Otis Redding's Music Theory

Fifty years ago, on December 10, 1967, pop star Otis Redding along with his band perished in a plane crash on a lake in Wisconsin. Otis was at the height of his career. His song “(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay,” written with Steve Cropper, was released shortly after his death and became the first posthumous number one record. I have played this song countless times as a solo pianist and as a member of various bands. To me it’s a perfect example of hip chord changes, optimized structure, and interesting story line.

Fifty years ago in December I had decided on a career in music. As a high school senior I was doing my best to prepare myself for music college taking lessons on saxophone, piano, and music theory. One of the first things we learned was chord types — mostly major or minor. A three-note chord built on each tone of the major scale looks like this:

When using chord symbols, the minor triads are indicated with a lower case m, as in Bm (for B minor). This arrangement is the same for every key, and has provided a basic compositional language for hundreds of years.

For the verse of “Dock of the Bay” Otis and Steve chose the I, the iii, the IV and the ii chord, in that order. If you look at this transcription of the first eight measures of the song you will notice that their three and two chord are not minor at all. This very slight change makes all the difference in the sound of the song. I have tried playing the song returning those two chords to their normal state and it is amusingly terrible. It works in an odd way because of the nature of the melody, which will be discussed momentarily. But Otis and Steve’s progression is where it’s at.

In the chorus of the song, the chord choice is the I chord, followed by the vi chord. If we refer to our triad chart we notice that the vi chord is normally minor. But once again, our two songwriters change this chord to major, offering a distinctive progression that schooled musicians would rarely be inclined to employ.

When I did get to music school, I was placed in Music Theory 101, and quickly learned about four part contrapuntal composition. Among the myriad rules is a dictum to “avoid parallel fifths and octaves.” The Harvard Dictionary of Music defines this in musical legalese as: “…[T]he duplication of the melodic progression of one part by another at the distance of a fifth or an octave. Such voice leading is considered faulty and strictly prohibited in classical tonal counterpoint.”

Fortunately for us, Otis Redding was not confined by such archaic directives. If we look at his notated melody and the accompanying chords, we will find that this whole four-bar repeated phrase contains exactly the parallel octaves that classical composers were forbidden to employ. Even when it hits the chorus, Otis still lands on the root of the chord with his melody. I never noticed it until I sat at the piano and, instead of singing the melody, actually played it and compared the treble and bass. “A classicized version of the first four bars of “Dock of the Bay” would look like this:

If I had handed in this melodic invention in my Theory 101 class, red ink would have flowed. The professor would have been puzzled by both the chord progression and the insistence on parallel octaves. It’s a definite breach of classical etiquette. Including an F major chord in the key of G as Otis did later in the bridge would have earned a “see me in my office” from the professor.

What’s the conclusion? For me, I am continually fascinated and envious of the musical inventions of self-taught songwriters. Lennon and McCartney, Cat Stevens, and Joni Mitchell all fall under this category, and I like to describe it as “if it sounds good, use it.” Referring to music theory, trombonist Dan Barrett stated in his interview, “Any knowledge is good.” But there is a downside if adhering to music theory norms inhibits the use of ears and musical intuition.

If you haven’t found it by now, here’s a YouTube link to “Dock of the Bay” for your listening edification.

George Avakian, 1919-2017

Artists in all disciplines depend on a variety of behind-the-scenes personalities who bring their visions to life. George Avakian, who passed away on November 22, was an integral part of the presentation and marketing of jazz for six decades. In addition to his role as a producer, George was a jazz historian, a talent scout, and a prolific writer of LP liner notes. Early in his career he made a significant contribution to the jazz canon by compiling and re-issuing historically important recordings by Louis Armstrong and other jazz pioneers.

There is some debate about when jazz changed from entertainment to an art form. George addressed this question during our interview:

MR: Yesterday I had asked you a question about if the early jazz musicians thought of their music as an art form. And you said probably not.

GA: No not really. They were just playing happy music that they had developed within their lives, and they were happy making a living at it as best they could in many cases of course. Because a jazz musician’s life has never been easy unless you happen to hit it big. But I don’t think musicians ever took it seriously as an art form until they were told it was an art form, and that probably started, I think it would have to be during the World War II years. Because before there weren’t any articles being written in magazines, God knows no books to speak of, but once that started, quite a bit of pretension did begin to creep in. And some of it spurred I feel the bop movement because that was something new and hard to understand compared to the relative ease of listening to the earlier music because that was, among other things, dance music, social music, good time music, popular songs were involved. Bop became something which for the most part did not depend on familiar standard selections, even though a lot of the earlier compositions were simply variations on the harmonies which were themselves altered along the way, of standard tunes by Gershwin and Cole Porter and so forth. So it became a kind of an inside arty thing. And this was encouraged by the people who wrote about jazz because more and more writing about jazz took place in magazines.

