© Introduction Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

[This is a portion from the latest draft of my planned biography of Shelly Manne [1920-1984] which I hope to self-publish later in the spring of this year. I thought it might be fun to share it with you.]

We live the consequences of our choices.

For Shelly Manne, his career choices thus far had all had good outcomes -going on the Kenton band, moving to Los Angeles from NYC, becoming a member of Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars, and joining Shorty Rogers and His Giants.

And now the time had come for Shelly to make another choice - to form his own band.

Like so many of Shelly’s choices, in retrospect they seem inevitable.

As the television industry grew out of its infancy, the movie studios gradually realized the obvious. For a brief moment in time, the movie moguls saw television as a major threat. Here was an apparatus that was soon to be in nearly every home throughout the country, and that meant only one thing to the studio heads — theater box office disaster! However, by the time they realized that TV was here to stay, they also recognized the potential of using their properties to produce television programs; first rather crude theatrical productions, but soon half-hour television "movies" called "series" were being produced.

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Because it was considered to be a lesser form of the art by East Coast Jazz critics, Gerry Mulligan often disparaged his time on the West Coast in the early 1950s.

In later interviews after he had established some degree of success he would often remark when asked about his involvement with the West Coast style: “My music would have been successful anywhere.”

Well, the fact of the matter was, despite an early “success” as an arranger for Gene Krupa’s big band and some notable contributions to the music that would later be immortalized as “The Birth of the Cool” Capitol recordings, Gerry was scuffling when he left New York and made a Route 66 car trip to California with his friend Gale Madden in 1951.

Even after he arrived on The Left Coast, he found little work beyond writing a few arrangements for Stan Kenton’s orchestra.

Who knows what would have happened to Gerry’s career if fate hadn’t intervened to provide The Haig, a club in Los Angeles, as a venue for the debut of The Gerry Mulligan Quartet featuring trumpeter Chet Baker.

The group became an overnight sensation and during its relatively brief existence from the Fall of 1952 to the Summer of 1953 it served to vault Gerry into national prominence within the Jazz community.

As John Tynan writes in the following article - “By the end of 1953, Mulligan was rated the nation’s top baritone saxist and Baker climbed out of obscurity to No. 1 in the Down Beat Readers’ Poll.”

Albeit short-lived, some gratitude might be in order here for the benefits of Gerry’s stay in the world of Jazz on the West Coast. And it would also seem that some reverse gratitude might be appropriate from other West Coast based Jazz artists for Gerry’s pioneering work in The City of Angels as it relates to the formation of the Pacific Jazz label.

Here are more details about some other factors and people who contributed to Gerry's success in this article by the West Coast Editor for Down Beat which was published in its May 2, 1956 edition.

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“Gary McFarland was unknown at twenty-eight when he turned up at a 1961 rehearsal [of Gerry Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band] with two pieces, "Weep" and "Chug-gin'," profoundly influenced by Ellington and Strayhorn.

When he died tragically ten years later, his reputation had been sullied by several commercial projects. But the McFarland that Mulligan sent on his way was an impressive writer (he soon fulfilled his promise with The Jazz Version of How To Succeed in Business, Point of Departure, and The October Suite), with an ear for melody and the ability to layer rhythms in the wind sections.

Like Bob Brookmeyer and Thad Jones, McFarland extended Ellington's harmonic density, employing what the arranger and educator Rayburn Wright called "grinds"—major and minor seconds woven into the voicings.”

- Gary Giddins, Visions of Jazz [p.362-363]

Any musician who is self-taught to any degree knows this as an almost universal truth: if you can hear it, you can find a way to play it.

I had to “unlearn” everything once I began taking drums lessons, because there is the right or correct way to execute music on the instrument; and then there is the way we learn to play when only the ear is the guide.

But I was a Jazz drummer before I became a technically proficient Jazz drummer. I just found a way to replicate on the instrument sounds that I heard while listening to records.

And although I wasn’t in their league, many of the Jazz greats learned to play by ear and received technical training later in life or, in some cases, not at all.

This is also true of composer-arrangers.

As a teen-ager, Gil Evans listened to records at speeds slower than 78rpm’s to pick out sounds from the Louis Armstrong recordings that he treasured and then invented his own notation system to write arrangements before he had any sort of schooling in the art of orchestration.

This may account for the fact that Gil’s arrangements always seem to use unique combinations of instruments including tubas with flutes and rarely heard [in Jazz] reed instruments such as the oboe and English horn.

He was trying to replicate into music sounds that he heard in his head and these odd or unusual instruments were the best source to emulate his impressions.

He didn’t know what he couldn’t do, because he had no formal training to tell him otherwise.

Enter Gary McFarland.

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–“Swing Music was an expression of a new futuristic physics of motion that promised the lean velocity and organic perfection of a bird in flight. What the machine age had wrought in the realm of function, artists were now shaping into a series of self-consciously aerodynamic illusions that implied movement even when standing still. The sleek, legato flow of swing music was an independent but direct extension of that modernistic sensibility into music.” - John McDonough

The producer John Hammond helped bring about the swing era in the 1930s, but a new set highlights the later jazz recordings he oversaw in the 1950s, many of them featuring Count Basie regulars and even the bandleader himself.

Mr. Friedwald writes about music and popular culture for the Journal. He is the 2024 winner of the Jazz Journalists Association Lifetime Achievement award.

The following appeared in the Jan. 2, 2025 Edition of The Wall Street Journal

For order information on Mosaic boxed sets please use this link.

“John Hammond was one of the most important tastemakers and gatekeepers not only in the history of jazz but in the larger arena of American music. His work as a producer, talent scout and general advocate made it possible for such quintessential figures as Benny Goodman, Billie Holiday, Count Basie, Charlie Christian and Lester Young to have the careers—and the impact—they did. In the latter part of his life, Hammond (1910-1987) moved beyond jazz and was instrumental in the discovery and the early success of Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin, Bruce Springsteen and Stevie Ray Vaughan.

His timeline had two peaks: the 1930s, when he helped to bring about the swing era, and the 1960s, when artists he championed brought rock and pop to a new level of maturity. “Classic Vanguard Small Group Swing Sessions,” a new boxed set from Mosaic Records, shows what Hammond was up to between these highest points of his career.

After returning from World War II, Hammond tried working for several independent record labels, but it took him a while to find his footing again. He had grown disenchanted with the latest jazz and was openly hostile to the bebop movement, which, ironically, was at least partly inspired by musicians Hammond had supported, especially Young and Christian.

So what kind of music did Hammond produce when given the chance by the Solomon Brothers, who owned Vanguard Records, between 1953 and 1957? He probably regarded these sessions as an updated, expanded and improved version of the music he had produced 20 years earlier. The title to the new box says it all: classic small-group swing. Stylistically, there’s little here that couldn’t have been played in the 1930s. The main difference is the context—it’s performed by more seasoned musicians in a more relaxed setting, with vastly improved audio technology that allowed both more accurate reproduction and a more expansive canvas with longer running times.

The overriding force throughout the eight hours of music is Count Basie; the majority of the leaders here, trombonist Vic Dickenson, drummer Jo Jones, trumpeters Buck Clayton and Joe Newman, as well as the two featured singers, Jimmy Rushing and Joe Williams, were all longtime Basie-ites. The Count himself performs on two sessions and narrates one as well.

The seven discs are filled with swinging riff numbers (such as Buck Clayton’s “Kandee” in a two-trumpet setting with the younger Ruby Braff), blues both fast (Charles Thompson’s “Fore!”) and slow (Joe Newman’s “Blues For Slim”), as well as luxuriously paced ballads. Tenor-saxophone colossus Coleman Hawkins takes top honors in that last department with a stunningly romantic reading of the torch song “It’s the Talk of the Town”—and so does Braff on “Ghost of a Chance,” backed by a choir of horns.

Basie sits in on piano on one song—“Shoe Shine Boy”—on the album “The Jo Jones Special,” led by the most celebrated of the Count’s percussionists. At the time, jazz buffs were excited by the reunion of Basie’s classic “All-American Rhythm Section,” with guitarist Freddie Green and bassist Walter Page, in addition to Basie and Jones. Their ensemble work is as remarkable as ever. But the horns—trumpeter Emmett Berry, trombonist Bennie Green and especially tenor saxophonist Lucky Thompson—attack the music with a fresh and irresistible energy all their own, making this anything but a passive re-creation of the classic 1936 Basie disc, which had also been produced by Hammond.

There’s wonderful playing throughout—and singing as well, especially by Jimmy Rushing, the formidable blues shouter best known for his long collaboration with Basie. Rushing’s three albums for Vanguard—all 24 tracks of which are included here—are a major part of his legacy. Many of these songs are classics that Rushing had previously sung with Basie and others, but the last of the three Rushing albums, 1957’s “If This Ain’t the Blues,” backs Rushing with an ensemble that includes electric organ and guitar and is wholly different from anything else he ever recorded.

The final session here is yet another masterpiece. The 1956 “A Night at Count Basie’s” features the Count as host and guest pianist, backing his current band vocalist, the formidable Joe Williams, on “I Want a Little Girl.” The set was recorded live at the club that the Count owned and operated in Harlem in the mid-1950s. In his excellent liner notes, scholar Thomas Cunniffe quotes Hammond as hating the idea of recording live music in a bar—but, nearly 70 years later, the crowd noises and enthusiasm contribute considerably to the excitement. As if in proof of this, we hear someone laughing loudly over the applause in the final moments of the last track, Vic Dickenson’s feature on “Canadian Sunset.” It is none other than John Hammond, enjoying himself more than anybody, in spite of himself.”

