I Remember Pepper

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Baritone saxophonist and arranger Kenny Berger is our guest blogger today. He was Pepper Adams' personally anointed sub in the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra in the early 1970s. Berger has performed and recorded with Art Farmer, Freddie Hubbard, the Duke Pearson Big Band, the Lee Konitz Nonet, the Duke Ellington Orchestra, the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra, the Dizzy Gillespie Big Band, the Bill Holman Big Band, the Gil Evans Orchestra, the Phil Woods Little Big Band, the Dave Brubeck Big Band and many others. Berger is currently freelancing in New York and teaching at New Jersey City University. See kennybergermusic.com for more information on his life and career.

My introduction to the music of Pepper Adams came as a complete surprise one evening around 1962 or '63 while I was a jazz obsessed high school student in Brooklyn. I began playing alto sax in Fifth Grade but a couple of years later in Junior High I fell in love with the baritone. Since the school owned one and I didn’t I would use every spare moment in the school day to sneak into the band room and mess around with it. At that point the only baritone soloist I was familiar with was Gerry Mulligan. I especially dug his playing on the first Concert Jazz Band album, though I longed to take my own playing in a harder-swinging direction. 

There was plenty of jazz on the radio in New York in those days. One evening, while listening to the Alan Grant Show on WABC-FM, I heard a track from a recent Donald Byrd album called The Cat Walk. Following Byrd’s trumpet solo came a baritone solo which approached the instrument in a manner that, until that moment, I had perhaps only dreamed was possible but had never actually heard anyone attempt. The tone was hard-edged but deep and resonant, the ideas poured forth in powerful torrents, the sense of swing was irresistible and it felt as though the player was literally eating up the changes. Here, finally, was someone playing the instrument that was to become my voice--and absolutely tearing it up, backed by a relentless Philly Joe Jones-led rhythm section. The player of course was none other than Park “Pepper Adams.

I don’t recall precisely the first time I heard Pepper play live, but with Manhattan just a subway ride away I had plenty of chances to do so. All the qualities I had admired in his recorded work were of course present in his live playing. But hearing Pepper in person brought out some qualities in his playing that records failed to capture. The very presence of his sound and rhythmic energy right there in the room was something that no recording could fully capture, which is true of all great musicians regardless of style or context. The other outstanding quality was his ability to play extremely long solos that built logically and never let up in terms of invention or rhythmic drive.

After I made the switch to being a full-time baritone player, and as my knowledge and understanding of music increased--I later attended a classical conservatory as a bassoon major, though I remain a proudly self-taught improviser, a dying breed if ever there was one--I began to appreciate other notable qualities in Pepper’s playing. It seemed to me that the playing of almost all the other well known jazz baritone players sounded in some way or other to be an application of ideas and general approaches to the horn that would sound equally appropriate on alto or tenor, whereas Pepper seemed to have developed a distinctive style that I could not imagine being used on any other instrument. Unlike almost all the other influential baritone players, Pepper employed the entire range of the horn, really enjoying all the noise it could make and refused to either dance around or totally avoid the lower register as almost everyone else did. This was no mean feat, as the register the baritone is in scares many players away from employing all but the most basic harmonic and melodic ideas and forces others to approach the horn as though they wished it were a tenor or alto, using only the upper register and/or employing an inappropriately bright and edgy sound. Pepper’s style was a good deal more harmonically and rhythmically complex than those of his peers while maintaining a true baritone sound. For proof of this, check out my personal favorite of all his recorded solos on Reflectory from the album of the same name on the Muse label. The solo unfolds logically, swings like mad and builds to an intense climax that he plays in the bottom register. Listen to this solo and try to imagine it having the same impact played on any other instrument and you’ll hear what I mean. He used to say that the baritone required more use of articulation than the higher saxes and if you played a complex run on the baritone without slightly tonguing every note it would sound like someone playing a glissando on a piano with the sustain pedal held down. 

As far as the actual musical content of Pepper’s playing, it reflected his intelligence, open-mindedness and diverse listening habits. His harmonic ear, understanding of motivic development and complete command of devices such as diminished scales was on a par with those of the greatest soloists in jazz, period. His concept of sound was rooted in Harry Carney and his harmonic and rhythmic approaches were heavily influenced by Coleman Hawkins and Charlie Parker. In typically unpredictable Adams fashion, his favorite soloist among the Ellingtonians was not Carney but the great cornetist Rex Stewart, whose quirky, idiosyncratic style (a term Pepper used to describe his own style) appealed to Pepper’s sense of humor and appreciation for players who spoke in a personal voice. This may help to explain his affinity for and compatibility with his old Detroit homey Thad Jones, whose only detectable influences to my ears were Rex and Dizzy. Pepper was also quite well versed in Twentieth Century classical music and was especially partial to the symphonies of Arthur Honegger. This, combined with a storehouse of knowledge of older jazz and pop tunes, as well as songs and themes from film scores and all sorts of corny operettas, plus works by Stravinsky, Shostakovich and others, provided Pepper with a huge database to draw on for his seemingly inexhaustible supply of musical quotes (speaking of lost arts) that allowed his incomparable sense of humor to express itself through his music. More on Pepper Adams the man in Part Two.

Reader Survey

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Today I'm taking a break from supplying content to ask you what it is you'd like to see in this blog? Are there certain things you'd like me to cover? Are there specific question you have about Pepper you'd like me to answer? A blog without happy readers and threads that spur discussion is little more than narcissism so please fire away and let me know how I can upgrade this space.

Thanks,

Gary Carner

Two as One: New Prologue to Pepper Adams Biography

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

OK, everybody. I've rewritten and reformulated the Prologue since last week, pulling together two pieces about Pepper. The first is Pepper in crisis and its aftermath. The second is how I met Pepper and what it was like for me. I encourage you to please let me know if you think this is a good opening to the book. I'll take your suggestions to heart, thanks.

Prologue

In the Summer of 1977 Pepper Adams was at a crossroads. For twelve years he had anchored the reed section of the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra, one of jazz’s greatest big bands, but at age 46 desperately needed to reinvent himself. Adams never wanted to be in the group in the first place. After too many years of accepting section work with big bands, he was eager to break free and work exclusively with small ensembles so he could stretch as a soloist. But Thad Jones—one of his dearest friends, whom he admired more than anyone—needed him in his newly formed orchestra, leaned on him, reminded him of all the things his mother did for him back in Pontiac, Michigan in the old days and convinced him to stay. That was in 1966. Now, after hundreds of Monday nights at the Village Vanguard and countless tours of the U.S., Europe and Japan, Adams was more restive than ever. 

Pepper had voiced his frustration at least a year prior to the ’77 summer tour. He told Thad and Mel that he was unhappy with his lack of solos, citing the baseball expression, “Play me or trade me!” as some indication of his discontentment. Pepper’s clever use of the phrase, so characteristic of his understated sense of humor, has since become part of the band’s mythology. When it was uttered, they laughed and ignored it. This time around Adams wasn’t joking.

Pepper’s situation came to a head in Stockholm at the midpoint of the band’s two-month European tour. Before their August 1 evening performance at Tivoli Gardens, Adams met privately with  Jones and Lewis. He told them that he wanted a pay raise and star billing as a featured soloist. Adams, though, was unaware that it was band policy to never give inordinate solo space, nor pay any musician, more than anyone else. Even if he had known, Pepper still would’ve felt entitled to it because of his tenure and longstanding friendship with both of them. Nevertheless, much to his Pepper’s surprise, Thad and Mel turned down his request, steadfastly adhering to band protocol. An aggrieved Pepper Adams, left with no alternative, said he’d be leaving the band at the end of the month when the tour concluded. The news of Pepper’s imminent departure saddened everyone in the band, but none more than Thad Jones and Mel Lewis. That night at Tivoli, Adams again had no solos to play. Adams had sublimated his feelings by getting so drunk before the gig that he could barely comport himself onstage.

