SOUND PROJECTIONS
AN ONLINE QUARTERLY MUSIC MAGAZINE
EDITOR: KOFI NATAMBU
SPRING, 2020
VOLUME EIGHT NUMBER THREE
HERBIE HANCOCK
Featuring the Musics and Aesthetic Visions of:
GIGI GRYCE
(May 16-22)
CLARK TERRY
(May 23-29)
BRANFORD MARSALIS
(May 30-June 5)
ART FARMER
(June 6-12)
FATS NAVARRO
(June 13-19)
BILLY HIGGINS
(June 20-26)
HANK MOBLEY
(June 27-July 3)
RAPHAEL SAADIQ
(July 4-10)
INDIA.ARIE
(July 11-17)
JOHN CLAYTON
(July 18-24)
MARCUS MILLER
(July 25-31)
JAMES P. JOHNSON
(August 1-7)
https://www.allmusic.com/artist/art-farmer-mn0000502199/biography
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art_Farmer
https://www.allmusic.com/artist/art-farmer-mn0000502199/biography
Art Farmer
(1928-1999)
Artist Biography by Scott Yanow
Largely overlooked during his formative years, Art Farmer's consistently inventive playing was more greatly appreciated as he continued to develop. Along with Clark Terry, Farmer helped to popularize the flügelhorn among brass players. His lyricism gave his bop-oriented style its own personality. Farmer
studied piano, violin, and tuba before settling on trumpet. He worked
in Los Angeles from 1945 on, performing regularly on Central Avenue and
spending time in the bands of Johnny Otis, Jay McShann, Roy Porter, Benny Carter, and Gerald Wilson among others; some of the groups also included his twin brother, bassist Addison Farmer (1928-1963). After playing with Wardell Gray (1951-1952) and touring Europe with Lionel Hampton's big band (1953), Farmer moved to New York and worked with Gigi Gryce (1954-1956), Horace Silver's Quintet (1956-1958), and the Gerry Mulligan Quartet (1958-1959). Farmer, who made many recordings in the latter half of the '50s (including with Quincy Jones and George Russell and on some jam-session dates for Prestige) co-led the Jazztet with Benny Golson (1959-1962) and then had a group with Jim Hall (1962-1964). He moved to Vienna in 1968 where he joined the Austrian Radio Orchestra, worked with the Kenny Clarke-Francy Boland Big Band and toured with his own units. Starting in the '80s, Farmer visited the U.S. more often and remained greatly in demand up until his death on October 4, 1999. Farmer
recorded many sessions as a leader throughout the years for Prestige,
Contemporary, United Artists, Argo, Mercury, Atlantic, Columbia, CTI,
Soul Note, Optimism, Concord, Enja, and Sweet Basil.
https://musicians.allaboutjazz.com/artfarmer
Born on August 21, 1928, in Iowa, Farmer was raised in Phoenix, Arizona along with his twin brother Addison. They moved to Los Angeles in 1945 and during the late '40s, Farmer worked with the West Coast based bands of Jay McShann, Johnny Otis, Roy Porter and Benny Carter. He also worked with Wardell Gray and in 1952-'53 he went to Europe on the same Lionel Hampton tour as Clifford Brown, Gigi Gryce and Quincy Jones. Upon his return he decided to settle in New York City and shortly thereafter, he worked with Gryce (1954-'56), Horace Silver (1956-'58) and Gerry Mulligan (1958-'59).
Then, in 1959, he became a co-leader of the Jazztet with Benny Golson, a group that remained together from 1959-'62 and was revived in the early '80s. The Jazztet possibly enjoyed less success than it deserved. The unique combination of Farmer's improvisational talent and leadership combined with Benny Golson's gift for composition and arrangement produced a number of world-class recordings. Apart from Golson, the Jazztet included a young McCoy Tyner and trombonist Curtis Fuller.
Following the first Jazztet, Farmer worked in a quartet format with Jim Hall, which lasted until 1964. In musical terms Farmer's trademarks have always been; carefully built melodic statements, beautifully proportioned solos and a rich and mellow sound. Since the early 60-s Farmer has played the flugelhorn as his primary instrument which has only enhanced the mellowness of his tone. He travelled to Europe in the mid '60s for solo tours and worked with Jimmy Heath at home, before taking a job with the Austrian Radio Orchestra in 1968.
Since then he has toured around the world, often returning home for club dates and recordings. In the 80s he recorded 3 fine albums for Contemporary, Clifford Jordan plays sax on all three. In recent years he has taken up the flumpet, a hybrid blending qualities of the trumpet and flugelhorn.
https://musicians.allaboutjazz.com/artfarmer
Art Farmer
Born on August 21, 1928, in Iowa, Farmer was raised in Phoenix, Arizona along with his twin brother Addison. They moved to Los Angeles in 1945 and during the late '40s, Farmer worked with the West Coast based bands of Jay McShann, Johnny Otis, Roy Porter and Benny Carter. He also worked with Wardell Gray and in 1952-'53 he went to Europe on the same Lionel Hampton tour as Clifford Brown, Gigi Gryce and Quincy Jones. Upon his return he decided to settle in New York City and shortly thereafter, he worked with Gryce (1954-'56), Horace Silver (1956-'58) and Gerry Mulligan (1958-'59).
Then, in 1959, he became a co-leader of the Jazztet with Benny Golson, a group that remained together from 1959-'62 and was revived in the early '80s. The Jazztet possibly enjoyed less success than it deserved. The unique combination of Farmer's improvisational talent and leadership combined with Benny Golson's gift for composition and arrangement produced a number of world-class recordings. Apart from Golson, the Jazztet included a young McCoy Tyner and trombonist Curtis Fuller.
Following the first Jazztet, Farmer worked in a quartet format with Jim Hall, which lasted until 1964. In musical terms Farmer's trademarks have always been; carefully built melodic statements, beautifully proportioned solos and a rich and mellow sound. Since the early 60-s Farmer has played the flugelhorn as his primary instrument which has only enhanced the mellowness of his tone. He travelled to Europe in the mid '60s for solo tours and worked with Jimmy Heath at home, before taking a job with the Austrian Radio Orchestra in 1968.
Since then he has toured around the world, often returning home for club dates and recordings. In the 80s he recorded 3 fine albums for Contemporary, Clifford Jordan plays sax on all three. In recent years he has taken up the flumpet, a hybrid blending qualities of the trumpet and flugelhorn.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art_Farmer
Art Farmer
ART FARMER
Arthur Stewart Farmer (August 21, 1928 – October 4, 1999) was an American jazz trumpeter and flugelhorn player. He also played flumpet, a trumpet–flugelhorn combination especially designed for him. He and his identical twin brother, double bassist Addison Farmer, started playing professionally while in high school. Art gained greater attention after the release of a recording of his composition "Farmer's Market" in 1952. He subsequently moved from Los Angeles to New York, where he performed and recorded with musicians such as Horace Silver, Sonny Rollins, and Gigi Gryce and became known principally as a bebop player.
As Farmer's reputation grew, he expanded from bebop into more experimental forms through working with composers such as George Russell and Teddy Charles. He went on to join Gerry Mulligan's quartet and, with Benny Golson, to co-found the Jazztet. Continuing to develop his own sound, Farmer switched from trumpet to the warmer flugelhorn in the early 1960s, and he helped to establish the flugelhorn as a soloist's instrument in jazz.[1] He settled in Europe in 1968 and continued to tour internationally until his death. Farmer recorded more than 50 albums under his own name, a dozen with the Jazztet, and dozens more with other leaders. His playing is known for its individuality – most noticeably, its lyricism, warmth of tone and sensitivity.[2]
Early life
Art Farmer was born an hour before his twin brother, on August 21, 1928, in Council Bluffs, Iowa, reportedly at 2201 Fourth Avenue.[3][4] Their parents, James Arthur Farmer and Hazel Stewart Farmer, divorced when the boys were four, and their steelworker father was killed in a work accident not long after this.[5][6]:443 Art moved with his grandfather, grandmother, mother, brother and sister to Phoenix, Arizona when he was still four.[7]:1–3 He started to play the piano while in elementary school, then moved on to bass tuba and violin before settling on cornet and then trumpet at the age of thirteen.[8]:261 His family was musical: most of them played as a hobby, and one was a professional trombonist. Art's grandfather was a minister in the African Methodist Episcopal Church.[3] This influenced Farmer's first choice of instrument, as his mother played piano for the church choir.[9] The bass tuba was for use in a marching band and was Farmer's instrument for a year, until a cornet became available.[3] Phoenix schools were segregated, and no one at Farmer's school could provide useful music lessons. He taught himself to read music and practiced his new main instrument, the trumpet.[3]Farmer and his brother moved to Los Angeles in 1945, attending the music-oriented Jefferson High School, where they got music instruction and met other developing musicians such as Sonny Criss, Ernie Andrews, Big Jay McNeely, and Ed Thigpen.[8] The brothers earned money by working in a cold-storage warehouse[3] and by playing professionally. Art started playing trumpet professionally at the age of 16,[8]:261 performing in the bands of Horace Henderson, Jimmy Mundy, and Floyd Ray, among others.[3][10] These opportunities came about through a combination of his ability and the absence of numerous older musicians, who were still in the armed forces following World War II.[5] Around this time in Los Angeles, there were abundant opportunities for musical development, according to Farmer: "During the day you would go to somebody's house and play. At night there were after-hours clubs [...and] anybody who wanted to play was free to come up and play".[11]:42 Farmer left high school early but persuaded the principal to give him a diploma, which he did not collect until a visit to the school in 1958.[8]:267
At this time, as an adolescent in Los Angeles, bebop and the swing era big bands both attracted Farmer's attention.[8]:263 Decades later, he stated that, at that time, "I knew I had to be in jazz. Two things decided me – the sound of a trumpet section in a big band and hearing a jam session".[3]:50 Farmer's trumpet influences in the 1940s were Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis and Fats Navarro, but, in his own words, "then I heard Freddie Webster, and I loved his sound. I decided to work on sound because it seemed like most of the guys my age were just working on speed".[9]
Later life and career
Early career in Los Angeles and New York
Farmer left school to tour with a group led by Johnny Otis, but this job lasted for only four months, as Farmer's lip gave out.[10][12] Performing for long periods seven days a week for this job put great pressure on his technique, which was insufficiently developed to cope with such physical demands. His lip eventually became lacerated, and he could no longer play.[11]:118 He then received technique training in New York, where he worked for a time as a janitor and played as a freelance musician during 1947 and 1948.[3] An audition for Dizzy Gillespie's big band was unsuccessful, and Farmer returned to the West Coast in 1948 as a member of Jay McShann's band.[3] Club and studio work was hard to get in Los Angeles from the late 1940s and into the 1950s, as it was dominated by white musicians.[3] Farmer played and toured with Benny Carter, Roy Porter and Gerald Wilson, then played with Wardell Gray in 1951–52.[2][10] The hazards of the touring jazz musician's lifestyle were also present: while travelling overnight by car between Phoenix and El Paso, to get to another Roy Porter-led gig, the car that Farmer was in overturned at high speed, leaving him concussed and Porter with broken ribs.[13]Farmer's first studio recording appears to have been on June 28 or July 2, 1948, in Los Angeles, under the leadership of vocalist Big Joe Turner and pianist Pete Johnson. They recorded "Radar Blues", and at some point in the same or the following year they added a further seven sides; the eight tracks were released as four singles by Swing Time Records.[14][15] Farmer recorded further singles with Roy Porter and then, on January 21, 1952, as a member of Wardell Gray's sextet. The latter session produced six tracks that were released as singles. These included "Farmer's Market", a piece that was written by Farmer and brought him greater attention.[16][17]
Career after second move to New York
Farmer worked in Los Angeles for a time as a hotel janitor and a hospital file clerk, before joining Lionel Hampton's orchestra in 1952. He toured Europe with the orchestra from September to December 1953,[18] and shared the organization's trumpet chairs with Clifford Brown, Quincy Jones and Benny Bailey.[3] This aided his musical development considerably, as did his 1953 membership of Teddy Charles' New Directions band – the compositions he encountered in this band allowed him to consider a broader range of expression during improvisation.[19]Farmer relocated to New York and, on July 2, 1953, had his first recording session as leader. This was combined with another recorded 11 months later to form the eight-track Prestige LP, The Art Farmer Septet, featuring arrangements by Quincy Jones and Gigi Gryce.[20][21] Farmer became "one of the most sought-after trumpeters of the fifties":[22]:43 he continued to work with Gryce (1954–56), and also with Horace Silver (1956–58) and Gerry Mulligan (1958–59), among others.[23]:406 One of the others was pianist Thelonious Monk, who led a sextet that included Farmer on its performances on a version of the Steve Allen Show, broadcast on television on June 10, 1955.[24] The following month, Farmer played in the Charles Mingus sextet's performance at the Newport Jazz Festival.[25]