The interplay between Gerry and Art on this version of "Just in Time" is one for the ages.

Modern Jazz at its brilliant best.

With Bill Crow on bass and Dave Bailey on drums.

I brought this review up on my Jazzprofiles.blogspot.com site yesterday and thought it might be of interest to my Substack Readers. I’ve added a YouTube video so you can sample music from the new CD.

For those of you who like your Jazz served up in a straight-ahead, hard-bop style, then a musical feast celebrating this genre is on hand for you in Swing Street - The Eric Ineke JazzXpress featuring Tineke Postma [Timeless Records CDSJP 495].

For this recording, Eric’s JazzXpress, which turns 20 next year, has added the soprano and alto saxophone talents of Tineke Postma to perform a repertoire of music closely associated with the Cannonball Adderley quintet and sextet of the 1950s and 60s.

In addition to the superb soloing - Eric always leaves plenty of room on his recordings for his players to stretch out - each tune is masterfully arranged to give them a freshness and allow the band to put its own stamp on the material.

While the rhythm section of pianist Rob van Bavel, bassist Marius Beets and Eric on drums have been a part of the group from its inception along with tenor saxophonist Sjoerd Dijkhuizen, trumpeter Nico Schepers is new to the band. Tineke appeared on the group’s CD previous to this one - What Kind of Bird Is This? The Music of Charlie Parker.

This sextet’s configuration is similar to the one that the Adderley Brothers had in place which featured the “soulful brother” Yusef Lateef on tenor sax with a rhythm section of pianist Joe Zawinul, bassist Sam Jones and Louis Hayes on drums.

Regrettably this sextet was short-lived but they did leave us with three albums on Riverside Records: The Cannonball Adderley Sextet in New York Recorded Live at The Village Vanguard [RLP 404, 1962], Jazz Workshop Revisited: Cannonball Adderley Sextet [RM 444, 1963] and the Cannonball Sextet in Europe Riverside LP [RM 499, 1963]

Trombonist J.J. Johnson’s sextet with Freddie Hubbard on trumpet and Clifford Jordan on tenor sax, The Jazztet with a front line of Art Farmer [tp], Benny Golson [ts] and Curtis Fuller [tb] and drummer Art Blakey’s sextet which featured Freddie, Wayne Shorter on tenor and Curtis came into prominence for a brief period from the late 1950s to the mid 1960s. This instrumentation allowed these small groups to create a wide range of textures [sonorities] in their arrangements that produced ensembles with full, rich voicings.

Sadly, the economics of a declining Jazz audience by the mid-1960s made these groups too expensive to book and they were basically phased out, but not before leaving a wealth of terrific music in their wake.

Now, thanks to Eric, Tineke, Sjoerd, Nico, Rob and Marius, you can once again sample Jazz in a sextet configuration which includes new takes on the Cannonball Adderley Sextet Songbook as the band has reimagined each of the eleven original tracks tracks.

Rob van Bavel does the arranging honors on the opening track, Victor Feldman’s Azule Serape. The London-born pianist, vibraphonist and drummer was with Cannonball from 1960-1961 and contributed a number of compositions to the band’s book.

On the Cannonball’s live album at The Lighthouse Café in Hermosa Beach California [where Victor was the resident pianist in Howard Rumsey’s All-Stars from 1957-59], Adderley introduces the tune this way: “I've been trying to figure out a long time what this name means for this tune that Victor Feldman wrote for us. This one is called "Azule Serape.” Now he’s from England and I know it's not English. It's something else. "Azule Serape." That’s what the next tune is.”

Rob’s arrangement approaches the tune as a sort of fanfare to open the album in a stirring and energetic manner. After the intro, Eric launches into an Afro-Cuban beat over which the band plays a staccato montuno which evolves into a series of Latin riffs. Rob then commences the melody on piano performing it in its original locked-hand fashion, the band comes in and swings the bridge and the whole thing gets the recording off in a rousing manner. Solos by Sjoerd, Nico, and Rob set the stage for four bar trades with Eric before the band segues the tune into a big finish.

Bassist Marius Beets does the arranging honors on Planet Earth and P. Bouk, both written by Yusef Lateef. The former features Tineke on soprano sax and a fine intervallic solo by Rob showing his interpretive range [think McCoy Tyner].

The latter was released on the 1963 Cannonball Sextet in Europe Riverside LP [RM 499], although it was first recorded by Yusef on his 1961 New Jazz LP - Yusef Lateef Into Something [NJLP 8272]. P. Bouk is an intriguing title and Yusef explains its meaning this way in Nat Hentoff’s notes to the New Jazz album: “It’s kind of an idiomatic language developed in Detroit that refers to a man’s idiom or “bag.” Now I can’t say that this tune sums up what’s in my bag because there is more than one thing in my bag, or rather, there ought to be.” Nat goes on to add: “The ingredients in Yusef’s bag which are primary in this tune is his commanding sense of swing, his gutsy forcefulness and his preference for economical clarity of design.”

Over an opening strummed bass ostinato which is amplified by Rob and Eric, Marius feeds into his arrangement of P. Bouk ingredients from his own “bag” that create a soaring statement of the novel features of the tune and then go on to serve as a launching pad for solos by all of the band members. Oscillating chords establish a vamp for Eric to stretch out over before the band takes the tune out with a full measure of “gusty forcefulness” which would have no doubt pleased Mr. Hentoff.

One thing you can always count on when listening to Eric’s bands is that they always SWING - and that quality is on display in the slow burn the band gives to its interpretation of Quincy Jones’ Jessica Birthday, which is another arrangement by Marius. Jazz played at a slower tempo requires a lot of control because nothing is slurred and everything is stated; clearly enunciated notation. No clichés are on display in the solos by the band members who seem to relish the chance to play out their ideas in a slower rhythmic context. The unison phrasing is clean and articulated which serves to give the slower tempo a nice bounce throughout.

Marius Beets closes out his turn on the arranging chair with a reworking of Oliver Nelson’s arrangement of Cannonball’s original Domination.

Tinke [on alto] and Marius state the theme to Domination in unison which then relies on a series of countermelodies as contained in the original to set the piece in motion. This is small group orchestration at its finest and everyone had their reading chops on to make this one happen.

Jimmy Heath’s Gemini, Ernie Wilkins’ Dizzy Business and Nat Adderley’s Work Song comprise the next three tracks; three very distinct tunes which Rob honors with three distinctive arrangements.

Gemini, Jimmy Heath’s lovely use of a loping 6/8 to waltz time rhythmic pattern, features interesting interludes that Rob has voiced in such a way so as to create a contrast to launch the soloists with Nico, Sjoerd and Rob doing the honors.

Ernie Wilkins’ claim to fame was as a big band arranger and this orientation really shows in the way the melody to Dizzy’s Business is constructed with its punchy phrasing and pulsating rhythmic kicks and licks. An uptempo bash that finds all the band members in fine form, especially Sjoerd who does “the big horn” proud with a take-prisoner solo that is reminiscent of Yusef when he was on the Adderley band. The sextet-as-big-band is on tap on this one.

Next up is Nat Adderley’s Work Song which in later years he would introduce to his audience as “the tune that paid all my bills for a long, long time!” This 16-bar minor blues was one of the most requested tunes in the Adderley’s band repertoire and Rob gives it new life with a refreshing take built around a rubato statement of the melody that makes it even more expressive and emotional.

Marius then sets the tone for the JazzXpress’s interpretation by laying down a driving bass walk over which Tineke’s alto soars before brassman Nico takes over with a vigorous and muscular solo. Sjoerd and Rob get in on the fun before the “van Bavel express” shouts the tune out.

It’s impossible not to have fun playing Nat’s Work Song and this version by the JazzXpress shows why.

Next up is The Chant, another original by Victor Feldman which became the title for the eponymous Sam Jones Riverside album [RLP 9358]. Sam was the first and longest serving bassist with Cannonball’s groups so as you would imagine Sjoerd Dijkhuizen arranged this to feature Marius Beets skillful bass work. Rob joins in after Marius’ solo and the two lock in with Eric to form the driving rhythm section that makes the JazzXpress such a splendid straight-ahead Jazz band. Sjoerd jumps in with a powerful solo until the band returns and takes the tune to a righteous close.

Unit 7 by Sam Jones was Cannon’s closing theme. It’s a 12-bar blues with a bridge which Rob infuses with countermelodies to give the tune a wonderfully crisp sonority. Tinke steps up and steps out with a marvelous solo on alto that’s gotta have Cannonball smiling. Sjoerd follows with some Texas-tenor style phrasing in his solo - what Cannonball describes as a “moan within the tone.” Another fine unison interlude acts as a shout chorus before the band joyfully ends the tune.

As a note in passing, the CD comes with fine booklet notes by the Jazz journalist and historian, Scott Yanow, which provide further insights into the musicians and the music.

Swing Street is the seventh recording in my collection by Eric’s JazzXpress and each one is a gem replete with meticulous musicianship and joyous, swinging Jazz.

