dg
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Post by dg on Nov 16, 2020 21:02:52 GMT
Part 8:
SUNDAY AT THE VILLAGE VANGUARD (Riverside RLP-376) and WALTZ FOR DEBBY (Riverside RLP-399) show some advances over the previous Evans/LaFaro/Motian albums, in that there is more successful interplay between Evans and LaFaro and the latter’s technical facility has improved, or at least is put on better display as compared to the Birdland sessions or the PORTRAIT IN JAZZ (Riverside RLP 12-315) album.
SUNDAY AT THE VILLAGE VANGUARD has six tracks. It begins and ends with two compositions by Scott LaFaro, “Gloria’s Step” and “Jade Visions,” a very pretty and appropriately meditative end-piece with a simple five-note phrase that moves through the changes and is reminiscent of Bill’s atmospheric “Peace Piece.” “Gloria’s Step” begins nicely – a pretty tune and a good arrangement - but bogs down somewhat with a long bass solo – one of many that show potential but are still not so well-constructed, having little sense of a beginning, a middle, or any direction towards an end, more a series of “licks” up and down the fret board. The second track, “My Man’s Gone Now,” one of the best on the album, gives an indication of the progress that has been made since the trio’s previous albums. It has a wonderful arrangement, with the bass complementing rather than competing with the piano and one of LaFaro’s best and most melodic and heartfelt solos (due in part simply to following Gershwin’s construction of the song where he substitutes the minor for the major third in the descending 5-3-1 progression).
Miles Davis’ “Solar” is assayed next and, while a credible cover, is a bit of a disappointment after the previous track. As appearing on Davis’ album WALKIN’ (Prestige PRLP 7076), it featured the top-notch rhythm section of Horace Silver, LeRoy Vinegar and Kenny Clark, with a surprisingly effective Dave Schildkraut on alto sax. In comparison, the Evans’ Trio sounds a bit anemic. The attempt at interactive improvisation on this one is less than successful, with La Faro’s note-rich competition with the piano usually bearing little relationship to what Evans is playing, save for the changes. This is not necessarily bad, but is far removed from the over-the-top critics’ claims of simultaneous improvisation. The tune is freighted with yet another long bass solo (like me, the noisy Vanguard audience is beginning to be bored); and I again find Motian’s scrabbling rhythms behind the two other voices annoying rather than compelling. “Alice in Wonderland” is a tune along the lines of Evans’ own “Waltz for Debby” and has some good playing by Evans, but yet again those two minuses, a too-long bass solo and inadequate support from Motian. This groups’ version of Alice’s, and Debby’s, youthful perkiness borders too closely in its rhythmic sense on vaudevillian minstrelsy for me – once again, “a whiter shade of pale.” “All of You” is good, but not great - LaFaro reprises some of his favorite licks – we just heard them in “Solar” – not much else to report here except that Motian’s transition from the brief but interesting drum solo back to the tune is handled very skillfully. The album closes with the aforementioned “Jade Visions,” a beautiful performance that never wanders far from its initial exposition and has Scotty again complementing rather than competing with Evans’ extraordinary touch at the keys. This pretty tune of LaFaro’s was apparently the last song he played on the last set of his last gig.
Overall, SUNDAY AT THE VILLAGE VANGUARD is a good album, most notable for Bill’s fine playing throughout, for some of the arrangements, and occasionally for the interactions of the three players, especially Evans and LaFaro. Listening to this album in 2020 I am struck by the sense of swing this band has – it is extraordinarily far from trios helmed by Flanagan, Garland, Peterson, Jamal and a host of other fine jazz pianists of the time. Clearly only part of this is due to Evans himself, since his up-tempo outings generally sound better with Chambers and Cobb, or Sam Jones and Philly Joe. A lot of the deficit is in LaFaro and Motian, who often fall into a bouncy, ricky-tick sense of swing at the moderate and faster tempos. In emphasizing the negatives, I am laying out reasons why I think the reputation of this trio is overrated. I imagine that some of the accolades and comments about the trio must have come as a surprise to some of these other fine pianists in 1961; and that the Evans trio was hailed as revolutionary in freeing bassists and drummers to go beyond the walking bass and time-keeping roles must have been greeted with astonishment by the likes of Charles Mingus and Dannie Richmond, by Roach, Blakey, Jones et al.
