Across The Great Jazz Divide

Last week PBS debuted an excellent documentary about legendary trumpet player Doc Severinsen, called "Never Too Late: The Doc Severinsen Story."  Severinsen, whose 30 year stint as the musical director of the The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson made him a household name in America, is 93 years old and still going strong.  It's a fascinating portrait of Severinsen the artist and Severinsen the man, well worth watching.

Doc Severinsen

To the extent that Americans remember Severinsen at all, it's almost certainly for the outlandish outfits he wore on The Tonight Show rather than his chops as a trumpet player.  (Severinsen's garishly colored outfits, reflecting all the bell-bottomed, wide-lapeled, bedazzled, polyester excess of the 1970s and 80s, were a running gag between Carson and Severinsen.)

If you asked a group of jazz buffs to name their top five favorite trumpet players, I'm pretty sure Severinsen's name would not be on anyone's list.  I found one online list of "the best jazz trumpet players" that doesn't have him in the top 50.  Most aficionados wouldn't consider Severinsen to be in the same league as trumpeters like Dizzy Gillespie, Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan, Kenny Dorham, or Freddie Hubbard -- not to mention Miles Davis.  

But the comparison is fundamentally flawed.  Severinsen was not a bebop trumpeter.  Born in 1927, he came of age in the big band/swing era.  He was a trumpet prodigy and played with the local high school band in Arlington, Oregon while still in grammar school.  He won a statewide trumpet contest at age nine and auditioned for The Tommy Dorsey Band when he was 14.  He didn't get the the job, but before finishing high school he was on the road with The Ted Fiorito Orchestra, and went on to play with big bands led by Charlie Barnet, Benny Goodman, and Tommy Dorsey, before landing a gig with the NBC studio orchestra in the 60s.

Severinsen represents a group of jazzmen who didn't make the transition from swing to bebop.  They continued to play mainstream jazz -- touring with big bands or big band tribute groups, working in television, doing recording sessions, playing in Vegas show bands, teaching, and (at least in some cases),  making jazz-pop albums that sold in the millions.  

These musicians included names like Maynard Ferguson, Conte Candoli, Herb Alpert, Dick Hyman, Enoch Light, Acker Bilk, Andre Previn, Bobby Hackett, Pete Fountain, Al Hirt, and Skitch Henderson. 

[A number of other performers, like Bob James, Gerald Wilson, Quincy Jones, Buddy Rich, Ramsey Lewis, Sergio Mendes, Wes Montgomery, Charlie Byrd, Shorty Rogers, George Benson, Bud Shank and the like, had feet in both camps.]

What these mainstream players had in common was that were extremely talented, well-respected musicians who didn't embrace (at least not fully) the improvisational style of bebop.  Instead, they continued to play a more melodic jazz that appealed to their established audience of (mostly) white middle-class folks who had been raised on big band and swing.  While most of the original mainstream jazzmen are gone, the genre continued to flourish, evolving into soul jazz, smooth jazz, and contemporary jazz, while spawning a new group of star performers such as Grover Washington, Jr., Chuck Mangione, David Benoit, Kenny G, David Sanborn, Diana Krall, John Scofield, and Chris Botti.

Like many things in America, there was a racial component in the division between mainstream jazz and bebop.  Bebop was dominated by Black musicians and initially embraced by young urban audiences in largely African-American neighborhoods like Harlem (I'm simplifying here.)  Much like rock 'n' roll 15 years later, bebop was initially considered to be decadent and a little salacious. 

Honey In the Horn - Now That's More Like It

On the other hand, mainstream jazz was played by (mostly) white musicians and appealed to the white, middle class who were still listening to their big band albums.  But beyond race,  there was a fundamental question of musical taste; when it comes to the arts, people like what they like.  And in the 1960s and 70s, middle class, middle-aged white Americans by and large didn't come home from work and put on The Sidewinder by Lee Morgan.  Instead, they sipped a martini while listening to Al "He's The King" Hirt.  The description on the cover of Hirt's 1963 hit album Honey In The Horn (above right) says it all: "Soft Trumpet - Sweet Voices."

It's really no different than popular taste in art or literature.  People appreciated Saul Bellow, but they actually read Sidney Sheldon.  They appreciated Picasso, but they had a Norman Rockwell print hanging in the living room.  And when it comes to jazz, they appreciated Miles Davis, but they listened to Al Hirt and Herb Alpert.  Which is exactly why you can find an album or two by Al Hirt or Herb Alpert for a buck in just about any thrift store in America; they sold millions of records.  On the other hand, an original copy of Lee Morgan's The Sidewinder in top condition will set you back a thousand bucks -- if you can find one.  And while Lee Morgan is more critically acclaimed than Al Hirt or Herb Alpert as a trumpeter, who can say if Morgan would have traded some acclaim for a gold record or two.

In my pandemic stupor, I recently ordered about 50 jazz albums from a Chicago record dealer.  A few of the LPs I picked out were by mainstream jazz musicians, including one by Doc Severinsen, a 1980 title called The London Sessions (left).  [I assume the title was an intentional shout out to the The London Howlin' Wolf Sessions (1971) and The London Chuck Berry Sessions (1972), but who knows.]  

Severinsen's London Sessions LP was recorded at the fabled Olympic Studios in London's West End (as was The London Howlin' Wolf Sessions).  The album was marketed as a limited edition, audiophile release with a numbered, gold foil stamp on the front cover (it looks blue in the photo).  The session was an early digital recording, and much of the inside of the gatefold sleeve is taken up with a lengthy explanation of the the digital recording process.  It includes a detailed list of the recording equipment used and a diagram of the studio, indicating the placement of all the instruments and microphones.  While some of the track choices are questionable (including Rod Stewart's dreadful "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"), the overall sound is outstanding with a huge soundstage and wide dynamic range.  And notwithstanding the blanket of strings that threaten to smother the listener with a layer of schmaltz, Severinsen's burnished tone and dynamic playing shine through on jazz-pop versions of Steely Dan's "Peg" and Leon Russell's "This Masquerade."  It's a well-produced, nice-sounding album, but I won't be playing it with any regularity.    

The only other Severinsen titles I own are three 1960s releases on the Command Performance label.  Command Performance was started by musician and bandleader Enoch Light in 1959 as an audiophile label at the dawn of the stereo era.  Early releases used exaggerated left-right separation to emphasize the wonder of the new two-channel technology.  Many Command Performance albums featured distinctive artwork by artist Josef Albers, a pioneer of 20th century modernism (above).  [Since you can often find Command Performance titles for a dollar or two, they're worth collecting for the cover art alone.]  