Farmer recorded only twice with Horace Silver's group, as Silver recorded for Blue Note Records, while Farmer was signed to Prestige. Feuds between the label bosses ruled out extensive cross-label collaboration.[26][27] The transition from Silver's piano-led quintet to Mulligan's piano-less quartet was not straightforward: "to suddenly find yourself in a pianoless group was like walking down the street naked", commented Farmer.[3]:44 As a member of Mulligan's band, Farmer appeared on film twice – in I Want to Live! (1958) and The Subterraneans (1960)[28] – and again toured Europe, as part of a Jazz at the Philharmonic tour, helping him to develop an international reputation.[27][29] In New York, Farmer worked with Lester Young, who told him to "tighten up and tell a 'story' in each solo".[6]:442 At this time, Farmer also rented his trumpet on a nightly basis to Miles Davis, who had pawned his own due to his drug dependency.[6]:442
From the middle of the 1950s, Farmer featured in recordings by leading arrangers of the day, including George Russell, Quincy Jones and Oliver Nelson, being in demand because of his reputation for being able to play anything.[3] The wide range of styles these arrangers represented was extended when Farmer took part in a series of experimental sessions with composer Edgard Varèse in 1957. Varèse used approximate notation and wanted the musicians to improvise within its structure; at least some of the seasoned jazz musicians present regarded this process of creation as similar to their own familiar creations of spontaneously produced head arrangements, but their efforts influenced Varèse's composition, Poème électronique.[30] Farmer's playing around this time is summarized by critic Whitney Balliett, commenting on his performance on Hal McKusick's 1957 album Hal McKusick Quintet: "Farmer has become one of the few genuinely individual modern trumpeters. (Nine out of ten modern trumpeters are true copies of Dizzy Gillespie or Miles Davis.)"[31] Farmer was one of 57 jazz musicians to appear in the 1958 photograph "A Great Day in Harlem" and was later interviewed for the 1994 documentary of the same title.[32][33]
Farmer formed the Jazztet in 1959, with the composer and tenor saxophonist Benny Golson, after each man independently came to the conclusion that the other should be a member of his new sextet. The Jazztet lasted until 1962, recorded several albums for Argo and Mercury Records, and assisted in the early careers of pianist McCoy Tyner and trombonist Grachan Moncur III. In the early 1960s Farmer established a trio with guitarist Jim Hall and bassist Steve Swallow; his relationship with Hall lasted from 1962 to 1964, and included two tours of Europe, one of which had concerts recorded for the BBC's Jazz 625 programme, which were later released on DVD.[34][35] Hall left the second tour while the quartet, which included Swallow and drummer Pete La Roca, was engaged in Berlin, and a pianist replaced him; this was ultimately Steve Kuhn.[2][35] In 1964, this new quartet recorded the album Sing Me Softly of the Blues for the Atlantic label. These bands played laid back, melodious music during a period when avant-garde jazz was becoming more common.[36]
Farmer toured Europe in 1965–66, then returned to the US and led a small group with Jimmy Heath.[2] His stylistic development continued during this period of his career, in part because he "absorbed, understood, and had the technical and artistic gifts to put to personal use the [John] Coltrane innovations of the 'Giant Steps' period of the early 1960s".[22]:45 Work opportunities, however, were diminishing as rock became more popular in the mid-1960s, so Farmer joined the pit orchestra of Elliot Lawrence for the production of The Apple Tree on Broadway, for six months.[3][7]:81
Career after permanent move to Europe
The visits to Europe continued.[19] Farmer moved there in 1968 and ultimately settled in Vienna, where he performed with The Kenny Clarke/Francy Boland Big Band[23]:406 and joined the Austrian Radio Orchestra.[5] The latter job initially required only ten days a month of his time, so he was able to play with other well-known expatriates such as Don Byas, Dexter Gordon, and Ben Webster.[29] As the orchestra's music gradually changed in style from jazz to simpler forms and took up more of Farmer's time, he found that it was getting in the way of his musical ambitions, so he left after three or four years.[7]:67, 71 Pursuing these ambitions meant that Farmer traveled extensively worldwide. He said in 1976 that "I'm traveling 90 percent of the time. I can live anywhere. It's just a matter of getting to the airport".[37] A 1982 revival of the Jazztet, with Golson, led him to play more frequently in the United States than he had over the previous decade.[38] In the 1980s Farmer also created a quintet, featuring saxophonist Clifford Jordan, that toured internationally.[28] In the early 1980s, Farmer had also made some changes to his lifestyle. Interviewed for a 1985 article in The New Yorker, he reported losing 30 pounds in weight a couple of years earlier, and stopping smoking and drinking a couple of years before that; Farmer "used to think he couldn't play without drinking; now he couldn't play and drink", was the interviewer's summary of Farmer's habits,[3]:44 which appear to have avoided the drug-related problems of many of his contemporaries.[39]
From the early 1990s, Farmer had a second house in New York and divided his time between Vienna and there. He had regular gigs with Clifford Jordan at the Sweet Basil Jazz Club and, later, with Ran Blake and Jerome Richardson at the Village Vanguard, both in New York.[2] Farmer was awarded the Austrian Gold Medal of Merit in 1994.[38] In the same year, a concert in honor of his achievements was held at the Alice Tully Hall in New York.[40] Farmer also recorded extensively as a leader throughout his later career, including some pieces of classical music with US and European orchestras.[38] Farmer's level of playing even towards the end of his career was noted in a review by Scott Yanow of one of his last recordings, Silk Road, from 1996: "the warm-toned and swinging Farmer is consistently the main star, and at age 68 he proves to still be in his prime".[23]:409 In 1999 Farmer was selected as a National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Master.[28] A few months later, on October 4, Farmer died of a heart attack at home in Manhattan, aged 71.[5][41]
Personality and family life
Farmer first married in the mid-1950s, to a woman from South America.[7]:68 They divorced after about a year, but the marriage produced one son, Arthur Jr, who died in 1994.[7]:68 Farmer's second wife was a distant cousin; this marriage also ended in divorce.[7]:69 He married again, to a Viennese banker named Mechtilde Lawgger, and their son, Georg, was born in the early 1970s.[3][17][42] They lived together in a house that they had built in Vienna, and Farmer reported contentment with his lifestyle; notably, in contrast with his homeland, he did not experience racism in Europe.[3] Farmer described himself in 1985 as "an introvert, and kind of reclusive"; a soundproof room in his Austrian house allowed him to practice alone for the four or five hours a day that he desired.[3]:52 His personality was often described by others as mirroring his playing: Leonard Feather, for instance, observed in 1990 that Farmer was "mellow, relaxed and [...] gentle".[1]
Farmer was affected by the sudden death of his twin brother in 1963: more than 20 years later, he said that he still dreamed of his sibling, and admitted that, "It seems there's a part of him I haven't fully gotten over".[3]:49 Farmer's third wife died from cancer in 1992; speaking three years later, he remarked that "I guess I never will really recover from that because we had been together for over 20 years when she died".[7]:69 After his own death, he was described as being survived by his companion and manager, Lynne Mueller, and son.[12]
Playing style
Descriptions of Farmer's playing style typically stress his lyricism and the warmth of his sound. The Los Angeles Times obituary writers noted that his playing had "a sweetly lyrical tone and a melodic approach to phrasing, neither of which minimized his capacity to produce rhythmically swinging phrases".[5] The equivalent comments in The Guardian were that "Farmer avoided the bright, penetrating sound of orthodox trumpet playing and was influenced by the more reserved articulation of Miles Davis and Kenny Dorham", and that, although he could seem more restrained than Davis or Lee Morgan, "Farmer was in his way a true original. His phrasing was always distinctive, letting the beat run ahead of him rather in the manner of Billie Holiday's vocals".[19]
Farmer moved from trumpet to playing mostly flugelhorn from the early 1960s, utilising the latter instrument's more mellow sound and Farmer's ability to get what he wanted from it without having to use a mute.[5][22]:44 In 1989, he played a major part in creating a trumpet–flugelhorn hybrid, the flumpet, which was constructed for him by instrument maker David Monette.[5] This instrument allowed him to play with more expression in a range of settings, from small groups to big bands. In 1997, Monette presented him with a personalized flumpet, with decorations symbolising important people and places in Farmer's life.[43]
Farmer's determination to keep exploring forms of expression continued throughout his life. One comment on a concert given when Farmer was 67 was that "his style was continuing to evolve"; he "delivered several solos in which his characteristically flowing lines were interrupted by sudden, wide melodic leaps and disjunct rhythmic accents".[5] A few months before his death, although faster numbers had become perhaps too challenging, The Guardian observed, Farmer's playing on slower tunes achieved a new level of emotional expression.[19]
Discography and filmography
References
- Reich, Howard (August 5, 1997) "Specialized Instrument: Jazzman's 'Flumpet' Decorated with Personal Symbols". Chicago Tribune.
External links
- Art Farmer at AllMusic
- Steven L. Isoardi's 1991 interviews of Farmer, about his time in Los Angeles
- David Monette's video of Farmer's 1997 personalized flumpet
- Official website
- Complete discography
https://artfarmer.org/
Art Farmer – Jazz Master
Certainly one of the most respected and original of modern jazz trumpeters, Art Farmer left a substantial legacy of recordings and appearances throughout a career that lasted over 50 years. His improvisational approach favored lyricism and elegant construction rather than technical display, yet never sacrificed emotional impact, and he was a master of ballad interpretation.
Emerging in the early 1950s, around the same time as Clifford Brown, Chet Baker and a resurgent Miles Davis, Farmer would go on to work in a variety of settings as both leader and sideman. Although starting out with less than optimal musical training, he developed proficiency and sight-reading skills that provided the versatility necessary for survival in a very competitive environment. Constantly searching for an “ideal sound,” he would switch from trumpet to flugelhorn in the 1960s and then to the flumpet in the 1990s.
Throughout his career, Farmer was adept at identifying collaborators who would complement his own skill set and musical preferences. Early on, these included Gigi Gryce and Quincy Jones both of whom he met while in the Lionel Hampton band. Later, he teamed up with saxophonist Benny Golson to form the Jazztet and also worked with sax giants Gerry Mulligan, Jimmy Heath and Clifford Jordan; guitarist Jim Hall; bassists Ron Carter, Bill Crow and Rufus Reid; pianists Tommy Flanagan, Harold Mabern and Cedar Walton. After rising to the status of elder statesman, he would utilize the talents of many up and coming musicians including saxophonist Ron Blake, bassist Kenny Davis and pianists Fred Hersch, Geoffrey Keezer, Michael Weiss and James Williams.
In 1968, Farmer relocated to Vienna, Austria after receiving an offer of steady employment with the Austrian Radio Orchestra. He immediately began to perform and record with Europe’s best, notably pianist Fritz Pauer, saxophonist Harry Sokal and trombonist Erich Kleinschuster.
In his last decade, Farmer received several awards recognizing his importance as a major contributor to the jazz communities of both the U.S.A. and Europe. Among these were the prestigious Austrian Cross of Honor for Science and Art, First Class in 1998 and the NEA Jazz Masters designation in 1999.
https://www.blueportjazz.net/an-interview-with-art-farmer-you-have-to-become/
An Interview with Art Farmer | You Have to Become
AF: You mean . . . ?
JM: I think what he meant, Art, is that you’re a musician who finds the unusual beauties inside of songs. As Snookie said, ”TeII Art to save some of the beautiful notes for me.”
AF: (LAUGHTER)
JM: (LAUGHTER)
AF: Well, I just try to do something different. Everybody has a different idea in their head if they just look for it and try to find some way to be different, you know, to sound different from everyone else. I have my idols, too, and boundary 2 22:2, 1995. Copyright @ 1995 by Duke University Press. CCC 0190-3659/95/$1.50.
38 boundary 2 / Summer 1995 it’s very easy . . . Well, it’s not easy to do it, but at least (it’s easy) to copy the people who inspired you.
JM; Yes.
AF: And you can devote your whole life to that, but then what do you have in the end?
JM; Then you become a copycat.
AF: Yeah, second-rate. Isn’t it better to be first-rate? You don’t get any credit the other way. You’re just giving someone else the credit.
JM: One night in Cambridge, Massachusetts, you and I sat down and talked about some of the people who have been important to you. You talked that evening about Ben Webster.
AF: Ben Webster certainly is important to me. To not only me, but people who value the things that Ben brought to his playing. One word for it would be beauty, but that would encompass a lot of feeling . . . a big warm sound, the essence of a song. The meaning of a song is not just a matter of notes, but how you play the notes. And he could play one note, and that one note could be so expressive that it was all said.
JM; Ben is one of my favorite musicians for those very reasons, Art. You certainly have incorporated inside your own playing, for decades, that sense of making individual notes resonant.
