Sunday, July 31, 2016

Generations of Jazz – Watching and Learning [From the Archives]


© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“Passing the baton” in Jazz is a recurring theme in the history of the music.

There are aspects about it that can’t be formally taught so they must be informally learned, in many cases, through observation.

Whether it’s King Oliver shepherding the gang of youngsters from Austin High closer to the bandstand at Chicago’s Lincoln Gardens so that they could more closely watch the music being made, or alto saxophonist Bud Shank holding forth at the back of The Lighthouse, a Jazz club in Hermosa Beach, CA, demonstrating reeds and mouthpieces to a group of admiring, teenage disciples, or Joe Morello bewildering a coterie of young drummers with a dazzling display of technique between sets with Marian McPartland’s trio at the Hickory House in NYC, the “old guys” help the “young guys” learn the music.

These shared gifts of knowledge and technique help The Tradition that is Jazz, grow and develop.

The late, bassist Ray Brown was particularly keen on helping to “pass-the-torch.” As I once heard him put it: “When you get off the train from Pittsburgh in New York City in the morning and you are working with Dizzy Gillespie’s big band that night, you gotta do what you can to make it happen for other cats. Not everyone is that lucky”

Among his many accomplishments, Ray fronted his own trios during the last two decades of his illustrious Jazz career in which he nurtured the likes of drummers Jeff Hamilton and Gregory Hutchinson and pianists such as Benny Green and Geoff Keezer.

To keep expenses down and their own revenue up, Ray and Jeff would make a swing of Europe as a duo. Contractors would then pair them with local young musicians such as British trombonist Mark Nightingale, Italian Jazz pianist Dado Moroni and Swedish guitarist Ulf Wakenius.

In club dates and the concert stages of the summer Jazz festival season, European audiences would get to hear their favorites performing with “the big guys” from the States.

On one such occasion in 1993, Stephen Meyner, owner-operator of Minor Music, produced a recording session with Ray and Jeff that featured three, young German musicians: Till Bronner on trumpet, Gregoire Peters on alto and baritone saxophones and Frank Chastenier on piano.

The results of these recording sessions which took place on May 1st and 2nd, 1993 in CologneGermany can be heard on a Minor Music CD which is aptly named – Generations of Jazz [MM 801037].

Jazz pianist Walter Norris points out the benefits of such a generational and international blending of Jazz musicians in the following insert notes to the recording.

© -Walter Norris/Minor Music, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“GENERATIONS OF JAZZ gives the listener a cohesion, found not only in the musician's performance but a cohesion of music existing in each musician's generation. Music that survives as art has this cohesive quality, yet, there must also be a "spirit of musical joy" and this joy combined with musical cohesiveness is heard throughout all these omnigenous titles.

The opening blues [Dejection Blues], their first playing together, was recorded in one-take and this "good omen" continued for the entire session. Ray Brown, the most recorded bassist in jazz and recognized as a master for his outstanding contributions with Oscar Peterson's trio, has perhaps formed an alliance with the musically compatible Jeff Hamilton, Peterson's percussionist, as they have become renown for their ability to energize, as a rhythm section, any assembled group regardless of instrumentation. It's touching hearing them project their warmth and affection.

Their example should be followed more... where the older, more experienced, give of themselves musically in order to bring out and mature the better qualities of a younger generation. Here, these better qualities, resulting from hard but gratifying work, sound surprisingly mature.

Frank Chastenier studied with the late Francis Coppieters, to whom his composition [This One’s For Francis] is dedicated. Gregoire Peters studied woodwinds with Allan Praskin and Heinz vonn Harmann. Till, whose talents extend to piano and drums, studied trumpet with Ack van Rooyen, Bobby Shew, Derek Watkins and Chuck Findley.

I remember hearing Gregoire when he was sixteen. Till, I believe was sixteen and Frank about eighteen when they entered the Bundesjazzorchestra - seminars led by Peter Herbolzheimer and it has been most rewarding for me to watch them grow and develop musically.

Although this is the group's first recorded effort, other recordings will surely follow for these young musicians will continue and survive this most difficult profession. Frank is contracted with the WDR Radio in addition to a teaching position at Hochschule-Cologne and Till and Gregoire are members of the RIAS Radio Orchestra.

All titles are cleverly arranged, the improvisations and original compositions are truly effervescent, yet, there's a seasoned maturity that will impress any connoisseur. Of course, this music is traditional but one is aware that phrases have been reshaped and molded which is reason to rejoice since, historically, music has always been traditional and changed only through a process where individuals mold and reshape harmony, form and phrasing. It's refreshing to hear the 'torch of music'' carried on by a new generation

Walter Norris

Guest Professor Piano Improvisation
Hochschule der KusteBerlin

Dejection Blues forms the audio track to the following video montage having to do with paintings, illustrations and photographs, all of which were loosely gathered to fit the stated theme of the music.

I think that you’ll feel anything but dejected after listening to Till, Gregoire, Frank, Ray and Jazz make Jazz together. “Elation” may be more like it.



Saturday, July 30, 2016

Charlie Barnet - Big Band Fun [From the Archives]

© -  Steven A. Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Charlie Barnet (1913-91)
TENOR, ALTO AND SOPRANO SAXOPHONES
Born into a wealthy New York family, Barnet took up playing sax and was at work in Harlem - where he broke the colour bar- and everywhere in the city by the mid-'jos. But his band struggled until 1939, when he began making records for Bluebird, and broke big. He kept on through the '40s but disliked the way big-band music was going and quit bandleading in 1949, going into hotel management and leading groups only when he pleased, in the 50s, '60s and 70s. As an alto and soprano player, he idolized Johnny Hodges, He was married more times than even Dinah Washington.


***(*) The Capitol Big Band Sessions [Capitol 21258-2]


This was Barnet's 'bebop' band. He knew he couldn't play the new jazz and that he didn't really want that kind of band, but he was shrewd enough to hire players who were adept enough to handle a really tough score such as Cu-ba, the sort of thing that was coming out of Dizzy Gillespie's book. Arrangers such as Manny Albam and Pete Rugolo posed plenty of challenges for the band, and here and there are pieces which pointed the Barnet men in the direction of Stan Kenton, which was the last thing their leader wanted. After he famously broke the band up in 1949, there came a new version, which cut the last four 1950 tracks here, with strings added. This is little-known jazz and it's a welcome addition to Barnet's CD showing, even if much of it is atypical of his best work.
- Richard Cook and Brian Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.