Six more tracks from the Vanguard sessions were later released as WALTZ FOR DEBBY. The album starts out with a very pretty “My Foolish Heart” with a relatively minimalist bass and drum contribution, LaFaro mostly sticking to a very slow, thoughtful one to two well-placed notes to a bar. The version of “Waltz for Debby” here has a spritely solo by Evans and good accompaniment from Motian, with well-placed accents and highlights. Except for his solo, again with too many notes and too little structure, LaFaro’s part seems to be a written one throughout the tune itself, the high register notes again having, to my ear, a rather sickly tone. I surmise we are supposed to be delighted by this well-intentioned homage to childhood, but what it brings to mind to me is the tutu- clad dancing hippos of Disney’s “Fantasia.” Looked at less curmudgeonly, perhaps it evokes the music box many little girls had– the one with the ballerina spinning on top, but I suppose Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” or Van Morrison’s “Ballerina” do a much better job in evoking possibly fond memories of this aspect of childhood. (Every jazz fan should listen to Morrison’s ASTRAL WEEKS album [Warner Bros. WS 1768] for the wonderful bass work by Richard Davis, not to mention Connie Kaye and Jay Berliner on drums and guitar).
“Waltz for Debby,” supposedly Evans’ “best-loved” composition is a rather simplistic tune, perhaps inspired by Chopin. Hearing it again brought to mind THE TONY BENNETT BILL EVANS ALBUM from 1975 (Fantasy F-9489), so I retrieved this album from the highest shelf in the office closet, and gave it a listen. During the first song, I was reminded of why I didn’t much care for Mr. Bennett – mainly the broad vibrato and over-dramatization – what a “ham” this guy is. Speaking of pork, this version of “Waltz for Debby” has the ham-handed lyrics of Gene Lees. Instead of Evans’ music evoking a ballerina or music box, for Mr. Lees, according to his lyrics, it somehow evoked a “large purple bear,” among other things. But, I have to say that Evans’ little solo on this track is an absolute exquisite gem. It is indeed a thing of beauty. In fact, throughout the Bennett album, Evans shows extraordinary sensitivity to all the melodies and graces each track with a perfectly rounded little solo. Sans Bennett, a gorgeous album! “Waltz for Debby” was also recorded by Evans in 1961, part of Cannonball Adderley’s KNOW WHAT I MEAN session (Riverside RLP 433). This is my favorite version of the tune. Adderley happily captures the child-like playful sense of joy and wonder at the heart of the tune. He dominates the track, but leaves a bit of time for Evans to turn in a nice little solo. In the introduction, though, Evans overdoes the romanticism and tries to make clear the tune’s relationship to western “classical” music. A version of the song (called “Monica’s Vals”) appeared in 1964 on the album WALTZ FOR DEBBY (Philips 08222 PL, on Verve in US), with new Swedish lyrics sung by Monica Zetterlund (sounding remarkably like Astrud Gilberto) and backed by Evans, Chuck Israels and Larry Bunker. It is pretty and made more palatable because I couldn’t understand the words. Listening to all of these versions of “Waltz for Debby” brought to mind Miles Davis’ Fran-Dance, a somewhat better attempt at whimsical grace.
Returning to the Evans Trio’s WALTZ FOR DEBBY album, “Detour Ahead” has a pensive Evans and a comparatively minimalist bass part. At times, LaFaro both distracts and detracts from the pretty piano creations by inappropriate inserts that, to my ear, conflict with the piano. In his solo, LaFaro focuses on that upper register of his I find so unpleasant. “My Romance” comes as a relief, a breath of fresh air as we enjoy Evans without LaFaro for nearly a whole minute. When the bass returns, there are a few sublime moments where Bill turns the tables and picks up a phrase of Scott’s bass and turns it into something fresh. As Bill’s solo picks up steam, Scott goes into a walking bass segment, with lively drums, which is a nice change of pace but then we must face yet another bass solo. “Some Other Time” is a lovely Leonard Bernstein composition (with Comden and Green) with Evans at his sensitive best and a near-perfect bass part; LaFaro’s very quiet tremolos are a beautiful touch. Here, LaFaro realizes he is supporting Evans, not competing with him, and the audience responds with the greatest applause of the program.
The trio’s interpretation of “Milestones,” the tune originally found (and labeled as ”Miles”) on the album MILESTONES (Columbia CL 1193), is troublesome. The Davis’ group’s own interpretation (with Adderley, Coltrane, Garland, Chambers and Jones) is a tremendous tour de force by that band. With a driving, rolling beat set up by the rhythm section, the front line punches out the simple but effective opening melody (in G Dorian), evoking for me driving smoothly through the night on an empty road. Then comes the “suspension” bridge (A Aeolian), where meter and harmonic progression seem to go on hold – inducing a kind of trance-like state as the eye focuses on the white line and the mind looses conscious awareness of the miles going by; and then an abrupt shift back to reality (to Dorian), and the driving beat and initial tune. Each of the soloists follow this progression through the three phases of the initial tune with Davis, Adderley and Coltrane all turning in fantastic solos on the original. In this version by the Evans’ trio, the exposition of the tune is ably handled. Bill clearly follows the pattern of tension and release in his solo but unfortunately LaFaro’s meandering solo seems to miss the point, despite the promptings of Bill’s accompaniment: by my account, the modal shifts have insufficient definition, thus lessening impact and the bottom falls out, leaving behind the dull carcass of the original tune. This track does have some exceptionally good playing by Motian – probably his best on the two albums - finally something that enlivens the phlegmatic Mr. Motian. Like its predecessor, this is generally a very good album, with the same or similar flaws as the previous release.
