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  Исполнитель(и) :
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  Наименование CD :
   After Hours



Год издания : 1963/1957

Компания звукозаписи : Prestige

Музыкальный стиль : Bop, Cool, Hard Bop

Время звучания : 41:30

Код CD : OJC CD-1782-2 (P-7118)

  Комментарий (рецензия) :

CD, стоящие на полке рядом : Jazz (Small Orchestra - Bop)      

Recorded in Hackensack, NJ, June 21, 1957.

A leaderless sextet jams on four of pianist Mal Waldron's originals; the performances range from eight to 12 minutes apiece. The all-star lineup (trumpeter Thad Jones, Frank Wess on tenor and flute, guitarist Kenny Burrell, Waldron, bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Art Taylor) is in fine form on the straightahead material and bop fans will want to pick up this reissue CD.

All Music Guide

========= from the cover ==========

Essentially this is an album of moods; blue ones for that period of the early morning known as "after hours". For musicians, "after hours" are after the job hours which serve as their playtime. Recreation takes different forms and sometimes it consists of more music making, purely for pleasure, in a relaxed atmosphere.

Here, as usual, the blues are both happy and sad. There is a fast blues, a medium blues and two blues ballads. Since this is an "after hours" session, the emphasis is on blowing and Mal Waldron brought in lines with this in mind. Mal is a versatile writer who can communicate convincingly in several areas of the jazz idiom. His solos are effective statements too. The pen is mightier than the sword but the fingers are also strong.

The other soloists, like Waldron, have a good grasp of the blues feeling. Thad Jones and Frank Wess have payed their dues in the blues and their recenc lengthy association with Count Basie's. orchestra qualifies them as B.A 's in Music with M.A.'s in the blues.

Kenny Burrell, taking his inspiration from Charlie Christian, is, basically, one of the blusiest musicians around. His very sound weds the thematic content of the blues in what is a highly compatible marriage.

Paul Chambers and Art Taylor meld together beautifully due to many previous, mutual working and jamming events. With Waldron and Burrell (when he plays rhythm guitar) they form a closely allied rhythm section. Chambers' solos, as always, are a delight.

A fast blues, Steamin', opens the after hours session. An eight bar introduction by Taylor leads into theme carried in a ball-tossing manner by Jones and Wess (on tenor). Frank has the first solo followed by Burrell. Thad is third with a muted workout and Frank returns, this time on flute. Then the two trade four bar phrases for several choruses before Waldron enters. Taylor again prefaces the theme.

Blue Jelly is a line, brought in by Mal, to which Kenny added a few touches of his own. The meaning of jelly here has no connection with preserves or the blues that Billy Eckstine used to sing. "Jelly," says Mal, 'is taking it easy like when someone comes by the gig that you are working and sits in for you."

The solos open with a muted bit by Thad followed by exchanges among Kenny, Frank (flute) and Thad. Kenny solos next and double-time is introduced in the bridge and continues to appear in the bridge of every chorus until Waldron's solo spot. The three way conversations that preceded Bun-ell's solo also preface Wess' and Waldron's. Chambers (arco) is heard after Mal and during his solo the double-time appears again only this time in the second eight bars and the bridge.

Count One is a medium blues with the Count Basie feel to it and a format that follows the One O'Clock Jump. After two choruses of piano by Mal there is a modulation and then the riff is played. On the base of the rhythm section, anchored by Burrell, there are spirited flights by Wess on tenor and Jones. Kenny steps out of the section for his improvised contribution; Waldron and Chambers (pizzicato) do likewise before the riff is re-stated.

A sort of after hours street scene is Empty Street described by Jones' muted horn and Wess' obligato flute. Burrell's opener is immersed in a vat of rich blue dye. These are receptive chord changes that Waldron has set down and Wess (flute), Jones, the composer (employing his "telegraph" technique effectively) and Chambers (pizzicato) make good use of them.

- Ira Gitler

Biographies

Thad Jones: born in Pontiac, Michigan in 1923. Played in combo with brothers Hank (piano) and Elvin (drums) in late Thirties. Worked with Sonny Stitt and others in Michigan until 1943 when he entered Army. Discharged in April 1946. Had own band; then played two years with Billy Mitchell in Detroit. Joined Count Basie in 1954. His personal style is out of the brassier division. (Gillespie, Navarro) of the modern trumpet school. Can be heard in Olio (Prestige LP 7084).

