Mr. Smith goes to New York.

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!