“You swingin’ to me?”

Photographer Ron Eckstein looks back on an extraordinary career that took him from a yellow cab to the legend and local hero-studded clubs of The Big Apple.  

Ronald Reagan was an actor who had become President of The United States. Michael Jackson was a phenomenon that walked around like a zombie. Sarah Vaughan was the greatest living female jazz singer and was performing at the Blue Note club in Manhattan. Eckstein: “I was crouched on the floor in front and got up to take a photograph. A guy behind me was annoyed and said something like ‘get down, you’re in my way, get down!’ Sarah Vaughan said to me, ‘don’t listen to him, come up to the dressing room between sets and take all the shots that you want.'”

He didn’t have to be told twice. The Vaughan episode was one of the first times that Eckstein took a jazz photograph in New York. The New Yorker was already in his mid-thirties, child of a father that was born in Bucharest, Rumania and a mother that came from Vienna, Austria. Years before shooting pictures of the legendary, amiable singer, the immigrant son had joined a work force as common as cookery or factory, yet defined, besides the skyline, the global image of The Big Apple. Eckstein: “I was about thirty years old and driving a taxi cab. I’d have my radio in the cab and listen to mostly jazz, those were the days of the legendary DJ’s Symphony Sid and Al “Jazzbeaux’ Collins. There was this new camera, the point and shoot auto-focus camera, so I was able to take quick photos from behind the wheel. That was a big help. I did this for a couple of years. It made driving a cab much more interesting.”

One night, the voice of a customer sounded vaguely familiar. Eckstein: “I was driving on the upper west side and I hear this gravelly voice ask me ‘Who’s that you’re listening to, Tito Puente?’ I said ‘yeah’ and glanced over my shoulder and sure enough it was Miles Davis. It turned out I drove him to pick up some ‘stuff’. He gave me a toot and I layed some primo Hawaiian on him. A great exchange! 

(Miles Davis; Sarah Vaughan; Tito Puente – ©Ron Eckstein)

“Then I went to Maui in  Hawaii and worked odd jobs. I kept shooting pictures there around the island. I also went to local clubs photographing locals and visitors like Carlos Santana and Peter Tosh. When I came back to New York, I started going out to the clubs. The Village Vanguard, Sweet Basil’s and many smaller clubs. I’d always loved music, particularly jazz and Latin music. Before I knew it, I was the house photographer of the Blue Note club and Birdland. Soon, I was freelancing for The New Times and The New York Newsday. That’s how I got my start. Over the years, I literally shot about ten thousand images. Jazz, but also some blues and rock & roll, like Little Richard. I felt that this is what I was meant to do, be a photographer. I loved photography and music, it was a nice marriage of cultures.”

Eckstein reminds us that jazz musicians, not excluding the stars, are hard-working men and women, no different in a way from the garbageman, the corner grocer, the beat cop, the hustler, the sales woman, except that they sell their wares in the entertainment industry, off-Broadway.  They are fanatics that have long since realized that their art form is born of misery, a form not without inner strife, nor without interracial revolutions while, not least, the all-that-matters-is-can-you-play-attitude, huddling together wherever some daredevil opened up shop.

There are only small hints of glamour in his pictures. His style is black and white realism. Eckstein’s photographs have a grainy texture, weird angles, off-beat imperfections, like Monk’s dissonant quips. But you’ll notice a vividly captured essence. Contorted faces. Outpourings of the soul. Contemplation. Concentration. But also backstage banter, laughter, relaxation. Jazz artists, in the act of creation or wandering about like people at the airport. Eckstein was up close, like UP CLOSE. The aura is street photography-ish, slightly Gary Winogrand-ish, Bruce Gilden-ish. Tinges of punk. If he would’ve been into that, Eckstein could’ve been the chronicler of CBGB’s or Max’s Kansas City.