Adams’ close friend Ron Ley traveled with the orchestra part of the way through Scandinavia that summer and witnessed Pepper’s sad turn of events. A day or so after Adams submitted his resignation, Ley and Thad Jones had a moment alone. Jones reminded Ley that Pepper was jazz’s greatest living baritone saxophonist. Later on, said Ley, “Mel shared Thad’s opinion of Pepper’s playing and added that his opinion was shared by all fellow musicians of the period. It may have been that Thad and Mel made a point of telling me this because they knew that Pepper and I were close, and wanted to express their feelings so that I wouldn’t be left with an impression that they were indifferent to Pepper’s feelings of disappointment.”

After the tour concluded, Adams returned to New York and began forging his identity as an itinerant soloist. Although it was a courageous decision for Adams to go out on his own after twelve years with the band, it was extraordinarily propitious both for him and jazz history. Adams already possessed an international reputation based on more than twenty years of commercial recordings with many of the greatest musicians, including Phil Woods, John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, Elvin Jones, Stan Kenton, Chet Baker, Duke Pearson, Kenny Clarke, Donald Byrd, Jimmy Heath, Quincy Jones, Herbie Hancock, Benny Goodman, Andre Previn, Paul Chambers, Chick Corea, David Amram, Coleman Hawkins, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk and so many others. In no time he found himself in demand throughout Europe and North America. Then, in 1978 and 1980 Adams recorded two of his greatest albums, Reflectory and The Master, featuring his original compositions. Both were nominated for Grammy Awards as the best instrumental albums of the year by a jazz soloist. Building a book of originals he could perform had finally pushed him to put his mind to composition. Between 1977 and 1983 Adams wrote nearly half his oeuvre of 42 tunes. 

At last, success was coming his way from all directions. His 1979 project with singer Helen Merrill, Chasin’ the Bird/Gershwin, was nominated for a Grammy Award (his third in three years) as the best jazz recording of the year by a vocalist. He received yet another Grammy nomination for his 1983 album Live at Fat Tuesday’s and, clad in a tuxedo, Adams appeared on the 1982 nationally broadcast Grammy Awards telecast, performing (appropriately enough) the jazz standard “My Shining Hour.” Adams was working steadily, winning all the readers and critics polls as the world’s best baritone saxophonist and had the ongoing support of a record company. A younger generation of musicians was seeking him out for their gigs and, due to numerous radio and television appearances, the public was becoming familiar with this soft-spoken gentle man who let his big horn and bigger sound speak for him.

Then, like a sand castle at high tide, it all washed away. With so much forward momentum propelling him, in December, 1983 Adams had a bizarre car accident that forced him to cancel seven months of work, including a week at Lush Life, his first high-profile New York City club date in years. His marriage, already on shaky ground, ended during his convalescence, then lung cancer was discovered half a year later, leaving him with only eighteen months to live. 

Adams’ life can be measured by a long, slowly ascending arc of success that increased logarithmically once he left the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra. Without a doubt, his first six years as a traveling soloist were triumphant—a time when he burnished his legacy as a virtuoso performer and composer—making his dramatic three-year fall that much more lamentable. Nevertheless, Adams had a rich, influential 40-year musical career. Consider for a moment the most notable jazz musicians of Adams’ post-Charlie Parker generation. How many bonafide stylists are there among them who are instantaneously identifiable on their instrument and have had a profound effect on the art form? John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Wes Montgomery spring to mind. Clifford Brown? Cannonball Adderley and Phineas Newborn perhaps? Equally noteworthy in his own way is Pepper Adams, the father of modern baritone sax playing. Just like Wes, Trane and the others on their instruments, Pepper’s unique sound and innovative melodic and harmonic concept, just as surely as his dazzling technical mastery, have shaped all baritone saxophonists to follow. This book is an attempt to contextualize Pepper Adams’ accomplishments and reveal the man who revolutionized the baritone saxophone and forever changed music.

*

On September 28, 1986, our first wedding anniversary, my wife and I attended Pepper Adams’ memorial service at St. Peter’s Church. Adams had waged a courageous battle against an aggressive form of lung cancer that was first diagnosed in early March, 1985 while touring in northern Sweden. St. Peter’s, with its modern ash-paneled interior and large multi-tiered sanctuary, is tucked under the enormous 915-foot-tall Citicorp Center at East 54th Street and Lexington Avenue. On that somber but bright Sunday afternoon, St. Peter’s chapel was packed with musicians, friends and admirers. Reverend John Garcia Gensel presided over the service and many jazz greats—Tommy Flanagan, Elvin Jones, Frank Foster, George Mraz, Roland Hanna, Barry Harris, Louis Hayes, Sheila Jordan, Gerry Mulligan and others—performed and paid their final respects. 

For over a year Adams’ plight had galvanized the jazz community, who heard varying stories about his wife leaving him, his declining health and his dire financial situation. Between September, 1985 and March, 1986 two benefits were organized to raise funds for Pepper’s medical care. One at the 880 Club in Hartford, Connecticut was organized by alto saxophonist Jackie McLean and Adams was able to attend. The other took place at the Universal Jazz Coalition on Lafayette Street in New York and featured performances by Milt Jackson, Louis Hayes, Frank Foster, Dizzy Gillespie, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Burrell, Jerry Dodgion and the entire Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra. Pepper, gaunt and bald from chemotherapy treatments, was out of town for that one, working a weekend gig in Memphis. He sent a letter of gratitude that was read to the audience by singer Lodi Carr.

At Pepper’s memorial service it seemed ironic that this brilliant musician’s musician, so admired by his peers, was receiving such a fond farewell. He had fans, I was sure, but you’d never know it by the indifference he received from the jazz press, the few gigs he did in New York or the small audiences I was fortunate to be a part of near the end of his life. While his predicament likely drew more attention to him than previously, I had the impression that an accreted, long overdue realization of Adams’ musical accomplishments had finally coalesced in the public’s mind. How strange it was that, at his death, it felt like his ascendant hour.

  Pepper Adams was a friend of mine, but, sadly, I knew him only during the last two tumultuous years of his life. During that time, only partly recovered from a horrible leg accident that had kept him immobilized 22 hours a day for six months, Adams was separated from his wife and had been diagnosed with the cancer that would in short order kill him. Although it was an utterly miserable time for him, it was a fascinating and complex ride for me. I was a 28-year-old grad student; a passionate jazz fan and record collector who was trying to interest a jazz musician just enough to work with me on their memoir. As fate would have it, because of his leg injury Pepper had some time on his hands. He was so gracious, so prepared, so articulate and engaging. I felt honored to work with him. 

Then, seven months later his cancer was diagnosed. I visited him at St. Luke’s Hospital when he started his medical treatments. I saw him perform whenever he had a gig around New York. On one occasion, between sets at the Blue Note, I saw him bark at a pianist whom he misperceived was harassing him for a gig. Another time, in New Jersey, I heard the pain pour out of him during a magnificent ballad performance that brought me to tears. I spent time with Pepper at his home in Canarsie, eating pizza, watching football games and dubbing copies of his tapes. Although I was trying to gather as much information as I could in the little time that was left, I always had to reign in my curiosity and not push too hard. Things had changed drastically since the summer and I had to make the shift with him. Mostly, I had to respect that he was fighting for his life and that the cancer treatments made him feel awful. It was simply inappropriate to think that every time we got together Pepper would feel like analyzing aspects of his life. Instead, I did what any friend would do. I tried to help out whenever possible.

