Over the last century, thousands of jazz recordings have assumed their rightful place as classics of the American musical canon. But just as many extraordinary sessions have fallen by the wayside. Gems of Jazz is dedicated to bringing some of those forgotten recordings to light, offering digital versions taken from the shellac and vinyl originals.
Lowe-away zone: The saxophonist, right, and drummer Rashied Ali in repose on the streets of New York in 1973. From The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Jazz
Memphis-born Frank Lowe was supposedly influenced by the music of his hometown as recorded by Stax, but I never heard it in his playing. He was a Coltrane man, as far as I could tell. Of course, he never achieved 'Trane's prodigious mastery of the form nor could he hold a candle to the elder player's distinctive sound. But Frank Lowe was a journeyman musician, a competent soloist and an excellent sideman in variety of new music settings.
I got to see him in action often during the '80s when I was living in New York and Frank was a frequent member of Butch Morris's conduction ensembles. What set Lowe apart from many other players of his generation was the fact that he, like Morris, was quite comfortable playing in groups with members from the downtown scene – John Zorn's crew. The "downtown" players were mostly all white, and the "creative music" practitioners were mostly all black. Though the two groups had much in common musically, they rarely if ever performed together. Frank and Butch were the crossover exceptions.
Frank Lowe released a number of excellent records in the course of his short career, and this is one of the rarer ones. It features a stellar band assembled from the two groups mentioned above, and offers a chance to compare and contrast styles. John Zorn is present on alto (this was before his duck call period) and Polly Bradfield joins the late Billy Bang on fiddle. And how 'bout that rhythm section? Eugene Chadbourne, John Lindberg and Philip Wilson – yowzah!
The tunes are loosely arranged, free-blowing free jazz vehicles with lots of soloing by the leader and the extraordinary Butch Morris. Zorn gets some space too, and he gives Frank a run for his money. Frank's liner notes explain the pieces in detail.
When I used to see Frank Lowe, it was apparent that he frequently wasn't at his best. Word went around that he was afflicted by the jazzman's habit, though that was never confirmed. When I read in 2003 that he'd passed away from lung cancer, I realized that when I used to see him he may have been suffering from a sickness of a different sort. Small consolation in that, I guess.
Here, however, is Frank Lowe at the top of his game. As always, these files were ripped from the actual vinyl with – in this case – no cleaning of the sound whatsoever.
Lowe & Behold
The Frank Lowe Orchestra
Musicworks 3002
Frank Lowe, ts, arr; Joseph Bowie, tbn; John Zorn, as; Peter Kuhn, cl, b cl; Butch Morris, cnt; Arthur Williams, tp; Billy Bang, Polly Bradfield, vi; Eugene Chadbourne, g; John Lindberg, b; Philip Wilson, d, perc. New York, NY; October 1977
1. Heart in Hand (or How Vain Am I) 2. A Hipster’s Dream 3. Lowe-commotion 4. Heavy Drama
Is this what a modern jazz innovator looks like? Naw. This guy must be your Sunday School teacher. A very presentable Gerald Joseph Mulligan at age 36. Photo by Bachrach
Here's Gerry Mulligan's first session as a leader, recorded five months after the last "Birth of the Cool" date with Miles. It's been reissued several times, but here it is in a dub from the original LP. Posting it on Gems affords me another opportunity to share a collector story.
Each LP bore this stamp.
A decade or so ago, I got a call from a guy named Matt who does deliveries for the newspaper I work for. He knew me through my radio station gig, and knew that I was a jazz fiend. He said he had some boxes in his garage I might be interested in. When I got there, he took me out back and showed me what he was talking about – a huge cache of records. The "some boxes" was actually about 50 good-sized cartons of LPs from the '50, '60s and '70s, all lovely mainstream jazz in very clean shape, and all imprinted with the previous owner's curious rubber stamp. A record collector's bonanza! Where did these records come from, I asked him?
Matt told me that back in the '80s he'd met an older woman through a book club they both belonged to. She had recently moved to the area from New York City, and seemed kind of lonely. They became friends, and he found they shared many interests. She told him she had no family but was otherwise reticent to talk about her past. Matt found that mysterious and a bit odd, but he liked her and they stayed in touch even though the book club eventually disbanded. He told me that in recent years had taken to looking in on her every so often to make sure she was OK.
