More Trombone!

The great J.J. Johnson

Is jazz trombone having a moment? Maybe it's just me, but recently I've been listening to some terrific new albums that showcase modern jazz trombonists. As a big fan of the instrument, it's a welcome development, even if we're still a long way from the trombone's glory days in the 1950s and 60s.

The trombone, like the clarinet and flute, doesn't seem to get a lot of attention or respect among jazz fans. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that clarinet and flute seem a bit dainty for hard bop. Trombone, on the other hand, suffers from the opposite problem. Like the bass clarinet or tuba - trombone is a fun addition to any group, but seemingly a bit too plodding to be seen as a serious solo instrument. 

Even so, the trombone has been an integral part of jazz since the very beginning. One of the most recognizable characteristics of ragtime and early New Orleans jazz bands are the unique sounds made by the slide trombone -- growling, scooping, and particularly the glissando, i. e. sliding up or down from one note to the next. (If you think of the "Hold That Tiger" lyric from the "Tiger Rag" you'll probably recall some of these sounds.)

But despite it's importance to the development of jazz music, the trombone has mostly been considered a secondary or complementary instrument. As jazz historian Gunther Schuller writes in the Oxford Companion to Jazz: "In a typical early jazz formation of trumpet, trombone, and clarinet, the three instruments were assigned quite specific roles, with the trombone providing commentary asides, countermelodies, and harmonic fill-ins to the main tune played by the cornet and the clarinet’s high-register obbligatos, in general providing a link between the melodic/thematic material and the rhythm section."

Kid Ory

It's not surprising then, that unlike, say, early trumpet or cornet stars such as Louie Armstrong or Bix Beiderbecke, the pioneers of the trombone are much less well-known. Among the great trombone stylists of the 1910s and 20s were legendary players such as Kid Ory, J.C. Higginbotham, and Miff Mole. But even hard core jazz fans might not recognize their names.

The trombone came into its own during the Swing Era in the 1930s. Popular big bands commonly employed three or four trombonists, all of whom would be expected to play solos. This, in turn, helped develop a new generation of trombone players attuned to a more melodic, lyrical style. Outstanding talents such as Jack Teagarden, Benny Morton, Lawrence Brown, Vic Dickenson, Juan Tizol, and Trummy Young came out of the big bands, playing solos with greater articulation and fewer slide gimmicks. In addition, Tommy Dorsey and Glenn Miller -- two of the most popular big band leaders of all time -- were both trombonists.

In the 1940s, as the big bands broke up and bebop jazz began to take the place of swing, trombone players had to once again adapt and find a way of playing to keep up with the faster-paced, improvised rhythm of bop. The driving force behind this stylistic movement was J.J. Johnson. 

Born in Indianapolis in 1924, Johnson came of age at the tail end of the big band era, playing with groups led by Snookum Russell, Benny Carter, and Count Basie. In 1946, Dizzy Gillespie encouraged Johnson to develop a bebop style for the trombone. Years later, Gillespie says that he told Johnson: "I've always known that the trombone could be played different, that somebody'd catch on one of these days. Man, you're elected!"

Johnson eliminated most of the glissandos, growls, rips, and other novelty effects from his playing, replacing them with a precisely articulated, trumpet-like style, enlivened by augmented chords and other alterations characteristic of bebop.

Johnson met Gillespie's challenge and proved convincingly that anything Dizzy could do on the trumpet he could now match on the trombone. Johnson developed astounding speed and agility on the instru­ment, and became a charter member of the bop revolution. Trombonist and Smoke Session recording artist Steve Turre sums up Johnson's legacy: "J. J. did for the trombone what Charlie Parker did for the saxophone. And all of us that are playing today wouldn’t be playing the way we’re playing if it wasn’t for what he did. . .he is the master of the trombone — the definitive master of the century.”

J. J. and Kai

The period from the 1950s through the 1980s proved to be the golden age of trombone jazz. Following Johnson's lead, a slew of talented trombonists were soon fronting bands and headlining recording sessions. Among the breakout stars were Kai Winding (who had a brief, but very successful partnership with Johnson), Jimmy Knepper, Frank Rosolino, Bennie Green, Jimmy Cleveland, Bob Brookmeyer, Curtis Fuller, Bill Watrous, Urbie Green, Carl Fontana, and Slide Hampton. Their output during the decades following the second World War set a high-water mark for the popularity of bebop trombone.

Since the 1980s, when the last of these headliners faded from the scene, trombone jazz hasn't really been the same. However, it is alive and well if you know where to look.

A very good place to start is with the Smoke Sessions Record label. Smoke Sessions is a record label and NYC jazz club with a stellar calendar of live shows and a growing list of fabulous, mostly straight-ahead jazz releases. Among the players in the Smoke stable are two fine trombonists, Steve Davis and Steve Turre. 

Turre is a veteran jazzman who has played with the likes of Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Woody Shaw, Hilton Ruiz, Chico Hamilton, and Lester Bowie. To date, he has cut five discs for Smoke Sessions, including the 2024 release Sanyas. (Unfortunately, only two of Turre's releases for Smoke are available on LP.)

As jazz writer Thom Jurek says, Turre's style "hovers between blues, hard and post-bop, Eastern and Afro-Latin sounds, and modal grooves." On Sanyas, Turre is backed by an exceptional group, including Nicholas Payton on trumpet, Isaiah Thompson on piano, and Buster Williams on bass. Like a number of record labels in the past, including Concord Jazz and Contemporary, Smoke Sessions has a talented stable of musicians who alternately lead their own sessions, appear as sidemen on other Smoke artists' albums, or perform in ever-evolving ensembles at the New York club. 

One of Turre's labelmates at Smoke Sessions is trombonist Steve Davis. Davis began his career with Art Blakey in the 1980s, and has shared the stage and studio with Chick Corea, Freddie Hubbard, Horace Silver, Cedar Walton, and Hank Jones, among others.

Davis has released six albums on the Smoke Sessions label, although once again, only two of them are available on LP. Davis's 2023 Smoke Sessions release, Steve Davis Meets Hank Jones, Vol. 1, is a killer trio date with the great Hank Jones on piano and Peter Washington (of the Bill Charlap Trio) on bass. Music writer Dave Linn at All About Jazz calls this disk "A glorious late addition to the Jones discography and a reminder of Davis' massive abilities."  

The session was recorded in 2008, and is one of the last dates that Hank Jones played before his death in 2010. There is apparently enough material in the can for Vol. 2, which hopefully will be released on vinyl in the near future.

