Listening to Prestige 709 Lucky Thompson

LISTEN TO ONE: Cry Me a River

 This was Lucky Thompson's fourth (counting an early session with Miles Davis) and final album for Prestige. After that, in the early 1970, he made three more for the small but prestigious independent label Groove Merchant, and then apparently grew disillusioned with the music business altogether, and dropped out. It would be good to report that he had moved to Europe, where he continued to be highly regarded. He had lived in Paris from 1957-62, before returning to New York and his Prestige recording years. He did, in fact, go back from 1968-70, living in Lausanne, Switzerland, but then returned to the States again, and whatever he was looking for, he must not have found it, although he appeared to making a decent life for himself. In addition to the Groove Merchant sessions, he also taught at Dartmouth college for

two years, 1973-74. Then he dropped out.

He continued to be highly regarded in Europe -- small European labels would release forgotten or unreleased sessions by him over the next couple of decades -- but he never returned, and he seems to have grown altogether disillusioned with music. According to his obituary in the New York Times:

Fiercely intelligent, Mr. Thompson was outspoken in his feelings about what he considered the unfair control of the jazz business by record companies, music publishers and booking agents. 

Something of his later life was described by Ben Ratliff, writing the Times obituary:

Friends say he lived for a time on Manitoulin Island in Ontario and in Georgia before eventually moving west. By the early 90's he was in Seattle, mostly living in the woods or in shelter offered by friends. He did not own a saxophone. He walked long distances, and was reported to have been in excellent, muscular shape.

He was hospitalized a number of times in 1994, and finally entered the Washington Center for Comprehensive Rehabilitation.

...He was rarely seen in public; at times it was hard for his old friends to find him. But the drummer Kenny Washington remembered Mr. Thompson's showing up when Mr. Washington was performing with Johnny Griffin's group at Jazz Alley in Seattle in 1993. Mr. Thompson listened, conversed with the musicians, and then departed on foot for the place where he was staying -- in a wooded spot in the Beacon Hill neighborhood, more than three miles away.

He died of complications from Alzheimer's in Seattle in 2005.

His 1965 Prestige session was called, with bitter irony as things were to turn out, Lucky Thompson Plays Happy Days are Here Again (and one wonders if that song ever really signalled happy days for anyone). Thompson is still the guy who played with Erskine Hawkins and with Charlie Parker, equally at home with swing and bebop, and so the old chestnut, the theme song of Democratic presidential hopeful Al Smith, is a fitting start point for the session. Thompson has a swingster's affimity for melody, a bebopper's comfort with complexity. There's a complexity of emotion, too, in Thompson's interpretation of this paean to untrammeled happiness, as a tinge of melancholy pervades his version.

"Happy Days are Here Again" is also closely associated with Barbra Streisand, and in fact the whole album revolves around songs associated with Streisand, even if she's not necessarily the primary association. "Cry Me a River," the next standard up, was sung by Barbra, but will forever be Julie London's. "Cry Me a River" is a song that's well-nigh irresistible for any singer with even a flicker of torch in their pipes, from Ella Fitzgerald to Joe Cocker, certainly  Streisand, most famously London. There are well over 600 covers of it. Sixty-odd instrumental versions make it a quasi-jazz standard as well, though not all that many A-listers have had a go at it: in addition to Thompson, it's been recorded by Dexter Gordon (in 1955, contemporaneous with London), Ray Bryant, Don Elliott, J. J. Johnson, Pete Candoli and a few others. Johnny "Hammond" Smith did it for Prestige.

The song was written by Arthur Hamilton, who had a long and not unsuccessful career as a songwriter and lyricist, but if he had been told he could keep all the money he made from all his other songs, but would have to return all his "Cry Me a River" royalties, he'd be pretty deeply in the red. He also had a pretty good hit with "Sing a Rainbow," from the Jack Webb movie Pete Kelly's Blues. He wrote three songs for Pete Kelly's Blues, two of which made it into the movie. The rejected one was "Cry Me a River."

Thompson makes you wonder why there aren't more jazz treatments of it. In his version, it has everything--the melodic sweetness, the uptempo bebop improvisation, room for a wonderful Tommy Flanagan solo. stickwork by Walter Perkins that embellishes as it drives.