As Scott says in his closing remarks: “Swing Street succeeds at paying an affectionate and very musical tribute to the great Cannonball Adderley.”

Do yourself a favor and grab a copy.

You won’t regret it.

The following appeared in the January 2025 issue of Modern Drummer.

A few months ago, Modern Drummer started a series of feature interviews called the Gumbo Groove with Mark Griffith’s interview with Johnny Vidacovich. For this next part in the series, we feature a conversation between drummer and Professor of Percussion at Southern University, Herman Jackson, and Keeper of the New Orleans Flame, Herlin Riley.

Herman’s career has ranged from Joe Tex, Professor Longhair, Chuck Berry, and Boz Scaggs to Clark Terry, Eddie Harris, Wynton, Branford, and Ellis Marsalis, and Kenny Barron. He can be heard on bassist Randy Jackson’s recent recording Randy Jackson’s Music Club. Herlin Riley has held prestigious (and longtime) gigs with the legendary Ahmad Jamal and Wynton Marsalis and is featured on over 30 recordings with Marsalis. Herlin has played on several other recordings as a sideman and has released quite a few records under his own name including his most recent Perpetual Optimism. Today, Herlin Riley is approaching the “wise old master” status.

Herlin Riley comes from New Orleans, Herman Jackson hails from Baton Rouge. Each of these drummers has travelled the world, taught, recorded extensively, and been led back home to the cradle of American music. Riley and Jackson share a musical camaraderie and rhythmic roots that are evident in their conversation. Enjoy as the two influential drummers took the time to talk about drumming and music, and we are a fly on the wall listening and learning…

Herman Jackson: When did you start playing? I remember you from when we came to your school. I think you were playing trumpet at that time, right?

Herlin Riley: That’s right. You, Alvin Batiste, Henry Butler, and Julius Fulmer would come down, that was like the first time they were doing an artist-in-residence program at my high school (George Washington High School.) Y’all were driving in twice a week from Baton Rouge, which is about an hour from New Orleans. I think that was like the first time I actually met you.

HJ: Yes, that was hip. So, when did you switch to drums from trumpet?

HR: I could always play the drums. I started playing the drums when I was like three years old or so because my family (the Lastie’s) were musicians. My grandfather was Frank Lastie. He actually played with Louis Armstrong in the Waif’s home in 1913. He was in a Waif’s home with him. He would beat out rhythms for me on a kitchen table with butter knives, it would be like a game for us. He would challenge me to play the early Ragtime drumming and New Orleans drumming rhythms from turn of the century, the early teens, and the 1920s.

HJ: You would do that after you finished eating your peanut butter and jelly.

HR: Yeah. He was one of the first people to play drums in the church because in the early days that was kind of forbidden. He (kind of) broke the ice with playing the drums in the church and I followed. I would go to church with him, I was basically raised in his house, and he brought me to church about three times a week. When I got older, he would let me sit at the drums and I couldn’t wait until he got up to go and talk because I wanted to play the drums. That’s how I cut my teeth, playing in front of people in church. As I got older, my Uncle Walter Lastie (Papi Walter,) played with Fats Domino and Little Richard and people like that. I would go by his house to practice, and he would show me things about playing the ride cymbal, playing shuffle rhythms, and how to use a drag and the press roll drag. He showed me little stuff like that, I didn’t think nothing of it.

Growing up in New Orleans, I got a chance to hang around a lot of the great New Orleans drummers, like Smokey Johnson, James Black, Zigaboo, and so many others. I even got a chance to hear old man Cie Frazier, Lewis and Paul Barbarin, because they were still around in my early years. I got a chance to hear all these different styles of music that were being played by all these different drummers. I didn’t know one from the other, all I knew was that it was a groove, and I just jumped into the groove.

I’m gonna rewind a little bit. My uncles had a combo, the Lastie Brothers combo. It was Melvin Lastie on the trumpet, David Lastie played the saxophone, and my uncle Walter “Papi” Lastie played drums. My mother tells me stories of them rolling my crib into the room while they were rehearsing when I was an infant. I got to hear the music firsthand; I was learning the music just like people would learn a language. Subliminally and subconsciously, the music was getting into me.

HJ: Wow.

HR: I didn’t have to go back and research how to swing or how to play a shuffle rhythm. That stuff was always a part of me growing up. I feel very fortunate that my family roots enabled me to learn so much music at an early age. As I got older, I just had a natural passion for it. And as I got older, I started investigating different styles and different drummers. Fortunately, it has worked out for me.

So back to your initial question. When you came to Carver during that time, I was already playing the drums, and I started playing the trumpet when I was about 11 or 12. My uncle Melvin Lastie sent me a trumpet from New York. He sent me a trumpet and he was my biggest mentor. I wanted to be like him. He was playing the trumpet, so I wanted to play the trumpet. So he sent me a trumpet and I started to play it and I got fairly good on it. I played the trumpet from sixth grade until I got through high school. I had no real desire to play the drums, although I could do it. I got a scholarship to go to Mississippi Valley State playing the trumpet and I was playing the trumpet at Southern University and so forth. The drums were just a natural part of who I was and am. I really wanted to play the trumpet, but the drums kept calling me back.

I was very fortunate that I had that trumpet playing experience because it allowed me to learn how to read music, allowed me to understand form, understand melody, and how to negotiate music as a drummer. The trumpet made me not “just” a drummer, but it really enhanced me as a musician.

HJ: What is your thought process when you’re creating drum parts for different styles of music? Is it different when you’re creating a drum part for something swinging versus when you’re creating a drum part for funk or traditional music? Is your process a little different?

HR: Well, basically it’s all a groove. I look at it as what street we’re on.

HJ: Right.

HR: Right now, we’re on Bourbon Street. So there’s all those grooves. If we were on St. Charles, St. Clark, or Galvin Street… All those streets have grooves that have a specific DNA to them. There’s certain identifiable marks and components that are inside of each groove and that’s a part of that music. One of the things that I tell people is that all music starts with rhythm.

HJ: Amen.

HR: We could take a tune like “Happy Birthday” and play it in so many different styles.

HJ: I do that too.

HR: We can play it in all these different styles. So, when I’m putting a drum part together for any kind of music I just listen to the music and let the music dictate, speak to me, and tell me which street I’m going to be on.

HJ: Does it have anything to do with the musicians that you’re playing with? Does that change it?

HR: It changes somewhat, because music is about communication and having a dialogue with people, a conversation. Some people that you speak to, have a whole lot to say, and some people don’t have too much to say. Some people can speak with a high command of the English language, and some people don’t. In the conversation on the bandstand, you learn to communicate and meet people where they are. The nuances of the conversation will vary, but the core of the statement, the core of the being, and the core of the piece doesn’t really change. It’s just a specific style that we’re playing in, and the nuances will depend on the player that is playing with you

HJ: Your time is really good. How do you approach time?

HR: One of the things I teach is telling musicians and telling drummers, “Whenever you’re playing, whenever you’re shedding or practicing, practice playing a groove for two or three minutes. And relax inside of the groove.” The relaxation is in your limbs, but the intensity is about playing with assertiveness and a steady foundation. Once you’ve established that groove, I always tell cats not to speed up or slow down to change tempos.

Instead, stop playing, then count yourself off to the new tempo. It helps you hear and feel the subtleties of the tempo change.

HJ: Right, because psychologically, you hear that tempo when you count it off, which makes you focus on it.

HR: That’s right. But if you just speed up, there’s no clear point of reference.

HR: Right. I remember when you got the gig with Wynton Marsalis. You were supposed to do a gig in Europe with Chuck Berry, but I ended up doing it. It was me, George French, and Johnny Johnson, Chuck’s original piano player.

HR: That’s right.

HJ: I remember thinking, ‘Herlin’s playing with Wynton now? What?’ You knew he was a trumpet player, right?

HR: (Laughs) Yeah. But before Wynton, I played with Ahmad Jamal from 1982 to 1987. Then I joined Wynton in ‘88. Working with Ahmad was my first major jazz gig, but when I started playing with Wynton, things really took off.

HJ: Yeah, that was another level.

HR: I was with Wynton for 17 years. I did two stints with Ahmad—five years the first time, then 15 years from ‘99 to 2014.

HJ: Wow. When you first joined Wynton, was (bassist) Reginald Veal already in the band?

HR: Yep, Veal came in around November ‘87. Wynton called me in February ‘88. It was ironic—Veal and I were playing a gig with Ellis Marsalis at the Jazz and Heritage Festival. Wynton finished his set, ran over to our stage, sat in, and liked the feel of our rhythm section. He asked Ellis if he could call us, and Ellis said, “Man, call whoever you want.” A few months later, Wynton called Reggie, then me.

HJ: Speaking of bass players, who are some of the cats you’ve enjoyed playing with, and why?

HR: Well, Reggie Veal would be my favorite, but I’ve also had great experiences with Rodney Whitaker, Ben Wolfe, and Russell Hall. Russell’s from Jamaica, and he brings a lot of musicality and freedom. What I love about musicians, not just bass players, is when they play with an uninhibited spirit—creativity, openness, and not conforming to conventions.

HJ: I agree.

HR: I like musicians who step out on a limb and try different things while still making it musical.

HJ: What are some of your favorite recordings you’ve played on?