If you dig Steve Davis Meets Hank Jones, Vol. 1, you will also want to check out Davis's 2024 Smoke Sessions release, We See. This sextet session features an all-star front line of Davis on trombone, Eddie Henderson on trumpet, and Ralph Moore on tenor sax. 

Kudos to Smoke Sessions for releasing so many exceptional trombone jazz albums by Turre and Davis. However, with two stellar trombonists on board, Smoke Sessions might want to think about pairing them up to try and capture some of the magic of the J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding outings.

I realize that a few disks does not make a trend. And I think it's unlikely we're going to see another jazz trombone renaissance anytime soon. Luckily, there is no shortage of great older recordings to hunt down. So, keep your eyes peeled for any J.J. Johnson or Kai Winding titles you see in the used bins. Nearly everything they did together or separately is worth picking up. As are just about anything by Urbie Green, Jimmy Knepper, Jimmy Cleveland, or Slide Hampton. Some of my favorites from this quartet of musicians include Urbie Green's 1977 release Senor Blues on the CTI label, Knepper's 1980 album Hot Knepper And Pepper on the Progressive Records label (a fabulous pairing of Knepper with Art Pepper on baritone sax), Jimmy Cleveland's 1957 debut, Cleveland Style on the Mercury label, and Roots, the 1985 release by Slide Hampton on the Criss Cross label. 

Enjoy the music!

 

 

Zoot Sims - Swinging From The First Note

 

John Haley "Zoot" Sims

Let's talk about one of my all-time favorite jazz musicians, Zoot Sims. First of all, "Zoot" is perhaps the coolest nickname in the history of jazz. Which is saying something, because jazz is littered with great nicknames, including Bags, Prez, Bird, Bean, Satchmo, Cannonball, Brownie, Diz, Cleanhead, Fathead, Jaws, Lucky, Papa Joe, and Sweets, just to name a few. But in my view, Zoot is in a class by itself. 

The man who became Zoot was born John Haley Sims in the Los Angeles suburb of Inglewood, CA in 1925. He started playing clarinet in the school band at age 10, but switched to the tenor saxophone three years later. Not surprisingly, his early influences were the great saxophone stylists of the late 1930s, including Lester Young, Ben Webster, and Don Byas. 

Within a few years, Sims dropped out of high school and began playing professionally with big bands, starting with groups led by Kenny Baker and Bobby Sherwood. He joined Benny Goodman's band for the first time in 1943 at the age of 18 (and continued to perform with Goodman on and off until the late 1970s). 

In 1944, Sims replaced one of his idols - Ben Webster - in Sid Catlett's Quartet. In May of that same year, at the age of 19, he made his recording debut on Commodore Records in a sextet led by pianist Joe Bushkin.

Four Brothers: Herbie Stewart, Al Cohn, Zoot Sims, Serge Chaloff

After a two-year hitch in the Army Air Force (1944-46), Sims picked up where he had left off, playing with bands led by Artie Shaw, Stan Kenton, and Buddy Rich. He rose to fame as a member of the saxophone section in Woody Herman's second great Big Band ensemble, known as the "Second Herd," which lasted from 1947-49.

The band had a hit single in 1948 with a song by Jimmy Giuffre called "Four Brothers," written specifically to spotlight the talents of the sax section. 

While the musicians who made up the band's saxophone section changed a few times during the two years the Second Herd was together, the members who played on the hit song and became the original Four Brothers were Zoot Sims, Serge Chaloff, Herbie Stewart, and Stan Getz. (You can listen to the song here. The order of the solos is Sims, Chaloff, Stewart, Getz - followed by Woody Herman on the clarinet.) Other members of the sax section during the Second Herd were Al Cohn, Gene Ammons, and Jimmy Giuffre.

From 1954–56, Sims toured with his friend Gerry Mulligan's sextet, and later, in the early 1960s, with Mulligan's Concert Jazz Band. 

After leaving Mulligan's band, and up until the end of his life, Sims was primarily a freelancer, though he worked frequently in the 1960s and early 1970s with a group co–led with Al Cohn. In the 1970s and 1980s, he also played and recorded regularly with a handful of other musical partners including Bucky Pizzarelli, Joe Venuti, and Jimmy Rowles. In 1975, he began recording for Norman Granz's Pablo Records label, where he eventually released more than 20 albums, mostly as a featured solo artist, but also as a backing musician for artists including Count Basie, Sarah Vaughan, and Clark Terry. Among the albums Sims recorded for Pablo are six releases featuring pianist Jimmy Rowles in a quartet setting that music critic Scott Yanow has said may be Sims's finest work.

Zoot and Al Cohn

But let's back up a bit. What exactly is a Zoot? Sims acquired the nickname at the start of his career while playing with Kenny Baker's band in California in the early 1940s. According to broadcast journalist and jazz writer Doug Ramsey, "When Sims joined Baker's band as a fifteen-year-old tenor saxophonist, each of the music stands was embellished with a nonsense word [like Scoot, Voot, or Zoot]. The one Sims sat behind said 'Zoot,' and that became his nickname." 

Ramsey, who was good friends with Sims, goes on to write that "Sims was the most dependable and consistent of tenor saxophonists. Never dull, never predictable, he symbolized the spirit of jazz . . . He required no start-up time. Zoot Sims was that rarity, a musician capable of swinging from the first note, and his swing was irresistible." Most of all, Ramsey adds, "Sims just loved to play." 

In his 1989 book Jazz Matters, Ramsey recounts a story about Sims at a late-night jam session following a concert in Seattle in 1955. By 3:00 a.m., all the other headliners had gone to bed, but Sims and the rhythm section kept on playing. Eventually, the rhythm section packed it in as well. Ramsey writes that Sims, who was sitting on a stool, "Closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall, and kept on swinging hard all by himself." 

In addition to his musical genius, Sims was, by all accounts, an extremely likeable fellow, and fun to be around. There are any number of humorous stories about him, including several recorded by bass player Bill Crow in his terrific book Jazz Anecdotes. Crow says that when he wasn't working, Sims was known to be a very sloppy dresser, usually wearing an old baseball jacket and rumpled corduroy pants. Crow says that one afternoon Sims walked into a bar where he was a regular wearing a dark suit and a tie. The bartender was shocked and asked Zoot why he was all dressed up. Zoot smiled and said, "I don't know, I just woke up this way." 