AF: That’s what it’s all about. That’s it. Ben is one of those guys. Miles Davis can do one note, too. He’s a one-note man. John Coltrane, although he played sheets of sound, was a one-note man, too. You know, that’s what you got to watch out for-these guys that can tell you something with one note. If they can tell you something with one note . . . well, then, watch out when they start playing more notes than that. That’s the essence of jazz, I think. As far as the song goes, first comes the sound, and then you decide what you want to do With the sound. But first comes the sound. That goes for singing, too. That goes for playing the drums. You listen to Philly Joe play the drums. He’s got one sound. You listen to Louis Bellson, he’s got another sound. The identity is the individual, and that’s what we start off with. As far as getting into corners and getting out of them . . .
JM; (LAUGHTER)
An Interview with Art Farmer 39 AF; Technical limitations and ambition get you into a corner that you have to use all your wiles to get out of.
JM: ILAUGHTERJ
AF: (LAUGHTER) And you . . . you try to get out without embarrassing yourself too much. Clark Terry says you can get skinned up if you’re not careful.
JM; (LAUGHTER) That’s wonderful.
AF: (LAUGHTER) You know what he means by getting skinned up.
JM; Oh yeah. Clark Terry has said about one of my favorite trumpet players and a man who, for me, Art, represents one of the most resonant trumpet players of all time, and that is Joe Wilder . . .
AF: Yeah.
JM: . . . Clark has said about Joe Wilder that when he hears Joe, it’s like hearing an elegant woman jut bottles on her dresser and fumble around until she gets them right.
AF; (LAUGHTER) I’ve never heard Joe fumble. Everything he does sounds very exacting. He’s very sure of what he wants and how he wants to do it, and he always manages to do it. It seems to me that the trumpet’s an instrument where everything that you do wrong sticks right out like a sore thumb. It’s very hard to hide. It’s a truth-teller . . . everybody’s donna make a mistake sometime, but I don’t hear Joe ever pinning himself into a corner.
He always is able to carry off what he’s doing, just as he intended. And with a lot of style.
JM: And that’s probably what Clark really meant.
AF: Yeah, Clark is a good example and a good listener. He knows what’s going on. Clark was one of the very first players I heard who could really take care of the horn. When I first started living in New York in 1946, Clark came there with George Hudson’s band from St. Louis. I heard him at the Apollo Theater. He was featured on a ballad. I think it was “I Can’t Get Started,” or something like that. And that’s the first time I heard of Clark Terry. You hear Clark, and you hear somebody coming from nowhere sounding great.
You just say, ”Jesus.”
JM.. You don’t forget that.
40 boundary 2 / Summer 1995
AF: No. I had already heard of Dizzy and Miles and Fats Navarro and Kenny Dorham, but then here comes Brand X . . . you know, really, a monster.
JM; Yes. I
AF: So you figure the world is full of monsters.
JM; It makes you think you gotta go home.
AF: Yeah, you better go home and really get ready. Get yourself together.
JM; And maybe you could never be ready if there are that many.
AF: Yeah . . . that many. I thought I knew all the guys who were really playing, but he was great then, Jesus.
JM: It’s interesting, Art . . . no one has ever really approached the unique quality of Clark Terry’s playing. It really has a niche all to itself, without imitators.
AF: Right. I never heard anyone imitate Clark Terry. And he’s self-taught, He’s got the technique of the horn down. He can play solos or play lead or whatever it calls for. He can do it. Every note sticks right out there.
JM: He’s one of these people who plays the instrument almost as if he’s going at a chess game. It’s that complex. Yet, it seems so elegant, so obvious.
AF: Yeah, he’s spent a lot of time on that. He’s really mastered it. Really mastered the horn . . . the horns.
JM; You just mentioned somebody, Art, who I’m very interested in and who I think has been too often and too long neglected, and that’s Kenny Dorham.
AF; Yeah, Kenny Dorham. Well, younger generations of trumpet players are starting to become aware of Kenny Dorham, and I hear that some of them are actually trying to play like him. He came along at an unfortunate time for him, because there were other guys on the scene who got all of the attention.
JM; That’s right.
AF: I remember so well . . . it was Dizzy and Fats and Miles. There just wasn’t any space left for Kenny.
JM: Yes:
AF; And then some years later, Brownie came along. I remember when I left Lionel (Hampton) in 1953. I ran into Kenny one day, it must have been in ’54’or ’55, and he said, ”This is donna be our year, Art.” (LAUGHTER)
JM; (LAUGHTER) That’s great. That’s just great.
AF: ‘Cause he knew what was happening, you know. He knew that the public and the writers only have so much space and so much concentration.
These other guys just took all the limelight.
JM: Filling up a lot of space.
AF: Yeah, and (there) wasn’t nothing left for Kenny. But Kenny was unique, too.
JM; Oh, wasn’t he, though.
AF: He was a unique player. The only thing that I felt hurt Kenny was that he didn’t work enough. If he had worked enough, then he would have played better all the time. But you see, with the trumpet being the physical instrument that it is, it’s hard to be at your best all the time if you’re not Working all the time. If you’re working an isolated gig, some people hear you one time when you’re not at your best . . .
JM: Exactly.
AF.. . . . and then that’s the end, that’s the image that they go away with, and they keep that image. They say, ”Oh well, I heard him.”
JM: That’s right. And you didn’t hear him at all.
AF: That’s not fair, but that’s donna happen.
JM: I remember hearing Kenny in some of the lofts in New York in the early sixties, and he would play with little pickup bands. He was so far superior to the musicians he was playing with. That in itself seemed sad.
AF: You have to play with guys who are not as good as you are and with guys who are better than you. Of course, it’s better to play with the guys who are better than you are, but, you know, you learn from the other side, too. You can’t really look down your nose at somebody. When you start doing that, you’re only hurting yourself.
JM: It seemed to me he was such a sweet person, he never looked down his nose at anyone.
AF: I don’t think so. I don’t think so. Not at all. In talking to him, I never got that impression. He always wanted to put his best foot forward. He liked to be in a challenging situation. I know he enjoyed that. He enjoyed the give-and-take.
JM: You spent a lot of years in Los Angeles. In many ways, it is your home- town.
AF: I started playing as a professional there, but I was born in lows and grew up in Phoenix, Arizona. My brother and I went to Los Angeles when we were about sixteen years old.
JM. You spent some time with Ben Webster in those years?
AF: In the New York area.
JM; Oh, was that in New York? AF: That’s where I got to know Ben. Ben lived out in Los Angeles in the fifties, I think. His mother and his grandmother and his aunt, or somebody, lived out there. I was back east at the time. I did a couple of recordings- at least a couple of recordings-with Ben in New York. One was his album for Norman Granz. I don’t remember the name of the album. And there was another album that we both did as sidemen, some Broadway show. I don’t remember the name of the show now. And we worked on some jobs together. Some one-nighters, random jobs. Then I saw him over in Europe quite a bit, in Copenhagen, and then on other jazz festivals, like in Norway, Italy, or wherever . . . Finland.
JM: I remember a story you told me about going to Ben’s house and how difficult it would be to wake Ben up.
AF; Jim Hall told me that story. See, you had to touch him . . . touch him on the shoulder and step back.
JM; (LAUGHTER)
AF: (LAUGHTER) ‘Cause he might wake up and think that he was being attacked by somebody, and he would just start swinging. If you were in the way of one of those blows, it was . . . down for the count.
JM: He was a big man.
AF: Yeah.
JM; Sarah Vaughan passed away yesterday.
AF: I just heard the news on the radio this morning. I was talking to Leonard Feather last week, and I asked him about her, because he had just come up from Los Angeles, and he said that he had spoken to her daughter, who said that she was doing better. She was out of the hospital and was discussing another album. Maybe make a tour of Japan.
JM; Amazing.
AF: Yes, amazing.
JM; She had quite a spirit.
AF: Yeah.
JM: She used her voice as an instrument, unlike any other singer.
AF; Yeah.
JM; She seemed to think of her voice as a horn.
AF: it’s true. But horns have a long way to go to catch up with her, ’cause the horns imitate the voice. So it’s like a two-way street. I know a lot of singers. They say, “Well, we listen to the homs.” But horns listen to a good singer and get so much from somebody like Sarah. And what was uncanny about Sarah-when you say she used her voice like a horn-she could play the piano. She had such a talent for harmony, for melodic variation, that she didn’t necessarily have to sing the notes that the composer had written. She would sing the words, but she would sing other notes, and the other notes would be just as sophisticated as the most knowledgeable horn player would ever think of. She was, by far, the only one. There was no one else in her category, in her league,
JM: I believe it.
AF.. She could just pick those notes from out of the blue, and you’d wonder where those notes came from. She didn’t do that all the time, of course. But she would throw in something of her own every now and then, and it would be just beautiful. She had good taste.
JM: Which is perhaps the most difficult thing to come by.
AF: Yeah, that’s the most valuable thing. Sarah knew how far to go. She i knew when to sing the melody and when to step out. She was one of my
inspirations. I remember going to hear her at the Apollo Theater in New York and just sitting there for two or three shows. During the intermission, there would be a B movie or something, and I would just sit there through that and just wait. In the forties-’46, ’47, when Dizzy had the big band- every time he went in, she would be on the bill, also. Just to hear her sing would send chills up and down my spine, really. She was so beautiful. And I never heard a singer like that. I guess I never will again, now. Thank God for records.
JM; That’s exactly right. The last time I saw her was last year after a concert that I reviewed for the Los Angeles Times. She was clearly ill. Even though she was in pain, no one in the entire theater could have seen that. Only afterwards, back in her room, could you see it. But she gave a ten-star, A+ performance.
AF: Yes, she had a stage presence that was very calming and relaxing and . . .
JM; . . . hip as hell.
AF: She was something special.
JM: Art, who helped shape your own compositional sense?
AF: As a writer? Duke Ellington’s number one, for sure. Benny Golson, Quincy Jones . . . they are accomplished writers who have all done some- thing fantastic. Thank God, because I’m not much of a writer myself. But there’s so much good stuff out there. It’s just a matter of finding something that you can put yourself into.
JM; You’ve come across someone in Europe, Fritz Pauer.
AF; Fritz and I have been associated for twenty-five years or so now. I guess I’m the first one who really started recording his music, as far as I know.
Maybe Johnny Griffin did some things over in Europe. And there’s another very good European writer, Francy Boland.
JM: Sure.
AF: I used to work with him and Kenny Clarke. That was really a top- heavy band,
JM: ILAUGHTERJ A bunch of monsters.
AF: All the Indian chiefs. (LAUGHTER)
JM; ILAUGHTERJ And then there was the chief chief.
AF: Yeah, right. The chief chief was the coolest one of them all. Everybody was hollering for a solo, and he was back there grinning.
JM: You’re talking about Klook (Kenny Clarke).
AF: Yeah. You know, in a band like that, where everybody’s so capable, it’s hard to split the time equally so everybody feels they’re getting enough chance to play. That’s the trouble with big bands, anyway. There’s only so much time. There’s only sixty minutes in an hour.
JMJ (LAUGHTER)
AF: But this was a great experience, a band with Johnny Griffin and Ronnie Scott. That’s a lot right there.
‘
JM; People forget that Ronnie is a player, as well as a club owner.
AF: Yeah. He’s a great player. Johnny’s a great player, too.
JM; He is a great player. Griff might be the fastest, most articulate tenor sax player on the planet.
AF: Yeah, but he doesn’t overdo it. He also has good taste.
JM; I understand.
AF: You know, when you have the kind of technique he has, it’s hard. That technique is a blessing and a curse, ’cause you can overdo it. You can get to the place where it becomes very boring to hear a guy playing like an automatic rifle. After the first minute, you say, “Okay . . .”
JM: owe got the point.”
AF: Yeah . . . yeah.
JM: The Jazztet has a place in jazz history that is already legendary.
I’m wondering what plans you and Benny Golson might have to put that together again.
AF: We don’t actually have any plans, but we expect to get together from time to time when there is a recording date or a demand. If some promoter wants the Jazztet, well, then he’s donna get the Jazztet. That’s how we got together the last time. I just saw Benny the week before last. I was working
in New York at Sweet Basil’s
46 boundary 2 / Summer 1995
JM; Right before he came in there.
AF: Right . . . he came in . . .
JM: . . . the next week.
AF: Yeah, right. So he just closed last Sunday. In fact, Benny was the first one who told me about your place here in La Jolla (Elaro’s). He said, ”Write this down. This is a good place to go.”
JM: (LAUGHTER) He is a special guy.
AF: Special information.
JM: He is a special guy.
AF; Yeah, he really is.
JM: He called the week that you were working Sweet Basil’s, and he said, “I’m donna be at Sweet Basil’s next week, and I’ve gotta be ready.”
