#Jazz saxophone legend #PaulDesmond

Jazz saxophone legend Paul Desmond. CBC Interview https://t.co/BrvnJyFRLI

— AddictedToJazz (@AddictedToJazz) August 7, 2016

Mulligan, Brubeck & Desmond

Reprinted from http://jazzwax.com

Yesterday, I came across a terrific video of All the Things You Are by the Dave Brubeck Trio, featuring baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan and alto saxophonist Paul Desmond. Despite the date on the clip, it was more likely recorded in October 1972 while the group was on a Newport Jazz Festival tour in Rotterdam and filmed by Dutch television. [Photo above, from left, of Gerry Mulligan, Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond]

These guys knew each other well. Desmond, of course, had been a key member of the Dave Brubeck Quartet from the early 1950s up until 1967. Desmond and Mulligan recorded together frequently—in 1957 (Blues in Time), in 1962 (Two of a Mind) and in 1969 (Belleto). And prior to this European performance, Brubeck, Desmond and Mulligan had performed together plenty of times, including at the Newport Jazz Festival in1955 and in 1969 at a White House tribute to Duke Ellington. [Photo above of Paul Desmond, left, and Gerry Mulligan]

Here's the jaw-dropping performance of All the Things You Are by Dave Brubeck (p), Paul Desmond (as), Gerry Mulligan (bar), Jack Six (b) and Alan Dawson (d)...

Used with permission by Marc Myers

Paul Desmond, 33 Years Later

Desmond has been in my thoughts today, back to the weeks before his death of lung cancer in 1977 at the age of 52. We talked frequently during that time. Here are two excerpts from Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond, then a song that Paul cherished. He and Dave Brubeck played it together nearly from the beginning of their partnership.

A few days before Memorial Day, I got a call in San Antonio. "Hi, it's me, Desmond," he began, cheery as ever. After a few minutes we faded into an unusual conversational impasse, a series of commonplace exchanges that reflected what he knew and I suspected. He suggested that we both get mildly bombed on Friday evening and he would call me from Elaine's.

Jenna had planned a trip to London for late May. Desmond encouraged her to take it. (Steve) Forster was looking after him, helping him get through the days. There was little that doctors could do.

"I was just falling to bits," Jenna said. "I needed to go away. The day before I left, I went to say goodbye and, frail as he was, he insisted that Steve take him downstairs to the camera shop to buy me one of those Polaroid instant things that had just come out. I got to London and, of course, rang him immediately, and he sounded reasonably good. We had a nice chat. I said I would talk to him the next day. And he said, 'No, no, don't call tomorrow. Ring me Tuesday.' I've got friends coming tomorrow, and I want you to relax and enjoy yourself.'"

"When I left on Friday," Forster said, "I kind of knew that would be the last time I would see him. I felt it, but I wasn't sure and, in a way, I didn't want to admit it. But...he was tired. He knew."

On May 30, Memorial Day, Desmond's cleaning woman was unable to wake him.

Jack Richardson recalled that Marian McPartland said what many of Desmond's friends were thinking, "It's just like Paul to slip quietly away when everyone's out of town, not to bother anybody."

http://www.artsjournal.com/rifftides/2010/05/paul_desmond_33_years_later.html

Paul Desmond is revered for the pure, gentle tone of his alto saxophone....

Paul Desmond (Paul Emil Breitenfeld)
b. November 25, 1924 - San Francisco, CA
d. May 30, 1977 - New York, NY
 
He is revered for the pure, gentle tone of his alto saxophone, and the elegant lyricism of his improvisations. For seventeen years he was the lead soloist in the most commercially successful jazz combo ever, the Dave Brubeck Quartet. In an era that worshipped the frenetic, bebop style of Charlie Parker, Paul Desmond found his own sound, a tone that he claimed imitated a "dry martini." It was a sound that made him a favourite with critics and fans alike, and won him jazz poll after jazz poll. "I have won several prizes as the world's slowest alto player, as well as a special award in 1961 for quietness." He was a modest, retiring man, known to his friends for his wit and charm. Twenty years after his death from cancer, his music still sells, is still played, and still moves people.
 

