Soul is dead. Long live the new wave! This seems to be the opinion of Cannonball Adderley, whose group has shed its earthy mantle for a more fashionable, way out garb. The Adderley sextet made the briefest of tours in Britain, calling only at Birmingham Town Hall (where I heard them), London’s Finsbury Park Astoria and the good old Palace Theatre, Manchester. Actually, their main reason for coming was to tape a show for BBC 2.
My last encounter with the Adderleys had been at the Olympia Music Hall, Paris, two years ago, where they played to a packed house, which stamped, clapped, shouted and whistled as the brothers ran through their down-home repertoire – Moanin’, This Here, Dat Here and, of course, Work Song. But times have changed. Since then Vic Feldman has vacated the piano chair in favour of Austrian Joe Zawinul, multi-reed man Yusef Lateef has come and gone to be replaced by Charles Lloyd (tenor & flute).
Which brings me to ‘new thing’. Mr. Lloyd, formerly with Chico Hamilton’s combo, is an avant garde merchant and he makes a strange bedfellow for Cannonball and Nat. It was interesting to note that throughout the concert, Lloyd stood apart, upstage, from the rest of the band. It was almost like watching a game of ‘spot the stranger’ and I can only assume that he was hired to keep the outfit in vogue with Russell, Dolphy, Coltrane and Coleman devotees. His addition may prove to be a shrewd move, commercially, as every solo he blew was greeted with thunderous bursts of cheering. What was it Miles Davis said: ‘In Europe they clap everything, even the mistakes.’
Lloyd’s tenor-playing consists of many notes, often out of tune, with liberal helpings of honks, squeaks and grunts. He is evidently under Coltrane’s spell, although, in fairness, his solos are shorter than his mentor’s! On flute, he sounds better, but this instrument was employed on only one tune.
The Adderley set opened at breakneck tempo with a performance of Yusef Lateef’s The Weaver. Lloyd plunged into a shapeless solo, which was accompanied by some laughable gyrations and contortions as the musician grappled with his horn. Cannonball followed, blowing a cluttered passage, full of slurs, and Nat put in some high-note cornet work to delight the gallery. An endurance test for bassist Sam Jones and drummer Louis Hayes, but they appeared to be unruffled when it was over.
Next, a thunderous bossa nova, Giant Samba, a Nat Adderley number. Nat was good here. He seems to be creeping from under his Miles Davis stone and playing a bit more of himself. Nevertheless, there are traces of Gillespie to be found in his work. Lloyd switched to flute and turned in a pretty reasonable effort. However, his tenor feature spot, on a ballad called Voice In The Night, was highly dispensable, apart from a neat, Bill Evansish contribution by Zawinul.
Another taste of exotica came in Tingle Tango (the title’s a giveaway). Cannonball took charge here and got things swinging, but his ideas were rather mundane. Incidentally, it was hard to believe that the altoist had recently suffered a heart attack. He seemed full of beans; his wit as sharp as ever (‘We don’t care if its Birmingham, England or Birmingham, Alabama, so long as we’re working!’).
Cannon introduced the rhythm section and the three hornmen left the platform to Zawinul, Jones and Hayes, who proceeded to make Falling In Love With Love a wonderful experience. The pianist did a great job, Sam Jones plucked one of those sonorous bass solos (he gets such a lovely deep down tone) and Hayes was the acme of good taste. The long, extended coda by Zawinul came off beautifully. Yet for some reason, only a flutter of handclaps was the trio’s reward. The closer was a peep back to more soulful days – Nat’s Work Song. All three horns had their say: Nat was robust, Cannonball fast and furious, Lloyd garrulous. The crowd clamoured for more.
I found the first half of the concert better entertainment. Dick Morrissey’s admirable quartet set the temperature rising on a tune entitled Bruisin’. The young tenorist is an uncomplicated, straightahead swinger. He borrows now and then from Dexter Gordon, but why not? Morrissey is a basic sort of musician who pleases most people. He shone, too, on Bang, written by Dizzy Reece. So did pianist Harry South, but the bassist’s bowed solo was weak and less volume from drummer Bill Eyden would have helped.
Songstress Elaine Delmar (in a yellow sheath dress) was accompanied on Black Coffee, Crazy He Calls Me and Fine And Dandy by the Morrissey group. Miss Delmar is an able vocalist possessing an excellent range, clear diction and a genuine feeling for her material. Crazy was a fine piece of ballad singing by any standards, while Dandy found her grooving gently, aided by a short, booting tenor solo from Morrissey.
Introduced by promoter Vic Lewis as ‘one of the greatest guitarists I’ve heard’, Ernest Ranglin, backed by Eyden and Phil Bates, went on to demonstrate that he is, unquestionably, the most impressive guitarist in Britain today. He charged into a swift Cherokee, a fitting vehicle for his fluid technique, which brought to mind the flights of Jim Hall. Ranglin arrived in this country seven months ago and has already established himself as a valuable asset to the local jazz scene. A shy retiring man, he played a passionate solo on an unnamed twelve bar blues, concluding the set with another original. Mr. Ranglin will be a welcome visitor anywhere, anytime.
We are told that the jazz boom is over and so it would appear from the attendances at this ‘Jazz ’64′ package. The first house was cancelled, the second slightly more than half full. Four years ago the Adderley Quintet filled the Town Hall twice in a night. Things ain’t what they used to be – even with Brian Epstein co-promoting. Did the Beatles’ manager burn his fingers in the jazz flame, I wonder?