In January, 1986, Pepper worked a four-night stint in bitterly cold Minneapolis. I urged a friend of mine to attend as some show of support. During intermission Dan Olson said hello for me, bought Pepper a beer and the two had a chance to talk at the bar. Afterwards, Dan told me that my gesture meant a lot to Pepper, that he was obviously quite fond of me. That’s when I started to learn how much Pepper valued our work together. My final experience with Pepper was equally poignant. A month before his death, bedridden at home and under the care of a hospice nurse, I called to see if there was anything I could do. His nurse asked me to hold. I waited anxiously for at least five minutes while Pepper somehow found the energy to drag himself to the telephone. In a sentence or two he acknowledged that time was short, thanked me for calling, said a final goodbye and hung up the phone. That would’ve been in August, 1986, right around the time that Dizzy Gillespie called him to say that Thad Jones had died in Copenhagen.

About a year later, once I began interviewing Adams’ colleagues, I spent a very memorable afternoon in Cambridge, Massachusetts with Tommy Flanagan. I was meeting him for the first time and I was completely starstruck. Flanagan was one of the last people to see Pepper alive. Flanagan wanted me to know that transcripts of my interviews were stacked high on Pepper’s nightstand just before he died. At one point, while sitting next to Pepper on the edge of his bed, Flanagan explained, Pepper awoke and tried feebly to push my manuscript towards him. As you can imagine, I was completely stunned by Flanagan’s story and it had a profound effect on me once I comprehended its full implications. At first I was very touched that my work possibly gave Pepper some small measure of comfort at the end of his life. Then I began to take my role a lot more seriously, knowing how important it was to Pepper for his work to carry on after him. Of course my resolve to do this book and all the other work that’s preceded it was strengthened. But, truth be told, I’ve wanted to tell Pepper’s story since June 28, 1984, the memorable day I conducted the first of several lengthy interviews with him. His recollections of his childhood and early career (see pepperadams.com) were stunning in their depth and historical sweep. I knew right away that I had something very special. 

Flanagan’s interview was one of more than 100 I conducted, mostly in the late 1980s before my daughter was born. For them, Pepper was a complex figure: a hero, an intellectual, a composer, a model of grace, a virtuoso musician and stylist, yet someone also very hard to calibrate. Their remembrances revealed a brilliant artist full of interesting ambiguities and contradictions: an unworldly looking sophisticate, a engaging raconteur in public who was emotionally guarded in private, a full-throated exuberant saxophonist who was mild-mannered and soft-spoken. What a fascinating subject! After so many years researching his life and living with his music, in 2012 I produced a five-volume box set of Adams’ complete compositions that was co-branded with my book Pepper Adams’ Joy Road: An Annotated Discography. Now, with this companion work, I at long last fulfill my promise to him and myself. 

I’m especially pleased that John Vana agreed to co-author the book. John’s an alto player on the faculty at Western Illinois University. We first met when he invited me to speak at WIU in late 2013. John’s an ardent Pepper Adams fan. Soon after my visit he agreed to write a major piece on Pepper’s early style (to 1960) for a possible Adams anthology. Not long after that, John started asking me to send him, bit by bit, every Pepper Adams LP, cassette and videotape in my collection. Clearly, listening only to Adams’ early work wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to consider Pepper’s entire oeuvre. Eventually, it occurred to me that John’s piece would likely cover much of the same terrain I’d be exploring in the second half of this book. Considering the demands of my day job, wouldn’t it be better for me to write the biography and have John (with my input, additions and editorial oversight) write the second section? I got John on the phone and he thought it was a really good idea. The anthology might not even happen, I pointed out, so what better place for his study? For those either already hip to Adams’ life and recordings or encountering him for the first time, it’s our sincere hope that we convey his extraordinary contribution to the history of Twentieth Century music and inspire readers everywhere to listen anew to his glorious work.

Prologue to Pepper Adams Biography

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Prologue: I Carry Your Heart

On September 28, 1986 I drove three hours from Boston to New York to attend Pepper Adams’ memorial service at St. Peter’s Church. Adams had waged a courageous battle against an aggressive form of lung cancer that was first diagnosed in early March, 1985 while touring in northern Sweden. St. Peter’s, with its modern ash-paneled interior and large multi-tiered sanctuary, is tucked under the enormous 915-foot-tall Citicorp Center at East 54th Street and Lexington Avenue. On that somber but bright Sunday afternoon, St. Peter’s chapel was packed with musicians, friends and admirers. Reverend John Garcia Gensel presided over the service and many jazz greats—Tommy Flanagan, Elvin Jones, Frank Foster, George Mraz, Roland Hanna, Barry Harris, Louis Hayes, Sheila Jordan, Gerry Mulligan and others—performed and paid their final respects. 

For over a year Adams’ plight had galvanized the jazz community, who heard varying stories about his wife leaving him, his declining health and his dire financial situation. Between September, 1985 and March, 1986 two benefits had been organized to raise funds for Pepper’s medical care. One at the 880 Club in Hartford, Connecticut was organized by alto saxophonist Jackie McLean and Adams was able to attend. The other took place at the Universal Jazz Coalition on Lafayette Street in New York and featured performances by Dizzy Gillespie, Milt Jackson, Tommy Flanagan, Louis Hayes, Frank Foster, Kenny Burrell, Jerry Dodgion and the entire Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra. Pepper, gaunt and bald from chemotherapy treatments, was out of town for that one, working a weekend gig in Memphis. He sent a letter of gratitude that was read to the audience by singer Lodi Carr.

At Pepper’s memorial service it seemed ironic that this brilliant musician’s musician, so admired by his peers, was receiving such a fond farewell. He had fans, I was sure, but you’d never know it by the indifference he received from the jazz press, the few gigs he did in New York or the small audiences I was fortunate to be a part of near the end of his life. While his predicament likely drew more attention to him than previously, I had the impression that an accreted, long overdue realization of Adams’ musical accomplishments had finally coalesced in the public’s mind. How strange it was that, at his death, it felt like his ascendant hour.

  Pepper Adams was a friend of mine, but, sadly, I knew him only during the last two tumultuous years of his life. During that time, only partly recovered from a horrible leg accident that had kept him bed-ridden for six months, Adams was separated from his wife and had been diagnosed with the cancer that would, in short order, kill him. 

I’ve been wanting to tell Pepper’s story since June 28, 1984, the memorable day I conducted the first of several lengthy interviews with him. I promised Pepper that I would complete his biography and a 350-page transcript of my interviews was stacked high on his nightstand the morning he died. After his death, I interviewed many of his peers. For them, Pepper Adams was a complex figure: a hero, a model of grace, a virtuoso musician and stylist, a composer, an intellectual. Adams was also an unworldly looking sophisticate; a public person yet emotionally guarded; a full-throated, exuberant saxophonist who was mild-mannered and soft-spoken. In short, a brilliant artist full of interesting ambiguities and contradictions.

After so many years of living with his music and researching his life, in 2012 I produced a five-volume CD box set of Adams compositions that was co-branded and released with my book Pepper Adams’ Joy Road: An Annotated Discography. Now, with this companion work, I fulfill my promise to him and myself. 

I’m especially pleased that John Vana agreed to co-author the book. John’s an alto player on the faculty at Western Illinois University in Macomb, Illinois. I first met him when he invited me to speak at WIU in late 2013. That’s when I toured the Eastern half of the U.S. and Canada for a month with British arranger Tony Faulkner. 

John is a huge Pepper Adams fan. Soon after my visit he agreed to write a major piece on Pepper’s early style (to 1960) for a possible Adams anthology. Not long after that, John started asking me to send him, bit by bit, every Pepper Adams tape, LP and videotape that’s listed in Pepper Adams’ Joy Road. Clearly, “Up to 1960” wasn't enough for him. He wanted to hear it all and consider Pepper’s entire oeuvre.

Eventually, it occurred to me that John’s piece on Pepper’s style would likely cover much of the same terrain that I’d be exploring in the second half of this book. Considering the demands of my day job, perhaps it would be better for me to write the biography and have John (with my input, additions and editorial oversight) write the second section? Wouldn’t it move up the timetable? I got John on the phone and he agreed. He thought it was a really good idea. The anthology might not even happen, I pointed out, so what better place for his study? 

