Julian “Cannonball" Adderley (1928-1975): Legendary, iconic, and innovative musician, composer, arranger, ensemble leader, producer, social activist and teacher

SOUND PROJECTIONS
   
AN ONLINE QUARTERLY MUSIC MAGAZINE
    
EDITOR:  KOFI NATAMBU
    
SUMMER, 2017

VOLUME FOUR         NUMBER TWO  

 

JOHN COLTRANE  

Featuring the Musics and Aesthetic Visions of:

EARTH WIND AND FIRE
(May 20-May 26)

JACK DEJOHNETTE
(May 27-June 2)

ALBERT AYLER
(June 3-June 9)

VI REDD
(June 10-June 16)

LIGHTNIN’ HOPKINS
(June 17-June 23)

JULIAN “CANNONBALL” ADDERLEY
(June 24-June 30)

JAMES NEWTON
(July 1-July 7)

ART TATUM
(July 8-July 14)

SONNY CLARK
(July 15-July 21)

JASON MORAN
(July 22-July 28)

SONNY STITT
(July 29-August 4)

BUD POWELL
(August 5-August 11)


http://www.allmusic.com/artist/cannonball-adderley-mn0000548338/biography 


Julian "Cannonball" Adderley
(1928-1975) 

Artist Biography by Scott Yanow 

 

One of the great alto saxophonists, Cannonball Adderley had an exuberant and happy sound that communicated immediately to listeners. His intelligent presentation of his music (often explaining what he and his musicians were going to play) helped make him one of the most popular of all jazzmen.

Adderley already had an established career as a high school band director in Florida when, during a 1955 visit to New York, he was persuaded to sit in with Oscar Pettiford's group at the Cafe Bohemia. His playing created such a sensation that he was soon signed to Savoy and persuaded to play jazz full-time in New York. With his younger brother, cornetist Nat, Cannonball formed a quintet that struggled until its breakup in 1957. Adderley then joined Miles Davis, forming part of his super sextet with John Coltrane and participating on such classic recordings as Milestones and Kind of Blue. Adderley's second attempt to form a quintet with his brother was much more successful for, in 1959, with pianist Bobby Timmons, he had a hit recording of "This Here." From then on, Cannonball always was able to work steadily with his band.

During its Riverside years (1959-1963), the Adderley Quintet primarily played soulful renditions of hard bop and Cannonball really excelled in the straight-ahead settings. During 1962-1963, Yusef Lateef made the group a sextet and pianist Joe Zawinul was an important new member. The collapse of Riverside resulted in Adderley signing with Capitol and his recordings became gradually more commercial. Charles Lloyd was in Lateef's place for a year (with less success) and then with his departure the group went back to being a quintet. Zawinul's 1966 composition "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" was a huge hit for the group, Adderley started doubling on soprano, and the quintet's later recordings emphasized long melody statements, funky rhythms, and electronics. However, during his last year, Cannonball Adderley was revisiting the past a bit and on Phenix he recorded new versions of many of his earlier numbers. But before he could evolve his music any further, Cannonball Adderley died suddenly from a stroke. 

http://panopticonreview.blogspot.com/2013/10/julian-cannonball-adderley-1928-1975.html 

Monday, September 16, 2013 

Julian "Cannonball" Adderley (1928-1975): Legendary Alto Saxophonist, Composer, and Bandleader--A Celebration of His Music, Life, and Legacy On the 85th Anniversary of His Birth

JULIAN "CANNONBALL" ADDERLEY
(b. September 15, 1928--d. August 8, 1975)

The Adderley brothers in 1966

Left to right:  Julian ("Cannonball") and Nat
 

http://www.jazzcamera.co.uk/index.php?page=cannonball-adderley---archive-interview

Cannonball Adderley - archive interview 

Location: Opposite Lock Club, Birmingham 

Year: 1971 

(Article copyright by John Watson)

'Let me tell you something,' said Cannonball Adderley.'I don't believe in segregated jazz. That is to say, I don't think you just have to have a jazz radio programme, or a special jazz show on television. I don't believe that that any kind of music has to be set aside unto itself.

'The reason there is a small market for jazz, a small market for chamber music, is because everybody categorises everything - that's a Western passion, pigeonholing and putting things into niches. I think everything belongs together. All the music that is from the people is what people are about'

The great alto and soprano saxophonist was relaxing in his dressing room after giving a stupendous performance with his quintet at the Opposite Lock, a small club in a side street not far from the city centre in Birmingham. 'We did a TV programme in London, and there was a bit of drama, a bit of comedy, some classical music by Ralph Vaughan Williams, there was poetry, and there was us. I don't see why it shouldn't always be like that.

Broadway

'We're also going to be involved in a Broadway show, called Big Man, in which mixed media will be employed. There will be a great emphasis on dance, classic ballet as well as modern, and what we might call social dance, you know, the dances that the kids do in the discotheques. There are sound effects that go right along with the dialogue, there are songs, there is jazz, there is also rock, there is R&B, there is the classic traditional of strings. It's really a monumental work.

'It's about the legendary figure known as John Henry, who is colourless, he is just a Superman, and he was among a bunch of people building a railroad, and John Henry was called a steel driving man. He drove more steel than a steam drill. In this case, the producers have made John Henry black. I imagine that black people have looked on John Henry as black, white people as white, Irish as Irish and so on.' It is likely to be an impressive show, for Whatever Adderley tackles in the music business usually turns out to be hugely successful.

Electrifying 

The quintet's performance at the Opposite Lock had been awe-inspiring, absolutely electrifying. With Cannonball on tour were, as usual, his cornet-playing brother Nat, plus George Duke on grand piano and, on some numbers, Fender Rhodes electric piano, bassist Walter Booker and drummer Roy McCurdy. This was a supercharged unit, exciting yet utterly musical. Many of the tunes played were from Cannon's new double album on Capitol, The Black Messiah. His recorded output has been considerable, but there are few weak releases in the Adderley catalogue. He is simply a heck of musician, and he has always had a heck of a band.

Cannonball Adderley was born in 1928 in 1928 in Tampa, Florida. He was christened Julian Edward, but acquired the nickname Cannibal because of his extraordinary appetite. This changed to Cannonball, and the label stuck. Bebop pioneer Charlie Parker was a major inspiration for the young saxophonist, and it took him quite a while to find his own style, expanding Parker's musical language with a strong emphasis on the blues. After a spell in the Army, in which he became director of the 36th Army Band (with Nat on trumpet), Adderley was persuaded to try the New York scene by blues singer and saxophonist Eddie 'Cleanhead' Vinson. He was an immediate success, and signed to Riverside Records, later joining the group of the great trumpeter Miles Davis. He made some magnificent recordings with Davis, including the classic Kind Of Blue for Columbia, but eventually left to reform his own quintet with Nat. Adderley built up a huge following, with soulful hits including This Here, Work Song, and Mercy, Mercy, Mercy. The role of pianists in the band has been critical: before George Duke took over, his keyboard men included Bobby Timmons, Victor Feldman and Joe Zawinul.

I began our interview by asking Adderley about his approach to the business side of jazz music. 'We have consciously tried to survive,' he said. 'In this business, in order to play any music at all you have to be able to survive, and weather the storm - to be able to survive the vacillation of jazz fans and you must be able to exist as an entity to play any music.

Commercial 

'I often tell kids, who say "I want to be a jazz player, and I'm playing with James Brown", or maybe Otis Redding or Wilson Pickett or someone like that, and they say "I want to play jazz - now, what do I do?" 'Well, first of all: play. Don't worry about with whom you are playing, because playing some music is better than playing no music at all. Under the circumstances, as far as the sound we make is concerned, we seek to make music that people enjoy. It's true that all our commercial successes, our originals . . . you know, somebody said in a review that we played some tunes from the Hit Parade.Like Mercy, Mercy, Mercy and Work Song. A great compliment! Those tunes originated with us [Joe Zawinul wrote Mercy, Mercy Mercy, and Nat Adderley wrote Work Song] and they were not necessarily great successes to begin with. But our biggest record to date has been Mercy, Mercy, Mercy. It did not start out as a smashing success - we had been playing it for about six months before we decided to record it. And before we recorded it, it didn't get a big response when we played it - it was just that, people seemed to like it, like they do most of our things.

'We have never started out but one time to make a record to be a commercial success. We did a record, something that John Dankworth did here in England too, and that was African Waltz. We recorded African Waltz because the record company asked us to do it, as a favour to them. And it was our first record with a big band, so it was not our image at all. They just did African Waltz; it was arranged for us and I didn't have anything at all to do with it. However, it was moderate success as these things go; there were a few records sold. But we have never played that tune - we only recorded it, and we've never played it on tour. It's not our music. We use music that we write. And we write things that run the gamut - all compositions by guys in our band. We're very happy when something happens for one of the tunes, and it's a success, but we play all kinds of things.'

Two driving new tunes - The Chocolate Nuisance, written by Roy McCurdy, and The Steam Drill, written by George Duke - had proved particularly popular with the audience at the Opposite Lock.'Those tunes are on an album we did, The Black Messiah, recorded live at the Troubadour Club. But we make all our records live, frankly. Even in the studio, we work live. Even if we say "We're not going to record in a night club, we're going to record in a studio", we still have a live audience, because we would rather play to a live audience rather than just play to microphones.'

Technical 

Adderley is a powerful advocate of the importance of musicianship among young players, and while there are avant garde players he admires he is wary of many "free" players who concentrate on expressing themselves and dismiss the importance of technical accomplishment. He seems that approach as simply unprofessional, and he is very proud of his profession.  'I talk about people who have musicianship, and I never talk about the people who don't! There is a standard of playing that we like to have in our group, and that's true for most groups. I expect John Lewis likes to have certain standard of playing, as does Thad Jones - and so on.

'I have been concerned about the inability of large numbers of young musicians to play with anybody else, because they were of the "do your own thing" philosophy. They would listen to players like Ornette Coleman and they would just play without understanding the musicianship involved. They would simply say: "Well, I can just play like [sings series of random notes] without regard to the fundamentals of music: Playing in tune with other people, playing in time, and reading music and so forth.

'They felt all they had to do was play "creatively" rather than professionally. But I don't put down all young musicians, that's why I don't talk about specific people. I could put my finger on individuals who I think have never improved. I'm talking about people who don't know what is going on with music and they hear certain superficial things, surface things, and they think that's all that is necessary. They hear Don Cherry or Gato Barbieri, and they think that is all that is necessary - just the surface things that they hear. But these are wonderful musicians, who have been playing all kinds of music all their lives - they have paid their dues as such by playing a full spectrum of jazz music, and other kinds of music too. Like our pianist, George Duke - he's been a teacher at a conservatory, he can play anything.

Colleges

'And there are many young musicians who can play anything well, you see. I played a festival in Berkley, California, where Tony Williams was playing with Earl Hines, and he could play Earl Hines' kind of music. I know how much time and study Tony Williams has put in learning to play drums and become a good musician.'

College jazz courses have an important role to play in the future of the music, he believes. 'Let's put it this way. Seasoned professionals who play jazz, who play it and have done the road thing, will talk about the truth, the truth about the music profession, in school. There is no perfect substitute for doing it, but now there are at least places where one can study the real thing, and be told what's happening. You know, all things are not perfect.

'You might get, say, a Ben Webster style of player teaching someone who wants to play more freely. He might tell them that that ain't it. But it's nice to have a Ben Webster [style teacher] to talk to, even if his ideas are not the end of the world. At the same time, you may get a young person, or even an older person like George Russell, who believes in a free exploration of sound, who will tell young people it is not necessary to do the old fashioned study of harmony taught by the old masters, and that it's almost like a waste of time. I disagree with that too.

'I think it's necessary to do it all, to be exposed to it all, and make internal decisions about what your music is going to be. But you've got to study what to do, under any circumstances, because there's no substitute for musicianship.'

