Exile On Main Street - Which Vinyl Pressing Is The Best?

The 1972 original -- still the one to beat?

In early 1971, the Rolling Stones found themselves in dire financial straits. Despite being one of the most successful rock bands in the world, they owed millions in back taxes to the Inland Revenue (the British IRS.) Since the tax rate in the UK at that time was as high as 90% for very wealthy earners, the group's financial advisors told them their only hope of remaining solvent and keeping some of their earnings was to leave the UK before the end of the fiscal year (which fell on April 5). If they were living abroad, they wouldn't owe British taxes. [Fun fact: The UK's exorbitant wealth tax during this period was also the inspiration for George Harrison's song, "Taxman," which kicks off The Beatles' Revolver album.] 

 

In addition to their financial problems in the UK, the last couple of years had been difficult for the band in other ways, as they dealt with the death of founding member Brian Jones, a series of acrimonious legal disputes with their manager Alan Klein, and the murder of a fan by members of the Hell's Angels who had been hired by the band to provide security at a free concert in Altamont, California. It's no wonder they were ready to chuck it in and leave England for sunnier climes.

 

In early April, 1971, the Stones all decamped to France. Except for Charlie Watts, who bought a farm some six hours away in Arles, the rest of the group rented properties within an hour of the resort city of Nice. Mick split his time with his new wife Bianca in Paris (they married in May in St. Tropez) and at a rented house in Biot, south of Nice. Mick Taylor rented a house in Grasse, Bill Wyman found a place in Vence, and Keith Richards rented a 16-room mansion called Villa Nellcôte in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a small port town about five miles up the coast from Nice. 

 

The plan was to find a recording studio somewhere nearby where they could work on their next album. After an unsuccessful search, they decided to bring over the Rolling Stones mobile studio truck from the UK and record sessions in make-shift space at Keith's place, the Villa Nellcôte. Here, over the next five months, in chaotic fits and starts, they produced a masterpiece, the 1972 release Exile On Main Street.

Keith Richards and Gram Parsons at Nellcôte

The story of the band's time at Villa Nellcôte is the stuff of legend. The infighting, alcohol, drugs, sex, groupies, celebrity visitors, guest musicians, drug dealers, record execs, hangers on, and all manner of excesses have been detailed exhaustively. There is an entire book devoted to their stay in France: "Seasons In Hell With The Rolling Stones," by Robert Greenfield, as well as a 2010 documentary film called "Stones In Exile." In case you don't want to bother reading the book or watching the film, Texas-born sax man Bobby Keys, who was played on many of the sessions, sums it all for you: "Hell, yeah, there was some pot around, there was some whiskey bottles around, there was scantily clad women. Hell, it was rock 'n' roll!"   

Cramped quarters in the basement at Villa Nellcôte

In addition to all the palace intrigue, the band's biggest problem was that Villa Nellcôte was a private residence and was never meant to be a recording studio. 

Jim Price on trumpet and Bobby Keys on sax

An article by writer Colleen 'Cosmo' Murphy on the website Classic Album Sundays gives an excellent overview of the difficulties the band faced:"The basement (where much of the recording took place) was hot and humid so the guitars often went out of tune. Sometimes the electricity went off. As there wasn’t one big room in which they could record, band members were scattered in different rooms across the house, with leads going down hallways and out of windows to the mobile recording studio. Engineer Andy Johns had to run from room to room to communicate with each band member. As all of the musicians weren’t always on hand, sometimes producer Jimmy Miller had to have a go on the drums and percussion. There were moments when only one or two Stones would be present to record on a given song. In short, it was chaotic." Keith Richards put it more directly, "Upstairs, it was fantastic. Like Versailles. But down there . . . it was Dante's Inferno."

 

Mick and Keith at Sunset Sound

After the shambolic sessions at Nellcôte, the session tapes were taken to Los Angeles for overdubs, where the band (apparently mostly Mick) tried to put together a coherent album. According to Wikipedia, all the lead and backing vocals, as well as extensive guitar and bass overdubs were added during sessions (at Sunset Sound Studios in Hollywood) that lasted from December 1971 until March 1972. They brought in Dr. John and some of LA's top backup singers to help with the vocals, while ace session players Billy Preston, Ian Stewart, and Nicky Hopkins were recruited to sweeten the tracks. 

 

When the album was released in May of 1972, it was a huge commercial success, topping the charts worldwide. The album's first single, "Tumbling Dice," reaching the top ten in the UK and the U.S.

While critical reaction to the album was initially mixed, within a few years, Exile was routinely being hailed as the Stones' finest effort and one of the greatest rock albums ever.  Even though I'm keen on all the band's early records, when Exile came out in 1972, it quickly became my favorite Stones LP (and it still is).

Modern photo of Villa Nellcôte

At the time I wasn't aware of the painful gestation of the album. But in retrospect, it's a good example of beauty born from chaos. The infighting, sweltering heat, technical challenges, and drug and alcohol-fueled all-night recording sessions somehow resulted in a work of genius. The songs reflect the grimy, gin-soaked atmosphere of the recording sessions, and the album is a microcosm of the first two decades of rock music, drawing from a deep well of blues, roots, rockabilly, R&B, honky-tonk, gospel, and country.

