Happy Halloween from Philly Joe!

From his first album as leader, a composition by Johnny Griffin and  a classic monologue by Philly Joe, inspired by Lenny Bruce. Enjoy!

Dave Pike, Bebopper

A few evenings ago, while browsing on YouTube, I decided to listen to some recordings of Dave Pike on vibes. My first acquaintance with Pike came through an old Downbeat review of Dave Pike Plays the Jazz Version of Oliver! on Prestige. I’ve never heard anything from the record, but the review was good and it made me keep him in mind through the years. Subsequently, Pike recorded straight ahead jazz, Latin jazz, fusion jazz, and even “psychedelic” jazz. I’m afraid this versatility (or commercialism, if you will) deterred me from doing a lot more listening, although a while back I did buy and enjoy his more recent Bophead CD. After listening to a variety of Pikeana that night, I thought I might need to explore his work further.

The next day, I dropped by the estimable Funky 16 Corners site, a crate diver’s paradise of obscure 60s and 70s soul, funk, rock, and mod jazz. That day’s headline? Dave Pike 1938‒2015. It gave me a strange feeling for sure. Larry, Funky 16 Corners’ proprietor, had dug up Sweet Tater Pie, a prime slice of 60s jazz funk from Pike’s Jazz for the Jet Set album on Atlantic, featuring Herbie Hancock (!) on organ (!!) Plus, how can you not love the album cover? 

I summed up my recent listening experiences from YouTube and Funky 16 Corners on my Facebook posting about Pike’s death: “So long to vibist Dave Pike, who created jazz, Latin, fusion, psychedelic, and other music but remained a bopper at heart.”

That comment leads me to Bluebird, originally recorded for the Dutch Timeless label and more recently reissued in Japan. The album lists Charles McPherson as co-leader, but McPherson lays out for half of the tracks, so it’s more Pike’s show. I really enjoyed Bluebird, which features tunes composed by or associated with Charlie Parker. If you like all-out bebop from masters of the art, this one’s for you. Given McPherson’s formidable  chops and creative assimilation of Bird’s music, I was afraid Pike might be a bit outclassed, but he proves himself to be an equal. Whether steaming through Anthropology and Scrapple from the Apple or playing beautifully on Old Folks, Pike demonstrates his unswerving allegiance to the bop verities. The only track that gave me pause was Embraceable You; everyone is fine, but I couldn’t get Parker’s masterpiece out of my head while I listened – some things are better left alone. Rein de Graaff plays Bud Powell to McPherson’s Bird and Pike’s Bags and more than holds his own (where is my Rein de Graaff LP? I’ll have to check). Koos Serierse on bass and Eric Ineke on drums provide solid support and solos (love Serierse’s tone). This CD is out of stock at Dusty Groove and pricy at Amazon, but it’s well worth seeking out. NOTE: Pike vocalizes quite a bit behind his solos; I don’t mind, but some listeners might).

Here’s Anthropology – enjoy!

Horace Silver and the Cape Verdean Blues

Horace Silver’s The Cape Verdean Blues album is a favorite of mine. I get the impression it’s been a bit overshadowed by its predecessor, Song for My Father. As the liner note indicate, the title tune doesn’t seek to ape the hit status of the previous record’s title track, being a jauntier, Afro-Caribbean take on Silver’s ancestral Cape Verde islands. Interestingly, the rest of the album has a more serious, less funky tone, due not only to the compositions (and Horace was a marvelous composer) but to the playing of Joe Henderson and Woody Shaw. Henderson is a favorite of mine, especially his work for Blue Note during this period. Shaw, who was relatively new to the scene when he joined Silver, already was exhibiting his mastery of technique. Like Charlie Parker, though, his technique was always in service to his ideas and emotional expressiveness, not used for its own sake. I’ve been listening to some of Woody’s work for Columbia recently, especially Stepping Stones; he and Carter Jefferson really tear it up—and what a loss Jefferson was to this music! Note: If you’re on Facebook, check out the Woody Shaw Legacy page. It’s run by Woody’s son Woody III, and is much more than a fan page—it features some great music and cogent thoughts about Woody’s work, the music business, and the state of the world.

