Archives for April 2007

Rifftides reader Bruce Tater came across a classic Warner Bros. cartoon from the Looney Tunes series. He called our attention to Three Little Bops, a perfectly preserved piece of 1950s hipness. Stan Freeburg is the narrator. Shorty Rogers did the music. Notice the stylized drawings of the nightclub audience. Don’t miss Shorty’s little sui generis muted solo near the end. Here’s the link.

Jessica Williams linked readers of her blog to the Before & After test she allowed me to give her for the current issue of Jazz Times. In the test, she reacted to recordings by ten pianists. To read some of the comments she received, go to Currents and scroll down.
Oddly, Rifftides has received no reaction to the article despite Ms. Williams’ unreserved assessments.

National Public Radio’s Weekend Edition Saturday included a report by Howard Mandel on Sonny Rollins, who recently founded his own record label, Doxy. In a sound bite, Rollins asked Mandel not to identify him as a corporate executive of a record company. “Don’t do that to me man,” he laughed as he pleaded with Mandel. “No, I don’t want to screw anybody.” Then he talked about the contradiction between corporate thinking and jazz thinking.

The corporate culture is anathema to jazz. We don’t like cookie cutter, everything exactly the same way. We’re about creation, thinking things out at the moment, like life is. Life changes every minute. A different sunset every night; that’s what jazz is about.

To hear Mandel’s profile of Sonny Rollins at seventy-six, click here.

The past couple of days I have been listening to two CDs containing fresh old music and enjoying it as much as if hearing it for the first time.
LaFaro
Scott LaFaro had a rich musical life before he joined the Bill Evans Trio in 1959 and helped change the role of the bass in interactive improvisation. In 1957 when he was twenty-one, LaFaro was playing in Chicago with Pat Moran, a young pianist from Oklahoma who had studied at the Cincinnati Conservatory and been infuenced by Bud Powell and Horace Silver. During the short time LaFaro was with her trio, Moran recorded a trio album and another adding the singer Bev Kelly. They have been combined in a CD just issued by Fresh Sound. LaFaro has often been quoted about his dissatisfaction with most of his early recordings:

I don’t like to look back, because the whole point in jazz is doing it now. I don’t even like any of my records except maybe the first one I did with Pat Moran on Audio Fidelity.

We can hear why he made that exception. The strength, authority, swing and harmonic ingenuity in LaFaro’s bass lines are gripping. Moran, drummer Johnny Whited and Kelly are fine, but LaFaro–beautifully recorded and dominating the right stereo channel–demands the listener’s attention, particularly on the trio session. When Evans found LaFaro and combined him with drummer Paul Motian, he was able to put into operation the trio concept he had been hearing in his head for years. These recordings make it easy to understand how excited Evans must have been the first time he heard LaFaro.
Previn
In 1960 MGM released a feature motion picture more or less based on the Jack Kerouac novel The Subterraneans. The movie about a bunch of San Francisco beatniks was so-so, maybe not quite that good, but it had a superb Andre Previn orchestral score, Previn’s compositions for small jazz groups and wonderful playing by a bakers dozen of the best musicians of the period. Gerry Mulligan had a part as a priest who played the baritone saxophone. Art Farmer, Art Pepper and Shelly Manne played themselves, as did Previn, Red Mitchell, Dave Bailey, Russ Freeman, Bob Enevoldsen, Bill Perkins and Buddy Clark. Jack Sheldon is heard in solo with the orchestra and in a quintet with Pepper, Freeman, Mitchell and Manne.
The film has all but disappeared and is apparently impossible to find on DVD or VHS. The sound track, fortunately not only has survived but is expanded for a CD reissue that includes twice as much music as the original release. This increases the small available number of recordings Mulligan’s group made when Art Farmer was his trumpet player and adds a few tracks to the legacy of Previn’s trio with Manne and Mitchell. Previn’s main theme, “Why Are We Afraid,” made its way into the repertoires of a few musicians in the sixties. It is puzzling why so memorable a melody failed to become a standard.

