Billboard : 07/29/1957
Special Merit Jazz Album

An excellent example of “new” Coleman Hawkins featuring inspired blowing by the Hawk and fine support from such salable names as J.J. Johnson, Jo Jones and Oscar Pettiford. Selections range from a blues, Juicy Fruit, to Laura. Hawk and Johnson shine here particularly.

—–

Cashbox : 08/17/1957

Hawkins‘ tenor sax is in excellent form in this Riverside pressing, that with two ballad exceptions, keeps the six sides on a bright, uptempo swing. The superb array of jazz talent (seven in all) includes Hank Jones, piano; Oscar Pettiford, bass; J.J. Johnson, trombone; and Barry Galbraith, guitar. Inviting Hawkins work the jazz coterie will find refreshing.

—–

Army Times 
Tom Scanlan : 08/03/1957

Tenor man Coleman Hawkins, an important figure in jazz for many years, proves why on a good set called The Hawk Flies High. The deservedly popular J.J. Johnson and underrated trumpeter Idrees Sulieman solo well throughout and there is a superb rhythm section composed of Hank Jones, Barry Galbraith, Oscar Pettiford and Jo Jones. (Unlike some guitarists today, Galbraith can play good rhythm guitar as well as single string.) A thing called Sancticity is the highlight of the record for me and I expect that it will warm the cockles of any jazz enthusiast’s heart, providing he is not devoted to a more delicate chamber music approach. Sound is exceptionally good and the liner notes are worth your attention.

—–

Audio : September, 1957
Charles A. Robertson

Following close on the heels of the two-hour documentation of Coleman Hawkins‘ own story, this album casts the veteran of the tenor saxophone with some of the more stimulating jazzmen of another generation. In such company his horn shines with a new glitter in a sparkling recording by Jack Higgins. And the round of studios, which Hawkins began nearly a quarter-century ago in acoustical days, is broadened to include a visit to Reeves Sound Studios.

Founded in the 1930s by Hazard Reeves, the company moved from Broadway to the former home of the Beaux Arts School of Industrial Design, at 204 East 44th Street, shortly after World War II. The five-story building is designed to fill the requirements of putting sound on film, from television commercials to documentaries and feature films, including Cinerama and the parts of Elia Kazan’s current “Face in the Crowd” made in New York. Thirty dubbing machines are distributed among the various studios to handle the final mix of a soundtrack. But the attention of the audiofan is drawn to the largest of them, Studio B, which covers most of the second floor. It is the scene of all orchestral recording and Riverside jazz and other dates.

In the course of nearly six years at Reeves, Jack Higgins has made it more or less his private domain. In displaying some of its attributes he said “No studio is without its idiosyncrasies and the better half of the engineer’s job is in learning how to cope with them. As our rates are figured by the hour, the scheme is for the greatest flexibility in the shortest space of time. The movable bandstand is backed by a shell and is located to set the size of the room to fit the needs of the group. Carpeting is available in strips and is laid in varying amounts to attain the degree of liveness of deadness desired. Partitions are also used to help in this. They are called ‘Gobos,’ the movie term for spotlight screens and are covered with soft acoustical material on one side, with the other left hard and shiny.

“Some of the facilities are not needed on a jazz date. There is a vocalist’s room for completely separate recordings of orchestra and singer. Also not used are two echo chambers, one in this building and a more sizable one next door. Orrin Keepnews has an aversion to them and the studio is large enough for a big band. But they did come in handy to obtain an effect on one number of the Zoot Sims‘ date.”

The adjacent control room is equipped with a bank of three monitor speakers, each consisting of two Jim Lansing 15-inch woofers and tweeter, driven by a Fisher 50-watt amplifier. “Stereophonic sound has made a lot of changes in the control room,” Higgins explained. “The two outside speakers are used for stereo and the one in the middle for monoaural and three-channel work. We were going along nicely with monaural sound when stereo came around the corner and things are nowhere near settling down yet. It seemed most wise to allow for three channels in the permanent changes on the control panel and to bring the number of mixers up to nine or more. Jazz dates have been made in stereo for some time and I plan to experiment with three channels on them.

“There is no patch panel here as that is located for each studio in the master control room on the fifth floor. This is a timesaver in case anything goes wrong. It only takes a minute to call the engineer there and have him switch to another circuit and amplifier. As the customer never sees a maintenance man or knows anything is awry, it may also be good salesmanship. The rest of the fifth floor is entirely given over to maintenance and engineering. This part of the staff comes in an hour early to test each circuit. Check sheets are kept on every piece of equipment and bench tests are made at regular intervals. With our engineers it is never a question of what has been done before, but of what is needed now.

