Recorded at Van Gelder Studios. Recorded January 27, 28, 29, 1970.
Herbie Hancock appears through the courtesy of Warner Bros. Records.
The first Freddie Hubbard album released on Creed Taylor CTI label marked a shift away from Hubbard's recording with Blue Note Records. It was the album that established Taylor's vision for the music that was to appear on his labels in the coming decade. "Red Clay" is Freddie Hubbard's seventeenth overall album.
On Jan. 27, 1970, trumpeter Freddie Hubbard, playing at the peak of his powers after a string of seven brilliant Blue Note albums and three for the Atlantic label, went into the studio to cut his first for Creed Taylor’s CTI label. With Taylor producing, a stellar cast was assembled at Rudy Van Gelder’s studio in Englewood Cliffs, N.J., for three consecutive days of recording. They emerged with Red Clay, an album that would not only define Hubbard’s direction over the next decade while setting the template for all future CTI recordings, but would also have a dramatic impact on a generation of trumpet players coming up in the ’70s.
This may be Freddie Hubbard's finest moment as a leader, in that it embodies and utilizes all of his strengths as a composer, soloist, and frontman. On Red Clay, Hubbard combines hard bop's glorious blues-out past with the soulful innovations of mainstream jazz in the 1960s, and reads them through the chunky groove innovations of '70s jazz fusion. This session places the trumpeter in the company of giants such as tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson, pianist Herbie Hancock, bassist Ron Carter, and drummer Lenny White. Hubbard's five compositions all come from deep inside blues territory; these shaded notions are grafted onto funky hard bop melodies worthy of Horace Silver's finest tunes, and are layered inside the smoothed-over cadences of shimmering, steaming soul. The 12-minute-plus title track features a 4/4 modal opening and a spare electric piano solo woven through the twin horns of Hubbard and Henderson. It is a fine example of snaky groove music. Henderson even takes his solo outside a bit without ever moving out of the rhythmatist's pocket. "Delphia" begins as a ballad with slow, clipped trumpet lines against a major-key background, and opens onto a midtempo groover, then winds back into the dark, steamy heart of bluesy melodicism. The hands-down favorite here, though, is "The Intrepid Fox," with its Miles-like opening of knotty changes and shifting modes, that are all rooted in bop's muscular architecture. It's White and Hancock who shift the track from underneath with large sevenths and triple-timed drums that land deeply inside the clamoring, ever-present riff. Where Hubbard and Henderson are playing against, as well as with one another, the rhythm section, lifted buoyantly by Carter's bridge-building bassline, carries the melody over until Hancock plays an uncharacteristically angular solo before splitting the groove in two and doubling back with a series of striking arpeggios. This is a classic, hands down.
It was a transitional period in the jazz; the tectonic shift beginning with Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way, recorded the previous year. Hubbard’s entry into this crossover territory on Red Clay was characterized by the slyly syncopated beats of drummer Lenny White on the funky 12-minute title track, an infectious groover that was soon covered by budding crossover groups all over America. Essentially an inventive line set to the chord changes of “Sunny,” Bobby Hebb’s hit song from 1966, “Red Clay” would become Hubbard’s signature tune throughout his career. As trumpeter, friend and benefactor David Weiss, who is credited with bringing Hubbard out of self-imposed retirement in the late ’90s, explains, “Later in life Freddie would always announce it as ‘the tune that’s been keeping me alive for the last 30 years.’ We played ‘Red Clay’ every night and he would quote ‘Sunny’ over it every night.”
Weiss and the New Jazz Composers Octet backed Hubbard on two recordings (2001’s New Colors and 2008’s On the Real Side) in addition to playing several gigs with him. As he notes, “What struck me when I went back to check out ‘Red Clay’ was how loose it is. It’s killing but kind of raw, and it goes on for over 12 minutes … not like what you would expect from what gets tailored to be a jazz hit.”
That looseness can be attributed in large part to drummer White, whose wide beat and interactive instincts characterize the track. “Freddie always credited Lenny with that,” says Weiss. “He said Lenny came up with the beat and that he himself had nothing to do with it. He was always happy to give Lenny credit on that track.”
Recorded at Van Gelder Studios, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, October 4 and 5, 1972
Freddie Hubbard's fourth CTI recording (and the second one with Don Sebesky arrangements) certainly has a diverse repertoire. In addition to his originals "Povo" and "Sky Dive" (both of which are superior jam tunes), the trumpeter stretches out on the theme from The Godfather and Bix Beiderbecke's "In a Mist." The charts for the brass and woodwinds are colorful; there is a fine supporting cast that includes guitarist George Benson, Keith Jarrett on keyboards, and flutist Hubert Laws; and Hubbard takes several outstanding trumpet solos.