The other thing I remember thinking when I first heard the album in 1972, was that the sound wasn't all that great. Not terrible, but even listening on my modest Radio Shack stereo, the top end seemed rolled off, and the overall sound was muddy, like there was a blanket over the speakers. That impression was widely shared by critics and fans, as well as Mick Jagger himself. He is quoted in the 1993 book "According To The Rolling Stones," as saying "When I listen to Exile it has some of the worst mixes I've ever heard. I'd love to remix the record, not just because of the vocals, but because generally I think it sounds lousy. At the time (producer) Jimmy Miller was not functioning properly. I had to finish the whole record myself, because otherwise there were just these drunks and junkies."

 
Ah, but the music. Influential rock critic Robert Christgau's review of the album  captures the discord between the fabulous music and the meh sound quality: "Weary and complicated, barely afloat in its own drudgery, it's a fagged-out masterpiece that explores new depths of record-studio murk, burying Mick's voice under layers of cynicism, angst and ennui." Yet, Christgau gave the record an A+ grade and named it the best album of the year.

 

Mick and Keith in the dining room at Nellcote

Where Am Going With This?

 

I mention all this history mostly because I find it fascinating, but also because not too long ago, I put on my original 1972 LP copy of Exile. The album has served me well for more than 50 years. But, as I listened, I realized that it actually has quite a bit of wear. Exile is such a raucous affair that a little surface noise doesn't detract too much. However, there have been a number of new vinyl remasters in the last 15 years or so, and I thought this might be a good opportunity to pick up a new and possibly better-sounding copy.

 

[Even though this particular treasure hunt is for the best-sounding vinyl remaster, I should mention that in addition to the 1972 original double LP, I have several remastered digital copies: the original 1987 US CD, a CD copy of the 2010 remastered version by Universal Music, and a copy of the 2011 Japanese SACD which was made as a flat transfer from the original master tapes to DSD.]

 

There have been dozens of reissues of the LP over the decades. [I don't think Exile has been out of print since it was released in 1972.] But for the first 15 years, there was no effort to remix or improve the sound that everyone agreed was not so great. Every reissue up until 1987 was made from the original mix. (Although there are certainly differences in the sound quality of the many reissues depending on where the albums were cut and pressed.)

 

1987 CBS remaster

Finally, in 1987, Columbia Records released the first "remastered" version of Exile to celebrate a new distribution deal with Rolling Stone Records. In addition to the new LP version, this was also the initial US release of Exile on CD. Columbia's LP reissue uses the original jacket art with the original production credits. However, the booklet from the CD release says that it was produced from a digital master made by Greg Calbi at Sterling Sound in NYC. Although I don't know for certain, I would guess that Columbia's "remastered" LP was also cut from Calbi's digital files. I have a copy of this CD, but not the LP. Comparing the CD remaster to the original 1972 LP, the CD sounds, well, digital. The top end is brighter, but not in a good way. It is brittle and fatiguing, while the bass remains muddled. I've not seen much talk about this version of the LP online, but it doesn't show up on anybody's list of best-sounding versions.

 

1994 Virgin remaster

The next attempt to tweak the sound of the original album was made in 1994 by the legendary engineer Bob Ludwig, who remastered the album at his Gateway Mastering studio in Portland, Maine. There is a lot of love for the sound of the CD version of Ludwig's remaster. Unfortunately, the consensus is that the LP made from Ludwig's digital files and released as a limited edition on Virgin Records, somehow lost it's mojo in the transfer to vinyl. There is near unanimous agreement among fans and critics that the LP version does not sound good. Even so, the 1994 remastered album will still set you back $100 or more for a near mint copy, which must be more a tribute to Bob Ludwig's street cred than to the resulting sound. I have not heard this version of the album, but don't think it's a contender.

2010 Universal remaster

In 2010, Universal Music (which by then had acquired Rolling Stones Records), released a new version from digital files remastered by Stephen Marcussen. The vinyl was cut from these digital files by (another) legendary engineer, Doug Sax, at the Mastering Lab in Los Angeles. The 2010 remastered version was reissued in a bunch of different packages, including a double LP, a deluxe CD with bonus tracks, a super deluxe package with LPs, CDs, a DVD, and a hard-cover book, and yet another package with CDs and a limited edition tee-shirt. 

 

Audiophile and vinyl guru Michael Fremer panned the vinyl reissue, saying that it is "Compacted, spatially flattened, deliberately dynamically compressed and shockingly bass-shy. The horns that are supposed to cut through with a mean edge on “Rocks Off” were limp, Charlie’s signature snare sound was soft. I mean it really sucks. . ." I've not heard the vinyl release, but after listening to my digital copy, I would have to say that Fremer's not wrong.

2016 Universal remaster

Since hope springs eternal, in 2016, Universal tried again, using the same digital files cut by Marcussen, but this time the vinyl was cut at 1/2 speed by Miles Showell at London's Abbey Road Studios. Cutting the lacquers at 1/2 speed can result in a smoother and more detailed sound. And while this version was not as harshly criticized as the 2010 release, most fans and music writers agreed that it offered only a slight improvement. The sound is still too compressed and flat. I have heard this version. In the end, it is disappointing. Although I have to say that if you hadn't heard a better copy, you wouldn't immediately say it was a bad sounding record. But I hoped we could do better.

 

Universal is nothing if not persistent. Their next try was in 2018 as part of a remastered box set of the Stones' entire 1971-2016 catalog, including, of course, Exile. This time, Universal provided high resolution, flat, digital files transferred from the original master analog tapes to engineer Miles Showell at Abbey Road. Showell says, "I was given free range to just ‘do my thing’ which was remarkable freedom. I had no instructions from the band’s management or from Universal other than to do it as well as I could. At no point was any digital peak limiting applied to these albums. My goal was to make these new cuts at least as good as the originals and hopefully better. This is not easy. . . for the original cuts, the tapes were obviously in mint condition. . .but I have a far cleaner signal path than was available to the original cutting engineers. I am happy that I achieved my goal." 

