Cashbox : 06/07/1958

Bill Harris’ ever fluent trombone takes on seven evergreens. Harris’ “friends,” Ben Webster on sax, Stan Levey on drums, Red Mitchell on bass and Jimmie Rowles at piano, team to offer some soothing readings. The tunes done are all slow moody items that offer lots of relaxing jazz. Standout tune is Just One More Chance, where a humorous conversation between Harris and Webster is heard. Top names will make this an attractive LP.

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HiFi / Stereo Review
Nat Hentoff : August, 1958

One of Fantasy’s best records is an informal date that provides ample solo space for two of the major soloists on the current jazz scene-Bill Harris and Ben Webster. As annotator Ralph Gleason states, Harris is a rarity, “an original musician.” He’s original in his thoughtful and often unexpected conception and in his instantly identifiable, vibrato-throbbing tone. His playing almost has the quality of personal speech. Webster, a master of logical melodic variation, especially in ballads, also possesses one of the fullest and warmest tones on the tenor saxophone to be heard in jazz. The rhythm section is thoroughly cooperative.

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Miami Herald
Fred Sherman : 05/25/1958

An old friend of our town is Bill Harris. The trombonist thought he could combine retirement in Coral Gables with occasional trips to the local bandstands. But Harris overestimated the local jazz appetite. He’s back among them now, on the road with the Woody Herman herds.

And from San Francisco comes an album called Bill Harris and Friends (Fantasy-3263). The friends are masterful tenor sax man Ben Webster, pianist Jimmy Rowles, bass man Red Mitchell and drummer Stan Levey. Programming is going to hurt the album’s chances because it opens with a technical effort by Harris on Might As Well Be Spring.

General interest certainly won’t run high. But on the following Crazy Rhythm, Webster and Harris roar into a higher and smoother gear. Worth the price of the LP is Webster’s moving work on Where Are You. The sax gleams against a soft piano background. Rowles and Mitchell do their best work on Getting Sentimental Over You. It’s not until the Mellotone finale that you catch the mastery of the Harris trombone. Seven tracker this one.

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New Yorker
Whitney Balliett : 06/21/1958

The saxophone, an uneasy amalgam of the oboe, clarinet, and brass families invented a century ago by a Belgian named Adolphe Sax, has always seemed an unfinished instrument whose success depends wholly on the dexterity of its users. In the most inept hands, the trumpet, say, is always recognizable, while a beginner on the saxophone often produces an unearthly, unidentifiable braying. Even good saxophonists are apt to produce squeaks, soughs, honks, or flat, leathery tones. Thus, the few masters of the instrument—jazz musicians like Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, Harry Carney, Hilton Jefferson, and Ben Webster (classical saxophonists usually play with a self-conscious sherbetlike tone)—deserve double praise. Ben Webster, the forty-nine-year-old tenor saxophonist from Kansas City, has for almost twenty years played with a subtle poignancy matched only by such men as Hawkins and Johnny Hodges (from both of whom he learned a good deal), Lucky Thompson, Herschel Evans, and Don Byas. A heavy, sedate man, with wide, boxlike shoulders, who holds his instrument stiffly in front of him, as if it were a figurehead, Webster played in various big bands before the four-year tour of duty with Duke Ellington that began in 1939. Since then, he has worked with small units and his style, which was developed during his stay with Ellington, has become increasingly purified and refined. Like the work of many sensitive jazz musicians, it varies a good deal according to tempo. In a slow ballad number, Webster’s tone is soft and enormous, and he is apt to start his phrases with whooshing smears that give one the impression of being suddenly picked up by a breaker and carried smoothly to shore. Whereas Hawkins tends to reshape a ballad into endless, short, busy phrases, Webster employs long, serene figures that often (particularly in the blues, which he approaches much as he might a ballad) achieve a fluttering, keening quality—his wide vibrato frequently dissolves into echoing, ghostlike breaths—not unlike that of a cantor. His tone abruptly shrinks in middle tempos and, as if it were too bulky to carry at such a pace, becomes an oblique yet urgent and highly rhythmic whispering, like a steady breeze stirring leaves. In fast tempos a curious thing frequently happens. He will play one clean, rolling chorus and then—whether from uneasiness, excitement, or an attempt to express the inexpressible—adopt a sharp, growling tone that, used sparingly, can be extremely effective, or, if sustained for several choruses, takes on a grumpy, monotonous sound. At his best, though, Webster creates, out of an equal mixture of embellishment and improvisation, loose poetic melodies that have a generous air rare in jazz, which is capable of downright meanness.

