Balkan Blues: Dusko Goykovich and Swinging Macedonia

In the Fifties and Sixties, American critics tended to view European jazz musicians the way Samuel Johnson viewed women preachers; like dogs walking on their hind legs, “It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all" (and that’s the way the same critics viewed women jazz musicians, for that matter). Whenever an American bandleader hired a European musician, he (and it was almost always “he”) was seen as the exception that proved the rule. Dusko Goykovich, the Serbian trumpeter, worked with Maynard Ferguson and Woody Herman, which allowed said critics to condescend to him a bit.

Listening to his 1966 album, Swinging Macedonia (original cover art at left), reveals a major talent in the hard bop vein who could keep up with the likes of sidemen Mal Waldron and Nathan Davis. The 1988 CD reissue doesn’t list composer credits, but apparently all of the tunes are by Goykovich except Billy Reid’s The Gypsy, which became a minor jazz standard after Charlie Parker recorded it at the notorious Lover Man session (it’s a feature for Nathan Davis here―a seriously underrated musician). Most of them are based on Macedonian folk motifs―themselves products of the Ottoman occupation of the Balkans―which fit in perfectly with the interest in non-Western music fostered by John Coltrane and others. Macedonia, Saga Se Kame, and Balcan Blue are good examples, whereas Jumbo Uganda is a sort of African highlife melody, with Goykovich taking a soaring Dizzy-like break. Peter Trunk on bass and the wonderfully named Cees See on drums provide strong rhythmic support in the true Balkan spirit. Overall, Swinging Macedonia is an outstanding recording, right up there with the best of the mid-Sixties. Goykovich, in his late 80s, is still active in music. I need to check out more of his music.

Here are Macedonia, Wedding March of Alexander the Great, and Balcan Blue.

Walter Norris: Never Should It End

Many years ago, my local Barnes and Noble got in a raft of remaindered Concord Records CDs (back then, Concord was a first-rate indie jazz label, not today’s corporate conglomerate).  I scooped up a bunch based on the Concord brand and artist name recognition―and then let them submerge into the Great Unplayed Pile. I was rooting around in that ever-growing mass recently and ran across Sunburst, a date led by Walter Norris. In my recollection, Norris was an esteemed pianist of a rather austere bent, considered willing to move out of the mainstream in his playing. The album featured Joe Henderson on tenor―a good sign, and I hadn’t remembered that. Time to look into Norris a bit more.

He had an interesting career. Originally from Arkansas, he eventually moved to the West Coast and played on Something Else!, Ornette Coleman’s first album, so “willing to move out of the mainstream” was right, at least for 1958. He then spent several years in New York as musical director of the Playboy Club. In 1974, he joined the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis big band. According to his Wikipedia entry, he had a brief and frightening experience with Charles Mingus in 1976 and then moved to Germany, where he taught and gigged until his death in 2011. (Note: I saw Mingus and his Jazz Workshop on several occasions and can attest that he was indeed a formidable presence. The trumpeter Clarence [Gene] Shaw had an experience similar to Norris’s, as I recall.) In the 1990s, Norris signed with Concord, one of the products of which was Sunburst.

Now to the music. It’s really excellent. Most of the tunes are standards of one sort or another (Stella By Starlight, What’s New, Naima) or Norris originals (the title track, Never Should It End, Rose Petals). Especially in their introductions, Norris and Henderson both like to take the Lee Konitz approach of not going straight into the melody line, which freshens up the standards.  The high point of the album for me is Naima, a gorgeous, soaring rendition that evokes the spirit of Trane without imitation. Bird is an off-kilter tribute to another jazz genius, with fresh ideas aplenty. (Note to readers: the composition is listed as by Charlie Parker but I can’t decide whether it’s one composition or a compilation of Bird phrases. It’s not on YouTube, but can any ornithologist who owns or can find Sunburst clue me in?) Larry Grenadier supplies solid backing and some fine solos on bass, and Mike Hyman keeps things going nicely on drums.

All in all, Sunburst is a fine recording that pays back even more with repeated listening. I could find only a couple of tracks on YouTube, but I’d really advise hunting down the whole thing, or any other Walter Norris recoding you run across.

Here's Sunburst:

And What's New.

Dreaming of Spanish Harlem: Pucho and the Latin Soul Brothers

Henry “Pucho” Brown isn’t Hispanic, but he grew up in the vibrant cultural stew of what used to be called Spanish Harlem. His resultant immersion in said stew resulted in the formation of Pucho and the Latin Soul Brothers, which recorded repeatedly for Prestige Records in the late 1960s. This band was only a name to me until I listened to this compilation from BGP, one of the Ace family of reissue labels. There are lots of funky Latino beats, of course, but what really resonates with me is the subtle background influence of John Coltrane and other contemporary jazz artists. It’s not just the versions of Herbie Hancock’s Cantaloupe Island and Maiden Voyage, but also the slightly melancholy tones of Vietnam Mambo, the bristling Psychedelic Pucho, and the pulsating Cloud 9. 