George’s expertise in production and marketing played an important role in moving jazz not only into the retail marketplace but also into the greater culture. His range of projects included work with Louis Armstrong and other innovators such as Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Gil Evans. Notable LP productions included Benny Goodman “Live at Carnegie Hall,” “Ellington at Newport,” and “Miles Ahead.”

George was the co-founder of the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences, and was named a National Endowment of the Arts Jazz Master in 2011.

From the Fillius archive, here is a link to the full YouTube interview I conducted with George on April 21, 1998.

Happy Birthday(s)

October 10^th marks the birthdays of two prominent jazz pianists. Thelonious Sphere Monk was born 100 years ago today in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. His piano style was unique among his peers and his original compositions have become celebrated standards, studied and performed by all aspiring jazz musicians. Thelonious appears on any jazz historian’s list of the top ten most influential jazz artists.

Among his many admirers is pianist Junior Mance, born in 1928 on this same day, October 10^th, in Evanston, Illinois. Junior enjoyed a successful career as an accompanist to jazz singers, including Joe Williams and Dinah Washington, and as a leader of his own piano trio. He often included Monk compositions in his recordings and a perfect way to acknowledge this October 10^th is provided at this link.

Junior Mance performs “Blue Monk” [Thelonious Monk]

Just this week the Fillius Jazz Archive published two videos with Junior Mance. You can view Part 1 here, and Part 2 here.

Happy viewing.

Make Your Own Luck

Some people believe in luck. Some people dismiss the very idea of something occurring without a specific reason. A number of celebrities have addressed the role of luck in their careers, including Oprah Winfrey who stated, “Luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity”; and Loretta Lynn who said, “In the long run you make your own luck—good, bad or indifferent.”

Jimmy Owens is a highly accomplished jazz trumpeter, an advocate for jazz education, and a 2012 National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Master recipient. I was recently drawn to a story he told during our interview in 2001, and in a sense it has to do with luck. Jimmy was fortunate to come from a household that appreciated music and his supportive father took him to see the Miles Davis Quintet in a club when Jimmy was 15 years old. This event occurred in 1958, a period where Miles Davis was becoming a household name and leading one of his most celebrated combos who in less than a year would record the iconic “Kind of Blue” LP. Jimmy tells the tale:

JO:  What happened was my father took me to see Miles Davis. I am fifteen years old. And Miles was working at a club called Small’s Paradise doing a matinee, and my father took me to see Miles, and when we got there, the band was off. They were on a break. So my father is at the bar and I’m next to him, and I walked over to the bandstand, which was this high off the ground you know, and I’m standing there, I’ve heard all of these stories about Miles Davis being a nasty person. I’m standing there with my hands behind  my back looking at the trumpet and the piano. I’d never seen a blue trumpet before. And he had this horn that was tinted blue. And all of a sudden someone slides down at the piano, and I see it’s Miles. And he looks up at me and he’s playing some chords, and he says, “You play trumpet, kid?” I said, “Yeah.” He played a little while, and he says, “Play me a tune.” And he gave me his horn. So I took the horn and I was going to take the mouthpiece out and I said, “Take your mouthpiece.” “What you going to do, play without a mouthpiece?” I said, “No, I’ve got my own.” I put my mouthpiece in the horn, and I played “Walkin’.” Okay? At which point the musicians were coming back on the stage. And the last person on the stage — Miles took the horn back you know — the last person on the stage was Bill Evans. And Miles said, “Hey, Bill, you hear this kid play?” “No,” he says. Miles gave me the horn and said, “Go ahead, play it again.” So I started to play “Walkin’” and the whole band joined in. And when I say the whole band, that’s Cannonball Adderley, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, Paul Chambers, and Jimmy Cobb. And I played “Walkin’,” and take a solo, you take it out and Miles says, “Go play another one.”  I play “Bags’ Groove.” And Trane takes a solo you know, Cannonball takes a solo. Oh it was unbelievable.

There are a number of things that struck me about this story. First, the idea that Miles Davis would offer young Jimmy Owens his trumpet, mouthpiece in place. Sharing mouthpieces may have been common back then, but it certainly is not something you do today. And this is the Miles Davis who had built a reputation as the “Dark Prince,” with an aloof and sometimes irascible reputation amplified by his half-whispered, raspy voice. Perhaps Miles was tired and welcomed the opportunity for a guest to fill some time.

The other thing I recognized in this story is that the young Jimmy Owens was making his own luck. The fact that his trumpet mouthpiece was in his pocket was not “luck.” The fact that Jimmy had been working on the Miles Davis composition “Walkin’” and that he knew the tune “Bags’ Groove” was in the  band’s repertoire was also not simply lucky. Jimmy Owens was prepared. He probably thought that even speaking with Miles Davis was a pipe dream. Nonetheless, he prepared for any eventuality. So there’s a lesson to be learned.