As noted above, the early response to the two Vanguard albums was largely positive and it only increased in intensity over the years. Does the music of the Evans/LaFaro/Motian Trio account for the enthusiastic response of the critics and many jazz listeners? The music, especially Evans’ own playing and his conception of the piano trio, was very good and clearly grew out of a combination of his grounding in music theory and his prior experiences in listening to and playing with many other musicians, including most notably and directly Miles Davis and the musicians Davis hired (e.g., Paul Chambers, Philly Joe Jones, Jimmy Cobb) and admired (e.g., Ahmad Jamal). With Bill’s superb piano technique and his composing and arranging skills, he made some notable contributions to the piano trio. As has been pointed out before, Evans also had an interesting harmonic concept. His chords often lacked the bass tone, so in a way freeing the bassist to extend his note choices to those that might otherwise clash with the pianist’s. He also had a good grasp of the modal jazz concept and on several occasions used it to good effect.
However, all of these aspects don’t quite account for the responses to the trio among the critics and many listeners and we thus look for other factors that may explain the trio’s outsized reputation. Evans’ adoption of aspects of the trained “classical” pianist – extensive use of the pedals to modulate tone and volume, echoes of the “classical” repertoire (Debussy, Ravel, Chopin, Satie) – was appealing to the critical establishment – after all, these critics also created the overblown “Third Stream” hype of the 50s-60s. Evans’ persona was also attractive to some – his ultra-serious demeanor, hunched over the keyboard lost to the world, his dark suits and long, slicked back hair, and the surrounding aura of tragedy – a seedy aura of addictions and suicides. Adding to the tragedy was the sad death of LaFaro, a good-looking man in the prime of youth – a “jungen Werther” for the age. Scott LaFaro brought a lot of energy and skill to his playing, but, likely prodded on by his own ambition and also no doubt by Evans and others, he attempted too often to compete with rather than complement the piano, often creating a bit of a mess, to my mind, since his improvisatory skills were not always up to the task. LaFaro’s short career brings to mind the story of Icarus, who, with the hubris engendered by his own talent and early success and the encouragement of others, flew too close to the sun.
This is not to say that LaFaro did not make some worthy contributions to the jazz trio. He developed some interesting harmonic choices and approaches in his playing. Also, frequently eschewing the walking bass role, he felt free to develop rhythmic patterns – sometimes quite complicated and interesting ones – that many bassists at the time would not attempt. As bassist/musicologist Rowan Clark has summarized at the conclusion of his 210-page treatise on LaFaro’s music: “…LaFaro reveals himself to be a bass player using a different harmonic and rhythmic vocabulary to other bassists of the time. In doing so he contributed to – and is frequently given credit for – creating a new role for bassists within small jazz ensembles” and further “there is no question that Scott LaFaro was an outstanding jazz bass player. However, claims that he was largely responsible for freeing jazz bassists to engage in improvised counterpoint liberated from the constraints of walking bass lines appear… to be exaggerated.”
Finally, trying to understand the reputation of these Village Vanguard albums, we must deal with the elephant in the room; as Miles Davis put it, perhaps less than eloquently: “I hate how white people always try to take credit for something after they discover it. Like it wasn't happening before they found out about it -- which most times is always late, and they didn't have nothing to do with it happening. Then, they try to take all the credit, try to cut everybody black out.” We are once again reminded of the story of Jack Johnson and the yearning for “the Great White Hope,” a story that was memorialized in one of Miles’ greatest “electric phase” albums. I don’t believe that Bill himself fostered the overblown reactions of critics and fans – in fact, he often suffered from feelings of inferiority and the belief that he rarely achieved what he wanted in his own playing.