There will be a concert this weekend in Washington, DC, honoring Willis Conover, the Voice of America jazz broadcaster who was one of the most effective public diplomats in US history. The nation he served did little while he was alive to recognize his contributions and since he died in 1996 has done less. Efforts to persuade President Clinton, then President Bush, to award him a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom have gone nowhere. To read a Rifftides posting about Conover, go here. You may browse the archive (link in the left-hand column) and find several items.
There are those in Washington not in the administration who know the value of what Conover accomplished. They include people at the VOA and at the Smithsonian Institution and, apparently, all of the Blues Alley Jazz Society. Here is the announcement about Saturday night’s concert.

Blues Alley Jazz Society invites you to the First Annual Willis Conover Memorial Concert, featuring the U.S. Military Academy “Jazz Knights” and the Smithsonian Jazz Masterworks Orchestra. Whereas H.R. 57 officially proclaimed jazz as America’s indigenous musical art form, we seek to memorialize the legacy of Willis Conover and his efforts to extend jazz music during the Cold War era through the radio waves of the Voice of America. It is our hope that you will join us in making Washington, D.C. the home of jazz music during this component of the Third Annual Big Band Jam.
The Willis Conover Memorial Concert will be held from 7:00 – 9:00 p.m. on Saturday, April 28th at the Voice of America Stage. You are asked to arrive at 6:00 p.m. with photo identification as the Voice of America building is a federal facility. Some street parking is available, and attendees are encouraged to utilize the Colonial Parking service located at 6th and C Streets, SW. Reservations are required due to security issues; visit the Big Band Jam Web site to make a reservation.

Willis Conover at the White House, 1969
Under Doug’s Picks in the right column, you will find mention of a new book about Conover.

During a 2005 trip to New York to promote Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond, one of my rewarding encounters was with the longtime broadcast journalist Bill Vitka. After we talked about Desmond for CBS Radio News, Vitka mentioned that he had recently interviewed Kurt Vonnegut. He said Vonnegut told him that Desmond was his favorite musician. Back home, I arranged for Vonnegut to be sent a copy of the book. Vitka and I planned to get together with the great writer on a later visit to New York. My next New York trip was brief and hectic. I decided to set up the meeting when the three of us could have a relaxed visit. Then Vonnegut fell and suffered the brain injury that led to his death on April 11.
In the course of preparing a story about Vonnegut, Bill stayed in touch with him. Last November Vitka delivered to the author a copy of the feature profile that he developed out of their interview. He took his younger son, Sean, with him to Vonnegut’s townhouse on Manhattan’s East Side . What follows is the story of that visit. Bill sent it to me in an e-mail message. I asked his permission to share it with you.

I grieved when Vonnegut died.

His voice is still on my phone machine.

