Richard Twardzik The Last Set (Pacific Jazz 1954/62)

Hell-bound alchemist of bop and assorted varieties of modern music left this world much too soon, leaving a concise but charged legacy of jazz piano. 

Personnel

Richard Twardzik (piano),  Carson Smith (bass), Jimmy Bond (bass, B4), Peter Littman (drums), Chet Baker (trumpet B4)

Recorded

on October 24, 1954, 1954 at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey and (B4), on October 11, 1955 at Studio Pathé Magellan, Paris

Released

as PJ-37 in 1962

Track listing

Side A: A Crutch For The Crab / Yellow Tango / Bess, You Is My Woman / Just One Of Those Things / Side B: Albuquerque Social Swim / I’ll Remember April / ‘Round Midnight / The Girl From Greenland

For a talent like Dick Twardzik, a footprint of one solo record is rather scant. And then only released eight years after his passing, well tough luck.

Of course, this is not an unlikely scenario for someone who dies from an overdose in a Parisian hotel room at the age of 24.

Part of the deal. For many, in those days. Nothing to mythologize, as we jazz fans are wont. Plain misery. Rotten teeth. Sick like an oil-poisoned turtle. Skin as dry as sandpaper, infected with hideous purple marks. Eyes like death. Emphatic powers below zero in Siberia.

Reportedly, Twardzik believed that his playing benefited from the needle. True or not, Boston-born Twardzik (1931) was somewhat a prodigy who befriended baritone saxophonist Serge Chaloff and was taught a lot of classical stuff by Chaloff’s mother. He played with Charlie Parker. An original mind that sought ways to add to the innovations of Bud Powell, akin in some ways to Lennie Tristano and Herbie Nichols.

A crazy bird that temporarily ended up in California, hooked up with Chet Baker., quite literally as well. While on tour in Europe and France (the hotel room, the heroine overdose, the death), he was featured on Chet Baker’s sublime Chet Baker Quartette, which showcased the compositions of Bob Zieff. Take a listen to that album, to Baker and Twardzik. If it would’ve been Bill Evans playing on it, everybody would go about singing halleluja.

Only eight years after his passing, well good luck, it is said above. Well, not completely true. The session from October 11, 1955 with bassist Carson Smith and drummer Peter Littman was released in 1956 on the A-side of Trio on Pacific Jazz, which featured fellow pianist and Baker associate Russ Freeman on side B. Fine, but a weird idea.

Freeman moved on, Twardzik stepped on a rainbow. Then, in 1962, owner of Pacific Jazz, Richard Bock, put out The Last Set and included two bonus tracks (one with Chet Baker), a sincere homage to Twardzik though another weird idea in an era of new jazz innovations and fads. How many copies did Bock expected to sell?

Glad he was willing to stick his neck out, though. Seemingly essential Twardzik. His piano is a bit out of tune, sounds spooky, slightly woolly, appropriate counterpoint to  the scrawny fellow’s stuttering crescendos, percussive bombs, oddball dissonant little phrases, long, intense lines that boil like green peas on a blackened pit.

Quirky, beautiful tunes. A Crutch For The Crab, which oozes the freedom within constraints of veterans like Teddy Wilson and Earl Hines, who were able to make notes quiver like radio waves, tempos slide by like cruising Cadillacs on the boulevard. Yellow Tango, tango indeed, tinged with the weight of the macrocosmos. Twardzik’s take on Bess, You Is My Woman is a bittersweet dream. The fast-paced Just One Of This Things finds him in the mood of a Bebop Bach.

Certainly an if-only-guy that needs to be checked out and kept in the limelight.

Jimmy Forrest Sit Down And Relax (Prestige 1961)

And have a natural ball.

