Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Sarah Vaughan's Snowbound: Songs for a Snowy Day

The weather has been unusually cold in northwest Tennessee as of late, and in the city of Martin, the snowfall we had a few days ago has caused campus to close and classes to be canceled at the university, to the great joy, I suppose, of the whole student body. The landscape all around our house is uncharacteristically white, and the cold temperatures have made me want to dust off my copy of one of Sarah Vaughan's most underrated concept albums: Snowbound, cut for Roulette Records in 1963 and boasting some beautiful lush, moody string arrangements by Don Costa. Of course, the winter season has occasionally been the subject of some noteworthy albums, such as Dean Martin's A Winter Romance, which also includes some Christmas songs as part of its wintry theme. And then there are Yuletide albums that also include tunes about the winter, such as June Christy's This Time of Year. But the concept behind Snowbound is slightly different. Here we have a record that uses a snowy day as a setting to bring together a group of well-chosen songs about love lost and found, about longing and reminiscing, and about joy and despair, all of them enveloped in a warm, dreamy atmosphere that invites us to sit by the fire and gaze at the snow-covered world outside. In short. the perfect soundtrack for days like these.

As Will Friedwald rightly observes in his Biographical Guide to the Great Jazz and Pop Singers, the thirteen albums that Sarah Vaughan released on Roulette between 1960 and 1963 (yes, that is really about three LPs a year!) must be counted among the high points in her career:

Her output [for Roulette] . . . was massive both in quality and quantity. . . . If almost any other singer had done thirteen albums of this caliber in her entire career, we would have to assess her as a major artist. . . . Yet with Vaughan, it's just a drop in the bucket in the context of her total catalogue. (492)

This was a period in her career when Vaughan was paying as much attention to her jazz albums as to her adult pop projects, and needless to say, Snowbound belongs to the latter group. The title track, which opens the LP, is one of the coziest, dreamiest tunes in the whole disc, and it sets the scene and the tone for the intermingling of songs that deal with all different facets of love, from the excitement of its discovery ("I Hadn't Anyone Till You," "Stella by Starlight," "Oh, You Crazy Moon") to the grief caused by its loss ("What's Good About Goodbye?", "Glad to Be Unhappy"). Vaughan and Costa also select one of George and Ira Gershwin's lesser-known compositions, "Blah, Blah, Blah," as well as one of Johnny Mercer's most evocative lyrics, "I Remember You," with its clever internal rhymes set to a haunting melody by Victor Schertzinger. The album, which also features two songs by Sammy Cahn usually associated with Frank Sinatra, "Look to Your Heart" and "I Fall in Love Too Easily," closes on a high note with Vaughan's pensive, soothing treatment of the ballad "Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most," whose lyrics announce the coming of the spring while at the same time offering a word of warning about the dangers of a deceitful spring romance.

Arranger Don Costa
In spite of the undeniable quality of Vaughan's vocal performances and of Costa's tasteful arrangements, Snowbound is, as John Bush puts it in his review for the Allmusic website, "an overlooked gem from Sarah Vaughan's Roulette years." That is actually putting it mild, if we bear in mind that, other than on the essential—and rather expensive—eight-CD box set The Complete Sarah Vaughan Roulette Sessions (Mosaic Records), this album can only be found in CD format on an out-of-print British two-fer that couples it with 1964's The Lonely Hours. Owing to the sheer size of Vaughan's recorded output throughout her long career, it is perhaps not very surprising that this lovely album remains hard to find. Yet it is a notable void in her always impressive catalog that we wish some reissue company would see fit to fill—especially when snowy days like these come around!


Wednesday, February 11, 2015

All What Blues 2: Bull Moose Jackson

In this second installment of the All What Blues series, we delve into the fascinating career of Bull Moose Jackson, a man who embraced a myriad of styles, from blues to jazz to pop to country. He could sing a sweet ballad and follow it up with a risque blues, all the while blowing some very worthy saxophone. Here is, briefly, the story and the legacy of one of the most exciting jump bluesmen of all time.

