diegodobini2

Bobby Timmons – The Prestige Trio Sessions (1964)
https://youtu.be/9jwhXl0XOoY
Original Liner Notes:
Under "ideal" conditions it is difficult to produce a good jazz album. Under adverse conditions, the task reaches monumental proportions. This particular album was recorded under adverse conditions. That it is so good is a credit to Bobby Timmons.

To begin with, producing a record involves a high degree of empathy between the artist, the A&R man, and the engineer. In this particular recording session, not only was there a lack of empathy, there was an air of antagonism. For a variety of reasons, non-sensational in nature and so valueless to report, tempers were short. Another negative factor was the format of the album itself. Originally it was to have been a quintet date. But when Bobby arrived at the studio to record, only one musician, Sam Jones, was on hand. Then came the inevitable phone calls with excuses from the sidemen for not showing up. And, in all fairness, all the excuses were valid. So with practically two hours of the recording time eaten away, there in the sylvan quiet of Rudy Van Gelder's studio stood the Bobby Timmons Duo. At this point it seemed the session would have to be cancelled. Fortunately,

However, someone remembered that Ray Lucas was in town, and one last attempt was made to save the session. Lucas was reached by phone, and within a half hour had his drums set up and ready to record. It would be a lie to say that Bobby, Sam, and Ray just started playing and out came jazz of epic proportions. The first couple of tunes they played are not included in the album because the group just wasn't together. Sam and Bobby had played together many times before in Cannonball Adderley's quintet, but neither of them had ever played with Ray Lucas. So naturally there was a brief period of adjustment. When Bobby decided to take a shot at the title tune, "A Little Barefoot Soul," something happened. Whether it was Sam's catchy vamp or the gospelish melody or whatever, a groove was struck, and from that point on everything flowed smoothly. The rest of the tunes were done in one or two takes each. Against strong odds, a good album emerged. This is Bobby's first album for Prestige, and usually on first albums a lengthy biographical sketch is given. But Bobby's career with Chet Baker, Maynard Ferguson, and most especially with Cannonball Adderley and Art Blakey has been well chronicled. He's seen service.

with jazz groups in grooves from "West Coast" to "big band" to "hard bop." But his greatest fame came from his compositions and playing of "Moanin'," "This Here," "Dat Dere," and other soul classics. "This Here" helped launch Cannonball Adderley's quintet, and "Moanin'" was the biggest hit Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers ever had. Since forming his own trio a few years ago, Bobby has been successfully touring the country. Concerning the music contained herein, I turn to the old liner note writer's cliché, "The music speaks for itself." Being a staunch Bobby Timmons fan, I would give a one-sided, prejudiced opinion of the music. "A Little Barefoot Soul," "Walkin'-Wadin'-Sittin'-Ridin'," "Little One," "Cut Me Loose, Charlie," and "Ain't Thinkin Bout It" are all originals by Bobby Timmons, whereas "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" is the traditional well-known song known by everyone. Going on the assumption that you'll like this album as much as I do, I think you'll agree that this marks the beginning of a beautiful romance between Bobby Timmons and Prestige Records.

—Joel Dorn

These notes appeared on the original album liner of Prestige 7335.





There was a time when "soul" almost became a byword for any modern jazz that had any measure of swing left in it. Performers, who in their execution reflected a feeling for their music and its traditions, were no longer mere jazz musicians; they were now soul musicians who made soul records and played soul music for people who dined on soul food with their soul brothers in soul hangouts! Soul food was anything from ham hocks and collard greens to red beans and rice, while the recipe for soul music contained equally Southern ingredients, such as a dash of gospel music with a good sprinkling of blues. This was "roots," and it became very hip to have roots. The unfortunate thing was that you were still square if your roots were genuine and the masses were too busy trying to be hip. So busy, in fact, that they overlooked such real soul performers as Lightnin' Hopkins and, to a certain extent, Coleman Hawkins. They also turned their backs on the abundant soul that pours out of the grooves of such old recordings as Armstrong's Hot Five collections, Ma Rainey's Paramounts, and Jimmy Yancey's piano solos. As was the case with "bebop," that grossly misused term of the forties, I think many fine musicians suffered from an overdose of "soul" labeling. Robert Henry Timmons survived the soul tag given him by the Madison Avenue minds of Broadway because, unlike many of his contemporaries, it was not the label that brought him into prominence. On the contrary, Timmons must be given credit (along with a handful of other musicians) for the success of a great number of "soul" exponents. Bobby Timmons's claim to "soul" was staked in the late thirties when, as a small child in the Philadelphia that comes closest to being a "city of brotherly love," he first heard church services. In 1941, at the age of six, he began studying music with his uncle and later spent a year at a musical academy. While still in his teens, he gained valuable experience through frequent, though rather nomadic, musical activities in the Philadelphia area. The church may not have saved his soul, but he saved the soul that he had experienced in church; he saved it and adopted it in his piano playing, which, in '56, landed him a job with Kenny Dorham's Jazz Prophets. During the next four years, he played with Chet Baker, Sonny Stitt, Maynard Ferguson, and Art Blakey. In October of '59 he joined Cannonball Adderley's quintet, and it was with this group that he really began to gain wide recognition. By this time he was also composing, and two of his pen works, "This Here" and "Moanin'," became

