JazzWax

Nicca, Hank and Jimmy

In The Wall Street Journal last week, I interviewed Nicca Ray for my "House Call" column in the Mansion section (go here). Nicca is the youngest daughter of Nicholas Ray, who directed Rebel Without a Cause, They Live By Night, King of Kings and other films from 1949 to 1980. Nicca talked about her dysfunctional childhood after her parents' divorce and her father's obvious drug habit and her own struggles. Addiction was hereditary. The underside of Hollywood. Her memoir, Ray on Ray, is here. [Photo above courtesy of Nicca Ray]

Here's a terrific documentary on Nicholas Ray...

Lennie Niehaus. Following my post last week featuring my 2009 interview with alto saxophonist and composer-arranger Lennie Niehaus, I received the following email from Hank O'Neal along with his terrific photograph of Lennie, above, in 2000 [Photo above of Lennie Niehaus courtesy of Hank O'Neal]...

Hi Marc. My goodness Lennie had a good run. And he was such a nice guy. I got to know him a little because of all the Clint Eastwood projects. One of the good days was in Boston, recording the Boston Symphony Orchestra perform music for the Mystic River soundtrack. Clint had put the basic melodies together. Then Lennie created the orchestrations. I have some good pictures of him conducting the BSO. There also are pictures of Clint doing the same thing, but that was something we did just for fun. Some of the BSO players stopped playing and have their cameras out taking pictures of Clint.

The picture above was shot while we were shooting interviews of many of Clint's close associates and collaborators for the documentary, Clint Eastwood: Out of the Shadows. About half of the interviews were done at the Chateau Marmount in Los Angeles. They were done in a regular-sized hotel room there. To make room for the camera and equipment, we'd moved a couch into the hallway.

There was a firm schedule, but someone went over their allotted time. Lennie was calmly waiting his turn to be interviewed on the couch. I thought it would make a nifty picture. He didn't play that day, but I'm glad he brought his horn.

Fred Augerman sent along the following clip of Lennie conducting a tribute to Stan Kenton (move the time bar to 1:19)...

Birth of the Cool. Following my post last weekend on a photo of 14 W. 55th Street that Raymond De Felitta sent along where arranger Gil Evans lived in the late 1940s during the Birth of the Cool sessions, I received the following from Tom Fine, son of legendary sound engineer C. Robert "Bob" Fine:

Hi Marc. The Birth of the Cool sessions were held at WMGM's studios at 711 5th Avenue [between 55th and 56th streets] in New York. Inside, the two, two-story studios were the original NBC Network studios, before the company moved to Rockefeller Center. After NBC vacated, World Broadcasting used the studios through World War II. Columbia Records engineer Frank Laico told me he cut transcription discs there.

In 1953, after Loews-MGM bought 51% of my father's first company, Fine Sound, in order to acquire his Perspecta steered-stereo sound system for movies, they moved his studio operations into most of WMGM's space. Fine Sound thrived at 711 5th Avenue (above) for a few years, but then Loews sold the building to Columbia Pictures. Columbia wanted to take over Studio A and turn it into a screening room. Lawsuits ensued and my father lost his business and rights to his Perspecta invention. He had to start over from scratch, in the old Great Northern Hotel building, with Fine Recording.

Today, 711 5th Ave is known as the Coca-Cola Building. Coke acquired the building when it bought Columbia Pictures (the movie studio was later sold to Sony). The old Fine Sound studio space is now a Screenwriters Guild storage space.

Numerous Norgran/Verve and Emarcy jazz albums were recorded by Dad at Fine Sound, including the recently reissued debut album from Helen Merrill. Also, Clark Terry's first album for Emarcy, as well as a Clifford Brown and Max Roach session and albums by Stan Getz, Dinah Washington and many others. In the mid-1950's, Fine Sound was one of the highest volume independent disc-mastering facilities in the country.

More Birth of the Cool. Peter Levin sent along the following:

Marc, based on the bio excerpted here, Gil Evans’s apartment was at the back of the building, behind the laundry, looking onto a courtyard. So No. 14 still works for the address. Thanks, as always, for your continuing stream of interesting reportage, which is a bright light during very troubling times.