I constantly tell my college students who pursue jazz that they have to be ready when opportunity strikes. If they’re asked to sit in they need to be ready by knowing (without music) a number of songs they can play and improvise on. I elaborated more on this on this in our blog entitled Jazz Etiquette: The Art of Sitting in, from March 19, 2013.

It would have been a wonderful, fairy tale ending if after the gig Miles had suggested that Jimmy call a fellow band leader who was looking for a trumpet player, or arranged for a recording session for the 15-year-old phenomena. That did not happen, but the confidence that Jimmy gained that night is an experience money can’t buy.

There is a noteworthy addendum to Jimmy’s story:

JO: I mentioned specifically Jimmy Cobb, because we played together many, many times. And he was teaching at the New School where I was teaching. And one day in the office I bumped into him. And I said, “Hey, Cobb, I want to ask you something. You remember working at Small’s Paradise with Miles?” He says, “I remember working there.” I said, “You remember a matinee that a kid sat in with the band and played with them?” He said, “You know I do recall that.” I said, “Man, that was me.” He said, “What!” I said, “You remember that for sure?” He says, “I really remember that night, because that was my first week working with the band and I look up and at the bar there is Philly Joe Jones and I got so nervous. Well when he told me that story, I just broke up. And he really remembered that night, me sitting in with the band, or a kid, a young kid sitting in with the band.

From the Fillius archive, here is a link to the full YouTube interview I conducted with Jimmy Owens on January 12, 2001.

Frank Capp, 1931-2017

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Drummer Frank Capp passed away after a long and successful career on September 12. Frank had an arc to his career that was similar to many interviewees from the Fillius Jazz Archive collection. Musicians like guitarist Bucky Pizzarelli, pianist Dick Hyman, and saxophonist Ernie Watts began their career playing jazz and swing with big bands and small combos. When the big bands faded from the scene in the 1950s many of these musicians found lucrative work in the recording studios on both the east and west coasts. Their versatility enabled them to play on every kind of recording imaginable. The drums you hear on Sonny & Cher’s “The Beat Goes On” and “I Got You Babe” were played by Frank Capp. He could go from a rock & roll date to a movie soundtrack stage, and in our interview he described such a session:

MR:   Give us a little idea of what a typical studio date would be like.

FC:   Well let me example something like a motion picture session. You’d be given a call by a contractor to be at Warner Brothers Studio or Universal or MGM, whatever, and you’d go to the studio at 9 o’clock in the morning, and there would be 60, 70 musicians, depending. It could be a small group too, but a lot of pictures used at that time, large orchestras. And you walk in, and the librarian hands out the music. You open it to page one and play. Here it is: one-two-three play. And you have to play that music like you wrote it, or like you’ve been playing it for — rarely in those days did you get a chance to play it more than twice. Maybe three times. You’d run it down for notes, to make sure there was no copying errors. And then you begin recording. And if it was a tight budget picture, which is the case now, you don’t get a second chance. You’re on the edge of your seat at all times.

Around 1976 Frank left the 9-5 recording studio life and returned to his first love, which was big band jazz.  His passion was shared by his friend, pianist Nat Pierce. The well known big band named Juggernaut came about serendipitously as many musical ventures do.

FC:   Our first album was just called Juggernaut. And the reason it was called Juggernaut is because Nat and I put the band together for a one-night situation to help a guy who was running big bands at a club called King Arthur’s in the San Fernando Valley. And he had hired Neal Hefti’s band and Neal disbanded before the engagement came up. And I was contracting for Neal, so the club owner asked me to put a big band together. I did. I got Nat, we went out, and we called it “A Tribute to Count Basie.” And we worked that first night, and that was all it was going to be. And the crowd liked it so much, and the club owner liked it so much, he said, “You’ve got to come back next week.” Well we did and we came back subsequent weeks for a couple of months, and Leonard Feather, the jazz critic for the L.A. Times at that point, came out to review the band. And the next day in his article it said, “A juggernaut on Basie Street.” That was the title of the review. So at that particular time, everybody had a name to the band. Buddy Rich had the Big Band Machine, and Louie Bellson had Big Band Explosion, and everybody, they were putting a tag on all of it. So I said, “Nat, let’s use the name ‘Juggernaut.’” So we subsequently recorded that first album, and Carl Jefferson from Concord said, “Let’s call the album ‘Juggernaut.’” I kind of wish that we never used the word quite frankly, because people don’t know how to spell it. They are forever asking me what is a Juggernaut, and a lot of people call it “Juggernauts” and it’s not a plural.

The Webster dictionary defines Juggernaut as “an irresistible force” and the Capp-Pierce big band was certainly that. Their second album, “Live at the Century Plaza,” featured our favorite singer, Joe Williams, in an spontaneously-created 11-minute tune called “Joe’s Blues.”