I don’t know if the assembly-line tactics of the ubiquitous Creed Taylor label are paying off commercially, but judging by the speed with which they’re coming off the conveyor belt, I suppose they are. This is Hubbard’s second album for CTI, with another on the way; once again it shows that he’s never recovered from his years with the Jazz Messengers.
His recent residency at Scott’s had him bopping in old Blakey style, while this album embraces a hotch-potch of musical contexts, ranging from funk-rock to Beiderbecke to Bossa Nova and back to Blakey – all of which suggests a schizophrenic rather than versatile attitude. Sadly, Hubbard is lost in a period he can’t come to terms with, while fellow Messengers have either thrown in their lot, contented themselves with the past, or, like Wayne Shorter, forged way ahead. But that’s another story.
Povo drags a Hubbard composition uneasily into up-dated rock. Introduced by a Gil Evans style spread, Carter opens with a simple bass riff which continues remorselessly through the number’s absurdly drawn-out length. The equally simple melody line covers what is basically a languorous early Shorter 12-bar composition; add some names like Cobham, Jarrett and Benson and you’ve got a track which does Creed Taylor proud. These presumably lucratively enticed session men are hardly enthusiastic, but at least the ball’s rolling.
Cobham does especially well by waking up occasionally to change emphases and add off-beats, only to be forced back by clumsy bouts of orchestration. Laws alone is trying, and he provides the only solo of any listenable worth. In his other composition, Sky Dive, a piece of Quincy Jones bossa-funk, Hubbard at least bursts into a healthy and sustained playing, in uncompromised tone, of his original style. The following breaks by Benson and Jarrett are just short enough not to steal the show.
Beiderbecke’s In A Mist makes as few bones about its wallowing Messengers treatment as much as Jarrett and Cobham are unafraid to parody a ten year-old Cedar Walton and Art Blakey backup – which leaves one wondering idly if Hubbard directed them so, or, if not, whether he was aware of what was going on behind his back. Lastly, yet another blood-transfusion of the love theme from The Godfather already again, in which a predictable arrangement and glossy orchestration is spared only by a few neat changes in tempo, a miniscule but authentic Jarrett introduction and a brief spell when Cobham, Jarrett and particularly Carter are permitted a couple of minutes trio work.
If ever there were a record that both fit perfectly and stood outside the CTI Records' stable sound, it is Sugar by Stanley Turrentine. Recorded in 1970, only three tracks appear on the original album (on the reissue there's a bonus live version of the title track, which nearly outshines the original and is 50 percent longer). Turrentine, a veteran of the soul-jazz scene since the '50s, was accompanied by a who's who of groove players, including guitarist George Benson, Lonnie Liston Smith on electric piano, Freddie Hubbard on trumpet, bassist Ron Carter, organist Butch Cornell, and drummer Billy Kaye, among others. (The live version adds Airto, flutist Hubert Laws, drummer Billy Cobham, and organist Johnny Hammond.) The title track is a deep soul blues workout with a swinging backbeat and the rhythm section fluidly streaming through fours and eights as Benson, Hubbard, and Turrentine begin slowly and crank up the heat, making the pace and stride of the cut simmer then pop -- especially in Hubbard's solo. This is truly midnight blue, and the party's at the point of getting really serious or about to break up. By the time Benson picks up his break, full of slick, shiny, warm arpeggios, the seams are bursting and couples are edging into corners. Butch Cornell's "Sunshine Alley" is a solid, funky groover, paced by organ and double fours by Kaye. Turrentine and Hubbard stride into the melody and keep the vamp in the pocket, riding out past the blues line into a tag that just revs the thing up even further. But the big surprise is in the final track, one of the most solidly swinging, from-the-gut emotional rides of John Coltrane's "Impressions" ever taken. Turrentine is deep inside his horn, ringing out in legato with everything he has -- and it is considerable. Ron Carter's bass playing flows through the modal interludes, creating a basis for some beautifully intervallic invention by Benson and Smith by building a series of harmonic bridges through the mode to solos. It's hard to believe this is Turrentine, yet is could be no one else. If jazz fans are interested in Turrentine beyond the Blue Note period -- and they should be -- this is a heck of a place to listen for satisfaction.