In memoriam Philip Larkin

In the All Music Guide to Blues, Bill Dahl writes that Bull Moose Jackson "had a split musical personality" (213), and if we listen to his records, we must agree that Jackson was, indeed, a Jekyll-and-Hyde sort of bluesman, the kind that Robert Louis Stevenson, had he ever heard of the blues, would have loved. On the one hand, when he was feeling like Dr. Jekyll, Jackson sang sweet love songs in a style that reminds us of Billy Eckstine, though his voice was not as deep and versatile as Mr. B.'s. But when he turned into Mr. Hyde, Jackson sang funny, mildly risque jump blues songs with titles such as "Big Ten-Inch Record," "I Want a Bowlegged Woman," "Nosey Joe," and "We Can Talk Some Trash." And there was yet another side to his musical output: because he spent a big chunk of his recording career at Syd Nathan's King Records, which was originally a country label, Jackson cut rhythm and blues versions of country and western tunes such as Wayne Raney's "Why Don't You Haul Off and Love Me" and Faron Young's "If You Ain't Lovin' You Ain't Livin'."

Bandleader Lucky Millinder
Of course, his given name was not Bull Moose but Benjamin Joseph Jackson, and he was born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1919 into a musical family that encouraged his interest in music. It appears that as a kid he tried to learn the violin but he quickly became interested in the saxophone upon first hearing jazz, and throughout his career, both his singing and his playing would be featured on his records. In 1943 he joined the reed section of Lucky Millinder's popular orchestra, singing occasionally with the band. It was also around this time that he acquired the nickname of Bull Moose, allegedly from some fellow band members who thought he looked like that animal, and the moniker would stick with him for the rest of his life. Jackson was growing increasingly popular within the Millinder outfit, and so in 1946, apparently at the suggestion of Millinder himself, he struck out on his own, cutting his very first solo record, "Who Threw the Whiskey in the Well." This led to a long and fruitful association with King Records, a label that was dabbling in both the country and r&b markets and that, therefore, urged its blues artists to record country songs and vice versa.

It is at King that Jackson's so-called split musical personality developed in full. Some of his Eckstine-like slow numbers, such as "I Love You, Yes I Do" and "All My Love Belongs to You," with arrangements that also spotlighted his sax playing, became hits. But the buying public also received Jackson's more risque outings rather well, in particular "I Want a Bowlegged Woman," Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller's "Nosey Joe" ("he's ready to stick his long nose in their [women's] business"), and his classic "Big Ten-Inch Record," whose clever lyrics went like this:

Got me the strangest woman
Believe me, this chick's no cinch
But I really get her going
When I take out my big ten-inch
Record of the band that plays the blues
The band that plays the blues
She just loves my big ten-inch
Record of her favorite blues.

Vocalist Annisteen Allen
On this particular song, Jackson is backed by Tiny Bradshaw's orchestra, and he also gets to play some zesty saxophone. It is a hilarious jump blues whose beat—like most records of this kind—prefigures rock and roll and whose witty lyrics were considered racy at the time but are, of course, rather mild by today's standards. Ironically, although Jackson toured far and wide in the late forties and throughout the fifties, the arrival of rock and roll brought his career (as it did the careers of many other artists of his kind) to a halt. Although in 1961 he re-recorded his early hit, "I Love You, Yes I Do" for a small independent label, he would soon quit touring, and for the next two decades or so took a job with a catering company that worked for Howard University in Washington, DC. It seemed that this would be all we would ever hear from Bull Moose, but in the 1980s, he did enjoy a sort of a comeback, however brief, when the Pittsburgh band, The Flashcats, who had been singing some of his songs for years, conspired to bring him out of obscurity. Jackson recorded a fine album with them, Moosemania! (which was fortunately reissued on CD by Bogus Records in 1992 as The Final Recordings) and even did some live appearances, but this comeback was sadly cut short by Jackson's failing health. Bull Moose Jackson passed away shortly thereafter, in his hometown of Cleveland in 1989, at age 70.

Anyone who wishes to dig deep into Jackson's split musical personality should locate The Bull Moose Jackson Collection 1945-1955 (Acrobat, 2013), a fantastic two-CD set that contains all his best recordings, made over a ten-year period when he was in his absolute prime. Here you will find both Jekyll and Hyde, both the sweet and the lowdown, both the romantic crooner and the saucy jump bluesman. Many of his fine records with Millinder are included, as well as sides that feature female vocalist Annisteen Allen, and of course, all of his hits for King with his own band, the Buffalo Bearcats, and even his r&b covers of country and western hits. Though Bull Moose may not be as popular today as he was in his heyday, his recorded output that is wisely anthologized in this set definitely needs to be rediscovered and enjoyed because it is simply wonderful music.

Further reading

Those interested in finding out more about Bull Moose Jackson should check out this interesting tribute website put together by Bogus Records.