For those either already hip to Adams’ life and recordings or encountering him for the first time, it’s our sincere hope that we convey his extraordinary contribution to the history of Twentieth Century music and inspire readers everywhere to listen anew to his glorious work.

Pepper Adams Biography

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

I've begun writing the second volume. I've modified and signed off on the Epigraph, Prologue and first chapter and I continue to build the Recommended Listening section. Perhaps some of you have noticed that every few days I've been sneaking in my listening choices on my Facebook page? So far, I've posted around seven tunes and videos. Many more are to come, of course. It's been fun listening again and adding them. Today I listened twice to one of Pepper's great masterpieces: Pepper Adams Plays Charlie Mingus.

As for the biography, I'll post the Epigraph below, then the Prologue next week and Chapter 1 in two weeks. After that, you'll just need to wait and read the book! Chapter 1 sets things in motion with a rationale for why Pepper is an important figure. It's intended to entice those not faamiliar with him and his work.  It leads into Chapter 2, something I'm developing, which might be a discussion of his father or other father figures, such as Rex Stewart. The Prologue discusses when I met Pepper and how my work on Pepper came to be.

Here's the Epigraph, stated to me in a Thelonious Monk seminar I took many years ago in Blake's Brookline, Massachusetts apartment:

How many musicians out there are really different?

- Ran Blake

Pepper's Good Groove

A few months ago I came to the conclusion that the best approach to my second volume on Pepper Adams was to write the biography in two separate sections. The first, I explained in a blog entry a few months back, would be a 100-page biography and the second would be a 100-page discussion of his saxophone style and compositions. I still like the way this approach frees me to write a shorter but more focused biography, then get deeply into his playing and composing.

Two days ago, on a long drive from Atlanta to Orlando, however, it occurred to me that it might be quite some time before I'm able to write this book. When would I finish it? I turn sixty this year.

My assessment of the book project has taken sharper focus recently because I've just changed careers. Or, you could say, I've returned to a previous one. Twenty years ago I worked in the financial services industry. I did quite well but left to work with a wellness company and then the wine industry. A few months ago I decided that the wine industry was going through too much of a contraction to ever give me the kind of gig I need. I began getting licenses and I'm now working for three separate insurance agencies in Georgia.

My career shift is taking me farther away from the Pepper book project, with little end in sight. Though I've been busy building out the Instagram page, this blog, pepperadams.com and other projects, what about the book? I first conceptualized doing Pepper's biography in the summer of 1984, when I interviewed him at length. The discographical first volume took a little heat off but the biography has always been very dear to my heart and a life-long goal.  When would I do it?

Somewhere after I crossed the Georgia-Florida line I started listening to Pepper's magical playing on Red Garland's Red's Good Groove. It's always been a favorite of mine. How perfect  Pepper's playing is on the date, I thought, and how beautifully the engineer captured his sound! I started thinking about my friend John Vana and I thought I should give him a call to tell him about the recording.

John's an alto player on the faculty at Western Illinois University in Macomb IL (Al Sears' hometown). I first met John when he invited me to speak at WIU in 2013. That's when I toured the Eastern half of the U.S. and Canada for a month with British arranger Tony Faulkner. 

John is a huge Pepper fan. Soon after my visit he agreed to write a major piece on Pepper's early style (to 1960) for a possible Pepper anthology. Soon after that, he started asking me to send him, bit by bit, every tape, LP or videotape of Pepper Adams that I own or that's listed in Pepper Adams' Joy Road. Up to 1960 wasn't enough for him. He's now up to 1977 and he wants to hear it all.

Not only is it my mandate to support anyone's work on Pepper, but it's been a good deal for me too. John has converted (and preserved) so much of my precious Pepper stuff onto CD. It's vitally important to save all my Pepper audience tapes for future generations.

At first I thought I'd just catch up with John on the telephone. I could tell him why the last batch of LPs and cassettes hasn't been mailed out and I could tell him how relaxed and perfect Pepper's playing is on the Garland LP. But before I called him it occurred to me that John's piece on Pepper's style would likely cover much of the same terrain that I'd be exploring in the second half of my Pepper book. Considering the demands of my day job, perhaps it would be better for me to write the bio and have John (with my input, additions and editorial oversight) write the second section? Wouldn't it move up the timetable? Yes, I thought it might.

I got John on the phone and he agreed with me. He thought it was a really good idea. The anthology might not even happen, I pointed out, so what better place than in the "definitive" Pepper biography? 

That's where the Pepper Adams biography stands at the moment. I've yet to see John's work on Pepper in any tangible form but I'm encouraged by his passion for Pepper and the long phone conversations we've already had. I'll let you know how it's going as things move ahead. I think he still has at least six months of listening to go. 

One thing I reiterated to John was my feeling that maybe Pepper went through more than just an early, middle and late period in his stylistic evolution. We're in agreement that everything leading up to the 1960 Live at the Half Note date amounts to the flowering and maturation of him as a soloist. That could be construed as "Early." His playing in the early 1960s is so majestic and soulful. He still has a very bluesy and lyrical style, using a wail as a stylistic element, using space to great effect and pulling back the time. At what point, I asked John, did Pepper move into such a dense way of playing and become such a diminished freak?  Perhaps the transition to that is his "Pre-Late" period? Any thoughts, dear listener?

When things settle down a little for me, I'll start to pull together my thoughts for the biography. Just the other day I thought what a kick it would be to listen again to all those interviews I did about Pepper with so many musicians and friends. Only a fraction of them was transcribed for the first book. I've already decided to start the book with Pepper meeting Rex Stewart in 1944 at the RKO Temple Theater. So I can set the stage, I need info about the theater, particularly its interior. Upward and onward!

Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra Early Personnel

When Thad Jones and Mel Lewis first began drawing up who they most wanted to hire for their new big band, the choices weren't necessarily the same as those who eventually made it to the first rehearsals or the first gig at the Village Vanguard. In the left column are those who were originally slated for the band. The right column are those who made the first Vanguard gig on 7 February 1966. Who thinks Nick Travis would've taken the concertmaster chair over Snooky Young? Who laments the fact that neither Phil Woods nor Clark Terry made it to the band? Phil Woods did sub for Jerome Richardson occasionally but is there any record of Clark Terry playing in the orchestra? On the Chuck Stewart photo below, who can identify the personnel (other than Thad, Mel, Dodgion, Richardson, Herman)? Is that Eddie Jones on bass?

Thad Jones +

trumpet trumpet

Snooky Young (lead?) Snooky Young (lead)

Nick Travis (lead?) Jimmy Nottingham (Travis deceased)

Jimmy Maxwell Bill Berry (subbing for Maxwell)

Clark Terry Jimmy Owens (Terry's absence unexplained)

trombone trombone

Bob Brookmeyer (lead)  Bob Brookmeyer (lead)

Willie Dennis  Garnett Brown (Dennis deceased)

choice not known Jack Rains

choice not known Cliff Heather

saxophone

Phil Woods (lead) Jerome Richardson (lead)

choice not known Jerry Dodgion

Wayne Shorter Joe Farrell

choice not known Eddie Daniels

Pepper Adams Marv Holladay (subbing for Adams)

rhythm

Hank Jones Hank Jones

guitar not planned            Sam Herman

choice not known Richard Davis

Mel Lewis                         Mel Lewis

Looking Ahead to 2015

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas (that ever so conveniently rolled into the weekend). 2015 looks like an exciting year for my Pepper Adams work. As always, I continue to revise the pepperadams.com Chronology and Discography whenever new information presents itself. As it turns out, some new data has surfaced recently. Now that all the databases are in PDF format, I'll be updating quarterly. The next update will take place in January.