Personnel

Jimmy Forrest (tenor saxophone), (Calvin Newborn, guitar), Hugh Lawson (piano) Tommy Potter (bass), Clarence Johnston (drums)

Recorded

on September 1, 1961 at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey

Released

as Prestige 7235 in 1961

Track listing

Side A: Tuxedo Junction / Organ Grinder’s Swing / Moonglow / Side B: Tin Tin Deo / Rocks In My Bed / The Moon Was Yellow

The longer ago an event took place or a place has been in the public, or in jazz’s case, in the aficionado’s eye, the more myth is attached to it. Bird and Dizzy’s appearance at Billy Berg’s in Los Angeles. Longer ago, rowdy Storyville in New Orleans, where brothel musicians touched upon a new musical thing some people soon called ‘jass’.

If only you could take a time machine and experience how it was, is an all-too familiar sentiment.

Fate Marable on the riverboat. Major-league folklore. Marable led dance bands on steamboats that plied the Mississipi River early in the 20th Century and the paddlewheel line that navigated around New Orleans decades after. Mentor to Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Jimmy Lunceford, Chick Webb, Count Basie.

So, if you read about some jazz cat or other and see he’s played with Fate Marable, you say ‘wow, heavy’.

Jimmy Forrest played in Marable’s band on the riverboat. So say ‘wow heavy’, y’all. That’s going back a long way! The tenor saxophonist was born in St. Louis, Missouri in 1920. A teenager in the middle of the development from ‘jass’ to swing. Onwards from 1940, Forrest played in the bands of Jay McShann, Andy Kirk, Duke Ellington and Count Basie.

Of course, he’s Mr. Night Train. That tune, derived from Johnny Hodges’ That’s The Blues, Old Man and Duke Ellington’s Happy-Go-Lucky-Local, was a nr. 1 hit on the r&b charts in 1952.

Forrest led various small combos. Blues-drenched, entertaining music that cooks. Something to sit down to and relax with, well, nothing wrong with that, though likely you’ll find yourself tappin’ your feet, strolling around, snapping your fingers.

One of his best records, Sit Down And Relax With Jimmy Forrest, no mistaking, ís a relaxed album. A good almost nonchalant groove and a sense of relief pervades his set of old warhorses as much as sustained energy and lively blowing. He’s got his mind set on a good story, working his way to slightly uprooting climaxes, Ben Webster-style.

Forrest brings us back to the ‘ol days’, the source. Erskine Hawkins’ Tuxeco Junction (Louis Jordan), Hudson/Mills/Parish’s Organ Grinder’s Swing (Jimmy Lunceford Orchestra), Hudson/Mills/DeLange’s Moonglow (Joe Venuti, Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw), Duke Ellington’s Rocks In My Bed (Ivie Anderson, Ella Fitzgerald), Ahlert/Leslie’s The Moon Was Yellow (Dorsey Brothers, Frank Sinatra).

A band of cats that rarely caught the public eye. Pianist Hugh Lawson, associated with Yusef Lateef. Guitarist Calvin Newborn, brother of Phineas Newborn, taking a bunch of bossy, fat-toned solos. Bassist Tommy Potter, alumnus of Charlie Parker’s bands. Drummer Clarence Johnston, collaborator of James Moody, Sonny Stitt, Freddie Roach. A good band, earthy, driving, relaxed…

Good match for the ‘star of the show’, Jimmy Forrest, perhaps daydreaming about uncle Fate, blowing smoky and saucy, wrapping it up at Van Gelder office in New Jersey, time for a drink, a talk, a bite, anything to settle down after an afternoon of good-time, spontaneous swing.

Al Grey & Billy Mitchell Dizzy Atmosphere (Specialty 1957)

Vets and young guns bond over the liaison between swing and bop.

