Junior Mance 1928-2021

 

It has been my privilege to meet and converse with a long list of notable jazz personalities, and I thought of pianist Junior Mance as one of my favorite guys. His wife, Gloria Clayborne Mance, announced his passing at home yesterday after a long illness. My first reaction to hearing this news was to fetch my autographed copy of the 1960s era “Harlem Lullaby” LP and play the title track. It took me back to my junior high days when I listened to an all-night jazz station and first heard this evocative Junior Mance composition.

We interviewed Junior twice for the Fillius Jazz Archive and he shared fascinating stories about his learning process, career path, and notable collaborations. Junior worked as a sideman with none other than Cannonball Adderley, Joe Williams, and many others, but spent most of his career as a leader of his own trio.

In a fortuitous aligning of the stars, we were able to facilitate a CD of a previously unreleased live date from 1964 with Joe Williams and the Junior Mance Trio with Ben Webster as special guest. “Havin’ A Good Time” was produced by Joel Dorn who also supervised Junior’s “Harlem Lullaby” LP.

In 2015 I was able to bring The Junior Mance Trio to Hamilton for what turned out to be his last road trip. He showed early signs of poor health, but his distinctive brand of blues-drenched bop won over students and faculty alike.

From the Fillius archive, here is a link to the first YouTube interview conducted with Junior on July 27, 1995. The second interview, conducted on January 18, 1999, can be found here.

The archive sends its deepest sympathy to Gloria, as we mourn the passing of yet another jazz luminary.

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.

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.

Bob Cranshaw, 1932-2016

Bob Cranshaw

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Bassist Bob Cranshaw passed on November 2, 2016. He followed the musical path of his idol, Milt Hinton. Milt believed that the bass and the drums provided a “rhythmic service” and Bob lived that philosophy, whether he was playing behind Ella Fitzgerald or Big Bird. Yes, Bob did play behind Big Bird on “Sesame Street” for 27 years. At the same time he was playing with Sonny Rollins, Lee Morgan, Wes Montgomery, Ella Fitzgerald, or Joe Williams. A steady, hip day gig combined with jazz work at night was heaven for Bob, or as he aptly stated, “I had my cake and ate it too.”

In the Fillius Jazz Archive interview with Bob in 1995, he related his first gig with Sonny Rollins, which occurred when he was 27 years old:

BC:         I worked with Sonny, starting I think in 1959 or ‘60. I met Sonny before around Chicago, but I never worked with him. And one day Sonny heard Walter Perkins the drummer and I, who, we came as a package you know. And one day Sonny was doing the Playboy [Jazz] Festival, and he asked Walter Perkins to do it and he said, “Walter, get the bass player who you would like.” So I was hired. We played the festival, it was really a very funny situation ‘cause it was in the afternoon on a Sunday. Sonny Rollins told us to be there I think the concert maybe started at one o’clock or two, I think about two. Sonny said well be there, ready to play at one. I get there, and we don’t see no Sonny. Two o’clock comes, the concert starts, the first group plays, 15, 20 minutes. The second group, 15 or 20 minutes. The third group was a Dixieland band. And we were the fourth group to go on. The Dixieland band played 10 minutes, 15 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour. They’re waiting now for Sonny to come in. The Dixieland band played I think for at least 40 minutes. By that time people were wiped out with hearing the band. They were looking now, they were ready to hear Sonny. Still no Sonny. Come to find out when the people started to really get tired, all of a sudden Sonny comes out. Sonny had probably been in the auditorium since eleven o’clock, just casing everything. But he picked his time to come out. And we just tore the place up. And it was just a trio. Just bass, drums and saxophone. No rehearsal, we just played. And it was a wonderful experience.

When Sonny entered an experimental phase of his career, Bob opted to return to more basic music as an accompanist for singer Joe Williams. As a bonus he was able to watch Joe in the recording studio, where Joe’s bassist of choice was Milt Hinton. Like hundreds of other bassists, he learned music and life lessons from Milt, who was called the “Dean of Jazz Bassists.”

