In 1964, sax man Willis “Gator” Jackson released the album Nuther’n Like Thuther’n on Prestige Records. This title neatly sums up the main criticism of Jackson: that he made a lot of records and they all sound the same. Granted, Jackson was no musical innovator, but one can still feel how his gritty, lowdown-blues blowing could stir a crowd in a dancehall on a hot Saturday night. Perhaps it’s the Sixties version of “dirty dancing”?
Jackson was born in Miami in 1932 and was already touring with Cootie Williams, late of the Duke Ellington orchestra, and his band in 1949. He played a lot of rhythm and blues in the early Fifties. His honking and wailing sax style - in performances, he’d lie on his back and play - particularly on the song “Gator Tail” earned him his nickname. Jackson married R&B singer Ruth Brown and toured with her extensively. When he signed with Prestige in 1959, he modified his flamboyant style and became a proponent of soul-jazz playing. “Soul” signifying emotion in this case - something that Jackson wore on his sleeve when he played. Subtlety was not his game - Jackson was about expressing the emotion of the tune, not playing in a “style” per se.
He was greatly influenced by Illinois Jacquet, who was also a honker in his day, and he admired Gene Ammons. Jackson had this to say about playing the sax: “So many of these saxophonists playing today [1961], they have what I call a ‘peashooter’ sound. They sound like an alto, they’re playing alto on the tenor. They’re wonderful technicians, they all have a good execution, but they don’t make the instrument sound like they should.” No one ever accused Jackson of being a peashooter. Just try sitting still while listening to Jackson’s version of “Swimmin’ Home Baby” from 1964.
For the next ten years, Jackson made a slew of albums for Prestige, more and more of which are becoming available, including Please Mr. Jackson, Gentle Gator, and a compilation album called At Large. Over the years, he had long associations with both Jack McDuff and Carl Wilson on organ and with Pat Martino on guitar. “Gator” continued playing up until his death in 1987 and he left behind some swinging albums of bluesy soul-jazz, played by a master of the form.
The Cats is a somewhat obscure Prestige Records all-star session from 1957 that purrs like a well-fed kitten. And well-fed it is with a savory line-up that includes John Coltrane on tenor and Kenny Burrell on guitar. Although recorded by Rudy Van Gelder in his Hackensack studio, the record has a Detroit vibe – Burrell and the rhythm section of Tommy Flanagan on piano, Doug Watkins on bass, and Louis Hayes on drums are all natives. Burrell always has a bluesy Motor City tinge to his playing. Coltrane is in transition at the time of this recording. Having recently been booted from the Miles Davis Quintet, he is trying to clean up his act and will soon begin a collaboration with Thelonious Monk. Here, he sounds energized in his solos, perhaps feeling free to be more expressive than he was with Davis. His so-called sheets of sound style is in full flower, with some wonderful melodic lines morphing into impressive double-time arpeggios. This album is probably overlooked (the felines on the cover definitely want some attention) because both Burrell and Coltrane were about to enter a very creative and prolific period in their respective careers.
But the real cat-in-chief on this date is Flanagan. His compositional skills are on display in four of the five tunes, and his playing is the focus of the other one. The album opens with “Minor Mishap,” a medium-paced hard bop song with solos from Coltrane, Burrell, and Idrees Sulieman (on trumpet). (There’s a wonderful version of Flanagan playing this song from later in his career on YouTube.) “How Long Has This Been Going On?” features Flanagan in a trio in a lovely version – listen to Hayes’ brush work on drums - of this Gershwin classic. The Caribbean-flavored “Eclypso” and “Solacium” are on the cool side of bop. But the highlight of The Cats has got to be the aptly named “Tommy’s Tune,” an extended (twelve minutes) song that gives everyone room to work out their ideas and really shine.
Flanagan (1930-2001) was mostly known for being the accompanist of Ella Fitzgerald for many years, from the early 1960s to the late 1970s. He worked as a sideman on a number of seminal jazz recordings, including Coltrane’s Giant Steps, Sonny Rollins’ Saxophone Colossus, and Art Pepper’s Straight Life. He also recorded regularly as a leader later in his career. He deserves to be more widely recognized for his masterful piano playing and The Cats is an excellent place to start.
Tenor saxophonist Benny Golson (born 1929) got off to a fast start. Even while attending high school in Philadelphia, he was already playing with the likes of John Coltrane, Red Garland, and Philly Joe Jones. Philly (the city) was hopping with jazz at this time. Of Coltrane, Golson said in a 2009 interview: “John and I were like blood brothers. I was 16 when I met him, he was 18. And we spent our time in my living room, listening to lots of 78 records, trying to figure out what was going on.”
It's amusing to picture this scene because it represents a typical sort of episode in a teenager's life, even today, as well as a “primordial soup” moment in the evolution of jazz.
From the mid to late 1950s, Golson toured with Tadd Dameron, Lionel Hampton, Johnny Hodges, and Art Blakey. He then was co-leader of the famous Jazztet with trumpeter Art Farmer. Golson also wrote the classic tunes “I Remember Clifford” (written after the untimely death of Clifford Brown) and “Stablemates” (first recorded by Miles Davis). I particularly recommend the three albums he did as a leader for Prestige Records in 1959: Gone With Golson, Getting’ With It, and Groovin’ With Golson, all with Curtis Fuller on trombone. These are overshadowed hard bop classics, with Golson’s solos propelled forward with pulsing momentum but also displaying a big warm tone. “Staccato Swing” from Gone With Golson is a great example.
During the sixties, when the commercial support for jazz largely disappeared, Golson, like many jazz musicians, went to work for the movie and television studios, writing music for the TV series M*A*S*H, Mission: Impossible, Mod Squad, and, yes, even The Partridge Family. In the 1980s, he returned to playing jazz gigs and he is still recording and touring regularly.