2018 Universal remaster

Guess what? Most critics and fans love it. Even Fremer agrees. He says that "If you've suffered with the last limp, squashed remastering of Exile, you'll be in drunken/drugged out heaven with the Stones when they recorded this sloppy, debauched masterpiece as tax exiles in a France Chateau." One online reviewer hit the nail on the head with his comment that, "All the sweat, dirt, and heat from Nellcôte is still there, it's just clearer." Which is to say, the music hasn't been sterilized, and doesn't sound at all manipulated; it's still gritty and grimey, but the haze has been lifted. [NB: This 2018 remaster was originally only available as part of the box set. Since 2020, it has been available as a separate release.]

 

So, the search is over, right? Not so fast. Fremer says that while this new version is very good, he still thinks that the sound of the original 1972 U.S. pressing is better. (NB: Specifically, U.S. copies mastered at Artisan Sound.) 

 

Maybe so. But original U.S. copies in top condition are going for anywhere from $100-300 online. And since I already have an original copy (albeit not in top condition), I plumped for the 2018 remaster. About 30 seconds after cuing up side A, I knew I had a copy that would serve me for the next 50 years. Don't tell Fremer, but I think I like it even better than the original. 

 

Enjoy the music!

What I've Been Listening To Lately

As a continuing service to readers, I'm starting off the new year with another episode of "What I've Been Listening To Lately," which gives me a chance to highlight excellent music by formerly unknown (to me) artists that I've stumbled across in recent months.

I generally learn about new artists either because they are playing as sidemen on albums by musicians that I already know and like, or because they are leading a session on a label that I trust and collect.

Case in point, Muse Records, which in the 1970s, 80s, and early 90s released hundreds of excellent jazz albums by a stream of talented, mostly B-list players. Which is to say, extremely talented musicians who never became headliners, but who nevertheless had successful careers and made wonderful music. When I come across clean copies of Muse titles in the used bins or online, I almost always pick them up, even if I've never heard of the artist.

Jerome Harris

Jerome Harris (right) is an excellent example of a Muse Records artist. A double threat on bass and guitar, Harris attended Harvard and the New England Conservatory of Music, and was discovered in 1977 when Sonny Rollins found himself without a bassist for a gig in Boston. Harris got the call to sit in, and the rest is history. Harris was a regular in Rollins' band for many years, appearing on five albums by the legendary tenorman. 

To date, Harris has played bass and/or guitar on more than 150 albums, including sessions with Jack DeJohnette, Paul Motian, Brian Eno, Bill Frisell, Jaki Bayard, and Henry Threadgill.

Harris's first album as a leader came in 1986 with the release of Algorithms on the German label, Minor Music. Then, in 1990, he cut his first and only recording for the Muse Label, an album called In Passing (left). It's a mostly straight-ahead jazz outing, with some R&B and fusion seasoning. Harris wrote four of the seven songs and plays electric bass, backed by Marty Ehrlich on reeds, Jay Hoggard on vibes, Jeff Herschfield on drums, and a scene-stealing Clifton Anderson on trombone.

Reed man Ehrlich also produced the album, which was cut direct to digital. Even though I'm a dedicated analog guy, I'm not opposed to a well-recorded digital session. And In Passing sounds terrific, with punchy bass, a great sense of space, and a burnished quality to the horns and reeds. Near mint and sealed copies of the album are available for reasonable prices, so, no excuses.

So far, Harris has only one other album as a leader, 1995's Hidden In Plain Sight, a tribute to the late, great Eric Dolphy. Hidden In Plain Sight is a fun and funky session with an-all star septet, including Marty Ehlich and Clifton Anderson from In Passing. [Unfortunately, the album is only available on CD.]

Another label that I tend to pick up whenever I find them is Concord Jazz. Concord was founded in 1974 by northern California car dealer Carl Jefferson because he said he could no longer find the kind of mainstream jazz albums that he liked to listen to in the record shops. Yes, it is good to be rich. Concord Jazz went on to release hundreds of titles by a roster of fine players, including pianist Joanne Brackeen. 

The list of well-known female pianists from the golden age of jazz (let's say the 50s to the 70s) is fairly limited. I can only come up with of Marian McPartland, Jutta Hipp, and Mary Lou Williams without searching online. Joanne Brackeen is probably less well-known than any of these, but shouldn't be.

Brackeen was born in Ventura, about an hour north of Los Angeles, and taught herself to play the piano at age 11. Within a year, she was already playing professionally. She accepted a music scholarship to the Los Angeles Conservatory as a teen, but quit after a week, deciding that she could learn better and faster by simply playing gigs with other jazz musicians.  

Over the decades, she has played with just about everybody, including Art Blakey, Dexter Gordon, Joe Henderson, Sonny Stitt, Woody Shaw, Chick Corea, Stan and Getz. [Fun Fact: Brackeen was the only female musician ever to be a member of Blakey's Jazz Messengers, performing with the group from 1969-72.]

She made her first album as a leader in 1975 with an album called Snooze on the Choice label. [The album was reissued in 2023, with a stellar remaster by Bernie Grundman.] Brackeen recorded steadily from 1975 until her last release (to date) in 2000. Her debut on the Concord label was the 1985 release Havin' Fun (above). She is joined on the session by the rock-solid rhythm section of Cecil McBee on bass and Al Foster on drums. 

