Bruut! Noun; brute; bully; (slang) master, dope, heavy, da bomb – ‘brute sneakers, man’ or ‘listen to Wayne Shorter in Free For All, he’s brute!’

I’m sitting on a barstool at a high oak table in the Amsterdam rehearsal studio, the Melody Line. Alto saxophonist Maarten Hogenhuis and bass player Thomas Rolff, one half of Dutch jazz group Bruut!, talk about their career and some of their favourite records. They share mutual preferences. “We’re married, really,” says Hogenhuis. I guess they are. Not only these two longtime friends, but all four members of Bruut!, and happily I presume. Because their seemingly effortless mix of hard bop and boogaloo with surf and rock music is tight and possesses a delicious, big sound. Jazz Crusaders meets Dick Dale. Bruut! dubs their music ‘superjazz.’

Hogenhuis and Rolff grew up in the aftermath of grunge. They bring its raw sensibility to their music, yet jazz remains the core of Bruut!’s style. As far as contemporary, jazz-related influences are concerned, John Scofield’s A Go Go is high on their list. But on top of that list is Benjamin Herman’s Get In, the Dutch alto saxophonist’s 1998 boogaloo album that he recorded with legendary soul jazz drummer Idris Muhammad, organist Larry Goldings and Dutch guitarist Jesse van Ruller. Hogenhuis: “A very famous record for our generation, a sort of Bible! Benjamin has no idea how many of his young colleagues dig that album.”

Rolff: “We were already of the ‘old stuff’, but Get In was an eyeopener. We started out as a boogaloo outfit, which implies a totally different approach than that of a mainstream jazz group.” Is that approach easier? Hogenhuis answers: “We are careful not to play too ‘difficult’, which hopefully benefits our music. Making ‘difficult’ music can be quite easy in fact, but to play ‘simple’ in a meaningful way is a totally different story.”

Hogenhuis’ sing-songy style reminds me of altoist Lou Donaldson, who as Rolff puts it succinctly “came into his own in the sixties while simultaneously holding on to his allround Charlie Parker-style. It became an unmistakably pure mix”. Hogenhuis dwells on some of the Lou Donaldson albums in his collection, like Everything I Play Is Funky: “Those boogaloo and soul jazz records of Donaldson represent true live music for me, creating a vibe. Although I’ve listened to some of them analytically, for inspiration. He has that ‘simplicity’ we talked about, he’s the epithome of ‘less is more’.”

“Yet,” Hogenhuis continues, “as far as my style and influences are concerned, I’m formed by the giants: Charlie Parker, Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane. I like the production and huge sound of Coltrane’s Africa/Brass and Crescent. Lately I’ve been listening to Live At Newport a lot. It doesn’t include Elvin Jones, because he was trying to deal with his drug addiction at that time. Of course, Coltrane and Jones were almost like one creature and their thing is so ingrained in your system. It’s interesting to hear how Coltrane makes Haynes sound very unlike himself. Haynes never sounded more different than on Live At Newport.”

“Besides his brilliant harmony and interesting phrasing, it’s Coltrane’s rhythm that I dig mostly. His rhythm is so heavy, all-encompassing. His timing is immaculate and goes ‘out there!’ It’s hard to put a finger on. What I’m sure of is that Coltrane has soul in abundance. I’d like to possess that combination of rhythm, timing and soul, but it hasn’t happened so far, haha. I started playing jazz relatively late, from my eighteenth year, and took with me the rhythmic approach of pop and funk. Rhythm is the core, the Bruut!-approach, we start from the groove. Sound is all-important too.”

Rolff: “Take away those two and you’re left with a bag full of shit.” Hogenhuis continues: When talking about rhythm and groove, Hank Mobley should be mentioned. Soul Station is classic. And Workout is one of our favourites. Harmonically and melody-wise, that album is more than ok. But the rhythm and sound are key. It includes the crackerjack Philly Joe Jones and Paul Chambers. And Grant Green’s on it. Like you say, he’s an example of great rhythm. Did you know that he plays the same lick like eleven times in Workout. 11 or 12 times! It’s outrageous! (Hogenhuis hums the melody and Green’s phrases) He goes on and on. Well, it works, right, haha?!”