HR: One is Digital Works with Ahmad Jamal, that’s my first recording with him. Another is Blood on the Fields with Wynton, which won a Pulitzer Prize. During my time with Wynton, he rarely gave me specific drum parts—just guidelines. It allowed me to use my imagination to create parts that fit the music. I also recorded Rise Up with Dr. Lonnie Smith and Concrete Jungle with Monty Alexander, where we did some Bob Marley tunes mixed with straight-ahead jazz. Another memorable one was Silver Pony with Cassandra Wilson.

HJ: You’ve done a lot of different stuff.

HR: Yeah, I’ve had some great opportunities to record in different styles over the years. I even did a video with Deacon John called Junk Blues, featuring some up-tempo shuffles with a big band.

HJ: How would you compare playing and recording with Wynton Marsalis versus Ahmad Jamal?

HR: Ahmad’s music was loose and free, yet structured. He’d improvise forms on stage, giving us hand signals to repeat or change sections. We had to watch him closely, so the music could stretch or contract in the moment. With Wynton, most of the music was charted, though we could be expressive within the confines of the chart. His music was primarily swing, with some groove variations, whereas Ahmad’s music was groove-based, with rhythmic interaction being a key element.

HJ: You can definitely hear the difference. How do you negotiate playing with vocalists versus instrumentalists?

HR: The drums are the most powerful instrument on the bandstand—you can enhance the music or sabotage it. Playing with vocalists requires sensitivity. Some want it subdued, while others want you to bring it. It’s about understanding and adapting to the artist’s needs. It’s similar with instrumentalists too. For example, when I worked with John Lewis and Percy Heath, the entire band adjusted its volume just by feeling the respect of John’s presence. No one had to say a word; we just played more sensitively.

HJ: That makes sense.

HR: It’s all about communication, listening, and being sensitive to both the musicians and the audience.

HJ: Why do you think that some people play behind the beat, some play on top of the beat, and some play right in the middle? How do you make those adjustments?

HR: First of all, I think it’s important that the drummer and the bass player are united, on the same page. Sometimes you get situations where the bass player and drummer are clashing. One is saying, “You’re dragging,” and the other is saying, “You’re rushing.” But if you’re playing together, whatever the music does, you’re doing it together. When the bass player and drummer are locked in, it allows the horn players or soloists to phrase behind or on top of the beat while the rhythm section stays anchored. Sometimes, even within the rhythm section, the drummer might play slightly behind or on top of the beat, but it’s all in how you phrase and interpret the music.

HJ: It’s important to have musicians who understand that flexibility.

HR: Exactly. It’s all about sensitivity and awareness of what’s happening around you.

HJ: What kind of drums do you play? What sizes do you use?

HR: I play a 5.5×14” snare drum, an 8×10” mounted tom, an 8×12” tom, a 14 x 14 floor tom, and sometimes a 16 x 16 floor tom depending on the gig. I also use a 20-inch bass drum. I like Remo heads—coated ambassadors on top, and clear thin heads on the bottom.

I tune my drums the same way every time, using the same notes for consistency. I tune to a D major chord: low A on the 14-inch floor tom, D on the 12-inch tom, F# on the 10-inch tom, and an octave A on the snare drum. If I use the 16-inch floor tom, I tune it to a low D.

HJ: Interesting. How did you come up with that tuning?

HR: It started from playing “Poinciana” with Ahmad Jamal every night—the last two notes were A and D. So, I began with those two notes, and the rest came from my trumpet-playing days. It follows the natural breaks of a trumpet.

HJ: Gotcha.

HR: When I use a four-piece set, I go from low A to E, skipping the D, and still keep the octave A on the snare.

HJ: And what about cymbals?

HR: I’ve been endorsing Zildjian cymbals for almost 30 years. I use 14-inch hi-hats, a 19-inch Constantinople ride-crash, a 20-inch Constantinople main ride with three rivets, a 19-inch dry effect cymbal, and a 16-inch A Custom crash.

HJ: I remember you stacking cymbals before too.

HR: Yeah, sometimes I stack cymbals, even on the hi-hat, to create a snare-like, short-sustained sound, depending on the gig.

HJ: Do you use the same drum sizes and tuning for jazz gigs and other styles?

HR: Yes, I use the same sizes and tuning, but I play different grooves and rhythms. If I’m doing an old-school trad gig, I might use a bigger bass drum or a looser snare.

HJ: And what about sticks?

HR: I use Vic Firth 5A’s with wood tips.

HJ: What would you say is your favorite style of music to play, and why?

HR: My favorite style is the next one I’m playing—because I want to be around to play it! I don’t get hung up on styles; I just want to play music. Whatever “street” I’m on, I try to play the grooves that are representative of that style.

HJ: I like that! What do you think are the major differences between younger players today and musicians from your generation or before?

HR: The biggest difference is that younger musicians today often get their musicality from YouTube and drum machines, while we learned directly from people. We were in touch with the musicians who came before us, so the language of the music was passed down. Younger players sometimes try to start on third base, skipping first and second.

HJ: There’s no substitute for experience.

HR: Exactly. Learning from the elders also brings a certain humility that comes from really understanding the roots of the music.

HJ: And I’ve noticed that many younger players learn licks from records but don’t understand why they were played or in what context they work.

HR: That’s right. They might know a lick, but they don’t know how to use it musically.

HJ: Yeah, that’s a big difference.

HR: It’s about understanding the purpose and place of the lick in the music. That’s something you get from listening to the elders and understanding the musical context.

HJ: Who are some of your favorite musicians or bands today?

HR: That’s a tough one. A lot of the music today doesn’t feed my spirit. Some of it is so esoteric, and I don’t hear any grooves. I like music with movement, something that’s alive. I do like Christian Scott’s music—he’s one of the younger players I enjoy. I like his style and the direction he’s taking.

HJ: Yeah, he’s doing some interesting stuff. This has been great; I think people will enjoy hearing your thoughts and getting to know more about you.

HR: I hope so. I appreciate the opportunity to tell my story. I’ve enjoyed this conversation, and I appreciate you taking the time, I think we’ve covered a lot.

HJ: Thank you, Herlin. It’s been a pleasure.

Lateef's drawn-out, distinctive vibrato notes quietly reverberated throughout the room, casting a haunting, trance-like spell. I was mesmerized.

“Autophysiopsychic”

“He exhibited an air of naturalness unlike any artist I’d ever met.

• Veryl Oakland, photographer

This piece on multi-instrumentalist Yusef Lateef who passed away in December, 2013 at the age of 93 is from photographer/essayist Veryl Oakland’s exquisite work Jazz in Available Light: Illuminating the Jazz Greats from the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s.

You can find more background about the book as well as order information via this link to an earlier posting on Veryl’s book on these pages.

True to the northern California geographic area denoted in his last name, Veryl photographed Jazz musicians primarily at the Berkeley Jazz Festival, the Monterey Jazz Festival and at various clubs in the San Francisco area like Keystone Korner.

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Music by Anton Goudsmit, Efraim Trujillo, Jeroen Vierdag and Martijn Vink

Sometime ago, a friend in Holland sent me a radio broadcast of bassist Pablo Nehar’s tentet that was recorded in performance at the 1996 Jazzmarathon annual festival which took place in October 13^th in Groningen, The Netherlands.

It was my first introduction to a style of Jazz that some refer to a “Paramaribop,” which derives its name from blending “Paramaribo,” the capital of Suriname, with “Bebop.”

By way of background, Suriname is located in the northeast corner of South America and was for many years ruled by the Dutch as Dutch Guiana.

Paramaribo’s culture became a blend of native Indians, Dutch traders and colonists, merchants and traders from other European countries, and West African slaves. Musically, the city became a melting pot of styles similar to that which had occurred in New Orleans at the turn of the 20^th century.

New Orleans’ culture was similarly a blend that was largely created by the early, colonial French and Spanish Catholics, Creoles from the West Indies and Spanish America, European white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants and West African slaves.

Jazz would emerge from the interactions of these cultures in early 20^th century New Orleans.

Juan Pablo Nahar was born in Paramaribo, Suriname in 1952 and started the practice of music at an early age.

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Before and after [prison - incarcerated for drug use], the late alto saxophonist Art Pepper [1925-1982] performed in his accustomed quartet setting with a bevy of accomplished pianists.

The BP group would feature pianists based on the West Coast including Hampton Hawes, Pete Jolly, Lou Levy, Russ Freeman and Sonny Clark, as well as, those visiting during their stints with the Miles Davis Quintet on his memorable Contemporary Records “Meets the Rhythm Section” albums: Red Garland and Wynton Kelly.

The AP group consisted of pianists Milcho Leviev, George Cables, Duke Jordan, Tommy Flanagan and Stanley Cowell.

Sadly, often missing from the BP group is pianist Carl Perkins [1928-1958] about whom Art would say on leaning of his tragically early passing:

"His loss hit me very deeply. We had worked together many times. Carl's talent was very great and as a person I thought of him as a rare friend. The last recordings I made under my own name were done with Carl. Unfortunately, they are owned by Aladdin (Intro) Records and have been released in stereo on Omega Tape [reel to reel] only. Carl's playing on these two albums was his greatest recorded work."

In order to help rectify this omission, here’s a brief piece on Carl, a truly gifted Jazz pianist.