mously popular. They were both made to order for the soul merchants, especially the latter, which, with lyrics by Jon Hendricks, became a popular church-meeting-type vehicle for Lambert, Hendricks, and Ross. The inevitable happened: church + rhythm + jazz = soul + Bobby Timmons = soul musician! Today Bobby Timmons and others are still playing soul music, but the term is out of vogue and, fortunately, beyond salvation. This album contains two Timmons originals, a lively foot thumper called "Walking Death" and, if you'll pardon the expression, a real swinging "soul" piece entitled "Gettin' It Togetha'." The recent Latin influx on jazz is represented by Brazilian composer Antonio Carlos Jobim's "O Grande Amor," a sometime influence from the Orient is reflected in the title tune, "Chun-King," which bass player Keter Betts wrote in collaboration with guitarist Charlie Byrd, and, for the less venturesome, there are two well-known ballads—Lerner and Loewe's "I Could Have Danced All Night," from My Fair Lady, and Gershwin's "Someone to Watch Over Me." Just in case you want proof that soulfulness is not restricted to the gospel idiom, listen to the beautiful way in which Timmons, soloing for the first chorus, plays around with Gershwin's standard. This is Timmons, the lyrical instrumentalist. Apropos instrumentalists, the others in this album are the aforementioned Keter Betts (his

parents used to call him William Thomas Betts), whose name is almost as synonymous with Charlie Byrd as Johnny Hodges's is with Duke Ellington. Although he is also an extremely capable drummer, Betts has concentrated on the bass since '46 and is heard to great advantage throughout this album, especially on his own composition, "Chun-King," which more or less features him. Drummer Albert "Tootle" Heath completes the trio. Al comes from a musical family, following in the footsteps of his father, a clarinetist, and two older brothers—Jimmy, the tenor man, and Percy, the bassist. Both brothers are firmly established jazzmen of wide reputation. All three of the musicians on this album have at one time or another played with the Adderley brothers (Cannonball and Nat), but I think you will agree, once you have heard this album, that they have much more in common than that. They are a thoroughly integrated unit with a common sense of swing that is quite infectious. At this time I would advise you to forget about soul, roots, and anything else I might have mentioned above. Play the record and listen; that's where it's really at!

—Chris Albertson

These notes appeared on the original album liner of Prestige 7351.

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3 days ago | [YT] | 44

diegodobini2

Oscar Peterson, Ray Brown And Milt Jackson – What's Up? The Very Tall Band (1998)
https://youtu.be/AoloDiuBqlU

T̲h̲e̲ ̲V̲e̲r̲y̲ ̲T̲a̲l̲l̲ ̲B̲a̲n̲d̲:̲ ̲L̲i̲v̲e̲ ̲a̲t̲ ̲t̲h̲e̲ ̲B̲l̲u̲e̲ ̲N̲o̲t̲e̲ ̲R̲e̲v̲i̲e̲w̲ ̲b̲y̲ ̲R̲i̲c̲h̲a̲r̲d̲ ̲S̲.̲ ̲G̲i̲n̲e̲l̲l̲
This is one of the best post-stroke Oscar Peterson sessions in the catalog, thanks in great part to the distinguished company he keeps (Ray Brown and Milt Jackson) and the stimulating atmosphere of the live setting (New York's Blue Note club). Right from the first track, "Ja-Da," you can tell that this is going to be a fun session, as the slippery, swinging, totally interlocked, totally assured way in which these vets react to each other kicks in immediately. Peterson's right hand is fleet, feathery in touch, and bluesy in feel; the left providing just enough punctuation, and at 75, Jackson's bluesy eloquence had not diminished in the least. Ray Brown's time and placement of notes is, as usual, impeccable, and the very talented drummer in his group at the time, Karriem Riggins, provides a swinging kick for the quartet. In the spirit of democracy, each star gets a solo number -- Peterson plays his ballad "When Summer Comes," Jackson pours out a doleful "Nature Boy," and Brown's stream-of-consciousness medley eventually attracts the funky brushes of Riggins. But it's always better to hear them together.

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 45

diegodobini2

Bill Evans – Bill Evans In Norway - The Kongsberg Concert (1970)
https://youtu.be/vxWHC5cZ8es

Liner notes in pdf under the QR link

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 52

diegodobini2

Joe Henderson – Inner Urge (1966)
https://youtu.be/xFtYTd0LjWg
Original Liner Notes:ONE of the marks of Joe Henderson's rapidly rising stature. is that he cannot be neatly categorized. On the one hand, he is among the young explorers of new ways of expanding the jazz language. On the other, he can be equally convincing as a blues groover (as in Freddie Roach's Brown Sugar, BLUE NOTE 4168) and as a masterful individualizer of ballads in the vintage, big-toned jazz tenor tradition. This album further illus-trates Henderson's scope and depth.

The title song, Inner Urge, was written at a time when, as Henderson explains, "I was consumed by an inner urgency which gency could only be satisfied through this tune. During that period, I was coping with the anger and frustration that can come of trying to find your way in the maze of New York and of trying to adjust to the pace you have to set in hacking your way in that city in order to just exist. Now I'm calmer, but this tune rep-resents a particular stage in my life." Structured in a 16-8-16 pattern, the song is basically sequential in form. The outer 16-bar segments move step-wise and the channel moves in minor thirds.

