Chicapah
If you’re anything like me one of your life’s ambitions involves continuing to consciously expand your knowledge and awareness of the jazz universe one album at a time (a quest that inherently has no end) as you slowly but surely accumulate more and more wrinkles with the passing of the years. During this ongoing listening and learning experience one naturally becomes jaded at times as one wades through what might be referred to as “average” fare (although jazz music in general and by necessity requires that an above-average ability be possessed by its purveyors in comparison to, say, the members of a Kiss tribute band) that’s pleasant enough to willingly absorb into one’s eardrums without resistance yet doesn’t exactly twinkle one’s toes. But every so often you come across a record that so embodies and exemplifies what you love about jazz that it sticks out head and shoulders above the norm and you happily sit through it with a knowing and approving smile on your mug that can’t be wiped away. That’s what happened to me the first time I heard Julius “Cannonball” Adderley’s highly regarded album from 1958, “Somethin’ Else.” When jazz is done right there’s hardly anything that can equal it as far as the intrinsic satisfaction it generously applies to one’s soul and psyche.
Lest you be unfamiliar with Mr. Adderley or, because of his unusual nickname, be prone to downplay his influence and impact on modern jazz it should be pointed out that he was respected enough to be asked to perform right next to John Coltrane on two of Miles Davis’ seminal LPs in the 50s, “Milestones” and “Kind of Blue.” In fact, the mutual admiration society that existed between Cannonball and Miles was what led to Davis being cordially invited not only to be a major contributor to this album but to help select the music that would be featured. Though Miles wasn’t keen on doing sessions that had anything to do with the Blue Note record label, his admiration for Adderley led him to make an exception on March 9, 1958 and join him and his trio of professionals inside the Van Gelder studio in Hackensack, New Jersey to cut six tracks. And the rest, as they say, is history.
The album starts with one of the most transcendent versions of the Joseph Kosma classic, “Autumn Leaves,” that you’ll ever hear. It has a somewhat mysterious opening as Hank Jones’ piano, Art Blakey’s drums and Sam Jones’ upright bass lay down an ever so subtle shuffle followed by some striking horn accents. Davis steps up and plays the timeless melody on his trumpet as smoothly as one can possibly imagine and then Cannonball takes over to decorate the song with a slew of sumptuous variations and thrilling runs on his alto sax. Miles was a Zen master of the art of not overplaying his hand and he proves it on the silky solo he delivers here. Hank’s piano is tactful and dreamy throughout the tune and it all adds up to eleven minutes of bliss. Their rendition of Cole Porter’s “Love For Sale” is next. It begins with flowing piano and then the combo abruptly kicks it into a higher yet not nerve-rattling gear. Davis is once again coyly delicate in his approach but Blakey’s short drum interludes are spunky and entertaining, keeping the energy level on the up and up. Adderley’s ride is rambunctious and sprightly but still firmly grounded in good taste at the same time. Miles’ “Somethin’ Else” follows. On this number the tight rhythm section of Art and Sam lays down an easy-going swing feel that solidly supports Hank’s light piano chords while Cannonball and Davis demonstrate why they took back seats to absolutely no one in that era. They take turns peeling the paint off the studio walls, then play together in close proximity without ever coming near to stepping on one another’s toes. After a brief flourish from the keyboard the intensity rises to a smoldering crescendo before the fade out.
Sam Jones teamed up with Julius’ brother Nat to write “One for Daddy-O” and its bluesy, late night groove makes you feel like you’re in a primo seat at a smoky bar’s front row table. This song gives you a chance to hear two of the best horn virtuosos that ever lived vamping freely over a simple 12-bar progression and, in the process, transporting you into a realm of jazz that is untainted and sacred. Amidst their version of Arthur Schwartz’ “Dancing in the Dark” a sultry mood descends on them like a bank of soft blue floodlights and envelopes the band in a profound glow. Adderley’s impressionistic saxophone lines paint like Monet, holding you in a spell and his final flurry of notes will give you goose bumps on top of your goose bumps. Miles doesn’t play a note but he didn’t need to. It’s likely he knew better than to try to improve on perfection. The last cut is a bonus track, Hank’s “Alison’s Uncle” (or alternately-titled “Bangoon,” depending on what edition of the album you acquire). It wasn’t on the original vinyl because its hard bop slant was slightly out of step with the rest of the material but, trust me, you’ll be glad it’s included. These guys could do no wrong that evening. A bouncy number that’s as warm as a summer afternoon, it’s one of those numbers that musicians like Cannonball and Davis make sound like there’s nothing to playing this kind of stuff even though it’s deceivingly complex. It’s worth your while to pay special attention to Blakey’s inventive drum breaks that rival those of one of his peers, Joe Morello.
Many publications and critics consider this to be a masterpiece in the blending of the hard bop and cool trends of that day and, while I’m far from being an expert on either style, I’ll agree to a degree by saying that it’s an exquisite example of what can make jazz such a sublime joy to listen to. No special effects, no tricks, no fancy pyrotechnics are involved. Just inspired music that carries you away to a better place. And what more, for heaven’s sake, could you possibly ask these talented men to do for you?