“Maaarvellous, maaaarvellous”, was, reportedly, the sound of record producer John Hammond expressing pleasure. And, considering he was the architect of Mosaic’s latest issue, “maaarvellous, maaaarvellous” is a fair critical description.

By the way, an apology: in my review of Mosaic’s previous Vanguard reissue in UK Jazz News, 24 January 2025, I’d written that Hammond, Vanguard’s jazz A&R man, was educated at Harvard. Wrong. He attended Yale. Please be aware that my face is covered in egg. However, bearing my clumsy error in mind, this link will conveniently get you up to speed on Vanguard’s jazz background and Hammond’s recording policy. But, please replace Harvard with Yale.

Whatever, here’s a swift summary: despite being born with a sterling silver spoon in his mouth engraved with the ‘Vanderbilt’ family crest, Hammond was an unabashed radical and anti-racist. Attracted to black music from childhood, he prized talent over fashion which explains why, in the 50s, while the majority of fans and critics were rooting for hard bop, Hammond was supporting musicians from the 30s and 40s whom he thought were being unfairly overlooked. The political activist was determined to take action.

Case in point: the authoritative commentary by historian Thomas Cunniffe in the lavish booklet accompanying this collection of 88 tracks over six CDs, relates that, one night in 1956, Hammond was driving from Canada to New York City by way of Albany. Eager to catch some live jazz, he dropped into a club called Kerrie Blue. Within minutes, he realised the pianist, Bobby Henderson, a student of Fats Waller, was an old friend from Harlem whom he hadn’t seen for 23 years. He immediately signed Henderson to the Vanguard label where he recorded ten songs unaccompanied, nine of which are closely associated with Waller and James P. Johnson’s tribute, Blues For Fats. Any other producer releasing an album by a virtually unknown pianist playing in the style of Waller would have been expelled from the studio clutching a cardboard box full of personal items. But Hammond was in charge. “Maaarvellous, maaaarvellous”.

In settling on the name ‘Classic Vanguard Jazz Piano Sessions’, the usually punctilious Mosaic company might have committed a slight misnomer. Sure, it’s focussed on the work of pianists Ray Bryant, Sir Charles Thompson, Mel Powell, Bobby Henderson and Ellis Larkins, but it also features a distinguished clutch of non-pianists like trumpeters Ruby Braff and Buck Clayton, tenor saxophonist Paul Quinichette, clarinettists Edmond Hall and Peanuts Hucko, trombonist Henderson Chambers, guitarists Freddie Green, Steve Jordan, Tommy Kay, and Skeeter Best, bassists Tommy Bryant, Arnold Fishkin, Oscar Pettiford, Walter Page and Aaron Bell and drummers Jo Jones, Jimmy Crawford and Bobby Donaldson. In short, former stars of a previous generation, partially passed over by fans and unfairly ignored by major record labels.

‘Papa’ Jo Jones (as distinct from the next generation’s ‘Philly’ Jo Jones) was the percussive dynamo that drove the first Count Basie Band. Originally a soft-shoe dancer, he never mis-stepped and his drumming was never short of magisterial. The Jo Jones Trio (the only set here recorded in stereo in 1958) opens the collection featuring the under-rated Ray Bryant, a pianist with more than a touch of Earl Hines in his background, and his brother Tommy Bryant on bass. The cohesive trio works rhythmic magic on Ellington’s Satin Doll, an original, Little Susie and a funky Spider Kelly’s Blues. The Latinate Cubano Chant and Splittin’ are both Ray Bryant compositions and he adds new harmonic twists to the venerable standard, Sweet Lorraine. Bicycle Made For Two is a fleet, up-tempo blues by Tommy Bryant with dazzling brushes from Papa Jo who, on Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein’s Ol’ Man River, plays a breathtaking solo exploiting all the sonorities of the drum kit.