Other standards follow: "You Don't Know What Love Is," "As Time Goes By," and of course the song most closely associated with Streisand, "People." He plays one number of his own composition, "Safari." It would have to be pretty good to keep company with these popular favorites, and it is.

In writing recently about Chuck Wayne, I discussed "that genre that's sometimes called 'mainstream' or 'straight ahead' jazz, but might best be called 'timeless jazz,' music that comes not out of any school or any era, but out of a quest for beauty, for an edge, for virtuosity, that comes from a love of playing and a mastery of the instrument and the form."

That's this album. Soul jazz and free jazz were the zeitgeist in 1965; this is neither. Barbra Streisand was the hottest thing on Broadway and in Hollywood; this isn't about her. It's timeless jazz, and thamk heavens for it.

Tommy Flanagan, George Tucker and Walter Perkins, three men at home in the world of timeless jazz, were the rhythm section. On "Safari" and "You Don't Know What Love Is" they are joined by harpist Jack Melady. Not primarily a jazz musician, Melady was known for his work in Broadway show pits, with Irish folkies the Clancy Brothers, and for a couple of albums of lounge favorites with cellist Julius Ehrenwerth, as Jack and Julie. He fits in here nicely, though.

Don Schlitten produced. "Happy Days are Here Again" and "Cry Me a River" were the single.  

Listening to Prestige 697: Lucky Thompson

LISTEN TO ONE:Mumba Neua

 This just goes to show, if you put a solid veteran horn player together with an absolutely impeccable rhythm section, you're likely to get some good jazz out of it.

Thompson had appeared on Prestige twice before. The first time was 1954, when Bob Weinstock was showcasing his newly signed Miles Davis in a variety of situation. Two April sessions were put together in one album, the first featuring Dave Schildkraut, the second Thompson and J. J. Johnson. Horace Silver, Percy Heath and Kenny Clarke anchored both dates. 

Then in 1963, freshly returned from a sojourn in the wilderness which had included making his own furniture on a farm in the country and playing the expat game in Europe, he led his own quartet with Hank Jones, Wendell Marshall and Dave Bailey. The 1963 date, an examination of the Jerome Kern songbook, was notable for his introduction of the soprano saxophone to the quartet sound. John Coltrane had played soprano the previous year, in his Live at the Village Vanguard album, but it didn't really catch on until Trane's definitive "My Favorite Things" in 1966. 

Ballads make up the lion's share of this session, mostly his own (Duke Ellington's "In a Sentimental Mood" and Bronislaw Kaper's "Invitation" are the exceptions), but he does explore some brisker rhythms too, particularly "Mumba Neua," which features the soprano sax and some nifty drumming by Connie Kay.

Don Schlitten produced, and the album was titled "Lucky Strikes," with a cover design modeled after the familiar cigarette package.

Listening to Prestige 586: Lucky Thompson

LISTEN TO ONE: Who?

 Lucky Thompson was associated with an earlier era of jazz (although he was only 39 at the time of this recording): he'd played with Lionel Hampton, Don Redman, Billy Eckstine, Lucky Millinder and Count Basie. His time with Eckstine coincided with that of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, and like so many of that era and that influence, he moved into bebop. He had recorded once for Prestige, a 1954 session with Miles Davis.

Also like many of that era, who grew increasingly frustrated with the racism of American society and the avarice of the music industry, and moved to Paris in the mid-1950s. His debut with Prestige (he would record three albums altogether) came shortly after his return to the States.

His association with the jazz of earlier times (just a few years earlier was already being thought of as earlier times) may have been what prompted Prestige to suggest an album of Jerome Kern, and to release it on Moodsville.

There's nothing wrong with devoting an album to Jerome Kern, one of our greatest and most subtle composers. And nothing wrong with a Moodsville release, either--the subsidiary label was home to some great albums by major artists. But I'm not sure that this really a Moodsville album. Thompson was a true bebopper, and this album is in the tradition--fast tempi, bravura solos. Somewhat outside of the bebop mainstream was his choice of the soprano saxophone as a lead instrument -- perhaps the Paris influence of Sidney Bechet.

