When Houston Had the Blues

When it comes to the blues, people always think of Memphis, Chicago, and the Delta and Piedmont regions, but rarely Houston. Yet, Houston was home to the blues kings, both of them: Albert King and Freddie King. But wait, there’s more, including Lightin’ Hopkins and Bobby “Blue” Bland. At this point, you should be wondering why was this documentary even needed? Of course, it is always nice to celebrate the blues, wherever they might hail from. In this case, Houston finally gets its due in Alan Swyer’s When Houston Got the Blues, which releases today on VOD.

It is hard to think of a bigger name in blues than that of Hopkins, except maybe Bland. Indeed, several musicians and commentators nominate Bland’s Two Steps from the Blues as the definitive Houston blues album. In the 1950s and 1960s, the city was a major regional musical hub, largely concentrated in the 3^rd and 5^th wards.

In addition to the majority black neighborhoods, Houston also received an influx of French-speakers from Louisiana. That is how the city became a launching pad for Zydeco, as personified by Clifton Chenier (who honed his art while working in the Port Arthur oil fields) and his son C.J. (who poignantly remembers his father, while speaking for Swyer’s camera). As Texas-born Marcia Ball explains, their Zydeco was essentially Chicago blues adapted to Cajun/Creole instrumentation.

Plus, Houston was home to the Texas Tenor tradition exemplified by Illinois Jacquet, Arnett Cobb, Don Wilkerson (a longtime member of the Ray Charles Band, who also recorded a one-off Blue Note album), and David “Fathead” Newman. Arguably, the Texas Tenors are a bit more jazz than blues, but they have enormous “crossover” appeal.

Reissue Love: The Struggle Continues

The Struggle Continues
By Dewey Redman
ECM 1225

It might be a tad unorthodox to review a reissue, but the digital rebirth of Dewey Redman’s The Struggle Continues certainly rates such consideration. Long unavailable since its original 1982 vinyl release, Struggle’s reissue has been long hoped for by his fans. Rumors circulated on the now defunct Blue Note Records bulletin boards that the original tapes had been lost or some other technical problems were preventing its release. Happily, these rumors were either unfounded internet disinformation, or the tapes were found and the problems were fixed, as Struggle is now on available on CD shelves from ECM.

Perhaps surprising to some, the music of Struggle is largely bop-oriented, but to recycle part of a 2004 Signal to Noise review I wrote of a Lincoln Center Ornette Coleman tribute concert featuring the tenor player: “Redman, who as a longtime collaborator with Coleman and the father of young post-bop tenor Joshua Redman, represents a sort of nexus of jazz history. Redman has also shown an ability to modulate the ‘freeness’ of his playing.” Indeed, throughout his career, and especially on Struggle, has exhibited a flexible approach to the music.

The opening original “Thren” is a real Bird-flight, featuring the bop chops of Redman and pianist Charles Eubanks. While their solos may venture into free territory, they never stray far from the underlying blues. Despite a somewhat plaintive introduction, the following “Love Is” resolves into a lyrical ballad, which showcases Redman’s warmth on tenor rather than his fire. Struggle also benefits from a strong band surrounding Redman, including bassist Mark Helias, who contributes an elegant pizzicato solo on “Love.”

Redman was indeed a Texas Tenor, part of a long tradition of lusty, bluesy, full-bodied saxophone playing, which is showcased on “Turn Over Baby” over Helias’s funky bass lines. It is unapologetic greasiness, more Arnett Cobb than Ornette, though Coleman also had roots in Texas R&B. It is followed by “Joie de Vivre,” an appropriately titled sprightly swinging bop-based original.

“Combination” is unquestionably the piece furthest “out” in the set, but for those with just a cursory familiarity with jazz developments in the late 1960’s, it will hardly sound alarming. Frenetically paced at just over five minutes, it provides Redman and Eubanks latitude for some pretty free, if brief, explorations, as well as a nicely constructed drum solo from Ed Blackwell. Redman finishes with an explicit return to bebop with Charlie Parker’s “Dewey Square,” which shares the breezy swinging vibe of “Joie de Vivre.”

While not as celebrated as Coleman, the loss of Redman was deeply felt in the jazz community, with his January memorial at St. Peter’s garnering press coverage in the NY Times. It is great to have Struggle readily available now, as it is very accessible introduction to Redman for new listeners.

Jazz Mavericks of the Lone Star State

Jazz Mavericks of the Lone Star State
By Dave Oliphant
University of Texas Press
978-0-292-71496-0

Clint Eastwood is fond of crediting jazz and westerns as America’s two original contributions to world culture. The place of Texas in the history of the western is undeniable. In his latest book, Jazz Mavericks of the Lone Star State, Dave Oliphant makes a case for Texas’ pride of place in jazz history as well.

When jazz listeners think Texas, they think tenor sax, specifically the lusty, honking Texas Tenor tradition, including musicians like Arnett Cobb and Illinois Jacquet. They are mentioned here, but not in great depth, because Mavericks is actually a collection of writings, many of which were written to fill in gaps in Oliphant’s previous Texan Jazz. As a result, some of the pieces, particularly the first two, can be a tad repetitive in listing names of Texan jazz musicians.

One Texas titan covered well here is Ornette Coleman, through reviews of John Litweiler’s biography and a 2004 concert, which was his first in Texas in twenty years. Oliphant recounts many of the struggles of the jazz innovators career, both celebrated and lesser known, including his tangles with the labor regulations of 1960’s Great Britain. Oliphant writes:

“the same British musicians union and the Labour Ministry that had frustrated and inspired him three years earlier declared Coleman’s achievements irrelevant, and so he had to compose Emotion Modulation in order to qualify again as a ‘concert artist.’” (p. 126)

Oliphant discusses many Texas jazz artists, but stops short of identifying a specific Texas style (apart from that of the Texas Tenor tradition). At times though, he does speculate on the effect of a Texas upbringing on an artist’s music. He describes trailblazing electric guitarist and trombonist Eddie Durham (of San Marcos) as someone who:

“grew up making his own instruments, who was a crack shot with a rifle, who, when he hunted rattlesnakes, wore his boots and looked where he was going, and who shared with his musicians all that he had learned, having grown up in a family that worked and played together.” (p. 185)

While much of Mavericks is good spirited Texan jazz boosterism, Oliphant is not afraid to mix it up a little, taking aim at Howard Reich and William Gaines, co-authors of a 2003 biography of Jelly Roll Morton. Oliphant takes particular exception to their treatment of folklorist Alan Lomax, whose Library of Congress oral history tapes of Morton formed the basis of his biography Mister Jelly Roll. Oliphant writes:

“The accusation that Lomax ‘grilled Morton about sex, mayhem, and murders’ when ‘Morton wanted to talk about music’ distorts the contents of Lomax’s book. Moreover, the authors spend a good part of their own first chapter describing the New Orleans red-light district in raunchier detail than anything offered by Mister Jelly Roll. Most of what we know about Jelly’s views on his and others’ music is to be found in Lomax’s writings, and much of this information has been silently plowed back into the prose of Reich and Gaines.” p. 165)

Of course, Lomax was from Austin. (As they say, don’t mess with Texas.) Throughout Mavericks, Oliphant shows a loyalty to Texas musicians, and indeed, the state can claim many worthy trailblazers, like Durham and Coleman. As with most collections, Mavericks is a little uneven, but it is a quick read and often quite informative.