However, that the jazz critics of the 50s and 60s, along with many fans, were not immune to this latter racial aspect is clear from reading the contemporaneous record. In addition to presenting the actual music news, the pages of 50’s-early 60s-era Down Beat Magazine were littered with sorry tales about the trials and tribulations of those who were the greatest of American musician while travelling in the US South (and elsewhere) – this was the age of rampant “Jim Crow” and it was appropriate that the jazz music press would report on this with shock and righteous disapproval. However, gradually, the Down Beat critics (all “white” at that time, I think) and others began to write more and more about what they now called “Crow Jim,” that is, discrimination against white musicians by black players and audiences. This didn’t smell right then and even less so now and it is obvious that these critics and some white musicians “doth protest too much.” To equate the almost daily indignities faced by black musicians with the occasional inconvenience or supposed insults suffered by their white brethren was a stretch. Check out the pictures of the young Miles – in 1959, just eight days after recording KIND OF BLUE - with blood streaming down his face after explaining to an undercover cop that he was ‘loitering” outside Birdland because he happened to be the featured artist – see the name up on the marquee – and he was out taking a break. Such comparisons – “Jim Crow” vs. “Crow Jim” - are analogous in a way to today’s scene, where in the middle of a discussion about “Black Lives Matter,” some guy pipes up with “All Lives Matter.”
It took Bill Evans a few months to get on his feet after the tragic death of Scott LaFaro, but he was back in the studio at the end of 1961 to begin laying down tracks for an album with Herbie Mann (NIRVANA, Atlantic 1426). In 1962 he released several albums, a hodge-podge of the (very) good, the bad and the (almost) ugly. A major development was the resurrection of the trio, again with Paul Motian and now with the talented young bassist Chuck Israels. Recording sessions in May and June produced two trio albums, MOONBEAMS (RLP-428) and HOW MY HEART SINGS (RLP-473). It is interesting to compare and contrast these albums with those produced by the famous trio with LaFaro….
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Post by bassman on Nov 17, 2020 8:14:16 GMT
I, too, have always found this version of "Solar" disappointing. The Miles Davis version on "Walkin' " remains unmatched, not least because of Davey Schildkraut's contribution. What I personally dislike about it is Kenny Clarke's awkward eight-to-the-bar brush rhythm at the beginning - something I have never heard him do elsewhere. It should be noted that "Solar" was not composed by Miles but is actually a Chuck Wayne composition called "Sunny", or "Sonny".
Miles was aware of this, and the wordplay sunny/solar may have been intentional. Anyhow - "Solar" is a much better-sounding name than "Sunny", I guess. Similarly, "Milestones" (I mean the one recorded with Charlie Parker on tenor) is not a Miles Davis composition. It was written by John Lewis. For more on Miles' appropriation of others' works see this blog:
Oh, by the way: My own favourite version of "Solar" is the one by Klaus Doldinger (Dig Doldinger, Philips).
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Post by Doom Girl on Nov 17, 2020 21:17:27 GMT
......For more on Miles' appropriation of others' works see this blog: That is an interesting article about some of the tunes which Miles "appropriated." I was surprised to see that Miles acknowledged (in conversation) that "Four" and "Tune Up" were by Eddie Vinson. Eddie "Clean Head" Vinson was a fine, now little-remembered alto saxophonist (and vocalist). I have enjoyed over the years his KIDNEY STEW IS FINE (with Jay McShann on piano!! and T-Bone Walker, guitar), an old Delmark album (DS-631) that was originally issued in France as WEE BABY BLUES on the Black and Blue label
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Post by Doom Girl on Nov 19, 2020 23:56:00 GMT
1962: Evans’ new trio with Chuck Israels on bass. The song, an original by Bill, is called “Re: Person I Knew,” an anagram of the producer’s name – Orrin Keepnews . The model on the cover is Nico, the Andy Warhol protégé who would go on to sing with the Velvet Underground.
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dg
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Posts: 126
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Post by dg on Nov 30, 2020 22:56:55 GMT
Part 9
The year after Scott LaFaro’s death, 1962, was a busy one for Bill Evans. Among the many albums he played on were recordings made with Jim Hall, Herbie Mann, Freddie Hubbard and Shelley Manne. The one with Hall is worth hearing – it received the top rating of five stars in Down Beat when it was released – but the other three are all, in my estimation, deeply flawed. Two fine albums with his newly formed Trio – with Paul Motian and bassist Chuck Israels – were also recorded.