I continue to look for lecture opportunities. If anyone works at a college and is interested in having me give a talk on Pepper, please let me know. Since the 2012 publication of Pepper Adams'Joy Road I've done about fifty such talks. I love doing them because most students don't know anything about Pepper. Such is the state of jazz history survey courses and textbooks to this day. Because Pepper remains an historical footnote, I always get out to spread the word.

The biggest project of 2015 is the CD issue of Ephemera. Although available on iTunes, it's amazing that the date has never been issued on CD. Tony Williams of Spotlite recently sent the original master to Robin Springall at Repeat Performance in London and the date sounds magnificent! I think it will sound even better if Mel Lewis' drums are brought up in volume. His brushwork is too low and his toms need more definition.

As I wrote a few weeks back, Pepper asked that all alternates from the first day be destroyed, due to some ridiculous antics that took place in the studio. Hence, everything on the date is a first take from Day Two. I hadn't heard Bouncing with Bud, Jitterbug Waltz, Quiet Lady or Hellure in years. What a joy to hear this great music again, especially Quiet Lady. I completely forgot what a brilliant performance this is, right up there perhaps with Day Dream and I've Just Seen Her as one of Pepper's greatest studio ballad performances. Roland Hanna steals the show with his unaccompanied intro, solo, and spectacular unaccompanied coda and Pepper really lays way back in his time on the theme and in his solo.

Bouncing with Bud brings tears to my eyes. It so perfectly captures the language of the 1950s and is played so well by the ensemble. Adams' arrangement of the tune is quite daring. Mel Lewis takes an unaccompanied solo after Hanna's, then George Mraz solos before Pepper. The delay of Adams' solo builds tension, released by Pepper's dramatic entrance. The tune, almost eleven minutes long, feels like a club date performance.

Ah, how about that Adams ballad atmosphere? Is there anything else like it? Civilization and Its Discontents is such an amazing thing, isn't it?

Mel Lewis' driving percussion on Jitterbug Waltz is just wonderful. How about his unaccompanied intro to the tune? What a fine arranging decision on Pepper's part, as is the terraced dynamics in the theme. As I wrote a few weeks ago, Ephemera is one of Pepper's masterpieces. I eagerly look forward to writing new liner notes.

I'll let you know about the timeline of Clarion Jazz reissue. Early September still looks reasonable at this point but no word yet about that from Dale Fielder. Happy New Year everybody! 

A Word About Mean What You Say

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

On a long drive this morning I listened to Mean What You Say, the only studio recording ever made by the Thad Jones-Pepper Adams Quintet. Although the group (with Mel Lewis) continued to work throughout the '60s and '70s, much to Pepper's disappointment the group was eclipsed by the establishment of the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra.

Mean What You Say is a record that I've always held in very high esteem, one that I've heard thirty or more times though not recently. What struck me today is just how spectacular a recording it is, how fresh it still seems, how original Thad Jones' small group arrangements are, how wonderful the tunes are (with two waltzes and no ballads) and how great Thad's soloing is throughout. Actually, everyon e plays brilliantly, including Duke Pearson, who, despite his Blue Note A&R gig was still a very strong soloist in mid-1966.

This is a recording of historic proportions on so many levels. It's one that should be dissected in jazz texts and wildly appreciated as one of the seminal recordings of the 1960s and in jazz history, just as Kind of Blue or A Love Supreme are discussed. Woefully, it's completely overlooked by critics, authors, jazz fans and even musicians.

First, the personnel: Thad Jones flh; Pepper Adams bs; Duke Pearson p; Ron Carter b; Mel Lewis dm.

Three Detroiters plus one honorary Detroiter in Mel Lewis (though from Buffalo, but with that wide Elvin Jones kind of beat). Add Atlanta's Duke Pearson, a close friend of Pepper's. What a band, all playing at their best! In fact, for those very familiar with Thad Jones' playing, has he ever sounded better? It's certainly the best Thad playing I've heard! With his performance it's easy to understand how revered he is by brass players, who have placed him firmly in the trumpet lineage right in there after Dizzy, Clark Terry and Miles, and before Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan, Freddie Hubbard and Woody Shaw.

The next thing that struck me about Mean What You Say is Thad and Pepper's phrasing. Their dynamics and time feel lock up as if they were together for many years. In fact, the band was only playing gigs on and off for about a year, but it shows.

The tunes? The title tune should be a standard of the jazz repertoire. Why aren't musicians besides Peter Leitch and Gary Smulyan playing it? Thad's "Bossa Nova Ova," one of the hippest bossas I've ever heard, is a spectacular Thad arrangement with a dazzling soli. Why isn't this being played? Can you believe Mel Lewis' amazing Latin playing on this tune? 

The uptempo Burt Bacharach waltz "Wives and Lovers?" What a great tune. Musicians are asleep on this one too. Duke Pearson's great tune "Chant," better know and which Pepper had recorded twice before with the Byrd-Adams Quintet (once with Pearson at Live at the Half Note), is another tune that should be a standard. How about Thad's outlandish arrangement on this version? 

For those who think Pepper was an extreme double-time player who couldn't play with sensitivity, check out his (and Thad's) beautiful, behind-the-beat, amazingly poignant solos on Ron Carter's "Little Waltz?" So much for that stereotype.

Thad's hip "H and T Blues?" (Does that stand for Hank and Thad, by any chance?) Thad's swinging "No Refill." Que pasa? Why aren't musicians playing these tunes? 

And how can you top the wonderful slapstick rendition of "Yes Sir, That's My Baby?" Here Thad and Pepper hilariously deconstruct the tune as if they're 11-year-old struggling jazz soloists, then re-equilibrate, as a startling contrast, and completely tear it up. Dick Katz, who was Milestone's A&R man, told me that Thad's solo is "historic." Milestone's Orrin Keepnews was horrified by the band's approach but what a way to evoke musical satire!

The only flaw I can speak to on this dazzling landmark recording is Pepper's sound on the Fantasy digital remaster. Like the original it still has far too much reverb. I'm surprised it's not repaired but, again, another lame decision made about the date without understanding its real significance. 

Significance? Yes, five of the greatest musicians of their time playing absolutely unique and brilliant arrangements by one of jazz's greatest arrangers, with soloists all at the top of their game. I want to hear from you about this recording. Isn't it a "dessert island recording" and one that's been completely overlooked?

Photo by Rick Mattingly

Ephemera to be Reissued in 2015!

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Just a few minutes ago I awoke to an email from Tony Williams, owner of Spotlite Records. Williams wanted to let me know that he transferred from the original master all seven of the magical tracks from Pepper Adams' date Ephemera that he produced 41 years ago. Williams is mailing me a copy of the CD today. What a Christmas gift!

Many of you know that Ephemera is one of Adams' greatest achievements. It was recorded at a time when Pepper was out of fashion and couldn't get a recording date as a leader. It had been five years since his Encounter session was recorded. Even though that date was eventually sold to Prestige, it was independently produced by Fred Norsworthy and funded by Norsworthy's girlfriend. The intent was to sell it to an interested party but no one was interested! Eventually, Don Schlitten at Prestige took it, which of course meant for virtually nothing and with limited distribution.

If you consider the stretch of time between Ephemera and when Adams was last recorded by a commerical entity, it had been eight years since the Thad Jones-Pepper Adams Quintet date Mean What You Say was done for Milestone and eleven years since Adams' last date for Motown. That one remains unreleased and in Universal's vaults.

Ephemera is significant on several levels. For one thing it includes four original compositions by Pepper Adams. He had never written more than two tunes for any of his previous dates. Those tunes--Patrice, Hellure, Ephemera and Civilization and Its Discontents--stand as some of Pepper's greatest achievements as a composer. In fact, Adams felt that Ephemera was his greatest piece. I'm inclined to agree, though Patrice and Civ is right up there with it. Additonally, the quartet plays the standards Bouncing with Bud and Jitterbug Waltz, plus the Thad Jones ballad Quiet Lady. The playing is outstanding!