Originality, and finding your own voice as player, is also hugely important. As a young saxophonist, Adderley was dismissed by many critics as a Charlie Parker imitator. How did he cope such a negative response to his music?  'It did not hurt me, but, frankly, being an inexperienced person . . . I had done a lot of study and I knew I was a good musician. I could deal with music under most circumstances. At that time I was still also a clarinet player and a flute player. I played those instruments because it was fundamental to me. I no longer play them, because playing the alto saxophone and the soprano saxophone takes up a lot of time. Being called a Charlie Parker imitator I thought was unfair. I did not resent it on any kind of emotional level. They took their time to put me down, and maybe it was deserved because there was a great Charlie Parker influence in my playing. However, there were many other Charlie Parker-influenced players about. The critics resented my kind of immediate success - I imagine that that was justified, you see, because there were players around like Jackie McLean and Gigi Gryce , Lou Donaldson, all those guys - all influenced to some extent by Charlie Parker, some of them influenced to a much greater extent. With some of them, a much greater influence had landed upon them, because I came from the South and away from the New York scene, so I did not have that same exposure to Charlie Parker, I could only listen to some records.

Frightened 

'I think I understand the criticism more now. I was frightened by it, though, because I didn't want to have my first opportunity spoiled. I was a later show-er, you see, because I was almost 30 before I turned up in New York. So compared to the way kids show up now, in their teens, I was frightened that I would have just this one opportunity and that I would be dismissed as inconsequential. 'So I do think it was unfair for people to say "Well, he just plays Bird licks" and so forth, and then completely accept all the work that had been done by the guys who were there before me. That's the dues-paying syndrome, I guess.'

He is optimistic about the future of the jazz scene, and point to developments which are beginning to transform the business for young musicians. 'Things have improved, because now there's a "council" to go to - not a council of elders per se, but any young musician can come up to me and talk to me, and talk to Quincy Jones, or to John Lewis, or to people who've had to deal with the realities of this business, and facing up to them directly. I can tell people: "No, that's not a fair contract, that's not a right thing to do". I have spent time introducing young people, by way of recordings, to this business. It's fun!"

'I think that, in the United States, there are more clubs now than when I first got into the business, but people have tendency to look at the more obvious things, like there is no more Birdland [there is now, in a different location to the historic New York club], there's no more Basin Street, you know, or Cafe Bohemia. But, listen, in Los Angeles now there must be 10 jazz clubs, featuring musicians from New York and everywhere else. Jean Luc Ponty and Phil Woods [based in France at the time of the interview] have worked in LA and come from Europe to do so - to work clubs only, not do a grand concert tour the way American musicians do on the Continent.'

Community 

Adderley is actively involved in striving for improvements in the life of the black community in the States. This has included a project for racial advancement called Operation Breadbasket.  'I became involved in Operation Breadbasket because the leader, the Rev Jesse Jackson, who is a very charismatic man, influences me and my band very much, in terms of morality, the causes of black status and freedom. Now he is involved in a new organisation called Operation PUSH - People United to Save Humanity. So we have gone along with him, to other horizons. The new organisation is not so religion oriented as the other, even though there are ministers and so forth involved. It has a more secular focus, rather than dealing with people's religious beliefs. It's a pressure group. It's a political, socio-economic group, that's about what it is.

'It's more than just about music, it's a very broad spectrum organisation. For example, Operation PUSH has signed contracts with major employers in American to provide employment, and the distribution of funds throughout the black community on a more equitable basis. It has signed a $65million contract with General Foods, to see to it that more jobs go to black truck drivers, to jobs for black people in packaging plants, to black suppliers, to black advertising agencies. So it's much more interested in the broad economic spectrum of society in the United States.

'Here in England, I notice the small ways in which racial prejudice rears its head, in a way that didn't happen 15 years ago. People have always had their own personal prejudices about, you know, friends and community, etc. For example, I stayed in a hotel where there were large numbers of people working who came from Eastern Europe. Nobody is complaining about the migration of white people from Eastern Europe, coming to England to do jobs, but they complain about the Indians, about blacks from the islands and from Africa. So this immigration quota thing is designed to halt the flow of dark skinned people.'

'That's what Operation PUSH is all about. We're saying, "We're no longer talking about integration and desegregation. Let's just divide the pie".'

[Cannonball Adderley was at the peak of his creative powers at the time of this interview. He died just four years later, in August, 1975, in Gary, Indiana.]

http://www.cannonball-adderley.com/article/coda.htm

This interview was originally recorded and broadcast on KCFR in Denver, Colorado, January 31 and February 4,1972.
Published on Coda Magazine , issue number 186 (1982)

JACK WINTER: I understand that your nickname, Cannonball, is a corruption of "Cannibal..."

CANNONBALL ADDERLEY: I got a reputation for my trenchermanship early in life, and when I was going to school down in Tallahassee one of the guys in our group wanted to call me a cannibal; but he mispronounced it as "can-i-bol." So the other guys' in the band would call me Canibol more to tease him than to tease me. But of course other folks, not being in on the joke, distorted it and it became "Cannonball."

I got into jazz when I was a high school teacher in Fort Lauderdale. I had matriculated to New York University. I was in graduate school there in 1955 but I never did go to class. It happened through Oscar Pettiford: he's been gone for some time and a lot of people don't know anything about him, don't know what his contribution has been, but Oscar had a group playing in the Cafe Bohemia in the Village, not far from New York University. I went there to hear the group, because he had a classic group: Kenny Clarke playing drums, Horace Silver playing piano, and he was playing bass, that was enough. Plus Jerome Richardson and Jimmy Cleveland were in his band, but Jerome was on a record date. There's this courtesy factor among professional musicians, if a guy's got a record date or a studio date or a pit gig, he's permitted to do that gig and somebody else can sub for him. But Jerome's sub hadn't come in. My brother Nat, and the Cooper brothers: Buster Cooper who formerly worked with Duke Ellington, and Steve Cooper, were there; we'd had a rehearsal and we were there to see Cleve and hear the band. Charlie Rouse walked in and the band hadn't started playing, because Pettiford was one of those guys who was a stickler at getting the sound he wrote for, and he asked Rouse to sit in. Rouse said, "Man I don't have a horn" and Pettiford said, "Man, there's some guy in the back with an alto, you can transpose these tenor parts." All of us had our instruments with us, because you don't leave your instruments in cars in New York City. So instead of Rouse asking me if he could borrow my horn, he asked me if I wanted to play. I immediately was scared to death: to be able to play with those cats, heroes of mine. I'm a Floridian, a schoolteacher, a player of rock music, lounge music and that kind of stuff. I said, "Certainly,"

So I went up to the stand, and I guess O.P. wanted me to prove myself, because we kicked off with I Remember April at what I thought was a fast tempo, because I'd never played it that fast, But I played it fairly well,and they were satisfied that I could play, so they invited me to play the evening with them, even when Jerome came in.

