Art Pepper - Unreleased Art Pepper Vol. 11: Atlanta (2020)

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Art Pepper - Unreleased Art Pepper Vol. 11: Atlanta (2020)

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“Blues for Blanche”
Art usually started his sets with an uptempo blues. In this case, it’s his original about our cat, Blanche (see photo). Art adored this cat. When he was at home, Art generally spent his time fully dressed, on his bed, prone, watching the news, sports (whatever), reading the paper, occasionally rising to sit on the edge of his bed to play the clarinet. When he was lying down, Blanche would join him and sometimes she’d go after the newspaper Art was reading. And he'd encourage her. He’d start waving it, and she’d go nuts, ripping at the paper and at him. Drawing blood! Art loved her passion and murderous beserk-a-tude, and he’d chuckle with delight.
The tune which conjures her starts off with the worst audio in the set. I must have gotten out of my seat and adjusted it a little, after. So. the sound improves. A little. Later. Anyway, the drums and bass tend to drown out the piano. Wayne Peet did the best he could remastering. This was originally recorded on a regular cassette tape on a Sony TCD 5 using a really good Sony mic which I taped to a pole or music stand or to a chair. The poor audio, though, doesn’t distract me from Art’s rocking solo. It swings. It’s logical,; it’s wild and funny, just like Blanche was, ripping at the paper and attacking Art. Milcho’s solo is solid and it swings like mad. At this point, as he usually did after the first tune, Art introduced the band. Then he took this opportunity to talk, affectionately, about his neurotic pussycat.

“The Trip”
A perfect track. This is a gorgeous performance of one of my top ten Art Pepper compositions. “The Trip” is an opium dream, shared. I love its murky, plodding Voyage to Byzantium vibe, and then here comes the bridge, light, and pretty. Hopeful.. An oasis. I always imagine this as a sea journey or a camel journey. It sways and hypnotizes. Then Milcho, our Eastern European (half Jewish, I might add), understands this tune as no other pianist ever did. His solo ups the ante, and so Art takes another solo of his own. Not to be outdone.

“Avalon”
I love this old standard. As a kid, living in L.A., I took the boat from San Pedro to Catalina Island (26 miles) and thought the little town of Avalon magical and romantic. Not much later, I enjoyed, without cynicism or sneering, an old ’78 of Bing Crosby singing this song—including its dumb rhyme, “And so I think I’ll travel on, to Avalon”. Art introduces “Avalon” by explaining to the audience why he rarely plays standards. And then he says he’s going to play one. And, to me, the song is as sweet as it ever was. And it swings more than it ever did with that easy sound that’s just like a summer day on a little green and sunny island. Art’s solo is a delight. You can hear my “Yeah” from the audience. People have said that Milcho’s solo sounds a little Erroll Garner-ish. I hear a little Monk in it. And Rocco Bertels, Widow’s Taste’s consigliere, tells me, yes. It’s there:
“Milcho directly quotes 'Blue Monk' from 4:15 to 4:18 and when he comes back to it, he introduces the quote (5:05 to 5:10) before actually quoting it (5:10 to 5:17), and then kind of says goodbye to the quote. As if he is strolling away from it, looking back and it gradually fades from view (5:17 to the end of his solo). Those 20 seconds from 5:05 to 5:25 fit in so beautifully with the theme of telling stories - a beautiful little story with an introduction, a middle and an end in itself. All in 20 seconds!! And of course his entire solo is a wild story bouncing all over the musical landscape!"
With all that, it’s just completely Milcho-ish, playful, witty, inclusive, and show-offy. But what really gets to me is that bit of “stride” piano he throws into the middle. It grabs the audience, too, as they spontaneously applaud it (and you can hear me shriek). What Milcho plays behind Bob’s solo, is so great, and it makes me wish again we could hear all of Milcho’s comping better than we can throughout this session.

