David "Fathead" Newman: Davey Blue

 

David Newman spent his career as a jazz musician saddled with the nickname “Fathead.” Early on, he did an album or two as “David Newman” and found out that no one knew who he was, so it was back to “Fathead” for the balance of his life. For me (and I suspect other listeners as well), the most detrimental aspect of the name is that it puts Neman into the groove/funk/soul category, which doesn’t really convey the breadth and depth of his artistry. That’s not to say he wasn’t a wailing Texas tenor (and alto and flute) player—all of the years he spent in the Ray Charles orchestra can testify to that. Personal note: I saw Ray Charles when Fathead was with him, so I actually got to hear him play, although without any memory of his playing.

Take Davey Blue, for instance. It’s got bluesy swingers (Cellar Groove), gorgeous ballads (A Child Is Born), Afro-Caribbean sounds (Amandla), jazz standards (Freedom Jazz Dance, and dig the vibes and piano solos!), and a stunning version of Duke Pearson’s Cristo Redentor. Newman is at home regardless of what he plays. The fine vibraphonist Bryan Carrott (I’ve got to listen to more of him!), the great pianist Cedar Walton, bassist David Williams, and drummer Kenny Washington all sound terrific, both individually and collectively. I’m already on the lookout for more David Newman, and you should be, too, Fathead or not.

Here's Cristo Redentor:

Freedom Jazz Dance:

and the title track.

Middle Eastern Rock from John Berberian and the Rock East Ensemble

 

The way some record labels looked at it back in the early Sixties, Ravi Shankar’s breakthrough into the rock-pop world meant that someone who played the oud might hit it big as well. That’s how John Berberian, master oud player, wound up making records for the Mainstream, Roulette, and Verve Forecast labels, the latter issuing Music and Gibran in 1968, with NYC deejay Rosko reciting Khalil Gibran’s poetry while Berberian and other fine purveyors of Armenian and Turkish music provided the background sounds. The producers for that album figured that the next step ought to be Middle Eastern Rock. Berberian loved the idea, and so John Berberian and the Rock East Ensemble was born. The record came out in 1969 and then the label, as so often happened, didn’t do much with it, and it vanished with its sounds almost unheard. Berberian went on to make numerous recordings of Armenian mujsic and is still a master of the oud, but the Rock East Ensemble was no more.

I heard it back then, though. I fished it out of a cut out bin in a drugstore and, lover of middle Eastern-tinged music that I was and am, went home and played it. I’d say it was a Middle Eastern, jazz, and rock album, in that order. Guitarist Joe Beck brought his jazz and rock chops, while Berberian, clarinetist Souren Baronian, and a clutch of other musicians brought their inter-genre skills to achieve a fascinating mix of music that stayed with me over the decades.

Now, thanks to the gang at Modern Harmonic, the fount of many an obscure reissue, Middle Eastern Rock is available on CD and just as tripped out. I highly recommend it as a true fusion record that repays repeated listening.

Here are Tranquility and Iron Maiden:

Charles Bracken: Worshippers Come Nigh

I suppose it’s emblematic of the enigmatic career of Charles Brackeen that although word of his death this past November has been circulating online, as of today, his Wikipedia entry refers to him in the past tense but provides no death date. Back in the day I remember seeing Rhythm X, his debut LP on Strata East in the bins at Back Alley Discs in Charlottesville, but didn’t pick it up (I now have in on the Mosaic Clifford Jordan/Strat East box but haven’t played it yet). To my knowledge, he didn’t lead another date until he did three records for the Scandinavian label Silkheart, all issued in 1987. He also recorded with Paul Motian on ECM and was part of the Melodic Art-Tet, which h recorded an album in 1974 that was released a few years ago by a Lithuanian label, No Business Records (currently on order).