Bull Moose Jackson in his final years

Friday, January 30, 2015

John Jenkins: The Brief Recording Career of a Forgotten Alto Saxophonist


Saying that the recorded legacy of John Jenkins as a leader is meager seems like a vast understatement. As a matter of fact, besides two sessions cut about two weeks apart in the summer of 1957 and a third one co-led with trumpeter Donald Byrd that same year, Jenkins would never enter a studio as a leader again, quietly disappearing from the jazz scene in the mid 1960s. He did appear as a sideman on several dates by the likes of Jackie McLean, Paul Qunichette, Hank Mobley, Clifford Jordan, Wilbur Ware, and Teddy Charles, yet never again as a leader. This is undoubtedly regrettable in the light of the quality of the music produced during the two summer sessions that we are discussing today. Jenkins also played alongside jazz giants such as Charles Mingus and Art Pepper, but many of these collaborations went sadly unrecorded, which is another reason why his discography looks so slim. Born in Chicago in 1931, Jenkins began his musical education by playing the clarinet, yet he soon switched to alto saxophone, and in his formative years he was influenced by his friend Jackie McLean (with whom he recorded the album Alto Madness for Prestige also in 1957) as well as by Charlie Parker; hence his preference for bop and hard bop when it came time to lead his own sessions.

The first of these dates took place on July 26, 1957 at Rudy Van Gelder’s famed studio in New Jersey and was released on a Prestige album simply titled Jenkins, Jordan, and Timmons. As the title itself suggests, Jenkins, who plays alto saxophone, is joined by Clifford Jordan on tenor, Bobby Timmons on piano, Wilbur Ware on bass, and Dannie Richmond on drums. It is a wholeheartedly bop session, and a rather brief one at that, yielding five tracks that offer plenty of room for all involved to solo. Jenkins is in fine form, acting as leader from the very beginning of the first track, a Jordan original entitled “Cliff’s Edge,” and he brings in two of his own compositions, “Princess” and “Blue Jay.” These are two excellent mid-tempo vehicles for the kind of improvisation that Jenkins enjoyed, based on swift phrases with enough unexpected notes here and there to keep the listener’s attention. “Soft Talk,” the longest track on the album, is much more fast-paced, and though it is dominated primarily by Jenkins, it does contain a compelling solo by Timmons, and even Ware gets to solo briefly on bass. Jenkins is ably supported by Timmons on “Tenderly,” both the only standard and the only ballad in the set, which stands as a fine example of Jenkins’s gusto when it comes to slow numbers.

Jenkins’s second session as a leader was held just a couple of weeks later, on August 11, at the very same studio. Jenkins is again on alto, and Richmond is again sitting behind the drum kit, but this time Kenny Burrell is on guitar and shares credit in the title of the Blue Note album that was recorded on that day, originally issued as John Jenkins and Kenny Burrell. As we can see, whoever got to decide the titles of albums by Jenkins definitely did not spend too much time pondering over complex options. This is once again a quintet date, with Sonny Clark on piano and Paul Chambers on bass—quite the all-star group, in fact! The disc kicks off with a boppish reading of Cole Porter’s “From This Moment On,” built around the interplay between alto sax and guitar and one of the best examples of Jenkins’s knack for surprising the listener with unexpected notes. As in the previous session, the tune selection only affords a ballad here: in this case, it is Harold Adamson and Burton Lane’s “Everything I Have Is Yours,” usually associated with vocalist Billy Eckstine. As an interpreter of ballads, Jenkins shows that he has taken more than a tip from Charlie Parker: he exudes warmth and feeling, but like Bird, he is not afraid to show his bop leanings even at a slower tempo.


Kenny Burrell and John Jenkins
This time Jenkins contributes three of his own compositions (“Motif,” “Sharon," and "Chalumeau") all of them freshly minted melodies designed to showcase his improvisatory skills, as well as those of Burrell and Clark, who are afforded more space to shine than Chambers and Richmond throughout the set. The final track, “Blues for Two,” is credited to Burrell, and as its title implies, it is based on the blues and provides a more than satisfying way to bring the session to a close. Fortunately, both of these albums are currently available on CD format and should not be too hard to find (the Jenkins-Burrell reissue even includes two bonus tracks from the session, both of them alternate takes of cuts on the original record) and they capture Jenkins, albeit briefly, at the peak of his power, during a short time period when he was extremely active, and a few years before he drifted into obscurity and was never heard from again. In view of these two dates alone, his disappearance, whether self-imposed or not, was undoubtedly a great loss for jazz.