Interestingly enough, there is a version of Lee Morgan's hit single "The Sidewinder" on Severinsen's 1966 release Fever! (above right).  It's instructive to listen to Severensin's version side-by-side with Morgan's original, because it almost perfectly sums up the difference between bebop and mainstream jazz.  Morgan's original version of the song is 10:28.  It's an infectious soul-jazz classic that grooves and swings like crazy.  It includes tasty solos by Morgan on trumpet, Joe Henderson on tenor, Barry Harris on piano, and Bob Cranshaw on bass.  After ten minutes, you wish it would go on for another ten.  Fabulous.  I could listen to it every day.

Severinsen's version weighs in at 2:48.  The band is hot, the song is upbeat and fun.  But even though the liner notes describe how "Doc cuts loose in between the opening and closing riff," he really just throws in a few slides and trills to the basic melody, and before you know it, we're done.  The band never strays from their charts.  I haven't listened to the album in years.

I have at least two or three titles by most of the other mainstream jazz performers I listed above.  I hardly ever listen to any of them.  In fact, most have been consigned to overflow shelving in the garage.  

Severinsen released his last recording in 2014, a Latin-themed collaboration with a group he heard playing in a club in Mexico.  [The album is called Oblivion (left), and it's fun and catchy in a Gypsy Kings kind of way.]  During his 70-year career, Severinsen has put out some 60 albums.  I suspect that hardly anyone could name a single one.  Not because they're bad, but because nearly every one of them features a selection of three-minute versions of (then) current pop hits, standards, and show tunes that never stray from the melody.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not down on Severinsen.  He is a gifted trumpet player and performer who continued to draw large crowds well past his 90th birthday.  He was one of the most popular and well-loved trumpet players of all time.  But it would be hard to argue that he had much influence on the history of jazz music.  Certainly not compared to the enormous impact of Dizzy Gillespie or Miles Davis.  Jazz buffs don't discuss the nuances of Severinsen's style from album to album or study the interplay between him and his rhythm section.  But that's OK, because not everyone has to advance the art.  The world needs Saul Bellow and Sidney Sheldon.

Severinsen, Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Maynard Ferguson, Herb Alpert, Andre Previn, and many other mainstream jazzmen had successful careers, made great music, sold a lot of albums, and brought musical pleasure to millions.  That's not a bad epitaph for any musician.

Enjoy the Music!

Pop Quiz - Name Your Favorite Jazz Violinists

Quick -- name your top two favorite jazz violinists.  I'll wait while you think about it.  

Every year the big jazz magazines like DownBeat and JazzTimes publish polls naming the top musicians in various instrument categories as voted on by their readers and music critics.  While it's still a great recognition for the winners, nowadays you hardly even hear about the results. 

However, back in the 50s and 60s, when jazz was much more important, the announcement of the poll winners was a big deal.  Record labels would take out ads in the trade magazines to celebrate wins by their artists, while interviewers who wrote profiles and critics who wrote liner notes would almost always manage to work in a mention of how many times the performer had won one of the annual polls. 

What's more, the winners of the various polls were often featured in special showcase concerts and would record albums together to mark their poll wins. 

Historically, the awards for individual instruments have included trumpet, saxophone (with separate winners for soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone), guitar, piano, bass, drums, trombone, clarinet, flute, organ, vibes, and violin.

In terms of popularity and sheer number of releases, the major solo/lead instruments in jazz are the saxophone (all four versions), followed in some order by the piano, trumpet, and guitar.  You can probably name a half dozen jazz artists for each of these instruments off the top of your head.  The same goes for bass and drums.  But things get a little trickier when we get to the "secondary" lead instruments like trombone, clarinet, flute, organ, vibes, and violin.  So, for those of you who want to play along at home, see if you can think of two jazz musicians for each of these six secondary instruments.  To make it more interesting, only include performers who have released albums featuring the instrument in their own names.  Ready?  Go!

How did you do?  I've got J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding on trombone; Herbie Mann and Hubert Laws on flute; Lionel Hampton and Cal Tjader on vibes; Shirley Scott and Jimmy Smith on organ; Buddy DeFranco and Pee Wee Russell on clarinet, and Joe Venuti and Stephane Grappelli on violin.  I promise I didn't just look those up.

While I probably could have come up with another three or four for all of the other instruments, I have to admit that for violin, Venuti and Grappelli are the only two that came to mind.  All the other non-classical violinists I could think of, including Jean-Luc Ponty, Vassar Clements, Papa John Creach, Doug Kershaw, Nigel Kennedy, and Mark O'Connor, are more bluegrass, cajun, rock, pop, fusion or something else other than actual jazz musicians.  While I was wracking my brain, I did remember that violin virtuoso Itzhak Perlman teamed up with Andre Previn and jazz greats Shelly Manne, Red Mitchell, and Jim Hall to make a fun, swinging jazz album called A Different Kind Of Blues in 1980 (above right).  If you see it, it's definitely worth picking up.  (Their 1981 follow-up, It's A Breeze, not so much.)  After I finally gave up and did a quick Wikipedia search, I got a duh moment when I saw the name of the great pioneering jazz violinist Stuff Smith.

Joe Venuti

I suspect I'm not alone in having difficulty coming up with the names of jazz violinists.  The fact is that historically, the violin has not been a particularly important instrument in jazz music.  The heyday of jazz violin was in the 20s and 30s, and began when Joe Venuti (b. 1903) teamed up with his boyhood friend from Philadelphia, guitarist Eddie Lang, to cut a bunch of top-selling singles.  From the late 1920s into the early 1930s, Venuti's virtuosity and seemingly effortless improvisational ability defined the role of the violin in jazz music.  During this time, Venuti became one of the most in-demand performers in the business and worked extensively with top acts such as Benny Goodman, the Dorsey Brothers, Bing Crosby, and Paul Whiteman's Orchestra.

As it turns out, Stephane Grappelli (b. 1908) was first introduced to jazz violin when he heard Venuti play with Whiteman's orchestra in Paris in 1928.  After working to perfect his own jazz style, Grappelli joined up with guitar great Django Reinhardt in 1934 to form the Paris-based Quintette du Hot Club de France.  Until the war started in 1939 (and Grappelli fled to England), the Hot Club quintet's up-tempo, gypsy swing band was the hottest jazz act on the Continent.  