My brother Nat and I had heard all these stories about the New York Musicians' Union; how they would fine you for sitting in, so when the clubowner came over to them and said "Who's that guy playing saxophone?" rather than give him my name, Nat said, "Well, that's Cannonball," So I became known as Cannonball once again, after so many years of being just plain Mr. Adderley, schoolteacher.You were very influenced by Charlie Parker.
Years ago when I started to play the saxophone I wanted to play tenor. This was during World War Two, and there were no saxophones available, period. So I bought this beat-up alto from a guy when I was still in high school, because it was the only saxophone available. So I tried to play like a tenor player on the alto; I used to play Lester Young solos, Coleman Hawkins solos, and lesser-known tenor players who were important to me: Budd Johnson, who was with Earl Hines; Julian Dash and Paul Bascomb, who were with Erskine Hawkins, Buddy Tate, I'd play their solos, if I could, I developed a sort of hard, explosive style on the alto because there was nobody doing it. And when I heard Charlie Parker I was immediately disappointed in myself, because here was a guy who was playing explosively, and excellently, with complete control, and I was still a student player. So immediately I went out and bought all the things I could by Jay McShann, because it really clicked me into another- thing. I started on alto in about 1942,I was about 14.
When you made your first records, I imagine most of the musicians around New York wanted to hear this new guy, and probably you were in a certain amount of demand for recording sessions...
Not really, there was not too much going on in the way of recording in New York then. All the action was on the West Coast, Everybody was starving to death, as a matter of fact. That's why I got the chance to play with everybody early. There were a few organized bands that were making it: The Modern Jazz Ouartet, Max Roach and Clifford Brown,... Horace Silver and Art Blakey had formed The Jazz Messengers, but they weren't working either. They had a date every Sunday at a place called The Open Door. That's why Horace was working with Oscar Pettiford, he didn't have a job, he was just a sideman then. Dizzy Gillespie had a band that played in a lot of places that were, well, strange for a jazz group. And he had some strange, well, different musicians let's put it that way. He had some guys out of Buffalo, New York playing with him, and Sahib Shihab, and Joe Carroll singing with him. So he had an organized group, but Miles Davis for instance was just kind of messing around, it was the doldrums for him, and in fact for nearly everyone in New York, 1955. I'd go to Birdland and the bill would read John Greas, the French-horn player, or Bud Shank, Shorty Rogers, Claude Williamson, the West Coast Jazz syndrome. That kind of band would be there, or maybe Kenton - who had a great band then as a matter of fact, with Mel Lewis and Lee Konitz, Conte Candoli and guys like that.
Nat and I first recorded together on Savoy, with Kenny Clarke. Kenny set up a date with Herman Lubinsky, and Ozzie Cadena, who was Herman's representative, on Savoy. "Bohemia After Dark" (Savoy 4514): my first recording, Nat's first, Paul Chambers' first, Donald Byrd's first, Jerome Richardson was on it, Horace Silver....we did Hear Me Talkin' To Ya, Bohemia After Dark, lots of beautiful things. That led to my first date as leader, "Presenting Cannonball" on Savoy (45151 with Hank Jones, Kenny, Paul Chambers, Nat and me. Then Nat did his first date as leader, "That's Nat," on Savoy (MG 1.2021). Then we signed a contract with Mercury, and started to take care of business there.
Nat and I played together for many years ,and we developed lots of things, based on other peoples' materials, and some ideas of our own, We were basically just simple players. We had never been exposed to the blood and guts, dog-eat-dog syndrome, we were just Florida guys. So we played a lot of blues, a lot of funk, a lot of gospel-sounding stuff, and cute things based on Bird and Dizzy, Bird and Miles, based on that feeling.
But with Horace, and the New York guys on there, there was another feeling going on. Paul Chambers was an instant genius. He fit right into things, he was probably the most important bass player of that era. I don't mean that he was more important than Ray Brown, in terms of his playing and so forth, but Ray Brown was playing with Oscar Peterson, he was not a date player, when he played dates it was for that Jazz At The Philharmonic group thing - and Paul was there in New York and just doing it.
In fact, speaking of Paul, I played on a date with him for VeeJay (LP1O14), in Chicago, and we needed a brass player. So I sent to New York for this kid I'd heard playing in Brooklyn - and it was the first recording fo Freddie Hubbard.
Late in 1956 you joined Miles Davis's classic group with Philly Joe Jones, Red Garland, Paul Chambers and John Coltrane, making it a sextet...
Actually, there was a series of funny events Coltrane left the band because he had some personal problems with his health and so on and he decided he was going to reform, so he went to Philadelphia and stayed about four or five months. He used to drink and so other things that were unsavory, and by the time he came back to New York he had completely changed his image, he no longer did anything, he was an instant Christian.
When Trane left, Miles hired me essentially because he didn't dig any of the tenor players around. Plus he was always having problems with Red and Joe and so on - not because they were bad guys, they were all beautiful cats, but everybody had his own style and attitude about what he was due, and so forth.
It was verv interesting, because Red used teach Miles boxing; Red was an ex-boxer....
Anyhow I broke up my band, because we weren't doing anything anyhow, we were mostly unemployed, and Nat had been offered a job by Gerry Mulligan; and Miles had been' pestering me to come with him, because Miles wasn't doing anything. So I went with him and we went out on tour, as just a quintet, with Tommy Flanagan playing piano, Arthur Taylor playing drums, Paul Chambers and me. That was strange, and Miles couldn't really use that we just made that one tour. By the time we got back to New York he sent for everybody. At this time, Trane had come back to New York, it was '57 and he'd begun to work with Thelonious Monk at the old Five Spot: they had a sensational group with Shadow Wilson and Wilbur Ware, who was replaced by Aimed Abdul-Malik.
Anyhow, Miles called hils original quintet back, and kept me on, so after I'd been with him two months we became a sextet.
I think I really began to grow there, because the band was such a classically good band: in fact the band was like a workshop; Miles really talked to everybody and told everybody what to not do, rather than what to do. He never told anybody what to play, he would just say, Man, you don't need to do that. And I heard him and dug it. I think up to that point I'd never played so well.
After I left the group, there was a lot still going on; but of course forming my own group with good musicians, in fact great musicians, who didn't sound like Philly Joe or Wynton Kelly. it made a difference, because a band is a marriage; a family, a team and so forth.
It was interesting being in Miles's band with Coltrane, because Trane at that time had an extremely light, fluid sound ; and my alto sound has always been influenced by the tenor, so it was heavy, and sometimes it was difficult to tell where one instrument stopped and the other instrument started, it would sound like one continual phrase.
It was interesting having Bill Evans in the band too. He replaced Red Garland. We used to go to Philadelphia to play, maybe three timet a year. Red had some very valid, personal reasons for not wanting to play in Philly. Miles would tell him, "Look man, you're playing in the band, you're supposed to go where the band goes" . But Red wouldn't go.
Miles had a little Mercedes 190SL. and one night he said to me, "Cannon, I'd like you to take a ride with me." Which is dangerous. I said okay. We were driving up the West Side Highway, and he said man have you ever heard Bill Evans. I said yes, I had because Nat had finished working with Woody herman and was freelancing in New York. He worked someplace in the Village with a drummer, and the drummer had hired Bill Evans. I went down to see him and I heard this cat and I said Wow, this is beautiful piano playing, and I met him and heard him and enjoyed him, Miles asked me what I thought of him and I said, "I think he's beautiful." He said, "Good, I'm going to take him to Philly." So Bill Evans joined the band to play Philadelphia, and we had so much fun with what we could do with him - other dimensions, other sounds - that Miles just told Red, "I'm going to keep Bill, because he can play everywhere we play." Somewhere at this point I began to take care of the band's business - collect the money, pay off the cats, keep the records, and so on. It was a good way to insure my own wages as well. Philly Joe had drawn up all his pay while we worked at Cafe Bohemia, so at the end of the gig he didn't have any money coming, and he insisted that he hadn't drawn everything that he had drawn, and I said, man, all you get is what you're supposed to get, and that's it. Philly for a long time had some problems, so he said, well, you play in Boston without me. So we went to Boston and Miles said, Joe ain't coming, right? Call Jimmy Cobb
So I called Jimmy and he joined the band in Boston, 50 it was him, Paul Chambers, Bill Evans, Coltrane, me and Miles, That band stayed pretty much intact for six months', and Bill told Miles that he was making him feel uncomfortable, because Miles used to mess with him; not about his music or anything, but he used to call him "whitey" and stuff like that, So Bill put in his notice, and Miles hired Red back, We went into Birdland, and Red was the kind of cat who was notoriously late, We always started playing without a piano; in fact it became no problem at all, because we knew we were going to start playing without a piano. So one night before we went into Birdland, we went down to Brooklyn to see Oizzy's band, He had a fantastic band, with Sam Jones, Wynton Kelly, Candido, Sonny Stitt and a drummer whom I don't remember, Miles spent all evening listening to Wynton Kelly, So we'd been at Birdland about a week, Red was always late, and one night Wynton was there when we started, so Miles asked Wynton to Sit in, When Red came in, Wynton was playing, and Miles told Red, "Hey man, Wynton's got the gig," Just like that, I could never quite understand Red, Incidentally, last year I played a show at the Apollo Theater, and someone told me that Red Garland was downstairs, I went downstairs and Red was surrounded by musicians, everybody was hugging and talking. But he said, "Listen, I've got to go, I'm supposed to start work at nine o'clock," And it was ten then. He had a gig with Philly Joe and Wilbur Ware somewhere.
With this present group (Cannonball Adderley, alto saxophone; Nat Adderley, trumpet; George Duke, piano; Walter Booker, bass; Roy McCurdy, drums) we work all the time. Nat and I decided that we would get musicians who had that complete capability, and that we would play all the music we enjoy playing. Consequently we don't look down on any music, and we don't play anything simply for effect, Everything we play we choose to play, I announce to the audience that we don't take requests; we play things that we've recorded, so nobody has to tell me to play Mercy Mercy Mercy or anything like that, because we're going to play it anyhow. And we have a ball - that's the only way music can be for real, We do what we want to do and try to keep the audience with us. Because those are the only things that are important; whether we enjoy what we're doing and whether people enjoy what we're doing. But we can't gear anything to anybody because that's rank commercialism: "Here's an audience that likes this, so we're going to play this." That way you're not being a complete person, or a complete creative musician, and you're not really saying what you want to say.
What is your feeling about helping to continue jazz, by getting it to the kids - which I'm convinced is the only way it's going to continue?
We're just organizing something in Los Angeles that we call the L.A. Bandwagon. We've got a committee of folks together who agree that music - not just jazz, but all kinds of artistic music should be made available to people who are not able to or old enough to go to night clubs or to colleges and universities - because of course they won't hear it anywhere else, the radio scene is a total disaster
Yes, the government is so sticky about who and what is on the radio, but they never screen people for good taste when it comes to music, or whatever they present.
Well, the government doesn't have any taste. Who is going to screen it : President Nixon? Martha Mitchell? Because that's exactly who it would be if there were a screening committee. That would be the worst kind of censorship, I would never want to see a government agency designed to screen what was going out.
I wanted to set up some kind of amalgamation with the LA Bandwagon and Jazzmobile in New York, but Jazzmobile's employees seemed to think I was trying to take over, which was far from my intent, I don't want to be any kind of businessman, I don't want to be responsible for any community's music tastes; but I do feel that since I have some influence in the community where I live, so we formed a committee of which I am not a member, to organize, the LA Bandwagon, to take music all over the city.
As for jazz education, I do think it could be more comprehensive, to say the least, I've seen things such as: "Jazz Artist In Residence: Pete Fountain" which is criminal under the circumstances, I don't mean to cast aspersions on the musicianship of people like that: their technique, their knowledgeability or "the wonderfulness of their minds," to steal something from Bill Cosby. But to masquerade a program as "jazz" and then not have jazz people doing it there appears to me something sinful about that, It's like saying "we're going to have string quartet," and then putting in four guitar.
On the other hand, people like Cecil Taylor become jazz artists in residence at a university and it's a constant hassle: the kids are all for it, but the faculty gets uptight: especially the establishment music department.
Well, I don't care about those people anymore who have that kind of chauvinism, For anybody to question the musicianship, or the authenticity, or the preparation. of a man such as a Cecil Taylor is ridiculous, because Ceci plays piano as well as anybody playing anything He could have very easily been a concert pianisit had he chosen to be  that, That kind of stupidity on the part of music faculty is one of the thing that makes kids incomplete, I've told kids for years that in order to play a musical instrument you should understand what music is all about And there's only one music; music speaks for itself; you can't departmentalize things or compartmentalize them, in order to sell it or "establish a commercial basis" or whatever you want to do; it does not change the fact that music is either going to be music or non-music (because there's no good or bad music to me ; there's only music and the rest of it is nonmusic. If we continue to propagate things like having kids sing Frere Jacques as public school music for children, it will be an unfortunate Situation. And music faculties are constantly keeping this kind of crap going on in our lives; and that is criminal. To complain about the presence of a genius, who is a creator, and who can create some atmosphere for music, and create some music there; in order to continue the same old pap is sinful.
I'm pretty well convinced that music educators, taken generally, still consider jazz to be whorehouse music.I don't mind that. Because, see, they're the ones who patronize the whorehouses.
I was talking to Merian McPartland about this, and she feels strongly that kids can be taught to improvise, I question this, How do you feel about that?
They can be taught the basis of improvisation, taught what improvisation is, and they can be taught what they're allegedly to improvise upon. You can improvise on three things: harmony things, melodic things, and rhythmic things. You can play the same melodic element but change the rhythm so that it's spaced differently; or you can play the same harmonic elements and change the melody; or you can play the same melody and put in completely different changes underneath. In improvisation you can deal with any of these elements, or all of them, if you want to.
But our principle is recomposition; which means that the player composes a solo as he goes along; he doesn't necessarily really improvise, which is why we came up with tunes like Charlie Parker's Ornithology, which is a copyrightable tune even though it was based on How High The Moon. So people can be taught to improvise, they can be taught what it's all about; but you don't teach them what to say or how to say it, just let them know what basis you' re dealing with.
I have a lot to learn about human nature, I guess because having been a teacher, I may or may not have been a good teacher, but I knew what I wanted to teach; I knew how I wanted my people to be able to play, and I never discriminated within music. Because music is only one thing, There is music out there, and it's up to us to grab it. Playing a musical instrument is only a means to an end. Because you can play well doesn't mean you're going to play any music on that instrument. We have some great technologists performing about, doing lots of things, who never say anything musical. Now I think people should have that kind of command of their instrument, and better, because that liberates them from having to think about how to play.
That approaches the question of today's free players; their music may be an extension of Ornette Coleman, and their music may be something new and important; but a lot of people wonder if they can really play, or are simply shocking.
I don't know; I enjoy a lot of things that are being said by people who are so-called "free" players or "avantgarde" or whatever you want to call it, and I approach them like I approach any other art. You see a painting and it can be by Michelangelo; but if you don't dig it, it doesn't make any difference who did it. My point is, cults of personality have long been one of the problems of playing music. That is, once you become as important to the creative world as a Duke Ellington, the cult of personality says that because you are Ellington, whatever you have to say is credible. And it is not necessarily so. Duke is my all-time favorite musician, he's the person for whom I have probably the most respect in the history of our art form - but I don't like everything he does, and I don't think that I'm supposed to. Because if I did, I wouldn't have any discretion myself. The same thing goes for, for example, Joseph Jarman or Archie Shepp; Archie's done some things that I like very much, and some things I thought were horrendous. But that's just me. I'm sure there are people who like some of the things I do and cannot understand why I do some other things. I don't want everybody to like me because it wouldn't give me any dimension. I like to be able to have my beginnings and my endings and I'd like my listeners to have the same privilege, and if they don't like something, don't give up to it!
Do you think what Miles is doing now is important in breaking new ground in music?
I don't know - but at the same time: I don't care. Miles is a lifestyle unto himself. There are people who emulate everything he does, so "breaking new ground" will mean that there are people who will emulate what he does, and maybe they'll get into other things. I don't care if a person is a revolutionary force, or whether he's perceived as so important that everything he's got to say automatically will be acceptable. I don't like everything he's doing now, but I think there are some great things in "Bitches Brew," and there are some other things that don't move me - but there again, that's me. There are people who love everything in it, and people who hate everything in it. My attitude to Miles is this: I like to hear him play his horn. I don't think he's particularly a great composer, but I like to hear him play anything, because he has a vitality and another dimension of communication in his instrument. And I'm going to like him even If I hate his band!
What about the period when you had Yusef Lateef in your group? Having two reedmen was sort of a departure. How did you happen to add him?
Yusef is one of the sweetest human beings I've ever encountered. A professional musician who has an architectural approach to playing music; he really builds from a foundation. He's sort of like Miles in that whatever he plays through his horn is worth listening to. We wanted to have Yusef in the band, but we didn't know how to cope with it at first; in fact we did some "small band/big band" kind of things, based on the old John Kirby principle, completely written. We did albums with arrangements of Dizzy Gillespie big band pieces, arranged for the sextet. When Charles Lloyd replaced Yusef we couldn't do that, because his sound and his feel for playing with other people wasn't quite the same, so we became six soloists rather than an ensemble. But it wasn't particularly unusual; Miles had a sextet with two saxophone players.
I'm not thinking of changing my present quintet format, because my brother and I play well together. I think if we were to split up I would just not have a band again. Having a band is a luxury; it gives you the chance to play your music and to luxuriate in an atmosphere of excellence. I care a lot more about having a good band than I do about the money. I always try to get good guys and keep them a long time.
Duke always said that he looked upon his band as a way of hearing his new compositions; as a workshop more than a commercial proposition.
Yes, If he couldn't have subsidized his band he could never have operated. A band can't make enough money to function just on what it earns (in performance fees). We have to take money from publishing, from records, everywhere we can get it in order to keep going.
What would you say your band you and Nat had in Florida, before you came to New York, sounded like?
We were strongly influenced by blues bands: Louis Jordan, Eddie Cleanhead Vinson, bands like that. It was a small group like we have now. Except for the quality of the musicianship it sounded quite a bit like the records we first made when we got to New York, except that we played more real, fundamental blues. We could and did play rhythm and blues; we had to cover the hit records just to survive. There was no market for a jazz group in Fort - Lauderdale, Florida, or Tallahassee !You can forget it ! But we played jazz anyway, and also the current favorites because it was necessary; we had singers. That was just the way that it was. But we used to play things by Dizzy, and Miles, and Bird - but they would come right behind Caledonia, or Cherry Red Blues.
 

http://www.cannonballjazz.com/Cannonball/Cannonball_Autobiography.htm

A Composite Autobiography of

Julian Edwin "Cannonball" Adderley

September 15, 1928 - August 8, 1975

To provide a sketch of this colorful, articulate jazzman, here are a number of excerpts from interviews with Julian reassembled in chronological order. Also included are essential comments from Nat Adderley pertaining to Julian's youth and New York City debut. These interviews are extracted from a number periodicals referenced in the Bibliography.

