The Penguin Jazz Guide (61 page)

He is far from the only fine musician whose personal creativity was sublimated in the classroom, but there is a special poignancy to Pomeroy’s truncated recording career. He worked mainly in his home state, leading bands at the Stables, and among his few issued records
Jazz In A Stable
,
Band In Boston
and
Detour Ahead
are worth having, but still elusive on CD.
Life
was actually recorded in New York, originally for Roulette. There’s a touch of sessionman gloss to the date. Zoot Sims tends to dominate as guest soloist (curiously, some question his presence at the sessions), and the charts are more concerned with straight-ahead swing than challenging ideas, but the band plays with meaty insistence and the rhythm section – all close colleagues of Pomeroy’s – establish a commanding base for such as Tadd Dameron’s ‘Our Delight’ and a version of ‘It’s Sand, Man’ that’s as good as a prime Basie workout, but with a touch of Kenton bombast, too. ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’ is re-imagined as ‘Sprat’, and scholars may note that ‘Aluminum Baby’ is something of an answer to Ellington’s ‘Satin Doll’ (from Jaki Byard, who provides a rare sighting on tenor). When Pomeroy returned to active recording in 2004 with guitarist Anthony Weller and bassist David Landoni in trio format, Byard’s piece was the title-cut. That there was so little in between is to be regretted, but two whole generations of Boston-educated musicians attest to Pomeroy’s importance, and that makes the surviving records all the more precious.

PAUL CHAMBERS

Born 22 April 1935, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; died 4 January 1969, New York City

Double bass

Bass On Top

Blue Note 93182

Chambers; Hank Jones (p); Kenny Burrell (g); Art Taylor (d). July 1957.

Bassist and composer Gavin Bryars says:
‘For most bass-players who emerged in the 1960s the role model was Paul Chambers, who had developed a beautiful sense of swing, immaculate intonation and an impeccable choice of notes. His clear understanding of the essence of modal jazz, whether with the Miles Davis Quintet or in Gil Evans’s Porgy And Bess settings, shines through in his exquisitely lithe and supple lines, his rich and full tone, and his laid-back approach to the beat. The solos have real poise, and his assured and authoritative performance of the themes of songs produced definitive versions – “So What”, “The Buzzard Song” (in unison with Bill Barber’s tuba).’

Working out of Detroit, where he grew up, ‘Mr P.C.’ became a prominent small-group sideman, working with Miles Davis, 1954–62, then with Wynton Kelly, Coltrane and others. Narcotics and other problems led to his early death but for a time Chambers was a star on his instrument. He led only a handful of record dates and some of these were gimcracked round a desire to feature the bass as a solo instrument, often rather artificially so. These were early days to feature the bass in a spotlight role and the 1956
Whims Of Chambers
, with Coltrane in the line-up, awkwardly showcases the solo work. The
arco
passages may have been groundbreaking, but the tone still grates. There’s more moody
arco
stuff on this 1957 record, but Chambers’s best moment is the long plucked solo on ‘Chasin’ The Bird’, exquisitely phrased and absolutely poised. ‘You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To’ is given near-epic proportions, but the overall feel is relaxed and laid-back, the solo spots arising with seeming spontaneity and the other group members more generously integrated. His early death was a grievous loss; Chambers would surely have embraced many of the new decade’s new challenges.

BUDDY DEFRANCO

Born Boniface Ferdinand Leonardo di Franco, 17 February 1923, Camden, New Jersey

Clarinet

Wholly Cats: Complete Plays Benny Goodman And Artie Shaw Sessions, Volumes 1 & 2

Lone Hill Jazz LHJ 10282 / 10281

DeFranco; Don Fagerquist, Ray Linn (t); Georgie Auld (ts); Victor Feldman (vib); Carl Perkins (p); Barney Kessel, Howard Roberts (g); Leroy Vinnegar, Joe Mondragon (b); Stan Levey, Milt Holland (d). September 1957.

Clarinettist François Houle says:
‘Buddy rejuvenated the instrument by single-handedly formulating a bebop/swing amalgam that kept the clarinet in sight throughout that era.’