AF: ILAUGHTERJ
JM: He’s a funny, wonderful man.
AF: He’s a giant.
JM: Yes, he is.
AF: And I say, thank God for Benny Golson! If Benny Golson wasn’t in this world, I wouldn’t be sitting here the way I am now.
JM: Is that right?
AF: Benny has been very helpful to me. Benny is like a brother. He’s one guy who I’ve been able to go to over the years. Benny’s always had the confidence in me when I really needed it. Benny never failed me, and we’ll always be together in some form. When Benny told me that he was going into Sweet Basil’s, I asked what date he was going in. He told me on such and such a day, and I said, ”I’m in there right in front of you.” “Well,” he said, ”we just can’t be separated, can we?”
JM; (LAUGHTER) That’s great, He’s about as honest a man as I think we’ll ever know.
AF: He’s honest, but not . . . what’s the word . . . with malice. Not with malice.
JM: Absolutely. He’s a very kind man. Benny has something like a devotion to accuracy and truthfulness, also.
AF: Yes.
JM.. I believe it shows through in his writing, in his compositions, as well as in his playing.
AF: I think so, too. I think you get the man in his music. With some people, you don’t get the man, you get the man they would like to be. The music is different than the person, but in the case of Benny . . . well, the person is just as great.
JM; There’s a quality, Art, about Benny’s playing that is very hard to define.
Benny plays in registers and chooses notes with his own characteristic in- versions that are not only beautiful but strangely beautiful. He has a knack for the strangely beautiful.
AF; ”Knack” is the right word. Because I don’t think that he spends the time on his horn that he would like to, because of his writing. For him to be able to do as much as he does is amazing right there.
JM: And he’s writing a book, too.
AF: A book on arranging.
JM: Heavy stuff.
AF: Yeah, I know. It’s donna be worth reading even if you’re not an arranger.
JM: If you go back and scan your own career, Art, are there a couple of high points? One of them, obviously, is your friendship with Benny.
AF: (Gerry) Mulligan was very important. We’re planning on getting back together to do some more work. Mulligan was very important to me. Very important. Wardell Gray was also very important.
JM: You made the one record that I’m aware of with Mulligan, What Is There to Say. As good as the record is-and I love that record, it’s very special-! can’t help but believe that you guys must have had more power and created more beauty than what showed up on that record.
AF: That’s absolutely true. It was a very spontaneous group. When you’re in the studio and say ”take one” and ”take two” and all that, it doesn’t happen.
What did happen was good, but it just wasn’t the height that it could have
been if that had been a live recording. Like the way it can be done: take the equipment around and record every night. You get to the point where you’re not even aware [of the tape rolling] – that’s the best way to do it.
JM; Was Dave Bailey on that? AF: He was the drummer. For all the time I was in the quartet, he was the drummer.
JM: Although Larry Bunker sat in sometimes.
AF; Yeah, he was there before I was, when (trombonist) Bob Brookmeyer or [trumpeter] Chet Baker was there. For the year or so that I was in the group, it was Dave Bailey, but most of the time Bill Crow (on drums).
JM; I’ve griped for twenty-some-odd years about the fact that your group with Mulligan has only that one record. It seems to me one of the minor tragedies in jazz history that you didn’t make several albums together back then.
AF; We made an album with Annie Ross, I remember that. And we did some tunes for the movie I Want to Live. And that was it. It should have been more, but there wasn’t that much being done then. That was a one-shot deal for Columbia. We just didn’t think about it. But there sure was a lot of satisfaction there. It was a big challenge to work without the piano.
JM; I’ll bet.
AF: I’d just left Horace Silver then. Horace Silver is a very dominant pianist.
AII of a sudden, you find yourself in this situation where there’s no piano at all. A big change.
JM: How can you live in Vienna, Austria, and get over to this country so often?
AF: That’s something that I don’t think about. As long as people want to hear me, it’s just a matter of getting on the plane. It doesn’t take any more time to get from Vienna to New York than it does to go from New York to California, almost. If you’ve traveled as long as I have, and as much as I have, you learn how to relax when you have the chance. If you look at the older guys, like Basie and Ellington, they were . . .
JM: (LAUGHTER) . . . fifty years on the road!
AF; Right. The only thing that really saps your energy is when you can’t stick to the schedule. If the plane is going to be three hours late. Then you
have to lie around the airport for three hours. And you get on the plane and get to the place where you’re donna play, and you have to run right to the venue. You don’t have time to really prepare yourself. You don’t have the time to get a little rest, you just go and play.
JM; You sent me an article from Vienna, Art, a few months back, that you had done for the Christian Science Monitor, a very interesting article.
Among other things, you talk self-reflectively about how you have conversations with yourself in which you scold yourself-or whatever it is-for playing too many notes. You tell yourself, “Art, It’s time to come back to the essentials,” or words to that effect.
AF; Yeah, well, these are thoughts that enter my mind. They have to be checked out sometime. You just can’t go unmonitored. If you have a certain basic idea in your head, a certain conception of what you want to do, if you don’t do it, who else is going to? You’re the one who has the idea. If you don’t do it, you might as well not have it. And if you don’t do it, you’re wasting your time. There are certain things I want to be able to accomplish. Sometimes you have to keep your eye on the goal. You can get distracted, sidetracked.
Sometimes you can mistake the process for the goal. Our music is a matter of getting there, and you never are there . . . you never get there. But you have to remember where you want to go. You have to keep that in your mind. You have to remind yourself.
JM: I hear you.
AF: ‘This is what I really want to do.”
JM: One of the ideas, if I hear your word correctly, that I think you execute often and very well is the playing of the Billy Strayhorn canon. I’m thinking of ”Blood Count” and ”Warm Valley-” AF: That one’s Ellington . . .
dM: Sometimes you can’t tell the difference.
AF: That’s right.
JM: But you know what I’m saying . . – those gentle, deep, problematic songs that those two men turned out and that you have a large, gorgeous conception of. it’s hard to talk about music, as Kenny Burrell says, but if you have an idea about how you execute those, what would you say It is?
AF; I just want to get out what I hear in them. I hear that this is a great tune, and I have to play it. I’ve heard other people play it and admire what they’ve
done with it. I would like to be able to do something as well. And that’s all I can verbalize about it.
JM: Okay.
AF: I hear songs like ”Warm Valley” or ”Chelsea Bridge” . . .
JM’ ”U M M G.”
AF: Yeah, “U.M.M.G.” . . . “All Too Soon” . . .
JM; Yes.
AF: Well, you say, ”Wow, those are great tunes, and I would just like to play them weII.” That’s something you can strive for . . . for the rest of your life. Sometimes you touch on it, sometimes you’re able to slip into that slot where everything falls in place. That doesn’t happen every time, but at least you know it can happen. That keeps you going.
JM; ”Lotus Blossom” is another one of those songs.
AF: Yeah. Those fellows wrote some great music that’s donna be around for a long time. That’s really the classical music of our time.
JM; Earlier, when you mentioned how the fewest notes played well often wind up defining the music at its best, I immediately thought of both Ellington and Basie.
AF: Uh-huh. Yeah . , . they could have played more, but they knew when to edit.
JM; Right, exactly.
AF; And that’s a very rough thing to do, because we’re all self-critical, and we feel like we’re not doing enough.
JM; I agree.
AF: So then you do more, but you don’t know that you’re overshooting the mark. So you have to be very, very centered to be able to edit yourself and to know when to leave a space. Basie was really a master at that. He could play a lot more piano than he did, but he had the good sense to let someone else try to do that. He put himself on another level completely.
JM: Right.
AF: Not competing with Earl Hines . . .
JM; . . . or Art Tatum, or Oscar (Peterson) . . .
AF: Art Tatum . . . people like that. He was too smart for that. And Ellington was always the band piano player. Everybody said that he was the greatest band piano player there ever was. You know, there was not one piece the band played that featured him. If you have your own band, then you’re donna have your featured spot. But he never had a featured spot.
JM: He was always showcasing Rabbit (Johnny Hodges).
AF: Or somebody.
JM; (PauI) Gonsalvez or (Harry) Carney.
AF: Uh-huh, yeah. But he wasn’t featured. He never featured himself in any numbers at all. He might have a little small solo here and there. But it was just what was needed for that moment.
JM; You just mentioned a word, Art, ”centered.” If you’re centered enough, you might be able to achieve that editing and that clarification. Gene Lees, in a book of his that I’m sure you’ve seen called Meet Me as Jim and Andy’s, has written one of his best chapters about you. And he refers to you in that book as a stoic man. Stoic perhaps, but centered no doubt. When you talk about centering, you’re almost alluding to something that’s religious or deeply meditative.
AF: Yeah, well, I don’t . . . I don’t like to verbalize it too much . . .
JM: Okay.
AF: . . . because it’s an abstract thing. It’s more of a feeling than something that you can put your hands on. We all have that, one way or the other. It’s there, you just have to look for it sometimes . . . you have to become.
JM: Yes.
AF: You can’t force it, but sometimes you have to put a little energy in there to make it happen. You just can’t wait for it to happen.
JM: (LAUGHTER) You have to nudge it a bit.
AF: Yeah . . . you have to give it a little nudge, but you can’t force it.
For the 84th Anniversary of Art Farmer’s Birth, A Few Interviews From 1994
In 1994, I had the privilege of
conducting three interviews with the magisterial flugelhornist Art
Farmer on WKCR, one during a quintet engagement at Sweet Basil on which
he shared the front line with Jerome Richardson (Clifford Jordan had
recently passed), and was promoting a two-trumpet recording with Tom
Harrell on Arabesque, followed a pair of 5-hour Sunday Jazz Profiles
where he was present for the entirety. In honor of the 84th anniversary
of Mr. Farmer’s birth, I’m posting the complete transcripts of the
interviews.
* * *
Art Farmer (WKCR, 11-27-94, 12-18-94):
[MUSIC: Jazztet (1961), “Farmer’s Market”;
(1993) “Turn Out The Stars,” (1992) “Modulations”, (1991) “Isfahan”;
(1953) w/ Clifford Brown, “Keeping Up with Jonesy”, (1953), w/ Sonny
Rollins “I’ll Take Romance”, (1954) w/Gigi Gryce, “Blue Concept”]
TP: You’re originally from Iowa, and grew up in Arizona. What were your earliest musical experiences like?
AF: I started off studying the piano,
because that’s the first instrument that I ever heard. My mother used
to play the piano with her father’s church choir. At that time it was
very customary to have a piano in the house, and someone played it.
There were a lot of music students in our family, and it just seemed the
natural thing to take piano lessons. Then after that, when we were
living in Phoenix, Arizona, a man gave me a violin, and I studied that
for a couple of years. Then I switched from the violin to the bass
tuba. I was playing with a marching band that was part of a church
organization in Phoenix. I heard some of the older guys in the band
jamming around one day, and I wanted to play a horn, like I said, but
the only horn available was the tuba. Then the War started.
TP: So by this time you were 12 or 13…
AF: Yes, about that.
TP: …and sort of going between the violin and the brass instruments.
AF: Yes, right.
TP: Who taught you? Did you get instruction in some sort of organization, or private teachers?
AF: I had a teacher for the violin, who
was employed by what then was called the WPA, the Works Progress
Administration, to see that everybody had a job in the United States.
That’s the only teacher that I had. I also had a teacher on the piano
who was employed by the school system out in Phoenix. So teaching was
rather scant, I would have to say.
TP: So you got your experience basically picking up from other people and playing in different situations?
AF: Right, picking up from other
people. Well, Jazz was on the radio. There was a lot of airplay for
Jazz then, big bands playing for dances, and all kinds of wonderful
things happening. The first live music that I heard actually was the
real Country Blues. I used to sell papers, and I would walk around in
the migrant workers’ camps and sell them papers, and after work they
would be sitting around, playing and singing, playing the Blues on the
guitar or whatever.
But
I heard all this Big Band Jazz on the radio. Then when the Second
World War came along, there was an Army camp around Phoenix, and I heard
the Army dance band. There was one guy in the band by the name of
George Kelly, who is still around here in New York, and he used to come
around to our rehearsals and help us out. He was a great guy. He used
to write arrangements for us. But that’s the first time I heard a big
band live, was the U.S. Army band. Then the traveling dance bands
started coming through on one-nighters, like Jimmie Lunceford and
Erskine Hawkins, Buddy Johnson, people like that. The greatest thing in
life that I could imagine was to hear these bands. It was so exciting
that it never has left me. My brother, Addison, myself and our friends,
we would go around and introduce ourselves to the musicians, and ask
them to come by the house to have a jam session — and they were very
nice, and they would.
TP: Your brother, Addison Farmer, was your identical twin and a bass player.
AF: Right.
TP: Was he pretty proficient at this time also?
AF: Well, he was, but at this time he really hadn’t gotten into it as much as I had.