Anyway, Moodsville or no, it's great that Thompson is back in the States (he would leave again in a few years), playing with some wonderful musicians.These years of Moodsville and Swingville led to the recording of musicians who might not otherwise have been recorded in this era, by an important independent label with good distribution. Dave Bailey is the new face here, and this was to be his only Prestige session. Best known for his work with Gerry Mulligan, Bailey is another of those jazzers with an interesting day job. In 1969 he retired from music to become a flight instructor.

The album is called Lucky Thompson Plays Jerome Kern and No More because, in fact, there was one more -- a Thompson original entitled "No More." "Who?" and "Lovely to Look At" became a 45 RPM single on Prestige. Don Schlitten produced.

Listening to Prestige Part 107: Miles Davis in April

1956 was the big Miles Davis marathon, in which Miles finished up his obligation to Prestige in a blaze of glory, one session after another, so that he could move on to Columbia. But he was almost as busy in 1954. His March quartet session at Beltone was followed by two in April at the Van Gelder studios, and there'd be more before the end of the year.

Each of these sessions featured a different front line (well, the first one was just Miles, which may not exactly make a line), but mostly the same rhythm section. Horace Silver, Percy Heath and Kenny Clarke had come together for the Art Farmer session. Miles had used Art Blakey for the March quartet session, but Clarke was on drums for these two.

The quintet for the April 3 session included Davey Schildkraut on alto. Schildkraut was a veteran at
29, having gotten his first major professional gig at 16, with Louis Prima. He had early on heard the siren song of bebop, and mastered it to the point that when Charles Mingus was given "I'll remember April" on a Leonard Feather blindfold test, he identified the alto player as Charlie Parker.

Actually, Parker and Schildkraut overlapped a few times in the early 50s. There's a live recording of Bird with Stan Kenton -- I had never known they played together -- from a couple of months before the Miles session, with a Kenton reed section that includes Schildkraut. And there's a session from 1953, released on the Roost Jazz label in 1990 as More Unissued, Vol 2. That is, more unissued Charlie Parker sessions. But the alto player on that date has since been authoritatively confirmed as Davey Schildkraut.

Bill Holman, who was Kenton's arranger while Schildkraut was with the band, sees no similarity between the two. In an interview with Schildkraut student Rob Derke, Holman said:

Dave had a completely introspective way of playing...and played according to how he felt at any particular time. A lot of guys take the easy way out and say ‘Oh, another bebop alto player so we’ll compare him to Bird.’ I never heard [Schildkraut] using Bird’s or anyone else’s licks, it was all completely original and I really enjoyed hearing his playing for that reason.

"Solar" is based on the chord changes for "How High the Moon," and as I've stated before, I never know quite what to make of "based on the chord changes." Pretty much every blues, country and rock and roll song is based on the same three chords. I looked up "How High the Moon chords" on Google, and the chords to the Les Paul version, which is the most familiar one, are a little different from the chords in another jazz standards fake book. Anyway, I don't always hear the melody in a bebop "based on the chords" version of a standard, but I can hear "How High the Moon" in "Solar." The same chord changes were used by Chuck Wayne in a composition called "Sonny," recorded in 1946 and unissued (and uncopyrighted). Wayne claimed that Miles had ripped off his melody, and maybe he did. The general consensus is yes. I don't know the difference between ripping off a melody and basing a melody on chord changes. Anyway, here's a bit of the Chuck Wayne tune on a scratchy acetate, if you're interested. "Solar" became a jazz standard, although Miles never recorded it again.

"Love Me or Leave Me," based on the chord changes to "Love Me or Leave Me," is so firmly ensconced in the public consciousness as a pop song, thanks to great pop renditions by Doris Day and Sammy Davis, Jr. (I'm too young to remember Ruth Etting), that I had never really thought of it as a jazz standard until I heard the Miles Davis version. After that, I spent a little time seeking it out, and found jazz vocal versions by Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Anita O'Day and others; instrumental versions by Benny Goodman, Lester Young, Gerry Mulligan--and, in a more modern setting, Tuba Skinny. I've always loved the Sammy Davis, Jr., version, with its rapid-fire faux scatting, ending with the exhortation, "Blow, Sam!" I always thought he was cheering himself on, but recently it's occurred to me that it must be Sam Butera coming in with the sax solo.

But ever since I first heard the Miles recording, it's been the definitive version for me, and I was glad to spend some serious time listening to it and absorbing it in preparing this blog entry.