Joanne Brackeen

Brackeen's earlier disks focus on original compositions, often played in a post-bop or free form style. The combination can make her music a bit challenging. Havin' Fun is the first album of standards that Brackeen released, and as a result, it's one of her most accessible outings. In the liner notes, Brackeen is upfront about why she wanted to make a more mainstream album: "There are people who think I only play very far out. Certain club owners act like I'm a UFO." 

No doubt Brackeen hoped that an album of standards on the mainstream Concord label would expand her audience and help convince club owners that hiring her drive customers screaming out into the streets. Even still, jazz critic Nat Hentoff notes that: "Being Brackeen, she does, of course, transform these standards into continually intriguing, surprising and unmistakably personal forms within forms within one of the most spontaneous imaginations in all of jazz." 

Brackeen went on to record four more albums for Concord, including a couple of Brazil inspired titles, Breath Of Brazil in 1991, and Take A Chance in 1994. If you are new to Brackeen's music, dip your toe in the water with Havin' Fun or one of the other Concord titles before seeking out her other more "far out" disks.

At age 85, Brackeen remains active, teaching at the Berklee College of Music in Boston and still performing. In 2018, she was named a "Jazz Master" by the National Endowment for the Arts.  

Bennie Wallace

Finally, let's discuss the criminally underappreciated tenorman Bennie Wallace. A native of Chattanooga, Wallace studied clarinet at the University of Tennessee before switching to tenor sax and moving to New York in 1971. In the Big Apple, Wallace came to the attention of pianist Monty Alexander, who hired Wallace and helped launch his career. 

From 1978 to 1984, Wallace recorded a string of seven albums as leader on the German label Enya, using an array of fine sidemen such as Tommy Flanagan, Eddie Gomez, Dannie Richmond, and Jimmy Knepper. The style of these albums is mostly avant garde, and like Brackeen's early works, are somewhat of an acquired taste. (Unless, of course, you are fan of the avant garde.)

In 1985, Wallace signed with Blue Note Records and released his first album as a leader on a U.S. label, the fabulous Twilight Time (left). AllMusic critic Scott Yanow writes that "Bennie Wallace has long had his own unique style, combining the raspy tone of Ben Webster with the frequent wide interval jumps of Eric Dolphy. He has an explorative style that sound-wise looks back toward the swing era . . . Twilight Time is a classic . . . (an) inspired project." 

On Twilight Time, Wallace is backed by trombonist Ray Anderson, guitarist John Scofield, and either Bob Cranshaw or Eddie Gomez on bass, and either Jack DeJohnette, Chris Parker, or Bernard Purdie on drums. To add to the fun, the core group(s) are joined on several selections by guest artists Dr. John on piano and blues legend Stevie Ray Vaughan on guitar. In a clean break from his earlier avant garde sessions, Twilight Time successfully melds jazz, New Orleans boogie, blues, and funk to create a rollicking, fun album. 

Wallace made one other recording for Blue Note, 1988's excellent Bordertown (right), (which is a honking, swampy follow-up in the style of Twilight Time) and then a couple of highly-recommended albums for the audiophile label Audioquest: The Old Songs in 1993, and the self-titled Bennie Wallace in 1998. Since 1993, Wallace has also returned to Enya Records for another series of releases. 

Even though Wallace has flown under the radar for much of his career, his U.S. releases are almost all readily available and well worth seeking out. However, the Audioquest albums had fairly limited release and may be harder to find and/or a little pricey.

One of the most rewarding things about collecting jazz music is that there are so many little-known but talented musicians and an almost endless supply of great albums still to discover.

Enjoy the music!

What Ever Happened To Trumpeter Gene Shaw?

Unless you are a serious devotee of Charles Mingus, it's doubtful you will have ever heard of the talented trumpet player Clarence Shaw.  (Born Clarence Eugene Shaw, he went by Gene Shaw later in his career.)  In fact, because Shaw is so little known, it's hard to track down information about him.  His Wikipedia page is a scant three paragraphs long, providing only a few bare essentials.  Nearly everything we know about Shaw comes from the information found in the liner notes from the three albums he released on the ARGO label from 1962-64.  While they are somewhat anecdotal, the notes provide details about Shaw's musical development, as well as tantalizing tidbits about his life.  I'll be cribbing liberally from the liner notes, so, anything in quotes or anything that seems like it could be an actual fact but is not otherwise sourced is taken from the liner notes.

Born in 1926 in Detroit, Shaw started piano lessons at the age of four, and took up the trombone at age six.  He says he only began playing trumpet in 1946 while recuperating from injuries he sustained in the Army.  According to Shaw, he had brought back "a beat-up old cornet from the Phillipines," and began fooling around with it while convalescing in a hospital in Detroit.  One day, he heard Dizzy Gillespie (and Charlie Parker) on the radio playing the Todd Dameron composition "Hot House."  The song was released in 1945 as a 78 on the Guild label (left).  It was the B side of the huge A side hit, "Salt Peanuts."  Shaw says when he heard Gillespie, he thought to himself, "That's gibberish, I can do better."  

He got a friend to help him figure out the fingering on the cornet, and after three weeks of fooling around with the horn, he says "I got my first job at the Hut Bar in Detroit."  However, he goes on to add that soon afterwards the pianist Barry Harris set him straight about Gillespie, explaining that what he called "gibberish" was a new approach to music that was pushing the boundaries of modern jazz (and as we know now, laying the foundation for Bebop).  Shaw says he "was stunned by my ignorance and quit his job" at the bar.

