ROSS RUSSELL AND BEBOP
By Jim Burns
I recently re-read Ross Russell’s novel,
The Sound, certainly not
for the first time and probably not for the last.
It’s not a literary classic, but the subject-matter and
Russell’s vibrant accounts of the characters and the milieu in which
they operate always fascinates me. His descriptions of the music at
the centre of the book make me want to get out the records from the
period and listen to them again.
It’s not surprising that Russell describes the music so well. He had
played an important role in the early days of the bebop movement of
the 1940s, not as a musician but as someone who helped draw
attention to bop by starting a company to record Charlie Parker and
other practitioners of the new sounds. Not many major record labels
were interested in promoting bebop in the mid-1940s and it was left
to Dial, Savoy, and other scattered small companies to take a chance
with artists like Parker, Dexter Gordon, and Howard McGhee. There
are stories about some of the small record labels that came and went
in the 1940s, and their shady ways of operating, but without them
there would have been fewer examples available of the changes taking
place in jazz and popular music.
So who was Ross Russell? He was born in Los Angeles in 1909. In the
1930s he published pulp fiction in magazines, and was a great
admirer of the work of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. He
served in the Merchant Marine during the Second World War In both
the European and Pacific theatres. When the war ended he returned to
Los Angeles and, being an enthusiastic jazz fan, decided to open a
record shop. He was initially a collector of traditional-style jazz,
but when he started to listen to the records by Charlie Parker that
local hipsters ordered he became interested in bebop. Opening a
record shop was probably a wise choice in more ways than one.
Russell had considered trying to get into screenwriting in
Hollywood, but later reminisced that, had he done so, he might have
been caught up in the HUAC investigations into communism in the film
industry. Most of his contacts in the studios were writers who were
later blacklisted.
His next step was to form a record company, Dial, to record Charlie
Parker who he had met and become friendly with. Parker was in Los
Angeles with a group led by Dizzy Gillespie which had a booking at
Billy Berg’s Club in Hollywood. But he was proving to be somewhat
unreliable due to his drug addiction and the fact that narcotics
were not as easy to come by on the West Coast as they were in New
York. Parker asked Russell to be his manager, and he also willingly
signed an agreement to record for Dial. He was actually under
contract to another company at the time.
I’m not intending to analyse the music that Parker produced for
Dial. There were seven sessions, some recorded in Los Angeles, some
in New York after Russell had moved there. Russell’s own accounts –
there were several – can be found in various places, the most
accessible probably being in
Bird: The Legend of Charlie Parker, edited by Bob Reisner. But
one recording date does stand out, if not for the best reasons. In
July, 1946, Parker went into the studio and came up with the music
from the famous (or infamous)
Lover Man session. He was in poor condition, due to being unable
to obtain the necessary supply of heroin, and was barely able to
play. Howard McGhee, the trumpet player on the date, was a tower of
strength, but even he, and the rhythm-section, could not cover up
for Bird’s dismal performance.
It has always been a matter of contention whether or not the four
tracks that Parker managed to stumble through should have ever been
released. But they were, much to his annoyance. Russell’s
intentions, beyond wanting to try to recover his losses, can be
questioned, and they led to accusations of exploitation. Had he
realised that there would be an audience for recorded evidence of a
great jazzman breaking down? In the studio was a journalist
associate of Russell’s, a man called Elliot Grennard who wrote a
short-story called “Sparrow’s Last Jump” which was a
lightly-fictionalised account of the events of that day. It was
published in Harper’s
Magazine in 1947. He later recalled Russell saying that he’d
“lost a thousand bucks” because of what had happened. At the end of
the story the narrator makes the comment: “Yeah, Sparrow’s last
recording would sure make a collector’s item. One buck, plus tax, is
cheap enough for a record of a guy going nuts”.
Russell had recorded other modern jazz musicians in California –
Dexter Gordon, Wardell Gray, Dodo Marmarosa, - and besides making
the final Parker records for Dial in New York in 1947, he produced a
session with singer Earl Coleman backed by the brilliant trumpeter
Fats Navarro and tenor saxophonist Don Lanphere. There may be an
irony in the fact that Russell seemed keen to record Coleman. In
1947 when Parker brought the singer to a Dial session and insisted
he should be recorded, Russell had remarked that he needed a singer
like he needed a hole in his head. Bird’s version of “This is
Always”, with a vocal by Coleman, turned out to be one of Dial’s
best-selling discs.
After 1948 Russell seems to have given up on jazz, at least from a
recording point of view, and focused on contemporary classical
scores, releasing records of the music of Schoenberg, Ernst Krenek,
and others. In the 1950s he turned to documenting calypso music in
the West Indies. I can’t offer any critical comments on what he
recorded, either classical or calypso, but it has been suggested
that he offended Schoenberg in the same way that he’d upset Parker
by issuing records of what the composer considered sub-standard
performances.
Biographical information regarding what Russell did in the 1950s and
after is fairly limited. At one time or another he lived in various
countries, contributed articles to jazz magazines, taught jazz
history courses at the University of California and elsewhere, and
sold the Dial records catalogue, especially the Parker sides, to one
or two different companies. The material was perhaps best preserved
by Spotlite Records, based in the United Kingdom. Russell had kept
most of the recorded tracks, including incomplete takes, so critics
and ardent fans could study Parker’s work in particular. He claimed
that Parker was often at his best on the first take, even if the
group as a whole didn’t function as well as it did on later takes,
so there was a good reason for issuing everything that survived. It
was Parker’s music that mattered most of all.