TP: I think you mentioned Roy Eldridge particularly as turning you around.
AF: Right. Well, Roy came to town with
the Artie Shaw Band, and I met him then, and I have to say he was
really very kind. He came by the place that I was playing on a night
off, and he sat in and played the drums. Then after about a set of
that, he went back to his room and got his horn, and came around and
played. I didn’t know anything to ask him, really; it was just sort of a
listening thing.
TP: Now, you said he came by where you were playing. By this time were you working locally around Phoenix?
AF: Yes, I was. I was working with
some friends of mine at a place that was the kind of place that we would
then call a bucket of blood, heh-heh, sort of a rough place. But
that’s all the town had to offer. We were frankly very ignorant about
what was going on with music, didn’t know left from right or 3/4 from
2/4, but we knew that we liked music and we knew that we wanted to play,
and I guess that’s what Roy heard. So he was gracious enough to come
up and play the drums, because he was a drummer also, and he enjoyed the
situation enough to go back to his room and get his horn.
TP: Would you be playing mostly Blues at this time?
AF: Yes, mostly Blues, very simple riffs, riff-type tunes based on “I Got Rhythm” or “Honeysuckle Rose,” something like that.
TP: And at this time you would have been 15 years old, let’s say?
AF: Yes, around 15 or 16.
TP: Who were some of the trumpet players who were shaping your idea of how the trumpet should sound?
AF: Well, the most dominant trumpet
player that you would hear in a small town like Phoenix then would be
Harry James, because he was on the air all the time. Harry James was a
very fine trumpeter. Of course, his style was much different from what
really grabbed me later on. But at that time, why, he was the man.
Even Miles said when he started trying to play, he was captivated by
Harry James.
TP: When you heard Roy Eldridge over the air, that grabbed you?
AF: Oh, sure. Certainly. Then later
on, I heard other people when the bands came through, say, Erskine
Hawkins, where there was a trumpet player named Dud Bascomb who took a
solo on a very successful record called “Tuxedo Junction.” Also there
were other fantastic trumpet players with the Jimmie Lunceford
Orchestra, like Freddie Webster, for instance.
TP: Andy Kirk for a brief moment had
Howard McGhee and Fats Navarro in his band. Did they ever come through
Phoenix when you were there?
AF: No. They never came through Phoenix.
TP: So you didn’t have a chance to hear them right away.
AF: No, they never came through
Phoenix, nor did Billy Eckstine. A lot of bands didn’t come through
Phoenix. Phoenix was relatively a small town. Billy Eckstine never
came through, Earl Hines never came through, Duke Ellington never came
through, nor Count Basie. But I certainly remember the ones that did
come through. When I heard Jimmie Lunceford’s trumpet section, well, I
knew what my life was going to be instantly.
TP: Why is that? What was the sound of that trumpet section like in person, up close?
AF: Well, if you’ve only been playing
trumpet just by yourself, and suddenly you hear four guys that are
really playing a nice arrangement, then it’s such a big difference.
It’s like a revelation. You hear the trumpet players playing their solo
with the band in the background; well then, that sort of shows the way
to you.
TP: When you were 16 or 17 years old,
you and your brother went to Los Angeles and finished your last year of
high school there.
AF: Yes. We actually went there
supposedly on a vacation. We had had our little day jobs and saved our
money, and we went over to Los Angeles for a couple of weeks. But the
music scene was so alive on Central Avenue in Los Angeles, and we heard
so many people, it just seemed senseless to go back to Arizona. So we
decided to stay there and finish our high school there, and support
ourselves by whatever means were possible.
TP: Did you have family in Los Angeles?
AF: No, we didn’t. We didn’t have any
family there. But the school didn’t know that. Our mother told us,
“Well, if this is what you really want to do, go ahead and do it, but at
least graduate from school.” So we did. And we wrote our own excuses
and things, so the school never knew. If we didn’t want to go to
school, we would just write an excuse supposedly from our parents, which
was accepted by Jefferson High School.
Now, there were some teachers that were
very helpful to us — music teachers. There was one man in particular by
the name of Samuel Brown, who also taught Dexter Gordon. Because
Dexter went to the same school, although he was a few years in front of
us.
TP: What was Mister Brown like as a teacher?
AF: Well, anyone who came to town that
he knew, he would ask them to come over and play some, and talk to the
students, and that would be the students’ first time able to talk to
real professional musicians. He organized what is now called a stage
band, and we would go around and play assemblies in other schools in the
Los Angeles area.
TP: What sort of repertoire were you playing?
AF: Well, it was a repertoire with, for
example, “9:20 Special” written by Buck Clayton, and “Take The A
Train,” and something by Woody Herman.
TP: Dance band things.
TP: Dance band things.
AF: Yes. Dance band things that were
popularized by the big bands. It was mainly big bands, because there
were also people in the school orchestra who were already writing
arrangements.
TP: Like who?
AF: Well, I can’t remember the names
right, because this was a long time ago. Besides Dexter, some of the
other active players were people like Sonny Criss and Cecil McNeely, who
later turned out to be a great Rock Star by the name of Big Jay
McNeely. Hampton Hawes was around. I figured that I should have been
there a long time before I was. I got there for my last year. If I’d
been there two or three years earlier, it would have been a lot of help.
TP: Was Samuel Brown helpful to you in developing your brass technique?
AF: No, he wasn’t a brass teacher at
all. I didn’t have a brass teacher. I had never had a brass teacher up
to this point. Up to then, I was just sort of hit and miss. Mostly
miss. Trial-and-error.
TP: There was another teacher in Los Angeles, Lloyd Reese, who taught privately…
AF: Yes, I heard about Lloyd Reese, but
I never went to him. Lloyd Reese was a professional teacher, and you
had to pay him, and I didn’t have any money to take lessons.
TP: You arrived in Los Angeles at the time Bebop was first starting. Howard McGhee was out there and…
AF: That’s right. That’s the first
time I heard Howard, and Howard with his group was really a revelation
to me. That sort of pointed me in the direction for my life. He was
moving around on the horn more than the usual soloists in the big
bands. They were playing what were then called ride solos, where you’d
just sort of Jazz the melody, and you don’t actually move around the
horn that much. That’s what most of the guys were doing when the solo
time came. Players like Dud Bascomb and Ray Nance came along and
created their own things, and they were so interesting and beautiful.
But then Howard came along, and he was much more fluid than them. Much
more. I heard Howard McGhee’s group before Dizzy and Bird came out, so
that was the first so-called Bop group that I heard. They had a
wonderful tenor player named Teddy Edwards in there, who became a close
friend of mine. We worked together later on. I didn’t meet Howard, but
I used to go out and listen to them play every night. I was amazed at
the way he was able to play the instrument, because I hadn’t heard Dizzy
or Miles or Fats or Kenny Dorham at that time. He was the first one
that I heard who could get around the horn like that.
TP: Who were some of the other players in Los Angeles who impressed you?
AF: At this time, I don’t remember any
local trumpet player that impressed me anywhere like Howard did, and
then, shortly after that, when Dizzy came out with his group.
TP: And did you go to Billy Berg’s to hear the band?
AF: Yes, I’d go there, and when I was
able to get in, I’d get in. Sometimes someone was on the door who said,
“Well, you don’t look like you’re old enough,” so I couldn’t get in.
Then Miles came out with Benny Carter’s band, and I met him; we used to
wind up at jam sessions together, and I would get a chance to listen to
him. I used to go around with Charlie Parker, too. I wouldn’t play,
but I would just listen. A tenor saxophone player that became very
influential in my life, Wardell Gray, came out there with Earl Hines’
band; I went around and met him — later on we wound up working
together. Wardell was a very nice man, a very intelligent man, and it
was really a tragedy, not only to him, but to all of us who knew him, to
have lost him at such an early age. He was very kind and very helpful,
and I was very glad for the chance to work with him, and also with
Dexter at this time, because the two of them organized a group, and we
worked around the Los Angeles area.
TP: What other work did you get in Los Angeles at this time?
AF: I worked for a group that was led by a drummer by the name of Roy Porter, who used to work with Howard McGhee.
TP: Roy Porter had a big band, too.
AF: Yes, he had a big band, and
actually we did some recording for the Savoy label with this big band.
Eric Dolphy was in that band. Also I worked with a big band that was
led by Horace Henderson, Fletcher Henderson’s brother.
TP: Horace Henderson was supposed to be very adept at organizing a band and getting a good band sound.
AF: Right. Well, that worked. He had a
very fine swing style trumpeter by the name of Emmett Berry. Emmett
could play. Emmett gave me some tips and some pointers. Still I had
never had a trumpet lesson.
TP: How much Bebop were you able to play as a youngster in Los Angeles?
TP: How much Bebop were you able to play as a youngster in Los Angeles?
AF: I would say not very much. [LAUGHS]
I was mostly captivated by it. But see, playing Bebop is not the
easiest thing that you can find to do! [LAUGHS]
TP: It sounds like you had a lot of the
new ideas in your mind while you were playing gigs that required other
things from you.
AF: Well, Bebop came out of the Swing Era.
TP: Talk a little bit about that.
AF: Well, everybody that was involved
with Bebop, as far as I know, the main guys played with the big bands. I
mean, Miles and Dizzy and Max Roach and J.J. Johnson, all did, and
Dexter Gordon — all these guys came out of big bands. Where else would
they come from?
TP: And because of World War Two, there were openings for young musicians in those bands.
AF: Right, there were. There were
openings for guys of my age. The older, more proficient players were
mostly in the Armed Forces.
TP: Los Angeles was a thriving musical community at this time, with clubs everywhere and lots of work for musicians.
AF: Yes, there were a lot of clubs.
TP: Talk about what an average night might be like on the Central Avenue strip.
AF: Well, you could just walk up the
street and go from one club to the other. Within an area of about 20
blocks there would be like five or six clubs. These clubs were forced
to close by one o’clock because of wartime restrictions, but then there
were some other clubs that would open up. I don’t think they were quite
legal, but they got away with it some way. They would open up when the
first clubs closed, and they would stay open until maybe six or seven
o’clock in the morning.
TP: Were there places that had breakfast dances also?
AF: Yes. But these places were called
breakfast clubs. There wasn’t a lot of dancing going on at these clubs,
but there was an audience there for listening at this time. There was
no big play on it from the press. No Jazz Critics ever came around,
and you never read about it in Downbeat or nothing like that. But the
players came around, and after they had finished their big band gigs,
their dance gigs, why, then, they came over and sat in and played.
TP: That was sort of graduate school for a lot of musicians at that time.
AF: Yes, it was. Graduate school, that’s what I would call it.
TP: When did you first go to New York?
AF: I first came to New York in 1946
with a band that was led by a drummer by the name of Johnny Otis, who
had a big band that was working on Central Avenue. The band was
patterned after the Count Basie Orchestra. In fact, Count Basie used to
send us some arrangements that he didn’t want to play. It was a good
band, a straight-ahead Swing band. The tenor player Paul Quinichette
was in the band. I was able to get the job with Johnny Otis, because
some of the people who had been playing with the Otis band didn’t want
to travel. That gave me a chance, and I came with them to New York.
TP: How long were you here?
AF: Well, I was here that time for a
couple of weeks. We were on tour, and we played a place in Chicago
called the El Grotto which was owned by Earl Hines. We played there for
about ten weeks. Then we played at the Apollo Theater for a week, and
then we played the Paradise Theater in Detroit for about week — and
then Johnny Otis fired me.
TP: Was this your first time seeing the country?
AF: Yes, it was my first time.
TP: What was Chicago like then?
AF: Oh, that was great. The El Grotto
was very nice. Such a nice club, with a chorus line and showgirls and
comedians. It was really a nightclub, which there is nothing like that
now. It was a big show.
TP: Chicago had a number of clubs with elaborate shows then.
AF: Yes.
TP: Did you get around in Chicago? Is that where you met Gene Ammons, let’s say?
AF:
No. Gene was on the road with Billy Eckstine at that time. I didn’t
meet Gene until I recorded with him for Prestige in the Fifties.
TP: What was your first impression of New York?
AF: Oh, New York was a great place. It
was another city compared to now — completely different. But there was
a lot of music going on, and music was all around the town.
TP: Where did you go to jam? I’m assuming that you did.
AF: Well, no, I didn’t go to jam at
that time. I would go to listen. I went down to, like, 52nd Street,
and to Minton’s up in Harlem. This is after the job. We were playing
at the Apollo Theater, and our last show would be finished close to
midnight, and so then we would go out to other places — like I said,
52nd Street or Minton’s.
TP: And you heard everybody who was creating the new music at that time.
AF: Well, everybody was on the Street.
[MUSIC: AF w/G. Russell, “Ballad of Hix
Blewitt”, “Concerto For Billy The Kid” (1956); AF w/H. McKusick, “Alone
Together” (1957); AF w/Horace, “Home Cookin'” (1956); AF/Jaymac/S.Clark,
“Sippin’ At Bells” (1958); AF/Gerry Mulligan, “Blueport” (1958), AF/H.
