Sonny re-records "at the Village Vanguard" 50 yrs on

[chewy-chew-chew-bean-benitez]

did you see the pic on the cover part? sonny has a fro now!

[robviti]

The New York Times

September 16, 2007

Sonny Rollins Strips for Action

By BEN RATLIFF

SONNY ROLLINS didn’t just influence other saxophone players. He produced a half-century of close listeners. The long, idiosyncratic tenor saxophone solos that he started developing around 50 years ago — bulging sacks of brilliant thematic improvisation, as well as slangy humor and quotations — became a genuine American rhetoric, delirious and ecstatic; audiences reoriented their imagination, and their sense of patience, around them. But his greatest work from the 1950s and ’60s trained many of them to want what he was later unwilling to give.

Some would like him to play small rooms every once in a while, so they could hear his tone better; or to perform into a standing microphone, without a clip-on microphone on his horn; or with no amplification at all. Some want him to play fewer calypsos. Some want him to banish the electric bass from his stage. Perhaps the most abject hope has been that he simplify things and play again the way he often did in the late ’50s and ’60s, with only a bassist and drummer. These fantasy-league visions have never stopped, and he has never paid them much attention.

So when Mr. Rollins, who turned 77 this month, announced this summer that he would play at Carnegie Hall on Sept. 18, and that for part of the concert he would play in a trio with the bassist Christian McBride and the drummer Roy Haynes, all those who watch jazz closely stepped back and took a deep breath.

What’s so special about Sonny Rollins and trios?

When Mr. Rollins decided not to hire a pianist while making the record “Way Out West” in March 1957, jazz shifted a little bit, if mostly in his direction.

“What I got out of it,” he explained in an interview a few weeks ago, “was that, for better or for worse, I had an opportunity to play what was in my head. I was free.”

The veteran tenor saxophonist Lew Tabackin was in his late 20s and living in Philadelphia when he first heard Mr. Rollins play in a trio. “It had a huge impact,” he said. “It set the basis for what I was trying to do as a young man. I had the greatest jazz experiences I ever had while listening to Sonny in a trio.” He quickly tried it himself, and leads a saxophone trio today. “You try to become part of the drum set, become part of the bass,” he said.

Most of the tenor saxophonists who have followed Mr. Rollins in leading trios — that list would include Mr. Tabackin, Joe Henderson, Joe Lovano, Joshua Redman, Branford Marsalis, David Murray and David S. Ware — have had to think long and hard about his example.

Though only a small portion of his discography uses the saxophone-bass-drums format, it encompasses some of his very best records, and some of the best records in all of jazz. After “Way Out West” Mr. Rollins kept at it. In early November 1957 he played at the Village Vanguard in New York with the bassist Wilbur Ware and the drummer Elvin Jones; some of the music was recorded and released as “A Night at the Village Vanguard.” In February 1958 he recorded “Freedom Suite” with Oscar Pettiford and Max Roach. He played lots of trio music after that until 1966, live mostly. Afterward he rarely returned to the form.

Among those great trio recordings was one that has gone largely unheard: the three songs Mr. Rollins played during his first performance at Carnegie Hall, on Nov. 29, 1957, with Wendell Marshall on bass and Kenny Dennis on drums. The show was recorded by Carnegie Hall as part of a multiple-artists benefit concert; the tapes from that night, discovered at the Library of Congress in 2004, have already yielded the superb CD “Thelonious Monk Quartet With John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall.”

Next week’s concert at Carnegie Hall will take place nearly 50 years after the 1957 show. If all goes according to plan, he will play the same songs he played in 1957, record the concert and subsequently release both the 1957 and 2007 performances on a single CD, through his own label, Doxy. So the CD will contain the same three loose frameworks for improvising — “Sonnymoon for Two,” “Some Enchanted Evening” and “Moritat (Mack the Knife)” — performed 50 years apart.

Mr. Rollins likes the symmetry of the idea, and the discovery of the old Carnegie Hall recording gave him a reason to revisit the trio format. (He admitted, though, that given his propensity for excessive self-criticism, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to listen to the 1957 tape just yet.) Outside of that he was not especially conscious of doing anything different then. As he put it, he was “always trying to experiment with some other ways of getting closer to my best performance expression.”