Frank was a man of strong opinions, especially about the role of music, and jazz in particular:

FC:   This country’s got its values all screwed up. Musicians who spend and devote their life to become really facile on their instruments and help create pleasure for people, make nothing. And some athletic dummy, you know, goes out and bangs his head against somebody else’s helmet and they make millions and millions. But that’s another story.

MR:   Well we feel that this music is such a big part of this country.

FC:   It is, it is. Thank God — I could kiss you for saying that. I mean it’s America’s heritage, you know?

From the Fillius archive, here is a link to the full YouTube interview I conducted with Frank on September 3, 1995.

Musician, Know Thy Gig

The first gig I can remember being paid for dates back to 1968, my senior year in high school. I played with fellow classmates in a sax-keyboard-drums trio. The gig was a Spanish Club banquet, and the faculty coordinator of the club gave us $12 to split between us. It was my first experience getting paid to play, and I liked it! Since that time I’ve played every imaginable kind of gig, in various ensembles, at assorted settings.

One type of engagement I play regularly is for alumni functions at local colleges. Most of these gatherings are sponsored by the development office; the most recent one celebrated the grand opening of a remodeled campus building while simultaneously honoring major donors. Though the atmosphere and setting were casual, the college staff were highly motivated to stage a flawless event.

After all these years I still was playing with two other musical partners. This particular trio consisted of keyboard, guitar and drums. Our contract stipulated that we be ready to play at 5:45, and to expect a 20-minute break while speeches were made at the podium.

As we were setting up, a good half hour before the beginning of the event, our contact came up to the band and in good humor deliberately looked at us and counted, “One, two, three,” pointing to each member in succession. It was a way of saying, “I see you are all here, you’re dressed appropriately, and that you will be ready to play at the appointed time.”

Three songs into our set the contact again approached the band and I could tell a comment was forthcoming. Musicians have a short list of complimentary audience observations they like to hear, including, “Nice tunes, terrific guitar solo,” etc. What we heard was, “The volume is perfect.” At that moment I was reminded that the most important thing on this engagement was that people could congregate and have a conversation without shouting over the music.

I am lucky to play with two guys who already know this. Our drummer wisely played with brushes, and our guitarist brought his smallest amp. Some rooms are difficult to gauge, but a glance around the room will make it clear. If people are leaning into each other to talk, it’s time to turn down. Curiously, some of our best musical moments occur in these intimate situations.

Some musicians might be mildly offended by the volume remark, as if that was all that mattered. But you can take pride in yourself and in your fellow musicians that you are capably filling your role, and likely to get called again for another event.

Musicians should take note of the non-musical aspects of performing professionally. This does not mean that what you play does not matter. The very next day I received feedback from this same person remarking on the positive comments he received about the trio. If you want to work more than one time in the same location, keep in mind what’s important to the individual with the checkbook.

John Abercrombie, 1944-2017

 

John Abercrombie, in 2001

One of the finest guitarists in jazz, John Abercrombie, passed away this past Tuesday, August 22, 2017. John’s recording career was as varied as his early guitar influences, which included Chuck Berry and Barney Kessel. His work ranged from heavy fusion with the band called Dreams, to introspective recordings on the ECM label. John explored the possibilities that electronics offered, employing the guitar-synthesizer combination, but eventually found that his guitar and one amplifier was all the resources he needed. In our interview conducted before a concert at Hamilton, he took note of the proliferating number of young musicians entering the market, and offered sage advice for newly minted music school graduates:

MR:         If you had the opportunity to address those thousand plus guitar students at Berklee, what would you say to them about how to prepare for the future of where this music is at?

JA:         Oh man, I mean you could just tell them don’t quit your day job, you could say, I mean the hardest thing is with a lot of players, and what I always tell the ones, I mean and I can’t address a thousand of them at a time, but even with the students I have, if they play really good I just tell them look, I hope you really like this music, because if you don’t I mean there’s a lot of you guys around right now. I mean there’s a lot of good young players. I have a couple of students at the New England Conservatory where I teach now about eight times a year. I mean they can really play.  I’ve had a few that you kind of go wow, this guy can play. Really play. And when he gets out in the real world and he’s more of a — he’s really going to be able to play. But where are all these guys going to work? And I always try to tell them, I always try to say look, keep yourself open to all the aspects of music, whether it’s being a jazz player or maybe it’s writing songs, maybe it’s as a producer. I mean there could be a place in music for a lot of people but there’s only so many places that people who are going to be quote unquote performers, especially jazz performers, are going to be able to play. I mean the amount of venues haven’t changed dramatically since when I was starting to play and there’s like a hundred times more players out there. I’m lucky I have a record label and a reputation. To be a young musician coming now, it has to be tough from that point of view, because there’s so many guys and there’s just not enough places to play. So I just tell them make sure you really love this stuff because you’re going to have to be doing it for that reason if you want to be a jazz player because there’s not going to be, and don’t even worry about anything else. Just only do it for that. As long as you can get by and then if you’re really true to what you do things will come your way probably, you’ll make a living and you’ll be able to play your music and hopefully maybe you’ll get very successful.