There are a lot of classic things that ‘worked’ for these (relatively) young gentlemen. Just before the other half of Bruut! – organist Folkert Oosterbeek and drummer Felix Schlarmann – enters the studio and completes today’s set up, bassist Thomas Rolff recounts his influences. They range from Paul Chambers to Jimmy Blanton. “I’m totally into Ray Brown, though. My dad was an enormous fan of Oscar Peterson. So I’ve heard Ray Brown all through my life. He’s a big influence. A long time ago, I got We Get Requests as a present from Maarten!”

Hogenhuis: “I think the greatest thing about We Get Requests is the way it is recorded. There’s a lot of ‘panning’, you can distinguish everything really well. The bass sounds so beautiful, out of sight! That record feels like a warm bath.” Rolff chimes in: “Those cats from the classic era had such an immaculate beat and great sound, which is the essence. All the while, their taste and musicianship was outstanding.”

The foursome that constitutes Bruut! is involved in many other, diverse jazz projects. But not surprisingly, considering their spontaneous aesthetics they have displayed as a unit for four years now, they have a weak spot for live recordings. When asked which hard bop and soul jazz albums drummer Felix Schlarmann favours, he immediately and matter-of-factly answers “Cannonball Adderley Quintet – Live In San Francisco”, the album that raised the level of live recording in 1962 and was an enormous commercial success.

Organist Folkert Oosterbeek, the group stresses, doesn’t really play in an organist’s way. Hogenhuis teasingly asks him: “Do you ever put the needle on a Hammond album?” “Never,” answer Oosterbeek with a grin on his face. Hogenhuis explains that Oosterbeek is a pianist who ended up behind the organ by chance, because the guys wanted him to. “That’s our secret,” Hogenhuis states. “Folkert doesn’t sound like a Hammond organist. And that’s fun.”

“I’m not really conscious of the classic Hammond organists,” says Oosterbeek. “But I know one thing, I don’t wanna play like another Jimmy Smith copy cat.” Hogenhuis explains that the group pushes him to, for example, sound like a guitar or a Farfisa organ, whatever the circumstances demand. “It adds to our colours,” says Hogenhuis, who has the final word of our mid-day talk. “Be not mistaken, there are a lot of great records today. But a lot of jazz records sound clinical to me, because they are recorded in a ‘poppy’ way. It takes the bite out of the music and one misses a unique ensemble sound. And that’s what it is about. It’s what Bruut! strives for in any event, making a fully developed story as far as sound and timing is concerned.”

Speaking of which, we put a lid on it as Bruut! is about to enter the practice room to rehearse and conjure up tunes that might end up on their third album, which is due to be released in Spring 2015. I’m wondering, shouldn’t it be, like some of the illustrious examples mentioned in this interview, a live album?

In 1976 Dutch-Indonesian pianist Rob Agerbeek was recommended to tour Europe with Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers. Agerbeek had strong doubts. A phone call to friend and drummer Art Taylor was in the making. “I thought, well, they see me coming, yet another local pianist. I resented that. But then Taylor said to me on the phone: ‘Well man, if you don’t take this gig, I will never recommend you again! You’ll have to do this!’” Subsequently, Agerbeek successfully toured with Blakey, painstakingly getting used to the repertoire along the way. Blakey wanted him to stay in the band but Agerbeek politely declined. “I had an office job, you know.”

Typically Agerbeek. The congenial, 77 years old jazz veteran means what he says but the way he tells it betrays a strong dose of dry humor. And whether he’s recounting his versatile solo endeavors as a boogie-woogie maestro and hard bop musician or the gigs he played with Dexter Gordon, Gene Ammons, Ben Webster, Johnny Griffin and Hank Mobley, among others, there’s always a sense of modesty. His modesty is of the healthy kind, mixed with essential but far from boisterous confidence. “I heard great blues sounds on the radio when I was a kid in Batavia (the modern-day Jakarta, FM) from The Bob Crosby Band, Tommy Dorsey and Albert Ammons, Maede Lux Lewis, Pete Johnson. In my college years in The Netherlands, I discovered the Jazz At The Philharmonic series, Oscar Peterson, Sonny Clark and got interested in modern jazz around 1958. I was particularly fond of Horace Silver.”

