Anthony Smith, Masters of The Vibes (Marimba Productions, Inc.)
Smith’s book includes a timeline that traces the history of the vibraphone, which early in its life began to be popularly known to its players and to listeners simply as vibes or the vibes. The greater part of the book consists of Smith’s transcribed conversations with 34 vibes players—famous ones like Terry Gibbs, Gary Burton, Charlie Shoemake and Warren Wolf, and newcomers including Yuhan Su, Joel Ross and Jake Chapman.
As for that timeline, in 1918 the Leedy company patented an instrument called the vibraphone. They began manufacturing it in the early 1920s. Lou Chiha, a vaudeville performer known as “Signor Frisco,†used it in his novelty act. His popular recordings of pieces like “Aloha Oe†and “Gypsy Love Song†brought the unusual metal keyboard instrument to prominence. If you have forgotten or never knew the joys of surface noise on early 78-rpm recordings, the YouTube contributor who calls him-, her- or itself “acousticedison†gives you plenty of it as you hear Chiha play “Gypsy Love Song.â€
By the end of the twenties, J.C. Deagan, Inc., was selling an instrument similar to the vibraphone and calling it the vibraharp. In 1948 the Musser Marimba Company introduced a vibraphone of its own. “Vibraphone†ultimately won the nomenclature contest and is still generally used to identify an instrument that has had an important role in the development of jazz. By the early thirties New Orleans drummer Paul Barbarin had recorded on vibraphone with Luis Russell, Red Allen and Louis Armstrong. In Armstrong’s “Rockin’ Chair,“ you will hear Barbarin for a second or so at 2:06 and at the end playing one chord. As you will see, the video collage a YouTube contributor added is not from 1929.
In the thirties, propelled by the acceptance of Lionel Hampton with Benny Goodman and of Red Norvo as a bandleader, the instrument began to break out of its confines as a novelty and be fully accepted as a solo instrument. When bebop was in full flower, vibist Norvo put together for Dial Records a septet that combined the swing era icon Teddy Wilson on piano with the undisputed leaders of the bop revolution, Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. Flip Phillips was on tenor sax and Slam Stewart on bass. J.C. Heard was the drummer. They got happy. By 1945, surface noise on 78s was not as overwhelming as in Lou Chiha’s day.
Milt Jackson, the superlative vibraphonist of the bebop period, was Gillespie’s discovery. In 1945 Gillespie made Jackson a member of his sextet, then of the Gillespie big band. Gillespie sometimes called on the rhythm section to perform as a unit as a means of resting the trumpet section from its powerhouse high-note duties. That was the beginning of the Milt Jackson Quartet, which eventually changed its name to The Modern Jazz Quartet. In its early period Jackson was the MJQ’s principal soloist, although he and pianist John Lewis increasingly came to share solo time more or less equally. Here is the MJQ when Savoy Records was still billing it simply as The Quartet. In addition to Jackson and Lewis, we hear bassist Percy Heath and drummer Kenny Clarke.
Here is the fully evolved MJQ at a 1982 jazz festival in London. Jackson announces his composition.
The conversations transcribed in Anthony Smith’s book do not include one with Jackson, who died in 1999, but he is present throughout the book in references and accolades of his successors. Here’s Shoemake on Jackson:
Yeah, talk about someone who was really adamant about what was right and wrong. He swore up and down that bebop was it. Anything that was away from that was not happening for him…He used huge, gigantic mallets with these big, round balls…and he hit the hell out of the bars. I mean really hard, but it sounded great because the mallets were so soft.
Gary Burton on Jackson:
I’ve always thought that perhaps Milt made the single most important contribution to the vibraphone. Up until that time, the vibes were played with hard mallets, and kind of in a clanky way. Percussively, not much use of the damper, or the damper possibilities. Not much phrasing or dynamics. It was just pound away on the thing. I’ve always assumed that because Milt was a guitar player and a singer, he wanted a more expressive, mellow thing to happen. So he slowed down the vibrato, which the other guys hadn’t thought of doing, and he played with soft mallets and got this reall mellow, bell-like, sound. It was like, ‘Wow, who knew the vibraphone could sound like that?’
Joe Locke on Jackson:
I did a tribute to Milt Jackson with Bags’ rhythm section—Mike LeDonne, Bob Cranshaw and Mickey Roker. Frankly, I have so much admiration for Milt, that I felt I was really stepping out on a limb to do that project…I remember playing the Detroit Jazz Festival with that band, and sitting in the front row was Milt’s whole family. They all had their arms crossed and were looking at me like, ‘What are YOU gonna do?’ Talk about the pressure being on. But I remember it was a great feeling to be embraced by Milt’s family, after the concert.
Monte Croft:
Milt Jackson and Bobby Hutcherson. Probably my main influences, even to this day. Those were the only two guys I listened to on vibes. Their approaches resonated with me.