In December of 1961, Bill went into the studio with his new Trio – Israels and Motian - and Herbie Mann. An additional date was scheduled in May of 1962, but the album that resulted, NIRVANA (Atlantic SD 1426) was not released until October of 1964. The album begins with two moody, atmospheric pieces, Mann’s “Nirvana” and a track called “Gymnopédie” (Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 2”) that are of some interest for Evans’ playing and the sensitive accompaniment by bass and drums. Israels ably fills the gap left by LaFaro, with, to my ear, a better bass sound. My impression from my limited listening of the album is that Israels is a skilled bassist with more restraint than LaFaro – not always seeking to compete with Evans - and Motian is a bit more aggressive, and also showing more reliance on his cymbals. I have to admit that I have never listened much to this album as I can’t abide the atrocious sound of Mann’s flute and his limited improvisatory skills for such an extended period of time. Incidentally, for some new and novel interpretations of Satie’s compositions, I would suggest listening to Tamar Halperin’s 2016 album SATIE on the Neue Meister label.
UNDERCURRENT (United Artists UAJS 15003), a duet album with guitarist Jim Hall, is a prime example of how two jazz improvisers can interact to produce something greater than the sum of two parts. In addition to a bit of simultaneous improvisation, it provides a primer on how the guitar can be used to support a piano solo and vice versa. Unlike the team of Evans and LaFaro, Hall has a technique on his instrument and a melodic and harmonic sophistication comparable to that of Evans. The album gets off to a poor start with a version of “My Funny Valentine” taken at a breakneck pace that destroys the pretty melody – one of my favorites - but the progression and structure of the tune provide the basis for some joyful playing. Evans feels free of some of his usual constraints and seems to be enjoying himself, returning to long Powell-inspired lines. In contrast, his solo during “I Hear A Rhapsody” features some impressive chordal playing. “Dream Gypsy” has a Chopinesque intro and a magnificent interweaving of piano and guitar lines. “Romaine,” a fine original by Hall also has outstanding guitar/piano interactions, a pensive piano solo, and a section of simultaneous improvisation. This is a very well structured tune and performance, with a buildup of tension and satisfying release at the end. “Skating in Central Park,” a waltz written by John Lewis, evokes a gliding feeling and has one of Evans’ little crystalline gems of a solo. The men give “Darn That Dream,” a favorite ballad of the bop generation, a thoughtful reading.
This is a fine album with two instrumentalists well paired in sensitivity, delicacy, pathos and technical brilliance. The album is also notable for its cover, a stunning black and white art photo by Toni Frisell, called “Weeki Wachee Spring, Florida.” Hall and Evans’ follow-up 1966 duet album, INTERMODULATION, is, to my mind, even better than UNDERCURRENT. This Van Gelder engineered album on Verve (V6-8655) has excellent sound, a fine choice of tunes, and the two masters are in fine form. The closing notes of the last track are sublime – and must be heard to be believed.
INTERPLAY (Riverside RLP-445) recorded in July of 1962 is an unusual album in the Evans discography as it has two other strong soloists in Jim Hall, guitar, and Freddie Hubbard on trumpet, along with Percy Heath and Philly Joe Jones. Unfortunately the group didn’t gel and I would rate this as one of the least of Evans’ early albums. Again, Bill thrives with an active drummer and bass, tossing off some fine solos with apparent ease. But his support for other soloists is weak, often leaving the comping to Hall’s guitar, especially when faced with the brash Hubbard.
“You and the Night and the Music” is an example of Evans’ minimalist support of other soloists but Hall turns in a very good solo on this track with terrific backing by the two masters, Heath and Philly Joe. “When You Wish Upon A Star” serves as a lesson in how great musicians – Hall, Hubbard and Evans - can produce less than the sum of their parts – they seem on different pages here, with Hubbard going through the motions in his solo. Part of the problem is clearly Evans’ choice of tunes for this date. “I’ll Never Smile Again” has a Harmon muted Hubbard. The rhythm section is a bit over emphasized and Hubbard seems at a disadvantage- volume-wise - when he trades eights with Hall and Evans. Evans solo on this one is nothing special. Next is an Evans original, the title tune, “Interplay.” It’s an awkward child-like tune, but Hubbard lays down a decent solo here, with fine background by Evans, and a good groove struck by Heath and Jones. “You Go To My Head” is a pleasant enough track but nothing special, except for a brief segment where Hubbard decides to play double time, apparently on his own. “Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams” is just not a good tune unless you favor corny 30s-era Bing Crosby tunes. Heath gives it a good try with a jaunty walk but this is yet another awkward performance with clashing styles.
This is a very poor album, with an uncomfortable Hubbard and Hall spouting clichés and Evans fading into the woodwork on his own album. Despite all the talent there is no real personality stamped on this record, save for Evans’ abiding attachment to the so-called “American Songbook.” For some reason, it brought to my mind the recent (2016) movie “LaLa Land,” the tale of a white pianist on a quest to save “jazz” from extinction – yet another tale of the “white savior.” Hubbard, with Heath and Jones, should have booked another studio.