Stephane Grappelli

Alas, by the end of the war, jazz violin was no longer popular on either side of the Atlantic.  As bebop began to dominate jazz, Venuti and Grappelli faded into years of relative obscurity.  They both continued to play in clubs and to record sporadically, but it wasn't until the 60s that they would be "rediscovered" by a new generation of jazz fans.  Before he died in 1978, Venuti was touring regularly and had recorded dozens of new LPs, hooking up with such notable players as Zoot Sims, Bucky Pizzarelli, and Earl Hines.  Grappelli lived until 1997, and enjoyed a three-decade long career resurgence that saw him playing and recording with Barney Kessel, McCoy Tyner, Gary Burton, Jean-Luc Ponty, Hank Jones, Joe Pass, and many others.  He also cut several surprisingly popular jazz records with classical violinist Yehudi Menuhin.

Venuti and Grappelli made one LP together.  It was recorded in Paris in 1969 and has the somewhat awkward title of Venupelli Blues (below).  (Better than Grapnuti Blues, I guess.)  The record isn't the best work of either performer, but it's a fun romp through a set of (mostly) standards that sounds like it was probably a hoot to record.

If you're looking at add some jazz violin to your music collection, it shouldn't be hard.  Between the two of them, Venuti and Grappelli recorded well over 200 LPs.  Since Grappelli performed and recorded well into the 90s, he is much better known that Venuti.  However, demand for either artist's LPs isn't high, and you can often find their records for $5 or less in used record stores.  (And sometimes even in the one dollar bins on the floor.)  I'm a big fan of violin jazz and gypsy swing -- it always puts me in a good mood -- so I pick up their albums whenever I see them.

Stuff Smith

In addition to Venuti and Grappelli, Stuff Smith is the other seminal figure in the history of jazz violin.  Born in Ohio in 1909, Smith grew up in Cincinnati and played in bands in the Midwest and Texas before marrying a woman from Buffalo and moving there in 1930.  Smith got his big break in 1935 when his Buffalo group (which included Cozy Cole on drums) was hired as the house band at the Onyx Club on 52nd St. in Manhattan.  Smith, who was also a popular vocalist, made several hit records in the late 30s, including "If You're A Viper" (Harlem slang for a marijuana smoker), and "I'se a-Muggin' " (no idea).  Smith played with many of the founding fathers of bebop, including Coleman Hawkins, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Parker.  He toured regularly in Europe (he moved there permanently in 1965) and recorded and performed several times with Stephane Grappelli in Paris.  Smith died in 1967 and is buried in Copenhagen.  I was shocked to find that I only have one LP by Smith in my collection (a terrific 1963 session with guitarist Herb Ellis called Herb Ellis & Stuff Smith Together!).  I'll be looking to add a few more disks by Smith posthaste.  

Regina Carter

Since I couldn't think of any other notable jazz violinists after Grappelli died in the 90s, I started wondering who the heck has been winning the poll for best jazz violinist for the last 25 years -- or if they even have a category for jazz violin anymore.  After a little research, I'm pleased to report that there is still a jazz violin category, and since 1995 the poll has been dominated by Regina Carter.  While I had certainly heard of Carter, I knew very little about her or her work.  After doing some research and streaming a bunch of her music, I was delighted to be able to "discover" Carter for myself.  Since 1995, when her debut solo album, Regina Carter, took the jazz world by storm, Carter has released nine more albums, been nominated for three Grammys, and received a MacArthur Fellow "genius" grant.  She has worked with Wynton Marsalis, Kenny Barron, Max Roach, and a host of other top jazz and pop artists.  Her music combines elements of R&B, Afro-Cuban, Folk, World, pop, as well as more traditional bebop and swing.  She cites Stuff Smith as one of her musical influences.  

The future of jazz violin appears to be in very good hands.

Enjoy the music!

A Brief History Of The Great "Buckshot La Funke"

In February of 1957, 25-year-old trumpeter Louie Smith recorded a session for the short-lived Transition Records label.  Transition was founded in 1955 in Boston by (soon to be) legendary producer Tom Wilson (Dylan, Zappa, Simon & Garfunkel, etc.)  In its short two-year existence, jazz-centric Transition Records released 20 or so titles, including albums by Donald Byrd and Lucky Thompson, and the debut albums of both Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor.

Unfortunately for Louis Smith, Transition Records folded before his album was released.  But all was not lost:  Wilson sold the master tape to Alfred Lion at Blue Note Records.  In 1958, Blue Note released it as Here Comes Louis Smith (BLP 1584).  Smith released one more album for Blue Note later that same year (Smithville, BLP 1594) before returning to his day job teaching music at Booker T. Washington High School in Atlanta, GA.  He didn't release another record for nearly 40 years.

Which is a shame, because Smith was a fine trumpet player with a warm tone, very much in the mold of his hero, the great Clifford Brown.  Both of Smith's Blue Note LPs are well worth seeking out, although they are not easy to find.  

Mr. La Funke

But I didn't really come here to talk about Louis Smith per se.  I came to talk about the mysterious session man who plays alto sax on Smith's first album.  If you look closely at the players at the bottom left of the album cover (above), you will see that the first name listed is "Buckshot La Funke."  (I'm assuming that 'Funke' is pronounced like 'funk,' although it also works as the two-syllable "funky."  And either way it's hilarious.)  

Jazz fans who picked up Here Comes Louis Smith in 1958 were no doubt as puzzled as I was about the identity of Mr. La Funke.  However, all is (sort of) revealed in the liner notes by noted jazz critic Leonard Feather.  With his tongue firmly in his cheek, Feather notes that "Buckshot La Funke (of the Florida La Funkes) is one of the modern alto giants and has been described by Nat Adderley as 'my favorite soloist and main influence'."  That was more than enough info for most jazz fans to identify La Funke as Nat Adderley's big brother Julian, better known as Cannonball.  However, just in case anyone was still uncertain, Feather adds elsewhere that as a music teacher "Smith shares the profession (with) such distinguished teachers as Cannonball Adderley . . .  who was employed at a school in Ft. Lauderdale, Fla."  So, the mysterious Buckshot La Funke is clearly the great Cannonball Adderley.  (Feather's comments on Here Comes Louis Smith are some of the wittiest liner notes I've ever seen on a jazz album.  Feather keeps the yuks coming when he refers to pianist Tommy Flanagan as being one "of the Detroit Flanagans.")

Cannonball wasn't credited on Smith's Blue Note release because he was under contract with a different record company at the time.  (To be honest, I'm not sure which company that was since Cannonball put out records on at least three different labels in 1958.)  So, as has been done for many other musicians over the years, he is listed with a pseudonym on Here Comes Louis Smith.  It's important to note that pseudonyms aren't the same as nicknames.  Nicknames were very common among jazz musicians, and nicknames like Prez, Bird, Dizzy, Duke, Jug, Satchmo, Cannonball, and Rabbit were often better known than the players' real names.  Pseudonyms, on the other hand, were meant to disguise the identity of the player who sat in on the session, although it usually wasn't long before word got out; aficionados and critics could quickly identify the mystery players by their tone or style of playing.