He had called several times — while I was working on an interview/feature for the Network — to make sure I got things right.
On Meeting Kurt Vonnegut (11/18/06)
When Sean and I were ushered into Kurt Vonnegut’s townhouse on New York’s East Side, what we found was a home.
His wife, Jill Krementz, had to wake him. We were expected but not at that hour (3 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon).
Vonnegut was a redwood, hair like gray broken branches. He smiles. Extends his hand. Tell us to make ourselves at home, then politely he plants himself in a soft, upholstered chair that he knows well.
He’s sizing us up, subtle to the point of being sly. I catch his eye sometimes as he drinks us in.But malice, any kind of ill will, seems so foreign to his nature as to be a distance measurable in light years. All I feel is a sensation of disarmament. My defenses stand down, willingly conquered.
Sean is quite animated. He does much, if not all, the talking for a patch. Vonnegut is curious about his schooling, asking questions and Sean answers, enjoying the attention — but more then that — he rises to meet someone who would address him as an equal. Sean is 17.
There is an out-of-time character about Vonnegut, not unlike Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse Five. He isn’t tethered to the 21st century or to the last, but outside of both. He speaks with a kindness, even innocence as though he hasn’t grown up.
At this moment, I can’t imagine the source of the razor wire, which I know can be found in his writing. His jokes, satire — gallows humor — doesn’t seem to fit the man.
If he comes to know us by our answers, I come to know him by his questions. Our name, Vitka, he hasn’t heard before. What nationality is it? Where did we come from? Our parents, perhaps my parents and grandparents — who were they? I oblige. He rewards us with details of his own family. There is, like us, a Catholic bloodline. He says his grandparents were so consumed by Darwin that they became free thinkers. They abandoned religion. He had asked us about belief. He was curious about the Byzantine rite on my Mother’s side. Did the priests marry? As we – Sean and I — draw closer to our past, Vonnegut draws more from his own childhood. He recalls blues musicians from the South who performed on his family’s lawn. Jazz and Blues. Joe Heller’s name comes up. He misses Joe.
Vonnegut is now 83, an age when so many that you know are gone.
His family, he said, came over before the wave that brought my family to Ellis Island. They were entrepreneurs. They had money. They were smart. They invested. They did well.
At some point I realized that he could feign sleepiness, even laziness, to disguise casualness with a purpose. He was working.
He talks about teaching. He’s been talking to Sean about the classroom for fifteen minutes or so and he mentions that John Irving was one of his students at the Iowa Workshop. What did you teach your students, about writing, I ask? He answers that it takes two. A writer is writing for a reader. (as much as a reader needs a writer.) It’s not enough to write. Someone has to read what you write (as though it would be incomplete otherwise).
He talks about reporting. One of his first jobs was just that in Chicago. He would talk to a guy on the phone, filing the story, telling him that Joe Whatzit, age 48, was arrested for disorderly conduct and drunkenness at the corner of Waverly and Blastoff. “See,” he says, “everything in the first sentence is right out there. The reader doesn’t want to find out on page 48 that Lizzie was black. He wants to know right away.” You can’t — shouldn’t — cheat the reader is the lesson. Would, to do otherwise, mean the writer is cheating his or herself?
At first I think he will smoke the Pall Mall cigarette he has pulled from the pack, drawn from beneath the sweater which I am sure he slept in, but instead he is stroking it, as though a man petting a cat. Over the course of an hour, he does this but does not light it
He talks about the golden age of radio. (I work in radio) I mention someone at the CBS Broadcast Center who had said he remembered Orson Wells and the Mercury Theater. So I picture him planted in front of a radio, a machine the size of refrigerator — listening intently and laughing. Because he likes jokes. Because, I suspect, he likes people. Because we are fools. Because we make mistakes. Because, in Vonnegut’s universe, it doesn’t matter — but it does. He doesn’t want to hurt people and he doesn’t want people hurt but the human race continues to find original, if not ingenuously cruel methods to inflict pain. And he’s looking at 17-year-old Sean as he talks about radio. I mention Fred Allen but he is addressing Sean and says “Say good night, Gracie.”

A working journalist since 1972, Bill Vitka has been a correspondent for CBS News and NBC News. To hear his 2006 Vonnegut profile, go to this archive podcast of the CBS News Weekend Roundup hosted by Dan Raviv and advance the timing slider to 33:59. Or listen to the entire hour and hear how little things have changed in the world, which might have saddened but not suprised Vonnegut.

Rifftides reader Jon Foley recommends a YouTube clip of the Dave Brubeck Quartet with the comment, “They were in a good mood that night!”
They sure were. I thought that we had linked to this performance before, but I can find no trace of it in the archive. The clip isn’t dated, but it is amost certainly from the quartet’s 25th anniversary reunion tour in 1976. The piece is “Three To Get Ready.” I have no idea what set off the merriment, but the silliness was contagious and brought out Brubeck’s inner Cecil Taylor. To join in the fun, click here.

If you are new to Blogville and wonder what those underlined words in blue are all about, you should know that they are links. When you click on a link, you are spirited away from Rifftides to another place on the internet that amplifies, explains or demonstrates the linked term. Happily for Rifftides, all you have to do is close out of the linked site to get back to home base.
Perhaps you’d like to try it. Click on this link. You will be rewarded.
(Pause)
Welcome back. That was Louis Armstrong and his Hot Five in 1927, playing “Hotter Than That.” It is a recording not discussed as often or as deeply as other Hot Fives; “West End Blues” or “Cornet Chop Suey,” as examples. The jazz scholar William R. Bauer is doing something about that. Professor Bauer is writing a book that will analyze Armstrong’s early work and pay particular attention to the astonishing cornet and vocal solos in “Hotter Than That.” The book, The Early Recordings of Louis Armstrong: The Codification of Jazz Performance Practice, will be published by Scarecrow Press in 2008.
That makes two important Armstrong books in the works. My artsjournal.com colleague Terry Teachout (see the item titled Coherence) is writing a full-scale Armstrong biography, also targeted for publication next year. If you had no reason to look forward to 2008, you now have two reasons.