Sims was also known to be a prodigious drinker. Crow says that one night a man in the audience was amazed to see Sims down shot after shot while playing, never missing a note. During a break, the man asked Sims how he could possibly play so well after drinking so much, and Sims told him, "Well, I practice when I'm loaded."

Joe Venuti and Zoot Sims

Even though Sims died relatively young at the age of 59 (in 1985 of cancer), during the course of his career he is credited with playing on some 400 albums, with more than a hundred releases as a leader.

However, Sims was never a star of the magnitude of a Stan Getz or John Coltrane, so his albums are not heavily sought after. And since he cut so many LPs, they tend to turn up fairly frequently in the used bins at bargain prices. 

I currently have 87 albums where Sims is either the leader or a sideman, including 18 of his Pablo releases. It's almost impossible to pick out any favorites, because Sims never made a bad album. There literally isn't a dud among them. As Ramsey wrote, Sims was "swinging from the first note," every time he played. 

However, if you twist my arm, I would say that you can't go wrong with any of the Pablo releases, or the albums with Al Cohn, or the three albums that Sims recorded with violinist Joe Venuti. Zoot and Venuti were two of the swinging-est cats ever, and together they shared a special musical chemistry. But most of all, they just seemed to have a blast playing; their music is effortless and joyful. Bottom line: If you come across any of Zoot's albums, just buy them.

Enjoy the music.

What I've Been Listening To Lately - The Jazz Piano Trio Edition

The piano trio has been a jazz stalwart at least as far back as the 1920s, even if the earliest popular trios were not the classic lineup of piano, bass, and drums. For example, in 1927, Jelly Roll Morton cut some trio sides using clarinetist Johnny Dodds and his brother, drummer Baby Dodds. In 1929 he similarly recorded with Barney Bigard on clarinet and Zutty Singleton on drums. (left)

 

In the mid 1930s the jazz trio format gained a wider audience when clarinetist Benny Goodman formed a superstar group with pianist Teddy Wilson and drummer Gene Krupa. A few years later, out in Los Angeles, Nat Cole put together his first trio, The Nat Cole Swingsters, performing with guitarist Oscar Moore and bassist Wesley Prince.

The classic piano/bass/drums trio lineup came into its own during the Bebop era in the mid to late 1940s. One of the first great modern piano trios was Erroll Garner's 1946 group with Red Callender on bass and Lou Singer on drums. They were followed shortly after by the Bud Powell Trio with bassist Curly Russell and drummer Max Roach and then in 1949 by the Dave Brubeck Trio with Ron Crotty on bass and Cal Tjader on drums. In the 1950s and early 1960s, the modern piano trio hit its stride with a wealth of fabulous groups led by such greats as Ahmad Jamal, Oscar Peterson, Ramsey Lewis, George Shearing, McCoy Tyner, Gene Harris, Marian McPartland, Andre Previn, Horace Silver, Sonny Clark, and Vince Guaraldi. 

Perhaps the greatest and most influential of all the jazz piano threesomes was the Bill Evans Trio. It was also one of the longest-lived jazz trios, recording and performing for some 20 years, albeit with seven different bassists and ten different drummers. (Indeed, Evans' first three LPs alone had three different bass players (Teddy Kotick, Sam Jones, and Scott LaFaro) and two different drummers (Paul Motian and Philly Joe Jones.) 

 

In addition to his musical genius, Evans' great contribution to the jazz trio was to democratize the format. In the liner notes to his 1960 album Portrait In Jazz, Evans is quoted as saying: “I’m hoping the trio will grow in the direction of simultaneous improvisation rather than just one guy blowing followed by another guy blowing. If the bass player, for example, hears an idea that he wants to answer, why should he just keep playing a background?” In Evans' conception, the trio shouldn't be just a pianist backed by a rhythm section, but a three-way conversation. 

 

Evans' ambition was most fully realized in his early work with bassist Scott LaFaro and drummer Paul Motian. Reams have been written about the seemingly telepathic communication between the three players, particularly the interplay between Evans and bassist Scott LaFaro. [If you've forgotten just how magical their sound was, stop reading right now and go listen to Sunday At The Village Vanguard (Riverside RLP 9376). Focus on the dialogue between LaFaro and Evans. Gives me goose bumps every time.]

 

Of course, the Vanguard recordings were made impossibly poignant by Scott LaFaro's death in a car accident in 1961 at the age of 25 - a mere ten days after the sessions. Evans was devastated by the loss and spent the rest of his life chasing the cosmic connection he felt with LeFaro during their brief 1959-61 musical partnership. As a tribute, Evans put LeFaro's name on the cover of the resulting album, billing the sessons as "Featuring Scott LeFaro." LeFaro's death remains one of the greatest tragedies in jazz history (which is chock full of tragedies).

 

As much as I enjoy jazz quartets, quintets and larger ensembles, I confess that I often feel like I'm missing some of the action. With two or three primary instruments in the front line, I sometimes think I'm not hearing and appreciating all the individual contributions. Whereas with a piano trio, it's easy to follow each instrument and hear the interaction and exchange between the players. Which makes for a very satisfying listen. It's no surprise that piano trio recordings by the likes of Bill Evans, Ahmad Jamal, or Vince Guaraldi account for a good portion of my LP listening. And lately, I've been digging deeper into my collection for less well-known gems from the piano trio canon. I love discovering great new-to-me music and hope that some of these artists will be new to you as well.

 

Denny Zeitlin - Cathexis (Columbia CS 8982)

 

Zeitlin is a singular figure in modern jazz. His debut album, Cathexis, came out in 1964, just as he was completing his medical degree at Johns Hopkins University. Soon after the album's release, Zeitlin moved to San Francisco to begin a medical residency in psychiatry. It's safe to say that Zeitlin is the world's most successful jazz pianist who is also a practicing psychiatrist. [At the time of this writing, Zeitlin, who is 86, continues to perform and to teach psychiatry at the University of California, San Francisco.]

 

A student of George Russell, Zeitlin's influences include Lennie Tristano, Bill Evans, George Shearing, and Dave Brubeck. If you dig these artists, you're likely to enjoy Zeitlin's music. Downbeat Magazine calls his performance "A stunning display of instrumental virtuosity, emotional depth, and musicality." Cathexis was recorded at Columbia's famous 30th Street Studio in NYC, and the original two-eye pressing sounds terrific. The legendary John Hammond (who played a key role in the careers of scores of artists, including Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen) produced the album and wrote the liner notes. Zeitlin is backed on the album by the great Cecil McBee on bass and drummer Frederick Waits. Inexplicably, the two are not credited on the album (but are mentioned in the liner notes.) Zeitlin would go on to record three more albums for Columbia, all of which are well worth a listen.