Other jazz greats who have used pseudonyms include Charlie Parker, who is billed as Charlie Chan on the famous 1958 album Jazz At Massey Hall.  Jackie McLean shows up as Ferris Benda on Art Blakey's 1957 classic Night In Tunisia (right).  Dizzy Gillespie used a lot of fake names, including B. Bopstein, Izzy Goldberg, John Kildare, and several versions of his real given names, John Berks.  Even Leonard Feather (who in addition to being one of the most influential jazz writers/critics ever, was also a fine musician and record producer) gets in on the act.  He turns up as Jelly Roll Lipschitz when he played piano on a 1951 jazz compilation recording on the Folkways label.  Now that's funny.

You have to admire the cleverness of fake names like Buckshot La Funke, in which buckshot plays off Cannonball as a type of ammunition.  Other particularly witty pseudonyms include that of trumpeter Fats Navarro, who is listed as Slim Romero on a 1947 Illinois Jacquet single, and saxophonist Gato Barbieri, who is billed as "Unknown Cat" on an album by Carla Bley.  "Unknown Cat" gets extra credit since Gato is Spanish for cat and jazz musicians were/are often referred to as "cats."  Muddy Waters was credited as Dirty Rivers on a 1964 release by Otis Span.  Finally, special recognition goes to trombonist Jimmy Cleveland for his use of the name Jimmy O'Heigho on The Drum Suite, a 1956 release by Manny Albam and Ernie Wilkins. (Cleveland, O'Heigho. OK, you got it.)

Lots of rock stars have used pseudonyms to get around contractual obligations as well.  The Beatles all used fake names at some point or other so they could give songs to other performers, sit in on albums by friends, or release songs or performances as a lark.  Paul used the name Paul Ramon on several albums and singles (and when booking hotel rooms anonymously).  Paul and wife Linda created the character of a socialite musician named Percy Thrillington and put out an album and a single under his name (left).  (The album was an orchestrated cover version of McCartney's 1971 album Ram.)  Paul later revealed that he wrote the liner notes for the LP Percy Thrillington using the name Clint Harrigan.  John was particularly fond of silly pseudonyms.  Just a few of his many bogus credits are: Dr. Winston O'Boogie (which he used on a cover of "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" by Elton John, (left), Booker Table And The Maitre D's (very clever), the Hon. John St. John Johnson, and Johnny Silver.  George used the names George O'Hara and Hari Georgeson, the later no doubt as a nod to his devotion to Eastern religion. (Hari is the Sanskrit word for god, as in Hari Krishna).  Ringo is billed as Richie Snare on Harry Nilsson's 1972 album Son Of Schmilsson.  

Elsewhere in the rock world, Neil Young has famously used the name Bernard Shakey for years.  And Bob Dylan has used numerous pseudonyms, including Blind Boy Grunt, Bob Landy, Tedham Porterhouse, and, most notably, Jack Frost, who is credited on many Dylan albums.

Occasionally old pseudonyms resurface and get repurposed.  In the 1990s, Wynton Marsalis released two albums with a band he called Buckshot LeFunque, clearly an homage to Cannonball Adderley's earlier alter ego.  And in 1974, a group of budding young musicians in Forest Hills, NY started a band called The Ramones, named in honor of Paul McCartney's Paul Ramon character.  The four original members of the Ramones (who weren't related) all took fake names and billed themselves as the Ramone brothers -- Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy.  "Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment" indeed. 

Returning briefly to Louis Smith.  As I mentioned earlier, his two Blue Note albums are well worth seeking out.  Both feature excellent straight-ahead bop and first-rate sidemen, including (in addition to Mr. LaFunke), such notables as Charlie Rouse, Sonny Clark, Art Taylor, and Duke Jordan.

Unfortunately, since Smith was mostly unknown, neither of his records sold well.  As a result, finding copies today is a challenge.  The price of the original 1958 Blue Note release of either LP is in the $1,000-2,000 range.  Beyond that, there are re-pressings of both LPs from 1972 on the "Division of United Artists Records" Blue Note label, as well as three different Japanese reissues of each.  All these reissues are also fairly scarce, with VG+ copies in the $50-60 range.  Your best bet by far for Smithville is the superb 2010 two-disk 45-rpm reissue on the audiophile Music Matters label, which can be found in mint condition for around $50.  For Smith's debut album, Here Comes Louis Smith, your best bet is a 2016 reissue on the Spanish Elemental Music label, which is available for around $20.  It's worth noting that unlike a number of other Spain-based labels that deal in off-copyright, public domain reissues, Elemental's EU Blue Note reissue series is fully licensed.  I assume they are remastered from digital copies, but I have several titles and am pleased with the sound quality and the fit and finish for all of them.  Not taking any chances, the Elemental reissue of Here Comes Louis Smith has a sticker on the front of the shrink that says "Featuring Cannonball Adderley (as "Buckshot La Funke").

Enjoy the music!

Session Man Nicky Hopkins - The Mad Shirt Grinder

LA's famous Wrecking Crew

In a recent post I mentioned that Nashville studio musician Rob Moore has played bass on more than 17,000 sessions.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around that.  

Nashville, of course, is known for the number and quality of studio musicians who have worked with everybody from Elvis to Bob Dylan to Yo-Yo Ma.  The city's top session players were known as the "Nashville A-Team" and were immortalized in the lyrics to John Sebastian's 1966 hit song Nashville Cats:

"Nashville Cats, play clean as country water;  Nashville Cats, play wild as mountain dew;  Nashville Cats, been playin' since they's babies; Nashville Cats, get work before they're two."

Some former and current Nashville Cats include Chet Atkins, Floyd Cramer, Buddy Harman, Norbert Putnam, Vassar Clements, Tommy Jackson, Pete Drake, Owen Bradley, Charlie McCoy, Earl Scruggs, Hank Garland, and Boots Randolph.  My guess is you could put a random group of these guys in a recording studio at lunch time and have a fabulous album done before dinner.  

In addition to the Nashville A-Team, other notable groups of session players included Motown's "Funk Brothers" in Detroit, the "Rhythm Section" and "The Swampers" at Muscle Shoals Studios in Alabama, the "Memphis Group" at Stax Records (the "MG" from Booker T and the MGs), and perhaps the most famous of all, L.A.'s fabled "Wrecking Crew."  The dean of the Wrecking Crew was drummer Hal Blaine, but other notable members included Leon Russell and Glen Campbell.  [Fun fact: the only female session musician from all of these groups (that I'm aware of) was the Wrecking Crew's ace bass player Carol Kaye.]  If you have more than a handful of albums from the 60s and 70s, some of the cats from these session groups played on them.

