionally.

Devices utilized to achieve tension and release include: gradual increases or decreases in tempo, volume, or intensity; repetition; contrast; sudden changes in rhythm, key, or harmonic approach; dissonance; and almost anything unexpected that nevertheless works.

I love to play Duke Ellington’s masterpiece “Ko-Ko” in presentations not only for how many of the above techniques are used, but how well. The effectiveness of the dissonance is mind boggling, and it was recorded on May 6, 1940. Yes, 1940.

3. Rhythmically Compelling

It is generally difficult to listen to great Jazz without moving some part of your body. During the big band era of Jazz, so-called Swing was the most popular dance music in the world. Duke Ellington probably said it best with a song title: “It Don’t Mean a Thing If it Ain’t Got That Swing”.

So, why not just say “It’s got to swing” rather than “Jazz tends to be rhythmically compelling”? Because the pulse of the music can be thrilling even when it’s not the sort that lends itself to finger-snapping on that swinging 4/4 beat. (Though, that is exactly what happens when the music swings that way.)

An example is poly-rhythmic drumming. The great drummers who emerged during bebop and hard bop were masters in sustaining multiple rhythms simultaneously. It’s great fun trying to count how many different rhythms Art Blakey plays at once in his classic drum solos (as in “Free For All” on Blue Note or “I Mean You” with Thelonious Monk on Atlantic).

There are examples even post-bop, when the lines delineating measures were fading. Few sounds are more compelling than drummer Elvin Jones’s “circular rhythms”. He accents at the perfect moment given what the soloist is doing, rather than at predetermined intervals. So the listener does not tap every four beats, but sways with the music’s energy as one might with the ocean’s waves.

4. Instrument as Voice and Voice as Instrument

Great Jazz players consider the instruments they play extensions of their voices. There are many examples, of course. Eric Dolphy seemed particularly intent on “speaking” through his instruments, especially the bass clarinet. One of John Coltrane’s countless contributions to the music was to extend the “vocabulary” and the “syntax” available on the tenor and soprano saxophones.

Similarly, great Jazz singers consider their voices musical instruments. Horn players loved Sarah Vaughan, considering her one of their own. It’s not just the scat singing, by the way, although scatting (in which one sings wordless notes where words would be expected) has made the point most directly ever since Louis Armstrong’s “Heebie Jeebies”.

Then there is scat’s mirror image, vocalese, in which the vocalist inserts words while singing famous instrumental solos. Leading proponents include Eddie Jefferson, King Pleasure, and Lambert Hendricks and Ross.

Thus, the lines between the vocal and the instrumental blur in Jazz. Categorization is less important than effectiveness when it comes to communicating through music.

Whether singing or playing, though, having your own “voice” is critical to attaining greatness. One does not confuse other singers with Sarah, Ella Fitzgerald, Joe Williams, or Betty Carter. Charlie Parker and John Coltrane have innumerable followers and imitators; yet, it is almost impossible to mistake anyone for them after a few notes.

5. Improvisation

Composition and arrangement are vital to Jazz, and the genre has been blessed with many who are truly great at both. To this day, if one were to ask leading music critics from all fields to name America’s greatest composer, I believe Duke Ellington would win that poll.

Nevertheless, rare is the major work of Jazz in which improvisation is not an essential element. Improvisation is the lifeblood of Jazz; it is also the most misunderstood feature of the music. A friend, explaining why he does not like Jazz, did me the favor of articulating the perception: “Why would I want to listen to a group playing around with songs? Practice on your time, get it down pat, and let me know when you’re ready for me to listen.”

Improvisation is not a bunch of musicians with no familiarity with the material or each other just playing and hoping something good emerges, however. It is an approach that places the onus for developing all the best ideas inherent in a piece on the musicians as well as the composer. The performer has an opportunity, in fact a responsibility, to enhance the material provided. The player is creating, composing, on the spot. This requires tremendous technical skill (see Virtuosity, below), a nimble and fertile mind, and vast knowledge of the resources available for reference while improvising.

Astounding listening skills are also needed for artists improvising in a setting other than solo performance.

Legit Jazz musicians are almost always good at this, and often great. The potential for something special, profound even, always exists. When such magic happens, it’s unforgettable. Anyone who’s followed the music for a while has such stories to tell.

If the idea of composing on the spot seems puzzling, so (to a Jazz fan) does the notion of going to a concert hoping that an artist recreates a recent album without making “mistakes”. If that’s the goal, the best that can happen, why not listen to the beloved album in the comfort of one’s home and save the fortune it costs to attend a pop star’s concert?

6. Virtuosity

It is hard not to notice how good Jazz musicians generally are, technically, on their instruments. This is another area that is not as well understood as it could be, however. It is certainly true that all the greats have spent countless hours “wood shedding” (practicing) to attain their “chops” (skills/facility on their instruments). John Coltrane was famous among his peers for practicing incessantly, even between sets at gigs, and for falling asleep late at night with a sax on his chest.

It must be tempting after working so hard to get that good to simply show off with a blizzard of notes at every opportunity. While something like that can appear to be happening at times in a jam session, especially when it has turned into a can-you-top-this cutting session, virtuosity alone is never enough.

