BLP 4133

Dexter Gordon - A Swingin' Affair

Released - August 1964

Recording and Session Information

Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, August 29, 1962
Dexter Gordon, tenor sax; Sonny Clark, piano; Butch Warren, bass; Billy Higgins, drums.

tk.3 McSplivens
tk.6 The Back Bone
tk.15 Soy Califa
tk.21 You Stepped Out Of A Dream
tk.20 Until The Real Thing Comes Along
tk.22 Don't Explain

Session Photos

Photos: Francis Wolff

Track Listing

Side One
Title	Author	Recording Date
Soy Califa	Dexter Gordon	29 August 1962
Don't Explain	Arthur Herzog Jr, Billie Holiday	29 August 1962
You Stepped Out of a Dream	Nacio Herb Brown, Gustav Kahn)	29 August 1962
Side Two
The Backbone	Butch Warren	29 August 1962
Until the Real Thing Comes Along	Cahn, Chaplin, L.E. Freeman, Mann Holiner, Alberta Nichols	29 August 1962
McSplivens	Dexter Gordon	29 August 1962

Liner Notes

I hesitate to enter grounds already covered by writers more experienced than I. Both Leonard Feather and Ira Gitler have introduced Dexter Gordon's previous Blue Note albums (Doin' Allright, Dexter Calling, Go!) with personal reminiscences and professional evaluations of his significance in their jazz experiences. They and other critics have assessed his musical contributions and have placed him high. Gordon was in the forefront of the '40s swing era; he was the first to translate Parker's revolutionary concepts to the tenor; he was among the most colorful figures in a period sparkling with them. It was a true measure of his dynamic, warm beauty that they should miss him so acutely during his 12-year hiatus on the West Coast, a decade when he was seldom heard, when his kind of tenor playing was temporarily out of vogue.

Their response to the return of his live performances, his charming, authoritative showmanship, his ability to generate excitement through his manner and music, was a reaction not just to him, but against years of not having him. Those were years during which many musicians appeared not to be interested in themselves and the men in their groups, much less the audience. The '60s and Dexter brought back direct communication on the stage, communication which reached out to his audience. One major musician sitting in the Jazz Gallery in New York that first night said, "Love, man. I never felt so much love in one room.'

Dex's old fans were grateful for his return. He was giving them back the best of the good old days. More than that, he vindicated their memories. The music was as wonderful as they had remembered.

Perhaps even more grateful were those of us in another jazz generation, those of us in our early- or mid-twenties. Generations in jazz, among fans and musicians, are short (rather than the traditional thirty years, they may span only four or five), and the distance between them sometimes seemingly insurmountable. A whole lifetime seems to separate us from the man who, although only 34 or 35, remembers vividly the nights of seeing Bird, Bud, Monk, Diz, on the historic 52nd Street scene.

It is rare indeed that the members of one generation get the opportunity to share directly the experience Of another. Given the chance to hear one of the old giants, we went. Any doubts we may have had about the legends of his charm and prowess were dispensed as soon as he raised his horn to his lips. We had been waiting to be captured by just such a man — a man of his warmth, his "show biz" manner of handling us, his pleasure in being with us. And once he started to play...one young tenor man, enjoying some current vogue, laughed delightedly to no one in particular, and said, "The old lion's telling us cats who's still running the jungle."

He told us more than that. In it and subsequent appearances, he still had a lot to tell tenor players about their instruments. Gordon's sound is large, larger even than his 6-foot, 5-inch frame would lead one to expect. It is no denigration of his technical facility to say that much of the scope of his sound, the warmth of his tone, the musicalness Of his harmonic and melodic inventiveness, seem to come from his personality. The tenor, looking so small cupped in his hands, seems merely the nominal source of all that glory. Nominal or not, the instrument is a beloved friend, and Dexter appreciates the entire entity, lower and upper registers, prettiness, and harshness. (Too many men seem to concentrate on just one aspect of their horn.) He brings new life to tunes, and obviously loves variety. Blues, ballads, uptempo tunes, originals, hoary pops that even he has to repair drastically for the occasion, make up his extensive book.

During his live performances on the East Coast, he pleased all the generations he reached. He brought joy back to listening by giving us his joy in playing. He was as current as today. Instead of being a charming old-timer, he built sweeping solos too suspenseful to be predictable.

After satisfying us for a while, it was only fitting that he completed his renaissance by visiting Europe for the first time. Awaiting him were fans who had been playing his old records for years before receiving his recent releases. Enthusiastic response there extended his one-month engagement to a year.

Fortunately Dexter made two albums before leaving. Both were made within a week before his departure, and with the same personnel. The first, Go!, has been rated 5 stars by the Down Beat reviewer, and is regarded by many as a classic in the making.

And if that album won't hold you 'till his return, A Swingin' Affair should. It is of the same extraordinary quality, but has the quieter, less pressing appeal of a group whose initial excitement upon meeting has turned into fruitful relaxation among old friends. The rhythm is a conventional 4/4, the support of sidemen solid, and the solos, meant to enhance, never detract from the tenor. If there is experimentation, it is not the painful searing kind; it is certain and mature, the kind one expects from men who know their business.

"Soy Califa," a Gordon original, is another testament to his affection for all things Spanish. An opening shout, "Soy Califa" (I'm Caliph), by Dexter, leads to a fast samba beat. Dexter inserts a statement of "I'll Never Be the Same," and after interjecting "Have You Ever Seen a Dream Walking," builds a solo which no one should miss. A friend, with no knowledge of jazz and a fatalistic attitude about ever understanding it, ran into the room, put the needle back, and said, "I can finally see what it's all about." The late Sonny Clark follows with another lesson, this one in how to construct a simpatico piano solo. Meanwhile, Billy's driving bass pedal is calling all the natives from Baja, California to easternmost Moslemdom.