Then one day Matt got a call from someone who said he was a relative of the woman. The caller said that the woman had died and they were clearing out her house. On her deathbed, she had asked that her possessions be given to her book-club friend, and the family was getting in touch with Matt to see if he had any interest.
After getting over his surprise, Matt went to the woman's modest bungalow where he found the floor covered with boxes of LPs. It turned out the old woman was a stone jazz fan and had a substantial collection of jazz records and books. She had never said a word about it to Matt. More mystery.
Matt was loathe to let such a trove be carted to the dump, so here it was, taking up one bay of his two-car garage. Did I want any of the records? He said I could take my pick and pay him whatever I thought was fair. Deal, said I. I left with a dozen cartons about two hours later.
Allen Eager in 1948.
So why Mulligan for this posting? Well, the mysterious collector lady seemed to have a thing for Gerry. She had nearly 50 of his LPs, far more than she had of any other artist. Maybe it was his boyish good looks? I don't know, but he was her fave.
This is one of the recordings from her collection. It features Mulligan with tenor player Allen Eager, the guy who had shared front line duties with Fats Navarro in Tadd Dameron's band in 1948 and who later decided he wanted to be a race car driver and ski instructor. Here he's in superb form, trading solos with Geru on a series of original compositions. George Wallington, too, sounds great.
One other thing – the closing tune in this set takes up the whole second side of the LP. At 17-plus minutes, I have to think this is perhaps the first extended performance recorded by a single group in jazz. The long-playing record was new technology in 1951, and here Mulligan takes full advantage of its ability to capture lengthy performances. And "Mulligan's Too" is a precursor to "Tenor Madness" for its saxophonistic parry-and-thrust.
As always, these tunes were ripped from the original vinyl with only a minor cleaning of sound.
Historically Speaking
Gerry Mulligan
Prestige 7251
1-6: Gerry Mulligan, Max McElroy, bar; Allen Eager, ts; Jerry Hurwitz, Nick Travis, tp; Ollie Wilson, tbn; George Wallington, p; Phil Leshin, b; Walter Bolden, d; Gail Madden, maracas.
7: Gerry Mulligan, bar; Allen Eager, ts; George Wallington, p; Phil
Leshin, b; Walter Bolden, d; Gail Madden, maracas.
Do I have a complete set of Jazz at the Philharmonic issues? I have know idea. I do know that Norman Granz was the first to come up with the concept of the "jazz reissue." Photo by Gems
Even the most indifferent jazz fan has heard of Jazz at the Philharmonic. And I daresay nearly every jazz fan has at least one JATP disc in their collection. It's hard not to – there are so damn many of them.
The story behind these "jam sessions" is an interesting one. Impresario Norman Granz began organizing casual jams on off nights in Hollywood jazz clubs in the early '40s, featuring musicians who were at liberty and were happy to have a place to play. One stipulation that Granz set was that audiences for his shows be integrated, a demand that was honored by the owners because the jams were so successful. Granz soon began to have bigger ideas.
Philharmonic Auditorium
In 1944, a group of Mexican kids were charged with a murder that occurred during the notorious Zoot Suit Riots. Many felt the case was a set-up, and Norman saw an opportunity to expand his battle against prejudice and aid the teens' defense fund while trying out a jam session on an elevated scale. He managed to secure the city's vaunted Philharmonic Auditorium, home of the Los Angeles Philharmonic orchestra, for a single Sunday in July. That afternoon he put on the first of what was promoted as a "real jazz jam session" with an array of stars from his club shows.
The audience went wild, of course, dancing in the aisles and cheering the proceedings vociferously. The auditorium's management was horrified, and Granz was barred from ever producing another show there, but history had been made. The Philharmonic date would be the first of a seemingly endless string of staged jazz jams, all bearing the original venue's name regardless of location.
