Paul Bley, "Fragments"

Paul Bley
"Fragments"
ECM (1986)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

A certain reader has been quick to jump down my throat anytime I use the term "free jazz" in this blog. Specifically when dealing with members of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, such as Muhal Richard Abrams and the Air trio. Perhaps because because those guys open with themes before running wild, this reader aggressively contends that they aren't "free" (even if Tom Moon thinks they are). Maybe he'll cut me some slack with "Fragments" by pianist Paul Bley. Some of the tracks open in relative unity comparable to other non-free artists, but hey, Bley is credited as one of the icons of free jazz, so it must be true.

Bley's style on "Fragments" is different than that of Abrams and his fellows at the AACM, and I mean it's an obvious difference. You don't need to be an expert on jazz to figure it out. The AACM's Chicago background comes out in the music's organization. The group occasionally takes more minimalist approaches, but the city's big band history often makes for raucous performances. Bley might just have a smaller band, but the the music created here sounds like it has a lot more room to breathe than the previous free jazz efforts we've heard.

Consider the longer pieces opening the album, "Memories" and "Monica Jane." Bley obviously doesn't have any sheet music in front of him, and you can tell. His contribution of melodic piano lines is pragmatic, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head, in the form of the silences between his quiet improvisations. Saxophonist John Surman plays minimally as well during "Memories." During "Monica Jane," Burman opens in force with his saxophone, but then drops out at 1:20 to allow Bley and guitarist Bill Frisell room to be heard. Burman doesn't return until 4:50.

The recording process is used to add to the feeling of openness. I looked up Rainbow Studio in Oslo to see how big it really was, and it's not enough to explain the sense of emptiness on this "Fragments." Considering the mood it sets, the tone had to be intentional. It's amazing how many variations of open space there are. "Monica Jane" has the mournful air of a near-empty bar. "Nothing Ever Was Anyway" evokes an abandoned mansion in decay. "Once Around The Park" sounds like a quiet walk outdoors.

The album isn't a total ambient trip. The various members take their turns in the spotlight. Bley is at the fore in both of the pieces written by his then-wife Carla (see postscript), "Seven" and "Closer." Surman and Frisell go to town on "Line Down," the oddball on the album. Frisell only makes a few appearances throughout with his guitar, but in "Line" he forgoes the polite-plucking jazz guitar route, and releases some very electric squeals and hammer-ons that wouldn't have been out of place in a hair metal album during the same era.

When I said that Abrams and Ayler and Air didn't give the music the same room to breathe that Bley did, I didn't mean it in a bad way. But this is music for a different mood. It's quiet and contemplative. Not the stuff for an afternoon jam.

INTERESTING FACT: I wasn't even aware that there was a television special of The Far Side, but apparently Frisell is friends with cartoonist Gary Larson, so he provided the music for the show.

POSTSCRIPT: How does songwriting credits work for a "free-jazz" album? There are two songs attributed to Bley, two to Bley's wife, and a few to the other musicians involved. Doesn't it make it, you know, not free if something's written down or planned ahead? I'm asking. Angry critical reader, please go to town here.

"For The Love of Sarah" This is the only track from the album I could find anywhere online, but if you get a hold of "Fragments," listen to "Monica Jane" instead.

Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, "Moanin'"

Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers
"Moanin'"
Blue Note (1959)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

We saw during the last post that being the big name in a band doesn't mean getting the most attention. Usually, this lesson applies to the guys figuratively/literally running the show: percussionists. Just as Tito Puente ruled with timbales during his mambo performances, Art Blakey takes control of his band The Jazz Messengers with his drum kit, with few overblown drum solos to show for it.

Blakey's role as a leader, if not a virtuoso, is present throughout the classic title track "Moanin'" and the equally great "Along Came Betty." Consider the layout for "Betty." The song opens with the group playing the opening theme, as is expected. The first set of solos comes from trumpet player Lee Morgan. When you remember that this is all improvised, you can understand how Blakey is giving instructions to Morgan via his drums. It all sounds nice, but Blakey seems to desire more feeling, so he delivers a series of rim-shots and the trumpeter responds. He builds up the solo with flair from the snare, and then lets Morgan know he can stop with punctuation from the cymbal. Next, saxophonist Benny Golson gets the same treatment. Blakey breaks into a few drum rolls, and pianist Bobby Timmons comes back from a break, adding to the rising action.

Most of the tracks on "Moanin'" demonstrate the common hard bop practice of giving everybody a solo. The eponymous opener runs through solos from the trumpet, tenor saxophone, piano, and even a bass moment for Jymie Merritt (it sounds like Blakey sticks to brushes on the cymbals as to not drown out his bassist. Bass solos are often tough to hear during jazz recordings). But Blakey, the marquee name, hasn't taken a turn in the spotlight. The same happens in "Betty."

It may be obvious from the title, but Blakey gets his during "The Drum Thunder Suite." He spends most of the song's first half dishing out tribal blasts on the toms. He finally lets loose and plays that solo you know he's been holding in, and it's a dramatic, Ginger Baker-type affair. Everyone else gets a solo during the track as well, but Blakey displays aggression throughout, which isn't present when he's in a leadership state-of-mind. "Are You Real?" features a series of breakdowns from Blakey, interwoven with the trumpet solos.

It's easy to suggest that Blakey wasn't the most talented member of the Jazz Messengers, and you may be right. Considering that "Moanin'"(a song you WILL recognize during its opening theme) was written by Timmons, "Come Rain or Come Shine" is a standard, and the other four tracks were Golson's, some might say Blakey's was just the name on the album. Not so fast. I've already explained Blakey's role as a leader, and it's important to consider the acclaim Morgan, Olson and Timmons would achieve during their careers, plus Chuck Mangione and the Marsalis brothers were Messengers as well. The group served as a launching point for many a career, and Blakey was the constant figure. Phil Jackson wasn't a star in his playing days, but damned if he didn't create some of the best players in NBA history as a coach.

INTERESTING FACT: The album was to self-titled, but the song "Moanin'" gained such popularity that the album came to be known under that title, even though original packaging bore no such text.