Fresh from the Fillius archive, here is a link to the full YouTube interview I conducted with John on April 19, 2001.

Jazz Centennial

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The centennial of the first jazz recording by the Original Dixieland Jass Band titled “Livery Stable Blues” is observed this year (see our blog dated 2/26/17) . If an extraterrestrial had heard their rendition they could never have imagined the diversity and the artistic heights that jazz would accomplish in the hundred years that followed. A significant portion of that history began coincidentally in 1917 with the birth of an impressive number of future jazz stars. Most significant were the innovators of bebop, Thelonious Monk, born on October 10, and John “Dizzy” Gillespie, born in the same month on the 21^st. Two other notable artists whose technical skills have never been surpassed are Buddy Rich, born on September 30, and Ella Fitzgerald, born on April 25 (see our blog dated 4/25/17). Those four musicians alone qualify 1917 as an important year in jazz history.

Other notable musicians who were born in 1917 include vocalists Lena Horne (October 4), Jo Stafford (November 12), and Dave Lambert (June 19); pianist Tadd Dameron (February 21); bassist Curly Russell (March 19); and Latin percussionist Mongo Santamaria (April 7). Perhaps a future jazz artist has already been born in 2017 and will contribute to the ever-evolving story of this music.

Jon Hendricks, An Appreciation

Jon Hendricks, in 2000

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Too often we wait until a person has passed before we reflect on their accomplishments. If I had to pick ten of my favorite interviews from the 340 we have gathered for the Fillius Jazz Archive, both of our sessions with Jon Hendricks would make the cut.

Jon Hendricks is now 95, retired from performing and unfortunately is beset with health issues. He is a man who enjoyed a remarkably creative career and could speak intelligently about seemingly any subject. Jon was a fascinating storyteller. During our initial interview in 1995, he related this tale about Count Basie:

MR: You had quite a wonderful association with Count Basie.

JH: Oh, yeah. It was gorgeous. He was a great man. I mean he was great in such a quiet way. There wasn’t any flamboyance about him. What it was about him, I think was his magnetism. He just set still and was quiet. But nothing happened until he moved. I mean the band would be on the bandstand, and everybody would be sitting there and he’d come and make that introduction, and the whole band would come to life. You know he was such an honest man that it was funny, I mean it was joke the way he would just let the truth come out of his mouth. Like one time we went to London with him. And he asked me to come by his hotel you know, because he was going to do an interview with the London Times. And he was kind of worried about it, and wanted to make sure that everything went well. So he wanted me there in case I had to translate for him for the reporter. So this man sits down and he says, [with a British accent] “Tell me, Mr. Bahsie” he says, “you have a style of playing the piano” he says, “you don’t seem to play too many notes. You’re sort of economical in your style of playing.” He says, “How did you arrive at such a style?” And Basie said, “I just can’t play no more piano.” And I was sitting there and I went into the bathroom and cracked up. Because it was so true but totally unexpected. And then when we saw the article the next day, the guy remarked on how Mr. Basie was so — what did he call it — so modest. He said he was so modest. He wasn’t modest, he was telling the truth.

Jon is often cited as an influence on current vocal groups due to his participation in the iconic jazz vocal trio Lambert, Hendricks & Ross. His fortuitous meeting with cab driver Tim Hauser helped jump start Manhattan Transfer, a jazz vocal ensemble that is still performing after forty years. From Part 2 in 2000:

JH: I tell the story of the formation of the Manhattan Transfer. Their idea was to be a group like Lambert, Hendricks & Ross. That’s why I helped them. That was their aim. I met Tim Hauser in a taxi. He was a taxi driver. And I got in his cab with my brother. And he says, “I know you, you’re Jon Hendricks.” I said, “How do you know me?” He says, “I know you. My name is Tim Hauser and my girlfriend Janis Siegel and I live in Brooklyn and we’re going to start a Lambert, Hendricks & Ross type group called Manhattan Transfer.” I gave him my card, and I said, “Any time I can help you, let me know.” And that was how they started. I said so that’s what vocalese is. It’s the setting of lyrics to established American jazz instrumentals in a form so that it tells a story with a beginning, a middle, an end, a plot, a cast of characters, the horns become the characters, and they make a commentary on the subject matter which is determined by the title.

Janis Siegel, an original member of the Manhattan Transfer, speaks of Jon Hendricks with reverence and respect:

MR: How did you get connected?

