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A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

 

 

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An Anecdotal Account of Bourbon Street And Related Jazz Music Venues 1976-80

Tom Smith Pfeiffer University Misenheimer, North Carolina

..........In these days of historical revisionism, it has been customary to discount the musical importance of the New Orleans thoroughfare known as Bourbon Street. It has been stated by some that Bourbon Street jazz music has been an overstated commercial myth; undeserving of its special place in the annals of jazz history. Yet, it cannot be denied that for all its superficiality, post World War II Bourbon Street was civilization's most vibrant and durable home for a kind of music most appropriately labeled neo traditional jazz. In no other location, did so many clubs continuously employ as many jazz musicians, for so long a period.

I have often harbored suspicions as to why jazz pundits accorded so much historical documentation to other jazz revivals while downplaying this one. It could be said that New Orleans jazz of the nineteen forties and fifties had fewer local personalities with the flamboyance necessary to serve as musical advocates. New Orleans revivalists did not posses their own versions of an Eddie Condon and a Lu Watters to guarantee that portrayals of local music evolved from their base locations in a controlled and politically advantageous manner. In recent years some scribes of New Orleans jazz history have attempted to forward the notion that ambitious music promoters, historians and / or above average white musicians invented a kind of African American New Orleans jazz revival, and then strategically placed it on or within close proximity to Bourbon Street. 1 Yet, despite highly visible promotions of older musicians starting with Bunk Johnson and George Lewis, and leading to the successful nineteen sixties promotions of De De Pierce and Kid Thomas, it cannot substantiated beyond a reasonable doubt that the actions of said promoters led directly to a reinstitutionaliztion of traditional jazz within the Bourbon Street vicinity. In fact a number of African American musicians like "Papa" John Celestin performed regularly on Bourbon Street long before the advent of a "so called" New Orleans revival. 1 This is not to say that said promotional efforts did not amount to a successful resurgence of a popular school of African American traditional jazz music. It is merely pointed out that they did not lead to the invention of a movement. It could be argued that early neo traditional revivals in New York and California possessed leadership more conducive to the tastes and sensibilities of successful commercial marketing. Condon and Watters were essentially traditional jazz musicians with mainstream sensibilities. They were energetic and colorful men, who forwarded qualified jazz offerings, marketed towards a conservative middle aged white America. Despite numerous attempts to similarly package African American New Orleans jazz musicians in the nineteen fifties, it was not until the ascension of Preservation Hall before local African American New Orleans jazz experienced visible fruition on a world wide scale.

When Bourbon Street decided to market their own brand of neo traditional jazz in the late fifties, they chose the path initiated by their revivalist predecessors, by selecting the white mega successful Al Hirt to carry its banner. In all fairness, no movement could have chosen a more charismatic or talented personality to lead it. But, in the estimation of some musicians, Hirt's subsequent notoriety as a mainstream pop musician occasionally damaged the credibility of the same neo traditional New Orleans music that was his forte'. It was argued that superficial enthusiasts were confused by the direction of a Bourbon Street that considered AI Hirt its leader. 3 Beginning in the early seventies, clarinetist Pete Fountain appeared to pass Hirt in importance among Bourbon Street followers. Fountain appeared more devoted to neo traditional jazz than his predecessor. In addition to his numerous performances of traditional jazz on national television, Fountain occasionally fronted big bands of a similar style, and in general appeared more aware of his role in the revival movement. Not coincidentally, it was at this juncture that Bourbon Street experienced its last ten year injection of financial success. Without becoming embroiled in a discussion about the merits of the various schools of Bourbon Street jazz, it would be safe to assume that the media package propagated by Hirt and Fountain fit more readily into a travel and tourism brochure. By the early seventies, Bourbon Street had become saturated with predominantly white bands based on their format. Some of these disciple bands like the one led by trumpeter Murphy Campo even eclipsed the Hirt and Fountain groups in musicianship.4 On the other hand, many of the weaker versions of this same format were barely professional. Bourbon Street club owners remained loyal to this style for as long as they continued to generate business for their establishments. It was not until the sixties that road tours and mail order recordings, ( called Jazz Crusade ), of the highly visible and predominantly African American Preservation Hall band provided a viable alternative. By the early seventies, with the backing of a vibrant promotional team, and with the closing of the similar Dixieland Hall, Preservation Hall snowballed into an empire all its own. When Preservation Hall became more corporate, it organized and supported many bands simultaneously. By the mid-seventies, these bands had become more popular than their Fountain / Hirt counterparts. 5 Competitions for media attention divided the two packages into rival promotional camps, with Preservation Hall eventually attaining predominant commercial recognition; at least in regards to live jazz music on Bourbon Street. Despite Preservation Hall's victory for the heart of neo traditional jazz aficianados, there were still more Bourbon Street venues performing the Hirt / Fountain genre of jazz music in the mid to late seventies. Although I sometimes enjoyed the Preservation Hall bands, I usually gravitated towards the Hirt / Fountain groups. I enjoyed the frequent modulations, the brisker tempos, and the fact that there was more of them to choose from. My choices were not so much judgment as preference. For these reasons my jaunts to Preservation Hall as a paying customer were limited.

Observations and Routine Procedures

For four years beginning in 1976, I spent from two to six nights a week on Bourbon Street. I listened, I explored, and I played trombone in several venues. As a nineteen year old college student, it was the kind of environment that infiltrated consciousness and generated lifetime memories. During my time there as a familiar face, I always pondered why serious jazz researchers seemed content to ignore what was happening. The general public certainly did not. The place was always packed. At any given time there were upwards of a dozen jazz clubs performing simultaneously on Bourbon Street and its connecting streets and alleyways. This activity regularly occurred twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Rampant energy of this kind did not come without a price. Bourbon Street certainly had its seedy side. For every jazz club, there were three venues of questionable virtue. These included everything from amyl nitrate vendors and unpretentious strip joints, to cabarets that featured sub par female impersonators. Included in this mix were a wealth of street musicians, dancers, piano bars, and restaurants representing every level of quality. Entertainers like Clarence "Frogman" Henry had home bases there. There were also establishments that featured disco music, that by this time had just started to develop afoot hold in the French Quarter. For the young and uninitiated, the true magic of Bourbon Street was the combined sounds, sights and smells of this simultaneous activity. Few places ever closed their doors. Most stayed wide open with sounds and aromas filtering out into the open air like a gigantic version of Duke Ellington's "Harlem Air Shaft." It actually took two or three trips for a person's senses to fully develop the ability to filter out individual bands. The first visit was little more than sonic overload. For those like myself who were always short on cash, the open air environment provided a continuous source of free entertainment. Often was the night when I arrived at Bourbon with no more than a couple of dollars in my pocket. Sometimes I showed up with no money at all. On those nights I would simply walk up and down the street; never altering my tried and tested routine. My first stop was always the Paddock Club where I would catch five minutes of a James Davis set, looking directly through the front door. I would subsequently peek through the windows of the Famous Door before rushing to the Maison Bourbon to hear the final ten minutes of a Tommy Yetta or Roy Liberto set. When the doorman of the Maison Bourbon had sufficiently persuaded me to move on, I would cross St. Peter's to hear yet another band. I would conclude my journey by gazing through the darkened windows of Preservation Hall. When I had decided that I had successfully identified all of the bands necessary for observation that night, I would repeat the identical procedure backwards until I had returned to the Paddock Club. I often did this as many as a dozen times a night. The comer of Bourbon and St. Peters was considered one of the principal tourist areas. Many of the busier high profile clubs existed there. It was also one of the streets everyone traveled to get to Jackson Square and the Cafe DuMonde. After a course of beignets and coffee on the riverfront, refreshed music fans would either walk back to Bourbon or retire for the night. For my money, the two best clubs on this comer were the Maison Bourbon and Crazy Shirley's. The Maison Bourbon in particular seemed intent on carving for itself a piece of the revival movement. Bands of this type performed there constantly. An excellent group could be heard there as early as ten in the morning.

Crazy Shirley's

Crazy Shirley's featured many bands, but was primarily known as the home base of Murphy Campo's highly regarded outfit. When musicians finished their own engagements, they headed for Crazy Shirley's to hear Campo. 6 Few Bourbon Street bands had a home base. Most moved continuously from club to club. Campo stayed at Crazy Shirley's for years. I felt it was not only one of the best revival bands in the French Quarter, but maybe the best ever. I was not alone in this assessment. Unfortunately, this band was seldom recorded. Murphy did release some albums of an earlier group, but it never matched up to the one I heard. Only legend and word of mouth remains to verify the quality of the music that occurred nightly at Crazy Shirley's. Murphy Campo was a bearded, middle-aged man who weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. His trumpet playing combined technical fluency and drive with a pure, almost fluid tone that was widely admired by many classical musicians. His musical standards were very high, and he surrounded himself with performers of like ability. Murphy's problem was that for all of his own remarkable gifts, he suffered from a serious Al Hirt complex. A full decade younger, he had lived in his predecessors shadow his entire adult life. After Hirt became a household name, Murphy appeared intent on trying to outdo him as a musician. His pitfall was in trying to best the master entertainer at his own games. Campo's band regularly performed Hirt's own routines faster and with better technical facility. He also modulated to different keys repeatedly during the performance of a single selection. Musicians from other bands marveled at what the Campo band was able to accomplish. Unfortunately from the standpoint of innovation, Murphy's approach was still Hirt's original creation. Campo failed in not adding to his own sizable and vastly underrated musical voice. The result was that the more talented understudy never escaped the icon's very long shadow. This made Murphy a driven and sometimes cruel man. To his credit, the Campo group always remained an unimpeachable jazz band. Murphy's relative lack of showmanship probably helped maintain the band's musical integrity. Had he been the entertainer Hirt was, chances are his group would have never maintained its substantial artistic depth. Campo really should have received more credit for advancing the revival movement than he did. Instead, his appreciation remains primarily local. Needless to say, Crazy Shirley's was my jazz club of choice. My favorite spot there was a barstool located about seven inches to the left of drummer Milton Rich's ride cymbal. Milton Rich was, and still is, one of the most talented drummers to ever perform in the French Quarter. He propelled a world class rhythm section that included Trevor Holladay on bass, and Phil Morgan on piano. Everyone on Bourbon Street respected him. Milton was a hardedged Crescent City native with a heart of gold. He was once kind enough to take me under his wing when he realized my interest in his music was serious. The night I got my union card, he sacrificed all of his cherished set breaks from Crazy Shirley's to escort me to the clubs, so I could have a proper Bourbon Street debut. He literally threatened several bandleaders with physical harm for not letting me play that night. When we got to the Famous Door, he yelled to the band, "Hey, this kid's with you," and shoved me through the door. Everyone found Milton's attempts at charm to be mostly uplifting if not occasionally disarming.

Campo's clarinetist was Oscar Davis, another man of immense girth and even larger musical talents. He was one of a handful of clarinetists on the street considered part of the "A" list. Some of the others were Jim Neihaus, who usually played with trombonist Lou Sino, the great Louis Cottrell, Hirt's long-time sidekick PeeWee Spitilera, and of course Fountain. Actually, Bourbon Street had a number of amazing clarinetists. It was the first thing that musicians noticed. Even when Fountain sold his Bourbon Street club for loftier surroundings at the Hilton, it was still a clarinet haven. One night, news reached Oscar that his beloved mother had passed away. Despite his devastation, he remained on the bandstand. As he continued to play, something came over him. I found I could not take my eyes off him. He was practically glowing in the dark. When Murphy called for "Tin Roof Blues", Oscar elevated everyone and everything around him. It was one of the best exhibitions of clarinet playing I had ever heard. The audience in attendance burst into thunderous and extended applause, a rarity for knowledgeable French Quarter patrons. When the set was over, Oscar trudged up to the bar and stared blankly into space; never acknowledging the presence of anyone, while maintaining that trademark "sourpuss" look on his face. Earlier, we had all thought that he was probably looking for someone to talk to. But, after his remarkable performance, we instinctively understood that conversation was unnecessary. His clarinet had just spoken volumes.

Many French Quarter regulars felt the one sustaining weakness of the Campo band, and for that matter all Bourbon Street bands, were its trombonists. Murphy had used some decent ones like Tulane jazz researcher Paul Crawford, 7 and some very good ones like Bob O'Rourke and a very solid musician named Tom Geckler. Other notable Bourbon Street trombonists included Preservation Hall's "Frog" Joseph, journeymen Wendell Eugene and Rick "Cougar" Nelson. Yet, few of these musicians with the possible exception of Nelson matched up to the performers featured on the other front line instruments. 8 For many years, Bob Havens had been the king of revival trombonists and the equal of any New Orleans style musician. His time with Hirt made him a worldwide star. When he joined Lawrence Welk's television show a few months before 1960, a great void was left on Bourbon Street. Then in 1977, I felt the void left by Havens had been temporarily filled. That summer, my jazz trombonist father, along with the rest of my family left North Carolina and moved to New Orleans. It had always been "Pop's" dream to perform regularly on Bourbon Street. After hearing all of the French Quarter trombonists for a full year, I felt he would draw a great deal of attention. That is exactly what he did. After a brief initiation period, "Pop" became the regular trombonist for Tommy Yetta's very talented band. Yetta, a contemporary of Campo and lifelong rival, saw in my father an up on Murphy, and exploited his advantage at every possible opportunity. 9 I watched Murphy and Oscar Davis eye my father on numerous occasions. At the time, Yetta played the early evening shift at Crazy Shirley's before Campo's band assumed the nine to two o'clock shift. My father's time with Yetta amounted to a paid audition for Campo. I remarked to a college friend that Murphy would not allow this new setup to last. Six weeks after Pop joined Yetta, Paul Crawford gave his notice to Murphy. Two weeks later, my father was Murphy's new trombone player. Campo and Yetta would continue to battle for my father's services for the next two and a half years. One time Yetta lured him back by offering him an earlier time slot at the Maison Bourbon. With this arrangement he could be home at a more reasonable hour. Eventually, the superior musicianship of the Campo band brought my father back after a short while. He then remained with Campo for the next two years.

Notable Characters

A new face appeared on Bourbon Street when my father arrived. My mother began to frequent Crazy Shirley's on a nightly basis. From her perspective as a former social worker, she was drawn to many of the street people and assorted characters who were integral components of the Bourbon Street night life. Everyone's favorite street personality was a flamboyant older tap dancer named Porkchop. Five feet three inches tall and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, he was one of Bourbon Street's most enduring features. Tourists from all over the world clamored to have their pictures taken with him. Dressed nightly like an aging British dandy, he regularly parked his mobile act in front of any number of clubs, He would then perform a variety of routines to the music that filtered outside. If more than ten people gathered, he would end his exhibition with a seemingly death defying split that would stun unsuspecting onlookers. He would then remove his worn derby hat, and collect substantial sums of money from his appreciative audiences. On a good night Porkchop made over a thousand dollars.10 His next duty was to report to his wife and business manager known to everyone only as Mama. It was up to him to immediately transfer all of his earnings to Mama's awaiting hands. She was a kind woman who knew that Porkchop would just as soon spend his money as save it. Porkchop's occasional reluctance to part with his earnings provided at least the potential for mild violence. Mama weighed over three hundred pounds and was not bashful about using her sizable bulk as a weapon. Porkchop occasionally tried holding out on Mama, but not often. Second only to Porkchop in popularity among Bourbon Street regulars, was Ruthie. Anywhere else on Earth, this wildly eccentric individual would have been relegated to bag lady status. On Bourbon Street such a person, if persistent enough, could become royalty. In Ruthie's case, she always wore her crown with regal aplomb. To my knowledge, no one knew anything about her pre-Bourbon Street history or why live ducks followed her. Seldom was the time when she was not wearing a pair of roller skates, as she strode aimlessly from club to club. For her nightly finale, she would consume one hurricane cocktail too many and skate into the laps of startled customers. You could set your watch to it. No one ever attempted to correct Ruthie's breaches of decorum. Instead, she was universally embraced for her contribution to the local color. My mother took a special interest in an elderly street dancer named Dutch. She kept an eye on him, talked to him, and tried to see that he took care of himself. Although very intelligent, he experienced a series of dangerous mental and physical lapses. After having endured what appeared to be congestive heart failure, he told Mom that he was going back home to live with his daughter. That was the last anyone ever saw of him. My mother never felt good about what probably happened. Some nights I would see Dutch and Ruthie engaged in what appeared to be serious and highly animated conversation. I often wondered what they talked about.

The Other Places

Besides Crazy Shirley's and the Maison Bourbon, I enjoyed frequenting the Paddock Club. Originally known as Mahogany Hall, it had been the home of the legendary "Papa" John Celestin. There, an aggressive and exciting trumpet player named James Davis held fort. Davis was an abrasive individual who had few friends on Bourbon Street. Despite his alienating ways, all the local musicians praised his talents as an instrumentalist and band leader. He used to excite everyone by "trading fours" with himself, with a trumpet in one hand, and a valve trombone in the other. I also enjoyed my time spent at the Famous Door. This was a club with a long and rich tradition of excellent New Orleans music. It had been the home of past local legends like Sharkey Bonano, Santo Pecora and George Girrard. 11 During the late seventies, trombonist Nick Gagliardi's "Last Straws" were the main band, but there were many others. Two of my favorites were the groups led by trumpeters Roy Liberto and Jimmy Isle. I liked Nick's playing, but I hated those demeaning straw hats he made his band wear. Such attire distracted from the fine music his band played.
Trumpeter Thomas Jefferson was also a regular fixture on Bourbon Street. He was a contemporary of the original jazz pioneers, and was still at that time a very good player and an entertaining singer in the Louis Armstrong vein. It was traditional for the trumpet playing band leaders to sing through most of their last sets. Bourbon Street dates lasted an average of five hours, making it necessary for these musicians to sustain themselves by giving their lips a rest. In the case of aging performers like Jefferson, it was an accepted requirement. He was afforded the rare honor of having a place named after him when the Crab House Restaurant opened a club next door. He played there nightly for about a year, until he became ill. A lot of us respected Jefferson and another trumpet playing leader Alvin Alcorn for remaining very proficient performances at such advanced ages. The wildly eccentric Johnny Home had another good band that was stationed mainly at the Maison Bourbon. He was distinguishable among Bourbon Street notables for his curved bell "Dizzy Gillespie styled" trumpet. His sidekick was the equally eccentric (some would say crazy), clarinet playing comedian Jug Burger. Jug's exploits alone are worth the space of another separate article.
One of the very best all-purpose musicians on the street was George Finola, a trumpeter of exquisite tone and equally impressive invention. George ran the main band at the Blue Angel. 12 Like Murphy Campo, he surrounded himself with top-notch players. The Blue Angel was the first club encountered if you entered Bourbon by way of Canal Street. Their groups were also the hardest to hear from the street because of the bandstand's indirect proximity to the front door. In addition to these inconveniences, the doormen were very aggressive and did not tolerate free listening. If a person wanted to hear music at the Blue Angel, they really had no choice but to go in and pay for it. On numerous occasions, I did just that, and it was well worth it.

No expose of Bourbon Street jazz music would be complete without some mention of the Absinthe Bar. No more than a hole in the wall, it made its mark as being the only jazz club on Bourbon Street that bucked all neo traditional trends. It was the first place I ever saw the very underage Harry Connick, Jr. He was standing on the sidewalk, peeking into the window by the stage. He was always escorted by his notorious stage father, who also happened to be a district attorney. 13 Patrons and musicians of the Absinthe always walked around with amusingly large chips on their shoulders. They saw themselves as warriors in the fight against the "dixielandization" of Bourbon Street. As purveyors of bebop, progressive and fusion jazz, they viewed their position in this predominantly traditional bastion as a form of political statement. Their music was always inventive, thought provoking and quite good. Despite the horrible piano affixed to the stage, groups led by modernist saxophonists Tony DeGradi and Earle Turpinton produced some of the best jazz heard nightly in New Orleans. My favorite Absinthe performer was Turpinton. A Parker influenced altoist, his neobebop bands shied away from "touristy" uniforms and paid little attention to the usually strict Bourbon Street policy of forty-five minute performances followed by fifteen-minute breaks. If his band was playing especially well they would perform for much longer. This delighted the club's mostly local clientele. I remember several early mornings where I watched the sun come up from a seat in the Absinthe Bar. Their last band usually finished at around 7:00 AM. After a night of intense Bourbon Street revelry, I would go down to the river, watch the boats, relieve myself at the only free "no strings attached" toilet in the entire French Quarter and reflect for a moment on what I had just experienced. I would then collapse into a borrowed car, and drive the one hundred miles back to my bed in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Often, morning classes awaited my attendance the moment I arrived. Being very young, I never felt the need to complain about such a relatively minor inconvenience.

Deterioration and Decline

The winds of change were felt as early as 1978 when a country music club called Chuck's moved right into the heart of Bourbon Street. The deafening blare of their powerful house speakers totally engulfed the thoroughfare's cacophonous balance. A lot of entrepreneurs began to take notice that a successful Bourbon Street club could feature a kind of music deemed alien to New Orleans history and tradition. I recall Murphy Campo's alarm at the increasing influence of Chuck's on Bourbon Street night life. "I can understand most of the music that is not jazz being here," he would say. "At least you can hear the New Orleans in it. But, this country music, I just don't know." The appearance of Chuck's coincided with a brutal recession. With the substantial increases of oil prices in 1979, that were initiated by rampant inflation and international conflicts like the Iranian hostage crisis, a substantial number of regional visitors discontinued their regular weeknight jaunts to the French Quarter. For a few years, New Orleans was exclusively a convention town that catered to a new mainstream America, not all that sympathetic to jazz. During the transition, club owners pulled out of Bourbon Street at an alarming rate. Old club owners who had been sympathetic to jazz gave way to new entrepreneurs with entirely different ideas. 14 There are some observers of New Orleans culture who insist that organized crime had something to do with the philosophical change that led to a de emphasis of Bourbon Street jazz.15 This is probably an over stated notion. Organized crime had also existed on Bourbon Street when jazz was the predominant musical force. It can be reasonably assumed that if live jazz music had remained profitable, the organized crime elements of French Quarter night life would have continued to support it. It would have not been in their best interests to have done other wise.

French Quarter musicians placed all of their hope on the World's Fair of 1984 to save than.16 Temporarily it did. However, the fair suffered from a litany of problems, including its close proximity, both in time and location to the 1982 World's Fair in Knoxville, Tennessee. The New Orleans World's Fair, by all accounts was financially unsuccessful. Some live jazz venues did open at the river front adjoining the fair. But, the event had the unfortunate effect of dispersing jazz to various comers of the city. Never again on the face of the earth would jazz music be as compactly located. My family had seen "the writing on the wall" years before and had already returned to North Carolina. My parents would get depressing reports from New Orleans on a weekly basis. It seemed the strain had taken its toll on the Bourbon Street regulars. One by one they started to pass away. Trevor Holladay was the first. He died of Lou Gehrigs disease before my family left New Orleans. Then came Johnny Home, Thomas Jefferson, Lou Sino, Phil Morgan, Jug Burger, Oscar Davis and Pork Chop. It seemed as if the obituaries would never end. Murphy Campo's demise was the most recent. After Crazy Shirley's closed, he took a job with Fountain's Bob Crosby-styled band. Word got around that he had been fired over an argument about the amount of money Fountain allowed for meals on road trips. 17 The last we heard he was selling cars. He suffered an apparent heart attack in that car lot, and died the next day at the age of fifty-five.

Reflections

In 1989, in my role as a community college artist-in-residence, I imported an ail-star group of French Quarter musicians for two separate concerts of Bourbon Street music. The group was led by my old pal Milton Rich. My father was Milton's trombonist. It had been the first time in nearly a decade that the two close friends had performed together. The significance of the event was not lost on them. They performed for two deliriously happy North Carolina audiences. A new addition to the group was the young clarinetist and Fountain protégé Tim Laughlin. His playing generated many standing ovations, as children danced in the aisles, oblivious to the age and pre-judged hipness of the music they were enjoying. After the first concert, Milton, his wife Frances, my family and the rest of the band attended a reception at my home. I was happy that my wife finally got to meet the people I had spoken of so often. I thought that by meeting them she had learned a little more about me. My attention could not help but be focused on Tim's enthusiasm for the music and what he felt could be New Orleans contribution to it. He continued to say that "If people could keep the faith, we could bring it back to where it was." At that moment I believed him. A full decade later, I continue to hope that he can do it. Unfortunately, a little voice tells me that it will probably never happen.

The warmth of creativity and the bitter chill of reality are constantly at odds in New Orleans. It has been an irreversible condition, interwoven into the very fabric of the city's culture. There is no middle ground in the Crescent City, only good and bad. It is in the quest for the former that New Orleans musicians persist and endure. For a brief time in one of the most unlikely of decades, ( the nineteen seventies ), Bourbon Street musicians advanced far beyond persistence and endurance. They became the care takers of the dominant jazz club scene in the world. Yet, only with time and objective observation, will the significance of their creation be fully evaluated and appreciated.

Notes

1. This notion has been forwarded by promoters like William E. Bissonette for a number of years. A book by Bissonette titled Jazz Crusade: The Inside Story of the Great New Orleans Jazz Revival of the 1960s forwards said premise. The book is laden with references to Preservation Hall, and related philosophical schools of traditional jazz. "Jazz Crusade" is the name of a record production company associated with Bissonette.
2. Telephone interview with Milton Rich, June 17, 1994.
3. This was a common concern of a number of Bourbon Street jazz musicians throughout the 1970s, including: Murphy Campo, Oscar Davis and Tom Smith jr. (father of author).
4. A commonly agreed upon consensus from among Bourbon Street neo traditional musicians of the period. Reiterated during interviews with Jimmy Isle drummer Bob Gardner, October 16-19, 1980.
5. Interview with Tom Smith jr. (father of author), June 16, 1994.
6. Ibid.
7. Noted New Orleans jazz historian Donald Marquis stated to publisher Leslie Johnson in December 1997, that he did not believe Crawford was a regular performer on Bourbon Street during the period discussed. Yet it was verified in subsequent interviews with Milton Rich, (December 5, 1997), and Tom Smith jr. (December 8-10 1997), that Crawford was a regular Bourbon Street performer during this period, and Murphy Campo's regular trombonist at Crazy Shirley's until October 1977. These facts are reinforced by numerous eyewitness accounts of Crawford's whereabouts by the author.
8. Question and answer session with Frances Rich (wife of Milton Rich and regular Bourbon Street observer), April 2, 1997.
9. 1977 observation made by Oscar Davis to the author while at Crazy Shirley's.
10. Porkchop engaged in the unwise habit of brandishing his bank roll in front of his friends and associates.
11. The Famous Door prominently displays a list of notable performers who have performed there next to their entrance.
12. Noted jazz historian Donald Marquis stated to publisher Leslie Johnson that Finola probably did not perform at the Blue Angel during this period. Eyewitness accounts of the author dispute said contention.
13. Campo used to complain that he felt "put upon by forces beyond his control" (real or imagined), to let the young Connick perform with his band.
14. Interview with Frances Rich, Maison Bourbon, January 20, 1997.
15. Donald Marquis et. al.
16. Interview with Frances Rich, Maison Bourbon, January 20, 1997.
17. Telephone interview with Milton Rich, June 17, 1994.

 

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Acoustic Technology for the Identification of Mystery Jazz Recordings

Thomas Smith and Gary Westbrook Pfeiffer University Misenheimer, North Carolina

Januarry 2001

Smith and Westbrook attempted to accurately reveal mislabeled or unidentified wind instrument personnel on historical jazz recordings. A computerized matching system was used to compare unidentified recorded solos called, "mystery recordings" with recorded solos of known performers possessing stylistic attributes.

Motivation

Since the earliest days of recorded jazz, researchers and/or educators have been routinely deterred by incorrect or incomplete personnel identification. Four primary reasons can be credited for said circumstance.

1. Many instrumentalists from the early days of jazz recorded under assumed names. An example of this practice occurred in 1953, when Charlie Parker recorded for other labels under the alias "Charlie Chan." Said deception was perpetrated to protect his exclusivity agreement with Mercury Records. 1
2. Established artists sometimes dispatched substitutes to recording sessions who possessed similar performance characteristics. Years later, researchers sometimes incorrectly identified these substitutes as the intended contract performers. This practice was especially common with artists like Bix Beiderbecke, who were known to confront issues of dependability and/or punctuality. In various stages of inebriation or poor health, Beiderbecke may have replaced himself or been replaced by imitators like "Red" Nichols or Andy Secrest.2 Producers often deceived the record buying public by labeling the substitute as the original contractee, knowing with reasonable certainty that recordings featuring established performers outsold recordings performed by musicians of lesser notoriety.
3. Jazz recording sessions from the first half of the twentieth century were often casual affairs, where producers routinely neglected to list personnel accurately, if at all. Consequently, jazz discographies are inundated with terms such as "unidentified" and "unknown."3 These and similar circumstances have left historians and/ or researchers to trust their ears more than common recording label documentation.
4. After World War II, thousands of amateur recordings were responsible for a plethora of illegal "bootleg" productions, and artist approved clinic sessions, usually distributed for educational purposes. In the field of jazz music, it is appropriate to assume that more recordings of this genre were manufactured than those produced by any facet of the mainstream recording industry. In addition to the causes listed above, note should be made of the thousands of musicians who recorded their own sanctioned concerts, dances, and club dates on a regular basis. Herbie Hancock's frequent practice of recording Miles Davis engagements would alone provide enough material to significantly amend the collective discographies of both men.4

Experimentation With Viable Solutions
As early as the 1960' s, jazz historians and/ or researchers attempted to identifY practical solutions for the problems of mystery personnel identification through a variety of methods, including a process called voice printing. In 1990, Smith initiated experiments using voice imprint technology similar to another technology implemented by long distance telephone companies. VIT was similar to an earlier procedure called sound spectography, where a machine called a spectrograph performed analytical and comparative analysis by converting speech into patterns on paper. Said technology was much like the commonly referred "lie detector" test, where similar data was collected. Unfortunately, like its celebrated counterpart, results were sometimes unpredictable and inaccurate. In 1999, Westbrook concluded that a more accurate result could be attained through exploration of a new computer software called Spectraplus, that featured a similar technolog that was
superior to its VIT predecessors. 5

Procedure
This study was an exercise to test the "Spectraplus" technology. Prior to the study, excerpts were chosen from the 1982 Time-Life Giants of Jazz investigation to determine if selected "mystery recordings" were actually the work of woodwind artist Frank Teschemacher. Smith/Westbrook selected these excerpts because:
1. The editors of Time-Life Records engaged in some of the most extensive research ever undertaken in consideration of unidentified recordings. They "consulted more than twenty acknowledged experts in the United States, Canada and Britain, including discographers, scholars, collectors and musicians." Participants then selected six recordings of unidentified "possible" Teschemachers from an original pool of twenty-five. Each consultant was mailed cassette tapes and asked to vote if the recordings A. Were(Yes) B. Maybe were or C. Were not(N 0) T eschemacher. The Time-Life research also included a (at that time) rare demonstration of "voice-printing" administered by Dr. Henry M. Truby, a distinguished expert in the field of spectography. Despite the study's inconclusive fmal results, no previous or subsequent study has investigated the subject of
"mystery recording" identification with the same attention to detailas the Time-Life/Teschemacher study.6
2. Smith is a recognized Teschemacher researcher. His abilities for eliminating. superfluous Teschemacher nuances and tonal variations were considered necessary in the likelihood ofunforeseen difficulties occurring during the natural progression of the study. Four excerpts were extracted fromthe list of original excerpts. Excerpt one was an improvisedclarinet solo by Teschemacher on the song Founda New Baby. Excerpt two was an improvised clarinet solo by Teschemacher on the song Jazz Me Blues (version two). Excerpt three was an improvised clarinet solo of the song Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree. Excerpt three was chosen because it was a recording suspected to have included clarinet and saxophoneimprovisations by Teschemacher, recorded by the Howard Thomas Band of Richmond, Indiana.7 For this study, only the clarinet solo in question was tested. Excerpt four was an improvised 1929 Benny Goodman clarinet solo from the song Dinah. When Dinah was originally recorded, Goodman was believed to have been a willing recipient ofTeschemacher's stylistic influence. "Dinah has Chicago overtones with Goodman's fierce interjections recalling the freneticness of Teschemacher."8Throughout his life, Gene Krupa recalled that the younger Goodman often frequented Teschemacherengagements,routinelyhiding from view, so as not tobe seen by hiS mentor.9 Smith and Westbrook contended that the Teschemacher influence on the developing Goodman was highly probable. Therefore, said excerpt was deemed most suitable for stylistic andtonal comparisons of the two men. All excerpts were paired by Westbrook to examine statistical differences. The null hypothesis was that there were no significant differences (p =.05) between paired excerpts. The alternative hypotheses were that there was a significant difference (p =.05) between paired excerpts. The excerpt were tested using a related samples (dependentor paired) t-tests.
The first two pairs analyzed by Westbrook were excerpts one and two. There was a strongand positive relationship between excerpts oneand two (r=.874). A critical tvalue of1.21 was found at thep =.231level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no significant differences between excerpt one and two.
Excerpts one and four were analyzed next. There was a strong positive relationship between the two excerpts (r=.874). A critical t value of7.974 was found at the p <00011evel. Thisresu1t led the researchers to reject the nuH that there were no significant differences between excerpts one and four. Therefore, the researchers accepted the alternative hypothesis that there were significant differences between excerpts one and four beyond the p=.05 level.
The next pair analyzed were excerpts one and three. There was a very strong positive relationship between the two excerpts (r =.912). A critical t value of 1.298 Was found at the p =.1991evel. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were nosignificantdifferences between excerpts one and three.
The next pair analyzed were excerpts two and three. There was a very strong positive relationship between excerpt two and three (r=.937). Acritical t value of. 208 wasfound at the p =.836level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no significant differences between two and three.
Next,excerpts two and four were analyzed. There was a strong positive relationship between excerpts two and four (r =.918). Acriticalt value of 8.721 was foundat the p <.000Ilevel. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no significant differences between the two excerpts beyond the p =.05 level.
Lastly, excerpts three and four were analyzed. There was a very strong positive relationship between excerpts three and four (r.=.91). A critical t value of 8.901 was found at the p.<.OOOl level. This led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no significant differences between excerpts three and four. Therefore, the researchers accepted the alternative hypothesis that there were significant differences between excerpts three and four.

Conclusions
The purpose of this study was to identify the performer on selected "mystery jazz" recordings. Four excerpts were chosen for comparison. Excerpts one (Found aNew Baby) and two (Jazz Me Blues) were performed by Teschemacher. Excerpt three (In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree) was a "mystery jazz" recording. Excerpt four (Dinah) was performed by Goodman. The excerpts were chosen to test the methods of tonal analysis used by Spectraplus. The researchers hoped to find no significant differences (p =.05 between excerpts one, two and three, and significant differences (p =.05 between the fIrst three excerpts and excerpt four.
The results indicated that there were no significant differences (t =1.21, P =.231) between excerpt one (Found a New Baby) and excerpt two (Jazz Me Blues). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both excerpts must be from the same population. The result was expected since the performer of each excerpt was definitely Teschemacher. The comparison of excerpt one and excerpt three (Under the Shade ofthe Old Apple Tree) revealed no significant differences (t = 1.298, P =.199). Smith/Westbrook therefore concluded that the performers of each excerpt must have been from the same population. The comparison of excerpt two and excerpt three indicated no significant differences either (t =.208, P =.836). The researchers concluded that the performers of excerpts two and three must be from the population. Westbrook then compared excerpts 1-3 with excerpt four (Dinah) to examine if Spectraplus was analyzing each individual's tone, or the tone of the clarinet. Excerpts one and four were compared first. Significant differences were indicated (t =7.974, P <.0001). The researchers concluded that the performers of excerpts one and four were not from the same population. The result was expected since excerpt one was performed by Teschmacher and excerpt four was performed by Goodman. Excerpts two and four were examined next. Results indicated significant differences between the two excerpts (t =8.721, P <.0001). The researchers concluded that the performers of excerpts three and four must be from different populations. Smith/Westbrook concluded that excerpts one (Found a New Baby), two (Jazz Me Blues), and three (Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree) were the same performer (p <05). Moreover, the researchers concluded the excerpts one, two, and three were significantly different from excerpt four (Dinah) (p <.001). Therefore, the researchers concluded that Goodman was not the performer on excerpts 1-3. It is the contention of Smith/Westbrook that the clarinetist on Under the Shade ofthe Old Apple Tree is Teschemacher. Similar Smith /Westbrook studies will be administered to identify the mystery woodwind artist in another Howard Thomas recording recorded one month prior to the tested recording. 10 This artist possesses nearly identical tonal and stylistic traits to the Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree performer, and demonstrates the stylistic likelihood to have also been Teschemacher. Subsequent analysis of the saxophonists from both Thomas recordings will also be compared to known Teschemacher saxophone recordings, in an attempt to discover if Teschemacher and the Thomas saxophonists are the same person. As a sidebar to this study, the votes from the consultants in the 1982 Time-Life/ Teschemacher study were compared with the Smith/Westbrook research. The Time-Life/Teschemacher vote count for Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree was as follows: two yes, seven maybe, and eleven nO.ll Two of the consultants voting maybe were Jess Stacy and Artie Shaw; two men who possessed intimate familiarity with the Teschemacher sound and its related nuances.

Long Term Implications
The intention of Smith/W estbrook is to provide a meaningful initiation of studies beneficial towards the development and implementation of similar studies, not necessarily limited to jazz. Based on the preliminary research, music of other genres including, but not limited to classical and indigenous folk music could benefit from the procedure as well. With assessments of twentieth century music a paramount concern to contemporary musicologists, it is crucial that the clarification of inaccurate discographies be addressed, before said inaccuracies become ingrained into the fabric of accurate historical content.

Notes

1. Miles Davis/Quincy Troupe, Miles: The Autobiography (New York: Simon and Schuster Inc. 1989), p.161. Parker was also listed as Charlie Chan in the Massey Hall recording of the same year.
2. Randy Sandke, "Bix Beiderbecke From a Musician's Perspective" Annual Review of Jazz Studies 1997-98 (Latham Maryland: ScarecrowPress 2000), pp.218,244.
3. Marty Grosz, Frank Teschemacher, accompanying booklet for recording Frank Teschemacher /Giants of Jazz (Alexandria, Virginia:Time Life Records 1982) p.43.
4. Hancock's ongoing fascination with personal recording, especially during his tenure with Davis, has been well documented and verified by Davis and others in numerous publications and forums.
5. Spectraplus is an acoustical analysis software program used to analyze musical intensities and frequencies.
6. Grosz, p.44.
7. Grosz, p.47.
8. Vic EIIerby, Notes From Jack Teagarden recording I Got a Right to Sing the Blues (London: Academy Sound and Vision 1989).
9. Telephone interview with Jess Stacy, July 29, 1994, reiterated by Pat Stacy interview, May 20, 1995.
10. Grosz, p. 47.
11. Grosz, p. 47.

Graphs

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Table

click here to enlarge the image

 

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Contributed by:

Tom Smith
Senior Fulbright Professor
Fulbright Professional Specialist Program

 

 

 

 

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From ITA Journal

BON VOYAGE

THE BOB FERREL QUARTET. Bob Ferrel. trombone; Michael Cochrane, piano; Colvin Hill, boss; Yoran Israel. drums. Guest artists: Vinnie Cutro, trumpet; Frank Elmo, tenor saxophone, boss clarinet; Ben Williams, Brion Ferrel, Augie Rivero, trombone; Phil Jones, boss trombone; Jann Parker, narration.

