Billboard : 02/25/1956
Score of 77

Besides Stitt on alto sax, the cast includes such as Thad Jones and Jimmy Nottingham, trumpets; Seldon Powell, tenor; Hank Jones, piano; Freddie Greene, guitar; Oscar Pettiford, bass; Jo Jones, drums. All of which indicates jazz of a free-swinging variety, within the framework of Jones‘ smart, propulsive outlines. Stitt plays with the authority and invention of the late Charlie Parker, and fans can be sold on this vibrant type of modern, post-pop jazz. From the purely critical standpoint, this set would be a front-runner in the idiom.

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High Fidelity
John S. Wilson : June, 1956

Part of the process of bringing the saxophones back into proper perspective is the reinvigoration of the alto that Sonny Stitt, for one, is accomplishing. Stitt’s attack is firm and positive; his tone is full, rounded, always controlled. On this disk his playing is a constant delight whether he is rolling through a fleet, fast-thinking Lover (the tempo is the standard, hackneyed, “very up,” but Stitt’s handling of it is a refreshing change) or giving such slow ballads as Star Dust, If You Could See Me Now, and My Funny Valentine a richly soulful treatment that soars and floats over a beat which swings without falter. Stitt gets admirable help from an excellent rhythm section and from Quincy Jones‘ direct, uncluttered arrangements.

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Providence Journal
Philip C. Gunion : 02/19/1956

One of the most thoroughly satisfactory records I have heard in a long time is Roost Records’ LP Sonny Stitt Plays Arrangements from the Pen of Quincy Jones, a pure delight from end to end.

This is the fortunate result of one of those recording dates when everything seems to have been right, from the music, excitingly put together by Jones, a most talented writer, right down to the last sideman. It is as modern as anyone could ask, yet rich in the old truths of jazz.

Holding up the beautiful performance of Stitt is a masterful rhythm section with Hank Jones on piano. (Any new jazz records which don’t have Hank Jones at the piano?); Freddie Greene, guitar; Oscar Pettiford, bass, and Jo Jones, drums. Anyone who says he doesn’t care for bop should try this and change his mind. My favorites are Quince, a delightful blues; If You Could See Me Now, Sonny’s Bunny, and Stardust, but the rest are equally choice.

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San Francisco Chronicle
Ralph J. Gleason : 03/25/1956

This is another crack jazz LP featuring one of the most exciting saxophonists in modern jazz, a swinger all the way. The accompaniment is good and the whole LP comes off just right. Quincy Jones, a fine arranger, did the scoring for the sides and wrote some of the originals.

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Saturday Review
Whitney Balliett : 02/25/1956

Whether or not one likes Stitt‘s hard-bop alto saxophone (he was one of the earliest Parker imitators and plays with a tone that is a cross between a beginner’s and Parker’s – devoid of Bird’s warmth), this is an admirable record. Quincy Jones‘ arrangements are unpretentious and totally effective, and his two originals are as pliable as felt hats in the rain. Stitt allows himself too much solo space considering the superb men that were on hand – Thad Jones, E. Royal, J. Cleveland, F. Green, O. Pettiford, S. Powell, J. Jones. Six standards in addition to the originals.

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Virginian-Pilot
Robert C. Smith : 04/29/1956

Altoist Sonny Stitt may deserve a good deal more credit than he has ever received for developing the principals of the Bebop school of modern jazz. Certainly his latest LPs for Roost lend plausibility to the belief that his style is a conscious parallel to Charlie Parker‘s rather than a derivative, and that it is in some ways a technical advance in the idiom.

In the first of these LPs the 32-year-old veteran of pioneering bop days with Gillespie and Kenny Clarke combos play arrangements by the talented Quincy Jones. Backed by simple rhythm or an ensemble featuring Thad Jones and Jimmy Nottingham, Sonny produces clean-lined, always musical improvisations. There is a marvelously unsentimental My Funny Valentine, a perky Love Walked In and Quince, which includes a sensitive Thad Jones solo. On the second set Sonny plays with Hank Jones, Freddie Greene, Wendell Marshall, and “Shadow” Wilson with equally rewarding results. It may be that he sounds more at home by comparison with younger Parker emulators who didn’t reach maturity “feeling” the bop expression; it may be that he has been underrated in the light of Parker’s genius.

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Down Beat : 03/21/1956
Nat Hentoff : 5 stars

In his best work on record so far, Sonny Stitt is accompanied by Freddie Greene, Hank Jones, Oscar Pettiford, Jo Jones, Anthony Ortega, Seldon Powell, Cecil Payne, Jimmy Nottingham, Ernie Royal, and J.J. Johnson. On some numbers, Joe Newman replaces Nottingham, and Jimmy Cleveland is in for J.J. All the writing is by Quincy Jones. Sonny plays alto, his best instrument, throughout.

As always, Stitt shows the living mark of Bird, but he has increasingly found himself also, as these sides powerfully indicate. With Bird dead, Sonny is the best of all those who blow directly in the Parker idiom. He lacks at times the freshness and extended logic in conception of a Konitz, but he cuts Lee, Desmond, Niehaus, etc., in the strength of his playing, the irresistible impact of his emotion, and the deeply pulsating sureness of his beat.

And in the blues (Quince) he blows with much more conviction and roots than either Konitz, Desmond, or Niehaus. Of the modern altoists I’ve heard recently, only Phil Woods has almost as much to say to me emotionally as Stitt.