Jones, “Nita” (1958)]
TP: In our last conversation segment,
Art Farmer was on his first trip on the road with Johnny Otis, when he
worked in Chicago and New York for the first time. But basically, I
gather you stayed in Los Angeles pretty much until joining the Lionel
Hampton band in the early Fifties?
AF: Yes. You see, there was an
institution called the Sunday afternoon jam sessions, which happened in
Los Angeles and New York and other places, too. I used to go around to
these clubs for the jam sessions, and one Sunday I went there, and there
were some guys from Lionel’s band. Quincy was there, Buster Cooper was
there, for instance. A couple of days later I got a call from a friend
of mine, saying that he was going over to talk to Lionel, that Lionel
wanted him to make an audition, and he had heard about me and would like
for me to make an audition, too. I think Quincy had something to do
with it, really. So I went over there, and the audition wasn’t to see
how well you read the music or played the parts, but to see how well you
could play in general. He said, “Okay, let’s play ‘All God’s Children
Got Rhythm,'” which is a real testing tune for young players. So I did
it, and then he said, “Yes, well, if you want the job, you’ve got it,”
and that was it.
TP: What was the salary?
AF: Oh, it was around $17 or $18 a night when you played. [LAUGHS]
TP: When did Clifford Brown come into the picture?
AF: Clifford came in about a year later
— less than a year later, because I was there only a year myself. When
I came in, Benny Bailey was still there. The reason why Lionel Hampton
hired me was because a very great trumpet player by the name of Benny
Bailey was getting ready to leave. So when I came in the band, I was
the sixth trumpet player, and then Benny left, so I was the fifth. Then
there was a guy named the Whistler, who was called the Whistler because
all he played was high notes all night long, and he left, and Brownie
took his place. It was, say, in the summer of ’53 when we were playing
in New York at a place called the Band-Box, and we were getting ready to
go on a tour over in Europe, where we made all those records. Gigi
Gryce had come in the band, and James Cleveland, and Alan Dawson also…
TP: What was your immediate impression of Clifford Brown?
AF: [LAUGHS]
TP: I know it’s sort of a softball question, but…
AF: Yeah, that’s really… [LAUGHS]
Everybody had the same impression of Clifford Brown. The nicest
impression was what Louis Armstrong said, “It sounds like you got a
mouthful of hot rice.” [LAUGHS]
TP: But you were up next to him every night, I guess, for a number of months.
AF: Yes.
TP: Did that have an impact on your conception?
AF: Yes, it did. I would say that from
the standpoint of style we both came from the same inspiration, which
was Fats Navarro. But Clifford was much more proficient than I was, and
he was able to do what I really wanted to do, and he could do it
perfectly, and be completely relaxed and creative, and improvise. He
was just wonderful. There were a whole lot of people that wanted to do
the same thing, like Idrees Sulieman, for instance, Ray Copeland, and
other people, too. We all said, “Well, this is the guy who really got
it together.”
TP: Did your proximity to Clifford in
any way inspire you to work out a niche for yourself, a certain sound
that nobody else would get to, such as what, making a rough analogy,
Miles Davis faced with Dizzy Gillespie?
AF: No, it really didn’t. It just
inspired me to get the best sound that I could get. I certainly loved
Brownie and Fats, and Ioved a whole lot of trumpet players, and still
do. A lot of younger guys, the guys like Brownie and Fats and Miles,
Roy Eldridge, Dizzy Gillespie, you’d listen to these guys, and you’re
not going to say, “Well, if I could just sound like that, I’d be happy
for the rest of my life.” I would say, “Well, if I could just sound as
good as that, and then whatever came out that I figured sounded as good
or sounded nearly as good, at least I’d figure like I was pointed in the
right direction.
TP: Back to your experience with Roy
Porter, a caller was interested in your having known Eric Dolphy as a
very young musician.
AF: We were very good friends. Eric
was the same way with Charlie Parker as I was with the leading trumpet
stylists at that time. If you listened to him, you could tell
immediately that he loved Charlie Parker. But the difference between
Eric and Charlie Parker was that Eric… Eric was more like John
Coltrane. He lived for the saxophone. That’s all he thought about, was
the saxophone all the time, all the time, and whatever he could do.
The first inkling I had that he was going in another direction than just
playing Bebop was that he started imitating the sounds of birds. He’d
listen to birds, listen to what the birds sing, and then go home and
play it on the horn. That was happening when I was still living out
there, before I left Los Angeles with Lionel Hampton in the Fall of
1952. But even then, he was consumed by music.
TP: By the way, did you encounter Ornette Coleman at all in Los Angeles?
AF: Yes, Ornette came on the scene
while I was still there. We didn’t think much of him, because he would
get up on the stand at a jam session, and he would play, like, licks
that were associated with Charlie Parker, but he would play them in the
wrong place. He had a hair style that made us call him “Nature Boy.”
There was a tune called “Nature Boy” written by Eben Ahbez, and we
called Ornette “Nature Boy.” We really didn’t realize the contribution
that he was going to make to the music — which he made a great
contribution. At that time, when he would get up on the stand, a whole
lot of guys would leave the stand.
TP:
You mentioned taking the music beyond Bebop, and indeed, when you came
to New York in the mid 1950’s you were associated with a lot of
composers who were involved in stretching the form somewhat.
AF: Well, when I came to New York after
I’d left Lionel, and settled down here, then for some reason I got a
reputation as a guy that was willing to really try to play people’s
music, no matter what it was. There were a lot of people that were not
playing Bebop at that time. Well, not a lot, but there was George
Russell, Teddy Charles, for instance, and they would call me when they
had a gig or something to do. And I would give the music my best shot,
and take it home, and study it. There were some guys that just didn’t
care that much about it. So that was the start of my reputation around
there.
TP: That must have kind of a mind-bender for you, and certainly must have taken you to a lot of interesting places.
AF: Yes. Well, I wound up in some
interesting places, like playing a concert with the New York
Philharmonic of a concerto that was composed by Teo Macero, who later on
wound up to be main record producer of Miles Davis. He wrote this
symphony called “Fusion” that was to be performed by a symphonic
orchestra with a Jazz group. So those were the kind of things that were
happening. We played things by creative composers who were not
completely in the Jazz idiom, but were using it as best they could, at
the same time using their Classical background. This is not to say that
I was a Classical player by any means, but still, it was just a matter
of being the guy around town that could sort of straddle the ditch.
TP: Now, you said that let’s say up to
1950 or so, you hadn’t had a brass teacher. By this time had you been
getting some formal tuition?
AF: Yes, I had by then. After I came
to New York with Johnny Otis, and my deficiencies came to the front, and
he wound up firing me, and I decided to stay in New York and get some
professional help. I worked around here for a couple of years as a
janitor in the theaters, and at that time I studied with a teacher by
the name of Maurice Grupp. He didn’t have anything to do with Jazz at
all. But I started taking lessons with him every week, and practiced
every day, and at night-time I would go to 52nd Street and listen to the
guys who were doing it. I was supposed to be on my job at 12 o’clock.
Sometimes I was late, because I was busy listening to Miles and Dizzy,
etcetera. I used to work at Radio City Music Hall and a place called
the Criterion Theater, and other places like that, cleaning up, because
that was the only way that I could stay here and study.
TP: You did what a lot of artists do when they’re organizing themselves in their earlier years.
AF: Well, sure. You’re glad to have
the opportunity to do it anyway, any way you can. I remember some
nights I would be late getting to my job because I just couldn’t leave
the Street.
TP: After leaving the Hampton band, you began working around New York with fellow band-member Gigi Gryce for several years.
AF: Yes.
TP: Talk about the formation of that group and its evolution.
AF: Well, after leaving the Hampton
band, I was able to get some jobs because I had recorded a tune that was
subsequently named “Farmer’s Market” out in California with Wardell
Gray. Ira Gitler gave the tune its name.
TP: What was your name for the tune?
AF: I didn’t have a name for it! So
Ira decided to call it “Farmer’s Market,” which he did me a great
favor. So I came back here, and went over to the Prestige company, and
introduced myself to Bob Weinstock, who was the owner of the company. I
said, “I’m Arthur Farmer.” He said, “Oh yes, you’re Art Farmer.
You’re the guy who made that record with Wardell Gray.”
TP: No wonder you’re sick of that one song!
AF: Yes.
TP: Gigi Gryce himself was a very ambitious composer.
AF: Yes. Gigi was a great composer, a
great arranger, and a great saxophone player, and he’s one of the people
that we lost too early. The music has lost a lot because he wasn’t
around. He was from the generation of Quincy and myself, and his
contribution was lost, other than a very few things that he did for me,
and, oh, yes, he had a group with Donald Byrd, but this didn’t show his
full capacity as a player or a writer. If he had just been able to hang
on a bit longer, then I think he would have had a great influence on
the music. Just like Freddie Webster; I think he would have had a great
influence on the music if he had been able to hang around longer. Some
people just leave too early.
TP: You did some wonderful recordings with George Russell. How did your relationship with him begin?
TP: You did some wonderful recordings with George Russell. How did your relationship with him begin?
AF: Well, it was during a time when I
was in the studio with anybody who figured that they had something
unusually difficult to be played, and they would call me. I met George
at a record date with either Hal McKusick or Teddy Charles, and after
that, when he decided to do his own record, well, he called me. After
that I studied with George for some time, and still he is one of the
greatest factors in my playing.
TP: Would you be a little more specific about the applicability of his ideas?
AF: Well, it’s a matter of being able
to use the harmonic form in a certain way that you always know where you
are and you know how to handle yourself. There’s no point to go into
musical terms about it, because I’m not speaking to musicians at this
time.
TP: Later in the Fifties you worked with Gerry Mulligan in a group that stretched form in a lot of different ways.
AF: Oh, yes. That was a very important
time for me, and a very important occasion. I learned a lot working
with Gerry. Just before I worked with Gerry, I had worked with Horace
Silver, and Horace is a very dominant pianist. When you’re playing with
a group that Horace is in, well, then, you have to respond to what he’s
doing. There’s no way you can ignore him! [LAUGHS] Anyway, I went from
Horace’s group to Gerry’s group. Well, we probably had a couple of
weeks’ rehearsal before we went to work, and then I remember the first
night that we worked was at a place in Westbury, Long Island, called the
Cork and Bib. We got up on the stand and we played, and I felt like I
was up there with no clothes on. Because I didn’t hear Horace’s piano.
I didn’t hear any piano. I just heard this baritone saxophone and the
bass violin behind me. It was a completely different environment. But
it worked out.
TP: Had you heard his pianoless quartet back in Los Angeles in the early Fifties?
AF:
No, I didn’t hear it there. The first time I heard it, actually, I
think I was in Philadelphia, working with Lionel Hampton, and I went to a
club, and he had the quartet. Chet had left by then, and Bobby
Brookmeyer was with the group. And it sounded comfortable, it sounded
musically interesting, but it wasn’t the thing that I was really
pointing towards. It was a little bit too laid back for me at that
time, and I wanted to bash.
TP: Well, the group with Gerry Mulligan that you were in sounds less laid-back than those earlier groups.
AF: Yes. It sounds less laid-back, and I guess that’s what I brought into it.
[MUSIC: AF 5, “The Touch Of Your Lips”
(1958), “The Very Thought Of You”, AF Tentet, “Nica’s Dream” (1959),
“April In Paris” (1959), AF 5, “Mox Nix” (1958); AF/B. Golson, “Five
Spot After Dark” (1959)]
TP: Benny Golson had his hand in that last set quite a bit.
AF: Yes.
TP: Your musical lives, careers, and I
guess personal lives have been intertwined now for about thirty-five,
almost forty years.
AF: Yes. Well, Benny is one of my
musical brothers, and we love each other dearly. I don’t know where I
would be without his tunes.
The first time that we met was with
Lionel’s band. Benny was there for a short time, but then he decided
that he didn’t want to stay with the band. He’s told me many times
after that he was really sorry that he didn’t, because this was the band
that had his good buddies Clifford Brown and Gigi Gryce and Alan
Dawson, James Cleveland and people like that in it.
TP: When that band got going, it must have been a real powerhouse.
AF: Well, it was a musical band, when
the music called for it, and when the music called for entertainment, it
could do that, too. Lionel is a great musician and he is also a great
entertainer, and some people who would be unable to absorb, to
appreciate the musical side of it, could appreciate the entertainment
side of it.
TP: I guess you’ve played with a lot of
bands like that, and indeed, that was the situation for many musicians
of your generation, to get their functional experience and make a
living. That was sort of the side of the music you had to deal with.