Personnel

Al Grey (trombone), Billy Mitchell (tenor saxophone), Lee Morgan (trumpet), Billy Root (baritone saxophone), Wynton Kelly (piano), Paul West (bass), Charlie Persip (drums)

Recorded

on February 18, 1957 at Master Recorders in in Los Angeles

Released

as Specialty 5001 in 1957

Track listing

Side A: Dishwater / Someone I Know / D.D.T / Whisper Not / Side B: About Time / Day By Day / The Rite Of Swing / Over The Rainbow

Crash boom bang. Here they go, hands in the dishwater,  rush hour in the kitchen, splashing soapy water everywhere, scrubbing fat from a skillet, clanging forks in a bucket, merrily, but business-like, talking shop paced with a rhythm simultaneous to the beat of their work. That’s trombonist Al Grey, tenor saxophonist Billy Mitchell, trumpeter Lee Morgan, baritone saxophonist Billy Root, pianist Wynton Kelly, bassist Paul West and drummer Charlie Persip, thriving on a great riff called Dishwater, ten-minute swinger and the opener to a curious and exciting album on Specialty, otherwise known as a label specializing in rhythm ‘n’ blues, rock ‘n’ roll, notably Little Richard and Lloyd Price, not to mention a roster of gospel artists.

At the time, these guys were part of Dizzy Gillespie’s bop orchestra, hence Dizzy Atmosphere, a Gillespie warhorse that actually is not featured here. Interestingly, Dishwater and other tunes remind of Count Basie while walking the path that men and women carved from swing and bop. Note that Al Grey and Billy Mitchell joined Basie soon after this recording, and, lest we forget, would co-lead a prolific recording and live band in the early 1960’s.

Note also that five out of eight tunes were written and arranged by Roger Spotts, elusive composer and arranger who worked with Gillespie, Basie, Ray Charles and Lionel Hampton.

Lee Morgan was barely 18 years old at the time, eager young lion, and he acquits himself very well, blowing hot stuff on Dishwater and leading the melody of Benny Golson’s classic Whisper Not with full-bodied, sweet-toned trumpet, soloing crisply with the Harmon mute. If I may be allowed to go into detail, Benny Golson wrote Whisper Not while he was in Dizzy’s band and this February take is an early version. It was recorded initially by Lee Morgan in December 1956, featured on Lee Morgan Sextet, then on January 7, 1957 for Thad Jones’s Mad Thad album and, later on, on Golson’s own The New York Scene in October of the same year. Of course, it would become a staple of Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers when Golson’d joined forces with Lee Morgan in 1958.

All soloists are solid and lively on this album’s set of blues and ballads, not least Al Grey, veteran of the bands of Benny Carter, Jimmy Lunceford, Lionel Hampton and a specialist of the old-fashioned plunger style. He’s got that fat and filthy sound and gives Dizzy Atmosphere its attractive old-timey feeling, while, make no mistake, running through fast-paced changes seemingly effortlessly and on fire.

Dizzy Atmosphere is usually shelved under Lee Morgan, most famous and collectible cat in this roster, but Al Grey and Billy Mitchell are pictured on the sleeve, so it’s only reasonable to call this Al Grey/Billy Mitchell’s Dizzy Atmosphere. At any rate, it’s an excellent, carefully produced blowing session.

Ray Charles Genius + Soul = Jazz (Impulse 1961)

Basie Men and B3 and Brother Ray, a match for the ages. 

Personnel

Ray Charles (organ, piano, vocals) and a.o. Philip Guilbeau, Clark Terry, Thad Jones, Joe Newman, Snooky Young (trumpet), Frank Foster, Budd Johnson (tenor saxophone), Marshal Royal (alto saxophone), Charlie Fowlkes (baritone saxophone), Al Grey, Jimmy Cleveland (trombone), Freddie Green (guitar), Eddie Jones, Joe Benjamin (bass), Sonny Payne, Roy Haynes (drums)

Recorded

on December 26 & 27, 1960 at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey

Released

as Impulse A-2 in 1961

Track listing

Side A: From The Heart / I’ve Got News For You / Moanin’ / Let’s Go / One Mint Julep / Side B: I’m Gonna Move To The Outskirts Of Town / Stompin’ Room Only / Mister C / Strikin’ Up The Band / Birth Of The Blues