“Horace Silver is about the blues. Even when Silver’s tunes weren’t formally blues, they were nevertheless imbued with the feeling of the blues. Doodlin’ is a case in point. I particularly like his first album, Horace Silver And The Jazz Messengers. At the same time compositions like these and from other albums were very intricate. The Preacher, Room 808, Strollin’, Cool Eyes. Silver composed in a way that got me thinking: I should’ve come up with such a thing!’ It’s so logical. And steeped in gospel. Why I never had the idea to incorporate Indonesian influences into my music like Silver did with his Cape Verdean background? Well, I just tried to emulate the Americans. Mind you, emulate, not imitate. Naturally, I learned playing jazz that way. I learned a lot from Don Byas in the mid-sixties, harmony, and also to carefully handle the intro and theme and shy away from frenzy playing. But I always wanted to record in my own way. I wrote a lot of tunes. I’m largely self-taught and sharpened my reading skills along the way.”

Agerbeek puts the needle on his 1975 album Keep The Change. A vibrant bag of straightforward hard bop. The title track incorporates the bounce of classic Blue Note hits like Lee Morgan’s The Sidewinder and Hank Mobley’s The Turnaround, tunes that drummer Billy Higgins blessed with his indomitable, swinging beat. “I worked with Hank Mobley, you know.” Agerbeek played with Mobley in 1968/69. “The Flip was recorded during that period. I was invited for that session. But Alfred Lion had already hired another pianist. (Vince Bededetti, FM) So that slipped through my fingers. Hank had initially invited med. He said, ‘yeah, you have to record, you will be the piano player if you want.’ But it didn’t fell through.”

“Before the invitation, I had been playing with Mobley for about a year. In Rotterdam, Paris, including Art Taylor. Mobley’s form was excellent, really. He had his problems but was a very nice, likable character. I like Soul Station best, and Funk In Deep Freeze from Hank Mobley Quintet. Hank Mobley actually didn’t really blow, instead his breath went through the horn like ‘swhoosh’, you know what I mean! Beautiful.”

Halfway through our conversation, while Agerbeek gives an account of his recordings with saxophonist Harry Verbeke and Billy Higgins, we both suddenly start to laugh. As if Agerbeek reads my mind he chuckles: “It is amazing, right?! I played with so many of these Americans. Talking about it brings back memories… Ben Webster, Willis Jackson, Arnett Cobb. A lot of it came about through my management. And through Paul Acket, (the founder and organiser of the North Sea Jazz Festival, FM) of course. He asked me to accompany those guys, like Frank Foster, Clark Terry, Cecil Payne. I’ve done twenty-three editions of North Sea. All during the years that I worked at the social insurance office, ha!”

One of the most pleasant meetings Rob Agerbeek had with American jazz legends is chronicled on All Souls, a 1972 live album of The Rob Agerbeek Trio with Dexter Gordon. “My producer gave me some alternate takes. I thought, Jesus, did I really play that way? One of my sons said: ‘Dad, you played different back then, tougher.’”

“I toured with Dexter Gordon and Gene Ammons in 1973. Often I used to loosen up before the show started, playing a boogiewoogie tune. One time Gene Ammons bent over me, saying: ‘Hey there, you’re playing my dad, right!’” (boogie woogie pianist Albert Ammons was Gene Ammons’ father) Agerbeek laughs. Then, matter-of-factly: “I really thought he was a good saxophone player. He also played on some his dad’s tunes and struck me as a unique player as early as that. He was steeped in r&b but close to bebop. That album on Prestige with Tommy Flanagan and Art Taylor is very nice.” (Boss Tenor, FM)

Art Taylor seems to be the thread that links together Agerbeek’s forays into hard bop jazz. I’m curious as to whether Agerbeek ever noticed anything about Art Taylor’s anger towards the music business and supposed racial bias, as comes across in Art Taylor’s book of interviews, Notes And Tones. “Indeed, the one that I knew best certainly was Art Taylor. And Johnny Griffin as well. I never noticed anything about Taylor being angry about how things went in the music business. He usually called me for gigs from where he lived in Luik, Belgium. What I do remember is that Taylor always complained that Thelonious Monk didn’t like him. Monk would confuse him: ‘What’s with that big moustache, Art? Trying to be Mr. Charming, um?’ This really bugged Art!”

