MONTEREY JAZZ FESTIVAL RECORDINGS (Cont'd)

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Certainly no one ever accused Miles Davis of being overly effusive onstage, at least not mot of the time, and certainly not in 1963, when the Davis Quintet was captured at the Monterey Fest. Accompanied by the already in place rhythm section of Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams, Davis had tenor saxophonist George Coleman in tow. Coleman filled the tenor sax chair in between Hank Mobley and Wayne Shorter, who would eventually become the permanent saxophonist in the second great Davis quintet. 1963-64 was a period of strong resurgence for Miles, as he worked to find a new direction and a new set of compositions to go with it.

Coleman had been playing with Davis since the sessions for the Seven Steps to Heaven album, and Hancock, Williams, and Carter had fallen into place by the start of ’63. The group had performed at the Antibes Jazz Festival in Juan-les-Pins, France, in June of that year, a performance that became available on the Seven Steps: Complete Columbia Recordings 1963-64 boxed set. This performance at Monterey took place on September 20 of the same year. By February 1964, when Miles played a benefit for the NAACP’s Legal Defense Fund in New York City, Coleman would be on his way out, to be replaced, briefly, by Sam Rivers, and then, finally, by Shorter.

The set list here reflects what had become Davis’ dilemma—he was playing from a book of jazz standards and popular numbers identified with previous Davis bands. While this approach allowed the various musicians to stretch out and make the tunes somewhat their own, it represented a plateau for Davis from which he knew he would either have to scramble upwards or slowly slip back over previous, well-worn territory, something he clearly wished to avoid. The compositions would come as the final second quintet coalesced, with Shorter kick-starting the band with his own forward-looking compositions. Hancock contributed quite a few numbers as well, and Davis, inspired by the young blood around him, broke through into new compositional territory as well. Carter and Williams, while not as prolific, made compositional contributions as well. Here, though, Davis performs a fairly familiar set. “Autumn Leaves,” which he had recorded with Cannonball Adderley on the latter’s Somethin’ Else LP, “So What” from the Kind of Blue sessions, the classic “Walkin’,” recorded with the Miles Davis All-Stars, and the standard “Stella By Starlight.” No one would say that Miles wasn’t in top form here—he was playing well and had been very consistently since his return to the scene after conquering his heroin addiction, but he was not on track to be any sort of innovator.

The music here is quintessential Davis of the time, and his difficulties putting together his band of choice notwithstanding, his playing here is beyond reproach. Over fifty-two minutes, Davis demonstrates his abilities with up-tempo numbers and ballads, his unmuted tone as recognizable as any jazz musician has ever been. And you can hear that the energy level has risen since the release of Seven Steps to Heaven, with Williams beginning to come into his own (listen to his bristling solo on “Walkin’”) and Hancock’s impressionistic piano work supporting Davis beautifully. Davis’ performance at the festival helped solidify what Monterey was all about—presenting the best modern jazz in a beautiful festival setting.

As Bill Minor points out in his liner notes to the Thelonious Monk 1964 Monterey performance presented on disc for the first time, Monk had already had a lengthy career by the time he arrived at Monterey. Now in the midst of an artistic re-discovery and in the middle of recording some of his most famous albums (Brilliant Corners being an example), Monk was doing little differently than he ever had. Instead, the world had caught up to him. Monk had successfully debuted at Monterey in 1963, but his return in ’64 saw a supremely confident Monk leading an excellent quartet that turned in a notable performance.

Saxophonist Charlie Rouse became Monk’s tenor man of choice, perhaps because Rouse seemed unperturbed by Monk’s angular melodies, clashing chords, and often very spare comping during others’ solos. In many ways it falls to Rouse to make Monk’s music accessible to a wider audience. Rouse comes with few of his own stylistic prejudices, which makes him seem like Monk’s interpreter. The group is rounded out here by drummer Ben Riley, who played often with Monk at this time, and then-twenty-three year old bassist Steve Swallow.