JS: Well we’ve been doing his stuff from the very beginning honestly. And certainly we were aware of vocalese. For the first album Tim and I wrote a vocalese to “You Can Depend on Me” in the style — I mean influenced certainly by Lambert, Hendricks & Ross and Jon in particular.  I think “Vocalese” is something that we’re very proud of, continuing the tradition of. And we did a whole record of vocalese with Jon and tackled some very meaty things. And Jon was able to tackle some meaty subjects in his lyrics, particularly “Joy Spring,” “Airegin” really amazing lyrics. And he was in the video of “Rock House” and he was in the video of “Night in Tunisia.” And whenever we could perform with Jon it’s always a blessing.

Individual singers have also been influenced by Jon’s singing and his remarkable skill with the practice of vocalese. In our interview in 2015 Giacomo Gates commented on Jon’s skill:

GG: Jon Hendricks is amazing. And every time I would get something of his I’d say, “Wow, this is the better than the last one.” And then “Freddie Freeloader,” did you ever hear that? It’s amazing what he wrote, and that he sings a John Coltrane solo. I mean who could sing a John Coltrane solo? Jon Hendricks.

Click here to see the full interview with Giacomo Gates.

The thing I will remember best about our sessions with Jon is his eloquence and passion when speaking about humans, humanity and human nature.

JH: The philosophy that we had as my father’s children, you know. Like he was a very spiritual man and he taught us that we were children of the living God. And every man, woman and child on this planet were our brothers and sisters. And never mind that they didn’t feel that way, that was their problem. It was our job to remember that we are brothers and sisters to every human being. So I find it solved all the racial problems I might have had. Because I’ve never really had any. You know, anybody comes to me, I give them the love I would give a brother. So if they have animosity toward me, first it’s got to get through that. And that’s pretty hard. That’s pretty hard to get through. So I find I have no problems you know. I don’t accept anything but God’s children. And I read Paul, God is no respecter of person. So who is man to cause problems, and to have all this racial — all these politicians talking about the problems between black and white, already are expressing gross ungodliness. And lack of belief in any real God you know. And thus I’ve had no part of that.

MR: We can all learn from some of those comments. That’s wonderful.

JH: I just will not have anything to do with that. Mankind? That’s me. I’m there. If you want something for mankind? Okay. But I will not compartmentalize it you know.

Click here to read the full Part 1 interview, conducted in 1995.

Click here to read the full Part 2 interview, conducted in 2000.

Dave Pell, 1925-2017

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Dave Pell passed away on May 8 at the age of 92. He was not a familiar name to the casual listener, but he carved himself multiple niches in the West Coast music scene. While Dave was mainly known as a tenor saxophonist, he was a man of many hats, and applied his talents to producing records, taking photographs for album covers, arranging music for large and small ensembles, including the Dave Pell Octet, and organizing the Lester Young based group called The Prez Conference.

I’m sure those who knew Dave would comment on his high energy and healthy sense of humor. While he was born in New York, he never returned after leaving on a trip to the West Coast with the Tony Pastor Orchestra. He did not suffer mediocre musicians gladly, and had a unique way of getting solo space, even as a young man.

DP: I was with Tony Pastor getting there. And the story about Tony Pastor, I get to California and I say, “Gee Tony, this is great. Good-bye. I’m quitting.” He says, ‘you can’t leave me in L.A., this is wilderness. There’s no guys. I can’t get a guy that’ll leave California, they don’t want to come here.” I said, “good-bye.” And so he says, “well stay with me until we leave California and then you can quit. So six weeks later I left the band. But I had fun with Tony because I’d run out to the microphone to beat him to his own solos. Because he didn’t really like to play. But the only way I could get to play was to be a cocky kid and run up to the mic when he’s ready to play and I’m up there playing already. “Sorry, Tony.”

MR: Sounds like you didn’t lack for self confidence.

DP: Oh, no, I was a smart ass, it was terrible. I was just terrible. But that’s kind of a thing that you have to do. It’s almost like the sidemen on the band, they keep watching the leader. And watching all the mistakes he makes. And all the wrong things he does. Because in the back of his mind, I’m going to be a leader some day and I ain’t never gonna put myself — I mean Les Brown, I had a great time with Lester’s band and played on every tune, you know I had a great, great book to play, and we had [Don] Fagerquist and all the good players. And I remember as I went out every time to play a solo out front, we’d just didn’t stand up, we’d go out front — show biz. And I remember kicking over Lester’s horn at least once a night. “Oh, I tripped, ohhh, I’m so sorry, Oh, Les I’ll fix it later.” Well he didn’t play too well. And we didn’t like him playing in the band with us, because the saxes sounded so good. But when he played he played awful. And so if his horn didn’t work, he wouldn’t play. And Les after years and years he finally figured out I was doing it on purpose. You know, “I’m so clumsy, Les, I’m sorry.” But I was kicking over his horn so he wouldn’t play. Terrible, terrible.