Jimmy Smith, "Back At The Chicken Shack"

Jimmy Smith
"Back At The Chicken Shack"
Blue Note (1963)
1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die + 1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

I've referenced it at least a dozen times in previous posts. It's one of the most popular instruments that you don't think of when you think "rock 'n' roll," but it's been there for so many albums we've looked at: The Allman Brothers, The Animals, Santana. That instrument is the Hammond organ. The original organ is not a handy instrument. They're huge, which is why they're normally relegated to churches and opera houses. Therefore the Hammond company began making smaller, more portable models that featured a less symphonic sound, thanks to electric speakers and pickups. Like all things musical, the popularity of the instrument can be traced somewhere, and that individual is Jimmy Smith.

Smith was originally a jazz keyboardist, but inspiration struck him and he invested in a Hammond during the mid-50's (even then the instrument cost more than $2,000). He wasn't the first to try the instrument, but his virtuosity made him the biggest name. It seems odd to compare Smith to something as overblown as power metal, but his fleet fingers could create dense walls of notes, similar to the technique of guitar tapping. The show is impressive, but "Back To The Chicken Shack" allows Smith to serve as a sideman as well as virtuoso, and in the process create some much smoother jams.

The opening title track is probably the best of the bunch. If you want an idea of how Smith sounds while he plays backing melodies, imagine yourself at a baseball stadium during the '70s. I don't know how many ballparks still have organ players, but Smith is where they took their inspiration from. Although Smith is the headliner, he shares the spotlight equally with saxophonist Stanley Turrentine. Listening to the two leads play their respective instruments, it becomes evident how much Smith played the organ like a jazz saxophone. Perhaps he opted to share playing time on "Chicken Shack," but he'll be damned if he's just going to play simple rhythms in the background of someone else's solo. But, even as he improvised melodies, Smith supplied bass lines using the pedals of the Hammond.

Three of the numbers on "Chicken Shack" are originals, and two are pop/jazz standards. The longest song on the album, "Messy Bessie," is notable because guitarist Kenny Burrell takes a solo, and not just a smooth, jazz guitar blurb like during the title track, but an aggressive passage with some legitimate hammer-ons going on. Drummer Donald Bailey has been described as "king of the organ trio drummers," but this seems to mean he's the most content at playing chill snare/cymbal rhythms, and otherwise fitting in to the background.

I can only imagine how cool it was to be Jimmy Smith. Sure, the Hammond wasn't the electric guitar, but it was an instrument that left its mark. Critics began referring to his style as "funk-jazz," which sounds accurate, but if you think about it, his music came way before funk gained mainstream attention. And when genres like soul and funk began getting big, they owed part of their style to the Hammond organ.

INTERESTING FACT: At the age of 14, Laurens Hammond, the inventor of the Hammond organ, submitted a design for an automatic transmission for automobiles to Renault (this was 1909). He was rejected.

Bix Beiderbecke, "Singin' The Blues, Vol. 1"

Bix Beiderbecke
"Singin' The Blues, Vol. 1"
Columbia/Legacy (1990)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

NOTE TO DEVOTED READERS: If you've been following along with Tom Moon's 1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die, you're probably expecting the final Beethoven installment today. Alas, the New York Public Library has only one copy of this six-hour recording, which can only be listened to within the Performing Arts Library, and cannot be uploaded to a computer (I don't understand why not; their rules, not mine). So, until I have time to sit for six hours in the library, I will continue with what comes next in the book. In this case: Bix Beiderbecke.

Beiderbecke was the third of three jazz giants who emerged during the '20s and made improvisation the true calling card of the genre from there on out. The other two were Louis Armstrong and Sidney Bechet, both of whom we have looked at already. His story differed dramatically however. For one thing, he was white, a detail that had arguably little effect on his style, but nonetheless relevant. Beiderbecke grew up in Iowa, far from the Dixieland scene in Armstrong and Bechet's native New Orleans.

Perhaps as a result, Beiderbecke's trademark style resembled the "cool jazz" that would be popularized by artists like Chet Baker during the '50s. The cornetist could play the "hot jazz" like Armstrong, but his improvisations during slower-tempo tracks (exemplified on "Singin' The Blues, Vol. 1" by the consecutive trio "I'm Coming Virginia," "Way Down Yonder In New Orleans" and "For No Reason At All in C") project a bluesier and more contemplative mood than most "hot" music.

Another major difference between the work of Beiderbecke and the other jazz giants of the day was his simple lack of training. His difficulty reading music is well-documented, and although this wouldn't have mattered for more avant-garde fare, it makes the listener wonder if his progressive use of stop-time was as intentional as it seems. The track "In A Mist" features him on piano, and his use of the timing method during this original composition doesn't sound the least bit amateur.

Beiderbecke was also, with no offense meant to him, not as naturally talented as Bechet or Satchmo. The latter two men are noted for how high a register they could push their respective cornets or trumpets during a solo. Beiderbecke's range wasn't nearly as broad, and he wisely chose not to pursue such highs. He made up for it with his creativity, working the middle ranges more for equal fanfare. It didn't lose him any respect, as Armstrong himself said: "Lots of cats tried to play like Bix. Ain't none of them play like him yet."

Unfortunately, it's easier to catch a new listener's ear with soaring highs than middle-of-the-road spunk. Therefore, the Armstrong or Bechet records we already looked at will be a better start for '20s-era jazz. Armstrong's signature vocals add more wood to the fire, for they're far more interesting than those of Paul Whiteman (an appropriate name), whose whitewashed vocals take away from Beiderbecke's feel during the non-instrumental tracks. Make sure you get around to this one at some point however.

INTERESTING FACT: Beiderbecke was born in Davenport, Iowa, where there are, appropriately, about a hundred things named after him. This may be a huge Google Maps error, but according to the site, the city misspelled his name "Biederbecke" on such things as a city park and a street name. I checked, and the name on his grave is indeed spelled "Beiderbecke." Davenport residents, let me know what's up.

