Liner Notes by Ira Gitler

Every year we lose some of our finest young jazzmen, prematurely, in tragic ways. Whether it be through ill health brought on by their excesses, their excesses directly, or an in the case of Clifford Brown, an auto accident, the result is equally tragic. Certain people would say that X was a junky (X does not refer to any particular person), that he got what he deserved and then go on to judge his music and evaluate his loss by this yardstick. This is obviously wrong. Yet you cannot help but say that X knew what he was doing and then curse the bad luck which picked out an innocent Brownie (and Richie Powell & wife) and took his physical being away. Actually it was a peril of the traveling musician which caught up to Brownie. When there were more bands and resultantly more musicians traveling (especially late at night, sleepless, rushing from one one-nighter to the next town) there were naturally more accidents. The incidence has decreased with the diminution of activity but this hazard of the itinerant end of the business still remains. Once before in June of 1950, it had struck at Brownie and hospitalized him for a year. Six years after the first crash came the second and final one.

If he lived for a short period of time, Brownie established himself as a great jazz trumpeter in a relatively, as well as literally, shorter period. He didn’t start playing until 1945, studying privately in his native Wilmington, Delaware until 1948. He had been at Maryland State College about a year when the first accident occurred. Following his recovery Brownie played around the Philadelphia area and then joined Chris Powell‘s rhythm and blues group.

In 1953, when I was supervising sessions for Prestige, Tadd Dameron had a recording coming up and told me of a great new trumpeter he was going to unveil. When he mentioned the name of Clifford Brown, it registered immediately because many musicians had been coming back from Philadelphia talking about him. For a week prior to the date, Tadd kept telling me about Brownie and I was not disappointed. When Brownie stood up and took his first solo on Philly J.J., I nearly fell off my seat in the control room. The power, range and brilliance together with the warmth and invention was something that I hadn’t heard since Fats Navarro, but Brownie, although influenced by Fats, was not just a reincarnation of Fats – he was a new trumpet giant.

After the recording date, Tadd’s band played in Atlantic City, New Jersey for part of the summer before breaking up. Brownie then joined Lionel Hampton and went overseas with the band. It was during this European tour that the Swedish date was taped.

Brownie left Hampton in December and through the first part of 1954 free-lanced around the East, most prominently with Art Blakey‘s group. Then he and Max Roach formed the group that became his base of operations for the remainder of his life. It was in 1954 that he won the new star award in the Down Beat international critics poll.

There was a terrific lift to Brownie’s playing. It was an inner drive that carried his ideas cascading with a power much like the overdrive in a big sedan. His sound was hard and brilliant when it had to be but usually encased a large warmth the size of his soul. Gigi Gryce, who was his roommate when they were with Hampton and felt like “a brother to him”, speaks glowingly of Brownie’s genius, diligence and humility. He had a healthy curiosity about things and an ability to be quick in learning them from music to chess. He was also an excellent mathematician. As Gigi said, “Brownie had only played part of what he was going to do.”

The Dameron recordings are noteworthy for several things, notably Tadd’s compositions and arrangements, but Brownie’s horn stands out. There are three separate statements of meaning: the brilliant soaring above the chanting ensemble on Philly J.J.; the digging in of Choose Now; the muted Navarroan feeling on Theme Of No Repeat.

The tenor solos in the Don Byas–Lucky Thompson out of Coleman Hawkins style are by Benny Golson, a Philadelphian who in the summer of 1956 joined Dizzy Gillespie for his South American tour. Idress Sulieman, another musician who has become better known since 1953 and deservedly so, takes care of the lead work in Freddie Websterish fashion and the swinging, resourceful “Philly” Joe Jones does justice to his title-roled number. Tadd’s musical credo of beauty is sought and found in Dial “B” For Beauty first with Tadd expounding at the piano and then the band breathing as one.

The tracks with Art Farmer and the Swedish All Stars represent a meeting of fine musicians from two different countries who speak a similar musical language and whose respect for and interest in each other’s playing engendered an enthusiasm which doesn’t happen often. Quincy Jones‘ compositions (Stockholm Sweetnin’ and ‘Scuse These Blues) and arrangements are further catalytic agents.

Stockholm Sweetnin’ is a beautifully flowing, melodic medium tempo. Solos are by Farmer, Domnerus, Hallberg, Gullin and Brown.

‘Scuse These Blues is a medium-up tempo with an introductory bit by Hallberg before the melody riff. First solos are by Persson and Domnerus leading into one chorus each by muted Farmer and Brown followed by four bar conversations for four choruses in the same order. Gullin takes the last solo and things come to a halt with a tongue-in-cheek Dixieland ending.

Falling In Love With Love shows off the rich texture of the group’s ensemble work. Solos by all horns and Hallberg with Farmer and Brown sandwiching Domnerus.

Lover Come Back To Me is a real romp. Brownie comes climbing in insinuatingly and sets a terrific pace for anyone to follow but Hallberg, Domnerus and Gullin keep the trail blazing and Farmer caps the proceedings neatly and adroitly.

Some classical musicians once decried all phonograph records because they felt that the actual sound of their string quartet was never truly reproduced. I countered with the fact that they were essentially interpreters rather than creators and that Beethoven was with us today because of paper rather than phonograph records and although jazzmen and jazz lovers were aware of the limitations of recorded performances (for different reasons than in their quartet’s situation) they were forever grateful for them. The real heart of jazz could never be captured and transmitted by paper. Because of phonograph records we know Bix and Charlie Christian, and Clifford Brown will never die.