Smith follows his introduction to the book with a tribute to Hutcherson, of whom he writes:
Rather than discuss him with fellow vibraphonists, a more fitting comparison can be made with the great icon of the saxophone, John Coltrane. Like ‘Trane, Bobby pushed well beyond the accepted technical boundaries of the era and singlehandedly redefined the possibilities of his instrument.
Here is Hutcherson at the Mount Fuji Jazz Festival in Japan in 1989 with Herbie Hancock, piano; Ron Carter, bass; and Tony Williams, drums. He plays his composition “Little B’s Poem.â€
Hutcherson died in the summer of 2016.
I have never been a fan of transcribed interviews, viewing them as substitutes for writing. But there are exceptions to just about everything, and in the case of Masters of The Vibes, Anthony Smith makes the genre enjoyable and—most important—informative.
As for Janklow’s style, searching out influences seems beside the point in light of the freshness of his improvising. Nonetheless, there are suggestions of Paul Desmond (including altissimo high notes), Lee Konitz, Cannonball Adderley, John Coltrane and, in places, Miguel Zenón. His originality extends to repertoire. Janklow wrote all but two of the ten pieces. One of the outsider songs is Radiohead’s massive 1990s hit “Creep,†introduced quietly by Janklow and bassist Ben Williams before it expands into intensity approaching that of Radiohead’s own version, then subsides with close attention to the piece’s inner possibilities, thanks in no small part to the harmonic ministrations of bassist Ben Williams’ and pianist Beasley. “Lolobai†pairs Janklow’s flute with Jesse Palter’s clear soprano voice singing wordlessly. If it is indeed a lullaby, it has a degree of subtle tension that may not guarantee undisturbed sleep. Ms. Palter also sings Janklow’s love song “Hidden Treasure.“ I must confess that I required several hearings to catch all of the words. The instrumental “Calor Del Momento†has Janklow’s flute in a straightforward groove, and other solos en el spiritu Latino by Reed and vibraharpist Nick Mancini.
Ms. Lordi is a Philadelphian who for the most part remains in her native city and works with a cross-section of excellent musicians. She has superb taste in songs from times when stage, screen and radio encouraged quality popular music. In some respects her new album is refreshingly reminiscent of the LP era. It is made up of seven tracks and runs just short of a half hour. The brevity has the effect of calling special attention to the songs and to her clarity, centered intonation and intelligent lyric interpretation. The fine arrangements are by the veteran tenor saxophonist Larry McKenna. McKenna’s and trumpeter Jay Webb’s unison introduction to the title tune set the mood. It carries through to the firm, gentle swing of the concluding “This Time The Dream’s On Me.†This is a satisfying collection.
The poet Richard Wilbur died over the weekend. He was 96. A former poet laureate of The United States and the winner of two Pulitzer Prizes, Wilbur was praised and criticized for the consistency of form in his poems, which were beloved, and sometimes condemned, in the poetry world for being orderly and following classic styles; sonnet, terza rima, couplet, et al, but—to my knowledge—never free verse or blank verse.
Of course, you are not superstitious about Friday the 13th; it’s all of those silly other people. Thelonious Monk must not have been worried by it, or he wouldn’t have named a composition after this notoriously risky day. Its performance was one of the highlights of his celebrated recording made at New York’s Town Hall in February of 1959.
Grady Tate died on Sunday at his home in New York City. He was 85. His wife Vivian said that he had dementia. In demand for years as a drummer, he was encouraged by Peggy Lee to begin singing publicly and launched a new career as a vocalist. Tate’s professional debut was with the organist Wild Bill Davis in 1959. In the decades that followed, he worked with major jazz artists including Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Oliver Nelson, Ella Fitzgerald, Blossom Dearie, Lena Horne, Wes Montgomery, Stan Getz, J.J. Johnson, Zoot Sims and dozens of others. When he was in Ms. Lee’s rhythm section for a 1968 New York club engagement, she invited him to sing. Soon, he was loved as a singer by listeners around the world who may have known nothing of his prominence as a drummer.
Rifftides readers may recall that three years ago I was asked to spend a few days in Los Angeles interviewing Bill Holman for a documentary about his life and music. The dean of living jazz arrangers is 90 years old, still at the helm of his big band and the idol of arrangers around the world who continue to benefit from his example. The film, produced by his step-daughter Kathryn King—a seasoned information and video pro—is unfinished because its budget is underfunded. Ms. King has reinvigorated her financing campaign.
This is the 100th anniversary of the birth of Thelonious Monk. I’ve never given it much thought, but if you’re astrologically inclined it makes sense that he was a Libra. From the beginning, some fellow musicians and close listeners recognized Monk’s unique abilities and piquant musicality. Those less receptive, or unwilling to hear out of the mainstream jazz boxes of the late 1930s and early forties, were amused or puzzled by Monk’s way with the piano. It took years for many to embrace the peculiarities that his genius and personality transmuted into one of music’s most endearing personal styles. There are—thank goodness—hundreds of recorded examples of his unclassifiable artistry, and dozens of videos.