To me his lyricism has never been equalled, as far as logic and lyricism combined, because there's always a strand going back some place in his melodies, and in his choruses that shows a great intellect combined with a great emotionalism, and usually you don't find the two things in one person. - Dave Brubeck

Born in San Francisco in 1924, Desmond was one of the leading proponents of the West Coast "cool" style. Influenced by Lester Young and Pete Brown he originally played clarinet in the big bands of Jack Fina and Alvino Rey. But it was his simpatico partnership with the formally-trained pianist Dave Brubeck that rocketed him to fame on the concert stages of the world. Desmond's melodic solos were in marked contrast to the polytonal rhythms of Brubeck, but somehow they clicked and drove each other to greatness. After meeting and playing together in the late 40s, they formed the Dave Brubeck Quartet in 1951 and never looked back.

For the critics it was a strange musical relationship. Some found Brubeck's playing heavy-handed. In one Down Beat review he was described as "oftimes loud and pounding and seemingly at a loss for melodic ideas." Desmond meanwhile was gaining a reputation for his "original, intensely personal style." Famed critic Nat Hentoff called him "one of the most creative figures in modern jazz." No wonder that articles started appearing questioning the basis of the Desmond-Brubeck collaboration. In 1953, Down Beat proclaimed, "It is again a case where the sideman (in this instance Desmond) seems to be quite superior to the leader as a jazzman." But through their years together Desmond remained remarkably loyal to his partner, "There's certainly nobody else with whom I would have stuck around this long." Perhaps it was their uncanny ability to play counterpoint that endeared them to their fans and to each other. Theirs was a musical rapport that Desmond described as "kind of scary."

They toured the world, playing 300 concerts a year, and had a Columbia recording contract that called for four albums a year. In 1959, Desmond penned the first million-seller, jazz single, "Take Five". It became the theme for the Quartet, de rigueur at all their concert appearances, and it made Desmond a small fortune in royalties.

At the time I really thought it was kind of a throw-away. I was ready to trade the entire rights, lifetime-wise of "Take Five" for a used Ronson electric razor. And the thing that makes "Take Five" work is the bridge, which we almost didn't use. We really came within ... I shudder to think how close we came to not using that, because I said "Well I got this theme that we could use for a middle part". And Dave said, "Well let's run it through." And that's what made "Take Five". - Paul Desmond

When the Quartet split up in 1967, Desmond unofficially retired. He was 43 years old, and he didn't play his horn again for three years. Officially he was writing a humorous memoir of his years on the road with the Quartet, to be titled How Many of You Are There in the Quartet? -- a question invariably asked by airline stewardesses. The book never appeared. Desmond who had studied creative writing and loved the "concept" of being a writer never got around to it. The closest he came was one hilarious chapter that appeared in the British humour magazine, Punch.

One thing I learned during the years of not playing -- I started hanging out in the bar in New York called Elaine's, where a lot of heavyweight writers spend a lot of time, and I discovered over a year or so that almost all of them have secret Walter Mitty dreams of becoming jazz players. And I figure that it's a dumb move to trade a fairly secure place in the world of jazz for Number 493 Unemployed Humorist. - Paul Desmond

Eventually he was coaxed out of retirement to play occasional gigs with his friends. He fronted a quartet featuring guitarist Jim Hall for two weeks at the "Half Note" in New York City, and broke their attendance record. At the New Orleans Jazz Festival he played a soaring set with Gerry Mulligan. As guest soloist he ventured out with the Modern Jazz Quartet for a 1971 Christmas concert. He blew on a couple of albums with his old friend Chet Baker. He appeared with Dave Brubeck in a series of concerts called "Two Generations of Brubeck" in which Dave played with his musical sons, and in 1976, the Quartet reunited for the Silver Anniversary Tour. They were greeted with enthusiasm wherever they played until the deteriorating eyesight of drummer Joe Morello cut short the tour.

But his best work of the period was a happy collaboration with three Toronto musicians. Jim Hall talked him into coming to Toronto to play with Canada's premier jazz guitarist Ed Bickert. So thrilled was he with his first two weeks at Toronto's "Bourbon Street", that Desmond rushed back to New York and talked record producer Creed Taylor into flying Bickert in so that he could record an album with him. Desmond appeared only half a dozen times with his "Canadian Quartet" -- Ed Bickert on guitar, Don Thompson on bass, and Jerry Fuller on drums. Fortunately Don Thompson also doubles as a recording engineer, and a number of the club dates were recorded and released. The group also appeared on CBC-TV's Take 30, and were recorded at the Edmonton Jazz Festival.