BFM PRODUCTIONS BFM-002 (P.O. Box 10663, Foirfield, NJ 07004; Phone: 973/227-5450) Augie Rivero: 124th & Kuiz; Blue Wild Flower; Hurricane Bop. Bob Ferrel: Bon Voyage; Eulipian's Lament; Blues For The Century. John Coltrane: Brazilia. J.J. Johnson/Slide Hampton: Lament. Oliver Nelson/Bob Hovey: Stolen Momerrts. Edison Narration. Duke Ellington: Mood Indigo.

Bob Ferrel's second solo recording is a testimony to his integrity as a musician. Known in the New York area for his versatility and uncompromising standards, he possesses the good sense to do three things very well he breathes new life into standard jazz repertoire by demonstrating the proper balance of individual interpretation and respect for history; he contributes new material to jazz literature without a hint of self indulgence; and he surrounds himself with very good people. Few trombonists have successfully performed the music of John Coltrane's mid '60s quartet. Ferrel's version of Brazilia is a masterwork of the first order. He possesses both the technique and the creative depth to construct an ideal trombone interpretation. You find yourself listening for what he will do next. Needless to say, the technical qualifications for such a performance are quite high.

Ferrel's support musicians are all world-class artists. Cochrane and Hill are veterans. They provide substantial input without interrupting the flow of Ferrel's personal vision. One of the best things that can be said about the Ferrel sidemen is that you remember little about them as individuals. This is meant as high praise for musicians who could have easily dominated this recording if that had been their intention.

BON VOYAGE does occasionally resort to some minor gimmickery. Too much is probably made of the group's use of a 1905 Thomas Edison phonograph to record two of the tracks. And the title composition showcases too much of the kind of multiphonic theatrics already popularized by Mangelsdorff, Watrous and Wilson. But these are minor transgressions and are easily forgiven. This is a most creative jazz project made possible by a "trombonist's trombonist." May his career continue to be long and prosperous.

Tom Smith Pfeiffer University

 

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CAREER SURVIVAL FOR
THE ENTRY LEVEL
PROFESSIONAL

.The music business is currently saturated with an abundance of uniquely gifted wind musicians. For every working trombonist or saxophonist, there exists a hundred others still waiting for that elusive first engagement. Serious musicians recognize early in their careers that steady work is reliant on a variety of factors in addition to talent. At no time does talent alone guarantee career longevity. It is unfortunate that this insight is not appreciated by many novice professionals. Careers in music are never guaranteed. They are always earned with persistence and hard work. In most cases, the process occurs one step at a time. Unlike other professions, where long term professional goals are advisable, the music business rewards those who are flexible and willing to shift direction at a moments notice. Those who confide in others that in five years they see themselves doing one thing will be sorely disappointed when reality presents other opportunities.

A music career begins with intelligent choices. The music business is constantly changing and evolving. It is the first duty of working musicians to secure employment and to establish themselves within a community of working musicians. This does not occur if there is not a willingness to show flexibility and a certain amount of tolerance. The tolerance issue can be especially difficult for some young musicians. On far too many occasions, highly touted collegiate performers enter professional environments devoid of good manners and professional decorum. They sometimes respond to less than ideal situations with displays of unprofessional behavior. Such practices are counterproductive to the success of a musical performance and are universally unwelcome.

Rule number one is to accept the notion that all professional musicians start from scratch. Confident band and orchestra leaders could care less what college you come from, or how you fared in its artificial pecking order. A serious contractor may refer to these experiences as a possible gauge of talent, but never as an indication of professionalism.

Until musicians accept money for services, they are not considered professional. It is the opinion of some of the more cynical contractors that exclusive performance in the college ranks only indicates a willingness to pay others for the opportunity to perform. This may have been beneficial experience, but it is still nonprofessional experience. Therefore, if you are a collegiate performer known for the possession of an excessive ego, it will be important to the longevity of your career to discontinue that facet of your personality.

A wind musician cannot survive in this era without a willingness to be flexible. Specialization is now the exclusive territory of long-time professionals, who have already survived a number of changes in the business.

The up and coming wind player must be a jack-of-all-trades. Today, symphony musicians perform section work in jazz ensembles. Club musicians perform commercial jingles and radio spots. Jazz musicians back up county and western singers. You do what it takes to be seen and heard.

The disco era of the 1970's and latter advances in synthesizer technology, created a radical shift in the way many wind players shaped their careers. Those who planned ahead and trained in a diversified manner, were able to survive the substantial reductions in studio work, and be successful in other areas of the industry. Those who were limited in their flexibility, experienced substantial losses in income or disappeared from music entirely.

Sometimes, the key to initiating a successful career is in the selection of a proper location. It is a common misconception for wind musicians to believe that substantial careers are born only out of large metropolitan areas. In actuality, many medium sized markets are perfectly suited for career initiation and advancement.

I often refer to the annual rankings of most livable cities for possible career location. It would also be wise to maintain an awareness of areas that demonstrate rapid population growth. In these locations, the expanded musical environment is fresh and new. Often, there are few established contractors and less competition for desirable work. Musical quality in growing locations is consistently respectable. World-class organizations visit these locations regularly to refine production and test out new material. On these occasions, they are usually prohibited by cost restraints from accommodating a familiar core of backup musicians. The void is almost always filled from an existing pool of local musicians.

Almost every middle sized market can boast of at least one first team. This is a core of approximately twenty musicians who are of a world class caliber. Wind musicians usually judge the completeness of a first team in big band terms. For example, if a market can reasonably claim the existence of five outstanding woodwind musicians and ten outstanding brass musicians, they are said to possess a first team.

The difference between major performing markets and medium sized ones are in the number of first teams they possess. Some major cities have fifty or more first teams, whereas some attractive middle sized markets have only one or two. Entry level professionals in these smaller markets avoid excessive competition, and assimilate easier with the smaller number of musicians who essentially perform all of the work. As unusual as it may sound, opportunities are sometimes more approachable in Raleigh or Charlotte than they are in New York or Los Angeles.

Medium sized markets also feature a wide variety of community ensembles and rehearsal bands. These organizations are always in need of new talent. Many maintain an open door policy and require no audition for membership. This is especially true of community wind ensembles. They usually pay little or no money. But, they are great places to be seen and heard. More importantly, they are ideal for networking and staying abreast of the local scene. I personally know of many wind musicians who locate the majority of their professional engagements through participation in such organizations.

Moreover, the community ensemble affords an opportunity for others to observe your talent, dress, language and punctuality. It is important that these ensembles not be discounted. Their participation should be taken as seriously as some paid engagements.

When you are offered that first job in a new location, take it. You might not be given a second chance. Accept any fair financial offer, without argument or negotiation. Once you accept a contract, do not rescind your agreement for another engagement, even if it pays more money. Band leaders remember being snubbed and will sometimes go out of their way to see that other band leaders hear about it.

Allow plenty of time for arriving at the performance destination. Nothing makes a more favorable impression on a new musical contact than punctuality. Do not take liberties with the assigned uniform. If the contractor says to wear brown pants and a blue coat, follow his/her instructions to the letter.

Upon initiating the engagement, keep talking to a minimum. Do not squander a first impression by taking about your accomplishments or how procedures were handled elsewhere. Most importantly, keep negative comments to a minimum, irregardless of the conditions. Veteran performers adapt to less than positive environments and behave like professionals. Musicians with little or no experience complain. .

Once you are established in one venue, continue to expand into others. Make certain that you do not miss opportunities. Successful performance longevity is often contingent upon the number of short-term engagements you are able to string together.

After about a year, a musician can gauge his/her successful assimilation into the local market. Once contractors get to knew you as a musician and as a person, you can allow yourself more freedom to accept the jobs you really want to do, and to be more questioning of your financial worth.

Wind musicians today can work steadily in most locations if they are willing to be reliable, occasionally travel short distances from their adopted territories, and be willing to explore new frontiers.

A wise older musician once told me that the music business should be observed as one wild roller coaster ride. Rarely does a musician rise to the top and stay there forever. He compared his life to that of a stock broker who made prudent decisions during bull markets, and remained calm and vigilant during bear markets. A market will always exist for those musicians who think before they act and possess a high regard for the art of paying attention.

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From ITA Journal

Eric Leonard: Breakin' the Rules

(a review)

 

Just when this reviewer had decided to give up on the premise of a new and qualified pop/crossover trombone recording, along comes Eric Leonard to dispel all previous notions. With Breakin the Rules this crafty young Oklahoman (and self avowed Steve Wiest admirer) takes his place next to trumpeter Rick Braun and others of his predisposition, as a possible trombone counterpart in the smooth jazz classification. Granted, this may not seem like such a big deal to some ITA Journal readers, but it really should be. One need only remember the big band era, when the trombone ruled supreme as the pop instrument of choice. Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller and Jack Jenney were no "fly by nights." They were national heroes. The whole world knew who they were, and because of them, everybody wanted to play the trombone. Public based adulation (to say nothing of respect) for the trombone has been hard to come by in recent years. Therefore, it would not kill the trombone community to embrace a least a handful of pop influenced concepts. In Leonard's case, he not only dabbles in these concepts, he has embraced them to create a memorable juxtaposition of infectious melodies, combined with some really fine trombone playing.

Leonard's recording partners are part of an actual working band that plays in and around the Oklahoma City area, and it shows. Unlike the studio musicians who shake hands with the artist ten minutes before the session, this is a tight knit group. Bassist Mike Myers especially stands out in such a way as to remind one of the manner in which bassist Andy West once complimented The Dixie Dregs. All of the sidemen are great at evoking that "Crusaders" feeling; a mostly successful concept that once prompted musicians to listen to Wayne Henderson. There is alot of the old Crusaders dynamic in Leonard's compositions. In fact, his intentions appear to follow the tact of allowing his tunes to set up an appropriate environment for group members to demonstrate their solid technical ranges, and just in general be funky. On the subject of chops, Leonard has them in abundance. Yet, he is mature enough to hold back just enough to let the music breathe, and achieve the potential for airplay….and again, there is nothing wrong with that. Eric Leonard demonstrates with Breakin the Rules that a crossover trombone recording of class and distinction is more than a remote possibility. It can and has become a reality. Steve Turre, take note. A virtual unknown just got with his Oklahoma buddies to perform, manufacture and distribute the very album you should have done a long time ago. Well done Mr. Leonard…very well done!

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University
ITA Journal

 

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An Experience with a Happy End
Tom Smith, Director of Instrumental Music
Pfeiffer University, Misenheimer, NC
Senior Fulbright Scholar, National University of Music, University of Bucharest

I vividly recall my first encounter with University of Bucharest Professor Rodica Mihaila. It was during the September, 2002 Fulbright orientation session. „We would be so happy to have you lecture at one of our American Studies sessions,“ she cooed. I immediately told her what an honor it was to be asked. „Good, it’s all set,“ she shot back. „I will bring students to the reception tonight for informal introductions.“ She then quickly pressed a folded slip of paper into my hand. I opened the mysterious document just wide enough to see my name listed prominently on what appeared to be a Department of American Studies Graduate School Fall Schedule. When I looked up to respond, she was already gone. „See you at the reception tonight,“ I heard her yell from what I assumed was the street. I again looked down at the paper, and to my astonishment discovered my enlistment as a REGULAR lecturer. Moreover, my first session was scheduled to convene in a mere four days. I suppose I would have considered the aforementioned scenario a normal course of affairs, were it not for the fact that my home institution was the National University of Music, and not the University of Bucharest. „What on Earth did I just agree to?“ I wondered. To make a long story short, Professor Mihaila’s polite yet determined coercion turned out to be the beginning of a most pleasant surprise. Within a matter of days, my disposition had changed from „How do I have time for this?“ into „I really love this class.“ The premise of my lectures was supposedly Jazz Music and American Sociological Parallels. But, it was not long before the classes spiraled into a plethora of related and sometimes not so related topics; especially those that satisfied my own urges to explore the idiosynchracies of the American political system.

I especially remember the week when President Bush came to extend Romania an invitation into NATO. That week the students asked me to forego the usual topics, to instead devote more timeto the subject at hand. This was one of many times when I realized that my American Studies students were pretty sharp customers, and the equal of any graduate students I had ever encountered. They may not understand the principles behind a credit card, but the youthful Romanian intelligentsia absolutely understand political gamesmanship. In fact there are many political nuances that my young Romanian friends could explain to the politically unwashed of my own country. I remember that particular session very well, because I recall with fondness how much they impressed me. They told me they believed that presidential character DID matter, that the American Supreme Court did not steal the American election of 2000, but that hanging chads almost did, that there was little difference in the ethics of either the Democratic or Republican parties, and that George Bush called himself a Texas cowboy, because Maine lobster fishing is probably not considered as masculine to the average voting American. I also recall the statements made by one of my more talkative students regarding what she considered Romania’s „interesting“ invitation into NATO. „What do they want from us?“ she bellowed. „NATO appears interested in specialization at the moment,“ I answered. „They seem to really like those Romanian mountain soldiers.“ Soooo....our new NATO friends would like us to go fetch the especially vicious Al Qaeda who are still in Afghanistan,“ she immediately chimed back. „You know who they are Professor Smith. They are the ones you Americans are tired of chasing.“

Dead silence.

Later, we were honored (if not a little confused) to learn that our discussions had reached the attention of senior American diplomats. In fact, two weeks after the NATO lecture, our class was visited by the American Cultural attaché himself. „How you ever got them to embrace western politics by listening to jazz I will never know,“ he told me. Frankly, I never had the heart to tell him that I was just as clueless as he was. Despite the numerous multicultural inroads my students and I forged, they paled in comparison to the enduring bonds of friendship that prevailed. I will never forget that wonderful Christmas party they organized, or the fine young man who taught my son French and showed my wife how to pay the cable bill. These are kindnesses not so easily forgotten in a person’s life.

Recently Professor Mihaila stated in public forum that I had made a difference in the lives of her students. I thank her with more than a fair dose of embarrasment, since it is I who has been positively altered. And far more comprehensively than any random musings I may have donated to the intellectual psyche of the University of Bucharest. There was a time when I absolutely hated to hear someone utter the expression „young people are our future.“ I used to think it was the single most inane line ever conceived. Now, I guess I will have to drop some of my cynicism and rethink that one. Rodica Mihaila’s students have a way of eventually wearing you down... and sometimes it is for all the right reasons.

 

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From ITA Journal

SMILE

GUNTER BOLLMANN, TROMBONE; Olaf Polziehn, piano;
Ingmar Heller, bass; Oliver Mewes, drums; Andy Haderer, trumpet; Stefan Pfeifer, alto sax; Bruno Moller, guitar; The Symphonic Laboratory Orchestra; Manfred Honetschlager, conductor.
MONS RECORDS MR874-348 (Taubenplatz 42, 67705 Trippstadt, Germany; Phone: 49 (0) 06306 993223)
Jerome Kern: Nobody Else But Me. M. Bauza: Tango. J. van Rooyen: Violets. E. Daniels: Soft Shoe for Thad. S. Mihanovich: Sometime Ago. Thad Jones: Mean What You Say. Manfred Honetschlager: Cien anos de Soledad. Ray Noble: Cherokee.

The jazz trombone world had better start clearing a wide path for 29-year-old Gunter Bollmann. This German born apprentice of Jiggs Whigham and the late Bobby Burgess has serious game so much in fact that it will be difficult to mask his present greatness. One does not have to be clairvoyant to predict that a large contingent will proclaim him "the next big thing," and they will not be too far off the mark.

What is especially impressive about Bollmann is the great improvisational creativity and maturity he displays in the face of his own monumental technical facility. His beautiful tone also weighs in heavily on creatively eclectic ballads like van Rooyen's Violets and Manfred Honetschlager's beautiful Cien anos de Soledad, the latter accompanied admirably by the Symphonic Laboratory Orchestra of Warsaw. With those things said, Bollmann's startling technical skills seek to redefine how one approaches the art of chordal navigation. Bollmann is just so relaxed in his approach that you tend to get wrapped up in what he is saying as opposed to what he is doing. Wonderful stylistic characterizations of Cherokee and Bauza's Tango literally jump out at the listener in heroic fashion.

Bollmann also surrounds himself with a very powerful supporting cast. Pianist Polziehn especially stands out for his ability to innately comprehend what is necessary to make a trombone sound the way it needs to sound in this mostly small group setting. Saxophonist Pfeifer is no slouch either. His tasteful contrapuntal interplay with Bollmann on Thad Jones' Mean What You Soy evokes memories of J.J. Johnson and Stan Getz in a similar genre. As a rule, this band plays like an assemblage of 60-year-old icons instead of the 20-something young lions they actually ore.

Make no mistake about it. This review is an unadulterated rave. SMILE represents an amazing achievement for one so young, and apparently so unknown. Yet, problems associated with anonymity have a way of working out when you produce one of the most complete jazz trombone recordings of the past couple of years, to say nothing of the finest European small group recording of any classification. Bollmann is that good, and deserves support. SMILE is aptly titled. It certainly put one on my face.

Tom Smith
National Music University, Bucharest, Romania

 

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From American National Biography

Harris, Bill

 

..........Harris, Bill (28 Oct. 1916-21 Aug. 1973), trombonist, guitarist, and composer, was born Willard Palmer Harris in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the son of Willard Massey Harris, an attorney for the U.S. Marine Corps, and Mabel Palmer Harris. Bill's older half brother Robert was a professional bassist who performed with the Ted Weems Orchestra. As a child, Harris studied piano for six months before contracting scarlet fever. Immediately following convalescence, he abandoned the piano and tried the tenor saxophone, trumpet, and drums before concentrating exclusively on the trombone. Although his father wanted him to study law, Harris spent much of his late adolescence employed in a number of occupations, including truck driver, electric meter reader, warehouse laborer, and semiprofessional musician. In 1935, partly in deference to his parents, Harris joined the Merchant Marines. Two years later he returned to Philadelphia, where in 1938 he married Elizabeth "Bette" Alexander. They had three children. He resumed truck driving and performed part time at country clubs and wedding receptions with childhood contemporaries Buddy DeFranco and Charlie Ventura.

Harris did not pursue music full time until he was twenty-four. With the exception of sporadic lessons with Philadelphia brass instructor Donald Reinhart, he was completely self-taught and a poor sight reader. In 1941, on Ventura's recommendation, Harris was deputized a sideman for Gene Krupa's band; he was released after one week due to poor sight-reading. Similar results occurred two months later with the Ray McKinley band. An interim period with bandleader Buddy Williams of Dayton, Ohio, followed. In 1942, during Harris's temporary stint with Bob Chester, Benny Goodman heard Harris perform on a Chester radio broadcast and in 1943 invited him to join his group. He was with Goodman for nine months. When the band relocated to California for the filming of the movie Sweet and Lowdown, Harris purchased a home in Santa Monica and remained there when Goodman disbanded in early spring 1944. Engagements with Charlie Barnet and Freddy Slack followed before he was chosen by Goodman to lead a band at New York's Café Society with saxophonist Zoot Sims. In 1944, after another brief period with Chester, he joined Woody Herman's band at Detroit's Eastwood Gardens.

Harris's rambunctious and widely emulated trombone improvisations accelerated the popularity of Herman's first nationally recognized ensemble, known retrospectively as the "First Herd." His eccentric personality and reputation for outrageous practical jokes meshed well with other Herman band members such as tenor saxophonist Flip Phillips and bassist Chubby Jackson. The band's much-heralded recordings of Harris features, for example, "Bijou" and his own composition "Everywhere," led to victories in a number of music polls, including the Down Beat Reader's Poll (1945-1954), the Down Beat Critic's Poll (1953-1954) and the Metronome Reader's Poll (1946-1955). When Herman disbanded the "First Herd" in 1946, Harris led his own groups around New York and played intermittently with Charlie Ventura. In 1948 he rejoined Herman's new band.

When Herman disbanded this "Second Herd," Harris began a four-year association with Norman Granz's Jazz at the Philharmonic. Between JATP tours, he performed with Oscar Pettiford, Benny Carter, and the Sauter-Finnegan Orchestra. In 1956 he joined Herman's "Third Herd." After two years he departed over salary issues. Harris then moved his family to the Miami, Florida, area and lived in semiretirement as a part-time disc jockey. In 1959 Herman coaxed him back for one more enlistment as part of the English-based Anglo-American Herd. A short time later, Harris accepted a second much shorter tenure with Goodman, performing in Europe and New York with a nine-piece band that included xylophonist Red Norvo, trumpeter Jack Sheldon, and Phillips. Throughout the 1950s, in addition to his numerous JATP recordings, he was heard on a handful of albums, including New Jazz Sounds (1954) with Carter, Bill Harris Herd (1956), and Bill Harris and Friends (1957).

During the 1960s, Harris alternated between his Florida and Las Vegas residences, working regularly with Norvo and trumpeter Charlie Teagarden while fronting lounge bands on both trombone and guitar. His permanent exile from Las Vegas was sealed when a popular entertainer released him from his backup orchestra for (in his words) "looking too old." He was later dispatched from the employ of Miami's Tropicana Hotel, as part of a management-led initiative to downsize their brass section. With the exception of occasional performances with Phillips, his final days were spent in relative obscurity and his last means of support was as a security guard. His last notable performance was a JATP reunion at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1971. Harris died in Coral Gables, Florida, of heart failure caused by his deteriorating physical condition after years of neglecting what had been a treatable form of cancer.

Contemporary disinterest in the Harris legacy is difficult to explain. Although strongly influenced by J. C. Higginbotham, he was an innovator of the first rank and arguably one of the most important transitional jazz stylists. His signature approach to jazz trombone playing served as an evolutionary bridge between progressive traditionalist Jack Teagarden and post-swing modernist J. J. Johnson. Harris's extroverted style, which included a trademark "burry" sound (wide tones with vibrato in each note), influenced an entire generation of musicians and helped to establish the trombone as a popular jazz solo instrument.

Bibliography
Regrettably, there are few written examinations of Bill Harris, with the exception of anecdotal vignettes in Woody Herman biographies, most notably in Woody Herman and Stuart Troup, The Woodchopper's Ball: The Autobiography of Woody Herman (1990). See also William D. Clancy with Audree Coke Kenton, Woody Herman: Chronicles of the Herds (1995); Robert C. Kriebel, Blue Flame: Woody Herman's Life in Music (1995); and Gene Lees, Leader of the Band: The Life of Woody Herman (1995). Shorter observations include Leonard Feather, "Bill Harrasses His Horn," Metronome 41, no. 12 (1945): 27,45, and B. Lamb, "The Big Sound of Bill Harris," Melody Maker 15 (Sept.1973): 48. At present, the most comprehensive Harris research materials exist in private collections and are difficult to obtain.

 

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From ITA Journal

Ian McDougall: Burnin' the House Down

(a review)

 

"In times as perplexing as ours, when the barely tolerable is routinely confused for greatness, should there not be a comprehensive assessment of the contributions of one Ian McDougall? For some unexplained reason, this Herculean trombonist/composer/educator is too often afforded the short end of qualitative evaluation. After all, could Rob McDonnell’s Boss Brass have been half the band it was had McDougall not held down its trombone section, while contributing many of its more substantive compositions?

As strange as it is to say, Burnin’ the House Down is McDougall’s very first live recording as a leader in a small group club setting, and it can be said without reservation that he takes full advantage of the opportunity. The band he assembled at Hermann’s Jazz Club in Victoria, British Columbia, experiences chemistry heard only from musicians who regularly perform together. If anyone seriously doubts this assessment, just listen to how nonchalantly guitarist Oliver Gannon emphasizes McDougall’s accents during improvised forays on "O.S.Blues" and "Strivin’ for a Riff," or how easily bassist Lachance locks into drummer Fuller’s hi-hat, leaving the space necessary for pianist Johnston and saxophonist Taggart to perform at their creative best. This is a totemic degree of nuance that only occurs after years of collective performance. Moreover, these undeniable strengths will easily make you forget the occasional missed note, or even the first night’s minor recording deficiencies. The bottom line is that when all is concisely evaluated, Burnin’… still comes off as a first rate effort worthy of any jazz aficionado’s collection."
April 2002 by

Tom Smith

Pfeiffer University

 

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Implementation of the Community Jazz Ensemble
from North Carolina Music Educator
September 1985

 

FOR YEARS NOW, musicians and educators have predicted the demise of the American jazz ensemble. Despite declining record, sales and the breakup of many well, known bands. The idiom continues to endure. While wonderful jazz groups like those of Stan Kenton and Count Basie (Thad Jones is now leading the impressive Basie organization) fade with the passing of their leaders, high school and college jazz ensembles number "in the tens of thousands. Students graduate from these groups with a sense of pride and appreciation far this very distinctive art form.

Unfortunately, as is often the case, these talented musicians find musical life after their school jazz ensemble a frustrating one. Outlets for quality performance are few. When the opportunity does arise to play in an adult jazz ensemble it is, “more often than, not” a very loose-knit affair. Seldom do these bands utilize proper rehearsal regimens or play arrangements of quality, and although these so called "good time" bands claim to be bringing back the big band sounds of the thirties and forties, they often do the American jazz ensemble a great disservice. This is not to say that the music of Glenn Miller or Artie Shaw is not valid. On the contrary, the contribution these musicians made to American music is of great importance. The complaint comes from the nature in which these masters are paid homage to.

Several years ago, musicians in the larger cities recognized this problem and created the ensemble now referred to as the "rehearsal band." These generally fine groups consist of serious amateur am profession al musicians looking for an escape from the grind of studio and commercial work. Much like the school jazz ensemble, the rehearsal band serves as a musical laboratory for the musician to explore new avenues of musical expression in a controlled workshop setting. Many times, these ensembles grow into fulltime working units. Two 01 jazz history's finest ensembles (Thad Jones-Mel Lewis and Akiyoshi-Tabacken) began as rehearsal bands before becoming' full-time working ensembles. As good as the rehearsal band idea may sound. It is seldom of much value outside major metropolitan centers. The majority of schooled musicians still exist in medium sized cities and rural area. These regions seldom boast of a large dub environment or have much of a central musical organization. The alternative for these areas could be the community jazz ensemble. The community music ensemble concept bas been in practice for many years. At the turn of the century, the "town band" concert on a Sunday afternoon was thought as much a part of Americana as the Fourth of July. After World War II, small cities began to establish their own symphony orchestras. However, in recent years these orchestras have been on the decline a city of 20 to 40 thousand bas a difficult time maintaining the massive expense of a full symphony orchestra or finding proper performance facilities for the ensemble. The community jazz ensemble generally avoids these problems. With a maximum of 19 members, it is a smaller ensemble and can effectively perform almost anywhere.

More important, the community jazz ensemble can be more readily understood and appreciated by the average music listener. The unique colors, improvisational elements and the familial rhythm section all aid in the acceptance of this medium. The community jazz ensemble also runs on a fraction of the budget required for larger groups. Though tremendous advantages are provided with the implementation of a community, jazz ensemble, great care should be taken in its organization.

Choosing a Director

The leader of a community jazz ensemble, while having sufficient musical background, must be someone of an aggressive nature with visible political instincts a town can organize an excellent Jazz ensemble only to fail when concerts are poorly attended or press releases are not provided for the local media. Thee ensemble director must have skills required for organizing a carps of dedicated volunteers to get the word out about all events being prepared by the ensemble. One person cannot do all of this by himself.
Always remember that the average member of a community jazz ensemble is not a full-time musician. He/she could be a doctor, lawyer or shopkeeper. These types of musicians usually have certain insecurities about current performing abilities. It is the job of the director to convince these people of their importance in the ensemble and to show them the contribution they make to the artistic enrichment of the community.
Local music dealers are excellent sources for gathering information on local musicians and their whereabouts. They are also valuable in suggesting the proper director for the group. Band directors often have large band booster organizations and can give excellent advice on media campaining and general public: relations. These people are also excellent and logical choices for community jazz ensembles. The catch will be to find one with the sufficient time to do both things properly.

Knowing Your Arts Council

Almost every small town has some of arts organization which can be of tremendous help in finding a facility for the community jazz ensemble. Without a permanent rehearsal site, the band will founder and disband quickly. A school bandroom or a community recreation center ten provides the best atmosphere for productive rehearsals. Local arts councils can also be of assistance in providing financial hacking for the band. Most state arts councils have some thing called "grass roots" funding that can be adapted for this type of organization. Consulting a local arts council chairman is essential in guaranteeing the survival the ensemble. These people are usually very cooperative. They know that if the organization fills a community need, it will insure their own organization of positive publicity.

 

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An Investigation of The Death of Frank Teschemacher
Tom Smith Pfeiffer University Misenheimer, North Carolina

..........One of the most intriguing jazz musicians of the 1920's was the young clarinetist Frank Teschemacher.1 An ardent devotee of Bix Beiderbecke, the two are often compared both in style and musical perspective.2 Teschemacher (pronounced "Teshmaker" as in "Baker")3 was not only one of the principle founders of a Beiderbecke-influenced jazz derivative ca1Ied the "Chicago School", but perhaps its dominant proponent. He was often considered "the most talented" member of a group of white teenagers known loosely as the Austin High Gang. There is also strong evidence to suggest that he was their unofficial leader.4 He is often credited for initiating their group musical activities and for arranging much of its music.5 December 1927 recordings of the McKenzie-Condon Chicagoans, (a predominant Austin High venture) were the first partially arranged Chicago school recordings released on a large scale, and were among the most influential of their time. Both cornetist Jimmy McPartland and guitarist Eddie Condon, (two primary Austin High associates and recording participants), verified that Teschemacher arranged all four of the cuts for these sessions recorded under the name "The McKenzie-Condon Chicagoans." McKenzie-Condon renditions of "China Boy," "Sugar," "Nobody's sweetheart Now," and the harmonically startling 'Liza' bear out the contention that something new and important had been developed. Teschemacher scholar Vladimir Simosko aptly pointed out in his often quoted "Reappraisal" that comparing the mid-1920's work of Red Nichols and Miff Mole with the recordings of Austin High associates demonstrate that infusion had occurred from Chicago musicians to New York "that helped shape the sounds of the future."6 Teschemacher was in no small part responsible for the scope of these recordings, especially in their initial planning stages.

More importantly, Teschemacher was one of the most creative and unpredictable soloists of his era. In addition of his contributions as a clarinetist, he was a highly talented saxophonist with a voice strongly rooted in the comet musings of Beiderbecke. This came at a time when most saxophonists of the era were incorporating a decidedly Armstrong influenced style. Above all, it is as a clarinetist that Teschemacher is best remembered. He possessed an innovative style that "did not suggest the liquid line of white predecessors Shields and Rapollo, but was agitated and capricious."7 This came about, at least in part, from the frequent use of the trumpet influenced melodic creations that so succinctly defined his saxophone playing. More important to his clarinet development was an ability to incorporate conceptual figurations initiated by New Orleans clarinetists Johnny Dodds and Jimmy Noone into the overall framework of his trumpet oriented improvisations. Teschemacher would fall under the Armstrong influence as would all of his contemporaries. But, unlike most of the improvisers of the period, Teschemacher's adaptation of Armstrong was primarily in his manner of accents, syncopation and overall projection. Even in imitation, Frank Teschemacher forever asserted his will for far reaching, imaginative improvisation. His style was "a freely expressed, anything goes approach which ignored the unwritten laws and precepts of New Orleans jazz."8 As Gunther Schuller has correctly stated, "He was in many ways the Ornette Coleman of the Twenties."9 Teschemacher's greatest contribution to jazz was probably as the principle influence of the young Benny Goodman. Gene Krupa often stated that Goodman would frequent many of Teschemacher's performing venues, often hiding behind a post so as not to be seen by other musicians.10 His influence was especially apparent in the Goodman led Charleston Chasers recordings of 1931. Goodman's solos emphasize the unpredictably accented melodic line that the older, more experienced Teschemacher was already exploring. Goodman was a clarinetist who eventually went far beyond his models in musicianship; but not before using the Teschemacher style to develop his own. The assertion that Teschemacher filled in the wide gap between Noone/Dodds and Goodman, using Beiderbecke as a bridge, is not far-fetched. Unfortunately, his untimely death in 1932, two weeks before his twenty-sixth birthday, stilled a voice that for all practical purposes would have continued to develop.

Death by Motor Vehicle

The news of the automobile accident that killed Teschemacher was not widely circulated. "Newspaper accounts were brief. Twelve hours after he died, all such matters were buried under an avalanche of stories about the kidnapping of the infant son of Charles Lindbergh."11 The accident did constitute a major event for members of the Chicago jazz community. Teschemacher was a beloved figure among a large cross-section of musicians and a small handful of jazz aficionados. His influence as a cheerleader for the musical directions initiated by Beiderbecke was undisputed. Undoubtedly, the primary reason for the persistent attention paid to what seemed at the time a random series of events, was the role played by the driver of the 1928 Packard convertibleI2 where Teschemacher lived out his last moments on earth; the controversial trumpeter Bill Davison.

Accounts of the events leading to this accident and the subsequent activities of its participants have changed so much as to elevate it to legend or fable. Although many of the basic components of the chronology are easily verified, some of the most important' are not. According to Davison, he and Teschemacher had entered a speakeasy owned by musician Charlie Straight at around 1:00 pm on the afternoon of February 29, 1932.13 The building still exists one block from the comer of Montrose and Magnolia as the Montrose Grill; a Northside landmark still remembered by contemporary locals as a former hangout of prohibition mobsters.I4 Much of the area business community had been consumed by the Capone crime syndicate, after the eradication of the Moran group following the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre.1.5 An existing restaurant located next door to the accident scene was remembered to be an establishment frequented by AI Capone and his underlings.I6 With Capone and his lieutenant Frank Nitti both in prison, the usual operations, especially the alcohol based establishments, had been farmed out to former middle managers of questionable skills and even lesser scruples. 17

Davison reported that he and Teschemacher stayed at the speakeasy for several hours before departing for the home of a Davison girlfriend for dinner. They remained at this location for an undetermined length of time before visiting the home of musician Jack Goss, located on the comer of' Magnolia and Sunnyside. The purpose of their visit was to stop for a nightcap and to remind Goss of a band rehearsal the next day. At around 3:00 a.m., (other sources have said 2:30), Teschemacher and Davison left Goss's brownstone apartment to go to Teschemacher's apartment where Davison had planned to spend the nightI8 Davison claimed that he and Teschemacher had "just enough (alcohol) to make our breath smell. II According to Davison;

"I was driving north on Magnolia as we approached Wilson Avenue. I slowed down almost to a stop, looked in both directions and didn't see a car moving anywhere. So I shoved the gears into second and started across the intersection. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a yellow cab traveling on Wilson crashed into us broadside."19

Davison claimed that the cab was traveling without headlights, with only parking lights visible. The impact occurred on the passenger side, and sent the Packard out of control, across the street and into a
tree. The impact, according to Davison, propelled him into the plate glass window of a drugstore. Teschemacher, with hands in his pockets, not having time to shield his head, was jettisoned headfirst into the nearby curb. Davison was transferred to a nearby hospital, for what was-diagnosed as a wrenched left leg and was shortly released. He spent the rest of the night in jail on suspicion of vehicular manslaughter. Teschemacher was taken to Ravenswood Hospital, where he died from multiple injuries shortly after admittance.20 In a subsequent coroner's inquest, both Davison and cabdriver John Dragonoffwere cleared of any wrongdoing and were not charged with the death of Frank Teschemacher.21

Investigation

Davison's story, upon investigation of the accident scene, can be substantiated on several fronts. The site is essentially the same today as it was at the time of the accident. Most of the structures that existed in 1932 still exists as of October 26, 1997. Upon impact from a vehicle moving west to east, a 1928 Packard Phateon Convertible could have easily been directed into a tree from the intersection. Only one tree currently exists at that corner. It is located nine feet from the intersection. It is a maple tree, approximately twenty feet in height, and sixteen inches across. A gash, approximately six inches in length is located about one foot from its base. According to the occupant of the home next to the tree, it existed when his landlord's family purchased the home shortly after World War II. The gash had always been a distinguishing feature of the tree; leading one to ascertain that it had been in existence for some time, and could have been caused by the accident.22 In an interview for the liner notes of a Teschemacher LP collection, Davison stated that "it had been the only tree anywhere near the spot."23 The building with the plate-glass window was built long before the accident and is currently vacated. One local resident identified the structure as a drugstore up until at least the 1950'S.24 These points can be substantiated without question. Davison's account of events before and after the accident are more contradictory. The coroner's report secured by Teschemacher researcher David Dexter, Jr., revealed that Davison, Teschemacher and drummer George Wettling had been seen drinking at Straight's establishment at approximately 1:00 p.m. and had been seen leaving the speakeasy later that aftemoon.2S After that, the story becomes muddled in reasonable uncertainty. For the duo to have spent what would have been many hours at the girlfriend's home is unlikely. Davison and Teschemacher were business associates, but not great friends. According to pianist and Teschemacher friend Jess Stacy, the two had been at odds over outright ownership of a big band they had formed. 26 The group was a promising ensemble that rehearsed daily at a studio on the comer of Leland and Sheridan; just blocks away from the speakeasy, Goss's apartment, and the accident scene.27 The band, that was performing in what participating musicians called "a swingstyle," had already experienced some success at a band competition staged at an African-American club on the South Side.28 Teschemacher would have been the logical choice to have been the musical director of the ensemble. According to Davison's wife, the trumpeter was not even a remedial reader of music until the late 1930's.29 The probability of Davison rehearsing a big band stocked with learned hand-picked musicians, with Teschemacher remaining in the background is remote. Teschemacher's abilities as an expert sight reader, arranger and creative force were well known. It is the author's contention that the introverted and temperamental Teschemacher probably saw the flamboyant Davison as the perfect front man for his creations. It is highly unlikely that Teschemacher's personality would have been suitable for onstage leadership. The enlistment of modernist composer Reginald Forsythe to help with the band's arrangements.30 was more than likely Teschemacher's idea. The clarinetist had already firmly established himself as a forward thinker and creative risk taker; an attribute for which the highly talented yet musically conservative Davison has never been credited. Throughout his life, Davison never interfered with the ongoing historical notion that he was the leader of the band. The appearance at a band engagement of a sign proclaiming Davison "the white Louis Armstrong," although galling to Davison, must have been even more humiliating to Teschemacher; a man known for infrequent, yet highly temperamental rages.31 The idea that Teschemacher would have endured countless hours with Davison and his girlfriend is impossible to believe. One could believe the possibility of social banter and dinner; but not an entire quarter-day of awkward socialization.

These events would suggest a period of several unexplained hours. Davison could be taken at his word when he stated that he and Teschemacher spent upwards of eight hours with Goss. But this, too, is unlikely. Davison always contended that he and Teschemacher visited Goss to remind him of a rehearsal and to have a nightcap. Such statements suggest a briefer visit that Davison contended. Others remember the two at Straight's speakeasy at a much later hour.32 However, the presence of the musicians at Straight's at around 1:00 p.m. is well established. The more likely chain of events is that after dinner, Teschemacher and Davison either returned to the speakeasy before going to see Goss, or staged a rehearsal at the studio before returning to the speakeasy. It has, after all, never been made clear as to why a band that regularly rehearsed every day would be off on this particular day. The author's contention is that Davison distorted the facts. Since it had already been established that he had been drinking to excess earlier, he found it necessary to provide adequate time for detoxification. However, the author further contends that due to Davison's historical tolerance for alcohol, he was probably not impaired enough to have caused the accident. Other more provocative factors existed to have cast doubt on Davison's responsibility.