Why don’t you forget about all those differences between genres as jazz, blues, soul, gospel and rock & roll and see the big picture. The so-called differences are not so much of a musical nature, yes of course every genre has its distinctive features, but, dig, it all goes back to the same sources, for instance jazz has a foundation in the musical freedom of the spirituals and the gospel beat, for instance soul is a secular version of gospel, for instance rock & roll is the child of the black performers in the chitlin’ circuit and black electric blues, no, the so-called differences are more of a social nature, for instance Mahalia Jackson abhorred filthy lyrics but wouldn’t have been who she was without Bessie Smith, for instance many religious people denounced Sam Cooke’s crossover to secular music, for instance, to get closer to our time, Beyonce going country addresses contemporary social issues, gimmicky as it may appear.

For instance, no, especially Ray Charles (ah, country, he already diddit way back when) is all of these genres encapsulated in one man.

Aye, certainly a jazzy cat, Ray Charles, no mistaking. He started out as a blues player and singer who emulated the jazz inflections of the Nat King Cole trio. Later on, when he’d made the big time, he,  like Duke Ellington or Fletcher Henderson, heard every note the band played, switched every note to his liking if necessary, because in his particular case he’d come up the hard way, learning music by ear and braille. Brother Ray definitely had a jazz sensibility.

His pioneering ‘small big’ ensemble of the soul hits rocked Newport in 1958, like a smaller version of the Jean Goldkette or Count Basie bands or The Savoy Sultans. Heads turned, oh so this is deep down home swing, we better get back to the roots. This band featured Hank Crawford and David “Fathead” Newman and later on, Ray Charles created a big band full of first-rate jazz guys and excellent discoveries by Charles himself.

His second album of his groundbreaking stint on Atlantic was a jazz record, The Great Ray Charles. He partnered up with pal Milt Jackson on a couple of records on that label. (switching to alto saxophone in the process) He made Ray Charles And Betty Carter along the way, and later on in the 1970s, on his own Tangerine label, a couple of jazz records.

He made records like Genius + Soul = Jazz (there you have it), a killer big band jazz album if ever I heard one, and, hey, also a blues, vocal and organ album.

Not that that 1961 album is to everyone’s liking. Plenty people, over time, expressed a disinterest in the organ playing of Ray Charles, different strokes for different folks.

It’s absolutely a different organ ballgame on Ray Charles’s only album on Impulse, number 2 in the catalogue of a new label, The House That Trane (eventually) Built, follow-up to J.J. Johnson & Kai Winding’s The Great Kai & J.J., precursor to Kai Winding’s The Incredible Kai Winding Trombones, with all due respect, good records but historically irrelevant in the company of Brother Ray.

Much has been said about the music but do you realize that it took place at Van Gelder Studio in Englewood Cliffs? All those guys under the roof of Rudy’s legendary place, digging what they have been doing, Clark Terry cracking a joke to Thad Jones, Sonny Payne complaining about traffic conditions on the turnpike to Freddie Green. Everybody putting their coat on and murmuring, ‘man that Ray sure knows what he’s doing…’

You’ve noticed: almost all of those are Basie men. Although class acts like Roy Haynes and Urbie Green also put in their five cents. Arrangements are by Charles’s childhood friend Quincy Jones and Ralph Burns. The outsider is trumpeter Philip Guilbeau, alumnus from the Ray Charles band, but he blends in well, fearlessly, effortlessly, puts in fine solos, jubilant, ripe as sparkling berries, especially in the opener, Charles’s smokin’ From The Heart.

It’s Basie-ish, naturally, with Sonny Payne spurring everybody on, and the relentless chuck-chuck of Freddie Green’s unmissable guitar, on tunes as Strike Up The Band, and Stompin’ Room Only. As blues goes, I’ve Got News For You is a gas, marked by sardonic lyrics and luscious call-and-response between Charles’s Hammond organ and the orchestra, and sassy singing by Brother Ray, perhaps not the primal scream of his iconic Sinner’s Prayer, but getting the message across and not without a sorrowful climatic whoop.

