Cashbox : 11/18/1961

This second deck, like the first, is a compilation of some jam sessions indulged in by several Blue Note regulars with guitarist Burrell at the helm. Others present include Tina Brooks, Duke Jordan, Bobby Timmons, Sam Jones, Art Blakey and Junior Cook. It was dates like these that shaped the beginnings of modern jazz and much can be learned (and appreciated) by the uninhibited “blowing” going on. Burrell displays a capacity for both rhythm and solo work. Relax and listen to first rate modern jazz.

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Down Beat : 04/12/1962
John A. Tynan : 4 stars

The four selections in this set represent one-half of a two-LP pair (the other is BLP 1596) featuring the same personnel variously juggled under Burrell‘s leadership.

Pairing the newer talents of trumpeter Smith and tenorists Cook and Brooks with the veteran rhythm section men is indicative of astute A&R judgement. As a consequence, there is not a moment of uncertainty audible throughout. This sense of unshakable purposefulness in all the performances is a major factor in the album’s success.

Overall, the flavor of the sessions is one of informal, easygoing blowing on skeletal frameworks. Rock Salt and Phinupi are Burrell originals, and Chuckin’ is by bassist Jones. The lines are characteristically spare and blue-flavored. On the standard Man I Love, Jones once more proves his value as a soloist, making the most of the opportunity to demonstrate what imaginative handling of a melody line can produce.

The soloists acquit themselves with valor. Burrell is at the top of his form, eloquent and emotionally driving. Smith is a strong, assertive player whose fire and aggressive conception compensate for occasional shortcomings.

Cook and Brooks make for interesting contrast as they alternate solos on Rock and Chuckin’. Though both men have similar approaches and are among the best of the younger crop of tenorists, there are many subtleties in their individual playing that serve to heighten the interest of the listener. This is not so with pianists Jordan and Timmons. Here the styles are clearly contrasting, and both are rewarding in their individual contributions.

Thanks mainly to Blakey, the rhythm section all but leaps and drives out of the studio. Bass and drums are fairly matched in torrid unity and serve up constant stimulation to the horns.

This is one of the better blowing dates and, so far as the younger horn men are concerned, points toward further development.

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Liner Notes by Robert Levin

The “blowing session” (or “jam session” as it used to be called) is currently quite a ubiquitous commodity in the contemporary jazz recording industry. Musicians have always gathered to “jam” or “blow” with a minimum of preparation and preconceived ideas. And it was certainly a good idea, with the advent of recording equipment (and particularly the LP), to assemble and capture such sessions – this spontaneity of expression – on records. I think one must acknowledge that in the “blowing session” lies much of the unique and romantic flavor of jazz. It has bene argued, however, that the recorded “blowing session” has lately become, in many instances, even more formless, disorganized and undisciplined than its definition would imply. And it has been said that the primary reasons for this are in the bringing together of musicians who are not in themselves disciplined instrumentalists and/or who have not had sufficient playing experience with one another to have developed the sympathies and rapport required for their successful integration. A related point which has frequently been voiced and which has, perhaps, even greater significance is that the recorded “blowing session” has come to be regarded by many musicians as just “another gig”; that it demands only that one be there, have his say on a tired set of chords, and leave. Since jazz has advanced to the point where many believe it to warrant consideration as a serious and important medium of expression and creativity, the “blowing session”, when these comments are applicable to it, may represent something of a regression.

But all of this does not always have to be the case and if the “blowing session” is assembled with thought, purpose and care – which I think these two volumes of Blue Lights were – its many inherent and otherwise only implicit values can be brought to the fore and can offer a strong definition of much of what jazz is.

I think the opening track on Volume one, Burrell’s Yes Baby, is a fine illustration of the exceptional jazz this context can produce. It is a growling, funky (in the best sense of that overworked term) blues, and the key to its success is also what is at the center of any successful “blowing session” – unanimity and a collective energy of expression and direction. After the mood setting “head” a succession of solos begin which contain a strong unity of purpose and in which one finds a related-to-the-group as well as an individual cohesiveness.

