Autumn Leaves

The pilgrimage to New York to hear Miles Davis in person was probably conceived 4 years earlier when my father went to Chicago and came back with two 10” Miles Davis LPs. I was just starting to play the trumpet – an instrument my father had played in Montreal dance bands and “pit” orchestras in the early 40s. He just handed the albums to me and said, “Listen to these”.

One was a 1954 recording with Art Blakey (drums), Percy Heath (bass) and Horace Silver (piano). The other was a 1952 Miles Davis Sextet album with Gil Coggins on piano. I mention Gillie as he was to be (several years later) one third of the best rhythm section I ever played with. These two albums set off a decade long idolatry of one of the greatest Jazz trumpet players.

Anyway, I borrowed my father’s car for the week-end and drove overnight to NYC with all the anticipation and exhilaration that could be crammed into a 19 year old mind and body. After checking into a hotel, I went to Macy’s dept. store, bought a sport jacket and trousers that the clerk and I deemed appropriate for a night at the Café Bohemia in Greenwich Village to hear the Miles Davis sextet with Bill Evans (piano), Paul Chambers (bass), “Philly Joe” Jones (drums), John Coltrane (tenor sax) and “Cannonball” Adderly (alto sax). I left the store wearing my new “vines”.

I walked out into a beautiful autumn afternoon in New York - the kind of day that is venerated in song - and strolled along the avenues like so many tourists before. It was also a beautiful evening for a walk in Greenwich Village, as I honed in on my destination. Finally, after walking around in circles, I asked directions to the club and got there near the end of the first set.

The club was filled to capacity and an empty seat was found for me. It was the continuation of what seemed to be part of a day- long dream. It took a few minutes to fully realize where I was and who was playing. I was surprised to discover that Bill Evans had replaced Red Garland with the band, and that “Philly Joe” was subbing that night for Jimmy Cobb. By the time I had accepted the keyboard change and understood the new musical dimensions Bill Evans brought to showcase the work of the others in the group it was time for an intermission. 

Standing alone at one side of the club was “Cannonball”, a tall, heavy set man. I introduced myself, and told him I had come from Montreal. We had a really nice conversation. He explained that he left his job as a high school teacher in Florida to live out his dream of playing with Miles and that he enjoyed meeting me as I reminded him of his students. He really missed them.

He wanted to know what I was doing and I told him that the only jazz I was playing was in jam sessions, often with B.T Lundy and Walter Bacon, two Brooklyn musicians who had moved to Montreal in the late 40s. He brought me to a table reserved for the band and introduced me to Miles saying, “This is Guy from Montreal. He’s a friend of B.T. Lundy and Walter Bacon.”

Miles looked at me and said in a hoarse whisper, ”Hey man, how are you doing?” Paul Chambers came up to him and they left. The last set was about to start and “Cannonball” left me at the table to absorb the greatest music I have ever heard. 

The last set was a framework for a long, beautiful rendition of Autumn Leaves that featured each member of the band in extended solos, pushed ahead by a superb rhythm section laying down interesting chords and counterpoint to the soloists’ musical creativity.

The last soloist before Miles was John Coltrane, pushing the limits of his instrument with cascading walls of sound - scales and deep wells of inspiration each building on the last in a crescendo of motion and emotion and followed by a short lead-in to Miles offstage.

From the wings came one note on muted trumpet that seemed to convey the essence of the music that preceded him. An audible gasp from one table led to stillness from the crowd as we listened to Miles’ solo and his last note.

I don’t remember getting to the hotel, but was awakened from my reverie when confronted by four locks and latches on the door of the hotel room – a stark reminder that there was another side to the city that displayed all its autumn beauty and the creativity of its musicians in one perfect day.

Crepuscule with Nellie

crepuscule, definition:
the time of day immediately following sunset
"he loved the twilight"; "they finished before the fall of night"

twilight, dusk, nightfall.

How did it come about that Judy, my fiancée, and I would spend an evening with Nellie Monk and her husband Thelonius Monk?

Marvin Jay and I had discussed blowing the rest of the undergraduate society's budget on a Thelonius Monk concert with Henry Hall, the dean of Sir George Williams University (renamed Concordia). I can't recall the argument that convinced the dean to let us spend $12,000 to bring someone to Montreal who was known only to a hardcore group of Jazz fans in the late 50's.

The afternoon of the concert I was informed that Monk (piano), Elvin Jones (drums) and Charlie Rouse(tenor) had arrived for the concert, but the bass player was refused entry into Canada and returned to New York.

