Billboard : 04/13/1957
Spotlight on… selection

Unique jazz “chamber group” should follow its regular pattern of making the charts despite two key personnel changes since the last release. Even the loss of guitarist Jim Hall isn’t felt too much in view of the established conception and eminently listenable arrangements. Sax-clarinet-flute man Buddy Collette has replaced by the equally amazing, and sometimes superior, Paul Horn. Appeal here goes well beyond jazz boundaries. Try Chanel No. 5 or September Song. Cover is just as tasteful and original as the music.

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San Francisco Examiner
C.H. Garrigues : 05/26/1957

Note how differently Hamitlon structures time, chiefly in terms of the statement and response form so reminiscent of Beethoven. Is it that factor, rather than the softer, more melodic approach, which so often makes us feel that the album doesn’t swing, despite Hamilton’s drumming?

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Saturday Review
Wilder Hobson : 04/27/1957

Another delight from the West Coast is the Chico Hamilton Quintet, with the sensitive Chico Hamilton drumming, and Paul Horn, saxes, clarinet and flute; John Pisano, guitar; Fred Katz, cello (a welcome refugee National Symphony Orchestra of Washington, DC); and Carson Smith, bass. Here there is some lovely, fragrant business, and I call special attention to Jim Hall‘s tropical Siete-Cuatro. I think the full thirteen numbers constitute Hamilton’s finest to date, and he has previously set his own high marks to shoot at.

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Down Beat : 05/30/1957
Ralph J. Gleason : 3 stars

The whole point at issue with the Chico Hamilton quintet is whether such a group, without the contrasting qualities of the piano, can produce enough difference in musical coloration to avoid monotony in tone and whether the cello, bowed, can swing.

When the Hamilton group first appeared, there was a tremendous shock value in its unusual instrumentation and ideas. At that time the combination of Hamilton and Smith and Buddy Collette also produced some excellently swinging solos with a close tie to the fundamentals of jazz. Now, however, the group is out with its third LP, and by now the quality of shock has diminished (much as has happened with the George Shearing quintet) and the limitations of the group are more obvious than its virtues.

The greatest virtue this group possesses is an extraordinarily high standard of musicianship which results in everything being well played at all times.

The current personnel (Pisano for Jim Hall on guitar and Horn for Collette) maintains the high standard of the previous one. However, by its very nature monotony is unavoidable, if not in emotional content, then in color and variety of sound.

There continues to be a restraint to this group which seems to be contingent on the activities of the cello. This circumstance makes it less and less easy to stay with the group at length.

By now it almost appears that the question of the bowed cello swinging has been answered in the negative. Smith is a continually fine bass player; the new guitarist retains the warm lyrical sound of his predecessor; Horn is impressively adept at flute, tenor, alto, and clarinet. Hamilton’s drum solos seem to have increased their element of bombast, however.

The most successful tunes on this LP are Satin Doll, which swings in a fine chank-chank fashion, Caravan, which has an electrifying opening where you can almost see the camela and the drives and the swaying stacks of Eastern merchandise.

Katz has written two romantic and somewhat overripe numbers, Lillian and Reflections, which are very well played and pleasantly bland to hear. The group’s theme, I Know, is used as an opening and closer.

The entire album is recorded extraordinarily well, and there are excellent, literate notes by George Laine whose capabilities I admire even when I disagree with his opinions.

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Liner Notes by Georgie Laine

“I hope,” the announcer for the television station said nervously, fidgeting with his hand mike, “that I’m not saying the wrong thing, but I couldn’t help thinking that your music sounds almost classical at times. It’s so soft.”

The face of the drummer standing beside him grew pensive, the brow furrowed and when he spoke, he spoke seriously – almost gravely – with apparent conviction.

“Jazz,” Chico Hamilton told the announcer and the thousands who were viewing the program on a Los Angeles video channel, “doesn’t have to be loud.”

“It can swing. And be soft, too.”

Later, after the red light on the side of the bulky RCA Image Orthicon had blinked out, Chico began to take his drums apart.

“I used to think people were putting me on when they asked me if I was trying to play classical,” he said over his shoulder. (“Putting me on” would mean that Chico thought the questioners were endeavoring to make him appear foolish.)

“But everybody asks it. Back east, every time we went for an interview or to be on a deejay show, that question was certain to be asked.”

“In the clubs, the people asked it, too.”

“Some people didn’t even bother to ask it,” Chico put his 160 pounds into leverage on the pedal of his bass drum and it came off in his hand. “Back east people were requesting classical things from us. They assumed we did them.”

Freddy Katz, who served a long-standing alliance with the cello section of the National Symphony in Washington, DC in order to become a member of the Chico Hamilton Quintet back in mid-1955, zipped up the bag on his instrument, slide the cello bow into its special compartment and joined the discussion.

“In Boston,” he recalled, “we had a request for Debussy‘s Afternoon of a Faun.”

“Yeh,” Chico nodded, the brown eyes lighting up with humor, “and how about the guy in New York who kept after you for a Haydn quartet?”

Katz pulled his rimmed spectacles off, wiped them with a piece of facial tissue, and replaced them.

“Y’know, Chico,” he said, “maybe we could adapt some of those things. Bach swings. And so does…”

Chico interrupted.

“Put a couple together,” he said. “If they swing, we’ll do ’em.”

Katz smiled happily, picked up the cello and headed for the studio parking lot.

The heat from the powerful studio lights highlighted beads of perspiration on Hamilton’s brow, created the illusion of reddish-brown in the normally black mass of hair. He packed the half-dozen cymbals, the wood blocks, the bells, the multitude of other strange items that he utilizes to achieve the broadest range of sound in drums today.