He was great to play with. He was very easy, because harmonically there was a real clear logic in everything he played musically. The harmony was always right, the melodies were always right. His time was amazing. You don't think of Paul Desmond as a real swinging musician, he's not famous for that. But he had really great time feel, he really did swing beautifully. Playing with him, you really couldn't go wrong. It was really easy to play." - Don Thompson

At first glance, his seems a small, perhaps insignificant, career. Was he just a minor figure in a jazz landscape of greats? One of the greats, Charlie Parker, named him as his favourite alto player. Julian "Cannonball" Adderley, an arch rival in various jazz polls said, "I believe that Paul Desmond shares with Benny Carter the title of most lyrical altoist. He is a profoundly beautiful player." Though various critics credited the success of the Dave Brubeck Quartet to Desmond's horn, others over-looked his playing as "too pretty". Brubeck himself, thought that Desmond lacked ambition, but was upset when he signed a deal with RCA to record on his own, while still part of the Quartet. That RCA deal called for two albums a year and led to an incredible series of recording dates with guitarist Jim Hall, and the Modern Jazz Quartet drummer Connie Kay. Standards such as "I Get a Kick Out of You" and "For All We Know" shared album space with Desmond originals like "Take Ten", and "El Prince". They recorded fifty tunes in all, plus an album with strings. There were also two albums with a Desmond/Gerry Mulligan quartet. Then in the 70s he changed labels to CTI, and did half a dozen more albums, proving once again that he was more than just a sideman.

Desmond's pure tone, the ingenuity of his melodic lines, his harmonic resourcefulness, the musical wit that reflected his literate and sophisticated personality, made him one of the most personal and appealing of all jazz stylists. - Doug Ramsey

Though a mild-mannered, professorial-looking man, Desmond was capable of strong emotion. When pushed musically he rose to the occasion, turning out chorus after brilliant chorus. But he was also a moody man. When drummer Joe Morello joined the Quartet in 1956, Desmond disliked his crowd-pleasing performances so much that he threatened to quit the Quartet. Instead, though they shared the same concert stage nearly every night, he didn't speak to Morello for a year. Eventually they became friends, but Desmond could often be found backstage, reading a book during Morello's extended drum solo on "Take Five".

His friends called him "the perennial bachelor" -- few knew that he had been married early in life. He had a reputation as a lady's man, and was often seen accompanied by gorgeous models. When pianist Marian McPartland asked him about his dates he punned, "Sometimes they go around with guys who are scuffling -- for a while. But usually they end up marrying some cat with a factory. This is the way the world ends, not with a whim but a banker." Despite his many friends, Gene Lees wrote that Desmond was the "loneliest man" he ever knew.

His last concert was with Dave Brubeck in February, 1977 at New York's Avery Fisher Hall. Observers noted that he seemed out of shape, needing 2 or 3 breaths to complete a phrase that he usually did with one great gasp. His many fans didn't know that he was dying, and incapable of the level of playing that he was famous for.

Paul never said it would be the end. But we knew he was getting weaker and weaker. So he just played the second half. And when it came time for the encore, because the whole audience wanted Paul back onstage he said the old cliche "Leave em wanting more." And we didn't go back on. - Dave Brubeck

In a business where booze and drugs abound, his drinking was legendary, but it was three packs a day that caught up with him in May of that year. Much to his own amusement his liver was fine, "Pristine, one of the great livers of our time. Awash in Dewars and full of health." He had spoken to Don Thompson earlier that month, making plans to play New York with his quartet, but he never made it.

His friends tell of his last weeks, when an old friend, jazz legend Charles Mingus, appeared at his apartment draped in a swirling black cape and a matching Spanish cowboy hat. He stood in silent vigil at Desmond's bedside. Then slowly, Desmond awoke. Looking up, he searched his memory, trying to make sense of the image looming before him. Finally it clicked -- the hooded harvester from Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal. "Okay, set up the chess board." And he grinned.