Like other Los Angeles-based musicians, Dave was a passionate golfer. He decided there was a niche market for custom-made golf clubs, and he was the man to fill it. In his own words, he stated: “I found out that if I hit the ball and missed the shot that couldn’t be me, it must be the equipment.” This gave birth to yet one more project for the always active Mr. Pell.

I have the feeling that Dave did not enjoy what we call “down time.”

DP: I loved it. I think I would have been happier just playing. But it wasn’t enough for me. It wasn’t enough of a challenge. I figured it’s like sitting there in the band and watching the leader and then realizing all the things he did wrong, and saying I’m going to be the leader now. All right I’m the leader, now what? Well I got 30 albums. Well now what? You know? You keep on wanting to spread out. It’s like improvising. Exactly like improvising. It’s making something happen.

You can watch the entire interview I did with Dave in April of 1996, fresh off the presses on the Fillius Jazz Archive Channel. Click here.

She Could Sing the Telephone Book

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Today is the one hundredth birthday of vocalist Ella Fitzgerald. When jazz critics debate the superlative jazz singers, they start with Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday, then move on to everyone else. Ella has always been number one on my personal list. She offered what I wanted in a jazz singer: an impeccable sense of swing, respect for the composer’s melody, and emotion tempered in measured amounts.

In 1999 I had the good fortune to interview pianist Paul Smith in Los Angeles. He cited his time as Ella Fitgzerald’s accompanist as a career highlight:

Paul Smith, in 1999

MR:         Tell me about working with Ella if you don’t mind.

PS:         That was a total delight. Musically you can’t beat it. I mean it spoiled you for most other singers. She was such an easy person to play for. I mean that was a case, I mean when she’s scatting, you play one-fifteenth of what you’re capable of playing. We did one album together, which I bought three or four copies of for posterity for my family and everything, and it’s called “The Intimate Ella,” and it’s just piano and her.

 

And it’s the one album where nobody plays choruses. I mean most, I’d say 99% of her albums, she was the band singer. The band played 16 bars, or if it was done with Oscar or Joe Pass or whoever, I mean they played choruses and they played behind her, and it was kind of like a coordinated thing between them but it wasn’t really her album. And this one, she loved to sing ballads. And I don’t think she had ever done a complete ballad album, she always ended up having to scat or having to do swinging things. So we did like 15 tunes, all ballads. And she was at the height of her career at that time. And I said, “I’m going to play four bars, and you sing. There’s no piano choruses, nobody else, this is just you, you just do what you want to do.” And it turned out to be — I mean it’s a singer’s tour de force. Every singer should listen to that whole album. That’s where the statement came from she could sing the telephone book and make it sound good. Because she did all the tunes that people have trouble with — “Melancholy Baby,” “Who’s Sorry Now,” and the “Black Coffee,” “One for the Road.” It’s just a beautiful album, not because I’m on it but just from the singing standpoint she was exquisite and singing just what she wanted to sing. She didn’t want to do any scat, didn’t want any tunes where she had to ad lib. She did her little ad libs, which she does on ballads, but generally it’s straight melody pretty much. And it’s a great album for her.

You can view the full interview with Paul Smith on the Fillius Jazz Archive YouTube Channel.

Here’s a link to “Angel Eyes,” one of the cuts from “The Intimate Ella.”

As a contrast, you may also enjoy this classic performance of Ella scatting on “How High the Moon.”

Happy Birthday, Ella!

Junior's Last Gig

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When I was a teenager I didn’t know what the word “epiphany” meant, but I experienced a few. One came courtesy of a late night radio station in Rochester, and a recording of Junior Mance’s “Harlem Lullaby.” I wrote about this song and my conversation with Junior in an earlier blog entry here. Junior has remained a personal favorite of mine, and I have had the pleasure of booking him and his trio on a number of occasions.

It saddens me to relate that Junior’s health is in decline as he suffers from dementia. Now at age 88, Junior is cared for by his wife, soul-mate and manager, Gloria Clayborne Mance. Gloria’s tireless efforts on Junior’s behalf have been noticed by documentary filmmakers Jyllian Gunther and Adam Khan, and they are undertaking a project to record Junior and Gloria’s story. It is entitled Sunset and the Mockingbird, and you can click the title to see its trailer.  Their story is reflective of thousands of other narratives across the country as the misfortune of dementia and Alzheimer’s become more prevalent in our aging population.

Documentary films by their very nature are not financed by corporations or movie studios, thus a Kickstarter campaign is underway to raise the necessary funding to complete this worthwhile project. Their goal is to raise $38,000 by the end of April, and they have passed the halfway point. Please consider donating to this worthy cause, both large and small amounts are welcome. You can access the Kickstarter fund drive here.