Granz recorded that first concert and nearly every one thereafter. He issued them all in a confusing series of "volumes," first in multiple-disc 78 rpm sets, then on LP and ultimately on CD. The releases were on the Disc label at first, and then on Mercury, then Clef, Norgran, Verve and ultimately, Pablo. With each label change, the previous JATP volumes were reissued on the new label. The dutiful collector could own "Tea for Two" from Volume 7 on Mercury, Clef and Verve should he or she care to. To add to the confusion, each title in the early days came out on multiple discs. So "Tea for Two" was broken into parts I-IV in the seventh volume of the series of JATP performances. If you weren't tidy with your records, sides could get misplaced pretty easily. That's why there are so many early JATP sets with missing or incorrect records in their sleeves.
Now, all these recordings were owned by Norman Granz – with one exception. That first concert was released by Moses Asch on his Disc imprint. Granz had gone to him trying to interest him in some Ella Logan recordings he'd produced, but Asch demurred. When asked what else he had, Granz pulled out an acetate from the Philharmonic show and Moses had ears for it. So JATP Vol. 1 actually was part of the Asch/Disc/Stinson catalog for many decades. I can only think that this fact must have really rankled Norman, the epitome of the hard-nosed, shrewd businessman.
JATP Vol. 1 itself was reissued numerous times over the years. First on Disc and then on Stinson, it eventually came out on LP in the early '60s. I was working in a record store in the early '70s when I got my copy. It was the first record I'd ever seen on colored vinyl, and even though it had a paltry 12-15 minutes per side, it was one hard-swinging album. Its featured artists did not include Charlie Parker or Lester Young, as Bird was still in New York and unknown at the time and Lester was with Basie and about to begin his disastrous stint in the Army. But Illinois Jacquet is there doing his best "Flying Home" honking, and Willie Smith turns in a stunning performance. Howard McGhee was in California with Coleman Hawkins at the time, and here lays the bop groundwork for Diz and Bird who would arrive the following year. And there's a guitarist whom most jazz fans won't recognize but who has chops to spare. His name is Ulysses Livingston, and he'd been with Fletcher Henderson, the Spirits of Rhythm, the Hawk and Benny Carter. He sounds quite a bit like Charlie Christian and has a very modern sense of harmony.
One other thing. Included in the Stinson JATP record was a brief essay by Leonard Feather on the genesis of that first concert. What is curious about that is the fact that it is a carbon copy of a typed sheet on onion-skin paper. Did Stinson have some sort of antediluvian typewriter that hammered out originals and half-a-dozen carbons in a single pass, whereupon some assembly-line grunt stuffed a copy into each album jacket? Or was this LP meant for some jazz critic with a special note from Leonard tucked into it? We'll never know, and I've never seen this article anywhere else. But here it is for you to check out.
Another one more thing. If you're a stone Prez fan, you know about "Jammin' the Blues." But if you've never seen the Gjon Mili film, you're in for a treat. Norman Granz did the A&R work for it, picking the musicians and selecting the tunes. His inspiration, of course, came from those Hollywood club sessions and the JATP concert. The ironic thing is, even with the editing and blocking involved in the film, the music probably comes closer to the sound of a true jam session than anything that ever happened on a JATP stage. Here's the film in high-def, courtesy of uiramoreno and YouTube. Lester is the epitome of cool, and watch closely when Big Sid hands the drums off to Papa Joe. As Luca, my Swiss alto-playing friend says, "Keeling!"
As always, these music files were ripped from the original vinyl with only a mild cleaning of pops and clicks.
Norman Granz Presents Jazz at the Philharmonic, Vol. 1
Stinson SLP 23
Howard McGhee, Joe Guy, tp; Willie Smith, as; Illinois Jacquet, Charlie Ventura, ts; Garland Finney, p; Ulysses Livingston, g; Red Callendar, b; Gene Krupa (Chicago Flash), d.
Philharmonic Auditorium, Los Angeles, CA; February 12, 1945
No, not the ghost of Jacob Marley. It's French jazz critic and author
Andre Hodeir, a bit more advanced in years than when he had his portrait
taken for the Savoy release below. From olivier.roller.free.fr
They say that those who have talent play jazz, and those who have no talent write about jazz. (I don't know if they really say that, or if it's even true, but it seems like a nice smart-alecky way to start off this posting.)