The band had been booked at Guyon's Paradise Ballroom, an elaborate structure on the Westside, known to have had ties, if not ownership with the remnants of Capone's Cicero operation.33 In an aside, not considered important at the time, Wettling, while traveling to the hospital to see Teschemacher, related that Teschemacher had been harassed by an overweight drunken patron at the speakeasy.34 The incident was not referred to as anything of any particular malicious intent since drunken patrons harassing other patrons was nothing unusual. It was only after a thirty minute interview with Stacy in 1994 that the pianist remembered the strange recollection of musician Bob Clitherow, who was living thirty feet from the accident, who, upon hearing the crash, had come from his apartment to view the scene.35 Clitherow had related to Stacy that one of the two passengers in the taxi had been a bouncer at Guyon's with past associations with known mobsters. The man was excessively overweight and seemed to fit the description of the same man that Teschemacher had encountered in the speakeasy.36 Clitherow's recollections can be reasonably believed, since he remembered having listened to Teschemacher's recording of "Nobody's Sweetheart Now," at the same time he heard the crash.37 The theory of foul play could also explain several troubling aspects regarding the accident, including Davison's contention that a taxi coming out of nowhere and with no headlights initiated the accident. It could also shed light to some of the most unusual aspects regarding the subsequent case against Bill Davison. No police record of the accident exists. The coroner's inquest absolved both Dragonoff and Davison of liability, although a consequential death by motor vehicle had occurred. Furthermore, no record of testimony from the passengers of the taxi was sought and there is no evidence to even suggest that they had attended the inquest.38 Said events point to at least a credible possibility that something other than Bill Davison's inebriation caused the accident. After over three years of investigation, the author contends that an employee of Guyan's, with low-level associations with organized crime, coincidentally saw Teschemacher in an open convertible and impulsively ordered the cab driver to surprise the Packard in order to stop it; whereas, he would resume whatever argument he previously had with the musician, or cause him harm. Instead, the taxi did not stop in time and caused the accident. Employers of the man, not wanting to be saddled with a crime of such impulse and stupidity, went to some effort to conceal the actual events. Davison's universally known reputation for alcohol consumption was a bonus in that it diverted attention away from the taxi and placed it squarely on Davison.

Aftermath

March 1, 1932, marked the end of Frank Teschemacher's continual evolution as a musician. Some have attested that the "Chicago style" of jazz music ceased as a developing artistic genre. Most of the celebrated Chicago musicians had already moved to New York, long having abandoned Chicago and it's dwindling market for jazz music. Combined with Beiderbecke's death eleven months earlier, those Chicago musicians who continued to perform in this style found themselves without their most substantial leaders. Many associated with and influenced by Teschemacher either remained stylistically dormant participants in subsequent revival movements or pursued careers in swing or commercial music; two genres that Teschemacher had already been exploring. For years following his death, Teschemacher became the subject of idolatry by a small, yet adamant segment of the jazz community. In later years, continual reexaminations of his recorded output (a medium that he never completely mastered),39 led many to believe that his stature had been exaggerated. In the 1990's, his biographical sketches in jazz history texts have been either greatly reduced or eliminated entirely. March 1, 1932, was only the beginning for Bill Davison. Following the accident, he was reputedly heard to have said upon hearing of Teschemacher's death, "Now where the hell am I going to find another clarinet player." Trumpter Muggsy Spanier was widely believed to have been the principle source of that statement for decades following the accident.40 Jess Stacy also believed that Davison had used those words and abhorred the insensitivity of them; especially in light of the strong contention that Davison may have been responsible for Teschemacher's death.
Although both Stacy and George Wettling remained bitter about the circumstances surrounding the
accident, they eventually forgave Davison for any part he may have had in it. For years thereafter, they participated in a number of mutual professional and social gatherings. In later years, still deeply troubled
by the accident, Davison would claim that he actually said "Where will I find another clarinet player like Tesh ?"41 The forgiveness of Teschemacher's father was more fOrthcoming. His statement to police that "it did no one any good for that man to be in jail," probably saved Davison from a much longer incarceration.
The elder Teschemacher went a step further at his son's funeral, by stating publicly his belief that Davison had not caused his son's death.42 Many historical accounts have claimed that the Davison- Teschemacher big band never opened at Guyon's. This was not the case. Participants Tut Sopher and trombonist Mort Croix both remember the band performing there. According to Sopher, it (the band) lost a great deal of its credibility after Teschemacher's death and was not successful.43 Davison's habit of procrastination in tending to band affairs resulted in his eventual downfall as a Chicago musician. Union president Caesar Petrillo revoked his union membership for among other reasons, not forwarding the union's share of band earnings in a forthright manner and for not outfitting the band in uniforms. These events coincided with Chicago insurance companies raising the rates for automobile liability insurance for musicians. Chicago musicians had claimed that the Teschemacher accident had been the principle motivation for the increase. Contrary to popular belief, Davison remained in Chicago twenty months after the accident.44 After several years of relative obscurity, Davison resurfaced in New York as the leader of a substantial traditional jazz movement. As he grew older, his stature among a growing number of aficionados continued to ascend. When he died in 1989, his influence among traditionalists had reached totemic stature. Despite his latter successes, the accident in 1932 would be the defining moment of his life, and was never forgotten.
There appears to be no record to even suggest the existence of taxicab driver John Dragonoff. After extensive investigation, David Dexter's account of the coroner's inquest appears to be the' only documentation of the only man who could have accurately verified what had Occurred. Jess Stacy died on New Year day, 1995. According to his wife Pat, many people in his last days had tried to interview him about his life and had been amazed by his sudden recollection of events that occurred decades earlier, and for his remarkable penchant for detail. On other days, he was barely coherent.45 His vivid recollections in the summer of 1994 lent justification to the strong possibility that the accident could have been more malicious than previously believed. Ironically, Stacy did not view the Clithrow recollections as anything of importance, and still believed that Davison had been responsible for the accident.46 Pat Stacy recalled that on the day of his death, he had believed he was back in 1920's Chicago, asking for his friend Teschemacher on numerous occasions.47

It is the author's contention that there will never be conclusive evidence as to what actually transpired that night on the comer of Wilson and Magnolia in Chicago. The only fact gathered from this investigation that can be deemed totally accurate and conclusive is that the accident that killed Frank Teschemacher had far reaching effects, that are only now being evaluated and appreciated.

 

Notes

1. The spelling of Teschemacher's name has been a source of controversy. It is often spelled "Teschmacher" or Teshmaker." The correct spelling, according to the subject's mother, is "Teschemacher."
2. Espisito, Bill. (1972). "Jazz Juxataposition: "Bix...and Tesch", Jazz Journal. 25. October, pp. 4-6.
3. Dexter jr, Dave. (1939). "Frank Teschemacher Series, part I", Down Beat. November 15, 1939, p. 12.
4. Telephone interview with John Steiner, May 30, 1995
5. Condon Eddie, (1947). We Called It Music. New York: Henry Holt, p. 156.
6.' Simosko, Vladimir. (1975). "Frank Teschemacher: A Reappraisal," Journal Of Jazz Studies. Fall 3/1, pp. 29-53.
7. Hobson, Wilder. (1976). American Jazz Music. New York: Decapo Press, p. 127.
8. Lyttleton, Humphrey. (1979). The Best of Jazz. New York: Taplinger Publishing Inc., p. 159. 9. Schuller, Gunther. (1989). The Swing Era. London: Oxford Press, 1989, p.l1.
10. Interview with Pat Stacy, Los Angeles, California, May 20, 1995.
11. Grosz, Marty. (1979). Notes for Time-Life Books album set, Frank Teschemacher, 24.
12. Ibid.
13. Dexter jr, Dave. (1939). "Frank Teschemacher Series, part II." DownBeat. December 1, p. 8.
14. Interview with Walter Hopper, Chicago, Illinois, October 26, 1997.
15. Interviewwith Dr. Thomas Hyde, Pfeiffer University, Misenheimer, North Carolina, October 27, 1997.
16. Telephone interview with Dr. Milt Draper, Truman College, Oct. 24, 1997.
17. Telephone interview with Jess Stacy, July 29, 1994.
18. Telephone interview with Bill Davison biographer Hal Williard, October 20, 1997.
19. Marty Grosz notes for Time-Life Books album set, Frank Teschemacher; "Op. cit."
20. Telephone interview with Hal Williard, October 27, 1997.
21. DownBeat, December 1, 1939, "Op. cit.," p. 23.
22. Interview with Hajid Singh, Chicago, Illinois, October 26, 1997.
23. Marty Grosz notes for Time-Life Books, album set, Frank Teschemacher: "Op. cit."
24. Downbeat, December 1,1939, "Op. cit."
25. Interview with Jess Stacy, "Op. cit."
26. Whyatt, Bert. (1992). "Oro Tut Sopher, Chicago Pianist." The Mississiooi Rag, March, 1992, p. 25.
27. Marty Grosz notes for Time-Life Books album set, Frank Teschemacher, p.22.
28. Interview with Anne Davison, October 15, 1997.
29. Interview with John Steiner, "Op. cit."
30. Ibid.
31. Interview with Jess Stacy, "Op. cit."
32. Ibid.
33. Ibid.
34. Dexter jr, Dave. (1964). The Jazz Story. New York: Prentice Hall, pp.44-45.
35. Interview with Jess Stacy, "Op. cit."
36. Dexter jr, Dave. The Jazz Story. "Op. cit."
37. Interview with Hal Williard, October 27,1997, "Op. cit."
38. Many musicians have stated that Teschemacher would often "freeze up" in the studio. Trumpeter Ma Kaminsky felt he would have overcome his fear if he had been given the chance to produce mor recordings.
39. Interview with Anne Davison, "Op. cit."
40. Ibid.
41. Interview with Hall Williard, October 20, 1997, "Op. cit."
42. Mississiooi Rag, March 1992, "Op. cit."
43. Interview with Hal Williard, "Op. cit."
44. Interview with Pat Stacy, "Op. cit."
45. Ibid.
46. Interview with Jess Stacy, "Op. cit."
47. Interview with Pat Stacy, "Op. cit."

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Jazz Education’s Grandest Battle
The 1987 Down Beat MusicFest U.S.A. Competition

by Tom Smith/Senior Fulbright Professor.
presented at IAJE Convention, January, 2005,
Long Beach, California.

In early twentieth century New Orleans, brass bands customarily engaged in spontaneous competitions for determination of artistic and/or commercial superiority. This most often occurred during chance encounters with rival ensembles, as they publicized up-coming performances from the back of horse drawn wagons. Known as cutting (or carving) contests, they were the precursor to the popular swing era diversion called battle of the bands, where larger ensembles sought to attain bragging rights and financial rewards, by capturing the hearts and minds of depression era youth.1. Bands led by over-achievers like Chick Webb and Jimmy Lunceford acquired immediate gravitas through conquests of Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, and other heralded rivals. Often, these sessions drew attention to lesser - known (mostly younger) performers who asserted themselves in such ways as to be marked for future distinction, and/or eventual greatness.2. Despite accusations of superfluous educational value, school jazz competitions emerged as early as the 1930s. These events were thinly disguised musical brawls, with victory often determined by scripted audience applause.3. However, in the late 1950s adjudicated big band competitions appeared throughout the middle and western United States, and were sometimes sponsored by instrument makers and/or jazz publications such as Metronome and Down Beat.4. Then in 1960, the University of Notre Dame became involved with the format and raised the bar for all future endeavors of like disposition. Several early Notre Dame festivals assumed a near mythical status, with programs from the University of North Texas and the University of Illinois profiting most from the public exposure.5.
Throughout the 1970s, jazz competitions experienced a noticeable decline due at least in part to the rise of lucrative marching band competitions. The advancing popularity of the Drum Corps International movement coincided with a decline in the number of American school jazz programs, as a plethora of institutions became enveloped by time and financial constraints associated with all encompassing marching band juggernauts.6. Between 1972 and 1986, most winner take all jazz competitions disappeared from the educational landscape, with only handfuls like the burgeoning Reno and Lionel Hampton festivals remaining. Instead most sponsors chose benign and tightly scripted National Association of Jazz Educators (later IAJE) sanctioned events, where the gist of their purpose rested in mere participation itself. In these events, and in deference to their marching band related time constraints, directors tended to bypass direct competition, in lieu of non- rewarded judges’ comments. As years passed, the noncompetitive festival asserted itself as the rule instead of the exception.7. American programs desirous of head to head competition were forced to attend massive open invitational events, where several hundred bands strained to be heard in formats under publicized by major trade publications.8. However, it seemed that Canadian educators had arrived at a solution for producing an educational jazz festival, that was large, competitive, and media friendly on a national level. Their success drew the attention of Down Beat Magazine.9.

The Maher Vision

MusicFest Canada began in 1972 with a handful of Canadian musicians, determined to form their country's first educational jazz festival. Throughout the 1980s, this dedicated contingent grew in number to eventually embrace the Canadian Stage Band Festival, Canadian Choral Festival and the Canadian Concert Band Festival. By 1986, MusicFest Canada had become a six- day annual national competition, with over ten thousand competing musicians in attendance.10. To Down Beat publisher John “Butch” Maher, the key word was national. Despite intense competition displayed by a small group of (albeit large) regional competitions, nothing in the United States stood alone as the true national festival. Although Reno and Lionel Hampton certainly possessed the totemic standards associated with national competitions, they lacked in proportionate eastern and/or Texas representation.11.
John Maher saw MusicFest Canada as a way of using a preexisting model to create an American championship for jazz. In his mind, such an ambitious endeavor could then unify jazz media and industry from within the context of a single entity, namely Down Beat Magazine.12. Maher was one of the sons of then Down Beat owner Jack Maher. Jack, “Butch,” and current president Kevin Maher understood the mission of jazz education, and were knowledgeable of its public decline. As early as 1971, Jack Maher had stated his intention to make Down Beat a springboard for jazz education. In 1986, an invigorated “Butch” Maher proposed a national festival to stand alongside the magazine’s already popular Student Recording Awards.13. After successful affiliation agreements with MusicFest Canada, Maher launched his festival awareness campaign within the pages of Down Beat itself. He called his new creation MusicFest USA, the Invitational Competitive Festival for the Nation’s Best, and scheduled it for April 1987, in a location within close proximity of Down Beat’s Chicago offices.14. To bring individuality to the event, Maher tacked on several categories that were staples of Canadian festivals, but relatively unknown in The States. These included popular community categories that addressed the needs of mixed ensembles, groups consisting of both student and adult performers.15. Before MusicFest USA, the American community jazz movement had gone largely unreported, when it had in fact become one of the more significant vehicles for live territory jazz. Throughout the early eighties, several community and state subsidized big bands became territorial hotbeds for original jazz, with Ohio’s Columbus Jazz Orchestra and North Carolina’s Unifour Jazz Ensemble (a MusicFest USA Gold Award winner) among the best known.16. Prior to 1987, Maher had been successful in enlisting National Association of Music Merchants powerbrokers like Yamaha’s Karl Bruhn and Boston retailer Jack Coffey. These men and several others afforded MusicFest USA an instant credibility, and were key in securing top- drawer musician/adjudicators.17. Some of the adjudicators were Canadians who brought with them a long association with the original festival. This provided MusicFest USA an integrative, yet competitive style rarely seen in other like- minded events. The blessings of NAMM immediately brought additional support from companies and organizations like Musicians Institute of Hollywood, Baldwin, Zildjian, Leblanc, TOA Electronics and others, who in addition to clinicians provided both equipment and world class sound crews for the festival’s three stages and adjoining practice rooms.18. It was not long before the Berklee College of Music caught wind of Maher’s plans, and immediately volunteered high profile scholarship incentives.19. All that remained was formation of a staff from within the ranks of Down Beat, and enlistment of the groups themselves. The latter turned out to be relatively easy, with interested bands numbering in the thousands. Festival considerations were decided through mailed recordings, and there were a limitless number of them. Issues pertaining to staff competence proved more difficult, and remained a sticking point with festival participants throughout MusicFest USAs four-year run.20.

The Planets Align

It has been said that MusicFest USAs first edition (commonly referred as MusicFest 87) profited from a near metaphysical alignment of important factors. Among them was its location, Chicago’s McCormick Center and Hotel. “It was a perfect place,” said Gold Award winner Jerry Bangle. “First there was Chicago and its good reputation as a jazz town, combined with the fact that it was home for Down Beat, a magazine that still was magic to guys my age. For anyone who grew up in the sixties or seventies, being featured in Down Beat was probably a bigger deal than it is now. Then there was the great facility itself, all connected to a fine hotel, big enough to handle everything and small enough to remain intimate. Then there was the part of it that absolutely no one anticipated…the lounge. In my opinion the music that happened in that lounge was the most important part of MusicFest 87, and probably changed jazz history.”21.
“The lounge at the McCormick Center Hotel was a very important factor,” said 1987 Gold Award winner Rick Dilling. “I don’t think anyone believed it was going to be as relevant as it eventually became. We really just saw it as a warm up venue for the contest. It wasn’t all that impressive. The stage was just big enough to hold a big band. There were some couches and padded chairs situated around, and this tight circular bar located about thirty feet from the stage. But we never took into account two very significant things. Everything was directly connected to the hotel lobby. To come in or go out of the hotel, you had to pass the lounge stage. Considering the quality of the music, that was pretty irresistible. Then there was the bar itself. Here were some of the most famous musicians in the world combined with the heads of the music industry, and the top jazz educators in history all looking for some release after what was certainly a lot of stress. What did they all do? They went to that bar to drink. These guys looked up and were shocked by the music that was going on. Meanwhile, participants looked towards that bar and were astounded by the famous people checking them out in such an intimate setting. You can’t plan something like that. The fact that everybody also had a few belts in them didn’t hurt matters either.”22.
Another significant factor in MusicFest 87s success was timing. “A lot of us had heard about those fierce competitions in the sixties and had wondered what they must have been like,” said Gold Award winner Keith Wagner. “Many wanted to prove themselves. I suppose our leader could have taken us to some big contest out west, but we wanted to go somewhere that was calling itself a national championship, irregardless of it was or not. It had been a long time since a high stakes festival had appeared in this country, and on top of that MusicFest 87 had one of the most distinguished group of judges I had ever seen. We knew that people were going to be discovered, and that certainly did happen. We just never took into account that so many big time players were all heading to the same place at the same time. What resulted was not so much a competition, but the beginning of a new young lion’s movement, and a shift in the power base of jazz. ”23.

The Competitors

The real story of MusicFest 87 was the competitors themselves, a group as diverse as any ever assembled for an educational jazz festival. All came to Chicago at various stages in their careers for camaraderie, an exchange of ideas and to experience a sense of ambition that had been sorely missed in the psychology friendly educational jazz festival that had permeated the fabric of American jazz education. Arts Magnet High School jazz director Bart Marantz, on being thanked by Down Beat for bringing his award winning Dallas based ensembles to support the festival shot back, “We didn’t come here to support it; we came here to win it.”24.Thus began the MusicFest odyssey of one of the most visible jazz educators of the late twentieth century.
By 1987, Marantz (a Fulbright Scholar) was already an important educator on the Texas scene, having assumed a position as coordinator of jazz studies at Booker T. Washington School for the Performing Arts. After a sometimes- frustrating beginning as a Mississippi based improvisation instructor and community college professor, Marantz combined his sound analytical teaching strategies with outstanding promotional skills. Said factors helped transform his new institution into a major player on the jazz education scene.25. Having realized the importance of Down Beat as an important end, Bart Marantz’s students had by 1987, accumulated several Down Beat Student Recording Awards.26. Still, not wanting to rest on those laurels, Marantz promoted new strategies that implemented clever marketing techniques used to successfully position his most talented students. Marantz had good reason to pursue such an agenda being that his 1987 roster included trumpeter Roy Hargrove, one the most significant jazz performers of his generation.27. What Marantz did not take into consideration was the intense competition his groups were to encounter at MusicFest 87. Although his big band won its category handily over a game but overmatched band from Rancho Cordova, California, a group calling itself the All Philadelphia High School Jazz Combo edged out his top combo. “Bart was not happy that he lost the combo contest,” said Unifour Jazz Ensemble arranger and Marantz acquaintance Pete Wehner. “Bart has always thought of himself as a combo guy and this really bugged him. But you had to understand that the Philadelphia group consisted of Joey DeFrancesco on piano and Christian McBride on bass.”28.
As virtual unknowns, McBride and especially DeFrancesco were major surprises at MusicFest 87, and arguably the brightest lights of the festival, both for their competition victories and as celebrated participants in MusicFest 87s highly publicized jam sessions. “No one had even considered McBride before MusicFest 87, and he turned out to be the most visible bass player of the last ten years,” said guitarist and Gold Award winner Jimmy Duckworth. “Some of us had already heard about Hargrove, but those Philadelphia kids wiped out everybody.”29.
As an unusual sidebar to the fierce battles evident throughout the McCormick Center, North Carolina pianist Rudy Tyson (along with wife Kenya Tyson) delighted audiences with their innovative presentation of a large children’s vocal group called Jazz-A-Ma-Tazz. This ground- breaking ensemble emphasized multitasking strategies that combined critical thinking skills with jazz music, and were to become highly influential in the field of elementary education. There was no true category for the group’s inclusion in MusicFest 87, but it was (especially) Mrs. Tyson’s determination to demonstrate her techniques so others of a similar demographic would profit. More important was the dedication she and her husband demonstrated towards very young students, many of whom came from impoverished households.30. The Tysons were but part of the surprising North Carolina representation that dominated MusicFest USA (IB/ community) rosters in 1987, and at subsequent Down Beat MusicFest competitions. In the first three years of the festival, North Carolina community groups never lost their categories, routinely accepting Gold Awards in the big band and combo classifications, and in the case of Jazz-A-Ma-Tazz receiving special citations for educational excellence. Moreover, the competition would in 1989 honor as an all star, Durham North Carolina resident Nnenna Freelon, easily the most recognizable musician from MusicFest’s underrepresented vocal categories.31. According to North Carolina based Unifour Jazz Society president Mike Sherrill, there were underlying factors for the success of the North Carolina musicians.
“First of all the state had changed. People were coming here from all parts of the country, and North Carolina was experiencing maybe the greatest jazz movement in its history. But nobody outside of us seemed to know a damned thing about it. There was this huge batch of 25-40 year old jazz unknowns, and the school bands although good, were not as good as in places like Texas. So we all started pushing this crowd, because they deserved it. I have had a jazz radio show for over twenty-five years, and I have always played their recordings in the same manner I play the national stuff. They were from what people were already calling a lost generation of jazz, in other words people too young to be called old pros, and too old to have profited from the young lions movement that started with Wynton Marsalis. You take guys from that Unifour Big Band we sponsored. Their average age was about thirty. They were playing original music, and were as good as anybody. But since they were (in some people’s eyes) too stupid to live in a big city, they were disrespected or worst of all, ignored entirely. This got a lot of these boys really competitive, and some like those in our big band chose MusicFest 87 to make their point. And by all accounts that is definitely what they did.”32.
For bands like the Unifour Jazz Ensemble (surprisingly the first MusicFest 87 participants to appear in the Down Beat Readers poll, placing seventh in 1988), the competition offered the only chance for lost generation musicians to be seen and/or heard on the same level playing field granted younger performers. “We had of course heard about the famed Notre Dame contests. So throughout the seventies we waited for our time, but it never came,” said Wehner. “Then Wynton showed up and everybody started talking about these new young guys, and we all screamed in unison what about us? So this was a vindication of sorts. But, you also have to factor in something else, and it is probably the most important secret of the MusicFest USA competition. North Carolina had at the time an Artist-in-Residence Program, where a number of selected jazz musicians got two year all expenses paid residencies at the community colleges. Well, those guys were all over that program. They and their associates started so many community jazz ensembles in that state as to defy the imagination. Including the Unifour bandleader, Rudy Tyson and Nnenna Freelon, there were at least a half dozen Artists-in –Residence members who came to MusicFest competitions and won handily. Someday, somebody needs to write about that crowd, because their methods can and should be repeated elsewhere.”33.

April 9-11, 1987

Twelve- hundred musicians attended MusicFest 87 on the weekend of April 9-11, 1987, representing sixty- eight different schools and community organizations, from all fifty states. The festival revolved around two days of competition involving four types of ensembles: big bands (still called stage bands), jazz combos, electronic combos, and vocal jazz ensembles. High schools competed mainly on Friday, with colleges and community groups filling the Saturday slots. Each group performed three or four selections within a set time limit, with fellow attendees and judges looking on.34. Unlike the strictly defined NAJE/IAJE adjudication checklists, MusicFest judges had a free hand in deciding actual relevance within the context of a performance. “I have never liked the parameters set forth by NAJE for their contests,” said long time adjudicator Rich Matteson, after once being forced to award victory to what he believed was a lesser band, over a group he thought took more chances, but deserved to win. “By the time you add up all those percentages, it never comes out like it should. With MusicFest you just spoke your mind, and gave out your own score. This always led to the best result.”35.
Unfortunately, administrative complications were epidemic throughout the first two years of the festival, as directors and their sponsors haggled with festival staff, most of who were employees of Down Beat, with little or no festival experience.36. Still, despite a number of administrative close calls, the 1987 festival came off with few hitches overtly noticeable to the general public. The only flagrant misrepresentation involved an unexplained scrapping of a winner’s PBS broadcast. “Most people didn’t care because it was such a good festival, and we believed in what Down Beat was doing,” said 1987 Gold Award winner Scott Dennett.37.
For the sixteen year old Dennett, a guitarist from Reston, Virginia, his entrance into the MusicFest 87 scene was far different than most. “Since you didn’t have to be affiliated with a school, I was my own band director. In fact my dad just drove my band and me to Chicago. I was experiencing a transitional period in my development since I had just met Pat Martino. In fact, when I qualified for MusicFest 87, I called Pat to tell him that I planned to perform his Skymansions at the festival. When we got there, I immediately went to the lounge and there was the Gold Award winning William Patterson combo playing with their great but yet to be discovered drummer Bill Stuart. To make a long story short, I auditioned for Patterson with that same rhythm section a few months later, and spent my next four years in Jersey. After we won, I called Pat and told him that we had won essentially by playing Skymansions. This began what would be a glorious ten- year relationship as his protégé. The whole MusicFest 87 experience changed my life.”38.
Despite entertaining nightly concerts by Arnie Lawrence, The Bob Stone Big Band, Jim Walker’s fusion group Free Flight, and a vast array of professional clinics, the lounge remained the primary location for noncompetitive performances. The tone for the room’s ambience was initially set by a determined young big band from Lincoln High School, in East St. Louis. The Lincoln program had been assumed by saxophonist Ron Carter (no relation to the bassist) several years prior, as the last pathetic shards of the glorious William Buchanan led program that had once taught Miles Davis. By 1987, Carter had turned Lincoln’s jazz program into a world class, but unsung jazz power in need of wider recognition.39. “People sure knew about them after that,” said Keith Wagner. “How could you not? They provided the very first music heard in that room, which set this really, really high standard.”40. According to celebrated recording artist and MusicFest 87 participant Russell Gunn, Carter served as a kind of surrogate father for a generation of underprivileged inner city jazz musicians in search of a better life.41. “That morning, I must have stood up and cheered that band twenty times,” said Gold Award recipient, and Woody Herman alumnus Bill Hannah. You’d see some young cat get up and play this kicking solo. Then he’d disappear and some other kid would show up with the first kid’s horn, and he would play an even better solo. Those guys did so much with so little, that you just wanted to pull from them. I heard later that Carter’s school school system sometimes threatened to cut that program. We couldn’t believe it. I heard Hargrove’s performance with the Arts Magnet Band, and not taking anything away from those guys, I wasn’t so sure that East St. Louis wasn’t the better band. Had the two groups been in the same category that may well have been the greatest high school battle in history. Hargrove’s boys justifiably took the contest venue, but I am not so sure that Mr. Carter’s kids didn’t win the battle for the lounge…and let’s face it, the lounge music is what everybody will always remember about that contest, perhaps the greatest in the annals of jazz education.”42.
Despite the wide assortment of live events, the most significant lounge component remained the jam sessions. “We had no way of anticipating them, they just happened, said a surprised Maher.43. Down Beat wasted no time in romanticizing their impact in the opening paragraph of their own July 1987 MusicFest report.
“Sometime ‘round midnight, a gregarious 16 year old Joey DeFrancesco, strolls to the lounge piano at the McCormick Center Hotel and begins to play. Soon he is joined by a trombonist, then a bassist, and before you know it the room’s overflowing with jamming young musicians, many of them wearing white Musicfest USA All Star jackets they’d won a couple of hours earlier. For the third straight night these kid’s enthusiasm has bubbled over into an impromptu late night jam session (the previous night Free Flight flutist Jim Walker got caught up in the excitement and blew a few bars himself). They came to Chicago to play, and play they did-some of them until three or four in the morning, closing off the weekend’s activities with a nightcap riff or two in the hotel hallways.”44.
The unquestioned star of those sessions was DeFrancesco, whose ebullient on stand presence caught a fair number of onlookers off guard. “I don’t think he ever took his eyes off the audience,” said Rick Dilling. “Here was this kid who had just turned sixteen years old playing a hundred tunes in spectacular fashion totally from memory. He adjusted to new guys on the stage like the oldest old pro, and with no fear whatsoever. Look, anybody who would have peered out into that crowd and seen Randy Brecker, Jamey Aebersold, Arnie Lawrence, and Doc Severinsen should have been scared to death. But you want to know what DeFrancesco did? He just smiled at everybody like he was Bobby Short at the Rainbow Room. And when he would lock in with Christian McBride, who was just a little kid at the time, and Hargrove, it was just amazing.”45.
Despite DeFrancesco’s status as fan favorite, the first competitor to profit from jam session exposure was Hargrove, who happened to be playing an especially fertile improvisation when Severinsen happened by the lounge. “Doc Severinson stopped by and heard a high school student from Texas playing,” remembers Jack Coffey. “Doc couldn't believe what he was hearing ... Roy Hargrove was discovered and never looked back.”46. Jimmy Duckworth recalled his mandatory attitude adjustment following a personal encounter with an April 10 jam session that featured Hargrove and McBride. “I was part of the older crowd that believed these new young guys were overrated. The group I came with had two guys from the Woody Herman band, a Kenton alumnus, future lead trumpeter of the Army Blues, a bunch of future college professors and a director as relentless as they come. Frankly, I didn’t think anybody there was going to show us anything. But, when I not only heard those guys, but also got an up-close dose of their maturity and professional decorum, I was sold. After that I believed I was part of something historical, and that there was room for them and us. Unfortunately, I don’t think the record companies were interested in the us part. We still got screwed.”47.
The Saturday awards ceremony was charged and emotional. “Rules dictated that MusicFest judges reserved the option of withholding gold or silver designations from category winners not meeting acceptable national standards. In other words, you could defeat all of your opponents but still receive a third place award,” said Jack Coffey.48. One of the North Carolina members recalls being pulled aside by a well- known band director who tried to reiterate this point. “I’m not going to say who it was, but he was an out there guy…somebody everybody knew,” said bassist Jay Dellinger. “It was weird, since I had only met him that day, and he seemed OK to me. Well, I’m trying to get into the ceremony and this guy is saying how our category was easy and to expect third place even if we won…all this crazy talk. I figured he must have been stressed out. Finally I said yeah…whatever, and lost him. Funny thing was…we got gold, and this guy couldn’t wait to hug our leader as he was trying to walk off the stage. When the media saw this, they all started taking pictures, and this guy had positioned himself perfectly for maximum flash bulb visibility. What a jerk.”49.

Aftermath

Before John Maher’s shocking and untimely death at age forty-three, a total of four MusicFest USA festivals were staged, and by all indications, quality either maintained its 1987 level, or improved in some categories.50. This was especially true of the middle school classifications, when two of the nation’s best, Acatia Middle School, of Hemet, California, and Gemini Middle School of Niles, Illinois participated for the first time in the Orlando based 1988 festival.51. As was the case in 1987, more future jazz notables received initial national exposure at a MusicFest USA event. In addition to the continued dominance of Hargrove, DeFrancesco and McBride, ongoing MusicFests presented a wealth of international standouts like Nnenna Freelon, Christopher Hollyday and Antonio Hart.52. Bart Marantz’s bands at Booker T. Washington School for the Performing Arts took home a total of ten awards, the most of any single institution. As of 2004, the Dallas magnet school continues its yearly competitive dominance having (since MusicFest USA) graduated Grammy award winning singer Norah Jones and the director’s son, the celebrated and high profile saxophonist Matt Marantz. “The four years that "Musicfest" ran in the US was perhaps the finest jazz education festival at the time and maybe to date,” said Marantz.53.
To some, MusicFest 87 was an event forever enshrined in memory and respect. This mindset occasionally led to wonderful subsequent festivals unfairly having to live up to the original. 1988 Gold Award winner Bill Gerhardt reported “a sense of disillusionment” when MusicFest 87 lounge ambience failed to materialize in the 1988 location. “The Stouffer’s Hotel in Orlando reminded me of an Embassy Suites on steroids. You could walk twenty feet in that place and get lost. Somebody said that you could play an exhibition concert if you signed up, but you had to play beside the pool…the swimming pool. I imagined myself getting whacked by a beach ball while playing Ornette Coleman, and decided against it. It’s hard to recreate atmosphere. Some things are best left alone.”54.

NOTES

1. Interview with Milton Rich, September 5, 1999.
2. Interview with Clark Terry, April 10, 1990.
3. Interview with Joe Belk, April 15, 1987.
4. Terry, Op Cit..
5. Interview with Dan Fairchild, August 3, 2003.
6. Discussion forum, North Carolina Music Educators National Conference, November 3, 1996 (unanimous consensus).
7. Interview with Rich Matteson, March 29, 1988.
8. Ibid.
9. Interview with Pat LaBarbera, September 15, 1994.
10. MusicFest Canada web site information.
11. Reno competition 2002 boasted of two east coast bands from Massachusetts and North Carolina respectively.
12. Interview with Jack Coffey, August 1, 2001.
13. Correspondence with Bart Marantz, November 1, 2004.
14. MusicFest USA advertisements become a common feature in Down Beat, beginning Fall 1986.
15. Personal knowledge of author.
16. Press accounts of Unifour Jazz Ensemble (example /Down Beat 1986-88) and CJO (especially) are common.
17. Coffey, August 1, 2001, Op Cit.
18. Beuttler, Bill (1987). “MusicFest U.S.A. Chicago,” Down Beat. July, p. 26.
19. Coffey, August 1, 2001, Op Cit.
20. All festival participants interviewed agreed with this assessment.
21. Interview with Jerry Bangle, June 1, 2001.
22. Interview with Rick Dilling, December 21, 1997.
23. Interview with Keith Wagner, March 17, 1994.
24. Beuttler, Bill (1987). “MusicFest U.S.A. Chicago,” Down Beat. July, p. 27.
25. Personal knowledge of author.
26. Ibid.
27. Interview with Pete Wehner, July 19, 1999.
28. Ibid.
29. Interview with Jimmy Duckworth, November 20, 2003.
30. Personal knowledge of author.
31. 1987/One community big band, one special category participate: receive one Gold Award and one Special Award for Excellence: 1988/ two community combos, one special category participate: receive Gold Award, Silver Award and one Special Award for Excellence: 1989/ one community combo participates: receives Gold Award.
32. Interview with Mike Sherrill, September 1, 2002.
33. Wehner, Op Cit.
34. Beuttler, Bill (1987). “MusicFest U.S.A. Chicago,” Down Beat. July, pp. 26-27.
35. Interview with Rich Matteson, April 30, 1988.
36. Personal knowledge of author.
37. Interview with Scott Dennett, October 30, 2004.
38. Ibid.
39. Streeter, Thomas W. (2004). “An Interview with Ron Carter,” Jazz Educators Journal. March 2004, (website access).
40. Wagner, Op Cit.
41. Hip Online website, biography section.
42. Interview with Bill Hannah, April 10, 1990.
43. Told to the author, April 10, 1987.
44. Beuttler (1987). Down Beat, p. 26, Op Cit.
45. Dilling, Op Cit.
46. Correspondence from Jack Coffey, November 5, 2004.
47. Duckworth, Op Cit.
48. Coffey, November 6, 2004, Op Cit.
49. Interview with Jay Dellinger, July 11, 1990.
50. Unanimous consensus of all subjects interviewed.
51. 1988, Gold Award/Acatia, SilverAward/Gemini.
52. Correspondence from Frank Bonjiorno, November 4, 2004.
53. Marantz, 2004, Op Cit.
54. Interview with Bill Gerhardt, February 1, 1996.

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From ITA Journal (Winter 2001)

JOHN COFFEY REMEMBERED
by
Tommy Smith as told to Tom Smith

 

Sometimes I feel as if John Coffey has become one of the forgotten names of our instrument. During his lifetime, he was a magnificent musician and one of the most durable trombone teachers ever. Yet, I seldom see his name featured as prominently as when he received the ITA Award in 1977 or when he passed in 1981. Still, there are few trombone teachers of the modern era who are not indebted to him in at least some small way. He was a passionate lover of music and life, who yearned for the interplay between himself and his students. When you were with John Coffey, you never felt as if you were absorbing the punitive dictation of a self absorbed taskmaster. Instead, he made you believe you were being granted wise counsel from a true friend. As we all know, it is extremely difficult for a successful teacher to weigh the balance between respect and friendship. I think John probably mastered that skill as well as anyone. It was the primary reason I regarded him as my most important teacher and one of my closest friends.

Early Days 1957-1963

I first met John when I arrived in Boston during the Fall of 1957. I was a green country boy from a North Carolina backwater, visiting the big city for the very first time. After a couple of semesters at a local college, I had decided to bank my musical aspirations on a relatively new institution called at that time the Berklee School of Music. A friend of mine who was already in Boston, sent back fantastic stories of a place that taught jazz music exclusively. With the music of Stan Kenton and Count Basie firmly absorbed, I found the prospect of experiencing such a place too difficult to resist. With that in mind, and my very young family in tow, I ventured earnestly towards the great unknown.

When I arrived in Boston, John Coffey was one of the first people I came to know. His unassuming demeanor immediately put me at ease and alleviated any remaining tinges of homesickness or second thoughts. Berklee was just one of a number of colleges where John hung a shingle in those days. I know he was giving lessons for the New England Conservatory, Boston University and most of the other colleges in the area. In those days everyone went to his studio at 250 Huntington Avenue for lessons, irregardless of what school you attended. It was an easy place to find because it was located directly over the old Leo Hirsch Clothing Store directly across the street from Symphony Hall. John ran a makeshift music store from within the tight confines of the studio, making it seem even smaller than it actually was. Among the scattered remnants of music and accessories was a perpetual assembly line of trombone students from every imaginable location. It was not your garden variety musical establishment.