Cannonball & Nat 1935	circa 1960

 circa 1970

Youth

Full Legal Name: Julian Edwin Adderley

Date of Birth: September 15, 1928

Born: Tampa, Florida 

It may sound ridiculous, but when I was about three years old – my dad was a jazz musician at the time – I had no idea what that meant or what it was about – I’d never heard him play, and the horn didn't mean anything to me other than the normal curiosity that a kid would have about an instrument, but we got a radio, and it was the first one in the neighborhood. During that time the bands used to broadcast directly from the Cotton Club in New York in 1931, you see, and I used to hear Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington…

Three years old. Once Cab Calloway was broadcasting, and I was very fond of staying up late at night too, listening to these broadcasts. I didn’t know what I was listening to, but it was something interesting, and a tube blew out, and I cried and cried, and my parents couldn’t understand why I was crying so much about it, so they got a tube the next day, and I would never listen to anything but the music, really. They’d have other programs at the time – a lot of comedy on radio, but nothing but music got to me, and so I became fond of listening to music as a three-year-old, and by the time I was in school and so forth, I started taking piano lessons in second grade or something like that. (12)

Well I didn't stick with piano at all. I couldn’t stand the piano lessons, because the piano teacher was a pervert. (12)

When we hardly knew how to read, we knew how to sing. We would sing for company and all like that. Pop would go get us just as proudly, “Come on, boys! Sing WPA!” So you know how long that’s been.

That’s right. I had a scrapbook with the Mills Brothers in it. I had their autographs, because they visited our town when I was… You don’t remember, do you Nat? (8)

And like the church thing - We were Episcopalians, but we’d go down on the corner on Sunday night and listen to them get into it. Tabernacle Baptist Church. Sunday night after church they’d have a fish fry. We’d go down there to get some of that fish. They’d be inside poppin’ – Hey! Jumb! Hey! Jumb! Be swinging. And we’d dig it. We’d be outside dancing and carrying on. We didn’t consider it sacrilegious. (5)

I was collecting records when I was eight years old. I spent some of my allowance to buy a 37-cent record, and my dad thought that really meant something. That’s when he decided to buy my horn for me. (12)

I used to collect records by all the great bands. I had records by Chick Webb, by [Andy] Kirk, by Lucky Millinder… and when Basie put out early records, I had these because I thought Basie had something else to say… And I noticed, even then, that Basie was less the show commercial type band than some of the others that I really dug, including bands like Earl Hines, ‘cause Earl Hines had a vocal group in his band. I dug what he was doing, I dug the band an awful lot singing and so forth. I love Ella [Fitzgerald], but when Chick Webb’s band played the things that Ella did, “A Tisket-A Tasket,” I couldn’t stand it. The instrumental things I dug. So, even then, I knew what I wanted to hear from the bands. (12)

John Kirby was the first small band I remember. There were no small bands when I was a kid – during the ‘30s. The Benny Goodman small band. I would have loved to play with such a thing, but it didn’t mean the same thing as the Kirby band, because that was a total picture, that was really a little band.

By the time Louis Jordan became nationally prominent, I was playing. You see, I was talking about a kid’s dreams when I talked about John Kirby. I wasn’t a musician at the time, I was trying to learn to play trumpet. Louis Jordan was something else entirely. It was – what would you call it? – commercial, in a way. It didn’t mean the same thing to me that the jazz thing did. And I never really dug Louis as a sax player. I dig him more now than I did then. (7)

They got me a trumpet when I was in fifth grade, and I started out immediately trying to play jazz.

You know when all kids wanted to be sheriffs, and cops and robbers? Well, I wanted to be a jazz musician. (8)

I played the trumpet for about a year and developed into a pretty good little player – playing simple things – but I never had much range. And then I got big enough to play football with the boys, and I put the trumpet under the bed, and it stayed there for about three or four years. (8)

Nat was 9 and I was 12 when we began to play together. (11)

Nat Adderley: Lonnie Hayes, the drummer of the first group in which we played, gave him the nickname Cannibal, because he ate so much. But without education, most of the people in our hometown, Tampa, didn’t know what a cannibal was and transformed the nickname to Cannonball. (11)

Julian: What happened was, we started a school band, and I was the leader. (12)

Nat: When we began, we were part of a group in which I was the singer. I was 8 or 9 years old and had a soprano voice. I sang for tips, and I made more money than the group! That provoked some fuss with the musicians, and I left the group. My brother left with me, because he is my brother, and also because he was responsible for me, being older. But, after a while, we returned to the group because, without us, it wasn’t worth anything, and I became the leader Julian worked for me. He looked after the music, and I sang, but I shared my money with him! That lasted 4 years! And then my voice changed, and I began to play trumpet. (11)

Julian: Yeah, I was the trumpet player. I was the leader of a cult, because I was the only guy in my set who ever had any instrumental musical experience, and I used to show off, more or less. Then another guy who started playing trumpet could play higher notes than I could, and I sued to try and get to where he was going, and it didn’t work out. So, a friend of mine had a saxophone that I sued to fool around with sometimes, and I found out that I could play scales and so forth on it, and I decided to make a switch. But trumpet was, even then, still my first love. (12)

I ought to confess that I suffered with my trumpet: My lips! No matter what, after each lesson, I was bleeding! Finally, I couldn’t stand to even look at that instrument of torture any longer, and as I secretly adored the saxophone, on which I knew that problem would not be encountered, my father let me go. In 1941, I left the pleasures of the trumpet to my little brother Nat, who has not managed badly since then! (16)

I started playing alto about 1942. (12)

Nat: As soon as he learned to play it, he joined a band in Florida, but before he let on about it at home, he taught me how to play trumpet, so that the old man wouldn’t be disappointed.

Of course, at that time, it was right after the start of the Second World War, musicians were making a lot of money. And the both of us were working, even though we were just kids. That took a big financial load off him. That probably made the disappointment less too.

Meanwhile, Julian was trying hard to make me into a musician. I thought that reading music was a drag. We had a band where there really wasn’t any music, because nobody but Julian could read. I thought that the way to do it was to hear what was happening and then just sit down and play it by ear. So Julian decided that I had to learn and, when I fought it, he went to the old man and said, “Pop, I taught Nat to play the trumpet, but he refuses to read music.” That was that. I learned. (5)

Julian: My first influences were Johnny Hodges, Benny Carter, the little I’d heard of him, and Jimmy Dorsey, but the tenor players used to be more effective to me, and those men were all giants.

Here’s what’s wrong to me. The alto would seem to have to be played a certain way, and I didn’t understand why it had to be played that way. Why do you have to confine yourself to playing pretty on the alto? Why can’t you play gutty and swing like the tenor players were doing, ‘cause I was very fond of Ben Webster, Chu Berry, Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, Don Byas - everybody I knew practically. There was a tenor player with Andy Kirk who was rally a bitch, a guy named…

Dick Wilson, yeah. I never really dug Herschel (Evans) too much. He never got to me. I used to love Illinois Jacquet. The first thing I heard him play on was the Lionell Hampton band things…

And to give you an idea of how square I was about some things, I was very fond of Tex Beneke - and the young fellow who was playing with Harry James.

Corky Corcoran.

But I thought the most exciting of the tenor players was the guy who played with Luncefore - Joe Thomas. A lot of things he did were not really of lasting musical value, but he was an exciting son of a bitch.

I listened to Pete Brown, but he didn’t say much. He swung like hell, but the didn’t say much - sort of like the Roy Eldridge of the alto. You know what I mean? He knew how to get over, he was exciting, and he played well, but he rarely did anything that was complex. I’ll tell you who was the first alto player to do anything to me, playing alto differently from the way I was accustomed, was Earl Bostic, and I didn’t dig what he played so much as the way he played it. (12)

They (Jimmy Cole, from Indianapolis, and Jimmy Hensley, from Oklahoma) were the first alto players I heard in person who sounded - who had that explosive quality, that real hard swing. The ones I knew well - Johnny Hodges, Jimmy Dorsey - had that pretty quality. They could play fast, but it always seemed to be almost an exhibitionistic kind of thing, they had so much technique. (7)

The first alto players to impress me in swing tings were Eddie “Clean head” Vinson, and Pete Brown, and Rudy Williams with the Savoy Sultans. And then when I heard Charlie Parker on the Jay McShann records, I realized this was the sort of thing I’d fully expected from alto players all along. (3)

But I heard Eddie Vinson first. He was playing with Milton Lockin’s band and singing the blues. They used to tour the South. It was an east Texas band, out of Houston. I didn’t even know Eddies’s name; everybody called him “Mr. Clean head” He was fantastic. He was a very young man then. Milt’s band was Lunceford style, but raw, you understand? Lunceford had this impeccability in his band. But this was raw Lunceford - miss a lot of notes, loud, very little slurring. But  they were an impressive band. (7)

As I became more musically aware, the Ellington thing became more important, because I realized that was something really exceptional musically. But as a kid I couldn’t realize that. All I knew was he was a big man with a big band. (7)

Arranging

Frankly, my first efforts were nothing to be pound of. 1942, “Mr. Five-by-Five.” It was tired. It was a sad arrangement, but I started trying to write then. The first one that kind of really jumped was an old Savoy Sultans tune called “Ready, Set, Jump!” (14)

Florida Professional

My parents made me stay in school. Otherwise I would have gone on the road with bands earlier in life. But as it was, I Ended up going on the road during the summers, and then going back to college in the fall. By the time I had gotten out of school though, those old touring dance bands like Any Kirk’s had disappeared. I did play in Buddy Johnson’s band and Lucky Millinder’s, as well as some regional and Florida bands. Also, my school bands had a chance of going out i8n the summer and doing it. We had a taste of honey, but I never went anywhere like New York or Chicago with a band –I never go heard like that. (19)

I was a school teacher and played in Florida and that was that. I never looked at myself as a leader or any such thing. I taught high school for two-and-a-half years, was in the Army for three, then returned to teaching for two-and-a-half more years, a span of eight years. (19)

I was thoroughly disgusted at that time. I had my heart set on being a musician all my life, and there was nothing. These were really the dark ages, 1947 - 8 - 9 - 50. There was just nothing happening. No big bands. The giants of jazz were in poor shape financially. There was nothing going on. I saw Miles Davis in 1950 for the first time, and I don’t think I ever saw a guy who presented so much to me look so bad.

There was really nothing much going on, and here I was in Florida. With nothing going on in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, you figure out what was going on in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

I got disgusted and concentrated on teaching. That went on for two years. I started teaching in September, 1948, and didn’t play my horn in public till New Year’s Eve. I got a job aboard Ripley’s Chinese junk. And from then to prom time (May and June) I didn’t touch my horn at all, aside from playing a demonstration or something like that for the kids. I had no reason to practice. I was depressed. Not so much depressed, but as far as jazz was concerned, it was just out.

(Army) I didn’t even consider going into the band. I was all set to go to OCS and all that foolishness. Do my intellectual bit. But I met a couple of musicians in my outfit from Detroit who played very well. One of the guys was an alto player named Hafis, and everybody was saying he was so good. One day he said to me,  “They tell me you’re and alto player.” I said, “Yeah, I play a little.” He asked me to play for him. I didn’t and I got the bug again.

I decided to go into the band. And that’s the only reason I got back into music from a performer’s point of view, because I was through. It meant nothing to me any more. I’d been practicing all my life, and there was no outlet for it. (7)

Not since I was a kid did I have that all-consuming passion that said, “I’m going to make it, I’m going to take charge and be the greatest.” I had become attuned to being a good school teacher and a good musician. I used to on occasion practice my clarinet and flute and just stay in shape.

