AS TIME advances and jazz progresses, the perspective from which modern music is viewed undergoes certain subtle modifications. That which was an exciting novelty in 1946 may be, to the 1956 ear, a tale that was told too often and has lost its charm in the telling. But the creative minds, the genuinely original ideas with which the jazz scene was endowed during the middle 1940s have token on a significance that is clearer and more secure than that of any passing fad.
Such a mind is the mind of Milton Jackson, who to many of us in the 1940s was merely one of the first and best musicians to ploy what we then knew as bebop. Today, whether we hear him in person or survey his past accomplishments, the distinctive character of his work emerges in a brighter light. Bebop was the matter of his playing. At present we con examine the manner as well as the matter, and we can see that this, as much as the fact that he was the first vibraharpist to use bop ideas, is a determinant element in any analysis of his contribution.
When Dizzy Gillespie first brought him to New York from his native Detroit in 1945, Milton “Bags” Jackson was 22 years old; he had studied music at Michigan State, had played piano on several local jobs, and had begun to experiment on the vibraharp in what was, as Dizzy had been quick to observe, a style rhythmically, melodically and harmonically compatible with that of Gillespie’s trumpet.
During the crescent years of bop, Milt lent this style to the tonal requirements of small combos led by Howard McGhee, Tadd Dameron, Thelonious Monk, and even, in 1949, to the big-band demands of Woody Herman, when he replaced Terry Gibbs in the Second Herd. But the 1950s saw him back with Dizzy for a couple of years, doubling on piano; then, from 1953, the renewal of a partnership with John Lewis brought belated recognition of his true character, as an idea was developed that soon was to reach maturity in the guise of the Modern Jazz Quartet.
The manner of Milt Jackson’s style is one that blends an ever-present beat with an innate gentleness. The vibes motor is kept running slowly, to retain for Milt the slow vibrato that has become characteristic, just as the no-motor-at-all approach hos become a part of Red Norvo. Grace notes abound, and are used, aptly, with infinite grace and subtlety. The percussive feel that one finds in such vibes men as Hampton and Gibbs is seldom to be observed in Jackson’s work; it is as though he strokes the notes rather than hits them.
On these two sides you will find what are, to my mind, the best records Milt Jackson has ever made. The reason can be found in the personnels involved. On one date the men were the original Modern Jazz Quartet members — Milt, John Lewis, Percy Heath and Kenny Clarke — plus, on some numbers, Lou Donaldson’s aerostotic alto. On the second and third sessions, Thelonious Monk was the elder statesman in charge of operations.
Lillie, Bags’ own tune, represented in two different takes here, is a pretty melodic line played by the Quartet. On Tahiti Donaldson’s alto is added for a swinging minor-key Jackson original that shows the sympathy and similarities of the styles of Bags and John Lewis. What’s New is the Quartet again, slow, easy-going, the kind of number on which you can picture Bags looking up at the night club audience, as he does every so often, with that quizzical dead-pan reaction that seems to say: “Gee, that come out pretty nice, didn’t it!” Lou returns again for Bags’ Groove, a medium-tempo blues riff by Milt that hos since become a modern jazz standard, with many other versions recorded but none to top this first flight on Blue Note wings. On The Scene, which uses the I Got Rhythm changes as scenery, shows the Bird-like inclinations of Donaldson and the legato excursions of Jackson at a fiery tempo that drops off into a simple, slow ending on the tonic.
The scene changes on Willow Weep For Me as Monk provides, with a couple of second-intervals, a reminder of his personality before Bags takes over for a medium-slow-swinging solo. The departure from the melody is never more than slight, yet the stamp of the Jackson personality is never less than complete; here is one of his definitive ballad performances.
The music on Criss Cross and Eronel takes on a new mask, that of Monk the composer, writing unison lines for Shihab’s alto and Bogs’ vibes to lend the quintet its own sound, and adding a double-augmented here and there to mind you that this, after all, was Monk’s date. Misterioso, just a hair faster than the original version, as heard here in an alternate master, alternates piano and vibes notes in an evocative and highly melodic main phrase at start and finish. Monk’s interposition of a note before each phrase of Bags’ blues solo is typically Monkish, a little masterpiece of understatement.
Evidence, the only number on this set never before released on an LP, is a transliteration of Just You Just Me, starting with a rolling Jackson chorus fed by Monk’s pushing chords. The compliment is returned when Bags, supporting Monk’s solo, indulges in some pretty wild cross-feeds. The Monk-Jackson interplay is at its most stimulating here. After the second take of Lillie (personally, I have no preference; they’re both faultless) the proceedings are terminated with Monk’s Four In One, a busy theme handed out to Shihab and Bags, with a delightful release in which accented appoggiaturas abound.