“They made much of our equipment, but all of our tape machines are Fairchild. These are no longer manufactured and I guess we will need to go into the second-hand market for more. I can run as many as five tapes on a date and always make at least two. This means the protection tape is the same quality as the original. Of course, the tape used is Soundcraft, an allied product.

“Jack Mathews is in charge of our master division. We either work together on a tape, or he does the job from my notes. He uses a Grampian cutterhead, a Gotham 100-watt amplifier and a Fairchild lathe. This is a part of the business still more of an art than a science.”

Now thirty-five years old, Higgins went from technical high school in his native Detroit to the RAF as a volunteer in 1940. He was trained at the RAF College at Cramwell in England and went into experimental radar work. While on weekend leave in Dublin, he learned of an OSS film unit and applied for transfer. His electronic experience sped this along, and he was chief sound mixer for the group of Hollywood trained technicians at the war’s end. While instructing a WAF class in radar operation, he met the future Mrs. Higgins and the reason for his remaining in England as a freelance soundman. This included a spell at the Merton Park film studios and band dates for H.M.V. and English Decca. In 1950, the British movie industry was in the doldrums and the Higgins family was increasing to its present title of two boys and two girls. A return to the States seemed advisable.

On arrival, he applied for a job in the UN film section and was immediately accepted. For nearly two years, he made conference scenes and documentaries. “The first thing to impress me in this country was the abundance of equipment,” Higgins said. “Wartime shortages were in evidence all during my stay in England. With the export trade favored, it was often a matter of makedo as deliveries could not be anticipated. I think at the time they were ahead of us in the single-microphone technique, but only in the classical field.”

On going to Reeves, Higgins at first was involved with movies which comprise eighty percent of the studio’s work. Band recording for Mercury and other companies was handled by Bob Fine. When he departed, this task was shared by several engineers until Higgins found himself doing most of it. He has taken charge of all Riverside dates. “Recording jazz musicians presents problems not found in the usual orchestral work,” he maintained. “The individual soloists must be brought into correct focus or there will be the same flatness found in a movie of a play as enacted on the stage. There is an introspective quality in much of contemporary jazz which requires the details of a closeup. But the portrait should not be overblown, nor should it be reduced to the size of a television screen.

“It is not always easy to strike a happy Orrin Keepnews and Ray Fowler are a great help. We usually arrive at something we can all agree on. They have a knack for making the musicians feel at home in a strange studio, even to the point of indirect lighting. Fowler was my assistant before going to Riverside. He is gifted with a fantastic ear. He has a love of jazz and is taking courses at Columbia to improve his knowledge of classical music.

“I am always experimenting with microphones. The salesmen know I have a weakness for anything I haven’t tried. Right now I use a modified AKG dynamic for the bass and rhythm section. Two Telefunken U47 microphones, with one closed down for the balance, are used for the rest of the band. Under certain conditions I like the RCA 44BX ribbon, especially for voice and a fat brass sound.

“Some recordings have a special significance for the engineer,” he said. “The Alec Wilder with Mundell Lowe was the first where the overall sound satisfied me and I felt the nuts and bolts were all in place. The necessity for capturing Trigger Alpert‘s bass on his date forced me to come closer to solving the problems inherent in that instrument. On the last Monk session, I had kettledrums sprung on me. They had been left in the studio after a film recording. I thought at first I might get into trouble if they were used. Then I was afraid all of us would never agree on the dynamics. Both fears turned out to be groundless. So far, I like the Hawkins most of all, but am sure we will do better.”

Though he feels like one of the Riverside family, Higgins is not a sports-car owner. His eye is on the waters of Long Island Sound and a thirty-five foot ketch moored in Flushing Bay. He brought it up from Maryland last Spring to join the weekend flotilla of pleasure craft, and would like to fit in a voyage to Cape Cod.

In his spoken autobiography, Hawkins mentions the demands made upon him by recording executives to repeat his best-selling Body and Soul by making something similar to it. In an effort to attain popular success, they have paired him off with string sections and unwieldy studio bands. This is his first chance in some time to cut an album under his own name with a driving small band, composed of men of his choosing. The result indicates it should be done more often.