In this number, as in the rest of the album, Henderson receives exemplary support from Bob Cranshaw and the long-term team of Elvin Jones and McCoy Tyner from the John Coltrane unit. "McCoy," Henderson notes, "plays behind you as if he were your shadow. He seems to have a seventh sense of what you're going to do. With him there I can relax, I don't have to worry about playing something that might not fit in with what he's doing. Elvin, of course, provides the same kind of support. Along with his musical intuitiveness, Elvin always lays it in the right spot at the right time, And that makes me play better." Of Bob Cran-shaw, Henderson says "He's got that big, fat, juicy sound. He generates such a good feeling that I can't help but be affected by it."

Isotope, another Henderson original, is described by the com-poser "as a compliment to Thelonious Monk, a tribute particu-larly to the humor in his music." Basically a 12-bar blues, the song enters rather new territory in this context in the 11th and 12th measures, There it descends in a series of minor thirds-each getting two beats. The sequence goes from C7 to A7 to g flat 7 to e flat 7. The melody has a Monkish angularity and wryness; but although a tribute, the piece and the playing are

at the same time very much Henderson's own. Among the qual ities that make his work consistently arresting are the freshness of his ideas, the penetrating strength of his tone, the sweep of his beat, and the sense of total emotional commitment in his playing. There is also his firm command of structure, as Isatope underlines. He really builds rather than strings together a series of fragmentary phrases, And to use a word that comes to my mind because of Henderson's current association with Horace Silver, Joe "cooks." And he cooks all the time in every musical situation.

El Barrio represents Henderson's attachment to the Spanish musical ethos an attachment which began when he was a boy in Lima, Ohio. "I lived," he recalls, "in a kind of interna-tional neighborhood, and it was the Spanish influence that par-ticularly hit me. My affection for it just grew, stimulated by a couple of years of studying the language in school and by getting to have a number of Spanish friends." El Barrio is meant to evoke not only the New York Puerto Rican neighborhood of that title, but any Spanish-speaking neighborhood.

The performance is impromptu, "I just gave the other musi-cians two chords," Henderson says. "B major and C major 7. I asked them to play something on top of that with a Spanish feeling. And I improvised the melody, It worked so well that we did this in just one take, Incidentally, if you listen hard, you may find some Greek overtones as well."

What especially moves me in El Barrio is both Henderson's melodic freedom and the "cry" at the heart of his playing. It is a "cry" rooted in the blues but also understanding of the root passion at the core of Spanish musical feeling. There are touches of flamenco story-telling as well as of blues preaching, and the fusion is accomplished without the least self-consciousness, For me this album as a whole is Henderson's best so far, and El Barrio in particular is a track that should endure for a long, long time because it is essentially timeless. No matter what changes occur in jazz, this quality of basic, song-like ardor has to remain one of the bedrock criteria of expressive elo-quence.

Duke Pearson's You Know I Care is a graceful, tender ballad on which Henderson reveals, as noted, that his range of skills

extends to an ability to be directly lyrical. Listen too to the in-tricate subtlety and taste of Elvin Jones' brushwork, the resonant suppleness of Bob Cranshaw's line and the characteristic bell-like lucidity of McCoy Tyner's background chording and solo.

Joe Henderson altered both the melody and the chord changes of Night and Day, and that act provided him with the challenge which enabled him to revivify this standard. In his playing here and on the other tracks, Henderson has a further insignia of unmistakable musical substance, He plays with au-thority. There is no groping for effects or coasting on technical agility. This is clearly a man who knows how to discipline pas-sion and who does not substitute rhetorical flourishes for solid musical thought. He has the foundation the knowledge of the whole of the jazz tradition and the technical equipment to execute everything he hears. With that base, he forges a dis-tinctly personal and irrepressibly honest conception,

Eventually, Joe Henderson would like to lead his own unit. And it's certain that when he does, his sets will have the same diversity of mood and material as his albums have had. "You see," Joe points out, "I would never want to play in only one bag. When you do, eventually you get bored. And if you get bored, the listener will. And basically, it doesn't make sense to play all funk or all hip. Music covers a much wider range than just one approach, I like to think of myself as having a feeling for all of music's possibilities."

It is because of Joe Henderson's openness to change, chal-lenge and his own inner breadth of emotions that he has already acquired so impressive a reputation. This album will add more to that reputation, and there is no question that his will be a major jazz career.

-NAT HENTOFFF

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 44

diegodobini2

Bobby Timmons Trio – Born To Be Blue (1963)
https://youtu.be/DSfYFY6KPug
Original Liner Notes:

I caught up with Bobby Timmons between sets at the Five Spot (where he was in the midst of an extended engagement) to ask him bluntly what he thought of this album. His answer was quick, firm, and most serious. "I think this is the best record I've ever made," he said. Most of the talk about jazz is curiously devoid of any mention of content. While there is great emphasis on the `how' of the music — form, technique, and improvisation —little attention is paid to the 'what.' What is the substance of jazz? What is the quality of its feeling? (Instead of asking people, "How do you feel?" the late Lester Young would obliquely inquire, "How are your feelings?") When the question does rear its head, it is usually assigned a wearily appropriate if vaguely abstract" adjective—"anguish" for Charlie Parker's music or "melancholy" for Miles Davis'—and' quickly trundled out of view again, like a child who has unwittingly brought up a rude subject before guests. The English anthropologist Eric Borneman holds that practically all that is worthwhile as far as content goes in jazz is contained in the blues. Without agreeing with this rather inflexible proposition, one is forced to note that without the blues, the house of jazz would have no foundation at all.
The blues are at the heart of the matter, a way of telling the way things really are; a tough, homemade poetry of a people whose particular pain, scribed in song, sketches the human condition as surely as the arrows fit the wounds. Listen to the blues and see your features on another's face. The blues tell a story, de profundis, and swing the world, connecting one man and many men, one history and many histories. If a man has the blues, you feel sorry for him, but if he can sing (or play) about his troubles, he doesn't need your pity, for he has the cure as well as the disease. It's not a bad bag to be in. Bobby Timmons is never far from the blues. Certainly in the front rank of what, for want of a word, could be designated as the traditionally modern pianists, he has carved off a considerable chunk of territory both as an instrumentalist and composer. He has come a long way from his first days in New York as a 19-year-old wunderkind, fresh from Philadelphia, with an incisive, Bud Powell-ish right hand and a rumbling, I-can-play-down-blues-too left. In those days he gigged and scuffled with Kenny Dorham and Sonny Stitt and in the band of Maynard Ferguson. The first leap in Bobby's fortunes occurred shortly after he joined Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers, when his gospel-flavored blues confection called Moanin' became, in jazz terms at least, a hit. Shortly thereafter, his lively, slightly mocking This Here, cut with the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, was the vehicle on which that organization rode to national prominence. This Here, a hit in anybody's language, established Timmons as a major talent. Fashion, a plush red carpet with the nasty habit of yanking itself out from under you without warning, has turned in a couple of different directions since that first flush of success. Actually, Bobby's talent has measurably broadened during the past two and a half years, a time during which he has led his own trio (interrupted only by a brief tour of duty with J. J. Johnson). However, in this period of personal musical growth, Timmons' reputation has suffered the rigor mortis of quick and easy categorization as strictly a funk-soul man. This beautifully recorded album should serve to clear the air on that subject and give a few critical necks a severe case of what insurance men call whiplash. Yet the blues is everywhere here. But it is in no way a restricting or limiting element. The key word here would seem to be "range." "Range," explains Bobby, "is what I wanted to show in this album. A whole spectrum of sounds." The hues of Timmons' music do not astonish by contrast; instead, they undulate like a play of colored lights on the water: deep shafts dancing as they converge and blend. Yet the blues crop up on every side, sometimes no more than atmosphere, elsewhere as a theme skipping along jauntily behind the beat, or, again, as a voice probing at the melody.
There is, for example, plenty of blue in the 'standard' that serves as the title tune. That title, incidentally, could easily be used as a capsule comment on Bobby's approach to jazz. 0/ten Annie (a Timmons original) is a tart and frilly filly in a fancy blue nightgown who has a habit of repeating herself, while the blues Know Not One is a wry exposition of witty insight. More darkly, there is Tom McIntosh's Malice Towards None, its stately melody unfurling like an advancing banner. There is also, in The Sit-In, Timmons' portrait of a very contemporary mood. But for me, the song that most effectively conveys Bobby's self-awareness is his arrangement of the spiritual Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child, his keyboard covering the scene and delivering the message in a series of swirling variations that seem to bare the pianist's soul (in the old-fashioned, non-jazz sense of that word). For his self-appointed task of displaying a full "spectrum," Bobby could have picked no better cohorts. Sam Jones, a charter member of the all-soul" rhythm section, has played with Bobby in and outside of the Cannonball Adderley band; his warm and singing bass keeps that good time going. Ron Carter is the highly skilled bassist currently with Miles Davis. A conservatory-trained jazzman capable of playing anything, he is a superb soloist with an energizing beat and at least one foot in the avant-garde. Connie Kay, the beautiful motor of the Modern Jazz Quartet, has an exhilarating effect on any group. Here he pulls tight the skin of the trio with an expansive, infectious beat and a personal cymbal sound. • A final word from our leader. "This was the first time I ever walked into a studio and lost consciousness of everything around me," Bobby mused. "I was only aware of the other musicians and the music. Nine times out of ten, something like that will only happen in a club. I don't just mean being able to relax. I know all that stuff about pressure in the recording studio, but that's not what I mean. I mean unconscious of everything — microphones, music stands, people, everything except the music." And for an instant as he spoke, I lost consciousness of my own environment and understood what this remarkable session had meant to him as a musician. The splendid part is that we have the record — this is one that didn't get away.