Sir Charles Thompson isn’t a name much bandied about these days, but his floating, airy, Basie-influenced style was much respected by jazz insiders (the knighthood was apparently bestowed by the ultimate jazz insider, Lester Young, also responsible for dubbing Billie Holliday ‘Lady’ Day who, in turn reciprocated, calling him ‘The President’, or ‘Pres’ for short.). Sir Charles appears in this collection leading a trio and a quartet. In 1954, he entered Brooklyn’s cavernous Masonic Temple (a location Hammond kept secret) with guitarist Freddie Green, bassist Walter Page and drummer Jo Jones, three-quarters of Count Basie’s fabled ‘All-American Rhythm Section’ (the missing quarter being Bill Basie himself) to record four tracks: Swingtime In The Rockies, Honeysuckle Rose, These Foolish Things and Sweet Georgia Brown. Ancient warhorses, you might say, but Hammond (much like Norman Granz on the West Coast) preferred the ambience of an informal jam session to a pre-arranged set. Why struggle with learning new arrangements when familiar chord sequences and routines kept the participants relaxed?

Stylistically poised between minimal Basie and early bebop, Sir Charles played sparse and springy phrases, alternating them with chunky block chords. Ballads found him dipping into more ornamented Erroll Garner territory, sometimes complete with lagging beat. Whatever, supported by this well-oiled rhythm section, the tempi are spot-on and the swinging easy and unforced. The sumptuous sound of the mono recording in Hammond’s hush-hush location, helped by the thirty-five-foot-high ceiling preserves all the atmosphere in revealing detail.

In February 1955, Thompson returned to the Masonic Temple with a different group including guitarist Skeeter Best and bassist Aaron Bell, slightly more contemporary in approach than the quartet. (original album cover above). The trio demonstrates blues credentials on Thompson’s Sonny Howard’s Blues and bop credentials on Skeeter Best’s Best By Test, trading licks at a fair tempo. Hey There, a pretty contemporary ballad from the Broadway show, ‘Pyjama Game’ andCole Porter’s Love For Sale show off his elegant block chords and neat unison passages with Best.The ubiquitous Swing Era anthem Stompin’ At The Savoy receives vigorous treatment and a hefty dose of block chord riffing. The trio winds up the session by giving a thorough work-out and makeover to a then-current top 20 tune, Mr Sandman.

Mel Powell. Photo © Burt Goldblatt / CTSIMAGES courtesy of Mosaic Records

When, from 1953, Vanguard released three 12-inch LPs with pianist Mel Powell as leader, they ascended to a new level in the art of jazz. Born Melvin Epstein in 1923, Powell was a musical marvel. Unable to reach the pedals, he started classical piano lessons aged four and, ten years later, was playing professionally in the style of Teddy Wilson. After joining Benny Goodman’s band, he studied composition with Paul Hindemith at Yale, eventually winning a Pulitzer Prize for classical composition in 1990. On his first Vanguard album, in the company of trumpeter Buck Clayton, trombonist Henderson Chambers, clarinettist Edmond Hall and a rhythm section of guitarist Steve Jordan, bassist Walter Page and drummer, Jimmy Crawford, he performs four standards and, overwhelming surprise, his non-jazz, but no less beautiful, three-part Sonatina for Piano.

While Teddy Wilson was a solid foundation for a piano style, Powell, with his superb ear, touch, time, technique and boundless invention, extended its range. From the first note of the Gershwin’s ’S Wonderful, he stamps his authority on the session, inspiring Hall to be even more assertive and spiky than usual. On Adamson and Donaldson’s It’s Been So Long, he establishes a brisk tempo and strutting mood that affects all the musical statements that follow. Fields and McHugh’s I Must Have That Man is taken at an ambling pace, quietly over Walter Page’s insistent walking bass before Clayton and Henderson add short tightly muted obbligati, eventually removing the mutes until Edmond Hall whispers what is possibly the most pianissimo and intimatepassage of his entire career. Powell’s chorus is a thing of delight. Razaf and Blake’s You’re Lucky To Me opens in a loose Dixieland style with Clayton launching into a dashing solo with splendid comping from Powell. Hall manages to turn on the full clarinet growl and Powell displays his virtuosic command of time. Over a lively pulse, Henderson ignores the pace with a lazy trombone until a tumultuous tutti Dixie ride-out ends the session. Then, through a different portal, we enter an unusual longhair universe. Powell’s three-part Sonatina is an unexpected pleasure, a modern classical solo piano piece that’s thoughtful and endlessly delightful.