"It is a tragedy of our civilization that the presence of (some superb) Negro musicians has kept sponsors of commercial radio programs away from Barnet's door, and has closed swank hotels and certain big-time theater engagements to the band."  … Harlem flocked in record numbers to hear this band...He is doing a lot to break down racial prejudice. It's the same with his music. He plays only what he likes and the standard of popular music is improved thereby."
- Les Zimmerman, in a 1943 Metronome Magazine profile


Dave Pell is a tenor saxophonist, long time member of the Les Brown’s “Band of Renown,” leader of his own octet, record producer, photographer and occasional member of the sax section of various versions of the Charlie Barnet Big Band.


I remember asking him once why Charlie is not mentioned with the same reverie that musicians who were on the Kenton, Herman, and Brown band’s reserve for Stan, Woody and Les, respectively.


He said: “That’s because they were totally different experiences, musically, I mean.”


Although, I wasn’t familiar enough with Charlie Barnet’s music to understand the distinction that Dave was making and there wasn’t an opportunity for him to elaborate on his remark at the time, I made a note of it in one of the small spiral bound notebooks the I always carry in my hip pocket as a hedge against the increasing encroachment of “senior moments.”


I came across that dog-eared notebook recently, and finding Dave’s remark set me off on a quest for an explanation as to what it meant. I guess I could have called him and asked him - he’s a really nice man - but I wanted to do some research and see what answers might come up.


Besides, I thought it would make a fun blog feature to do it this way.


When it comes to the history of Jazz Big Bands, Gunther Schuller, George Simon and Loren Schoenberg are pretty hip guys and as you will no doubt note, each gives a slightly similar and yet distinctive explanation as to what made Charlie Barnet’s band “different,” “musically,” that is.


Let’s start with - when it comes to big bands - the always enthusiastic, George Simon and these excerpts from his classic book on the subject - The Big Bands, 4th Edition.


"The band business was a romping, stomping thing, and everybody was swinging, and I can't help but think back to the group of boys in the band— it was a happy band, and even with the one-nighters it was a ball."


For Charlie Barnet and the many fine musicians who played in his ever-swinging outfit, the big band days must indeed have been a ball. For Charlie was the kind of a guy who believed in a good time — not only for himself, but also for all those around him. He and his cohorts projected a happy, carefree, swinging feeling both in their music and very often in their attitude toward life. They were disciplined in their playing, for Charlie always respected music, and they took their task seriously. But take themselves seriously —no! This was a band that reflected the wonderful ad-lib spontaneity that characterizes jazz. Its music always had a beat. And, like its leader and many of his sidemen, it was always, but always colorful.


Barnet was a handsome, Hollywood-hero sort of man—in fact, at one time he tried making it as a movie actor, appearing in two films, Irene and Mary and Love and Hisses. But his heart wasn't in acting, for it always remained so very much in jazz.

As a kid he revolted toward jazz. His family wanted him to study piano. He wanted to play drums, so he began banging on his mother's hat boxes and sundry pots and pans, probably expensive paraphernalia too, because his was a wealthy family. His mother's father, Charles Daly, had been the first vice-president of the New York Central Railroad, and Charlie's parents had all sorts of "respectable plans" for their son. They sent him to Rumsey Hall and Blair Academy, two very respectable boarding schools, and he was enrolled at Yale. But this wasn't for Charlie. By the time he should have been preparing for his freshman midterms at Yale, he was in the South, blowing his wild tenor sax in various local outfits.


Admittedly Barnet's style was influenced greatly by that of Coleman Hawkins. When Charlie was twelve his family gave him a C-melody sax, which is a cross between an alto and tenor. "I learned to play hot by fooling around with the Victrola," he recently told writer George Hoefer. "I was nuts about the Fletcher Henderson band, and when I heard Hawkins play, I just naturally switched to the tenor." Later, when he heard Duke Ellington’s Johnny Hodges play alto and soprano sax, he just naturally switched to those horns too.


Ellington's band had a profound effect on Barnet, and when, after having fronted a fairly commercial outfit for several years, Charlie decided to cash in on the big swing-band craze, he patterned his arrangements after those of the Duke. As I noted in an August, 1939, review of his band (headed "Barnet's—Blackest White Band of All!"), he and his musicians made no attempt to hide the fact "that they're aping Duke Ellington, copying many of his arrangements, adapting standards and some pops to his style, using his sax-section setup of two altos, tenor, and baritone and his growling trumpets and trombones." So dedicated was Barnet to the Duke that, it has been noted, when he built a fallout shelter after the war, he stocked it with a superb collection of Ellington recordings.


Charlie's first important band, formed as early as 1933, featured some unusually good and even advanced arrangements written by two of his trumpeters, Eddie Sauter and Tutti Camarata. The third trumpeter was Chris Griffin, who a couple of years later became a mainstay of the Goodman section that also included Harry James and Ziggy Elman. For a singer, Barnet used, believe it or not, Harry Von Zell, later to become a famous radio announcer.


Barnet also sang, and sang well too. His voice was rather nasal, but he had a good beat and a good sense of phrasing, and in later years I often wondered why he didn't sing more. Of course he featured his tenor sax a great deal— an exciting, booting, extremely rhythmic horn. He could also play very soulfully too, as he proved on several Columbia sides he made in 1934 with an all-star group led by Red Norvo. Two of these, "I Surrender, Dear" and "The Night Is Blue," are highly recommended, not only for Norvo and Barnet, but also for three then-obscure recording musicians, clarinetist Artie Shaw (this was his first featured solo), pianist Teddy Wilson and trombonist Jack Jenney.


Barnet liked to surround himself with inspiring musicians. Many of them were black, and it could well have been because of his liberal attitude on the racial question (especially liberal for those days) that his band was not picked for any of the commercial radio series that featured the big name bands. He even had some troubles securing engagements in certain hotels because he clung so strongly to his principles.