“Patricia”
When I interviewed him for our book, Straight Life, Art referred to this song, offhandedly, as “probably the prettiest thing I’ve written to this day.” To me this performance of it is the best, and I believe I’ve heard them all.
Art was telling me, then, about how he started writing his own original tunes in the early 1950’s, after the army, after leaving Kenton’s band. (He wrote the tune, “Straight Life” back then; you’ll hear it later in this set.) He wrote “Patricia” for his daughter and recorded it on the Jazz West label in 1956. He didn’t play it again for more than 20 years. In1978, he was probably thumbing through old charts, hunting for an original ballad to play at his first recording session at Fantasy Records. He saw it, brushed the dust off, and brought it to the studio. Why he didn’t play it for so long, I never asked, and he never said. It must have stirred up griefs and regrets he couldn’t bear to face? After that, he played it frequently in clubs and concert halls. And each performance was magnificent.
But as I said, this is the one that absolutely wrecks me. It wrecked Art, too. Listen to his ohhs and ahhs, his little mutterings of pleasure during Milcho’s solo. Listen to what he says about the whole thing when it’s over—the song (“there’s a whole life happening in that song”) and his performance, Milcho’s, Bob’s, the audience response. We’ve all been lifted up together in an evanescent moment, by a song of love and loss, shared and transformed into something new and deep and lovely by these artists on a spring night in Atlanta, and Art’s voice breaks as he says, “That’s jazz.”

So we have two definitions of jazz, one from Milcho (see above), and one from Art. And both seem true enough.

“Landscape”
I like Art’s introductory talk about how “Landscape” got its name almost as much as I love the tune itself, and I adore this tune. From the first note. That first chord. This music is so exciting, so intense and driven, that it sounds as if it was already en route (to God knows where!) before we even arrived at the show. It’s not terribly fast compared to other tunes Art played, but oh, it moves. It’s on the move and listen to how powerfully Bob jogs along beside it. (His solo is so good; one of the best I think I’ve heard him play). Art’s solo is a marvel of narration. Milcho’s solo is outrageous. By which I mean it swings, it talks, it takes you to the distant planets; it lights a cigarette and opens a bottle of Scotch. Meanwhile, the whip Carl wields thrills both the band and audience and adds to the excitement, even though that seems unnecessary. Give the chart its head! Oh, dear. This particular “Landscape” inspires me too much for my own good, and at this point I don’t know what kind of metaphor I ought to settle on—to praise this song Art Pepper built, which shifts its gears so deftly, which carries and impels, which gives the melody its force. It’s a train, the wind. And I’m in awe.

“Straight Life”
Speaking of awe: A young musician who was jamming with Art one night after a gig in San Francisco said to me that Art had such BIG ears. Forget Red Riding Hood. He meant Art heard and responded in the moment to absolutely everything that was happening musically. Then he said, “And Art has a metronome in his head.” I never thought about that until today, when I listened to this particular rendition of “Straight Life”. I thought this one was faster than any I’d heard played. I decided to listen to other recordings of it. In this one, the statement of the melody takes 30 seconds. And it’s the same in all the others. 30 Seconds. All of them (if the bands were up to it).
In our book, Straight Life, Art mentions that Jimmie Lunceford’s band, back in the ‘30s, recorded a super-fast tune called “White Heat”, fastest thing Art or anyone had ever heard back then. I found “White Heat” online today. It’s very fast. I timed the melody. 30 seconds.
The song, “Straight Life,” is based on the chord changes to “After You’ve Gone”, a tune written in 1918 which changes chords in almost every measure and with an abbreviated, tricky structure, different from most standard pop songs. Jazz musicians took to it right from the start and often played it faster than intended.
“Straight Life” was one of the first tunes Art ever wrote. He wrote it and played it to wow his audience, to show off his chops, to test the band. And everybody in this band is flying right alongside Art (how does anybody play an upright bass that FAST?) And Milcho. Just listen to that guy! His solo, totally coherent and musical.
And listen to the audience. Art usually played this (or a hot hot “Donna Lee” or blazing “Cherokee”) at the end of a set. He wanted to leave the audience aquiver, the music and its tempo tingling and buzzing in them on into the night. The applause, the whistling and shouting, shows that once again he did it. They did it: This band.
Possibly because he’s over-mic-ed a bit, I’m really hearing Bob much better than I ever have and understanding better than I ever have the burden and the power of the bass in a quartet. I’ve always thought that it’s the drummer keeps the beat. I’m starting to believe the bass is beat and music all at once. Art’s endless praise of Carl and emphasis on his importance to the group, it seems to me, was as the crucial synergist, the unifier. Bob is the base on which it the whole thing rests. And he is solid. I emailed him to ask whether he thought my thought had merit. He wrote me back:
“It might be an old bass player cliche, but I tell my students ‘the bass is heartbeat of the band.’ I’ll never forget when I joined the Sarah Vaughan trio in '71, Sarah told me that she ‘sings off the bass.’ As if I wasn’t nervous enough already.”