Bobby Timmons plays piano on Jenkins's first session as a leader

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Hot & Jazzy Western Swing: Noel Boggs Trio and Quintet

Any big band enthusiast should naturally have more than just a passing interest in western swing, the jazz-derived dance music that developed mainly in the Southwest in the 1930s and that was a mixture of traditional fiddle music, jazz, blues, and pop. Western swing was mainly played by large bands that, like those of Bob Wills and Spade Cooley, featured fiddles, steel guitars, electric guitars and electric mandolins, pianos, and very often a whole brass section. Their popularity throughout the '30s and '40s (and, in some cases, into the '50s and beyond) was such that it was not uncommon for Wills and Cooley, for instance, to draw bigger crowds in some spots of the Southwest than established name swing bands such as those led by Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, and Tommy Dorsey. The style is nowadays mostly considered a subgenre of country music, but it would be just as pertinent to view it as a subgenre of jazz and swing. After all, as Jon Guyot Smith points out in the liner notes of the CD that we are reviewing today, "although the western swing musicians often wore cowboy attire, featured fiddles alongside pianos, brass and woodwinds, and occasionally performed songs with lyrics more reminiscent of rural country than Tin Pan Alley, western swing was heavily influenced by Dixieland jazz, blues and mainstream '30s pop music."

Charlie Christian had a big influence on Boggs
What is more, among the ranks of western swing bands, one could find excellent musicians who were steeped in jazz, whose playing styles were decisively influenced by contemporary jazz musicians, and who could play decidedly hot solos. Also, some of the featured vocalists with these orchestras, such as Tommy Duncan and Tex Williams, often sounded like hip country cousins of Bing Crosby and other pop and jazz singers of the day. A whole host of western swing performers were virtuosos on their chosen instruments, which is definitely true of the man whom we are introducing today: steel guitarist Noel Boggs. The steel guitar was prominently featured in western swing orchestras, and so there soon emerged a group of very accomplished steel players, such as Leon McAuliffe, Joaquin Murphey, and Boggs himself, among others. Born in Oklahoma City in 1917, Boggs grew up enthralled by the sound of the steel guitar and was exposed to the strains of Western, Hawaiian, blues, and jazz music. He was heavily influenced by the style of legendary jazz guitarist Charlie Christian, with whom he was reportedly good friends, and throughout his long career, he played for some of the most renowned western swing bandleaders, namely Hank Penny, Bob Wills, and Spade Cooley. He contributed highly inventive hot solos to hit records by Wills's Texas Playboys ("Roly Poly," "Texas Playboy Rag") and by Cooley's band, whose arrangements were often incredibly elaborate. Besides building a reputation as a top sideman, Boggs was also an extremely sought-after session musician who worked numerous studio dates with a wide range of vocalists, from his friend Jimmy Wakely to pop singer Jo Stafford.

However, Boggs did not take part in too many dates as a leader, although those that he did get to record produced some music of consistently high quality. Fortunately, two sessions that he cut in 1958 and 1964 for Shasta Records, an independent label founded by Jimmy Wakely, are currently available on a CD entitled The Very Best of Noel Boggs: The Shasta Masters (Varese Sarabande, 2000). By the late 1950s, Boggs had stopped touring with large western swing bands and had been performing strictly in a small-group jazz setting, which is what both sessions capture. The 1958 recordings find Boggs leading a quintet that also features Paul Smith on piano, Ivan Ditmars on organ, and Neil Levang on guitar. Besides some classic western swing instrumentals ("Steel Guitar Rag," his own "Steelin' Home") and a few songs that pay tribute to the Hawaiian influence on his music ("Paradise Isle," "Magic Isle"), Boggs concentrates mostly on jazz and pop standards, such as "Caravan," "Perdido," "Coquette," "Tenderly," and "The Birth of the Blues," which the quintet performs with gusto, allowing Boggs ample space to demonstrate his mastery of his instrument. They even have time to rework the Andrews Sisters hit "Beer Barrel Polka," reminding us that polka music had long been a staple of many western swing bands, especially those that appeared in Texas. Their haunting, Hawaiian-style take on Kurt Weill's "September Song" is one of the highlights of this highly satisfying date.