From time to time, Rifftides Washington, DC correspondent John Birchard reports on musical events in the US Capital City.

NO STEREOTYPES, PLEASE
The Smithsonian Jazz Café hosted a 70th birthday celebration for guitarist Gene Bertoncini on Friday, April 20th. What words come to mind when you think of Bertoncini? Taste, quiet beauty, delicacy? All true. But it was a different Gene Bertoncini on display Friday night. The Café was packed and LOUD. The place attracts a blend of true jazz fans, tourists looking for a meal and a place to sit down after a week of schlepping through national landmarks and monuments, and folks looking for something different to do on a Friday night. The mix is not conducive to the nurturing of hothouse flowers.
One can’t be sure what he was thinking as he stepped before the chattering crowd, but what came out of Bertoncini’s guitars was surely designed to deal with the evening’s reality. We got a side of the man we hadn’t heard before. Tasteful, yes. Elegant, sure. But also strong and swinging. He turned up the amp and appeared to have fun.
Accompanied by two Washington area musicians – bassist Tommy Cecil and drummer Chuck Redd – Bertoncini scored with standards such as “I’ll Remember You”, “Gone With the Wind” and a nice medley, “Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most” and “It Might as Well be Spring”.
The Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby”, long a part of Bertoncini’s repertoire, closed the first set and showed the guitarist still willing to take risks and solve self-imposed challenges. He tried a solo version of Strayhorn’s “Lush Life”, but it drowned in a sea of babble and laughter. Not the time or the place for subtlety.
The closer for the second set was Miles Davis’s “Milestones”. Bertoncini played the hell out of it, piling chord upon chord, finding odd voicings to lead in fresh directions, conducting interplay with Cecil and Redd with head nods, eye contact and grins.
As I headed for home, I was thinking about this “different” side of a musician I had long ago pigeonholed. And, I thought, “Who’s limited here – him or me?” You don’t get to be 70 years old and perform as a professional jazz musician all these years by being a hothouse flower. You adapt, you overcome, you live to play another day.
So, hats off to the Birthday Boy – and to all who earn a living making art in difficult circumstances.

–John Birchard

The British musician Graham Collier is an astute observer and a good writer. (Rifftides recently reviewed one of his early recordings.) In the current entry on his web site, Collier comments favorably on artsjournal.com blogger Terry Teachout’s review in Commentary of Alyn Shipton’s massive A New History of Jazz. Unfortunately Teachout’s review is available on line only to Commentary subscribers. Part of it is quoted later in this posting. Collier questioned TT’s observation that “it is by no means clear that post-modern jazz is itself sufficiently coherent to be grasped as a unified phenomenon continuous with pre-1970 predecessors.”
Here’s what Graham Collier wrote in response to Teachout’s proposition:

To expect what has happened in jazz in the last 50 years to be as coherent as what happened before is to miss the wood for the trees. There was a change in jazz in the period between the mid 1950s and the mid 1960s which opened up the music in such a way that it will never be the same again, and this change made any “coherence” impossible. For me the pivotal point was Miles Davis’s 1959 album Kind of Blue, but other musicians, such as Ornette Coleman, Charles Mingus, Cecil Taylor and John Coltrane, were each trying to open up the music in their own way.
The result has been the possibility of musicians developing their own way, showing influences (such as that of Ellington, Mingus and Gil Evans in my music) but realising that there is now room for unique jazz voices to develop. To invert my previous analogy, there are now lots and lots of individual trees and no wood will ever emerge.