“I regularly shared rooms with those American guys. With Johnny Griffin among others, whom I worked with for three years mostly in Germany. Never again, man. That certainly takes some doing. My my, either they talk till you drop or keep you awake snoring.” Agerbeek imitates the sleeping ‘Little Giant’, Johnny Griffin. It sounds like a giant, drunk caterpillar.

“But they paid me some nice compliments. Griffin said that I had a good blues feel. I guess it’s because of my background in boogie-woogie. Guys that I learned a lot from and admired very much, Frans Elsen and Rob Madna, pointed out the feeling of the blues in my compositions. Well, I’m not going to say this of myself. If they do, I’ll accept that. Art Taylor introduced me to McCoy Tyner in Norway in 1973 and said: ‘Oh, he’s a motherfucker on piano, you should meet him.’” Agerbeek continues in charmingly laconic fashion. “Dexter Gordon recommended me as an accompanist. Can you imagine Gordon, such a tall man, pushing me forward in crowds. I would usually hesitate to plug myself, but in situations like that, I went along with it. I guess you could say I was a lucky-so-and-so. Carried by the wind, so to speak.”

“Do I regret that I didn’t cross the ocean to join Art Blakey when opportunity knocked? No, not really. How long would I have lasted, one year? Then you’re sacked and you have to start from scratch back home.”

Our ears have been attuned to alto saxophonist Benjamin Herman’s suave and spirited jazz hodgepodge for more than two decades now. Nearing the age of 47, Herman resembles a vital and frisky thirty-something. The sharpest dressed man in the contemporary Dutch jazz realm brings with him a bag full of experience. His field of work has become uncommonly diverse, ranging from modern jazz to film scores and hiphop collaborations. Herman’s latest release, Trouble, is characterised by a cinematic atmosphere, courtesy of the altoist’s airy and warm sound and the dazzingly seductive crooning of pianist/singer Daniel von Piekartz. Curacao is one of its standout tracks. It is known territory for the bandleader, as he dives into the hard-swinging vibe he has created so regularly over the years with his hi-voltage octet and big band New Cool Collective.

It’s the kind of fertile terrain for tasty food Flophouse Magazine would kill for as well. Like Art Blakey and the indomitable drummer’s Live At Bohemia 1 & 2. According to Herman, it’s an essential album for both jazz lovers and pro’s. Certainly because of the interaction between the vociferous Blakey and his sidemen, including two of the most underrated horn men of their time, trumpeter Kenny Dorham and tenorist Hank Mobley. “Mobley has such an utterly cool aura. He wasn’t commercially successful and his heavy drinking was an obstacle. Ended up living in a subway station, really sad. A shy fellow as well. All this aside, Mobley is the supreme musicians’ musician. I know a lot of people who put him on top or their list because of Mobley’s tone and deft, understated swing. Listen how Blakey spurs him on. Mobley isn’t overpowering and creates something fresh in every chorus.”

Herman likes Lou Donaldson for that kind of story-telling quality as well. He does a fair and pretty hilarious impersonation of his fellow altoist. Recounting a story Branford Marsalis told Herman’s collaborator Joost Patocka – a story about a night when Donaldson teasingly commented on a couple of live Marsalis blues tunes – Herman imitates the renowned soul jazz veteran’s raspy, high-pitched voice: “You call that a blues? You want me to get my saxophone?! I’ll tell you what a blues is!” Herman is quick to point out Donaldson’s undisputable bop credentials. “The man was on par with Clifford Brown in Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers. And his judgement is justified! He is so good with the blues. I really like those boogaloo records he did in the late sixties. His timing and ability to tell a story are striking. It’s never about virtuosity or playing to the public’s ear. Instead, that ear follows the natural swing he brings. I really would like to play like that. It’s in the back of my mind while performing.”