The date, recorded in London on 9-10 September 1973, uses the extraordinary rhythm section of the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra: Roland Hanna, George Mraz and Mel Lewis. All tracks are from the 10th because the first day was marred by all sorts of bizarre technical difficulties. Because of that, Adams asked Williams to destroy everything from the 9th. 

Jones-Lewis was on tour of Europe at the time. As some of you know, Adams was right at home with the rhythm section and visa versa. Pepper and Mel were very close musical buddies since 1956. Mraz was Pepper's all-time favorite bass player. And Roland was a Detroiter. Need I say more? 

How can it be that this date has never been issued on CD? Well, saxophonist Dale Fielder and I are correcting that injustice. Fielder, based in Los Angeles, operates Clarion Jazz. He'll be putting the date out, we hope in early September in time to celebrate the 42nd anniversary of the recording and in time for Christmas sales. Fielder will be repackaging and mastering the recording, possibly with the help of engineer Jim Merod (a passionate Pepper Adams fan). I'll be writing a new essay and providing photographs, never before seen, that were taken by Jill Freedman at the London photo shoot.

Shopping with Harry Carney

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Not long after Pepper Adams' death on 10 September 1986, his old college roomate from Wayne, Bob Cornfoot, prepared a remembrance for radio play of almost an hour in length to commemorate both Pepper and Thad Jones. Both Detroiters died within three weeks of each other. One of the things that Cornfoot discussed was the time when Adams replaced his student model Bundy baritone sax with a Balanced Action B-Flat Selmer. The Bundy was Adams' first baritone saxophone. He discovered it by chance while working as a Christmas extra at Grinnell's in 1947. His Selmer is what he used on all of his historic recordings from 1956-1978. Ultimately, metal fatigue made some of the keys unfixable. 

Cornfoot pointed out that Adams brought Harry Carney with him to Ivan C. Kay so the master could check out the instrument for the acolyte. Who better to check it out? The Duke Ellington Orchestra was in Detroit, playing the Paradise Theater from 15-30 October, 1948. Some of you would've read in an earlier post my account of Rex Stewart befriending Pepper in early March, 1944 at the RKO Temple Theatre. Pepper also met Carney at that time and it's presumed that Pepper stayed in close contact with the Ellingtonians. 

Body and Soul, Sonny Rollins and Pepper Adams

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

We know that the 1939 Coleman Hawkins recording of Body and Soul is an iconic masterpiece of the jazz canon but don't we lose sight of how it influenced a generation of musicians? I recently read a piece by Marc Myers and was struck by how Sonny Rollins' experience as a young musician paralleled Pepper Adams'. Here's what Sonny Rollins recently told Marc Myers in the Wall Street Journal about Coleman Hawkins' recording:

"It's hard today to fully appreciate how different Coleman Hawkins' Body and Soul sounded when it hit Harlem jukeboxes in late 1939. On that three-minute record, Coleman took a popular torch song and, with his tenor saxophone, turned it into a personal statement without ever losing track of the original melody. Wow, that was completely new and it really changed me.

I first heard Body and Soul when I was 10 years old. I was standing outside the Big Apple Bar on the corner of 135th Street and Seventh Avenue, across from Small's Paradise, and heard it on the jukebox through an open window. Back then, I was playing alto saxophone and idolized Louis Jordan — and still do. But when I heard Coleman's Body and Soul, a light went off in my head. If he could personalize a popular song like that without lyrics, any song was possible if you had that intellectual capacity.

People in Harlem know their music, and I remember marveling at how many of them were touched by his record. Coleman went beyond what musicians were doing then by creating new harmonic inventions. Right after hearing the record, I bought a tenor reed and began using it on my alto mouthpiece to get that big Coleman Hawkins sound. Some years later, after much pleading on my part, my mother bought me a tenor sax and I was on my way."

For Pepper Adams, Hawkins' recording also propelled him to get a tenor saxophone and emulate Hawkins' big sound and more aggressive style. Up until that time Adams was playing clarinet, imitating the melismatic and lighter New Orleans playing of Jimmy Noone and Johnny Dodds. Here's a touching excerpt from my book, Pepper's Adams' Joy Road, as told to me by the noted Eastman School educator Everett Gates. I interviewed Gates about Pepper and Pepper's March, 1978 performance at Eastman:

"Adams dedicated Body and Soul to Everett Gates, a professor at Eastman and an early mentor to Adams who was in the audience. Regarding Adams’ performance of Body and Soul, Gates said, “That completely floored me!” In 1942, when Pepper Adams was eleven years old, Adams started visiting Gates on a regular basis at Gates’ home in Rochester, New York. They used to listen to music and discuss jazz and music theory. “He came to the house,” Gates continued, “and one day he said,

“Do you know Body and Soul?” I said, “Sure.” “Well,” he said, “could you write it out for me?” I said, “Sure.” At that time he was going to get a saxophone. So I wrote it out in D-flat, which of course was the key we always used, rather than any other when we’re playing. When we were improvising, it was always D-flat. And, so I wrote it out with the chords. He said, “There’s a record by Coleman Hawkins.” I said, “Yes, he made that a couple of years ago.” He said, “Well, he’s all over the place.” I said, “Yes, it’s very complicated and he gets up even to the high harmonics on the saxophone, like high G, so you have to be pretty advanced to control those.” So he said, “I wonder: Could you write me out a little improvisation that’s simple? Something simple I can play?” I said, “Sure. You can play this either on tenor, or you can play it on a clarinet.” So he got so he could play that, [and] this is what [he began his solo with] when he played at the Eastman Theater with the Eastman Jazz Ensemble. (He played this just with a rhythm section, and the other things he had played with a big band.) And, unbelievably, he played that, and then, of course, he went into his own [thing]. Well, of course, I was just overcome with what he had done there!"

Portrait of Everett Gates that hangs in a gallery at the Eastman School: http://instagram.com/p/t20Ku4pnv3/?modal=true

Korean War Gigs, 1953

© Gary Carner. Copyright Protected. All rights reserved.

Here's my 4 July 2014 interview with Al Gould, co-author of Boots on the Ground with Music in My Hands, Korea 1952-1953. Buy the book here: 

http://www.amazon.com/Boots-Ground-Music-My-Hands/dp/1935089455 

Along with Pepper Adams, Gould was a member of the elite Second Platoon of the U.S. Army's 10th Special Services Company. At one point in the conversation co-author Jackie Gould answers a question.

GARY CARNER: First, thank you for this photograph. (See below). The picture of band, playing in Korea with that rugged backdrop: It really paints a perfect picture of exactly what you guys did. Right out of the truck, surrounded by sand bags, with a makeshift stage. It's an amazing document!

AL GOULD: That makeshift stage thing we did most of the time. We very rarely wore our special show uniforms. We were wearing our fatigues and so forth. We'd pitch in an open area someplace, or anywhere near where these different groups were. Where there was 50 men or more we'd put on a show. It could be the Turks, it could be the English, whatever. Actually, we did a lot of Americans. That's typical, the picture that you see.

C: Do you know where it was shot? What approximate date and location?

G: I wish I did. 

C: The Bulldozer Bowl. (See photo below.) Do you know what that is?

G: We played there several times but the first time could've been in mid-January of '53. It looks like they've got on heavy wraps. That would've been probably early- to mid-January.

C: You've got a picture of the audience. That's a big audience! What show is that for?

G: That would be one that we played before Pepper left in May, 1953. The cease fire didn't happen until June.

C: All the shows that you played with your platoon, Platoon #2, Pepper was on, correct?

G: Yes, that's right. Now, he left for home before I did. We can get to that later but we were definitely together. 