"One of the things I thought about after Paul died was that it was really a shame because he would have been a really great old man. I could see him about 70-75 years old -- he would have been terrific just to talk to and hang out with". - Jim Hall

http://www.puredesmond.ca/

The song is the waltz "Emily" by Johnny Mandell (from the film "The Americanisation of Emily) performed at the Monterey Jazz festival in 1975. He played a Selmer Super Balanced Action Alto, a Gregory 4a-18m mouthpiece, and Rico 3-1/2 reeds and is seen here wearing "the suit".

Wax Bits

Reprinted from http://jazzwax.com/
Used with permission by Marc Myers

Waxing & musings.
As jazz fans, we live in amazing times. Whatever period you enjoy, most of what you want is available online someplace as a download. Or it's easy to order. No matter how obscure, a quick Google search usually unearths the album or tracks.

Back in the 1970s, you had to walk the streets looking for the LPs you wanted. Many times what you were seeking wasn't in print. Or it was out of stock. Or if it was in stock, there was a high risk there was a defect. The most common flaw was that an album would be "warped." Meaning that when you put the record on, there was a wave in the vinyl that caused the needle to ride up and down when the imperfection came around. If the needle didn't leave the surface, you had distortion. If it did, you had a skip.

One double album that I bought in 1973 that suffered from this problem was Sonny Stitt's I Cover the Waterfront, a compilation of the saxophonist's Argo/Cadet material. The cover was absolutely gorgeous. It featured a photo of what appeared to be a commercial fishing vessel slipping silently through the water as viewed from between two large rocks. What made the photo by P.B. Kaplan so appealing was that it was taken with a red filter (or a red wash was applied afterward). The album was blood red, with yellow type. Genius art direction by Neil Terk.

The problem with the double LP was that the first of the two records had a skip halfway into How High the Moon. No matter how many times I exchanged the warped version for a new one, the same skip would be in the exact same place. So within the LP hunt process was another hunt—for a flawless version. I must have exchanged the album 10 times. At which point the Sam Goody store was wiped out of copies.

When I finally was confronted with the choice of exchanging it for something else, I hesitated. Looking longingly at the double album on the counter and listening to the clerk's fingers drum impatiently, I decided to give up and keep it, flaw and all. I loved the cover too much.

Point being that today it's so easy to get perfect recordings of whatever we want without ever getting up from the computer. Some people look back nostalgically at those days of the Great Vinyl Hunt. Not me. LPs were fine then but they were painfully inconvenient, since you had to get up from your chair to turn them over or take them off. They also had to be cleaned delicately with a solution and filed carefully on a shelf so you could find it again later. I'm one of those listeners who happen to love today's digital technology. I can write and listen without worrying about tending to the medium. But as I hold my 36-year-old copy of I Cover the Waterfront, I'm reminded how much I miss big colorful album covers and large-size liner notes.

Paul Desmond.
Doug Ramsey at Rifftides has a terrific post on alto saxophonist Paul Desmond's decision in 1974 to resume playing in a club setting. Doug includes a wonderful YouTube clip featuring a rare TV interview of Desmond on Canadian TV in 1976. Desmond's body language speaks volumes about his discomfort with television. Unfortunately, the interviewer didn't sufficiently warm him up and went too personal too fast, causing Desmond to nearly close down. It's fascinating stuff, especially if you've never heard Desmond speak. Go here > http://www.artsjournal.com/rifftides/2010/02/weekend_extra_desmond_speaks.html.



Bobby Shew.
After my interview series last week with trumpeter Bobby Shew, he sent along the following email. What a nice guy! "Thanks again. You can't believe how many people are emailing me about having read these installments. It looks as if my career is getting a re-start, thanks to you! I guess I'd better keep practicing!!" Bobby also sent along the following clip featuring a whimsical perspective on today's use of the English language.

George Avakian.
Wall Street Journal jazz writer Will Friedwald will conduct a conversation with legendary producer George Avakian [pictured] on Wednesday March 17th in New York. The event will take place at St. Peter's Church (619 Lexington Ave. at 54th St.) and start at 7:30 p.m. Admission is free.

http://www.jazzwax.com/2010/02/sundaywaxbits-3.html