Maybe it’s the current dismal political environment, but I hear undertones of spiritual jazz and Vietnam-era political unrest behind the party beats and soul vocals. OK, maybe it’s just me and my reaction to the climate of lies and impending rule by corrupt plutocrats, so it's fine just to listen and move your body to some vintage butt-shaking sounds. Special kudos to Claude Bartee on sax, Eddie and Al Pazant on reeds and trumpet, respectively, Neal Creque on keyboards, and Pucho on timbales. I’ve got to check out more of the Soul Brothers! Here's Maiden Voyage.

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!

Joe Lee Wilson: Livin' High off Nickels and Dimes

I don’t remember exactly where or when I picked up Joe Lee Wilson’s Livin’ High off Nickels and Dimes. It was sometime in the mid- to later 70’s, I’m sure. I knew about Wilson from reading about his involvement in the New York loft jazz scene and his Ladies’ Fort on Bond Street. Vocalists weren’t too prominent on the free jazz scene, so I suppose I was curious about how he fit in.

The first track, “The Theme/Aquarian Melody,” was a revelation. Wilson projects tremendous gusto as he shouts out the very of-their-time lyrics. I was much taken with the line “I must be free/we must be free.” The album was recorded in 1972, early enough in the Me Decade for those sentiments to still have some currency. Livin’ High off Nickels and Dimes wasn’t released until 1974, and by the time I was listening to it, the lyrics were poignant – it was great to hear someone talking about individual and collective freedom as a battle cry, but the war was over in more ways than one. Wilson gives it everything he’s got – at the end of the track, you can hear him go “Whew!”

The other tracks were just as good. Jazz Ain’t Nothin’ but Soul” was a big indie hit in NYC when the album came out, although according to the label’s co-founder, Oblivion Records didn’t have the wherewithal or experience to handle it – the small label record biz never changes. “It’s You or No One” is a beautiful ballad that shows Wilson’s roots in the Billy Eckstine/Earl Coleman/Johnny Hartman tradition of big-voiced baritones. “You Make Me Want to Dance” is a great high-energy whew-inducing closer. Horace Silver’s “Strollin’” and a heartfelt “God Bless the Child” round out the program. Sidemen Ray McKinley (piano), Bob Ralston (tenor), Stafford James (bass), and Napoleon Revels (drums) lend solid support, but it's Joe Lee's show.

My overall view of Livin’ High off Nickels and Dimes is that Wilson, with his terrific range and ability to imbue his singing with such passion and verve, was trying – and in my opinion succeeding – in creating a vocal style that paralleled the attempts by John Coltrane and others to reach an almost ecstatic transcendence of emotion that characterized the best “spiritual jazz” of the era.

Joe Lee Wilson is a shamefully neglected artist in this country. He left the U.S. in 1977 and has carved out a career in the UK and France, and what does that tell us about the American music scene? Thanks to the producer and owner of the master of Livin’ High off Nickels and Dimes, who owns the rights, you can hear this great music here. There’s more Wilson on CD, too (ignore the out-of-date allmusic bio that’s floating around on the Net). I own a couple that I hope to review soon, and his Shout for Trane has just been reissued on the Japanese Why Not label – the title alone has convinced me to pick that one up. Joe Lee Wilson, please come home!

Is Jazz "Difficult"?

The only thing more disheartening than someone asking "Can you explain jazz to me?" or "Can you teach me how to appreciate jazz?" is when a jazz person starts explaining how jazz isn't for everyone or how you need to really work at it to enjoy the music. It's as if it's some kind of nasty medicine that you have to learn to tolerate before you can extract any pleasure from it. Yeah, that's really a way to turn people on the the music that you supposedly love. Come on, people!

I admit, I started listening to jazz many years ago because I had heard it was "cool" to do so. I listened, listened some more, listened to John Coltrane play "My Favorite Things", really started to listen, and haven't looked back. I subscribed to Downbeat and read books and reviews, but I never had to have anyone "explain" it to me or had to take a course in Advanced Riff Physics" to enjoy it. What you need to do is listen. As Duke Ellington said, "If it sounds good, it is good." Does anyone have to have rock explained to them? You either like a particular piece of music or you don't. If you like enough stuff that's labeled "jazz", you're a jazz fan. You don't have to read music or know what a chord progression is. Does it really matter what Coltrane is doing technically when he hits the last note of "Naima"? It either moves you or it doesn't. Let's try to make jazz sound like it's listenable and pleasurable and listeners will come, is the hope of everyone here at Stolen Moments World Headquarters.