I first met Gale Madden at a record shop in Bellingham, Washington in the late 80s. As we stood digging a CD of vintage Roy Eldridge, Gale (1) regaled me with fantastic stories of her life with the modern jazz greats in the two main jazz centers of the 40s and 50s, New York City and Los Angeles. Having arrived in Bellingham from God knows where, and going by the name Mama X Plus (or just Mama X), she talked jazz with whomever would listen in this small port city near the Canadian border. Despite grandiose claims of influence on musicians, her sole entry in jazz discographies is for playing maracas on Gerry Mulligan’s first record date as a leader for Prestige in 1951, released as Mulligan Plays Mulligan. Gale is listed in the personnel without being mentioned in the album notes.
When the audience gets too loud, she admonishes them to keep silent, unleashing a few fierce fistfuls of Cecil-like piano for good measure. Compelling and entertaining, the overall effect is that of a one-woman wrecking crew
So why even bother with one so obscure as this? Answering that has been a long process for me. Though she regarded Bellingham as a temporary refuge from life on the road, she stayed there, doing occasional local gigs and establishing herself as something of an eccentric who became the stuff of local legend. On a recording of an 80th birthday party concert at a Bellingham restaurant in June of 1998, Gale plays piano and flute accompanied by local musician Maxx Fanucci on electric bass. As part of the performance, she tells her life story in song, like an old blues moaner, and ends up reciting original beat poetry à la Snyder or Ginsberg. What her flute solos lack in polish, they make up for by pointing in unexpected directions. Her quirky piano shows touches of Monk, stride, and more than a little Cecil Taylor. When the audience gets too loud, she admonishes them to keep silent, unleashing a few fierce fistfuls of Cecil-like piano for good measure. Compelling and entertaining, the overall effect is that of a one-woman wrecking crew.
One year prior to the birthday gig, Madden appeared in a radio interview with Don Manning on KBOO-FM in Portland, Oregon. Manning’s program makes it abundantly clear she had been on the scene in both New York and Los Angeles during the formative years of modern jazz. She has the inside argot down cold and knows the musicians, even the obscure ones, by nickname, quirks and all. Her stories resonate with detailed authenticity. Informed and sharp, she recognises every piece of music Manning plays. She likewise demonstrates intelligence and originality, casually dropping references to social trends, world history, science and classical music as she spins her hipster yarns. Somehow she manages to make herself central to the action of every story.
I had already moved to Japan well before private recordings of the birthday gig and the Manning interview appeared. However, I hadn’t put Gale completely out of mind, so in 2002, when she was 84, I arranged to meet her during a visit home. At the start of our chat, Gale grew frustrated with her perception of me as too much the uptight WASP, telling me I needed to have “a badder attitude” if I wanted to be an interviewer. I felt as though I were being scrutinised and analysed, and found wanting.
Charlie Parker referred Gerry Mulligan to her when she asked Bird to recommend a ‘caucasian Catholic’ who has ‘gotta be strung out’ for her anti-addiction ministrations
Coincidentally, Madden is remembered as a kind of therapist for troubled musicians. Veteran bassist Bill Crow confirms this role, telling me in a 2019 interview “She [Gale] was gonna be the therapist that got all the musicians off of junk. That was her idea.” Most often associated with Gerry Mulligan, Madden quells the common notion that they were lovers, insisting to Don Manning that their relationship had been strictly professional and platonic. As she tells Don, Charlie Parker referred Gerry to her when she asked Bird to recommend a “caucasian Catholic” who has “gotta be strung out” for her anti-addiction ministrations. Explaining her methodology, Gale says “He [Mulligan] would sleep and I would sit up while he slept, and brainwash him. It was like a conditioning system that I used.”
Of more interest to jazz historians than her personal relationship with Mulligan is her possible musical influence. Mulligan himself was among her biggest champions. Referring to the Prestige date in Ira Gitler’s book Swing To Bop, he says “Gail [sic] Madden had gotten the rhythm section together … And she had those guys playing really well together.” And while various theories have been advanced as to why Mulligan dispensed with piano in his famous quartet with Chet Baker, Gerry credits Gale for the idea. In the liners to the quartet’s first Pacific Jazz album, he writes “I was first made aware of the possibilities of a pianoless rhythm section by Gail Madden, a person who possesses a most refreshing and revolutionary conception of the rhythm section and its function.”