From the Latin beat, they go into the warm moving ballad "Don't Explain." Any version less poignant than Billie Holiday's should never be played. This one is lovely. The mood is sad but bittersweet. The smile evoked is sophisticated, and worthy of the woman who could ask, "Sit down, heartache, what's new?"

Returning to the Latin beat, the group lifts the face of an old favorite, "You Stepped Out of a Dream." The tune is revitalized by Sonny's stunningly economical and direct solo. Everyone gets a chance to shine. It's a pleasure.

Only justly, Butch Warren, composer of the tune, opens "The Backbone" with 8 bars. This tune is fun for everyone. Sonny's left hand is particularly interesting, while Billy's background is sure and steady. Butch's variation of the theme within the original 4/4 pattern makes one eager to hear more from this young man, as bassist and composer. The tune leads up to a charming byplay between the tenor and bass. A very infectious tune.

"Until the Real Thing Comes Along" is announced by Sonny, but it is Dex's tune all the way. The mood is relaxed, the old tune fertile. Dexter builds exquisitely. At one point — and you won't be able to miss it — his horn sounds like it's playing its way out of a canyon. See if this band doesn't remind you of a club late at night, with all the musicians seated by now, and the few remaining customers unwilling to leave 'till the management turns up the lights.

The last band, "McSplivens," another catchy Gordon original, is a blowing vehicle, and the rhythm section never intended to do anything else with it. Billy's work is especially nice.

This album should appeal to all the jazz generations who dig Dex. It should also bring a few new ones into the fold. Considering that Down Beat's Critics' Poll has just named him New Star of the Year, he should have several more to swing for.

— Barbara Long

RVG CD Reissue Liner Notes

A NEW LOOK AT A SWINGIN' AFFAIR

Barbara Long captures Dexter Gordon, man and musician, beautifully in her liner notes; but her comments on jazz generations are likely to bring a contemporary reader up short. There was indeed a time when four or five years marked the arrival of a new jazz coterie, but that time is long gone. Gordon, whom Long calls "one of the old giants," was all of 39 when he recorded A Swingin' Affair, which is significantly younger than such contemporary (as I write) Blue Note stalwarts as Joe Lovano, Greg Osby, and Wynton Marsalis, and roughly the same age as Bill Charlap. Tempus fugit indeed.

Long's view also speaks volumes regarding just how far from public consciousness Gordon had slipped before his early-sixties resurgence. His obscurity was compounded by both his return to California in the late '40s and a record industry that made the few recordings issued under his name difficult to find. In 1960, a jazz fan who had heard of Gordon and wanted to explore his music might have located a Savoy album representing his mid-'40s New York period, but would have been hard pressed to obtain The Chase, the classic Gordon/Wardell Gray tenor battle on Dial, or even his 1955 efforts on Dooto and Bethlehem. The more accommodating reissue environment of recent decades has made most of this music readily available, and would lead a 21st-century listener to wonder how Long and her contemporaries could have been so unprepared for Gordon's brilliance in 1962. As he demonstrated upon his 1976 return to the US after more than a decade of productive work in Europe, it would not be the last time that the public's short memory helped fuel a Gordon renaissance.

Still, if Gordon proved to be uncommonly consistent whenever listeners began paying attention, some of his performances did mark pinnacles in both his and the music's history. Perhaps the ultimate pinnacle was Go!, the Blue Note album he recorded before the present session with the identical rhythm section. Gordon had produced two other excellent albums for Blue Note a year earlier, Doin' Allright and Dexter Calling, but encountered less success when he returned to New York in the spring of 1962. He visited Rudy Van Gelder's studio on four occasions in May and June, as both leader and sideman, but the only music that emerged from those sessions at the time was Herbie Hancock's debut as a leader, Takin ' Off. It was on that session that Gordon first worked with Butch Warren and Billy Higgins. Sonny Clark encountered Gordon in a studio for the first time on a June session that ultimately yielded three tracks on the 1980 release Landslide.

Clark, Warren, and Higgins were something of a house rhythm section for Blue Note at the time, and producer Alfred Lion no doubt expected superior results when he paired the trio with Gordon on August 27, 1962 for Go! What resulted was such an obvious masterpiece from the moment it was taped that a sequel became imperative. With Gordon en route to Europe, Lion took the unprecedented step of bringing the same personnel back to Van Gelder's a mere two days later to produce the present album.

Long gets it right when she cites the "quieter, less pressing appeal" of the present music, though that judgment only holds in comparison to the truly monumental Go! recordings. Gordon and company did capture lightning in a bottle twice, and at least two of the performances here reach and perhaps exceed the heights of the previous album. "Soy Califa," with Gordon announcing the title up front and Higgins sustaining a hypnotic beat when not breaking into straight swing, is a textbook example of how to employ tension and release; and "Don't Explain," like "You've Changed" on Doin' Allright, confirms that Gordon was the rare instrumentalist who could match Billie Holiday's emotional force on one of Lady Day's signature songs. "McSplivens," which Dan Morgenstern informs us was named for Gordon's dog, had obviously been a priority for Gordon. He attempted it without success on two of his earlier 1962 sessions.

Sonny Clark, who solos and supports with such brilliance here, would succumb to his heroin addiction a mere five months after A Swingin' Affair was recorded. "It was pretty obvious even to me that it would happen in the near future," Gordon wrote to Francis Wolff when he learned of the pianist's death. "I told Sonny this summer that it was going to happen soon if he didn't or couldn't change his pattern and start taking care of himself. But he had almost totally given up, I think." Not when it came to music, or at least not when Clark was in the company of old giant Dexter Gordon.

— Bob Blumenthal, 2005