BC:         I grew up on Joe Williams. I mean I can say as a young guy, I was young at that time and it was just right for me. Because Joe’s stuff was very structured. But he was such a professional. We would get on the stage and we were swinging. I mean the music felt so good. Every night it was just very consistent. And the trio was Junior Mance and Mickey Roker. And we had a good time with each other but it was a thrill to play with Joe Williams because I just grew up. I mean I became a man with Joe Williams. He gave me that foundation you know and how to greet people, how to be, and not only that he introduced me to some of the most influential people in my life. One was Milt Hinton. Joe Williams did a lot of recordings with Milt Hinton and Jimmy Jones or Hank Jones and Osie Johnson. And I got a chance to sit and just watch these people. Any record date he had I was there. But any time Milt Hinton would record I would follow him around like a puppy. If Milt Hinton had a date, I just wanted to see how Milt Hinton and George Duvivier, how they approached music. And I would ask questions with Joe if they played something. I knew that after they finished recording it, I was going to have to play it. Because this is what we would do in our performances. So it was like catching first hand the master play it, and then I could branch off of what they were playing because they might have used a larger group maybe with horns, where when we got ready to play it we had to do it with a trio. But I was there. I wanted to understand everything about that tune and what I could do. And I would ask Milt Hinton, why did you play this there, well why did you play this F here as opposed to playing it there, what did you hear here. I wanted to know everything that Milt Hinton was doing. And I became, I feel like I’m a Milt Hinton clone in a way, because I enjoy watching Milt, how he carried himself and what a gentleman he is, and how great, I used to walk in and I’d be sitting at a record date, and I’d be like kind of hiding. I just didn’t want to bug him. And I would wait until he came in. And it could be a record date with 50 musicians. When Milt Hinton walked in the door, you felt an energy, you know, it was something like a storm just hit the place. And I enjoyed that feeling. So I said this is what I would like to be. This is the way I would like to carry myself. This is what I would like to become.

Like many jazz musicians, Bob Cranshaw credits the upbeat music that occurred in black churches as part of his early development.

BC:         I would just go to different churches in Evanston and I would go to the basement. I wouldn’t go upstairs. I just wanted to hear what was the interplay between what happened with the music, and what rhythms that people had in their feet, and all of that. It would feel like that the roof, you know feel like the floor was going to cave in, ‘cause there was such a great feeling, great energy. And I think as a musician, I’m more drawn to a band with this kind of energy.

Bob achieved his goals as a first call musician and mentor to the next generation of bassists. He eventually arrived at a place where he could pass work on to younger musicians, and played an important role in the musicians’ union, making sure studio and Broadway musicians were getting a fair deal.

In a wonderful bit of serendipity, the Fillius Jazz Archive played a role in a CD release that captured the quartet Bob mentioned here. After Joe Williams’ death in 1999, the Archive took ownership of a trove of reed to reel tapes from Joe’s career. The CD “Havin’ a Good Time” was released on Hyena Records in 2005. The live date, from 1964, captured Joe Williams and Ben Webster, backed up by Mickey Roker, Junior Mance and Bob.

As far as his playing, he pretty much summed it up when he said, “My job is to set up the groove, the pocket. I don’t have to solo. I never made myself a soloist or got into all of that. I never wanted to be a big deal, but if it felt good I was a big deal.”

Harlem Lullaby

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As a follow-up to our previous post about the MOOC project, I recently engaged in an interesting activity. For the last week of the MOOC I decided to include my own Top Ten list of jazz recordings as a basis for discussion and feedback. The list is not intended as the “most important jazz recordings ever,” but is simply a collection of songs that affected me when I first heard them, and still have a special spot in my mind.

In my teen years I used to tune in to an all-night jazz station in Rochester, New York, hosted by Harry Abraham. Harry had the quintessential late night jazz DJ voice, and my transistor radio enabled me to listen underneath the sheets, long after I was supposed to be asleep. One night Harry announced the tune “HarlemLullaby” by Junior Mance. Something about this piano trio recording grabbed me that night and made me seek out the record, and it has remained a favorite ever since. Its evocative, bluesy mood conjures up a feeling —a déjà vu for something I know I have not experienced in this life.

“Harlem Lullaby” begins and ends with a rubato piano solo based on a phrase from the French song “Darling Je Vous Aime Beaucoup.” Junior’s A section employs a mix of blues and Gospel chord changes, and links to a powerful bridge in the relative minor. Throughout, his identifiable style is front and center. Listen to the improvised lick at 2:35 to 2:55. Pure blues bliss.