“Playing by myself, and hearing all the instruments in my head, was not something unknown to me or unusual to me,” he explained. “I had always been a person that liked to practice by myself. I found great comfort and enjoyment in it. I was able to play for hours and hours alone, and I used to go to secluded places to practice.” Those places included the Williamsburg Bridge walkway in New York City, and the long solitary sessions helped him develop himself as a long-form improviser capable of leading a band without another horn player.

“When I was playing with Miles Davis” — who first hired Mr. Rollins in the late ’40s — “I remember we used to do a thing we’d call stroll, where we’d have the piano lay out so that just drums and bass played with the horn player,” he continued. The absence of the piano, a naturally dominating instrument, let Mr. Rollins assume a much different role in the band.

“One horn player is almost compelled to follow the pianist,” he explained. “There are exceptions, but generally the pianist plays a more than equal role to the horn player.”

Branford Marsalis, who has played a lot of saxophone trio music, said he thinks Mr. Rollins’s best bands were trios or other pianoless groups. “It’s really hard to find piano players with imagination,” he said. “A lot of piano players tend to go home and practice, then play what they practice, which has a certain preordained feeling. A guy like Sonny — really more than anybody in jazz — can’t really be around that kind of stuff. He can’t be locked in a box. When you think about the way he plays, it’s completely logical that he would play in trio. He’s such a stream-of-consciousness player. So he gets to set the harmony, he can make the chords be whatever they want to at any given time.”

What made Mr. Rollins’s saxophone trio so special in 1957 wasn’t just the lack of a piano. (Gerry Mulligan had a quartet with no piano in 1951, but it made very meticulous music, with two horns, baritone saxophone and trumpet, creating contrapuntal harmony.) Nor was it the number three. (Nat King Cole’s group, with piano, guitar and bass, had been famous since 1940, and in the late ’40s Mr. Rollins himself used to lead a trio with piano and bass when he opened shows for Miles Davis.)

It was those particular instruments. Without a chordal instrument (piano or guitar) or any other front-line player, the saxophonist in charge has more elastic possibilities. The absence of chords, which bind and determine the harmony, let the saxophonist play a greater range of ideas without fear of clashing. And though by the late ’50s the tenor saxophone was already linked to a kind of American masculine charisma — there had been Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster and Dexter Gordon, all playing the role of threshers in the long grass — the tenor saxophone trio encouraged a new level of solitary stamina in jazz: developing a narrative across long stretches of time, ultimately being heroic.

All of that requires an unusual amount of energy. Mr. Marsalis first tried trio playing in 1988, when the pianist in his quartet had his own record to promote. “I finished a solo,” he remembered, “and I realized, ‘O.K., what do we do now?’ ”

Then Bob Hurst, the bassist, took a solo, “and I figured, I never did like that formatted thing where everyone plays a solo on every song,” he continued. “So then I said, damn, I have to play longer. It hit me immediately that the second player is a foil. And when the foil is gone, it’s just you.”

Mr. Tabackin, interviewed a few weeks ago, was about to travel to Japan to play 15 gigs in 16 days with his trio. “It’s really physically demanding,” he said. (Mr. Tabackin is 10 years younger than Mr. Rollins.) “You have to cover a certain amount of space, almost physical space. It’s mainly the breathing thing that’s the problem. But if you play every night, it gets easier.” He paused. “I’m saying that now. In a few years I might have to change my mind.”

Mr. Rollins, typically, is philosophical on the subject. He acknowledges that there can be more space to fill during trio performances. But he maintains that it’s up to him to decide how much to fill it.

“Strange as it seems,” he said, “sometimes I’ve found it easier, less physical, to play with a trio. With other instruments, one would think, gee, I’ve got others to help support me, to take up some of the space, so I don’t have to play everything.

“But actually it works to the reverse. On the occasions when I’ve done the old favorite of drums and bass, I end up less physically fatigued and more exhilarated.”

Edited September 17, 2007 by jazzshrink

[garthsj]

Interesting that there is no mention of Lucky Thompson using a trio format (WITH PETTIFORD) in 1956 ....

Edited September 18, 2007 by garthsj

[gmonahan]

I'm finally going to get to hear Sonny live. He's playing in Portland, Oregon tomorrow night. Can't wait!