My guess is that close listeners familiar with the first decades of jazz hear incoherence in plenty of new music after, say, 1958, the year of Ornette Coleman’s Something Else. If we need a benchmark year, ’58 is as good as any for the apparent start of a shift away from strict observance of traditional harmony and, to an extent, from melody and rhythm. (In Coleman’s case, the shift was not nearly as radical as those who professed shock or outrage over it seemed to think it was.) You could make a case that the beginnings of a shift came in 1949, when Lennie Tristano recorded “Intuition” and “Digression.” Although those free pieces did not start a movement, they forecast it. Pick a year. How about 1946? Shorty Rogers told me that to kill time between shows at the Paramount Theater in New York, members of Woody Herman’s First Herd stood in a circle in the basement playing what fifteen years later came to be called free jazz. But who knew? Rogers said, “We’d never have dreamed of doing that in public.” If we’re dealing in forestry metaphors, the Herman Herd example is a case of a tree that fell, or grew, with no one hearing it.
Abandonment of approved guidelines governing coherence has been a fact of musical life throughout history. Otherwise, we’d be listening to clubs on hollow logs. Beethoven would have done things as Mozart did, Stravinsky as Brahms did.
I wonder if Graham Collier missed a larger point that Terry Teachout was making or suggesting in his Commentary piece, which is that when one is in the midst of any area of human activity, it is impossible to put it in historical perspective. It may be helpful to read Teachout’s line about coherence in its fuller context at the end of his long review. Here are the final few paragraphs.

In recent years, many jazz musicians have looked for the answers to such questions in a famous remark made by the pianist Bill Evans and quoted in A New History:
“Jazz is not a what, it is a how. If it were a what, it would be static, never growing. The how is that the music comes from the moment, it is spontaneous, it exists in the time it is created. And anyone who makes music according to this method conveys to me an element that makes his music jazz.”
Alyn Shipton clearly understands the implications of this remark, and the catholicity with which he describes pre-1970 jazz promises an equally clear understanding of later styles. “In what follows,” he writes in his introduction, “I have attempted to examine what was being described as jazz throughout its history, and I have taken a very broad view of how jazz should now be defined.” But, despite this broad perspective, he does not succeed in integrating postmodern jazz into his narrative.
His failure to do so reinforces my own belief that it is not yet possible to write a coherent historical survey that includes post-1970 stylistic developments. Not only are we too close in time to the jazz of the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s to write about it with detachment, but it is by no means clear that postmodern jazz is itself sufficiently coherent to be grasped as a unified phenomenon continuous with pre-1970 predecessors.
Still, even if the many kinds of music that we continue to call “jazz” no longer have enough in common to be discussed collectively, most listeners and critics, myself included, stubbornly persist in viewing them as parts of a whole, unified (in Bill Evans’s words) not by their “whatness” but by their “howness.” Perhaps some jazz scholar as yet unborn will be able to explain to our children why we were right to do so.

In any case, whether or not his political characterizations of market forces and of what “passes as jazz today” are accurate, Collier lays out an unavoidable truth facing all creative artists who depart from accepted norms.

The only problem for these individuals – who exist in every part of the world – is getting heard. And finding an audience among the increasingly market-led neo-conservative, re-creative and tribute-led music which passes as jazz today.

Just in case you have lost track of the famous white plastic Grafton alto saxophone that Charlie Parker played for a time, here’s a reminder. The horn, actually cream-colored and made of acrylic, was among items sold at Christie’s in London when the Chan Parker Collection was auctioned in 1994. Chan, never legally Parker’s wife, was the mother of two of his children and inherited most of his possessions when he died in March, 1955.
As part of the pre-bidding activity, alto saxophonist Peter King played the horn, with the auction tag dangling from it. Rifftides reader Don Emanuel sent this link to a video of King demonstrating the alto with his regular rhythm section of the time, pianist Steve Melling, bassist Alec Dankworth and drummer Steve Keogh. The eight-minute clip has more than curiosity value. King can play.
The city of Kansas City, the birthplace of Charlie Parker, won the bidding at $144,500. The saxophone is in the collection of the American Jazz Museum in KC.

It was the kind of success that resists analysis, but it undoubtedly involved the contrast presented by (Dave) Brubeck and (Paul) Desmond, the pianist openly touching on the pensive, the boisterous, and the bombastic, the saxophonist a self-effacing master of a coolly detached, liquid lyricism.

–Stuart Broomer, pianist and critic, Amazon.com review

The word bombastic keeps coming up, as if it were some trap I keep falling into. Damn it, when I’m bombastic, I have my reasons. I want to be bombastic. Take it or leave it.

–Dave Brubeck, quoted in Jazz Matters: Reflections on the Music and Some of its Makers.