(Art Blakey; Lionel Hampton; Max Roach; ©Ron Eckstein)

But he was not. Eckstein was into people that practiced and played for hours, weeks, months and years on end. A who’s who of classic and contemporary jazz: Illinois Jacquet, Buddy Rich, Ellis Larkins, Ray Brown, Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis, Kenny Burrell, Horace Parlan, Frank Foster, Archie Shepp, Dave Brubeck, Stanley Turrentine, Pharaoh Sanders, Sun Ra, Sheila Jordan, Clark Terry, Jaki Byard, Abbey Lincoln, Stan Getz, Frank Morgan, Nancy Wilson, Big Nick Nicholas, Maxine Sullivan, Kenny Garrett, Emily Remler, Geri Allen, Wynton Marsalis, Regina Carter, Mark Turner, David Sanchez, Roy Hargrove, Jesse Davis and many others.

Not to mention beloved heroes such as Dizzy Gillespie. Eckstein: “Eventually, I hung out backstage a lot. The musicians kind of accepted me after a while. I got on particularly well with Dizzy Gillespie. The first shot that I ever took of Dizzy Gillespie was a miracle. It was at The Village Gate. On Monday nights they used to have a thing called salsa vs jazz. They would invite soloists to play with a Latin band. Dizzy was the guest of Tito Puente that evening. Dizzy was standing around in the vestibule. We were hanging out and I took this picture from the hip. I didn’t know it at the time but when I developed the roll, it blew my mind! He could’ve been standing anywhere in the universe, but he happened to be standing in front of a poster with himself on it. The way he was framed in front of it was uncanny and just perfect, even to the patch of grey hair on his head to the halo of himself in the picture. After that I knew that there is a higher power than us on this earth and in this universe!” 

(Dizzy Gillespie at The Village Gate; with Eckstein and son Roger; playing cards – ©Ron Eckstein)

If Herman Leonard’s famous photograph of Dexter Gordon is all about the hipness of jazz, the joy of creation and vitality, Eckstein’s portrait of Long Tall Dex defines the fragility and dignity of a hard-living, weathered veteran. Eckstein: “Gordon wasn’t performing much anymore. He came to The Blue Note one day to see his old friend Billy Eckstine. I was hanging out with the two of them and just happened to get that shot. It is one of my really good shots.” 

The times they are a-changing. But jazz remains ingrained in New York City in places like Small’s, Smoke, Mezzrow. At 77, Eckstein is now living a quieter life. “I go out occasionally, though I don’t shoot so much anymore. My eyes are not so great. I would go club hopping. Sometimes I would visit four clubs a night. The musicians got to know me, they let me in. That’s how it goes in life, when you are younger you got to push yourself, get as well-known as you can in your trade. You just got to plug away. I wouldn’t say that I was wildly successful or anything. But I’m still alive and trying my best.” 

(Dexter Gordon; Red Rodney; John Pizzarelli – ©Ron Eckstein)

Ron Eckstein

Ron Eckstein is a photographer who lives in Queens, New York City. Over the years, there have been several exhibitions of his work in the New York area.

Check out Ron Eckstein’s ‘pictures of his pictures’ on his Instagram page ‘ronaldeckstein’.

The Dizzy Gillespie Octet The Greatest Trumpet Of Them All (Verve 1957)

The Greatest Trumpet Of Them All finds Dizzy Gillespie in hard bop mode, assisted by two great talents of the period, Benny Golson and Gigi Gryce.

Dizzy Gillespie - The Greatest Trumpeter Of Them All

Personnel

Dizzy Gillespie (trumpet), Benny Golson (tenor saxophone, arrangements), Gigi Gryce (alto saxophone (arrangements), Pee Wee More (baritone saxophone), Henry Coker (trombone), Ray Bryant (piano), Tommy Bryant (bass), Charlie Persip (drums)

Recorded

on December 17, 1957 in New York City

Released

as Verve 8352 in 1959

Track listing

Side A:
Blues After Dark
Sea Breeze
Out Of The Past
Shabozz
Side B:
Reminiscing
A Night At Tony’s
Smoke Signals
Just By Myself