"I'm Coming Virginia"

Sidney Bechet, "Ken Burns Jazz: Sidney Bechet"

Sidney Bechet
"Ken Burns Jazz: Sidney Bechet"
Legacy (2000)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

From a musical perspective, there are benefits to being in the 21st century. Namely, the internet and social networking make it possible for anyone with talent to find an audience, and theoretically, a career in music. The downside is that because of the same social networking, and the Wikiculture at large, much of the mystique behind such artists has disappeared. In the early part of the 20th century however, for every Louis Armstrong, an artist who would go down in history as one of the foremost faces of jazz, there were dozens of artists who will never be known by you or I because they never got the chance. Thanks to sharp writers like Tom Moon however, at least a few of these musicians will be remembered, including Sidney Bechet.

There are two features that define Bechet's career, and both are featured on this 20-track collection that correspond's with Ken Burns' documentary series on jazz music. The first and more positive quality associated with Bechet's music was his liberal use of vibrato.

Vibrato is a pulsating change in pitch, or, to put it simply: when a sound wave actually sounds like a wave, it's a case of vibrato. Bechet began his career as a clarinet player, but his proverbial day was made when he discovered a soprano saxophone while traveling abroad. The instrument, straight like the clarinet, unlike the typical "S" shape of a common tenor saxophone, not only aided Bechet in his vibrato-style, but allowed him to do it more loudly than on a clarinet. The best display of Bechet's loud and proud playing comes during "Characteristic Blues," where he opens with what a guitar player might call a "face-melting" solo, egged on by the catcalls of vocalist Billy Banks. Bechet follows up with a second, relatively milder solo at the outro, but the song's intro is a worthy summation of the saxophonist's style. Which brings us to the second quality of Bechet's musical personality, and the reason why you've never heard of him up until now.

Bechet was somewhat the Chad Ochocinco of jazz music. He was talented and stylistically flamboyant, but he didn't work well with others. If he wasn't the number one receiver, he didn't want to be any part of it. It's humorous to listen to "Texas Moaner Blues," a single he recorded alongside Louis Armstrong. No one, and I mean no one, got to play lead over Louis Armstrong. It seems they settled the argument by letting both men play lead melodies on their respective instruments, but Armstrong got to stand closer to the microphone. The result isn't a cacophony, but it's clear that heads are butting; all melody and almost no rhythm. Bechet earned the respect of his peers, but as a result of his contentious attitude (and several assault charges), Bechet never got the renown in the United States that the first true jazz saxophone soloist deserved. The good news is that Bechet became an icon in France, where he settled late in his career.

Most of the recordings on this compilation feature Bechet on the saxophone, but there are a few where he's still using the old clarinet (see his low-register solo at the end of "Mandy, Make Up Your Mind"). If you're interested in checking out the instrumental arrangements for any of the tracks here, or any track in Bechet's discography for that matter, www.sidneybechet.org has very detailed notes on his recording history that I found very helpful to follow along with.

Bechet was only the first of many jazz and bluesmen who have been largely swallowed up by history. Fortunately for us, Moon has done his homework, and we all benefit from it.

INTERESTING FACT: Bechet wasn't completely forgotten by Americans. Director Woody Allen is among the musician's biggest fans, frequently featuring Bechet's music in his soundtracks, and even named one of his children "Bechet."

Billy Bean, "The Trio Rediscovered"

Billy Bean
"The Trio Rediscovered"
Riverside (1961)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Tom Moon spends a good chunk of his entry on jazz guitarist Billy Bean by explaining the aura of mystery that surrounds him. He wasn't a legendary, Robert Johnson-esque character, but rather one of the thousands of musicians who turn up on an album before riding off into the sunset. "The Trio Rediscovered" wasn't Bean's only recording session, far from it, but it was his closest encounter with the limelight. Even so, finding this album can be a chore.

The first issue is finding an album titled "The Trio Rediscovered" listed under the name "Billy Bean." It doesn't exist. Moon listed the album under Bean's name because he chose the recording to highlight Bean's guitar playing, as opposed to the group as a whole. In fact, the band wasn't actually called "The Trio." It was actually "The Hal Gaylor Trio," but Riverside Records opted for the simpler and sexier "The Trio." Gaylor was the group's bassist, but unlike say, Charles Mingus, despite having his name on the band, he avoids solo passages (in fact, his playing is rather rough). Instead, Bean and pianist Walter Norris handle most of the fun stuff.

That's another issue if you're coming to "Rediscovered" after reading Moon's entry and expecting a headlining display from Bean. It would be a liberal estimate to suggest that he even gets a 50 percent share of the album time. Based on his discography alone, Bean never aspired to playing sold out shows and probably gave no complaint to Norris' more frequent soloing. Norris isn't bad, somewhat similar to the cool jazz style of Vince Guaraldi, but Moon is right; Bean should be the star.

Unfortunately, the opening (and shortest) track, "Motivation," is the only place on the album where the guitarist gets most of the attention. Although there is a brief piano solo, the extended opening and closing portions of the song are dedicated to his fretwork. Bean's style adheres to the qualities of many a classic jazz guitar. For one, his playing is smoother than a vanilla milkshake. Secondly, and more importantly, jazz guitar is almost a constant series of small improvisations, rather than being based on rhythm and riffs. Bean is a melody-minded person, and you can hear it in his playing. "Have You Met Miss Jones?" and "Porgy and Bess (Medley)" demonstrate his ability to jump around one theme without going off the deep end. For someone more familiar with rock music, you can compare Bean with the riff-work of someone like Stevie Ray Vaughn as a reference point.

"The Trio Rediscovered" is a fun album even if it doesn't allow all that much breathing room for Bean. The recording quality is questionable in a fun way (you can hear one of the musicians breathing deep and/or clearing his throat throughout) and it's just rare enough to make you hip for knowing about it.

INTERESTING FACT: Bean, being of such little renown, made for finding an interesting fact difficult. It is both unfortunate and interesting that Mr. Bean died earlier this month, Feb. 6 2012, of natural causes in his Philadelphia home at the age of 78.