Ray Charles is not Jimmy Smith on the organ, neither in sound nor execution, in fact his sound is totally opposite and though it’s understandable that some people have been put off, there’s no question that it, without a doubt, is 100% Ray Charles, which is what counts. (He actually preceded Jimmy Smith in recording a big band album by three years) His tone is dry like desert dust, sharp like a knife. He’s playing the organ like his piano, like his sax, like he sings. Timed angularly and brusquely, chock-full of nuanced blues figures, a piercing sound that moves like an arrow through the gusty wind.

And you can hear his mischievous left-hand comps colliding with his runs, which in turn sneak in and out of the orchestral sound carpet like mice in and out of the various holes in the kitchen wall. Just ponder for a moment at how he kickstarts his story of Bobby Timmons’s classic hard bop cut Moanin’, ouch. His own Mister C., reminding of his Atlantic r&b stuff, is also no joke.

Ray Charles objected to the term ‘genius’, is cited as reserving that term for someone like Art Tatum. At any rate, there’s no question about it, there was nobody like Brother Ray and he was all soul and all jazz.

Brother Jack Mcduff To Seek A New Home (Blue Note 1970)

The temporary home of Brother Jack in the UK was an abandoned rectory full of funky junk and mysterious red and yellow pills. Peace in the vivacious valley. 

Personnel

Brother Jack Mcduff (organ, piano), Martin Drover, Terry Noonan & Bud Parks (trumpet), Norman Leppard, Dick Morrisey, Jack Whitford, Dave Willis (saxophones), John Bennet, Adrian Drover (trombone), Dave Statham, Willie Watson (French horn), J.J. Jackson (piano), Chris Parren (electric piano), Terry Smith (guitar), Typhena Partridge (harp), Peter Chapman, Larry Steele (bass), Trevor Armstrong, Phil Leaford (drums), Debrah Long, Jerry Long (vocals)

Recorded

on March 23-26, 1970 at Island Studios, London

Released

as Blue Note 84348 in 1970

Track listing

Side A: Yellow Wednesday / Come And Carry Me Home / Mystic John / Side B: Hunk O’Funk / Seven Keys For Seven Doors

They shot Martin Luther King on April 4, 1968 and and all hell broke loose, looters swarmed the cities, shouting ‘revolution’. Riotous black cats threatened to burn down Detroit during James Brown’s gig at Boston Garden on April 5 and it took the brave Boss ‘o’ the Funky Beat to quit things down. Whiteys preached the power of the flower in their hairs and danced to the groove of Brown, just like their black counterparts, it was funk here and funk there, an explosion of steam boat beats, horny grunts, wild horns, the stench of garbage in the gutter, the smell of saucy ribs and the sizzle of the hot sun on the tenement roofs.

There was a fusion and Miles Davis started to toy with the rhythm of the asphalt jungle. Jazz mingled with rock, psychedelica, soul and suddenly you had broad-minded birds like Lou Donaldson, Sly & The Family Stone, Chambers Brothers, Brian Auger’s Oblivion Express. Jazzers like Rusty Bryant, Reuben Wilson, Grant Green, The Three Sounds, Jimmy Smith all picked up the bat and took a few soulful swings, not least organist Brother Jack Mcduff.

Yeah, Brother Jack, the churchiest of the great organists, who had been popular since 1960, led the hottest band in the mid-1960’s with guitarist George Benson, tenor saxophonist Red Holloway and drummer Joe Dukes, made some soul-tinged records in the summers of love, peace and happiness, went all out at the tail end of the decade, way out. By then the bla bla bla of the hippies, though still vivid, had endured the blow of the killings during the Stones concert on Altamont. Afro-Futurism promised a way out of the mess in the hood, a coming of supreme blackness.

Sly Stone was on smack. He made a dark record, There’s A Riot Goin’ On.

The jazz labels promoted stylish and gritty, upbeat funky stuff, hoping for a hit cover version of a popular soul or funk song. Or they trusted their artists to pick and make funky tunes. Brother Jack had covered Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come in 1966. He’d done his own soulful Marvin Gaye/Curtis Mayfield-ish Let My People Go in 1968. Brother Jack cared about his people and cared about good-time uplifting jazz.