Soul jazz with a blues flavour, great line up, and of course had to get it when I saw Freddie Hubbard plays trumpet. Stanley Turrentine is no slouch on saxophone either. Rounding out the rest of the band, Ron Carter, great bass player, George Benson, doing his thing on guitar, the ever talented Lonnie Liston Smith (another fave of mine) on electric piano, Butch Cornell on funky organ, Billy Kaye on drums, and some conga playing, ever so subtle, from Richard 'Pablo' Landrum. Side two is one long track to sink into. Side one, two tracks, starting out with 'Sugar' tied for the best track with the one long track on side two, in which Hubbard really shows off, in fact the main guys stretch it out, Benson, Turrentine getting long play. Love this album, and it sounds so good on vinyl. Jazz and classical music were meant for vinyl, best way to hear them. Especially good because this is an original, the gatefold pressing, there are lots of reissues but there is nothing like the original. CTI records fell out of favour at one point and these originals where cheap to get but then rappers started using them for samples and the price went back up. Got this at a vinyl fair, unfortunately the price was back up. No worries, I play this lots and love it, it oozes groove.
Recorded on February 25, 1964 at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey
Out to Lunch stands as Eric Dolphy's magnum opus, an absolute pinnacle of avant-garde jazz in any form or era. Its rhythmic complexity was perhaps unrivaled since Dave Brubeck's Time Out, and its five Dolphy originals -- the jarring Monk tribute "Hat and Beard," the aptly titled "Something Sweet, Something Tender," the weirdly jaunty flute showcase "Gazzelloni," the militaristic title track, the drunken lurch of "Straight Up and Down" -- were a perfect balance of structured frameworks, carefully calibrated timbres, and generous individual freedom. Much has been written about Dolphy's odd time signatures, wide-interval leaps, and flirtations with atonality. And those preoccupations reach their peak on Out to Lunch, which is less rooted in bop tradition than anything Dolphy had ever done. But that sort of analytical description simply doesn't do justice to the utterly alien effect of the album's jagged soundscapes. Dolphy uses those pet devices for their evocative power and unnerving hints of dementia, not some abstract intellectual exercise. His solos and themes aren't just angular and dissonant -- they're hugely so, with a definite playfulness that becomes more apparent with every listen. The whole ensemble -- trumpeter Freddie Hubbard, vibist Bobby Hutcherson, bassist Richard Davis, and drummer Tony Williams -- takes full advantage of the freedom Dolphy offers, but special mention has to be made of Hutcherson, who has fully perfected his pianoless accompaniment technique. His creepy, floating chords and quick stabs of dissonance anchor the album's texture, and he punctuates the soloists' lines at the least expected times, suggesting completely different pulses. Meanwhile, Dolphy's stuttering vocal-like effects and oddly placed pauses often make his bass clarinet lines sound like they're tripping over themselves. Just as the title Out to Lunch suggests, this is music that sounds like nothing so much as a mad gleam in its creator's eyes.
01. The All Seeing Eye 02. Genesis 03. Chaos 04. Face Of The Deep 05. Mephistopheles
Alto Saxophone – James Spaulding Bass – Ron Carter Drums – Joe Chambers Flugelhorn – Alan Shorter Piano – Herbie Hancock Tenor Saxophone – Wayne Shorter Trombone – Grachan Moncur III Trumpet, Flugelhorn – Freddie Hubbard
Recorded on October 15, 1965.
“For the composer, it’s almost a decree that the chamber orchestra and string quartet are the height of individualism,” Wayne Shorter stated in 2002. “Composers like Gabriel Faure wrote things that were like stories, complex, but in color, and as you follow them, you can go away on a trip. Playing that music, you have a lot of companionship and exchange, and you don’t have one job. You’re supporting. Then you have something to say, someone disagrees, and the line you play saves the second violinist over there, then he comes or she comes and saves your ass! Then you go out in space. You go out into the unknown.”
Shorter’s remarks present an interesting perspective on The All Seeing Eye, a programmatic five-piece suite recorded in October 1965 on which the composer, 13 months after leaving the “sock ‘em dead” hard bop verities of Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers for the wide-open spaces of Miles Davis Quintet (Miles was five months into a protracted convalescence from hip surgery that had sidelined him from performing, giving Shorter much time to dream), convened an ensemble of best-in-class contemporaries to fulfill John Milton’s admonition to the “heavenly muse” in Paradise Lost to sing the story “In the Beginning how the Heav’ns and Earth/Rose out of Chaos,” while also offering a hip perspective on “Th’ infernal Serpent” who “Mov’d our Grand Parents in that happy State,/Favour’d of Heav’n so highly, to fall off/ From their Creator, and transgress his Will.”