"Groove Yard" (This was the only track available on YouTube. It'd be more worthwhile to download "Motivation" if you can)

Machito, "Kenya"

Machito
"Kenya"
Roulette Jazz (1957)
1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die

Between the posts on Ray Barretto and Batacumbele, Latin American jazz is a popular subject right now on the blog. Hope you're not tired of it yet, because here comes another Cuban classic: "Kenya" by Machito. Fortunately for you, this is simultaneously the jazziest and the most rhythm-centered album that we've looked at.

At first, it might be tough to understand what I mean by "rhythm-oriented." It's easy to look at acts like Barretto (who, as a conga player, was the leader and namesake of his band) and Batacumbele (whose sound was based primarily on the bata drum) and think that "Kenya" is hardly rhythm-oriented at all. There aren't the extended solos or elements of flair (with the exception of opener "Wild Jungle") that one would expect from a band that features two conga players, along with bongos and timbales. This album should serve as a reminder that rhythm wasn't created for the spotlight, however.

If there is any fault in this recording, it's that the brass section takes up too much space. The collection of saxophones (including those from guest stars like Cannonball Adderly), along with trumpets and trombones, cavort in fun call-and-response style interplay throughout, but they often create a distraction from the percussion section, which should be the main attraction. The drummers are steady in the background, laying the groundwork for the more glamorous horns.

There are some tracks, such as "Frenzy," where they continue at a blistering pace all the way through, and others like the title track, where they ease off the gas and provide a comfortable rhythm for a perfect mambo. However, no matter the tempo, the group doesn't waste time getting flashy. During "Frenzy," the horns drop out entirely, as if to expose the madness taking place away from the spotlight. The percussion players don't blink however, continuing at the same rapid clip that they had already established.

Just as the drummers are the true behind-the-scenes stars of "Kenya," Frank "Machito" Grillo hardly merits his name on the record. Mario Bauza serves as the music director and primary arranger here, although he doesn't play an instrument with the group. Only one of these tracks is a standard, which makes this album fairly unique within the genre. Grillo's role within the band was to provide vocals and play maracas, but the album is entirely instrumental and his maracas get lost within the cacophony of drums and horns, making his contributions moot.

I know that you've already had several similar groups thrown at you in recent weeks, but I implore you to give Machito (or his band at least) a fair shot. Of the previous Latin American jazz ensembles I've mentioned, this has by far been my favorite entry.

INTERESTING FACT: Grillo claims to have been born in Havana, however someone debunked that theory by providing a birth certificate from Tampa Bay. However, a different official birth certificate was also found in Havana. The case is either a very odd conspiracy, or a very strange coincidence that someone with the same first, last and middle name was born at nearly the same time.

(For a very different, more relaxed version of the group, try "Kenya")

Count Basie and His Orchestra, "The Complete Decca Recordings"

Count Basie and His Orchestra
"The Complete Decca Recordings"
Decca (2000)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You DIe

There are more than 100 entries for jazz musicians within 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. Some are displays of raw musical talent, others for surreal improvisational skills and some for dynamic duels between virtuosos. The Count Basie Orchestra does not, in my opinion, reach the great heights that other artists do for these categories. That is not to say he doesn't belong in this book. There is a great deal to learn from William "Count" Basie (and the group's then vocalist James Rushing) when it comes to charisma, and just how far that goes in music.

Basie served as the leader of the most well-known group in the big band craze of the swing movement (the "Decca" recordings were made between 1937-39). Like any conductor in an orchestra, Basie had a role to play, aside from simply appearing in the title role. As the pianist for the Orchestra, he set the tone and pace for the rest of the group. Did he have to pull off any Art Tatum-style solos to reel in listeners? No, and neither did Duke Ellington nor any other big band leader. Aside from his musical role, Basie had to serve as the friendly face of the group, a role tougher than it sounds, and a role he embraced effectively. He and Rushing were the two-faced charisma attack in the Count Basie Orchestra.

The portrait of Basie supplied by Moon is an accurate picture of Basie's character: constantly smiling. He and Rushing provide a grinning demeanor to each track. There is an almost audible smile on Rushing's face as he delivers the vocals during the album's non-instrumental tracks, giving songs like "Listen My Children and You Shall Hear" their friendly vibes. Even on the "sad" numbers, such as "Good Morning Blues," the listener can't help but grin. The narrative is a sad one, but Rushing's tone is an optimistic one. Basie's jaunty playing keeps that upbeat feeling flowing in the instrumentals as well.

Basie's charisma kept his Orchestra relevant and recording up to his death in 1984 (the Orchestra still exists to this day under the same name). After big band-style jazz fell out of favor in the wake of bop during the '50s, Basie's connections with big names helped keep swing alive as the soundtrack for popular non-jazz artists. Basie and his Orchestra recorded with Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet among others. Basie merited such respect from Sinatra that he appeared with the vocalist on the album art for "Sinatra-Basie" and "It Might As Well Be Swing" despite Reprise's misgivings.

There aren't any fiery solos on "The Complete Decca Recordings," and the group also suffered from the similarity amongst its swing numbers (a problem amplified by the 63 tracks present on this compilation). That being said, at least give the first disc of this set a listen. Especially if you're in a bad mood and need a pick-me-up, because Basie's smile is contagious.

INTERESTING FACT: Growing up in Red Bank, NJ, Basie actually preferred drums over the piano. However, the skills of fellow Red Bank-ian Sonny Greer led Basie to abandon the instrument. Greer would later go on to drum with Duke Ellington for 32 years. Everyone wins in the end.

Chet Baker, "Let's Get Lost: The Best of Chet Baker Sings"

Chet Baker
"Let's Get Lost: The Best of Chet Baker Sings"
Pacific Jazz (1989)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

There is a standard for singing standards that society has come to accept. Take a guy with a smooth voice, give him a backing band that fades away behind his voice , and let him do his thing with the classic songs of yesteryear. It's worked for Tony Bennet, Harry Connick Jr. and, as we've already seen, Fred Astaire. To the casual listener, the vocal work of Chet Baker on "Let's Get Lost" seems to work with the same formula. There are two major ways Baker doesn't fit the mold however.