Not that Barnet was entirely a do-gooder. He could get into trouble, some attributable to his zest for having a ball and presumably not worrying too much about the consequences, and some over which he had no control. For example, in 1939, just after his band had opened an extremely important engagement at the famed Palomar in Los Angeles, the ballroom burned to the ground. The band lost everything—its instruments, its music, even most of its uniforms. Barnet, though, took it in stride. "Hell, it's better than being in Poland with bombs dropping on your head!" he exclaimed. He also showed a kooky sense of humor by featuring on the band's first engagement after the fire two new swing originals titled "We're All Burnt Up" and "Are We Hurt." It's significant to note that Ellington as well as Benny Carter, then, as now, one of the world's most respected arrangers, upon hearing of Barnet's plight, shipped him batches of new scores.


Two years later, also out on the West Coast, the Barnet band was again hit when Bus Etri, its brilliant guitarist, and trumpeter Lloyd Hundling were killed in a car crash.


Although Charlie was doing fairly well in the mid-thirties, playing the 1936 summer season at the Glen Island Casino, where he introduced a new vocal group out of Buffalo, the Modernaires, and spotting such black jazz stars as John Kirby and Frankie Newton in 1937, it wasn't until 1939 that his band really caught fire—figuratively this time. This was the year in which it recorded the wild, romping version of Ray Noble's tune "Cherokee," which soon became the band's theme song. (Before then the group had used a lovely ballad, which probably everyone has since forgotten, called "I Lost Another Sweetheart.") It was also the year in which Billy May joined the band as trumpeter and, perhaps more importantly, as arranger.

The cherubic, humorous, wildly imaginative May and a more staid but equally effective writer named Skip Martin began to build a book for the Barnet band that gave it a recognizable style that it theretofore had never been able to achieve.

The band was really cooking. It made a slew of great sides for Bluebird, including "The Count's Idea," "The Duke's Idea," "The Right Idea," and "The Wrong Idea." The last, a takeoff on the day's mickey-mouse bands, was subtitled "Swing and Sweat with Charlie Barnet." Then there were "Pompton Turnpike," "Wings over Manhattan," "Southern Fried" and "Redskin Rumba," which was a follow-up to "Cherokee" and bore an expedient resemblance to it, since the latter was an ASCAP tune, and ASCAP tunes, because of the Society's war with the radio networks, were not permitted to I be played on the air.


Many of the sides featured vocals by Mary Ann McCall, a good, jazz-tinged I singer. Then early in 1941 Barnet took on a new vocalist, one who had I made some sides with Noble Sissle's band. Her name: Lena Home. She I recorded four tunes with the band, the most notable of which was "Good I for Nothin' Joe." Bob Carroll, the robust baritone who sang with Barnet at I the time, recalls the day Lena joined the band. "We were working at the I Windsor Theater in the Bronx, and something had happened to the girl we I were using. Somebody remembered this pretty girl who was working in a I movie house, and they sent for her. It was Lena. I remember she had long, I straggly hair, and her dress wasn't especially attractive. She ran down a few I tunes in the basement of the theater, and then, without any arrangements, I she did the next show—not only did it but stopped it cold. She was just great!" Charlie had a knack for finding fresh talent. By the following year he had I assembled a slew of outstanding young musicians: trumpeters Neal Hefti, Peanuts Holland and Al Killian, clarinetist Buddy DeFranco and pianist Dodo Marmarosa, plus a new singer, Frances Wayne, who, like Hefti, was to become an important part of Woody Herman's most famous Herd several years later.


Other stars followed: singers Kay Starr, Fran Warren, Dave Lambert and Buddy Stewart, pianist-arranger Ralph Burns, trombonist Trummy Young, guitarist Barney Kessel, bassist Oscar Pettiford, and some years later trumpeters Clark Terry, Jimmy Nottingham and Doc Severinsen.


If you talk to almost any of these people, you'll find that they have pretty much the same remembrances about their Charlie Barnet days. "It was a ball," they'll say. "Charlie was a terrific leader to work for. He had great musical and personal integrity, and even though things got kind of wild sometimes and maybe even out of hand, it was a rewarding experience. Most of all you could say that things never got dull — never."


Eventually, Barnet gave up his big band. He settled down on the West Coast, headquartering in Palm Springs, and for years he led a sextet or septet, always finding enough work to keep him occupied. In the mid-sixties he headed a romping big band, organized especially for an exciting two-week stint at New York's Basin Street East. Financially he has never had any real worries. He has been able to do pretty much what he has wanted to do. He has owned his own homes and flown his own planes. And he has had at least ten wives and, one suspects, many attendant alimony payments.


Charlie Barnet, now in his sixties, has mellowed. But that great charm and vitality are still there. And so is his undying love of pulsating big band sounds that communicate with large audiences. "I still like to hear the beat," he said recently. "I don't like it when it's too abstract. To me, jazz should be exciting.  Remember, there's a difference between 'exciting' and 'startling,' which is what some of the younger kids don't realize."


Charlie Barnet was one of the "younger kids" for a long time.”




By comparison, Gunther Schuller takes a more academic or scholarly approach in this quotation from his The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930-1945.


CHARLIE BARNET


“There are some interesting parallels between Artie Shaw's and Charlie Earner's lives and careers—apart from their multiple marriages (eleven(!) for Barnet, only eight for Shaw). They both formed numerous bands, although Barnet's were much more consistent stylistically than Shaw's. Both got the Wanderlust as young men, early on pursuing a musical life against family wishes: Barnet working on transatlantic oceanliners, playing his tenor sax; Shaw starting to play professionally at age fifteen and leaving home a year later to work in Cleveland, also playing tenor sax. Both men ended up freelancing in New York in the early thirties (and even played together on a Red Norvo date in 1934). Both left music temporarily early on: Shaw in 1934 to try farming in Pennsylvania, Barnet in 1936 to try an acting career in Hollywood (he actually appeared in two feature films).


There the parallels stop. For the two men had quite different orchestral conceptions — as we have seen, Shaw alone had several — and in their careers as bandleaders developed quite dissimilar styles. Moreover, whereas Shaw was a restlessly inveterate searcher for an individual identity, steadfastly opposed to modeling his band after other prevalent jazz modes, Barnet spent a good part of his career enthusiastically imitating and re-creating the music of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. As a saxophonist, Barnet’s unabashedly overt models were Coleman Hawkins and Johnny Hodges. Interestingly, Barnet managed consistently to keep these twin influences discrete, the one reserved for his tenor playing, the other for his alto and soprano saxophones. Moreover, Barnet regularly populated his orchestras with players who could accurately re-create various prominent solo styles, particularly those of leading black players. A case in point is trumpeter Robert Burnet, who was as adept in simulating Cootie Williams's plunger-and-growl style (or for that matter Rex Stewart or Roy Eldridge) as Barnet was in reproducing Hodges. The eclectically gifted Bill Miller, long-time pianist with Barnet, could re-create quite readily two so divergent piano styles as Duke Ellington's and Count Basie's.