Pressed into action I contacted my bass player Freddie McHugh to fill in.
Freddie, 21 yrs. old and one third of the best rhythm section I  ever played with, was a devotee of Lester Young solos and Monk compositions.  He showed up ready to play and quickly fit in after a short practice session with the other sidemen.  Ten minutes before the concert, there was no sign of Monk and I was dispatched to the hotel.

Judy and I rushed up to Monk's room to be greeted by Nellie.  That was the start of a surreal evening.

"Come in" she said, then went on to explain that Monk had spilled some food on his tuxedo trousers and sent them to the concierge to be dry-cleaned.  Ouch!

We sat down and Nellie ordered peach Melbas for us and almost by magic set us both at ease in the face of what I considered impending doom. Over on the bed was this huge man in pajamas deep in thought.

We spoke in low tones and passed the time directing any conversation to Nellie. Their relationship was on a level of devotion to each other that resembled, to take a recent example, that of Michelle and Barack Obama.

She was in charge of making sure the show would go on, and he was psyching himself up to put on a focused , creative concert for the good folks of Montreal. Judy and Nellie got on great with little verbal interaction and finally, 45 minutes later the pants arrived. Whew!

We left the hotel in a snowstorm that registered a record snowfall for Montreal and got to Salle Wilfrid Pelletier an hour and fifteen minutes late.  Amazingly the crowd was forgiving and resembled a huge fan club, locked into a huge new concert hall by a raging snowstorm outside.

After the first four bars, it was obvious that the group was about to perform a memorable concert that would eventually exceed anyone's expectations.  Monk created long flowing pianistic phrases that could only have been hatched in a focused, creative mind.

Freddie's soft, but impeccable time-keeping was reminiscent of Percy Heath's brilliance.  He played a bass solo on the second number, and a bowed bass solo in the second half.  Elvin Jones and Charlie Rouse held it all together with great time and excellent solos.  Standing O's and elation all around.

After the concert, this fabulous evening with Nellie and Monk over, Freddie and Elvin invited us to go to the Chantecler, a speakeasy by the docks where Elvin sat in with Walter Bacon's band.  He broke Walter's snare drum head during an amazing, forceful solo.   Walter, always smiling, said he'd hang the busted drum head on his wall to remember the night Elvin Jones played on his drums.

Every time I hear Monk's wonderfully evocative composition "A Crepuscule with Nellie",  I remember that night and remember the strength and serenity of Nellie Monk.

Top 20

These recollections of an aspiring jazz trumpet player in the 50's and early 60's are meant to add to the folklore of this period of great advances in bebop.

My nephew David Thompson, an excellent jazz guitarist and all around fine person asked me to list the 20 albums that helped create that love of the music that has permeated the life of a septuagenarian.

"Think of 20 albums, CDs, LPs ....  that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life. Dug into your soul.  Music that brought you to life when you heard it.  Royally affected you, kicked you in the wazzo, literally socked you in the gut, is what I mean."

I guess he never thought that the first album - a compilation of Paul Robeson songs - would be an album of 78 rpm  records.  I used to listen to it in the early 40's  on a wind-up RCA Victor phonograph at my grandfather's house in Trois Rivières Québec.

 1.) Mah Lindy Lou - Paul Robeson (1944)single
 2.) Blue Flame - Woody Herman (1945)single
 3.) Well, Git It! - Tommy Dorsey (1946)single
 4.) Don't Roll Those Bloodshot Eyes at Me - Wynonie Harris (1950)single
 5.) I Stay in the Mood For You - Billy Eckstein big band (1950)single
 6.) Miles Blue Note Vol. 1 -  Miles Davis (1952)
 7.) Miles Blue Note Vol. 2 -  Miles Davis (1952)
 8.) 'Round Midnight- Miles Davis (1955)
 9.) Miles Ahead - Miles Davis & Gil Evans (1955)
10.) Art Blakey Live at Birdland Vol. 1 - Art Blakey & Clifford Brown (1957)
11.) Art Blakey Live at Birdland Vol. 2 - Art Blakey & Clifford Brown (1957)
12.) Daddy Plays The Horn - Dexter Gordon (1958)
13.) The Genius of Bud Powell - Bud Powell (1958)
14.) Genius + Soul = Jazz - Ray Charles (1959)
15.) Bird with Strings - Charlie Parker (1959)
16.) Lady in Satin - Billie Holiday (1959)
17.) Somethin' Else - Cannonball Adderly & Miles Davis (1960)
18.) Thelonius Monk at Town Hall - Thelonius Monk Orchestra (1960)
19.) Pier Gynt Suite - Duke Ellington (1962)
20.) Evidence - Steve Lacey & Don Cherry (1962)