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An inquiry from an Internet friend reminded me that I haven’t had any hard bop playing on the site in quite a while. The same inquiry reminded me about how well the late trumpeter Freddie Hubbard played this form of Jazz. Freddie was also an excellent composer.

One of the best exponents of hard bop, a genre that had its heyday from approximately 1955–1965, was drummer Art Blakey and his Jazz Messengers.

Freddie played trumpet with Art’s group in the early 1960s. And what a powerhouse group it was with Wayne Shorter on tenor saxophone, Curtis Fuller on trombone, Cedar Walton on piano, Jymie Merritt on bass and the irrepressible Mr. Blakey on drums.

If you like Muscle Jazz, than this is the band for you.

Freddie wrote great tunes throughout career, but his compositions during his stint with Art’s band were particularly noteworthy [bad pun intended!].

One of these, entitled Crisis, has always been a particular favorite.

Crisis is an unusual tune in that it is unlike the 12 and 16-bar blues and 32-bar song patterns that are more common to Jazz.

The piece is 56-bars long and is made up of a 16 bar phrase which is repeated, followed by an 8 bar release or bridge and then the same 16 bar phrase is used as a closing refrain. In essence, it is an AABA format but each “A” is 16 bars long instead of the usual 8, while the bridge remains at 8-bars.

Each 16 bar phrase uses a downward chordal and melodic movement that determines the character of the piece. Or as Freddie himself explains it: “For the first twelve of each sixteen, we play softly over a gentle chordal base, and then for the last four, we explode!”

After bassist Jymie Merritt begins the piece with an 8-bar introduction which pianist Walton then plays in unison beginning at 0:10, you can hear these 4-bar “explosions” in the melody at 0:46, 1:07 and 1:39 minutes.

The melody itself is first stated at 0:31, repeated at 0:52 and the closing refrain begins at 1:24 minutes. The bridge or the release can be heard from 1:13 to 1:25 minutes.

The descending chordal and melodic movements are played from 0:31 – 0:46, 0:53 – 1:07 and 1:24 – 1:39 minutes. You can also discern the first 12 bars of each of the “A” choruses by listening for the quasi-Latin beat that bassist Merritt and drummer Blakey play before moving to straight 4/4 time for the last four bars of each of these choruses. The bridge is also played in straight-ahead 4/4 time. Lot’s going on, here, but once again the patterns are easy to follow if you just open your ears.

I certainly hope that trying to follow these timings and descriptions about what’s happening in the music does not place you in … Crisis.

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Now available as a paperback and eBook exclusively on Amazon.com. I've priced these very reasonably at $24.99 and $9.99, respectively and I'm sharing 50% of my royalties with the local school and community college districts to help purchase musical instruments for students.

Volume 3 focuses on the transition of Jazz on the West Coast from the 1950s to the mid-1960s.

I am especially grateful to the many musician friends who helped make this series a reality and to all of my paid Substack subscribers. I literally couldn't have done it without your help.

To give you some idea of the breadth and depth of the writings on offer in the anthology, some of which are extremely rare, I am posting the book’s Table of Contents for you to look over.

Table of Contents. pp 5-6

Introduction. pp. 7-17

Prologue. Gerald Wilson - Then [and Now]- Steve Iosardi and Steven A. Cerra, pp. 18-30

Chapter 1. The Los Angeles Jazz Scene of the 1950s by Robert Gordon, pp. 31-42

Chapter 2. Chapter 2. The Complete Nocturne Recordings Jazz in Hollywood Series by Steven A. Cerra and Jordi Pujol, pp. 43-48

Chapter 3. Lester Koenig, Good Time Jazz and Contemporary Records Ralph Kaffel, Floyd Levin and John Koenig, pp. 49-55

Chapter 4. Richard Bock, Pacific Jazz and Pacific Jazz Samplers by Steven A. Cerra, and William Claxton, pp. 56-65

Chapter 5 - Meet The A & R Man - Richard Bock by John Tynan, pp. 66-69

Chapter 6. The Mastersounds on Fresh Sound and The Mastersounds with Wes Montgomery - Steven A. Cerra, Ed., pp. 70-80

Chapter 7. Russ Freeman in Two Parts - A Review of the Jazz Literature by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 81-89

Chapter 8. Hampton Hawes - All Night Session! By Arnold Shaw, pp. 90-96

Chapter 9. Gary Giddins Introduction to Hampton Hawes' RAISE UP OFF ME: A Portrait of Hampton Hawes, pp. 97-101

Chapter 10. Imaginative Broadway Show Albums - Shelly Manne, Andre Previn, Red Mitchell and Leroy Vinnegar - Steven A. Cerra, Ed., pp. 102-110

Chapter 11. Leroy Vinnegar - The Walking Bass in Jazz by Nat Hentoff and Leonard Feather, pp. 111-114

Chapter 12. [My Vince Guaraldi] "Lighthouse Memories" by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 115-121

Chapter 13. Joe Maini by Gordon Jack, pp. 122-125

Chapter 14. West Coast Classics - Cy Touff, His Octet & Quintet - Arranged by Johnny Mandel by Michael Cuscuna, pp. 126-129

Chapter 15. Art Pepper on The Los Angeles Jazz Scene of the 1950’s by Robert Gordon, pp. 130-143

Chapter 16. Charlie Mariano - A Remembrance by Steven A. Cerra and Richard Vacca, pp. 144-149

Chapter 17. Sonny Criss: An Overlooked Giant by Bob Porter, pp. 150-154

Chapter 18. Curtis Amy - Testifyin’ Texas Tenor - Steven A. Cerra, Ed., pp. 155-161

Chapter 19. Bobby Troup – Theme Magazine Interview with Bobby Troup, Bobby and Julie London, and Bobby as Host of the Stars of Jazz, Steven A. Cerra Ed., pp. 162-174

Chapter 20. Hoagy Sings Carmichael With Johnny Mandel and The Pacific Jazzmen by Richard Sudhalter, pp. 175-180

Chapter 21. Hoagy Carmichael, Pacific Jazz and Jazz Poetry by Richard Sudhalter and Lawrence Lipton, pp. 181-185

Chapter 22. Earle Spencer and His New Band Sensation of the Year 1946 by Steven A. Cerra and Jordi Pujol, pp. 186-192

Chapter 23. Dan Terry - The Swinginest Dance Band by Steven A. Cerra and Jordi Pujol, pp. 193-206

Chapter 24. Name Band 1959 - Bob Florence and His Orchestra by Steven A. Cerra and Jordi Pujol, pp. 207-212

Chapter 25. Bob Florence - Here and Now/ Bold, Swinging Big Band Ideas, Steven A. Cerra, Ingrid Jensen and Anthony Corbett, pp. 213-217

Chapter 26. Bob Florence Limited Edition by Gordon Jack, pp. 218-221

Chapter 27. Eric Dolphy, Ornette Coleman and The Los Angeles Underground by Robert Gordon, pp. 222-233

Chapter 28. Shelly Manne by Burt Korall, pp. 234-251

Chapter 29. Into the Sixties by Robert Gordon, pp. 252-264

Chapter 30. The Manne Hole -Part 1 - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 265-274

Chapter 31. The Manne Hole -Part 2 - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 275-282

Chapter 32. The Manne Hole -Part 3 - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 283-287

Chapter 33. The Manne Hole -Part 4 - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 288-294

Chapter 34. The West Coast Jazz Scene -“SF is swinging; LA is dying.” - Downbeat Special Report, pp. 295-302

Chapter 35. Carl Fontana by Peter Watrous and Campbell Burnapp, pp. 303-308

Chapter 36. Dual Brass: The Formation of the Lou Blackburn-Freddy Hill Quintet by John Tynan and Michael Cuscuna, pp. 309-315

Chapter 37. Joe Pass: “Passalaqua - The Poet of the Guitar” by Steven A. Cerra and John Tynan, pp. 316-322

Chapter 38. Clare Fischer - “Star on the Rise” by John Tynan, pp. 323-325

Chapter 39. “Barney Kessel - Why He Went Back on the Road” by Gene Lees, pp. 326-332

Chapter 40. Paul Horn: a 1961 Interview With John Tynan and a 2014 Remembrance by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 333-340

Chapter 41. "The Far-Out World of Jack Sheldon " by John Tynan, pp. 341-344

Chapter 42. Herb Geller’s European Rebirth, Jack Lind, pp. 345-347

Chapter 43. Jimmy Woods - Fire in the West, John Tynan, pp. 348-351

Chapter 44. Frank Rosolino Blindfold Test, Leonard Feather, pp. 352-354

Chapter 45. The Resurgence of Stan Getz, Leonard Feather, pp. 355-359

Chapter 46. Meet the Jazz Crusaders by John Tynan, pp. 360-363

Epilogue. Gerald Wilson - [Then and] Now - by Doug Ramsey and Steven A. Cerra, pp. 364-375

Although widely known and appreciated in Europe, outside of a relatively small coterie of devoted fans, Hod O’Brien, a sizzling, straight-ahead bebop pianist, has been one of the best kept secrets on the US Jazz scene for much too long.

In The Los Angeles Times, Don Heckman describes him as “a masterful bop-based improviser … his lines unfolding with an impressive blend of precision and propulsive swing." In The Montreal Mirror, Len Dobbin called him “the best bebop pianist this side of Barry Harris.” And Scott Yanow, in the L.A. Scene, wrote that Hod is the “unsung hero of Jazz … [a] master bebop pianist.”