I have let it be taken for granted that the rhythm men in these groups, all familiar names, need not be singled out for praise. Bassist of the caliber of Percy Heath, Al McKibbon, John Simmons, and drummers as distinguished as Klook, Blakey and Shadow Wilson hove by now shown beyond reasonable doubt their ability to acquit themselves honorably on any session. What’s more important is that this is Bags’ LP, and they are Bags’ trustworthy support.
Whether I were a drummer, a bass player or just a bellboy, I’d feel that here we have the easiest Bags in the world to carry.
— LEONARD FEATHER
RVG CD Reissue Liner Notes
MILT JACKSON WIZARD OF THE VIBES
Widely acknowledged as the seminal modern vibist, Milt Jackson (1923-99) is one of the great jazz soloists on any instrument and of any era. It is true that Jackson was at the center of innovation from the time he joined Dizzy Gillespie in 1945, and that his harmonically and rhythmically sophisticated ideas and slower vibrato redefined a jazz mallet style previously established by Red Norvo and Lionel Hampton; but his exceptional feeling for the blues and ballads, and his depths of what became commonly known as soul, were truly transcendent.
Jackson’s most familiar setting was the Modern Jazz Quartet, an ensemble with a roughly half-century history ¡f one begins with its origins as the Gillespie big band’s rhythm section. This collection captures Jackson’s early work, before the MJQ was known as such. It includes two sessions — one under Jackson’s name and with his MJQ partners plus Lou Donaldson in support, another where he is featured on one of the key dates ¡n the discography of Thelonious Monk. Both find the vibist featuring ideas and a sound that would become his trademarks.
First on the program is Jackson’s only date as a leader for Blue Note. He had previously been heard under his own name on Galaxy, Savoy and Dee Gee, however, and a session for Hi-Lo was also recorded sometime in the same month. Pianist John Lewis, bassist Percy Heath and drummer Kenny Clarke would begin recording with Jackson under the name the Modern Jazz Quartet eight months later for Prestige; but in a sense the band’s studio prehistory began when bassist Al Jackson (Milt’s brother) and bongo drummer Chano Pozo joined Lewis, Clarke and the vibist for a 1948 Galaxy session. Two 1951 Dee Gee dates under Jackson’s name also include Lewis and either Ray Brown/Kenny Clarke or Percy Heath/Al Jones. Heath and Jones, like Jackson, were sidemen at the time with Gillespie, a job that found the vibist doubling on piano. Jackson and Heath had clearly struck a groove, and the bassist proved equally compatible with Lewis and Clarke. A fifth voice was added on this occasion in the of alto saxophonist Lou Donaldson, making the first of what would be numerous appearances on Blue Note. The quintet lineup also anticipated the tracks with Sonny Rollins that the MJQ cut for Prestige ¡n the following year.
“Tahiti,” in a minor key, features a vibes chorus by Jackson that typifies his spirited creations. He has a way of beginning each stanza with a rush of melody that lends a regenerative feeling to the overall improvisation. After Donaldson’s comfortable chorus, Lewis displays his more formalistic bent, which can also be detected in the arranged introduction and coda.
Alto sax is not heard on “Lillie,” a sentimental ballad line by Jackson that gains immeasurably from the slowly unfolding passion of the leader and the reserved and beautiful support of Lewis and Heath. The master take was cut first, and swings more fervently as Jackson’s solo develops.
“Bags’ Groove” ranks with “Now’s The Time” and “Walkin” as the most widely played blues line of the era. It would become Jackson’s signature tune for the remainder of his career, and he would revisit it several times on record with the MJQ, and in two famous Miles Davis All-Stars takes with Heath, Clarke and Monk. This is the debut recording, with fluent choruses by the three soloists and touches (Lewis’s discursive accompaniment, the interlude before the theme restatement) that anticipate the MiO arrangement.
“What’s New?” also became an MJQ staple, and is heard here in two takes. In this instance, the master was cut after the alternate. The scheme mirrors that on “Lillie,” with alto laying out and one-and-a-half vibes choruses after a brief introduction, though the more probing melody and structure of Bob Haggart’s classic ballad elicit superior responses. Lewis’s ability to “read” Jackson helps make both takes exceptional.
For a time, “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” was the lost track from this session. While all six titles had originally appeared as 78 singles, it had been omitted from the original 10’ and 12” LP reissues. When the Ellington standard resurfaced on compact disc, a second, later take was also included. This was Donaldson’s feature, and the eight bars of additional solo space on each take compared to Jackson. The alto saxophonist is close to Charlie Parker in sound and ideas, if notably less spontaneous (he quotes “Goin’ Home” when reentering on both takes).