-DAVID A. HIMMELSTEIN

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 33

diegodobini2

Richard "Groove" Holmes – Broadway (1980)
https://youtu.be/S_6j-270k0A
Original Liner Notes:
Much of jazz literature, whether it's a scholarly es say, a personality profile or a cursory review, falls into one of two categories: words celebrating the jazz innovator-an ill-defined term easily and fre-quently abused; or words chastizing the jazz apos-tate-the prodigal son who, for some vaguely nefar-ious reason (personal greed and corporate pressure are the most common charges), has drifted into commercial waters, stranding ashore more "ser-ious-minded" listeners.
Between this rock and hard place lives Richard "Groove" Holmes. Groove came up at a time when Jimmy Smith had a lock on the label "innovator," at least as it applies to the jazz organ, and when more fashionable, less gifted musicians were seeing their trendiest digressions analyzed in print. Words have never been wasted on Groove.
Over the years he's made some excellent record-ings-in small groups with musicians like Gene Ammons, Paul Chambers and Teddy Edwards; in big band settings with Gerald Wilson, Oliver Nelson and Richard Evans; and right here on Broadway with a fine quartet led by tenor saxophonist Houston Per-quan son. Yet, as is often the case in jazz, Groove's contri-butuions have been sadly overlooked.
It's a reality not lost on Groove. He takes comfort in knowing that he's at least been able to keep his music "out there" for the past 20 years. Time spent criss-crossing the country, shuttling from one small club to another, pumping out great sounds in that dexterous left-handed style of his, a style as distinc-tive-yes, as innovative-as any the jazz organ has known.
"It's kind of like Columbus," says Groove, reflect-ing on Jimmy Smith's ascendancy. "Everybody said Columbus discovered America. Then they found out Leif Ericson was here first. Well, the history books don't have room for both of them. When I first heard the jazz organ I heard it through Jimmy. He was a trend setter and we're good friends. But I didn't fol-low Jimmy into the blues. I created something al-together different."
He did it, primarily, by thinking as bassist, something you'll hear time and again on this album. Most organists marvel at the autonomy of Groove's left hand. "A lot of them go out and just hire a bass guitarist to get the same sound," says Groove. "If you do that, you might as well be playing the piano.
"I'm fortunate in that I've always been able to play a funky or syncopated bass line with one hand and solo with the other-always changing my patterns. I don't like to keep the same thing from one chorus to another. I might start with an F instead of an A. My approach has always been different."
What also sets Groove apart from the crowd is his affection for ballads, his singularly light touch, and his enduring gift for melodic improvisation. His fondness for standards is well documented. You can hear it on his recordings with Gene Ammons in the early 60s, years later with the immensely suc-cessful Misty, and now with the haunting rendition of Everything Must Change contained here.
Misty gave Groove a "big name but not a big break." As fate would have it, success broke for him at a time when he was being booked by the same agency as Jimmy Smith. "It wasn't his fault," says Groove. "But the agency was so busy keeping him in the spotlight that I lost out. Misty was the biggest instrumental going at the time, but no college dates, one-nighters, or good club dates were coming in. I was treated pretty funky," he says, before adding with a laugh, "I guess you can't have everything."
Maybe not, but now that the organ is undergoing a renaissance in jazz, it would be nice to see Groove receive a little of what's due him. Broadway should get the ball rolling.
First, this album features Houston Person, who has that big, sonorous tone that Groove enjoys so much. The temptation to compare Houston's ap-proach to that of Ammons is hard to resist. But the truth is that Houston plays straight from the heart with the sort of confidence and warmth that recall many great players-Ammons, Illinois Jacquet and Arnett Cobb, to name but a few.
"I listened to all of them when I was coming up," says Houston, "Gene, Illinois, everyone. Something about their music always attracted me and I tried to listen to them whenever I could." The other musi cian who stands out on Broadway is the young gui-tarist Gerald Smith. He's fast, tasty and resourceful. Best of all, he knows his way around the "groove," working in and out of the textured rhythms supplied by drummer Bobby Ward, percussionist Ralph Dor-sey and Holmes' restless southpaw.
About the tunes: Broadway is the brisk, uncluttered, straight-ahead jazz of which so many Muse albums are made. Houston establishes the theme with a brash, almost booting delivery and then confidently extends it. Gerald alternates single note sprays with scalar pro-gressions before yielding to Groove's charging mo-mentum.
Everything Must Change captures Houston at his most soulful and expressive. He never played this piece before, but he handles it with the cool assur-ance of someone who knows every word. This tune is also typical of Groove's sensitive accompani ment. One of his biggest regrets is that he's never really had a chance to work consistently with a vocalist. One hearing of this track and you'll see what we've been missing.
Ode to Larry Young is a tribute to the late jazz or-ganist. Says Groove: "Larry Young was too far ad-vanced for any organ player to copy. Larry was so far out that he was like a Coltrane to the music. You know when Coltrane first came out and everyone said 'What's he doing?' No one could understand it. Well, Larry got the same reaction." Groove's tribute, more than than any other track on this album, dis-plays his mastery of Fender-like bass lines.
Moon River is what the "groove" is all about. The percussive arrangement provides Houston and Groove with a solid foundation for their solos. Each blossoms with lovely melodic improvisations and gives this standard a refreshing look.
Katherine was one of two slow ballads requested by Houston, who produced this session. "I was really surprised by it," Houston recalls. "It's a lovely ballad written by Groove and it came to me so natur-ally."
Plenty, Plenty Blues takes both Groove and Hous-ton full circle. This is a standard blues, the kind closely linked with the jazz organ of a quarter cen-tury ago and one which still holds up today. "All the organ players-Smith, McGriff, McDuff-enjoy this kind of blues," says Groove. "I love it too, but I've al-ways tried to bring something new to the jazz organ. That's why people began calling it the "groove". That's my sound!"
The proof is in the listening.
-Mike Joyce

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 25

diegodobini2

Emily Remler - Cookin’ At The Queens Live In Las Vegas 1984 & 1988
https://youtu.be/TreFOgGm210
https://youtu.be/9h5ec3elbD8 alt.