A close listening to the three albums described in this feature which Hod and his trio of Ray Drummond on bass and Kenny Washington on drums recorded at Blues Alley in Washington, DC in July, 2004 will provide a good introduction to what the fuss is all about concerning this most impressive musician.

The context for the music released on these albums is that each represents a working set by the group, or if you will, three sets that you might have heard had you dropped by the club one night to catch the trio.

A special word should be put in about the song selection on these recordings as its rare to hear such a diversity of repertoire that ranges from Jazz originals such as Bob Dorough's Nothing Like You Has Ever Been Seen Before, Randy Weston’s Little Niles, and Sonny Rollins’ Pent-Up House, to a number of standards drawn from the Great American Song Book, to a collection of tunes by one composer – in this case, Tadd Dameron.

Since I could not improve upon them, I have included the insert notes by Pete Malinverni to describe sets one and two, and those by Hod himself to describe how and why set three came about. I had added four videos at the end of this piece to give you a taste of the flavor of Hod's music [sorry for mixing metaphors].

Hod O’Brien at Blues Alley: First Set [Reservoir RSR CD 180]

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Over the years, I’ve seen and heard Mel Lewis play in a variety of settings.

Night after night, I’d run around town to listen to him play drums in an assortment of big bands: Stan Kenton’s Orchestra, the Terry Gibbs Big Band, the Bill Holman Big Band, the Marty Paich Tentette [recording sessions], the Gerald Wilson Orchestra.

And when he wasn’t playing in big bands, I’d go hear him in small groups like the one he co-lead for a while with baritone saxophonist for Pepper Adams, or the quintet he co-led with Bill Holman or as a member of pianist Claude Williamson’s trio.

In 1963, when he permanently moved to New York to continue as a member Gerry Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band, I caught him in concert in The Big Apple with Gerry’s marvelous band. Thereafter, I heard him play with the orchestra he co-led with Thad Jones. And when Thad left to go to Europe and Mel headed up his own orchestra until his death in 1990, I also checked out that band on a number of occasions.

During each of his performances, I’d stare a lot trying to figure out how he did it what he did.

But he “did” so little that while watching him all I actually saw was the minimalist action of his hands barely moving above the drums while he popped the accents, dropped bombs and drove the band mercilessly in what drummer Kenny Washington once described as Mel’s “rub-a-dub style.”

There was no flurry of technique on display in his drumming, no aggravated animation in the motion he used in getting round the drums, no complicated fills, kicks and solos.

Watching Mel as closely as I did for as long as I did, I came away with the same impression as the one that Burt Korall formed in the following description after seeing Davey Tough with the Woody Herman band perform its famous arrangement of Apple Honey at New York City’s Paramount Theater, in 1945:

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“What a great musician Cozy Cole was. He was one of those guys who practices very diligently at all times. I was able to just sit around there and watch what he did and all the things that he practiced. I never heard the rudiments move that fast. I was learning the rudiments, but the way he played them, they sounded so great and so musical. I sort of watched and saw it all go by, and I just maintained that in my head and decided that I was going to just keep after it until I had it the same way.

Cozy was a great influence. I mean he could read anything, he knew all the rudiments. I just couldn't imagine anybody knowing as much as he did. I know that Jo Jones and some of the other guys couldn't read like Cozy could. It wasn't really necessary. But Cozy was just thoroughly schooled. I just decided I wanted to be like that, also.

And then, when I went around other drummers— I mean I must have changed the way I held my sticks a dozen times. Every time I saw a new drummer, I'd try to hold my sticks the way he does. Or where he sets his snare drum or his cymbal. I just went through all kinds of things until I finally settled on something that seemed to work best for me. Then I admired guys like Sid Catlett. Sid was a big guy, but he had that finesse. There were so many good ones until you didn't know which way to go. [laughter]

And I guess, in the long run, I finally wound up being myself.”

- Bill Douglass, Interview in Central Avenue Sounds

There’s a difference between understanding something and accepting it.

When you play Jazz, you can copy those who most impress you on your instrument, but at some point you have to step back and accept what you can do in developing your own style on the instrument.

This doesn’t mean complacency. You should continue to practice and try to improve your skills. The more technical mastery you have the easier it becomes to free your mind to invent your improvisations.

Also important is the lesson contained in the following excerpt from George Shearing’s autobiography:

“ ...becoming a jazz pianist with some direction about what your style is going to be. That involves thinking about who you're going to follow or how you're going to develop a style of your own, and from what grounds.”

This concept is further elaborated in the following excerpt from Paul Berliner’s masterful Thinking In Jazz: The Infinite Art of Improvisation:

“On the grand scale of judging the overall contribution of the artist to jazz, a fundamental criterion for evaluation is originality, also a highly valued component within an individual solo. The categories against which improvisers evaluate originality correspond roughly to the definitive stages of artistic development described earlier by Walter Bishop Jr.: imitation, assimilation, and innovation. It is to be expected that only some individuals within the jazz community complete the succession of developmental stages and realize success within them.

Musicians who remain at the imitative end of the spectrum enjoy the least prestige. Some, having undergone the years of intensive training required to develop fundamental improvisation skills, succeed only in absorbing the most general performance conventions of a particular jazz idiom. Although at times receiving praise for "competence," they are often characterized as "generic improvisers." One unsympathetic artist views their solos as comprising "the same phrases you hear from everyone else, a string of acceptable, idiomatically correct pieces of jazz vocabulary, riffs, and motives — little figurations, all strung together in a trite and uninspired way."

Displaying greater ability, but equally vulnerable to criticism, are "clones," musicians whose keen ears enable them to absorb an idol's precise style, but who improvise exclusively within its bounds. One famous musician, in responding to a question on this issue, referred to the disciple of another renowned artist as a "clone" but added, "You have to give him credit just for being able to play that well. Still, it's odd to hear someone sounding so much like somebody else all the time." Commonly, the predominant influence on clones changes over their careers.

Related to clones, but a step removed, are "eclectic improvisers." Their solos reflect diverse apprenticeships, presenting a hodgepodge of the traits of different idols, but fail to personalize them or to integrate them into a unified style.

As an observer of jazz for over thirty years, Art Farmer comments:

I have seen a lot of things come and go. Basically, ninety-nine and nine-tenths percent of everybody out there is just copying somebody else. Here in New York, I remember every piano player was trying to play like Horace Silver at one time, and then later on, everybody was trying to play like Bill Evans. Some of the guys who were playing like Horace a couple of years later were trying to play like Bill. And then everybody was trying to play like McCoy Tyner. It's just something that comes and goes. Horace was dominant at one time and everyone dug that, and then along came Bill with a different style.

Although imitation is a mode that all players go through in their formative years, the direction they take from there marks varying levels of achievement along the continuum from imitation to innovation. Soloists who have reached the assimilative stage command greater attention and respect than those who have not. For an individual "fully to play himself, rather than to sound like someone else, is possibly the hardest thing to do," Gary Bartz says candidly. The difficulties are widely recognized within the jazz community. "To actually come up with that sound," identifiably expressing a musician's individuality, "is something that everybody dreams about, but not a whole lot of people have actually achieved" (John Hicks).

In fact, the emergent voices of most artists include varied mixtures of their own stylistic features and those of an idol or idols. One trumpeter "was essentially playing Dizzy Gillespie," whereas another was playing himself, "which had Gillespie in it, as well as some other trumpet players." [Cecil Taylor comparing Joe Gordon to Idres Sulieman] Bobby Rogovin recalls Lee Morgan saying in a Down Beat interview that although he did not create a new performance idiom, he had a "certain identity." Rogovin elaborates, "He means he played a lot of the same things other people played, but it came out Lee Morgan. Most of the great players are all coming from the same tradition, but they're just putting their own identity on it."

Artists in the assimilation stage typically develop a unique voice within the bounds of a particular performance school. Once having established their personal identities, many are not concerned with larger gestures of change. "Some people are supposed to sustain certain areas of this music, and they don't look for anything new. That's their thing," Walter Bishop Jr. states, "and I appreciate them for what they do." Improvisers who "play earlier styles are like musical monuments" to Arthur Rhames. "They represent particular schools of jazz and provide excellent examples for younger players who pass through those schools." Tommy Flanagan muses, "It's really interesting the way different people arrive at something that they're comfortable with, a way of playing and being. . . . Even if Clifford Brown had lived longer, I think he still would have sounded just like Clifford."

Moving along the continuum of artistic achievement are improvisers whose development moves through the stages of successful assimilation and fashioning of identities to innovation. They create personal approaches to improvisation that influence large numbers of followers across different instruments, in some instances forming the basis for a new performance school. Commonly, these artists devote the remainder of their careers to exploring the possibilities for invention within the framework of their new concepts. "Coleman Hawkins always sounded the same to me," Flanagan continues. "Charlie Parker also sounded about the same from the first time I heard him till the last time I heard him. It seemed to me that he had gone as far as he could go on the saxophone." At the same time, myriad subtleties within the improvisation styles of unique artists like Lester Young continue to change over an artist's career [For example - changes in tone, articulation, ornamentation practices, expressive devices, harmonic approach, dynamics, emphasis on different formulas and intervals, treatment of rhythm, and the like.]