Despite never really hearing any of his music, I was curious enough to click on a random YouTube link to the tile track of one of the Silkheart albums—Worshippers Come Nigh. I was blown away to the extent that I paid way more that I usually to buy the CD, and it’s really killing, as the jazz robots say. In addition to Brackeen, Olu Dara is on trumpet, Fred Hopkins on bass (I heard him in the 1970s with the great trio Air), and Andrew Cyrille on drums, with and assist on congas from Brackeen’s friend and fellow artis, Dennis Gonzalez. The liner notes indicate that Brackeen insisted on extensive rehearsals before recording, and it shows. The theme statements (all compositions written by Brackeen, and good ones) are crisp and declamatory. Brackeen was a fine post-Ornette player, Dara is a strong voice on trumpet, and Fred Hopkins is a hugely impressive soloist and, along with Cyrille, really drives the band—freebop at its best. Really, this is some of the most impressive music I’ve heard lately. Do give it a listen. Health issues may have deprived us of much more music from Charles Brackeen, but let’s be thankful for what we do have.

Boogie All the Time: Music of the Medicine Show Years

Recently the conversation at our house turned to medicine shows (this kind of conversational turn happens a lot around here). As a result, I dug out Good for What Ails You: Music of the Medicine Shows, 1926−1937, from Old Hat Records—a bonanza of eccentric, beyond-category music from the old, weird America. The accompanying 72-page booklet comprises a history of the traveling medicine show, interviews with show veterans, and useful annotations for each track.  As The Wire put it, “Factor in assorted skillet lickers, jug stompers, fruit jar drinkers, ramblers, crackers, tarheels and tobacco tags, and you have a buried history of vernacular music, therapeutic culture and politics second to none. 

Not only is this set a mother lode of blues, old timey, and uncategorizable roots music, it can serve to clue You in on even more great stuff. For example, Swing, You Cats by Hezekiah Jenkins led me to The Panic Is On, his unblinking ode to the Great Depression. Even the booklet can lead you to a whole new world. Its discussion of Hadacol, “a Vitamin-B tonic laced with alcohol” developed and sold by former Louisiana senator Dudley J. LeBlanc, character right out of “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” led me to a raft of tunes like Hadacol Boogie, Everybody Loves That Hadacol, and Hadacol Bounce, all of which seem to focus more on the tonic’s second ingredient than the first. Check out this 2004 version of Hadacol Boogie by Jerry Lee Lewis and Buddy Guy! 

The Lewis/Guy performance is a latter-day example of the musical interaction across racial lines among medicine shows and their audiences that included hillbilly blues and jug band music as well as mainstream pop tunes and minstrel ditties reworked by Black songsters. Note; Some of these recordings include racially offensive terms used by both Black and White performers. The annotations point these terms and attitudes out, but excluding such recordings would sugarcoat thew way things were (and are).

If you have any interest in American music, its history, or the sheer exuberant entertainment value of this stuff, you owe it to yourself to pick up this set. The Old Hat website also has sound samples aplenty. As Bob Dylan said about Good for What Ails You, “I got nothing against downloads and MP3s, but getting this CD with all the pictures and liner notes,
well, it’s not as good as having it on the big 12” record, but at least there’s a booklet there, and believe it or not, folks, you can even read it in a power failure- as long as it’s daytime.” 

To give you a feel for this amazing conglomeration, here’s my current obsession—the Allen Brothers, a hillbilly jug band wailing the tar out of Bow Wow Blues:

And a Memphis blues classic from Frank Stokes:

Jim Dawgs: The Early Years of Ike Quebec

When writing about anyone beyond the most critically acclaimed, longest-lived jazz artists (and by no means limited just to jazz or artists), online biographical information can be sparse and repetitive. So it is for Ike Quebec, sometimes referred to online as “Ike Abrams Quebec,” who was born in Newark, new Jersey on August 17, 1918. thanks to Barbara Kukla’s invaluable Swing City: Newark Nightlife, 1926−1950, his birth name was Isaac Abrams. Where did “Quebec” come from? According to Kukla, who interviewed many Newark music veterans before her book’s publication in 1991, “he used the name ‘Quebec’ as far back as anyone remembers.” “Don’t know where it come from,” said a distant family member.