For his is still the dominant figure on the tenor sax, and will probably remain so until today’s vinyl is worn to dust. As an influence, a number of men have joined him on the same eminent plateau. But in any discussion of style Hawkins’ name is most frequently mentioned, if only as the basis by which comparisons may be made. Though he has encompassed a number of styles in the span of three decades, his voice is the one most readily recognized by the fullness of its passion, the intensity of its phrasing, and its sure rhythmic sense.

Just as the younger men looked to Hawkins for inspiration, he is quick to recognize what those of today are trying to accomplish, prizing their freshness of ideas and youthful vigor. His selected cohorts are the assured J.J. Johnson on trombone and the trenchant Idrees Sulieman on trumpet. In the rhythm section are Hank Jones, piano; Barry Galbraith, guitar; Oscar Pettiford, bass; Jo Jones, drums. They play as though they came to the studio determined to give Hawkins the best support he has enjoyed on records. The rhythm follows his every whim, from flowing relaxation to a building tension, and the hours meet his demand for spirited ensembles or challenging solos.

Hank Jones provides a bright, uptempo introduction in Chant, and Sulieman leads into a plunging blues in the extended Juicy Fruit. On Gigi Gryce‘s Blue Lights, Hawkins turns in a most exacting chorus and, as no session of his would be complete without an exhibition in slow tempo, adds the standard Laura, and the original ballad Think Deep. The joyous Sancticity takes its healthy line from the old gospel song Give Me That Old Time Religion, for a communal shout of joy. Yes, the Hawk still flies high.

—–

Miami Herald
Fred Sherman : 12/01/1957

For those who prefer more than the one horn for 40 minutes of music, I highly recommend The Hawk Flies High, with Coleman Hawkins and his sinuous [sp?] tenor sax riding with J.J. Johnson and the trumpet of Idrees Sulieman. Making this septet music are Hank Jones, piano; Oscar Pettiford, bass; Barry Galbraith, guitar, and Jo Jones on the drums. Only six tracks; Laura plus five that lean to the unstandard side.

—–

San Bernardino County Sun
Jim Angelo : 08/04/1957

“Coleman Hawkins? Man, he invented the tenor sax!” He did, too – jazzwise speaking – despite this exaggerated accolade by a famous jazz contemporary.

The Hawk Flies High epitomizes Hawkins’ musical erudition which bridges more than three decades of jazz.

Seven well-chosen henchmen join him in an unfettered, free swinging venture on such numbers as Laura, Juicy Fruit, and Sancticity. Trumpeter Idrees Sulieman and trombonist J.J. Johnson share outstanding solo space. Not traditional, not modern – just good jazz.

—–

Saturday Review
Martin Williams : 08/17/1957

A septet, which was wisely used for effects behind soloists beside the usual first and last choruses. I. Sulieman, a trumpeter who has constantly improved but not settled stylistically, indulges in vaudeville trickery on Juicy Fruit. J.J. Johnson seems content to be merely coy most of the time. Hawkins is a bit disorganized on Laura, very good elsewhere, and superb on Think Deep.

—–

Washington Post
Fred Sherman : 08/18/1957

One of the most important precursors of the current “hard bop” school of tenor saxophonists is Coleman Hawkins. Without straining to show an exact relationship, it’s instructive to compare a new Hawkins LP (The Hawk Flies High) with a new LP by the leading hard-bop tenorman, Sonny Rollins (Way Out West).

The most important links between Hawkins and the hard boppers are tone and conception. Both have a big – often acridly edged – tone and a fiery, urgent conception. The veteran Hawkins and young Rollins share other traits that make them superior performers, regardless of stylistic labels.

Hawkins and Rollins have a well developed harmonic sense and feeling for form, which makes their solos organized wholes and with a beginning, middle and end. Each plays straight, or almost-straight, melody surpassingly well (in his LP, Rollins even invest the banal melody of I’m An Old Cowhand with freshness).

I don’t want to suggest the two are identical, however. Rollins. employs the broken meter of the bop school, while Hawkins swings with direct power. Rollins’ harmonic conception is more “modern,” although Hawkins is by no means outdated. There is more outward tension in Rollins, while Hawkins has the assured relaxation – covering latent tension – of a past master. Good examples of the last point are Rollins’ jagged solo on Wagon Wheels and Hawkins’ surging, controlled solo on Sancticity in the new LPs.

As for the records, both are superb in their own way. Rollins’ LP crackles with the nervous exhilaration and almost painful intensity of a young man who has newly mastered his horn. Hawkins speaks with the authority and effortless power of one long-acknowledged as the premier tenor saxophonist.