Virtuosity or near virtuosity, then, is a necessary, but not sufficient, condition of succeeding in Jazz. When we say someone “can play“, skill is a part of that, to be sure, but there is more.

Virtuosity is a means, not an end. The end sought is the creation of great music. (See Improvisation, above.) I have seen no better explanation of this than a quote from bassist/composer/arranger Charles Mingus: “Once you achieve technical facility, you’re either a musician or you’re not. You’re either a creative person or a stenographer.” He wasn’t kidding, by the way. Nicely playing cliches in the solos allotted was the surest way to get oneself fired by Mingus. This could occur not only in mid-concert, but in mid-solo.

One last thought: Virtuosity comes in many shapes, sizes, and flavors. When a true innovator comes along, critics and musicians alike can look foolish if they pounce before understanding. When Thelonious Monk first appeared on the scene, more than a few proclaimed that he couldn’t play. All Monk did was change our concepts of space and time in music. His oeuvre places him in the first rank of American composers, and the leading competition promoting excellence in playing for young musicians is named after him.

7. The Cry of the Blues

The last characteristic is hard to describe or even name. I know it when I hear it. Further, I miss it when it’s not there. I have wrestled with what to call it. Whether I read it some where, had it suggested to me in conversation, or simply came up with it, I have settled on the Cry of the Blues. (If appropriate, I’ll attribute in a future post.)

It’s a sound and a feeling, more than the song form known as the Blues with its typical characteristics (12 bar, AAB, etc.). Most of the material sung by Billie Holliday over the years was not, technically, the Blues, but our ears do not deceive us. Every note, every syllable, she ever sang was the essence of the Blues.

When the material being played or sung is felt and meant by the artists, a part of who and what they are, the music is more likely to be felt by, and mean something to, the listener. Hopes and dreams, frustrations and loss, triumphs and setbacks: it’s all in there. It’s the stuff of life.

Coda

These essential characteristics of Jazz came mostly or entirely from the cultures of Africa, especially West Africa. We know how they got here. Out of the suffering of a people emerged this magnificent art form. Its riches are always available for the taking – not just in April (Jazz Appreciation Month). And they deserve to be recognized and celebrated all the time – not just in February (Black History Month).

Ken Bossong

© 2019 Kenneth J. Bossong


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Otis Rush: An Appreciation

As Good As It Gets

Any New Year is awash in lists: best movies, best albums, notable deaths. I don’t know how many lists in that last category included him, but we lost one of the all-time greats, the irreplaceable Otis Rush, on September 29, 2018. Considering that he never received his due in either public fame or fortune while alive, the quality of the obits was a pleasant surprise.  Nevertheless, I am compelled to write. If you have never heard him, you owe it to yourself to experience all the Blues can be.

Rush was the singer/guitarist who had it all: a rich, versatile voice, a knowing way with a lyric, and remarkable skill on the guitar. Indeed, he is my second favorite guitarist – just behind Buddy Guy and a hair ahead of T-Bone Walker, B. B. King, and Earl Hooker (John Lee’s cousin and the greatest guitarist you’ve never heard of, unless you are a Blues aficionado; I’ll write about him someday).

Otis either wrote or was drawn to lyrics with a wry wisdom, and he knew what to do with those lyrics.

Then there was his voice. You don’t need a special voice to be a great Blues singer, but Rush proved that having one is no impediment, either. He could have been a pop star crooner, had he been inclined. Most assuredly, he was not so inclined, and his artistic integrity as a bluesman did his wallet no favors.

It’s tempting to delve deeper into the details of his brilliance. For example, no one could bend a note quite like Otis Rush. I am told that his playing a right-handed guitar upside down gave his note-bending a different sound. (Albert King, another great lefty who played a guitar strung for right-handers, was also justly renowned for bending notes, so there may be something to it.) Rush’s playing, like his singing, was not just different, though, but spine-tingling.

The details are secondary to his total impact as an artist, however. With Rush, the whole clearly exceeds the sum of his considerable parts. Why? What else is going on? All these skills were bound in a package of passion so powerful and authenticity so undeniable as to rivet the listener. He could play as fast as he wanted, but would not do so at the expense of a song’s integrity. Rush integrated the bent notes, the soaring voice, the perfectly chosen notes (and silences) not to show off but to convey feelings triggered by the music. This is Blues at the highest level. It is human communication.

Recordings

Otis neither recorded nor played live as often as would be expected for one so gifted. There were many reasons for this, some of which apparently involved his moods and his health.  The good news is that there are still plenty of opportunities to hear him, most ranging from very good to truly great.

It was a song by Otis Rush that made me a Blues fan long ago. I was very young, probably no more than 10 or 11, but my older cousins had gotten me into rock and roll already. I stumbled upon the Blues Show on Penn’s radio station, WXPN, on a Saturday evening (a show that is ongoing and still very well done, by the way).  It did not take long to have that “So THIS is where all the great stuff comes from” moment. That insight was not enough, however,  to prepare me for what I felt one night on first hearing a spell-binding guitar intro, followed by an impassioned vocal, an even better guitar solo, a clever “punchline“ vocal chorus, and a guitar “outro” that may be the best of all. I was hooked on the Blues for life.