 

And just in case you're wondering, Cathexis is a psychoanalytic term that refers to the mental or emotional energy that people invest in themselves, others, or objects.

 

Paul Bley Trio - BeBop (1990, SteepleChase SCS 1259) 

 

Paul Bley was born in Montreal in 1932. A musical prodigy, he sat in with touring American jazz bands in his early teens. In high school, the great Oscar Peterson (also from Montreal) asked him to fill in when he had to cancel a gig at a local club. In 1950, Bley left Canada to study at Julliard in NYC. Within a few years he had cut an album with Charlie Parker and was performing in Manhattan clubs with the likes of Jackie McLean and Lester Young. On his first album, Introducing Paul Bley, released in 1954 on Charles Mingus' Debut label, Bley is backed by Mingus on bass and Art Blakey on drums. Holy smokes! 

 

Unfortunately, I can't stand most of Bley's music, which (at least to my ears) is a brand of atonal and discordant free jazz. However, beginning in the mid 1980s, Bley cut a series of five trio albums for Denmark's SteepleChase label that are pretty close to mainstream jazz. BeBop was the fourth of these, released in 1990, and features Bob Cranshaw on bass and Keith Copeland on drums. BeBop was produced by Denmark's own Nils Winther and is a great example of what beautiful music Bley is capable of when using his powers for good.

 

Paul Smith Trio - This One Cooks! (1981, Outstanding 012)

 

Paul Smith, yet another child prodigy, was born in San Diego in 1922 and began playing professionally when barely out of high school. After a tour in the military, Smith found work with Les Paul's group and then in Tommy Dorsey's band. 

 

By 1950, Smith had settled permanently in Los Angeles, where spent most of his career as a studio musician playing on television soundtracks and motion picture scores. His Hollywood resume also includes stints as the musical director for The Dinah Shore Show and The Steve Allen Comedy Hour. In addition, Smith was an in-demand accompanist, playing for Bing Crosby, Doris Day, and Sammy Davis Jr. among others. He had a decades-long association with Ella Fitzgerald as her pianist and musical director.

 

Along the way, Smith played on hundreds of albums, including more than 50 under his own name. Despite his success (or at least his ubiquity), many music critics failed to take Smith seriously, writing him off as all flash and little substance. In particular they didn't care for Smith's tendency to "quote" other songs while playing, for example, inserting a bit of "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" while playing the classic tune "Take The A Train." Smith says that he just liked to keep things loose while playing, but the critics weren't impressed.

 

In fact, Smith's playing on This One Cooks! will likely not impress you as an example of deeply introspective jazz. However, he will knock your socks off with his astounding virtuosity. And even better, the music is a hoot. Drummer Frankie Capp and bassist Wilfred Middlebrooks expertly sustain Smith's often frenetic pace. In the liner notes, Middlebrooks says that when playing with Smith, his role is "To support him and stay out of his way." Finally, keep your ears peeled for several of Smith's signature "quotes" on the album. "From The Halls Of Montezuma" makes its way into Jobim's "Meditation."

Richard Beirach - EON (1975, ECM 1054)

 

Richie Beirach was born in 1947 in Brooklyn. He studied piano from age 6 to 18 with composer James Palmieri, then continued his musical education at the Berklee College of Music in Boston and the Manhattan School of Music in NYC. He began playing in Manhattan clubs in the mid 1960s, including gigs with Freddie Hubbard, Lee Konitz, and Stan Getz. Eon was Beirach's debut release under his own name.

 

The first track on the album, Miles Davis' classic "Nardis," might initially lead you to think that it's Bill Evans on piano. Beirach was friends with Evans (his second album is called Elegy For Bill Evans), and his playing has more than a touch of Evans' lyrical, inventive style. And like Evans, on this recording Beirach displays an almost telepathic connection with his bandmates, bassist Frank Tusa and drummer Jeff Williams. 

 

The music on EON is both haunting and uplifting. AllMusic critic Chuck Berg says "This is simply my favorite piano trio recording of them all. It is magic from start to finish. Beirach's playing is a great mix of stunning technique and space. Frank Tusa provides melodic counterpoint and Jeff Williams is simply playing pure music. Three guys playing as one." 

The album was released by ECM, produced by the label's indefatigable boss, Manfred Eicher. Like nearly all ECM releases, the sound is exceptional. A true hidden gem.

Hal Galper - Naturally (1987 Black Hawk BKH 529-1)

 

Raise your hand if you've heard of Hal Galper. Anyone? Until I chanced upon an unopened copy of this title at a used record store, I do not think I had ever seen or heard Galper's name. So, I'm glad I took a flyer on the album based on the names of his sidemen.

Galper grew up in Salem, Massachusetts and attended Berklee College in Boston. He got his start performing in local clubs there, including as a member of the house band led by Herb Pomery at a Beantown club called The Stable. Galper later gigged with Stan Getz and Chet Baker (among others) before joining Cannonball Adderley's quintet in the 1970s. After that, he held down the prestigious piano chair with Phil Woods' Quintet from 1980-90. [Later occupied by Bill Charlap. See below.]

 

Galper cut his first album as a leader in 1971 and to date has some 18 albums to his credit. Among the many brilliant players who have appeared on his sessions are Michael Brecker, Tony Williams, Cecil McBee, Victor Gaskin, Dave Holland, Lee Konitz, John Scofield, and Reggie Workman.

 

Despite his obvious talent, Galper has flown beneath the radar for most of his career. AllMusic critic Scott Yarow opines that "He is a talented pianist in the modern mainstream/post-bop genre. His music is thoughtful, always swings, and has some surprising twists and turns." The album Naturally was recorded in 1982 at a live concert in Sydney, Australia with Rufus Reid on bass and Victor Lewis on drums.

Bill Charlap Trio - Street Of Dreams (2021, Blue Note B0033904)

 

If you aren't already on the Bill Charlap bandwagon, what the heck are you waiting for? In the words of music critic Matt Collar, "Charlap is a swinging and lyrical post-bop improvisor and accompanist, as well as a celebrated interpreter of standards. He debuted in the '90s with Gerry Mulligan and has performed with jazz icons like Benny Carter, Phil Woods, and Clark Terry. What is so compelling about Charlap's playing is just how balanced it is. He's clearly imbibed an array of influences, from Earl Hines and Teddy Wilson to Bud Powell and Bill Evans, yet he always sounds like himself."

