Most people alive are too young to have heard Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker when they were establishing bebop. Most, indeed, were not born. Observers have attempted to describe the excitement of hearing Gillespie and Parker together for the first time, but words cannot convey the abstract wonders of great music. Now, thanks to an astounding new CD, it is possible to hear the fountainheads of bop as World War Two was ending – when they were virtually unknown, when to all but a tiny minority of musicians and listeners, jazz meant the music of the big bands, when “A Night in Tunisia†and “Salt Peanuts†had not been drilled into the collective consciousness. Those pieces and others that became part of the bebop canon had been played for audiences only a few dozen times, if that many.
Until Uptown Records released Dizzy Gillespie-Charlie Parker Town Hall, New York City, June 22, 1945 a few weeks ago, Parker’s and Gillespie’s partnership that year was known on records only within the three-minute limitation of 78 rpm technology. Someone—it is unclear who—recorded the concert in superb sound on twin acetate disc recorders, capturing complete performances in the seven-minutes range, with chorus after chorus of brilliant playing. Anyone who hears these recordings and doubts that Gillespie was at least Bird’s equal as a creative artist will have to maintain an unreasonable degree of stubborness.
Throughout, Gillespie’s control, range, harmonic ingenuity, melodic inventiveness and time—above all, his time—are breathtaking. In these performances, he and Parker give profound meaning to Dizzy’s frequently-quoted description of Bird as, “the other half of my heartbeat.†The two were the most uncanny unison players ever, their intellectual and psychic connection absolute. Their togetherness, at a furious tempo, on the out-chorus of “Bebop†must be heard to be believed. The transition from Bird’s solo to Dizzy’s on “Groovin’ High†is priceless, not because one repeats the other’s phrase—that trick is as old as jazz improvisation, probably as old as music—but because of the exquisite timing, the humor, what it says about their mutual respect and friendship. Gillespie’s solo on the piece is a statement of pure joy. And, everywhere, Parker’s virtuosity and heart match his boss’s. This was Dizzy’s band. Its concepts, and particularly its codification of the harmonic and much of the rhythmic language of the new music, came from Dizzy’s leadership and teaching.
In his liner notes, Ira Gitler describes pianist Al Haig’s playing on the concert as stiff, but that might be true only in comparison with Bud Powell’s most inspired work. Haig has long deserved a great deal more credit than he has received as a trailblazing pianist who inspired many of his successors. Those in debt to Haig include, as the researcher Allan Lowe has recently pointed out, Hank Jones, Tommy Flanagan and Barry Harris. I would add Bill Evans to that list. Haig and drummer Max Roach had a relationship, also built on rhythm, that complemented and illuminated the one between Diz and Bird. Entertaining and swinging as Sid Catlett is in his guest appearance on one piece, Roach was clearly the perfect drummer for this band. As for Curley Russell, he kept great time and was one of the best bop bassists after Oscar Pettiford, but suffice it to say that bass playing was a few years away from catching up with Parker, Gillespie, Haig and Powell.
Symphony Sid Torin, the unctuous radio host who MCed the concert, was unquestionably an important part of the New York jazz scene, but including only his opening announcement might have been enough. Symphony Sid’s cutesy, self-referential, tune introductions do not detract from the music. Nothing could. But they are irritating on repeated hearings. And he mispronounces Dizzy’s last name as “Jillespie.”
I could go on about this remarkable recording, but I’ll abide by the first paragraph’s admonition concerning the inadequacy of words. I cannot imagine anyone serious about serious music not cherishing it. Robert Sunenblick of Uptown Records deserves adulation for recognizing the value of what he discovered on those acetates and for seeing that it became available to the world.