Back to The Cape Verdean Blues! My favorite tracks are the title cut and The African Queen (and check out the drumming of Roger Humphries, age 21, throughout—he’s got a great Art Blakey thing going that enhances each track, as at the end of Queen). The last three tunes feature J.J. Johnson on trombone. I wish Horace had used a third horn on more of this albums from this time period; the trombone adds some nice texture to the ensemble portions, and Johnson’s solo work fits right in—to me, he doesn’t sound like an older bopper dropped in among  younger, edgier players.

Another observation: without being a technical virtuoso, Silver’s solos are always clever and quirky, including is use of quotations from surprising sources (Put your little foot?!) As someone once said of Al Haig, “He’s not a pianist—he’s a stylist.” Finally, as he has done on countless recordings, Bob Cranshaw provides unobtrusive but sold support—no surprise he’s been Sonny Rollins’s bassist for ages.

The Cape Verdean Blues is a fine recording and should get more recognition than it does.  Here’s The African Queen.

Monty Waters: The Black Cat

I first heard alto saxist Monty Waters on the Joe lee Wilson and Bond Street album, What Would It be Without You. I love Joe Lee Wilson (and have blogged about his music) and liked what I heard of Waters, but I could never find much music by him. It turns out that he spent  a good many years of his later career in Munich, where he did record, but he never got much of a shot in the U.S. Like many practitioners of America’s greatest gift to world culture, he’s been neglected in his own country. Fortunately, he was recorded in 1975 by the Japanese WhyNot label, now re-released on CD by Candid Records.

The Black Cat is an excellent date, featuring Waters, guitarist Yoshihaki Masuo, bassist Ronnie Boykins, and drummer George Avaloz. Waters also composed all of the tunes. They’re really equal partners here, notably on J. Love March, a slightly eccentric jazz march with a good deal of collective improvisation. Waters has a lot of Ornette Coleman in his playing, particularly notable on the two blues tracks—Bog’s Blues and Modesto—but tempered with a more disciplined Steve Lacy-like tone.  It’s a strong combination. Apt. #2H, a reworking of Giant Steps, the title track, and R.P.M. all serve as vehicles for Waters, an impressively melodic Masuo, and standout solo work by Boykins (I have his ESP date somewhere and need to dig it out).

The Black Cat is available here as well as from Candid (I’m not getting any money from these plugs, folks, just encouraging you to support this music with some of your cash). I couldn’t find anything from the album on YouTube, but here’s something from Monty’s later years that should give you a taste, although a bit less “out” than this recording. He was a beautiful player.

Remembering Sonny Criss

Just a quick reminder about why I keep on posting about older music. I've blogged about Sonny Criss before. In a world where someone like Sonny lived and worked, people ought to remember how great he was. Listen to the feeling in his playing and you'll know what I mean.

Summertime with Blossom Dearie

I caught onto Blossom Dearie only recently. I’d always thought of her as a perky cabaret-type singer who did some quirky tunes (Peel Me a Grape, Sweet Georgie Fame) with jazz inflections. Once I actually tuned in to her music, I was hooked. I’ve been listening to a lot of Dearie lately, so when I ran across one of her albums at the local Goodwill, it stood out like a diamond in a pile of Big Head Todd and the Monsters albums. Seeing one of my favorites of hers listed on the back clinched the deal. Once Upon a Summertime, the title track, is a good example of her ability to sing a sad song without making it either over dramatic or lachrymose. She sings Tea for Two, including the verse, in a slower, more reflective mode than most singers, emphasizing that the happiness of the couple in the song is one that may lie in the future but not the here and now. She does something similar with the notoriously bouncy Surrey with the Fringe on Top.