 

The 2021 release Street Of Dreams features the sympathetic (but unrelated) pairing of Peter Washington on bass and Kenny Washington on drums. Even though Charlap has more than a trace of Evans' lyrical creativity, there is no Vulcan mind meld with the Washingtons. After more than 25 years playing together, their roles are quite clear: The Washingtons provide a rock-solid rhythm backing for the star of the show, and I'm OK with that.

Ross Tompkins Trio - Street Of Dreams (1983, Famous Door HL 143)

 

What are the odds, right? Another album with the name Street Of Dreams. [In fact, there are at least six albums with this name, the first being a 10" LP by the Ink Spots, released in 1955.]

 

Born in 1938 in Detroit, Ross Tompkins attended the New England Conservatory of Music before moving to NYC and working with a host of groups, including Kai Winding, Eric Dolphy, Bob Brookmeyer, Zoot Sims, Bobby Hacket, Benny Goodman, and Wes Montgomery. In 1971, Tompkins moved to Los Angeles, where he played with Louie Bellson, Joe Venuti, and Red Norvo before joining Doc Severinson and the Tonight Show Band in 1972. He remained with the band until Johnny Carson retired in 1992.

Tomkins' Street Of Dreams album was released in 1983, and features John Heard on bass and either Jake Hanna or Nick Ceroli on drums. The playing is strictly mainstream, but has a flowing lyricism that is quite lovely and compelling. The release, on the Famous Door label, was mastered by the talented Gladys Hopkowitz, and sounds very natural and dynamic.

The John Bunch Trio - The Best Thing For You (1987, Concord Jazz CJ-387)

Bunch was born in 1921 and hails from Tipton, Indiana. By the time he was in his teens he was playing professionally with various bands in the Hoosier state. During World War II, Bunch served in the Army Air Corps as a bombardier on a B-17. He was shot down over Germany in late 1944, and remained a prisoner until the end of the war. 

Back home in Indiana, Bunch tried his hand at various jobs, then decided to move to Los Angeles in 1956 to try and jump start his musical career. He found work with George Auld, Jimmy Rowles, and Woody Herman's band. After two years, he moved to NYC where he played in bands led by Maynard Ferguson and Eddie Condon. 

In 1966, Bunch became Tony Bennet's pianist and musical director, a position he held until 1972. For the next 30 years, he worked steadily in New York and London, performing and recording with his own groups, as well as bands led by Benny Goodman, Bucky Pizzarelli, Buddy Rich, Gene Kruppa, Scott Hamilton, and many others.  

The Best Thing For You is a 1987 outing on the Concord Jazz label. Like nearly all Concord titles, Bunch's LP is strictly mainstream jazz. The songs are a varied selection of standards - from Gershwin to Bossa Nova - played in a mostly upbeat, swinging style, sure to put a bounce in your step and a smile on your face. The sidemen are Phil Flanigan on bass, and Chuck Riggs on drums.

Let me know if you have other lesser-known jazz piano trios to recommend.

Enjoy the music!

Eddie Condon - Hot Jazz "Chicago Style"

The ever dapper Eddie Condon and his Gibson L-7 plectrum guitar

On a recent trip to the NC mountains, I found a bunch of old jazz albums - mostly from the 1950s and early 60s - in an antiques shop. There were maybe 500 LPs in all, most of them beat to heck and smelling of mildew. I suspect they had been mouldering away in someone's basement or barn for the last 50 years or so. But you never know when you're going to run across a Blue Note first pressing, so I started looking.

My normal routine when digging through used records is to make a pile of anything that looks interesting. After I've finished looking, I sit down somewhere and go through the albums to check their condition. Then I consult the master list on my phone to be sure I'm not buying records I already own. (Happens all the time.)

After going through all the records at the antiques shop, I ended up with a stack of 35-40 albums to check out. However, just as I got started, the owner of the store wandered by. He noticed my large pile of records and told me that since he was trying to clear out the stock, he'd let me have them for $2 apiece. Well, thanks very much. However, even with the generous discount, I still put back about half of the LPs because they were just too scratched up.

I ended up buying about 20 albums. Among the haul were LPs by George Shearing, Louis Prima, Joe Venuti, J.J. Johnson, Eddie Condon, Zoot Sims, Victor Feldman, and Roy Eldridge. None of them are particularly rare or valuable (alas, no Blue Notes), but for $2 a pop, it's hard to go wrong.

My near-mint 1959 $2 score

After I got home and started cleaning and cataloging the discs, one that stood out was the 1959 release That Toddlin' Town by Eddie Condon. The reason it stood out initially was because it was in nearly perfect condition. Who knows why, but it was the only album in the bunch that was in a poly outer sleeve. As a result, the jacket was clean and sharp, the original Warner Bros. company dust sleeve was nice and crisp, and the vinyl looked like it had never been played. As a collector, you have to love a 65-year-old album that looks practically brand new.

I cleaned the record and gave it a spin. Oh, my. The sound is terrific: A big wall of mono that makes it seem like you're sitting in the studio about five feet in front of the band. The album was recorded in New York City on February 26 and 27, 1959, and released the same year on the Warner Brothers label (W 1315). My copy is a deep-groove pressing, produced by RCA Records at their plant in Rockaway, NJ. The vinyl is heavy, flat, and quiet.

As the title suggests, That Toddlin' Town pays tribute to Chicago's rich jazz history, and specifically the music of the 1920s, when the Windy City was the jazz capitol of the world. And who better to perform the music than a bunch of cats who got their start in the 1920s in Chicago. The group is billed as Eddie Condon And His Chicagoans, and features Condon on guitar, Pee Wee Russell on clarinet, George Wettling on drums, Dick Carry on piano, Bud Freeman on saxophone, Cutty Cutshall on trombone, Leonard Gaskin and Al Hall on bass, and Max Kaminsky on trumpet. 

The LP version of the original Decca singles.

The album was produced by the legendary George Avakian, who also wrote the liner notes. In his comments, Avakian explains that the record is largely a recreation of the first sessions he ever produced, a series of 1939 recordings on the Decca label called Wolverine Jazz by an outfit called Bud Freeman and his Summa Cum Laude Orchestra. [The 1939 album was itself a recreation of the singles released by a Chicago band called The Wolverines Orchestra in 1924. More anon.] 