To ensure stylistic authenticity in the orchestral and ensemble realm, Barnet either used scores he bought directly from Ellington (as well as from Benny Carter, the Henderson brothers, and Don Redman) or had transcribed by Andy Gibson, a talented black arranger, who had earned his trumpet-playing spurs with such bands as Zack Whyte, McKinney's Cotton Pickers, and Lucky Millinder and had actually done some arranging work for Ellington.


Barnet's very earliest bands had little identity of their own. They were essentially hotel-style bands (Barnet worked many of the top hotels in New York), venturing occasionally into a "hot," more jazz-oriented dance style. Curiously, some of the Benny Carter compositions/arrangements Barnet acquired—Nagasaki and On a Holiday (1935), for example—leaned very much in the direction of the Casa Loma band; or perhaps their vertical staccato-mannerisms were more a matter of Barnet's interpretation of Carter's scores.


When Barnet organized his second band, following his Hollywood acting interlude, an appreciable expansion of jazz spirit became noticeable in the band's repertory. It had progressed from such dubious jazz material as The Swing Waltz and Fra an Old Cowhand (in 1936) to such 1939 jump-swing pieces as Jump Session, Swing Street Strut, Midweek Function, and quite explicit Ellington evocations like Echoes of Harlem, Jubilesta, Merry-Go-Round, and Rockin in Rhythm.


And yet, if one can describe certain orchestras and musicians as "coming into their own" at a certain point (say, Ellington and Lunceford in the early-to-mid 1930s, or Woody Herman in 1945), it is impossible to do so in the case of Barnet, since what he and his band "came into" was not "their own" style but that of Ellington and Basie, alternatingly, and a wide assortment of other then-current fashions. Significantly, even these latter influences were in the main black. And even such breakthrough popular hits for Barnet as his famous Cherokee of 1939 owed more to black musical influences than to any of the leading white bands of the time, i.e. Goodman and Shaw.


And yet, while we may admire Barnet for his excellent taste in picking such superior models to emulate, and respect him for so genuinely wishing to bring an awareness of true jazz to his largely white audiences—Barnet had a strong following amongst blacks, and was the first white band to play the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, the musical mecca for all black musicians—when judged at the highest levels, his accomplishments constitute a kind of pyrrhic victory. For, ironically, Barnet—like Shaw—believed that he was avoiding the kind of excessive stylization with which he charged Goodman and Miller (also Shaw's favorite targets). Little did Barnet realize that he too had arrived at a definite stylization, only it wasn't a self-created one as in the case of Glenn Miller, but one borrowed from two other creators, Ellington and Basie.


In a sense the issue under discussion here is not so much one of style but of repertory: that is, is there, can there be, should there be such a thing as a jazz "repertory," much in the sense that there is a classical repertory (which now stretches from the twelfth century to the present)? My answer would be a resounding yes, as long as we recognize that certain types of jazz (totally, spontaneously improvised) or certain major jazz figures simply cannot be re-created— or should not be, because it would be pointless: a Louis Armstrong, a Tatum, a Parker. And we must differentiate here on the one hand between a specific, conscious re-creation/imitation for its own sake and, on the other hand, a deep, probably unavoidable influence of one artist upon another in the way that, say, Taft Jordan, Oscar Peterson, and Sonny Stitt relate to the three above-mentioned artists respectively. Predominantly orchestral or ensemble jazz, with or without intermittent "improvised" solos, lends itself very well to re-creation, to re-interpretation, through hands other than the original creator's. As for solos, it is a matter of two viable options: one, whether to re-create literally the originally improvised elements of a performance, or, two, to re-interpret them in an at least stylistically authentic and respectful manner. The choice would depend upon the nature of the original material and the abilities, both creative and recreative, of the reinterpreting musician. The range from slavish imitation to complete re-interpretation affords a wide latitude of interesting possibilities. Here judgment, taste, and sheer ability to accomplish whatever the task at hand, must be the final arbiter.


Charlie Barnet was undoubtedly the first well-known jazz figure consistently to perform other major jazz composers' repertories. And he did so not in the name of plagiarism or exploitation of others' materials for his own self-aggrandizement, but as a genuine tribute to their greater talent and an honest desire to make such repertory more widely known. Indeed, one could argue that Barnet suppressed his own individuality in order to serve the ''higher" cause of proselytizing the works of those he considered the real masters of his field.


It needs to be said, however, that at times Barnet's re-creations and borrowings fell short of their mark.”


My preference among all of Charlie’s recordings is The Capitol Big Band Sessions [Capitol 21258-2] and the insert notes to the CD version written by Loren Schoenberg underscore many of the reasons why the music on it is so high on my list of favorites.


“Charlie Barnet realized something early on in his career that he never lost sight of over the three decades years he led big bands, and that was to have fun. His joy in jazz rhythm in its various forms lies at the root of all the music heard in this collection. The chore of leading a big band, day in and day out, dealing with the various personalities both within and without, is enough to vaporize the pleasure quotient. Factor in Barnet's financial independence (his was the story of the rich kid who escapes the conventionality of his family, and revels in the company of jazz musicians and bohemians), and his dedication to the music becomes clearer.


The late 1940's was a truly crazy time for big-bandleaders in the United States. A decade earlier, they had been at the helm of the popular music industry. A song could be featured in the movies and/or on the radio, but until there was a big band recording of it, the financial potential remained unrealized. This drove the entire music world of composers, publishers, recording companies and the musicians who created the music. Even artists who managed to stay relatively pure, such as Charlie Barnet's inspiration Duke Ellington, did so through the income generated by their hits (in Ellington's case, Mood Indigo, Solitude and the rest). Vocalists had taken over the spotlight, and now it was the imprimatur of a Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, Billy Eckstine, or Nat "King" Cole that determined which way the Billboard charts


And if that wasn't enough, there was the music of Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker that had affected the first sea-change in the jazz vocabulary since the advent of Lester Young. Every jazz band had to find a way to deal with their contributions, and Charlie Barnet's have stood the test of time quite sturdily. Unlike many of his peers, Barnet was not only not scared of the younger generation of players, he welcomed them. He had hired the nascent avant-gardists Oscar Pettiford, Howard McGhee and Dodo Marmarosa in the early 40's, and featured the most racially integrated of all the top bands. After the war, Barnet, confident in his own musicality, stayed away from trying to play "bop" saxophone for the most part (though a few awkward attempts are included herein) and let those who lived it play it.