Nobody has seriously challenged DeFranco’s status as the greatest post-swing clarinettist – only Eddie Daniels has any strong counterclaim – although the instrument’s desertion by reed-players has tended to disenfranchise its few exponents. DeFranco’s incredibly smooth phrasing and seemingly effortless command are unfailingly impressive but the challenge of translating this (some would say cold and unfeeling) virtuosity into a relevant post-bop environment hasn’t been easy and he has relatively few records to show for literally decades of fine work. He worked with Charlie Barnet, Tommy Dorsey and Gene Krupa before striking out as a small-group player.

The idea behind the
Wholly Cats
sessions is obvious enough, though one might have been more interested in hearing DeFranco tackle the Parker book and a set of Dizzy tunes instead. DeFranco drew a good deal from both Benny and Artie, so the influence was obvious. These 1957 sessions, though, afforded him the opportunity to make ‘Air Mail Special’, say, or ‘Indian Love Call’ his own, giving those venerable themes and others a modernist spin. The sessions were recorded two days apart, with octet (Goodman) and sextet (Shaw) respectively, and the smaller, drier-sounding group suits its material well, while Auld and Feldman cut loose a little more on their date.

BILL HARRIS

Born Willard Palmer Harris, 28 October 1916, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; died 21 August 1973, Hallandale, Florida

Trombone

Bill Harris And Friends

Original Jazz Classics OJCCD 083

Harris; Ben Webster (ts); Jimmy Rowles (p); Red Mitchell (b); Stan Levey (d). September 1957.

Trombonist Bob Brookmeyer said (1990):
‘I revered and looked up to Bill Harris. He had this gruff, aggressive exterior, which came out in his playing. But he could do delicate things too, things you’d never expect to get from a man like that.’

Harris had an anonymous time of it until 1944, when he joined Woody Herman, with whom he stayed on and off until 1959. He disappeared into Las Vegas bands in the ’60s. Harris was always among the most distinctive and sometimes among the greatest of jazz trombonists. His style was based firmly on swing-era principles, yet he seemed to look both forward and back. His slurred notes and shouting phrases recalled a primitive jazz period, yet his knowing juxtapositions and almost macabre sense of humour were entirely modern. But he made few appearances on record away from Woody Herman’s orchestra and is now a largely forgotten figure.
Bill Harris And Friends
should be known far more widely. Both Harris and Webster are in admirable form and make a surprisingly effective partnership, even kvelling good-naturedly at one point. Ben is at his ripest on ‘I Surrender, Dear’ and ‘Where Are You’, and Harris stops the show in solo after solo, whether playing short, bemused phrases or barking out high notes. An amusing reading of ‘Just One More Chance’ caps everything. The remastering favours the horns, but the sound is warmly effective.

WARNE MARSH
^&

Born 26 October 1927, Los Angeles, California; died 18 December 1987, Hollywood, California

Tenor saxophone

Music For Prancing

VSOP 8

Marsh; Ronnie Ball (p); Red Mitchell (b); Stan Levey (d). September 1957.

Warne Marsh said (1980):
‘I hear myself described as a “Tristano disciple” … and that’s it! I don’t have problems talking about influences, but there was more than one. I listened to Bach when I was playing piano. Bird was hugely important. So was Ben Webster. And later Lester Young. And Bartók! So without diminishing Lennie in my life, those other things need to be understood, too.’

Warne Marsh’s death onstage at Donte’s club in Los Angeles, playing ‘Out Of Nowhere’, was oddly fitting. By far the most loyal and literal of the Tristano disciples, he sedulously avoided the ‘jazz life’, cleaving to an improvisatory philosophy that was almost chilling in its purity. Anthony Braxton called him the ‘greatest vertical improviser’ in the music, and a typical Marsh solo was discursive and rhythmically subtle, full of coded tonalities and oblique resolutions. He cultivated a glacial tone (somewhat derived from Lester Young) that splintered awkwardly in the higher register, very different to the Hodges/Bird/Rollins/Coltrane paradigms.

The early quartets are witty and smooth-toned, though Marsh sounds much closer to Stan Getz than he was to in later years. He sounds warmer, too, leavened by a rhythm
section led by the remarkable Mitchell, whose unusual tunings and almost offhand ability to turn out terse countermelodies are a key element of a fine record. The association with Mitchell would prove to be one of the most successful in later years as well. ‘You Are Too Beautiful’ is one of those ideal blindfold test-pieces, where neither the song nor the player immediately sounds familiar. With Mitchell winding the capstan, it rolls along with an ease of swing that almost disguises how cleverly Marsh negotiates the chords. ‘Everything Happens To Me’ has a nicely sardonic edge. The originals are more elusive, but the group melds so well, the material seems completely familiar and under the fingers.