GUITAR HERO EMILY REMLER'S FIRST UNISSUED RECORDINGS IN 33 YEARS!
• Transferred from the original KNPR radio tape reels
• Recorded live at the 4 Queens Hotel in Las Vegas, NV
• Nearly 60-plus minutes never aired on original broadcasts
• Liner notes by author Bill Milkowski, and statements from
Sheryl Bailey, Russell Malone, David Benoit, Mike Stern, Rodney Jones, Mimi Fox, Jocelyn Gould and many others

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4 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 4

diegodobini2

Billy Taylor Trio – Sleeping Bee (1969)

https://youtu.be/CbG9hjKApPA
alt: https://youtu.be/J2r-Y1BAkdw
Original Liner Notes:



Jazz critic Whitnay Balliett once wrote: "Taylor, perhaps more than any, runs almost directly counterstream to contemporary jazz pianistry." He wrote this couple of years ago but it still holde good today and casts a certain light on Taylor's personality. There is certainly no defi-ciency of good jazz piano players and it would be hard to decide if one had to confine oneself to a mare handful. The choice would have to begin with the Fats Waller school and would arrive via Earl Hines and Teddy Wilson and Art Tatum and their disciples at modern jazz piano playing. This has spread in many ways. There are big band plano players as different as Basie and Ellington, there is the Bud Powell school and esoteric players like Erroll Garner, not to forget some eccentric directions in the manner of Thelonious Monk, soul piano as played by Bobby Timmons and Ray Bryant. Not to forget Horace Sliver and Herbie Hancock. And Oscar Peterson on his solitary summit. And Cacil Taylor. And, and, and.......
What is Billy Taylor's place? I believe it is a very special and unique one. You can only gauge him by taking other dimensions as well into account, dimensions which determine as a matter of fact every artist but which are found in different measurements. To put it simple: heart, brain and hand make the artist, be he a musician or painter, a composer or poet.
An artist whose work is determined by brain and intellect only hads very little indeed to offer in spite of all his brilliancy. If you meet the man Billy Taylor you are at once captured by his warm, calm and well-balanced way. There is no frustration or hate although he is susceptible to the wrongs that have been done to his race. His composition "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free". Almost made the hit parade in 1968. In the same personal and obliging way Billy Taylor stands up and walks over to the mike to announce what he is going to play. In his playing a superficial listener might detect the same qualities: his playing is easy on the ear. if Billy Taylor did not have so much heart you could be inclined to call him an intellectual. He is a mellifluous talker, he has scted on the stage and on television, lectured on music at schools and colleges and was on many panel discus-sions. I watched him in this capacity in 1957 in Newport when the subject was "drug addiction among Jazz musicians". Taylor was the only musician, sitting next to a physician, a lawyer a preacher and a manager. Billy Taylor knows what he is talking about. And he has experience. In 1959 he got his own radio show on WLIB from
where he switched in 1962 to WNEW, both in New York. Today he is back with WLIB and program director. Taylor is one of the originators of the Jazzmobile in Harlem which originated in the summer of 1965. Since 1966 he had his own TV show and he acted in "Seven Lively Arts". He has written several instruction books and written a number of keenly perceptive articles for "Down Beat" and the "Saturday Review". All in ali, Billy Taylor is a pride of the profession.
Maybe it is his modesty which prevents him from being more in the limelight and reap the recogni tion he deserves. Billy Taylor strives for perfec tion. When he was a musician of reputation he continued to study with Richard McClanahan, a pupil of Tobias Mathay and the teacher of Dame Myra Hess, to cultivate his touch at the keyboard. He wants to know all about music, from Bach to Bartok. Taylor went the hard way. He played with Gillespie and Parker, with Don Redman and Gerry Mulligan, with Lee Konitz and Georgie Auld. Many years he was sort of house pianist at "Birdland". With his own trio he played for many years at the "Hickory House on 52nd Street. The drummer. who gained world-wide recognition with him and whom he later lost to Oscar Peterson was Ed Thigpen.
Billy Taylor is a brilliant pianist. His left hand is just as dexterous as his right a real boon it you think of so many modern pianists who don't even know they have a left hand. Listen to "There'll Never Be Another You", listen to the way he celebrates the first chorus all by himself without bass and drums and how he proceeds by improvising with both hands simultaneously in baroque way, later infusing a dash of gospel and soul feeling and how it swings! The "Paraphrase" on the other side is just as brilliant. Or how he builds up chorus after chorus, But then Billy Taylor is a master of "programming". It is this art where the amateur can easily be distinguished from the perfect artist. Take the ballad "Theo-dora", and the playing of a ballad is the touch-stone for every jazz musician. But the blues is not neglected either. "La petite Mambo has an enlarged form of twenty-four bars and Latin-American tinge, whereas "Bye Y'all" is genuine unadulterated blues.
It is an old truth that records pave the way for artists to go abroad on tour, especially jazz musicians. I wish this record becomes best-seller so that Billy Taylor leaves New York and comes to Europe. But before this happens we have to look for consolation in records such as this one!
-Dietrich Schulz-Köhn

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1 month ago | [YT] | 3

diegodobini2

George Benson & Jack McDuff
https://youtu.be/X9S2hb66XFU

alt:
https://youtu.be/wArwtkLAwIw

Original Liner Notes:


Toward the end of 1976, when George Benson had beaten the odds and gods of public taste and the music business and become a genuine pop star, he was part of a jazz all-stars program put together by Down Beat magazine for public television. Most of the musicians involved were, like Benson, men who had paid their dues in jazz and were making it big in fusion, or crossover, or jazz-rock music. The natural concern of a dedicated jazz lover was that the music on the program would find the low-est common denominator of the best-selling albums Benson, Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Billy Cobham, and Jean Luc-Ponty had ridden to commercial success. The fear was that, despite the proven creative musicianship of all concerned, eagerness to please the mass audience that had made them famous would lead the level of performance downward into boredom. Indeed, there was a brief opening period of obligatory jazz-rock get-the-money-and-run shuckin'. Then the all-stars settled down to serious busi-ness, and there were fine moments from all of the above, plus Thad Jones, Sonny Fortune, Bill Watrous, and Gary Burton. Benson's solo feature had all the elements, including those borrowed from Wes Montgomery, for which the top-40 devotees admire him. It was pleasant. But when Benson and Ron Carter combined for a guitar-bass duet on "Lover Man," the real George Benson stood out. Reducing his amplification nearly to that of an acoustic instrument, George con-structed a filigree accompaniment to Carter's solo, ultimately melding with the bassist in a stretch of mutual improvisation that was uncanny for the way the two men anticipated one another. His comp-ing behind Carter's rubato flight at the end of the piece was a model of what guitar accompaniment should be. The performance was worth warehouses full of Benson's hit album, and it was a reminder that when a superior musician achieves popular success with watered-down material he doesn't nec-essarily dilute his art, however rarely he may choose or be allowed to work at it. Besides, before we get too exercised about this business of popular acceptance versus artistic integrity, it may be well to keep in mind that Benson set out years ago to become a popular performer not a jazz musician. His public career began when he was an eight-year-old singer. His first record-ings in 1954, the year he began learning to play the guitar, were vocals. He has often said that he considers himself an entertainer who became a musician out of necessity. That makes Benson something of a hangover from an earlier era, when jazzmen like Earl Hines and Louis Armstrong, for all their artistic genius, never discussed their music in terms of art. They saw their task as entertaining, making people happy. It would take a mighty effort of critical dis-sembling to convince anyone with ears that Hines and Armstrong were not among the most impor-tant creative musicians of their time, which in Hines's case continues. And it would be foolish to seize upon Benson's commercial appeal as proof that his worth as a serious musician has diminished. The Armstrong of "West End Blues" and the Armstrong of "Blueberry Hill" dwelled not in separate planes of existence, but together. The Benson of "Lover Man" and the Benson of "Breezin"' don't seem to be at war with each other, certainly not in the mind of Benson. Be that as it may, given a chance, most serious listeners would take Louis's "West End Blues" and George's "Lover Man" every time whatever the entertainment merits of "Blueberry Hill" or "Breezin'."

Armstrong went through periods where he succumbed, or was conditioned, to his popular repertoire, but he still loved to blow, and there were times almost to the very end when he astonished his col-leagues with his creativity. Benson, even if he achieves Armstrong's commercial success, is incapable of jettisoning his artistic sensibility, which, however much he proclaims his artistic innocence, is ingrained through years of development as a creative improvising musician. Until he was 17, Benson was his own teacher, guided by basics picked up from his stepfather, Thomas Collier, an amateur guitarist and avid Charlie Christian fan. Benson had a rock and roll band in which he played guitar. But his vocals were the main attraction. George loved Christian, but he says it was the late Hank Garland's only jazz album that made him realize all the possibilities of the guitar." Garland, one of the most recorded country guitarists in the Nashville milieu of the 1950s and early Sixties, was a phenomenally gifted musician who could have had a stellar jazz career if he had been willing to take the pay cut. In 1969 he recorded a quartet album (Jazz Winds from a New Direction, Columbia CSP ACS 8372) with young Gary Burton on vibes, bassist Joe Benjamin, and drummer Joe Morello. Among other things Benson learned from the Garland record was the effec-tiveness of single note lines, an aspect that he quickly began to absorb into this own style. Inspired by Garland, Benson now began earnestly to pursue guitar knowledge. When guitar players came through his hometown of Pittsburgh, George studied their techniques and quizzed them endlessly about fingerings, chords, improvisational methods, amplifiers, strings . . . the full range of guitar lore. His persistence paid off in instruction from Grant Green, Eddie McFadden, Eddie Diehl, Thornel Schwartz, and John Pisano. Then, in 1961, when Benson was 18, Jack McDuff asked Benson to join his quartet, which was riding the wave of soul-jazz popularity. A number of organists rose to fame after Jimmy Smith showed the way for them in modern jazz. McDuff has been one of the most admired, popular, and durable. He began his jazz life as a bassist and was working with tenor saxophonist Johnny Griffin in Chicago when Art Blakey asked him to join the Jazz Messengers. McDuff recalls that it was during a period when Blakey was enamored of fast tempos on tunes that would often last an hour and a half. He didn't think he had the stamina a bass player would need for that kind of marathoning. Shortly after, he switched to piano, and worked steadily with trios that included bassists Leroy Vinnegar and Richard Evans long before they became well known. The change to the instrument that would be his vehicle to fame came about not because of inspi-ration from Jimmy Smith but as a matter of economics. He kept getting gigs at clubs which turned out to have organs, not pianos, and if he wanted to keep the contracts he had no choice but to play the organ. As he spent more and more time at the electronic keyboard, McDuff began to discover what he has since demonstrated thousands of times that the organ is "a hell of an instrument, a complete instrument, a dominant instrument." Most organ groups did not include horns at the time McDuff left tenor saxophonist Willis Jackson in 1960 to form his own quartet. But McDuff had developed a taste for the tenor-organ sound and has almost always included at least one saxophonist. One of his bands had two tenors.
**//**
—



These notes appeared on the original double-LP liner.