Jimmy Rowles memoir. Last week, I received the following from jazz pianist Joe Alterman:

Hi Marc. I'm not sure if you heard about an unpublished memoir by Jimmy Rowles. I came across the following site, which somehow has an uploaded PDF of that memoir. I don't know what to make of it being online (go here).

Bill McCann. Last week, I heard from John Herr:

Hi Marc. Bill McCann offered a strong encomium for your efforts (in the WSJ and as a blogger) to start his four-hour show of mainstream jazz on WCDBfm.com (Albany) this morning. You can access the podcast by going here. 

Charlie Parker. Here's a Charlie Parker interview recently unearthed from 1952...

Ian Carey's timing couldn't have been better. His new album, Fire in My Head: The Anxiety Suite (Slow & Steady), is a fitting soundtrack for what we've been watching on TV this past week. The album features Ian Carey, on trumpet; Kasey Knudsen on alto saxophone; Sheldon Brown on bass clarinet; Adam Shulman, on piano; Fred Randolph on bass; and Jon Arkin on drums. The original compositions by Carey are taut and fiery, mirroring the maddening isolation of the virus lockdown and the anxiety of the protest curfew. I listened to the album last week with the sound down while watching TV news. I was struck by how well the two worked hand in hand. Carey, of course, couldn't possibly have envisioned what lay ahead when the album was recorded, but somehow the little ball in the roulette wheel rolled into Carey's number. It's jazz for now. You'll find the album here.

Green Tangerines. Last week, I received an email from Sarah Sands (far left, above) of Liverpool's Green Tangerines, a jazz-funk band. The email included a link to a track, featuring Sands on saxophone, Sam Taylor on trumpet, Jack Hanlon on guitar, Fran Mills on bass and Tom Hudson on drums. (Photo above by Jacob Barrow)

Here's the track (and their EP is here)...

Gene Krupa. Here's the drummer in 1949, with trumpeter Don Fagerquist in the first trumpet box and Frank Rosolino on the trombone solo. For more Krupa videos, go here)...

Rene Thomas. Here's a guy running down Rene Thomas's song, Meeting...

And here's Rene Thomas performing Meeting with Eddie Louiss on organ and Kenny Clarke on drums...

Zoot Sims. Here's Sims in 1962 playing a bossa nova with Filipino-American singer Vi Velasco...

Beach Boys. Here's Brian Wilson on Stephen Colbert last week singing and playing his Pet Sounds composition God Only Knows...

And finally, Miss Julie London. Here's London singing Night Life...

And here's London singing The Man I Love...

Christo (1935-2020)

Lost this week in the flurry of shocking events in Minneapolis and on the nation's streets was the May 31 death of environmental artist Christo Javacheff, known professionally as Christo. He was 84.

With his wife, Jeanne-Claude, who died in 2009, Christo specialized in massive sculptural pieces that shrouded iconic architecture and intruded on landscapes and lakes with colorful fabric, fences and floating walkways. Christo's artistic purpose was to jolt the logic and emotions of viewers and stimulate wonderment and joy, especially among detractors who scoffed at his work. The bigger the better, he felt, and his artworks were indeed impossibly large, leaving eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

In 2005, I had the good fortune to experience one of Christo and Jeanne-Claude's works in New York. On February 12, a bright sunny but frosty morning, 7,503 orange vinyl "gates" were unfurled at 8:30 a.m. from their tall rectangular frames along 23 miles of pathways in Central Park.

In the weeks leading up to the event, debates raged in the media over whether "The Gates" was truly art or an outdoor pop stunt. Some were outraged, arguing that it didn't belong in Central Park—a 19th century man-made woodland of perfection. Others insisted the work was little more than an ego-trip by media-hungry artists hanging their saffron laundry out to dry.

