Billboard : 10/20/1956
Score of 76

In jazz avant-garde circles Herbie Nichols has been touted for some time as one of “the” pianists to watch. His richly chorded style, with its inspired borrowings from the contemporary classical field, offers new and adventuresome listening to the jaded collector. Set to the sensationally swinging beat that Nichols and drummer Max Roach compound between them, this music takes fire and is seen to be based on firm emotional foundations. For all serious, experimentally minded hipsters.

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Down Beat : 10/31/1956
Nat Hentoff : 4.5 stars

This is pianist-composer Nichols’ first 12″ LP and the best of the three albums of his work thus far released by Blue Note. Again Alfred Lion deserves commendation for having this much faith in what has been an initially uncommercial product. Nichols is accompanied with sensitivity and strength by Max Roach, Al McKibbon and Teddy Kotick.

On this set particularly, Nichols unveils a rare ability to create personal, memorable melodic lines that are emotionally charged. All but one song are his compositions. Also, there is more breadth of range here than previously. As before, there is a drivingly honest, spontaneous intensity and passionate love for music that sometimes becomes near-hypnotic and almost exhausting for the listener.

As a pianist, Nichols plays with as much individuality as he writes, using both hands, and making the piano his own voice. Once more, however, I would wish for a less constant relentlessly percussive approach to the piano than occurs on many of the tracks, and I would wish for more varied development in terms of tempo and dynamics-change and line-expansion on several of the fine beginning lines.

But what is important is that here is a fierce, tender, virile, acutely perceptive jazz voice with that elemental cry in it that the best jazzmen must have – with roots from Jelly Roll to now. It is a shame and a pity that so far Nichols has had so little work that for him, we are still in the midst of the depression era – but without a federal arts program.

The notes are by Nichols, and so far as I’m concerned, they are among the most direct, illuminating for the music at hand, and stimulating of the year. I hope you buy this record.

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Liner Notes by Herbie Nichols

When Alfred Lion, the producer of this album, asked me to write about the logic behind my style and how I create, I simply rolled up my sleeves and waded into a typewriter for a welcome change.

First of all, I would like to state that having been born (January 3, 1919) and raised in Manhattan almost gives me a feeling of being cognizant of a type of music that might even be called New York jazz. My parents come to these shores from St. Kitts and Trinidad and were part of the large influx of British subjects who settled in Gotham during the period of the first World War. The first songs that I ever heard were Sly Mongoose, The West Indian Blues and similar other chants. In the subculture of this particular environment my early diet and upbringing were quite special things. (As a matter of fact, I’ve written a couple of calypsos entitled Crackup and I Worship Delilah which are funny as getout.) Perhaps that is why I’ve always particularly enjoyed the exotic styles of Denzil Best and Thelonious Monk, in whose music I can trace this influence of my youthful years.

At nine years of age I began the study of classical piano with Mr. Charles L. Beck. These lessons continued well into my high school days at DeWitt Clinton. It was during these years that I received my introduction into the mysteries of jazz piano with the help of the late pianist, Roy Testamark. Around 1937 I was good enough to join a wild and precocious teen-age aggregation headed by a fellow named Freddie Williams. I can recall that each member of the orchestra used to write mystifying scores which had to be played – or else.

As a jazz composer, I’ve always felt that I should paint as clear a mental picture as possible of the foundation and the future of jazz music. That is why I draw feely, at times, from early New Orleans pianist, Jelly Roll Morton, who witnessed and took part in the birth of this folk music. I have examined his scores and have had many happy moments listening to his Circle recordings from the Library of Congress Archives. Jelly was an honest extrovert who used the freedom of jazz piano to tell the story of his love of life and the historic times in which he lived.

I guess I’ve always had a burning desire and compulsion to compose. Ideas come from almost anywhere. Beethoven Bach and Chopin are the strong musical pillars which I lean on whenever I find myself in a dark corner. Heitor Villa-Lobos‘ many compositions under the title Choros and Bachinas Brasileras are infinite fantasies which bear repeated listening. Whenever I want to become astounded, there is always his great piano work, Rude Poeme. Among the jazz “greats” Duke Ellington and Art Tatum are unfailing giants to look up to in wonder. Dimitri Mitropoulos is another one of those calm musicians who intrigues me with his catholic taste and abilities. I listen repeatedly to Bartok‘s delightfully brooding sonata for violin and piano, no. 1, also to the concerto for violin and orchestra. Stravinsky‘s Firebird Suite and Le Sacre du Printemps just about wind up the basic core of music which I can never do without.

Sometimes I burst into laughter when I think of what the future jazzists will be able to accomplish. That is why I wrote in the February, 1956 issue of Metronome “Think of what can be done with the sounds of the multiple counterpoint of Hindemith, the neo-classic polytonality of Shostakovich and Piston and the melting of the vast musical devices which Bartok loved to use at random and which makes his kaleidoscopic style come closest to jazz.”

But jazz has come a long way since “the stomp.” A lot of myths have been dispelled and we find countless master jazzists who are masters of classical music as well. Time signatures are altered freely nowadays. For instance, I am beginning to learn that certain tunes that I write cannot become alive, even for one chorus, unless I score the drum part fittingly. Specific suspensions and inversions must be explicitly indicated or else I find that there is no ‘sound.’

But there is nothing mystical about becoming a graduate jazzist. One should be willing to enjoy and study all of the great jazz musicians of the past and present. In addition, each one of those artists’ limitations should be pinpointed and analyzed. As a love of chess I would predict an easy and rewarding individuality as the outcome of these drudging moves.

