Listening to Prestige 440: Walt Dickerson

On February 24, Walt Dickerson brought a quartet into Rudy Van Gelder's studio, and recorded six songs. He had been recommended to Bob Weinstock by fellow Philadelphians John Coltrane and Philly Joe Jones.

The log for the entire session is simple. It's one word: rejected.

Why? That's lost to history. But it can't be because they didn't recognize his talent, because these were very savvy jazzmen, and no one with ears could have failed to appreciate the rare, striking gifts that this young man brought into the studio. And besides, as Bob Porter tells us, Weinstock was always a big fan of the vibes.

And it can't have been that they didn't like his musicians, or even that they didn't like the tunes he brought in with him, because a week and half later, he was back in Englewood Cliffs, with the same musicians, and the same six songs.

So it must have been some sort of rare glitch in Rudy's recording equipment.  Frustrating for a group of young musicians wondering if they'd lost their chance at the big time (Andrew Cyrille was asked to stick around, and recorded four days later with Coleman Hawkins), but redemption came quickly. I can imagine that Weinstock may have been more worried than they were, that Dickerson might slip through his fingers.

Whatever the first session may have been like, this one is a killer. Dom DeMichael, in a four-and-a-half-star review in Down Beat, described it as "experience-giving and provocative," and Dickerson's solos as "at times spiralling asymmetrically in tangled, biting swirls of notes flying like sparks from a pinwheel." Down Beat was, the following year, to anoint Dickerson as best new jazz artist, and to call him "the most important vibraphonist since Milt Jackson."

And yet Dickerson is largely forgotten today. He made four albums for Prestige and three for other labels during the first half of the 1960s decade, disappeared for ten years, came back to make a few more albums in 1975, then disappeared again, and stayed disappeared. He was in Europe for a good part, but not all of that time. Jazz writer Hank Shteamer, in 2003, got his phone number from Andrew Cyrille. He was back in his home town of Philadelphia. Shteamer called, got a long, cordial interview, with promises to talk more and to come and do a concert. He never answered the phone to Shteamer again.

Curiously, in an age where everyone on the internet feels compelled to make lists, there's really no list of greatest jazz vibraphonists. Last.fm has a sort of a list, but it's an odd one--odd in that includes Milt Jackson and the MJQ separately, even odder in that it includes Cal Tjader and the Cal Tjader Quintet separately, and full-out odd in that it includes non-vibist Marian McPartland. It does, however, include all the major vibists you can think of, with one striking exception: no Walt Dickerson.*

His quartet seems to have come with him from Philadelphia. Andrew Cyrille, who went on to have s substantial career, and is still active as of this writing, was a protege of Philly Joe Jones. Neither Bob Lewis nor Austin Crowe did any recording outside of their work with Dickerson.  Dickerson, many years later, talked about Crowe with Hank Shteamer, and in the process, gave an insight into another side of the jazz life:

Excellent pianist! Last I heard, Austin was in New York, playing classical music. Again, the scene, as it was then…Austin came from a very religious background also, so the scene did a lot to drive many great musicians away. He had a couple of things with Philly Joe Jones, and he came back and told me, "Never again, never again.” He was stranded in the Midwest, played two weeks of engagement and no way to get home. Some people can’t take those kinds of experiences, so I heard he was playing classical piano. I understood... Yes, Austin, a wonderful pianist, a wonderful person… Some of the youngsters got turned away by the scene. It happened to my son, he saw his pop go through things which he thought were totally uncalled for, and even though my son was a natural on many instruments, he didn’t want anything to do with it.

As for Dickerson himself, his on again, off again relationship with music remains a mystery which he

took with him to his grave, in 2008. In 1995 he told an interviewer, Mike Johnston, that he'd been playing a lot of solo gigs in Europe. Maybe "gigs" is the wrong word. He told Hank Shteamer that:

 I do have restrictions; yes, I have. I’ve been asked. No clubs, no smoke environment. Concert hall? Fine. Simple. I’ve seen too many suffer from it- various maladies due to those environments- smoke-filled. It’s quite a workout performing. You do take in what is around you in great amounts, and it does have an effect. I care not to expose my body or mind to those things that are going to be detrimental to my body and mind- my being.

But the music he's left behind is a treat for those who seek it out. He is unique, starting with his approach to the instrument itself. Jazz critic Francis Davis described in the liner notes to one of his Prestige albums:

Dickerson’s first step upon buying a new pair of mallets is to strip away their fur; he then soaks the exposed rubber tips in a mineral solution to get a sound he describes as “plush,” though paradoxically, it is also hard. His use of smaller mallets, gripped closer to the tip than is the custom for vibraphonists, allows Dickerson extraordinary speed on the bars.

Dickerson creates jagged clusters of sound that are reminiscent more of the piano style of Thelonious Monk than of any other vibes player. He is intense, cerebral and yet emotional; on his ballads, like "Evelyn" and "Elizabeth" (his wife, to whom he gave lifelong devotion) have a touching sweetness.

All the compositions on this album are Dickerson's. They have mostly vanished with him, perhaps because no one else could play them quite like him. I was going to say although that didn't stop Monk's compositions from being played, but for a while it did. Monk's genius as a composer was only recognized gradually. Dickerson may have set some kind of a record for length of time until a composition is discovered: "Infinite You" waited 40 years, until Mal Waldron recorded it and another Dickerson tune in 2000.

The album was titled This is Walt Dickerson! Esmond Edwards produced. It was released on New Jazz.



* Well, two exceptions. I don't see Teddy Charles either,

Listening to Prestige Vol. 2, 1955-56, and Vol. 3, 1957-58 now include, in the Kindle editions, links to all the "Listen to One" selections. All three volumes available from Amazon. 

And Volume 4 in preparation!

The most interesting book of its kind that I have ever seen. If any of you real jazz lovers want to know about some of the classic records made by some of the legends of jazz, get this book. LOVED IT.
– Terry Gibbs