A year later, the Champaign, Illinois-born organist, alumnus of the Prestige, Cadet and Atlantic labels, was on the roster of Blue Note and had become a colleague of Lou Donaldson, Grant Green, Reuben Wilson, Lonnie Smith, John Patton. A whole lotta heavyweight soul jazz. At first, in 1969, Brother Jack handed in Down Home Style, which was just that, pure and earthy funk and blues with a band of adept unknown jazz funkateers.

Intriguingly, his subsequent albums expanded on his gritty vision. Moon Rappin’ was truly weird, a mix of funk jazz and spaced-out vibes, and poetry to boot. Then came 1970’s To Seek A New Home, and, half a year later, Who Knows What Tomorrow’s Gonna Bring, a quirky booming boogie affair with American stalwarts as Randy Brecker, Joe Beck and Tony Levin, mostly written and arranged by Ray Draper.

(A year later, now back on Cadet Records, McDuff recorded The Heatin’ System, which included a wild and wicked title cut, maybe best described as voodoo funk.)

To Seek A New Home is a collaboration between down-home McDuff and a bunch of English musicians, presumably recorded while the Hammond B3 beast was on tour in the U.K. But it’s not an ad hoc affair, by any means. All tunes are by McDuff, one co-written by pianist J.J. Jackson, sole American cook on Masterchef McDuff’s groove gumbo. Probably an expat who was familiar with the British cats. I’m not familiar with these British cats. Among guys like Martin Drover, David Stratham, Jack Whitford, Chris Parren, Peter Chapman, Trevor Armstrong, Jerry Long, Terry Smith, only Dick Morrisey rings a big bell. A figurehead of English jazz (rock) who played and recorded with everybody from Tubby Hayes, Jack Bruce, Steve Gadd to Paul McCartney.

There’s a striking British feel, Yellow Wednesday is prog-y, modal-tinged, flavored with a blue-eyed soul feeling, Mystic John makes use of an Indian strain and wouldn’t be out of place on records by Brian Auger, Rod Argent, Spooky Tooth, Gong, you name it, marked by parts of flute and harp, courtesy of Typhena Partridge. Gospel-tinged Come And Carry Me Home and greasy Hunk O’ Funk work out well, notably because of the slick combination of Hammond and Chris Parren’s electric piano. Solo spots by Morrisey on tenor and flute and by Terry Smith on guitar (his pal from jazz-rock outfit If, I had to look that up) are positively nifty. And the American boss on the B3 puts in his spirited five cents.

The album climaxes with Seven Keys For Seven Doors, esoteric soul jazz hodgepodge that develops (somehow, in mildly bewildering ways) from low-bottom drone, slow groove, riff, straight swing to psychedelic coda, and, sign of the times, ending with the sound of a gong. Peace y’all! To Seek A New Home strikes a pleasant balance between gritty and mellow, oddball and deftness, and should appeal to aficionados of the quirky side of soul jazz.

Shorty Rogers The Swinging Mr. Rogers (Atlantic 1955)

West Coast East Coast No Coast. 

Personnel

Shorty Rogers (trumpet), Jimmy Giuffre (tenor saxophone), Pete Jolly (piano), Curtis Counce (bass), Shelly Manne (drums)

Recorded

on March 1 & 3, 1955 in Los Angeles

Released

as Atlantic 1212 in 1955

Track listing

Side A: Isn’t It Romantic / Trickleydidlier / Oh Play That Thing / Not Really The Blues / Side B: Martians Go Home / My Heart Stood Still / Michele’s Meditation / That’s What I’m Talkin’ About

The Little Giant is Johnny Griffin’s monicker, perfectly suitable at that, though it would’ve been equally appropriate for trumpeter Shorty Rogers. They gave him the generic Shorty instead, this little big man from Great Bannington, Massachussets, born Milton Rajonski in 1924. Pigeonholed as “West Coast” ever since he pursued a successful career in Los Angeles.