On August 17, 1954, Powell recorded his second Vanguard 12-inch LP, ‘Borderline’, this time with a bass-less trio: Paul Quinichette on tenor saxophone and Bobby Donaldson on drums. Quinichette’s style was unashamedly modelled on Lester Young’s, to the point where he became known as ‘The Vice-Pres’. Curiously, on the title track, Powell’s own Borderline, in the tight unison first chorus, Quinichette sounds more like Stan Getz than Young. Instead of chorus-long solos, the trio trades shorter phrases in lively conversation. Transcending labels like ‘modern’, ‘traditional’, ‘bebop’ or ‘swing’, this is spectacular music of its own sort and, even though Powell employs a lot of stride piano to compensate for lack of double bass, the entire piece possesses a timeless brilliance. Donaldson and Kahn’s Makin’ Whoopee, which opens with some flashy work on the keyboard, is more conventional. The Vice-Pres’s reverts to his Lester comfort zone and Powell elevates tenth-bass stride to unheard new levels. Haggart and Burke’s What’s New, an elegant exercise in melancholy, has Powell constructing intriguing figures into elegant patterns behind Quinichette’s restrained reading of the melody. Apart from reminding us how jazz musicians relish groaning puns, Powell’s own Quin And Tonic is neatly arranged for trio with Powell injecting surprising dissonances, sounding as though the group had been a working unit for years (it hadn’t). Over subtle Latin drumming from Donaldson, Powell’s equally subtle control of dynamics lends Edgar Sampson’s If Dreams Come True an other-worldly quality. In Cross Your Heart, Powell rediscovers his inner Fats Waller and the trio hits an elastic bounce. The final track on the ‘Borderline’ album, Al Jolson’s Avalon, a ditty purloined from Puccini, gets a nimble workout from this superbly integrated trio. “Maaarvellous, maaaarvellous”.

A week later, the trio returned, but the Vice-Pres had been replaced with trumpeter Ruby Braff. Unlike the Vice-Pres, the notoriously prickly Braff sounded like no-one but himself, harmonically adventurous, fluent and melodic with an enviable full and lustrous lower register.

Powell’s Thigamagig announces a session of coruscating music-making. Working through a range of tempi and moods, Powell and Braff, two superb virtuosi, are allowing us to eavesdrop as they expand the boundaries of improvised music. Powell opens Gorney and Clare’s You’re My Thrill in an elaborately Tatum-esque manner, shifting to a solemn, thoughtful exploration of the harmonies before Braff enters to emphasise the melody’s glorious legato feeling over a background of intricate piano phrases. Brown, DeSylva and Henderson’s jaunty Button Up Your Overcoat may seem a flippant point of departure, but this trio could celebrate jaunty like few others incorporating plenty of dissonance along the way. Bobby Donaldson’s Don-Que-Dee is his own feature, introduced with atmospheric hand-drumming and brief spectral interludes by Braff. This session produced moments full of wonder: Mel Powell’s own Banquet is introduced by Braff adopting the sound of a French horn and, as played by Powell, the melody of Ain’t She Sweet might have been played by Thelonious Monk, California, Here I Come is three minutes of unfettered romp by three masters who’re being paid to have fun.