Miles is best known, for most of his career, for playing with a Harmon mute, but he experimented with different mutes before settling on the Harmon. On this session he used a cup mute, and it suits "Love Me or Leave Me" perfectly. The tune is taken at an uptempo bebop pace, and yet it still maintains a plaintive, bluesy tone. There are two ways of approaching "Love Me or Leave Me."

There's the torchy, moody Doris Day/Billie Holiday way, the lost lover who'd rather be lonely than happy with someone else, or the slap-happy Sammy way, you can love me, you can leave me, what do I care? I'm here for the rhythm and the chord changes and the chance to wail out, and "blow, Sam!" Miles manages to do both.

The sextet session came at the end of the month, with the same rhythm section and a new front line.It became immediately, and remains, one of the most potent sessions in the Davis canon. New Yorker jazz critic Whitney Balliett called it "some of the best jazz improvisations set down in the past decade." Both cuts are amazing, but "Walkin'" will send nonstop chills up and down your spine.

Davis bolted Prestige for Columbia for a number of reasons. One of them was money. One was that Columbia had...well, more prestige than Prestige. But one was that Columbia wanted him to put together a regular group, while Bob Weinstock had wanted him to play with a variety of musicians:

So our basic idea was just to make records with different people, to record with the best people around. That's what we did until the end, when he had the quintet with John Coltrane, Red Garland, Paul Chambers, and Philly Joe Jones. But everything up to that point developed from where we would sit down and talk about it. Miles would mention who was in town, who he would like to record with. I'd say who I'd like to hear him record with. We'd kick ideas around.

If I sound like a cheerleader for this entire era of music, and for everything that Bob Weinstock, Ira Gitler, Rudy Van Gelder and the Prestige record company did, I'm OK with that. These are a fan's notes, and this era, this label, stands as one of the great gifts to American culture and the American Century in music. So I'll say it. The Miles Davis quintets and sextets were inspired, and the source of great art.  But we are just as lucky to have these records with different people, with the best people around, with the ideas that were kicked around. One suspects, from what one knows about Miles, that after a while he didn't want to kick ideas around with anyone, except maybe Gil Evans.

But we have these records. This rhythm section, with Horace Silver really starting to come into his own. And different front lines for Miles to jam with--and jamming was what it was. Jamming was the Bob Weinstock philosophy,

J. J. Johnson was one of the true beboppers, there from the beginning.

I knew very little about Lucky Thompson. I have his Tricotism album, so I knew he was good. I knew that he'd played the expatriate game for a spell. Allmusic.com has an excellent bio by Jason Ankeny, which I recommend.

I discovered that Thompson was called "Lucky" because "of a jersey, given him by his father, with the word "lucky" stitched across the chest," not because he ever had any luck in his life. His mother died when he was five, and from that early age, he became responsible for taking care of his younger siblings. He always loved music, and always wanted a saxophone, with such passion and dedication that he "carved imitation lines and keys into a broom handle, teaching himself to read music years before he ever played an actual sax. According to legend, Thompson finally received his own saxophone by accident -- a delivery company mistakenly dropped one off at his home along with some furniture."

Thompson was one of those guys who moved from swing to bop -- he played with Erskine Hawkins and Lionel Hampton before arriving on 52nd Street, where he was asked to fill in for Ben Webster at the Three Deuces, and "Webster, Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, and Art Tatum were all in attendance at Thompson's debut gig, and while he deemed the performance a disaster (a notorious perfectionist, he was rarely if ever pleased with his work), he nevertheless quickly earned the respect of his peers and became a club fixture."

Ankeny describes Thompson's sound as "never fit[ting] squarely within the movement's paradigm -- his playing boasted an elegance and formal power all his own, with an emotional depth rare among the tenor greats of his generation."

It was battles with the jazz establishment, particularly record label owners, more than racism that drove Thompson to Paris, and that would drive him in and out of the music business.

"You Don't Know What Love Is" was the flip side of "Old Devil Moon" on a 45, and "Walkin'," split in two, made both sides of a 45. These would be the first Prestige singles to come out on 45 and not 78. The sextet sessions were also released on 45 RPM EPs and a 10-inch LP. The quintet sessions also had a 10-inch, and the two sessions were combined on the 12-inch Walkin'.