Quebec started out as a tap dancer, winning an amateur contest at Miner’s Theater in downtown Newark when he was 16. He picked up piano while with a traveling show—Harlem on Parade—and gigged at the Waverly Tavern and at all-night rent parties, and sounded like the great stride master Donald Lambert. At some point, he picked up the tenor saxophone, which he supposedly taught himself to play by locking himself in a room for weeks. He stated playing dates in New York with Roy Eldridge, Benny Carter, and Frankie Newton, among others, eventually moving there. He also spent time up at Minton’s Playhouse with musicians like Thelonious Monk, Kenny Clarke, and other bop pioneers, although his style remained an amalgam of Coleman Hawkins and Ben Webster—aggressively swinging on up-tempo tunes and breathy and romantic on ballads. In 1944, he joined Cab Calloway’s big band, with which he remained affiliated on and off until 1951.

1944 was also the year he made his first recordings under his own name for Blue Note records. While with Blue Note, he became close to Alfred Lion, who began using him as an informal A&R man and talent scout. Reputedly, he brought Monk and Bud Powell to Lion’s attention. His friendship with Lion would later play an important part in his later career as well. He also made a couple recordings for Savoy, a Newark-based label that later also issued many key bop records by Charlie Parker and other modernists but was owned by a much less savory character than Lion.

Years ago, Mosaic Records issued The Complete Blue Note Forties Recordings of Ike Quebec and John Hardee, which had all of Quebec’s early Blue Note recordings. (I’m sure the researchers at Mosaic had lots of biographical and other info about him, but I don’t have access to the liner notes, alas.) That set is long out of print and pricey but, thanks to the late, lamented French Chronogical (sic) Classics label, Ike Quebec 1944−1946, many of these early Blue Notes and Savoys can be had on the used CD market at a less exorbitant price.

Quebec’s first recordings are outstanding, aided by sidemen like Tiny Grimes and Ram Ramirez. Tiny’s Exercise is a nice composition (year later, he did an excellent version on Profoundly Blue, a long out-of-print album on Muse). Indiana is a nice up-tempo romp, Blue Harlem was a hit when it came out, and She’s Funny That Way is a good example of Quebec’s early ballad style. Later recordings also featured a larger group with Buck Clayton (I Found a New Baby is especially noteworthy). The Savoy recordings featured both more traditional (Johnny Guarnieri) and distinctly modern (Bill de Arango).

By the late Forties, Quebec’s recording career petered out, as did his life in general, thanks to the epidemic of substance abuse that beset the music in those days. As far as the author of Swing City was concerned, his career ended there (in an appended biographic dictionary of Newark musical artist, she even has him dead by 1953.) Reports of his demise were exaggerated, though. In the late 1950s, thanks to his continued connection to Alfred Lion, he would experience a renaissance that continued until his death. In a future blog post, I’ll be talking about the series of 45s he made for Blue Note that revived his career. Meanwhile, here’s a sampling of the early Ike Quebec. In order; Blue Harlem, If I Had You,  , and Jim Dawgs (Ike's nickname).

Frank Strozier: What's Goin' On

Frank Strozier is one of those artists whose great talent never broke though to a wider audience. One of a number of Memphis-born musicians who came to maturity in the late 1950s early 1960s, he recorded extensively on alto as a sideman and led a few (too few) sessions, and finally left the music business out of frustration. There’s can’t something wrong with a system in which a Frank Strozier is unable to thrive.

A good example of what we’ve lost is Strozier’s 1977 What’s Goin’ On, his second album for Steeplechase Records (after a 15-year(!) lapse in recording as a leader. With fellow Memphian Harold Mabern on piano, Danny Moore (tp) Louis Hayes (dr) and Stafford James (bs), it’s a consistently excellent date. High points include Ollie, a tribute to Strozier’s friend Oliver Nelson, Chelsea Drugs, with Strozier on flute, and Psalm for John Coltrane, an intense, Trane-like ballad.