My first impression of John was one of a harried middle aged man with little regard for formality or punctuality. That first day I had no sooner reached his second floor waiting room before he came barreling out of his studio to inform me of his impending tardiness. “Can you wait a minute kid?” he asked, I’m running a little late.” Later I was to understand that to be one of his most revered catch phrases. It derived from his propensity for allowing lessons to run past their allotted times. There were a number of John Coffeyisms circulating around Boston back then, but that was one of the two you heard most often. The other was “tongue and blow kid;” a rudimentary explanation for maintaining a consistent air stream and devoting paramount attention to correct tongue placement and execution. There was never anything especially “groundbreaking” about John’s approach. He was a “meat and potatoes” kind of teacher; lots of Arbans exercises for technique, Melodious Etudes for tone development, and an ample supply of “tongue and blow.” This was not to say he downplayed the more elaborate, if not scientific approaches that many of his contemporaries were using, or that he considered such approaches unsubstantial or frivolous. Nor did he shy away from an occasional expert analysis when the situation warranted it. It simply was not his preferred way of conducting business. John felt that a mastery of basic fundamentals was the key to succeeding in most musical situations.

John and I hit it off immediately. He was fascinated by my thick Southern drawl and easy going demeanor. Initially, I lacked the gravitas to understand the significance of studying with such a man. I would watch a few of the other students walk into the Coffey study with great apprehension, and I always wondered why this was the case. Some would actually rehearse what they were going to say to him. “Don’t you realize who he is?” I was once asked incredulously. At that time, I had no way of knowing the answer to that question. I was merely happy to be studying with this really good trombone teacher named John Coffey. Then one day the bandleader Les Elgart called John to request a trombone recommendation for his band. Now that impressed me. This was the first time I had ever been that close to anyone who was a respected associate of name bandleaders.

On a cold Winter afternoon, for no particular reason, John asked me to follow him across the street to the hallowed confines of Symphony Hall. “Follow me kid, (he called most of his students kid), I want you to hear something.” I had no sooner entered the building before I was enveloped by the amazing sounds of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I had never heard anything like it in my life. But in my estimation, what followed was the most amazing thing of all. When the rehearsal was over, the brass section of this legendary ensemble greeted John as if he were the president of the United States. That was the first time I truly understood who this man actually was. This was the great John Coffey, former bass trombonist of the Cleveland Symphony, the Boston Symphony and the NBC Orchestra conducted by Arturo Toscaninni. After the appropriate greetings had been exchanged and the musicians began to disperse, I found myself slack jawed and devoid of thought. “What’s the matter kid?” he laughed. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Indeed, I thought I had.

As the months passed, I found myself spending more and more time with John. Fortunately for me, he amiably tolerated company and willingly volunteered his plans for expanding the store. “You know Reb, (a name he used to describe Southern people), when I reopen this place, why don’t you come work for me?” As desirable as I found the prospect, I had to face up to the reality that my finances were in desperate need of repair. I also had to remind myself that I was still a very young man. My first child Tom was only a year old and my daughter Kathy had just been born. After significant reflection and contemplation, my wife Julia and I decided it best to return home and establish a more reliable cash flow. “Make sure you get back here kid,” he told me the day I left Boston. “There will be things for you to do when I finish expanding the store. I do plan to stay in touch.” I remember seeing John’s contagious smile through my rearview mirror as I turned the corner to Newberry Street, and wondered with some justification if I would ever see him again.
It was not long before I realized that most of my previous fears had been unfounded. John did indeed keep in touch. Every month or so, he would write a letter or initiate an impromptu phone call. His conversations were seldom about music. Usually he inquired as to how things were going, family activities; that sort of thing. If one were to gauge John Coffey strictly on the basis of career status and work ethic, one would probably assume that his life was consumed with music at all times. Strangely, that seemingly reasonable assessment would be largely incorrect. This is not to say that he did not adore his chosen occupation. Nobody enjoyed teaching trombone more than John Coffey. But, I have always believed he could have attained the same degree of happiness in any profession that kept him in the vicinity of a large number of people. The happiest I ever saw John was on those Sunday afternoons, when he would sit in his screened in patio at his beautiful Cape Cod home, shooting the breeze with anyone who happened to stop by.
For a number of summers following my exodus from Boston, I was John’s house guest at his sprawling estate in Barnstable. In mid June, Julia and I, accompanied by our three young children, (by this time our third child Andy had been born), would travel the long twenty hours to Massachusetts, where we would take in the beautiful New England sunsets, compliments of John and his abundantly patient wife Helen. Of course, my favorite part of the trips were those conversations on John’s patio, where we talk into the wee hours of the morning about everything, including music. Some of his favorite stories entailed his eventful days as bass trombonist for the NBC Orchestra, under Toscaninni. It was during this time that I learned he also had served as first trombonist with the orchestra during the opening season of Radio City Music Hall and at radio station WNEW.

“The maestro had no patience for mediocrity, so you always had to on your toes. People sometimes forget that the NBC performed a number of live shows, in addition to those national radio broadcasts. Sometimes, I had to perform that damned Bolero solo three times a day with the old man staring right at me. So, there was always pressure. But, you know something kid, I thrived on it. I loved it. And, you want to know something else? I have had to work like crazy for everything. Nothing has ever come easy for me.”

When John told me this, I stared at him in a manner telegraphing my obvious disbelief. How could anything linking John Coffey with a trombone be difficult? “It’s true Reb. I kid you not….it’s true.”

Second Time Around

In the early Spring of 1963, I returned to Boston and worked for John as a music store road man and occasional trombone instructor. I was not surprised to discover that John’s musical enterprises had expanded far beyond his original expectations. By this time, John’s son Jack had started working there, before eventually taking over the business. Jack and I soon became very close friends. He was just a couple of years younger than me, and we shared a lot of the same interests. This was probably the era where John was at his peak, both as teacher and musical entrepreneur. He maintained a studio of over one hundred students, while at the same time supplying band instruments for most of the secondary schools in New England. The “Who’s Who” of the brass world made it one of their mandatory stops when passing through Boston. Subsequently, more than a few of them came to pay homage to the master and/or take in a lesson. Usually, they came to address a recently acquired tonguing problem, or some minor crisis resulting from improper breathing. John was one of those rare teachers who had a knack for quickly identifying fundamental problems. I am quite certain that his insistence to “tongue and blow” was reinforced to the “name” players while they were behind closed doors, in the same manner that he had tutored those with less experience. In John’s estimation, such principles were universal constants for all players. Around this time, I started to pay a lot more attention to John’s monumental work habits, and his delightfully eccentric behavior. He routinely accepted students from the early morning, and would continue without a lunch break until nine-thirty or ten o’clock at night five days a week. In order to do this and maintain his Cape Cod residence, he kept an apartment in the city, where he slept on week nights. After teaching still more students on Saturday, he would make the two hour drive to Barnstable, before heading back to Boston Monday morning. Everybody wondered how he kept it up.

Probably in order to alleviate stress and maintain his sanity, John went to great lengths to keep things light around the studio. He loved to kid people. I especially remember a contingent of trombone playing nuns who came to take lessons with him. “Take off your habit sister, so I can observe the muscles in your neck,” he would tell them. “Not in your lifetime John Coffey,” they would reply. Upon hearing this he would laugh himself into convulsions. John was also not beyond partaking in the occasional practical joke. One day, he became especially irritated with a gifted conservatory musician who refused to practice. John became further incensed one day, when he discovered the young man’s lessons hidden behind a studio music stand. “I’ll show that kid,” he said. John reached into a drawer and retrieved a large bottle of Elmer’s glue. He then proceeded to glue together every page of the lesson. The next week, the unsuspecting student returned to the scene of his previous transgressions, surprised to find John Coffey smiling like a cat who had just eaten a very large canary.

“So kid, how did your lesson go this week?” John asked. “Just great Mr. Coffey,” the young liar replied. Before the lesson started, John intentionally turned his back just long enough for the student to retrieve his music from its designated hiding place. “Alright kid, let’s begin on page three.” Immediately, the student began to frantically scratch and tear at the glued together music in such a way that John could no longer retain his laughter. The visibly embarrassed conservatory student learned an important lesson that day and never again returned to John’s studio unprepared.

Perhaps John’s most celebrated escapade regarded what everyone has come to know as the “selling of the hymnals.” For years, he sold unauthorized “fake books” out of a drawer in his studio, and would camouflage them in brown paper wrappers. He called them hymnals and never told me what they were. One day, an articulate clean cut man in his early thirties requested trumpet lessons from John, and for several weeks the man was a regular fixture at the studio. He appeared to be a very knowledgeable musician, and a pretty decent player, so I never gave it a second thought when he asked me to sell him one of John’s hymnals. A few months later, two men in trench coats stormed the premises flashing FBI badges. Apparently, John’s unassuming student had been an undercover agent for the government. Later, John was served a summons to appear in court and was forced to pay a hefty fine. That was the last time I ever sold anybody one of John’s hymnals.

I always believed that John’s greatest attribute was his innate proclivity for kind acts. The day I returned to Boston, my only trombone was stolen when I turned my back in a subway station for what was only a few seconds. Demoralized, I called John asking if he had something I could borrow. He told me he did, and to report to Coffey Music immediately. When I entered the store, a beautiful new York trombone was sitting next to the cash register. I looked over and found John smiling broadly. “When do you need this back?” I asked. “What are you talking about?” he replied. “It’s your horn.” “I can’t accept something like this!” I shot back. “Don’t knock a good thing kid” was his final word. I heard him use that same expression on another occasion, when he inadvertently wrote me an extra paycheck. “John, you already paid me for this week.” “Don’t knock a good thing kid. Never knock a good thing.”

After a year of working at Huntington Avenue, John pushed me to expand my horizons as a trombone player. He aggressively started recommending me around town as a substitute for sick and vacationing trombonists. You have to remember that there was a lot of work for Boston based trombonists in those days. I remember an especially memorable handful of engagements with the Boston Pops, where I was exhilarated and scared to death at the same time.

Then there came a day when a first rate symphony orchestra from the Western United States called John about finding a substitute for a player who was taking a leave of absence for an undetermined period. I forget all of the details about the arrangement, or why inexplicably there was no national search or audition process. All I remember is they asked John to recommend a long term “fill in” and he recommended me. “This is just what you need kid,” he told me. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always come back to the store.” Such a move was going to be a major undertaking for me. I had never traveled west of the Mississippi River, much less cross country. Then, there was the matter of my extended family, who perceived our planned move as the equivalent of going to the moon. Therefore, as a means of reassuring our Southern relatives, I moved myself, my wife and our three children back to North Carolina until the start of the performing season. In the meantime, I made extra money working for my father. A few weeks later, I called the symphony manager to ask when I was to report. “What are you talking about,” he replied. “The guy Coffey recommended has been in town for the past week.” Apparently, another of John’s students heard about the job and had arrived claiming he was the trombonist John had recommended. Feeling more than a little victimized by the perils of the music business, I decided to remain in North Carolina and finish my college degree. It would be six long years before I would see John again.

Reunions

The Smith family traveled to Barnstable for the last time during the Summer of 1970. John and Helen welcomed us as if no time had passed. As always, the highlight of our visit was John holding court in his favorite patio chair, regaling us with his wonderful stories. By this time, he was spending less time at the store. Jack had long assumed the reigns of the business, and had moved the rapidly expanding operation to a much larger facility in Norwood. Still, John remained a remarkably active teacher. He also continued to commute from Boston to the Cape on the weekends; although he complained that increased traffic had turned the commute into a miserable experience. I told him I was entertaining the idea of accepting a band director’s position in nearby Bourne. He eagerly hoped I would take the job, and spend more time in the area. Unfortunately, too much time had passed, and I had become re acclimated to the slower pace of Southern life. I did not accept the job in Bourne, and again I wondered if I would see my old mentor again. “Don’t worry about it Reb,” he replied upon hearing of my decision. “We’ll see each other again…and soon.” As always, he was true to his word.

Two years later, John and Helen stopped in my home town for a brief visit enroute to Florida. As always, John appeared not to have aged a day, and seemed genuinely interested in my position at a local college and my comparatively “low key” performing opportunities. “When are you coming back to Boston Reb?” he asked, knowing full well that I no longer harbored such intentions. I remembered how odd it was to see John situated against the back drop of my own environment; and how for a brief time my two worlds melded into a singular, albeit confusing entity. It was a picture I would always remember and cherish. It would also be the last time I would ever see John Coffey again.

As the years passed, we lost touch with one another. A few years later, my family moved to New Orleans where I made a living playing jazz music. I thought a lot about John in those days, but never got around to calling him. Uncharacteristically, he too had lost touch. Later I was to learn from Jack that he didn’t get around as much as he used to, and that the rigors of his busy life had finally caught up with him. For several subsequent years, I was afraid to make contact with Boston out of fear that I would hear the worst. Then, one day in 1986, my son Tom had to call Jack regarding a music competition he was sponsoring. Reluctantly, he asked Jack if the “old man” was still alive. “No, he passed away five years ago,” Jack answered. It had always been difficult for me to remain ignorant about such news, yet it was even more difficult to finally come to grips with the awful truth.

Coda

After Tom told me what had happened, I called Jack and we both promised one another to always stay in touch. For the last sixteen years, we have held true to that commitment. Since that time, Jack has turned Coffey Music into a business that has probably surpassed John’s wildest dreams. Still, it is difficult not to reflect upon those wonderful, more innocent times back on Huntington Avenue, when the persona of one of history’s greatest trombone personalities occupied supreme precedence, with a sense of dignity and good humor that will not soon be forgotten.

Tommy Smith is a retired public school educator living in Oxford, North Carolina. In the early seventies, he served as the Jazz Artist-in-Residence at East Carolina University, before becoming a featured jazz performer in the New Orleans French Quarter. His son Tom Smith is the Director of Instrumental Music at Pfeiffer University and a regular contributor of record reviews to the ITA Journal.

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From ITA Journal

LIVE AT THE BOTTOM LINE

THE MJT PROJECT. Billy Huber, Barry Green, euphonium,
trombone; Marcus Dickmon, euphonium; Joe Murphy, Richard Perry, Winston Morris, tuba; Marty Crum, guitar; Tony Nagy, bass; Steve Willets, keyboards; Jeff Lloyd, drums.HEARTDANCE MUSIC HDM-1090 (Nashville, TN; 800/884-8422; <hdance@mindspring.com>; <www.heartdancemusic.com>
Ray Noble/Rich Matteson: Cherokee. Hoagy Carmichael! Rich Matteson: Skylark. Sonny Rollins/Rich Matteson: Oleo. Glenn Martin: Valvin' On A Riff. Rene Luis

Toledo/Joe Murphy: Rene's Song. Horace Silver/ Richard Perry: Cookin' At The Continental. Clifford Brown/Richard Perry: Sandu. Michel LeGrand/ Jim Williamson: Summer Knows. Dave Brubeck/David Esleck/Joe Murphy: Blue Rondo a la Turk. David Esleck: 1-95.

The MJT (Modern Jazz Tuba Project) is making great strides in the low brass world. The band's six low brass instrumentalists are formidable musicians, who succeed in evoking fond memories of the late Rich Matteson - a man they honor in style, and in the manner performing
his arrangements. Everyone in the MJT is gifted with remarkable technical prowess, and none of them is hesitant to display these attributes at the drop of a hat. This con at times result in a variety of mixed blessings.

When the MJTs are on, they are as good as anyone performing this genre of music. Their rendition of Blue Rondo a la Turk especially pleases in matters of blend, balance, and refreshing originality. Tubists Murphy and Perry are wonderful musicians who possess the rare ability to support the ensemble unselfishly and step forward in solo roles when needed. Huber and Green are standout euphonium performers and phenomenal trombone players. The duo's slide exchange on Rene's Song is so good as to cast visualizations of Slide Hampton and Steve Wiest performing in a similar setting. Why Huber and Green fail to utilize their trombone skills with greater frequency is certainly a mystery.

Unfortunately, the MJTs are routinely flawed in matters of excess and overall good taste. It gets to a point when it becomes too easy to categorize Green (and sometimes Dickman) the sensitive euphoniumists, while relegating Huber to the status of exciting showboat. As is often the case with upper register specialists, Huber simply goes to the top too often. High note theatrics (from Huber and Dickman), contribute more than they should to the band's occasional inconsistent focus. For example, why should the euphoniums end three out of 10 tracks with a high note when one would have made their point? The rhythm section is also a confusing assortment of technical energies. Although professionally supportive, they display an overt penchant for preprogrammed sameness and inappropriate tone quality. Crum's improvisational Sleigh Ride motif on the bridge of Cherokee sounds contrived enough to prompt speculation that he practiced it before the session, while bassist Nagy often chooses tonal colors better suited for fusion than the mainstream jazz the band is actually playing. Still, these Nashville-based musicians succeed more often than they fail, and no one can deny that drummer Lloyd is very, very good.

Despite preponderance for unnecessary weakness, MJT is a first-class organization, worthy of universal attention. In time, the lapses in taste and good sense will most likely be rectified, and the true potential of these remarkable technicians will be realized. So what if it takes another year or two far this to occur? These guys will certainly be worth the wait.

Tom Smith
National Music University, Bucharest, Romania

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From ITA Journal

 

LLOYD ULYATE & HIS TROMBONE

LLOYD ULYATE, TROMBONE; Bruce McDonald, Don Trenner, piano; Phil "The Chief" Stevens, Red Mitchell, boss; Dick Shanahan, drums. H & L RECORDS (111 B5 Hoyden, Tustin, CA 92782) Hugh Mortin/Rolph Blane: The Trolly Song. Duke Ellington/Eddie DeLange/Mills: In My Solitude. Cole Porter: Anything Goes. George Gershwin/Ira Gershwin/D. Heyward: I Loves You Porgy. Todd: Trombosis. Rose: Holiday For Trombones. Allie Wrubel/Herb Mogidson: Gone With The Wind. Con Conrad/Herb Mogidson: The Continental. Oliver: Trombolero. Irving Berlin: Steppin' Out With My Boby.

LLOYD ULYATE AND HIS TROMBONE is the fortuitous re-release of one of the most influential technical recordings of its time. When it was originally produced in the early '60s it was considered something of a studio miracle. Ulyate, manned only with primitive three track recording equipment, almost single handedly stretched the parameters of sophisticated overdubbing. With this recording, the process was duplicated and repeated innumerable times until 10 perfectly synchranized Lloyd Ulyates had been created. There were probably no more than three studio trombonists at the time other than Ulyate, capable of seeing a similar effort to fruition: Dick Nash, George Roberts and Urbie Green. Yet despite Green's significant contributions to the genre, it can never be forgotten that Ulyate was the first; a distinction that gives him a unique asterisk in the annals of modern recording and engineering.

During the late '60s, Ulyate's efforts were often overshadowed by the well crafted and better promoted Urbie Green 21 TROMBONES series. When compared in the light of nearly two dozen of the world's greatest trombonists Ulyate's mere 10 trombones seemed less ambitious to the superficial listener. LLOYD ULYATE AND HIS TROMBONE built for itself on underground cult following, com. prised of knowledgeable professional trombonists and enterprising students.

Objectively speaking, there is nothing all that innovative about the selections, in light of the fact that they were merely intended as vehicles to showcase the engineering. With that said, it should still be noted that the ballads are absolutely beyond comparison. The Solitude track is especially striking, and one of the finest versions of this work ever recorded. By compact disc standards, the mere 25 minutes of music provided is quite meager. Yet, by the time you replay this recording numerous times, as you will inevitably do, you will have more than gotten your money's worth. In all fairness, such trivial concerns are deemed insignificant in light of Ulyate's tremendous technical accomplishment.

No self-respecting trombone collection is considered complete without LLOYD ULYATE AND HIS TROMBONE. If you are not already familiar with this recording, acquire it without delay. If this recording represents the historical personal reference for you that it does for so many of us, put aside your frayed and scratchy LP, purchase this cd and relive the experience.

Tom Smith

Pfeiffer University

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The Lost Years of Charlie Ventura

November 11, 2001.

 

..........There are those from within the ranks of intelligentsia who like to forward the premise that jazz history is inexplicably readjusted every few years, to qualify an artificial line of succession or to right a real or imagined injustice. To these people historical truths shift much in the same way tides shift in the ocean. One day, a musician is revered as a savior, only to be unrepentantly savaged by a succeeding generation with different perspectives. Once discounted as the mere rantings of the disenfranchised, recent high profile publications and documentaries about jazz history have in the minds of these people added qualification to their once tenuous assertions. In their estimations, the new history of jazz is based upon group consensus of a real or imagined injustice, resulting in the incessant repetition of an incorrect thought. Such practices usually begin with the unfortunate proclivity of journalists to repeat something already written and incorporate it into a new article or review. Although the quotation may be properly footnoted, the opinion is accelerated, to where issues of taste and conjecture are often mistaken for truth. Trumpeter Donald Byrd has called this phenomenon "the lie that is agreed upon” and has spent much of his career fact checking biographical entries that carry his name, albeit with mixed results. For those musicians who are not in a position to defend their historical legacies, evaluative analysis occasionally transforms once revered substantive figures into secondary personalities, undeserving of pantheon elevation. There is perhaps reason to assert that one of the more celebrated victims of this misguided phenomenon is saxophonist/bandleader Charlie Ventura. Ventura's (formerly Venturo) disempowerment was due primarily to his own elevated naivete and an innate penchant for self-destruction. Only in later years was he aware of the negative revisions to his legacy, and diligently attempted to recoup over thirty years of relative inactivity and neglect. The results of his belated historical restoration were mostly unsuccessful. A majority of current (2001) biographies contain often-repeated catch phrases like "second or third tier," "strained" and "exploitive". In still other instances, he is partially or entirely ignored in contemporary jazz history publications. In fact, Ted Gioa's highly regarded History of Jazz; saw fit to ignore him entirely. In the end, Ventura spent much of his time grasping for the solutions that would revive his once totemic reputation, knowing full well that the rapidly evolving music industry had long since passed him.

In earlier times, Charlie Ventura (born December 2, 1916) would have been hard pressed to have imagined the tragic conclusion to a career that in the 1940s seemed permanently entrenched. He was a clerk in the Philadelphia Naval Yard at the start of World War II and had already been classified for the reserves, thus exempting him from military service. Roy Eldridge recalled his frequent performances at a Philadelphia nightspot and recommended him to Gene Krupa, during a period when the struggling bandleader was replacing members from a band severely depleted by the draft. A series of high profile Krupa led recordings and entertainment venues, including forefront visibility in the movie George White's Scandals helped introduce a 1940s persona of the white jazz "hipster" into mainstream culture. Ventura's singular breakthrough occurred in March 1945, when he recorded the ballad "Dark Eyes" from a trio extracted from the larger Krupa unit. The song rapidly elevated his market value and drew the attention of an enterprising entertainment manager named Don Palmer. It was Palmer who encouraged Ventura to form his own band, and the association would endure through his most productive era (approximately 1946-50). During that period, his sidemen consisted of some of the most talented and underrated musicians of the post big band era. An abbreviated list would include among others, trumpeter Conte Candoli, guitarist Billie Bean, drummer Ed Shaughnessy, trombonist Benny Green, pianist/vocalist/composer Roy Kral and vocalist Jackie Cain. Ventura's exuberance and natural stage presence blended well with Palmer's uncanny penchant for marketing his client's show business gimmicks. Their most popular concept was an inanely titled premise called "Bop for the People;" that among other devices featured choreographed scat vocals harmonized or superimposed within predictable bebop flavored horn lines. By 1948, Ventura was one of the most famous jazz musicians in the world, having recorded a number of minor hits, and been declared the tenor saxophone winner in the Down Beat and Metronome "Reader's Polls,". Even after the Ventura/Palmer partnership dissolved in the 1960s, their former association would playa role in Ventura's life for many years to follow.

The 1950s

It is the consensus of the Ventura family and close associates that his acquisition of a nightclub helped precipitate a series of unfortunate occurrences that led to his plummeting decline as an important jazz figure. According to his daughter Rita Lenderman, Ventura settled in Lindenwald New Jersey (near Philadelphia) in 1949, where a property was acquired that he named Charlie Ventura's Open House. It featured a variety of acts that at one time or another included: singer Patti Page, Krupa, an assortment of comedians, and Ventura's own group. The top floor of the club contained the Ventura living quarters where his wife Madeline and three children also resided. Family members and associates contend that he was ill equipped to manage a multifaceted entertainment venue. "He didn't make good choices at times," said Lenderman. "The club was kind of out in the country, so if you lived in the city you had to make definite plans to go. He also allowed himself to be used and gave away far too much money at a time when it should have been going back into the business". Ventura first led the house band, but by the middle of its first year, formed a landmark contingent called the Big Four, that featured himself Marty Napoleon, bassist Chubby Jackson and Buddy Rich. As that band and its inevitable byproducts diverted his attention, he became increasingly estranged from club business. By 1953, it became apparent that the Open House would cease to exist as an entertainment establishment. Ventura initially supplemented his income by working briefly at Camden radio station WKDM, unable to confront his first substantial professional failure. Increasingly, he relied on Palmer to secure more engagements away from the problems in Lindenwald, including a tour of Japan in the summer of 1954, with pianist Dave McKenna and vocalist Mary Anne McCall. 14. Reports of erratic behavior and frequent marital infidelities became commonplace, until according to Lenderman, "one day in 1954, he took up with a woman named Dell Scott and just never came back." Ventura and Madeline divorced in 1955, the same year the Open House filed for bankruptcy. Madeline assumed the responsibility of paying off the nearly seventy thousand dollars in debts, and remarried soon after. As of 2001 she resides in Wilmington, Delaware.

In 1956, Ventura's band joined a long list of prominent jazz groups that relocated in the lounges of Las Vegas hotels after Harry James helped establish the practice in the early 1950s. Initially formed as a big band before scaling down to a combo, it featured McKenna, trombonist Carl Fontana and Ventura girlfriend Dell Scott, who reprised many of the vocal compositions originally popularized by Jackie Cain and Roy Kral. Early on, pianist Frank Strazzeri replaced McKenna when the band took up residence in the Flamingo Hotel, before accepting stints at the Sands and the Thunderbird. For nearly a year, Ventura's band performed afternoon shows opposite the Count Basie Orchestra at the Sands, where according to Strazzerri, Scott and Ventura fought publicly on and off the bandstand. It is not for purposes of titillation that the volatility of the Scott Ventura relationship is invoked. It is believed by producer Bob Lorenz among others, that Ventura's association with the hard living Billie Holiday influenced singer accelerated his eventual downfall. According to Lenderman, "there was a lot of drinking in that relationship." Contrary to what is commonly believed, Ventura and Scott never married and eventually went their separate ways sometime in the early sixties. Still, it can be asserted with some justification that Ventura survived the 1950s with his reputation essentially intact. "When I played with him, it was the same as playing with Joe Henderson ten years ago or Joe Lovano now," said Frank Strazzeri.

The 1960s

Before Ventura and Scott became permanently estranged, they accepted an extended engagement in Denver, Colorado before returning to Las Vegas. It is also believed that work in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area was secured. Once free from commitment, Ventura often rejoined Krupa in a trio setting beginning in 1963. The arrangement featured a tour in the summer of 1964, beginning with Hawaii, and according to his passport included excursions into Japan and Mexico. This period seems to coincide with his split with Palmer. By this time, it had become apparent that Ventura's longtime associate could no longer tolerate his client's undisciplined personal life. From that point on, Ventura would never again experience the high level of success he had once known, and slowly descended into the depths of relative obscurity. From a period spanning from 1965-67, he secured few bookings, with the exception of what remained of a series of albums led by actor/comedian Jackie Gleason. For most of that time, he floated randomly from one freelance engagement to the next, with alcohol taking on a more substantive role. This period also coincided with the ascension of bands like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, a genre of music that Ventura found himself ill equipped to rival. "Rock music really disillusioned him. He didn't know how to adjust to the changing styles and for awhile kind of gave up," said Lenderman. "It was like he was on top of jazz, decided he wasn't getting anywhere and just quit. For awhile after 1967 nobody knew where he went," said Bob Lorenz. Actually, the reasons for Ventura's departure from music were of a more domestic nature. Sometime in 1967, he returned to his parent's Philadelphia home in the company of a young woman carrying his child. During the pregnancy both Ventura and the woman kept company there. In 1968, and away from the public eye, a boy (Thomas) was born. Soon after the birth of Thomas, he was hospitalized for a debilitating ulcer. The prolonged illness (which reputedly involved another unrelated medical procedure), further reduced his ability to perform, and may have been the genesis of performance related confidence issues that would forever plague him. "I truly believed my dad discontinued taking gigs because he doubted his abilities," said Lenderman. He never came across as a "star" to me. He was always humble and gracious." During convalescence, Ventura was contacted by Beverly Palmer, the ex wife of his former business associate. A short time later they were involved in a volatile relationship that would last intermittently until the mid 1970s.

The 1970s

In 1970, Ventura reinstated residency in Las Vegas, where he worked as a radio disc jockey and occasional lounge performer. That same year his apartment was ransacked and burglarized. Among the items stolen was his trademark ass saxophone. Originally purchased from bandleader Boyd Rayburn, the instrument had been prominently featured n many of his earlier recordings, and had once been an integral component of his stage show. Lacking the funds necessary for its replacement, the saxophone was never again used in his performances. During a show celebrating his seventieth birthday in 1986, Ventura relived the incident for Philadelphia disc jockey AI Raymond.

"Somebody more or less bribed the manager of this complex of apartments into believing he was with my band, and that we had a gig in Denver or someplace. Well, he let him in and I got cleaned out." The apartment theft was merely the first in a series of ill- fated occurrences. After returning to Philadelphia in 1972, he was involved in a drunken brawl where he suffered a severe head injury, before falling off a stage in an unrelated event a short time later. Both injuries appeared to have been of a permanent nature. "I remember him walking around with a cane when he first came to California in the early eighties," said Frank Strazzeri. "I asked somebody what had happened and they said he had been hurt in a fall. That was the first I had heard of it." Some time in late 1973, he returned to Las Vegas to perform briefly with Frank Sinatra Jr. Soon after, the job market in Las Vegas stagnated, forcing Ventura to return east coast in search of work. For much of the mid seventies, he held down a part time position at the Sheraton Hotel in Windsor, Connecticut, appearing with the Ricky Hollis Trio. While in Windsor, he struck up a performing alliance with a gifted, yet unheralded musician named Don McMann. Home made recordings kept by Ventura until his death, show proof of this talented keyboard/accordion virtuoso, who seems at ease in any number of styles. They also reveal McMann's innate ability to stimulate the supposedly frail Ventura's previous skills a performer. In addition to his inspired playing, Ventura's stage banter sounds sharp and crisp. "That was the thing about him that always amazed me, said long time associate Lewis DePasquale." He could be so drunk sometimes and so helpless. But, once he put the horn in his mouth he was the consummate professional. It didn't matter if he was playing on the stage of a great concert hall, or a wooden platform at the YMCA. When he was on, he was as good as anybody at playing that horn and running a great Show." In 1974, Ventura surprised the New York jazz community with a series of critically successful engagements with pianist Teddy Wilson at Michael's Pub. Then in 1976, he accepted a position as instructor of jazz improvisation at Trenton State College. There has been some debate as to when the appointment actually occurred, with Ventura himself believing it transpired in 1977. Yet, a receipt for services rendered, reveals that payment occurred on June 6, 1976. Ventura discontinued his association in mid semester to accept a tour of Poland. In order to honor his contractual obligations, he transferred responsibility of the class over to his musician/disc jockey son Charlie Ventura Jr. When the episode was brought up years later on his radio show in Stowe, Vermont, the younger Ventura would say with more than a hint of sarcasm that teaching his father's class "had been quite an experience."

The 1976 Poland tour was part of an attempt by Famous Door record producer Harty Lim and others to promote the upcoming release of the only Ventura led long playing album that was not a compilation of previously issued recordings. Considering Ventura's relative inactivity and depleted name recognition, the reasons for the album's production are somewhat of a mystery, although it is believed that the Michael's Pub engagements and his nostalgic performances at the Sheraton may have played a factor. Titled Chazz (a common Ventura nickname), the album proved a disappointment, both in terms of sales and critical approval. Chazz does in fact appear to suffer from weak personnel chemistry, despite the vaunted status of musicians Urbie Green, and Warren Vache. "It ended up a terrible album due to no fault of Charlie's," said Lorenz. Chazz did have the desired effect of booking Ventura into another tour that included Chicago engagements with McMann and drummer Mousey Alexander. Unfortunately, the positive effects of this latest Ventura resurgence were short lived. With resources depleted, he secured temporary work on a south Florida cruise ship, where he suffered yet again from alcoholic relapse. Fearing permanent physical damage or worse, he committed himself to a church related rehabilitation center in the Fort Lauderdale area called Faith Farm. The establishment was similar to a Christian based version of the Betty Ford Center, where alcohol was forbidden and regular church attendance was mandatory. In common fashion, he became the center of many of the establishment's most celebrated moments, including an episode where he roused the congregation with an especially vigorous rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In." Ventura ended the decade at Faith Farm having lost most of the contacts he had acquired only a few years prior.

The 1980s

Ventura's Faith Farm experiences were for the most part positive. During this period, he consumed little if any alcohol and practiced regularly. He also limited his playing exclusively to the tenor saxophone. In the earlier stages of his career Ventura had performed on a variety of saxophones, including alto, soprano, baritone and bass. The agreed assumption is that that a series of erratic episodes had caused the disappearance of his other instruments. By 1980, Ventura now felt confident enough to reinstate his fledgling career by seeking the aid of west coast benefactors. According to Lenderman, a patron arranged for a series of engagements and temporary housing, prompting Ventura to relocate to Seal Beach, California sometime at the start of 1981. "There was a flurry of activity to get him to California," she said. An entry in a March edition of The Los Angeles Herald Examiner, with the banner "Saxophonist Ventura Drops Sugar Coating," reported that Ventura had been sighted in a group led by pianist John Bannister. The headline was in response to the oft- heard criticism that Ventura's style of bebop was diluted and unsubstantial. Aware that his natural skills as a marketer/entertainer had routinely overshadowed his artistic virtuosity, Ventura used the article and similar schemes to rehabilitate his damaged legacy. It would be a practice that would consume him for the rest of his life. When Lorenz was asked if patronizing terms like "Bop for the People" had given critics the wrong idea, he hesitantly concurred. "But, there was nothing watered down about him," he said. "It was an completely unfair description." Another news account from an October edition of the Seal Beach Journal touted the attributes of Ventura's residency, and spoke favorably of a new trio he was leading that featured Tony Rizzi on guitar and Bob Maize on bass. At the same time he was routinely spotted as a hired front man for local organizations like the Charlie Stomp Big Band. A 1984 Stomp performance, videotaped for a local television program shows the sixty-eight year old saxophonist at the top of his game. Later in the program, host Joni Livingston-Banista probed into Ventura's influences, his motivation for being a musician and the reasons for his natural stage demeanor. "I was originally inspired by Chu Berry of the Cab Calloway Band back in the mid thirties. I got so carried away when I heard him that I said I had to play the saxophone. I don't practice enough, not because I don't have enough time, but because I get frustrated with how much I still have to learn. There's no end to it. I guess I don't get nerves when I play, because I get a stimulation from the people. They relax and motivate me. They show me how to be honest with myself."

The program was representative of a noticeable professional recuperation, enhanced at least in part, by his longstanding relationship with a middle-aged former showgirl named Helen Mischel. The bond appeared to demonstrate longevity and was relatively free of discord, until another of Ventura's alcoholic relapses seems to have ended it in 1985. That Spring Ventura again admitted himself into a rehabilitation center; but remained only for a short while. A couple of months later, he accepted an engagement at the Northsea Jazz Festival in The Hague, Netherlands. It accounted for his last significant musical performance; an event he would spend much of the rest of his life retelling.

"Oh it was absolutely wonderful. There were probably two- hundred (later the number became as high as seven hundred in future stories-TS) acts there. There was Woody Herman, Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson, Red Norvo; there were just so many. I just can't tell you how wonderful it was to see all of my old friends again. Of all my overseas trips, it was the best."

Occasionally, in later years recipients of Ventura's Northsea stories would have to redirect his conversation or end it entirely, due to his newly acquired habit for "rambling;" a trait uncommon in his California media encounters just a couple of years prior. The period before and immediately after Northsea were in fact radically different both in terms of stability and location. When Ventura returned to the United States, he permanently settled in Atlantic City, New Jersey. "He had just come out of a recovery program before going to Holland. I think his reason for moving to Atlantic City was to get away from it all, start over and be close to family," said Lenderman. "I think Atlantic City reminded him a lot of Vegas," said Lewis DePasquale. "This way he could be close to home and still run around in familiar surroundings." Ventura's relationship with (if not dependency of) DePasquale (a jazz organist and apartment owner who Ventura nicknamed "Count") was an enigma of sorts. Few if any Ventura family members or associates had heard of him until Charlie was performing casual engagements in DePasquale led bands. A short time later, he was living in a DePasquale owned apartment at 6 North Chelsea, where according to DePasquale, he "let Chazz stay rent free until a federal housing allotment was granted in 1989." At about that same time Ventura's health suffered adversely from diseases of a dental nature. According to DePasquale "a dentist in California started him with an implant that became infected, and that resulted in a steady low grade fever." Many stories have persisted over the years that an article in the Saxophone Journal and subsequent newspaper reports led to an outpouring of financial support, making it possible for Ventura to receive a new set of dentures. Although fund raising schemes were concocted with the cooperation of various media outlets, "stories of anonymous donors weren't true," said DePasquale. "I took him to New York, where a dentist named Irwin fixed him up on his own dime." While Ventura awaited his new teeth, he performed occasionally (mostly with DePasquale) with great pain, choosing instead to spend most of his time penning memoirs or discussing his career with anyone who would listen. These programs served as excellent vehicles for Ventura to discuss the significance of his career. On at least two occasions, he was a guest on his son Charlie's radio program, where he recalled how he came to use his unique method of blending human voices with bebop melodies. The following quote is paraphrased.

"Many years ago, when we were living in Philadelphia, I went to a theater where Duke Ellington was appearing. When I got there, I heard this thing on stage where Lawrence Brown and Johnny Hodges were playing Mood Indigo with this woman who had a high-pitched voice, and she was just blending along with the instruments. Well, that sound just stuck with me. So I was playing in Milwaukee with Roy Kral when Dave Garroway introduced me to Jackie Cain. After awhile we all started working together, and when I heard Jackie and Roy singing together, I got an idea. So, you would have to say that Duke got me started with it."

When Ventura was not charming radio hosts with tales of the glory days, he was filing away old stories into a tape recorder and waxing impromptu solo motifs (bad teeth and all) for posterity. The walls of his tiny apartment were covered with photos of family and associates. Of particular interest was his assertion that he possessed numerous unreleased recordings of older Ventura led bands. "I just need to select one or two good sounding things, and get somebody to clean them up," he was fond of saying. Those tapes eventually turned into an ongoing Ventura obsession. "I never heard them, but he talked about them a lot," said DePasquale.

Final Days

Ventura spent much of the late 1980s trying to be noticed as an historical figure, appearing on the occasional radio program or interviewing for nostalgia hunting magazine writers. His dental problems did much to destroy his confidence as a performer. He received little work, living mostly on social security and the good graces of others. He often missed engagements or forget them entirely, traits uncommon for a musician once considered a consummate professional. Then in 1989, with a set of new dentures and a fresh start, he initiated an earnest search for consistent employment. "But, he just wasn't getting across and he was still drinking a lot," said DePasquale. "It was so weird sometimes. One day I went up to one of those entertainment bosses in Atlantic City and asked him why he didn't hire Chazz? So the guy tells me he's never heard of him. Then I looked up just over his head and there was this giant painting of Charlie Ventura. So, I pointed to the painting and said that's the guy. He just looked at me like I was nuts and walked the other way."