Herman’s comments on John Coltrane suggest the legendary tenor and soprano saxophonist hasn’t only been in the back of his mind, but dead centre in its front row as well. His choice of the album Coltrane Sound is a surprise. It has been under the radar ever since it was released in 1964, four years after it was recorded during the iconic My Favorite Things-sessions. It boasts a couple of originals that rank among ‘Trane’s finest, Liberia and Equinox, as well as some challenging interpretations of standards. Herman whistles the melody of The Night Has A Thousand Eyes. Before delving into Coltrane’s multi-harmonic inventions, Herman remembers the shock the tune gave him when he was sixteen. “That strange note in the solo; I learned what it was, but I kept thinking, what is this, what is it doing there? I started hearing other things and my whole jazz perception was changed.” After all these years, Herman still stares transfixed into space. And take note that the album sounds came out of a Sony Walkman. “Yeah, man. On the other side was Miles At Newport. Spotify is a nice tool for discovering new music, but tape sounds much better!”

The biggest part of our get-together is devoted to the vinyl wonderland of Sonny Rollins. It’s the Live At The Village Vanguard albums 1 & 2 the altoist has been wild about for a long time. “How did I get there? Well, once I was on the road with (drummer) Han Bennink and he put this album on in the car. He could sing it, note for note. Including the bass and drum parts! Everybody who can play checked it out. Standard procedure. At least for me, about dealing with harmony and playing on the melody. And, furthermore, about approaching your fellow musicians, how to interact.”

Herman has similar feelings about Saxophone Colossus and other vintage early Rollins albums, but the twin sessions at the Vanguard remain his favourites. “They represent true transitional phases for jazz improvisation. It builds on the bebop idiom, informing it with fresh ideas. Obviously, it is largely made up of bebop classics or standards that’ve received famous bebop treatments by Parker and the like.”

“Take What Is This Thing Called Love and the way Rollins approached the first part – the diminished, minor fifths. Extremely interesting, the way he uses differing harmony there. Furthermore, the interaction between the trios is outstanding. Especially where Elvin Jones is involved. Besides, a good evening of Rollins constitutes pure bliss; the way he briskly goes on and on is unparalleled. I usually don’t like long live cuts, but I like these ones. A historic moment, really, the Village Vanguard gig.”

Herman is not about to leave the room before mentioning the great bebop innovator, Charlie Parker. And in particular, the alto saxophonist’s Live At Storyville album, which is cut from a 1953 radio show. “It sounds remarkably well, considering the context. And Bird’s great on that album. Incredible, that late in his career, shortly before he died. It’s so vital and flowing, it’s crazy!” Herman also mentions the avantgarde Karma album of Pharaoh Sanders, as well as a few more obvious influences on his style, such as Eddie Harris’ Mean Greens, Hank Crawford’s From The Heart, and Jackie McLean’s Let Freedom Ring. Hard to pull back out of your desert island bag is what I figure.

The emphasis of our interview has been mainly on tenor saxophonists. Altoist Benjamin Herman attests to the logic of this outcome. “I’ve listened to tenorists, mostly, apart from Charlie Parker, obviously. As a listener, I’m like a lot of other people, the tenor saxophone is the predominant reed instrument. Naturally, I love the alto, but I understand it might be harder to digest. It can be a nervy son of a gun!”

“Having said this,” Herman goes on, “alas, we haven’t had the chance to talk about Johnny Hodges…”

It takes some power of adjustment when coming upon that grittiest of instruments, the Hammond organ, in a clean-cut suburb such as Tilburg’s Reeshof quarter. But I guess I’ve been brainwashed for romantic ends by jazz club visits and countless smoky record covers. Because, naturally, the organ has come a long way from dinky burlesque theatres and a downgrade by the jazz police to an appraisal by keen, broadminded critics and folks alike and worldwide recognition as an instrument fine-tuned for modern jazz as well as rock, pop and soul.

