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 Philippines," 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, brothers Hank, Thad, and Elvin Jones, Frank Foster, Sonny Red, Gerald Wilson, Milt Jackson, Yusef Lateef, Donald Byrd, Pepper Adams, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Burrell, and 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 ultimately 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 ceramicist, 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 (Chicago) sessions," which led directly to Shaw signing a recording contract with Chess's jazz subsidiary, ARGO.

Chess Records was founded in 1950 by brothers Phil and Leonard Chess, and 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 of Shaw's first album appears as both Break Through and Breakthrough on the 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 infectiously 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 commercial record by jumping on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping the nation in the wake of best-selling albums by Stan Getz, Antonio Carlos 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 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!

Organ Jazz, Soul Jazz, And The Black Jazz Record Label

Jimmy Smith, the king of the B-3 Hammond Organ

In 1934, a Chicago clockmaker and inventor named Lauren Hammond filed a patent for "an electrical instrument" that "generated sound by creating an electric current from rotating metal tone wheels near an electromagnetic pickup."

The Hammond Organ was a marvel of 1930s technology, requiring incredibly precise machine work, cutting-edge electronic design, and thousands of man hours to build.  A look at this promotional video will leave you wondering how in the world the thing ever worked.

But clearly it did. Hammond's first commercial organ was called the Model A, and sold for $1993.  The Hammond Company marketed its new instrument to churches and theaters as an economical alternative to a traditional pipe organ, which cost tens of thousands of dollars and took months to build and install.  

However, it wasn't long before dance halls and night clubs figured out that a Hammond Organ with a rhythm section could provide the same room-filling, dynamic sound as a full-blown big band orchestra.  And when Hammond introduced the iconic B-3 organ in 1954, he set in motion a sound revolution that would contribute directly to the creation of several new musical genres, including soul jazz, funk, and soul.

The first true break-out star on the Hammond Organ was Wild Bill Davis, who became famous in the late 1940s as the pianist for the Tympany Five, Louis Jordan's backing band.  Davis left Jordan in 1950 to strike out on his own as a jazz organist.  He formed the Bill Davis Trio in 1951, and the 78 rpm sides he cut for Okeh Records that same year (left) are considered to be the first appearance on disc of a jazz organ trio.

However, Bill Davis is perhaps even more important historically for his influence on the next generation of organ players, especially the undisputed king of the Hammond B-3, Jimmy Smith.  The story goes that after the struggling jazz pianist Smith saw the Bill Davis Trio at a club in Atlantic City in 1953, he was so mesmerized by the sound that he immediately decided to switch instruments and become an organist.  [For more info on Smith, see my earlier post.]  Smith's late 1950s bebop sides on Blue Note and his top-selling soul jazz LPs on Verve in the 1960s cemented the place of the organ in jazz.  Smith's impact on the organ was as profound as that of Charlie Christian on the electric guitar or Charlie Parker on the saxophone.

A legion of younger players were influenced and inspired by Smith, and in the 1960s and 70s they created a golden age of soul jazz, a variation of hard bop that incorporated elements of blues, gospel, and R&B.

I mention all this because lately I've been listening to a ton of terrific soul jazz by Jimmy Smith disciples, including organists Charles Earland, Richard “Groove” Holmes, Jack McDuff, Jimmy McGriff, Don Patterson, "Big" John Patton, Sonny Phillips, Freddie Roach, Shirley Scott, Johnny “Hammond” Smith, Lonnie Smith, Carl Wilson, and Reuben Wilson.  [I hasten to add that soul jazz was certainly not limited to the organ.  Lots of jazz musicians in the 60s embraced the bluesy, earthy style of soul jazz, including Stanley Turrentine, Cannonball Adderley, Gene Ammons, Grant Green, Lee Morgan, Horace Silver, and Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis.  But, as it happens, of late I've been focusing my listening on a lot of ridiculously infectious organ-based soul jazz.]

Despite the evident popularity of soul jazz (Jimmy Smith was the top-selling jazz artist of the 1960s), many critics and mainstream jazz musicians didn't consider the Hammond Organ to be an "authentic" jazz instrument.  And likewise, soul jazz wasn't accepted as "real" jazz by many lovers of traditional bebop.

