Eddie the Eccentric

The line between individuality and sheer eccentricity can become mighty porous sometimes. Take the late pianist and vibraphonist Eddie Costa. If remembered only by aficionados today, Costa, judging by the myriad sessions he appears on during a brief (1956-1962) recording career, was a well-respected and in-demand player. And versatile as well; he can be found alongside giants as diverse as Coleman Hawkins and Ornette Coleman, Bill Evans and Benny Goodman, Gunther Schuller and Tony Bennett. Yet for all his adaptability, scooting blithely from mainstream dates to avant-garde projects, Costa was anything but a proficient, faceless musician.In fact, given the opportunity, exhibited here on one of his few album as a leader, he shows himself as among the most unconventional, near strange, stylists of the era.It's difficult to pin down Costas's piano influences; sometimes traces of his friend Bill Evans can be detected, other times, Monk, Tristano, Silver and Brubeck rear their heads. Antecedents are immaterial though when it comes to character-filled playing like this. Costa is no one so much as himself, a player who obviously adored risk and its unpredictable rewards. The breaks in particular are jolted by his weird sense of time, darting rhythms and those gothic rumblings in the deep bass region that became a trademark of sorts. That Costa avoids willful oddness for its own sake is the secret to his distinction. No doubt about it, he was an authentic eccentric.

Jimi Forty Years On

1970 was the year that Jimi Hendrix both left this world, and, nine months earlier, recorded his greatest performance. First take a moment to appreciate the fact that the late show performance of "Machine Gun" -- the New Year's Eve take that was included on the album "Band of Gypsys" --was captured on videotape. (Do we have footage of Charlie Parker stealing the show at J.A.T.P with "Lady Be Good" or John Coltrane tearing through "Chasin' the Trane" at the Village Vanguard?) Let's just give thanks for the technology that's allowed us to experience this epochal moment.
Jimi left us much, much too soon, but this terrifyingly vivid performance proves that he didn't leave us with promises unfulfilled. "Machine Gun" is the climax of his too short career, a summing up of all that he had achieved as a guitarist and sonic mastermind, as well as a gift to future musicians. It can also be heard as Hendrix's unspoken challenge to those who would follow: "This is what can be done with an electrical instrument -- now where are you going to take it?"
The beauty and musical significance of "Machine Gun" lies in Jimi's expressive use of technology. Never had a guitar been made to cry with the pain that he extracts from it. An electric guitar that is, one hooked up to an arsenal of amplifiers and effect boxes, all in Hendrix's unerring control. The machine was essential, but the man told it what to do.

One Degree of Separation

from Chico Hamilton that is. It's been rough period; first Buddy Collette and now Tony Curtis. And what do these two dissimilar artists have in common? CH.
Collette is heard here in fine form with Hamilton's 1955 quintet. (To understand why guitarist Jim Hall cites Charlie Christian as a major influence, just listen up.) Buddy's been listening to Lester Young and has assimilated the tenor giant with great style. In all, a breezy example of West Coast cool before it got frigid and rigid.




Tony Curtis crossed paths with Hamilton a few years later on "The Sweet Smell of Success." I've not seen all of either Tony or Chico's film appearances, but it's likely that neither was ever more riveting than in this cinematic gem. (Alright, Chico was more effective in "Jazz On a Summer's Day" -- he didn't have any lines)

The Count's Cojones

Where did Count Basie get his nerve? Among the many felicities to be found on the original version of "Lester Leaps In," few are as exhilarating as Basie's utterly original, stripped-to-the-bone piano work. The man of the hour, Lester Young, indeed leaps and lopes,sounding not a wit like any of his peers. Basie is just as audacious, just as anxious to calmly spit in the eye of swing conventions.If, say, Teddy Wilson's elegant improvisations were finely crafted sentences, Basie's keyboard utterances were a sprinkling of vowels. How did he get away with it? It all comes down to the brilliant, wild moment at 2:45 when he begins his solo. Following the horn riff that sets up the break, Basie gets ready for his closeup. "Ding-dong, Ding-dong." Four notes, a mere two notes repeated. Call it telegraphic, minimalist,frugal, aphoristic, whatever -- it's just plain ballsy. (Try to imagine what Waller or Tatum might have fit into that moment in the sun.) Everything about this "Lester Leaps In" is gorgeous, but Basie's revolutionary contributions ( later to offer inspiration to such giants as John Lewis, Ahmad Jamal, Jimmy Rowles, and Thelonious Monk) are so off-the-wall, yet so right -- they can make you laugh out loud.

Accompany This!

I'm not in the running for president of the current John Scofield fan club. His tone grates on me and I don't find his improvisations terribly compelling. But that is now and this (clip) was then. Brookmeyer may be the featured artist here, but for me, Scofield is the star. He shadows the valve trombonist so adroitly and with such deference that you could focus on his just-right accompaniment and be well satisfied. There's a lovely sense of modesty, mated with genuine respect for an older master, on display here.
(To counterbalance my initial Scofield-bashing, I have to praise to the skies his thoroughly atypical "Quiet" album of 1996, which finds him sticking exclusively to acoustic guitar. His playing and writing is exceptional, as is the occasional contribution of guest soloist Wayne Shorter on, thankfully, tenor saxophone.I adore this under-the-radar masterwork.)

Fusion Pipe Dreams: Part Two

Miles Davis delved into the David Crosby songbook with his 1970 recording of "Guinnevere," originally heard on the C,S,N debut album of the previous year. If only he had taken the plunge with this earlier Crosby classic as well -- Its minor key moodiness and arresting changes would have suited Davis and the rest of the "Second Great Quintet" perfectly. Davis on muted horn, Shorter on tenor, Hancock insinuating the harmony, Carter and Williams stirring up a suggestive rhythmic pulse...ah, pipe dreams.
The Byrd's 1967 performance is a bit of a hit-and-miss affair. Crosby inhabits the misty poetry at the core of his song, while bassist Chris Hillman is simply outrageous, careening off into space yet somehow anchoring the piece. Unfortunately guitarist McGuinn doesn't seem to have a handle on the song's fragile mood -- his solo turn meanders where it should sing -- and the group remains grounded. Nonetheless this classic album cut is an unacknowledged high point of proto-fusion; a promising, if tentative, blend of folk-rock, Indian exoticism and jazz.

Beyond Jimmy Smith

The Hammond organ, electric guitar and drums combo that brought Jimmy Smith to fame in the mid-1950s needed a kick in the pants by the time the Seventies rolled around. Larry Young's groundbreaking work with the Tony Williams Lifetime on the 1969 release "Emergency!" was certainly a sonic declaration that the rules had dramatically changed for the basic organ trio. Applying Rock-era energy and amplification to the mix, Williams, Young and John McLaughlin emphatically stated that the good old ballad-blues-and bop days were a done deal.
"Timeless" a one-off 1974 project that united guitarist and leader John Abercrombie, drummer Jack DeJohnette, and keyboardist Jan Hammer (here relying on the Hammond) certainly draws on a post-"Emergency!" vibe, but also takes its own swerves in the road. As befits an ECM project of the time, there's a more ethereal quality to the music. "Ralph's Piano Waltz" inhabits a spacious sonic landscape that evokes mystery and drama. There's a haunting ebb and flow to the piece, enhanced by DeJohette's brilliant sense of dynamics. And that unexpected bridge -- the hook of the tune -- gets you every time.