Appropriately chagrined, Shaw enrolled in the Detroit Institute of Musical Instruction to study "harmony, theory, composition, and arranging." It's not clear how long he stayed at the Institute, but by the late 40s and early 50s, Shaw was playing trumpet in local clubs, picking up real-world musical experience and learning from the huge well-spring of jazz talent that emerged from Detroit during this time, including such giants as Ron Carter, Joe Henderson, (the brothers) Hank, Thad, and Elvin Jones, Frank Foster, Sonny Red, Gerald Wilson, Milt Jackson, Yusef Lateef, Donald Byrd, Pepper Adams, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Burrell (as well as the aforementioned Barry Harris).  Shaw says that he worked with many of Detroit's finest, specifically mentioning Kenny Burrell, Yusef Lateef, and Tommy Flanagan by name.

At some point in 1954 or 1955, Shaw moved to New York to try his luck in the epicenter of the jazz universe.  There are few details about Shaw's early days in the Big Apple.  From the liner notes we learn only that "he gigged with Wardell Gray, Lester Young, and Lucky Thompson," among others.  However, sometime in 1955, Shaw's life changed forever when he was introduced to Charles Mingus.  Mingus was a major force in the jazz world, a cello and bass prodigy whose resume included stints with Louis Armstrong, Lionel Hampton, Duke Ellington, and Charlie Parker.  By 1955, Mingus had already released 10 albums and owned his own record label, the important (but often insolvent) Debut Records.

Charles Mingus

We don't know when or where Mingus heard Shaw play, but he was impressed enough to invite Shaw to join the Jazz Workshop, a rotating ensemble of musicians that Mingus led, both as a working band and as a music workshop to woodshed new musical ideas and hone the improvisational skills of his musicians. 

Shaw stayed with the Workshop for two years.  Some jazz writers have described the Workshop as a jazz "university" in much the same way that Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers became a proving ground for generations of hard bop musicians.  Like Blakey, Mingus was a tough task master who demanded complete dedication.  Also like Blakey, Mingus prized the ability of players to react immediately to any musical idea.  [Fun fact: Both the Jazz Workshop and the Jazz Messengers got started around 1954.]

In addition to Shaw, other members of the Workshop (or Sweatshop as it was colorfully named by the musicians) included Pepper Adams, Bill Hardman, Jaki Byard, Booker Ervin, John Handy, Jimmy Knepper, Johnny Coles, Eric Dolphy, Charles McPherson, Dannie Richmond, Horace Silver, Max Roach, and Horace Parlan. (Whew!)  With the notable exception of Shaw, most Workshop alumni went on to enjoy long, successful careers and earn widespread critical acclaim.

As a budding jazz musician, Shaw must have been over the moon about being asked to join Mingus' group.  It gave him the opportunity to work with some of the finest jazz men in the business and to play regularly with Mingus on club dates and studios sessions.  However, Shaw's relationship with Mingus proved to be a double-edged sword.  Mingus, who suffered from paranoia and schizophrenia, was famously erratic and had a hair-trigger temper.  One writer described the Jazz Workshop as like being in a "boiling cauldron."  Mingus' not infrequent threats, violent encounters, and physical brawls with other musicians and club managers are well documented.  Mingus was known to fire musicians in the middle of a set and rehire them later in the same set.  Famously, he once chased a trombonist across the stage with an axe.

Shaw ultimiately fell victim to Mingus' rage as well.  On one occasion when Mingus had booked the group for a recording session, Shaw was sick with flu and tried repeatedly but unsuccessfully to contact Mingus to let him know that he couldn't make the gig.  When he didn't show, Mingus called Shaw and reportedly threatened to have him killed for missing the date.  After another unspecified violent argument, Shaw says he was so upset that "he literally broke up his trumpet and vowed never to play again."  Even though Mingus later apologized, Shaw left the Workshop (sometime in 1957) and stopped performing.  After that, "he lived in Greenwich Village and worked as a silversmith, then a ceramiscist, and finally a hypnotist.  He and his wife operated a school of hypnotism for about a year after he had given up playing."

Before Shaw left the Workshop, he had played on three Mingus albums: East Coasting (1957), A Modern Jazz Symposium Of Music And Poetry (1957), and Tijuana Moods (recorded in 1957, but not released until 1962).  The first two titles were relatively minor Mingus works, and largely flew under the radar.  As a result, Shaw didn't receive the wider acclaim that he might have had with a better-selling, higher profile album.  

Tijuana Moods ultimately proved to be just such a critically acclaimed album, but in a cruel twist of fate, RCA delayed its release until 1962, more than five years after it was recorded, and long after Shaw had left New York for good.  It's impossible to know how Shaw's career and life might have been different if Tijuana Moods had been released while Shaw was still playing with Mingus.  Could it have been a springboard to other high-profile session work or even offers to record as a leader?  We'll never know.  [Fun fact: Shaw also played on the recording sessions for Mingus' very popular 1960 release Blues & Roots.  However, in one more bit of cosmic misfortune, none of the tracks with Shaw on trumpet were used in the final release.  Note that some expanded editions of Blues & Roots are now available that include outtakes with Shaw's tracks.]

