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Despite what you read in liner notes, an appalling percentage of jazz albums lose their allure over the years. I think particularly of that period in the mid-1950s when the monthly streams (main and others) of jazz releases first began to overflow. Many of the sets issues during those years have become as inactive on most turntables as Paul Whiteman sides without Bix. Yet a few albums of the time have proved durable, and among them were the Verve colloquies between Stan Getz and Bob Brookmeyer. The reason they lasted is that both these jazzmen had already established substantial personal styles that did not feed on fads (cool or funky) and besides, they complemented each other so naturally that whole performances resulted, no fragmentary strings of solos.
The first meeting between Getz and Brookmeyer since that period took place in September 1961, while Getz was back in this country to refuel himself through stimulation from American jazzmen. (And also to make some money.) Since 1958, Getz has been an expatriate in Copenhagen, and while his recordings in Europe have been consistently interesting, they often lacked the level of mutual interaction between Getz and the local sidemen that ignites the best of home-brewed recordings. (If this be chauvinism, ask American jazzmen about the experiences with most European rhythm sections.)
The lapse of years and distance have not flawed the musical communion between Getz and Brookmeyer, as is evident from the first track on. They interweave lines and fuse rhythmically as if they’d been playing together steadily for a long time. Both, moreover, have a rare capacity for fresh, uncluttered, melodic imagination that is a refreshing relief from dates on which the players beguile themselves – but not always the listener – by the speed with which they can conjugate chord changes. The opener itself was written by Brookmeyer a month or so before the session, and as the title indicates, it represents his quixotic conception of what a contemporary, jazz-limned minuet can sound like.
I am especially impressed by Brookmeyer’s talent as a ballad composer as it is revealed here in “Who Could Care,” a graceful, questing theme that ought to have lyrics, preferably by a latter-day Lorenz Hart, if such still exists. Brookmeyer has so far only written three or four ballads because it’s a hard form in which to create with any individuality. Since both Brookmeyer and Getz do not share the uneasiness in gentle moods of many of the younger jazzmen, they are particularly suited to this kind of subtle self-exploration. The side ends with a cheerful, flowing reawakening of “Nice Work if You Can Get It” in performances which further underline the structural continuity of which both Getz and Brookmeyer are improvisatory masters.
The cryptic Brookmeyer explains the title of “Thump, Thump, Thump” as having occurred to him “because that’s the way it sounded. An extra thump,” he observer solemnly, “would have ruined it.” The performances once more are supple and thoroughly relaxed. It is exactly this kind of playing that remains relatively rare in jazz, particularly in terms of the unmistakable individuality of each man. By contrast, there are a number of the young, self-conscious “hippies,” described by Ernie Wilkins in a recent letter to Down Beat: “Oh, they can wail! Can play ‘double-ups’ all night long. Tempos can’t get too fast, they know all the fashionable lick, know all of the solos on records, and keep up with the latest trends.” But what, at base, are they saying of their own?
In “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” there is, as on the other tracks, a uniquely expressive demonstration of how firmly Brookmeyer has evolved since his last recorded conversations with Getz. Not only has his conception matured but he now has command of a more diversified range of timbres than any jazz trombonist I know. Accordingly, he uses his large supply of colors to shade and shape more combinations of emotions than is customary in jazz. And Getz, as he shows here, has retained his singular, poignant lyricism while becoming more sinewy and flexible in his rhythmic lines. The final tune, Buck Clayton’s “Love Jumped Out,” was selected by Brookmeyer for its clarity of line and the ease with which it can be comfortably swung.
The rhythm section is one that Getz chose for his club dates on his return to America. John Neves has long been known to musicians who visited Boston in recent years and for a time was an important part of the Herb Pomeroy band there. Steve Kuhn, who also first established a reputation in that area, is an uncommonly imaginative pianist with formidable technique. In the past year, Kuhn has become even more effective as he’s learned how to edit his abundance of ideas. Roy Haynes may well be the most taken-for-granted major drummer in jazz. He has been so reliable and resourceful for so long since each of the five has enough confidence in his own musical ways to relax enough to listen to the others. From this kind of shared attitude records are produced that can be replayed long after the polls have changed and re-changed.
Nat Hentoff |
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| | Minuet Circa '61 |  | | Who Could Care | | | Nice Work if You Can Get It | | | Thump, Thump, Thump | | | A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square | | | Love Jumped Out | |
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Stan Getz, tenor
Bob Brookmeyer, valve trombone
Steve Kuhn, piano
John Neves, bass
Roy Haynes, drums |
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