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(and them Jazz Messengers)
One of jazz’s MVP drummers, Blakey has a seemingly endless resume as sideman and leader. He’s characterized by aggressive swing and over the top solos, but that’s forgetting his ability to tone it down when necessary, or to slide into a hip, Latinized four-limb workout with ease. And it’s also forgetting the smarts it took him to handle Monk’s early music, or Herbie Nichols’ for that matter. Blakey wasn’t one to follow his stablemate Max Roach into more adventurous territories; he preferred to mind the old homestead. As the leader of the perpetually changing Jazz Messengers, Art fostered generations of new players, many of whom went on to become formidable leaders themselves. It was the school of real knocks, the boot camp from which one emerged a hardened, swinging individual. As much as Blakey’s drumming style is immortal, his generous nurturing of jazz’s future, via bandstand training, stands equal in importance.
I almost got to see the man in concert once, but he fell ill and canceled, and he died not long after. The main attractions of the albums listed below are, for me, the associations with Monk and Shorter. Of course, they have other merits as well.
They meshed from day one with Monk’s Blue Notes, and subsequent Monk recordings with Blakey never lacked spark. You might even say that Monk’s instructions to his later drummers (“Just swing, then swing harder”) were built on the Blakey experience. As for Art, he always took delight in the pianist’s tunes. So why not have Monk sit in with the Messengers, who at this time included Bill Hardman, Johnny Griffin (soon to be a Monk sideman himself), and Spanky DeBrest. Except for Griffin’s blues “Purple Shades”, the material all comes from Thelonious. On the surface, it’s good swinging fun - end of general recommendation. Yet listen closer and there’s a weird incongruity between Griffin’s exuberance, Hardman’s wannabe exuberance (his ideas seem to run to the very edge of his technique), and Monk’s sense of space. By space, I mean having the pianist take so long between phrases that you might think you’re listening to a bass solo. (Although this isn’t the first or last instance where Monk puts the listener in that position!) “Evidence” rockets out of the gate with Hardman and Griffin in good form, while Monk’s tense solo pauses are quite a contrast. Same goes for the hesitant piano statement in “In Walked Bud”. None of this bugs Blakey, whose inspired percussion peppers every tune. Monk is at his most entertaining on “I Mean You”, where he begins with the final trill of Griffin’s preceding solo, and then grabs Art in some call and response before devising other ideas. But most of his solos are reticent. Not so his accompaniment, which by the time of “Rhythm-a-ning” is rather devilish.
The deluxe edition’s alternate takes tell more of the story. The alternate of “Evidence” must have been an early take, as Hardman drops some clams into the melody statements, but Monk’s solo is more energetic than the master, or indeed anything on the regular LP program. On the issued (later?) take, Hardman nails the melody, while Monk has apparently withdrawn, unwilling to repeat his ornate solo from the earlier take. Or so I hear it. The alternate “Blue Monk” also has a touch more pep from the piano as well. But these are sideline nuances in an idiosyncratic session. And it’s a 1950s Atlantic recording, so beware the thin sound, even in the remastered version.
Introducing the new-look Messengers: Lee Morgan (trumpet), Wayne Shorter (tenor), Bobby Timmons (piano), and Jymie Merritt (bass), with Mr. Blakey on stick patrol. Four-fifths of the lineup had already cut the album called Africaine, which went unreleased at the time, so The Big Beat was the new band’s wax premiere. It dwells in the past but envisions a more complex future. Wayne Shorter contributes the modern elements in his solos and writing. “Sakeena’s Vision” is totally in line with the post-bop sound that would dominate the decade. Suggestive as the chord changes might be, it’s not enough to deter Art from tossing in a typically primal drum solo. “The Chess Players” is a throwback to the more soulful Jazz Messenger sound; Wayne probably tailored it for this band, and his solo has some good bait in it. And then there’s “Lester Left Town”, which was already cut during the Africaine sessions, and which apparently (according to these new liner notes) made producer Alfred Lion balk. That’s strange, because a) Lion had recorded far more advanced and/or bizarre music, from Monk to Nichols, and b) “Lester Left Town” is the catchiest track on this album. Maybe Lion wanted more of the simplicity of the Silver or Golson days, but in the end, “Lester Left Town” remains a classic. The descending chromatic lead (over minor ii-v-i) is the main hook, and the bridge goes on a chordal trip, all at a snazzy medium tempo.
The three other pieces are nearly as strong as Wayne’s material. “Politely” is a blues that writes itself, and the chromatic movement in the beginning of Wayne’s solo is a sarcastic take on bop’s passing lines. Timmons’ “Dat Dere” is a dark sequel to his groovy hit “This Here”. It’s at a jukebox tempo that Blakey occasionally turns into a march. Thankfully, “Dat Dere” has enough chord movement to be more than just a mindless soul-jazz piece. Wrapping up the album is a riveting rearrangement of “It’s Only a Paper Moon”. Merritt walks during the theme, while drums, tenor, and piano toll a low note every eight beats, giving the vamp a sort of Native American feel. Above this, Morgan paraphrases the melody with his best playing on the album - phrases of round tone, lightly daubed on the hypnotic canvas. The body of the tune goes into standard rhythms, and the vamp returns at the end to fade the album out, as Morgan puts the finishing touches on. An alternate take follows.
