Benny Golson and the Philadelphians – 1958

I have hundreds of jazz CDs. I’m a huge fan of bebop, hard bop and all manner of piano playing. Yet I have blind spots in my collection and in my jazz knowledge.

The big names are all accounted for. And now that I’ve been exploring Blue Note’s back catalogue – especially the 1950s and ‘60s – I’m filling in the less-well-known artists. I’m discovering how much I love Lee Morgan, Kenny Dorham, Lou Donaldson and Larry Young. I’m also finding obscurities I’d never heard before, like Jutta Hipp, Gil Melle and Cliff Jordan.

And now I’m discovering an old artist who’s hardly obscure, but not really well known either: Benny Golson.

It’s odd because I actually have a 1992 Golson album, I Remember Miles. Funny thing: I don’t remember it. I have had it many years and I know I’ve listened to it, but I have no good memory of it, other than I generally liked it. So in effect, I’m a newcomer to Benny Golson.

Then I stumbled over him three times recently in my journey through Blue Note’s world.

The first time, it was with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers on their classic 1958 record Moanin’. It’s about as good a hard bop record as you’ll ever find. Golson is right in thick of it, playing tenor and writing four of the songs, including the highlight, “The Drum Thunder Suite.”

The second time, it was on the 1957 record Lee Morgan, Volume 2. No, Golson isn’t in the band. But he did write four of the six tunes, and they’re all fantastic, including the debut of “Whisper Not.” I remember thinking at the time, “I have to find more Benny Golson.”

Finally, I tripped over Golson on Lee Morgan, Volume 3. This time Golson is in the band and all six compositions are his, including the landmark “I Remember Clifford.” Lee Morgan is impressive, sure, but it’s Golson who steals the show – not with his playing, which is fine enough, but with six stellar tunes. After this, I resolved to find a good Benny Golson record.

And now I have. Benny Golson and the Philadelphians is magnificent – a hard bop record from 1958 that is definitely worth owning, for the playing and the compositions.

The theme here: An all-Philly band consisting of Golson, Morgan on trumpet, Ray Bryant on piano, Percy Heath (of the Modern Jazz Quartet) on bass and Philly Joe Jones on drums. The highlight is Golson’s “Stablemates” – in fact, two versions of the hard bop chestnut, including one eight-minute take that has some fantastic blowing from Golson and Morgan.

But wait, as they say on TV, there’s more. The CD also includes three tracks from another 1958 date, this with Golson, four Frenchmen and Bobby Timmons’ piano. Three all-time classics – Golson’s “Blues March” and “I Remember Clifford,” and Timmons’ “Moanin’”

Is this Golson’s best? I have no idea. But it does make me want to dig deeper into Golson’s long discography to find more gems.

(Postscript: Kudos to Blue Note for reissuing this record in 1998. It was originally on the United Artists label. I guess we can officially say Benny Golson is a Blue Note bandleader, sorta.)

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Not rare, but not common either

Cost: $9.50 on MP3, $17 new CD, $12 used CD

Lou Donaldson: Blues Walk – 1958

There’s a tendency among some jazz purists to poo-poo Lou Donaldson. Not flashy enough, they say. Not groundbreaking. Too bluesy, too simple. Predictable. Derivative. A notch below the best Blue Note saxmen. A craftsman, not an artist.

Aw phooey! I like Lou Donaldson and I don’t mind anyone knowing.

It has always been a mystery to me why certain jazz artists get tagged as simplistic and not quite jazzy enough. Dave Brubeck got that a lot. So did Ahmad Jamal and Vince Guaraldi. As if being popular were a curse on an artist’s jazz chops.

In the case of Lou Donaldson, this is compounded by two mortal sins. First, he was a founding father of soul-jazz, a genre that some hard-core boppers disdain. Second, he stayed around Blue Note too long – recording dozens of albums for the label from 1952 to 1974, with diminishing returns. He had a formula and he stuck with it, critics be damned.

It’s true, Donaldson’s later soul-jazz records have a sameness to them. 1967’s Alligator Bogaloo was a classic, but it was downhill from there. And even some of Donaldson’s 1950s and ‘60s bop records – as a leader and as a supporting player – lack originality.

But not Blues Walk. This is bop and blues at its best.

The album starts with the title track, as soulful and bluesy as any jazz record could be. It’s relaxed – hence the title – and even occasionally playful. Donaldson sticks to his trademarked swirling, smoky blues-flavored solos. Pianist Herman Foster chips in some nice down-and-dirty solo licks. And finally the percussionists – Dave Bailey on drums and Ray Barretto on congas (yes – drums AND congas!) – trade slow, soulful phrases. Nothing showy, but “Blues Walk” (the song) is pure jazz-blues pleasure.

The mood shifts abruptly to classic bop on Track 2 with “Move,” the same song immortalized by Miles Davis on Birth of the Cool just a year earlier. Anyone who thinks Lou Donaldson lacks fire in the belly should be forced to listen. Again, Foster adds a great piano solo and Barretto’s congas take a speedy duet with Peck Morrison’s bass. Tasty!

“The Masquerade is Over” is a conventional swing number, but it’s Track 4 – another original by Donaldson called “Play Ray” – that brings us back to the album’s theme: a mid-tempo soul-blues. To me, it evokes the sound of a great jazz quintet playing at a small, smoky lounge at midnight. (Despite the title, Ray Barretto has only a small conga part – wonder why he called it “Play Ray”?)

The pace slows for the one and only ballad, “Autumn Nocturne,” a beautiful tune. And finally, the band wraps up with the third Donaldson original: “Callin’ All Cats,” a nice bop number that proves, again, that the saxman will not be typecast. He can swing with the best.