[gmonahan]

I'm finally going to get to hear Sonny live. He's playing in Portland, Oregon tomorrow night. Can't wait!

I caught Sonny and his sextet live in Portland Friday night. The old man seemed to be having a good time and I thought he played great. Clifton Anderson on trombone, Bob Cranshaw on bass, Willie Jones on drums, and I didn't catch the names of the guitarist and the congos/percussion guy. They played for nearly two hours, and Sonny appeared full of energy. Particularly nice version of "In a Sentimental Mood."

[sheldonm]

I'm finally going to get to hear Sonny live. He's playing in Portland, Oregon tomorrow night. Can't wait!

I caught Sonny and his sextet live in Portland Friday night. The old man seemed to be having a good time and I thought he played great. Clifton Anderson on trombone, Bob Cranshaw on bass, Willie Jones on drums, and I didn't catch the names of the guitarist and the congos/percussion guy. They played for nearly two hours, and Sonny appeared full of energy. Particularly nice version of "In a Sentimental Mood."

Bobby Broom

[Kalo]

did you see the pic on the cover part? sonny has a fro now!

Good fro him!

[clifford_thornton]

Yeah, he's lookin' mighty hip!

[Lazaro Vega]

Interval

Overshadowing the Shadow

A Carnegie triumph for Mr. Rollins proves that the Sonnymoon is never over

by Francis Davis

October 9th, 2007 5:23 PM

Calmly guiding us through history in the remaking

An all-star audience turned out for Sonny Rollins's Carnegie Hall show September 18, this year's be-there-or-be-square jazz event. Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson sat two rows in front of me, and I also spotted Lee Konitz, Jimmy Heath, Lou Donaldson, and Yusef Lateef; friends report sighting Pat Metheny, Joe Lovano, and John Zorn. Because Rollins typically plays New York once annually, his local appearances take on the weight of deific visitations. As much anticipation awaits them as once awaited new releases by Coltrane or Miles, though for a different reason—what everybody's hoping for isn't a clue to where jazz is heading next, just insight into Sonny's state of mind.

Still, I don't recall there being quite this much fevered speculation since his 1985 solo concert at the Museum of Modern Art, where he made up for a hesitant 25-minute set with a euphoric 35-minute encore (when the tension gets to Rollins himself, the results can be bizarre). In previous years, he's often sought to increase ticket sales, or maybe just lessen the pressure on himself, by hosting another marquee name. But the only extra-added attraction this time out—and nobody could ask for better—was his own legend: the shadow of youthful greatness that's been striding onstage ahead of him and challenging him to keep step for half a century now, since Saxophone Colossus in 1956.

The standing ovation that greeted Rollins—who was flanked only by drummer Roy Haynes and bassist Christian McBride; no piano or guitar, no other horn, nothing that needed to be plugged in—may have been as much for that shadow as for the man himself, but not the standing ovation the trio received at the conclusion of its 50-minute set. Although the concert was billed as a 50th-anniversary celebration of Rollins's first Carnegie Hall appearance (at which he also led a piano-less trio as part of an all-star package featuring Thelonious Monk, Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, and Dizzy Gillespie, among others), its real impetus was the chance discovery of tapes from that night's performances in an unmarked box at the Library of Congress three years ago. This was the find that yielded two sets by Monk with Coltrane, released by Blue Note to hosannas in 2005. We've yet to hear the rest, but in the same spirit with which he's been making vintage clips available on his website—and perhaps still mentally competing with Coltrane—this summer Rollins announced plans to release the three numbers he performed that night on his own label, side by side with new versions to be recorded with the same spartan instrumentation this year at Carnegie Hall, inviting us to contrast and compare.

Just the prospect of hearing Rollins once more forgoing a chording instrument, as he did on Way Out West, A Night at the Village Vanguard, and The Freedom Suite way back when, would have been enough, but this was history in the remaking. Needless to say, the show sold out weeks in advance.

So how was it? Before telling you why it had me walking on air (the first half, anyway—an opinion I trust I share with most of those in attendance), let me acknowledge some dissenting points of view. "Too much vibrato," Lee Konitz, who himself employs very little, told me when I bumped into him outside during intermission—a perfect example of why musicians don't really make good critics, since they tend to impose their own aesthetic on everyone else. Konitz, our greatest living saxophonist after Rollins and Ornette Coleman, said he was looking forward to the second set, featuring Rollins's working band and hopefully including some calypsos.