Webster is in faultless condition in two recent recordings, Bill Harris and Friends (Fantasy 3263) and Gee, Baby Ain’t I Good to You: Harry Edison (Verve Clef Series MGV-8211). In the first, he is given as much space as Harris, a tufted-toned trombonist who delivers bunches of rich, dogged, vibratoless notes that seem to perforate rather than transform the melody. The contrast to Webster’s style is striking. There are seven numbers, all of them standards, including a spoofing of sweet music—Just One More Chance—that is more energetic than funny. (Jazz and slapstick just don’t mix.) Webster gives a classic five-and-a-half-minute treatment to a slow ballad, Where Are You?; plays a memorable solo in I Surrender, Dear, again at a slow tempo; and then, in Ellington’s In a Mellotone, which is done at a relaxed jog and lasts almost ten minutes, puts together a long, perfectly sustained set of variations that are possibly the best he has ever recorded. The rhythm section (Jimmy Rowles on piano, Red Mitchell on bass, and Stan Levey on drums) is precise but timid. It all brings to mind the handful of records Webster made in the mid-forties with Sidney Catlett, an incomparable drummer, who brushed aside Webster’s occastonal tendency to coast by ceaselessly pushing him with sharp, perfectly timed rimshots and bass-drum beats. Webster has never played with quite the same intensity since.

On the second record, Webster appears with the trumpeter Harry Edison, Oscar Peterson, Barney Kessel (guitar), Ray Brown (bass), and Alvin Stoller (drums). There are seven standards, including three extremely pleasant blues. Edison, a casual, repetitive soloist, takes up a good deal of space, which he shares with Kessel and Peterson, who are intense but equally repetitive performers. The rhythm section, indeed, has a clogged, airless sound that seems to hobble Edison, if not Webster, who, particularly in the opening of his solo in Taste on the Place, lines along as gracefully as a gull.

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San Antonio Light (San Antonio, TX)
Renwick Cary : 05/11/1958

Bill Harris and Friends teams the Woody Herman band’s stellar trombonist with Ben Webster (tenor sax), Jimmy Rowles (piano), Red Mitchell (bass) and Stan Levey (drums) in an admirable collaboration on seven romantic standards. High spots: Harris’ solo, articulate and mellow, on It Might As Well Be Spring and Webster’s purposeful blowing on Where Are You. Harris and Webster also embellish Ellington’s In a Mellotone” in an extended reading that lasts close to 10 minutes. And, not so incidentally, ask your record dealer about Fantasy’s new sampler, which, with tracks from 14 different albums, is a real bargain for jazz fans.

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San Francisco Examiner (San Francisco, CA)
C.H. Garrigues : 07/27/1958

If I were to be asked to name the record which has given me most delight during the first half of 1958, this one would win hands down. During the five or six weeks since its release I have played it almost daily—and have never failed to get the same goose pimples of delight which came the first time.

There is, first of all, delight that Bill Harris has come back. His was, I think, the first great modern trombone voice and those of us who were around in the 40’s have missed him since his retirement from the Herman band, nearly a decade ago.

There is, second, delight at the fact that Harris is a greater musician than in the days when he made his name a legend among jazz fans. When we heard him last year with Herman (at the Jazz Showcase here) it seemed that this was not so: the old chops had undeniably lost something of their complete and delicate control — and there was nothing in the rather archaic arrangements played on that date to give Harris a chance to show himself.

