Sunday Morning Vinyl

Record: Chico Hamilton Quintet
Artist: Chico Hamilton Quintet
Released: Pacific Jazz Records, 1956

The Chico Hamilton Quintet is different, and it's immediately clear why this was one of my father's favorites. Hamilton was born and raised in Los Angeles, and he became one of the pioneers of a more relaxed style sometimes referred to as cool jazz, or even West Coast jazz.

I'm guessing there wasn't an East Coast-West Coast rivalry like Biggie and Pac, but things are different out here, even now. Back then? California might well have been an island floating in the Pacific Ocean.

Several years ago I had the opportunity to interview sportswriter Arnold Hano who had been born and raised in the Bronx before eventually moving out west to California, where he continued writing in the 1950s and '60s. (Here's the full interview: Part I/Part II.)We talked about how the West was viewed back then.

Hano:  When I was back in New York I did whatever was around there. But when I was on the west coast, you know, that’s an insular attitude. I was sent from Laguna Beach to Seattle to cover a basketball scandal at Seattle University!

Waddles:  Because it’s the west coast, it’s all the west coast.

Hano:  “Oh, Hano’s out there. He’s on the west coast, he can do that.” They would never send anybody from New York to Cleveland, but this is a greater distance, much greater distance. So yeah, you’re right. It was geographic. It was wonderful. 

I can only imagine that the geographic isolation of the time allowed for, or at least contributed to, the creation of a sound that was dramatically different from the big band and bepop styles percolating on the East Coast. What this record preserves is a form of jazz that sometimes includes elements of classical music, combining my father's two loves. (Had Sinatra showed up to sing a few bars, we'd have had the trifecta.)

The opening notes of the record come from Fred Katz's cello, bowed not plucked, instantly establishing the classical feel. The rest of that first side, recorded in a Hollywood studio with Hamilton on the drums behind the rest of the quintet, certainly puts the cool in cool jazz, but I prefer side two. Not only is the style closer to the traditional jazz that I prefer, it was recorded live. In between tracks we hear polite applause from a small crowd, and during the songs, most noticeably during Carson Smith's bass solo on "Spectacular," we can hear the band members cackling with delight. The joy is palpable.

But here's the most interesting part. The live tracks were recorded at a nightclub called Harry Rubin's Strollers in Long Beach, California, just a short drive from my house. Some quick research gave me an address, but I wasn't surprised to find that there were no signs of a jazz club when I arrived on the scene. That stretch of the street has long since been closed to cars and renamed "Promenade" as part of the city's downtown revitalization project. As near as I can tell, the spot where the club must've stood is now occupied by the Renaissance Hotel.

It would've been nice to be able to walk into a darkened night club and imagine a scene from sixty-seven years ago, but instead I stood blinking in the California sun as bikers sped past and young couples pushed babies in strollers. It didn't matter. The connection was still there. On August 4, 1955, the Chico Hamilton Quintet recorded a few tracks in a long forgotten club in California. Not long after that my father bought the resulting record in Detroit and, judging by the wear and tear on the album jacket, came to love it. On a November afternoon in 2022, I brought the record back to where it had started. The circle was closed.

Side 1
A Nice Day
Funny Valentine
Blue Sands
The Sage
The Morning After

Side 2
I Want to Be Happy
Spectacular
Free Form
Walking Carson Blues
Buddy Boo

Record: Ellington at Newport
Artist: Duke Ellington
Released: Columbia Records, 1956

For the second time I find myself writing here about a Duke Ellington performance at the Newport Jazz Festival. The first time was Newport 1958, but this record was from two summers earlier, in 1956, a recording that many still see as one of the most important in Ellington's career.

Ellington's performing career spanned from the 1920s until his death in 1974 and included dozens and dozens (hundreds?) of recordings. He is, without question, not only one of the most important and most influential jazz musicians of all time, but one of the greatest American musicians of any genre. Given that, it should be no surprise that his work is well represented in my father's collection.

One way in which jazz differs from more modern genres of music is in the importance of performance. It isn't uncommon today for the most popular artists and bands to eschew touring altogether in the later stages of their careers even as they continue to produce new music in studio sessions. Some bands may develop reputations as being outstanding showmen, but even in those cases the studio work takes precedence. 

For many jazz performers, however, this wasn't the case. As the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival approached, Duke Ellington's career appeared to have been waning. It was his performance on July 7 -- not a stunning new studio album -- that revitalized his career and gave him the momentum to continue for another two decades. This record is ostensibly the documentation of that evening (which stretched into morning), and it eventually became the best selling album of Ellington's career.

Why was performance so important? Jazz is an ephemeral art form, due in part to the improvisational nature of the genre but also to the limitations of vinyl records. With only about twenty-two minutes available on one side, there often wasn't room for longer studio compositions or live performances that stretched beyond those limits. (As a result, the CD era saw an explosion of releases of older material that couldn't have been released in previous formats.)

As alluded to above, this recording isn't completely live as suggested. Columbia Records did indeed record Ellington and his band that evening, but there were problems. Saxophonist Paul Gonsalves apparently played into the wrong microphone for long stretches and was completely inaudible, for example, and some of the crowd noise we hear on the record is artificial.

But when you're discussing a landmark record like this there's no point in quibbling over details of perceived authenticity. George Avakian's rich liner notes ignore all of this and instead focus on the impact of the live performance. His description upends any image the reader might have of a jazz concert, more specifically a jazz audience, in 1956. 