Nicky Hopkins

The members of the session groups were geographically based, sometimes working for a particularly studio or label, other times hired as needed for studio work or live gigs.  Since session players were usually not credited on the albums they played on, many fans were not aware that their favorite band didn't always perform the music on their songs.  Just off the top of my head I can think of hits by The Beach Boys, Bob Dylan, The Byrds, and (of course) the Monkees that were actually played by session musicians.

In addition to the mostly anonymous players who made up the great studio groups, there were a number of well-known musicians who, in addition to having their own successful careers, were regularly asked by groups to sit in on their albums.  Duane Allman and Eric Clapton contributed unmistakable guitar licks to any number of hit records.  Keyboard player Billy Preston is featured on several Beatles recordings, and sax man Bobby Keys played so regularly with The Rolling Stones that he became a de facto member of the band.

One of the very best of the "star" session players was British pianist Nicky Hopkins, who played on hundreds of albums, including LPs by The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Cat Stevens, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Zappa, Jefferson Airplane, Jeff Beck, John Lennon, The Kinks, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and The Who, just to name a few.

Hopkins was born in 1944 in a suburb of London and started playing piano at the age of three.  In his teens he won a scholarship to study classical music at the Royal Academy of Music.  However, in the swinging 60s in the UK, the lure of rock 'n' roll proved to be too great for the 17-year-old Hopkins, who left the Royal Academy to take a job with the pioneering UK rock band "Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages."  The band's namesake and nominal leader, David Sutch, was known more for his on-stage antics than his musicianship.  His schtick included wearing animal skins and horns on his heads while he raved around the stage.  The band specialized in covers of hits by early rockers like Chuck Berry and Little Richard.  Even though Lord Sutch never really made it big, the group (with an ever changing cast of members) had incredible staying power and lasted for nearly 30 years.  It also turned out to be a proving ground for a generation of UK rock stars.  Hopkins was one of the original members of the group, but other notables who spent some time with Lord Sutch include Jimmy Page, Richie Blackmore, Ian Hunter, Jeff Beck, as well as both other members of Jimi Hendrix's band, Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding.  

After a stint with Lord Sutch, Hopkins was recruited to join a more established (and serious) group called Cliff Bennett and the Rebel Rousers.  The Rebel Rousers toured extensively, and, like the Beatles, spent several months in 1962 playing at the Star Club in Hamburg, Germany.  After a falling out with leader Bennett, Hopkins hooked up with one of the UK's first serious bluesmen, Cyril Davies.  It was in early 1963, as a member of Cyril Davies And His R&B All-Stars, that Hopkins first began to attract attention from his fellow musicians in London.  

In his excellent 2011 biography of Nicky Hopkins, And On Piano . . . Nicky Hopkins, noted musician/writer Julian Dawson says that blues fans like Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Jimmy Page often turned up to catch shows by Cyril Davies and the band.  And in fact, a brand-new group called the Rolling Stones eventually opened several times for the All-Stars.  Hopkins was quickly becoming known as one of the best keyboard players in London and seemed well on his way to fame and fortune.  But alas, not yet.  In May of 1963, the 19-year-old Hopkins was rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain.  He was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease and had most of his intestine removed.  The operation initially left him in a coma and then bed-ridden for the next nineteen months, during which he was near death several times.  If that weren't bad enough, while Hopkins was fighting for his life, his boss and bandmate Cyril Davies died in December, 1963 from complications of leukemia.

By the time Hopkins was finally back on his feet, he had been out of the music business for nearly two years.  It was now 1965, and what had been a nascent rock music scene in the UK had exploded with the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, and an ever-growing list of British bands topping the charts worldwide.  London's recording studios were now in overdrive trying to keep up with the soaring demand for new music.  Though Hopkins was not healthy enough to tour, his classical training and experience playing rock and blues with three different bands made him an extremely versatile session man.  What's more, his youth and unassuming manner allowed him to get along with even the most egotistical and volatile rock bands, while his ability to nail piano parts on the first take endeared him to producers and budget-conscious labels.  Hopkins was soon one of the most in-demand players in London.  

On the strength of his studio work, Hopkins was heavily courted by groups to join them on tour.  After three years working nearly non-stop in recording sessions, Hopkins was keen to get back on the road and finally felt physically up to it.  After turning down an offer to join a new group being put together by John Paul Jones and Jimmy Page (!), Hopkins joined the Jeff Beck Group on a tour of the US in the fall of 1968.  He returned with Beck for another leg in early 1969.  When the tour fell apart due to personnel issues in the band, Hopkins was left at loose ends.  The Jefferson Airplane heard he was available and asked him to come out to San Francisco to play on their new album, Volunteers.  Later that summer, after Hopkins had returned to England, the Airplane asked Hopkins if he would fly over and play with them at an outdoor music festival in upstate New York, which is how Hopkins ended up performing at Woodstock.

After spending time with the Airplane, Hopkins quickly became ensconced in the California music scene and became as in demand in the US as he had been in the UK.  Later in 1969 he hooked up with the Steve Miller Band to make an album and then joined the Quicksilver Messenger Service and stayed with them long enough to make three albums in 1969-70.  At the same time, he continued to record regularly in the UK with The Rolling Stones, The Who, Donovan, Rod Stewart, and others. 

In his biography of Hopkins, Dawson includes a 24-page list of albums and singles that Hopkins played on.  The list includes an astonishing number of LPs that would be on anyone's list of the 100 best rock albums of all time.  I hardily recommend Dawson's excellent book, where you can see the entire list.  If you just want to check out a "highlights" version, there is a good one on Nicky Hopkins' official web site here.  If you twisted my arm, my three all-time top Nicky Hopkins albums would be: Who's Next, by The Who; Exile On Main Street, by the Rolling Stones; and Shady Grove, by the Quicksilver Messenger Service.  I suspect you are familiar with the first two, but it's worth having another listen to focus on how Hopkins' piano work enhances the albums.  Check out the incredibly plaintive piano on Pete Townshend's "This Song Is Over" or the raucous barrelhouse piano on Jagger and Richards' "Rip This Joint" (with the added bonus of Bobby Key's extremely tasty sax.)  Shady Grove by Quicksilver may be less familiar, but it may also be Hopkins' best work.  If you don't have a copy, you should get one.  It's certainly a product of its time, recorded in the afterglow of Woodstock in the fall of 1969, but every song showcases Hopkins' prodigious talent.  In particular, the track called "Edward (The Mad Shirt Grinder)," which became Hopkins' signature piece, is a stone cold classic.  