Perhaps we should not take the title – Verve’s uninspired effort to attract customers – too badly. To be sure, Dizzy Gillespie once remarked that Clark Terry was the greatest trumpet player he ever heard. By 1957, Gillespie had developed into one of the great ambassadors of jazz, still playing at a level most trumpeters could only dream of, yet behind him were the feats that had such a pervasive influence on America’s most original art form: Gillespie developed the modern jazz language with Charlie Parker, successfully introduced it to a wider audience, demonstrated unprecedented virtuosity on the trumpet (as direct heir to Louis Armstrong) and made a number of stunning, influential recordings with his Afro-Cuban big bands. A feat lesser-known, but not to be ignored, is his effort to sustain a black-owned record company, DeeGee Records, which was into business from 1951 to 1953.

Inevitably, Gillespie brings a smile to your face. His are happy sounds, vivid, playful, phrases that bubble with life, stories that are varnished with gladness, the promise of progress, an outlook that’s striking in a society prone to suppress the potential of his people, intent on sustaining the status quo. Sure he’s got the blues, his bends and slurs and piercing cadenzas evidently spell it out for you. Still, Dizzy Gillespie seems content. Likely, his life-long marriage to Lorraine has contributed to his well-being. But Gillespie may have been satisfied, he wasn’t complacent. His poignant, playful take on politics and discrimination speaks volumes. In 1964, Gillespie ran as an independent candidate for the Presidential Office, planning to rename The White House as The Blues House and appoint, among others, Duke Ellington as Secretary of State, Miles Davis as Director of the C.I.A. and Thelonious Monk as Traveling Ambassador!

Neither did Gillespie let anyone eat his lunch, white or black. In 1941, Gillespie sat in the trumpet chair of Cab Calloway’s band. The two didn’t get along very well, mostly on account of Calloway blaming Gillespie for his mischievous behavior and complex playing style, infamously dubbed ‘Chinese music’ by the famed singer and bandleader. During rehearsal, someone threw a spitball. Calloway blamed the innocent Gillespie, whereupon the trumpeter pulled a knife, a few minor cuts in Calloway’s leg the result. You can call it what you want, I call it messin’ with the kid

The Greatest Trumpet Of Them All was recorded on December 17, 1957. On December 11 and 19, Gillespie recorded with Sonny Stitt and Sonny Rollins, two sessions of powerful bebop that would be released as Duets in 1958 and Sonny Side Up in 1959, the opposite of the more mellow and restrained The Greatest. That album bears the mark of Golson and Gryce, who contribute Blues After Dark, Out Of The Past and Just By Myself (Golson) and Shabozz, A Night At Tony’s and Smoke Signals (Gryce). It is completed with Sea Breeze, a Latin-ish mood piece reminding us of ‘commercial’ Cal Tjader. Golson and Gryce were upcoming jazz men, swingin’, smokin’, but more soft-hued than Stitt and Rollins, Golson’s tenor velvet-y, the glow of warm marshmellows adding to a vibrant, comforting style, Gryce’s alto not without bite but suave, favoring fluent lines.

Fire and brimstone is not this album’s core business, instead a mellow vibe set by a responsive rhythm section soothes the soul, with Ray Bryant chiming in with rootsy, eloquent piano playing and the arrangements of Golson and Gryce adding tart harmony and precise, soulful stimulation of the soloists. Gillespie sets the pace, alternating between muted and open horn, sometimes even during the course of one tune – the truly unique composition of Benny Golson, Out Of The Past, practically impossible to fuck up, so beautiful and full of innate lyricism… Golson would record it magnificently, by the way, as a leader two days later, on December 19. So while Golson delivered it on the excellent The Modern Touch album, Gillespie was blowing hard with Sonny & Sonny… Gillespie’s playing moves so effortlessly, a marvel still, even if there is nothing to write up as ‘epic’. To be sure, for Gillespie, a driver at Le Mans, intervals are cinches like hairpins for Steve McQueen – check Smoke Signals. He dives into the abyss courageously, like an eagle in a tornado. The slurred exclamation point puts an end to meandering, meaningfully simple sentences…

Not essential, but fine Gillespie, no doubt.