C: You guys were traveling, packing up, doing sometimes two shows a day, living in a tent when you could; a very intimate relationship with thirty guys, particularly the guys in the band. You must've had a chance to know Pepper very well.

G: I'm going to give a qualified "yes," but it's not too clear. I was talking to a lot of the guys all the time. He was fantastic, but I can't say we were bosom buddies, just us two together hanging out or whatever. I was with all of them.

C: Did he have particular friends, maybe Mack Saunders? Was he closest with a few of them?

G: Not really.

C: Tell me what Pepper was like? What were your impressions of him?

G: The impression was what a fantastic musician! You couldn't help but have that rub off at all times. Let me make one correction right now. You were referring to the Eighth Army Band. I don't think it should be referred to that way at all. There was an Eighth Army Band at Eighth Army Headquarters that had no connection with the Tenth Special Services Company. We usually referred to them by the platoons. We were the show band in the Second Platoon. There was a show band in three platoons. There were four platoons but the Headquarters Platoon, which was Platoon #4, didn't go do shows at all.

C: Yeah, they didn't tour. So you were the show band. What were the other two platoons doing?

G: They were doing identically the same thing, but we were on the road 24/7. We had passes signed by [General] Maxwell Taylor that got us through checkpoints any time of day, which was fantastic! One of the most important things which we haven't discussed was that the U.S.O. shows had civilians in them. They couldn't play closer that twenty miles from the front lines (MLR). Consequently, that's the reason the Tenth Special was so darn important because we could play within 500 yards. But the Bob Hope shows and so forth, which were fantastic, couldn't get any closer that twenty miles of the front line. They weren't trained to defend themselves.

C: The front line is not the same thing as the MLR is it?

G: I would say it's different nomenclature for the same thing: The Main Line of Resistance is the front line.

C: There wasn't a Demilitarized Zone, a DMZ that separated the two countries, like there was in Vietnam?

G: No, that came at the cease fire. I think it was for a mile in both directions.

C: Getting back to Pepper, do you remember anything at all about him, traveling with him, in the tent, any habits, any humorous anecdotes?

G: He was not a driver. Some of the members were drivers. He would probably be riding shotgun with one of the drivers. We had thirteen vehicles. We'd vary from maybe 28 to 33 men, depending on who was rotating home. The one vehicle that was the main one that we carried a lot of our uniforms and that kind of stuff kind looked like a metal-covered two-and-a-half-ton Army truck. We would always throw a tarp over it which said "R&R." R&R stood for the name of the show: Road to Ruin.

C: Who came up with that name?

G: It might've been Skippy Lynn. She was a "battle ax" but we have to respect her highly. She was fantastic! If you didn't cut the mustard, she'd take you right out of the platoon and you'd be in the infantry or something!

C: They didn't cut your band when Pepper was there?

G: No, not at all. 

C: In this picture he's playing baritone. I assume it was his instrument from home?

G: It could've been his instrument.

C: My hunch is that he at least took his own instrument to Ft. Leonard Wood.

G: I'm positive he would've done that.

C: I'm wondering if he might've brought it home, left it there, then just got a horn in the military and used his own mouthpiece?

G: He could've had his own in Korea. There's a timeline that bothers me. You had said that he left for Korea on October 10th. I left for Korea on October 25th. There wasn't time for that ship to leave on the 10th, go to Korea, and get back for me to load on the 25th. He would've been on the ship ahead of me but it couldn't have been October 10th. He was on the USS Walker and so was I. It would have to be at least a week before the 10th. Pepper was probably earmarked to go to the Tenth Special but they weren't ready for him when he reached [Camp] Drake so he stayed there. Pepper would've played there from when he got there in early October until he left in November and would go to Incheon. He would've been playing pickup shows identically the same as I was. I was blessed that they needed an accordion player the first part of the year or I never would've made it. Pepper probably played at the Ernie Pyle Theater, same as I did. He probably played at the Rocker Four Club, which was called the "Showplace of Japan," for people who were there on R&R (relax and recuperation). [Both were in Tokyo.]

C: Was there access to cigarettes?

G: Yes, very definitely, and we'd stop along the road occasionally when they yelled, "Pot!" Pot was growing wild. Marijuana was growing all over the place. They'd run out and get whatever they wanted to get. I didn't smoke so I didn't do it. We had cigarette rations all the time. 

C: You said you were the second person to enlist directly into the Army band in February of 1952.

G: Yeah, right, that was a brand new thing. As I took my infantry training on detached service, I never pulled guard duty or KP, because I didn't get on the roster and I sure never told anybody.

C: Pepper enlisted in 1951, in July, and he said that he was hoping to get into the band. So I guess at that point he wasn't sure.

G: The Sixth Armored Division Band; let's touch upon that at this time. There were three bands at Ft. Leonard Wood: the 6th Armored Division, the Headquarters was "326" (that I was in), and there was an all-black band also. I don't remember what number that was. You had actually written that, while at Ft. Leonard Wood, he made a little band that played later in Korea?

C: That can't be true?

G: That would be impossible, for the central reason that we were sent over individually, not as any unit at all. How would they know who would've ended up in Tenth Special? They wouldn't have known at that time.

C: It was up to Skippy Lynn to actually put them into groups and organize them, correct?

G: Yes, right. A lot of the guys were from the main bands of the day. He was probably already earmarked that, if he went to Korea, he would in the Tenth Special, whereas I got in by an audition.

C: Do you think he was very far ahead musically from everyone else in the band?

G: Yes, there were other excellent guys from main bands but Pepper stood out. Even though we had written arrangements, I'm quite sure what he was playing wasn't written. There was just the background, where the band was backing it up, so he was probably doing his own ad lib completely.

C: Did Pepper have a chance to write any arrangements for the band or were all the arrangements pretty stock?

G: I do know that we had a couple of guys writing arrangements for the band. He might've been one of them who was writing the arrangements.

C: What was the typical performance? Walk me through. If I was in the audience, tell me what I'd see?

G: A typical show was an hour long. They'd always open up with some fantastic uptempo arrangement of the band and maybe even play a couple of them before getting to any of the specialty acts. It was really trying to get the guys excited right off the bat. Then the specialty acts varied between the different platoons. We had this hypnotist, Bob Weiss. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it. I know he had no way of getting any shills in the audience. He would make a post-somatic suggestion: He would say a certain word and they would do something. I couldn't believe that a hypnotist was that good to do it. The Country Western player was from Nashville. He was playing the hit songs of the day. He went over extremely well. We did have a number of singers that were quite good. 

C: So the band would break into small groups and you'd have little performances, singing or whatever it was?

G: Right. The band would still be sitting there but we'd be playing in front of the band. The band would back up the singers or the things of that nature. I'd play some solos, but the band would also be backing me up. The band varied from maybe twelve to fifteen members, depending on who was rotating in. The band was fantastic! I would've never had the opportunity to play with that high a quality of group if I hadn't been in the service. 

C: You had the comedian Al Lamo?

G: He was very, very good! All of the specialty acts had different outfits.

C: Did you ever get a chance to record the band?

G: I'm going to give a qualified "no." I wish I did. 

C: You had a three year tour of duty, correct?

G: Right. I got out a little early because I served overseas. I was what they called an "RA." I enlisted. That's the reason I was three years. If you were drafted, you were only two years.

C: I'm trying to figure out Pepper's tour of duty. Do you think it was shortened because of his service overseas?

G: It could've been. He went in '51 and he came out . . . ?

C: He enlisted on July 12, 1951 and he got discharge papers at Fort Custer, Michigan on June 5, 1953. 

G: OK, then he was drafted, but he could've been earmarked for Tenth Special when they needed one. He left [Korea] in May and they pulled the shows off the road at the cease fire in June. 

C: Where was Pepper based in Incheon? What was there?

G: He wasn't based there. He landed there.

C: Where would he have gone then?

G: He would've gone to Seoul, and from Seoul they would've gotten him as soon as possible into the second platoon.