This edition of the Barnet band lasted less than a year, but its reputation far outstrips its brief life. Among the bands that bit the dust in late 1948 was Stan Kenton's, and Capitol Records, anxious to not lose the lead in the "progressive jazz" field, encouraged Barnet to take up the slack. Staying true to his roots in swing, Barnet hired arrangers who could write modern while retaining the essence of the dance and of the grace that characterized the Swing Era. They were Manny Albam, Gil Fuller and Pete Rugolo, all of whom had already distinguished themselves with a wide variety of bands. The first selection, REDSKIN RHUMBA was recorded in mid-1948, as Barnet was heading towards his "bop" band (note Bud Shank on tenor). It was fashioned out of a head arrangement by Andy Gibson, a long-time Barnet cohort who was one of the most creative and original voices of the late 30's and early 40's, yet whose name is unjustly forgotten today. There are also arrangements by saxophonist Dave Matthews (the rather over-ripe Ellington Portrait is his-he seems to have thrown away the wheat and saved the chaff); Paul Villepigue and Johnny Richards, who bring the band perilously close to Kentoniana and Hollywood, a tendency Kenton's own Pete Rugolo avoided in his work for Barnet; and one masterpiece by the drummer Norman "Tiny" Kahn, known for his tremendous girth, the elegance of his touch and his Mother Earth swing.


The personnel is relatively stable, which accounts for the high level of ensemble precision and coherence. The trumpet section boasted three of the all-time powerhouse lead men in Doc Severinsen (who also gets several solo spots) , Ray Wetzel and Maynard Ferguson and the tasteful solos of the Swede, Rolf Ericson. Barnet had some marvelous trombone players in the band, and you can hear a chase chorus between Dick Kenney, Harry Betts, and Herbie Harper on REALLY?. Alto saxophone solos were by Vinnie Dean (later with Kenton) and the cool tenor heard several times is decidedly not the leader but Dick Hafer (later with Goodman
and Charles Mingus). Indeed, it seems that the second take of CHARLIE'S OTHER AUNT was made for no other reason than to replace Barnet's bodacious solo with one by the more reflective Hafer. The shank of the baritone work is covered by the amazing Danny Bank, who colors any ensemble he plays in (hear his rare solo on CU-BA.). The rhythm section was similarly first-rate with Claude Williamson and the virtuoso Eddie Safranski holding the piano and bass chairs respectively. A big band is only as good as its drummer and Barnet had two true masters in Kahn or Cliff Leeman, already a veteran by this time and another unsung individualist of the drums.


The last four tracks were recorded a year after the "bop" band broke up. Barnet himself is highly featured , as are a string section and a radically different aesthetic, but as usual, Barnet had constructed another top-flight band (this one including the young Bill Holman). Though his full-time bandleading days were drawing to a close, Charlie Barnet kept a foot in the big band business through 1967, and maintained something very rare-a sterling reputation amongst both his sidemen and the public. As Buddy DeFranco, an alumnae of the 1943 Barnet band told Ira Gitler:"...(Charlie) had a feeling on the instrument, and he had a feeling in his heart, and he had a happy thing about everything in the band." Who could ask for anything more?
—Loren Schoenberg”


The following video features Charlie Barnet Big Band’s performance of a Bill Holman arranged of Bobby Troup’s Lemon Twist from a May, 1958 Stars of Jazz TV  program that was hosted by Troup.




Friday, July 29, 2016

"The Great Gillespie" - Whitney Balliett [From the Archives]

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


This blog has always been as much about Jazz writings as it has been about the music and its makers.


For if it is true that Jazz can’t be taught but that it can be learned, fans of the music can acquire a great deal of knowledge about Jazz from those who write about it in an informed way.


Sometimes the writing is not only instructive and helps us appreciate the music more, but is itself beautiful, elegant and artistic.


This is generally the case with the essays on Jazz written for The New Yorker for many years by the late Whitney Balliett [1926-2007].


Whitney’s New Yorker pieces are as stylish as anything ever written on Jazz.


One of my favorites is The Great Gillespie [Dizzy Gillespie 1917-1993]. It is included in the 41  New Yorker essays published by Whitney as an anthology entitled Dinosaurs in the Morning [1962].


The article centers around his review of three recordings that Dizzy put out in the late 1950’s, but it goes well beyond Whitney’s thoughts about these LP’s and ultimately helps us understand Dizzy’s true significance in the evolution of Bebop [an unfortunate term - at best].


© -Whitney Balliett, copyright protected; all rights reserved. [Paragraphing modified to fit the blog format.]


OF ALL the uncommunicative, secret-society terms that jazz has surrounded itself with, few are more misleading than "bebop." Originally a casual onomatopoeic word used to describe the continually shifting rhythmic accents in the early work of Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Kenny Clarke, and Thelonious Monk, it soon became a generic term, whose tight, rude sound implied something harsh and unattractive. (Jazz scholars, who are nonpareil at unearthing irrelevancies, have discovered that the two syllables first appeared in jazz as a bit of mumbo-jumbo in a vocal recorded in the late twenties.)


Although many admirers of Parker and Gillespie—and occasionally Parker and Gillespie themselves—helped this misapprehension along in the mid-forties through their playing, bebop was, in the main, a graceful rococo explosion. It replaced the old Republican phrasing with long, teeming melodic lines, melted the four-four beat into more fluid rhythms, and added fresh harmonies, the combination producing an arabesque music that had a wild beauty suggested in jazz up to that time only by certain boogie-woogie pianists (another of jazz's better-known code terms) and by such soloists, often considered freakish, as Pee Wee Russell, Dickie Wells, Jabbo Smith, and Roy Eldridge. Bebop was an upheaval in jazz that matched the arrival of Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins, and Lester Young, but it was not, as it is frequently taken to be, a total musical revolution. (The most usable elements of the movement have long since been absorbed into jazz, and the term itself has fallen into disuse, but a variation, known as "hard bop/' persists.)