And then there’s the title track, which is why I acquired this recording. On What’s Goin’ On, Strozier gives it everything he’s got—a brilliant extended interpretation of Marvin Gaye’s original that burns with passionate intensity. Harold Mabern follows with an almost equally extraordinary solo, both performances supported to the max by James and Hayes. It’s the kind of music that inspires and uplifts—qualities we all need in times like these.  

Here are What's Goin' On and Ollie.

Blue Meets Red: Baltimore 1966

For many years, the Left Bank Jazz Society of Baltimore put on an astonishing array of jazz concerts featuring the top players in the country. Many of these shows were recorded, but their subsequent fate makes up a convoluted tale that need not detain us. Happily, over the years a number of the tapes have been released by various small labels. A few months ago, I  posted on one of those releases, featuring Freddie Hubbard and Jimmy Heath. I have a number of other Left Bank releases on my pile, including Blue Mitchell and Sonny Red: Baltimore 1966, the subject of today’s post,  courtesy of Uptown Records, an outstanding reissue label that always includes copious liner notes.

One of the things I love about these releases is the enthusiasm of the audiences. They obviously were knowledgeable about the music and liked to let the musicians know how they felt. This set is especially valuable because it documents some fine work by Sonny Red (aka Sylvester Kyner), tart-toned alto player who released a relatively small number of albums in his all-too-short career. His aggressive style contrasts with Blue Mitchell’s classic hard bop trumpet sound. John Hicks, whose piano work I need to delve into more deeply, is consistently excellent, and it’s nice to hear Joe Chambers on drums in a more mainstream context. Bassist Gene Taylor, like Mitchell, was fresh from a lengthy stint in Horace Silver’s classic band.

The repertoire mostly consists of standards like If I Should Lose You, Portrait of Jenny, and I Can’t Get Started (the latter featuring Red, even though it’s often a showpiece for trumpeters), along with Mitchell’s infectious Fungi Mama, Jimmy Heath’s All Members, and Blue Spring Variation, a semi-clone of a Kenny Dorham composition. If you like mid-Sixties hard bop, you need this album!

Here are Blue Spring Variation and I Can't Get Started.

More Pleasure Than Pain: J.R. Montrose and Tommy Flanagan

This post’s origins began with the great Catalan pianist Tete Montoliu’s solo version of Theme for Ernie, the hauntingly beautiful elegy for alto saxophonist Ernie henry, who died too young of the heroin plague in 1957. I was impress enough the composition  to do a bit of research, which turned up a lot of information on the composer, Fred Lacey, and other obscure figures, courtesy of bassist-writer Steve Wallace. As is my wont, I started listening to other versions, including that of John Coltrane, which made it a jazz standard. I then tried a duo version by J.R. Montrose (tenor and soprano) and Tommy Flanagan (pno). It totally bowled me over and sent me off to locate a copy of this 1981 recording on Reservoir Records.

A Little Pleasure (derived from one of the two Montrose compositions on the album) is a really remarkable recording. According to the liner notes, Flanagan and Montrose were friends who had worked together a number of times over the years. From my limited listening, I had thought of Montrose as a hard-charging hard bop player but this recording, mostly consisting of ballads and medium-tempo tunes, shows extraordinary sensitivity and deep emotion, beautifully complemented by Tommy Flanagan’s equally elegant and thoughtful approach (I still vividly remember a great night of Flanagan’ music in the mid-70s at DC’s Harold’s Rogue and Jar).

Whether drawing on the Great American Songbook (Never let Me Go, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square), the Modern Jazz Songbook (Con Alma, Central Park West, Twelve Tone Tune), or Montrose originals (Pain and Suffering…and a Little Pleasure, Vinnie’s Pad) these two masters produced a fine set, worthy of much ore notoriety than it apparently received over the years.

Here are Theme for Ernie and A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.