Furthermore, in a 1994 interview, Gerry told Gordon Jack that Madden was responsible for suggesting Chico Hamilton for the original quartet with Chet Baker, and, through Bob Graettinger, for introducing Mulligan to Stan Kenton. (2) In addition, bassist Bob Whitlock told Gordon in yet another interview that Gale had been the first one to contact him about auditioning for Gerry in 1952, confirming her major role in recruiting the rhythm section for the original quartet.
What’s more, Whitlock corroborates Mulligan’s estimation of Gale’s influence in the interview with Jack. While admitting “She could be a pain in the ass sometimes”, he said “Many of her observations were very astute, and she made some valuable contributions in my opinion. How could a bass player fail to appreciate her obsession with transparency, buoyancy, precision, and balance within the group?”
Allen Eager: ‘She played maracas and wanted to be on a record date with us, but she didn’t kick the beat off into something better than it was; in fact, she was a bit of a drag’
Some question Madden’s claim to influence on Mulligan. Chet Baker – far from the most reliable of informants – clearly refers to Gale in his “lost memoir” without in fact naming her, writing “Mostly she was just a pain in the ass for Gerry and kept anything from happening with her bullshit.” Others are less blunt, but sceptical. Bill Crow told me that in early 50s New York she played maracas on a couple of concerts with Gerry, something that seemed to him “kind of fruitless”. Allen Eager, in his interview with Gordon Jack, echoes Crow, saying, “She played maracas and wanted to be on a record date with us, but she didn’t kick the beat off into something better than it was; in fact, she was a bit of a drag.”
Deciding who to believe – the sceptics or her supporters – invites debate. Mulligan’s acknowledgment of her influence carries weight. On the other hand, her tendency to self-aggrandisement was readily evident to those who knew her. Somehow she managed to put herself at the centre of every significant musical development in which she became involved. Citing just one example, she told me how a young African-American pianist and singer called R.C. stopped copying Nat King Cole and found his own voice after hearing her preach the blues in a Seattle nightclub in the 40s. This explains how Ray Charles became her gift to the world!
Despite her bluster, she could turn on the charm when she wanted. At our 2002 meeting, her defences cooled a bit when she realised I knew something about jazz and was genuinely interested in her story. She told me she had been “conceived in New Orleans” and born in 1918 in Toledo, Washington, a somewhat remote hamlet on the Cowlitz River, located between Seattle and Portland. Later she lived in Centralia, Washington where she began playing saxophone in the school band. At some point, her father operated a “roadhouse” that featured live music, providing her an early taste of performing.
A precocious youngster, she grew fond of Euclidean geometry at an early age. Later, she digested a steady diet of works of the great philosophers, especially Nietzsche. She likewise told me of her interest in various sciences, and in the workings of the human brain. When she was on the road, she would go off and attend a lecture when the other musicians wanted to party. “I’m up on every theory, every scientific discovery,” Gale told me.
Notes:
(1) Madden’s birth name was Beatrice McNulty. I have been unable to discover how she came by her surname. Bud Shank told Gordon Jack it came from her association with saxophonist Dave Madden. She mentioned to me that she and Madden had lived together for several years but were not related. Also, during the time I knew her, she was spelling her name “Gale,” not “Gail” as it had been spelt in source materials. Indications are she chose the alternate spelling herself. Except for quotes from direct sources, I use the latter spelling throughout this piece.
- (2) Gale was married to Graettinger for about three years, a period of time she called her “limit” for relationships. However, she mentioned to both Manning and to me that their wedding had been a Buddhist ceremony and not legally binding.
Author’s note: A longer version of this article appeared previously online in Steven Cerra’s blog, Jazz Profiles, as well as in my book, Talking Jazz: Profiles, Interviews And Musings From Tacoma To Kansai. The longer version contains many more of Gale’s tales with musicians.
To be continued