EMPATHY (Verve V6-8497) is an August 1962 recording with bassist Monty Budwig and drummer Shelly Manne. It starts off with an absolutely grotesque Irving Berlin tune, “The Washington Twist” that had me wondering about Evans’ taste in music. The album was originally conceived as a jazz rendition of the 1962 Berlin musical “Mr. President,” but as the show was a bit of a flop, that idea was shelved, but two songs from the show were retained. “The Washington Twist” features boring solos by all three and ends with some slamming chords followed by a fade-out, the last resort of the uncreative. Next comes a sappy version of that old chestnut, “Danny Boy” and one realizes this is not for the serious jazz fan, although all who considered “Waltz for Debby” Bill’s best effort might go for this. Actually, it provides an excellent example of Bill’s extraordinary control of the piano’s volume and tone, but these skills should be put to better use. Of course, at just the right moments, Shelly comes in with cymbal whacks that left me smiling at the blarney. “Let’s Go Back to the Waltz” is another bad Berlin tune but is a vast improvement over “The Washington Twist.” After another unimpressive solo by Budwig, Bill takes off at fast tempo and turns in a great long-lined solo, followed by a return to the slower pace. Budwig and Manne navigate the tempo changes with perfection. A long version of “With A Song in My Heart” features a passible bass solo, a fine melodic piano outing, a short drum solo and then re-emergence of piano, bass and drums. It seems the tune is over, but then Bill inexplicably emerges to the fore once more, to play a fractured version of the tune followed by some over-dramatic Gershwin styled noodlings, all accompanied of course by drum rolls, cymbal whacks and other hokum. Bill “Mr. Sensitive” Evans is back for “Goodbye.” Bill’s touch is gorgeous on this pretty tune. Budwig tries his hand at the LaFaro schtick and Manne is adequate on drums. The closer, “I Believe in You” is a complex, perky little number with a nice arrangement and, with its gentle ending, is perhaps the best number on this olio of an album.
MOON BEAMS (Riverside RLP-428) and HOW MY HEART SINGS (Riverside RLP-473) were made up of tunes recorded with Paul Motian and Chuck Israels in May and June of 1962. The misguided decision to split the tunes into slow paced tunes on the former album, and faster on the latter, was made. MOON BEAMS sports a lovely, atmospheric cover with a photo of a kohl-eyed blonde model, who happens to be Nico, the Andy Warhol protégé who would go on to sing with the Velvet Underground. It is a beautiful album overall - from the very first notes, an introspective and melancholy affair. Though enjoyable, it does, to a certain extent, lay the trio open to the charge of being little more than a “cocktail lounge piano trio” rather than a dynamic “jazz band.”
MOON BEAMS begins with the interesting original composition “Re: Person I Knew.” After a pensive piano intro, bass and drums come in, and it is a very nice sound indeed, with Motian just a tad more active and aggressive than previously and Israels playing largely in the style and with the facility of LaFaro, but less “busy,” less “rushed,” with a better sense of rhythm, and importantly, with a rich, resonant tone. The lovely “Polka Dots and Moonbeam,” the centerpiece and title reference for the album, has a good arrangement with integration of the bass and drums. Israels sustains a nice background in Evans’ solo – clearly listening and responding to Evans, but without calling undue attention to himself. His upper register has a “singing” quality to it and is used judiciously and to good effect. “I Fall in Love Too Easily” is similar in content, mood and effect – perhaps a flaw of the album – the program would be better with a more up-tempo tune or two. “Stairway to the Stars” is a very pretty tune with a fine arrangement, especially in the way Israels follows along with the melody in the opening. It has an outstanding solo by Evans, returning again and again to the melody in a chordal form, interspersed with Powell-esque lines, with Israels often cleverly referencing the melody in his background lines – in sum, a gorgeous piano trio rendition of this 1930s classic and very popular tune. “If You Could See Me Now” has a very effective bridge section, but the overall sameness of the tracks is becoming a real flaw, to my ear, but the mood changes somewhat with the next track, “It Might as Well Be Spring,” a Rodgers and Hammerstein song from the 1945 movie “State Fair.” Though taken at a slow pace, the tune has a perkiness that can’t be suppressed. “In Love in Vain” follows the established pattern and then the album concludes with a less than stellar Evans tune “Very Early,” composed when Bill was a student, but the track does contain some outstanding interactions between bass and piano. By this point in the proceedings, Motian has gone back to sleep. This an album that has a tendency to lull the listener but does show some advance in Bill’s conception of the trio. The absence of a “show boating” bassist is a real plus in my opinion. Israels’ more modest approach only emphasizes the cooperative interactions within the group and permits the role of the drums in the overall trio sound to be generally more apparent.