To be sure, it introduced radical techniques, but it stuck close to the blues, which it dressed up in flatted chords and various rhythmic furbelows. The chord structures of popular standards, which provided the rest of its diet, were slightly altered, and were given new titles and often barefacedly copyrighted by their "composers." This renovating process, begun in the mid-thirties by men like Duke Ellington and Count Basic, proliferated in the bebop era. Thus, "Indiana" reappeared as "Donna Lee" and "Ice Freezes Red"; "How High the Moon" became "Bean at the Met," "Ornithology," and "Bird Lore"; and "Just You, Just Me" turned into "Evidence," "Spotlite," and "Mad Bebop." The music made little attempt at fresh ensemble voicings, but relied instead on complex unison figures—in the manner of the John Kirby band—that sounded like fattened-up extensions of the solos they enclosed. On top of that, bebop musicians continued to investigate, though in a sometimes obtuse, hyperthyroid way, the same lyricism pursued by their great predecessors. A final confusing peculiarity of bebop is that although Parker, Gillespie, and Monk, each of whom possessed enormous talent, emerged at about the same time, they never enjoyed the spotlight simultaneously, as did such slightly older men as Hawkins, Eldridge, Art Tatum, and Sidney Cat-lett. Gillespie had become celebrated by the late forties; Parker was at the height of his fame when he died, in 1955; and it is only recently that Monk has slid wholly into view. Meanwhile, Gillespie, who remains one of the handful of supreme jazz soloists, seems—possibly because of the widespread emulation of an uneven ex-student of his, Miles Davis—to have been put to pasture.


When Gillespie appeared on the first bebop recordings, in 1944, he gave the impression—largely because a long recording ban had just ended—of springing up full-blown. He had, however, been slowly developing his style for some seven or eight years. Although Gillespie was for a time an unashamed copy of Eldridge, the records he made in the late thirties with Cab Galloway—in which he tossed off strange, wrong-sounding notes and bony phrases that seemed to begin and end in arbitrary places—prove that his own bent, mixed perhaps with dashes of Lester Young and Charlie Christian, was already in view. By 1944, the transformation was complete, and Gillespie had entered his second phase.


Few trumpeters have been blessed with so much technique. Gillespie never merely started a solo-he erupted into it. A good many bebop solos began with four- or eight-bar breaks, and Gillespie, taking full advantage of this approach (a somewhat similar technique had been used, to great effect, in much New Orleans jazz, but had largely fallen into disuse), would hurl himself into the break, after a split-second pause, with a couple of hundred notes that corkscrewed through several octaves, sometimes in triple time, and that were carried, usually in one breath, past the end of the break and well into the solo itself. The result, in such early Gillespie efforts as "One-Bass Hit" and "Night in Tunisia," were complex, exuberant, and well-designed. (Several of Gillespie's flights were transcribed note for note into ensemble passages for various contemporary big bands, an honor previously granted to the likes of Bix Beiderbecke.)


Gillespie's style at the time gave the impression—with its sharp, slightly acid tone, its cleavered phrase endings, its efflorescence of notes, and its brandishings about in the upper register—of being constantly on the verge of flying apart. However, his playing was held together by his extraordinary rhythmic sense, which he shared with  the  other  founders  of  bebop.  When   one pinned down the melodic lines of his solos, they revealed a flow of notes that was not so much a melody, in the conventional sense, as a series of glancing but articulate sounds arranged in sensible rhythmic blocks that alternated from on-the-beat playing to offbeat punctuation, from double-and-triple-time to half time. One felt that Gillespie first spelled out his rhythmic patterns in his head and then filled in their spaces with appropriate notes. A hard, brilliant, flag-waving style, in which emotion was frequently hidden in floridity, it persisted until four or five years ago, when Gillespie popped, again seemingly full-blown, into his third, and present, period.


A   mild-mannered,   roundish   man,   who   wears thick-rimmed spectacles and a small goatee, and has a new-moon smile and a muffled, potatoey way of
speaking, Gillespie is apt, when playing, to puff out his cheeks and neck into an enormous balloon, as if he were preparing himself for an ascent into the ionosphere. He has a habit, while his associates play, of performing jigs or slow, swaying shufflings, accented by occasional shouts of encouragement— bits of foolishness that he discards, like a mask, when he takes up his own horn, an odd-shaped instrument whose specially designed bell points in the direction of the upper bleachers. Gillespie, at forty-two, an age at which a good many jazz musicians begin falling back on a card file of phrases— their own and others' — built up through the years, is playing with more subtlety and invention than at any time in his past.


He has learned one of the oldest and best tricks in art — how to give the effect of great power by implying generous amounts of untapped energy. This method is opposed to the dump-everything approach, which swamps, rather than whets, the listener's appetite.


His tone has taken on a middle-age spread; his baroque flow of notes has been judiciously edited; his phrase endings seem less abrupt; and he now cunningly employs a sense of dynamics that mixes blasts with whispers, upper-register shrieks with plaintive asides. However, his intensity, together with his rhythmic governor, which still sets the basic course of his solos, remains unchanged. Provided a solo does not open with a break, which he will attack with the same old ferocity, Gillespie may now begin with a simple phrase, executed in an unobtrusive double time and repeated in rifflike fashion. Then he will lean back into half time and deliver a bellowing upper-register figure, which may be topped with a triple-time descending arpeggio composed of innumerable notes that dodge and dodge and then lunge ahead again. These continue without pause for several measures, terminating in a series of sidling half-valved notes, which have a bland complacency, like successful businessmen exchanging compliments. In the next chorus, he may reverse the procedure by opening with a couple of shouts, and then subside into a blinding run, seemingly made up of hundred-and-twenty-eighth notes, that will end in high scalar exercises. And so it goes. Gillespie rarely repeats himself in the course of a solo. In fact, he is able to construct half a dozen or more choruses in which the element of surprise never falters.


Gillespie is in good form on three fairly recent records—"Crosscurrents" (American Recording Society), "Sonny Side Up," and "Have Trumpet Will Excite!" (Verve). …
There isn't an unforgettable moment on the[se] records, but there aren't many passages that could be surpassed by Gillespie's contemporaries, most of whom would be in other lines of work if it weren't for him.”