In October 1955, Powell was invited back to the Masonic Temple, this time to lead various combinations of musicians including Tommy Kay, guitar; Arnold Fishkin, bass; Al Mattaliano, trumpet, Peanuts Hucko, clarinet, Nick Caiazza, tenor saxophone and Bobby Donaldson, drums. Also in the mix were Ruby Braff, Skeeter Best and bassist Oscar Pettiford. In trio, quintet and septet formations they recorded a dozen tracks for the 12-inch LP ‘Out On A Limb’. Gone With The Wind is an attractive counterpoint trio of Powell, Kay and Fishkin taken at medium-slow tempo. Given Hammond’s suspicion of bebop, Powell’s Bunny Hug tips a hat to jazz movements beyond the Masonic boundaries and the piano far less stride-y. Johnson and Burke’s Pennies From Heaven is taken at slow pace, with sublime piano from Powell. Stomping At The Savoy is awarded a neat arrangement with marvellous contributions from Powell and tightly muted Braff. When Your Lover Has Gone is taken at dirge-like speed, Powell paying enormous attention to dynamics at the start before the ensemble takes over with a set of complex clarinet-led chords from Hucko combined with Braff’s mute dominate the swinging Cooch, a Powell composition. Dispensing with the mute, Braff’s open horn growls its way authentically into W. C. Handy’s eternal Beale Street Blues and Powell shows the world that he has real blues feeling. His first three notes of Three Little Words have a distinctly Night In Tunisia flavour and Powell gives it his all. We revisit You’re Lucky To Me (a swing era jam session favourite), this time with an absence of stride, no doubt owing to Oscar Pettiford’s notable presence, and flurries of modish block chords from Powell. Nice guitar work, too from Skeeter Best. An up-tempo version of the Gershwin’s Liza has Braff in top gear, open horn over bass and drums, dipping into his delectable low register. Powell’s solo, up in the treble register is little short of remarkable. Irving Berlin’s The Best Thing For You would Be Me is another musical conversation between Braff and Powell overflowing with joy and beautifully placed phrases. The set is completed with Earl Hines’ Rosetta, a return to the Powell, Braff, Donaldson trio and a joy to behold with precision piano and discreet high-altitude trumpet from Braff.

Ellis Larkins, 1956. Photo © Burt Goldblatt / CTSIMAGES courtesy of Mosaic Records

In both February and October 1955, Hammond paired Ruby Braff with pianist Ellis Larkins to record two duet albums for Vanguard. Not content with being the first African American to graduate from Baltimore’s Peabody Conservatory of Music. Larkins went on to further study at New York City’s celebrated Juilliard School, becoming renowned in the jazz world for being probably the finest accompanist for female vocalists, having worked with Helen Humes, Mildred Bailey, Chris Connor, Eartha Kitt, Beverly Kenney and, most memorably, Ella Fitzgerald (two exemplary Decca albums of Gershwin songs). It was rumoured that he could make any singer sound better. Over the two sessions, Braff and Larkins laid down 25 tracks. The first album was a selection of well-made songs and the second album was dedicated to the work of George and Ira Gershwin.

They were no ordinary tracks. Annotator Thomas Cunniffe describes them as “the crown jewels of this collection”. When the albums first appeared, the prince of jazz critics, Whitney Balliet, long-time jazz guru at The New Yorker wrote: “For sheer inspiration and first-rate creativity, these should find a permanent place among the greater efforts of recorded jazz”. Having been exposed to this music for decades I’m in no position to disagree and their brilliance only increases. Braff and Larkins were a match made in Heaven, superb foils for one another. Not only did Braff have a deep and loving understanding of each melody in his repertoire, but he also possessed the technique and exquisite tone to execute any notion that entered his imagination. And while Larkins was the quintessential jazz accompanist, his jazz intelligence, his touch, reactions, restraint and soloing were of the first order. His tempo choices were unimprovable. The two blues tracks, with never a cliché nearby, are close to faultless. Enough said. Except for the echoes of “maaarvellous, maaaarvellous” that must have ricocheted back and forth across the high ceiling of Brooklyn’s Masonic Temple.

This Vanguard collection was one of the last produced by Mosaic’s late co-founder, Michael Cuscuna and is a worthy memorial. We’re grateful to Scott Wenzel for completing the task.

Audiophiles always admired the Vanguard label for its remarkable sound. Now, thanks to sound wizards John Strother and Shane Carroll, not only has it been preserved, but also improved.

from https://ukjazznews.com