Seemingly remorseful for the way he (not to mention fate) had treated Shaw, Mingus devotes nearly half the self-penned liner notes for Tijuana Moods to praising Shaw's contribution.  Mingus writes that Shaw "Would probably have become as famous as any of our current so-called jazz players if this record had been released six years ago when recorded. Not only does Clarence Shaw have a beautiful sound and beautiful ideas, but he is creative and original and plays like no other trumpet man . . ."  Mingus goes on to say that "No one, to my knowledge, knows Clarence's whereabouts, except that he is rumored to be teaching hypnotism."  Indeed.  Mingus concludes with this disingenuous note: "I only wish I'd met him sooner to make him a regular member of my band," conveniently omitting the fact that Shaw had been a member of the Workshop for nearly two years. 

So, what did happen to Shaw?  After trying his hand at metal work, pottery, and hypnotism, "In 1959 Gene settled his family here (in Chicago) and made it his permanent home."  Although Shaw doesn't say why he moved to the Windy City, it's not hard to imagine that he was fed up with Mingus and New York and looking for a fresh start somewhere else.

When Tijuana Moods was finally released in June, 1962 with Mingus' effusive praise for Shaw in the liner notes, it seems likely that fans and music critics alike must have been wondering: What the heck ever happened to Clarence Shaw? 

Once again, as reported in the liner notes: "The critics loved him, but no one, not even Mingus knew where Shaw had gone."  Or, for that matter, what he had been doing for the last few years.  However, "Shortly after Tijuana Moods was issued, Shaw, now known as Gene, showed up in Chicago leading a group at a local club.  The success of the Mingus album, and the subsequent focus of attention on Shaw, convinced him to return to music."  Soon after, as the story goes, an executive from Chess Records caught "one of these sessions," which led directly to Shaw signing a recording contract with Chess's jazz label, ARGO.

Chicago's own Chess Records, founded in 1950 by brothers Phil and Leonard Chess, built its fame and fortune selling Blues and R&B music.  However, by the early 1960s, their ARGO jazz imprint was providing an important source of revenue with a steady stream of popular LPs by artists such as Ahmad Jamal, Etta James, Ramsey Lewis, Art Farmer, and Benny Golson.  The Chess brothers were anxious to maximize ARGO's success and had been searching for nearly a year to find the right jazz A&R man who could scout and develop new talent for the label.

In the fall of 1962, Leonard Chess finally found his man when he convinced producer Esmond Edwards to leave Prestige Records in New York and come to Chicago.  To entice him to make the move, Chess promised to give Edwards freedom to sign and produce artists for the label.  (Like nearly every promise the Chess brothers made, they didn't really mean it.)  Edwards agreed to the deal and headed West.  He began work at ARGO in September, 1962. 

It is tempting to think that the "Chess Executive" mentioned above who caught Shaw's set in Chicago and signed him to a contract with ARGO might have been Edwards.  It seems highly likely that Edwards would have known Shaw from his time with Mingus in New York.  In any case, with Shaw under contract to ARGO, Edwards could hit the ground running at his new label.  And in fact, Edwards wasted no time getting Shaw into the studio.  On October 11, 1962, Clarence Shaw, now billed as Gene Shaw, entered Ter Mar Recording Studio in the fabled Chess building on South Michigan Avenue to cut his first album for ARGO.  It was Shaw's first album as a leader and one of the first sessions produced by Esmond Edwards for his new label.

In all, Shaw made three recordings for ARGO -- Break Through in 1962, Debut In Blues in 1963, and Carnival Sketches in 1964.  [Note that the title Break Through is often written as Breakthrough, sometimes both on the same release.]  As it turned out, these were the only three albums Shaw ever made as a leader.  It would be satisfying to report that the release of Break Through relaunched Shaw's career and brought him much deserved fame and popular acclaim.  But, alas, Break Through (right), like Shaw's two subsequent ARGO releases, disappeared with barely a trace. 

It's hard to say what went wrong.  ARGO's production values were quite good, with Edwards supervising and the very capable Ron Malo engineering the recording at Ter Mar Studio.  Break Through's style and song selection also seemed to be a great fit with ARGO's top-selling artists like Ahmad Jamal and Ramsey Lewis -- swinging, melodic, straight ahead jazz -- just the kind of music ARGO fans would go for.  What's more, reviews for the album in the music press were extremely positive.  Cash Box featured the album as a "Best Bet" in their "Jazz Picks Of The Week" column, commenting that "Jazzophiles should really dig the package."

Whatever the reason, it's a shame that Shaw's music didn't catch on, as he deserves a much wider audience.  Jazz blogger Thomas Cunniffe, whose excellent review of Shaw's three albums is here, sums things up very well: "Shaw's style does not remind me a great deal of anyone else. His sound is somewhat light for trumpet and his notes often seem to float through the air. He plays with purpose and economy, reminding me of an observation that I once read about Sonny Rollins - "every note counts."  He is very lyrical and can be somewhat hypnotic (!) to listen to at times. All of this is positive.  I could listen to him all night.  The other musicians on these dates complement Shaw very well.  They are all lyrical and thoughtful players.  The music swings much more than the above description may suggest, just in a more relaxed than frantic way."

In my view, Shaw's second album, 1963's Debut In Blues (above), is even stronger than his first.  Shaw seems more assured and inventive, and the addition of a trombone to the quintet adds interesting texture and harmonies.  The tracks are excellent from beginning to end.  A few, including "Debut In Blues," "Karachi," and "Thieves Carnival," are so infectuously swinging that it's a mystery to me why the album wasn't a smash hit.  Much of this album seems to presage the upbeat, swinging style of Lee Morgan's The Sidewinder from 1964.