HOW MY HEART SINGS, companion piece to MOON BEAMS, begins with the title tune, a sprightly waltz reminiscent of the one for Debby. This tune, that changes from 3 to 4 in its middle section, is one of several good tunes he would record that were written by his old Navy buddy Earl Zindars. The statement of the tune introduces some patterns Israels will use throughout his background to Bill’s solo. His bass solo starts out well but doesn’t impress in its development. “I Should Care” features some jaunty, care free sounding playing appropriate to the title. Again, Israels solo bogs down a bit after a good start – freshman jitters, perhaps. His playing behind Evans is also weak on this track, with some inappropriate (wrong?) notes until he finally resorts to a nice walking bass. Motian is slightly more assertive on this album – its good to hear from him. Dave Brubeck’s “In Your Own Sweet Way” follows and presents an interesting side of Bill, a more out-going one. The ending, with a heavy left hand, must be a tribute to Dave. The white ricky-ticky feel to the rhythm also brings to mind Brubeck, perhaps not in such a good way. Israels’ walking bass is again good to hear, but his solo – not so much. Motian’s little “solos” bring to mind Morello – but a stripped-down, emaciated one – laughable, really. “Walkin’ Up,” an Evans original, is an interesting construction, and elicits some excellent playing by all – not only in Bill’s long lines, but also by Motian, who redeems himself in his short solos here. The tune and Bill’s playing again bring to mind Bud Powell on tunes such as Bud’s “Parisian Thoroughfare.” The effective bridge is reminiscent of some of Miles’ best tunes. This is an outstanding track. The version of “Summertime” here is also cool, with Israel playing a catchy four note pattern throughout the exposition and establishing a real groove. Motian does a good job supporting Israel’s solo which resolves into the original four note pattern – a very nice job by all. “34 Skidoo” is an Evans original, another one with a three- to four-to-a-beat shift. “Ev’rything I Love,” a popular old Cole Porter number, is given a fine treatment. “Show-Type Tune” is another Evans original and just what the title says it is and elicits a rollicking solo by Bill – long lines, heavy chords and peerless accompaniment by Chuck – at times preternaturally matching Bill’s rhythmic patterns – a great closer for the album.
In summary, this is a good album and Israels demonstrates his ability to ably fill in for the late Scotty. I don’t find his solos especially inventive at this stage, but he has a good tone and facility on the instrument and a clear talent for interacting with Bill’s piano. He is more modest than his predecessor. He knows his place in the trio and is less likely to find himself in over his head – he would serve as a very good trio member until, after a few more replacements, the incredible Eddie Gomez came upon the scene.
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dg
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Posts: 126
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Post by dg on Dec 6, 2020 20:03:00 GMT
Part 10, Conclusions
In discussing Bill Evans recorded work in the preceding posts, I have generally ac-cent-tchu-ated the negative and minimized the positive, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize that many of these Evans’ albums contain music that is entertaining, enjoyable and even inspirational at times. In fact, of the music on the Evans’ Trio albums, much of his own playing would meet at least some of these criteria, and, with some notable exceptions, is worth hearing.
Evans had a good idea – to expand the roles of the bass and drums in the piano trio format and attempt joint improvisations in a more extensive way. His success in this endeavor was limited. The expansion beyond what other piano trios had achieved was not as great as it seemed to the critics, who fell over themselves to praise this aspect of the trio. LaFaro’s hyperactive style gave the desired surface impression but his improvisatory vocabulary was limited, not at the level of Evans or, for example, Jim Hall, with whom Evans did achieve, on parts of two albums, the goal of what could be called joint improvisation. Also, it is clear that some of the best interactions of piano and bass were worked out in advance or involved LaFaro mimicking or mirroring Evans’ rhythmic patterns.
It is a different case with Motian, a creative but technically limited drummer. This is from a 2010 article about Motian on NPR’s Fresh Air (radio program) titled “Two from an Anti-Drummer:” “The leader's drumming can be a little unnerving, too. Master percussionists often keep several rhythms going at once, but Paul Motian may trace a thin watercolor line of rhythm through the heart of a performance, as if he could only play his drums one at a time. It's all part of his quiet crusade against overplaying. There are flashier drummers around, for sure. But few do better at creating a mood.”