Darn successful. Rogers, who came up in the bands of Woody Herman and Stan Kenton, recorded with the best of musicians based on the West Coast, was a prolific musical force in the movie industry, (Tarzan, The Ape Man!), accompanied singers like Eartha Kitt. At one time, believe it or not, the guy had Johnny “Guitar” Watson in his band. He was the A&R guy for RCA Victor and even made music for symphony orchestras. Some of his records were pretty nifty mixes of cool and hot, with a touch of modernism. He knew his bop and loved Count Basie.

Cool, hot, modernist? Yes, all of that. Though the bizniz men loved to put everything in the mould of West Coast Jazz, doing a pretty good job to boot, it was a label that ultimately limited the qualities of players who lived and worked there, guys like – taking as example 1955’s The Swinging Mr. Rogers – Rogers, Jimmy Giuffre (Dallas, Texas), Pete Jolly (New Haven, Connecticut), Curtis Counce (Kansas City, Missouri) and Shelly Manne (New York City, New York).

Good example. Fine album it is, Rogers’ debut on Atlantic, after a productive stint since 1952 on Capitol and RCA Victor. Atlantic bosses Ahmet and (jazz specialist) Nesuhi Ertegun no doubt realized the potential of these fellows, whatever coast they may have been on, West Coast, East Coast, No Coast… Fellows with a sun tan, though much of the time, they’d been night owls, on first row when Charlie Parker and Dexter Gordon’d been in town, prowling Central Avenue. Rogers would record three more albums on Atlantic in 1955 and 1956.

Listen to the start of this record and Rogers and Giuffre’s soft and sweeping intro of Isn’t It Romantic. Pure seduction. Two gypsies standing in front of a tent on a carnival and waving their hands, telling you to come in and boo-a-peek…

And you’re in for a nice ride. The cushion-soft Trickleydidlier, reminding of fellow West Coast-expat Gerry Mulligan’s arranging skills. The cookin’ Not Really The Blues, Johnny Mandel’s tune, which bops hard. The hip Martians Go Home with its slick variation of instrumentation. The lovely ballad Michele’s Meditation, Rogers on full-bodied trumpet, Giuffre on sweet-toned clarinet, two musicians that had developed a bond since the late 1940’s, singing a melancholic song together in call-and-response.

It undeniably is a top-notch album, Rogers playing clear and bright trumpet, Giuffre his own man on tenor and baritone, interacting with a great rhythm team, a quintet that’s versatile and swinging, in 1955, that’s 70 years ago, music that still sounds fresh as the taste of the freshest parsley.

Jimmy Smith The Sermon (Blue Note 1959)

Mr. Smith goes to New York.

Personnel

Jimmy Smith (organ), Lee Morgan (trumpet), Tina Brooks (tenor saxophone), George Coleman & Lou Donaldson (alto saxophone), Eddie McFadden & Kenny Burrell (guitar), Donald Bailey (drums)

Recorded

on August 25,  1957 and February 28, 1958 at Manhattan Towers, New York

Released

as BLP 4011 in 1959

Track listing

Side A: The Sermon / Side B: J.O.S / Flamingo

One memory fades like the charm of a middle-aged rock singer, the other burns brightly like a torch. It’s like that and that’s the way it is. No matter how inconsequential this one may be, regardless of burned-out brain cells, moth-infested skull, feeble legs, minutes dripping from the sink like blood-red wine drops, this one is vivid, like it happened yesterday. I was young and I was driving on the highway near Antwerp, Belgium on my way home, the night was dark and silent except for the lights and the engine and Jimmy Smith’s The Sermon and ever since that super-swinging piece of organ jazz is road and night music beyond peer.