A most troublesome event signaled Ventura's final decline in early 1990, when just outside his apartment, he was brutally assaulted and robbed. Among his more serious injuries were several fractured bones. Lenderman recalls that her seventy-three year old father phoned in the early hours of the morning "uncharacteristically angry and very, very drunk. It was hard sometimes to understand what he was saying, but you could tell he was furious about being been ripped off. I never did like that neighborhood he was in. It was no place for somebody with his kind of problems. I thought he was going to get himself killed." Apparently other mends and family (including sister Delores Inverso) concurred, and after some prodding Ventura was encouraged to seek one final attempt at rehabilitation. Self described as "a nursing home and rehabilitation center," Absecon Manor served as Charlie Ventura's last significant residence. For six weeks, he succeeded in regaining much of the self-control he had surrendered to alcohol. "That place got the closest to fixing him up," said DePasquale. In fact, homemade videotape filmed at the site does much to verify the assertions of DePasquale and others. In it, a noticeably rejuvenated Charlie Ventura is revealed fronting a credible jazz concert in the establishment's meeting hall. Accompanied by DePasquale and a colorful assortment of patients and orderlies, Ventura is seen calling the tunes, arranging solo orders, and providing encouragement for his sidemen. Moreover, his own playing is quite strong for a man of seventy-three, dentures, alcoholism and previous tragedies aside. Unfortunately, the positive effects of the Absecon experience were short lived. Later that year, he was diagnosed with a terminal form of cancer and moved to a hospital in Pleasantville, New Jersey. Bob Lorenz, one of the many former associates who visited, recalls being especially moved by the site of Ventura's right hand. "As I sat with him, I held it, and it just seemed so old. All I could do was remember all the remarkable things that hand had once been capable of." Ventura passed away quietly on January 17, 1991. An informal viewing and memorial service was held at Leonetti Funeral Home in Philadelphia, with several local musicians in attendance. No live music was present, but recordings of Ventura performances were played in remembrance. His funeral occurred the following day at the Holy Cross Cemetery of Philadelphia with a fair number of family and mends present.

The Ventura Legacy

The rehabilitation of the Ventura legacy probably started in 1994, when he was inducted into the Philadelphia Music Hall of Fame. Lenderman, accompanied by co inductee Grover Washington, Jr., accepted the award on behalf of her father." It was a good event and I felt proud. But, I still had a lot of conflicted feelings about my father. He had left us all when we were young, and for most of our lives he just wasn't there. So you have to understand that these phone calls in the middle of the night and pleas for financial assistance were very confusing." DePasquale, who died of cancer on October 10, 2001, occasionally took it upon himself to serve as historical spokesperson for Ventura in later years; often interrupting descriptions of his own personal generosity with announcements of upcoming DePasquale led tours. Among his claims was that he had been Ventura's primary benefactor, while his own family had done little to demonstrate similar gestures. "The saddest part was when the birthdays came around and none of the family would call," he said. Yet, physical evidence exists, via Charlie Ventura's Jr. radio show that publicly disputes this claim. In it, the father is interviewed, celebrated and featured in a live performance of "Moonlight in Vermont," assisted on piano by none other than Lewis DePasquale. From the perspective of historical evaluation, the DePasquale role is in need of further analysis, although Charlie Jr. is certain that the bond between Pasquale and his father was a positive one. "There is no telling what would have happened to Dad, had Count Lewis not been there for him," he said. DePasquale's widow still holds the Ventura tenor saxophone, with the intent of someday having it included in a jazz hall of fame. Those mystery tapes Ventura often spoke of were never positively identified, although it is assumed that Lenderman and others discovered them in an inconspicuous brown box shortly after Ventura's death. Lenderman gave three of the homemade cassettes to the author for study in 1997. Spanning a period from 1948 until the 1970s, they display the work of an important transitional jazz figure, whose bands helped bridge the gap between swing and bebop, while at the same time, his individual performances demonstrated significant modern extensions of the Coleman Hawkins and Chu Berry styles. Of particular interest are 1948 recordings extracted from radio programs aired from the Hotel Sherman in Chicago and remarkable concerts featuring his 1949 band. Ventura always asserted that his 1949 group was his best and favorite, and these recordings do much to forward that notion. Ventura's performance of "Euphoria" is especially invigorating, with the young Conte Candoli proving especially adept at mastering a style of jazz trumpet playing only recently forged by Dizzy Gillespie and Fats Navarro. The tapes also serve to reintroduce the great trombone virtuoso Benny Green, and a then relatively unknown nineteen year old drummer named Ed Shaughnessy. "He was one of the finest people I ever worked with," said Shaughnessy. "I'm so glad our famous 1949 concert from Pasadena was reissued. The band was really swinging and Charlie was cooking!"

In these early years of the twenty-first century, it is still considered somewhat of an historical impropriety to mention the name of Charlie Ventura in the same sentence with more vaunted contemporaries like Illinois Jaquett, who in the opinion of the author must be equated as at least an equal. Personal issues aside, a double standard can be argued for the case that Ventura still pays for his politically incorrect willingness to entertain and be popular, while at the same time certain novelties performed by select contemporaries are seen as fascinating artistic diversions. If Ventura is to be saddled as the originator of a genre of bebop influenced variety music, then it is only fair to assert that said popularity led to a number of standards and practices currently influencing generic mainstream entertainment; the least of which being the implementation of all the cross voiced six to nine member ensembles that exist in every country club in the western world, and on every cruise ship sailing the high seas. Despite the protests of those who resist the notion of a reasonable Ventura examination, it must be asserted that this important musician is deserving of a fair and unbiased accounting, before "the lie that is agreed upon" becomes permanently and irreparably etched in stone.

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From ITA Journal

NICE 'N' EASY

JIGGS WHIGHAM, CARL FONTANA, TROMBONE; Stefan Karlsson, piano; Tom Warrington, bass; Ed Soph, drums.

TNC JAZZ CD-1701 (Box 374, Lomita, CA 90717)
Ray Noble/Frank Mantooth: The Touch of Your Lips. Clifford Burwell: Sweet Lorraine. Duke Ellington: Take the Coltrane. Jimmy Van Heusen: Here's That Rainy Day; It Could Happen to You. Harold Arlen: If I Only Had A Brain. Spence/Bergman/Keith: Nice 'n' Easy. Jiggs Whigham: Incident; Cape Clip So.

Despite the totemic stature afforded them by other trombonists, Jiggs Whigham and Carl Fontana remain two under-appreciated members of the jazz pantheon. This is especially true of Whigham; who outside of his adopted Europe is seldom mentioned in the same breath with many of his lesser deserving contemporaries.

Needless to say, this impressive TNC Jazz debut recording is a welcome addition to the discographies of both men. It showcases superb trombone playing, and a veteran rhythm section led by pianist Stefan Karlsson. Comparisons with this recording and the legendary duo recordings of J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding are inevitable. Whigham's playing in particular, evokes the confident lead sound that personified Winding's contributions to those earlier efforts. His ballad playing on compositions like Jimmy Van Heusen's Here's That Rainy Day demonstrate a similar warmth and confidence while maintaining a trademark stylistic voice.

Carl Fontana, at 70, shows few, if any signs of slowing down. His unparalleled technical skills are still intact and can be implemented at a moment's notice. But, in recent years, he has opted for a more introspective approach. His ability to construct a solo much in the way a composer develops a theme, is most apparent in his adaptation of Harold Arlen's If I Only Had A Brain. Performances of this genre demonstrate the depth and maturity of a true improvisational master.

It is hoped that all aspiring trombone improvisers purchase this CD. With its stellar craftsmanship and expertly annotated notes and transcriptions, it reads and plays like a "how to" manual for the successful performance of jazz trombone.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

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From ITA Journal

NO LAUGHING MATTER: THE BOB
McCHESNEY QUARTET PLAYS STEVE ALLEN
BOB McCHESNEY QUARTET. Bob McChesney, trombone; Matt
Harris, piano; Trey Henry, bass; Dick Weller, drums.

 

SUMMIT RECORDS DCD 261 (P.O. Box 26850,
Tempe, AZ 85285; Phone: 480/491-6432; Fax:
480/491-6433; E-mail: darby@summitrecords.
com; Web: www.summitrecords.com)

Steve Allen: Meet Me Where They Play The Blues; Time; Road Rage; Pretty People; Chittlins; Steve's Blues: Cutie Face; Sultry Samba; This Is Where We Came In; Playing The Field.

These days, there is a ground swell of Bob McChesney talk from within the jazz trombone community. Most of the enthusiasm is being generated by the same young trombonists who embraced J.J. Johnson in the '40s, Carl Fontana in the '60s, and Bill Watrous in the '70s. These rapidly evolving students yearn to be dexterous jazz technicians, without being labeled unsubstantial by myopic critics who fail to understand that agile trombone improvisation is in of itself an innovation. They are the latest generation to pay homage to the magically elusive "doodle tongue"; and right now Bob McChesney is one of their handpicked favorites.

From the stand point of sheer technical prowess, NO LAUGHING MATTER is in a class by itself. McChesney is perfecting doodle tonguing in ways that are almost incalculable. Of principal significance is his ability to incorporate robust body and substance into his overall sound, while still maintaining remarkable speed and clarity. Throughout this recording, McChesney addresses the dynamics issue raised by opponents of doodle tongue technique. Dynamic limitation has always been the overused criticism leveled at trombonists who embrace this style of playing - with "they have to use a micophone", being the most frequent disclaimer. I doubt that anyone could fairly assess McChesney in this matter. Judging solely by his performance on this recording, one would assume that he is capable of performing at any volume that suits him.

McChesney has surrounded himself with a fabulous rhythm section, performing surprisingly neglected compositions by Steve Allen, one of the most underrated creators of American song. The fact that Allen was personally involved in this project only adds to McChesney's growing stock as a major player in the music business.

After several years of prominent studio work and apprenticeship in world-class organizations like the Bob Florence Big Band, Bob McChesney has arrived. There are times when hearing him is like hearing the trombone played for the first time. No serious jazz trombone collection can be complete without the possession of this recording.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

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From ITA Journal

BLUE HIGHWAYS

THE MUSIC OF PAUL FERGUSON

RIAS BIG BAND. BERLIN. Jiggs Whigham, conductor, trombone; Claudio Roditi, featured trumpet; Klaus Marmulla, Gregoire Peters, alto sax; Wolter Gauchel, Joe Ridder, tenar sax; Roff v. Nordenskjold, baritone sax; Greg Bowen, Dieter Bilsheim, Till Bronner, Christian Grabondt, trumpet; Don Gottshall, John Marshall, Paul Ferguson, trombone; Andy Graßmann, bass trombone; Ingo Cramer, guitar; Kai Routenberg, Wolfgang Kohler, piano; Hajo longe, boss; Holger Nell, drums.

AZICA RECORDS AID.722D7 (1641 Eddy Rood, Cleveland, OH 44112; Phone: 216/681-0778; Web: www.azica.com) Paul Ferguson: Blue Highways; Seventh Sense; Niece Piece; The Long View; Astieri; Further Derivations; Three Studies on Themes of Edward Hopper - High Noon; Nighthawks; Rooms for Tourists. Jule Styne/Sammy Cohn: Guess I'l1 Hang My Tears Out To Dry.

The Berlin-based RIAS Big Band has been an integral component af European jazz for over 50 years. In its early days, it tended to mirror the higher profile of American big bands by performing versatile combinations of danceable swing music, supplemented by ballad inspired string sections. In the 70s, the group altered its creative perspective when musical director Horst Jankowski steered the group more in the direction of an adaptable concert jazz ensemble. Adaptability turned out to be a necessary skill for the RIAS, when Jankowski incorporated his much lauded "Horst Jankowski and Guest" series that featured musicians of almost every musical genre.

In 1995, the reigns of this respected organization were handed over to legendary trombonist Jiggs Whigham. Despite the rather large shoes that he had to fill, Whigham has handled his duties admirably as both RIAS musical director and as occasional featured soloist. This recording, showcasing the compositions and arrangements of Paul Ferguson, is further testimony to Whigham's monumental importance to the world's jazz community and to music as a whole.

Despite some wonderful solos by trumpeter Claudio Roditi, it is Whigham who established the standard by which other soloists in RIAS will undoubtedly be judged. His lush, yet understated interpretation of Jule Styne and Sammy Kahn's Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry is another indication of his growing influence as an interpreter of important ballads, while his buoyant funk musings on Ferguson's Further Derivations are every bit as substantive as anything offered by those specializing in a similar genre.
BLUE HIGHWAYS helps bring to mind the remarkable body of masterworks that Whigham is amassing. I seriously doubt that he has ever contributed significantly to a bad recording. This worthy addition to his discography will keep that enviable record intact.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

 

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Questions and Answers

 

Writer Lauren Waters sat down with Tom over the December holidays to discuss a wide range of topics. Better luck next time Lauren.

Q. Jazz Times recently published a highly controversial "overrated, underrated" feature. What was your opinion of it?
A. It was nonsense.

Q. Why do you say that?
A. I either know, know of, or have met many of the contributors to that article. These are not people who really for lack of a better term "get it." I saw some of them at the IAJE convention recently. They were outsiders looking in. Even among seven thousand conference participants, they stuck out.

Q. Do you want to play overrated, underrated?
A. I will give you my opinions on underrated.

Q. OK, who in your opinion is the most underrated jazz musician of all time?
A. Benny Carter. If jazz were a decathlon he would be the winner.

Q. Who are the world's most underrated jazz trombonists?
A. In no particular order: Washington DC's Dave Steinmeyer, Steve Wiest in Wisconsin, and my father Tom Smith, Jr.

Q. In order of rankings name the top thirty big bands of all time.
A. 1. Duke Ellington, 1940: The standard by which all big bands are judged.
2. Maynard Ferguson, 1962: Many people disagree. I say check out the album. They deserve to be #2.
3. Count Basie, 1950's: This band was better and cleaner that its Lester Young counterpart. April in Paris redefined big band music.
4. Woody Herman, First Herd: Reevaluations attest that this group was superior to its more celebrated Second Herd counterpart.
5. Fletcher Henderson: The greastest big band of the 1920's.
6. Jimmy Lunceford: The most underrated big band of all time.
7. Thad Jones-Mel Lewis: As time goes on these guys look better and better.
8. Dizzy Gillespie, 1940's: The last word in bebop big band.
9. Artie Shaw: I always considered this a superior musical ensemble to Goodman's.
10. Duke Ellington, 1920's: The Cotton Club band was fabulous, and Bubber Miley ruled.
11. Woody Herman, Second Herd: The Four Brothers edition would have been #2 if they would have stayed straight.
12. Benny Goodman, 1938: When Krupa and James left, this band lost its heart.
13. McKinney's Cotton Pickers: Don Redman was the greatest 1920's writer of big band music.
14. Stan Kenton, 1950's: The Bill Russo period when Rosolino was king.
15. The Tonight Show with Doc Severinson: What was NBC thinking when they let these guys get away?
16. Tommy Dorsey, the Sinatra Period: Nobody did ballads better.
17. Chick Webb: Buddy Rich was history's greatest big band drummer, but nobody swung a band harder than Webb.
18. Count Basie, 1930's: Raw, but good.
19. Billy Eckstine: These guys got a lot of adulation, but were not around long enough to reach full potential.
20. Buddy Rich, Pacific Jazz Band: The band's performances of West Side Story and Channel One Suite justify this ranking.
21. Bob Mintzer: The best big band of the 1980's.
22. Woody Herman, Swingin Herd: Phil Wilson, Jake Hanna, Sal Nistico and Bill Chase.
23. Duke Ellington, Late 1950's band: The band that turned Ellington into a household name.
24. Cab Calloway: Once you get past the singing, you realize what a spectacular band this was.
25. Don Ellis: He redefined the way people perceived the big band.
26. Airman of Note, The Steinmeyer years: Breathtaking trombones!
27. Gene Krupa: Roy Eldridge and Anita O'Day.
28. Toshiko Akiyoshi- Lew Tabacken, 1970's: Some people feel this group was overrated. They must not have been listening.
29. Harry James, The Vegas Years with Buddy Rich: Less ballads, more swing.
30. Paul Whiteman, 1927-34: Many critics punish this band unjustly, because they played a lot of commercial music. Check out Whiteman Stomp; the best Don Redman reading ever. Besides, how do you argue with Bix and Herb Challis?

Q. No Miller?
A. No

Q. How about Benny Carter, Mingus, or Les Brown?
A. I wish they could have made it, but this was a very select list.

Q. Are rankings and "overrated-underrated" lists of any value?
A. Only if they are right.

Q. How correct are your assessments?
A. Dead on.

 

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The Reinvention of Johnny Raducanu
Tom Smith
Director of Instrumental Music
Pfeiffer University
IAJE International Conference, New York, NY, Januarry 2004

Personal reinvention is a common practice in jazz. In earlier times, musicians routinely distorted personal resumes to advance an advantageous premise, or to right a real or imagined injustice. In certain instances, it was difficult to know where the legend ended and the real truth began. The most celebrated case of a jazz musician reinventing himself was probably trumpeter Willie Geary "Bunk" Johnson, a pioneering New Orleans musician, who harbored bitterness for being historically overlooked in favor of younger less talented performers. In the late 1930s, Johnson was guilty of sharing innumerable falsehoods with early jazz researcher Bill Russell in the latter's ground breaking anecdotal research document Jazzmen.1. Johnson's baseless anecdotal accounts of having performed with Buddy Bolden 2. created an "Orwellian styled" ripple effect, that for decades hindered accurate chronological accounts of Bolden and several of his contemporaries.3. To Johnson, historical truth was far less important than his own obsessive penchant for self- reinvention. At one time Johnson had been "a somebody," a musician who had garnered the admiration and respect of a great many jazz aficionados. When Russell rediscovered him, he had been relegated to humiliating manual labor in an obscure Louisiana rice paddy.4. For a time, historical reinvention gave Johnson the trappings of a better life. He was provided financial sustenance, and a return to the musical spotlight as a performer. More importantly, he was provided a forum to express his historical viewpoints from the vaunted perspective of jazz "mahatma" or senior statesman. It was only through the tenacity of future researchers that Johnson was revealed as the man he actually was; namely a person of some talent, but lacking the iconic sensibilities of a first tier musician.5. Still, even in light of indisputable evidence, many chroniclers chose to ignore the investigations of Donald Marquis and others, by remaining loyal to the long discredited Russell text. As late as 2001, writers like Bob Koester were still asserting that Johnson's statements in Jazzmen provided the necessary insights for sufficiently evaluating the musical skills of Bolden, when it was most probable that Johnson had never heard Bolden perform.6.

Despite the immense historical damage caused by Johnson, it paled in comparison to the reality coup staged by a highly ambitious Romanian musician, who artificially and single handedly reshaped the jazz legacy of an entire country. Imagine for a moment an enterprising individual understanding of western sensibilities, who while under the yolk of communism, uses the resources available to him to unrepentantly recreate himself, while receiving tacit and overt assistance from a carefully monitored communist arts infrastructure. Imagine still, a person who with the cooperation of his government creates a Romanian version of a stereotypical western jazzman, to codify Americans and in some small way aid in the establishment of a superficial foreign policy that supposedly distances itself from its Soviet oppressors, to better secure American loans from gullible Washington politicians. Such were the surreal events that led to the historical reinvention of jazz musician Johnny Raducanu, the man now often called the father of all Romanian Jazz.7.

The Romanian Jazz Dynamic

During the advent of Romanian communism, many Hollywood movies were banned, as well as most American literature, with the exceptions of works by Mark Twain, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Walt Whitman.8. Miraculously, jazz was one of the only American cultural genres that survived the harsh purges of the1950s. This was due in part to an outstanding talent pool that had honed its craft in the 1930s. Unlike most western nations, Romania was quite prosperous during the worldwide depression. It was Europe's leading producer of oil, and benefited financially from its post World War I acquisitions of Hapsburg territories, especially Hungarian Transylvania.9. A result of Romanian prosperity was the lively urban club scene that featured live jazz. Even during the Nazi influenced 1940s, it was not uncommon for German soldiers to frequent the same kinds of jazz friendly establishments that were forbidden in their own homeland. In the early going, Romanian jazz musicians performed together as a single community. Their predominant venue was the Romanian Radio Big Band, a unit that harkened back to the Emil Berindei led radio broadcasts of the late 1920s and early 1930s.10. The band became a strong jazz ensemble between 1934-1940, when pianist Teodor Cosma assumed leadership. The Cosma influence would display itself significantly during the Raducanu transformation, especially in later years, when Cosma assumed control of the Romanian state run recording studio Electrecord.11.

After communist domination had asserted itself in Romania, a so-called golden background of Romanian jazz appeared when a cadre of talented musicians, inspired by the artistic leanings of Cosma, appeared at Electrecord. They comprised the membership of an Electrecord Orchestra that in 1956 achieved significant fame in Eastern Europe, by winning an international competition in Moscow.12. Although respectful of Cosma, these young performers drew much of their inspiration from a legendary pianist named Iancsi Korossy, whose combos set the modern standard for Romanian jazz interpretation. Before his eventual emigration to Germany and then the United States, Korossy had established an indelible legacy for which all future Romanian jazz musicians would aspire.13. During the 1960s, these same Korossy disciples would strive to achieve careers as full time jazz musicians, while their more conservative colleagues opted for the greater security found with the commercially revamped Radio Big Band.14. The three predominant musicians from this Electrecord clique were composer Richard Oschanitzky, pianist Marius Popp, and saxophonist Dan Mandrila. The favored bassist of these three men was an extroverted musical overachiever, whose admiration for Korossy's western styled persona had already influenced him to Americanize his first name. The bassist's name was Johnny Raducanu.

According to Raducanu and others, 1960s jazz was tolerated in Romania mainly because it could be played instrumentally. Vocal jazz had essentially been eliminated when the usage of English was prohibited in the 1950s. When English mildly reasserted itself later, its exclusion continued for fear of singing lyrics that could be perceived seditious. Therefore, the vocal branch of Romanian jazz remained relatively small and underdeveloped.15. However, if lyric expulsion were the singular explanation for Romanian jazz tolerance, the music would most likely have been as intensely popular in other communist bloc nations. Actually, the reasons for the Romanian government's "blind eye" towards jazz were far more political than altruistic. Moreover, said politics would work in the favor of Raducanu's career during the superficial westernization of Romanian culture during the Ceausescu era.

The Ceausescu Loans

Romania remained mostly loyal to Moscow until the late 1950s. When Soviet troops were withdrawn in 1958, Romania unlike most of its Warsaw Pact allies began to adopt an independent foreign policy more in line with America. Romanian historian Nicola Williams sums up the situation in her travel guide The Lonely Planet.

" Unlike other Warsaw Pact countries, Romania was allowed to deviate from the official Soviet line. While it remained a member of the Warsaw Pact, Romania did not participate in joint military maneuvers after 1962. Romania never broke with the USSR, as did Tito's Yugoslavia or Mao's China, but Ceausescu (Romanian president) did refuse to assist the Soviets in their 1968 intervention in Czechoslovakia. He even condemned the invasion publicly as "a shameful moment in the history of the revolutionary movement," earning him praise and economic aid from the West and turning him into a national hero."16.

Western aid (especially American loans) was a goal that motivated and excited the megalomaniac Ceausescu. This most ambitious and tyrannical of all Warsaw Pact leaders envisioned a Romania that would rise above all others in the communist world. He envisioned the construction of huge palaces that would address global communist agendas, and the totemic diversion of an insignificant river through the Romanian capitol of Bucharest, because in Ceausescu's words, "Every important city was supposed to have a river."17. The dictator's pro west stance earned Romania an amazing ten billion dollar loan from the staunchly anti communist American government. In a cynical gesture to please his new bankers, Ceausescu falsely demonstrated his love for American culture by turning Romania into a hotbed for foreign jazz. The transition was an easy one for Romanians because of a previous 1960 cultural agreement with the United States, that established the means for American cultural imports including movies, music, translations and art exhibits to enter Romania.18. Beginning in the 1960s, first tier American performers staged gala concerts in Bucharest and other Romanian cities. Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Dave Brubeck, and Dizzy Gillespie all visited Romania, under cultural exchange programs organized by the Cultural Exchanges Program of the U.S. State Department. Moreover, a significant number of western jazz history materials were translated into Romanian and made available to the general public.19.

The Initial Transformation

Inexplicably, few Romanian jazz musicians possessed the flamboyant dispositions of their American counterparts, and for the vast majority, a mastery of the English language was not soon forthcoming.20. The Electrecord clique was for the most part an understated group, more in the style of their idol Korrosy. Of those associated with Electrecord, Raducanu was the one most aware of his contemporaries' introverted onstage decorum. But, the performances by the extroverted Americans excited him. He compared the personas of the different performers in a manner that drew confusion and bemusement from his colleagues. He voraciously assimilated their mannerisms and created for himself a stereotypical jazz verbiage. He sought out previously non-translated works and had them read to him or converted into Romanian. He especially paid attention to the mentoring skills of more learned colleagues like Marius Popp. Eventually, he resigned himself to the realization that he would never accumulate the theoretical gravitas to establish his own academic curriculum as Popp had, and instead adopted the grizzled mannerisms of a pioneering anecdotal jazz mentor.21.

Then in 1970, Raducanu experienced a fortuitous streak of luck when Korossy permanently immigrated.22. With Romania's preeminent jazz musician now gone, it was assumed that one of the "big three" would assume his position. On the surface Oschanitzky seemed the logical choice. However, recurring health ailments related to chronic alcoholism snuffed out his promising career at an early age.23. Popp was certainly the most intellectual of the three, but was never interested in the undignified audience pampering associated with stage entertainers. Mandrila did possess all the necessary skills to be the true king of Romanian jazz, and for a period from 1970-1973, he was by all accounts Romania's most popular and influential jazz musician.24. However, few in Romania were aware that Raducanu harbored other ideas, and was merely waiting for the right opportunity to make his move.

The Ellington Meeting

In 1971 Duke Ellington's band performed in Bucharest on a U.S. State Department tour.25. After the performance, Raducanu put his new persona to the test. Throughout Ellington's visit, Raducanu was regularly seen within close proximity to Ellington in hotel lobbies (a favorite Raducanu meeting place), handshake lines and the sorts of low-key diplomatic functions that other Romanian jazz musicians believed disingenuous.26. To the surprise of his colleagues and startled dignitaries, Raducanu never missed a chance to claim to all who would listen, that he was the true spokesman for Romanian jazz. There are even a handful of sources who assert that Raducanu pressed his way into the American ambassador's residence on the evening of the Ellington concert as Ellington rested in an adjoining room.27. Initially, the story of the alleged encounter drew skeptical derision from Raducanu's colleagues, especially when he bragged of having performed for Ellington on piano, an instrument not usually associated with the full toned bassist.28. The obvious question among musicians was Why Johnny? Apparently, Mandrila and others of his musical classification did not take the stories seriously.29. Still Raducanu was already committed to his long-range plans, and had already set them in motion. He had no intentions of explaining himself to other musicians. His goals were then of a more political nature. He became cognizant of the important superficial gestures related to statecraft. The Ellington encounter had been at least a partial success, leading to far bolder gestures in the coming months and years.

1973 and Beyond

1973 was an eventful year for Raducanu, highlighted by a remarkably well-received concert with Popp, Mandrila and American born guest artists Art Farmer and Slide Hampton.30. This event would mark the final time that Raducanu would perform as a bass sideman in a major program, while in the presence of either Popp or Mandrila. Raducanu's colleagues were unaware that he had already booked a number of high profile engagements as a solo pianist, with the help of his new diplomatic connections, in several American, British and French Embassy functions.31. Between 1973-1975, Raducanu would hone his piano skills at these state functions, away from the prying eyes of other musicians. Within a matter of months, he became the go to musician for a plethora of foreign attended diplomatic functions. Within months of the Hampton /Farmer concert, he was performing exclusive Romanian Embassy related events in the United States.32. At this juncture, his most important professional connections were officials who answered directly to Ceausescu and his inner circle. Although never a government insider or informant, Raducanu's embassy connections granted him entry into venues not afforded other musicians. His amusing anecdotes while in the company of these powerful men resembled what was stereotypically expected of a jazz musician, and were more often than not accepted as fact. More importantly, these specially choreographed moments (sometimes artificially staged by propaganda officials as impromptu encounters) provided Raducanu sufficient opportunity to recreate the history of Romanian jazz in his image. These stories were recycled continuously within Romania's tightly monitored media outlets. Investigation and/or repudiation would have most likely not been tolerated.33. Over the next few years it became difficult to separate the truths of the Raducanu legacy from the rapidly accumulating fictions. Even when government policies changed in the 1990s, the old Raducanu alterations remained for the most part unchecked and unchallenged, except by other musicians whose credibility would have been suspect, due to Raducanu’s immense stature. In fact, several of Raducanu's contemporaries were appalled by the sudden historical revisions, but were powerless to stop them.34.

The Revisions

Raducanu's transformation from bassist sideman to pianist leader was both calculated and ingenious. Before his participation in semiprivate state functions, he had been at best a half serious pianist, with little or no hope of attaining the skill level of Popp, and/or next generation performers Mircea Tiberian and Ion Baicu.35. Instead, Raducanu created a kind of Teodor Cosma pre Teddy Wilson style that served him well in the conservative formats associated with foreign aristocracy. Still, Raducanu's most clever manipulations involved his less than subtle borrowings from Korossy. The newly unveiled Raducanu ensembles consisted primarily of the Korossy instrumental format of piano, bass, drums, woodwind, and occasional guitar. Raducanu's frequent implementation of half diminished chords (a Korossy specialization) only cemented the intended confusion. Raducanu's final distortion was to master a repertoire of 1930s music. His new handlers loved the older tunes and Raducanu was more than willing to deliver them in the preferred antique fashion.36 Raducanu then went to great lengths to pass himself off as a much older man. During the 1980s, it was customary for the lay public to believe that the fifty something Raducanu was someone probably in his seventies.37. Predictably, he was also the first Romanian jazz musician to use Internet technologies to forward his revisionist agenda. Website accounts of Raducanu frequently mention his unverifiable multiple generations of musical ancestors, his membership in a fictitious New Orleans jazz organization, and his claim that the performance with Hampton and Farmer was part of an international tour.38.

Of course, the totality of Raducanu's historical reinvention would have never been realized were it not for his sensational talents as a storyteller. Many of his anecdotal fables are well known for their stratospheric measure of daring and gall.

"Once I was playing my piano when I felt a nudge under my feet. I looked to my sustain pedal, and who did I find but Miles Davis. I promptly told him to get up and I would show him some blues."39.

"Once (bassist) Red Mitchell came to me and said, Johnny, I am the first man to give jazz bass its balls. You are the second."40.

"When Duke visited Romania, he insisted that I play for him in the presence of the American ambassador. When I played In a Sentimental Mood for him, he cried."41.

It was Radacanu's 1980s subjugation of Ellington that drew the most indignation and disbelief from other Romanian musicians. In a part of the world where western copyright law was nonexistent, and where the education of public jazz history was scant at best, Raducanu frequently claimed authorship of some of Ellington's best-known works. According to one musician "Johnny would take a song like Jack the Bear, change a couple of chords and call it Variations on Jack the Bear by Johnny Raducanu. If there was no public outcry within a year, he would simply call the piece Johnny's Theme, with no mention of Ellington whatsoever."42. Raducanu's most brazen act of plagiarism was his claim that he authored Frankie and Johnny, an assertion he later dropped in the 1990s, when Romanian society was less susceptible to obvious deceptions. Still Romanian expatriate musicians like Austrian based Nicholas Simeon had difficulty resisting an easy Johnny outing. At one especially memorable concert, Simeon declared, "Sophisticated Lady apparently has two composers, Duke Ellington and Johnny Raducanu." Not to be bested even in a moment of supreme embarrassment, Raducanu immediately rose from his seat and exclaimed, "I loved that song so much that I called it my own." Supposedly, the audience answered the proclamation with a standing ovation in celebration of Raducanu's great empathy for the American master. 43. "It is precisely those incidents that drive respectable men to drink," said Popp upon hearing yet another of Raducanu's legendary tales. As of 2003, Popp remains a disgruntled footnote in Romanian jazz, his own legacy obscured and distorted by the popular acceptance of the Raducanu legend. Popp especially bristles at the contemporary ignorance of his groundbreaking music school, in favor of a Raducanu educational product, based in part on Popp's conceptual initiatives.44. When Raducanu was awarded the Romanian Lifetime Achievement Award in Jazz, Popp boycotted the ceremony and took as insult a request made by Radio Romania that he serve as Raducanu's presenter.45.

Ironies

Despite Raducanu's uncounted moral lapses, it must be said that he has often used his newly found influence for the establishment and perpetuation of good causes. Tiberian (the 2002 Romanian Jazz Musician of the Year) for example points to Raducanu's initial acceptance as his big break in the music business.46. Raducanu has also helped expel a number of corrupt Romanian music contractors, and on a couple of occasions, alleviated uncomfortable situations between musicians and the former Romanian secret police, the Securitate.47. As of 2003, he continues to mentor a handful of young musicians, although the quality of the instruction is speculative at best. "I once had a piano lesson with Johnny," said American blues musician David Vest "He asked me to play a D-flat major tenth with my left hand. I told him I couldn't. Come back when you can, he said. That was the lesson.”48.

Vest's 1980 meeting with Raducanu was an especially successful example of the convincing and alluring nature of the Raducanu mystique, and how encompassing his power had become within the Romanian circle of musicians. When reading this account, it should be advised that Raducanu's abilities in the disciplines of notational reading and orchestration are somewhat minimal.

"I was a Fulbright Scholar lecturing in American Poetry at the University of Bucharest, 1979-80. I met Johnny in the lobby of the Hotel Intercontinental and we soon became fast friends. I was writing songs like mad in those days and he helped me with some arrangements, then invited me to be his guest at the Sibiu Festival, which was televised live into ten countries that year. It is important to understand that my appearance was completely unauthorized by any of the authorities, either Romanian or American. Johnny played with me in public at considerable personal risk to himself. As a result of the performance we were invited to do an album for Electrecord. I gave Johnny a tape of 11 or 12 new songs. One week later he had written complete orchestral arrangements for all of them (see previous paragraph). I believe I counted 53 musicians who showed up for the sessions. When I wanted strings, he got the entire string section of the George Enescu Philharmonic. Rumor was that (pan flutist and Romanian native) Zamfir had invited himself to play on the record but some of the other musicians threatened to beat him up if he showed up. My role was piano and vocals, but on one song Johnny played piano. As far as I know I was the first American to record in Romania. We also made the first American rock video for Romanian TV. I returned to the States before the album was released with every intention of promoting it and securing an American release, but I was involved in a very serious automobile accident and had to let a lot of things go. Did he tell you about the time he played for Duke Ellington at the US ambassador's residence? Duke cried when he heard Johnny play In a Sentimental Mood on piano. My belief is that any story he tells you about himself is true. He said many amazing things to me, and made many bold promises. He delivered on every one of them, including those orchestrations. I really don't know how many copies the album sold. 250,000 was a reasonable estimate. I know it was a substantial hit by Romanian standards, aided by a video, and that it had distribution elsewhere in Eastern Europe and perhaps in Western Europe as well. If you have the opportunity, please let Johnny know that I have never forgotten him and his many kindnesses to me. I send him love and respect and ask his forgiveness for neglecting him these many years, especially in his current time of need."49.

Vest's mention of need refers to Raducanu's recent quadruple bypass surgery and an extended hospital stay where he displayed rare glimpses of humility for the small handful of musicians who visited. "Johnny did many bad things, but he was and still is good for jazz in Romania," said Tiberian. "He took charge when no one else would. Besides it is too late to change things now. History has already moved forward, and so has the story of Romanian jazz."50.

NOTES

1. Marquis, Donald (1978). In Search of Buddy Bolden, Louisiana State University Press: U.S.A., pp. 4-9.

2. Similar to the distortions popularized in Orwell’s 1984.

3. Marquis, Op. cit.

4. Ibid.

5. Personal evaluations based on Johnson’s 1940s recordings.

6. To have even performed with Bolden, Johnson would have been less than ten years old. The chances of Johnson having personal knowledge of Bolden’s performances are miniscule at best.

7. Title attached to numerous Raducanu press releases.

8. Interview with Rodica Mihalea, chair, Department of American Studies, University of Bucharest, Bucharest, Romania, December 1, 2002.

9. Ibid.

10. Lungu, Florian (1995). A Short History of Romanian Jazz, self published, p. 1.

11. Interview with Danila Nicholae, Bucharest, Romania, January 15, 2003.

12. Lungu, Florian (1995). A Short History of Romanian Jazz, self published, p. 2.

13. The author interviewed over 40 Romanian musicians from 9/02-8/03. The Korossy assessment was unanimous.

14. Interview with Danila Nicholae, Op. cit.

15. Interview with Rodica Mihalea, Op. cit.

16. Williams, Nicola (1998). Lonely Planet/Romania and Moldova, Lonely Planet Publications: Footscray, Victoria, Australia,

pp. 23,24.

17. Interview with Ioana Ieronim, Bucharest, Romania, October 1, 2002.

18. Ibid.

19. Interview with Mircea Tiberian, Bucharest, Romania, July 6, 2003.

20. Ibid.

21. Interview with Danila Nicholae, Op. cit.

22. Interview with Tiberian, Op. cit.

23. Interview with Marius Popp, Bucharest, Romania, April 15, 2003.

24. Interview with Florian Lungu (Mircea Tiberian translator), Bucharest, Romania, August 2, 2003.

25. Ibid.

26. Interview with Popp, Op. cit.

27. Interview with Gabriel Popescu, Bucharest, Romania, February 6, 2003.

28. Interview with Tiberian, Op. cit.

29. Ibid.

30. Recording heard in the home of Marius Popp, April 15, 2003, using notations in Popp’s attached personal journal.

31. Interview with Johnny Raducanu, Bucharest, Romania, September 28, 2002.

32. Ibid.

33. Interview with Ioana Ieronim, Op. cit.

34. Ibid.

35. Author assessment based upon numerous performance interactions with Raducanu.

36. Interview with Johnny Raducanu, Op. cit.

37. Interview with Allyn Constanciu (translated by Cristian Soleanu), Bucharest, Romania, February 5, 2003.

38. Identical findings. . in four different sites as result of random search engine usage.

39. Interview with Johnny Raducanu, Op. cit

40. Ibid.

41. Ibid.

42. Interview with Cristian Soleanu, Bucharest, Romania, March 18, 2003.

43. Interview with Nicholas Simeon, Bucharest, Romania, January 19, 2003.

44. Interview with Danila Nicholae, Op. cit.

45. Interview with Marius Popp, Op. cit.

46. Interview with Mircea Tiberian, Op. cit.

47. Interview with Allyn Constanciu, Op. cit.

48. Written correspondence from David Vest, November 10, 2003.

49. Ibid.

50. Interview with Tiberian, Op. cit.

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Reverse migration

by Tom Smith
September 2004

Much has been said of the supposed arts drain that will accompany Romania's European Union accession. The popular wisdom is that most if not all Romanian artists will scurry across Western borders faster than you can say Enescu. It is further assumed that Romania's small, but competent community of musicians will be most severely affected, if not irreparably damaged. Romania in general and Bucharest in particular is blessed with a decent number of talented performers, who undertake many important tasks, including qualified participation in Bucharest's fine jazz and classical music ensembles. These same instrumentalists also create most of the music Romanians take for granted on their usually undervalued radio and television programming.