The home studio of Arno Krijger, one of Europe’s vanguard organists, harbours two Hammond organs. Amidst various musician’s tools and a dusty, vintage Gretsch drumkit, the big case of a Hammond B3 organ looms large in the centre of the room. Adjacent to that is a Leslie speaker and against another wall resides a C3 organ, which Krijger has used to spice up the interview explaining to me the difference between the hard bop of Jimmy Smith cum suis and the type of avantgarde jazz Larry Young brought to the fore and which is a dominant influence on Krijger’s work. Both styles sound fine by me and the point has been made clear in, successively, bluesy and refined manner.

Seated at a big desk 42-year old Krijger, who prefers his day-off, casual outfit instead of his common, smart, modern stage regalia, opens iTunes. Up pops a classic Jimmy McGriff album.

SPITTIN’ AND PUFFIN’

FM: Aha, Live! That’s Where It’s At.

AK: For a big part, it’s a sentimental choice. It’s linked to my youth. I’m raised on McGriff, Rhoda Scott, Milt Buckner. This album was in my father’s collection and I put it on again and again. We had two organs at home, one electric, which I toyed with as a kid, and one with valves. I started playing on that one and then I thought, wait a minute, now I’ve got that raw McGriff sound!

FM: When the question is raised in a discussion between me and a jazz lovin’ pal or acquantaince which organist is nr. 1 as far as ‘screamin’ is concerned I always end up with McGriff. How did he get that sound?

AK: Well, you know, every organ has a different sound. I think McGriff’s possesses an inherent edge. Whether he plays soft or hard, there’s always a level of overdrive. But that’s not all. The room and acoustics play a part. My organ has a relatively clean sound, but sometimes I’m playing in a club where I have to be careful not to let my organ heave all over the place, so to speak. It also depends on the volume. Then there’s the setting of drawbars and such.

FM: All About My Girl kicked my ass.

AK: That organ’s spittin’ and puffin’! It’s pretty nifty, you know, considering the simplicity of the material, with just a few chords to play with. It has a good sound, good timing. Impeccable groove music, all tunes are cookin’. A number of things go wrong, though.

FM: Really? Tell me.

AK: Well, there’s When Johnny Comes Marching Home. After that march-bit, they change to swing time, but the drummer keeps on marching for a few bars.

FM: A bit silly. But we don’t mind a few minor mishaps, as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.

AK: That’s right. It’s a live album, of course. There are a couple more, nevertheless, I remember the one in Georgia On My Mind, particularly. The bridge is messed up, twice. Listen here, McGriff is struggling with the chord structure, it seems he’s trying to regain his posture. (After a pause) Listening to it right now, I’m thinking McGriff probably used the foot pedals. You see, usually those guys play bass with their left hand, but on ballads, that are slower and have longer notes, they sometimes use their feet. I think McGriff is not used to it, that might explain the unease.

I don’t play it too often these days. But when I do, it all comes back, I can dream McGriff’s version and I’m unable to inject much of my own style into it. So much expression, rough settings, beautiful vibrato!

UNITY

FM: Larry Young’s Unity is a whole different ballgame.

AK: At conservatory pupils often go through a phase of wanting to play more daring things. It worked like that for me. So in comes Unity, wow!

FM: It’s regarded as a classic now. What’s unique about Larry Young and Unity?

AK: Well, it’s harmonically complex, it’s challenging. You know, it’s a coincidence really that Young is an organist, he probably would’ve played that modal stuff on any one given instrument. He’s less an organist than, say, Jimmy Smith.

FM: Young has a horn-like approach.

AK: Indeed. He plays scales, but not for the sake of complexity, but for the sake of wanting to create meaningful, exciting music.

FM: Without the experiments of John Coltrane and McCoy Tyner Larry Young wouldn’t have become the Larry Young of Blue Note fame.

AK: Sure. And he incorporated the whole tone scale that Thelonious Monk favored, you know. He’s a ‘modern’ organist.

Incidentally, Krijger’s iTunes list spews out Monk’s Dream, one of three Woody Shaw compositions on Unity, which is a mesmerising duet between Young and drummer Elvin Jones.

AK: Listen here, near the end. There’s that string of fast toodle-do’s. That’s the use of whole tone scale. He also incorporates it into his solo’s, of course. What a duet, they complement each other beautifully. Elvin Jones typically pushes and pulls, it has that rumble and incomparable juggling with time and tempo. Larry Young is like that, too.