You dig, right? If there’s a candidate for the penultimate car and night music prize, it’s The Sermon. It’s long, approximately 20 minutes, and the groove, courtesy of Art Blakey’s shuffle and Smith’s bass work, is unstoppable. In fact, Blakey is somewhat the secret weapon here, eschewing his customary thunderous press rolls and concentrating on the beat instead, turning the heat up ever-so-slightly, finally letting loose during the shout chorus. It’s a relaxed but energetic beat that makes the guys at ease and swing with verve and flow. Everything just seems to go on and on relentlessly and before you know it you find yourself in Paris, Texas.

It’s a sin to spin Smith’s classic tune in broad daylight, though I have to confess that I committed it only last week on a bright and hot summer afternoon. It’s a bit like licking ice cream on the tundra. It was more like listening with the mind instead of the heart although the heart, as usual, comes out on top. At any rate, the reason was that it was about time that Jimmy Smith made his re-entry in Flophouse Magazine. Besides, how pitiful would it be to consciously get into the car at midnight and try to relive that one-of-a-kind experience on the highway? It’s tempting, but fruitless nostalgia. Besides, by 2 AM I’m usually sleeping on both ears and gears.

Among jazz fans, even organ jazz fans, there seems to be a downplaying of Jimmy Smith. They say he may have invented modern organ jazz but played the same stuff for the rest of his career. They say that he was very commercial. To this I say: I never hear you ladies and gentlemen complain about Stan Getz or Oscar Peterson playing the same stuff all their lives. And making good money. Admittedly, we all play favorites. I know guys that detest organ jazz and sneak in the nearest souvenir store every time I threaten to ramble on about it. I know people that love it and prefer the harmonies of pioneer Wild Bill Davis. Me, I have a special place in my heart for Don Patterson and the French organist Eddy Louiss and can conjure up many organ jazz highlights from other organists.

But let there be no mistake, Jimmy Smith is The Source. Miles Davis said he was “The Eight Wonder Of The World”. Better listen when the Dark Prince commences to ra(p)sp. Why? Well, firstly, Smith revolutionized bass playing, adding left hand patterns on the lower keyboard to the foot pedal style, broadening the tonal range and providing room for syncopation. Secondly, he cut down on the bombast of full registrations and slowed down the speed of the Leslie Speaker as well as made full use of the span-new percussive response, while accentuating notes with the expression pedal. This way, Smith created a clear sound that had the flexibility and punch of the horn.

Combined with Smith’s furious Bud Powell runs, the Smith style was a Big Bang. It was hot, propulsive, sinuous, and bluesy to the core. Ultimately, there is befóre and áfter Jimmy Smith and though he probably made too many records, like Sonny Stitt, one can only say that there is only one Sonny, there is only one Jimmy and you can hear the magic on countless occasions. (Part of the magic, lest we forget,  is maestro Rudy van Gelder, who was the first in finding ways to get this modern organ sound across in the studio)

The Sermon is but one example of the Smith revolution – recorded by Van Gelder not in his usual haunt at his parent’s place in Hackensack but at Manhattan Towers Hotel Ballroom –  listen to the bass lines and the bebop phrasing and the punch and the propulsion. The catchy blues theme is kicked off by Smith and Blakey, and it’s already fine like that, Smith’s low-end crunch and Blakey’s light breeze and Smith goes on for a good five minutes with fresh choruses, building a well-balanced, suspenseful story.

“The guys” are, in that order, Kenny Burrell, tenor saxophonist Tina Brooks, trumpeter Lee Morgan and alto saxophonist Lou Donaldson. Some heavyweights paying their dues. It’s interesting, though, that one newcomer, young star Lee Morgan, settles for a range of staccato, vocalized notes, while the other, virtual unknown Tina Brooks, burns through a series of kinetic choruses, endlessly inventive and smooth.

Lest we forget, Flamingo ain’t too bad, and the odd one out, J.O.S., leftover from a session with George Coleman on alto saxophone, typically included by Lion & The Wolff to complete one of myriad Smith discs, is a nice one. But it’s Reverend Smith’s relentless sermon that does the trick. Amen!