The compositions heard here were already Monk standards by this time, and became ever more so as he continued to hone them over the years. “Blue Monk,” “Rhythm-A-Ning,” and “Straight, No Chaser” all exhibit the standard Monkisms that came to define his work. Monk’s solo on “Evidence” shows that he was not technically limited as a pianist, as some supposed, but rather the legitimate architect of a new pianistic style. “Bright Mississippi,” a Monk deconstruction of the chord structure of “Sweet Georgia Brown,” swings hard as Riley and Swallow lock into the rhythm with a vengeance. Swallow gets to take a generous walking solo following Rouse and Monk’s improvisations on the theme. This is the number where, as it always does, Monk’s link with the great piano players of the past, the Harlem piano professors, the boogie pianists, and the stride greats all can be heard. It’s like a veil is lifted and Monk’s music becomes perfectly logical, an extrapolation of the past rather than the freakish thing some had thought it in the mid-50s.

On two numbers, “Think of One” and the closer, “Straight, No Chaser” Monk and his quartet are joined by the Monterey Jazz Festival Workshop: Buddy Collette on reeds, Lou Blackburn (trombone), Jack Nimitz (baritone sax), Bobbie Bryant and Melvin Moore (trumpets). Collette wrote the workmanlike arrangements at Monk’s request, and plays up a storm as well, as his alto solo on “Straight No Chaser” attests.

There is more and more live Monk available these days, as Hyena Records, in conjunction with Monk’s family, is releasing live performances from across his career. As time went by, Monk solidified his group of musicians and his repertoire, but far from proving to be a limiting factor, one hears that every time Monk and his band took to the stage, one was in for a refreshing, spontaneous performance, and this 1964 Monterey Jazz Festival set is no exception.

In 1971, at the 14th Monterey Jazz Fest concluded with a tribute to impresario Norman Granz’ Jazz at the Philharmonic series. Invited to sing was Sarah Vaughn, who did not work with JATP but who nonetheless recorded with Granz later in her career, and would record for him again on Pablo Records, which he launched a couple of years after this performance. Vaughn never ceased to be a popular jazz singer, and she was, at 47, still in fine voice at this performance; it could easily be asserted that she was still in the prime of her career at this time. So this performance is a wonderful addition to her discography, particularly in light of the fact that she had not recorded much for a couple of years prior.

It’s not hard to hear Vaughn’s enthusiasm here and her pleasure at being in a supportive environment such as that afforded by the Monterey Fest. From the opening of “I Remember You” through the sprightly bossa groove of “The Lamp Is Low.” She gets down to brass tacks with a powerful version of Monk’s “Round Midnight.” Vaughn’s low range was a powerhouse secret weapon that few, if any, other singers could duplicate, as were her octave jumps that landed perfectly. All of that is on display in “Round Midnight,” as it is throughout the performance.

Vaughn is accompanied throughout by a venerable trio of pianist Bill Mays, bassist Bob Magnuson, and drummer Jimmy Cobb. Mays, an under-recorded pianist, offers nice backing and solo work reminiscent of Tommy Flanagan or Hank Jones. Magnuson and Cobb as solid a rhythm section as one could hope for, and they play together well. Vaughn concludes her regular set with readings of “There Will Never Be Another You,” “And I Love Him,” the improvisational “Scattin’ the Blues,” and “Tenderly.” For the final number she is accompanied by the JATP All-Stars, a group that was assembled for the occasion, but which Vaughn’s introduction makes clear was augmented beyond the original expectations: Bill Harris (trombone), Roy Eldridge, Clark Terry (trumpet/flugelhorn), Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis & Zoot Sims (tenor sax), Benny Carter (alto sax), Mundell Lowe (guitar), John Lewis (piano), and Louis Bellson (drums). Vaughn performs a long scat solo followed by really solid solo contributions from Terry, Davis, Eldridge, Sims, Harris, Carter, and Lowe. Clark Terry performs his famed ‘Mumbles’ scat, trading choruses with Vaughn. When the thing finally ends, the musicians tack on a minute and a half coda, listed here as “A Monterey Jam (encore).” Such ebullience was a fitting tribute to JATP, which brought jazz to many listeners who didn’t know Basie from a bass. On this September night in Monterey, the spirit of those performances lived again, and were fortunately captured for listeners to hear far into the future.