FM: It’s intense.

AK: Yeah. And Young’s sound is clean and quite similar throughout his career. I think his Leslie speaker is almost ‘off.’ Young’s not in a circus, doing tricks. He eschews the desire of putting your feet on the ceiling combining high C’s with that Leslie speaker, and stuff like that.

What I figure Krijger also puts across in so many words is that Larry Young was an organist particularly keen on interacting with his fellow musicians, instead of merely functioning as a leader in front of a backing band. Naturally, Young was uniquely gifted to do so and indeed a lot of his groups sound utterly ‘together’. A look at some of Young’s colleagues during his Blue Note period, and beyond, is evidence of his standing and affinity: Elvin Jones, Grant Green, Joe Henderson, Woody Shaw, Bobby Hutcherson, Lee Morgan, Tony Williams, Miles Davis.

AK: He’s been a big influence. There aren’t too many organists that took Young’s approach to heart. Larry Goldings –whom I admire greatly – and Sam Yahel are cases in point.

I like to do different things to avoid boredom and, hopefully, improve. Some stick with one thing and become very good at it. That’s ok, too. But it’s not my bag.

PLAY THEM BLUES, BOY!

On the subject of organ jazz and Krijger’s place in the pantheon of the B3’s possibilities, the organist shows a relaxed yet serious demeanor. In his voice one can hear the drive of a seeker. Privately, Krijger is a good-natured, playful guy. Discussing his soul jazz past, a fair dose of that comic sensibility rubs off. A sensibility that, once a punchline comes in sight, is flavoured with a bit of hillbilly accent from the Zeeuws-Vlaanderen region he hails from. It could be that I’ve contaminated my interviewee. I’m from that southern part of The Netherlands as well.

AK: It took me a long time to shake off the desire to satisfy people with the usual organ jazz tricks. How it went was, I started with the intention to come up with something original, but then at the end of the gig succumbed and threw in some ‘burners’. Which, if it’s not your thing, is definitely not ok, of course.

Back then, whenever I was in a club with that organ, usually somebody in the crowd shouted: ‘O yeah, some Jimmy Smith tonite! Play them blues, boy!’ Which I would answer with, ‘yeah, well, we’re going to do something else.’ ‘Ah, come on, Jimmy’s the King!’ ‘Yeah, but…’ Haha!

Seated at the C3 organ, Krijger discusses another organist he likes, Melvin Rhyne, mostly known for his association with Wes Montgomery. Krijger is enamoured of Rhyne’s swinging, relaxed flow on albums such as Portrait Of Wes. Rhyne’s style is less adventurous as Larry Young’s, but distinctive for its continuous stream of valuable statements and just as devoid of unnecessary lacy embellishment. Krijger demonstrates Rhyne’s sound on the organ. It has to do with a minimum of pulled-out drawbars that create a sober sound and the plucky, ticky sound he gets from putting on the percussion button.

A brief but insightful object and history lesson. Arno Krijger is, to paraphrase a title of one of Larry Young’s other enduring albums, really ‘into something’.

Put Hans Mantel, bassist, jazz historian and radio host in a chair, ask him one question about hard bop, and he’s off on a wild tangent. Endearing ruminations about playing with and learning from American Greats such as Stanley Turrentine, Barry Harris, Red Holloway, Ray Brown and Art Blakey alternate with a thoughtful discours on the merits of famous bass players Paul Chambers and Sam Jones and the ‘almost telepathic ryhthmic and melodic innovations’ of the Lee Konitz/Warne Marsh outfit of the early fifties. And then there’s that question hanging in the air if contemporary jazz is meant for posterity. What Mantel is sure of is that the giants of the classic era of jazz weren’t busy making records for the 21st Century Schizoid Man. As Wayne Shorter put it to Mantel a while ago: “What you young cats must realize is, is that we made records to pay our rent!”