The first is more obvious; Baker's vocal ability is far from excellent. In fact, it's rather plebeian. Baker's voice is as smooth as any, but his overly syllabic delivery is surprisingly un-melodic for a guy who made a name for himself popularizing "cool jazz." Moon sells Baker's questionable vocals as appealing in how down-to-earth they are. It's halfway true. As a regular joe, it's easier to sympathize with Baker's unconfident delivery than say, Count Basie's. It's ultimately a question of what you're into as a listener.

Baker was not signed to any label because of his voice of course. He was renowned not only for his smooth trumpet playing but also for his good looks and well known heroin addiction. He was somewhat the opposite of James Dean. Rather than a clean cut young man playing a bad boy, he was a bad boy playing a clean cut young man. Regardless, it generated sales, much like an album of Lil Wayne playing guitar. No matter how good it was, people will buy (This is not to say Baker was bad. Draw your own conclusion).

The real highlight of this collection of course is his trumpet playing, the second major difference from your average cluster of standards. Again, a casual listener might not pay too much attention to the instrumental solos that are typically left out of standards. Baker takes one or two trumpet solos during each track to deliver his trademark smooth playing.

"Cool jazz" served as the opposite to the relatively aggressive bop and hard bop that were also popular during the '50s. Scorching solos were scaled back into polished, relaxed affairs. This generally meant that the most talented artists played bop, but players like Baker, who could keep things lively and at ease simultaneously, made the subgenre worth hearing. Other typical features present on this collection and in smooth jazz include gentle pianos and percussion dominated by cymbal washes. Think of Vince Guaraldi's work for "A Charlie Brown Christmas" for a dead-on example.

Baker ended up being another lost cause to heroin; "a musician's favorite murderer." He had his mouth mangled during a drug deal gone bad, and was unable to play the trumpet again, and he switched to the less enjoyable but more manageable flugelhorn (by then he had pawned most of his instruments for drug money anyway). He died in 1988 of an overdose. It's nice to listen to albums like "Let's Get Lost" and forget for a while that he wasn't so different from us when it counted.

INTERESTING FACT: Is it July 2 and are you in Oklahoma? Then why aren't you celebrating Chet Baker Day?

Keith Jarrett, "The Köln Concert"

Keith Jarrett
"The Köln Concert"
ECM (1975)
1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die + 1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

A frequent theme found in great recordings is that the artists themselves don't enjoy the results whatsoever. Such is the case with jazz pianist Keith Jarrett and the recording of his live performance in Cologne, Germany, "The Köln Concert." The event was shoddily organized, and as a result, the piano requested by Jarrett did not arrive, and he was forced to make do with a smaller grand piano. Something must have clicked, because the resulting recording would become the best-selling solo jazz album of all time and even more impressively, the best-selling piano recording ever, with more than 3.5 million units moved to date.

The fact that the concert happened at all is wonder enough. Jarrett is notoriously irritable before and during a live performance, and a piano with incorrect specifications is far from the most minor thing to have driven him from the stage. The fact is somewhat ironic, considering that Jarrett is most renowned for his improvisatory ability (prior to touring solo as a pianist, he was a member of Miles Davis' group). His solo concerts involve Jarrett sitting down and playing from scratch, supposedly without any forethought and certainly without any precomposed starting points. One would think a change of plan on the piano would excite an improviser of Jarrett's status.

The performance is broken up into three parts (the album, four) and light observation provides a look into how a musician drafts an hourlong improvisation session. "Part I" is 26 minutes in length, and starts gently and features noticeable pauses between lines of playing. It seems that Jarrett is conscientiously thinking about where he's going to go next. Purists might suggest that the best improv has no room for thought, merely instinct, but the pauses are at longest around 2 seconds. Eight minutes in, Jarrett is rolling comfortably and punctuates his ease with vocal whoops, indicating that he's past thinking and simply feeling his work.

"Part II A" enters at quicker, yet still relaxed clip, with less time for pause. "Part II B" begins a new track 15 minutes later, which is appropriate because the mood has shifted. Jarrett rides a F# minor vamp for six minutes, creating a less upbeat feel than the prior half. Jarrett concludes the show with his first precomposed piece of the night, a play off of his own tune, "Memories of Tomorrow," as an encore (The album lists this as "Part II C," but it actually exists separately).

One thing to realize before listening to this record is that Jarrett does not fill the role of a "jazz pianist" in the more obvious way that an Art Tatum might. Many simply associate a jazz pianist as a player who just happens to have backing brass. Whereas Jarrett is playing alone, and muddying the water more is his history both writing and playing classical compositions. He understands the different moods for the different classifications; The minor-key intro to "Part II B" comes with feel that sympathizes with classical. What's the trick for identifying his performance as jazz then?

The improvisation is the obvious indicator. Classical historically has little wiggle room, whereas jazz is historically built on it. More technically, Jarrett uses melodic counterlines with his left hand, emulating the walking style of an upright bass, rather than laying solid chords. The melody on the right also possesses a tone more "jangly" (a term commonly used in jazz) than that of a typical classical performance. However, Jarrett's biggest complaint about the recording was his disapproval of the bright tone. The smaller grand he played was closer to a stand-up piano in nature than the grand he requested, resulting in more jangle, as with classic boogie-woogie recordings that employed such pianos. The results may have been bereft of the tone otherwise, although Jarrett's staccato would still have made it brighter than the tone of typical classical.

In the end, we got we got, and all was well. Those interested in hearing what Jarrett truly wanted can check out his performance on another live disc, "Solo Concerts: Bremen/Lausanne." Odds are that the roadblock provided by the concert hall offhandedly propelled the natural improviser in Jarrett to greater heights.

INTERESTING FACT: Back to Jarrett being irritable. Jarrett is known to stop live performances because of background noise, as incidental as coughing. Therefore he has taken to providing venues with cough drops before winter shows to distribute at the doors.