Frank Wess: born in Kansas City. Missouri in 1922. Began on alto sax in Oklahoma. Played tenor sax in Washington, D. C. with house band at the Howard Theatre. In Army 1941-44. Played with Billy Eckstine, Eddie Heywood, Lucky Mil-linder in Forties. Returned to Washington where he studied flute in 1949. With Basie since 1953. On tenor his conception is influenced by the old as well as the new. On flute he has helped greatly to establish this instrument in modern jazz. Can be heard in Olio (Prestige LP 7084).

* * * Notes reproduced from the original album liner * * *

When the clock ran out on the decade of the 1950s it seemed as if jazz's musical evolution, too, had come full circle. The list of jazzmen who never saw the Sixties reads like a Who's Who of the art. Pres and Billie, Lips Page, Art Tatum, Fats Navarro, Brownie, Wardell Grey - the complete list is dizzying - were all musicians cut down in the prime, most with only Mouth Honor and Plagiarism for pallbearers and Brother Big Business in to read the last sermon. The legend of New Orleans was already a ghost in a hall of cracked mirrors and the big bands were practically a past tense as the erstwhile dancers and their progeny slumped in front of their television sets. Jazz clubs came and went the way of all fleshpots with a rapidity that was truly contemporary (52nd St., Swing Street, withered, was finally reduced to rubble and in authentic Kafkaesque fashion, re-emerged as a brand new row of glass-and-chrome thrones of commerce). Parker was gone, dead at 36, and the other innovators of the Forties had either settled comfortably into their styles, were stumbling, strung out, dead or dispersed. Bitterness and her sister emotions were accepted as common currency and the cult of 'art - ugliness' had already begun to cultivate its frustrated garden in the abyss. It was a bleak and wintery scene, and the Hawk of dispair and discontent was loosed and screaming through the streets.

The young cats just coming up were, of course, playing their hearts out, but their often harsh and frantic sounds fell on mostly indifferent, if not outrightly hostile ears. Critics and players alike scrambled backwards for a restorative historical principal, digging deep for a sense of rootedness or lunging at the tailgate of whatever passing bandwagon bore the hope of a new messiah. Other more reasonable alternatives, of course, lay in front of everyone's nose.

Some still called it Swing and Stanley Dance named it "Mainstream", but no matter how you sliced it, the giants of jazz's Golden Age, the Thirties, had not only survived the test of time, but had reached a new maturity; providing a rich source of jazz inspiration as they invested the contemporary scene with some of its vibrant musical moments. This came as no great shock to people who had always been hearing, but as in any art, there often is a noticeable cultural lag in appreciation by the general public. Or at least in the rediscovery of greatness by succeeding generations. You didn't have to search through any rusty record bins to hear what Armstrong, Ellington, Basie, Hawkins, Eldridge et al had to say. Their chops were up and they were playing as well as ever and right now. In part, the critical reassessment of these classic musicians of jazz history was prompted by their reflection in the work of many younger musicians who found fresh ore in the already tapped but still abundant veins. The music in this album is as much an indication of the concern with that musical mother lode as it is the very personal expression of the individuals involved. The journey, said an ancient chinaman, is the road, and in jazz the truth is that the byways run along and through the main stem. The spirit may wander, but never too far from home.

It was no accident that Frank "Magic" Wess, the leader on this date, chose to surround himself with some of the elite of the eastern scene. Wess has had the double-edged fortune of being a Basie tenorman (and it is, after all, a band whose leader has always borne a not-so-secret inclination toward the tenor saxophone) in an era when rhat aggregation has been categorized as more ensemble oriented than soloist inspired. Like most half-truths the idea of the "Basie Machine" is a sophisticated oversimplification promulgated by people who prefer neatness to reality and who would tear the flesh of jazz apart and refit it to some aesthetic theory or other. Axe grinding aside, suffice it to say I would wager half my Ellington records on the twin tenors of Wess and Frank Foster {don't sleep on Eric Dixon, either) against all comers on a given night. A tenor saxophone sometimes looks like the wing of a great bird and Wess's broad wing flutters on the beat, with a warm sound and a propulsive attack. He never stutters in the now fashionable manner, relying rather on a straight jazz vocabulary and syntax with a dash of salty humor to form his statements. The guiding principle is swingmatism not new thingmatism. Frank doesn't shuck on flute either, and the consensus is, and has been since he joined the Basie band in 1952, that on that challenging instrument, Frank is the man. Wess was born in Kansas City and his approach is proudly rooted in the formidable tradition of that jazz metropolis. The spirit may wander, but etc. etc. etc.