Shaw's third and final album was Carnival Sketches, released in 1964 (right).  The album was an attempt by Edwards (no doubt with prodding from Leonard Chess) to create a more commerical record by jumping on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping the nation in the wake of best-selling albums by Stan Getz, Jobim, Charlie Byrd, Quincy Jones and others.

Except for the somewhat odd inclusion of a Henry Mancini tune, all the music on Carnival Sketches was composed by Richard Evans, a talented bassist who later worked as an in-house producer and arranger for the Chess Records subsidiary Cadet Records.  

Even though Carnival Sketches represents a change from the straight ahead bop of Shaw's first two albums, as blogger Cunniffe writes: "Shaw never loses his iconoclastic style, even when playing over a Latin background . . . The title composition was a suite of five pieces that filled the first side, and the movements were played back-to-back without pause. Although some critics have called this 1964 album commercial, it seems to be much more authentic in feel and spirit than other samba-inspired albums from this period.  Shaw’s open sound is especially fine on “The Big Sunrise,” and his tone blends surprisingly well with Charles Stepney’s vibes and Roland Faulkner’s guitar."  

After Carnival Sketches, Shaw never appeared on another album.  In fact, he was almost never heard from again. There was a rumor that he had moved to South America, which seems unlikely, but who knows.  After the reviews of Carnival Sketches in early 1965, the only reference to Shaw that I can find in any music publication is a column by jazz maven Michael Cuscuna which appeared in the September, 1971 issue of Record World (left).  Cuscuna notes that, "Two years ago (i.e. 1969), Shaw reappeared to lead an outstanding trio in Chicago, and now he has moved to the Los Angeles area and formed a group with bassist Larry Gales.  Although I have not heard the Gales-Shaw Quintet, the reports are good.  They are looking for a contract."   

I couldn't find any information about a Shaw trio in Chicago in 1969.  I also couldn't find any mention anywhere of a group with Larry Gales and Gene Shaw.  If Shaw was trying to put together one last band sometime around September of 1971, it appears that nothing came of it.  Shaw died in Santa Monica from lung cancer less than two years later, in August of 1973, at the age of 47.

If you are inspired to try to find original ARGO copies of Shaw's albums, it may take some doing.  Since the albums did not sell well, there aren't many copies floating around, especially in decent condition.  In my decades of music collecting and bin diving, I have never seen a copy of any Gene Shaw album for sale in the wild.  

Fortunately, Shaw's first two albums have been reissued on vinyl by the Spanish label Jazz Workshop (right).  The name of the label might lead you to think that it is a fanatical Mingus reissue cabal, but in fact, Jazz Workshop, which started in 2009, now has a catalog of more than 100 early jazz titles, many of which are nearly impossible to find anywhere else. 

Since even a VG original pressing of any Shaw albums is likely be in the $40-50 range (if you can find one), the Jazz Workshop reissues are a good deal.  The two Shaw reissues (JW-049 and JW-078) were mastered by Lex van Coeverden at The Vinyl Room in The Netherlands and pressed by MPO in France.  The source is not given, but the sound is fine and the packaging is first rate.  The releases are pressed on 180-gram vinyl, and my copies are flat and quiet.  However, be aware that even the reissues are becoming harder to find as Jazz Workshop's releases are limited to 500 copies.  Don't mess around. 

Jazz Workshop's parent company, Fresh Sounds, has also reissued Shaw's first two albums as a twofer on one CD (if you must).   

Since Shaw's LPs didn't sell well the first time around, it's no surprise that there have not been many reissues over the years.  However, all three LPs were reissued once by Chess: Break Through and Carnival Sketches on Cadet, and Debut In Blues on the Chess label.  Break Through and Debut In Blues were reissued on vinyl in Japan, and Debut In Blues was reissued on vinyl in Italy.  Go figure.

Enjoy the music!

Nick Waterhouse And Dave Burns - Great New-To-Me Music

I grew up in the 1960s and 70s, and my musical taste remains firmly entrenched in those decades. At least 90% of the 8,000 rock, pop, and jazz LPs in my collection were released during those 20 years. In fact, I have more albums released in the 50s than the 80s, 90s, or 2000s.

That's also why my car radio (infotainment unit?) is permanently tuned to Sirius XM Channel 26, a program known as "Classic Vinyl," whose tag line is "The most influential albums of the 60s and 70s." With only a handful of exceptions, I don't have much interest in artists or music from the last 40 years. That's not a reflection of the quality of the music or the performers of the last decades (well, maybe a little), it's just not the music I grew up with. And, as I wrote in a previous post, it's a scientific fact that nearly everyone's favorite music is whatever they listened to while going through puberty (yes, really).

As a result, I'm always pleasantly surprised to discover a new-to-me band or performer from this century that resonates with me musically. A couple that come to mind are Josh Rouse, a fabulously talented singer/songwriter in the tradition of John Gorka or Greg Brown, and The Explorers Club, who were, as near as I can tell, cloned in a laboratory to sound just like the Beach Boys. Of course, as you may have noticed, both Rouse and The Explorers Club have a classic pop sound that appeals to my antiquated taste.

I mention all this because I recently came across a 2016 album by artist Nick Waterhouse called Never Twice (below). I had never heard of Waterhouse, but the cover -- with Waterhouse holding a vintage hollow-body electric guitar in front of a massive collection of 45s and a selection of booze -- looked intriguing, so I took a flyer. Great decision. I've been playing the album for a couple of weeks now and am smitten by Waterhouse's retro-cool style. There may yet be hope for popular music in the 21st century.

