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!