There are reasons why the best jazz must ‘sound’ – the same as it did in the beginning. I keep remembering that the overtones of ‘fifths’ created by the beautiful tones of any ordinary tuned drum was surely the first music, the precursor of the historic major scale, no less, which was built on the same principles. That is why the cycle of ‘fifths’ is so prevalent in elemental jazz. In other words, in a great desire to ‘sound,’ the beginner of improvisation grasps at easy and fundamental aural pleasures.

And so, after tracing this elementary history of ‘sound,’ we can readily understand why drummers started to ‘drop bombs’ to usher in the new music of Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Bud Powell. Each ‘bomb’ created a newly rich and wholly unexpected series of overtones beginning in the lower registers. These rich syncopations were fitting accompaniments to the supplemental overtones played by the horns in the higher registers. That is why the pianists become so percussive with their left hands.

Among modern drummers, Art Blakey is considered invaluable. He astounds me when it comes to being in tune. I can hear overtones from his snare drum, cymbals, rimshots, everything he touches. Sometimes he ‘pounds’ some of these recalcitrant instruments in tune when the atmosphere is unsteady. I’ve seen Denzil Best rub his bass drumhead with a damp cloth at the start of a gig. he spoke of a ‘whoooosh’ effect which he sought. This effect which he achieves plus his musical discipline makes him one of the best tubmen around today. I’m sure that this is also one of the primary reasons for Sonny Greer‘s great value to the Ellington orchestra for so many years.

The jazz ‘sound’ is surely a living thing and as a piano player I find it mostly in old ‘uprights.’ Sometimes these faded pianos with muted strings, strange woodwork and uneven ‘innards’ have a way of giving up fast and resonant overtones. Each note shoots back at you like a bass drum. In such a situation, as soon as I find that I am not financially liable, I let myself go and use any kind of unorthodox touch needed to dig out the strange ‘sounds’ which I know are in the instrument. The only respectable piano that give sup this sort of intimate ‘jazz sound’ in an easy and copious manner is the Steinway Upright.

The Gig is all about a happy, modern jam session. The 67-bar chorus speaks of the ‘vonce’ and avant-garde happenings. In the first nine bars I was able to complete a fair picture of the charged and impatient proceedings. The trill leading to the excitement of the release is probably the most fitting piece of melody that I ever dreamed up.

In House Party Starting the simple, quiet triad of the first tonic with neighboring notes, which is found in the very first measure, speaks of grave and silent doubts as to whether there is really going to be a party, whether there is going to be lots of fun. There is supposed to be a rising crescendo as more people enter the shindig to the accompanying noise of broken glassware and shuffling feet.

My brother, Austin, suggested Chit-Chatting as a theme song after hearing the strong part given to the left hand in the release. This busy melody depicts the general buzz of voices in a crowded night club or similar gathering. The combined melody and rhythm also attempts to pick out a conversation here and there.

The Lady Sings The Blues, originally called Serenade, is a bluesy, rhythmical tune in which one can almost hear the legendary strumming of the heart-strings. The great Billie Holiday, upon hearing it one night, fell in love with it and immediately began to make up her own earthy, inimitable lyrics. The Lady Sings The Blues is also the title of her recently published biography by Billie Holiday with William Dufty, ‘Lady Day’ recorded the tune for Norman Granz in June 1956.

Terpsichore was written with the great Teddy Hale in mind. Whenever I see and hear this great tap dancer I come away gladdened because I know that he is a great jazz voice. But I must also give a deep bow of appreciation to dance Baby Lawrence whose artistry is peerless.

Side 2 opens with Spinning Song, a tune which tells a tale of living from week to week: how we all begin each new round of our lives with a bold, knockout punch. We spin out our days in alternating songs of triumph and the blues. The last two notes of the melody seem to state philosophically, ‘That’s life.’

Query is almost a light, jazz exercise. It’s an attempt to answer a tense, simple question with musical notes.

Wildflower tells the story of a diamond-in-the-rough at a social function. It tells about an ordinary dancing girl who suddenly reveals all sorts of charms to an otherwise drowsy male as she passes by. The rich, explosive, ascending melody of the first measure heralds the recognition of unbelievable beauty.

Hangover Triangle was composed on a park bench one weekend summer night. The site was really no more than an open triangle formed by converging streets. Everyone around me seemed determined to have a ball far into the night. Too many drank too deeply in the revelry, resulting in a lot of comical antics which, at least, inspired a funny title.

Mine is the wonderful George Gershwin tune from the musical revue Of Thee I Sing. It is the sort of a tune that I wish I had written.

It was a pleasure to make these recordings with the matchless drummer, Max Roach. He is a buoyant instrumentalist of tremendous strength and discipline, one who has mastered ever facet of the jazz art. Bassist Al McKibbon reminds me of Art Blakey when it comes to a ‘jazz sound.’ The greatest compliment that I can pay him is to state that his bass work seems to sound like a set of tuned drums. Bassist Teddy Kotick is another profound personality whose iron musical discipline reminds me of Max Roach. He is capable of making any piece of music become alive.

In ending I would like to state that I am in a constant race to make my ‘classical theories’ catch up to my ‘jazz theories.’ It used to be the other way around. But I am rather satisfied that I find no dearth of ideas when it comes to writing. At the piano I’m always sufficiently transported to new spiritual heights whenever I think of the beauties of any tuned drum.