Propelled by the nonpareil rhythm section of Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Joe Chambers, each a master of compositional improvisation, and informed by consistently virtuosic soliloquies on Shorter’s sparse, pungent themes from the composer, Freddie Hubbard, Grachan Moncur III, and James Spaulding, all at the top of their respective games, The All-Seeing Eye offers nothing if not a master class in hardcore jazz expression. The soloists operate along team-first imperatives, following Shorter’s emotional roadmap while also fully expressing their personalities, both in the melodies they weave and the orchestral array of sounds and timbres that they elicit. In Nat Hentoff’s superb liner notes for the original issue, Shorter explicates his intents and purposes for each piece in abundant detail, more literally he has done before or since, so a blow-by-blow is not necessary. Still, it is useful to note that each piece sounds like an abstraction for a more fully fleshed-out work, a notion that Shorter confirmed in 2002, with such orchestral masterworks as Phantom Navigator, Atlantis, and High Life under his belt.
“The All Seeing Eye is not finished,” Shorter said. “When I was doing it then, I was thinking, ‘Okay, this is just for now, but this is only a framework.’ I realize that everything I’ve done has been bricks, building a larger architecture. Now I think there’s a part of us that knows everything. Music cannot stop wars, but, like the judge says, ‘What are your intentions?’ I want the music to carry the good intentions, the good dialogue, the impetus for people to start thinking things they never thought before.”
In many ways The All Seeing Eye feels like the most fleshed-out and comprehensive composition of Wayne Shorter's career. The playing is all uniformly stellar, the music veers into places and dark corners you don't expect jazz to necessarily go (see "Genesis" or the touches of Miles's "Spain" in the last track). It amounts to compelling evidence that Shorter deserves the recognition he receives next to the likes of Coltrane, Blakey, and Mingus, among other legends.
Bass – Ron Carter Drums – Elvin Jones Piano – Herbie Hancock Tenor Saxophone – Wayne Shorter Trumpet – Freddie Hubbard
Recorded December 24, 1964 at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey.
On his third date for Blue Note within a year, Wayne Shorter changed the bands that played on both Night Dreamer and Juju and came up with not only another winner, but also managed to give critics and jazz fans a different look at him as a saxophonist. Because of his previous associations with McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, and Reggie Workman on those recordings, Shorter had been unfairly branded with the "just-another-Coltrane-disciple" tag, despite his highly original and unusual compositions. Here, with only Jones remaining and his bandmates from the Miles Davis Quintet, Herbie Hancock and Ron Carter on board (with Freddie Hubbard filling out the horn section), Shorter at last came into his own and caused a major reappraisal of his earlier work. The odd harmonic frameworks used to erect "Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum," with its balladic structure augmented with a bluesy regimen of hard bop and open-toned modalism, create the illusion of a much larger band managing all that timbral space. Likewise on the title track, with its post-bop-oriented melodic line strewn across a wide chromatic palette of minors and Hancock's piano pushing through a contrapuntal set of semi-quavers, the avant-garde meets the hard bop of the '50s head on and everybody wins. The loping lyric of the horns and Hancock's vamping in the middle section during Shorter's solo reveals a broad sense of humor in the saxophonist's linguistics and a deep, more regimented sense of time and thematic coloration. The set ends with the beautiful "Wild Flower," a lilting ballad with angular accents by Hancock who takes the lyric and inverts it, finding a chromatic counterpoint that segues into the front line instead of playing in opposition. The swing is gentle but pronounced and full of Shorter's singular lyricism as a saxophonist as well as a composer.
On the spectrum of jazz challenges, Wayne Shorter’s “Speak No Evil” appears to lean toward the easy side. The title track of the eminent saxophonist and composer’s 1964 masterpiece Speak No Evil sits in a comfortable and utterly approachable medium swing. Its primary theme is a series of long tones outlining placid, open-vista harmony. Its bridge resembles something from the notebook of Thelonious Monk – a simple staccato motif that stairsteps up and down, each phrase defined by strategic accents.
Yet as often happens in the music of Wayne Shorter, things are not entirely what they seem. There are layers. The notes of the melody tell one story; the chords nudge the musicians someplace else, a realm where theory lessons are of limited value and instinct matters more than intellect. To thrive in this place, the musicians have to relinquish the tricks of the jazz trade – the lightning-fast bebop runs, the killer licks they lean on to navigate chord changes. The tune, simple though it may be, comes with its own specific language – a trait it shares with many of Shorter’s pieces. Before diving into the conversation, the improviser has to discover the specific quirks of the form, its textures and temperament. How challenging is this? Even Shorter, who wrote the tune, sometimes struggles. He begins “Speak No Evil” by repeating a deftly tongued single note over and over, as though chopping his way into new territory. Shorter’s first few lines are simple declarations with a smidgen of blues in them – he’s not thinking about solo hijinks, he’s just trying to hang with the slalom course that is his creation. As he steers around tight curves, his lines coalesce into a kind of spontaneous lyricism – he’s singing through the horn, linking seemingly disconnected phrases into one (!) hauntingly memorable chorus. The subsequent soloists embrace his melody-first example when improvising: trumpeter Freddie Hubbard blows wistful then tender then fierce; pianist Herbie Hancock follows spry modal lines into quiet introspective corners.