But in no way does Mantel suffer from Nostalgia In Times Square. After wandering off into a side street for a few insightful minutes, humming a standard to accompany one or another assumption, Mantel usually comes back to the point straightforwardly, and full of enthousiasm and passion for all things jazz. And the points that we are currently involved with, residing in the college room at the Conservatory of Utrecht, The Netherlands, where Mantel teaches, are a number of Mantel favorites from the realm of hard bop and soul jazz. A number? Yes, got a minute?

“If I’d have to pick one from that great stretch on Blue Note in the late fifties, when Alfred Lion was still aboard, it would certainly be Hank Mobley’s Soul Station. You can smooth out a recording session as one carves a sculpture endlessy, till it’s assumed perfect. But you can also walk into the studio and trust that everybody’s hat is cocked at the same angle, including producer Rudy Van Gelder’s. It’s that way with Soul Station. Everything comes together in a rare moment. Wynton Kelly is in excellent form, Paul Chamber’s sound is pristine. And Art Blakey, usually a heavy player, adapts very well to a relatively soft-hued, swinging session. The compositions are deceptively simple and well-balanced. On a lot of other Blue Note recordings it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the quality of the compositions. But on Soul Station authenticity is its main asset.” Does that exclude Hank Mobley’s Workout? “ O no, not at all. A fantastic record. Same goes for Another Workout. But Soul Station is something special. To me.”

“It’s pretty hard picking one favorite record from an artist. Well, virtually impossible! Take Horace Silver. For your sake, I’d like to see the period of his quintet featuring Junior Cook and Blue Mitchell as one whole; records such as Blowin’ The Blues Away and Tokyo Blues. what attracts me in that group? Well, it obviously runs like a Swiss watch! About a decade ago I discovered tv footage for a Dutch programme. (Senor Blues, Cool Blues, on NPS Jazz) How sharp that group was, and concentrated and dedicated. Unbelievable.

“It might be an uncommon comparison, but in my view Horace Silver’s essence relates to that of Burt Bacharach. I once asked Bacharach the question that naturally is on everybody’s lips: ‘What makes a Bacharach song a Bacharach song? What is it?’ He answered: ‘If I would only know!’ I guess Silver wasn’t exactly conscious of what made his funky, groovy hard bop tunes tick. But tick they did!’

Mentioning Cannonball Adderley makes Mantel shift in his seat, for a number of reasons. “Cannonball is full of life, frivolous and he sounds positive. All the more so combined with Yusef Lateef, the sextet. You know, Miles Davis took in Cannonball (in 1958) because he liked that blues thing. Ironically, Cannonball hired Lateef (in 1961) for the same reason, because he wanted someone who could blow a heavier blues than him! Dig, for instance, Trouble In Mind. (from In Europe, 1962) Lateef is known for that Eastern stuff, of course, but he was a real bluesman as well, essentially.

“I like the Cannonball records featuring pianists Bobby Timmons, Victor Feldman and Joe Zawinul.” When mentioning Barry Harris, who played on the classic Them Dirty Blues, the sparkle in Hans Mantel’s eyes resembles a ray of Marrakech sunlight through a tiny terracota window. “Barry Harris! Well, in my mind Harris is the greatest hard bop pianist of all time. And one of the major teachers. His depth is frightening. Did you know that Barry Harris is the most renowned authority on the works of Thelonious Monk and Bud Powell?”

Naturally, Barry Harris contributed masterfully to the Blue Note, Riverside and Prestige catalogue. Mantel stresses, however, that Viccisitudes (MPS, 1972) is a crackerjack job, and that we shouldn’t underestimate his work for Xanadu in the seventies. “If Barry Harris ever makes a record on which we hear him playing poker, I’ll buy it.”

“You know, I could pick any record out of the hard bop section of my record collection with a blindfold and select it as a favorite for one particular reason. Take Solid from Grant Green (Recorded in 1964 but released in 1979) featuring James Spaulding and Elvin Jones, among others. I sometimes pick a record like that, listen to it attentively for a couple of weeks, walking with my head in the clouds. It’s such a goddamn good record. It remained in the vaults for ages before finally being released. A crime and misdemeanor!”

It would certainly be a crime and misdemeanor to put back into the vaults this bunch of wonderful records that bassist, jazz lector and aficionado shed his light upon. So let’s hurry to our turntables.