Part of the reason soul jazz wasn't more accepted and respected is because it was, at least initially, more popular with Black audiences.  Like "Rhythm and Blues," "soul jazz" was a not very subtle code phrase used to describe music made by and for Blacks.  It didn't help matters that in the 1960s there was a stigma attached to soul jazz (not to mention funk) because of its close association with the growing Black Power and Civil Rights movements.

Regardless of the reason, prominent jazz critics and mainstream jazz publications seldom wrote about or reported on performances by soul jazz artists.  To cite just one example, the massive "Collected Works - A Journal Of Jazz 1954-2000" reprints a lifetime of articles and reviews by the New Yorker's  longtime, influential jazz critic, William Balliett.  In the hundreds of different articles contained in his 872-page book, Balliett never mentions any of the jazz organists I named a few paragraphs above.  And even Jimmy Smith is only included in passing in a list of musicians that performed at the Newport Jazz Festival.  Like Balliett, most other mainstream jazz critics didn't take soul jazz seriously either.

Black Jazz Records

All of which, somewhat indirectly, leads to a little-known pianist named Gene Russell and a small but influential music label called Black Jazz.  Born in 1931, Russell studied with the great Hampton Hawes and went on to work with jazz heavyweights such as Zoot Sims, Dexter Gordon, Miles Davis, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, and Wardell Gray.  [Fun fact: Russell was a cousin of jazz guitarist Charlie Christian.

However, Russell's solo career never really took off.  His first two albums as a leader, 1966's Taking Care Of Business on the Dot Label, and the 1969 release Up And Away (right) on the Decca label, both disappeared without much of a trace. (The cover photo of the later certainly didn't help.)  

Undaunted, Russell decided to start his own label.  He hooked up with the well-known percussionist, arranger, and technical whiz, Dick Schory, who, in addition to playing in the Chicago Symphony and recording numerous LPs with his "Percussion Pops Orchestra," was also instrumental in the development of Quadraphonic sound technology and RCA's Dynagroove vinyl formulation. 

In 1969, Schory founded his own music label, Ovation Records.  It began with a focus on country and western, but later branched out to include such artists as Count Basie, Joe Morello, Paul Horn, and Willie Dixon.  [Over its 14-year history, Ovation released more than 300 records.]  Although I haven't been able to discover the connection between Schory and Russell, not long after forming Ovation, Schory agreed to finance and distribute Russell's new Black Jazz label as a quasi-independent subsidiary of Ovation.  Russell was given artistic freedom to sign artists, and to produce and engineer Black Jazz releases.  Because of Schory's technical know-how, Black Jazz records benefited from the most cutting edge sound available.  As just one example, nearly all Black Jazz titles were released in both stereo and Quadraphonic versions.

Based in Oakland, CA, Russell's vision for Black Jazz Records was to promote African-American jazz artists and singers, as well as the Black community writ large.  Perhaps partly as a reaction to the snub of soul jazz by mainstream jazz audiences and critics, Russell positioned the label as an alternative to traditional jazz by embracing the breadth of Black jazz artists, including their political and spiritual elements.

Between 1971-75, Black Jazz released 20 albums.  Even though some Black Jazz titles sold well, original copies are almost impossible to come by and eagerly sought by collectors.  Copies in top condition can fetch hundreds of dollars.  Which is why I didn't own any originals and why I was excited when Real Gone Music in Orange, CA decided a couple of years ago to reissue the entire Black Jazz catalog on vinyl.

To date, I've picked up nine of the remastered titles (including the eight above).  All of them are mastered at Well Made Music in Bristol, VA by Clint Holley or Dave Polster, and are pressed by Gotta Groove Records in Cleveland.  The vinyl is flat and quiet, and the discs come in high-end Gotta Groove branded (MoFi style) poly dust sleeves.  Each release includes a glossy one-page insert with new liner notes and a photo.  It's a nicely produced series with replica labels and jackets.  While I've not heard any original pressings, the reissues sound great.  And, most importantly, the music is terrific, funky, soul jazz.  