The only problem was that the song was in the middle of a long set and the host never identified the song or the artist. That it was longer than a standard three-minute song and had something to do with gambling was all I knew. Over time, I realized that Otis Rush was the artist, the song was “Gambler’s Blues”, and the album was Mourning in the Morning on Cotillion, a subsidiary of Atlantic Records. It took me years to get my hands on that record, the first of many such quests that music fans know well.

The performance remains a marvel. One might have thought that B.B. King’s classic “Gambler’s Blues” on Blues Is King (his second greatest album, in my view, after Live at the Regal) would never be topped. One would have been wrong. The rest of the Mourning album is somewhat controversial among fans – some thinking it overproduced and containing material unworthy of Rush – but, in addition to “Gamblers’ Blues”, there are stellar remakes of two songs that had helped establish his reputation (“It Takes Time”, “My Love Will Never Die”) and his remarkable take on one of the genre’s recurrent themes, “Reap What You Sow”. True story about the latter: Someone for whom I once played it exclaimed, “My goodness! What did she do to him?”

Otis first recorded when bassist and prolific song writer Willie Dixon brought him to Eli Toscano, the owner of Cobra Records in Chicago. The result was a series of landmark recordings in the history of urban blues. Issued from 1956 to 1958, the best of these Cobra recordings, such as “I Can’t Quit You Baby”, “All Your Love (I Miss Loving)”, “Three Times A Fool”, “It Takes Time”, “My Love Will Never Die”, and the astounding “Double Trouble”, are essential listening, and a great place for listeners to start. (Quick aside: Any compilation of Otis’s Cobra recordings that is complete will also include a couple clunkers. Dixon apparently insisted that certain of his own songs be included for Otis to record despite not being up to the quality of others. It’s hard to imagine Rush would have chosen [shudder] “Violent Love”, for instance.)

One of nine artists to participate in a three-record series for Vanguard called Chicago/The Blues/Today!, Otis laid down only five tracks, but they are superb. Rush also shares the bill, with Albert King, on Door to Door (Chess); among his six sides on the album is the magnificent original of “So Many Roads”.

Other studio albums worth considering include: Right Place, Wrong Time (Bullfrog); Troubles, Troubles (Verve); Any Place I’m Going (Evidence); Ain’t Enough Comin’ In (Mercury); and Lost In The Blues (Alligator).

Among albums that capture Rush live: Tops (Blind Pig); Otis Rush and Friends Live at Montreux [the friends being Eric Clapton and Luther Allison] (Eagle Records); Double Trouble (Rock Beat); and Cold Day in Hell, All Your Love I Miss Loving, and So Many Roads, all on Delmark. The last of these was recorded in Tokyo in 1975, and the roar of a very large crowd of fans who really get what they’re hearing is exhilarating.

I’m tempted to say there is no such thing as a bad Otis Rush record. I do have this caution on one, though: Screamin’ and Cryin’ (Evidence) was recorded live at a time when Otis was clearly in a bad place in his life. It makes for uncomfortable listening, at least for me; in that sense, I cannot recommend it.

Seeing Otis Rush Live

I managed to see him twice. The first was at the Commodore Barry Club in Philadelphia, backed by a group of some of the better bluesmen in the Philly area, the Dukes of Destiny. From the looks on their faces, these musicians were as thrilled to play with Otis Rush as I was to finally see him. The second was at a Chicago blues club in Lincoln Park, backed by his Chicago blues band. In each case, he was in total, scintillating command.

No one is going to do better describing what it was like to see Otis Rush at his best than Robert Palmer did in his classic 1981 book Deep Blues (Viking), so I’m not going to try:

“The set…was devastating. The first tune rocked, with Otis snarling the words out of the side of his mouth, and then he settled down to slow, minor-key blues, an idiom in which nobody can touch him. ‘He’s so good, man,’ Muddy Waters had told me, and Muddy does not dispense praise lightly…That night at the Wise Fools [Pub], during one forty-minute set, Otis focused all his extraordinary talents. His grainy, gospelish singing carried the weight of so much passion and frustration, it sounded like the words were being torn from his throat, and his guitar playing hit heights I didn’t think any musician was capable of – notes bent and twisted so delicately and immaculately they seemed to form actual words…The performance, if you could call it that, was shattering and uplifting all at once, the way blues is supposed to be…Otis Rush had something else – an ear for the finest pitch shadings and the ability to execute them on the guitar, not as mere effects but as meaningful components in a personal vocabulary, a musical language. He was playing the deep blues.”

Coda

At the top of his game, Otis Rush had no superiors, and few peers. I have listened to the original “Double Trouble” (Cobra, 1958) dozens of times. The next time it fails to send chills down my spine will be the first. Not for nothing, as they say, did Stevie Ray Vaughan name his band.

Palmer was onto something with his aside “The performance, if you could call it that…” above. Such authenticity is all to the benefit of the lucky listener. Feeling at this depth is a rare, profound treat.

Ken Bossong

© 2019 Kenneth J. Bossong