My favorite tracks are the more upbeat ones, though. Down with Love has great anti-love lyrics, and Dearie tears through it with gusto. She also moves quite jauntily through If I Were a Bell, her small, clear appropriately bell-like. On all of the tracks she accompanies herself quite nicely on piano, aided by Mundell Lowe on guitar (check out his tasty solo on Our Love is Here to Stay), Ray Brown on bass, and Ed Thigpen on drums.

So, yes, I slept on Blossom Dearie for far too long, but I’m trying to catch up. That favorite I talked about at the beginning? Moonlight Savings Time. In less than two minutes, Dearie does a great job with a cute old song and adds a nice piano solo – as good an introduction as any to this unique artist.

The Known Unknown: Ira Sullivan and Horizons

Ira Sullivan is one of those artists who’s best known for being unknown: praised by critics but never a big name. Sullivan, still going strong at 84, is a multi-instrumentalist, playing tenor and soprano sax, flute, trumpet and flugelhorn. He splits his time between Chicago and Miami, which, in this Big Apple-centric music, may explain why he’s not a bigger name.  He’s also not content to be pegged as an adherent of a particular school. He played with Charlie Parker but also heard and assimilated the sounds of John Coltrane and other free and spiritual players of the 60s and 70s.

A case in point is Horizons, recorded in 1967, a year full of non-Western musical ideas. Except for a fine interpretation of the standard Everything Happens to Me, on which he plays trumpet, flugelhorn, as well as tenor, Sullivan sticks mostly to tenor and soprano.  He shows a lot of Coltrane influence on that hard-to-play horn while still adding his own touches, as on Nineveh  and Adah. The title track has that uplifting late 60s Blue Note sound, with Sullivan on tenor. E Flat Tuba G features some strong free playing from all hands. Just to break things up, Oh, Gee!, a composition by trombonist Matthew Gee (I need to blog about him one of these days), takes us back to the 50s for a bluesy bebop romp.  

I’m not familiar with the rest of the band, but they make a real contribution to the overall group sound. Pianist Dolph Castellano doubles on electronic harpsichord on a couple of tracks, bassist William Fry provides strong, individual lines, Lon Norman adds color and depth on trombone, and Jose Cigno furnishes strong rhythmic support on drums and percussion.

A while back I blogged about Herbie Mann’s Middle Eastern-tinged The Wailing Dervishes album, with a focus on his version of Norwegian Wood. Sullivan’ version has that same feel. Check out Fry’s bass intro and bass drone, Cigno’s polyrhythms, Castellano’s harpsichord, and Sullivan’s passionate, grasping for the infinite solo. This is my kind of music!

New Ideas from Don Ellis

I mainly missed Don Ellis. I never heard his early avant-garde music (and it probably never got much airplay, anyway), I wasn’t into big band music enough to seek out his odd time signature stuff, and too snobbish to listen to his electrified records. His sadly premature death from chronic heart problems ended what was a very interesting and diverse musical career. When I had the opportunity to pick up one of his early recordings, I decided to educate myself.

New Ideas, recorded in 1961, is an good example of how the revolution kicked off by Ornette Coleman was affecting younger musicians with a bent for shunning bop clichés. Ellis used some of the best people around: his friend Jaki Byard, Ron Carter, Charlie Persip (before he lost the “e” in Charlie), and the unfairly obscure Al Francis on vibes. Overall, I enjoyed this music, although I think the totally improvised and collectively improvised pieces (Despair to Hope and Imitation, respectively) were a bit too studied and cold for my taste. Of course, very few musicians then or now can execute these challenging techniques very well, and the experiments  were worthwhile.

The compositions that used tonal clusters (Tragedy), unusual time signatures (Four and Three), and patterns (Uh-Huh) worked better for me. Al Francis, who apparently is still active in music, displays a really fresh approach to the vibraphone, Carter and Persip seem comfortable in any setting, and Jaki Byard is always a joy to hear.