All of it was nonsense. I loved "The Gates." I loved the idea when it was announced, and I was over the moon when it was unveiled. On the morning of the 12th, I was steps from Christo and Jeann-Claude and Mayor Bloomberg. New York's chief executive was a remarkable supporter and patron of the arts and amused by the uproar. Christo had been trying to get "The Gates" installed for decades in New York, only to be rebuffed by mayors who cowardly feared being chastised by critics, Central Park conservationists and constituents. Bloomberg was the only one who saw the creative value and grace of such a grand-scale project, not to mention its seductive impact on visitors. He got it and gave the green light. I've admired him ever since.

From February 12 to 27, all of those sheer, saffron-orange vinyl sheets snapped and swayed in the winter wind, setting gray days ablaze. The waterproof material hung down and stopped about 7 1/2 feet from the ground, so everyone could pass under them without the material hitting their heads. But if you were at least 6 feet tall, you could reach up with your fingers and brush against the material.

A day after "The Gates" opened, a strange thing happened. The park grew increasingly crowded with doubters strolling along the walkways, bathing in the orange glow as their inner child came alive. People got it, emotionally, without having to be convinced. It made sense to the soul, and that's all that mattered.

I crossed the park nearly every day just to experience Christo's vision and sensation. There was something about that sheer saffron-orange in the dead of winter that made you feel alive. And interestingly, the color seemed to change with the light, depending on the mood of the day. On gray, bitter days, the orange was muted and brooding, almost brownish. Yet the flapping material still managed to turn the white florescent landscape into a slalom of orange or rows of orange juice served on a white tablecloth. On days of brilliant sunshine, the orange came alive, virtually shouting with happiness. Then there were the sounds of the material in the wind, at times muttering and at other time bickering.

When "The Gates" came down on the 27th, part of me went with them. I had viewed them as a great work of music never to be heard again. Something alive was removed and silenced. The pleasure that the material's color and sound brought to the bewildered park was gone. Squirrels no longer stopped to stare while chewing on something between their front paws. Kids on fathers' shoulders no longer reached up to touch them. And older strollers no longer could be heard debating their pros and cons. Something had been given to the city and was taken away in the brief span of 16 days. Gone forever. The circus had left town. 

So it's somewhat ironic that Christo should leave us this past week without fanfare, under the shroud of national chaos. In the end, his death became the greatest disappearing act of all. One day he was here. And the next, he was gone without a trace, becoming, as Jeanne-Claude once said, "Once upon a time."

Here's a 60 Minutes segment on Christo and Jeanne-Claude and "The Gates"...

Here's a slide show...

Here's "The Gates" bracing against wind and snow...

Here's more...

And here's another...

10 tracks: Niehaus and Brass

With the recent passing of alto saxophonist and arranger-composer Lennie Niehaus, I spent yesterday listening to his Stan Kenton and smaller-group arrangements. During this period, Lennie used a wonderful device on uptempo arrangements, opening with a heavy, dark riff and then cutting the cord and letting the song float into bright swing. On ballads, he used an effective inhale-exhale style that slowed the heart and captured the ear.

Here are 10 brassy Lennie Niehaus arrangements:

Here's one of Lennie's earliest arrangements for Stan Kenton—Solo for Alto, originally written for Lee Konitz. But in October 1952, Lee had become a new father and was at home; Lennie was in the Army. So Boots Mussulli played the solo on baritone saxophone. Move the time bar to 4:09...

Here's Lennie's arrangement for Kenton of Pennies From Heaven in 1953...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of Backlash for Duane Tatro's Jazz for Moderns in September 1954...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of his composition Make the Most of It for the Hollywood Saxophone Quartet in September 1955...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of Baubles, Bangles and Beads on Kenton's The Stage Door Swings in September 1958...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of Hey There, from the same album...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of On the Street Where You Live, from the same album...

Here's Lennie's arrangement and solo on The End of a Love Affair, from Kenton's At the Las Vegas Tropicana in February 1959, opening with just bass and Lennie's alto...

Here's Lennie's arrangement of You Stepped Out of a Dream from Kenton's Sophisticated Approach, in July 1961...

And here's Lennie's arrangement of Time After Time from the same album...