I could listen to Blues Walk over and over – and sometimes I do. Is it groundbreaking? No. Does it color outside the lines of the classic 1950s Blue Note formula? Not really. But damn, it’s a fine record – a fun record. It’s a classic of the genre, and for that, Lou Donaldson doesn’t get enough credit.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Many copies on Amazon, new and used

Cost: $5 used, $10 new

Lee Morgan, Volume Three – 1957

In jazz, as in rock, there’s a tendency to overlook composers. Performers get all the nods.

Consider Duke Ellington. One of the greatest bandleaders and composers of all time. But Billy Strayhorn? Not as famous – even though he wrote some of Duke’s best pieces:  “Take the A Train” and “Lush Life” and “Chelsea Bridge.”

Or consider Dave Brubeck. Justly renowned as a leader, pianist and experimenter of odd tempos. But Paul Desmond? A pretty nifty saxman, but how many listeners remember that he actually wrote the megahit “Take Five,” not Brubeck?

And so we come to Lee Morgan, Volume 3. It’s a wonderful record, arguably the best of Morgan’s early 1950s discography. (But what’s up with the blah title? Couldn’t Blue Note come up with anything better?)

Before he led the 1960s soul-jazz revolution, Morgan was a real hard bop disciple, one of the very best trumpeters of his time. A great tone, great swing, and a member of what is arguably the greatest hard bop band ever, Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers.

Yes, enjoy this record. Love the interplay of the three horns: Morgan’s trumpet, Gigi Gryce’s alto sax and Benny Golson’s tenor sax. Dig the five cuts – three bop burners, one blues workout and one of the most memorable jazz ballads ever, “I Remember Clifford,” a tribute to the tragically short-lived Clifford Brown.

But wait… Morgan didn’t write that ballad. In fact, Morgan wrote none of the five tunes on Volume 3. Benny Golson wrote them all. And man, they are first-class, amazing compositions. So where’s the love?

Volume 3 opens with a pair of nearly perfect, nine-minute hard bop showcases. “Hassan’s Dream” starts and ends with a memorable theme on Gigi Gryce’s flute (!), then flows into terrific, toe-tapping solos from the horns, Wynton Kelly’s piano and Paul Chamber’s bass. Track 2 is “Domingo,” another hard bop number, faster than the first, with a catchy unison theme and some positively cooking solos.

The pace slows with “I Remember Clifford,” featuring Morgan’s solid trumpet tribute. It quickens again with “Mesabi Chant,” a bop burner. And finally, the whole affair ends with a smoky blues number, “Tip-Toeing.” (The CD has two versions.)

All in all, this is one pretty terrific album, a real treat for hard bop fans. If you love the Jazz Messengers, you’ll love Lee Morgan, Volume 3. And yes, mega kudos to the trumpeter-leader for a very fine date. But save a tip of the hat for Benny Golson, the real star of this show, both on tenor and, more importantly, as the author of everything on the disc. Well done!

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5) – and 5 out of 5 for Benny Golson

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: Around $5 used

Andrew Hill: Point of Departure – 1964

I have put off writing this blog post as long as possible. For three weeks, I’ve been listening to Andrew Hill’s Point of Departure and contemplating what I can say that isn’t blatantly subjective and negative.

I give up. I just don’t like it.

I honestly thought I might appreciate this, even though I don’t generally like avant garde jazz. Almost everyone seems to love this record. Let me count the ways:

• The new book Uncompromising Expression, a history of Blue Note records, devotes two pages to this album. Author Richard Havers calls Point of Departure a “momentous yet underappreciated album.”
• The 1996 version of The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD gave Point of Departure its highest honor, a perfect rating, or crown, designating it a record “for which the authors feel a special admiration or affection.”
• Allmusic gives Point of Departure its highest ranking, five stars, and says Andrew Hill “is perhaps best known more for this date than any other in his catalogue – and with good reason.”

What am I missing?

Going in, I knew that Andrew Hill was famous for his complex compositions. Many fans compare him to Thelonious Monk. I don’t hear it. I’m a big Monk fan. I know that that Monk’s angular, herky-jerky songs aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. So complexity doesn’t throw me. Still, Point of Departure is a hard listen.

Yes, the songs are off the beaten path. That’s not a deal-breaker. But Eric Dolphy is. To my ears, he ruins everything he plays on. That’s a wildly subjective judgment, I know. Many fans adore Dolphy. I find him intentionally atonal and screechy. If he’s on a CD, I probably will detest it. Sorry.

Joe Henderson on tenor is usually fun and frantic. Here, he pushes the envelope so far that some solos are just not enjoyable or interesting. Kenny Dorham’s trumpet is reliably boppish and hard-charging. But put the three horns together and they become a disjointed mess.

Strangely, of the five cuts on Point of Departure, the one that intrigues me most is the least conventional. “Spectrum” is nine minutes of disconnected passages. It starts conventionally with unison horns and a Monk-ish piano solo, then stops abruptly. Drum roll, then a new theme, a whiny Dolphy alto and weird horn interplay. Stop again. Bass solo, leading eventually to a funky riff – and then each instrument takes a few seconds to play what sounds like an orchestra warming up. A drum solo, then the opening theme again, and then it’s over. Very weird.

The closest thing to a real “song” is the closer, “Dedication,” a funeral dirge is somewhat moving.

I wish I could like Point of Departure. I feel like I’m missing something that the smarter kids in class get. But this just doesn’t connect. No melody, little rhythm, no joy. Yuck.

Rating: 2 stars (out of 5)

Availability:  Easy to find

Cost: Around $4 or $5 used