The majority of the musicians presented here have recorded previously for Blue Note. Twenty-seven year old guitarist and leader, Kenny Burrell, has proven that his flexible style (his experiences include gigs with Benny Goodman and Buck Clayton on up to Tony Scott, Jimmy Smith, etc.) fits comfortably and effectively within any jazz idiom or context. Several facets of his approach are in evidence here; his relaxed forcefulness on the blues (particularly on Yes Baby and Rock Salt) and his lyrical working over of a pretty popular song, Autumn In New York. On the latter tune, which offers a very good showcase for his talents, he builds an engaging melodic statement – embellishing on the first chorus in a Johnny Smith-like chordal style and then improvising thoughtful lines on the chords. He is currently leading his own group at the Brankers Melody Room in New York City.

Trumpeter Louis Smith, also twenty-seven, may force, at this time, a comparison with Clifford Brown. But though his approach is strikingly similar to that of Brown’s, he does have his own things to say and the equipment to say them well. His statements on Rock Salt and Man I Love (which seem to me to be among his best on record) show, apart from the open-emotion heatedness one has come to expect from him, a good sense of continuity and an adjectival restraint that is, perhaps, an indication of his growing control of this style which could make him a significant figure on his instrument. He is, at this writing, with Horace Silver.

Both Duke Jordan (thirty-six) and Bobby Timmons (twenty-three) belong to the line of pianists that has its roots in Art Tatum and Teddy Wilson. I think Jordan’s most gratifying virtue lies in his ability to weave spare, uncluttered lines which can be very beautiful in their directions and simplicity. His qualities of sensitivity and lyricism have frequently been praised by musicians and some critics, but, perhaps because he is not a particularly imposing piano player, he has never acquired the large audience his talents deserve. And yet, listening to him here (especially on Scratch Blues – where he briefly employs an effective chordal style – and Phinupi) one hears that it is exactly his economically-calm conviction which is quickly, and quietly (almost secretly), getting to the heart of the matter and getting some significant things said. Timmons’ style contains elements of both Bud Powell and Horace Silver, but it would be unfair to pass him off as simply an imitator. He seems rather to have employed what he has learned from these men as a means of informing and enlarging his own conception and he delivers potent solos on Rock Salt, Caravan and Chuckin’.

I think having Art Blakey on a session guarantees that it will swing. Blakey can inflame the most apathetic of groups (which this one isn’t) and propel it far beyond its normal capacities. His sympathies with the soloists are often uncanny and he himself solos with more consistent meaning, and with few extraneous displays of vocabulary, than do certain of his similarly dexterous contemporaries. Thirty-nine years old, Blakey has, in recent years, been leading groups of “Jazz Messengers.”

Bassist Sam Jones and tenor Junior Cook and Tina Brooks mark their initial Blue Note appearances with these albums. Jones, born in Jacksonville, FL on November 12, 1924, worked with several rhythm and blues groups and led his own combo at the Harlem Club in Miami for three years, before moving to New York in 1949. He has an exceptionally strong rhythmic sense and is also capable of doing imaginative things with a melody. His work on Man I Love spotlights these talents well.

Cook and Brooks are two saxophonists of whom I think you will be hearing a great deal more in the future. Both are unusually forceful and fluent soloists whose conceptual foundations are related, but who are otherwise quite different from each other. Cook possesses round, full, rolling tone and approaches his lines in a manner that suggests the influences of Wardell Gray and Sonny Rollins. An assured and inventive structuring can be heard in most of his solos here, particularly on Yes Baby and Rock Salt. Though there are occasional traces of Sonny Stitt in Cook’s playing, a resemblance to Stitt is more immediately discernible in Brooks whose extensive experience with rhythm and blues bands has developed in him a strength and viability of expression that are among his most significant attributes and which his statements on Chuckin’ and Yes Baby illustrate. Cook was born in Pensacola, FL on July 22, 1934; Brooks in North Carolina on June 7, 1932.

I think you will agree that the quality of these sets is above that of the average “blowing session.” Just as important, I think, as the unusual consistency of good solos these volumes contain, is the work of the group as a whole. This is a session that went well and the musicians concerned seemed to have known that.