December 1997
by Barry Stagg
Jazz On The Waterfront
In the quixotic imagination of the Downhomer columnist lies a tender appreciation for jazz. As these words stumble onto Word Perfect's cathode ray slate, the ballads of Chet Baker spill through tiny speakers. "Alone Together" , "How High The Moon" , "It Never Entered My Mind", "September Song " and the exquisitely tender "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To" played by a brilliant band of jazz artists keep me closing my eyes as I type this work into reality.
Through the wonders of magnetic recording tape and compact disc technology comes a clear record of New York jazz sessions in December 1958 and January 1959. I reflect on my pre- school status of the time and mourn that I was not born at least by the end of the dirty thirties. The music of Baker and his collaborators was a product of the times and all the accidental convergence of genius that time alone can enable or frustrate. At least two chronic heroin addicts played their ways into the electronic immortality of this recording. Chet Baker on trumpet and Bill Evans on piano are enough to make the music noteworthy by their presence together at the same recording session. The music, however, lives up to the legendary artistic status of these two late, lamented musicians.
Herbie Mann is on flute on three tracks and guitarist Kenny Burrell sits in on another three songs including the gentle sadness of "September Song". Kurt Weill is interpreted in bell-clear beauty by a band of all too human savants. Cole Porter contributes "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To" which is played by Evans and Baker with a classic rhythm section of Paul Chambers on bass and Philly Joe Jones on drums. I think of the fine vocal version of this song by Helen Merrill and marvel at the flexibility of a great song and its diverse interpreters.
" Time On My Hands (You In My Arms)" from the Harold Adamson songbook swings poignantly as I brush the keyboard in time to the cadences of Baker, Evans, Chambers and Jones. What a tune for the private mourning of absent love. " You And The Night And The Music" has Herbie Mann's flute and the baritone saxophone of Pepper Adams merging with the quartet for a gently romantic performance. The Sunday morning grey of Toronto is overlaid by these fine products of nearly forty years and an epoch ago.
This is my Christmas column so I wish all and sundry best wishes and fortunate circumstances in the festival and life ahead of you. The universal appeal of good jazz played clear and strong is a gift to me , however ephemeral the feeling may be in these uncertain times. To all of you reading this in print or on the Internet version, I commend a sampling of fine jazz music . Experience its subtleties as you might appreciate good wine and good people. The saying which unfortunately I am unable to attribute: "We shall not soon see his like again" is apropos these great and frail musicians now present only in recordings and memories.
I am reminded of the words of the woman for whom I obtained this recording. She spoke to me in fond terms of her parents' era and the vibrant musical scene of St. John's during the war. We spoke of the magical convergence of Newfoundland and American musicians playing big band dance music for a wartime audience. For these people the days are mostly done but the karma generated in these difficult days still lives on, especially in a daughter's memories of good and gentle people doing fine things in rhythm and life. The gift delivered from mother and father to daughter transcends Christmas and is truly a gift to last.
Merry Christmas to all.