Almost 40 years later, thanks to the Fillius Jazz Archive, I sat with Junior Mance and related my late night epiphany. Junior had his own radio story:

Junior Mance, in 1999

JM: What you say about under the sheets, well I guess I was about ten years old and my dad asked me one Christmas, “what do you want for Christmas?” I said, “I want a table radio.” You know this was before they had the little battery portables and all of that. And he was shocked. He thought what does he want a radio for? Well they would listen to all the broadcasts at night, you know like Earl Hines would broadcast from the Grand Terrace. And there was another place in Chicago I think called the Gerrick Show Lounge, where I remember Don Byas and J.C. Higginbotham were in a small group there. And they would catch all — you know that was the days when there were more radio broadcasts than there were records. But they came on so late and my folks wouldn’t let me stay up to listen. But I’d ease up and crack the door and I’d sit there and listen. So I says I’ll fix this, you know, and I asked for a radio. So they gave me the radio for Christmas. So I remember I would listen and Earl Hines would come on I’d search and I’d turn the volume down real low until I found it. Then I would get under the covers with the pillow and all, and listen to it. And every night this went on and they were none the wiser so then after it was over I’d put it back on the table. After it was over that was a time when mothers usually come in and tuck you in, you know, and I’d fake like I’m sleeping. Well one night, I fell asleep before the broadcast was over. The radio and me and everything is under the pillow and I’m sound asleep. So it woke me up and she pulled the pillow back and I says uh oh, this is it, I’m know I’m going to get it. She called me father in and they laughed. They said look at that. So then after that they started letting me listen, as long as I was in bed, and I could turn it on and listen to it.

Junior’s anecdote is echoed by many other jazz artists who grew up in the decades when radio was the main source of home entertainment. The serendipity connected with “Harlem Lullaby” did not end with my interview with Junior. Along the way I met producer Joel Dorn who was a later interviewee, and I noticed that he produced the album “Harlem Lullaby.” The liner notes were written by a second jazz producer, Orrin Keepnews, who also granted us a fascinating interview.

On my CD release in 1999, “Jazz Life,” I decided to tackle this tune, and I was quite pleased with the outcome. You can listen to that version here.

Two years ago I completed the circle with Junior by booking him and his trio at Hamilton College during a celebration of Jazz Appreciation Month. He retained that upbeat blues approach to his music, and was a pleasure to have on campus.

Orrin Keepnews, 1923-2015

Orrin Keepnews, in 2002

In my 20 years as Director of the Fillius Jazz Archive I have learned of the interconnectedness in the jazz world. It seems there are only one or two degrees of separation between jazz artists and the circle of producers, record executives, journalists and fans that surround the musicians. Orrin Keepnews, record producer and co-owner of Riverside Records, signed Cannonball Adderley to his label. Cannonball employed pianist Junior Mance early in his career. The liner notes to Junior’s LP entitled “Harlem Lullaby” were written by Orrin Keepnews. This record was produced by Joel Dorn, who released Cannonball Adderley live dates on Hyena records as well as archival recordings by Joe Williams. This is the same Joe Williams who sang the lead role in Cannonball Adderley’s musical “Big Man,” released on Fantasy records. Fantasy Records hired Orrin Keepnews in 1972 as Director of Jazz Productions and to oversee reissues of recordings from Riverside Records. And so it goes.

We regularly note the passing of jazz artists who are in their 80s and 90s, and the people who produced them have also reached these golden years. Orrin is recognized as one of the most important producers, writers, and record company owners in the history of jazz, and is responsible for numerous recordings by Bill Evans, Wes Montgomery, Thelonious Monk, and Cannonball Adderley. He described the role of a producer as he saw it, in our interview recorded in San Francisco in 2002:

MR:    I want to congratulate you on the contribution you’ve made to the art form called jazz. It’s really quite amazing the things you’ve been involved in and the careers that you have helped.

OK:    Well I must admit that I look back on it with a good deal of satisfaction. I’ve been very fortunate because in this business in particular, a lot of the associations that you form, at least initially, are accidental as hell. If someone tells me that I have been helpful to this or that career, that’s exactly the thing that I want to hear because I have always looked on the role of the producer in a very specific way. Now one of the hardest things, and I’ve been at it, I’m getting perilously close to my fiftieth anniversary in this business, but I still have to pause usually when I’m asked to make some kind of definition of what it is I do. Because for better or worse, I don’t know about other things because I’ve only done this really, but jazz record producers do a little bit of everything, as there is always a shortage of personnel, and to me the most important role is what I have taken to repetitiously referring to as being a catalytic agent. That I am supposed to create the circumstances under which the artist can work most effectively. I’ve finally got it boiled down to that one mantra and that’s what I am, that’s what I do. That statement is generally true, but the details of its implementation are constantly changing. There are almost literally no two artists who can be dealt with in the same way. There are perhaps no two record dates that can be dealt with in the same way. That may be pushing it a little bit, but fundamentally that to me is what the continuing challenge is all about. That’s why I didn’t get bored a long time ago with doing this. My job was to do two things. One is to appreciate and the other is to facilitate. And I usually don’t use such glorious words to describe it, but I’ve always been the guy that was able to get it done, which kind of surprises me sometimes. I don’t think of myself as being firm, as being decision-maker, I certainly do not believe in the auteur theory of jazz direction. I don’t think, and there have been people, and we won’t bother to name names, but there have been other jazz record producers who clearly do think of themselves as king makers. And I never did. It just got to be the point of hey, somebody’s got to make the decision and okay, that’s one of the things that I’m here for. Sometimes you might make decisions because nobody else is even in the position to even be aware of the need for a decision.