Perhaps not surprisingly, the first release on the Black Jazz label was a new album by Gene Russell.  One suspects that the title of the album, New Direction, was also a mission statement for Russell.  The album is a collection of standards, played in a toe-tapping jazz style that recalls the piano trios of Ramsey Lewis.  Note that Russell not only plays piano, but also produced and engineered the album.

Later albums from Black Jazz would include mainstream bebop from Walter Bishop Jr., hard bop from Calvin Keys, modal/soul fusion from Doug Carn, jazz funk from Rudolph Johnson, and Isaac Hayes-inspired soul funk from Cleveland Eaton (a former bassist with Count Basie and Ramsey Lewis.)  Eaton's 1975 release (BJ/20, at left), was the last title released by Black Jazz and one of only a couple that didn't sport the uniform cover design shown in the montage above.

All of the nine titles in my collection are well worth having.  If you're interested in sampling some of the Black Jazz releases, don't mess around.  Real Gone Music's web site already lists several of the reissues as sold out.  However, most should be readily available on the secondary market, at least for the time being.

Enjoy the music!

What Was The First Record You Ever Bought?

My favorite music magazine, the UK's Record Collector, has a monthly feature where they do interviews with famous and not so  famous musicians, asking them a series of 10-15 brief questions.  One question that often pops up is: "What was the first record you bought?"  

The interviewees always seem to remember their first purchase with no difficulty, and invariably name some appropriately cool record by Cliff Richards, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Elvis Costello, Fine Young Cannibals, Nirvana, or the like, depending on their age.  All performers, in other words, that indicate a level of musical sophistication in their younger selves.  Strangely, no one ever admits that they started their musical journey with a hit by Donnie and Marie Osmond, Pat Boone, The Archies, Richard Harris, Britney Spears, or The Spice Girls.  

Reading the latest issue of Record Collector got me thinking about the first record I ever bought, and the answer is:  I have no idea.  The best I can say is that the first record I can remember buying was a 45 rpm single of "The Joker Went Wild," released by Brian Hyland in 1966 (photo above).  The song was in heavy rotation on our local AM station that summer (WBUY - 1440 on your dial).  I tuned in with my portable GE transistor radio that had a nifty ear plug so I could listen at night when I was supposed to be asleep.  I was so taken with the song that I rode my bicycle downtown to Mack's Five and Dime and spent some of my hard-earned paper route money to buy a copy.  

Fifty-seven years later, I still have the 45 in its original Philips company sleeve (top).  It's a lucky thing I held onto it, since nice copies fetch as much as $2.50 on the used market today.  As you can see in the photo, I paid 79 cents, so I could easily triple my money if I sold it.

Even though no music magazine is ever likely to ask, for a long time I worried that having to admit "The Joker Went Wild" was the first record I bought would sound pretty lame.  Brian Hyland had hits with "Gypsy Woman" and "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini," and was primarily known as a practitioner of "bubblegum" pop -- not the kind of thing a hip, 1960s musical connoisseur like myself wants to be associated with.

Very Cool

It wasn't until many years later, while going through the small collection of 45s that survived from my youth, that I noticed (by reading the label, duh) that "The Joker Went Wild" was arranged and produced by Leon Russell (with Snuff Garrett).  That discovery made my first record purchase seem much less embarrassing, because Leon is the king of cool.  [Now, if Record Collector comes calling, I'd probably fudge my answer by saying something like "My first record was some single produced by Leon Russell."  Mum's the word.]  

Not cool

"The Joker Went Wild" was a top 20 hit for Hyland.  It was written by Bobby Russell (no relation to Leon), who later married the singer/actress Vicki Lawrence, best known for her work on The Carol Burnett Show.  Bobby Russell peaked as a songwriter in 1968 when he had two huge hits: "Little Green Apples," which charted for three different performers and went on to win two Grammys, and "Honey," a million-selling single for singer Bobby Goldsboro (left).  [In 1973, Vicki Lawrence had a hit single with a song written by husband Bobby, called "The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia."]  

The opposite of cool

While we're at it, I have to admit that I also can't remember the first LP I ever bought.  Once again, the best I can say is that the first album I remember buying was Good Times, the 1967 soundtrack to Sonny and Cher's movie of the same name (right).  I still have the album, a mono pressing in VG+ condition which is now worth just about the same $3.99 I paid for it in 1967 (also at Mack's Five and Dime).

