Paul Broadnax chuckled when I asked him to sign my copy of his LP, Introducing the Paul-Champ Three. “Now I know there are at least two people who have this record,” he said. “You, and me!” Broadnax, who died at age 92 on August 1, 2018, made that record in 1966. When I showed him my copy in 2014, he said it had been quite some time since he’d last seen one.
The Three were Paul Broadnax, piano and vocals; Champlin “Champ” Jones, bass and vocals; and Tony Sarni, drums. Broadnax and Jones shared arranging duties. The two first met in 1950, when Broadnax was writing arrangements for the Sabby Lewis Orchestra, and Jones joined as bassist. They started out as a duo in about 1960, and added Sarni on drums shortly after—there was more work for a trio. And they found plenty of it.
The Paul-Champ Three wasn’t a jazz group, although their sets always included jazz. The instrumental numbers especially gave Broadnax space to improvise. They advertised themselves as a general business band, even said it right in the album liner notes. “They had the events business sewed up.” Fred Taylor told me. He booked them at Paul’s Mall. “Every wedding, every function. They played all the good cocktail parties. And they swung.” They had lengthy residences in suburban lounges like the Cottage Crest in Waltham and the Chateau de Ville in Framingham.
Boston-born Floyd Williams had a long career in jazz, first as a musician and then as an educator. In his home town, the drummer was known by his nickname, “Floogie.” No one around now knows how he got it. Later in his career, people knew him as Floyd Williams.
His Boston story is an intriguing one. As with many artists of past decades who did not achieve great stardom in New York, there are facts about his story we don’t know. We do know he attended Boston public schools, started on piano as a boy, switched to the drums, gigged with friends while still at Roxbury High School, and studied briefly at the New England Conservatory. I have read that Johnny Hodges was his godfather, and I am still looking into that.
Legendary godfather or not, Floogie Williams earned his own recognition as a drummer in the late 1940s, at a time when Boston was incubating an exciting brand of modern jazz. The numerous G.I. Bill students at the music schools were mixing with the local musicians in the clubs clustered around Mass Ave and Columbus Ave. Disc jockey Symphony Sid Torin called this intersection “the jazz corner of Boston.” Williams was a regular on the bandstand at the Sunnyside Cafe, where he worked with saxophonists Sam Rivers and Gigi Gryce. He also played occasionally in the big band of Jimmie Martin, where he met trumpeters Joe Gordon and Lennie Johnson, and Jaki Byard—who played trombone!
When I first started writing The Boston Jazz Chronicles, the clarinetist, saxophonist and bandleader Dick Johnson was one of the first jazz artists to take me under his wing. I knew very little about the history of Boston jazz when I embarked on that project, and I needed help. Johnson’s music is one of the reasons I became a jazz fan in the first place, and it was a pleasure to meet him. He was affable and down-to-earth as well as knowledgeable, and we talked often.
Dick Johnson died on January 10, 2010, and it’s become my custom to remember him around that date each year by listening to a few of his recordings. This year I pulled out his 1958 Riverside release, Most Likely; his self-produced and sadly out-of-print CD Artie’s Choice! from 2004; and my personal favorite, Swing Shift, released by Concord Jazz in 1981. This one is out of print, too. Shame on you, Concord.
Come to think of it, Dick Johnson recorded eight albums as a leader, and most are unavailable:
Andy McGhee was back in Boston in fall 1966, off the road after three years of bus rides with Woody Herman’s orchestra. Count Basie heard he was available and offered him a job, but McGhee declined. McGhee, with a family to support, wanted to stay home.
Fortunately, a door opened for McGhee, and the man holding it was Lawrence Berk. It was the door at 1140 Boylston Street, the brand-new home of the Berklee School (not yet college) of Music. Just inside that door was McGhee’s old friend from the late 1940s, Charlie Mariano.
Pianist Hal Galper was a busy guy in Boston in 1962. Much of that activity centered around the Stable, the cellar club on Huntington Avenue, where Galper practiced his craft almost every night. Tuesdays and Thursdays, he played with Herb Pomeroy’s big band, while on weekends he worked with Varty Haroutunian’s small groups. On Mondays, he was a regular in trombonist Gene DiStasio’s Quintet, and their music is the subject of today’s post.
In April 1962, everyone knew the Stable had a date with the wrecking ball. The Commonwealth was razing the building to make way for a turnpike on-ramp. The musicians played on, though, and one Monday night, an unknown person captured DiStasio’s Quintet on tape. That recording ended up with Ray Santisi, and is now the fourth installment in my Santisi tapes project. It was Hal Galper, by the way, who replaced Santisi in the Herb Pomeroy Orchestra in 1959.
After transferring the music from the original 1/4-inch tape to a digital format, I sent a copy to Galper, knowing full well that musicians often take a dim view of being asked to listen to the way they played “back then.” But he was game, and in January 2017 we talked by phone about the music and his time in Boston.