Like many men of his generation, Orrin served in the military during the World War II years. I found his recollections to be of particular interest:

MR:    Let me go backwards just a little bit. You were in the South Pacific.

OK:    I was on Guam. I was a navigator radar operator on B-29s. I did a lot of dropping of bombs on Japan, which I’m resolutely not proud of for the rest of my life.

MR:    At that time you were 23?

OK:    22 maybe, around in there.

MR:    How did you feel about it at the time?

OK:    At the time you didn’t feel about it. I mean I’m no great expert on it but there were two years in my life where I was involved in armed conflict and I think that one of the ways in which some of us emotionally survive was a form of anesthetizing yourself. You did not think about what you were doing. I don’t think, unfortunately at the end of the war, after the war was over, I flew a couple of missions where we were taking a batch of generals up to evaluate what had been done to Tokyo. So we flew in the daytime at pretty low levels over Tokyo, which is something I had never done before, and I was able to see Tokyo. I’ll take a lot of credit for the fact that Tokyo was a modern city that is almost entirely a post-war city. It looked to me to be about 50 percent burned out, I mean put it that way. And that was the first time, the shock of that hit me. Not to turn this into too much of a war memoir but basically between IM flights we didn’t do very much daytime formation bombing which involved demolition bombs. We normally did night flights where you just flew in a single file so basically you were following at a decent interval the plane ahead of you and we were dropping incendiary bombs so that what you did was it was a very lazy form of bombing, you just dropped on the fires that were in front of you. And if the first guy had been way off target, we all were because nobody did anything else but that. But the whole point there was that you could be very detached. You didn’t have to force yourself to think that you really were causing fires to happen in a large metropolitan city that was there. And you could block that out pretty good because hey, you had no alternative. This is what you were doing in the great war and I’ve long since given up figuring out whether this was, in many respects, a good or a bad thing. However, at this time of year as we get around the middle of August every year I am forced to think that in my personal opinion the damn atom bomb never should have been dropped. And let’s not get into the aesthetics or morality of that, but you have led me to this point in time so I make that statement. But you blot it out, the implications of what you were doing, I think because it was pretty necessary.

MR:    Right. Were the Japanese putting up a defense against your planes at that time?

OK:    In a lot of stages no. There was always a fair amount of antiaircraft fire but there were virtually no fighter planes. I mean the Japanese Air Force was pretty much shot to hell in the last months of the war which is the time I was primarily there.

Orrin saw the proliferation of jazz education programs and the advance of audio technology in an informative light:

MR:    Jazz has been elevated to a high state of art these days. Do you think it’s been positive for jazz?

OK:    That’s a hard question to answer. I do feel that when I have attended the last few jazz educators conventions I used to frown on jazz education because those God damn stage band so-called which were nothing but tired old big band charts and there were important things like the fact that if it wasn’t for North Texas State how would Woody Herman ever get new players for his band, all those clichés of the past. But the fact is I think that to some degree jazz education has done a wonderful job, it has progressed, there are people learning things on stages of the game where people never were learning before. As long as you recognize there is only one of a series of tools and it is by no means the only way to go. So that I would say on the whole, hey, if you asked me did I think that multi-track recordings was a positive or a negative experience I’d say pretty much the same thing. If you keep it under control it’s just fine. If you use it, if you don’t let it use you, if you use the fact of jazz education, the proliferation of it in so many places, if you use that to the purposes of making good jazz it’s fine. But don’t let it run away with you. I feel that way about technical progress. I mean I love digital recording. I have always been of several minds about multi-track for just that reason, I don’t want the bass player to be able to punch in the right notes, I want it to be important what notes they were playing when they were listening to him while they were playing. So that makes me an anachronism in some ways I know. But so be it.

Orrin passed away on March 1, one day shy of his 92^nd birthday. The jazz world was fortunate to have had him as an integral force for over six decades.