Donaldson wrote the simple “I Got Rhythm” variant called “On The Scene” that might be considered a training-wheel version of Parker’s “Merry Go Round.” Lewis got a piano chorus on that title, but not here, where the rather generic alto licks are overshadowed by a brilliant Jackson solo. Alfred Lion was clearly impressed with Donaldson, however, and used him on Thelonious Monk’s sextet session in May before giving him his own session in June.
The remaining tracks are easily Jackson’s most important early recordings without an MJQ connection. While the vibist enjoyed working relationships with many illustrious leaders in these years, including Gillespie (as both a big-band and combo sideman), Howard McGhee, Tadd Dameron, Woody Herman and Miles Davis, none produced music on the level of the vibist’s immortal July 2, 1948 encounter with Thelonious Monk. This quartet date is one of the most celebrated of Monk’s career, both for the quality of the original compositions and the exceptional empathy between the two featured players. The melodic/percussìve, nature of the vibes, plus Jackson’s own brilliance as an interpreter and improviser, quickly marked him as one of Monk’s greatest collaborators. Drummer Rossiere “Shadow” Wilson, who was swapping seats with Jo Jones in the Count Basie Orchestra and Illinois Jacquet combo at the time, would rejoin Monk in the pianist’s legendary 1957 “Five Spot” quartet with John Coltrane. The reliable John Simmons is on bass.
“Evidence” was an instant classic, although the melody (one of Monk’s most popular at the start of the 21st Century) is never completely stated. It is lurking in Monk’s eight-bar introduction, in his support of Jackson’s solo chorus, and in the great final chorus that ¡s basically an improvised duet. Monk based “Evidence” on the chords of “Just You, Just Me,” arriving at the title through a process of reduction (passing through “Just Us” and “Justice,” the latter being Art Blakey’s preferred name for the piece) that mirrors the way in which his comping reveals the skeletal core of his materials. Simmons throws in some effective double-stops before the first bridge of Jackson’s opening chorus.
The blues “Misterioso” was spelled “Mysterioso” on the original 78, and is another of Monk’s most celebrated masterpieces. Gunther Schuller called it “a summation of Monk’s work up to that time, and, in both composition and solo, a wondrous example of his artistic maturity and his awareness of the challenge of discipline and economy.” One sign of Monk’s genius here is how he takes the interval of a
seventh, which concludes the theme chorus of parallel sixths, and uses it to support and expand Jackson’s vibes solo. The master take, which features an additional piano chorus and one of Jackson’s best blues solos, was recorded before the almost-as-incredible alternate.
Kenny Clarke is credited as the co-author of “Epistrophy,” although Ira Gitler has noted that guitarist Charlie Christian also had a hand in the melody. The three-note main phrase is rhythmically identical to “Salt Peanuts,” which Clarke co-composed with Gillespie around the same time. Under the title “Fly Right,” “Epistrophy” was Cootie Williams’s 1942 theme song, and was also recorded by the trumpeter in that year although not released until two decades later. Clarke got the first issued version out in France on the Swing label, from his 1946 52nd Street Boys date. The piano vamp under Jackson’s theme statement would become a closing cue when Monk adopted the tune as his own theme in the ‘50s. Jackson and Monk each solo for 16 bars in that order, yet the pianist does not play the bridge as expected.
Jackson was present on the session where Coleman Hawkins cut the original recorded version of “I Mean You” for Sonora in 1946, though the vibist laid out on that track. On that occasion, Hawkins was credited as co-composer, possibly due to the full chorus of arranged material that breaks up the solos. Here, the focus is more clearly upon the basic composition, which Monk had once titled “Stickball.” Monk’s clusters and whole-tone scales are featured, as is Jackson’s voracious response to the potent chord changes.
The session had actually begun with the two excel lent standards that close the present program. They feature vocalist Kenny “Pancho” Hagood, who had worked with both Jackson and Monk in Gillespie’s 1946 big band and would also be heard with Tadd Dameron (on Blue Note), Charlie Parker and the Miles Davis Nonet. Hagood is quite relaxed on “All The Things You Are,” and receives challenging yet sympathetic support from both Jackson and Monk, each of whom solos briefly before the singer returns in a decidedly Monkish mood (listen to the note he chooses for “star” on the second bridge).
“I Should Care,” one of the era’s most sophisticated ballads, was a favorite among modernists after Frank Sinatra introduced the tune. Johnny Hartman would cover it with Gillespie’s big band in 1949. The alternate, recorded before the master but heard after it, is generally preferable despite Hagood’s early entrance, thanks primarily to the daring Monk improvisation that more closely presages his incredible 1957 solo version on Riverside.
Jackson would record with Monk on two later occasions — the 1951 quintet for Blue Note that is included in the pianist’s Genius of Modern Music Volume 2, and the aforementioned Prestige Miles Davis date with the ultimate versions of “Bags’ Groove.”
— Bob Blumenthal, 2001