In AllMusic's review of the album, critic Andy Kellman catches Waterhouse's vibe perfectly when he notes that he is "Dedicated as ever to synthesizing and replicating R&B-rooted sounds of the 50s and early 60s . . . akin to a slinking, swampy fusion of Booker T. & the MGs and Henry Mancini." In other words, Waterhouse's music is right up my alley. The prowling organ and sassy horn section (including a fat baritone sax) is exactly the music I want to hear while sipping an icy gin and tonic in my listening chair.

What's most impressive about Waterhouse's sound is that while his style is definitely retro, it's not derivative -- Never Twice sounds like an honest-to-goodness, long-lost album from the 50s. The same can be said for Waterhouse himself. Although he has clearly been styled for the cover of the album, in other images he looks like he just stepped off the set of Leave It To Beaver (left).  

Never Twice is a unique blend of rockabilly, R&B, jazz, and old-school soul that reminds you of just about everyone, but doesn't sound exactly like anyone. Leon Bridges' retro soul is cut from a very similar cloth, but while Bridges is a crooner in the Sam Cooke mode, Waterhouse is harder to pin down; his voice doesn't sound like anyone I can think of, but there is definitely a little bit of Dion DiMucci, with a shot of Buddy Holly on the side. [Fun fact, Waterhouse does a raucous duet called "Katchi" with Leon Bridges on Never Twice.]

After spinning Never Twice for several weeks, I've ordered a couple of Waterhouse's other albums. I'm looking forward to eventually hearing them all.  

While we're on the subject, I've also recently been digging the music of new-to-me jazz artist Dave Burns. Burns was a talented trumpeter who cut only two albums as leader, both on the Vanguard label. The first was the self-titled Dave Burns, released in 1962, and the second was Warming Up! from 1964. 

My first thought about the albums was: Wait, Vanguard put out jazz albums?  Apparently so. Unbeknownst to me, The Vanguard Recording Society, which started as a classical label and subsequently became a major player in folk and pop, also produced a short-lived jazz series called the "Vanguard Jazz Showcase," which was helmed by the legendary producer and impresario John Hammond. (The small print in the logo below is hard to read, but says: "A High Fidelity Production Supervised by John Hammond."

Hammond only worked with Vanguard from 1953-57, but the Jazz Showcase series limped along until 1962. Over the course of nine years, Vanguard released some 24 Jazz Showcase LPs (the early discs were 10"). Among the performers were Ted Brown, Ruby Braff, Jo Jones, and Vic Dickerson. The 1962 release Dave Burns appears to be the last album in the series. [Warming Up! from 1964 was released by Vanguard, but by then they had dropped the Jazz Showcase logo.]

Trumpeter Dave Burns was born in Perth Amboy, NJ, and began performing with various local bands in the late 1930s and early 40s. Following a stint in the Army (where he played in a military band with James Moody), Burns hooked up with Dizzy Gillespie in 1946 and traveled with his group for the next three years. From 1949-50, Burns played with Duke Ellington, before joining James Moody's band for the next five years. In the mid and late 50s, Burns continued to gig around New York (including playing on numerous recording sessions for the likes of Dizzy Gillespie, James Moody, Art Taylor, Johnny Griffin, and Milt Jackson) while working on and off as an appliance salesman to help pay the rent. Finally, in 1962, Vanguard signed Burns to record his first album as a leader.  

The resulting album, Dave Burns, features Kenny Barron on piano, Herbie Morgan on tenor, Steve Davis on bass, and Edgar Bateman on drums. Burns wrote three of the seven tracks. The music is mostly straight ahead bebop, with fine solos by Burns, Morgan, and Barron. It's an excellent debut that allows Burns' to show off his understated but swinging style in a variety of settings. Downbeat magazine's review of the album notes: "It's a mystery why this man (Burns) was not given his own recording date before now. He is one of the really mature trumpeters in modern jazz." Downbeat goes on to praise Burns for avoiding the "excesses" of other young trumpeters.

Burns' second album, Warming Up!, from 1964, includes some heavier hitters, including Al Grey on trombone, Harold Mabern on Piano, Bobby Hutcherson on vibes, and Billy Mitchell on tenor. The more experienced lineup makes for a meatier and tighter session with some exquisite playing that showcases all of the performers. This should have been the album that launched Dave Burns into the first rank of trumpet players. Unfortunately for Burns, a bebop album on the Vanguard label was apparently so incongruous that most critics and jazz fans completely missed it. As a result, both LPs disappeared with barely a trace. Though Burns continued to be in demand as a session player (Discogs lists more than 200 credits stretching into the 2000s), his brief career as a leader was over. In the coming decades, Burns turned his attention more and more to teaching, becoming one of the most sought-after trumpet masters in the city. He died in 2009.

Since the albums sold so poorly, originals of Burns' two discs are hard to find. As of this writing, there is only one original copy of Warming Up! for sale on Discogs, listed as VG+ with a price of $300. There are a few listings for originals of Dave Burns, but the best is in only VG condition with a price of $135. Both of Burns' discs were reissued in Japan in 1990 by King Record Co., and a few copies of each are available in NM condition in the $40-50 range. Finally, there are mint 2001 Scorpio reissues available for around $20. They sound pretty good, so don't hesitate to grab those reissues.

Enjoy the music!