But this record shows a new Harris — one who has developed in his own direction but who has developed, none the less, into a mature, thoughtful, human being — one whose every phrase bespeaks a quiet, considered comment on the life and the world it is lived in. For those of us who are well over the dividing line it is good to know that jazz is not the exclusive province of the young.

There is, third, delight at the fact that Ben Webster is blowing better now than in the best of his Ellington days—and that the sensitivity and thoughtfulness found in Harris is found no less in Webster. Listen to his solo on Where Are You, and to his work behind Bill on I Surrender Dear.

There is, fourth, delight that the rest of the team is playing at its best: I have never heard Jimmy Rowles sparkle like this, nor Red Mitchell play better.

And there is, fifth, delight at the little verbal colloquy between Bill and Ben near the close of Just One More Chance; this is so much a picture of jazzmen at their work.

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Toronto Star (Toronto, ON, Canada)
Roger Feather : 04/26/1958
Three stars

This is the first LP with Harris, as leader, in years and although the music is characteristically sensitive and witty, it is also disappointing because both Harris and Webster can and have played better. Harris choppy, nervous playing seems over-hesitant here and Webster’s work is often too breathy and thoughtful.

But even if the work is generally not as fluid and stimulating as might be expected. Harris and Webster are excellent jazz-men who command respect. The rhythm section is fine throughout and get a particularly good feeling on In a Mellotone. They also work very well as a trio on a mid-tempo, I’m Getting Sentimental Over You.

Harris’ extensive work on It Might As Well Be Spring is good and on Crazy Rhythm, the only “up” tune, he has some of his best moments. Webster solos through Where Are You? and does some excellent work on the session’s best tune, the 10-minute In a Mellotone, which lives up admirably to its title.

Just One More Chance is a wonderful little gem, all its own, which must be heard to be appreciated.

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Down Beat : 06/26/1958
Don Gold : 4 stars

Basically, this this is a worthwhile LP. However, it doesn’t live up to the potential inherent in the personnel. According to Ralph Gleason’s liner notes, “Harris is an original musician. His style is no amalgam of cliches picked from others. It is a is a deliberate approach to playing which utilizes melody as well as harmony, but which emphasizes a fine sense of time, too.”

Harris’ originality is a virtue, as Gleasonpoints out, but at times his plodding staccato style is a trifle hard to take. He is not a master of instrumental technique and comes out second best in technical matters when placed alongside several other jazz trombonists. He is, however, a mature jazzman with ideas of his own. I find these ideas more stimulating in the context of the Herman Herd, but this may be an exclusive fetish. Here, he is stimulating at times, but not consistently so, despite Gleason’s adjectival ecstasy.

On the final track, for example, he plays excellently, but on the opening track, an extended solo with rhythm section, his effort is marred by occasional technical slips.

Fortunately, the coworkers play rewardingly. Webster, who could teach most contemporary tenor men the art of ballad interpretation, has a ballad to himself here (Where) and plays with Harris on four other tracks. His playing, regardless of tempo, is tasteful, although unfortunate mike placement picks up his breathing rather heavily, distracting from the lovely sounds he produces.

Rowles, a too-often underestimated pianist, has a solo track, too, and does well with Sentimental, aided by an inspired Mitchell solo. Throughout, the rhythm section supports without intruding, with Levey’s drumming particularly astute in this regard.

With the exception of the misplaced grunts on the opening track, then, this is worth owning. And—without revealing any secret—Just One More Chance is one of the most memorable tracks on any LP.

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Liner Notes by Ralph J. Gleason

In one of those starshell bursts of self-revelation which have characterized Mitch Miller’s Sunday night radio program, Ben Hecht recently remarked that in Hollywood “you get paid so much more to contrive things than to express yourself.”

What he has indicted the motion picture culture for has also been true on occasion of the recording studio and this may be what has led the British critic A. J. McCarthy to refer to California as the coast of corruption.”