New Ideas is a good example of the post-Ornette ferment in jazz. Not everything worked, but neither did playing 99 more versions of On Green Dolphin Street, and much of the album holds up very well, indeed. Here's one of the more conventional pieces (sorry for the wacky video accompaniment) that still provides a sense of what the musicians were trying to accomplish.

Richard "Groove" Holmes: Oh, Yeah!

Back in the day, jazz critics used to bemoan the proliferation of organ combo albums. I suppose they felt that this kind of stuff crowded out more “serious” music. These days, such recordings are classic reminders of a time when people crowded the downtown and uptown clubs, drank, listened, and had a good time. On Basie’s Bandstand is as good a way as any to recreate those Elysian days when jazz was fun, not “art.”

 Richard “Groove” Holmes was a popular and prolifically recorded artist in the 1960s through 1990s. He also seems to have had a classic up-by- his-bootstraps life while remaining a nice guy, as this  obituary indicates.

On Basie’s Bandstand was, as the title indicates, recorded live at Count Basie’s Lounge in Harlem in 1966. Some of that night’s work was released, but these tracks sat in the can until being released on CD in 2003. Maybe it’s because most of them were jazz standards like Bobby Timmons’s  Moanin’ and This Here, and Horace Silver’s Nica’s Dream rather than more R&B-related material..  Maybe it’s because the whole record is short on mellow.  It’s a high-octane burner, during which Groove pulls out all of the stops, aided by Gene Edwards on guitar and George Randall on drums. I’ll concede that some of his solos are over-the-top flashy, but I like over-the-top flashy.  I picture myself as they guy who keeps yelling “Oh, yeah!” at the end of This Here.  So grab a beer (or two) and come on along for the ride. 

The Odean Pope Saxophone Choir ‒ Locked & Loaded

I don’t get over to the Millennium Stage at the Kennedy Center for the daily free performances as often as I should, but a few years ago I forced myself because the Odean Pope Saxophone Choir was going to be there. The Millennium attendees seem to break down into three segments: retirees, tourists, and fans of whatever music is being played that day. Although the power of the Choir seemed to drive out a few of the first two groups, the rest of us were enthralled. Nine saxophones playing intricate arrangements and soloing lustily over a wall of sound may not be for everybody but, like many of life’s joys, you have to give it a chance. The Choir finished up its set by parading off and around the stage. We all clapped and cheered as loudly as we could—it ranks way up there on my roster of all-time great live shows.

A good way to get a taste of this experience is to get hold of Locked and Loaded: Live at the Blue Note, a live show in New York. Blessed by an inimitable note from Ornette Coleman and guest stars Michael Brecker, Joe Lovano, and James Carter, this recording at least approximates the tremendous impact of this fabulous band.

Some high points: Pope’s Prince Lasha, a tribute to the great jazz flautist/saxophonist, is a real tour de force. When the Choir played it in DC, two saxophonists—Elliot Levin and (I think) Terrence Brown)—almost literally blew their brains out in a no-holds-barred barrage of energy playing. On Locked and Loaded, Michael Brecker—perhaps already suffering from the disease that would kill him—does a one-man version of the same blast of sound. As one reviewer put it, “Michael Brecker gives it everything he’s got.”

The most lyrical track on the album is John Coltrane’s Central Park West. Altoists Julian Pressley and Louis Taylor play beautifully atop the sonic cushion of the Choir.

Joe Lovano is a fine player, whose music has never quite gotten to me, but his work on Cis and Terrestrial is warm and fiery in turn—I need to listen more of his stuff.

Odean Pope is outstanding both on his Epitome, where the interplay with the Choir is exemplary, and Coltrane Time, which turns into a battle of the tenors with Michael Brecker—lots exhilarating energy here, folks.

The last track features James Carter, who burns through Pope’s Muntu Chant, egged on by the Choir. Why isn’t this guy a bigger star?

I only found a couple of tracks on YouTube, but they’re choice. Crank up your speakers for Prince Lasha and mellow out with Central Park West, and enjoy!