Sonny has almost all of the solos space (a mistake, by the way, in view of and excellent sidemen present), but there are good bits from Hank, Oscar, and Jimmy. Sonny wails on the jumpers, but he’s also penetrating on the ballads. As Barry Ulanov points out in his notes, “what one often forgets, when jazz is played by less than top-notch musicians, is that slow and sweet tunes… should swing, too, no matter how languorously inflected.” Sonny doesn’t forget.

Ulanov also accurately describes the “bop” approach as in Stitt – “a wonderfully direct address to the jazz instrument, unsentimental, with little or no vibrato, pushed hard through the mouthpiece and as a result usually a little sharp.” Quincy’s writing as usual is clear, clean, swinging, and building (Love Walked In).

The notes err in not providing the full personnel and in not listing the sidemen clearly in one place instead of scattering them among the adjectives. This LP, gentlemen, is a gasser.

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Liner Notes by Barry Ulanov

It was only a little more than a decade ago that bop slithered and slid and blasted itself onto the jazz scene, but the way some of us have been talking and writing and thinking you’d imagine it was ancient history. Here is a record to demonstrate with every sort of vitality how very much it is still with us and how good it is to have it still.

It’s no longer a school or a movement today. Rather, it is a way of musical life that some musicians cannot help following, so thoroughly ingrained is it in their personalities and in their blowing that no matter what the material, no matter who their associates, no matter what the atmosphere, it must come out bop of something close to it. When the musician is Edward Sonny Stitt, that’s cause for cheering, for it’s the best of bop that he keeps alive – tunes, tones, beat, and lines.

Tunes? The blowing bopsters have always chosen well, so well that after making a tune their own, everybody else has picked up on it, old tune, new line an all. Well, here you have the impeccably selected classics – Stardust, Lover, My Funny Valentine, Come Rain or Come Shine, and Love Walked In – as well as the infectious blues (Quince), the swing riffpiece (Sonny’s Bunny), and Tadd Dameron’s lovely If You Could See Me Now, which far more than How High the Moon or Anthropology or Hot House or anything else you would care to name deserves the rank of anthem-in-extraordinary to bop musicians.

Tones? The sound of bop has always been quite special, for some, so special it had to be – like olives and caviar and good runny cheese – an acquired taste. For others among us, it was immediately captivating, a wonderfully direct address to the jazz instrument, unsentimental, with little or no vibrato, pushed hard through a mouthpiece and as a result usually a little sharp and for some reason beyond easy analysis not one whit less attractive for being so. Sonny’s tone, from the minute he was cast up on the 52nd Street Beach in the mid-forties, was a persuasive ear-catcher, whether on tenor or on alto, but especially on the latter instrument pleasant to hear and authoritative in the manner of the Master, Charlie Parker. Happily, it is alto all the way on these sides, and never for a moment, not even in the slow ballads, is it what could be called slushy, sentimental, or tastelessly executed.

Beat? Bop was always played by professionals in the dear not-so-dead days of its incubation. Inevitably, then, it was played with a beat, swinging along from temp to tempo, from mood to mood, slow, middle, or up. High among those who made their every measure move always has been Sonny. And here, as always in his illustrious playing past, on records or in person, the beat stands out, sometimes really takes over, as it really should in the blues played middling slow or riffs set forth middling fast. What one often forgets, when jazz is played by less than topnotch musicians, is that slow and sweet tunes (of the nature of See Me Now or Stardust, Valentine or Rain) should swing too, no matter how languorously inflected. They, as well as the aforementioned Quince and Bunny, the fleeting Lover and the more measured Walked, keep the feet tapping all the time, for which many thanks to Sonny, who among the soloists is chiefly responsible, and the sure-fingered, sure-footed rhythm section: Hank Jones (on piano), Freddie Greene (on guitar), Oscar Pettiford (on bass), and Jo Jones (on drums).

Lines? This, of course, always was the essence of bop and of Sonny’s ingratiating way with a tune – long lines carved wholesomely out of chords received or chords altered, but proceeding resolutely ahead, horizontal all the way. In the ballads, it is the simpler sort of melodic variation that holds Sonny’s – and the listener’s – interest. In the more vigorous jazz, it may be a unison figure (as at the end of Bunny) or a cadenza-like phrase (as in Lover). Whichever it is, because the structure is linear, one moves straight ahead with soloist or ensemble and is properly grateful for the propulsive forward motion.

In the tradition of the best of the bopsters, then, Sonny pays firm attention to the considerable contribution to the performances, is the sort of musician one picks to play with. Nothing, here, but the best. The almost meditative trumpet solo Thad Jones plays in Quince; the tearing trumpet [Artist1012494,Jimmy Nottingham blows in Bunny; the rhythm section as a quartet or in solo bits, as for example Oscar’s and Hank’s in the blues and Hank’s again in Bunny – these are indications of the quality of the men who appear alongside Sonny in this set. But there are more. In the ensemble, for which Quincy Jones has written with such polish and spirit, there are jazzmen of the stature of Seldon Powell on tenor, Cecil Payne on baritone, Ernie Royal on trumpet, and a trombonist whose identity is withheld.

No. Let’s not bury bop, not when it’s played this way, this well, by musicians of this stature. That’s no rut Sonny Stitt is in – that’s a groove, a wonderful one.