Ironically, I used to admire and hope to be like Charlie Mariano and other guys with Stan Kenton and Woody Herman. I thought, “If I could get into that kind of scene I’d be very happy.” I never thought of assaulting New York. I knew there were some guys who cold play very well; I always felt I could kind of play as well as the average second-rate alto player. But I didn’t have the time to devote to it. I was a school teacher playing commercial clubs at night backing singers. We really didn’t get a chance to stretch out or anything after I got out of school. I hadn’t played any serious jazz since I had left the Army. I met a lot of guys in the service who were really well-known jazz musicians, and who played very well. The thought of being in that kind of life never fazed me, because I could tell by playing with guys who worked professionally, that I could play okay-well enough to survive  in the mainstream. (19)

To New York

Nat: Julian kept getting better jobs all the time, so that he didn’t want to leave home. But I went out on the road with Lionel Hampton in 1954. I made my first visit to New York on that trip. (5)

Julian: I went up to New York to see him play with the band around Christmas of ’54. I sat in with the band, and Hamp offered me a job. I was all ready to go, but Hamp’s wife, Gladys, put an end to that. She said to have two brothers in the band would organize a clique. Nat was disgusted about the whole thing, and by next summer, he and Hamp had fallen out altogether, and Hamp fired Nat. (7)

Nat: It’s strange, but I never heard Charlie Parker during that time. He just wasn’t around. Then I went to Europe in 1955 and, by the time that we came back, he had died.

But I heard a lot of other players, mostly saxophonists. So, when I got back home, I told Julian that maybe he’d better come on back to New York with me. The opportunity seemed to be all right, and I didn’t see where he would be a drag under any circumstances, considering how well he played.

I think he was a little worried about how he’d be accepted here, but another thing that stopped him was the fact that he had a very good job at the time. (5)

Julian: I had enrolled in summer school at New York University for some graduate study, although I hadn’t gone to classes yet. My brother Nat was living there free lancing after he’d left Lionel’s band. He told me to bring my horn, because there were some gigs to be played. (19)

I had always wanted to be a professional musician. But during the mid –‘50s things were pretty lean for jazz. I’m sure I wouldn’t have gone to the city if Nat hadn’t kept insisting. (18)

We were going to work with Ruth Brown or somebody. My first night in New York, Nat was out playing with Paul Williams, making some money, so we couldn’t have rehearsal. The Cooper brothers and I went down to the Café Bohemia to see Jimmy Cleveland. We got there, and this Café Bohemia incident took place.

My brother and I, Buster Cooper and his brother, Steve, we wanted to organize a group. One evening we went to the Café Bohemia to see Jimmy Cleveland, who was playing there with Oscar Pettiford, Kenny Clarke, Horace Silver - Jerome Richardson was the tenor in the group, but that evening, he was late. We were in the middle of the room with out instruments. Charlie Rouse arrived, and Oscar asked him to replace Richardson. But since Charlie didn’t have his sax, O.P. told him: “There’s a young fellow in the middle of the room who has an alto. Borrow it from him and play with us.” Rouse, instead of borrowing my instrument, asked me if I wanted to play. I accepted. Oscar kept me with him. (11)

Nat: The evening when Julian played, for the first time, at the Café Bohemia, everybody wanted to know Julian’s name. I was sitting in the room, waiting my turn to play. A man came to ask me Julian’s name. At the time, you couldn’t make a living freely, and I thought that the man was a union inspector. I replied, “I didn’t know, I think he comes from Florida and he’s called Cannonball.” For six or seven years, Julian hadn’t been called that, but it’s the first name that came into my mind. The man who I took for a union inspector was the proprietor of the Bohemia. He told his customers, “he’s called ‘Cannonball’.” In town, it was an explosion. You heard nothing but the phrase, “There is a young fellow at the Bohemia who calls himself ‘Cannonball’ and who plays like Charlie Parker!” Since then, Julian rid himself of the comparison with Parker, but never of his nickname, Cannonball. (11)

Julian: And from that point on, I was a confirmed jazz musician. Nothing else could interfere. Before I sat in I had envisioned going to school again. I had enrolled in New York University. I never went to class. I sat in at the Bohemia in a Sunday evening, and I was due to go to class on Monday. But I said, “I got a job at the Bohemia? Playing with Oscar Pettiford and those cats? Ummmph!” That was a dream come true. I wouldn’t have made it in class; it was preparation to make more money teaching. (7)

Playing opposite was a trio with Walter Bishop playing piano and Paul Chambers bass. I’d sit in with the trio and have a lot more fun there, since all of Oscar’s music was written. (19)

Nat: But he had signed a contract to teach in Florida, and he had to go back. (5)

Julian: I could have worked with somebody else, gone back to New York and taken my chances freelancing, but by this time I was making 10 grand a year in Florida. I had this teaching at 5 grand, and I was making $150 a week playing at night, plus I had a couple of side hustles. I sold automobiles, and I did quite well too. I had that gift of gab. Old ladies, I could sell them any kind of car. It was hard to turn my back on all that and come to New York with nothing. So we decided to organize this band. (7)

Nat: It was a scene getting him back again. Somebody would offer him a job here, but it wouldn’t come up to what he was getting in Florida. But I sneaked around and worked all kinds of deals to get him to come back. And he did. (5)

First Quintet

Julian: Miles had helped me when I first came to New York. He told me whom to avoid among the record companies, but unfortunately I didn’t take his advice. Al Lion of Blue Note was one man he recommended, and Miles also told me about John Levy. (4)

I formed my first band toward the end of 1955. Having worked in New York, I was –naively-sure that the best Florida musicians would meet the challenge of the major club circuit. I also had Junior Mance, and old army buddy, with the group. We had a few warm-ups in Florida, and then my manager, John Levy, booked us in Philadelphia. We had rehearsed two-and-a-half weeks. We spent a couple of days in New York before hitting Philadelphia, and during that time my Florida men heard the New York musicians. Then, in Philadelphia, they also had to cope with the fact that Philadelphians like John Coltrane and Red Garland, home for the weekend, were standing around listening.

It was soon clear that being competent in Florida had nothing to do with New York competition. (In my own case, for example, guys who seemed to me to swing when I was in Florida no longer do.) By the second day in Philadelphia, John Levy decided to fire everyone. (This was January, 1956) Jack Fields, an ex-musician and then owner of the Blue Note, was also somewhat upset. I had gotten great response in that room on the way to Florida with Kenny Clarke, bassist Jimmy Mobley, and pianist Hen Gates, but on the way back, I found out that you can’t fool anybody in Philadelphia. Jack lent me some money, and I hired Specs Wright as drummer, but I had to keep the bass player for a while or give him two weeks’ pay. He couldn’t keep an even tempo on fast numbers, so we had to stop playing fast things for a while.

We went on to Detroit and Cleveland for two weeks each, and when we got to New York, I eventually hired Sam Jones [bass]. (4)

I got a little more [money], and I hired Jimmy Cobb [drums]. Specs Wright was a good drummer, but Specs is real machine-like. (13)

We kept going for the rest of the year with a book based in large part on what my brother Nat and I wrote and some of the usual jazz standards. We began to record, but there were problems at Mercury. The man then in charge of jazz there pretty largely decided what we recorded, who the arrangers would be, and who would publish any originals we brought in. I tell you frankly that I didn't know at the  time that I could protest, and I didn't at first go to John Levy with the problem. I had signed a 5 year contract with the company, and the options were entirely at their discretion. (I later found out the Union wouldn't allow more than 3 year contracts.) At first, being an unknown, I didn't even get any advances for my dates. Then there was a publicity splash of sorts, and they started that business about "The New Bird" which has plagued me ever since. (4)

Bird had died just 5 months before I arrived in the Apple. Record companies and jazz writers were looking for someone that they could hail as "The New Bird".

Well, at this time Sonny Criss and Sonny Stitt, Jackie McLean and Lou Donaldson, among others, were all playing great Bebop. Okay, here I come, a new face, and the promoters grabbed the idea of putting me up as Bird's replacement - my first record was advertised as such. You can imagine what kind of resentment was built up against me in the minds of a lot of players. When I objected - I wasn't even playing Bird's way - the publicity experts said that they knew what they were doing.

Actually, while the public was arguing which alto saxophonist was "The New Bird", I can't recall any musician striving for that credit. (18)

We were able to keep working fairly steadily through 1956. There was one stretch with two weeks off and various periods with a week layoff. We had come to New York with little money, and Nat and I both had cars, so that transportation was no problem. The sidemen were paid only when we worked; there was no one on retainer, so to speak.

II learned that year how important it is to keep the books accurately and to keep accounts separately. We were getting about a $1000 per week for 5 men. Out of that came $150 commission for my manager and booking office, $75 in Union taxes, a third of which we eventually got back, about $125 in Federal withholding taxes, and maybe another $15 in Social Security taxes. Now we should have deposited the money due the government in a separate account every week. But after a while, we began spending the money, because we also had gasoline bills, hotel bills (for ourselves, etc.). We were paying the sidemen $125 out which they had to pay their hotel bills.

By September of the next year, 1957, although we had been working steadily, we were about $9000 in debt. We had had no royalties from our recordings and had only made scale for making them. Besides, a lot of recording costs were charged against us which shouldn't have been. The band had not been particularly successful in that we had done about the sam e amount of business all the time. Very few clubs lost money on us, but they didn't make a hell of a lot either. (4)

We found that Nat and I, with a group to pay, could not make as much together as I could make alone with Miles. It was really a time of struggling. So when Nat went with J. J. Johnson, and I went with Miles. (18)

With Miles Davis

I got an offer from Dizzy to go with his small band. I was opposite Miles at the Bohemia, told him I was going to join Dizzy, and Miles asked me why I didn't join him. I told him he'd never asked me. Well, Miles kept talking to me for 2 or 3 months to come with him, and when I finally decided to finally cut loose in October, 1957, I joined Miles. I was with Miles from October, 1957, to September, 1959. (4)

Miles' group was a combo that had much success, but which was fairly - unusual. Miles was not satisfied with the group for reasons unrelated to the music - I joined Miles to replace Sonny Rollins. Actually, John Coltrane had left the group to play with Monk, and had been replaced by Sonny Rollins. But, at the moment of leaving on tour with a "Jazz for Moderns" show - where there was Gerry Mulligan, Chico Hamilton, Anita O'Day, Lennie Tristano - Rollins decided to stay in town to form his group. I became the saxophonist with the Miles Davis Quintet. But you're going to see how this group was - unstable. Actually, I had just arrived when, just before leaving on tour, Miles and Red Garland had some words. Tommy Flanagan left with us. The second night of the tour, Philly Joe didn't come, and Miles called Art Taylor. I watched all this movement with my eyes wide open. After the tour, the  original group - Miles, Red Garland, Paul Chambers, john Coltrane - returned, and we recorded Milestones, etc. Then Red left us again; he had some alimony problems that prevented him from going where the group was going. Bill Evans came - then Philly Joe and Miles argued, and Philly Joe left. He was replaced by Jimmy Cobb. (11)

Especially when he started to use ill Evans, Miles changed his style very hard to a softer approach. Bill was brilliant in other areas, but he couldn't make the real hard things come off. Then Miles started writing new things and doing some of Ahmad's tunes. When Philly Joe left the band, Miles at first thought Jimmy Cobb wasn't as exciting on fast tempos, and so we did less of those. And although he loves Bill's work, Miles felt Bill didn't swing enough on things that weren't subdued. When Bill left, Miles hired Red again and got used to swinging so much that he later found Wynton Kelly, who does both the subdued things and the swingers very well. (4)

I gained a lot of experience from Miles. He is one of the most tasteful people in the business. He chooses his notes carefully, everything is well thought out. I learned a lot about musical economy from him. You can't repeat yourself night after night when you're working with Miles Davis. Miles and John Coltrane are creating all the time, and the challenge is tremendous. (3)

I think I learned more through listening and playing with John than any other musician I ever heard. When we were first together, it seemed that John was playing more of what I wanted to play than anyone I have ever heard. (18)

I've got a new acetate I made of the kind of music that Miles doesn't particularly dig now. He's got a new concept now. He's tired of tunes. You know he says, "You play the melody, then everybody blows, and you play the melody, and the tune is ended, and that's a jazz performance." He says he's changed his concept somewhat - but it's one of those type LP's. I had all "soul brothers." It's on Riverside. I used Bags, Percy Heath, Wynton Kelly, and Art Blakey, and I thought it was a very good date. It was a "soul" session .(13)

Second Quintet

In the fall of '59, Nat and I organized a new quintet. (18)

I had planned when I joined him to stay with Miles for about a year. But I stayed longer. Miles was getting more successful, and there was the business recession. I was functioning meanwhile as kind of road manager - paying off the guys, collecting money. Meanwhile I had been getting inquiries from club owners about when I'd start my own band again, because then kept noticing the response when my name was announced. I told John Levy I'd try again if he could get the group a minimum of $1500 a week. Nat helped me in the recruiting. I gave him a list of the guys I contacted. John got about 2 months for us at $1500 a week. We broke in the Peps in Philadelphia, then went on to the Jazz Workshop in San Francisco. To start with, we had about 12 or 14 things in the book. It just happened to work out that we had several gospel-type numbers. Nat and I had some originals in the book, and we got more material from Duke Pearson of Atlanta, now in New York, and Randy Weston. (4)

I'll tell you what our repertoire consisted of when we went to work in Philadelphia. We played Moanin'. We played Straight, No Chaser - Spontaneous COmbustion, and some other things from our old repertoire. Just tunes we enjoyed playing and tunes we learned to play quickly. We had to get started without substantially new material, because Louis Hayes (the group's drummer then and now) wasn't available for rehearsal until 4 days before we were supposed to go to work; he was still with Horace Silver.