In the States, we call such working musicians 'background players.' These people are seldom seen, but often heard. They provide all the musical backdrops for pop music's brightest stars, to say nothing of the drum fills heard alongside every comedian's punchline. Moreover, they provide nearly all of the melodies heard on music videos and television commercials. In other words, they provide background music for most events related to the perpetuation of popular culture. In all ways, they are the true backbone of any nation's music industry. Because of an implied necessity to be adaptable, accurate and punctual, background players are the music profession's best and brightest, as well as their most ardent professionals.

Unfortunately, because of a totemic naivety, combined with improper work habits, most Romanian musicians fail to do the work necessary to realise this highest standard. There are many reasons as to why this is the case. But it is safe to say that flailing national pride is an epidemic possibility.

As a Senior Fulbright Professor at the National University of Music, I had the good fortune to teach some of Romania's best musicians. Still, I was largely disappointed by what I observed. Before arriving in Bucharest two years ago, I had assumed that Romania would embody a high spirit of artistic nationalism. I envisioned an inundation of knowledge related to Romania's vast musical heritage. I further assumed that proud Romanian musicians would be more than willing to provide it. Instead, I discoved that the vast majority of Romanian musicians were more interested in learning how to sound like Westerners. ''Just show us how to play like you,'' they say. ''If you want to help us, show us how to secure Western residency.'' They always say this just before they tell you that they have no intentions of staying in Romania.

There lies the rub. Europe and the rest of the West simply cannot absorb an entire nation's musical community, nor does it want to. In Bucharest, where as much as 90 per cent of the Romanian musical community resides, artists who dream of emigration may actually suffer harsher conditions in the West than they have ever suffered at home. Immediately, they will discover that the Western musician's life is arduous, competitive, and solitary. But their greatest surprise will come when they return home to find their old spots filled, not by other Romanians, but by foreigners looking for more expansive and liberal performing opportunities.

The idea of a reverse migration is seldom if ever discussed by Romanians. Still, the prospects for such an occurrence most certainly exist. Throughout Europe and North America, millions search in vain for places where they can freely pursue the musical life. Due to intense competition in these locations, vast numbers of musicians work for next to nothing - and right now Romania seems like an appealing destination. Romanians are a great audience. They love music and they respect musicians. Hungarians and Poles have long known this, and now the Germans and the Americans are getting word. Americans are especially wanting, due to an enormous infrastructure of public school band programmes, by some estimates as many as 250,000 in all. This means that at any given time, America possesses as many as ten million capable musicians. In fact, some recent studies claim that as many as one in six Americans has either played a musical instrument or sung in a choir. Europeans in general and Romanians in particular cannot fathom such numbers. They view their status in the artistic pantheon as entirely unique. They could not be more wrong.

Romanian competition is minimal and performing venues are plentiful, albeit low paying. But this too will change when Romanian wages are forced to at least approximate a certain EU standard. This may take as long as ten to fifteen years, an eternity to some, but a mere chronological blip when discussing music history and its perpetually evolving trends. Already, there are scores of Westerners contemplating emigration to Romania, based on the largely true stories of plentiful opportunities, combined with further growth and expansion. Reports of Romanian bands where disinterested musicians regularly have their pick of choice assignments, is wonderful news indeed to qualified non-Romanians.

''This will never happen,'' say my students. ''The Romanian government will pass laws prohibiting such things.'' Such is the naivety of Romanians to believe that EU scenarios and their subsequent relaxation of North American work permits will prohibit others from entering Romania, while at the same time, Romanians will be free to come and go as they please. The willingness of Romanian musicians to believe such fairy tales will only accelerate reverse migration, and in turn seal their own fate.

Ironically, Romanians need not fear competition. Most of the better Romanian performers possess more than enough talent to take on all comers. But they suffer from debilitating professional attitudes. Because of their regional uniqueness, they mistakenly believe that their role in the Romanian way of life is indispensable. The end result has been the creation of a generation of musicians in possession of inflated egos and irresponsible professional decorum. It has been my misfortune to observe the manifestations of this unfortunate trend. They include everything from disinterested rehearsals, failure to call in absences, loss of music without explanation, wanton disrespect for conductors, and a total disregard for versatility. In places such as Bucharest, these very tangible behaviours are all encompassing.

Background musicians are very important in the production of musical galas, such as those recently witnessed on a number of HBO specials. Of the fifty musicians seen at a recent Elton John concert, at least forty were local background musicians, paid to perform in chairs deemed cost prohibitive, had the entire touring company travelled from its home destination en masse. By hiring locally, shows avoid paying superfluous travel expenses. This bypasses many of the costs associated with travel, food and lodging. If you think shows are expensive now, imagine how much they would be if consumers absorbed a cumulative maximum cost. Ticket prices would be out of reach for nearly everyone.

In the States 'big show' background musicians are hired by territory. For example, if Cher needs a large orchestra, she travels with a conductor, and a handful of support players. Everyone else is hired from an existing pool of local musicians. These people appear on the afternoon of the performance, rehearse, and play the show that evening. It goes without saying that musicians of this high standard are prompt, respectful, accurate and alert. In this highest plateau of the musical universe, time literally is money. This is not a proper environment for people who want to have it their way.

Most large shows in the States begin in Boston and move south to New York. The show then passes off to a new group who perform it in Philadelphia. This group then hands the show over to yet another group who take it to Washington, before the next group takes it to Carolina, then Atlanta, New Orleans, Houston and so on. Europe also follows a similar pattern. At present the extreme outskirts of the European territory is Budapest. But with EU accession and a new highway linking the Hungarian and Romanian capitals, the new end of the road will be Bucharest. This should be a great time for Romanian musicians. But they have to be ready.

Imagine for a moment a Western conductor, with a Prussian work ethic, experiencing the aforementioned stereotypical Bucharest musician. It is quite easy to discern what will happen next. Show organisers will tolerate one fiasco too many, and Bucharest will be absorbed into the Budapest territory. This will in turn create the ineveitable scenario of Hungarian musicians streaming across Romanian borders to play high profile jobs that once belonged to Romanians. That might be good news for some Bucharest musicians since their inactivity will allow them to see the show without having to work for it. Too bad they won't be able to afford a ticket.

Until recently, Tom Smith was Senior American Fulbright Professor of Music at the Romanian National University of Music and the University of Bucharest. He led the Romanian National Jazz Ensemble and was a frequent guest conductor of the Romanian National Radio Big Band.

 

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A Scientific Method for the Verification
of
Unidentified Brass Recordings
(The Beiderbecke Mysteries)

Thomas Smith
Pfeiffer University
Gary Westbrook
Concord College
June 29, 2001

Smith and Westbrook attempted to accurately reveal mislabeled or unidentified brass instrument personnel on historical jazz recordings. A computerized matching system was used to compare unidentified recorded solos called, “mystery recordings” with recorded solos of known performers possessing stylistic attributes.

Motivation

Since the earliest days of recorded jazz, researchers and/or educators have been routinely deterred by incorrect or incomplete personnel identification. Four primary reasons can be credited for said circumstance. Many instrumentalists from the early days of jazz recorded under assumed names. An example of this practice occurred in 1953, when Charlie Parker recorded for other labels under the alias “Charlie Chan.” Said deception was perpetrated to protect his exclusivity agreement with Mercury Records.1 2. Established artists sometimes dispatched substitutes to recording sessions who possessed similar performance characteristics. Years later, researchers sometimes incorrectly identified these substitutes as the intended contract performers. This practice was especially common with artists like Bix Beiderbecke, who were known to confront issues of dependability and/or punctuality. In various stages of inebriation or poor health, Beiderbecke may have replaced himself or been replaced by imitators like “Red” Nichols or Andy Secrest.2 Producers often deceived the record buying public by labeling the substitute as the original contractee, knowing with reasonable certainty that recordings featuring established performers outsold recordings performed by musicians of lesser notoriety. 3. Jazz recording sessions from the first half of the twentieth century were often casual affairs, where producers routinely neglected to list personnel accurately, if at all. Consequently, jazz discographies are inundated with terms such as “unidentified” and “unknown.”3 These and similar circumstances have left historians and/ or researchers to trust their ears more than common recording label documentation. 4. After World War II, thousands of amateur recordings were responsible for a plethora of illegal “bootleg” productions, and artist approved clinic sessions, usually distributed for educational purposes. In the field of jazz music, it is appropriate to assume that more recordings of this genre were manufactured than those produced by any facet of the mainstream recording industry. In addition to the causes listed above, note should be made of the thousands of musicians who recorded their own sanctioned concerts, dances, and club dates on a regular basis. Herbie Hancock’s frequent practice of recording Miles Davis engagements would alone provide enough material to significantly amend the collective discographies of both men.4

Experimentation With Viable Solutions

As early as the 1960’s, jazz historians and/ or researchers attempted to identify practical solutions for the problems of mystery personnel identification through a variety of methods, including a process called voice printing. In 1990, Smith initiated experiments using voice imprint technology similar to another technology implemented by long distance telephone companies. VIT was similar to an earlier procedure called sound spectography, where a machine called a spectrograph performed analytical and comparative analysis by converting speech into patterns on paper. Said technology was much like the commonly referred “lie detector” test, where similar data was collected. Unfortunately, like its celebrated counterpart, results were sometimes unpredictable and inaccurate. In 1999, Westbrook concluded that a more accurate result could be attained through exploration of a new computer software program called Spectraplus, that featured a similar technology that was superior to its VIT predecessors.5 Spectraplus analyzes data in a number of ways. But it possesses three significant features that are most beneficial.

1. It works as a spectrograph, an instrument that measures intensity (or loudness).
It provides the opportunity to examine and identify artists based purely on tone. This expands the horizons of said research to include music of all genres, including classical. It is discerned that it will now be possible to positively identify unknown personnel of recordings from all musical genres, including classical. In the initial testing phase, research has been limited to primarily brass and woodwind instruments. Yet, it may soon be possible to identify vocalists and performers of other instruments as well. It provides a three dimensional image of sine wave patterns that allows us to actually see the music, and differentiate between instruments. Initially, Smith was concerned that other instruments heard on the recordings would hamper the collection of correct data. His first concern was that the software would pick up undesirable remnants of the total recording. A case in point: Suppose one were trying to analyze the sine wave pattern of a clarinet player, only to discover that the pattern had been distorted by the drummer and/or the trumpet player? Westbrook demonstrated that Spectraplus was capable of overlapping the actual sound files. The facilitator is able to analyze up to three other solos and overlap them on the same graph. This allows one to identify the individual sound graphs, and compare them by means of a makeshift layering process. However, the researchers are not able to mask or filter out different instruments. To account for this effect in jazz music, the researchers compare solos/excerpts of musicians performing with the identical bands, and/or personnel from the same general time frame.

Testing Methodology

Westbrook implemented a means of data collection called a “t test” to accurately verify Smith’s data. A t test is a process for examining differences between pairs of research findings (also known as “parametric” findings). In selecting the t test most appropriate for said research, Westbrook discerned that the related sample t test would be preferable. This is a test that examines differences between sets of data that are very highly related, or correlated. The t test identifies a critical t value for each examined pair. Researchers then compare that critical t value with a t table that is constructed for individual probability levels. Despite the intricacy of its application, the premise of the t test is actually quite simple. If the critical t is higher than the t on the table, then the pairs are not from the same population, meaning that the suspected artist is not the same artist on the other recording. But, if the critical t is lower than the t on the table, a match within the parameters of practical certainty exists. It was believed by the researchers that if the procedure were to be universally accepted, t test accuracy would have to be very high. After some preliminary discussions, it was decided that a t level or p=.05, (a five percent margin of error) would be required to ensure acceptable credibility.

The Beiderbecke Mystery Recordings

No recorded twentieth century brass musician has elicited a greater need for accurate identification than jazz cornetist Leon Bismark (Bix) Beiderbecke. Due to erratic behavior caused in part by chronic alcoholism, his attendance or lack thereof at as many as thirty speculative recording sessions has fueled a musical legend already elevated by martyrdom derived from the unfortunate happenstance of dying young. Beiderbecke’s alcoholic episodes were at a peak at or around the first five months of 1929. This period, which includes a brief time spent in the employ of bandleader Paul Whiteman, coincides with extended interludes of paranoid insecurities, accompanied by a complete physical and mental breakdown, and a mysterious beating that may have resulted in permanent injury. 6 After a brief recuperation at his home in Davenport, Iowa, Beiderbecke was back in New York performing with Whiteman in March, and engaged in a number of freelance recording sessions, that were ill advised, due to the nature of his rapidly deteriorating condition.
In fact, the decline of Beiderbecke’s physical and mental health were judged so severe as to promote the budding career of a twenty year old cornetist, who for a time made his living performing the role of Bix imitator and “stand in”. Whiteman actually hired Andy Secrest as a substitute during Beiderbecke’s recuperation, but kept him on later for the expressed purpose of performing Bix styled improvisations, for those occasions when Beiderbecke himself was indisposed. 7 The eager Secrest became so expert at imitating Beiderbecke, that he was able to extend his recording opportunities past Whiteman, and into other “Bix friendly” venues. 8 In few places was Secrest’s impact more felt than in the studio sessions of saxophonist Frank Trumbauer; a man intensely devoted to his friend Beiderbcke, yet practical enough to understand the necessity for insurance when the situation warranted it.

The “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home” Session

Few mysteriously identified recordings have generated more controversy than the April 17, 1929 Trumbauer rendition of the song Baby Won’t You Please Come Home. In the liner notes for a 1947 reissue of the same recording, George Avakian states the following: “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home features a Trumbauer vocal and two solo choruses. Despite much speculation that Andy Secrest may have played one of the choruses, the accepted decision among most musicians and Bixophiles (term used to describe a Beiderbecke researcher), is that Beiderbecke is responsible for both solos.” 9 Despite Avakian’s reasonable assurances, legend continues to forward three possible scenarios. 1. Beiderbecke performed both cornet solos. 2.Secrest performed the first solo (open) and Beiderbecke performed the second solo (muted). 3.Secrest performed both solos. The source of the dispute derives from the intelligent observations of lifelong Beiderbecke researchers like Richard Sudhalter, Randy Sandke, and Mark Richard, whose opinions must be weighed with due consideration.
Sudhalter in his book Bix: Man and Legend, provides the following information: “Solos: Secrest (16 verse); Bix (first fill); Secrest (other fills); Bix (16); Secrest (lead last chorus); Bix (muted obbligato).” 10 It is therefore the belief of Sudhalter that Secrest performed the first solo and that Beiderbecke performed the second solo (muted). This is the consensus of a vast majority of Beiderbecke researchers including Sandke, Red Hot Jazz Archives contributor Mike Donovan 11 and M.J. Logsdon of the Wolverine Antique Music Society, whose comments do much to fuel the ongoing speculation. “The first solo in Baby Won’t You Please Come Home does resemble Bix, but its crispness, clarity, and lightly- brasher- sounding –than- Bix sound are in distinct contrast to the muted second solo by Bix, which after several listenings, does in fact sound different from the first solo, in spite of the mute.” 12 Sandke’s observations are even more convincing, and shed greater light on the circumstances that may have led to Beiderbecke’s abbreviated solo activity on Baby. (Regarding the April 17 session): “Instead of sounding stronger, he seems even more unsure of himself. Secrest handles most of the lead. On both Louise and Wait Till You See Ma Cherie (previously recorded selections), Bix again uncharacteristically finishes with high notes and the results are again strained. On Baby Won’t You Please Come Home, he settles down and plays a fine lyrical solo, but by this time is lip is spent and it almost refuses to vibrate on the last four bars.” 13
Mark Richard in his own liner notes for a “Masters of Jazz” compact disc collection derives at a third more radical conclusion. “Solos: Secrest, c (abbrev. for cornet) (16 verse)-Tram (abbrev. for Trumbauer) voc, with Bix, c in derby obbligato (16)-Tram, Cms (abbrev. for C melody saxophone)-Secrest, c in derby (16)-Bix, c (leads last 16).” 14 It is apparent from Richard’s outline that he disputes the notion of any Beiderbcke solo presence.
If one were to qualify the above data with conscientious reason, it would be surmised that a distinguished collection of talented observers was in obvious disagreement. Therefore Gary and I judged Baby Won’t You Please Come Home an excellent example of a mystery brass recording in need of scientific evaluation.

Procedure

For comparison eight solos were selected. Solo one was the Baby Won't You Please Come Home open mystery recording and solo two was the Baby Won't You Please Come Home muted mystery recording. The recordings in dispute were compared to six solos known to be either Beiderbecke or Secrest. Examples of both open horn and muted selections were included. For the facilitation of this procedure they are identified as solos three through eight. Solo three was Dardenella by Beiderbecke. Solo four was Singin' The Blues by Beiderbecke. Solo five was You Took Advantage of Me, a muted solo by Beiderbecke. Solo six was Alabamy Snow by Secrest. Solo seven was What A Day by Secrest. Solo eight was Remember Me? a muted solo by Secrest.

The first two pairs analyzed were solos three and four. There was a strong and positive relationship between solo three (Dardanella) and solo four (Singin' The Blues) (r = .794). A critical t value of 1.5 was found at the p = .138 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos three and four. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and seven. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo seven (What A Day) (r = .523). A critical t value of .11 was found at the p = .916 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six and seven. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and eight. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo eight (Remember Me?) (r = .59). A critical t value of -.24 was found at the p = .808 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six and eight. The next two pairs analyzed were solos seven and eight. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo seven (What A Day) and solo eight (Remember Me?) (r = .69). A critical t value of -.41 was found at the p = .682 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six seven and eight. The next two pairs analyzed were solos three and five. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo three (Dardenella) and solo five (Took Advantage of Me) (r = .574). A critical t value of 3.16 was found at the p =.002 level. This result led us to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos three and five and to accept the alternative hypothesis that there were significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos four and five. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo five (Took Advantage of Me) (r = .638). A critical t value of 2.51 was found at the p = .014 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and five and to accept the alternative hypothesis that there were significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. These first six tests were administered to compare known soloists to themselves. This gave the researchers the opportunity to test the procedure, again.

The next comparisons were tests constructed to identify the soloist on each mystery recording. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .555). A critical t value of 1.75 was found at the p = .084 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant different between solos six and one. The next two pairs analyzed were solos seven and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo seven (What A Day) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .601). A critical t value of 1.94 was found at the p = .056 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos seven and one and to accept the alternate hypothesis that there were significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos three and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo three (Dardenella) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .629). A critical t value of -1.47 was found at the p = .145 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos three and one. The next two pairs analyzed were solos four and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .636). A critical t value of -.41 was found at the p = .686 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and one. The next two pairs analyzed were solos five and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo five (Took Advantage of Me) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .474). A critical t value of 2.56 was found at the p = .012 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos five and two and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos eight and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo eight (Remember Me?) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .625). A critical t value of 2.72 was found at the p = .008 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos eight and two and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos three and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo three (Dardenella) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .515). A critical t value of -.51 was found at the p = .615 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos three and two. The next two pairs analyzed were solos four and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .601). A critical t value of .57 was found at the p = .572 level. This result led us to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and two. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .64). A critical t value of 2.93 was found at the p = .004 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six and two and to accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos seven and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo seven (What A Day) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .622). A critical t value of 2.95 was found at the p = .004 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos seven and two and to accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The last pairs analyzed were the two mystery recordings solos two and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) (r = .517). A critical t value of -.86 was found at the p = .393 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos two and one.

Conclusions

Testing analysis concluded that solos three (Dardenella), four (Singin' The Blues) and five (Took Advantage of Me) were performed by Bix Beiderbecke; and that solos six (Alabamy Snow) seven (What A Day) and eight (Remember Me?) were performed by Secrest. This was expected since these were recordings where the status of said personnel was never in question. The researchers hoped to identify the mystery performers by finding no statistically significant differences between the mystery recordings (solos one and two) and either solos three, four, and five (Beiderbecke) or solos six, seven and eight (Secrest). The results indicated that there was no statistically significant differences (t = 1. 5, p = .138) between solo three (Dardenella) and solo four (Singin' The Blues). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Beiderbecke. The comparison of solo three (Dardenella) and solo five (Took Advantage of Me) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 3.16, p = .002). The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 2.51, p = .014) between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo five (Took Advantage of Me). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. This result was unexpected since the performer of each solo was definitely Beiderbecke. However, solo five was a muted solo where Beiderbecke traded fours with Trumbauer. Westbrook initially "red flagged" this solo, since Trumbauer’s and Beiderbecke’s continuity in the exchange was so fluid as to have interfered with the Beiderbecke sample. This undoubtedly accounts for the statistical error. This also verifies and confirms the need for clean and clear samples, possessing definite points of embarkation and departure. The results indicated that there was no statistically significant differences (t = .11, p = .916) between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo seven (What A Day). Therefore, said research concluded that both solos were from the same population. The result was expected since the solos had been positively identified as Secrest. The comparison of solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo eight (Remember Me?) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = -.24, p = .808). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. This result was also expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Secrest. However, the researchers were initially unsure of testing that compared an open brass solo to a muted brass solo. These results revealed that a performer has a unique sound, which is not affected by the use of mutes. The results indicated that there were not statistically significant differences (t = -.41, p = .682) between solo eight (Remember Me?) and solo seven (What A Day). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Secrest. The comparison of solo seven (What A Day) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 1.94, p = .056). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. The results indicated that there was no statistically significant differences (t = 1.75, p = .084) between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. However, since the alpha level (p = .084) was so close to the p = .05 level, we decided to give this analysis a closer look. After all, Secrest was regarded as perhaps the most celebrated imitator of Beiderbecke, and had even possibly fooled some of the world’s foremost Bixophiles. The comparison of solo three (Dardenella) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = -1.47, p = .145). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The results indicated that there was no statistical difference (t = -.41, p = .686) between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home). Therefore, said research concluded that both solos were from the same population. Said research concluded that the soloist on the open solo of Baby Won't You Please Come Home was Beiderbecke: a conclusion that stands in disagreement with a large number of Beiderbecke researchers, but one that the researchers stand by nonetheless, based upon strong scientific principals, and an inconsequential margin of error. The comparison of solo five (Took Advantage of Me) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 2.56, p = .012). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. We again referred to the solo in You Took Advantage of Me as problematic because of the interference of the other soloist. The results indicated that there was statistically significant differences (t = 2.72, p = .008) between solo eight (Remember Me?) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home). Therefore, we concluded that both solos must be from different populations. The comparison of solo three (Dardenella) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = -.51, p = .615). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The results indicated that there was no statistically significant differences (t = .57, p = .572) between solo four (Singin' The Blues) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The comparison of solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 2.93, p = .004). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 2.95, p = .004) between solo seven (What A Day) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home). Therefore, said research concluded that both solos must be from different populations. Said research concluded that the soloist on the muted solo of Baby Won't You Please Come Home was also Beiderbecke. A comparison of solo one (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) and solo two (Baby Won't You Please Come Home) found no statistically significant differences (t = -.86, p = .393). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. This comparison shows that the soloist on solo one must be the same as the soloist on solo two.

FINAL RESULTS: BEIDERBECKE PLAYED BOTH SOLOS.

SpectraPlus.com is an ongoing official sponsor of our research; and it should be noted that the Smith/Westbrook method is licensed and cannot be administered without the permission of both Smith and Westbrook. But, said researchers are more than willing to attempt to identify "mystery" brass performers of any musical genre in exchange for using the information in an upcoming book. Email submissions may be sent to Smith at tomsmithjazz@yahoo.com; or to Westbrook at blwinkl@stargate.net .

The intention of Smith/Westbrook is to provide a meaningful initiation of studies beneficial towards the development and implementation of similar studies, not necessarily limited to jazz. Based on the preliminary research, music of other genres including, but not limited to classical and indigenous folk music could benefit from the procedure as well. With assessments of twentieth century music a paramount concern to contemporary musicologists, it is crucial that the clarification of inaccurate discographies be addressed, before said inaccuracies become ingrained into the fabric of accurate historical content.

Notes

Miles Davis/Quincy Troupe, Miles: The Autobiography(New York: Simon and Schuster Inc. 1989), p.161. Parker was also listed as Charlie Chan in the Massey Hall recording of the same year.
Randy Sandke, Bix Beiderbecke From a Musician’s Perspective:(Annual Review of Jazz Studies 1997-98(Latham Maryland: Scarecrow Press 2000) pp.218,244.
Marty Grosz, Frank Teschemacher, accompanying booklet for recording Frank Teschemacher/Giants of Jazz: (Alexandria, Virginia:Time Life Records 1982) p.43
Hancock’s ongoing fascination with personal recording, especially during his tenure with Davis, has been well documented and verified by Davis and others in numerous publications and forums.
Spectraplus is an acoustical analysis software program used to analyze musical intensities and frequencies.
Curtis Pendergast/Richard Sudhalter, accompanying booklet for recording Bix Beiderbecke/Giants of Jazz: (Alexandria, Virginia: Time Life Records 1979) p. 25.
Sandke, p. 241.
Pendergast/Sudhalter, p. 25.
George Avakian, notes from recording reissue Bix and Tram/ A Hot Jazz Classic: (Columbia C-144, 1947).
Richard Sudhalter/Phillip Evans/William Dean- Myatt, Bix: Man and Legend (New Rochelle, New York: Arlington House, 1974) p. 469.
Email message to author, May 2001.
Taken from Wolverine Antique Music Society website.
Sandke, p. 241.
Mark Richard, notes from recording reissue series Masters of Jazz: (Paris France: Bonnet and Baudouin 1991).

 

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A Scientific Method for the Verification
of
Unidentified Jazz Recordings
Assorted Mysteries

Thomas Smith
Pfeiffer University
Gary Westbrook
Concord College
September 14, 2001

For the past ten years, I have diligently pursued the successful implementation of a procedure for accurately verifying personnel on early recordings where appropriate identification is either speculative or nonexistent. The problem is usually understated in the field of historical research, but remains significant to those wishing to compile and retain accurate historical data.
Since the early days of recorded sound, many instrumentalists have recorded under assumed names, with artists specializing in jazz music being among the more visible instigators.1 An example of this practice occurred in 1953, when Charlie Parker recorded for other labels under the alias “Charlie Chan.” Said deception was perpetrated to protect his exclusivity agreement with Mercury Records.2 Established artists were also known to dispatch substitutes to recording sessions who possessed similar performance characteristics. Years later, researchers sometimes incorrectly identified these substitutes as the intended contract performers. This practice was especially common with artists like Bix Beiderbecke, who were known to confront issues of dependability and/or punctuality. In various stages of inebriation or poor health, Beiderbecke may have replaced himself or been replaced by imitators like Andy Secrest.3 Producers often deceived the record buying public by labeling the substitute as the original contractee, knowing with reasonable certainty that recordings featuring established performers outsold recordings performed by musicians of lesser notoriety. Years later, researchers often confused the more notable artists with those possessing similar performance characteristics. Such were the practices of the jazz recording industry in those less formal times.
It should always be remembered that early jazz recording sessions were often casual affairs, where producers routinely neglected to list personnel accurately, if at all. Consequently, jazz discographies are inundated with terms such as “unidentified” and “unknown.”4These and similar circumstances have left historians and/ or researchers to trust their ears more than common recording label documentation. There is also at issue the thousands of illegal and artist approved amateur reproductions that have commenced since World War II, where the technology to adequately record music has been placed in the hands of virtually all who harbor such aspirations. It is appropriate to assume that more recordings of this genre were manufactured than those produced by any facet of the mainstream recording industry. 5 In addition to the causes listed above, note should be made of the thousands of musicians who recorded their own sanctioned concerts, dances, and club dates on a regular basis. Herbie Hancock’s frequent practice of recording Miles Davis engagements would alone provide enough material to significantly amend the collective discographies of both men.6
I believe the problem to be a monumental deterrent when assessing accurate historical data. For example, in the case of jazz history, much that has been written over the past decade will be referred as gospel far into cultural perpetuity. The near frantic pace of contemporary historical awareness is a direct response to the imperative understanding that all music must benefit from accurate documentation, before current trends of historical ignorance and distortion become permanent.
Imagine for a moment the state of jazz research a thousand years in the future, when Sidney Bechet recordings are possibly mistaken for Charlie Parker, or even those of other stylistic genres. Despite the present day absurdity of such a premise, who with intellectual assuredness can accurately predict how jazz music will be interpreted in a distant future bereft of contemporary understanding? It is certainly an issue worthy of more serious contemplation. The author of an excellent Bix Beiderbecke internet website convincingly summarized the predicament of contemporary mystery recording identification after experiencing frustration with his inability to form an objective consensus among Bixophiles 7 regarding two recordings addressed in this investigagtion:
“When the written record is incomplete, we must depend on the recollections of individuals who were present at the time of the recording session and/or on aural evidence. Both of these approaches are fraught with uncertainty. We have seen already that individual recollections may be unreliable - for various reasons: faulty memories, conscious or unconscious desire for self-aggrandizement. The interpretation of recordings using aural analysis is an extremely subjective procedure, even for technically competent musicians.” 8
From one author’s anecdotal perspective, the self-aggrandizement issue may be the most damaging single deterrent in reasonably addressing the issue in question. While most jazz historical scholars appear forthright in their attempts to address the premise of substance, there is still a small cadre of celebrated malcontents, intent on finding any niche, regardless of significance, that forwards the premise that they are the best informed. 9When combined with those musicians who attempt to assert themselves into historical scenarios where they do not belong it is no wonder that the problem of inaccurate personnel identification exists in the first place. 10

Initial Experiments

In 1990, I initiated experiments that used crude voice imprint machines similar to those constructed for polygraph testing. Then, in 1993, I came upon a system that demonstrated the possibility for marginal promise. One night, while watching television, I happened upon a commercial for a computerized voice identification system used for the activation of telephone “calling cards.” I reasoned that with some inventive alteration, a like-minded system could identify and compare individual wind instruments from within the context of recorded music. Unfortunately, the early technology was unsophisticated and my data collection techniques were often flawed and unsubstantial. Still, these early experiments demonstrated a strong likelihood for successful outcomes, once similar technologies inevitably attained an elevated degree of sophistication.
Then in 1999, a significant breakthrough occurred when my host institution hired an adjunct instructor who possessed a highly evolved resourcefulness for statistical fluidity. Gary Westbrook, a PhD candidate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro concluded that a more accurate result could be attained through exploration of a new computer software program called Spectraplus that featured a similar technology, superior to its VIT predecessors.11 Spectraplus analyzes data in a number of ways. But it possesses three significant features that are most beneficial.
1. It works as a spectrograph, an instrument that measures intensity (or loudness).
It provides the apparatus for examination and identification of artists based
purely on tone. This expands the horizons of said research to include music of all
genres, including classical. It is discerned that it will now be possible to positively
identify unknown personnel from recordings of all musical genres, including
classical. In the initial testing phase, research has been limited primarily to brass
and woodwind instruments. Yet, it may soon be possible to identify vocalists and
performers from a more complete family of instruments.
It provides a three dimensional image of sine wave patterns that allows researchers to actually see the music, and differentiate between instruments. Initially, I was concerned that other instruments heard on the recordings would hamper the collection of correct data. My first concern was that the software would pick up undesirable remnants of the total recording. A case in point: Suppose we were trying to analyze the compound sine wave patterns of a clarinet player, only to discover that said pattern had been distorted by the drummer and/or the trumpet player? Gary demonstrated that Spectraplus was capable of overlapping the actual sound files. The facilitator is able to analyze up to three other solos and overlap them on the same graph. This allows one to identify the individual sound graphs and compare them by means of a makeshift layering process. However, the researchers are not able to mask or filter out different instruments. To account for this effect in jazz music, the researchers compare solos/excerpts of musicians performing with the identical bands, and/or personnel from the same general time frame.

Testing Methodology

Gary implemented a means of data collection called a “t test” to accurately verify my data. A t test is a process for examining differences between pairs of research findings (also known as “parametric” findings). In selecting the t test most appropriate for said research, Gary discerned that the related sample t test would be preferable. This is a test that examines differences between sets of data that are very highly related, or correlated. The t test identifies a critical t value for each examined pair. Researchers then compare that critical t value with a t table that is constructed for individual probability levels. Despite the intricacy of its application, the premise of the t test is actually quite simple. If the critical t is higher than the t on the table, then the pairs are not from the same population, meaning that the suspected artist is not the same artist on the other recording. But, if the critical t is lower than the t on the table, a match within the parameters of practical certainty exists. It was believed by the researchers that if the procedure were to be universally accepted, t test accuracy would have to be very high. After some preliminary discussions, it was decided that a t level or p=.05 (a five percent margin of error) would be required to ensure acceptable credibility.

The Beiderbecke Mystery Recordings

Few recorded jazz musicians have elicited a greater need for accurate identification than jazz cornetist Leon Bismark (Bix) Beiderbecke. Due to erratic behavior caused in part by chronic alcoholism, his attendance or lack thereof at as many as thirty speculative recording sessions has fueled a musical legend already elevated by martyrdom derived from the unfortunate happenstance of dying young.12 Beiderbecke’s alcoholic episodes were at a peak at or around the first five months of 1929. This period, which includes a brief time spent in the employ of bandleader Paul Whiteman, coincides with extended interludes of paranoid insecurities, accompanied by a complete physical and mental breakdown, and a mysterious beating that may have resulted in permanent injury. 13 After a brief recuperation at his home in Davenport, Iowa, Beiderbecke was back in New York performing with Whiteman in March, and engaged in a number of freelance recording sessions, that were ill advised, due to the nature of his rapidly deteriorating condition. 14
In fact, the decline of Beiderbecke’s physical and mental health were judged so severe as to promote the budding career of a twenty year old cornetist, who for a time made his living performing the role of Bix imitator and “stand in”. Whiteman actually hired Andy Secrest as a substitute during Beiderbecke’s recuperation, but kept him on later for the expressed purpose of performing Bix styled improvisations, for those occasions when Beiderbecke himself was indisposed. 15 The eager Secrest became so expert at imitating Beiderbecke, that he was able to extend his recording opportunities past Whiteman, and into other “Bix friendly” venues. 16 In few places was Secrest’s impact more felt than in the studio sessions of saxophonist Frank Trumbauer; a man intensely devoted to his friend Beiderbcke, yet practical enough to understand the necessity for insurance when the situation warranted it.17

The “Waiting at The End of the Road” Session

The Paul Whiteman Orchestra with both Beiderbecke and Secrest in attendance recorded Waiting at the End of the Road and When You’re Counting the Stars Alone on September 13, 1929. 18 In most accredited discographies, the cornet solos included are recognized as Beiderbecke’s last with a Whiteman led ensemble, with a few notable exceptions. 19 Still, because of Beiderbecke’s rapidly deteriorating condition and an abundance of conflicting anecdotal information, there are appears to be enough just cause to assert three possible scenarios of what actually occurred: 1. Beiderbecke was the cornet soloist on both selections. 20 2. Secrest was the cornet soloist on both selections. 3. Beiderbecke and Secrest shared solo responsibilities on either or both selections. Due to an abundant quantity of conflicting anecdotal information regarding what actually transpired at that Waiting at the End of the Road session, compounded by the apparent inability for discographers to reach an audial consensus, we concluded with ample justification that the recordings in question were an appropriate demonstration for our mystery identification procedure.

Procedure

For comparison nine solos were selected. Solo one was the Waiting At The End of The Road open mystery recording. 21 Solo two was the Waiting At The End of The Road muted mystery recording.22 Solo three was the mystery recording When You're Counting The Stars Alone. Solo four was Dardenella by Bix Beiderbecke. Solo five was Singin' The Blues by Bix Beiderbecke. Solo six was Alabamy Snow by Secrest. Solo seven was What A Day by Secrest. Solo eight was Remember Me? which is a muted solo by Secrest. 23 Solo nine was Here Comes The Showboat by Secrest. 24 The first two pairs analyzed were solos four and five. There was a strong and positive relationship between solo four (Dardanella) and solo five (Singin' The Blues) (r = .794). A critical t value of 1.5 was found at the p = .138 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and five. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and seven. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo seven (What A Day) (r = .523). A critical t value of .11 was found at the p = .916 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six and seven. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and eight. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo eight (Remember Me?) (r = .59). A critical t value of -.24 was found at the p = .808 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos six and eight. The next two pairs analyzed were solos seven and eight. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo seven (What A Day) and solo eight (Remember Me?) (r = .69). A critical t value of -.41 was found at the p = .682 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos seven and eight. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and nine. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) (r = .692). A critical t value of .71 was found at the p = .48 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos seven and eight. These first five tests were use to compare known soloists to themselves. This gave the researchers the opportunity to test the procedure, again. The next comparisons were test, constructed to identify the soloist on each mystery recording. The next two pairs analyzed were solos six and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Dardenella) and solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .582). A critical t value of -3.11 was found at the p = .003 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and one and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos seven and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) and solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .603). A critical t value of 1.18 was found at the p = .243 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos nine and one. The next two pairs analyzed were solos three and one. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) (r = .701). A critical t value of 1.75 was found at the p = .083 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos nine and three. The next two pairs analyzed were solos four and three. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Dardenella) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) (r = .567). A critical t value of -2.68 was found at the p = .009 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and three and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level.
The next two pairs analyzed were solos one and three. There was a strong positive relationship between solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) (r = .772). A critical t value of .72 was found at the p = .474 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and three. The next two pairs analyzed were solos four and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo four (Dardenella) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .624). A critical t value of -.84> > was found at the p = .403 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos four and two.
The next two pairs analyzed were solos one and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .727). A critical t value of 2.97 was found at the p = .004 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and two and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos eight and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo eight (Remember Me?) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .721). A critical t value of 2.84 was found at the p = .006 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos eight and two and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level.
The next two pairs analyzed were solos three and two. There was a strong positive relationship between solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .788). A critical t value of 2.79 was found at the p = .007 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no significant differences between solos three and two and to accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The last pairs analyzed were solos five and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo five (Singin' The Blues) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) (r = .664). A critical t value of .34 was found at the p = .732 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos five and two.

Conclusions

The purpose of this study was to identify the performers on the two Waiting At The End of The Road mystery recordings, and the When You're Counting The Stars Alone mystery recording. Solos four (Dardenella) and five (Singin' The Blues) were performed by Bix Beiderbecke. Solos six (Alabamy Snow), seven (What A Day), eight (Remember Me?) and nine (Here Comes The Showboat) were performed by Secrest. Solos one (open), two (muted) and three were mystery recordings. The researchers hoped to identify the mystery performers by finding no statistically significant differences between the mystery recordings (solos one, two, and three) and either solos four and five or solos six, seven, eight, and nine. The results indicated that there were no statistically significant differences (t = 1. 5, p = .138) between solo four (Dardenella) and solo five (Singin' The Blues). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Beiderbecke. The comparison of solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo eight (Remember Me?) revealed no statistically significant differences (t> = -.24, p = .808). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. This result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Secrest. However, the researchers were unsure what the comparison of an open solo to a muted solo would identify. These results revealed that a performer has a unique sound, which is not affected by the use of mutes. The results indicated that there were no statistically significant differences (t = .11, p = .916) between solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo seven (What A Day). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Secrest. The comparison of solo six (Alabamy Snow) and solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = .71, p = .48). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. This result was expected since the performer of each solo was definitely Secrest. The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = -3.11, p = .003) between solo four (Dardenella) and solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from different populations. The comparison of solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) and solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = 1.18, p = .243). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The researchers, therefore, concluded that Secrest must be the soloist on solo one.