As it turns out, the Summa Cum Laude Orchestra (1939) and Eddie Condon And His Chicagoans (1959) were pretty much the same group. Avakian simply got the band back together 20 years later.

Even though That Toddlin' Town was an eye opener for me musically, it's not like I hadn't heard of Eddie Condon before. In fact, I already had eight of his records in my collection. Although I confess that I can't remember the last time I listened to any of them. In my brain, I had filed Condon under Dixieland - upbeat and fun, but also a little old-fashioned. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Dixieland - but only in small doses. Kind of like I like Bluegrass or the bagpipes - a couple of songs is usually plenty. However, after hearing the sophisticated harmonies and high-wire improvisation on That Toddlin' Town, I started thinking that I may have been a little hasty in pigeon-holing Condon's music.

Coast To Coast, Jammin' At Condon's, Midnight In Moscow

To further my research, I pulled down some other Condon albums that I hadn't heard in a while, including Jam Session Coast-To-Coast (1954), Jammin' At Condon's (1955), and Midnight in Moscow (1962). After more listening, I decided I needed to reassess my thinking on Eddie Condon.

The obvious place to start was with Eddie Condon's autobiography, "We Called It Music," published in 1947 when Condon was one of the most popular jazz musicians in the country. The book is very well-written, and, as you would expect, has a wealth of information about Condon's life and career. But what you might not expect is that Condon's rollicking writing style and wisecracking asides make his memoir one of the laugh-out-loud, funniest books about jazz ever written. Unless otherwise noted, all the quotes below by Condon are from his book.

Condon was born in 1905 in Goodland, Indiana, the youngest of nine children. He grew up in Momence, Illinois and Chicago Heights, the latter a suburb about a half hour south of the city. An indifferent student, Condon and his high school buddies spent most of their time listening to jazz records and trying to put together a band to play the songs they heard. Condon had almost no formal musical instruction, but he had a good ear and learned to play chords on his brother's ukulele. He and his pals managed to learn enough songs to play at some school dances and local parties.

In 1921, at the age of 16, Condon's older brother Cliff bought Eddie a banjo (louder and more versatile than a ukulele) and helped arrange his first professional job with a dance band called Hollis Peavey's Jazz Bandits, based in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

The Jazz Bandits. Condon is 2nd from left with the banjo.

Condon left school, took the train to Cedar Rapids, and never looked back. For the next several years, he played with a succession of different bands, touring small towns and lake resorts in Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Canada, learning his trade, and experiencing life on the road.

[A brief interruption: There is some discussion about when Condon switched from the banjo to the guitar. A New Yorker profile of Condon from 1945 says that he played guitar on a 1927 recording date. In his memoir, Condon says that sometime in 1933 he found himself without his banjo at a rehearsal, so he borrowed a four-string plectrum guitar from a friend. A separate entry which seems to refer to the same episode adds: "The banjo had gone out of fashion while I was playing with the Blue Blowers. Experimenting with a four-string guitar intrigued me. I decided to get a full-sized guitar, use four strings, and stick to banjo tuning. I had never had a desire to play solos . . . I wanted only to remain where I belonged, in the rhythm section." So, the correct answer is Condon switched from banjo to guitar in 1933.]

During the 1920s, Chicago was mad for jazz. The music poured out of every club, speakeasy, and dance hall in the city. Black and white musicians who had immigrated from New Orleans started the trend, but they were soon joined by local white musicians (like Condon and his pals) who formed "Dixieland" bands, playing a fast, improvised music that soon became known as "hot jazz" or "Chicago style."

Whenever Condon was in the city, he and his musician pals, including Benny Goodman, Gene Krupa, Jimmy McPartland, Bud Freeman, and Bix Beiderbecks, spent every spare moment in the music halls listening to bands like King Joe Oliver's Creole Jazz Band and The New Orleans Rhythm Kings. Among their favorite performers were Sidney Bechet, Jimmy Noone, Leon Rappolo, and of course, the great Louis Armstrong.

Bix Beiderbecks

Among Condon's friends and peers, Bix Beiderbecks was the first to make it big. In 1924, Bix and his band, The Wolverines, made a series of well-received recordings on the Gennett label (see above if you missed it). Soon, Beiderbecks and the Wolverines were in demand at clubs and dance halls in the Midwest and New York City. 

Over the next couple of years, Beiderbecks' fame grew when he joined the Jean Goldkette Band, a larger and more professional outfit. Then, in 1927, Beiderbecks signed on with The Paul Whiteman Band, the most famous band in the country at that time. [Condon and Beiderbecks remained good friends until the latter sadly drank himself to death in 1931.]

Back in Chicago, Condon and his pals were still waiting for their big break. It finally came with the help of a band leader from St. Louis named Red McKenzie. McKenzie  fronted a trio called The Mound City Blue Blowers. He sang and played the comb and tissue paper. (Yes, really.) The Blue Blowers had released a string of enormously popular records in 1924-25, including a couple of million sellers. They were one of the first jazz bands to travel abroad, making a triumphant tour of the U.K. in 1926 (their records had preceded them). A year later, McKenzie was working primarily as a talent scout, making frequent trips to Chicago to look for up-and-coming performers.

Red McKenzie

In his book, Condon says that in the fall of 1927, he and his friends were hanging out at their usual haunt, a "no-knock" speakeasy at 222 North State Street. (As an illegal bar, the establishment didn't have a sign or a real name, but Condon says they called it The Three Deuces because of the street address.) The boys were drinking and disparaging a very popular combo called Red Nichols and his Five Pennies. Condon and his friends had little respect for the band because they didn't play "hot," meaning they used sheet music instead of improvising.

When McKenzie walked in and heard the discussion, he immediately challenged Condon to "name a band that was better than Nichols'. Easy, Condon told him. Come by my apartment tomorrow and hear my band."

As it happens, Condon didn't actually have a band at the time. "So, I rounded up Frank Teschmaker, Bud Freeman, Jimmy McPartland, Jim Lannigan, Joe Sullivan, and Gene Krupa. The next afternoon McKenzie heard us drop a rock on (the song) "Nobody's Sweetheart." According to Condon, after they finished playing, McKenzie said, "You win. Your band is as hot as a sidewalk in August. I'm going to get you a record date with Okeh."