Regarding the poll described in this item, a singer who requests anonymity for reasons of “career protection and seemliness” writes:

Your Jamie Cullum piece is spot-on, but it is worth noting that, unlike those many jazz singers who self-produce, Cullum is on a prominent European label (and a label with the savvy to rig polling). There are plenty of singers out there on labels who are just plain awful. I’m sure the need to attract the interest of label execs does help to filter out many of the awful singers who put out their own discs. But it certainly doesn’t ensure that there will be any baseline of quality.

The Brits, by the way, seem to have a particular taste for bad pseudo-jazz singing. Robbie Williams, anyone?

In any case, you’re absolutely right that we’re in for a fascinating stretch watching how the jazz world changes as it becomes ever easier for product to flood the rather miniscule market for the music. I too wonder what sort of new gatekeeping processes might develop, because they will have to. Otherwise the noise of all those recordings will drown out the ability to listen for anything good.

Carol Sloane has joined the ranks of bloggers, telling stories accumulated during her career as one of the best singers on earth. Her first entry has an introduction and a gripping story about the time she went to prison. I look forward to regularly reading SloaneView.I have added it to the links in Other Places in the right-hand column.

A new jazz radio station in England, theJazz, recently conducted a poll of its listeners to determine–as they put it–the “best ever jazz record.” This was the result, as reported on the BBC web site.

TOP TEN

1. Miles Davis – So What

2. Dave Brubeck – Take Five

3. Louis Armstrong – West End Blues

4. John Coltrane – A Love Supreme

5. Miles Davis – All Blues

6. John Coltrane – My Favourite Things

7. Weather Report – Birdland

8. Jamie Cullum – Twentysomething

9. Duke Ellington – Take The ‘A’ Train

10. Miles Davis – Blue In Green

If you go to the web site of theJazz and examine its list of the top 500 records, you will discover that recordings by Jamie Cullum, a young British singer and pianist, placed 29, 32, 33, 46, 53 and 54. Do listeners to theJazz hear something that puts him in a league with Davis, Brubeck, Coltrane and Ellington? Or is there just the slightest chance–shocking to suggest it, I know–that there was a bit of ballot stuffing by Jamie Cullum interests?
This sort of thing accentuates the absudity of surveys and polls that rank the popularity of art. It may encourage some of us to reevalute the wisdom of taking part in, for instance, critics polls.

The traditional record industry is imploding. It is impossible to say what will emerge from the turbulence. Some analysts of the music business are predicting that the compact disc will quickly go the way of the LP, the cassette, the eight-track tape, the 45, the 78 and the cylinder. They say it’s going to be an iPod world, an MP3 world. How long will technology allow those new means of music delivery to survive? Are you ready for a digital implant in your brain?

In the meantime, CDs proliferate because they’re so easy, so cheap, to make. The expense and sheer complexity of gettting music from an instrument or a voice into a microphone and ultimately onto a record used to require the resources of a company. Digital technology, the internet and distribution by downloading make it possible for anyone who can raise a few thousand dollars to be a record label. One of the immediate by-products of the transition is that recording “artists” (ahem) are materializing at an incredible rate. Who knew that there were so many jazz singers? The maturing and development of singers once took place through the demanding process of experience, during which those with the goods survived and the wannabees, for the most part, didn’t. Now the wannabees bypass experience and put out CDs on their own labels. Some of those recordings are awful, most merely boring. That is why it was welcome to receive the recent release—in one fell swoop—of nine CDs by survivors of a more rigorous system. These albums from EMI were issued in the 1950s and 1960s on the Capitol, Pacific Jazz and Roulette labels. Some of the singers were more accomplished than others, but all are at or near their best in this series, and it may be instructive for some of the wannabees to study them. One clue to what they might listen for: in nearly every case, the performances are more about the song than the singer.

Sarah Vaughan, Sarah + 2 (Roulette). Vaughan recorded two indispensable albums with only bass and guitar, this one and the earlier After Hours, also for Roulette. Here, the bassist is Joe Comfort, the guitarist Barney Kessel, who may have been her ideal accompanist. In this minimal setting, Sarah powered down and avoided the excesses that sometimes marred her work when she was surrounded by massed strings, reeds and brass. Everything that made her a phenomenon of twentieth century art is in balance–musicianship, elegance, judgment, intonation, control, vocal quality and that astonishing range. If you need to know why an opera star like Renee Fleming worships Vaughan, consult this CD.