When I was first getting into this music back in the '70s, a jazz pal introduced me to the work of Andre Hodeir. He had written a wonderful book immodestly titled "Jazz: It's Evolution and Essence" and I plowed through its chapters on Bird and the Cool players, thoroughly enjoying (though not always understanding) his analyses. He had a very hip, improvisatory lilt to his prose (courtesy of his translator David Noakes, perhaps) and I thought he read like jazz sounded. Not like Leonard Feather or the guys who wrote for Downbeat. Hodeir swung.
Many years later I was digging through the miscellaneous bin in a great used record store that used to be on Congress St. in downtown Portland, Maine. I came across a mint Savoy recording, one of those '50s records with a heavy boards and a color photo laminated in glossy plastic on the cover. This one featured some all-stars from the Savoy roster playing the music of – whad'ya know? – Andre Hodeir. I had no idea the guy wrote music, and here was a full LP of his compositions. Theory meets praxis.
The record seemed worth the three bucks they were asking, so I bought it and took it home for a listen. Since Hodeir's prose was so hip, I thought it was a cinch the guy's tunes would be tres cool. Wrong.
What we have here are nine very dense, occasionally unmanageable pieces that are consistent largely in the fact that not one of them swings. There are good solos, and some fine moments, but overall Hodeir's music falls flat. If you read his notes on the back cover, you see that he was at pains to meld concept with composition. But he seems to have left out the most salient element of all – the swing. To paraphrase Duke, these numbers don't mean a thing. On that level anyway.
So why offer this LP here? Well, for one reason, you'll never see it on i-Tunes, or anywhere else for that matter. And for another, any record with Hal McKusick and Annie Ross is of interest. But mostly I'm curious to hear what you think of Hodeir's tunes. Don't get me wrong – the music is well played and the compositions are thoughtful (perhaps overly thoughtful). I just think that if you know Hodeir's texts, you might want to check out his tunes.
As always, these files were ripped from the original vinyl with only a very minor cleaning of the sound.
American Jazzmen Play Andre Hodeir's "Essais" Savoy 12104 Idrees Sulieman, Donald Byrd, tp; Frank Rehak, tbn; Hal McKusick, as, b cl; Bobby Jaspar, ts, fl; Jay Cameron, bar; Eddie Costa, vbs; George Duvivier, b; Bobby Donaldson, d; Annie Ross, v. New York, NY; March 5, April 4*, 1957
1. On a Standard 2. On a Riff 3. Criss Cross 4. Paraphrase 5. On a Blues 6. The Alphabet* 7. Esquisse I 8. Paradoxe II* 9. Esquisse II*
OK, we're biting the bullet here at Gems and re-uploading our content, this time to Rapidshare*. You'll notice that several links are now active, and within a week or so we hope to have them all working again. We'll miss Megaupload, but after reading about its livin'-large CEOs in the news after the service's take-down, I gotta wonder what they were thinking. So, check back occasionally if something here interests you and soon you should be able to download it. Meanwhile, enjoy the sound links – at least they still work!
*Well, the curmudgeonly folks at Rapidshare kept threatening to remove my files because there wasn't enough activity on some of them, and I got tired of their endless warnings. So I've migrated (as they say in the IT department where I work) Gems' mp3s to the much more accommodating MediaFire. Rapidshare can go the Feds for all I care. More music to come, kids ... (Added on March 31, 2012.)
Well, fellow file sharers, as you probably know, content offered here for your enjoyment has been deleted by the federal government. Along, of course, with hundreds of thousands of other files stored at the file-sharing site, Megaupload. It seems like the G-men are getting serious about copyright violations. If you're a frequent visitor to Gems (one of the chosen few), you know that the music we share is either in the public domain or no longer available in any commercial form, so we feel we're clean copyright-wise. Sony need not fear us. But, for the moment, we're outta bidness.
Not to worry, though. We'll figure out a work-around. Rapidshare, maybe, though we don't like them much, and they're almost certainly the next target. Stay tuned ...