Dave Valentin, 1952-2017

The flute has been an add-on for most of jazz history. Typically saxophone players learned it as a “double,” especially when big band arrangers started writing flute parts to be played by someone in the sax section. The most notable example of this is tenor saxophonist Frank Wess, who made the flute an integral part of the Count Basie sound in the 1950s and ‘60s. A short list of jazz flautists include Mr. Wess as well as Sam Most, Hubert Laws, Herbie Mann, and the late Dave Valentin. Dave passed away at the early age of 64 on Wednesday, March 8.

As a young percussionist influenced by his Puerto Rican parents, Dave found himself in the company of celebrated Latin band leaders. He loved to tell the story of being attracted to the flute because of a striking female flute player.

After teaching junior high school music for three years, Dave was the first artist signed to the GRP record label, led by musicians Dave Grusin and Larry Rosen. Along the way he earned a Grammy award and adulation for his combination of jazz and authentic Latin music. He was serious about the music he produced, and had strong opinions regarding jazz for lazy listeners:

DV: I think this quiet storm crap, I think it really damaged the music in a lot of ways. Where people think that this easy listening, like really easy listening is good music.

MR: You said “quiet storm?” Is that your own phrase?

DV: Oh no they use that on the radio, quiet storm format. Or cool jazz. And not to mention any names, but there’s just some music where people think that’s what a saxophone should sound like. And it’s a no-brainer. There’s no challenge in it. And I think that’s damaged the music. I mean if you play good music, people will listen. It’s very simple.

MR: I was curious if you’ve ever had producers who wanted you to like include something because they thought it would help your sales.

DV: Well with the disco thing, there was one album called “Flute Juice” and I think a review came in called “it should be called ‘Prune Juice.’” That’s the last time I did that. And I told Larry I’m not going to make another record like this. The next record was “Kalahari,” and that was one of the best records I’ve done. I said please — because it was actually his suggestion because he thought — the sales — he thought that might be a good idea to do some discoish kind of thing. But it didn’t work out. But at least he learned quickly. I said just let me produce, Larry, you just sit behind the desk.

The care he took with his own music was reflected in the care he took in his life, and he credited some words of wisdom from his father. “Listen, if you’re going to clean your room, do the best you can. If you’re going to be a brother, father, do the best you can. If you’re going to do the dishes, do the best you can. If you’re going to be a musician, do the best you can. And whatever you decide, then be the best you can.”

Percussionist Mario Bauza also offered words of wisdom Dave lived by: “If you think it’s that bad, it’s really not. And if you have faith, intelligence and a sense of humor you can overcome anything.”

Good advice, for everyone.

For your Latin jazz edification, here’s a live YouTube of Dave playing “Obsession.”

You can watch the entire interview I did with Dave in April of 2000 on the Fillius Jazz Archive Channel. Click here.

A Hundred Years Ago Today

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On February 26, 1917, a less-than-famous five piece band recorded what was called the first jazz record. The Original Dixieland “Jass” band was comprised of five musicians from New Orleans who formed their band in Chicago in 1916. Their recording consisted of a semi-improvised conversation between trumpet, clarinet and trombone, with rhythm provided by piano and drums.

In a now familiar occurrence regarding innovators and imitators, the Original Dixieland Jass Band, an all-white quintet, was afforded the now historic opportunity to make the first jazz record. Their music was a re-creation of the style they had heard in New Orleans, provided by black musicians such as King Oliver, Buddy Bolden and Freddie Keppard. According to jazz lore, trumpeter Keppard was offered a chance to be the first jazz musician to record but he declined, believing that his personal style would be stolen easily by way of this new medium of re-created music on wax.

“Livery Stable Blues” is a pale imitation of the real thing. The New Orleans style had been around for a number of years, an offshoot of the joyous  music provided by marching bands in New Orleans. It was the first incarnation of swing, and set the stage for many jazz superstars to come, including Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman and Bix Beiderbecke. The Victor Talking Machine Company released this record complete with the indication of “Fox Trot,” a popular dance style at the time. The Original Dixieland Jass Band enjoyed modest success both here and abroad, but eventually faded away, like all bands, partly due to the racist and exaggerated statements by their leader and trumpeter, Nick LaRocca, who insisted that he was a key player in the invention of jazz.

Have a listen to “Livery Stable Blues” — you’ll find it quaint and hopelessly dated both in sound and style. Reflecting the title, the instrumentalists imitate barnyard sounds and barely manage to achieve a swinging rhythm. Whatever we think of it, it was a milestone. Victor Talking Machine Company, whose mind was always on profits, felt it worthy of exposure to the public. In the early part of the twentieth century music was mostly spread through live performances. A 78 RPM disc brought home to be played on the family Victrola was always an event. I can picture the adults in the room wondering what is this “jass music” I’m hearing? — and thinking this can’t possibly last. A few decades later they said the same thing about rock & roll.