This subtle “guiding” of soloists is a crucial component of Speak No Evil, and much of Wayne Shorter’s compositional output. The last of three monumental works Shorter recorded in 1964 (the others are Night Dreamer and Juju), this album frequently turns up on shortlists of essential jazz, and one reason is Shorter’s ability to coax those around him out of their comfort zones, and into new ways of playing. Shorter’s melodies encourage musicians to stretch, and so do his vividly imagined harmonic environments – playgrounds, really. No other jazz figure found such innovative ways to balance hard bop rhythmic fire against delicately loosened (yet, crucially, still tonal) harmony. And where some contemporaries built brainy maze-like contraptions, Shorter went straight for the heart, trusting that the poignancy he embedded in his structures would stir something similar within the soloists. The moods he explores here are deep and absorbing, far from typical jazz club fare: “Dance Cadaverous” offers a macabre tour of a haunted house (or, perhaps, a haunted mind), while the keening octaves of “Infant Eyes” sketch human vulnerability with a rare sustained empathy. Incredibly, these pieces become deeper and thicker in the solo passages, as each of the players gingerly endeavors to enhance the beauty already on the page.
That’s what every composer wants – the chance for the vague notions he scribbles on paper to take root, expand and blossom as music. Shorter managed that with astounding consistency over the years, creating a songbook that’s regularly described as the “mother lode” of jazz composition. That songbook has many riches – some are stone simple, some merely sound simple, and some are deceptively sophisticated and complex. It’s a vast trove of heady music, and the high-level sorcery at work within Speak No Evil is a great way to begin exploring it.
This is pure inner city Jazz, vintage Hardbop, intellectual, cultivated and super-cool, ideal music to be used as a soundtrack for a discourse on modern Western life.
The album is well-balanced, the choice of songs as well as that of the participating musicians. It simulates the Miles Davis quintet (Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter) minus Miles but plus Freddie Hubbard, and minus Tony Williams but plus Elvin Jones, so, what can you say. No downer here, but Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, the ballad Infant Eyes and the waltzes Wild Flower and Dance Cadaverous are special highlights.
I wouldn't want to join in with the crowd saying "this is the perfect Shorter album", simply because there are more than one perfect Shorter albums. This one, however, may be the most representative for Shorter's specific mid-sixties Hardbop.
01. Black Orpheus 02. Devil's Island 03. Moon Of Manakoora 04. Dead End 05. Wayning Moments 06. Powder Keg 07. All Or Nothing At All 08. Callaway Went That-A-Way
Bass – James Merritt Drums – Marshall Thompson Piano – Eddie Higgins Tenor Saxophone – Wayne Shorter Trumpet – Freddie Hubbard
The liner notes, the originals of which are included with this reissue, reflect that "this is not experimental jazz." It isn't. It is finely performed mainstream jazz of the era in which it was made. While this recording does not equal the quality of the sessions to be recorded by Shorter later in the decade for Blue Note, it is pleasantly played bop. Shorter's tenor saxophone shows a conservative side, to be sure, and a young Freddie Hubbard hardly takes any chances. Still, the rhythm section anchored by pianist Eddie Higgins and including bassist Jymie Merritt and drummer Marshall Thompson, keeps a solid beat and the results are pleasant enough. Double takes of all but one of the eight charts is included, though there are really not any important substantive differences from the originals. The short recording times of each track limits the solos, but there is nonetheless an attractive simplicity infusing the set. Overall, this does not represent the best work of either Shorter or Hubbard, but it is still an interesting, if non-essential part of the discography of each of them.
Even at a tender young age, Wayne Shorter could exhibit the kind of sensitivity and creative lyricism that would make him one of the giants of modern jazz. This early set – which features playing by Freddie Hubbard, Eddie Higgins, and Jymie Merritt – is filled with haunting original compositions ("Devil's Island", "Dead End", "Powder Keg") and the kind of mature playing that you'd hardly expect from a little tike like Shorter (who, with Lee Morgan, was just a kid when the two of them were playing with Art Blakey). This excellent CD reissue delivers these early tracks in stunning fidelity, and includes alternate takes of the tracks on the orginal LP!