Noel Boggs (left) and Spade Cooley (center)
The 1964 four-song session has Boggs leading a trio this time, featuring Paul Smith and the under-recorded accordionist Leroy Krubl. The song selection once again leans heavily toward jazz and pop standards, including a reading of Ray Noble's "Cherokee" introduced by bongos, and versions of "Wabash Blues," "Lover Come Back to Me" (not Rodgers and Hart's "Lover," as the CD incorrectly states) and "Dardanella." The trio sounds modern and very inspired throughout, with Krubl showing that he has definitely been listening closely to jazz accordion whiz Art Van Damme, and it is really a pity that Boggs did not make more recordings in this very agreeable setting. Sadly, about ten years after cutting these sides, in the summer of 1974, Boggs unexpectedly passed away at age 56. His friend Wakely reissued his trio and quintet recordings in the late 1970s, and we are fortunate to have them available on this fine CD, with perfect sound, a knowledgeable biographical essay, and a few pictures. These compelling, jazzy recordings are good proof of the talent of Noel Boggs on the steel guitar, an instrument that, outside of western swing, is seldom used in a jazz environment.

Further reading

For more information on Noel Boggs, you can read this short biographical piece on the Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys website.


Saturday, January 17, 2015

Songwriter Spotlight: Ervin Drake Passes Away at 95

In 1965 Frank Sinatra was turning fifty and decided to celebrate that landmark year in his life by recording September of My Years, an album revolving around the concepts of memory, experience, and a melancholy viewpoint on life brought about by the inevitability of aging. The gloomy, evocative LP would turn out to be one of the best from his tenure with Reprise and one of the last truly great concept albums of his career. Thoughtfully arranged by Gordon Jenkins, September of My Years included compositions by Alec Wilder, Kurt Weill, Harold Arlen, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein, Yip Harburg, and Gordon Jenkins himself. But one of them stood out and went on to win a Grammy. The song was "It Was a Very Good Year"; the songwriter, Ervin Drake.

As popular songs went in the 1960s, "It Was a Very Good Year" was a little bit of an anomaly. For starters, it was rather long, and its lyrics had a depth that was rare in the mid-1960s, songwriters like Bob Dylan excepted. The tune was haunting, and the words presented the memories of an aging man who is "in the autumn of [his] years" and who reminisces about different stages of his past. With one stanza devoted to a specific snapshot of the character's life experiences, the passing of time is cleverly suggested by the chronological jumps that occur from one stanza to the next. We move from age seventeen, to twenty-one, to thirty-five, until we end up in the present time, described as "the autumn," in a fashion that unequivocally reminds us of the lyrics of the Belgian chanteur Jacques Brel, whose hit "Ne Me Quitte Pas" Sinatra would cover as "If You Go Away" for his 1969 album My Way. In the last stanza of "It Was a Very Good Year," Drake seems to succeed in encapsulating the whole concept of September of My Years:

But now the days are short
I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life
As vintage wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs
It poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year.

Surprisingly, however, Drake did not write "It Was a Very Good Year" for Sinatra. The song dates back to 1961, when it was recorded by the Kingston Trio, but after the definitive September of My Years version, it would become forever associated with Ol' Blue Eyes, to such an extent that few artists would record it thereafter. But, of course, "It Was a Very Good Year" was not the only memorable tune written by Drake. Born Ervin Maurice Druckman in New York City in 1919 (less than four years after Sinatra) he began writing songs at a very early age, and one of his first notable assignments was writing lyrics for the Juan Tizol-penned Duke Ellington classic, "Perdido." Over the years he would write several standards, such as "I Believe," sung by Frankie Laine (which Elvis Presley also recorded for a gospel EP), and Billie Holiday's mournful "Good Morning Heartache," and would even go on to write successful Broadway shows like 1964's What Makes Sammy Run?

Ervin Drake at the piano (Photo by Maxine Hicks)

Ervin Drake passed away two days ago, on January 15, at his home in Great Neck, NY, as you can read in his New York Times obituary. Though definitely not as important as classic songwriters such as Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, or the Gershwins, he will be remembered as a witty, learned contributor to the legacy of the Great American Songbook. Discussing "It Was a Very Good Year" in his book All or Nothing at All, Sinatra biographer Donald Clarke has noted that with this song Drake "outdid himself and received one of Jenkins's best symphonic-style arrangements. . . . The song is about memories of love, not sex; it is about happiness that ran through his [Sinatra's] fingers like sand. The longest track on the album, it is also an example of the singing actor at the heart of Sinatra's work: you can't dance to it; you can only listen" (227-28). And, indeed, Sinatra's interpretation of Drake's powerfully poetic lyrics becomes more haunting and more meaningful each time we listen to it.