However, one of the art forms in which the artist is least affered by this is jazz: jazz of the free blowing style of this LP, to be sure.

When albums of this nature are made they can be very bad or very good, depending on the calibre of the men performing. By the use of arrangements and rehearsals a group of relatively mediocre jazz men (and there are such things, the critics notwithstanding) can be made to sound almost as if they were doing something.

But without this, it’s every tub on its own bottom, as King Oliver said. It is one of the hardest things in the world to do, to walk into a studio, select the tunes, perhaps discuss them for a bit, then begin to blow and produce something of value. For this, mature artists are required. On albums of this type, self-expression ceases to be self-indulgence and becomes art.

That is what we have with Bill Harris. A mature, articulate musician who knows what he wants to do, considers well the methods of doing it and once he has made his choice proceeds to do it with dispatch and conviction. As Ross Russell has remarked, there is a quality of certainty about the playing of the best jazzmen. This has sometimes been lacking recently.

But you find that quality in whatever Bill Harris plays. And, of course, it is part and parcel of being true to his own convictions which gives him this surety and, consequently, makes it impossible for him ever (in Hollywood or elsewhere) to be plagued by the insistence on contrivance which causes Ben Hecht periodically to seek other scenes for his work.

During the past several years, Bill Harris has been the featured member of the Woody Herman Third Herd – its extended version, as Woody calls it. There he has served as a pillar of strength in the trombone section, as soloist extraordinary throughout each night’s playing and as a constant source of wonder to the other younger, sidemen. Wonder, because of his seemingly unlimited inspiration and his remarkable sense of form.

Harris was by-passed by almost a generation of jazz players. After his days with the Herman band in the 40s he served time with JATP and then retired to Florida. Since re-joining Herman, he has been on the road a major portion of the time. In the last year and a half his recordings and in-person performances with Herman in jazz centers, brought him to the attention of the younger men to attain the reputation with them he would have earned had he remained on the scene throughout the last decade.

Bill Harris is an original musician. His style is no amalgam of cliches looked from others. It is a deliberate approach to playing which utilizes melody as well as harmony but which emphasizes a fine sense of time rag. He admires many trombonists (Lawrence Brown, Jack Jenney, Jack Teagarden) but professes no favorite. He himself rates as one of the favorites of almost every major trombonist active in jazz today.

I am not sure of this, but I have the distinct impression that before Bill Harris chooses a tune on which to do an extended trombone solo (such as It Might As Well Be Spring) he has been considering it for months. Sometimes it seems as though he rode through the night from ballroom to ballroom with Herman, mentally reviewing the tune, turning it over and over and inside out in his mind before he was ready to blow on it. That may be why he sounds so right.

But he is also capable of sudden inspiration of a high order. I remember one night with the Herman band when he stood up for a solo on Opus de Funk, roared out a great slur and then whipped the band into a frenzy for several choruses. I frequently have the reaction to a Bill Harris solo that a friend of mine had that night. “Keeeeerist” he said “did you hear that?”

It is typical of the Harris maturity that on his own LP he has turned two of the seven tracks over to others and laid out himself.

It is also typical of Harris that he has chosen the men with whom he recorded with the same care he chooses the tunes he plays. He has long been an admirer of Ben Webster, the great soloist from the Ellington band of the 40s. He has worked previously with Stan Levey, now the favorite drummer of West Coast musicians, and with Jimmy Rowles, one of the best of the jazz pianists of the 40s who has too long hidden his talents as accompanist to various singers. Red Mitchell, of course, is almost everyone’s favorite for lyric bass solos today.

On this LP, I would like to draw particular attention to Mitchell’s solo on Sentimental; to the way in which Ben Webster plays an obbligato behind Harris on I Surrender Dear; to Ben’s solo on Where Are You and to Bill’s on It Might As Well Be Spring. One further word, there have been few performances of the calibre of Just One More Chance in any of the eras that jazz has passed through.