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Reggie Watkins: Avid Admirer - The Jimmy Knepper Project

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“Trombonist Reggie Watkins had the opportunity to meet trombone master Jimmy Knepper just once, shortly before Knepper's death in June 2003. Watkins was performing in his native Wheeling, WV with Maynard Ferguson's Big Bop Nouveau Band, and Knepper, himself a Ferguson alumnus, was in the audience. The older musician complimented Watkins after the concert and shook his hand.


Little did Watkins realize that a series of remarkable circumstances ten years later would lead him to record an album of Knepper compositions, played on the late musician's Bach Stradivarius 36 trombone. The CD in question, Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project, will be released on Matt Parker's BYNK Records on July 13.


Avid Admirer, Watkins's third album as a leader, was first set in motion by his mother Liz's friendship at church in Wheeling, circa 2013, with a woman who was the widow of Jimmy Knepper. After Maxine Knepper passed the following year, Jimmy's daughter Robin Knepper Mahonen donated her father's collection of musical instruments to Watkins. "Dad made me promise that his horns would go to a musician," Mahonen writes in the CD liner notes. "Reggie Watkins is the man that will take up these horns and give them a voice again."”
- Terri Hinte Public Relations


By way of background, and quite by coincidence, I recently read the following about Terri Hinte in a March 2007 edition of Gene Lees’ Jazzletter:


“Terri Hinte is a quite remarkable woman. She studied French, German, and linguistics at Washington Square College of NYU, Portuguese at the Berlitz School in Oakland prior to extensive travels in Brazil, did private study of Czech before going to Prague, as well as basic Italian, had considerable writing and editing experience at magazines in New York, and was appointed Arts and Culture Commissioner of the city of Richmond by Mayor Irma Anderson. Over the years she has worked with and done publicity for just about every major jazz artist you can think of.


Publicists are a mixed breed. There have been a number of them in record companies over the years who have done their work decently and well, including Sol Handwerger at MGM and Herb Helman and Elliot Home at RCA Victor. There are others who are hustlers, aggressive and unpleasant. Terri is among the best, and high in the hierarchy of that group. No one ever contacted her for information on Fantasy's catalog or about individual artists or, for that matter, anything else, without getting a prompt and efficient response, usually providing you all that you needed. She also commissioned and edited the liner notes for the company. There is no one alive who knows that Fantasy catalog better than she does. It's what you can't buy: knowledge in the head.”


In the same issue of the Jazzletter, the noted Jazz author and critic Doug Ramsey made these comments about Terri:


"Terri Hinte …. Her name will not mean a thing to most of you, but her work has indirectly benefited serious jazz listeners for decades. ... Ms. Hinte is the very model of what a record company publicist should be — deeply knowledgeable about the music and its players, intelligent, responsive, resourceful, helpful in countless substantive ways ....


"Far from simply sending out review copies and news releases, as many companies do, Terri Hinte made it her business to know the extensive and varied catalog inside and out and to understand the importance of the hundreds of artists who recorded for its labels over more than five decades. Her newsletter and advisories were light years beyond the puffery that passes for publicity in too many precincts of the music business. They contained news that writers about the music, and those who broadcast it, could and did use, resulting in better informed listeners. Her phone calls often brought writers valuable story ideas. The catalogs she produced are reference works packed with information.


"I'm sure that Terri Hinte will do well as an independent publicist and writer, ….”


Imagine my delight, then, when a preview copy of Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project [BYNK 003]by trombonist Reggie Watkins arrived at the editorial offices of JazzProfiles which was sent to it directly by none other than Terri Hinte!


With the endorsements of Terri’s qualifications by Messrs Lees and Ramsey still ringing in my ears, I figured that if Terri was handling the public relations for Reggie Watkins’ new CD, then it had to be good.


And it is good - and then some.


As one would expect after reading Gene Lees and Doug Ramsey’s glowing appraisal of her skills, Terri sent along the following detailed press release, biographical information about Reggie and an annotation about the music and the musicians associated with Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project.


© -Terri Hinte, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“Reggie Watkins is one of the most accomplished and soulful jazz trombonists of his generation. Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project, his third album as a bandleader, provides swinging, straight-ahead, musically challenging evidence of that assertion.


Watkins had long admired fellow trombonist Jimmy Knepper, particularly his many recordings with Charles Mingus. The two men didn't know each other, but Knepper saw Watkins perform with Maynard Ferguson's Big Bop Nouveau Band and the Wheeling, West Virginia Symphony at the final concert he attended prior to succumbing to complications of Parkinson's disease in June 2003. The older musician, who had been a member of Ferguson's band a half century earlier, complimented Watkins after the concert and shook his hand.


"I thought it was cool to just stand there together for a while," Watkins recalls.
Knepper's widow Maxine and Watkins's mother Liz met at a Wheeling church a decade later and soon realized that each had a trombonist in her family. Following Maxine's death in 2014, her and Jimmy's daughter Robin Knepper Mahonen donated her dad's large collection of musical instruments, including his prized Bach Stradivarius 36 trombone, to Watkins as a way to, she writes in the notes for Avid Admirer, "give them a voice again."


Avid Admirer is a magnificent result of Mahonen's generous gift. Set for release on July 15, 2016 0n Matt Parker's BYNK label, it features the trombone virtuoso giving voice to eight of Knepper's original compositions, as well as to "Goodbye," a Gordon Jenkins ballad that Knepper had been especially fond of playing. Parker, the brilliant saxophonist who co-produced the disc with Watkins, alternates between soprano and tenor. Orrin Evans and Tuomo Uusitalo take turns at the piano. Bassist Steve Whipple and drummer Reggie Quinerly round out the quintet. They are New Yorkers all, save for the leader, who was born and raised in Wheeling and has long been based in Pittsburgh.


"I've always been a serious Charles Mingus fan and became aware of Jimmy Knepper's work through Mingus's music," Watkins says. "Having contact with Robin was the beginning of me exploring Jimmy Knepper the composer."


Watkins found "Avid Admirer," a swinging blues in B-flat from a 1957 Bethlehem album by Knepper with Bill Evans on piano, to be an ideal choice as a title for the present CD.