What's more, a dear friend of mine whom I envy for also having been at the '57 concert complained that McBride didn't swing. You should know, however, that this is someone who often talks as if she believes no one under the age of 70 does. And I often have to agree with her—but not about McBride, at 35 two full generations younger than either Rollins (77) or Haynes (82). McBride fulfilled every requirement of a bassist in this context, beginning with providing a solid harmonic anchor. Though fleet and virtuosic to the point of showing off, his solo on "Mack the Knife" kept the familiar melody clearly in mind and maintained Rollins's slashing tempo. Best of all, he sensed exactly when to defer to his elders in what gradually became a dialogue on the value of dynamics between the god of tenor saxophone and a god of drums.

A frequent complaint I heard in the days after was that Rollins never cut loose with chorus after chorus—that on the long, contemplative "Some Enchanted Evening," he didn't even take a solo as such, following a hesitant stab at one on the opening "Sonnymoon for Two," where he and Haynes were still feeling each other out. For me, the mock-aria from South Pacific—an unlikely vehicle for anyone but Rollins—was the evening's glory. He and Haynes didn't exactly trade fours on it for 10 minutes running, and they didn't exactly not; their exchanges followed the rules of conversation, not metrics. Analytical rather than discursive or ecstatic, Rollins treated the melody to an endless series of variations, slowing down his vibrato and dropping into a subtone to summon up the ghosts of both Enzio Pinza and Coleman Hawkins, all the while moving in and out of tempo within phrases shaped to Haynes's elegant brushstrokes. Even those who might have wished for conventional improvised choruses had to agree that it was magic. So was "Mack the Knife," highlighted by McBride's solo and crafty fours between Rollins and Haynes practically from beginning to end.

The second half, with Rollins supported by trombone, guitar, electric bass, drums, and congas on a pair of cheery riffs and a closing calypso, figured to be anticlimactic, and it was. Konitz, I'm told, was gone before the calypso, which was probably just as well—he'd have objected to the interminable drum solo on top of an interminable conga solo, and he'd have been right. The contrast between the two sets revealed itself visually: In the nightcap, Rollins literally fronted a rhythm section, whereas if he'd moved any closer to the drums during the opener, he'd have been able to scoop Haynes's beats into the bell of his horn.

Not that Haynes made all the difference. Rollins is a song man: Even when he briefly embraced free-form in the early '60s, hiring Don Cherry and Billy Higgins away from Ornette Coleman, he continued to use the occasional Broadway number as his launch. He may be able to forgo a chording instrument, but not chords. Blues and calypsos may give him plenty to work with rhythmically. But when Rollins is on, rhythm takes care of itself through the combination of his island heritage and a sense of comic timing worthy of Jack Benny.

Not that Haynes didn't also benefit from the encounter. Generally recognized as our greatest living drummer now that Max Roach is gone, he's lately become overbearing when leading his own groups. Matching wits with Rollins, though, he regained the subtlety that earned him his reputation in the first place. (As an aside, Concord has just reissued 1957's The Sound of Sonny, one of Rollins's few recorded meetings with Haynes. Canonical only insofar as everything by Rollins from that period is, it's nevertheless delightful, no less thanks to Sonny Clark—if every pianist comped as sparely yet decisively as he does here, no saxophonist would ever dream of going piano-less.)

What we've long wished for from Rollins is greater intimacy, if not in terms of smaller venues (no way he's going back to playing clubs), then in terms of trimmer ensembles. We've wanted to hear him mix it up with players of equal stature (Haynes comes close) and top-notch relative newcomers like McBride. Most of all, we've wanted surprise—not necessarily for him to break with jazz convention (if this were Ornette Coleman, Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson would have been onstage), just for him to break his own established routines. For 50 minutes at Carnegie, he came close to giving us all of this. The shame is that a good part of the crowd missed some of it, kept waiting in line for close to half an hour at a single will-call window—poor planning on someone's part. Rollins issued an apology on his website the morning after, but even factoring in the second set, he has nothing else to apologize for. It was some enchanted evening, all right.

Edited October 15, 2007 by Lazaro Vega