When someone dies, we sometimes hear a tongue-in-cheek comment regarding the disposition of the departed’s worldly possessions: “You live, you die, your stuff goes out on the curb.” There are too many stories of lifetime LP collection ending up in a thrift shop donations bin, or of old scrapbooks being thrown away. When the time came for the family of pianist Ray Santisi to empty his apartment, they asked drummer Don McBride to help them ensure that none of Ray’s musical artifacts accidentally landed on the curb.
McBride and Santisi went way back—Don had known Ray for close to 60 years, from the time of the original Jazz Workshop on Stuart Street. Naturally he said yes, and some things of musical interest did turn up.
They found, for instance, a big box of reel-to-reel tapes, dozens of them, mostly from the 1960s, in the back of a closet. I’m sure Ray had planned to do something with them someday—many of us have rainy day projects that we never seem to get to. McBride looked at the tapes, recognized them for the treasures they were, and with the family’s blessing, took them away.
Stone Blues and Beyond: A Son of Roxbury Recognized
Roxbury-born trombonist and percussionist Daoud Haroon was recently named a 2014 Fellow by United States Artists (USA)—a prestigious fellowship, accompanied by a generous grant. It is a high honor for the 81-year-old Haroon, acknowledging his lifetime of work in the arts, education and religion. He could never have foreseen all the turns his life would take when he was a young trombonist in this town, back when he was known as John Mancebo Lewis, another of the talented musicians who grew up in Roxbury in the years following World War II.
Like others from that time and place—trumpeter Joe Gordon, bassist Bernie Griggs, drummer Roy Haynes—Lewis learned his jazz informally, on bandstands and in jam sessions. He wasn’t a conservatory student, but he took lessons from someone who was. His teacher, Chuck Connors, studied at the Boston Conservatory, and Connors and Lewis played together in Richie Lowery’s Boston big band in the mid 1950s. Connors would join Duke Ellington’s orchestra in 1961 and remain in the trombone section for 13 years.
In 1958, Lewis joined the quintet of another Boston Conservatory student and Lowery bandmate, saxophonist and composer Ken McIntyre (not yet known as Makanda). Others in the group were pianist Dizzy Sal (Edward Saldanha), bassist Larry Richardson, and drummer Bill Grant.
Pianist Ray Santisi, who died October 28 at age 81, was a working musician for almost 65 years. He was also a composer and arranger, author, and perhaps most famously, teacher. He joined the Berklee faculty in 1957, and spent 57 years there.
He was also the last surviving Stablemate—the last of a trio of Boston musicians for whom Benny Golson composed the song “Stablemates” in 1955. The others were trumpeter Herb Pomeroy and tenor saxophonist Varty Haroutunian. The three set the pace at the Stable, one of the city’s great jazz rooms in years gone by.
I thought I’d remember Ray today by taking a look at the formative years of his career.
I wrote about the recordings made by the Jaki Byard Quartet at Lennie’s-on-the-Turnpike in an earlier post, and I’ve finally added an extended track from Volume 2 of Live! to my YouTube channel. I chose “Jaki’s Ballad Medley,” but as you’ll hear, Jaki was joking when he mentioned ballads. For some reason, though, the people at Prestige Records kept “Ballad” in the title.
Byard starts with a bit of his “European Episode,” and then works through “Tea for Two,” “Lover,” his own composition “Strolling Along,” “Cherokee,” and finally Frank Foster’s “Shiny Stockings.” Drummer Alan Dawson and bassist George Tucker acquit themselves admirably throughout, but the star is Joe Farrell on tenor, with two fine solos.
The recording was made on the night of April 15, 1965—which, as Lennie reminded me, was the night Havlicek stole the ball. You non-Bostonians will just have to follow the link to look that up.
Neither vocalist extraordinaireJackie Cain, who died on September 15, nor her husband and musical partner, Roy Kral, ever claimed a particular closeness to the Boston scene. But Boston did them a good turn—it housed the record company that gave them a chance to strut their stuff when they were just starting to make it as a duo act. The two albums they recorded for the Storyville label in 1955 set the tone for the two dozen that would follow in terms of musicianship and choice of material. “Finally,” wrote Jack Tracy in his review of the first of these, “Mr. and Mrs. Kral have been recorded the way they sound on personal appearances.”
The partnership of Jackie and Roy was formed in 1946 in Chicago, where Jackie was singing with Jay Burkhart’s orchestra, and Roy was playing piano with George Davis at a club called Jump Town. Bob Anderson, a saxophonist with Burkhart who had worked with Kral in earlier days, brought Cain to Jump Town to sit in. They clicked. Soon Cain was the regular singer, and people noticed. Bandleader Charlie Ventura was one, and he hired them both in late 1947. Jackie and Roy were on their way.
Fast forward to May 1954, with Jackie and Roy in Boston for a week at Storyville, where owner George Wein signed them to his Storyville Records label. In late 1954 or early 1955, the duo recorded Jackie and Roy (STLP 322) as part of the Storyville Presents series. Their backing was excellent: Barry Galbraith on guitar, Bill Crow on bass, and Joe Morello on drums. The 10-inch LP featured eight tunes, a now-famous Burt Goldblatt cover photo, and glib George Frazier liner notes. (more…)