Rollins is accompanied by Ray Brown, bass, and Shelly Manne, drums. The spare texture of the trio and the wonderfully alive, close-up recording make each voice clear and important. Stripped to its essence, the music is raw and exciting. There are no placid moments here.

Brown plays remarkable solos (he is at once sonorous and agile on Wagon Wheels) and his accompaniments are in effect duets, especially on Way Out West and There Is No Greater Love. Manne’s drums are almost melodic in spots and always propulsive. Rollins’ best moments are in his forceful restatement of Solitude, the searing Come, Gone and the fervid Wagon Wheels.

Hawkins is in a larger group, consisting of Idrees Sulieman, trombone; Hank Jones, piano; Barry Galbraith, guitar; Oscar Pettiford, bass, and Jo Jones, drums. It’s a fine group – by far the most suitable Hawkins has had for a record date in years. (The Newport LP wasn’t from a record date.) The band achieves what the LP notes accurately describe as a relaxed looseness.

Hawkins proves on Sancticity, which is in the vein of Horace Silver‘s popular The Preacher, that no one can outswing him. He starts with a series of climbing phrases and then bursts into a full-bodied, tremendous solo. His Laura is a model of discreet, flowing balladry. In Juicy Fruit, a blues, Hawkins plays a gliding, medium-tempo solo. There are good spots from the others, too, notable Johnson and Hank Jones.

The recording is excellent, but flawed by a balance that puts Jo Jones too far in the background.

I’m waiting for some enterprising record company to pair Hawkins and Rollins on a record date. That would be something to hear.

—–

Down Beat : 10/17/1957
Leonard Feather : 4 stars
Here LF reviews both HFH and the largely forgotten The Gilded Hawk (3 stars)

These ratings might just as well be reversed, depending on what you’re looking for, bop or ballads, soloists or strings. Hawkins is his hirsute, stomping self on the Riversides, flanked by men of his own choosing. Chant, a minor riff tune, makes alluring use of a minor-second effect at measure seven. The mood is subdued, Sulieman‘s articulation almost Miles-like, Johnson‘s burry solo effectively muted. Juicy is an overlong blues, on which Idrees holds the tonic for three choruses, an ancient gimmick but amusingly used. Think, a slowish original, is the shortest and best track of the six, with Hawkins in the spotlight throughout, a minor melody with interesting intervals.

Laura has ballad blowing a little below Hawk’s top level of continuity and inspiration; J.J. is in for 16. Lights, by Gigi Gryce, is a minor blues, with Galbraith finally emerging from the bushel for 24. Listen to this track at 45 rpm and you’ll enjoy it even more, especially the solo toward the end on which Hawk becomes a very Bird-like alto. Pettiford and Jones have some cute trades of twos.

Sancticity, as Orrin Keepnews notes, is one of those Old-Time Religion, minstrel-era melodies. Halfway through there’s a typical Hawkins device of building up the tension with repeated riff, using the whole-tone scale as his ladder. A great craftsman never forgets his craft.

Tempo rushes a little on Sancticity and slows down on Juicy. On the whole, though, the group holds together well and is better geared to Hawkins’ real music tastes than some of the dates he’s made lately.

It’s a cinch that the persons who buy The Gilded Hawk will be more numerous, and less hip, than those who go for The Hawk Flies High. They will have good taste, though, if they do invest in it, for if the tenor sax must visit stringsville, it can hardly find a better route than the Hawkins Freeway.

Even My Mother’s Eyes is handled with enough discretion to moisten the orbs of George Jessel himself. We are reminded of Johnny Green’s apt comment: if the improviser can improve on what the composer wrote instead of destroying it, more power to his embouchure. And there sure was plenty of room for improvement on a couple of these tunes.

The majority, however, can be classed among the superior and less-hackneyed standards, fitting Coleman like a velvet glove. If it’s mood music rather than jazz you’re after, give this gentleman five moody stars.

—–

Liner Notes by Orrin Keepnews

In the beginning, on tenor sax, there was Coleman Hawkins and only Coleman Hawkins. Today, there are a great many talented voices to be heard on that instrument, but there is still The Hawk.