Bobby Timmons wrote Dis Here - he used to say, "Dis here's my new tune" - in San Francisco, where we went after the first gig in Philadelphia. Dis Here fascinated me. I had never heard a tune like that before. It's a very difficult tune to play. Just playing the melody is tough. It was in 3/4 or 6/8, whichever way you want to look at it, and that made it challenging. It's got something in it to work on. At first, we had to force this tune on people, it seemed as if almost magically some people started asking for it. (7)

The album we made for Riverside at the Jazz Workshop is the biggest seller I've ever had, and one big factor is Bobby Timmons' This Here in it. Bobby wrote the tune in San Francisco, although he'd been working on it before. The tune sort of gave us a sendoff, and everything else seemed to fall in. The album went into 5 figures within 5 weeks. It has already sold more than all my Mercury albums combined - except for the string album. Now we're booked into the summer, plan to go to Europe then and play the Cannes Festival, and come back for several of the American festivals. (4)

This time, the group was an immediate success. (18)

I think that the jazz amateurs were ready for this type of group, because, at the time, all the combos appeared to be introverted. The public appreciated us, because we were happy together, and because we took pleasure in playing. (11)

We still don't know what we did that time that we didn't do the first time. (18)

It's tough to say. People are funny. The records we made then are selling 3 times as well now. I can't explain people's reluctance to attach themselves to a new group when there's not a reason for them to be interested in some personality in the group. Our group had no stars. There was no one in the group who was well known, including the leader - the leader was a newcomer. (7)

Soul Jazz

We were pressured quite heavily by Riverside Records when they discovered there was a word called "soul." We became, from an image point of view, soul jazz artists. They promoting us that way, and I kept deliberately fighting it, to the extent that it became a game. It's like not accepting the Nobel Prize, because it may tend to make one wealthy or something. It's hard to put everything in its proper perspective, when you are led to believe that you're going to be wealthy because of some limited aspect of music that you make. (17)

It doesn't seem to me that soul was a movement, at least among musicians. Among the record makers, certainly! Everybody in the record industry laid that label on thick to make it more durable, and especially more salable. But that was all foreign to musicians. Besides, for as long as I can remember, I always played as I play today, and I remember perfectly well a quintet that I had 6 or 7 years ago, with Junior Mance and Jimmy Cobb, and in which we played one of my things that I called Sermonette. At the time, no one tried to baptize that way of playing that we were already familiar with. People called that "jazz," simply! Maybe it's a bit for that reason that it never sold very well. (16)

We happened to hear a gospel group, the Staple Singers, doing [Why Am I Treated So Bad?] a couple of years back. It hasn't been as big as Mercy for us, but its still a big, big record - 150,000 singles, and the album is still approaching that figure.

Nowadays we sometimes work audiences who are totally fringe; that is, they wouldn't come to hear us under any circumstances unless we had a hit record. But once they're in the club, we have no trouble getting them interested in everything we do.

We play things that are very commercial, others that are very modern; and we like ballads and play them. (10)

It is not our intention to be typecast as exponents of soul music or anything else. We have some of Ornette Coleman's pieces, and the only reason that we haven't played them is that we haven't been able to arrange rehearsals with Ornette. You see, whether we're playing Ellington's music or Monk's or Ornette's, we try to establish the sound the composer had in mind. (18)

Personnel

Actually, we soon will have had Joe Zawinul for 2 years, but that is twice as long as all the pianists that have played with us, excepting Junior Mance. And that truly bothers me, because Nat has been in the group since the beginning, and I have had the same bassist and the same drummer for 4 years. And moreover, Sam Jones spent a year and a half with me before those 4 years! (16)

Bobby Timmons stayed with us for 5 1/2 months. He left us to return to Art Blakey, and was replaced by Barry Harris, who stayed 6 months. (11)

As for Barry Harris, who I personally consider to be one of the greatest pianists of real jazz (he's the one who shaped Tommy Flanagan), he only feels good in Detroit or New York and refuses to leave on tour. (16)

Victor Feldman's the one who replaced Barry. Victor had already recorded an album with me, Poll Winners, where there was also Ray Brown, Louis Hayes, and Wes Montgomery. It was a good time with Victor, whom I like very much. He also stayed 6 months with us. He left us, because of his wife, who comes from California, was freezing in New York and wanted to go back. Victor was replaced by Joe Zawinul, who has stayed with us for 5 years. (11)

Since our outfit was going so well, we began looking around for a sixth member whose playing would compliment our direction and expand the total spectrum of the group. Yusef Lateef was perfect. He wasn't just a great musician, he also was a dynamic personality.

When he left to form his own group we knew that we'd never find a replacement for him. Instead, we tried substituting for him. These substitutes suffered by comparison - they didn't have Yuseef's charisma. Then we found Charles Lloyd.

He wasn't the type of player that anyone would compare to Yuseef; he had his own sound and style, and it fit into the group.

At this time, however, we went into this business doldrums, and we just weren't pulling in the kind of crowds that could support a sextet. So we cut back to our original quintet. (18)

Lloyd stayed with us for a year and a half, and after he left, we decided not to replace him. Charles' departure coincided with a change, the first in the rhythm section. Louis Hayes left us, after 6 years of collaboration, to go with Oscar Peterson. He was replaced by Roy McCurdy. Six months later, Sam Jones left us to rejoin Louis Hayes with Oscar. Herbie Lewis then became our bassist. (11)

Artistic Director

I've had strong feelings for a long time about musicians who, like myself, were stationed in Florida and various places like that and never got a chance to be heard, and so I had an arrangement with Riverside Records called Cannonball Adderley Presentations. I went to Florida and brought up a trumpeter named Blue Mitchell and made him available. (19)

I'm the one who introduced to the company Wes Montgomery, Blue Mitchell, and the Mangione brothers, with whom my own drummer, Roy McCurdy, played. (11)

I went to Indianapolis and brought Wes Montgomery to New York. He had been playing in the Missile Room, an after-hours kind of situation. He was a musician who everyone knew about, but nobody was willing to make an effort to do anything for him really. He had made a guest appearance with his brothers with a group called the Mastersounds on Fantasy. But really wasn't a good recording. I was so happy to be able to get Wes recorded, and when he made a record in New York, his impact was tremendous.

Nancy Wilson I brought to New York from Columbus, Ohio, and I had Riverside record Bill Evans for the first time.

Also, there were a lot of neglected folk around New York, like Budd Johnson, an older clarinet and tenor player - really plays well. We did a date. Budd Johnson and the Four Brass Giants - Clark Terry, Harry Edison, Ray Nance, and Nat Adderley. These were the kind of things that were important to me. (19)

Dexter had just left "college," where he had spent some time, and no one was interested in him any more, As I had possibility of recording whoever I wanted, I organized a session that permitted him to come back into contact. The disc was named by Orrin Keepnews The Resurgence of Dexter Gordan! A pompous title!

In Paris, I supervised two sessions for CBS. The first was a Bud Powell trio, with Pierre Michelot and Kenny Clarke. The record was issued in the United States under the title Bud Powell Plays Thelonious Monk. The second, with the same rhythm section plus Idress Suliemann and Don Byas, has never been edited. I don't know why. (11)

There's a guy right now down in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, who is head of the jazz studies program at SOuthern University. His name is Alvin Batiste, and I have never heard a finer clarinet player. We almost did an album one time. We had done a little over a half, but I had to go out of town, and we had an equipment foul-up with Riverside, and Alvin had to go back to Louisiana. We never finished the date; in the end the company went out of business, so Alvin's first chance to be heard fell through. He was out in California last summer and played a few tracks we were recording. He can hold his own with all the great players. (19)

Educator

We went to Georgia, and spent a week in residence at Albany State College, during Black Heritage Week. We found out that the kids there, all black, had no concept of what jazz represented. They knew who we were, because we had a record called Mercy, Mercy,, Mercy, and they identified us as Cannonball Adderley Mercy, Mercy, Mercy - and that was the limit. So I did a little inquiring and discovered that not only did they know nothing about jazz, but they didn't know anything about the music that they danced to or sang. They take for granted that there is going to be a new James Brown record, that there is going to be a good choir at the church to provoke certain things for them, or that B. B. King is going to come out with a new record and it's all going to be beautiful. They take it all for granted, but why? What is this all about? They're all wearing dashikis and natural hairdos and saying, "I'm Black and I'm proud," but proud of what? Are you proud because your skin is black? Is that the reason you are proud? I don't think that skin color is any reason to be proud or sorry. I think that a person should be proud of himself - for whatever he is, if he has a reason to be proud of himself. By the same token, he should not be ashamed of himself unless he has a reason to be ashamed of himself. So, you walk around and sat that you are Black and proud, but you do not know anything about being Black? Yes, they run down things to you, like Malcom X or Stokely Carmichael or anything that is recent, and even get into something about Africa, "Well, we know that the slaves came over here, and so forth," generalities.

And I say, "Well, you have a lot of things that are part of your everyday existence that you have a reason to be proud of - you should be proud of this music that is Black-oriented, that was begun, nurtured, and developed by Black people, in essence. And you don't know anything about it. Why don't you? If are really proud of being Black, why don't you know something about it - you should." You see, we have been told in print and over the air that, by and large, the music is dying - jazz is dead or dying - and I resent it, because there's really a lot happening. We have become alarmed about this thing, and, fearing that the rumors might become reality, we decided to do something about it. (6)

Although there is more interest in performing music today than ever before, the standards for performance are lower than ever. When I was a kid, I knew I had to be a pretty good saxophone player to get a job. It was obvious to me that I couldn't play as well as Johnny Hodges, Jimmy Dorsey, or Benny Carter. Today, though, a kid may be playing guitar just for his own enjoyment, then find that someone who doesn't play any better than he does just earned 5 million dollars with a couple of records.

There's not enough public admiration for truly great artistry. The only ones who are lionized and revered are the old men, like Pablo Casals. People select this institutions to idolize rather than the artistic level to emulate.

We're hoping, with our college tours, to stimulate young musicians into wanting to improve themselves. (2)

Our seminar workshops consist of lecture demonstrations on jazz, styles in jazz, and why jazz is a little bit different. We also go into the sociological aspects of jazz and why we talk black. We don't talk black about militancy or any such things - we  never suggest that there is anything wrong with any other music. It'd ironic that one of our teachers and members is Joe Zawinul, who is white and has a great concept of expressing this black-oriented music - anybody can do it if they love it and get involved in it.

Racial orientation has nothing to do with the performance of the music. We talk about its origins and development on the basis of its blackness, simply because that's the way that it has to be, but we don't say that this is something that is peculiar to Black people, because that is ridiculous. (6)

We're one of the most popular groups that plays colleges, and I don't mind being categorized as pop. But I don't like the idea of jazz as an institution being dismissed.

Man, we've gotten into everything. We've been reading everything we can put our hands on. We've studied Melville Herskovits (who wrote The Myth of the Negro Past). We've discussed Franklin Frazier's Black Bourgeoisie, and we've found that it is just what it says it is. Now we have a bibliography. We have a list of recommended records and instructional material. By the first of the year, we'll have a syllabus in print, and then ought to be really swinging. (1)

We researched and even developed a syllabus, but we never put it into print, because there were lots of people who suddenly appeared as experts, and it never really mattered if it did get printed or not - we just wanted to get the juices flowing.