The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = -2.68, p = .009) between solo four (Dardenella) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from different populations. The comparison of solo nine (Here Comes The Showboat) and solo two (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) revealed no statistically significant
differences (t = 1.75, p = .083). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos
must be from the same population. The researchers, therefore, concluded that Secrest must be the soloist on solo three. A comparison of solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = .72, p = .474). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. Individual t tests revealed that Secrest was the performer on solos one and three. A t test analyzing the differences between solos one and three indicated solos one and three were performed by the same soloist, which confirmed the results of the initial findings. The results indicated that there were no statistically significant differences (t = .34, p = .732) between solo five (Singin' The Blues) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The comparison of solo four (Dardenella) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) revealed no statistically significant differences (t = -.84, p = .403). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 2.84, p = .006) between solo eight (Remember Me?) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from different populations. Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from the same population. The researchers concluded that the soloist on the muted solo of Waiting At The End of The Road was Beiderbecke. A comparison of solo one (Waiting At The End of The Road) and solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 2.97, p = .004). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 2.79, p = .007) between solo two (Waiting At The End of The Road) and solo three (When You're Counting The Stars Alone). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. These results were expected since t tests confirmed that Secrest was the performer on solos one and three, and Bix was the performer on solo two.

FINAL RESULTS: Waiting at the End of the Road (open) = Secrest
Waiting at the End of the Road (muted) = Beiderbecke
When You’re Counting the Stars Alone = Secrest

The Teschemacher Mystery Recordings

1920s woodwind specialist Frank Teschemacher is another elusive personality in the annals of mystery recording identification. His lasting contributions are often difficult to discern, because of a number of factors for which he was not directly attributable. Disproportionately martyred in the years following his death, and later downsized by many of his own legacy conscious contemporaries, 25 he was probably more talented than his detractors have asserted and less talented than his admirers have claimed. To his credit, he was perhaps the most talented of the Beiderbecke disciples, and a vocal cheerleader of “Bix” doctrine in all facets of music. His official recorded output of thirty-four tracks does little to justify his vaunted reputation: although latter efforts provide signs of future brilliance and innovation. Teschemacher was initially uncomfortable in studio sessions. Few of his contemporaries believed that his initial efforts came close to representing his true abilities.26 Throughout 1929-30, it became apparent that he had achieved a certain degree of comfort in studio situations, and that continued studio work would have only enhanced the quality of his discography. 27 For this reason, possible recordings featuring post 1928 Teschemacher are believed to possess more of the essential ingredients that helped to establish his reputation as one of the premier white jazz performers of his generation. Unfortunately, his untimely death eliminated any chance of a balanced long term assessment.A formal study conducted for his 1982 Time-Life Giants of Jazz compilation revealed that as many as six additional clarinet recordings were targeted by musicians and discographers as possible Teschemachers. 28 Prior to the initiation of this study, Gary and I had experienced success in identifying Teschemacher’s participation on a 1932 Howard Thomas recording. 29 We therefore discerned that additional Teschemacher contributions were highly probable in both of the suspected Howard Thomas sessions featured in the Time-Life compilation. 30 For this study we were especially interested in locating a possible Teschemacher tenor saxophone solo on the Thomas recording of Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree. Frank Teschemacher solo tenor saxophone recordings are especially rare finds. In fact, only two from a 1928 Dorsey brothers/Don Redman session are known to exist. 31 For many years, that fascinating improvisation containing numerous Teschemacher’s motific nuances had intrigued me. Before I met Gary, I found it difficult to conduct mystery recording research in cases where my personal biases were present. In these instances, my partner’s relative lack of knowledge about jazz history becomes a significant asset. In fact, he had never heard of Frank Teschemacher before our partnership. Therefore, it is believed that his statistical analysis is devoid of historical bias nearly one hundred percent of the time.

Procedure

For the procedure, six solos were analyzed to identify the tenor sax soloist on the mystery recording Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree. Solo one was the mystery tenor saxophone recording Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree. 32 Solo two was Cherry (Take II) by Teschemacher. Solo three was I Found A New Baby by Milton “Mezz” Mezzrow. Solo four was Jazz Me Blues by Rod Cless. 33 Solo Five was Anything For You by Pee Wee Russell. 34 Solo six was China Boy by Bud Freeman. The first two pairs analyzed were solos one and two. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo two (Cherry) (r = .533). A critical t value of 1.62 was found at the p = .109 level. This result led the researchers to retain the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and two. The next two pairs analyzed were solos one and three. There was a weak positive relationship between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo three (Found A New Baby) (r = .358). A critical t value of 6.2 was found at the p = .0001 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and three and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The next two pairs analyzed were solos one and four. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo four (Jazz Me Blues) (r = .391). A critical t value of 4.21 was found at the p = .0001 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and four and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level.

The next two pairs analyzed were solos one and five. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo five (Anything For You) (r = .46). A critical t value of 5.99 was found at the p = .0001 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and five and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level. The last two pairs analyzed were solos one and six. There was a moderate positive relationship between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo six (China Boy) (r = .42). A critical t value of 6.82 was found at the p = .0001 level. This result led the researchers to reject the null hypothesis that there were no statistically significant differences between solos one and six and accept the alternative hypothesis that there were statistically significant differences beyond the p = .05 level.

Conclusions

The purpose of this study was to identify the performers on the Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree mystery tenor sax recording. Solo two (Cherry) was performed by Frank Techemacher. Solo three (Found A New Baby) was performed by Mezzrow. Solo four (Jazz Me Blues) was performed by Cless. Solo five (Anything For You) was performed by Pee Wee Russell. Solo six (China Boy) was performed by Freeman. The researchers hoped to identify the mystery performer by finding no statistically significant differences between the mystery recording (solo one) and either solos two, three, four, five or six. The results indicated that there were no statistically significant differences (t = 1.62, p = .109) between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo two (Cherry). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from the same population. The comparison of solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo three (Found A New Baby) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 6.2, p = .0001). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations. The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 4.21, p = .0001) between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo four (Jazz Me Blues). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from different populations. The comparison of solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo five (Anything For You) revealed statistically significant differences (t = 5.99, p = .0001). Therefore, the researchers concluded that the solos must be from different populations.
The results indicated that there were statistically significant differences (t = 6.82, p = .0001) between solo one (Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree) and solo six (China Boy). Therefore, the researchers concluded that both solos must be from different populations. Therefore, the researchers concluded that the soloist on the mystery tenor sax recording Under The Shade of The Old Apple Tree must be Frank Teschemacher.

SpectraPlus.com is an ongoing official sponsor of our research; and it should be noted that the Smith/Westbrook method is licensed and cannot be administered without the permission of both Gary and myself. But, we are more than willing to attempt to identify "mystery" brass performers of any musical genre in exchange for using the information in an upcoming book. Email submissions may be sent to me at either tomsmith00@netzero.net or tomsmithjazz@yahoo.com; or to Gary at blwinkl@stargate.net .
We fully realize that there will always be a small handful of researchers who will never trust this kind of technology. Yet, we should always be mindful of those future musicologists, who may not possess the necessary skills to hear brass music in the manner it is heard today. Since no one will be alive then to interpret these sounds, technical solutions may be the only answer for unraveling the "mystery" of mystery recordings.

The authors wish to credit Albert Haim, whose abundant Bix Beiderbecke website compilations were frequent sources of background information and/or verification.

Notes

Some of the more colorful pseudonyms have included: Barbecue Joe/Wingy Manone, Ferris Bender/Jackie McLean, Tiger Brown/Maynard Ferguson, Buckshot LaFunque/Cannonball Adderly and Shoeless John Jackson/Benny Goodman.
Miles Davis/Quincy Troupe, Miles: The Autobiography(New York: Simon and Schuster Inc. 1989), p.161. Parker was also listed as Charlie Chan in the Massey Hall recording of the same year.
Randy Sandke, Bix Beiderbecke From a Musician’s Perspective:(Annual Review of Jazz Studies 1997-98(Latham Maryland: Scarecrow Press 2000) pp.218,244.
Marty Grosz, Frank Teschemacher, accompanying booklet for recording Frank Teschemacher/Giants of Jazz: (Alexandria, Virginia:Time Life Records 1982) p.44
Artist/clinicians such as Louie Bellson and Clark Terry are widely known to allow this practice.
Hancock’s ongoing fascination with personal recording, especially during his tenure with Davis, has been well documented and verified by Davis and others in numerous publications and forums.
Slang term used to describe those who specialize in Bix Beiderbecke related research.
Haim, Albert, Bix Beiderbecke Resources: a Bixography.
Examples include a Bixophile who forwarded the premise that Beiderbecke may have appeared on a recording of Snake Rag with Joe” King” Oliver.
Trumpeter Bunk Johnson’s fictitious accounts of a performing association with Buddy Bolden resulted in the routine logging of incorrect birth dates for both men until researcher Donald Marquis clarified the matter in the late 1970s. Johnson’s frequent habit of interjecting himself into historical scenarios where played no part was one of the more significant examples of historical misrepresentation in the annals of jazz music.
Spectraplus is an acoustical analysis software program used to analyze musical intensities and frequencies.
Throughout history, premature death has temporarily elevated assessments of musicians like Frank Teschemacher, while elevating highest tier artists such as Beiderbecke, Charlie Parker and John Coltrane to peer status befitting religious figures and/or heads of state.
Curtis Pendergast/Richard Sudhalter, Bix Beiderbecke, accompanying booklet for recording Bix Beiderbecke/Giants of Jazz: (Alexandria, Virginia: Time Life Records 1979) p. 25.
Sandke, p. 241.
Pendergast/Sudhalter, p. 25.
Secrest was a favorite of Beiderbecke’s friend Bing Crosby among others, and performed with Beiderbecke associates for several decades after Beiderbecke’s death in 1931.
Sandke, p.241.
Haim, op. cit.
Typical assessments to the contrary include Beiderbecke researcher Tom Pletcher who states"Even if I hadn't spoken with Secrest personally, my ear told me it was classic Secrest doing a commendable job of emulating Bix.... but definitely not Bix on the issued take. If only any of the previous takes were to surface, the difference would be obvious." (excepted from Haim’s website).
There is not a consensus among Beiderbecke researchers regarding Randy Sandke’s assertion that Beiderbecke was the open horn soloist on Waiting at the End of the Road, while the acceptance of Secrest performing the solo on When You’re Counting the Stars Alone is accepted with greater regularity. Secrest’s own recollections of the session appear vivid and well defined. He and the others thought that after a brief rest, Beiderbecke would be able to continue. “Some of the folding chairs in the studio were arranged so that Bix could lie down. Obviously, Beiderbecke was not able to continue. A pencil notation on Secrest's music told him to go to fourth part and play the solo.”(Evans and Evans and Haim website). But, due to the confusing assessments provided via anecdotal information and aural examination, it would be reasonable to assume that some researchers and aficionados continue to assert that Beiderbecke was the exclusive soloist on both selections.
The more celebrated solo of eight measures duration that occurs in the final chorus.
The lesser discussed trumpet/cornet melodic interpretation that precedes the more celebrated open solo.
Recorded September 20, 1937.
From a Goldkette recording said to have been a persuasive factor in the hiring of Secrest by Whiteman.
Teschemacher is one of the more polarizing figures in the annals of jazz music. References appear in a 1939 Downbeat series that infer his importance as second only to Beiderbecke among white musicians, while musicians like Barney Bigard inferred an obvious intolerance. The French critic Hughes Panassie’ actually held both viewpoints for a time, calling him “the greatest jazz clarinetist ever” (Le Jazz Hot, 1934), before recanting his previous assessment in his 1942 book The Real Jazz.
Stories of Teschemacher “freezing up in the studio,” (a phrase used by Max Kaminsky and Jess Stacy among others) have been widely distributed. Stacy was especially insistent that Teschemacher’s problem was an inability to edit his often lengthy improvisations to fit the limited time allocation for 78-rpm recordings. Stacy believed that if the longer play recording had existed in the 1920s, Teschemacher would have fared better in his earlier studio efforts.
A Teschemacher possessing enhanced tone and fluidity can be heard in his later recordings with Ted Lewis (August 21, 1929), Elmer Schoebel (October 18, 1929), and the Cellar Boys (January 24, 1930).
Marty Grosz, p. 43-44.
Thomas Smith/Gary Westbrook, Acoustic Technology for the Identification of Mystery Jazz Recordings, International Association of Jazz Educators Jazz Research Proceedings Yearbook(Manhattan, Kansas: IAJE Publications 2001), pp. 61-66.
Business in F, recorded December 11, 1931, and Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree, recorded January 13, 1932.
Cherry, recorded September 29, 1928 (two takes).
Tenor saxophone participation for this session is credited to B. Zoff.
Highly regarded Teschemacher protégé’.
Despite the fact that neither performed together or were especially close, it has always been assumed that Russell and Teschemacher emulated one another; thus the comparison.

 

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From ITA Journal

THE SEARCH

WYCLIFFE GORDON, TROMBONE, TUBA, DIDGERIDOO; Marcus
Printup, trumpet; Ron Westroy, Delfeoyo Marsalis, Jen Krupa, Dove Gibson, trombone; Roger Floresko, boss trombone; Victor Goines, Wolter Blanding, tenor sox; Ted Nosh, alto sox, flute; Eric Reed, piano; Rodney Whitaker, boss; Winard Harper, Herlin Riley, drums and percussion.
NAGEL HEYER 2007 «www.nogelheyer.com»

Wycliffe Gordon: Cheeky; Frantic Flight; The Search (port I and II); Touch it Lightly; Blues for oeac'n Cone. Thelonious Monk: Bolue Bolivar Ba-lues; Rhythm-a-Ning. Cole Porter: What is This Thing Called Love. Rambo/Fred Weatherly: He Looked Beyond My Fault (Donny Boy). Hoagy Carmichael: Georgia on My Mind. Hoagy Carmichael/Mitchell Parish: Stardust. Ben Bernie/Kenneth Cossey /Moced Pinkard: Sweet Georgia Brown. Traditional: Sign Me Up.

Make no mistake about it, Wycliffe Gordon has exceptional talent. In fact, it could be said that he possesses all of the tools necessary for eventual greatness. He combines self-assured artistic conception and a rapid-fire doodle tongue with an equally fertile mind. It also could be convincingly argued that his plunger work is the best in the business. Yes, barring any unforeseen circumstances, Gordon should one day be one of the main guys.

Unfortunately, many well-meaning jazz aficionodos and critics already believe he is the main guy. When this misperception is combined with an intimate Wynton Marsalis association, it must be readily understood that everything he does will be scrutinized beyond description. This is not so much due to what he is, but to who he is. Fair or otherwise, THE SEARCH will be no exception to that tacit evaluative understanding.

Didgeridoo playing aside, Gordon's latest Nagel Hayer release showcoses conservatively "safe" material that fits snugly into his trademark neoclassical mold. He has surrounded himself with some of the better personnel from the Lincoln Center crowd, along with some real standouts like trombonist Dave Gibson. Gordon's compositions are mostly enjoyable and his adaptations of the Monk material are occosionally inspired. Still you walk away from it all wondering what could have been had just a little more effort been exerted.

This recording is reminiscent of Gordon's recent appearance at the New York International Association of Jazz Educators Convention where he captivated his audience with a spellbinding plunger tribute to AI Grey, only to spend the next 40 minutes coasting from one worn cliche to the next. THE SEARCH is much in the same vain.. .above average under realized music, lacking the grit necessary to be substantial. Until said practices are eradicated, this reviewer may decide to let the Wycliffe Gordon bandwagon pass him by.

Tom Smith

Pfeiffer University

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From ITA Journal

SOUND KITCHEN - PASS ME THE WINE, PLEASE

JARI HONGISTO, TROMBONE, PERCUSSION; Hasse Poulsen, guitars; Teppo Hauta-aho, double bass.
AV-ART AACD 1011 (Av.Art Records, Kronprinsensgode7, OK.1114, Kbh,K; <avart@get2net.dk>; http://hjem.get2net.dk/avart Jori Hongisto/Hosse Poulsen/Teppo Houto-aho: the cocktail; the soup; the snack; the fish; the meat;. the bread; the salad; the sweet.

Thirty-eight year-old Jari Hongisto is a name of sorts in his native Finland, having routinely performed a wide variety of exceptional music throughout Europe and abroad. Despite a burgeoning reputation for eclectic diversity, it is his work with the so-called "free school" that has earned him the lion's share of his hard-earned acclaim. Hongisto's musical contributions have been both daring and plentiful, as he continues to venture forward into unique artistic worlds of his own invention. He is truly one of the shining stars of his chosen avocation.

SOUND KITCHEN - PASS ME THE WINE, PLEASE is the latest musical collective to showcase Hongisto, who shares equal billing with Hauta-aho and guitarist Hasse Paulsen, an unpredictable and exciting performer. Showcasing the trio at its creative best, this CD features selections from a 1999 Finnish tour organized by French promoter Charles Gill. The compositions are not to be taken at face value. They are merely a conceptual juxtaposition of select performances. It is doubtful these pieces were ever intended as any more than edited forays of spontaneity, where the actualized music was undecided until the first notes were played. Be that as it may, what accounts for the finished product is truly mesmerizing. Like Roswell Rudd, Hongisto's playing transcends wide trills and smears, by attaining on almost spiritual actualization. Unlike his mentor Bauer's most recent effort, everyone on SOUND KITCHEN - PASS ME THE WINE, PLEASE can be heard in his best light; and when Hongisto backs away from his amplification, it serves as a calculated technique to enhance the music. It is refreshing to hear at least one "free" trombonist demonstrate concern for such matters. As far Hauta-aho, he is everywhere. When he is not enhancing the body of the ensemble with those trademark wide strokes, he is contributing immeasurably to its percussiveness. Why this titan of modern music is not better known in the United States has to be one of the truly great mysteries.

Granted, this music will not be for everyone. It requires serious concentration. In fact, there will probably be some of the lesser initiated who will deem its absorption the equivalent of undergoing a radical surgical procedure. Yet, for those risk takers who are eager to take the road seldom traveled, let this recording be their Ferrari.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

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From ITA Journal

STANCE

SHIGEHARU MUKAI, TROMBONE; Billy Hart, drums; Mulgrew Miller piano; Rufus Reid, bass; John Stubblefield, sax; Nicholos Payton, trumpet; Yoichi Murata, trombone.
P-VINE RECORDS PVCP-9411 (Tokyo, Japan; distributed by BMG Japan, Inc.)

Shigeharu Mukai: Stance; Moon; Spiritual Calling; Shuffle. Yoichi Muroto: A Good Train; The Second Hart. Charlie Porker/Dizzy Gillespie: Anthropology. Freddie Hubbard: Up Jumped Spring. Slide Hampton: A New Thing. Todd Dameron: If You Could See Me Now.

Jazz enthusiasts who are not already familiar with Shigeharu Mukai soon will be. This superbly engineered recording is the latest in a series of remarkable projects where Japan's foremost jazz trombonist has collaborated with top-flight Americon musicians. STANCE is the culmination of Mukai's efforts. Mukai has assembled a supporting cast of eclectic veterans who contribute mightily to his expansive vision. Among them are some of New York's finest hardbop performers, including trumpeter Nicholas Payton, whose contributions to this recording result in some of his best recorded music. In fact, all of the participating musicians possess the essential chemistry to be a working band, if they are not already. Special recognition must go to producer Yoichi for supervising one of the best productions of recorded jazz trombone in recent memory. Murata adds to his growing reputation as a trombonist by way of his beautiful collaboration with Mukai on Slide Hampton's A New Thing. It is hoped thot their next collaboration will showcase their limitless potential as a duo.

STANCE will probably be the breakthrough recording Mukai has needed to establish his foothold in North American and European jazz markets. It is absolutely one of the best jazz recordings issued over the last couple of years, of any genre. Its discovery and subsequent apreciation connot be undervalued.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

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A Story About Mystery Jazz

(By Tom Smith and Gary Westbrook)

 

..........Hi, I am a college professor at a small college in North Carolina. Recently, my research partner and I created a computer system for the purpose of identifying musicians on old jazz records who were previously unknown. Using a three dimensional spectrograph, we can actually see the sine wave patterns created by a musician, and tell you who it is or who it isn't. We presented our findings this past January at The International Association of Jazz Educators Convention in New York. We have also presented at the International Historic Brass Conference and are slated to appear at the International Society of Jazz Record Collectors and the Rutger's Jazz Roundtable. Everywhere we have gone, we have recieved tremendous international response . Recently, we were interviewed about the procedure in Washington on National Public Radio's All Things Considered.Since that broadcast, (which can be audio down loaded on the Weekend All Things Considered website, February 25 broadcast), we have been inundated with inquries from around the world. Musicologists are interested in what we are doing because we demonstrate the potential for identifying unknown jazz musicians on any recording of any musical style. Below is an article we just finished for the Jazz Educators Journal that explains what we are doing in lay terms and in greater detail. I have been working ten years on the method.

For the past ten years, I have attempted to arrive at a viable solution for the existence of unidentified personnel on jazz recordings. The problem is usually understated in the field of historical research, but remains significant to those wishing to compile and retain accurate historical data.

In the early days of jazz, many instrumentalists recorded under assumed names. This was a common practice for some of the music’s most influential artists. At one time or another, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong, Sidney Bechet, and Bix Beiderbeke all engaged in the process. Years later, researchers sometimes confused these people with musicians who possessed similar performance characteristics. This was especially true of artists like Beiderbeeke, who frequently enlisted associates possessing comparable styles to perform at previously contracted sessions. A host of disreputable producers regularly deceived the record buying public by intentionally misidentifying substitutes, knowing with reasonable certainty that they would sell less records than established artists. Such was the status of jazz in those less formal times. It is doubtful that few, if any of the field of early jazz marketing cared who recorded those early sessions as long as they made money.

I believe the problem to be a monumental deterrent when assessing accurate historical data. Much of the jazz history written in the past decade will be referred as gospel far into cultural perpetuity. The near frantic pace of contemporary historical awareness is a direct response to the imperative understanding that jazz must benefit from accurate documentation, before current trends of historical ignorance and distortion become permanent.

Imagine for a moment the state of musicology in the year 2500, when Charlie Parker recordings are possibly mistaken for the lesser musings of Edgar Winter or Kenny G. In present times, such an absurd premise is almost laughable. Yet, who can accurately predict how jazz will be interpreted in a distant future bereft of contemporary understanding? It has been my experience to observe an alarming number of jazz musicians caring little about accurate jazz history. Perhaps these same well- meaning artists should reevaluate their occasionally damaging perspectives.

Experimentation

In 1990, I initiated experiments using crude voice imprint technologies similar to those used for law enforcement administered lie detector tests. Then, in 1993, I “stumbled” upon a system that demonstrated marginal promise for successful implementation. One night, while watching television, I happened upon a commercial for a company specializing in long distance telephone service. The pitchmen stated that a form of computerized voice identification could activate telephone “calling cards.” “State your name and the card knows it’s you,” they said. I reasoned that with some fine- tuning, a similar system could identify and compare individual wind instruments from within the context of jazz music. Unfortunately, the early technology turned out to be too unsophisticated for this kind of testing and my data collection techniques were obviously flawed. Yet, these early experiments did demonstrate that successful outcomes were eventually possible when similar technologies attained a higher level of sophistication.

For the next several years, I continued to experiment with different kinds of spectrographs and a variety of voice identification machines. Despite my best efforts, I remained deterred by primitive technologies that were both awkward and expensive. There was also the continual problem of not having arrived at an acceptable test to verify my often-crude findings. Ironically, the methodology was never in doubt. I would simply compare unidentified musicians with the recordings of clearly identified performers. Still, that one nagging question always remained. How would I prove the accuracy of my findings beyond a reasonable doubt? I received my answer in 1999, when Pfeiffer hired an adjunct percussion instructor who possessed the unique skills for research and statistics that I had needed. Within a couple of months Gary Westbrook, a PhD. Candidate at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, had become my full- fledged research partner and a dedicated advocate of accurate personnel discography identification.

The t test

It was Gary’s idea to use something called a “t test” to accurately verify my data. According to Gary, a t test is a process for examining differences between pairs of research findings (also known as “parametric” findings). In selecting the t test most appropriate for our research, Gary discerned that the related sample t test would be our best choice. This is a test that examines differences between sets of data that are very highly related, or correlated. The t test identifies a critical t value for each examined pair. Researchers then compare that critical t value with a t table that is constructed for each probability level. I know that this may sound like weird science to some, but the process is actually quite simple. If the critical t is higher than the t on the table, then the pairs are not from the same population, meaning that the suspected artist is not the same artist on the other recording. But, if the critical t is lower than the t on the table, you have a match.

Once Gary had fine- tuned his testing procedure, there was still one more obstacle to overcome. As previously mentioned, most of the voice imprint technology I had used in the past was errant and unpredictable. Then one day, Gary happened upon new computer software called Spectraplus, that featured a technology superior to its predecessors. Spectraplus analyzes our data in a number of ways. But it possesses three significant features that are most beneficial.

1. It works as a spectrograph, an instrument that measures intensity (or loudness).

2. It provides the opportunity to examine and identify artists based purely on tone. This certainly expands the horizons of our research to include music of all genres, including classical. We feel it will now be possible to positively identify unidentified Dennis Brain horn recordings as easily as Eric Dolphy solos. In these early stages, we have limited our research to the identification of wind instruments. But, we feel that it may soon be possible to identify performers of other instruments as well.

3. It provides a three dimensional image of sine wave patterns that allows us to actually see the music, and differentiate between instruments. Initially, I had been concerned that the software would pick up parts of the entire recording. A case in point: Suppose we were trying to analyze the sine wave pattern of a clarinet player, only to discover that the pattern had been distorted by the drummer and the trumpet player. With Spectraplus, the probability of something like that happening is nonexistent. The three- dimensional imaging clearly separates instruments of different timbres, making it possible to clearly identify solo performers within a given context.

When Gary and I first witnessed the separation provided by the three- dimensional imaging, we could not believe our eyes. For the first time in ten years, I now believed that accurate “mystery” recording identification would become a reality. With success within our grasp, we discerned that t test accuracy would have to be high enough for researchers and musicians to believe that the method could always be accepted at face value. After some preliminary discussions, it was decided that a t level or p=.05, (a five percent margin of error) would be required to make believers out of most fair minded people.

Preliminary Findings

On January 13, 2001, we presented some of our initial findings at the IAJE Conference in New York; where we clearly identified a “mystery” clarinet solo to be the work of 1920s musician Frank Teschemacher. Since that time, we have continued to examine possible solos performed by John Coltrane and a host of others. It should be noted that the Smith/Westbrook method is licensed and cannot be administered without the permission of both Gary and myself. But, we are more than willing to attempt to identify “mystery” wind performers of any musical genre in exchange for using the information for a book we are compiling.

We fully realize that there will always be a small handful of researchers who will never trust this kind of technology. Yet, we should always be mindful of those future musicologists, who may not possess the necessary skills to hear jazz in the manner it is heard today. Since no one will be alive then to interpret these sounds, technical solutions may be the only answer for unraveling the “mystery” of mystery recordings.

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From ITA Journal

Sunday Drive

 

CHARTMAKER RECORDS CMCD 9001-2 (Chart
maker Music Group/lndiego Promotions, Denver, CO; Phone: 888/355-9387; distributed by
Electric Kingdom; also obtainable through <www. RobKoufman.net>
Steve Rawlins: The Up and Up; Hey, I'm Walkin' Here; Tropicool; City Limits; Winter. Robert Kaufman/Steve Rawlins: Sunday Drive; Melrose Dream; Second Chance.
Stevie Wonder/Morris Broadnax/Clarence Paul: Until You Come Back To Me. Michael Shapiro/Harry Middlebrooks/James B. Cobb/Perry Buie: Spooky.

Steve Turre has been known to comment on the anemic presence of trombonists in media friendly genres. The trombone has proven itself an instrument supremely capable of displaying the exaggerated emotianal range necessary for contemporary music. Yet, the underlying problem may not rest so much in the public's acceptance of the trombone, as with the mindset of the trombonists themselves. With the rare exception of a disparate few like Fred Wesley, it has too often been the case that trombonists lose their nerve when they acquire the opportunity to reach a wider audience. They understandably fear the loss of hard earned acceptance, and start holding back. Maybe this is why a performer like Turre never makes popular recordings when he is arguably the most versatile and connected trombonist of his generation. With this said, one must ask why a promising newcomer like Rob Kaufman has allowed himself to be painted into a similar corner and on this his very first recording.
Kaufman is no shrinking violet. He has been coming on strong far Quite some time. He possesses strang melodic instincts and a velvet smooth tone that serves him well in the "smooth jazz" idiom. His supporting musicians consist of notable Los Angeles studio players. The arrangements by Steve Rawlins demonstrate satisfying, if not predictable, harmonies that can be heard to best advantage on Hey I'm Walkin' Here, and the airplay friendly Stevie Wonder caver Until You Come Back to Me. Unfortunately, too little of what Kaufman brings to the table is actually utilized. Marienthal is heard only sparadically, and Rodriguez is barely heard at all. Despite his own very obvious technical gifts, Kaufman chooses to embrace the misguided perception that less is more.

Regrettably for all involved, Sunday Drive is not a Miles Davis recording where notational economy is an asset. Here, there are no Herbie Hancocks or Marcus Millers in the rhythm section to pick up the slack. Instead, there is a preponderance of rhythmic monotony that, when combined with Kaufman's repetitive understatements, leaves the listener wanting more.
Turre is right. Trombonists need to be heard on more recordings like SUNDAY DRIVE. But, those wishing to enter this realm should probably take their cues from the saxophonists of a similar classification. Boney James, Dave Koz and Maceo Parker often hold back for the sake of public acceptance, but they still display ample technical prowess and strong emotional fervor. In other words, they don't just disappear. Rob Kaufman is too good a player not to be heard to better advantage on his own recording.

Tom Smith
National Music University, Bucharest, Romania

 

 

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JAZZ IN NORTH CAROLINA , from North Carolina Music Educator

THEMATIC IMPROVISATION FOR
THE BEGINNING IMPROVISER
By TOM SMITH

 

..........For years, jazz improvisation has been the one musical idiom that educators have feared most. It is a virtual certainty that many band directors have intentionally avoided implementation of jazz ensembles because of it. The question that must be asked is "Why?"

Few band directors are accused of avoiding a good challenge. These are the same people who introduce students to the complexities of composers as diverse as Persichetti, Ives, and Goldman. When they are not redefining the modern wind ensemble, they are bringing about numerous stylistic innovations on the football field. Yet, these are often the very same educators who sit paralyzed in music stores, afraid to even go near the jazz section. This author believes the answer for this phenomenon is two-fold. First, many band directors graduate from institutes of higher learning ill-prepared to teach improvisation. They are not required to take necessary course work, and/or come out of an educational framework that either ignores jazz or relegates it to a second-class status. Due to this gap in their educations, some directors develop a series of preconceived notions about jazz improvisation that are incorrect. The overriding notion is that it requires an intellectual prowess that would impose feelings of inferiority.

The publications of Abersold, Coker and Baker seem alien to them. They contain handwritten notation and strange chord symbols that denote a kind of secret language. Feeling sufficiently overwhelmed by the substantial duties that fall under their regularly assigned job descriptions, they rationalize that they have no time to absorb an entirely new body of work. If they are required to teach improvisation; they learn just enough entry level information to stay a day's lesson ahead of most of their students. Furthermore, said educators realize that all of the above is true and are concerned that others will discover this gap in their education. What they do not realize is that most educators share the same feelings. Many educators are not aware that the theoretical component of jazz improvisation, namely the analyzation of chord patterns, is not the only approach. Alternative entry level methods do exist. One method for consideration could be the thematic approach.

Thematic Versus Chord Improvisation

Thematic improvisation shares its lineage with the embellishment, the oldest and most basic of improvisational genres. Embellishments were especially prevalent during the Baroque period. They were in large part responsible for the many notated grace notes and related devices in written solo literature. Even musicians with remedial background understand the meaning of embellishing melody.
A perception has always existed that jazz is exclusively the successful navigation of chord progressions. A thorough understanding of the direction that chords follow is of great importance, but it is not the only factor. Many student improvisers, and even some professional improvisers think it is. Their improvisations suffer accordingly.
The problem with an exclusively chordal approach is that it tends to neutralize originality. In a quest for the perfect manipulation of theory, concepts like articulation, dynamics, and rhythmic contour are under-emphasized. The end result is that improvisers who limit themselves to the chordal approach often sound alike.
This is not considered a positive when judging successful jazz improvisation. Jazz is not judged in the larger sense by technical prowess, but by originality and innovation. Such an accomplishment is called "having one's own voice." This most coveted of endeavors cannot by accomplished by a totally chordal approach.
Vic Dickenson was an influential pioneer of early jazz. He was a uniquely gifted trombonist with his own voice. He sustained a lengthy and prosperous career in jazz music. During that time, he saw quite a few changes in jazz improvisation. At no time were these changes more evident than in the 1940's, when he settled in a New York club called "Nick's". There, a resurgence of traditional jazz coincided with the bebop of Charlie Parker. On many occasions, bebop improvisers were hired as substitutes at Nick's.
When the "chord running" of one of these substitutes became so discernible as to cause distortion, Dickenson would reputedly interrupt the substitutes' performance in mid-solo, with a rendition of straight melody. Frequently, the beauty of Dickenson's melodic statement was the more compelling contribution.
The Dickenson approach to improvisation was often so more than a series of melodic embellishments, accompanied by spontaneous groupings of glisses, bends, and accents. This same manner of improvisation is practiced spontaneously by middle and high school instrumentalists on a regular basis. That is until, well-meaning, misinformed educators tell them that they are improvising incorrectly.

THE THEMATIC APPROACH

The first great thematic improviser of the modern era was saxophonist Sonny Rollins. Overwhelmed by the large number of technicians who followed Charlie Parker and afraid of “losing his own voice," Rollins reinstituted the use of melody as a starting point for creative, fluid improvisation.
Rollins changed the way improvisers used chords, by altering their purpose. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he did not see chords as a series of patterns with a start and finish line but as entities unto themselves. To him each chord had its own feeling, color, and personal identity.
Like a great architect constructing the perfect building, Rollins used chords to alter melody in such a way as to produce individual creations, while maintaining the stronger elements of melody. One occasionally hears the statement that "in a great improviser's solo, the melody can be heard even when it is not played." The thematic approach is the most accessible road to this facet of creativity. It may also be the easiest understood entry level approach for Introducing young musicians to improvisation.
The correct sequence should be to
encourage improvisation in its simplest form; then use theory to develop what has been started; not the other way around.

APPLICATION

There are several easy techniques to introduce young improvisers to thematic improvisation. Most can be taught by directors with no previous background in jazz.

1. Require all improvisers, beginners or otherwise, to play the melody of the composition they are performing by memory.
2. Encourage beginning improvisers to embellish melodies in creative ways. This usually starts with effectively added passing tones. Students should also be encouraged to delete and rearrange notes when effective. As they become more comfortable with this technique, they should study each chord individually. Encourage them to develop instincts for the stronger notes of the chord. Then have them incorporate these notes into the overall structure of their melodic improvisations. Students and educators are often surprised with the number of original melodies that derive from this process. When they become comfortable with creatively notating their ideas, require them to improvise in this manner spontaneously. This process develops mental focus in a way that is conducive to effective notational selection.
3. Add or delete articulation and dynamics when effective. A few well placed marcato or tenuto markings can completely change the original essence of an improvisation and go a long way towards a performer attaining "his/her own voice." Dynamics are the most effective device for demonstrating feeling and emotion. Beginning improvisers will usually overplay everything initially. As they mature as improvisers, so too will their dynamic variety.
4. Explore the compositional device known as contrafactum. This is a term popularized by some jazz educators to describe compositions that share identical chord progressions. Probably, the best known contrafactums are the hundreds of compositions based on the chord progressions of George Gershwin's "I've Got Rhythm!!" One of Sonny Rollins' best known compositions is an "I've Got Rhythm" contrafactum called "Oleo." With the melodic knowledge of the original composition and just one contrafactum, an improviser has twice the previous knowledge at his/her disposal to incorporate the important elements of numbers 1-3. The more contrafactums learned, the better the opportunities for melodic creativity and diversity.
5. Encourage the performing of ballads early. The true indication of improvisational greatness derives from effective ballad performance. Ballads promote the practice of melodic, accented and dynamic creativity that are pivotal to the success of thematic improvisers.

Student improvisers should never embrace one method exclusively. When improvisation is achieved rudimentally and comfortably with the thematic approach, a vigorous study of the chordal approach should follow. At that time the methods of Aebersold and the pattern studies of Coker would be appropriate for continued improvisational development. By this time, students are usually comfortable and mentally uninhibited entry level improvisers.

Both methods should always be supplemented by listening to the improvisations of others; especially the great improvisers; Armstrong, Parker, Rollins, etc. The author has used these methods with some success with students as young as eleven and twelve years old. They could be what you are looking for as well.

 

About the Author

Tom Smith is Director of Instrumental Music and Assistant Professor of Music at Pfeiffer University. He has taught on every academic level from elementary to post secondary education. He was a member of the North Carolina Artist-inResidence Program from 19841992. During that time he formed over thirty community ensembles including the award winning Unifour Jazz Ensemble. Smith is an active soloist and clinician throughout North America and has written several articles on jazz related topics for a number of publications. He has an expansive web sit containing a variety of jazz education topics at www.thsmith.com

 

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From American National Biography

Teschemacher, Frank

 

..........Teschemacher, Frank (13 Mar. 1906-1 Mar. 1932), musician, was born Frank M. Teschemacher in Kansas City, Missouri, the son of Charles M. Teschemacher (pronounced tesh-maker), an executive of the Alton Railroad Company, and Charlotte McCorkell Teschemacher. ("M." was Frank's middle name in full, though it may have been meant to stand for McCorkell.) When Frank was six, his father was transferred to Chicago, where the family settled into an upper-middle-class neighborhood in the suburb of Austin. Starting with the usual childhood piano lessons, Teschemacher soon abandoned them to teach himself popular music on the banjo. After a few years of amused parental tolerance, it was decided when he was ten that he would continue his eclectic musical education by studying the violin. He became a competent violinist and an excellent sight reader.