"Part II B"

Albert Ayler, "Spiritual Unity"

Albert Ayler
"Spiritual Unity"
ESP (1965)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Albert Ayler is the fourth free jazz musician mentioned in the “A” chapter of 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. As my previous entries on Muhal Richard Abrams and Air drew complaints about the definition of “free” jazz, let’s make sure we know what we’re talking about before we look at Ayler’s “Spiritual Unity.” The major complaint was that the songs by the previous artists featured opened with clearly organized themes. This is true, but the bridge is more relevant: Every musician is improvising on their respective instruments. When every member is improvising, it’s free jazz. Simple as that. The amount of melody or harmony is irrelevant.

Just as Abrams and especially Air opened with organized themes, the Albert Ayler trio opens its songs the same way. “Spiritual Unity” has only four tracks, two of which are versions of Ayler’s most renowned tune, “Ghosts.” The album opener is “First Variation” of “Ghosts,” and the closing track is “Second Variation.” The two are nearly 90 percent different. Even the opening riff is played with a different tone between the two songs. The bridges allow Ayler, bassist Gary Peacock and drummer Sunny Murray to individualize to the utmost degree.

Even more unique than the “Ghosts” from each other is Ayler’s style of saxophone playing. Ayler used thick reeds (or mouthpieces) to create a “dirtier” timbre than that of cleaner players like Branford Marsalis. Ayler’s use of vibrato (a pulse of pitch change) adds to the rough feel. Ayler changes pitch both quickly and dramatically, making it even more striking. At times, he blares abrasive single notes that sound, with respect, like the braying of a donkey. The abrasiveness of Ayler’s style and tone might make this a little tougher to listen to than artists with a cleaner sound, but for those looking for a distinct sound will be pleased.

Despite the similar song titles (“Ghosts,” “The Wizard” and “Spirits”), there isn’t an overriding theme. Ayler plays in a more subdued manner on “Spirits,” and Murray’s offbeat rhythms on the cymbals illustrate a feeling of poltergeists in the house.

Ayler’s style would earn him a fan in John Coltrane, but his unique sound never caught the same adoration from a widespread audience. It’s about time that he started getting some.

INTERESTING FACT: Ayler committed suicide by drowning in 1970 in New York City. It is believed that he jumped overboard on a ferry to Liberty Island, but Ayler’s body was not found until 20 days later in the East River. The mystery behind his death led to a cult fascination, literally and figuratively. Some propose that he was possessed by tormented spirits, which also inspired his many songs named after occult-based creatures.

"Ghosts: First Variation"

Louis Armstrong, "The Complete Hot Fives and Hot Sevens"

Louis Armstrong
"The Complete Hot Fives and Hot Sevens"
Sony Legacy (2001)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

The second annoying tendency that Moon has, aside from listing singular songs as one of his thousand choices, is to list overwhelming compilation albums as single entries when an artist’s influence is of extraordinary magnitude. Such is the case for Louis Armstrong, one of the most significant musicians in American history. “The Complete Hot Fives and Hot Sevens” features 88 tracks on four discs, highlighting Armstrong’s time with not just the Hot Five and Hot Seven, but also a half-dozen other groups during the same time period. I warn that listening to this in one sitting is tough, and probably detrimental to the listener’s ability to focus on nuances.

Armstrong was a game changer in more than just his talent on the trumpet and cornet. He was one of the most talented performers of his day, showing significant talent when performing solo passages. The existence of solo passages is also largely thanks to him; prior to his rise, the tendency was for all band members to improvise slightly along with the rest of the band, but Armstrong revolutionized the concept of the band leader taking isolated solos. Every one of these 88 tracks features a passage from the “Satchel Mouth.” He shared the wealth; other performers got their own solos, but none got time on every track like Armstrong.

Ironically, Armstrong is probably less recognized for his contributions to jazz music than for his distinct, deep and gravelly tenor. His biggest hit, “What a Wonderful World” (not in this collection) rings most with listeners. Aside from the unique vocal style, Armstrong also helped to popularize scat singing, a technique used frequently on this collection.

To make things easier, I’m going to approach each of the four discs in this set individually.

Disc one marks much of Armstrong’s time with his Hot Five, which consisted of himself, a trombonist, clarinetist, banjo/guitar player and his wife Lil playing the piano. This album suffers from the worst audio quality of the bunch, but the best parts of Armstrong’s repertoire are still evident. A transplant from New Orleans in Chicago, volume one features the raucous Mardi Gras parade-style tracks that were common of Armstrong’s groups, as highlighted in tracks like “Muskrat Ramble.” “Heebie Jeebies” was the first recording to feature Armstrong doing his signature scat singing.

Disc two would be my recommendation if you were to only listen to one volume. It features the same New Orleans feel as his earlier work (as evidenced by “Alligator Crawl”) but gets an additional boost from two extra musicians (hence becoming the Hot Seven). A drummer fills the obvious spot missing from disc one, and a tuba player contributes to the parade feel with some appropriate “oom-pah.” What many critics say is the highlight of Armstrong’s career is his solo during “Potato Head Blues,” an extended stop-time style affair that waves off the previously established time signature throughout its performance.

Disc three features much cleaner recordings, but in terms of track selection, doesn’t do much to further itself from disc two. Most notable are the improved piano parts, as featured on tracks like “Fireworks” and “Skip The Gutter,” from new pianist Earl Hines. Armstrong obviously had a bias toward his wife, but got his head straight and brought in Hines, who provides much more exciting solo passages.

Disc four is the one I’d most recommend skipping, because it simply doesn’t have the same ebullience from Armstrong as the first three. Whereas on the other discs, when Armstrong played the “blues,” the music still had a lively New Orleans vibe, the bandleader is more mellow on this disc, as highlighted on tracks like “(What did I do to be so) Black and Blue?” and the music is also less exciting.

Regardless of which disc sounds best for you, if you’re going to listen to Armstrong, I suggest you try out something from this time period. A critical complaint about Armstrong (that I agree with) is that he never demonstrated interest in experimenting with his original sound very much. Therefore, his best stuff is right here, fresh and energetic.

INTERESTING FACT: Armstrong wrote that he began scatting on “Heebie Jeebies” because he knocked the lyric sheet to the ground while he was playing, and therefore had to improvise something to fill the space. Armstrong was known to weave tall tales about his early days, but this is one legend that may just be true.