Another phenomenon of the Fifties was the almost assembly line production of top notch jazz talent in Detroit, Michigan and environs. Through the years the Motor City and its home state have not been slack in turning loose musicians from Ashby to Zurke, but during the Fifties the largesse was spectacular. The young jazzmen came east in what seemed like droves, and, according to current reports, they're still coming. Detroit-born guitarist Kenny Burrell, who is featured in this date, is just now receiving some of the attention which has long been his due. He has risen to prominence, not in a year of dearth, but thanks to the Bossa Nova, during a period when good guitarists with extraordinary facility are parachuting in daily from every hemisphere. Kenny is a cut above the extraordinary and it is interesting to hear how the influence of that exquisite Belgian gypsy mingled and meshed with the more fundamental blues-to-be-here approach of Daddy Christian in the formation of Burrell's singular and emotional style. (At a Newport Jazz Festival of a few seasons back, Kenny was part of the house rhythm section that played, superbly, for an incredible mixture of jazz styles, and after the four day stint he won praise from everyone including the magisterial Coleman Hawkins - a fellow whose musical approbation is never lightly given. "That kid Kenny Burred," beamed Bean, who subsequently has chosen Burred as a sideman for a whole raft of Prestige recording dates, "he sure can play!" Burred, whose dependability and flexibility have made him a regular in the studios around New York, is a thorough going modernist, whose musical imagination, however, swings across all barriers and persuasions.

Thad Jones, the middle brother of that estimable family of musicians who seem destined to do more for the civic reputation of Pontiac, Mich, than anyone since Lewis and Clark, is another player upon whom encomiums are currently being heaped. Charlie Min-gus' now famous description of Thad: "Here is Bartok with valves for a pencil that's directed by God" may appear a trifle fulsome, but anyone who has heard him play will acknowledge the gigantic potential he possesses. In matters of sonority and conception he towers above his contemporaries and as for harmonics (the secret abracadabra in the ritual of modern jazz) his family is extravangantly endowed. (Brother Hank is, to quote the eminent saxophonist Stan Getz, "merely one of the greatest pianists in the whole world" while let it be mentioned only in passing that brother Elvin is a regular member of John Coltrane's iconoclastic quartet.) Thad stirred up a swarm of speculation in the last year, when, drug with playing Pop Goes the Weasel three times a night, he split the kicks and security of working with the Basie band after nine years for the more perilous rewards of going for himself.

Paul Chambers, the third Michiganer on this date has by now become a synonym for the best in swinging modern bass playing. Carrying the Blanton - Pettiford line forward, this young veteran of the modern jazz rhythm section has forged a personal manner on his instrument, especially in the bowed solos that he helped popularize.

New Yorker Mal Waldron, a pianist who combines many approaches - the linearity of Bud Powell and the asymmetry of Monk, for openers - was responsible for some of the most exciting moments on the informal Monday evenings at Birdland during the Fifties. Besides being a soloist of more than usual merit, Mal is a sensitive accompanist - his credentials include a couple of years in that role behind the irreplaceable Lady Day at the sunset of her career. Waldron's creativity is not limited by his instrument. One of the brightest modern composers - all the tunes on this set are his - at the time of this recording was well on his way to assembling one of the broadest repertoires among his colleagues. His lines are excellent vehicles for improvisation (an often neglected aspect of modern composition) and his palette is multicolored. Rounding out the rhythm section is the aware, two-fisted support of drummer Art Taylor, whose rapport has given a lift to countless sessions (Remember Bud Powell's Collard Greens and Black Eyed Peas?)

The highlights of this album are often, Wess and Jones ping-ponging the lead on Steamin' like the drive shafts of a giant locomotive; the four bar exchanges between flute and trumpet that continue rather than cut off the other's thought, as the rhythm cooks away. Burrell out front on the shimmering Blue Jelly. Thad's gentle and witty solos, Kenny's tumbling comments and the leader's rolling exchanges (It must be jelly 'cause plain jam don't shake like that). Wess's Lester eyes on Count One, the evocative perfume and texture of Empty Street. . . .

And on and on. Let's keep it simple. If you're the type of jazz listener who thinks last year's kisses were sweeter, or one who agrees that the only progress in the art of jazz is a little higher fidelity, then this record is for you.

- David A. Himmelstein (July 1963)


  Соисполнители :

Art Taylor (Drums)
Frank Wess (Flute, Alt Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone)
Kenny Burrell (Guitar)
Paul Chambers (Bass)


№ п/п

Наименование трека

Текст

Длительность

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   1 Steamin'         0:09:29 Waldron
   2 Blue Jelly         0:11:26 -"-
   3 Count One         0:07:56 -"-
   4 Empty Street         0:12:39 -"-

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 T   'щелкнуть' - переход к тексту композиции.

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Последние изменения в документе сделаны 20/10/2016 22:08:56

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