In addition to his contributions to other bands, Hopkins had a modest solo career, releasing three albums.  The first, in 1966, was The Revolutionary Piano Of Nicky Hopkins.  It features slightly cheesy renditions of then-current pop and soundtrack hits done in an easy-listening style.  Do not seek it out.  His second album, 1973's The Tin Man Was A Dreamer, was written entirely by Hopkins and is by far his best solo effort (despite the slightly creepy cover illustration of Hopkins playing a piano with keys made of human fingers.)  As you might expect, Hopkins was able to call on a number of friends and top studio players for the gig, including Klaus Voorman, George Harrison, Ray Cooper, Mick Taylor, Bobby Keys, Jim Horn and Jim Price.  Harry Nilsson provided support in the control room.  The album received mostly positive reviews but sold poorly, perhaps because it lacked a solid single for radio play.  Which is a shame as the songs aren't bad, and the playing is first rate.  The highlight is a re-worked, tighter version of "Edward" (without "Mad Shirt Grinder" in the title this time) that may be better than the original.  Hopkins' final album, No More Changes, was released in 1975, and perhaps the less said about that the better.

It's worth mentioning one last Hopkins LP, a jam session with Mick Jagger, Ry Cooder, Charlie Watts, and Bill Wyman called Jamming With Edward, which was released in 1972.  The tracks were cut in May of 1969 at Olympic Studios in London when Ry Cooder and Hopkins were working with the Rolling Stones on their album Let It Bleed.  Apparently Keith Richards had to leave in the middle of a session because of a domestic issue, and everyone else decided that since they were there anyway, they would just roll tape and jam.  Most of the songs are credited to Hopkins (jointly with others in the group), and the cartoons on the front and back of the jacket were all drawn by Hopkins. 

In his book, Dawson explains the significance of the name Edward, which (you may have noticed) keeps cropping up in relation to Hopkins.  Dawson says it was an inside joke between Hopkins and the Stones that started at a session when Brian Jones yelled across the studio for Hopkins to play an "E" on the piano so he could tune his bass.  When Hopkins didn't hear him clearly, Jones yelled "Nicky, give me an E for Edward!"  Edward became the Stones' sobriquet for Nicky.  So Jamming With Edward was really Jamming With Nicky.  Which, I suppose, means that Nicky is also Edward the mad shirt grinder.  At any rate, while Jamming With Edward/Nicky is a bit shambolic, it's still a fun romp with some fine playing by all concerned.

Later in the 70s, though he continued to record and play regularly, Hopkins descended into years of drug and alcohol abuse.  In the 80s, he joined Scientology and managed to kick his addictions.  [Fun fact:  Hopkins recruited Van Morrison into Scientology, although it apparently didn't stick.]  Hopkins worked steadily throughout the 80s and early 90s, playing on numerous recording sessions and touring with performers such as Joe Cocker, Leo Sayer, Art Garfunkel, and Jerry Garcia.  He lived alternately in England and Los Angeles before moving to Nashville in January of 1994 with his second wife.  Beset with continuing health issues related to Crohn's Disease, he died there in September, 1994 at the age of 50.

Look what I got for Christmas!

Enjoy the music!

Criss Cross Records - The Best Jazz Label You've Never Heard Of

In the wake of World War II, America's political, economic and cultural influence loomed large over Europe.  Jazz music, which U.S. GIs had helped spread throughout the continent, was enormously popular.  After years of unimaginable suffering, death, and destruction, young people in particular were drawn to the spontaneity and freedom of jazz.

Gerry Teekins in 2005

One of the many European youths who became enamored with jazz was a 12-year-old Dutch boy by the name of Gerry Teekens.  In an interview published in 2005, Teekens recalled how in the late 1940s in The Netherlands "Jazz was very popular, even the girls in the street knew (big band leader Stan) Kenton and (saxophone player Lee) Konitz. We had jazz bands for all the school festivities, so I started getting interested in the music and started buying 78s by the Dutch Swing College Band, Bob Crosby, Harry James, Meade Lux Lewis, and then LPs by Erroll Garner, J.A.T.P., (Oscar) Peterson, Blakey, Miles, Trane, Ornette, and all those records on Savoy, Prestige, Blue Note, Impulse, and Riverside."

By the time he finished high school and college in the late 50s, Teekens had become a jazz drummer and spent much of the 1960s gigging around Europe.  However, he finally got married, settled down, and accepted a teaching position, giving up his music career.  But he never lost his love for jazz and remained connected to the jazz scene in his native Holland.  In the late 1970s, Teekens began doing some promotion work, booking jazz bands to play at his school and using his contacts to help organize concerts and tours for American musicians coming to the Netherlands and Europe.  He says: "I brought in guys like Jimmy Raney and his son Doug Raney, Warne Marsh, Lee Konitz, Lou Levy, Teddy Edwards, and Allan Eager.  I also organized concerts with Dexter Gordon and Johnny Griffin, Tete Montoliu with Albert Heath, Barney Wilen, and Peter Ind (Lee Tristano's bassist) plus his group."

Criss Cross Jazz 1001

Teekens organized tours for guitar great Jimmy Raney in 1976 and 1977, and the two developed a good relationship.  In early 1981, Teekens put together a five-week concert tour in the Netherlands.  Accompanying Raney were his son, Doug, (a fine guitarist in his own right), Dutch drummer Eric Ineke, and Danish bassist Jesper Lundgaard.  The band had great chemistry, and the tour was a big success, playing to sold-out audiences around the country.  

Hoping to capture the excellent vibe from the concert tour, Teekens and Raney decided to take the group into a studio to record an album before Raney headed back to the U.S.  The resulting album, Raney '81 (right), became the first ever release for Teekens' new label, Criss Cross Jazz.  Teekens says he chose the name Criss Cross because it described how jazz and jazz musicians traveled back and forth between the US and Europe - crisscrossing the Atlantic.  (And maybe a shout-out to the Thelonious Monk album of the same name?)  Over a period of nearly 40 years, until his death in 2019, Teekens would produce and release more than 400 albums on Criss Cross. 

In the early years of the label, Teekens focused on recording jazz musicians who were touring in Holland or Europe.  For example, in August of 1982, with the North Sea Jazz Festival taking place in the Dutch capital of The Hague, Teekens recruited tenor saxophonist Warne Marsh and the Hank Jones Trio to record a session together. 

Since Marsh's group and Jones's trio were appearing every night at different venues during the festival, Teekens had to find a studio near the city where he could record during the day and still get the musicians to their gigs in the evening.  As luck would have it, he had recently met an optometrist and part-time drummer named Max Bolleman, who had a small home recording studio just outside of the city who was looking for clients.  [Hang on.  An optometrist with a Dutch name who records jazz music in his home studio.  Sounds vaguely familiar, no? Rudy? Rudy Van something?]  