"Potato Head Blues"

Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis, "The First Day"

Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis
"The First Day"
Blue Note (1939)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

After John Hammond’s “Spirituals to Swing” concert at Carnegie Hall in 1938, the blues/jazz movement of boogie-woogie piano playing proved to be more than just a dancehall craze, but a genre that could appeal to the aristocracy as well. Two of the stars of the show, Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis, are good examples of the sophisticated side of boogie-woogie.

The performances of the duo so impressed producer Paul Lion that he started a record label to put out their music. Odds are, based on the label’s eventual success, he had plans to start Blue Note Records anyway, but Ammons and Lewis got the ball rolling. As the track “Changes in Boogie Woogie” indicates, “The First Day” was not to be like the boogie-woogie records of old.

The key difference is in a term that Moon uses frequently: “relaxed.” Prominent jazz pianists of the era, especially in the boogie-woogie scene, liked to play at ridiculously fast rates, almost the thrash metal of its day. But Ammons, and especially Lewis, were far from the machine-gun playing of Art Tatum. The mood is set early, with the first four parts of Lewis’s “The Blues” series (The 18 track album is comprised of eight solos by Lewis, nine by Ammons and two dual pieces, grouped together under the title “Nagasaki”).

Lewis is the quintessential relaxed piano player. As the title of his five-part “The Blues” series suggests, he leans towards the feel of the sad man’s song. His playing is far from mournful, but the easygoing 4/4 time is a great soundtrack for an optimistic man down on his luck.

Ammons is a long way from the slow pace of his friend Lewis, but his music is almost as relaxed, even if deceptively so. He tends towards more traditional boogie-woogie fare, such as the appropriately titled “Boogie Woogie Blues” and the equally jumpy “Bass Goin’ Crazy.” These songs are fast and fun, but Ammons’s playing is plenty relaxed, not the coming-off-the-rails feel of Tatum’s recordings, despite the speed.

Perhaps the only disappointment on this album is the lack of “dueling pianos.” Boogie-woogie was a movement that invited two, and sometimes even three pianos to tackle songs at once. Only “Nagasaki” features both pianists playing off of each other in by-far the album’s liveliest track. It would’ve been nice to see more of the duo’s interplay, but “The First Day” is still a fun and easygoing album.

INTERESTING FACT: The "Spirituals to Swing" show was a big deal, but not the biggest in Ammons's career. He played the inauguration of Harry Truman in 1948.

Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, "Whipped Cream and Other Delights"

Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass
"Whipped Cream and Other Delights"
A&M (1965)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass were unusual in that its sound didn’t actually define the musical landscape of the ‘60s, but actually the television landscape. Whether the listener knows who made the music, it is instantly recognizable. Alpert’s music came to represent the most deliciously cheesy (said in the most complimentary way possible) aspects of the decade, most notably “A Taste of Honey,” which was used as theme music on “The Dating Game.”

What makes Albert’s crew so popular if not renowned for its artistic merits is that it was essentially a glorified mariachi band. Those who find “Whipped Cream” evokes feelings of Mexico aren’t wrong, but the themes are actually toned down from Alpert’s previous albums, which included the telling title “South of The Border.” Regardless of the new band (this was the first album featuring the Brass), the mariachi feel was still there thanks to the dual-trumpet approach (Alpert and Tonni Kanash both played). Like two guitars in metal, twin trumpets provide more volume and a heavier tone than one.

The band might not be the most talented group, but they play Alpert’s adaptations of pop standards cleanly and with precision. Those two factors don’t always earn credit from pretentious critics such as myself, but it’s foolish to call the group talentless. Plus, look carefully and you’ll see that pianist Russell Bridges would later change his name to Leon Russell. Russell put out an amazing album with Elton John in 2010 and earned entry into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame.

If the listener can come to appreciate this collection of food-titled tracks, the controversy begins when classifying it. Tom Moon puts it under “pop,” and I disagree. True, Alpert (also an A&M executive) was aiming at a pop audience with this album (and it topped the Billboard charts for eight weeks), but I find his choice of instrumentation makes this a jazz album. As I mentioned, this isn’t the Miles Davis Quartet, but that doesn’t stop it from being jazz. Buckcherry might be much less sophisticated than REM, but that doesn’t mean it’s not rock music.

Between the uplifting, made-for-TV tracks like “Whipped Cream” and the slower sambas like “Tangerine,” the longest track is barely more than three minutes, and the album is less than 30 minutes. It’s light stuff, and like its subject matter, easily digestible.

INTERESTING FACT: The model on the famed album art isn’t actually covered in whipped cream. Due to how easily the confection melted under the studio lights, photographers coated her in shaving cream instead.

Air, "Air Lore"

Air
"Air Lore"
Arista Novus (1979)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

The last time I made a post on a free jazz album (“Blu Blu Blu” by the Muhal Richard Abrams Orchestra), an angry commenter lambasted me for referring to the work of Abrams as “free,” because Abrams was actually a “wonderful composer.” The commenter was correct; Abrams was a wonderful composer. But that doesn’t stop him from being a “free jazz” artist too. “Air Lore” is another album that demonstrates just how based in structure free jazz can be.

Air was a band formed with the intention of there being an initial composition. Henry Threadgill, a Chicago saxophonist and member of Abrams’ Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, had been asked by Columbia University of Chicago to reinterpret the work of ragtime composer Scott Joplin. Threadgill teamed up with drummer Steve McCall and bassist Fred Hopkins, and as was to be expected from a trio of highly talented Chicago players, the results were far from a simple rag.

“Air Lore” is a compilation of “covers” of Joplin and fellow ragtime legend Jelly Roll Morton. Several of the tracks begin almost exactly as the original pieces would have (with minor instrumental differences; both Joplin and Morton were piano players. Air did not feature piano), with the artists breaking into free jazz several minutes into the song. And when the band does get into the improvisational extremes that freedom brings, it can still be hard to tell. Threadgill tears off on an alto-sax solo, and it seems to the untrained ear that the other band members fall into line with him. Listen carefully, and you’ll hear that McCall plays with a great deal more flourish than a drummer simply adding rhythm to a virtuoso’s showcase.