Anthony Braxton in 1967, the year of his seminal "For Alto." A decade later, Braxton – with more hair and many more recordings – was the darling of the critics. In 1977, he brought an all-star quartet to Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art. Terry Martin photo
Chicago has always been an iconoclastic place musically, at least as far as jazz is concerned. Its musicians have always followed their own muse. From the R&B stylings of King Kolax, to the progressive bebop of the Freeman brothers, to the chamber jazz of Ahmad Jamal or the interplanetary explorations of Sonny Blount, the Windy City has an aural space all its own. This was particularly true in the early '60s, when Richard Abrams, Jodie Christian, Phil Cohran and other visionary musicians were assembling the group that would become known as the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians. Or the AACM, for short.
One prominent young member of the AACM was a 20-year-old reed player named Anthony Braxton. Braxton was originally part of a collaborative trio (with Leroy Jenkins and Leo Smith), but was soon exploring all aspects of creative music with various other AACM and non-AACM outfits. In 1974, he released the groundbreaking "New York, Fall 1974" on Arista, proving that new music could not only be about sound, dissonance and free improvisation, but could also include melody, harmony and conventional structure. Jazz critics (and not a few jazz fans) sat up and took notice, hailing Braxton as the "new Charlie Parker." Indeed, when I first heard "Fall 1974," I too was smitten. And still am.
In the mid-'80s, I got to know Anthony a little when he was living in Connecticut. He'd quit his teaching position at Wesleyan in Middletown and was going through a particularly tough period trying to support himself and his family solely on his income playing music. The music industry was changing radically in those days as records were being replaced by pricier CDs, and the Wynton Marsalis back-to-the-future juggernaut had turned listeners away from creative music of the sort Braxton was playing. I was in New York then and flush with work, and I was able to help Anthony out in a modest way. In return, he gave me a bound set of his massive philosophical/musical treatise called "Tri-Axium Writings." A staggeringly detailed and complex opus, the three volumes have been one of my prized possessions ever since. Not long afterward, Braxton got the gig at Mills College and his fortunes improved. I've seen him several times since then, but always as a member of the audience.
The very first time I saw Anthony Braxton (I think it was the first time) was a decade earlier in Chicago. The Museum of Contemporary Art on the Near North Side was hosting a series of concerts on the new jazz, and Braxton gave one of them. I attended, and was very excited to see that Anthony had with him a young trombonist named George Lewis whom I used to see at the U. of C., reed player Henry Threadgill from the collaborative group Air, and the AACM's founding father, pianist Muhal Richard Abrams. The museum promoted the series with an elaborate poster and an over-sized booklet on the history of the AACM, and on the night of the concert the place was packed. The quartet did two sets, each consisting of a single long piece segueing through a number of themes and moods.
During the second set, an odd thing occurred. In the middle of a very quiet section, the music suddenly stopped and the musicians got into an argument. Or what seemed to be an argument. It was hard to hear, but at the time I was under the impression that Muhal was saying that what they were playing was BS, and Threadgill was agreeing. I remember Braxton standing off to the side, not saying much, looking a bit shocked. The audience seemed a bit shocked too, but then got into the spirit of the "dozens" and began laughing. After about ten minutes, Threadgill grabbed his tenor and launched into a blistering solo and the set resumed. The AACM members were known for incorporating all sorts of elements into their performances, and I assumed that this theatrical, decidedly non-musical moment must have simply been part of Braxton's piece.
Later, I acquired a tape of the performance, and while the quality of the mono recording is pretty low-fi, the music is as superb and intense as I remembered. And there, in the middle of the second set, is the verbal interlude. It's hard to hear, but what I can discern is that the musicians are engaged in a discussion on life as a creative musician and all its trials and tribulations. Threadgill's comments draw the most laughs, and the whole thing seems a lot more good natured than I recalled. You'll have to judge for yourself.
Anthony Braxton Quartet Anthony Braxton, as, fl, b cl, ss, sopranino; Henry Threadgill, ts, as, fl, bar; George Lewis, tbn; Muhal Richard Abrams, p. Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, IL; April 18, 1977
First Set 1. Untitled original #1 2.Untitled original #2 (partial) Second Set 3.Untitled original #3/Spoken interlude 4.Untitled original #4 (partial)