C: In Seoul he would've been in a bunk somewhere? 

G: He would've been in Seoul probably no more that one or two days at that time. 

C: What was that place called?

G: Eighth Army Headquarters. Actually, the Tenth Special Service Company was a member of the Adjutant General Corp. of the Eighth Army Headquarters. On our collars we wore a shield that stood for the Eighth Army Adjutant General Corp. 

JACKIE GOULD: "Adjutant General," in today's nomenclature, are the lawyers. It's the legal arm of the Army.

G: I think it's important that you do mention Tenth Special as a member of the Adjutant General Corp. of the Eighth Army Headquarters because that's very high on the hog.

C: Who were some of the guys doing logistics?

G: There were usually about 18-19 players or entertainers. The others were in charge of keeping the trucks in shape. They were the ones that put the tents up and took them down. They helped set up the props if we were using them. They were very, very important people, especially when we were on the road and we weren't using our trunks. When we were at MASH Units they already had tents there. I'm quite sure Pepper would say the same thing: We really enjoyed playing the MASH Units because here's where the guys were that were severely wounded right off the front lines. They sure needed morale boosters.

C: How often did you doing that?

G: We were doing that fairly often. We were going back and forth from the MLR to the MASH Unit. We probably did MASH shows maybe twenty times. 

C: You did basic training at Ft. Leonard Wood? How long was basic training?

G: Eight weeks.

C: What was that like to get through? 

G: That was actually very interesting because they were giving you all kinds of training: On bazookas, going through obstacle courses, all kind of things. I was one of the top sharpshooters since I had been a rifle instructor before being in the Service. But I never did any shooting at all in Korea.

C: Did Pepper or any of these guys do any fighting?

G: Not in Korea, to my knowledge. When the enemy broke through at times at night, we were there but I don't think you could say we did any actual fighting. We were riding with the infantry guys at the time. We were prepared. We carried M-1s or M-2s--whatever it was with us--but I don't think we ever did.

C: The great drummer Mel Lewis said that Pepper picked up a really nasty foot fungus in Korea and he still had it three years later when he toured with Kenton in 1956. What was it like with personal hygiene and traveling?

G: It was a little bit rough because it wasn't too often that you had the ability to take a shower. If you did, it might even be a cold one. We sometimes would play an extra show--it wasn't on schedule--for officers, who would have their own shower and all that kind of stuff. They were at the front lines. By doing it, they would maybe allow us to use their shower facilities. 

C: Normal things like going to the bathroom. Did you go outside?  

G: Sometimes there'd be latrines at different areas but you'd stop along the road and take a leak. You had toilet paper. They provided it for you.

C: Did you eat mostly cold food or did you have a designated cook?

G: Actually, we did have what they call "C Rations" (canned food) occasionally, but we would quite often eat with whatever group we were playing shows with. We played for the British, which was in the wintertime, where you cleaned your utensils afterwards. It was frozen over. You couldn't even clean your utensils. It was the most filthy I'd ever seen.

C: Pepper left before you got re-assigned?

G: He left before the shows were off the road. He only started playing shows maybe six weeks before I did but he would've still played in a heck of a lot of shows. I never kept track of it but when I was in Korea, when they awarded me that special medal, they said I played in 268 shows in front of an estimated 189,000 troops in less than a year. 

C: Wow! That basically averaged one a day.

G: The highest we ever did, and it only happened once, we played four shows in one day. We very often played two shows in one day. 

C: Was that because you were playing two shows in one spot and then you'd play another two shows in another spot?

G: We did four shows. We did some traveling that day, so we played two shows in one area and two shows in another. But four shows in one day is tremendous because the roads that we had to travel through in the MLR were so terrible, you couldn't go more than ten, fifteen--twenty miles an hour would be fast! We couldn't go very fast at all.

C: How about flat tires and breakdowns? Did that happen a lot?

G: That did happen. We had one truck that was terrible. When went to a motor pool one day to do some work on it. Ultimately, we exchanged the hood of the truck with a brand new one, putting our hood on a new truck so it had all our information on it.

C: Was Pepper part of the command performance for President Rhee at the Presidential Palace?

G: Yes he was, very definitely.

C: Have any photographs or any information about that surfaced?

G: I have heard that there was a recording made of the Tenth Special, all the way through.

C: Where?

G: That would've been around the time that the recording was made of Jerry [Lehmeier, in April 1953]. It was on the road.

C: Did a performance ever stop because of an insurgency or artillery or anything?

G: There were times when shows were cancelled, yes.

C: How about in the middle of a show? Did you have to stop because you had to duck and take cover?

G: That didn't actually happen. I didn't know until after I published the book, but there were three people killed from the Second Platoon. 

C: That was before Pepper and you?

G: Right. One was killed by a sniper and two were from land mines.

C: About those dud mortars that had "We enjoyed the show too" in English, Pepper was in the band at that time?

G: Yeah, very definitely.

C: There were two mortars that said, "We enjoyed the show?"

G: Yes. They probably wanted to make sure that at least one of them came through OK.

C: That's hilarious! You were on the road almost the entire time, but tell me about the time with the house boy and where you would've been staying then. That was in Seoul, right?

G: That was in Seoul. When we were on the road, not very often, we'd be in Seoul just a day or two while we were redoing different supplies or things changed. I was actually stationed at Fort Headquarters after the shows came off the road and that's when I got to know Kim Byong Joo. I didn't know him earlier when we were there for a day or two at a time. That's only when Pepper would've gotten to know him because [Pepper] wasn't there after the show came off the road. 

C: Regarding the chronology, where would you've gone from Seoul to do your very first show?

G: I think there was one rehearsal and then I went.

C: You have a map in your book but I'm trying to get a sense of how all this flowed. The first stop was the British Commonwealth UN Unit. A lot of this was in territory that was barely marked, right? How did you guys get around? Who navigated?

G: We had thirteen vehicles. One was a Jeep. One was a three-quarter-ton truck, and then there was this one special, large truck that was the same size as what they call a "Deuce-and-a-Half." And all the rest were Deuce-and-a-Halfs. Our trucks were pretty well filled with all the stuff we had to carry. 

C: What does Deuce-and-a-Half mean?

G: Two and a half tons. 

C: Were you traveling a lot at night or in the dusk?

G: It could be any time. If you were traveling at night, you didn't use much of any headlights. We tried to travel during the day if we could but at times we definitely were traveling at night.

C: There's a picture of Able Battery in the book. It's on page 20. Did you guys perform there?

G: Before the cease fire we definitely did play there. Able Battery is the farthest north we ever played.

C: The Bulldozer Bowl? Do you know where that was?

G: That would've been back about twenty miles from the front lines.

C: Do you remember any of the shows or locations when you were doing two a day for ten straight days? You said that week was especially grueling.

G: That would have been near the MLR to do that many that often. We played in Pusan, which was sort of near the end. They brought all of our thirteen vehicles and us back on flatbeds aboard a train. It took us two days to get back up to Seoul. On the front of it, while we were on the flatbeds, we were playing and going through these little towns where the Koreans were. They were rather amazed. It was like a circus. These weren't scheduled as performances. We were just playing for ourselves, goofing around. That would've been on our way home from Pusan. We were eating "C" Rations only.

C: What kind of horrors did you see? I'm trying to understand what kind of horrors Pepper would've seen on the battlefield.

G: We would've seen that when we were at MASH. We would've seen people with limbs missing. Around the countryside things were bombed out. Seoul was virtually 100% bombed out. The Chosen Hotel was still there, because the military used it for their high brass. What they called the Dak Soon Mansion (or Blue Roof Mansion), where President Syngman Rhee lived, they never touched that. Otherwise, it was really almost completely a bombed out area.

C: Pepper told me that the Koreans were absolutely terrified of the Chinese invading their country.

G: That's true.