In his recently-published autobiography, called Sounds (photo below), Bolleman recalls that Teekens called him on Thursday and asked if he could do a recording session on Saturday at noon.  Bolleman says he agreed, but forgot to ask who would be coming.  He called back and was floored (and not a little nervous) to learn that one of his first real recording dates would be with an all-star group made up of Warne Marsh, Hank Jones, Mel Lewis, and George Mraz.  Despite the fact that Marsh had never played with any of the other musicians before, Bolleman says they laid down 10 tracks in about five hours before Teekens bundled everyone out the door.  The resulting album, Star Highs (the second release on Criss Cross Jazz, below), was picked by Downbeat magazine as one of the top jazz albums of the year. 

Criss Cross Jazz 1002

After a few years, Teekens got tired of trying to line up visiting musicians for recording sessions and began to make biannual trips to the US where it was much easier to book players for gigs.  For several years, he hired the other Dutch optometrist recording engineer, Rudy Van Gelder, to record his sessions at his New Jersey studio.  Working on a tight schedule, Teekens was able to churn out an album a day for six or eight days straight and generate enough material to provide a year's worth of releases for Criss Cross.  In the late 1980s, in order to save money, Teekens (who operated Criss Cross on a shoestring budget) began booking studio time in New York City and bringing along his buddy Bolleman to engineer the sessions. 

Saxophonist Sam Newsome recorded his first date with Teekens in 1989.  He recalls how "Teekens used to stroll into town during the Christmas holiday with a sack full of record contracts in tow.  He’d stay at a two-star hotel in Union Square, book a studio for two weeks and commence to make a record per day, along with his partner in crime, recording engineer and drummer Max Bolleman."  According to Newsome, Teekens paid the leaders on his dates $1,000, with $500 apiece for the sidemen.  (Which, Newsome adds, wasn't a bad rate for a day's work.)

While Teekens featured many top tier jazz players on his label, including the likes of Chet Baker, Clifford Jordon, Milt Jackson, and Johnny Coles, he also is credited with giving many young players their first break.  David Adler, in a 2003 article about Teekens in All About Jazz, notes that "Most of Criss Cross' artists are American and relatively young, and Teekens' approach to recruiting them couldn't be simpler: 'If I hear someone I like," he says, "I record them, regardless of whether they'll sell.' His track record is remarkable: Kenny Garrett, Steve Wilson, Benny Green, Bill Charlap, Chris Potter, Mark Turner, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Orrin Evans, and Seamus Blake are among those who made either their debuts or their earliest recordings for Criss Cross."

Perhaps because he grew up listening to the classic bebop of the 50s, Teekens liked straight-ahead jazz, nothing experimental or avant garde.  Beyond that, his only rule was that the music had to "swing."  As a result, most Criss Cross releases (especially the early ones) have a kind of house sound -- fluid, no-nonsense bebop with lots of standards.  If you like one title, chances are you'll like them all.  

Criss Cross Records

When I first began to collect Criss Cross LPs, I was struck not only by the fine playing by a lot of cats I had never heard of, but also by the fabulous sound quality.  Sam Newsome says that all of the early albums were recorded live direct to two-track, which accounts for the natural, spontaneous feel of the sessions.  Of course, having Rudy Van Gelder or Max Bolleman at the controls certainly didn't hurt either.  Unfortunately, only the first 39 titles in the Criss Cross catalog (the releases from 1981-1989) were issued on vinyl.  After 1989, Criss Cross releases are CD only.  The LPs, by the way, were all pressed in Holland or Germany, and the quality is outstanding.  Every disk I have is flat and quiet. [12/2022 update: Since I wrote this blog post, Criss Cross has teamed up with Elemental Music to release two more LPs: Brad Mehldau's 2000 album Consenting Adults (2021), and Melvin Rhyne's 1994 release Boss Organ (2022).]

Over the last year or so, I've been on a mission to collect all 39 Criss Cross LPs.  To date, I have 30.  I was lucky enough to score more than half of them from a dealer who had a stash of mint "new old stock."  Most of the LPs are available and not too expensive, though some of the ones I'm still missing are proving hard to find in good condition.  If all else fails (and once we're allowed to travel again), it would make a great excuse to plan a trip to Holland to see if I can track down the remaining titles.  In the meantime, if you run across any Criss Cross titles, don't hesitate to give them a try even if you've never heard of the musicians.  Teekens had excellent taste.

Max Bolleman (who recently retired), went on to become one of the most in-demand recording engineers in Europe and worked on lots of great albums -- in addition to the many sides he did with Teekens for Criss Cross Jazz.  His book (left) is filled with great stories of his years in the studio recording the famous and not so famous.  It includes a priceless tale about the time Rudy Van Gelder threw him out of his Englewood Cliffs, NJ studio because he thought Bolleman was trying to steal information about his recording techniques and mic placements (he was).

Finally, I'm happy to note that Criss Cross Jazz is alive and well and is now being run by Teekens' son, Gerry Jr.  Next year (2021) will mark their 40th anniversary as a label.  You can check out their excellent website and the more than 400 releases in the Criss Cross catalog here.

Enjoy the music!

Ramsey Lewis VS. The Jazz Police

How do we feel about Ramsey Lewis? 

I ask because a few weeks ago I picked up a nice used copy of the 1966 release Swingin' by the Ramsey Lewis Trio.  It's an intriguing combination of cool jazz, blues, and classical, played with panache and youthful exuberance.  It sounds more than a little like early stuff by The Modern Jazz Quartet or The Chico Hamilton Group.  The eclectic mix of tracks on the album includes "My Funny Valentine," the Habanero aria from the opera Carmen, the Yiddish classic "Bie Mir Bist Du Schoen," Gerry Mulligan's "Limelight," as well as three originals by Lewis and Young.  

But hold the phone.  By 1966, Ramsey Lewis was well into his contemporary jazz pop phase and was no longer playing straight ahead jazz.  So what the heck is going on?

I'm glad you asked.  I have about 30 albums by Ramsey Lewis.  When I found Swingin', I was pretty sure I didn't have a copy.   I certainly didn't recall the photo on the front of the jacket.  As it turns out (and I would have realized this if I had read the liner notes) Swingin' is a 1966 reissue of the trio's 1956 debut album called Gentle-Men Of Swing (right).  In addition to Ramsey on piano, the original trio featured Isaac "Red" Holt on drums and Eldee Young on bass.  It was an auspicious debut that announced to the jazz world that these three young guys from Chicago had a fresh sound and, more importantly, something worthwhile to say.