"Here's me investigating and becoming so immersed in this man's music, but at the end of the day, I have my own voice and I'm not trying to play like Jimmy," he explains. "It's more like I'm a fan and a student of the music, in awe of his incredible accomplishments and talent. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed a session more."


The CD kicks off swinging at mid-tempo with "Figment Fragment," a contrafact on the 32-bar Swing Era anthem "Stomping at the Savoy" played in D-flat major.


"Idol of the Flies," the title track of the same Knepper album that contained "Avid Admirer," is based on a series of six-bar phrases with Arabic nuances in the harmony.


Next comes the even more complex "Cunningbird," the title song of a 1976 Knepper album on Steeplechase. The minimalistic beginning and end melodies are in 5/4 time, while interlocking grooves behind the solos have bassist Whipple playing in 3/4, drummer Quinerly in 6/8, and pianist Evans in 9/8.


"Orrin's understanding of that is deep, more so than the piano solo on Jimmy's record," Watkins says. "He really expresses the depth of his role in that subdivision."


The bossa nova ballad "Noche Triste" is followed by "In the Interim," a 32-bar number from Knepper's 1986 Dream Dancing album for Criss Cross Jazz that begins, quite unusually, at the bridge. "It's a thing you don't normally hear people do," Watkins explains. "We did the same thing. I didn't want to reinvent the arrangements because they are so artistic and purposeful."


The 32-bar "Ogling Ogre" is treated to a shuffle groove, much as its composer and company had on the Idol of the Flies album.


"Primrose Path," originally recorded by Knepper and Pepper Adams on a 1958 album for Metro Jazz, playfully alternates between blues and non-blues forms. There are no blues chord changes on the head, yet the solos are played over 12-bar minor-blues changes followed by a 16-bar non-blues bridge.


"Goodbye," which Benny Goodman had used as his set-closing theme, was recorded by Knepper on Dream Dancing. "His version is quite touching," Watkins says. "When I performed that tune last year at a concert of Jimmy's music at the Stifel Fine Arts Center in Wheeling, Robin was in the audience. I could see it really had a profound effect on her."



The Pittsburgh trombonist was pleased to join the high-caliber musicians Matt Parker helped him round up for the two-day sessions at Brooklyn Recording during the first week of December 2015. Watkins and Parker had known each other since they toured together in Ferguson's band from 2004 to 2006. Parker also contributed two tunes and his two saxophones to his friend's previous CD, the critically acclaimed One for Miles, One for Maynard, released in 2014 by Corona Music.


"Matt is very open-minded and very creative," Watkins says. "There's a lot of tradition in his playing, but he's adventurous at the same time. He had his head in this record as much as I did. We've lived this music together."


Reggie Watkins was born on August 24, 1971, in Wheeling. He played piano, trumpet, and tuba before taking up valve trombone during his sophomore year in high school. He switched to slide trombone before attending West Virginia University.


"The idea of improvisation and playing trombone kind of hit me at the same time," he recalls. "I had to make the transition from being a valve player to a slide player. The instrument spoke to me. My main influence on trombone from the beginning was JJ. Johnson."


Watkins's early professional experience included playing and singing pop standards with a quartet on cruise ships between 1994 and'97.


"It turned out to be invaluable to learn words to all those songs," he now says. "If you have a song like There Will Never Be Another You' that have really great words and great storylines, it really helps you to more naturally phrase the song and be a more melodic player."


Since settling in Pittsburgh, Watkins has played in big bands and small groups led by onetime Horace Silver drummer Roger Humphries and the legendary Maynard Ferguson. During his tenure with Ferguson, Watkins became musical director, contributing arrangements for the big band. He played on three of the band's albums— MF Live at Ronnie Scott's, Swingin' for Schuur with vocalist Diane Schuur, and Big City Rhythms with Michael Feinstein—and recorded the first album under his own name, 2004's A-List in the Maynard Ferguson Presents series.


When not performing with his own jazz group — at such venues as the James Street Gastropub and Speakeasy and Manchester Craftsmen's Guild, both in Pittsburgh; Sweetwater Center for the Arts in Sewickley, Pennsylvania; the Oglebay Institute's Stifel Fine Arts Center in Wheeling; Twins Jazz in Washington, DC; and NUBLU Jazz Festival in New York City — Watkins has worked frequently outside the jazz realm.


He spent five years, living for a period in both Pittsburgh and Austin, Texas, as a member of and writer/arranger for the Austin-based Grooveline Horns, which toured extensively with folk-pop singer-songwriter Jason Mraz and also backed many other artists, including Willie Nelson, the Dave Matthews Band, and Gary Clark Jr. He's been living full-time back in Pittsburgh since 2013 with his wife and their two young children. Watkins is the founder of another trumpet-trombone-saxophone trio called the Steeltown Horns that often tours with the New Orleans quintet Dumpstaphunk, and of the Move Makers, a Pittsburgh wedding and corporate party band. Jazz, however, remains Watkins's primary passion.


A writer for the Wheeling News-Register described him as "[a] remarkably pure trombonist with strong, beautiful tones and an extensive range. Watkins plays with the cool ease of a veteran, moving audiences with confidence and emotion." And Jazz Weekly critic George W. Harris called Watkins's previous release, One for Miles, One for Maynard, "Hard bop heaven!"


"Reggie Watkins brings a sophisticated fire to his music that is infectious," says Matt Parker. "Working with him on the Jimmy Knepper Project showed me what it means to learn from the masters that came before us."


"I feel as if I have been set upon a wave of musical destiny that began a long time ago and could continue long after I'm gone," says Watkins. "What I hope for this record is that people listen, enjoy the music, and be compelled to further explore the music of Jimmy Knepper. I will forever be influenced and inspired by his artistry."


Reggie Watkins: Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project
(BYNK Records)
Street Date: July 15,2016





Media Contact:
Terri Hinte
510-234-8781
hudba@sbcglobal.net


CD Release Shows for Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project:
8/31 South, Philadelphia, 7pm & 9pm
(w/ Matt Parker, ts; Orrin Evans, p; Matt Parish, b; E.L Strickland, d)


9/1 Cornelia Street Cafe, NYC, 9pm
(w/ Matt Parker, ts; Tuomo Uusitalo, p; Steve Whipple, b; Reggie Quinerly, d)


You can checkout Reggie and the group’s excellent interpretation of Jimmy Knepper’s Idol of the Files on the following video.