Born with severely crossed eyes (a condition that improved in later years) and plagued by teenage acne, Teschemacher was withdrawn and self-conscious. At Austin High School he substituted musical study for the more common rituals of adolescent socialization. His social life revolved around a musical clique of young neighborhood musicians, informally known as the Austin High Gang. The assemblage included, at one time or another, brothers Jimmy McPartland and Dick McPartland, Bud Freeman, Jim Lanigan (a future bassist with the Chicago Symphony), pianist Dave North, and drummer Dave Tough. In 1922, the boys were exposed to the recordings of the New Orleans Rhythm Kings and formed a band with the express purpose of emulating them. Teschemacher organized most of the band's rehearsals, which sometimes took place in the Teschemacher home. From these efforts came the Blue Friars, a band named for the Loop area speakeasy where the Rhythm Kings often played. It was not long before the group was performing at tea dances and organizing their own engagements, with Teschemacher providing most of the band's arrangements.

Frank took up the clarinet at the relatively advanced age of eighteen, during a summertime engagement with Bud Freeman in 1924. He soon mastered it and made it his primary instrument. During that time, the young Benny Goodman was often seen listening to Teschemacher while attempting to hide his presence from other musicians. When spotted, he would be asked to sit in by Teschemacher or other band members. The influence of Teschemacher's frenetic style was recognizable in Goodman's playing through the 1920s. In the fall of 1924, Teschemacher played under the leadership of trumpeter Wingy Manone at the Merry Gardens ballroom with Freeman and a fast-talking guitarist named Eddie Condon. Later the Blue Friars came under the management of promoter Husk O'Hare, who changed their name to the Red Dragons and arranged for them to be studio musicians at radio station WHT. Eventually O'Hare found freelance work and an engagement at the White City amusement park, where the band was dubbed Husk O'Hare's Wolverines. Witnessing the pull that jazz had on their son, Teschemacher's parents tried to steer him toward a college education in classical music. Their efforts proved fruitless when he dropped out of high school in his senior year.

As Wolverine activities wound down, Teschemacher spent the latter part of 1924 and much of 1925 expanding his musical associations to include trumpeter Muggsy Spanier, pianist Joe Sullivan, and drummer Gene Krupa, all of whom had fallen under the spell of cornetist Bix Beiderbecke. From 1926 until the spring of 1928, he worked with bands led by Floyd Towne, Art Kassell, and Charlie Straight and was enlisted for a plethora of recording dates. In December 1927 he joined Jimmy McPartland, Freeman, Sullivan, Lannigan and Krupa for two groundbreaking sessions led by Condon and singer Red McKenzie called the McKenzie-Condon Chicagoeans. Teschemacher arranged all four of the recorded tracks, and his raucous, trumpet-influenced clarinet solo on "Nobody's Sweetheart Now" became an anthem for a style of extroverted jazz that came to be known as the Chicago School. This idiom demonstrated little regard for the tried and tested contrapuntal devices associated with New Orleans jazz, and dared to expand the parameters of linear solo construction. The December 1927 recordings led to a string of similar efforts in the spring of 1928, with Teschemacher alternating between clarinet and alto saxophone, and he was called to arrange music for many of the sessions.

On 15 February 1928 Teschemacher married Helen Berglund, a young Swedish immigrant. The Teschemacher family did not approve of the union, and Teschemacher's numerous engagements out of town strained the marriage. Two years later they divorced after a period of estrangement. On 28 April 1928, Teschemacher led his only known recording session, producing two sides, with only a test pressing of "Jazz Me Blues" surviving the destruction of the original masters. He then ventured to New York to join the old Chicagoans in an ill-fated scheme to back singer Bea Palmer. After the group disbanded, Teschemacher remained in New York to record sides with trumpeter Red Nichols and trombonist Miff Mole, before traveling to Atlantic City to join society bandleader Sam Lanin and later Ben Pollack. He then returned to New York where he made recordings with Don Redman and Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey. Suffering from homesickness, he left New York and returned to Chicago in the fall of 1928.

For the next three years, Teschemacher often performed in society orchestras, including those led by Ted Lewis and Jan Garber. While in Garber's employ, in addition to his woodwind responsibilities he played violin and occasionally sang. He supplemented his society work with jazz projects coordinated by Jess Stacy, Elmer Schoebel, the Melrose brothers, and Manone. In 1931 he struck up an association with cornetist Bill Davison, and the two immediately made plans to form a big band. The group had secured a coveted engagement at Guyon's Paradise Ballroom when tragedy struck. On the morning of 1 March 1932, Teschemacher was traveling as a passenger in Davison's topless Packard convertible when the vehicle was struck broadside by a taxicab. Teschemacher was thrown from the car and died. Some eyewitnesses suggested that among the cab's occupants was a Guyon's bouncer who wanted to stop the convertible to resume a fight he had initiated with Teschemacher at a speakeasy several hours before. In the subsequent coroner's inquest, both Davison and the taxi driver were cleared of any wrongdoing.

The significance of Teschemacher's music is difficult to discern. His image was to many that of a martyr following his death and was later diminished by many of his own contemporaries. He was probably more talented than his detractors have asserted and less talented than his admirers have claimed. His recorded output of thirty-four tracks (and a handful of other "mystery recordings" reputed to have been identified by a computer matching system called the Smith/Westbrook Method) does little to justify his vaunted reputation. His earlier recordings were mostly derivative, though some innovation and refinement characterized his later efforts. He was perhaps the most versatile of the Beiderbecke disciples--and their most ardent cheerleader.

Bibliography
A thorough study of the Teschemacher legacy is Vladamir Simosko, "Frank Teschemacher: A Reappraisal," Journal of Jazz Studies 3, 1 (Fall 1975): 28-53. The text is supplemented by a detailed and lengthy bibliography. Further biographical treatment can be found in the Eddie Condon (with Thomas Sugrue) autobiography We Called It Music: A Generation of Jazz (1947; rev. ed., 1970); Nat Shapiro and Nat Hentoff, Hear Me Talkin' to Ya: The Story of Jazz by the Men Who Made It, (1955; rev. ed., 1966), p. 118; and the notes attributed to Marty Grosz that accompany the Time-Life booklet in the Giants of Jazz series, Frank Teschemacher (1982), which features an intriguing test to determine the identity of six reputed Teschemacher "mystery recordings." Recent findings regarding the accident that caused Teschemacher's death can be found in T. Smith, "An Investigation of the Death of Frank Teschemacher," International Association of Jazz Educators Research Proceedings Yearbook (Jan. 1998): 56-62.

 

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Three Woody Herman Biographical Reviews

From Annual Review of Jazz Studies (1997-1998)
Ed Berger, Editor
Scarecrow Press

Gene Lees, Leader of the Band: The Life of Woody Herman (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995, 414 pp., $35.00; 1997, 448 pp. $15.95 paperback)
Robert C. Kriebel, Blue Flame: Woody Herman's Life in Music (West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue University Press, 1995, 298 pp., $18.95 paperback)
William Clancy, with Audree Coke Kenton, Woody Herman: Chronicles of the Herds (New York: Schirmer Books, 1995,352 pp., $27.50)

Reviewed by Tom Smith

In the ten years since his death in 1987, historical reevaluation has accorded Woody Herman totemic respectability. Once considered the equal of Stan Kenton in a distinguished yet flawed second tier of predominantly White big band leaders, Herman has since ascended to a status more befitting Ellington or Basie. Columbia reissues of many of his earlier recordings have done much to qualify this assertion. This is especially true of recordings featuring Herman's mid-1940s band commonly known as "The First Herd." Often evaluated as the less significant counterpart of the more celebrated "Second Herd" or "Four Brothers Band," the First Herd is now often used as the measuring stick from which comparisons to bands like the 1940 Ellington band are made.

Herman knew his place in history and at the end of his life did little to discourage a number of writers from initiating biographies. Conflicted by an inner modesty of his talents and by the knowledge that time was short, he begrudgingly entered into a number of extensive interviews, with people ranging from jazz writer Herb Wong to Newsday columnist Stuart Troup. It is Troup's efforts that resulted in the first significant Herman biography, The Woodchopper's Ball, published in 1990. Herman was not always the easiest interview subject in the mid-1980s, and for good reason. He was beset by a series of tragedies including the death of his longtime wife, debilitating illnesses, and collection of his personal assets by the Internal Revenue Service. At the time of his death, Herman was penniless and nearly homeless. It is not surprising that the three best Woody Herman biographies were more the result of personal anecdotes from the many musicians and friends he came in contact with. All three of the biographies reviewed here were released in 1995, Herman's sixtieth anniversary as a band1eader.

Leader of the Band: the Life of Woody Herman is the long-awaited work of noted jazz writer Gene Lees. His twenty-eight year relationship with Herman has often drawn comparisons to a similar relationship that existed between Duke Ellington and writer Stanley Dance, the difference being that Lees actually worked for Herman as a publicist in the mid-1960s. His "A Portrait of Woody," from a 1984 edition of his Gene Lees Jazzletter, was considered the benchmark essay on Herman at the time. Not unexpectedly, Lees creates large sections of his biography by expanding his preexisting text. The result is an uneven and highly opinionated work that reads more like a screenplay than an objective biography. Only in the chapter on the First Herd's association with Igor Stravinsky does he shed any new insights into significant events that did not directly involve him as a participant. The talents that make Lees a great essayist often fail him as the "definitive biographer" that he claims Herman wished him to be.

Lees's intimate association with Herman is both a blessing and a curse. Being within such close proximity to a subject can provide valuable anecdotal information while revealing the human nature of the person observed. It also gives Lees first-hand insight into the events that occurred during his watch. His descriptions of the band's tenure at the Metropole and of shadowy Herman manager Abe Turchin are valuable historical insights and are masterfully written. Lees's personal accounts of Turchin are especially illuminating. He describes a complex and cluttered man, capable of betting on horses and football games, while simultaniously booking the band in places where engagements were not thought to exist. Lees was quite impressed with Turchin's uncanny memory for numbers:

I never saw him write anything down, never saw him take a note, and he never forgot a thing. He carried it all in his head. [Saxophonist] Sal Nistico thought he was a mathematical genius. (251)

By all accounts, Turchin's most valued gift became the undoing of both himself and Herman. When it became neccessary to justify financial records during an I.R.S. audit, no written records could be produced. Without written documentation, Herman was personally saddled with a financial burden of 1.6 million dollars, a debt attributed to payroll taxes not paid during a three-year period. This figure would have been substantially lower had the written records existed. Lees devotes an entire chapter to a character profile of Turchin that examines his connections to organized crime, his propensity for gambling away large portions of of the band's payroll, and Herman's indifference or even tacit acceptance of it. It is the best writing of this most puzzling aspect of Herman's life yet produced.

The danger of intimate association is that it can provide a near irresistible temptation to immodestly and unnecessarily insert oneself into the proceed ings. Lees's accounts of "hanging out" with Bill Evans and wearing Herman's clothes have been repeated by him incessently for nearly thirty years. His story of being "put upon" by Herman to convince Ingrid Herman (Herman's daughter) of the inadequacies of country music serves only to elevate the status of the storyteller. In some cases, Lees's stories border on an uncomfortable violation of privacy. One can observe value in describing wife Charlotte Herman's drug and alcohol dependencies. They were at least partially responsible for the breakup of Herman's most celebrated band. But one must question if a com plete chapter dedicated to the drug addiction of Herman's grandson is in good taste and worthy of the space, considering that large portions of the Herman legacy are either ignored or glanced over. In fact, Herman's entire history at Fantasy Records is limited to a single paragraph.

This brings up the larger, more serious issue of the author as researcher. Was Lees all that concerned with providing a thorough documentation of the life of Woody Herman as much as he was in providing a psychological profile of a personal friend who happened to be a great man? If his intentions were the latter, his efforts were successful.

Robert Kriebel's Blue Flame: Woody Herman's Life in Music, is a purely chronological account of the life and times of Herman and his band. It is fascinating in that Kriebel engages only eight interview subjects based on personal initiative. All other interviews or individual quotations are taken from preexisting texts, magazine articles, or album liner notes. This is the only extensive Herman biography to date not to involve the subject person ally in the creative process.

The strength of Blue Flame lies in its ability to provide an almost day to-day account of the band's activities. For example, one can take a week end in Febuary 1980 and learn that the band: "On Friday night played the Zulu Ball at the River Gate. On Saturday and Sunday it worked AI Hirt's club in the French Quarter, and on Monday, a junior college in Mississippi." This is' a style of research that is both painstaking and remarkable considering that Herman led bands continuously over fifty years and that most information was accumulated by the author third-hand. Kriebel is also the only Herman biographer to describe in detail every known Herman recording. He even provides a review and personnel listing for the album Heavy Exposure, the seldom remembered Cadet release the followed Light My Fire and preceded the poorly recorded Woody. The author leans heavily on album reviews and liner notes for descriptive metaphors of recordings. Many are poorly written. Others border on the inane. Consider this example: "All in all, a not quite great concert, but full of warmth and fun" (218); "a sound effects coda whooshing like ajet plane" (196). Writing of this genre abounds in Blue Flame.

Kriebel does not succeed when exceeding his limitations as a music theoretician. In one musical analysis, he states that Dizzy Gillespie's "Woody 'n' You" is an experiment in scales and harmony, based on piano-chord progressions, but is by no means grade-school music" (56). One can only assume that Kriebel is not aware that chord progressions are no different on the piano than they are on any other instrument, and that it is not the instrument that dertermines the difficulty of chord progressions. His explanation is the equivalent of saying that a stock car driver wins races because of his crash helmet.

Blue Flame borrows heavily; it uses seventy-six footnotes from The Woodchopper's Ball alone. There are also some minor factual errors. Zoot Sims did not leave the Second Herd happily. He was fired after spitting on Herman during an argument. This was verified by many musicians and reported correctly by Lees in his book. Bill Chase did not leave the Herman band for the last time in 1966 to form the group Chase. He performed for several months in 1969, appearing on a Cadet recording in September of that year. Bill Byrne was also incorrect in recalling that the composition "Superstar," recorded by the band in 1974, was a theme from "Jesus Christ Superstar." It was, in fact, the song "Superstar" originally recorded by the Carpenters.

Despite its occasionallapses in content and prose, this Herman biography succeeds more often than it fails. It is an adventurous work with lofty aspirations. It is worth reading even if some of its goals are not always realized.

William Clancy's Woody Herman: Chronicles of the Herds is the most complete Herman biography yet written. Clancy is himself an accomplished bassist. This special designation gives him a perspective into the man and his musicians that the other authors can only view externally. He not only observes musicians, he relates to them. Musicians are usually on their guard when they serve as interview subjects. Their answers are frequently calculated and incomplete. It is obvious that the participant in this Herman biography were very comfortable with Clancy. He gets out of the way and lets them talk. It is their story he is telling as well as Herman's. Clancy shows Herman in the perspective that the bandleader most readily saw himself: a somewhat above-average musician who had a talent for leading big bands. In the process, he was able to influence the lives of thousands of musicians directly, and millions of followers indirectly. This viewpoint is made clear by Clancy because he allows the story of Herman's life to follow its natural course. There are no predisposed opinions from the author. He formulates his opinions by way of group consensus. Chronicles ofthe Herds is in fact one long series of chronological inter views, all superbly edited and easy to read. Not only are there the same plentiful Chubby Jackson and Terry Gibbs stories that are found in all accounts of Herman, but there are also numerous interviews from musicians who played minor roles in the Herman story. It was often the case that these musicians, in attempting to capsulize and enshrine every moment of their experience, paid the most attention. One example of the lesser figure as observer is the nearly four pages devoted to the remembrances of Roger Neuman, a tenor saxophonist who spent six months with the Herman band in 1967. It is obvious that Neuman took great efforts to remember every detail of his time with the band, from the way Herman counted off a tune to the way he handled the band's social idiosyncracies. He offers deep in sight into Bill Byrne's brilliance as a band manager and of his own disappointment when he was released just before a tour of England. His interview shows the joy of dreams realized and the disappointments that accompany their conclusion. All the while it is never forgotten that a world of Woody Herman's creation made these events possible. Clancy's multiple interview chronology method is especially valuable in observing the Herman personality from the first days of his Internal Revenue encounters in the late 1960s until his death twenty years later. As the years go by, musicians' accounts often record that the fun-loving Herman of the First Herd was eventually transformed into a mercurial personality who was chased by more than his share of demons. His financial constraints and ongoing concerns of arrest and imprisonment understandably made him more difficult towards his musicians. This caused a number of personal conflicts, some minor, and some totally consuming. Drummer Jeff Hamilton's frictional relationship with Herman started over his receiving fifty dollars a week more than Herman thought necessary. It is also highly unlikely that Herman would have pursued such an obviously unsubstantial venture like his 1984 New Orleans nightclub had he not been groping for any way to generate more capital to relieve to his financial distress.

To his great credit. Clancy provides personnel changes for every significant period in the band's history. This is the book to have when verifying if your friend or associate was in fact a Herman alumnus. It is also gener ously stocked with photographs, and has a very legible type that is easy on the eyes. This reviewer could find only one minor inaccuracy. On page 224, saxophonist Jay Migliore states that baritone saxophonist Roger Pemberton left the band in 1958 and was replaced by Al Belleto. Although
Belletto did replace Pemberton on baritone, Pemberton remained with the band as third tenor, until he departed a few months later with trombonist Bill Harris. Migliore's statement contributes to an inaccurate photograph identification on page 224. The baritone saxophonist identified as Pemberton is in fact Belletto. The unidentified saxophonist behind Herman is Pemberton. This is a very minor flaw in an otherwise inpeccably accurate work. The recent emergence of these Herman biographies validly point out what may be a singularly important historical omission. Bill Harris may possibly be jazz history's most underrated trombonist and one of its most endearing characters. Perhaps it is now time for a more extensive examination of this extraordinary musician's contribution, not only to the music of Woody Herman but to jazz music as a whole.

 

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Uncovering a Musical Mystery

From Tech TV, February 27, 2002

Computer software is helping to solve a musical mystery from the last century.

It is often difficult to tell who is performing on vintage jazz recordings, so two "jazz detectives" from North Carolina are trying to match anonymous musicians with the old melodies.

Tom Smith, Pfeiffer University music professor and jazz trombonist, says it's time to set the record straight -- about a lot of records.

"There didn't seem to be enough attention paid to detail... in jazz history, and a lot of times it became what one of my professors once said was the lie that was agreed upon," Smith said.

During the Prohibition era, Smith says, record producers often tried to pass off the work of unknown imitators as the product of stars like jazz great Bix Beiderbecke. And they largely got away with it.

"At that time, a lot of people never believed that jazz recordings would really be anything that anybody would care about 40 or 50 years down the line," Smith said.

But recent advances in voice-recognition technology convinced Smith and research partner Gary Westbrook that there must be a way to measure every horn player's unique voice, or tone.

"The things that are going to make you and I sound different on the same instrument are the makeup of our face, the makeup of the chambers of our body, the diaphragm, the amount of breath support we are able to generate," Westbrook said. "All of those things that also make us individual with our voice, the way that we breathe, the way that we talk."

In their research, Smith and Westbrook decided to use sound-wave analysis software by SpectraPlus. The software measures frequency -- low notes on the left, to high notes on the right -- and loudness. Tone is measured by how loud a sound is at certain frequencies.

Westbrook randomly samples each mystery soloist three times, then compares the data with a known soloist on another recording.

"[For example], if one of them was a known -- Bix Beiderbecke -- the other was an unknown artist. If they are identified as not statistically significant, then we say that it must be the same artist," Westbrook said.

But the colorful characters from the early age of jazz often seem to be trying to evade detection.

In one Beiderbecke recording Smith and Westbrook studied, the musician misses an obvious note in a solo in an otherwise polished recording. Would a great cornetist like Beiderbecke botch it that badly?

Smith says it's possible. "He was a chronic alcoholic, he had a lot of emotional problems."

"I think Bix would probably would be very embarrassed by it all," Westbrook said. "He probably thought that 20 years after his death no one would ever listen to him play again."

But jazz history must be corrected now, Smith says, not only to credit the mystery musicians for their work, but to solidify jazz's place in the human cultural record.

"Otherwise, this will be guesswork forever, and the lie that is agreed upon will become a self-fulfilling prophecy," Smith said.

On the campus of Pfeiffer University, an hour north of Charlotte, North Carolina, the jazz detectives are preparing to publish their findings -- and preparing for the controversy that will surely follow. Smith and Westbrook say there are a lot of jazz lovers out there who believe software is no match for human ears, and statistical analysis is no match for informed opinions.

"Probably 10, 20 years down the line, the procedure will be modified, and it will be perfected to much greater heights than [Westbrook] or I could ever imagine," Smith said. "But the ball has to begin somewhere."

 

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Whatever Happened to Bill Harris?
Two Friends Provide Clues.
T. Smith

Presented at International Association of Jazz Education Convention, January 13, 2006, New York, NY

 

For most of the mid to late 1940s, no other jazz trombonist was as valued among his peers as Willard Palmer “Bill” Harris.1. Although strongly influenced by J. C. Higginbotham,2. Harris was a first rung innovator, and among the most important transitional stylists of the late swing era. His rambunctious, infectious style served as an evolutionary bridge between the Higginbotham/Miff Mole/Jack Teagarden schools and first generation modernists like J. J. Johnson. Harris's extroverted style, which included a trademark burry sound (wide tones with vibrato in each note), influenced an entire generation of musicians and helped to establish the trombone as a popular solo instrument in jazz, at a time when interest in Tommy Dorsey and Jack Jenney had already waned.3. No other trombonist won as many jazz music polls in the pre J.J. Johnson era,4. and even Norman Granz, whose celebrated tours included headliners like Buddy Rich, Charlie Ventura and Dizzy Gillespie stated emphatically that “no performer was more popular with Jazz at the Philharmonic audiences than Harris.”5. With that said, contemporary disinterest in the Harris legacy is most difficult to explain.
In hindsight, much of Harris’s popularity was directly related to a non- musical penchant for uproarious behavior. With the exception of Joe Venuti, few jazz musicians of light- hearted disposition were his equals.6. At various times in his career, Harris was the instigator of some of his profession’s most legendary pranks and practical jokes. One of his best- known pranks occured during his first years with Woody Herman’s band.
“Harris had a little right-angle crook of tubing made to fit between his mouthpiece and his trombone. One night on his way to the front mike to take a solo, Bill surreptitiously slipped the crook onto his horn. This allowed him to play with his horn at right angles to its normal position. When Bill finished his solo he put the crook back into his pocket. Woody had been standing behind Bill where he couldn't see the gimmick, and he couldn't figure out how Bill managed to play with his slide pumping sideways. Bill told section mate Eddie Bert that he wanted to have these crooks made for the whole trombone section. "Then we could spell out dirty words with the slides while we play."7.
According to friends and associates, the external humor displayed by Harris was always present in his fertile and creative improvisations. “I think that was what made him who he was,” said long time friend Flip Phillips.8. Yet, despite a career of great potential longevity, Harris all but disappeared in the 1960s, leaving a plethora of unanswered questions, and a surprising unfulfilled legacy. When he died in 1973, his designation was that of an underemphasized footnote. Inexplicably, there are few written examinations of the Harris legacy, with the exception of anecdotal passages found in Woody Herman biographies, and shorter observations by Leonard Feather, for Metronome, and Bill Lamb for Melody Maker.9. At present, the most comprehensive Harris research materials exist in private collections and are difficult to obtain.
In 2002, the author attempted to discern the nature of Harris’s contemporary anonymity. After delving into numerous and extensive Harris lost years investigations, the author enlisted the assistance of long time friend and admirer (bassist) Chubby Jackson. Not surprisingly Jackson (one of the better known chroniclers in jazz) proved an invaluable resource. He supplied a wealth of information regarding the movements and disposition of Harris circa 1960-73. Moreover, his keen, almost razor sharp analysis provided an illuminating (if not eccentric) twist to the investigation.  “Why I most certainly will serve as shrink in residence for Willard Palmer Harris,” he said. “But how about Flip (Phillips). You got anything on him? I bet he knew more about what Bill was doing in those days than anybody else.”10.
When Joseph Edward Filippelli (also known as Flip Phillips) died in Fort Lauderdale, Florida at the age of eighty-six, he had established for himself a legacy that Harris could have surpassed, had the trombonist’s latter years been more productive. “Billy Harris was a real star. He was important to jazz…a trailblazer,” Phillips said. “People should be talking about Bill Harris now like they talk about J.J. (Johnson). I am not exaggerating here. Bill was to me as important as J.J., and I would say that friendship aside.”11.
In 1959, Phillips established residence in Florida, where he managed an apartment building, and all but retired from active performing, recording sporadically, and playing the occasional festival.12. He returned to full time work in 1975, but not before running into the confused and erratic Harris on a number of occasions. The author established a peripheral telephone relationship with Phillips in the mid 1990s, and had planned to delve further into his association with Harris, before Phillip’s August 2001 passing cut the project short. With the situation as it was, the author decided to proceed with preexisting long- standing research, and Phillips’ anecdotal information, while unexplained historical gaps, as well as layperson analysis of the Harris psyche was provided by Jackson. Pre analysis factoid information is made available through standard resource materials and supplemental interviews.13.
Willard Palmer Harris was born October 21, 1916 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the son of Willard Massey Harris, a lawyer for the U.S. Marine Corps, and Mabel Palmer Harris.
Flip Phillips: “I think Bill’s father was probably a tough man. Bill thought he was a details kind of guy. I think he and his brother Robert got their humor from the mother.”14.
Chubby Jackson: “The way Bill would describe it, you were OK as long as you were working. But in that world, you weren’t always talking about music work you were talking about real work…hard work. You had to be accountable. You had to be responsible. This was tough for somebody like Bill, who had such a great sense of humor, and wanted to have fun.”15. 
As a child, Harris studied piano before contracting scarlet fever. Immediately following recovery, he abandoned his initial study of piano and tried several different instruments before settling on the trombone.
Flip Phillips: “You are probably right. He most likely did hide his concentration problems with behavior, and his eyes were pretty bad. You probably don’t just get over a major childhood illness. Sometimes you would be talking to him, and it would seem as if he were somewhere else. Yes, creative types do often behave that way, and in Bill’s case this could also be a put on. But I always thought it was more.”16.
Chubby Jackson: “Bill did have a hard time focusing, but not all the time. Sometimes he was very alert. But I do think his focus is what hung him up with sight- reading. Yes, it was his most obvious musical weakness. Yes, maybe the scarlet fever had something to do with that. Who knows? But, I do know that he hid his problems with sight reading as best as he could.”17.
Although his father wanted him to study law, Harris spent much of his post high school years employed in a number of occupations, including truck driver, electric meter reader, and common laborer. In 1935, partly in deference to strong parental influence, Harris joined the Merchant Marines.
Flip Phillips: “All that says a lot. It was about pleasing the old man. Law school probably seemed like drudgery to him. I know he was always doing this other stuff, because to those non musicians around him music just wasn’t work.”18.
Chubby Jackson: “Bill was a very unconventional man, trying to be accepted in the conventional world carefully prepared by his family. I don’t know much about his brother’s thoughts except to imagine that his predicaments were much the same.”19.
Two years later he returned to Philadelphia, where in 1938 he married Elizabeth "Bette" Alexander. They had three children. He returned to truck driving and performed part time at country clubs and wedding receptions with childhood associates Buddy DeFranco and Charlie Ventura.
Chubby Jackson: “Bill wasn’t perfect, but he was better behaved with his bread than most road musicians. When the kids came along, he wanted to hang around and be a regular guy. But he loved playing too much.”20.
Flip Phillips: “In the old days Bill watched his money. He sent most of it back home. He had responsibilities and he honored them.”21.
Harris did not become a full time musician until he was twenty-four. With the exception of sporadic lessons with Philadelphia brass instructor Donald Reinhart, he was entirely self-taught and a poor sight- reader.
Chubby Jackson: “Ah, here lies the rub. Reading always came hard for him. But it did improve in later years. After he left Bob Chester (I think) he really worked on getting it better. I think he was bugged that he wasn’t as good a reader as some players with less talent.”22.
Flip Phillips: “I thought he hid it pretty well in Woody’s 1950s bands. But some guys back then complained that they couldn’t perform some of the book because Bill didn’t want to work on new arrangements. I never really bought that. Usually if Woody wanted to play something in those days it would happen. Woody had more control over that Third Herd band then he did with Serge, Getz and that bunch. You know, Johnny Hodges was much the same way with Duke. He hid his reading problems too. But when Bill played those big things like Bijou and Everywhere…whoah, look out! Who cared then how he could read?”23. 
In 1941, on Charlie Ventura’s recommendation, Harris joined Gene Krupa's band, but was released after one week due to poor sight-reading. A similar incident occurred later with the Ray McKinley band.
Chubby Jackson: The same thing happened when he was with Bob Chester. It must have been frustrating for him, because you knew he was this great force that people weren’t getting to hear because of the reading thing. Then he got on with Benny Goodman, and was with him for a while. As you probably know Goodman was a real prick, but he dug wild trombone solos. So Bill filled the bill (no pun intended). Then Benny picked up this movie and it probably concerned Bill, because he wondered if he could handle the reading. But somehow he made it, and even bought a house out in California.”24.
Flip Phillips: Bill joined Woody’s band (the First Herd) in ’44 I think. I know Woody picked him up on solo power alone. He also wanted a lead trombone with balls to match up to the trumpets. Woody liked ballsy trombone players. I don’t think he was totally unaware of the reading issues. As you know word travels fast in our business.”25.
When Woody Herman disbanded the First Herd in 1946, Harris fronted his own groups around New York and played occasionally again with Charlie Ventura. In 1948 he rejoined Herman's new band.
Flip Phillips: “Bill was concerned about the family money when Woody broke things up, but he was already interested in doing other things by that time. He had a lot of blowing space with Woody, but not like in small groups. Bill and Chaz (Ventura) dug each other. They also had history, that went all the way back to when they were kids in Philadelphia. They really clicked as a team, and Bill could be himself without all that section work to worry about.”26.
Chubby Jackson: “Yeah I heard Flip say that, but Bill did miss his time with Woody because the exposure got him lucrative side work. Then Ventura really took off with Benny Green on trombone and Bill regretted that. Then Bill got back on with Woody and realized it was a different scene. Those cats in that band were some real hard types. Earl Swope was already on the band (playing lead trombone), and they thought Bill was going to screw up the works because he was older, looked even older than he actually was, and wasn’t into the hard stuff (heroin). Plus Swope and the other cats were as you have correctly guessed good readers. Man that Getz was a son of a bitch, but he could read anything. So Bill just kind of hid out in the section and let Earl do his thing, and that was cool with everybody. What was weird though was how much Earl sounded like Bill, kind of after the fact. But then again, Bill couldn’t make too of a scene about Swope’s copycatting, because he thought being negative would divert attention to his reading problems. So not much was said in that regard.”27.
Flip Phillips: “Problem was, Woody didn’t make any money with that band, and neither did Bill. So you have to think that period in Bill’s life could have been better spent doing other things. I always thought some of Bill’s decisions in those days came directly from the home front.”28.
After leaving Herman for a second time, Harris began his four-year association with Norman Granz's Jazz at the Philharmonic.
Chubby Jackson: “That was the happiest time of Bill’s life. He was making good bread doing what he wanted to do, and he was getting other good offers on the side, none of it big band related. He was happy, the family was happy…everybody was happy.”29.
Flip Phillips: “He once said Flip, I hope this lasts forever. But we all knew that Norman’s (Granz) set up was too good for that to happen. But it was a great run.”30.
In 1956 Harris joined Herman's Third Herd. Two years later, he departed over a salary dispute.
Chubby Jackson: “Well, you probably know that just before this, he and I put together a big band thing that produced the album Bill Harris Herd. But the whole thing cost a lot of money that we didn’t have. There was a rumor going around that Woody helped with it financially, but that had no basis in fact. So sure enough Bill goes back with Woody, and that band was going nowhere. Cats say Woody wasn’t square with the bread back then. He had taken a bath on that record label of his, and had always left the band finances up to other people anyway. This was around that time Flip was saying how Bill would sandbag the playing of certain numbers. He was a lot older than those cats, and these younger men saw Bill as a big star. So nobody was going to say anything to his face. But later on the story got around that Bill was a weak reader, and I am sure it did nothing good for him.”31.
Harris then moved his family to the Miami, Florida area and made due as a part-time disc jockey.
Flip Phillips: “I saw Bill often in those days. I actually heard his radio show from time to time and it was good. Bill was a funny guy on the radio. But then the station or somebody changed the format, and Bill just didn’t fit in. After that, he wasn’t working enough and was burned out with the game. Besides, truth be known he never had many professional instincts or professional ambitions. He wanted the family life, and all that kept him close. The whole Miami thing was about some promises that fell through, and you can’t make mistakes when you have others with you. He just couldn’t figure out the at home life, and vice versa.”32.
During the 1960s, Harris alternated between his Florida residence and Las Vegas, working small groups until 6:00 am with trumpeter Charlie Teagarden, fronting lounge bands on both trombone and guitar, and struggling through hotel shows with less than sympathetic conductors.
Flip Phillips: “He was very ill suited for those shows in Vegas. He got thrown off some of them due to poor reading. I never understood that whole thing with the guitar. Then he started losing work to another guitar player named Bill Harris. What were the chances of that?”33.
Chubby Jackson: “Even in the worst of times Bill never lost his sense of humor. This one Vegas conductor used to give Bill fits. So he took his revenge. On the afternoons before the early show, Bill would saw exactly one quarter of an inch off of the conductor's stool. This went on for weeks until there was nothing left. But the whole thing had been so subtle that you couldn’t notice it right away. After awhile, the musicians got wind of what Bill was doing, but the conductor never did. So these cats were laughing like crazy at this conductor and he never got it. The only one not laughing was Bill.”34.
Harris’s permanent exile from Las Vegas occured when a popular entertainer fired him from his backup orchestra for looking too old.
Chubby Jackson: “I heard it was Wayne Newton, but I am not sure about that. Bill looked fifty when he was thirty, and Newton looked ten when he was thirty. So if it was Newton, that story is probably true. That was it for Bill in Vegas. He said to hell with it and got out of there for good.”35.
Flip Phillips: “After Vegas, Bill went back to Florida when the Tropicana (hotel) situation finally came together. But he didn’t have that job long. All the shows had started cutting back and Bill was the last one hired, so he was the first one fired. This would have happened anyway, because he had grown disgusted again with his reading. I’m done with music, he said. For the sake of argument he probably was.”36.
With the exception of occasional performances with Phillips, Harris’s final days were spent in relative obscurity. His last notable performance was a JATP reunion at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1971.
Flip Phillips: I had a string of dates in ’72 and wanted to do them with Bill. Back then, I was still playing just a little on the side, but I was starting to take more offers. I really didn’t get serious again until a couple of years later. So I called Bill and he was sort of noncommittal, which made me wonder what was going on. Usually Bill jumped at any chance to play. Then he said that he couldn’t get off work. I asked him what he was doing then he got mysterious about the whole thing. So I left it alone. A couple of weeks later I found out that he had taken a job as a security guard. I thought it was joke. But it was true.”37.
Chubby Jackson: That’s the first I have heard of that. But Flip would have known for sure. That’s so sad. Can you imagine anybody more ill suited for that kind of work?”38. 
Flip Phillips: “He passed in August ‘73. He was in a hospital down in Coral Gables, when he died of cancer. I was going to get over there, but you know how that is. It was all pretty sudden. I don’t think I ever remember him saying anything about being sick. Then he was gone. It was a pretty big shock.”39.
Chubby Jackson: “I was told he didn’t have health insurance, so he put off his check ups. Had he gone to the doctor even once in a while he would have beat it, and you could be talking to him yourself. That would be pretty crazy if he hadn’t taken care of himself after wasting all that time pulling his weight for everybody else. That health insurance thing is hard to believe. But I can see him just sitting there not wanting to know the worst if he had suspected something. What a fate for one so great.”40.
Flip Phillips: “There was this tiny little obituary of Bill in Down Beat? I wondered how people could have forgotten like that. How many Down Beat polls did he win…nine? I was mad as hell at how Down Beat handled that. Bill deserved a lot better from those guys.”41.
Chubby Jackson: Woody once asked how any hotel band could fire a genius like Bill Harris. But you know something? Any of us are open to the sword of ignorance. You (the author) have been kind enough to remind me of my own historical revisions. But look at me. I’m still around at my age, still doing things, and having a ball. Bill Harris missed out on all that, and for what?…so he could be somebody else’s definition of normal? Geez, if he had died like Bird or lived like Getz or (Serge) Chaloff or Chet Baker, he probably would have been better off. At least then he would have gotten the publicity, people would have given him a second look, and he would have been a god to the know it alls. This was just…well nothing.42.
Flip Phillips: My friend Bill Harris was as much a somebody in this business as anyone who ever played the music. People will figure that out soon enough, maybe not now, but sometime. I just know it. I feel it. It will happen.43.

 

NOTES

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From Ita Journal

 

XTRA JUICY

THE RODGER FOX BIG BAND. Rodger Fox, trombone, leader; Vince Jones, Mike lewis, Jo Spiers, Scott Whineray, Andrew Daley, trumpet; Mark Spiers, Mike Young, Brian Biddick, Aldas Palubinskos, trombone; Godfrey De Grut, alto and soprano sax; Angus Ramsey, alto sax; Chris White, David Edmundson, tenor sax; Andrew Baker, baritone sax; Brian Henderson, keyboards; Aaron Nevezie, guitar; Neil Honnon, bass; Graham Cape, drums; Mary Yandall, vocal.

T-BONE RECORDS CD T-BONE 004 (available from: Pender's Music Co., 314 S. Elm, Denton, TX 76201; Phone: 800/722-5918; Fox: 800/772-8404; E-moil: <penders@iglobol.net:>; Web: <www.penders.com/music>; TAP Music Soles: 1992 Hunter Ave., Newton, IA 50208; Phone: 515/792-0352; Fox: 515/792-1361; E-mail: <topmusiC@steward.com>; Jazzworx, 74 Kelvin Grove Road, Kelvin Grove, Queensland 4059, Australia; Phone: 61 7 3831 6122; Fox:6173831-6144)
Rodger Fox: Where's What. Dave MacRoe: Waitemata Blues & Greens. Martin Winch/Gordon Brisker: Song For Claudio. Alan Broadbent: The Long White Cloud; Love In Silent Amber; Sugar Loaf Mountain; Bebop & Roses. John Key/Gordon Brisker: One Step Ahead Of The Blues. Rodger Fox/Bill Cunliffe: Xtra Juicy. Steve Sherriff/Rodger Fox: Scream. Bruce Johnstone: Back To Being One. Ron McClure: Belle. Godfrey DeGrut: Prince Lucy.

Rodger Fox is a tireless promoter of "New Zealand music and an excellent big band trombonist. Unlike same of his country's better known expatriates, he chose to remain locally based, so as to assist in the cultivation of jazz music in his native land. After 13 recordings, and some decent contributions to big band literature, Fox has decided to expose his efforts to the international big band community. If one is predisposed to critique his work based upon this recording, then it could be said that he has achieved at least partial success.

XTRA JUICY showcases an above-average big band, with a polished rhythm section, and a satisfying Billie Holiday influence vocalist, Mary Yandall. Much of the writing by the local New Zealand composers is palatable fare, best suited for university lab bands. It is creative music, but certainly not comparable to most North American work of a similar classificatian. With the notable exceptions of Fox and trumpeter Mike Lewis, the soloists in the band are indistinguishable from among the thousands of college improvisers who perform daily in North American jazz ensembles.

The group is most successful when performing the works of expatriate musicians Alan Broadbent and Bruce Johnstone. In these instances, they demonstate a sense