When he first reached stardom with Fletcher Henderson’s band, in the 1920s, “Bean” was the very first to create important jazz on the saxophone. His style and his sound was the dominant, all-pervading influence on a whole generation. In the late ’30s, when New York’s 52nd Street was “Swing Street,” Hawkins was one of its key figures. In the ’40s, when that same area became the first public proving ground for modern jazz, there he was, leading and encouraging younger musicians and playing as much as – or more than – any of them.

The full Hawkins story, told in his own words, can be heard on a unique two-LP Riverside album that is, in effect, a spoken autobiography in which he talks fully and frankly about the jazz and jazzmen of three decades: Coleman Hawkins: A Documentary (RLP 12-117/18)

Few jazz fans, and even fewer jazz musicians, are likely to forget this. But sometimes record companies manage to overlook fairly obvious eternal verities that are standing right in front of them. And so, strangely enough, it has been far too many years since the Hawk has been asked to put together for the public a straight-ahead, singing small-band session like this one – an album in which he makes the tenor sax come to life as no one ever did before him and as few have ever done so well; an album bursting with jazz that is both fully “modern” and remarkably timeless.

That’s one reason why we found the making of this LP a source of great pleasure. For another, it’s a rare treat to be able to walk up to a truly major jazz musician and say, in effect: “Why don’t you pick out the men you’d most like to work with and let’s cut a record.” And, of course, to have him say: “Sure, let’s go.” Well, Hawkins is our idea of a truly major figure (hardly a unique idea on our part), and we walked up and asked him, and he did, and here it is…

It is singularly pointless to talk about jazz “schools” and narrowly defined styles when Hawkins is on the scene. Not only has his career spanned more than a few drastic stylistic shifts, but he has always remained at least abreast of, and more often ahead of, the trends and tides of jazz. Thus, in selecting the supporting cast for this occasion, Bean cut across both school lines and levels of fame in typically untypical, and eminently sensible fashion:

J.J. Johnson is the often-crowned and unquestioned king of modern trombonists. Polls are not always reliable indexes of talent, but when a man is consistently top-rated on his instrument, no matter whether the votes be fans, critics or musicians, the point is hard to miss.

Idrees Sulieman, on the other hand, has never hit the big-name level; but he was on of the early pillars of the bop movement, has long been recognized by fellow-musicians as a rich-toned and inventive trumpet man, and was the Hawk’s unhesitating choice for this LP.

Hank Jones, whom Leonard Feather has called “one of the best representatives of the modern school” of piano, is also a fairly ‘inside’ name; but he has proved over and over again on records that he is a brilliant soloist and surely one of the very best rhythm-section men around.

Barry Galbraith, who has chosen the comparative anonymity of radio and TV studio work during the past decade, is an alumnus of the Claude Thornhill band, and an impeccable master of the guitar as a rhythm instrument. When Hawkins felt that guitar so often missing from current jazz dates, was essential to the building of a really ‘fat’ rhythm sound for the horns to lean on, Galbraith was for him the obvious choice.

Oscar Pettiford is certainly the first name to come to mind when bass is mentioned; one of the first and best of melodic bass soloists, he is also a swinging rock (to mix a metaphor) as a section man.

Finally, and last only because it is discographic custom to list drummers last, there is Jo Jones, for many years the anchor man of the most pulsating big band ever, Count Basie‘s, and equally firm and sensitive behind a smaller group like this one.

It is an unfortunately often-proved fact that an “all star” collection does not automatically make a coherent unit. But these were, of course, by no means seven strangers who had to be introduced in the studio. These were seven experienced musicians who know and respect each other, and who clearly fitted immediately and superbly into the mood that was sought for, one that might best be described as rocking relaxation. Not bound-in by by tight arrangements, but truly loose by choice (not that falling-apart disorganization that is often miscalled “looseness”); with the self-discipline, self-confidence and cohesiveness you’d have to get from such a lineup of thorough professional and the free-flowing, uninhibited surge of robust jazz you can get when such men are enjoying an outing together.

Two of the numbers in particular were used for full-scale, multi-chorus blowing, with no eyes on the studio clock: Juicy Fruit, a hard-hitting blues; and the exuberant Sancticity, a lively descendant of the old gospel song, Give Me That Old Time Religion. Two others allow Hawkins to demonstrate the rich magic of his way with a ballad tempo: Think Deep and Laura. The latter, the only standard on the LP, is entirely turned over to lengthy improvisations by Hawk and a briefer one by Jay Jay. Altogether this is full-bodied jazz at its best. If it can be said to prove anything, it is that The Hawk, in the company of these friends, flies every bit as high as ever.