Bassist Patitucci’s love affair with the music of Brazil is beautifully expressed in this collaboration with percussionist Rogério Boccato and guitarist Yotam Silberstein. A veteran of the Los Angeles jazz milieu, Patitucci caught the Brazil virus when he studied with percussionist Airto Moreira and began absorbing music by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Egberto Gismonti, Chico Buarque and others who in the 1960s helped launch the new wave of Brazilian music. His Mistura Fina,, recorded in Brazil, made a splash in both countries. Living again in his native New York, Patitucci bonded with Boccato and Silberstein for this collection. Highlights include Milton Nascimento’s sinuous “Catavento†and Patitucci’s gorgeous bowing on Jobim’s “Olha Maria.†The album is available only as a stunningly recorded vinyl LP pressing sold in a set of what Newvelle calls its second season of high-end vinyl discs. The company does not make CDs.
 long past. As I have observed—with only enough exaggeration to make the point—now, every 18-year-old tenor player can be a record company. He or she can take advantage of technology and economies of scale that make it possible to record, package and market an album at a tiny fraction of what it cost in the days when the major labels ruled the record business.
With three distinguished albums and a Grammy award (for 
Alto saxophonist and composer Logan Strosahl and his longtime associate pianist Nick Sanders continue their rewarding adventures. This time they have expanded well beyond the duo format that brought them attention as YouTube regulars, and beyond the sextet of their previous Sunnyside album, 
From Hollywood comes an announcement by The Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts that on October 15 the Harlem Quartet will perform at the center. The ensemble from upper Manhattan specializes not only in the usual suspects among classical composers for string quartet—Schubert, Grieg, Debussy, Barber, et al—but they also regularly perform pieces by Leonard Bernstein, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Chick Corea, Billy Strayhorn and Dizzy Gillespie. The best classical musicians have long had the technical ability required for jazz, but it often seemed that asking them to learn to improvise, much less to swing, was akin to suggesting that they practice blasphemy.
It just came to my attention that Steve Swallow’s birth date today follows my own by just one day—and a few years. The man who decades ago made an honest jazz instrument of the electric bass is now 77. In this video from a time when he and I were even younger, he plays his “Ladies in Mercedes†with harpist Emily Mitchell, tenor saxophonist Larry Schnyder, trumpeter Lew Soloff, and drummer Danny Gottlieb. Youtube renders anonymous the string players in the orchestra. I hope that Mr. Swallow had as good a time on his birthday today as he obviously did in this 1989 performance.
It is unlikely that computer virtuosos Ryan and Trenton at Efcom, the Mac Store, used wrenches and screwdrivers to revive the Rifftides headquarters computer. Still, whatever tools and methods they employed, their magic brought the machine back to life much sooner than the estimate of several days. They made it possible for us to blog again. The gratitude of the Rifftides staff could not be adequately  expressed using mere words, so we looked for a way to do it with music. The staff found the bass clarinet virtuoso Oran Etkin waiting patiently at YouTube with his friends, ready to lend a hand. Here he is with Lionel Loueke, mouth sounds and guitar; Curtis Fowlkes, trombone; Nasheet Waits, drums; and Ben Allison, bass, in Etkin’s composition titled—happily for us—”Gratitude.”
broadcast spectrum. Listeners accustomed to English spoken properly may be nonplussed, even irritated, when interviewees begin their answers with “So——.” It happens in approximately 65 percent of responses (that’s a staff estimate; the percentage may be higher). Whether the person being interviewed is a sixth-grade dropout in a homeless shelter, a United States senator or a reporter whose job description assumes familiarity with the language, spoken English is being “So-ed” to a faretheewell. One popular explanation, or excuse, is that the responder to a question is buying a second to think of an answer. For President Ronald Reagan, “Well—” was the crutch. Others prefer “Uh—”. The sixth-grade dropout may be excused. Professionals who make a living with the language should not be.
Pianist Charlap’s trio dazzles the listener from beginning to end of this album. He, bassist Peter Washington and drummer Kenny Washington do not bowl us over with flurries of technique, speed and high volume. They do it with musicianship, subtlety and the cohesiveness that has intensified during their two decades as one of the most compelling of all jazz piano trios. A few of the large and small delights:
The Resonance Records label’s stream of previously unreleased music includes a collaboration of guitarist Wes Montgomery (1925-1968) and pianist Wynton Kelly (1931-1971) that is a major addition to the discographies of both musicians. The recording captures them in the spring of 1966 at The Penthouse, a Seattle jazz club that managed to flourish in an era when the Beatles invasion and the steady inroads of rock and roll were pushing jazz steadily further down the list of the public’s listening choices. The resourceful management and booking practices of Penthouse owner Charlie Puzzo kept his club alive when others throughout The United States were going under.
The 3 Trumpet Band recorded their third album before an audience at The 1905, an upscale pizza emporium on the east side of Portland, Oregon. Some reviewers have called the place the successor to the belated