01. Detour Ahead 7:55 02. Goodbye 9:17 03. Old Devil Moon 5:46 04. SKJ 6:45 05. Opus De Funk 6:41
Bass – Ron Carter Drums – Billy Cobham (tracks: B2), Steve Gadd (tracks: A1, A2, B1, B3) Flute – Hubert Laws Piano – Cedar Walton (tracks: A1, A2, B1, B3), Herbie Hancock (tracks: B2) Trumpet – Freddie Hubbard (tracks: B2) Vibraphone [Vibes] – Milt Jackson
Recorded December, 1973 except SKJ recorded December, 1972
By 1967, Creed Taylor was a veteran of the music industry. He had worked numerous record labels, including Bethlehem, ABC and Verve. However in 1967, Creed Taylor left Verve to join Herb Albert and Jerry Moss’ A&M Records. This was something of a coup for A&M Records, as Creed Taylor had an impressive track record.
At ABC, Creed founded one of jazz’s most influential labels, Impulse! and signed John Coltrane in 1960. With one of the legends of jazz onboard, McCoy Tyner, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Charles Mingus, Albert Ayler and Archie Shepp would then sign to Verve. Impulse! would go on to release some of the most innovative and influential jazz of the sixties. By then, Creed Taylor had moved on to Verve in 1961.
Now working for Verve Records, Creed Taylor introduced bossa nova to America. Creed signed artists like Antonio Carlos Jobim and Stan Getz. Their music caught the attention of Charlie Byrd and Dizzy Gillespie. Soon, Verve Records was one of the most successful jazz labels. However, after six years at Verve Records, Creed Taylor was on the move.
He signed to A&M in 1967. That’s where CTi Records was born. Originally, CTi Records was an imprint of A&M. A&M was responsible for distributing CTi Records’ releases. That was the case right through until 1969, when Creed Taylor left A&M. The following year, CTi Records become an independent record company.
Many people saw Creed Taylor’s decision to leave A&M as risky. Not Creed Taylor though. He saw it as a carefully calculated risk. Music was about to change. Especially jazz music. Creed Taylor foresaw the and was determined that CTi Records would be at the forefront of this change. So he began signing some of the most talented jazz musicians of that time to CTi Records. This included Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Ron Carter and Herbie Hancock. Another artist that Creed Taylor signed to Cti Records in 1970, was forty-seven year old vibes player Milt Jackson.
He would spend three years at CTi Records, and released a trio of albums. This included Sunflower and Goodbye, which have been digitally remastered, and were recently released by BGO Records on one CD. On both Sunflower and Goodbye, Milt Jackson’s is joined by an all-star band, which features many other artists signed to CTi Records.
By the time Milt Jackson signed to CTi Records, he was a musical veteran. He had released thirty-six albums, including collaborations with some of the biggest names in jazz. John Coltrane, Coleman Hawkins, Wes Montgomery, Oscar Peterson and Ray Charles had all collaborated with Milt Jackson. His first collaboration on an album came in 1948.
Milt Jackson was then twenty-five. He was born in Detroit on 1st January 1923. Music was omnipresent in the Jackson household. It played an important part in everyday. So did the church, where Milt Jackson would later sing gospel.
Before that, Milt Jackson began searching for the right musical instrument for him. This search began when seven year old Milt Jackson began to play the guitar. Then when he was eleven Milt switched to piano. However, when Milt started at Miller High School, he began playing drums and then timpani and violin. Somehow, Milt even found time to sing in the school choir. By the time he was sixteen, Milt began touring with the gospel group the Evangelist Singers. However, that wasn’t where his future lay.
For sixteen year old Milt Jackson, hearing Lionel Hampton playing the vibraphone in Benny Goodman’s band, changed not just his musical direction, but his life. Realising that the vibraphone was the instrument for him, Milt Jackson spent the next few years dedicating himself to learning how to play the vibes. This paid off.
In 1945, Milt Jackson was discovered by Dizzy Gillespie, and he became a member of his sextet. Before long, Milt was a familiar face in Dizzy Gillespie’s bands. This was something of a coup for the young vibes player, and certainly got him noticed. Milt went on to Milt play alongside Woody Herman, Thelonious Monk, Charlie Parker and Howard McGhee, with whom he recorded an album in 1948
Trumpeter Howard McGhee and Milt Jackson entered the studio in 1948 to record an album. They were joined by some of the top musicians of the day. Together, they recorded twelve tracks, which eventually, were released as Howard McGhee and Milt Jackson in 1955. Little did Milt Jackson realise that this was the first of a prolific career.
Milt Jackson’s career would eventually spanned six decades. His recording career began in earnest in 1952. By then, Milt had formed the Milt Jackson Quartet in 1950. It would later become the Modern Jazz Quartet, which right through until 1974, when it disbanded, would released ambitious and groundbreaking music. Still, though Milt managed to juggle his solo career with his would within the Modern Jazz Quartet.