Condon's first recorded side, 1927

After McKenzie left, Condon says that the guys weren't sure if he was serious or not. But sure enough, someone from Okeh contacted Condon to set up the session. On December 9, 1927, Condon made his first recording. Since the group was just a pick-up band, they didn't have a name. McKenzie suggested "McKenzie And Condon's Chicagoans," and that's what was printed on the label. The band recorded four songs for the Okeh label: "Sugar," "China Boy," "Nobody's Sweetheart," and "Liza." 

In addition to being Condon's first recordings, they are thought to be the first records ever made with a full drum kit, played by Gene Krupa. The drums were a sensation and helped define Condon's particular style of hard-driving, rhythmic Chicago jazz. The records sold well, and in the spring of 1928, Condon and his band recorded four sides for Brunswick Records under the name "The Chicago Rhythm Kings." Next, they waxed two sides for Paramount Records, this time billed as the "Jungle Kings." Things finally seemed to be looking up.

In late May, McKenzie invited Condon to go with him to New York where he was planning to put together a new version of the Mound City Blue Blowers. They hit town and checked into the Forrest Hotel on 49th St. 

McKenzie showed Condon around the city, introducing him to club owners, musicians, and band leaders. They went to Brooklyn to see Bix Beiderbecks play with The Paul Whiteman Band. Then they went to the Mayflower Hotel on Central Park South where Condon's buddies Jimmy McPartland and Bud Freeman were performing with Ben Pollack's band. 

Bee Palmer, the "Shimmy Queen"

As luck would have it, Condon ran into another old friend from Chicago, a former Ziegfeld Follies dancer named Bee Palmer who was staying at the Mayflower. Palmer, known as the "Shimmy Queen," was about to open an act at a new midtown club called Chateau Madrid, and was looking for a band to back her. She told Condon that she would square it with the club's owner, Lou Schwartz. Condon met with McKenzie, McPartland and Freeman, and they all agreed to take the job. McPartland and Freeman had a few out of town gigs they had to finish with Pollack's band, which gave Condon time to jump on a train to Chicago and fetch Teschmaker, Sullivan and Krupa.

The entire band was soon back in New York. Unfortunately, in the meantime Bee Palmer had had a falling out with her dance partner, and the act had broken up. Their engagement at the Chateau Madrid was cancelled. Condon reasoned that the new club was still going to need a band, so he and the boys went to the club and asked Schwartz if they could audition. "Schwartz said 'Why not' and sat at a table and listened. We could see he didn't have the slightest idea what we were doing. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn't us," Condon writes.

They auditioned for several other jobs, but it seems that no one was looking for a hot jazz band from Chicago. Condon says, "We were all staying in one room in the Cumberland Hotel and looking for any sort of work. Three weeks later we were still at the Cumberland Hotel and we had not paid them a cent. We owed them well over a hundred dollars and there was not any place that would let us play even for free." McKenzie used the group to cut a record as the Mound City Blue Blowers, and then Condon convinced Brunswick Records to let them record a couple more sides -- this time billed as Eddie Condon And His Footwarmers. But soon their meager funds ran out, and they agreed to split up so the boys could take individual gigs to earn some money. 

Condon got work playing background music for movie shorts and sat in on a couple of recording sessions. As a sign of his desperation, he even took a job playing a club date with the Red Nichols band(!) Eventually, Red McKenzie put together a new version of the Mound City Blue Blowers and asked Condon to join him. 

Owing to McKenzie's reputation and past success, the Mound City Blue Blowers found steady work, including a nine-month stand at a place called The Bath Club on 53rd St. They spent a winter in Florida playing parties in Palm Beach, and in the fall of 1931, The Blue Blowers were hired as the house band at the famous Stork Club on 58th St. They stayed on until the spring of 1932, when, according to Condon, "McKenzie got restless." Paul Whiteman offered him a job and McKenzie left, breaking up the band.

For the next year, Condon says he played parties and club dates, worked on an occasional recording session, and "kept alive on free steaks at Joe Helbock's Onyx club on 52nd St." In the spring of 1933, McKenzie came back, and the Blue Blowers returned to the Stork Club. Condon was working again, but only until December, when Prohibition was repealed. The speakeasies "took off their locks and showed their lights. Prices (for drinks) went down, and musicians were out of work." Making things even worse, by this time Big Band music had swept the nation, ushering in a craze for orchestral dance music which was heavily rehearsed and played from charts. If no one wanted to hear a hot jazz band before, now it was nearly impossible to find work

For several years, Condon and his buddies lived hand to mouth, often sleeping three or four in a single rented room or crashing on the floor with a friend. Many of his pals bit the bullet and took jobs with the big bands to make ends meet, or quit music altogether and got real jobs. But Condon held out. He played whenever and wherever he could with pickup combos in clubs or at private parties for society swells (including once for the Vanderbilts), sometimes living for weeks at a time on milk and canned tomatoes (and booze inveigled from bartenders at their gigs). 

At one point, Condon took a job playing on a cruise ship. "I sailed to Buenos Aires and back and played piano all the way. I'm a good sailor and a bad piano player. I could only play in one key, so the entire band played four times a day in the key of F for fourteen thousand miles." He adds: "They may still be playing in F for all I know."

Eventually, Condon's luck began to change. In 1937, McKenzie helped him land a regular gig at Nick's, a Greenwich Village club owned by a lawyer and amateur pianist named Nick Rongetti. [Condon says that even though Rongetti was a savvy club owner, he was a terrible musician. "As a pianist, he had hands like anvils."]

Nick's in Greenwich Village. Condon is seated above the drums.

For the next eight years, Condon and his band - billed as the Summa Cum Laude Orchestra - finally had a more or less steady job and a home base. Even better, Rongetti allowed Condon and the band to play whatever they wanted - which meant a nightly "Chicago style" jam session with no sheet music and no set lists.  

[Readers who are paying close attention will recall that the band that cut Avakian's first record in 1939 (described above), were called the Summa Cum Laude Orchestra. Now you know why.]

Despite being the house band at Nick's, Condon says that Rongetti would fire them several times a year for various infractions. "I was in and of there more often than the mailman." Eventually, Rongetti would rehire them, but while they were on the outs, sometimes for weeks or months, the band would play other clubs or take dates out of town.

Condon's next lucky break came about due to his friendship with Milton Gabler. Gabler was the owner of the city's best record store, The Commodore Music Shop, located on East 42nd St. (a second location opened on 47nd St. in 1938). The shop was a popular hang out for jazz fans and musicians who came to listen to and buy the latest records. Condon was a frequent visitor and he and Gabler became good friends. 