It seems that by his own account Bill never envisioned the expanded role many of the critics posited for the drums, but always saw it as a subsidiary instrument, providing color and accents – mood - and where often needed, the traditional time-keeping role. For the most part, Motian fulfilled this role admirably – though he could have been a bit more aggressive while doing it. Evans’ real and more modest contribution was some expansion of the vocabulary of the jazz pianist – a harmonic sophistication, an understanding of the modal form, elimination of the base tones of chords, thus allowing the bass more latitude in note choice, and a great sensitivity to the sound of the piano, with extensive modulations of volume and tone.
A disturbing aspect of my reevaluation was the awareness that the enormous critical reputation of the Evans trio originated largely in the pages of the jazz journals such as Down Beat magazine, by a group of white critics including Gene Lees, who had a surprising number of commercial ventures and connections beyond his role as objective music critic. The early assessments of the Bill Evans Trio seemed to be locked in and were parroted by an astonishing array of later critics. Key to my understanding were several statements by Miles Davis that were quoted above. The exaggerated critical response to the Bill Evans Trio can be viewed as a paradigmatic illustration of the notion of the “Great White Hope.”
This past year has been rather a depressing time for many, sequestered in our homes, hearing the daily death tolls, witnessing the violent results of racial discrimination, bearing the burden of extensive job losses. An immersion in music, listening and playing, has been a way to alleviate some of the discomfort, stress and pain. I received much solace from listening to the music of Miles Davis and especially to the music of John Coltrane. Surprisingly, some of what on the surface seems to be Coltrane’s most violent and chaotic music, such as ASCENSION afforded the most peace, or perhaps resignation and an inspiration that we can do more than just survive.
In searching my shelves for something that might be more mellow (quiet? relaxing?) but perhaps equally enlightening I took down The Bill Evans’ Trio’s recording from June of 1961 at the Village Vanguard. I had not listened to this music in decades and had only vague memories of its specifics, but armed with years of reading about its merits, I expected it to be stimulating and enjoyable. After only a few minutes I found it quite ordinary, boring at times, and thus began my reevaluation of the music, and the reputation, of these hallowed Vanguard sessions and the period of Evans’ career immediately preceding and following it. I set out on this deep dive to test my own critical judgement against that of the pundits and sages. I was never all that interested in Evans – save for his contribution to the great Miles Davis sextet – and, after this long haul through his early career, don’t expect to be listening to his music all that much in the future either.
Thus ends the period of Bill Evans career in which I have been interested. He recorded many albums after this time and I would appreciate recommendations of what those more knowledgeable about this later period deem to be the best few albums of the later work. He has a vast discography, and after this review of the early recordings, I certainly don’t care to wade through it all on my own: there are so many other great artists to listen to……
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Post by Doom Girl on Dec 13, 2020 17:03:52 GMT
“Mornin’ Glory” is a pretty song written by talented singer-songwriter Bobbie Gentry who had a 1967 moment of fame with her “Ode to Billie Joe.” This 1973 concert album by Bill Evans is a good one. It is by the trio with Eddie Gomez and Marty Morell, a band I consider better than the one with LaFaro and Motian.
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Post by bassman on Dec 14, 2020 8:23:28 GMT
I think I will give the "Symbiosis" album another listen (the one with Gomez and Morell plus Orchestra conducted by Claus Ogerman). Anything that goes beyond the Evans trio setting has always been welcome with me (George Russell, Hal McKusick, Gary McFarland...)
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Post by gregorythefish on Dec 14, 2020 16:54:17 GMT
I've always thought it a shame he didn't record in more small groups with horns. Abstract Truth and Art Farmer's "Modern Art" are total bangers.
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Post by Doom Girl on Jan 15, 2021 22:23:59 GMT
I've always thought it a shame he didn't record in more small groups with horns. Abstract Truth and Art Farmer's "Modern Art" are total bangers. Bill Evans does a good job in that awesome introduction, supporting the soloists, and on his own turn, which has some interesting note choices. As so often with Evans, it is mostly up to bass and drums to maintain the energy level and sense of propulsion. I like this track mostly for Benny Golson’s fabulous tenor solo. The name of the tune is “Mox Nix.” The unusual title is a phonetic version of the German “macht nichts” which means something like “doesn’t matter” or “no worries” and was a phrase used by American soldiers stationed in Germany after World War II. This album from 1958 appeared not look after the introduction of Alfred E. Neuman and his famous catchphrase “What me worry.”
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Post by bassman on Jan 16, 2021 8:14:09 GMT
In addition to being a German phrase mispronounced by English speakers, "mox nix" has always struck me as the exact equivalent of "tomorrow snow", in Latin. Macht auch nichts.
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Post by jazzyhell on Jan 18, 2021 15:35:52 GMT
I've just got to the end of listening to Bill Evans' Interplay (RLP 445 mono) only to want to cry when the vinyl jumped in the last song. Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams...
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