June Christy, The Intimate Miss Christy (Capitol). Christy’s strength was her story telling. Her famously unstable intonation occasionally wanders here, but it is perfect as she gets to the hearts of “The More I See You” and “Don’t Explain.” Her “Misty” is the best I’ve ever heard (yes, I know about Sarah Vaughan’s). Christy should have recorded with small groups more often. Her compatability with guitarist Al Viola is a large reason for the success of this venture.

Sue Raney, All By Myself (Capitol). There’s a hint of Christy in some of this early work by the sublime Raney, but her flawless intonation, time and phrasing are her own. The zest she brings to “Some of These Days” and the longing to “Maybe You’ll Be There,” define those songs. This was her second album for Capitol, made when she was twenty-three. It disappeared for decades. It’s good to have it back.

Chris Connor, At The Village Gate (Roulette). Because she succeeded Christy in Stan Kenton’s band, was also blonde and had a husky quality to her voice, Connor was at first presumed to be a Christy imitator. She never was. In this club date long after her Kenton years, Connor was a powerhouse, nailing every song, creating excitement that rarely surfaced in her better known albums. This is a revelation.

Joe Williams, A Man Ain’t Supposed to Cry (Roulette). This was the first of Williams’s great ballad albums, the one that disclosed him as more than a magnificent blues singer. In a class with Billy Eckstine and Frank Sinatra as a balladeer, Williams finds the soul and meaning of a dozen songs. He and the incomparable arranger Jimmy Mundy include the seldom-heard verses of several of the pieces. Still with Count Basie when this was recorded, Williams was at the apex of his ability.

Irene Kral, The Band and I (Capitol). Nearly thirty years after her death, a substantial cadre of afficianados maintains that Kral was the best female jazz singer of them all. This is the record that made her a darling of musicians and sophisticated listeners. Never interested in scatting, Kral used taste, rhythmic assurance and intelligent interpretation to establish jazz authority. The band was Herb Pomeroy’s. This album was the only time they and Kral worked together. They created a classic.

Jon Hendricks, A Good Git-Together (Pacific Jazz). Hendricks does scat. He knows what chords are made of and takes musicianly advantage of that knowledge. Of the albums he recorded apart from Lambert, Hendricks and Ross during that group’s primacy, this is the most joyous. No doubt his elation had something to do with the company he kept in the studio. His sidemen included Wes, Buddy and Monk Montgomery; Nat and Cannonball Adderley and Pony Poindexter.

Dakota Staton, Dynamic! (Capitol). Staton could be dynamic, all right, earning that exclamation point in the title. She could also go into a cloying sex kitten mode, saccharine to the point of embarrassment. When she concentrated on serving the song, she was often splendid, as she is here on “They All Laughed,” “Cherokee” and “I’ll Remember April.” Among the supporting cast, Harry Edison’s trumpet is obvious, but who are the terrific bassist and the lightning-fast trombonist? The reissue producers might have consulted the original session sheets and listed the musicians for all the CDs in this series.

Julie London, Around Midnight (Capitol). London’s treatments of “Misty,” “‘Round Midnight” and “Don’t Smoke in Bed” are among her best performances. Now and then she glides in and out of tune on a held note, but on balance this may be her finest album. London’s strengths were a bewitching intimacy and her believable connection to lyrics. This is a ballad collection relieved by “You and the Night and the Music” and “But Not For Me” well arranged by Dick Reynolds at medium tempos. London does an effective cover of Christy’s “Something Cool,” despite the distraction of a vocal group behind her chanting “something cool, something cool, something cool.”

Responding to the Rifftides review of the Cannonball Adderley CD in the current batch of Doug’s Picks, its producer writes:

A somewhat important point needs to be made about the current ownership of a significant, if relatively small, segment of the records produced by Orrin Keepnews. I’m in a pretty good position to know about his work, since that’s who I am. From 1953 to until the end of ’63, Bill Grauer and I were Riverside Records. I produced records; Grauer handled business matters. Then he died, following a heart attack. After having helped in the rise of such artists as Monk, Adderley, Montgomery, Bill Evans, Milt Jackson, Johnny Griffin, Jimmy Heath, Wynton Kelly and a few dozen others, Riverside (and assorted subsidiaries, mostly Jazzland) disappeared beneath the waves of a substantial bankruptcy.
A few years later, I started again, as Milestone Records, developed with considerable assistance from pianist-and-sometime-producer Dick Katz. From 1972 until 1980, Milestone and Riverside and I were all part of Fantasy, where I worked with such remarkable artists as Sonny Rollins, McCoy Tyner, Joe Henderson, Bobby Timmons, et al. Having departed from Fantasy in 1980, Ieaving past labels behind, I eventually could point with pride to Landmark Records, which included Bobby Hutcherson, Mulgrew Miller, the Kronos Quartet, Wesla Whitfield. Somewhat confusingly, Landmark was only distributed, not owned, by Fantasy; therefore, it passed through other hands and — unlike just about everything else that once was mine, did not eventually end up owned by the Concord Group.
Currently, much of my energy is being devoted to a project under the auspices of Concord. Known as the “Keepnews Collection,” it involves remastering, additional performances, and thoroughly expanded annotation of some of the original productions described above. Of course you understand all this, but I much appreciate your lending me some space in which to attempt to explain these creative but confusing matters to your jazz-loving audience.
Best regards,
Orrin

Rifftides reader Eric R. Quick writes from Gaithersburg, Maryland about one of the CDs reviewed in this recent posting and about the valuable collection of which it is a part:

With regard to Red’s Good Groove – you say get it while you can (I already have the CD)
Will the OJC catalog (or much of it) be deleted by its current owners? What is the word?
Should I be purchasing all those discs I have never gotten around to buying?

I passed along Mr. Quick’s question to Nick Phillips of Concord Records, since Concord’s purchase of Fantasy Inc. the owner of the OJC (Original Jazz Classics) archive. I asked him about the closing of the company’s Berkeley, California, warehouse where much of the OJC stock was stored. Here is his reply:

While it is true that the Berkley warehouse is closed, that doesn’t mean we’re embarking on any kind of wholesale deletion campaign. That warehouse facility is closed because we’ve consolidated our warehousing operations to one facility, in Cleveland (where our Telarc operations are based).
We are not planning to “delete the OJC catalog.”
That said, as the consumer trends in acquiring music continues to shift toward downloads (much in the same way that there was a shift from LP to CD) there may be, however, instances of titles that simply are not selling any more on CD that we will not reprint in that format; but they will continue to be available via digital download (via i-tunes, emusic.com, etc.).
Finally, there are also many examples of titles where we’ve taken the OJC CD version of a classic album off of the market, when we reissue a new version of the same title (such as our RVG Remasters series, and our new Keepnews Collection series).

After reading the Rifftides remembrance of Tony Scott, Jair-Rohm Parker Wells sent a message from Stockholm. Mr. Wells discusses a facet of Scott’s musical life about which few people may have known.

I’m a bass player. I played with Tony in Germany in the mid-seventies and then in the US in the early 80s. There are two reasons i feel compelled to leave a comment here. The first is, Tony’s graduation didn’t cause me to remember him again. I never forgot him. During the last couple of years, i was trying to get together with him to do some new music. After tracing him through the Internet i set about nagging him to do a project with me. The other reason for my taking up bandwidth here is to mention something i never see in any of the biographical info on Tony. Tony played clarinet in a New Jersey based “Avant-Rock” band that i was in called “DP and the Grays”. We toured in the north-eastern US with this band during the early 1980s.
Tony was something of a mentor to the band’s leader and guitarist, Dani Petroni. The story was they met when Dani was playing in the streets in Rome. When Dani got back to the states and got his band together and a record deal, he called Tony and asked him to be in the band. Imagine what a surprise it was to me when i showed up to a gig and he was there. The band only released one LP which was recorded before Tony entered the band (Frank Lowe is on reeds on the album). We played all of the significant regional clubs of the time, CBGBs, The Stone Pony, Maxwell’s, etc. Tony Scott was an electrifying musician who elevated any and every musical situation he found himself in. It’s a shame that his playing with DP and the Grays wasn’t properly documented. I’m sure that somewhere out there are concert bootlegs of Tony Scott ripping it up. He is still the only musician i have ever heard who made a clarinet sound more ferocious than an over-driven guitar. It was a dimension of the multi-faceted Tony Scott that i feel privileged to have experienced first-hand.
Jair-Rohm Parker Wells