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1 month ago | [YT] | 8

diegodobini2

G̲e̲o̲r̲g̲e̲ ̲B̲e̲n̲s̲o̲n̲ ̲ – In Concert - Carnegie Hall (1976)
https://youtu.be/hXrd8GNxyOk
alt. https://youtu.be/lDrdVRjvE_U
CD notes:

It is taken for granted that G̲e̲o̲r̲g̲e̲ ̲B̲e̲n̲s̲o̲n̲ ̲ is one of the greatest guitarists of all time. His innate ability to execute nearly impossible runs with complete nonchalance, swing hard enough to drive the Basie band, and nearly bring the listener to tears with his heart-wrenching ballad playing places him in a category of one. And that's before he even opens his mouth to sing. Due to the huge pop success of "This Masquerade," "On Broadway," "Give Me The Night," and so many other pop and R&B hits, many got to know "G̲e̲o̲r̲g̲e̲ ̲B̲e̲n̲s̲o̲n̲ ̲, the vocalist who plays guitar." But some of us had long viewed him as "G̲e̲o̲r̲g̲e̲ ̲B̲e̲n̲s̲o̲n̲ ̲, the guitarist who sings." And although in the years following his breakthrough with Breezin' he would move the instrument to the forefront on several occasions, since his most popular tracks were vocals, some people lose sight of the fact that as a guitarist, he is simply the baddest cat on the planet. After first recording with organist Jack McDuff, the legendary A&R man John Hammond signed Benson to Columbia Records. After two mainly straight-ahead recordings, he moved on to Verve and then A&M, where he hooked up with Creed Taylor. It was with Creed producing (four releases on A&M and six on CTI) that he truly found his place as an artist and set himself up for pop stardom. In Concert — Carnegie Hall, his final recording for CTI, was clearly the bridge to this next phase, that of mega-platinum pop star.

Although on the night of January 11, 1975, the live M set didn't begin with Benson's inspiring take on Paul Desmond's jazz standard "Take Five," this recording does, and it's a terrific attention-getter. This quick-paced version was first recorded seven months earlier for Bad Benson, and it had become a staple in the guitarist's live show. George's solo is a tour de force, with the master ripping off chorus after chorus of intense yet free-flowing playing, throwing burning lines, strummed Wes-inspired octaves, and rhythmic chordal blasts at the rapt listener.

Benson first recorded the Gershwin standard "Summertime" from Porgy & Bess as a vocal feature in 1965 on his Columbia Records debut It's Uptown. Of course this version is quite different—whereas the earlier version was a groovy boogaloo, here it's rightfully taken as more of a mid-tempo ballad. I can still remember, upon first hearing this recording with my musician friends, someone expressing complete disdain at the fact that Creed Taylor had the GALL to not only add a Dave Matthews string arrangement to this track, but to REPLACE the bassist and drummer with Will Lee and Steve Gadd or Andy Newmark on some songs. I never understood what the big deal was, and now, with a recording featuring the current Count Basie Band backing an old live Ray Charles recording for sale at Starbucks, I think we can assume that people's attitudes have

indeed changed with the times (along with their taste for five-dollar lattes). Since this is obviously a recording made for the enjoyment of the listener, by capturing Benson live and improving the setting, it has simply made it a better environment to present the music. In listening to the awe-inspiring guitar/scat solo on "Summertime," with the audience erupting into spontaneous applause mid-solo, it's clear that this is a performance that needed to be heard, and whatever had to be done to make it presentable was Creed's job. (Perhaps this is why the album doesn't include the word "Live" in its title.)

The Benson-composed "Gone" features flute virtuoso Hubert Laws, the "special guest" of the evening. On this funky Latin-flavored number, he equates himself particularly well, masterfully showcasing his flawless technique, infused with great passion and soul. Benson was featured on Freddie Hubbard's 1972 classic Sky Dive, and here he tackles the title track at Carnegie Hall. It's a feature for George and his working band, showing the great strength of the seasoned ensemble, and as impressive as his playing was on Freddie's original, George's jaw-dropping dexterity here ups the ante considerably.

Finally, another Benson original closes out the set, the hard-burning "Octane," with Laws returning. This provides premium-grade, high-octane fuel for the guitarist to pull off an absolutely stunning solo, one of the most impressive displays of Benson's playing on record. It's hard to imagine how the frets didn't fly off the instrument, with those in the front row risking serious injury. Ronnie Foster's tantalizing electric piano solo is also of particular interest, showing that he is indeed an amazingly adept straight-ahead player. The few years that followed the release of this recording would see the release of not only Breezin' but also the double-live Weekend In L.A. Not to downplay the importance of this later concert recording — it sold a few million copies and included the unforgettable "On Broadway," after all — but you hold in your hands the ultimate live jazz guitar recording, a valuable document of the greatest guitarist in jazz at the absolute height of his powers: G̲e̲o̲r̲g̲e̲ ̲B̲e̲n̲s̲o̲n̲ ̲ In Concert - Carnegie Hall.

Matt Pierson March 2007

INTRODUCING

Mosaic contemporary

Founded in 1983, Mosaic Records is one of the most respected names in jazz. Our boxed sets have set the industry standard, often selling out of their limited-edition runs, becoming much sought-after collectors' items. With the launch of MOSAIC CONTEMPORARY, we have branched out into the contemporary jazz idiom, making a case for the modern masters of this vital and exciting genre.

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