Milton Gabler (left) at the 47nd St. branch.

For some years, Gabler had been paying the big labels to repress popular, out-of-print jazz records to sell in his store. Even though demand was high, Gabler wasn't making much money because of the cost to secure the rights and produce the records. 

Gabler decided to start his own label and produce his own records. He planned to re-record classic jazz songs, using the same musicians, and sell the new versions instead of paying the big labels to repress the original versions. 

He consulted with Condon to see if he thought his plan would work. Condon assured him that the musicians would be happy to do it, and even agreed to pull together a band for the first sessions, which were soon booked for January, 1939. The band was billed as Eddie Condon & His Windy City Seven, and included Condon, Pee Wee Russell, Bud Freeman, George Brunies, Buddy Hackett, George Wettling, Artie Shapiro, and Jess Stacy. 

The first release on the Commodore label.

The first series of re-recordings on the Commodore label were called "Classics In Swing," and were an immediate success. Fans loved them because the sound was often much better than on the original records. Gabler soon began recording new songs as well. Commodore Records flourished and went on to become one of the most important independent jazz labels in history, releasing hundreds of titles, including works by Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Teddy Wilson, Art Tatum, Ben Webster, Leon "Chu" Berry, Willie "The Lion" Smith, Jelly Roll Morton, and the immortal classic "Strange Fruit" by Billie Holiday.

[A very un-fun fact: The lyrics to "Strange Fruit" were based on a poem which condemned lynching, describing the bodies hanging in trees as "strange fruit." Holiday approached Gabler about releasing "Strange Fruit" after her own label, Columbia, declined to record it due to fears of protests from record stores and radio stations in the south. Mississippi Goddam, indeed.]

Condon played on dozens of sides for Commodore, and the success of the label helped increase Condon's stature. When Life Magazine covered one of the recording sessions and published an article with photographs, Condon became a minor celebrity.

Condon was on a roll. In the fall of 1943, he begin presenting jazz concerts at Town Hall, a venue on West 43rd St. The monthly jam sessions played to enthusiastic, sold-out crowds. Press reviews of the Town Hall shows were equally positive, including an effusive piece by Virgil Thompson, the curmudgeonly music critic at the Herald Tribune. Condon was astonished when he read Thompson's review: "The jazz concert that Eddie Condon directed yesterday afternoon in the Town Hall was to this reviewer one of the most satisfactory musical experiences of the season." In a hilarious aside, Condon adds, "Mr. Thompson was a little irritated by the "affetuoso manner" of the soloists. I'll speak to the boys about that."

The Town Hall concerts were such a hit that the Blue Radio Network (soon to be renamed ABC), approached Condon about hosting a live, weekly radio show. From May, 1944 to April, 1945, the network carried a half hour program every Saturday evening, broadcast live from Town Hall over their network of more than 150 radio stations around the country. The network described the show as "the only unrehearsed, free-wheeling, completely barefoot music on the air." Audiences across the country loved the show, due in no small part to Condon's wisecracking commentary as he introduced the songs and the performers. He soon became one of the most popular jazz figures in the nation.

A snowy opening night at Eddie Condon's, December, 1945.

In December, 1945, Condon opened his own nightclub on West 3rd Street in Greenwich Village. The club was called Eddie Condon's, and it remained in business (at three different locations) for 22 years. Condon quips in his book that he originally had no interest in owning a night club until "One night Nick (Rongetti) told us he was raising the price of musicians' drinks from twenty-five to thirty cents."

Condon's nightclub was a hit from the start, attracting not only scores of musicians, but an elite list of film stars and celebrities, including John Steinbeck, Bing Crosby, Kirk Douglas, Robert Mitchum, Yul Brenner, and Rita Hayworth. Even the Duke and Duchess of Windsor stopped by. Condon says the club's success was due to one very strict policy: "We don't throw anybody in, and we don't throw anybody out." Like Nick's before it, Eddie Condon's became a Mecca for hot jazz in New York City.

In addition to running his club, Condon continued to play, record, and tour up until the early 1960s. Then, in the mid 1960s he was diagnosed with bone cancer. Within a few years he was too sick to travel much, although he toured occasionally and appeared from time to time in clubs and at festivals. His last public appearance was on July 5, 1972, when he played at Carnegie Hall during the Newport Jazz Festival in New York City. He was hospitalized two days later and died on August 4 at the age of 66.

Unusually for a such a popular jazz figure, Condon was not a standout musician and wrote very few songs. He was a solid rhythm guitarist, but he never took solos, and for the most part, he simply blends into the background of the rhythm section. On his records, you often can't tell if he's playing or not. [This video clip of Condon's band is notable because it's one of the few recordings where you can actually hear Condon playing for a brief moment as he is introduced.]

The house band at Eddie Condon's Club ca. 1952

However, Condon was a world-class schmoozer with rare organizational skills. He had a knack for getting a bunch of hard-drinking, free-spirited, jazz musicians to turn up for a recording session or a club date at practically a moment's notice. 

As his buddy Red McKenzie observed in an interview, even if Condon wasn't the best musician in the room, at any session or club date that he played on, it was clear that Eddie was in charge. He called the tunes, he assigned the order of the solos, and counted off the beat. 

It's not quite accurate to say that Condon is a forgotten figure, although I suspect that his name would draw a blank even among some serious jazz fans. However, it is fair to say that his contribution to jazz is underappreciated. Condon didn't inspire a generation of young musicians with his guitar playing or compose songs that became standards, but he had an important role in promoting hot jazz at a time when it looked like orchestral Big Band music might stamp it out for good.

Condon released dozens of albums during his lifetime. Many more LP and CD sets have appeared since his death that document his live radio programs and concerts. As a result, there are lots of Condon albums floating around, which can often be found for $5 or less. If you run across any, I'd encourage you to pick them up and give them a listen. Chicago style hot jazz (Condon resisted the term Dixieland) may seem old fashioned, but a close listen will reveal the incredible skill of the performers.

I'll give the last (stilted) word to music critic Virgil Thompson, commenting on a performance by Condon and his band: "The whole was magnificently sustained and varied, everybody playing something worth listening to and everybody uttering phrases that had to do with those the others were uttering. The nine-part tuttis were of a grandeur, a sumptuousness of sound and a spontaneous integration of individual freedom that makes one proud of the country that gave birth to such a high manifestation of sensibility and intelligence and happy to be present at such a full and noble expression of the musical faculties." 

Condon would have laughed his ass off.

Enjoy the music!