Carson Smith, burdened by his bass, went out the door of the studio. Chico jerked his head in the direction of the departing bassist.

“You been listening to that guy?” Chico asked. Then he answered his own question. “Some guy in New York said we didn’t swing, that we didn’t play jazz.”

“With Carson playing, it’s impossible not to swing.”

“He’s never played like he’s playing now. Not with Mulligan, not with Baker, not ever. He’s the end.”

The tributes were only beginning.

Paul Horn, who replaced Buddy Collettte as the quintet’s sax, clarinet and flute lead, headed out the door, his arms full of the proof of his versatility. On his heels was John Pisano, who filled the guitar chair vacated when Jimmy Hall became one-third of the Jimmy Giuffre Trio.

“People started sympathizing with me when Buddy left,” Chico fingered the mustache, a thing he does only when deep in concentration. “When Jimmy left, I thought the people would break into tears.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said seriously. “I dig both Buddy and Jimmy very much.”

“But you heard it,” he waved in the direction of the now-empty bandstand where moments earlier the Chico Hamilton Quintet had been producing its distinctive form of jazz.

“I don’t think we need sympathy,” he said. “We don’t want it. This group has never sounded better since its formation.”

There is a 12-inch long playing album enclosed in this jacket that will attest to Hamilton’s own estimation of his quintet. The LP, to my mind, is the best of all the efforts Chico and Co. have put together for Pacific Jazz. There was the initial quintet album, The Chico Hamilton Quintet (PJ-1209) which I daringly called “unusual and pleasing.” That was on October 30, 1955. By May 11, 1956, I wasn’t so hedgy. I called The Chico Hamilton Quintet in Hi-Fi (PJ-1216) “a gas” and then went way out on a limb to laud Katz’ cello on When Your Lover Has Gone and Chico’s solo on Drums West.

In addition to those two albums, you have also had the opportunity to listen to Chico and other members of the quintet in additional Pacific Jazz releases. There is the Chico Hamilton Trio (PJ-1220) which is a remastered 10-inch LP that now gives you two guitarists for the price of one – Jimmy Hall and Howard Roberts sharing the load in that respect while George Duvivier and Chico round out the two trios. There is Two Degrees East, Three Degrees West – with John Lewis and Percy Heath representing the easterners and Bill Perkins and Jim Hall raising their instrumental voices along with Chico on behalf of the Pacific slope. There is, finally, a liberal sprinkling of Chico in each of the anthology albums that Pacific has put together: Jazz West Coast, Vol. 1 and 2, The Blues, and Ballads for Backgrounds.

Of the eleven compositions that make up PJ-1225, seven are original compositions by members – past and present – of the group.

The very catch melody which Chico utilizes as a theme, signature, and set breaker is titled I Know and was written by Jim Hall. My favorite tune in the entire LP, Siete-Cuatro, is also a Hall composition. Carson Smith contributed Chanel #5 and Beanstalk and Fred Katz came up with a sometimes poignant, sometimes swinging Lillian and Reflections. The other original is titled Mr. Jo Jones and is Chico’s work.

The four tunes that are not originals are tastefully selected “standards.” Actually, only Caravan is really a standard. The treatment accorded it by the quintet, however, is not standard. There is, additionally, a fine, flute-led version of Satin Doll, which Duke Ellington wrote and made successful in years gone by. The other two are September Song and Benny Goodman‘s own Soft Winds.

There are several things eminently worthy in this new effort by Chico & Co. Having cite Siete-Cuatro as the best of the bunch, an explanation seems somewhat in order. Taking a Latin flavor, guitarist Pisano establishes a mood, which Katz – surely the swingingest cellist in the world – and Chico embellish. Horn’s alto stays sub-dominant throughout but brings a full sound to Katz’ passages. When Smith teams his bass with Katz’ cello, both bowing, it is a fearsome effect.

Actually, there wasn’t anything in these sessions which Chico recorded at the Forum Theater that didn’t have an impact for this listener. Some of the high points were:

Horn’s consistency on flute and clarinet, his newly-exhibited abilities on the alto and the versatility of the man (demonstrated best with his piccolo playing on Mr. Jo Jones).

John Pisano’s light, breathy (sometimes he sounds almost like a wind instrument) quality on the guitar. His most exemplary showcase, however, is Siete Cuatro.

Carson’s tremendous moving work on Beanstalk. It’s a driving bass, a thing that Chico has been wont to use too infrequently.

The Katz touch in Lillian. Fred wrote it for his wife and therein lies the reason. Apparently Lil – who has fantastic taste – warned Fred that it had better be good. So Fred made it great.

Finally, Chico. What can you say? That his solos are subtle understatements that imply more than they say (and that he is the first drummer ever to find this method satisfactory)? That he is the heart and guts of this group, bringing across a personality that has brought a quiet attentiveness to jazz rooms across the nation that formerly buzzed with conversation, quivered with giggles, and shook from the table thumping and foot stomping?

You can say that. But you’ve got to say more.

For Chico is more than a musician. You’ll see him as a motion picture actor – in Hecht-Lancaster’s Sweet Smell of Success – and you’ll hear him as an adman – plugging products musically in televised commercials. Chico’s in demand.

P.S. By the way, Chico, could you try and work up a version of Beethoven‘s Fur Elise or Kreisler‘s Liebesleid. They’d both swing nicely. Softly, too.

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West Coast Artist Series 6

Our cover painting by Keith Finch is the sixth in a series of art work done expressly for Pacific Jazz Records. Colorado born (1920) Keith Finch along with fellow artist Howard Warshaw conduct classes at their own school in West Los Angeles. Finch is represented by the Landau Gallery in Los Angeles.