& See also
Ne Plus Ultra
(1969; p. 370),
Star Highs
(1982; p. 470)

JOE ALBANY

Originally Joseph Albani; born 24 January 1924, Atlantic City, New Jersey; died 12 January 1988, New York City

Piano

The Right Combination

Original Jazz Classics OJCCD 1749

Albany; Warne Marsh (ts); Bob Whitlock (b). September 1957.

Warne Marsh said (1981):
‘Joe had wild horses pulling him. When he controlled them, he was capable of anything, but more often they controlled him.’

Albany was a frustrating enigma, a pioneer of bop piano who left almost no record of his innovations. Alcohol and narcotics stalked him through what should have been his most creative and fruitful years and there were spells in jail. Albany made no studio recording of any sort until the ’70s, a decade notoriously uninterested in the legacy of bop. Tragedy seemed to lie in wait for those around him, too. Albany’s second wife killed herself and, when he remarried, drugs almost robbed him of another life-partner.

He had been an accomplished accordion-player in childhood but showed enough skill on piano to move to the West Coast as a member of Leo Watson’s group, around 1942. There he met his first great influence, Art Tatum, but after stints with Georgie Auld and Benny Carter, Albany met Charlie Parker, who brought about a huge change in his style. The saxophonist employed him briefly but Albany was fired. He made a few recordings with Lester Young and these were the only examples of his work on record until 1957, when the music on
The Right Combination
was spliced together from an impromptu session (probably a rehearsal) at engineer Ralph Garretson’s home. It caught Albany and Marsh jamming on Clifford Brown’s ‘Daahoud’ and six Broadway standards, of which the last, ‘The Nearness Of You’, is only a fragment. Albany’s style is a peculiar amalgam of Parker and Tatum: the complexity of his lines suggest something of the older pianist, while the horn-like right-hand figures suggest a bop soloist. Yet Albany’s jumbled, idiosyncratic sense of time is almost all his own, and his solo explorations have a cliff-hanging quality.

Marsh is at his most fragmentary, his tone a foggy squeal at some points – and not helped by a very unresponsive acoustic – yet between them they create some compelling improvisations: ‘Body and Soul’, done at fast and slow tempos, is as personal as any version, and a dreamy ‘Angel Eyes’ shows off Albany’s best work, Ironically, the Tatum-inspired bopper was at his most effective on ballads.

Albany didn’t surface again on record until 1971, with another home recording, but he survived into the ’80s and became a cult figure, more influenced latterly by Thelonious Monk but still representing an apostolic link back to the roots of bebop. One of jazz’s great might-have-beens and what-ifs.

COUNT BASIE
^&

Born 21 August 1904, Red Bank, New Jersey; died 26 April 1984, Hollywood, Florida

Piano, bandleader

The Complete Atomic Mr Basie

Roulette 793273

Basie; Joe Newman, Thad Jones, Wendell Culley, Snooky Young (t); Benny Powell, Henry Coker, Al Grey (tb); Marshal Royal, Frank Wess (as); Eddie ‘Lockjaw’ Davis, Frank Foster (ts); Charlie Fowlkes (bs); Freddie Green (g); Eddie Jones (b); Sonny Payne (d). October 1957.

Saxophonist Frank Foster said (1989):
‘Jaws came into that band and he was Basie’s sweetheart on tenor. It made the rest of us – me, anyway – very nervous, and I was trying to make sure of my place. But Basie knew what he wanted from you, and he didn’t want ballads from me. “Just swing that music, kid” was what he’d say. Swing and simplicity, that and leaving a gap for the rhythm section, who were really the key to it all.’

In 1956, Duke Ellington had breathed new life into the big-band scene. Basie countered by throwing in his lot with the rather shady Morris Levy, who didn’t have enough fingers for all the pies he had on the go. A record label was just one of the more upright of them. Basie opened his controversial contract for Roulette with a showstopper. Complete with mushroom cloud on the cover, this was a Cold War classic. It was also the last great Basie record.