“Untitled #34”
It was typical of Art to open a set (“#34” begins the second set) with an up-tempo blues. He wrote a lot of them. I named this one. All the songs in the band’s “book” were numbered, so Art could call them out onstage and the guys could find them quickly. This was the 34th piece added to the catalog. It’s a simple blues, but the arrangement has a cast-iron structure as does the next song. I think Art learned to love a reliably well-organized chart in his earliest days, playing in Lee Young’s, Benny Carter’s, and Stan Kenton’s bands. They grounded him and let him dance on it, fly over it, at will. Many of his apparently simple blues, like this, were solid well-built roads, a lot of fun to travel on. And travel they all do. #34 is a swinging showpiece to loosen up the audience.

How Milcho Leviev Escaped from Bulgaria (talking track)
One of Art’s great raps: The Milcho Origin Story (loosely based on a true story: see above). It became a frequent improvisatory solo piece enjoyed by everyone including Milcho.

“A Song for Richard”
Art loved to play this tune. He admired its composer, trumpeter Joe Gordon who recorded in the early sixties, when Art did, for Les Koenig of Contemporary Records.
Gordon died suddenly, too young, aged 35, as a result of massive injuries sustained in a house fire caused by a dropped cigarette. Art identified with Gordon and always assumed that Joe was on the nod when the cigarette fell from his fingers and smoldered and then flamed and woke him when it was too late and killed him. Art, himself, often burnt holes in his surroundings while under the influence and could easily imagine something like that happening to him.
The second tune Art played in any set was usually something odd or in an interesting time. This chart is in 4/4, but, like Art’s “Ophelia” (also a second-tune selection), it moves in an interesting way and it’s in a minor key. Art and the band play free, to introduce it, and then the song begins its elegant, unhurried, start/stop progress. So, here’s another well-defined arrangement, and you can hear Art use the built-in structure, like a sculptor does an armature. He respected a tune that had an interesting shape inside it and would remind us of it when he soloed. As for the band, Well, Milcho’s solo starts off so melodic and so soulful it’s a song in itself, wistful and balladic. And Bob’s bass is, again, all warmth and sweetness. (Listen to the applause he gets.) At this song’s end Art brings the start/stop pattern back emphatically in an extended coda, so the band does, too, whereupon Art is freed to soar above it.

“Mambo Koyama”
While Art lived and toured, Kiyoshi Koyama was editor of the sumptuous magazine, Swing Journal, and he was a friend to us. A useful friend, because the magazine promoted Art and all his albums in Japan. So, yes, of course, this tune was named, by me, strategically. But Koyama had to know that. And he had to know we truly liked him. He told us that when he was in his teens, his nickname had actually been “Mambo.” Because he was so mad for Latin Music. Well, so was Art.
I’m afraid I may have used up my superlatives and metaphors on “Landscape.” On the other hand, this track is, after “Patricia”, my favorite track of the whole set.
It starts off with that growly bass line, and Art’s solo starts off growling back, all sexy. Between Bob, Milcho, and Carl we’ve got a bedrock of oh-so-solid FUNK of which Art takes advantage. His solo is just perfect. And, as I keep saying, it is narrative. A beginning, a middle, an end, and then it’s tied up with a bow, that little bridging pattern, and then Milcho comes in. Growling, too, on the deepest notes on a piano! And swinging so subtly and so hard all at once. I do adore this band. This band could wake the dead. Listen to Bob absolutely rrrroll his chords beneath the fray. And I apologize! My fault my fault! The tape ran out during Bob’s spectacular solo. But would you rather I hadn’t included this track because the end is missing? No. You wouldn’t.

For a few years, I got to travel with these bands—they included me—a dream come true. I’ve tried to take you on a trip with me and Art and the bands while reliving all of it a little—in writing it, in pictures I took, scenes and conversations I recall. And in the music Art asked me to record. About which I feel absolutely safe in saying it: That’s it. That’s jazz.