Presenting yet another profile as innovators are artists whose musical explorations lead them beyond the bounds of the idiom in which they establish their initial identity. "McCoy Tyner is one of those people whose style evolved from when I first heard him," Flanagan recalls.

When I first heard him, I thought that his style was going to change, although I don't know many pianists like that. It's just like five or six years made the difference in some people's playing. Like Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea also basically played the way I was playing at one time. But they were still moving; they were in a period of transition. They moved along compositionally, and their keyboard technique moved right along with it. I also remember hearing Cecil Taylor when he was playing standards with Steve Lacy's group. He was on his way then, developing to where he is now.

In the rarest instances, leading innovators pass through a succession of influential stages during their careers. Retaining their personal identities by carrying over characteristic elements of tone color, phrasing, and vocabulary from one stage to another, they cultivate different approaches to music making that excite the imaginations of other performers and provide the foundation for successful musical movements.

With his roots in bebop, Miles Davis helped form the basis for particular schools of hard bop, cool jazz, modal jazz, and free forms of improvisation, and, most recently, jazz-rock fusion."

Miles Davis was always a big sense of direction for us in the fifties and sixties," bassist Buster Williams recalls. "Each time a record came out with Miles and the band, it created a new dimension for me. It was like a new awakening." Calvin Hill similarly remembers that "in the old days when I used to buy records, I was always into Miles, whatever Miles came up with. Like, you could hardly wait for the newest Miles Davis record to come out because you knew he was going to come out with something different. You just couldn't wait. You'd go and buy the record and rush home and put it on and see what was new."

John Coltrane's personal style also evolved through different innovative stages in which he contributed to schools of hard bop, modal improvisation, and free jazz. "You can always let people know that you're still evolving. You can show people signs of what you're working on. Trane always did that. He always had periods of where you say, 'Wow, where is he going next?' He kept moving" (Tommy Flanagan).

Arthur Rhames credits Coltrane with being "able to see what should be done after he had passed through the hard bop school in order to expand the music. From listening to Trane's early albums to the last, you can hear a steady progression, a continuous, sequential order that goes from one album to the next. He was constantly plotting each course, each step he was taking to be an expansion of the last step. That's the highest type of mature artist in the music."

It is only a minority of individuals whose passage from imitation to innovation produces compelling visions with major ramifications for other players and for their field. "We all take more from them than we do from one another" (Red Rodney).”

With the holiday season upon us, I hope you will consider making a gift of A Jazz West Coast Volume 1 to the Jazz fans among your family and friends.

It is available exclusively through Amazon.com and it offers 46 chapters plus an Introduction, Prologue and Epilogue each of which is full of information about the West Coast Jazz Masters including Shorty Rogers, Jimmy Giuffre, Shelly Manne and Howard Rumsey and the Lighthouse All-Stars.

I have priced it very reasonably at $24.99 for the paperback and $9.99 for an eBook.

To give you some idea of the breadth and depth of the writings on offer in this 347 page anthology, some of which are extremely rare, I am posting the book’s Table of Contents for you to look over.

Also, please keep in mind that I am sharing 50% of the profits from the sale of the book to the local school district for use toward the purchase of musical instruments for individual students.

Happy Holidays to you and yours from The Cerra Family.

Table of Contents

Introduction: The Jazz West Coast Style of Music by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 6-9

Prologue - West Coast Sounds by John Dutton, pp. 10-16

Chapter 1. Central Avenue Sounds by Bob Gordon, 17-32

Chapter 2. Shorty Rogers and His Giants - by Bob Gordon, 33-44

Chapter 3. Shorty Rogers and the Development of the West Coast Style of Jazz by John Graas, pp. 45-48

Chapter 4. Shorty Rogers - The Gentle Giant by Howard Lucraft, pp. 49-53

Chapter 5. Shorty Rogers The Steve Voce Interview, pp. 54-58

Chapter 6. Shelly Manne - The Lighthouse and Shorty Rogers - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 59-73

Chapter 7. The Lighthouse Café as an Incubator for West Coast Jazz by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 74-77

Chapter 8. Jim Giuffre Musician by Nat Hentoff - Jim Giuffre Composer As Told to Downbeat [John Tynan], pp. 78-81

Chapter 9. The Passionate Conviction: An Interview with Jimmy Giuffre by Lorin Stephens, pp. 82-90.

Chapter 10. Jimmy Giuffre in the Jazz Literature : Jordi Pujol, Will McFarland and Francis Davis, pp. 91-101

Chapter 11. Jimmy Giuffre - The Pastoral Man by Ed Michel, pp. 102-112

Chapter 12. Peter Welding - Booklet Notes to The Complete Pacific Jazz and Capitol Recordings of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet and Tentette with Chet Baker [Mosaic MR 5-102], pp. 113-118

Chapter 13. Gerry Mulligan: The Gordon Jack Interview, pp. 119-125

Chapter 14. The West Coast School Of White Musicians And Its Soloists - from "Modern Jazz" by Morgan and Horricks, pp. 126-134

Chapter 15. The Composers of the West Coast School - from "Modern Jazz" by Morgan and Horricks, pp. 135-142

Chapter 16. Shelly Redux – More Thoughts From and About The Manne by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 143-153

Chapter 17. Shelly Manne & His Men at The Blackhawk: A Review of the Jazz Literature by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 154-169

Chapter 18. Shelly Manne and His Men Play Peter Gunn by Lester Koenig, pp. 170-172

Chapter 19. Hank Mancini - Jazz Musician by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 173-175

Chapter 20. Stan Getz - East of the Sun: The West Coast Sessions - The Ted Gioia Notes, pp. 176-181

Chapter 21. STAN AND GERRY - Occasional Collaborators" by Gordon Jack, pp. 182-185

Chapter 22. Shelly Manne: “Portrait of a Jazz Success” by John Tynan, pp.186-193

Chapter 23. Art Pepper - "The Whiteness of the Wail" by Gary Giddins, pp. 194-197

Chapter 24. Art Pepper-Marty Paich Inc. by Alun Morgan, pp. 198-203

Chapter 25. Art Pepper Plus Eleven by Marty Paich, pp. 204-207

Chapter 26. "Straight Life - The Story of Art Pepper" by Gary Giddins, pp. 208-212

Chapter 27. Art Pepper by Larry Kart, pp. 213-217

Chapter 28. Stan Levey - The Alun Morgan Interview, pp.218-222

Chapter 29. Stan Levey: From Left to Right - The JazzProfiles Interview by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 223-231

Chapter 30. Stan Levey - The Gordon Jack Interview, pp. 232-236

Chapter 31. Mel Lewis in the Jazz Literature - Steven A. Cerra, Ed.. pp. 237-247

Chapter 32. Mel Lewis – Life in Los Angeles - Chris Smith, pp. 248-253

Chapter 33. Mel Lewis, Terry Gibbs and The Dream Band by Terry Gibbs and Chris Smith, pp. 254-258

Chapter 34. Larry Bunker - Portrait of a Jazz Drummer and Studio Musician - The Gordon Jack Interview, pp. 259-263

Chapter 35. Larry Bunker - Modern Drummer Interview with David Levine and the Steve Voce Obituary for the Independent, pp. 264-269

Chapter 36. Whatever Happened to Larry Bunker? by Mal Sands, pp. 270-277

Chapter 37. JazzLife - Hollywood and Los Angeles by William Claxton, pp. 278-284

Chapter 38. Dave Pell by Gordon Jack, pp. 285-288

Chapter 39. Dave Pell - The Complete Trend and Kapp Recordings 1953-1956 by Steven A. Cerra and Jordi Pujol, pp. 289-296

Chapter 40. The Case for Dave Pell - The Octets and Beyond by Steven A. Cerra, pp. 297-302

Chapter 41. Chico Hamilton Quintet - The Robert Gordon/Mosaic Records Notes, pp. 303-307

Chapter 42. The Chico Hamilton Quintet by Gordon Jack, pp. 308-312

Chapter 43. Terry Gibbs' Big Band - "Vamp 'Till Ready" by John Tynan, pp. 313-318

Chapter 44. Part 1 - The Terry Gibbs Dream Band from “Terry Gibbs Good Vibes - A Life in Jazz,” pp. 319-326

Chapter 45. Part 2 -The Terry Gibbs Dream Band from “Terry Gibbs Good Vibes - A Life in Jazz,” pp. 327-334

Chapter 46. Part 3 -The Terry Gibbs Dream Band from “Terry Gibbs Good Vibes - A Life in Jazz,” pp. 335-344

Epilogue: Jazz on the West Coast - “Preface” by Robert Gordon, pp. 345-347

Appeared in the December 14, 2024, print edition as 'The Art of the Musical Lyricist'. Copyright ©2024 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Mr. Epstein is an author, most recently, of “Never Say You’ve Had a Lucky Life.”

What Jazz vocalist hasn’t sung “Fascinating Rhythm,” “I Got Rhythm,” “Embraceable You,” or “But Not for Me,” over the years? What brings these melodies to life are their intriguing and interesting-to-sing lyrics. Here’s some background on the lyricist responsible for making these iconic songs a vocal reality.

By Michael Owen Liveright 416 pages.