With Morgan, Shorter, Timmons, and Merritt. The title tune takes a wild eleven-minute ride, including a pounding percussion section, hot solos, and a false ending or two. No Jazz Messengers collection could be complete without it, and despite Blakey’s liner note claim that they played it differently every night, the ensemble parts sound entrenched. It isn’t the definitive reading of Dizzy’s popular tune (which actually gets lost in the hoopla), but it’s the most theatrical. Elsewhere, Shorter brings the band compositional richness (“Sincerely Diana”), and Morgan contributes the wonderful, laid-back “Yama”. Timmons delivers the expected boogie groove with “So Tired”, but he gives it a challenging detour in the middle of the form. The bonus track “When Your Lover Has Gone” has none of the pathos you might hear from a Rollins version, as Art’s stickwork suggests something breezier.
Shorter’s brilliance as a writer is in finding new ways to exploit tension and resolution. He does it in different locations, with different bar lengths, with intriguing melodies. His themes are usually as interesting as the solos they produce, and “Sincerely Diana” is a great one. I think it’s the best track on the album, even though “A Night in Tunisia” hogs general attention.
More from the Tunisia studio session, released a few years later. And Blakey’s ugly, scrunched-up ciggie-puffing mug isn’t on the cover; instead, it’s a smiling couple who look like they’ve just exchanged their first I-love-you’s. However, the Jazz Messengers haven’t gone soft - this is a solid, attractive collection in their usual suit. The lengthy title track opens with a slightly romantic air and then marches underneath long solos by Morgan (soft but not tender) and Timmons (garlands of block chords). Interestingly, Wayne sits this one out, except for some backing notes in the ensembles. The following “Johnnie’s Blue” goes for hard blues-bop with a great bassline - a very typical Jazz Messenger piece.
Three other tunes come from Shorter, and the two uptempo ones (“Noise in the Attic” and “Giantis”) are very catchy, with just the tiniest signatures of their author. “Sleeping Dancer Sleep On” is a lovely waltz where Blakey keeps his men at a low dynamic for the duration. Lee Morgan’s solo fails to play up any mystery, but Wayne demonstrates how the chords can support intriguing ideas. The alternate take is fine, except for a few wayward notes.
Fun hardbop from a great sextet: Freddie Hubbard, Wayne Shorter, and Curtis Fuller do the lung work, and Cedar Walton and Jymie Merritt stoke the rhythm fires with the leader. This is the most rewarding Messengers lineup, in my estimation, because they keep the down-home vibe while venturing into sophisticated areas. Shorter’s “Contemplation” is a close relative to Coltrane’s “Naima”: long tones and light bass pulses before the obligatory double-time pulls the track into Jazz Messenger territory. “Reincarnation Blues” is another treat from Wayne, with the horns behaving in canon-like fashion. Freddie cops a Clifford lick in his solo - no surprise? Best of all is the driving title track, written by Fuller, one of the cheeriest hardbop tunes ever. This is especially brought to light in the improvisations, where a happy five-note counterline and bright chords from Walton back the solos. Art’s solo is full of tension and space. The arrangement of “Moon River” is just bizarre, though, as it transforms the dainty little melody into an uptempo fanfare of big band power. This would surely be my favorite Blakey disc if it weren’t for the stiff competition of Free for All.
An intense, hardcore record. Hard to overstate the impact of the title track, in which the soloists alternate between dark and light modes and pilot the Messenger ship into uncharted space. Shorter takes a ferocious solo, and as he is the composer, he sews the modal joins with surety. Neither Fuller nor Hubbard, who both play well, can match Wayne’s statement. The tenor is also responsible for “Hammerhead”, a masculine bopper sleek as its namesake. Freddie’s “Core” begins with a Trane-ish bassline from Reggie Workman and nearly hits the intensity level of the title track. Blakey revels in the new territory, exhorting his sidemen to push, push, push. “Pensativa”, in a Hubbard arrangement, moves to a spiky Latin beat and takes the album out with style. Not much else to say, as the music speaks loud and clear enough for itself.
Returning trumpet man Lee Morgan sounds just a wee bit tinny and strained in places. On the other hand, his licks are more incisive than Hubbard’s - six of one, half dozen of the other. Coltrane continues to be an influence, in the semi-dark modal vamp of Fuller’s “The Egyptian” and in the way Shorter plays “When Love Is New”, a nice Cedar Walton ballad. Wayne’s contribution “Mr. Jin” sounds a lot like the music that would appear on his Speak No Evil album, and the bonus cut “It’s a Long Way Down” isn’t far off that mark either. Traditional bases are covered by “Sortie” and “Calling Miss Khadija”; the latter’s got a hip downtown groove to introduce mundane blues changes. The drums blast through on almost every cut. On “The Egyptian” (the best track, by the way), the piano and bass could have come from any contemporary Coltrane recording, and Blakey thus shows how he might have sounded underneath said giant. The trills underneath Fuller’s solo certainly recall “Africa”, don’t they? File the record under Indestructible, despite the fact that the lineup would be deconstructing soon. Highest marks go to Walton and the leader for their performances.
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