Russell also wrote several books, beginning with
The Sound, a novel based
in part on Parker’s life and music. Published in 1961 it was
generally well-received, in jazz circles at least, though some
people did find the close attention paid to the drugs situation a
little distracting. But
somewhere (I can’t pin down the source) I recall the writer Nat
Hentoff saying of the 1940s: “That’s the way it was, and only
someone looking for serialisation in
Reader’s Digest would
want to pretend otherwise”.
The Sound
is colourful and it’s possible to see Russell’s grounding in the
pulp fiction of the 1930s at work in some of the writing. But
there’s no doubt that he knew the scene in terms of capturing the
nature of the music. Early in the story Red Travers, a
trumpet-player who is closely modelled on Charlie Parker, arrives in
Los Angeles for a club engagement. He’s accompanied by a saxophonist
from New York, but the rhythm-section is comprised of local
musicians, among them Bernie, a white pianist. He isn’t too familiar
with bebop, but has the musical training to follow what Travers is
doing harmonically. His induction into the hot house atmosphere as
Travers launches into a fast first number that initially confounds
everyone apart from the saxophonist, is excitingly evoked by
Russell. It always makes me want to listen to some authentic bebop
whenever I read it. Which is, I think, a tribute to the quality of
his writing when he’s concerned to describe what is happening during
a performance by Travers.
A second book by Russell gave an indication of his genuine knowledge
and appreciation of jazz developments.
Jazz Style in Kansas City and
the Southwest, published in 1971, was a close look at an area
which, as the book claimed, “was the source for many of the musical
ideas that have dominated jazz from the late thirties to the present
and resulted in the bebop revolution and the foundation of modern
jazz style”. Tracing the music from its roots in “the blues, brass
bands, and ragtime” Russell brings it to the 1930s when bands like
those led by Andy Kirk, Count Basie and Jay McShann featured key
soloists, including Howard McGhee, Lester Young, and Charlie Parker.
What is particularly valuable about Russell’s history is that it
doesn’t only document the activities and achievements of a few of
the better-known names. Minor but interesting musicians like Buddy
Anderson and John Jackson are given attention. Anderson, a trumpet
player, “was the most advanced musician in the band (Jay McShann’s)
after Parker”, and Jackson was an alto-saxophonist who, initially at
least, sounded a little like Bird when both were working with
McShann.
Russell’s best-known book was
Bird Lives! The High Life and Hard Times of Charlie ‘Yardbird’
Parker, published in 1972.
Because of his
involvements with Parker, and his experience of the Los Angeles jazz
scene of the mid-1940s, Russell could obviously provide insights
into the events relating to certain of Bird’s activities. This
particularly applied to information about the Dial recordings and
the situations surrounding them. And his awareness of the lively
scene in “Lotus Land”, with its cast of hipsters, oddball
characters, and enthusiastic musicians, added variety to his
account. But questions were raised about some of the events and
facts that Russell wrote about. He had talked to a great many
musicians and others over the years, and it may have been that some
of the information he gathered was more anecdotal than factual, and
therefore not totally accurate. But it still occurs to me to think
that there are things to be gained from Russell’s Bird biography. He
makes the music come alive in a way that later commentators on
Parker, while academically correct, often failed to do.
Russell died in January, 2000. He had been working on a book about
bebop with Red Rodney, but it was incomplete at the time of his
death. He knew the worth of his collection of records, books,
magazines, manuscripts, interviews, and much more, and in 1980 had
sold his archives to the University of Texas. I think he was aware
that his association with Parker and other bop musicians at a time
when major musical developments were in process gave him a place in
jazz history.
NOTES
1. The Sound by Ross
Russell. Dutton, New York, 1961.
2.
Jazz Style in Kansas City and
the South West by Ross Russell. University of California Press,
Berkeley, 1971.
3. Bird Lives! The High Life
and Hard Times of Charlie ‘Yardbird’ Parker by Ross Russell.
Quartet Books, London, 1973.
4. Bird: The Legend of
Charlie Parker edited by Robert Reisner. Citadel Press, New
York, 1962.
5. The Bebop Revolution in
Words and Music edited by Dave Oliphant,
Harry Ransome Humanities Research Centre, the University of
Texas at Austin, 1994. This assembles some of the papers delivered
at a symposium in 1992 and includes a particularly useful piece by
Edward Komara on “The Dial Recordings of Charlie Parker”. There is
also a Keynote Address by Ross Russell which was delivered on his
behalf when health problems prevented him from attending the
symposium. It’s informative about, among other things, the social
and cultural scene in Los Angeles in the 1940s.
6. “Sparrow’s Last Jump” by Elliott Grennard in
Jam Session edited by
Ralph J. Gleason. Peter Davies, London, 1958.
7. Central Avenue Sounds:
Jazz in Los Angeles edited by Clora Bryant & others. University
of California Press, Berkeley, 1998.
8. Jazz
West Coast: The Los Angeles
Jazz Scene of the 1950s
by Robert Gordon. Quartet Books, London, 1986. Despite its title
the book has a couple of useful chapters about jazz in Los Angeles
in the 1940s
9. West Coast Jazz: Modern
Jazz in California 1945-1960 by Ted Gioia. University of
California Press, Berkeley, 1998.
10. Bebop: A Social and
Musical History by Scott DeVeaux. University of California
Press, Berkeley, 1997.
Readers may be interested in my essay, “Bird Breaks Down” in
Beat Scene 49, Coventry,
Winter 2005/6, and in
Radicals, Beats and Beboppers, Penniless Press, Warrington,
2011.
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