We do a formal presentation on the development of jazz, emulating the styles and so forth, telling anecdotes about the people and maybe why things worked out the way they did. It's not designed to be a course, nor do we intend to lecture at the people. We want exchange, and that is all.

We don't have as many calls for these seminars today as we did, because most schools have a resident jazz program. Our seminars are not just for musicians, but for general students. Like we were at the University of California doing just that, and at one of our sessions we had something like 4000 people. So that's a really fantastic response, and it makes it all worthwhile. We were artists in residence at UCLA for a week, and we did a full spectrum of things there - clinics, seminars, concerts, and rap sessions at night in the various dorms. Just exchanging ideas about social issues, political things, about music, and things about our personal lives.

In all our formal sessions, we had in excess of 2500 to 3000 people. They were telling me at UCLA that they had other groups like the Julliard String Quartet, poets, and painters, but that the students weren't really using them. That really made me feel good, because they really used us. (19)

Final Years

[Performances at the rock palaces, such as San Francisco's Fillmore West] The kids really enjoyed our music, and the more far-out we played, the better they like it. If we played a traditional Monk-type tune, it would go over like a rock, but if we really got into other things, expressionism, they called it "doing your own thing," and they dug it. Today, John Coltrane would probably be bigger than bubble gum. (6)

Come next month, Roy McCurdy will have been with us 8 years, Walter's been playing bass about 3 1/2 years. George Duke is the newest member of our group; he's only been in the band 14 or 15 months. He was teaching at the San Francisco Conservatory. At 26, he's had more varied experiences than most people have during their entire career. He's played with Gerald Wilson, Don Ellis, Frank Zappa and the Mothers, and has had his own group. (19)

We're very loose. We don't have a real boss-employee relationship. I'm not an ego leader. I like musicians who can play, and I like to hear them play, and we don't need anyone decorating the bandstand to play behind me. (19)

It's not difficult to keep our band working; we can work far more than we want to, but we just don't make any money at it. Our greatest expense is airline tickets. We don't do that many club dates. We mostly college concerts, festivals, and then some regular commercial package-type concerts. We're managed by John Levy, who also manages Nancy Wilson, Roberta Flack, Les McCann, and Freddie Hubbard, and so we can all be packaged off with each other in these concerts.

None of us really like to take care of the business angle of the business. I was lucky, because I got started out with John Levy. Miles Davis told him years ago to take care of me. John takes care of all the logistics of this type of operation. He sees to it that we get there, and that relieves me of the things other than the musical responsibilities. (19)

We're doing a one-nighter in Finland - I can hardly wait - a one-night in Cannes, and this month a tour of South America. In October we're doing a Japanese tour, and in November we're going to do a European tour that includes Prague, Warsaw, Belgrade, Bucharest, Budapest - i'm just thrilled - along with the standard western European places, including Lisbon - I don't anybody who's ever played there. Isn't that wild?

My brother and I think these things up; we have our own self-contained think tank. We've been trying to help small impoverished schools, colleges, and so forth, to apply for grants from the National Endowment for the Arts to get us on the campuses where we would otherwise never be. We Jackson State College in Mississippi and Benedict College in South Carolina. These are Black schools that really have no money for this type of thing. The fees are approximate, just so we can get there and it doesn't cost us anything - we don't go in for profit.

We have a booking coming up in South Dakota for 2 days that's been made possible by matching funds from 3-M and the National Endowment for the Arts.

The following summer we're going to do an Upward Bound jazz camp at Florida A & M for 5 weeks. I'm going to get people like DOnald Byrd to come in and do a week. We're even going to do a course on "Show business-business." (19)

Alto saxophonist Julian "Cannonball" Adderley died August 8, 1975, in a Gary, Indiana hospital following a massive stroke. He was 46. (15)

BIBLIOGRAPHY

• Anonymous. Black Music. Broadcast Music Incorporated (January 1970), p. 19.

• Anonymous. Jazz on Campus. Downbeat, xxxvi (November 13, 1969), p. 32.

• Anonymous. Now We’re Moving Back to Where We Belong. Melody Maker, xxxviii (September 21, 1963), p. 7.

• Adderley, Julian. Paying Dues: The Education of a Combo Leader. Jazz Review, III/5 (May 1960), pp. 12-15.

• Adderley, Nat. Cannon and I. Metronome, LXXVII/12 (December 1960), pp. 19-19.

• Albertson, Chris. Cannonball the Communicator. Downbeat, XXXVII (January 8, 1970), pp. 12-13.

• DeMichael, Don. Cannonball. Downbeat, XXIX (June 21, 1962), pp. 13-15.

• DeMichael, Don. Inside the Cannonball Adderley Quintet (Part 1). Downbeat, XXVIII (June 8, 1961), pp.19-22.

• Feather, Leonard. The Book of Jazz. New York: Horizon, 1965.

• Feather, Leonard. Requiem for a Jazz We Knew and Loved So Well. Melody Maker, LII (September 2, 1967), p. 6.

• Ginibre, Jean Louis. Les freres amis a la question. Jazz Magazine, No. 131 (June 1966), pp. 197-209.

• Gitler, Ira. Julian “Cannonball” Adderley (Part 1). Jazz: A Quarterly of American Music, No. 3 (1959), pp. 167-209.

• Gitler, Ira. Julian “Cannonball” Adderley (Part 2). Jazz: A Quarterly of American Music, No. 4 (1959), pp. 289-295.

• Maynard, Gould. Two Rounds with Cannon. Metronome, LXXVIII/9 (September 1961), pp. 13-16.

• Morgenstern, Dan. Cannonball Dead at 46. Downbeat, XLII (October 9, 1975), p. 9.

• Postif, Francois. Julian “Cannonball” Adderley. Jazz Hot, XXVII/2 (February 1963), pp. 17-19.

• Priestly, Brian. Cannonball – from the Soul. Melody Maker, XLVII (November 4, 1972), p. 48.

• Quinn, Bill. The Well Rounded “Ball”. Downbeat, XXXIV (November 16, 1967), pp. 17-19.

• Wilson, Pat. Conversing with Cannonball. Downbeat, XXXIX (June 22, 1972), pp. 12-13.

http://walktall.halleonardbooks.com/

Walk Tall: The Music and Life of Julian "Cannonball" Adderley by Cary Ginell, Hal Leonard Books, 2013

 

Cannonball Adderley introduces his 1967 recording of "Walk Tall," by saying, "There are times when things don't lay the way they're supposed to lay. But regardless, you're supposed to hold your head up high and walk tall." This sums up the life of Julian "Cannonball" Adderley, a man who used a gargantuan technique on the alto saxophone, pride in heritage, devotion to educating youngsters, and insatiable musical curiosity to bridge gaps between jazz and popular music in the 1960s and '70s. His career began in 1955 with a Cinderella-like cameo in a New York nightclub, resulting in the jazz world's looking to him as "the New Bird," the successor to the late Charlie Parker. But Adderley refused to be typecast. His work with Miles Davis on the landmark Kind of Blue album helped further his reputation as a unique stylist, but Adderley's greatest fame came with his own quintet's breakthrough engagement at San Francisco's Jazz Workshop in 1959, which launched the popularization of soul jazz in the 1960s. With his loyal brother Nat by his side, along with stellar sidemen, such as keyboardist Joe Zawinul, Adderley used an engaging, erudite personality as only Duke Ellington had done before him. All this and more are captured in this engaging read by author Cary Ginell.

THE MUSIC OF CANNONBALL ADDERLEY: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH CANNONBALL ADDERLEY:

Cannonball Adderley Sextet in Switzerland 1963 - "Bohemia After Dark":

 

Cannonball Adderley Sextet- "Bossa Nova Nemo":

 

Nat Adderley, Yusef Lateef, Joe Zawinul, Sam Jones, Louis Hayes from Oscar Brown Jr's 'Jazz Scene'--1962

Jazz Casual - Cannonball Adderley Quintet:

 

"Jazz Casual with Ralph Gleason" TV program (1963) with interview.

Nat Adderley, cornet;
Cannonball Adderley, alto sax;
Joe Zawinul, piano;
Sam Jones, acoustic double bass;
Louis Hayes, drums.

Setlist:
Scotch and Water 0:00
Interview 5:00
Arriving Soon 10:30
Cannonball comments 19:05
Unit Seven pt1 19:47
Interview 26:35
Unit Seven pt2 27:34 

Cannonball Adderley Quintet "Work Song":

     

Live televised performance in Spain,  1963:

Cannonball Adderley: saxo; Nat Adderley : corneta; Yusef Lateef: instrumentos de viento; Joe Zawinul: piano; Sam Jones:bajo; Louis Hayes: batería.

Cannonball Adderley - Live in '63 Germany & Switzerland concerts:

 

Cannonball Adderley- Alto
Nat Adderley- Cornet
Yusef Lateef- Tenor Sax , Flute, Oboe
Joe Zawinul- Piano
Sam Jones - Bass
Louis Hayes - Drums

Switzerland:
1. Jessica's Day
2. Angel Eyes
3. Jive Samba
4. Bohemia After Dark
5. Dizzy's Business
6. Trouble In Mind
7. Work Song
8. Unit 7

Germany:
9. Jessica's Day
10.Brother John
11. Jive Samba 

Cannonball Adderley - "Somethin' Else"-- (1958) [FULL ALBUM]:

 

Cannonball Adderley-- "Brother John 1963":

 

The Cannonball Adderley Sextet - In New York (1962):

 

Tracklist:

A1 Introduction by Cannonball 0:00
A2 Gemini 2:00
A3 Planet Earth 13:42
B1 Dizzy's Business 21:43
B2 Syn-anthesia 28:45
B3 Scotch and Water 35:49
B4 Cannon's Theme 41:45 

Cannonball Adderley Quintet--"This Here":

 

"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Now it's time to carry on some. Can we have the lights out please, for atmosphere? Now we're about to play a new composition, by our pianist, Bobby Timmons. This one is a jazz waltz, however, it has all sorts of properties. It's simultaneously a shout and a chant, depending upon whether you know anything about the roots of church music, and all that kinda stuff - meaning soul church music - I don't mean, uh, Bach chorales and so, that's different. You know what I mean? This is SOUL, you know what I mean? You know what I mean? Allright. Now we gonna play this, by Bobby Timmons. It's really called "This Here". However, for reasons of soul and description, we have corrupted it to become "Dish-ere". So that's the name: "Dish-ere" 

                 --Introduction by Cannonball Adderley

Cannonball Adderley -- alto saxophone
Nat Adderley -- cornet
Bobby Timmons -- piano
Sam Jones -- bass
Louis Hayes -- drums 

BEAUTIFUL CLASSIC 1961 RECORDING BY NANCY WILSON AND CANNONBALL ADDERLEY QUINTET
CAPITOL RECORDS

 
 

Nancy Wilson / Cannonball Adderley
Year: 1961
Label: Capitol

An excellent collaboration of the Nancy Wilson voice with the Cannonball Adderley alto sax from the early '60s. While this 1961 recording was the first time Wilson was with Adderley in the studio, it was not the first time they had worked together. After singing with Rusty Bryant's band, Wilson had worked with Adderley in Columbus, OH. (It was there that Adderley encouraged her to go to N.Y.C. to do some recording, eventually leading to this session.) Not entirely a vocal album, five of the 12 cuts are instrumentals. A highlight of the album is the gentle cornet playing of Nat Adderley behind Wilson, especially on "Save Your Love for Me" and on "The Old Country." Cannonball Adderley's swinging, boppish sax is heard to excellent effect throughout. Joe Zawinul's work behind Wilson on "The Masquerade Is Over" demonstrates that he is a talented, sensitive accompanist. On the instrumental side, "Teaneck" and "One Man's Dream" are especially good group blowing sessions. On the other end of the spectrum, Adderley's alto offers a lovely slow-tempo treatment of the Vernon Duke-Ira Gershwin masterpiece, "I Can't Get Started." To keep the listeners on their musical toes, the first couple of bars of "Save Your Love for Me" are quotes from "So What" from the Miles Davis Sextet seminal Kind of Blue session. Given the play list and the outstanding artists performing it, why any serious jazz collection would be without this classic album is difficult to comprehend.