Two years after the formation of the the Milt Jackson Quartet, its founder released his solo debut album, Wizard of the Vibes. It featured music recorded between 1948 and 1952. Three years later, and the Milt Jackson Quartet released their eponymous debut album on Prestige. The following year, was one of the most productive of Milt’s early career.
During 1956, Milt Jackson released a quartet of solo albums. By then, Milt had acquired the nickname Bags, after arriving at a gig with bags under his eyes. They were the result of too many nights carousing into the early others. However, Milt’s new nickname provided inspiration for many an album title, including Roll ‘Em Bags. It featured music that had been recorded between 1949 and 1956; while Meet Milt Jackson had been recorded between 1954 and 1956. Milt’s other releases were Opus de Jazz and The Jazz Skyline. They showcased Milt Jackson as developed and blossomed as an artist. That would be the case throughout the remainder of the fifties.
When Milt Jackson released Plenty, Plenty Soul in 1957, it proved to be his final release for Savoy. He would move to Atlantic Records, and later in 1957, released Plenty, Plenty Soul and Bags and Flutes. Milt continued to be a prolific solo artist, but still somehow, found time to record with the Modern Jazz Quartet and collaborate with other artists.
This included recording Soul Brothers with Ray Charles in 1958. Then in 1959, Milt Jackson recorded Bean Bags with Coleman Hawkins. That year, Milt released his last solo album of the fifties, Bags’ Opus. It’s regarded as one of the finest album Milt recorded for Atlantic Records during the late fifties. The Atlantic Records’ years continued into the sixties.
As the sixties dawned, Milt Jackson released Bags and Trane, his collaboration with John Coltrane in 1960. It was regarded as was one of Milt’s best collaborations, and featured a series of stellar performance from both men. The other album Milt released during 1960, was The Ballad Artistry Of Milt Jackson, where he works his way through a series of standards. Alas it wasn’t one of Milt’s finest hours. Reviews of the the album were mixed.
Milt’s next album was another high profile collaboration.
This was Soul Meeting, a collaboration between Milt Jackson and Ray Charles. It was released in 1961, the year Milt’s time at Atlantic Records drew to a close. For the rest of 1961, he released albums on a variety of labels.
Among them, were Verve, who released Very Tall, Milt Jackson’s collaboration with jazz pianist Oscar Peterson. It was released in 1961, the same year that Milt released Statements on Impulse! However, it was Milt’s 1961 collaboration with Wes Montgomery, Bags Meets Wes! that resulted in him finding a new home, Riverside.
It was home for Milt Jackson for the next few years. Milt released Big Bigs and Invitation during 1962. For Someone I Love followed in 1963, with Milt Jackson Quintet Live at the Village Gate being released in 1964. By then, Milt had moved on again.
The next few years saw Milt Jackson flit between labels big and small. He released Jazz ‘N’ Samba on Impulse in 1964, and somewhat belatedly, Atlantic Records released Vibrations, which had been recorded in 1960 and 1961. That was when Atlantic Records was home for Milt. Not anymore. Home was now the Limelight label, which released In A New Setting in 1964. This would home for Milt for the next couple of years. Before that though, Milt would on the collaboration trail.
During 1964, released three collaborations. This included Milt Jackson with Orchestra Enrico Intra’s album Sings. Milt Jackson and Sonny Still collaborated on the album In The Beginning. However, the third collaboration was with Ray Brown, and would become Milt’s most productive and longest lasting musical of the sixties.
It was in 1964 that Milt Jackson and Ray Brown released the first of two collaborations on Verve, Much in Common. This was followed by Ray Brown-Milt Jackson. The other album Milt released during 1965 was Milt Jackson At The Museum of Modern Art. Just like In A New Setting, it was released on Limelight, which had become Milt’s new home. Limelight released Born Free in 1966, which was his swan-song for the label.
Milt Jackson returned in 1968 with a new ensemble, Milt Jackson and the Hip String Quartet. It included Hubert Laws who Ron Carter, who Milt would join forces with at Creed Taylor’s CTi Records. That was two years down the line.
efore that, Milt Jackson and Ray Brown released a trio of collaborations during 1969. That’s the Way It Is and Just the Way It Had to Be were live albums. The other album Memphis Jackson, was a studio album which featured an all-star cast, that included the Ray Brown Big Band. Despite the illustrious array of talent on display, critics weren’t impressed. It was an inauspicious end to the sixties.
During the sixties, Milt Jackson had been a prolific artist. Not only had released numerous solo albums, but he had continually collaborated. Then there was the albums Milt had recorded with the Modern Jazz Quartet. They recorded throughout the sixties, and were equally prolific. Despite this, the Modern Jazz Quartet were no longer regarded by the latest generation of jazz aficionados as pioneers. Instead, fusion was King where jazz was concerned.