Both McCall and Hopkins get their own solo passages, with Hopkins’ being especially obvious because the other members stop playing altogether so that the bassist’s work doesn’t get lost. McCall's nearly-three minute solo introducing "Weeping Willow Rag" is head-whirling, and reminds me of something that Slipknot drummer Joey Jordison might try to do, granted he had more snare on his set.

Many new jazz listeners shake their heads the first time they hear free jazz music, but Air doesn’t sound nearly as mind boggling as “Blu Blu Blu” does. So is it really that free? Yes. It’s not as hard to follow the rhythms of Air, but realize that when they go on seven-minute improvisational tears during what were originally three-to-four-minute songs, they wing it. The solos aren’t based on the standard structure or riffs of the verses, as would be the case for bridges in genres such as bop or hard bop. Thanks to the skillful leadership of Threadgill, the trio always finds its way back to the original riff however to wrap the song up.

The only song that is in the same free jazz style as “Blu Blu Blu” is “Paille Street,” the only original on the album, written by Threadgill. But the fact that the group is starting with structured rag from Joplin and Morton doesn’t make the final product any less free. Allmusic reviewer Thom Jurek said in a positive way that “Air Lore” “didn’t update the old music” but I would argue the opposite. “Air Lore” took classic standards and submitted them to the new standard: freedom.

INTERESTING FACT: “Buddy Bolden’s Blues” is a track named for New Orleans cornet player Buddy Bolden. Bolden has originally written the song under the name “Funky Butt,” but Morton’s new title stuck. Funky Butt became the name of a prestigious jazz bar in New Orleans, but it was forced to close after Hurricane Katrina.

"Weeping Willow Rag" (This song is one where the band DOESN'T start off with the original riff, but they get there once McCall is done with his three-minute solo).

Cannonball Adderley, "The Cannonball Adderley Quintet at The Lighthouse"

Cannonball Adderly
"The Cannonball Adderly Quintet at The Lighthouse"
Riverside (1960)
1,000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Tom Moon dedicates most of his entry on the Cannonball Adderley Quintet to its notable feature: happiness. It’s tough to miss, between Cannonball’s preferred alto sax, his brother Nat’s cornet, and the styling of pianist Victor Feldman. Both of the Adderlys deliver quick, punchy solos while Feldman sounds like a British counterpart to Vince Guaraldi (of “Peanuts” TV-specials fame).

What Moon doesn’t emphasize enough in my opinion is how happy Cannonball the man is, regardless of his playing-style. Big-name jazz artists of that era were rarely the most cheerful of guys; Miles Davis (for whom Cannonball once played) was notoriously brisk, and John Coltrane was pragmatic at best, but Adderley is out and out having a blast. You can hear it in his playing, you can hear it in his bemused tone as he introduces each song, and you can hear it as he vocally urges his fellow band members along during solo passages.

The prevalence of solo passages isn’t unusual for bop, but the variety in who takes them is a quality generally advanced by hard bop. The Adderleys take their fair share but the time given to Feldman is surprising considering that Cannonball’s name is the one in the title. Bassist Sam Jones and drummer Louis Hayes get their turns, particularly in “Our Delight” and “Sack O’ Woe” (which is ironically un-woeful).

One interesting point that Moon either didn’t mention or failed to catch was the irony in the locale where this album was recorded. The Lighthouse Club in Hermosa Beach, Calif., was a prominent jazz venue on the West Coast, where “cool jazz” was king. Cool jazz was more easygoing next to the bop and hard bop popular in New York City, but Adderly showed just how relaxed Easterners could be, even at bop’s heightened pace.

Adderley makes a great introduction to jazz for nearly anyone. His style isn’t the most whitewashed of stuff, but his friendly introductions walk the audience through each track, and his happy demeanor will keep your mood high, even through some truly blistering bop.

INTERESTING FACT: The Lighthouse Club, now called the Lighthouse Café, was a hotspot for live jazz recordings. Aside from the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, nine other live albums were recorded there.

Muhal Richard Abrams Orchestra: "Blu Blu Blu"

The Muhal Richard Abrams Orchestra
"Blu Blu Blu"
Black Saint (1991)
1,000 Albums To Hear Before You Die

I love Muhal Richard Abrams. I should give you some background why.

There were two significant eras of jazz in Chicago. The first was the popularization of jazz itself, thanks to Louie Armstrong and Bix Beiderbecke. The second is that of Chicago free jazz. Abrams was instrumental in the promotion of free jazz in Chicago, not only in his playing but in his co-founding of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, an organization that fostered free jazz in Chicago, and led to the formation of groups such as the Art Ensemble of Chicago. Free jazz isn’t easily defined because it merely writes off the rules set in bop and modal jazz. If you think that equates to chaos, you’d better listen closer.

I like to think of the tracks on “Blu Blu Blu” as similar to the orbits of the planets. Rarely do the planets (or in this case, the instruments) align into anything that’s beautiful to the naked eye, but when one steps back and look at the big picture; all of the planets are traveling around the sun, albeit at their own pace; then the listener can understand how each instrument is centered around something, no matter how much the opposite seems to be true. It’s organized chaos.

“Blu Blu Blu” consists of eight tracks composed by Abrams, but as is the case in most jazz albums, improvisation moves in. This is especially expected on a free jazz record. Trumpeter Jack Walrath and flautist John Purcell earn special recognition.

Abrams manages to tie history to his new wave of jazz however. Especially noteworthy is David Fiuzynski’s guitar on the track “Blu Blu Blu,” an ode to Muddy Waters. The guitar says blues and the band says jazz, but the two walk hand in hand, indicating the close ties shared by the seemingly opposite genres.

This album is a tough listen for those just adjusting to jazz. But then again, maybe the jazz usually played on the radio is just too blah for you. In that case, Abrams is a great place to start.

INTERESTING FACT: Abrams, after moving to New York City, got a professorship teaching jazz composition and theory at Columbia University. Guess experience does add up after all.