AF: Yes, you had to deal with it
somewhere. But being a trumpet player, about the most entertaining
thing I would say that we did, we would just march through the hall.
Actually, when we were playing at the Band-Box, which was next door to
Birdland, I remember one night, Lionel marched us out in the middle of
the street, and stopped the traffic, and then he was going to march us
downstairs into Birdland. Billy Eckstine was singing there. The
doorman held up his hand and wouldn’t let us go in.
TP: What did Benny Golson sound like in the early Fifties? Was his sound already formed at that point?
AF: I think his sound was formed at
that point. I don’t think that he had found his own unique identity,
but he was very much influenced by Don Byas, I think. Not that he was
playing the things that Don Byas played, but it was just that type of
playing.
TP: Were you aware of his writing at that time?
AF: At that time, no. When I first
him, I was not aware of his writing at all. The first time that I
became aware of his writing was when I heard Miles Davis’ recording of
“Stablemates,” which I think may have been the first one of his pieces
that was recorded.
TP: What are the distinctive aspects of his writing that suit you so, his characteristics as an arranger?
AF: Well, the thing that really
attracted me to Benny was the warmth of his ensemble writing. That was
one of the things that you could hear in the Jazztet. With three horns
you could get a certain depth that you couldn’t get with two horns.
Nobody was writing for three horns until Benny came along and started
writing for the Jazztet; other than him you’d have to go all the way
back to John Kirby, whose group was in existence in the late Thirties
into the mid-Forties – after that it was all two horns and a lot of
unison writing for two horns.
I’m just thinking of Benny now as an
arranger. As a composer, why, he was able to write melodies that
sounded like melodies, didn’t sound like something that came out of an
exercise book. Benny is a master musician, a consummate artist who
recognizes the value of a melody, and he can construct a melody that
sings and that stays in your head once you hear it. Tunes like “Whisper
Not” or “I Remember Clifford” are real songs. That’s just not
la-de-da-da-da-dah-da-dah. These songs don’t just go in one ear and out
the other. He’s also able to construct a harmonic framework that the
improviser feels very comfortable with; not that it’s always easy, but
feels very comfortable with to construct their own melodies during their
improvisation.
I think Benny is a very rare person to be
able to do this so well. Because we have a lot of writers, who are not
bad writers, but a lot of them are weak on melody, and then when they
get to the harmony, the harmony is just not compatible to improvise on.
It’s either too many chords or too little. They might have two chords
all the way through or 222 chords. [LAUGHS]
TP: I guess a lot of his conception came from the small group writing of Tadd Dameron.
AF: That’s right. He would be the
first one to tell you that he learned a great deal from Tadd Dameron. I
was just talking to Benny a couple of days ago, and he mentioned that
he learned a great deal from Ernie Wilkins also. Ernie used to write
for Count Basie’s band.
TP: Speakking of Tadd Dameron, I’m sure he always had the sound of Fats Navarro in his ear.
AF: Oh yes.
TP: And I’m sure you must be one of the major sounds that Benny Golson is hearing in his ear when he’s writing his tunes.
AF: Yes, no doubt about it.
TP: Prior to the Jazztet, Benny Golson
had been with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers and, as he tells it,
had really organized the Messengers into the Messengers…
AF: Yes.Report this ad
TP:
…and sort of given them an approach that lasted for the next
thirty-plus years. Was the Jazztet kind of a conscious effort on his
part to do something similar with a group of young, contemporary
musicians, less drummer-oriented? How did it come about?
AF: Well, I never thought about it that
way. How it came about was, as you said, Benny had been playing with
Art Blakey and I had been playing with Gerry Mulligan for the year prior
to the organization of the Jazztet. Then Benny decided that he wanted
to do something that would have more of his imprint into it. Mulligan
was getting ready to organize the Concert Jazz Band, and at that time I
didn’t feel like I wanted to be part of a big band, so I was looking for
something to do. Benny and I had been running into each other in New
York at various record dates and things, either I was playing on his
date or he was playing on mine. So I was thinking about calling him and
asking him if he would like to work with me, when he called me. I
said, “I was just getting ready to call you.” So we said, “Okay, then
let’s work together.” That’s how the Jazztet came about.
Trombonist Curtis Fuller had worked with
Benny for an extended engagement down at the old Five-Spot, so he was
the first sideman Benny suggested, to which I said, “Fine,” because I
had worked with Curtis on various record dates, and we knew each other
and we got along well.
TP: He was also a very strong acolyte of J.J. Johnson…
AF: Right, very strong!
TP: …and a very strong musical personality in his own right.
AF: Yes, in his own right.
TP: McCoy Tyner was the pianist in the first Jazztet.
AF: Right. Well, Benny recommended McCoy to me…
TP: Did he know him from Philadelphia?
AF: He knew him from Philadelphia. In
fact, working with the Jazztet was the first job that McCoy had outside
of Philly. As I said, Benny recommended McCoy, and he recommended him
so strongly that…when Benny recommends someone that strong, well, you
can trust that recommendation. So I said, “Okay, let’s go with it.”
McCoy was interested, so we brought him over, and that was his
introduction to the world of Jazz other than in Philadelphia.
TP: The Jazztet was known as group that
combined hard blowing with discipline, almost in the space, say,
between the Messengers and the MJQ. That may be an inaccurate way of
framing it, but it’s a roundabout way of talking to you about the
repertoire of the group. Did it have any sort of a laboratory quality?
AF: No, it didn’t have a laboratory
quality, as far as I can remember now. Benny wrote the arrangements, or
whoever wrote the arrangements, we would rehearse them, and if there
was something that didn’t work, we would take it out. But that happens
with any group. What it didn’t have was, it wasn’t the type of
situation where you get five or six guys together, and they play the
first chorus, and then everybody plays a ten-minute solo, and then they
play the first chorus again, and take it out.
TP: Then the set’s over.
AF: [LAUGHS] It wasn’t like that. It
was like you didn’t have all night to say what you wanted to say,
because you had to make way for someone else. We had it that way on
purpose, because we didn’t want any boredom to set in, but we still
wanted people to have enough time to say what they wanted to say.
TP: Which I guess also reflects your early experience in big bands, jump bands, and so forth and so on.
TP: Which I guess also reflects your early experience in big bands, jump bands, and so forth and so on.
AF: Mmm-hmm.
[MUSIC: AF 4, “Kayin'” (1961); A.
Farmer/O. Nelson, “Street of Dreams” (1962); AF 4, “Lullaby Of The
Leaves” (1961), AF 5, “Happy Feet”, AF/J. Hall, “Swing Spring” (1964),
AF/S. Kuhn, “I Waited For You” (1965); AF/J. Hall, “What’s New”; AF 4,
“Die Salde Sin Hemmin” (1966); AF/JJ, “Shortcake”, “Euro #2” (1966);
AF/J. Heath, “The Shadow Of Your Smile,” “Blue Bossa” (1967); AF/O.
Nelson, “Raincheck” (1962); AF/Vienna…, “God Bless The Child”]
[MUSIC: Jazztet, “Serenata” (1960); Jazztet, “Wonder Why” (1960); AF/Jazztet, “My Funny Valentine” (1961); “Django” (1961); “Rue Prevail” (1962)]
[MUSIC: Jazztet, “Serenata” (1960); Jazztet, “Wonder Why” (1960); AF/Jazztet, “My Funny Valentine” (1961); “Django” (1961); “Rue Prevail” (1962)]
TP: On the 1962 performance of “Rue Prevail” you played the flugelhorn, and in 1960 you were playing the trumpet.
AF: Right.
TP: You subsequently became identified
very much with the flugelhorn. What was happening during that time?
Because changing your sound is really the most personal thing an
improviser can do.
AF: Well, I started around that time
playing the flugelhorn, but not limited to the flugelhorn. I would play
it on tunes that I felt the flugelhorn was the best horn I could play
it with. Other than that, I would play the trumpet.
TP: When did you start working with the flugelhorn?
AF: Oh, it must have been around 1962.
TP: What inspired you? You weren’t getting the sound you wanted on certain things?
AF: Yeah, on certain things, certain
times. In certain rooms the trumpet sounded very brassy and piercing,
and it just didn’t blend in the way I wanted it to do. I remembered
that I had heard some other people, like Clark Terry, for instance,
playing the flugelhorn, and I had heard a recording that Miles had done
playing the flugelhorn, and I felt, “well, I should give that a try.”
TP: So how was it initially?
AF: Oh, it was fine. The sound was
there right from the start. But when you ask a little bit more of horn,
when you want the projection that the trumpet has, well, then you come
up sort of lacking, because the flugelhorn does not have that. So most
guys double, and they go back and forth between the trumpet and the
flugelhorn.
TP: Why didn’t you?
AF: Well, I found it inconvenient. You
see, when you put one horn down, it cools off, and then you pick it up
and start playing it, and it’s flat for the introduction and maybe part
of the first chorus, and that sort of gets things off to a rocky start.
So I would rather just stick with one. So I wound up sticking with the
flugelhorn with the Jazztet, and then shortly after that the Jazztet
broke up, I organized a quartet that had the guitarist Jim Hall in it.
Jim Hall is not a loud player, and it seemed to me that the flugelhorn
was more compatible with his sound than the trumpet would be. So I
wound up playing the flugelhorn exclusively, and I guess I kept the
trumpet in the case for about two or three years.
TP: Well, what did you have to do to elicit as full a complement of sound projection from the flugelhorn as you could?
AF: Actually, it’s not possible to
fully get the projection. You can approximate it, but you don’t really
completely get to it — you just go in that direction. Sometimes, if you
go into the high register, the flugelhorn can have a tendency to sound
like a squealing [LAUGHS] instead of playing.
TP: Well, I guess if that happens with
Art Farmer, he’ll make it musical somehow. But in the last several
years you’ve performed on a customized instrument that hopefully blends
the attributes of both the trumpet and flugelhorn — the flumpet.
AF: The flumpet. I hate that name, but
I’m stuck with it. [LAUGHS] That was made by a trumpet-maker named
David Monette, who makes trumpets for a lot of very fine trumpet
players, such as Wynton Marsalis, for instance, and the principal
players for the Boston Symphony and the Chicago Symphony and the Chicago
Symphony, etcetera. I asked him to make me a trumpet, and he made it,
it was very fine, and I started really working on the trumpet. Then he
got the idea that it didn’t really sound like me, but he wanted to make a
flugelhorn for me — so I told him to go ahead and do it. Then he
called up one day, and he said, “Well, I made it very carefully and put
every part in order, made it by hand [because everything is made by
hand], but it sounds like hell, and I really don’t like it. But I have
another idea.” So I told him to go ahead and make it. Then a couple of
months later, he called and said, “it’s ready.” I went to Chicago,
where I was booked, and he brought it on the gig — and right from the
start, it sounded like the answer to my prayers.
TP: How so?
AF: Well, you could go one way or the
other on it. You could approximate the warmth of the flugelhorn or you
could approximate the projection of the trumpet. If you really wanted
to put a note out there, you could do it, and if you wanted to be more
intimate, you could do that also. So it seemed like what I was looking
for.
TP: [ETC.] In the next set of music, we’ll hear some incarnations of the Jazztet’s second life, between 1983 and 1987 or so.
AF: Some time around there.
TP: I guess reorganizing the Jazztet was just a natural thing to think about at a certain point.
AF: It came about because a Japanese
promoter came up with the idea of getting the Jazztet back together to
make a tour of Japan. Then someone else in Europe heard about this
idea, and said, “Yeah, we like that idea, so why don’t you make a tour
of Europe first and then go to Japan?” So that’s how we got it back
together. We brought Curtis back in the group, too. Then we were able
to get some dates in United States also. I think that we kept the
Jazztet going the second time for about two years. During that time we
didn’t work all the time, so I would work with my own group also, and
Benny would work with his own group.
TP: Apart from all of you being twenty
years older, with that level of maturity as musicians, were there any
changes in strategy, orientation or approach of the group?
NEA Jazz Masters
The Ten Most Essential Art Farmer Albums
by
Bassist Keter Betts,
who played with Art Farmer briefly during the 1970s, described him
best: "He was a gentleman's trumpet player, not a rebel trumpet player."
At 25 years of age, Farmer was given the opportunity to travel Europe with Lionel Hampton's jazz band. He had spent the past few years wandering Los Angeles as a struggling musician with Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, and the chance for adventure was a welcome one. Upon his return to the States in 1954, he played in bands with Gigi Gryce, Gerry Mulligan, Horace Silver, and Hank Mobley. At the start of the sixties he and saxophonist Benny Golson founded the Jazztet, one of the genres most enduring all-star groups. The band shot Farmer to fame, and he spent the next forty years as a celebrated artist whose talent, work ethic, and professionalism allowed him to leave a lasting legacy of success.
Although it's true that he did in fact write over a dozen of his own songs, he was never known for them. To Farmer, being a great musician had little in common with the ability or drive to compose.