I have a fuzzy memory of seeing the movie when it came out.  The plot, such as it is, has Sonny getting involved with a dicey producer who wants to cash in on Sonny and Cher's fame by putting them in a cheesy movie about a singing hillbilly couple.  Sonny and Cher reject the script, so the producer tells Sonny to write his own script.

It's the 60s, baby

The rest of the film consists of three unrelated episodes where Sonny daydreams about different movies they could make, including a western, a Tarzan and Jane style jungle adventure, and a private eye/gangster mashup.  There are connecting bits where Sonny and Cher play themselves, bickering about the movie and meeting with the menacing producer.  Woven into the daydream sequences and the connecting bits are six music videos, which are the songs that also appear on the soundtrack.  The film is every bit as bad as it sounds.  Although, all that aside, the film has lots of great shots of Sonny and Cher wearing groovy 60s fashions.  If you want to chance it, you can watch the whole film here.

As dreadful as the picture is, bear in mind that it was the first feature directed by William Friedkin, who went on to make such classic films as The French Connection (Oscar winner for best director) and The Exorcist (Oscar nominee for best director).  Likewise, Sonny and Cher went on to make such classic albums as um, Sonny & Cher Live, and um, Live Vol. 2 (oh, never mind.)

Sigh

Seeing Good Times at the theater was likely the reason I bought the record.  Well, that and having a serious preteen crush on Cher.  (What, like you didn't?)  Similar to the movie, the soundtrack album has little redeeming value, although it does contain two versions of the hit single "I Got You Babe." Unfortunately, neither of the two versions on the album is the original. 

The first version of "I Got You Babe" opens the album (and plays over the opening credits in the movie).  It is sung by a children's choir in a sort of Muzak-y style with a harp and soaring strings. (OK, ok, but I kid you not, the drumming is sensational.)  A second version of the song closes the album (and plays over the closing credits in the film).  This version is reworked as a wispy ballad with Sonny and Cher trading lines while backed by a Spanish-style guitar and what sounds like a music box.  Nuff said.

The French cover

Neither of the versions on the soundtrack do justice to the original 1965 single, which was a monster hit that topped the charts in the US and internationally.  [Fun fact: In the US, "I Got You Babe" beat out "Help!" by The Beatles at number two, and "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones at number five.]

According to AllMusic critic William Ruhmann, "I Got You Babe" was Sonny Bono's answer to Bob Dylan's 1964 breakup song "It Ain't Me Babe" (written for Dylan's then girlfriend, Suze Rotolo.)  Sonny, who had worked as a songwriter, promoter, and general factotum for Phil Spector, produced "I Got You Babe" and faithfully recreates Spector's famous Wall of Sound.  "I Got You Babe" is a classic 1960s pop ballad, even if, as Ruhmann notes, "Sonny and Cher are not very interesting singers."  

The song is buoyed by a stellar list of session players, including jazz great Barney Kessel on guitar, Tijuana Brass and Baja Marimba alumni Julius Wechter (percussion) and Bud Coleman (guitar), and Wrecking Crew members Don Randi (piano), Lyle Ritz (bass), and Frank Capp (drums).  Ace session men Warren Webb and Morris Crawford add a unique oboe/bassoon accompaniment.  The song was recorded by engineer Stan Ross at his legendary Gold Star Studios in Hollywood.  Even if you don't like the song, there is no denying that the sound is fabulous, with Gold Star's trademark burnished sound.  [Ross was also at the controls at Gold Star a year later, in 1966, when The Beach Boys cut their masterpiece, "Pet Sounds."]

The only other song of note on Good Times is the album reissue of Sonny and Cher's 1966 top 50 single, "It's The Little Things."  Stylistically and sonically it's quite similar to "I Got You Babe" with the same call and response lyrics and another Wall of Sound production.

While there is no accounting for my preteen taste in music (or female pop stars), I hasten to add that among the other 1960s 45s that survived from my youth are disks by the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Donovan, Bob Dylan, Procol Harum, and Otis Redding.  And I also had a huge crush on Joni Mitchell.

Enjoy the music!