The most important moment is preserved on side two during the fifteen-minute masterpiece "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue," which featured a lengthy tenor sax solo by Gonsalves. Ellington had told him to blow as long as he felt like blowing, and the result was a near ten-minute solo that brought the house down. We imagine row upon row of dignified listeners, perhaps tapping their toes but nothing more. But reading Avakian's description of the night, it might've been closer to the Rolling Stones at Altamont, if not as tragic.

As Gonsalves continued to wail away, the energy in the audience began to build. "A platinum-blonde girl in a black dress began dancing in one of the boxes (the last place you'd expect that in Newport!) and," writes Avakian, "a moment later somebody else started in another part of the audience." (There's a photo of the blonde on the back of the album and although she was anonymous at the time of the album's release, she was eventually identified as Elaine Anderson. You can read more about her and her recollections of that night here.)

Those dancers, the energy of Gonsalves's long solo, the driving rhythm of Ellington's band, and, no doubt, the lateness of the hour all combined to bring much of the crowd to its feet. They filled the aisles and pushed closer to the stage, at points leading police and festival security to consider shutting the show down. But Ellington, perhaps sensing the magnitude of the moment, would have none of it. The record ends after "Diminuendo and Crescendo," but the band played on into the night. And Ellington played on for another twenty years, thanks to this performance.

Side 1
Festival Junction
Blues to Be There
Newport Up

Side 2
Jeep's Blues
Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue

Record: Dance to the Bands!
Artist: Various Artists
Released: Capitol Records, 1956

Back in October of 1998, Sony Music and Universal Music released a CD called Now That's What I Call Music!, a collection of current pop hits. The format was already successful in England, so it was no surprise when millions of units sold, nor when subsequent volumes were released every few months or so. (Volume 83, believe it or not, dropped last August.)

Music lovers of my generation will remember a company called K-Tel records doing much the same thing in the 1970s and '80s, though on a much smaller scale. In fact, one of my saddest childhood memories involves a K-Tel record, Wings of Sound, a collection released in 1980 featuring hits from Michael Jackson, Kool & the Gang, and Blondie, among others. It was one of the first records I ever bought, and I played it all the time. But because I was only eleven years old, I left it on the turntable after listening to it one day, not realizing that it mattered that the record player would be bathed in sunlight all afternoon. When I went back to listen to it the next day, the vinyl had warped and buckled. I can still see the hills and valleys in my mind's eye, and I can feel my eleven-year-old heart breaking all over again. It was a sad day.

This wasn't the first time record companies released compilations like these. There are any number of them in my father's collection, and this collection of big band tracks is the first one I've come across. The blurb on the back of the album jacket explains it better than I ever could, so I'll include the whole thing here...

Americans are flocking to the dance floors. 39 million of them at last count, according to a national magazine. And of all the places where people dance, one is a sure winner for the least crowding and most informality. That, of course, is home itself, whether it's a penthouse apartment, college dormitory, or suburban living room where dancing's done.

Capitol makes a whopping contribution to the trend toward do-it-yourself dance parties with this album that is trend-setting in its own right. For here in a two-record package is enough music to brighten an entire at-home dance. What's more, the music is wonderful enough to keep couples dancing all evening. The bands play in top form and their program is ideally balanced. Altogether, it's an irresistible Invitation to the Dance, styled for today!

It's impossible to read that without imagining such a gathering -- maybe a neighborhood dinner party that finishes with drinks and dancing, or a group of pretentious college students pretending to be grown as they couple up and dance the night away on campus. Nothing could be more 1950s.

The record features six different band leaders and their orchestras, but only two of them are familiar to me -- Les Brown (and his Band of Renown) and Woody Herman. I'll have to trust the producers that Stan Kenton, Harry James, Billy May, and Ray Anthony also belong.

Double albums were always fun. I remember being eager to open them up and see what waited inside the fold. This jacket features pictures and short bios of the six band leaders, as well as track info, but the most interesting thing about the physical album are the records themselves. When I first pulled the vinyl out of the protective sleeves, I noticed something odd. One record was labelled with sides 1 and 4, the other with sides 2 and 3. I assumed there'd been a printing error until I remembered something about my father's turntable, the one that I grew up with.

We're used to seeing a small metal rod protruding from the center of the turntable that fits the hole in a record. On my father's turntable, however, there was a stem that extended three or four inches, and it was designed to hold a stack of records while one was playing. Once the first was finished, the tonearm would automatically lift from the record and swing back out of the way, then the next record would drop to be played. In this way, an automatic record player -- an ancestor of the 5-disc CD changer I once had -- would allow a host to listen to several album sides in a row without having to fiddle with the records. (If that doesn't make sense, here's a short video clip.)

And so if you wanted to play Dance to the Bands! at your evening soiree, the odd 1-4 and 2-3 orientation of the sides would allow you to use your automatic record player to play sides 1 and 2 consecutively before flipping them both over for sides 3 and 4. Genius.

Side 1
Tangerine (Les Brown)
April in Paris (Harry James)
You and the Night and the Music (Ray Anthony)
Suddenly (Billy May)
Square Circle (Woody Herman)

Side 2
Opus in Turquoise (Stan Kenton)
Fascinating Rhythm (Billy May)
Walkin' Home (Harry James)
Lover (Les Brown)

Side 3
Big Band Boogie (Ray Anthony)
Dream (Woody Herman)
Spring Is Here (Stan Kenton)
On the Alamo (Les Brown)
Mad About the Boy (Billy May)

Side 4
I Hadn't Anyone Till You (Woody Herman)
I'm Glad There Is You (Stan Kenton)
Smogbound (Harry James)
Cheek to Cheek (Ray Anthony)