And they said it a lot, releasing 20 albums by the end of 1965, including three each in 1960, 1961, 1962, and 1963.  Many are noteworthy for the unusual, wide-ranging choice of songs.  The group liberally mixed together folk melodies, gospel songs, nursery rhymes, soundtracks, current Broadway and pop hits, Bossa Nova, soul, and even some country western.  

The trio's style was generally mainstream, with some cool poly-rhythmical bass and drums.  The majority of the tracks clock in at only three to four minutes; there isn't much stretching out on these early albums.  But even if nothing like a hot jam session ever threatened to break out, Lewis and his band mates were clearly talented jazz musicians who could swing.  They competed for record sales with piano trios like Oscar Peterson and (fellow Chicagoan and ARGO label-mate) Ahmad Jamal.  In short, their jazz bona fides were solid.

After a decade together, the group had a loyal fan base and steady albums sales.  They were a popular fixture at Chicago clubs and also toured and played at venues like Birdland and the Village Vanguard in New York.  But their big commercial break came with their 17nd (!) album, the 1965 release called The In Crowd.  The record was recorded live during a three-night stand at the Bohemian Cavern club in Washington, D.C.  The instrumental version of the title track (which had been a big hit for singer Dobie Gray earlier in 1965) made it to number five on the Hot 200 Chart, and all the way to number two on the R&B chart.  The album won a Grammy for Best Instrumental Jazz Performance.  And more importantly, the light jazz treatment of current pop hits that made The In Crowd such a hit proved to be the winning formula to propel Ramsey Lewis to a string of chart-topping albums and a massive new audience.  As Lewis noted in an interview years later: "All of a sudden this huge hit was on the chart, and we were up there in the Top Five with Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Barbra Streisand . . . So of course our money just sky-rocketed.  And suddenly we were making five to ten times more than we had been.  So I guess, while it did take time to get used to that, those are certainly days that I'll always remember." 

From bottom: Ramsey Lewis, Eldee Young, and Red Holt

Alas, as is often the case, the trio didn't survive their sudden celebrity and the huge infusion of cash that followed.  In an interview with Down Beat magazine, Lewis mentions growing artistic differences as a reason for the breakup and says: "We weren't relating to each other musically."  Which may very well be true.  But apparently another factor was that Young and Holt were unhappy that Lewis was getting most of the attention that accompanied the group's new-found fame.  As a result, the trio broke up before they could record a follow-up to their hit album.  Young and Holt left to form their own group, The Young-Holt Trio, which was renamed Young-Holt Limited after about a year.  They put out some 10 albums of R&B and soul jazz, and had one top five hit with the catchy "Soulful Strut."  Lewis, meanwhile, quickly rebuilt his trio with veteran musician Cleveland Eaton on bass and session man Maurice White on drums.  [Years later, White would go on to become a founding member of the group Earth, Wind, And Fire.]

Lewis and his label wasted no time getting the new trio into the studio to take advantage of the chart-topping success of The In Crowd.  The newly-formed group released five albums in the next two years, and a total of 10 albums before the end of the decade.  It is worth noting that following The In Crowd, Lewis no longer billed his group as the Ramsey Lewis Trio.  From now on, it was just Ramsey Lewis.  

In retrospect, I feel certain that Swingin' -- the album I picked up recently -- was reissued by the label in 1966 to cash in on the popularity of The In Crowd.  No doubt they were counting on the fact that lots of new fans wouldn't notice that Swingin' was a reissue of the group's first album.  However, I have to assume that most fans of The In Crowd were disappointed if they expected Swingin' to be a follow-up album.

1975's Sun Goddess

Back at the ranch, things were going great for Lewis.  He was now a huge popular success, selling more albums than ever, and, by his own admission, making lots more money than ever.  In the 70s, Lewis expanded his group to a septet and began to experiment with fusion, electronic, and soul jazz.  Many of his 70s releases, including the 1975 hit album, Sun Goddess, went gold.  (Not my favorite musically, but one of the all-time great album covers, at left.)  Lewis continued recording well into the 2000s and also devoted considerable time and energy into teaching and promoting jazz education.  In 2007, he was named a Jazz Master by the National Endowment for the Arts.  However, if you're thinking there must be a fly somewhere in the ointment, you'd be right.

Despite his growing popularity, after The In Crowd, Lewis lost nearly all of his street cred.  Fellow jazz musicians and critics viewed Lewis as a sellout with his shift to a watered-down jazz/pop style.  In a 1982 review, critic Brian Harrigan wrote that Lewis's once brilliant technique was "totally submerged by the presence of horn sections, additional keyboards, backing singers and - although I didn't actually hear it - probably someone taping on the side of a kitchen sink."  In a 1993 review, Down Beat magazine said "[His] acoustic piano breezes blandly through a set of diluted pop tunes and insipid originals, lightly scattering bluesy signature riffs upon the tepid waters."  Ouch. 

Lewis mostly shrugged off the negative press, saying that he had been mixing jazz and pop from the start.  In a 2013 interview, he says that after The In Crowd, "The jazz police disowned us.  But at the same time, people like Duke Ellington and Oscar Peterson would come by and put their arms around us and say you guys have something unique, stick with what you have."  Presumably the ever-increasing royalty checks helped assuage any remaining hurt feelings.  

Ramsey Lewis in 2020

While I understand the reaction by the "jazz police" when Lewis decided to follow the money starting in the mid 1960s, it's hard to blame him.  Except for a handful of marquee musicians like Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Stan Getz, most jazz musicians in the 50s and 60s were just trying to make ends meet.  And when it comes right down to it, Lewis's jazz/pop albums like The In Crowd, Wade In The Water, and Dancing In The Streets, are great fun to listen to.

After playing my newly-acquired copy of Swingin' (which, by the way, wasn't a total loss since the reissue is a stereo version to go with my original mono copy of Gentle-Men Of Swing), I pulled out a few more of Lewis's early albums, including Down To Earth from 1959 (maybe my favorite album by Lewis) and Barefoot Sunday Blues from 1963.  I hadn't listened to these LPs in a while, and I was struck by how Lewis, Young, and Holt had carved out a really interesting niche with their jazz treatment of folk, blues, and gospel.  

To date, Ramsey Lewis has recorded more than 80 albums.  Most of them are readily available for no more than $10 in VG+ or NM condition.  I frequently see his albums in the dollar bins or priced at $3 to $5 at used record stores.  Nearly anything from the 1950s or 60s is worth picking up.  And while I'm not a big fan of 1975's Sun Goddess, it's worth a few bucks just to have the great cover.

Enjoy the music!