Fusion was a marriage of jazz, funk and rock and psychedelia, that had been born in the late sixties. Among its founding fathers were Gary Burton, Larry Coryell and Miles Davis. They brought onboard Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Ron Carter and Herbie Hancock. With some of jazz’s big hitters joining the fusion revolution, Creed Taylor began signing some of this musical movement’s leading lights to CTi Records. However, Creed Taylor wasn’t just signing artists who played fusion. He had signed jazz guitarist George Benson and several Bossa Nova artists. His latest signing in 1970, was forty-seven year old Milt Jackson.
Signing to CTi Records was a no-brainer for Milt Jackson. He had been drifting for the last few years, and latterly, hadn’t reached the heights of his early career. Maybe Creed Taylor could rejuvenate his Milt’s career? CTi Records was regarded as a label that was going places. It was also a label that was home to some of the best and most innovative jazz musicians of a generation. These musicians would happily switch between bandleader and sidemen.
In the case of Milt Jackson, he made his CTi Records’ debut on Stanley Turrentine’s Cherry. He was one of the guest artists on the album when it was recorded in May 1972. Then seven months later, on the 12th and 13th December 1972, Milt Jackson released his CTi Records’ debut Sunflower.
After the success of Sunflower, Creed Taylor sent Milt Jackson into the studio to record another album in December 1973. Milt Jackson and his band would record four new songs. This included the he Milt Jackson penned S.K.J. and the jazz standard Old Devil Moon. Detour Ahead had been penned by Lou Crter, Herb Ellis and Johnny Frigo, while Goodbye was a Gordon Jenkins composition that for many a year, had been the closing song to the Benny Goodman Orchestra’s show. These tracks were recorded at Rudy Van Gelder Studio in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey during December, 1973.
Joining Milt Jackson this time round was a much smaller band, than last time. The sextet featured a rhythm section of drummer Steve Gadd and bassist Ron Carter, plus pianist Cedar Walton, flautist Hubert Laws and Milt Jackson on vibes. Creed Taylor again produced Goodbye. These four tracks would form the basis of Goodbye.
There were tracks from the Sunflower sessions that hadn’t been used. The best of these tracks was the Horris Silver composition Opus de Funk. It had been recorded on December 12th 1972, at Rudy Van Gelder Studio in Englewood Cliffs. That day, the lineup featured drummer Billy Cobham, pianist Herbie Hancock, trumpeter Freddie Hubbard and Milt Jackson on vibes. Now Sunflower was complete, and would be released later in 1974.
When critics received a copy of Goodbye, it was credited to Milt Jackson with Hubert Laws. That was no surprise to those who heard the album. The Houston born flautist had played such an important role in the sound and success of album. None more so that than the languid, dreamy take on Old Devil Moon. It just meanders along beautifully, with Hubert Laws’ flute and Milt Jackson’s vibes playing leading roles.The rhythm section play slowly and carefully, never overplaying and always leaving space for the soloists. It’s a similar case on S.K.J., with its bop stylings. As it meanders along, Cedar Walton’s piano and the vibes playing starring roles, as an element of funk is introduced later as S.K.J. starts to groove and swing. Mostly, though, jazz is to the fore on S.K.J. Soon, though, the tempo rises.
Opus de Funk finds Milt Jackson and his band stretching their legs. The tempo rise on this oft covered hard bop number. With Steve Gadd’s drums propelling the arrangement along, a glorious and smoking slice of jazz unfolds. However, on Detour Ahead the tempo drops. Milt and his band take the opportunity to explore the track’s subtleties and nuances. That’s the case throughout from the opening bars to the closing notes, when the band never miss a beat. All too soon, Milt Jackson bids the audience Goodbye on the mid-tempo title-track.Just like the previous track, everyone more than plays their part in the sound and success of Goodbye. However, when the solos come round, Hubert Laws steals the show, with pianist Cedar Walton deserving an honourable mention. Milt seems content and secure enough, to allow other members of the band shine. He knows it’s for the greater good, and that it’s his name that’s on Goodbye. It was released later in 1974.
When Goodbye was released, most of the reviews were positive. The reinvention of Milt Jackson continued, on album where elements of post bop, hard bop and funk. This results in music that swings, and is melodic, harmonic and full of subtleties, surprises and nuances. Goodbye is also an accomplished and polished album, from a band that features seasoned jazzers. Despite this, Goodbye failed to replicate the commercial success of Sunflower. Goodbye still found an audience, but not like Milt, Creed Tylor and everyone at CTi Records had hoped. It was disappointing commercially, considering Sunflower had been Milt Jackson’s biggest selling album.