“So one evening Ira Gershwin and his wife, Lee, have another couple over for drinks, when Mrs. Gershwin suggests they repair to a popular restaurant for dinner. Ira replies that it’s late and that they are unlikely to get a table, but he’ll try. Off he goes into another room where there is a phone, then returns to say that, just as he feared, no tables are available. His friend offers to try. He soon returns to report that, yes, he was able to get a table in the center of the room for 8 p.m. “How did you manage that?” Ira asks him. “Simple,” the friend replies. “I told them I was Ira Gershwin.”

This anecdote does not appear in Michael Owen’s biography of Ira Gershwin. But the tale, frequently shared by the writer Arthur Kober, is a story about modesty. Ira Gershwin learned his modesty at home. Born in 1896 as Israel Gershovitz, the first child of immigrant but not religious Russian-Jewish parents, Ira was soon overshadowed by his two-years-younger brother, George, who was more confident, more self-assertive, vastly more talented. The Gershwins’ mother, Rose, favored George; their father, Morris, was too busy failing at various businesses—pool halls, cigar stores, bakeries—to devote much time to any of his four children.

George Gershwin meanwhile, precocious in everything—he was able to play piano before he had had a lesson—left school at 15 to work plugging vaudeville songs for a music publisher, while Ira worked at a number of futureless jobs, among them handing out towels at a Turkish bath in Coney Island in which his father had a financial interest. Ira—small, overweight, needing glasses, not much of a student—developed a gift for language, a gift encouraged by his brother George, that he would soon put to use in his work writing the words for other men’s music.

“Lyricology,” as Michael Owen notes in his biography, is not an established subject, which is to say that not all that much is known about the lyricist and his work. Many popular composers—Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Stephen Sondheim—were able to do without lyricists, writing both music and lyrics themselves. Others—Jerome Kern, Richard Rodgers, George Gershwin—found lyricists indispensable. The construction of lyrics is fraught with complications. Some composers could not write their music until they had the lyrics before them; others—George Gershwin again—wrote the music and let lyricists find words to fit the music.

The lyrics of the songs of what came to be known as musical comedy—featuring romance, colloquial speech, street slang—may indeed be the true American poetry. They were written by, among others, Yip Harburg, P.G. Wodehouse, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin and Ira Gershwin. As for the job of lyricist, it is perhaps best described by Ira Gershwin himself: “Given a fondness for music, a feeling for rhyme, a sense of whimsy and humor, an eye for the balanced sentence, an ear for the current phrase and the ability to imagine oneself as a performer trying to put over the number in progress—given all this, I would still say it takes four or five years collaborating with knowledgeable composers to become a well-rounded lyricist.”

On the precariousness of the lyricist’s job, Ira wrote that it requires “a certain dexterity with words and a feeling for music. . . the infinite patience of the gemsetter, compatibility with the composer and an understanding of the various personalities in a cast.” Difficulties invariably arise. Songs one loves are canceled from shows, some performers insist on alterations in what one has written, others perform them poorly, the whims of producers are weighed, disputes over royalties emerge, entire shows are closed down for want of public taste.

The reader comes away from Mr. Owen’s “Ira Gershwin: A Life in Words” with a strong appreciation for all that the craft of the lyricist entails. (One is all the more impressed with the accuracy of the author’s subtitle when one learns that Ira Gershwin could not read music.) More important, at the close of Mr. Owen’s biography one feels that one knows Ira Gershwin—knows him and likes him. In these pages we learn what the world thought of Ira Gershwin, what his co-workers and family thought of him, and, through Mr. Owen’s careful mining of his subject’s letters and diaries and pronouncements, what he thought of himself.

Ira Gershwin understood that he was himself a secondary character. He was secondary above all to his brother George. At the center of Ira Gershwin’s life was his immensely talented brother, who, at the age of 21, wrote “Swanee,” lyrics by Irving Caesar, sung by Al Jolson, an immediate and enduring hit. George Gershwin would later compose “Rhapsody in Blue,” which mixed classical music with the spirit of jazz. Later, when the Gershwin brothers teamed up to write the musical “Lady, Be Good!” “the American musical theater,” in the words of Philip Furia, in his “Ira Gershwin: The Art of the Lyricist,” “finally found its native idiom.”

The Gershwin brothers’ songs—“Fascinating Rhythm,” “I Got Rhythm,” “Embraceable You,” “But Not for Me,” “Bidin’ My Time,” et al.—in Philip Furia’s words, “reveal Ira’s complete mastery at balancing simple and comic lyrics, infusing popular-song formulas with light-verse flourishes, making his wit perfectly singable and avoiding both flippancy and sentimentality as he registered genuine feeling.” George Gershwin’s songs were never better than when Ira supplied their lyrics.

George’s death, in 1937, at the age of 38, owing to a malignant glioblastoma, was a staggering blow to Ira, who never really got over it. (Mozart died at 35, Chopin at 39, Bizet at 36, Mendelssohn at 38—the early death of great composers is an all-too-frequent occurrence.) Ira would outlive George by 4½ decades, a fair amount of them devoted to preserving his brother’s achievement. Earlier, in 1933, when the musical “Of Thee I Sing” won a Pulitzer Prize, Morrie Ryskin, George S. Kaufman and Ira were the announced prizewinners, but not George Gershwin, for Pulitzers in those days were not given for music. Ira was much aggrieved at the unfairness of his brother’s exclusion.

After his brother’s death, Ira would work with Moss Hart, Kurt Weill and others—he wrote the coda for Harold Arlen and Yip Harburg’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”: “If happy little bluebirds fly / beyond the rainbow / why, oh why, can’t I?” But more often he brought an impressive sophistication to his lyrics, the product of his wide reading. In “How Long Has This Been Going On?” we find “I was kissed / by my sist- / ers, my cousins, and my aunties. / Sad to tell, / it was hell / an inferno worse than Dante’s.” In George’s and his “A Foggy Day,” you will recall “I viewed the morning with alarm. / The British Museum had lost its charm.” The ballad “But Not for Me” contains, “With Love to Lead the Way, / I’ve found more Clouds of Gray / Than any Russian play / Could guarantee.” And from “Isn’t It a Pity?” we find mention of Heine and “My nights were sour / Spent with Schopenhauer.” Difficult to imagine any of Gershwin’s contemporaries, apart perhaps from Cole Porter, availing him- or herself of such rich literary references.

Grow though his fame did over the years, Ira Gershwin remained, in Michael Owen’s words, “a reluctant celebrity.” He found the leisurely life of California, which he discovered when he and George set out to write for the movies, preferable to that of the raucous tumult of New York. He dabbled in leftist politics, led by his wife, who was more political than he, and in many ways his opposite in her lively temperament. He had an immense success with “Lady in the Dark,” directed by Moss Hart, music by Kurt Weill, with a starring role for Gertrude Lawrence. He regularly edited his own earlier lyrics. He foraged in his brother’s notebook—“tunebook” George called it—for further tunes for which he might supply the words. But, as he neared 60, as Mr. Owen notes, “he was at a creative crossroads: three years of writing songs for the movies had proved professionally unsatisfying,” and Broadway, in Ira’s view, seemed less than promising.

He published a book, “Lyrics on Several Occasions” (1959), which did not find commercial success. He stood guard over his brother’s reputation. When an exhibition about the Gershwins was staged at the music division of the Museum of the City of New York, Ira joked that the true title for the exhibition ought to be “Principally George (and Incidentally Ira).” He spent much time sorting through the financial details of the distribution of the royalties from his brother’s and his music and later his mother’s will, so much that he claimed he had become “really a bookkeeper.” If any criticism can be made of Mr. Owen’s excellent biography, it is an overload of financial details, rendering the book, at moments, best read by a CPA.

Old age kicked in for Ira Gershwin, with its various ailments and, in his case, many falls, resulting in broken ribs and other injuries; he referred to these latter as “rhapsody in bruise.” He died peacefully, of a heart attack in his sleep, on Aug. 17, 1983, at the age of 86. We do not know what Ira Gershwin’s last words might have been, but one likes to think that they were both rhymed and singable.”

Let the proofing begin!

Hope to self-publish on Amazon in January, 2025 - "God willun' and the creek don't rise."

Too numerous to list but many, many thanks to all of you who helped make this anthology a reality. A special thanks to my paid subscribers. I couldn't have done it without you.

I will provide a listing of chapters once the final editorial review if completed.

This piece is part of the research for my forthcoming Jazz West Coast Reader Volume 3 which I hope to self-publish in January, 2025. I thought it might be fun to share it with you now.

Aside from the fact that I’m a great fan of both Frank Rosolino and Leonard Feather’s Blindfold Tests, the reason for the inclusion of this piece, which appeared in the January 31, 1963 Down Beat, can be found in its introduction which indicates Frank’s heavy involvement with both TV and studio work.

Many of the Jazz West Coast heavyweights including Bud Shank, Shelly Manne, Conte Candoli, Bill Holman, Shorty Rogers, among many others with excellent music reading skills would make a similar transition. [Incidentally, the same thing was happening in New York City during the 1960s.]

It was lucrative work and, initially, also creatively interesting thanks to the composing skills of Bill, Shorty, Pete Rugolo, Henry Mancini, Johnny Mandel, Jerry Goldsmith, etc., whose work was used in music scores for film and TV. Later such East Coast luminaries as Benny Golson, Oliver Nelson and J.J. Johnson would get in on the act, both as performers and composers. Sadly, the quality of music written for various visual mediums was not to last.

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