Cannonball Adderley Quintet "Mercy Mercy Mercy" (1966):

 
All,

A GREAT SPOKEN INTRODUCTION BY THE ALWAYS SOULFUL AND ELOQUENT CANNONBALL ADDERLEY TO A GREAT SONG PLAYED BEAUTIFULLY BY A GREAT, GREAT BAND. THE YEAR IS 1966. LISTEN AND REVEL IN WHAT THIS MUSIC ALWAYS DOES AND EVOKES AT ITS VERY BEST NO MATTER WHAT 'STYLE" OR 'GENRE" IT HAPPENS TO USE OR REFERENCE. YESSSSS...

Kofi

Cannonball Adderley Quintet - "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" (1966):

"You know, sometimes we're not prepared for adversity. When it happens sometimes, we're caught short. We don't know exactly how to handle it when it comes up. Sometimes, we don't know just what to do when adversity takes over. And I have advice for all of us, I got it from my pianist Joe Zawinul who wrote this tune. And it sounds like what you're supposed to say when you have that kind of problem. It's called Mercy...Mercy...Mercy..."
--Cannonball Adderley "Live at the Club" (Capitol, 1966)

Cannonball Adderley Quintet:

Cannonball Adderley (alto saxophone);
Nat Adderley (cornet)
Joe Zawinul (acoustic & electric pianos);
Victor Gaskin (bass)
Roy McCurdy (drums)

http://www.indiewire.com/2015/11/watch-46-minute-cannonball-adderley-narrated-doc-a-childs-introduction-to-jazz-1961-137735/

Watch 46-Minute Cannonball Adderley-Narrated Doc, 'A Child's Introduction to Jazz' (1961)

by Tambay A. Obenson

November 9, 2015

IndieWire

In short, in 1961, jazz alto saxophonist of the hard bop era of the 1950s and 1960s, Julian “Cannonball” Adderley – remembered for his 1966 single “Mercy Mercy Mercy,” and for his work with on one of Miles Davis’ most appreciated albums, “Kind of Blue” (1959) – narrated a children’s introduction to jazz music, titled “A Child’s Introduction to Jazz.” 

While it was made for the kiddies, I think it can also be appreciated by adults who need an intro to the art form. Documenting the major styles and great performers that launched in New Orleans during the turn of the 20th century, when an exceedingly vibrant, celebratory subculture emerged, and fueled the birth of the music, the tutorial was part of a broader series of educational albums for children, and included some of Jazz’s legends, like Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller, Jelly Roll Morton, Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins, Thelonious Monk, and others.

I should mention that, award-winning film and theatre writer/director George C. Wolfe, is currently developing a scripted for Starz, on the birth of jazz.

Cannonball’s “A Child’s Introduction to Jazz” has long been out of circulation, but, thankfully, someone uploaded it to YouTube, and is embedded below:

A Child's Introduction to Jazz by Cannonball Adderley:

 

Basic introduction narrated by Cannonball Adderley. Featuring Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller,
Thelonious Monk etc.

Cannonball Adderley - "74 Miles Away"-1967:

 


Cannonball Adderley--Alto saxophone, Nat Adderley (cornet, flugelhorn), Joe Zawinul (piano), Victor Gaskin (bass) and Roy McCurdy (drums). 

Cannonball Adderley - "Walk Tall":

 

"Walk Tall" (1967)--Composition by Cannonball Adderley from his recording "74 Miles Away" on Capitol Records

LIVE RECORDING VERSION:
Intro features a young 25 year old Rev. Jesse Jackson. This is a Capital release - recorded live in Hollywood, California on June 12th-24th 1967. You will find this track on the LP 74 Miles Away - The Cannonball Adderley Quintet.



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cannonball_Adderley

Cannonball Adderley

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Cannonball Adderley
Cannonball (left) and Nat Adderley in 1966
Background information
Birth name	Julian Edwin Adderley
Born	September 15, 1928 Tampa, Florida, U.S.
Died	August 8, 1975 (aged 46) Gary, Indiana, U.S.
Genres	Hard bop, soul jazz, modal jazz, jazz rock[1]
Occupation(s)	Teacher, saxophonist
Instruments	Alto saxophone, soprano saxophone
Years active	1955–1975
Labels	Blue Note, Fantasy, Capitol, Prestige, Riverside
Associated acts	Nat Adderley, Miles Davis, George Duke, Yusef Lateef, Sam Jones, Joe Zawinul, Louis Hayes, Bobby Timmons, Bill Evans

Nat and Cannonball Adderley in Amsterdam, 1961

Julian Edwin "Cannonball" Adderley (September 15, 1928 – August 8, 1975) was a jazz alto saxophonist of the hard bop era of the 1950s and 1960s.^[2][3][4]
Adderley is remembered for his 1966 single "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy", a crossover hit on the pop charts, and for his work with trumpeter Miles Davis, including on the epochal album Kind of Blue (1959). He was the brother of jazz cornetist Nat Adderley, a longtime member of his band.^[5]

Contents

 

• 1 Early life and career
• 2 Band leader
• 3 Later life
• 4 Legacy
• 5 Discography
• 6 References
• 7 External links

 

Early life and career

 

Originally from Tampa, Florida, Adderley moved to New York in 1955.^[5][6] His nickname derived from "cannibal", a title imposed on him by high school colleagues as a tribute to his voracious appetite.^[7]
Cannonball moved to Tallahassee, when his parents obtained teaching positions at Florida A&M University.^[8] Both Cannonball and brother Nat played with Ray Charles when Charles lived in Tallahassee during the early 1940s.^[9] Adderley moved to Broward County, Florida, in 1948 after finishing his music studies at Tallahassee and became the band director at Dillard High School in Fort Lauderdale, a position which he held until 1950.^[6] Cannonball was a local legend in Southeast Florida until he moved to New York City in 1955.
One of his known addresses in New York was in the neighborhood of Corona, Queens.^[5][10] He left Florida originally to seek graduate studies at New York conservatories, but one night in 1955 he brought his saxophone with him to the Café Bohemia. Asked to sit in with Oscar Pettiford in place of his band's regular saxophonist, who was late for the gig, the "buzz" on the New York jazz scene after Adderley's performance announced him as the heir to the mantle of Charlie Parker.^[6]
Adderley formed his own group with his brother Nat after signing onto the Savoy jazz label in 1957. He was noticed by Miles Davis, and it was because of his blues-rooted alto saxophone that Davis asked him to play with his group.^[5] He joined the Davis band in October 1957, three months prior to the return of John Coltrane to the group. Some of Davis's finest trumpet work can be found on Adderley's first solo album Somethin' Else (also featuring Art Blakey and Hank Jones), which was recorded shortly after the two giants met. Adderley then played on the seminal Davis records Milestones and Kind of Blue. This period also overlapped with pianist Bill Evans' time with the sextet, an association that led to recording Portrait of Cannonball and Know What I Mean?.^[5]
His interest as an educator carried over to his recordings. In 1961, Cannonball narrated The Child's Introduction to Jazz, released on Riverside Records.^[5]

Band leader

 

The Cannonball Adderley Quintet featured Cannonball on alto sax and his brother Nat Adderley on cornet. Cannonball's first quintet was not very successful;^[11] however, after leaving Davis' group, he formed another, again with his brother, which enjoyed more success.^{[citation needed]}
The new quintet, which later became the Cannonball Adderley Sextet, and Cannonball's other combos and groups, included such noted musicians as saxophonists Charles Lloyd and Yusef Lateef, pianists Bobby Timmons, Barry Harris, Victor Feldman, Joe Zawinul, Hal Galper, Michael Wolff, and George Duke, bassists Ray Brown, Sam Jones, Walter Booker, and Victor Gaskin, and drummers Louis Hayes and Roy McCurdy.

Later life

 

By the end of the 1960s, Adderley's playing began to reflect the influence of the electric jazz, avant-garde, and Davis's experiments on the album Bitches Brew.^{[citation needed]} On his albums from this period, such as Accent on Africa (1968) and The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free (1970), he began doubling on soprano saxophone, showing the influence of Coltrane and Wayne Shorter.^{[citation needed]} In that same year, his quintet appeared at the Monterey Jazz Festival in California, and a brief scene of that performance was featured in the 1971 psychological thriller Play Misty for Me, starring Clint Eastwood. In 1975 he also appeared in an acting role alongside José Feliciano and David Carradine in the episode "Battle Hymn" in the third season of the TV series Kung Fu.^[12]
Songs made famous by Adderley and his bands include "This Here" (written by Bobby Timmons), "The Jive Samba", "Work Song" (written by Nat Adderley), "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" (written by Joe Zawinul) and "Walk Tall" (written by Zawinul, Marrow, and Rein). A cover version of Pops Staples' "Why (Am I Treated So Bad)?" also entered the charts. His instrumental "Sack o' Woe" was covered by Manfred Mann on their debut album.
He had a cerebral hemorrhage and four weeks later, on August 8, 1975, he died at St. Mary Methodist Hospital in Gary, Indiana. He was 46 years old.^[2] He was buried in the Southside Cemetery, Tallahassee.

Legacy

 

Later that year he was inducted into the Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame.^[5] Joe Zawinul's composition "Cannon Ball" on Black Market is a tribute to his former leader.^[5] Pepper Adams and George Mraz dedicated the composition "Julian" on the 1975 Pepper Adams album of the same name days after Cannonball's death.^[13]
Adderley was initiated as an honorary member of Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia fraternity (Gamma Theta chapter, University of North Texas, '60, & Xi Omega chapter, Frostburg State University, '70) and Alpha Phi Alpha (Beta Nu chapter, Florida A&M University).^{[citation needed]}
His influence in hip hop is evident in songs such as "1nce Again" by A Tribe Called Quest,^[14] She Said (The Pharcyde song) by the Pharcyde,^[14] and "Long Run" by Fly Union^[14] which was also featured in the popular NBA 2K14 video game.^[15]

Discography

 

Main article: Cannonball Adderley discography

References

1. 
   
2. Ginell, Richard S. "Black Messiah – Cannonball Adderley : Songs, Reviews, Credits, Awards". AllMusic. Retrieved July 8, 2012.
3. 
   
4. "Cannonball Adderley, Jazzman, Dead". New York Times. Associated Press. August 8, 1975. Retrieved 2016-04-04.
5. 
   
6. Randel, Don Michael (1996). "Adderley, Cannonball". The Harvard Biographical Dictionary of Music. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. p. 5. ISBN 0-674-37299-9.
7. 
   
8. Cook, Richard (2005). Richard Cook's Jazz Encyclopedia. London: Penguin Books. p. 3. ISBN 0-141-00646-3.
9. 
   
10. Yanow, Scott. "Cannonball Adderley – Music Biography, Credits and Discography". AllMusic. Retrieved July 8, 2012.
11. 
    
12. Cannoball-Adderley.com
13. 
    
14. Gilles Miton. "Cannonball Adderley". Cannonball-adderley.com. Retrieved 2012-04-09.
15. 
    
16. "Adderley, Nat (Nathaniel)". Encyclopedia of Jazz Musicians. Jazz.com. Retrieved 2012-12-13.
17. 
    
18. Lydon, Michael, Ray Charles: Man and Music, Routledge (1996); updated edition, January 22, 2004, ISBN 0-415-97043-1.
19. 
    
20. Berman, Eleanor. "The jazz of Queens encompasses music royalty", Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, January 1, 2006. Accessed October 1, 2009. "When the trolley tour proceeds, Mr. Knight points out the nearby Dorie Miller Houses, a co-op apartment complex in Corona where Clark Terry and Cannonball and Nat Adderley lived and where saxophonist Jimmy Heath still resides."
21. 
    
22. Milkowski, Bill, "Junior Mance: Saved By A Cannonball", JazzTimes, January 16, 2012.
23. 
    
24. "Julian "Cannonball" Adderley". IMDb.com. Retrieved 2012-12-13.
25. 
    
26. "PepperAdams.com". PepperAdams.com. Retrieved 2012-12-13.
27. 
    
28. http://www.whosampled.com/Cannonball-Adderley/sampled/
29. 
    
15. http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2013/07/lebron-james-spotify-nmba-2k14

External links

Wikiquote has quotations related to: Cannonball Adderley

1. Cannonball Adderley at Find a Grave
2. The Cannonball Adderley Rendez-vous
3. Cannonball Adderley Discography at Jazzdisco.org
4. Cannonball Adderley at AllMusic
5. Cannonball Adderley at NPR Music