So what was Art Farmer known for?
That would depend upon who was asked. Those he worked with would describe him as ambitious and committed. "I had developed this reputation," he said, "of being a guy who would take care of business: be on the gig on time, take the music home and really work on it, and hang in there. If people had something that was out of the ordinary, they would call me to do it. It was not because I was the best trumpet player around, but I would give it my best."
To the many listeners who bought his records, Farmer was known simply for his warm lyricism; a trait which allowed him to conquer melodic form in any context, be it ballad or bombast.
Once he switched to the flugelhorn in the mid-sixties, his smooth, mellow blowing during occasionally sparse arrangements became a calling card. His understanding of talent had less to do with tackling excess, and was more about what one could do with restraint. He once stated, "you know, that's what you got to watch out for-these guys that can tell you something with one note. If they can tell you something with one note...well, then, watch out when they start playing more notes than that. That's the essence of jazz, I think."
It is imperative to note that the recordings contained here all feature Art Farmer as bandleader; his name clearly listed on the cover. The wonderful music he made as part of the Jazztet, or with other groups or artists, could fill a list twice this size, and is worth pursuing. The ten albums presented here however, will serve to paint a broad picture of one of jazz's legendary horn players, hopefully spurring continued interest in his work among not only the generation who grew up listening to him, but with those who succeed them.
At 25 years of age, Farmer was given the opportunity to travel Europe with Lionel Hampton's jazz band. He had spent the past few years wandering Los Angeles as a struggling musician with Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, and the chance for adventure was a welcome one. Upon his return to the States in 1954, he played in bands with Gigi Gryce, Gerry Mulligan, Horace Silver, and Hank Mobley. At the start of the sixties he and saxophonist Benny Golson founded the Jazztet, one of the genres most enduring all-star groups. The band shot Farmer to fame, and he spent the next forty years as a celebrated artist whose talent, work ethic, and professionalism allowed him to leave a lasting legacy of success.
Although it's true that he did in fact write over a dozen of his own songs, he was never known for them. To Farmer, being a great musician had little in common with the ability or drive to compose.
So what was Art Farmer known for?
That would depend upon who was asked. Those he worked with would describe him as ambitious and committed. "I had developed this reputation," he said, "of being a guy who would take care of business: be on the gig on time, take the music home and really work on it, and hang in there. If people had something that was out of the ordinary, they would call me to do it. It was not because I was the best trumpet player around, but I would give it my best."
To the many listeners who bought his records, Farmer was known simply for his warm lyricism; a trait which allowed him to conquer melodic form in any context, be it ballad or bombast.
Once he switched to the flugelhorn in the mid-sixties, his smooth, mellow blowing during occasionally sparse arrangements became a calling card. His understanding of talent had less to do with tackling excess, and was more about what one could do with restraint. He once stated, "you know, that's what you got to watch out for-these guys that can tell you something with one note. If they can tell you something with one note...well, then, watch out when they start playing more notes than that. That's the essence of jazz, I think."
It is imperative to note that the recordings contained here all feature Art Farmer as bandleader; his name clearly listed on the cover. The wonderful music he made as part of the Jazztet, or with other groups or artists, could fill a list twice this size, and is worth pursuing. The ten albums presented here however, will serve to paint a broad picture of one of jazz's legendary horn players, hopefully spurring continued interest in his work among not only the generation who grew up listening to him, but with those who succeed them.
Art Farmer
Farmer's Market
Prestige
1956
Wisdom comes not from foreseeing the future, but from understanding the past. Although Art Farmer had enjoyed some success with his breakthrough Early Art (Prestige, 1954), it was Farmer's Market in which the then-trumpeter laid a lofty foundation to build upon in the following decades leading up to his death in 1999.
Farmer's Market
Prestige
1956
Wisdom comes not from foreseeing the future, but from understanding the past. Although Art Farmer had enjoyed some success with his breakthrough Early Art (Prestige, 1954), it was Farmer's Market in which the then-trumpeter laid a lofty foundation to build upon in the following decades leading up to his death in 1999.
Farmer
was never much of a composer, preferring instead to play in other
musicians' sandboxes. He explained this theory best in 1995, during an
interview for the Smithsonian Jazz Oral History Project; "I would
classify myself as, being an interpreter, basically, of what other
people have written. I find something that I feel comfortable in—that I
can put myself into—and that's what I do, play it. I express myself
through the music that someone else wrote. With the availability of so
much good music, there's no reason to play mediocre music just because
you wrote it yourself, which some people do."
He did compose a couple dozen songs, among them were "Kayin,'" "Mox Nix," and the title track to this album. "Farmer's Market" is appealingly up-tempo, brimming with carefully measured exuberance. Art Farmer allows a moderately slack leash for his pianist and band in general, and the result is a well structured composition he would continue to attack from different angles throughout his life, on numerous live and studio albums.
That band consisted of a handful of fifties legends, including Hank Mobley, Kenny Drew, and Elvin Jones Farmer's brother, Addison, was a rising bassist who would round out the band on a number of the trumpeter's early albums, until his unexpected death in 1963. Farmer's Market is a brassier, bolder album than the majority of its successors (certainly more so than those on this list), yet one which stands firmly on its own merits.
He did compose a couple dozen songs, among them were "Kayin,'" "Mox Nix," and the title track to this album. "Farmer's Market" is appealingly up-tempo, brimming with carefully measured exuberance. Art Farmer allows a moderately slack leash for his pianist and band in general, and the result is a well structured composition he would continue to attack from different angles throughout his life, on numerous live and studio albums.
That band consisted of a handful of fifties legends, including Hank Mobley, Kenny Drew, and Elvin Jones Farmer's brother, Addison, was a rising bassist who would round out the band on a number of the trumpeter's early albums, until his unexpected death in 1963. Farmer's Market is a brassier, bolder album than the majority of its successors (certainly more so than those on this list), yet one which stands firmly on its own merits.
Art Farmer
The Summer Knows
East Wind Records
1976
For the majority of the 1970s, Art Farmer enjoyed the accompaniment of what was objectively his strongest rhythm section. Pianist Cedar Walton, bassist Sam Jones, and prolific drummer Billy Higgins constituted that special recipe of talent, songwriting, and something a bit more ethereal. As it is with all great bands, some musicians inexplicably sound better together than others, and for a handful of albums during the decade of funk, fusion, and flared jeans, Farmer had his.
The flugelhornist would eschew those sub-genres, favoring tradition and perfecting his approach to it. The Summer Knows stands out as not only his most underrated album, but his most accomplished. This classic's only weakness is a structural one; the placement of the title track as its opener. Here, Art Farmer recorded the definitive version of Michel Legrand's masterpiece, permeating it with a resoundingly lonely atmosphere. It is unfortunate then, that no matter how competently the quartet makes their way through standards such as "Alfie" and "I Should Care," they can't seem to pull the songs out of the shadow cast by "The Summer Knows."
This isn't to disparage their talent; the four musicians presented here are exemplary. Much as it is the case with a fine glass of rum, one can easily pick out each individual flavor with concentration. With a relaxed mindset however, the sum of their parts easily eclipses those which would otherwise merit great praise. Listeners who enjoy The Summer Knows would do well to further explore the catalogues of Walton and Higgins, as they present a rabbit hole of indeterminate depth for those inclined to jump in with abandon.
The Summer Knows
East Wind Records
1976
For the majority of the 1970s, Art Farmer enjoyed the accompaniment of what was objectively his strongest rhythm section. Pianist Cedar Walton, bassist Sam Jones, and prolific drummer Billy Higgins constituted that special recipe of talent, songwriting, and something a bit more ethereal. As it is with all great bands, some musicians inexplicably sound better together than others, and for a handful of albums during the decade of funk, fusion, and flared jeans, Farmer had his.
The flugelhornist would eschew those sub-genres, favoring tradition and perfecting his approach to it. The Summer Knows stands out as not only his most underrated album, but his most accomplished. This classic's only weakness is a structural one; the placement of the title track as its opener. Here, Art Farmer recorded the definitive version of Michel Legrand's masterpiece, permeating it with a resoundingly lonely atmosphere. It is unfortunate then, that no matter how competently the quartet makes their way through standards such as "Alfie" and "I Should Care," they can't seem to pull the songs out of the shadow cast by "The Summer Knows."
This isn't to disparage their talent; the four musicians presented here are exemplary. Much as it is the case with a fine glass of rum, one can easily pick out each individual flavor with concentration. With a relaxed mindset however, the sum of their parts easily eclipses those which would otherwise merit great praise. Listeners who enjoy The Summer Knows would do well to further explore the catalogues of Walton and Higgins, as they present a rabbit hole of indeterminate depth for those inclined to jump in with abandon.
Art Farmer
When Farmer Met Gryce
Prestige Records
1955
Altoist Gigi Gryce was one of the musicians Art Farmer played with in his early twenties, touring Europe together as part of Lionel Hampton's band. They were both relative newcomers to the jazz scene, Farmer more than Gryce. When Hampton's group disbanded after returning to New York, the duo would spend a year playing live shows together, often appearing nights at Birdland.
During May and October of 1955, Farmer and Gryce met at the Van Gelder studio in Hackensack, New Jersey, to record enough music to furnish two albums for the Prestige label. The first, When Farmer Met Gryce, was released later that same year. Recording was spread over two dates in May, with differing rhythm sections for each. The autumn session provided music which would hit shelves the following year, as Art Farmer Quintet Featuring Gigi Gryce.
Farmer never played down the fact that he wasn't much of a writer. He felt that in order to do it well, one had to do it consistently. As complementary as the two musicians were to each other, their approach to music and to their careers differed widely. "Gigi said if he didn't write a song every day, it was a day wasted. That's a composer," he stated during the Smithsonian interview.
The weak point of any jazz album recorded with different sidemen is inconsistency, and there's no doubt that out of the two he recorded with Gryce, the latter is a more logical choice for this list. In spite of this, When Farmer Met Gryce proves to be the more compelling effort. Farmer's unusually up-tempo selections and youthful spirit give this album an edgy contrast to the rest of his discography. Although Gryce inexplicably retired in 1965, Art Farmer would continue to make use of his compositions for many years after.
When Farmer Met Gryce
Prestige Records
1955
Altoist Gigi Gryce was one of the musicians Art Farmer played with in his early twenties, touring Europe together as part of Lionel Hampton's band. They were both relative newcomers to the jazz scene, Farmer more than Gryce. When Hampton's group disbanded after returning to New York, the duo would spend a year playing live shows together, often appearing nights at Birdland.
During May and October of 1955, Farmer and Gryce met at the Van Gelder studio in Hackensack, New Jersey, to record enough music to furnish two albums for the Prestige label. The first, When Farmer Met Gryce, was released later that same year. Recording was spread over two dates in May, with differing rhythm sections for each. The autumn session provided music which would hit shelves the following year, as Art Farmer Quintet Featuring Gigi Gryce.
Farmer never played down the fact that he wasn't much of a writer. He felt that in order to do it well, one had to do it consistently. As complementary as the two musicians were to each other, their approach to music and to their careers differed widely. "Gigi said if he didn't write a song every day, it was a day wasted. That's a composer," he stated during the Smithsonian interview.
The weak point of any jazz album recorded with different sidemen is inconsistency, and there's no doubt that out of the two he recorded with Gryce, the latter is a more logical choice for this list. In spite of this, When Farmer Met Gryce proves to be the more compelling effort. Farmer's unusually up-tempo selections and youthful spirit give this album an edgy contrast to the rest of his discography. Although Gryce inexplicably retired in 1965, Art Farmer would continue to make use of his compositions for many years after.
Art Farmer
Perception
Argo Records
1961
Perception is the first album on which Art Farmer played solely the flugelhorn. Often paired with his previous 1961 release Art (Argo), hearing both together allows for some perspective of this defining event. The flugelhorn's warm tones better suit his lyrical, sensitive approach to music, and with it he found an instrument capable of carrying the style he'd spend the next thirty-eight years honing.
Interestingly enough, Farmer felt that the recording of Art was less laborious. "Sometimes things gel, and sometimes things that should gel don't, and nobody can really anticipate it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't work. In this case, it worked."
Both Art and Perception were recorded at the Nola Penthouse Studio in Manhattan. Though he declared the former to be his favorite album, Perception stands as a turning point in his career, separating the youthful trumpeter from the thoughtful, experienced flugelhornist.
Still buried in golden-age sensibilities, none of the eight songs included hit the six minute mark; most are under five. But the fluid confidence he and pianist Harold Mabern (who would briefly join The Jazztet a year later) brought to such tunes as "Nobody's Heart" and "Lullaby Of The Leaves" is a rarity even for Farmer. Also included are a couple rare originals; "Punsu" and "Kayin.'" He would build on those compositions much later, but Perception is where they, and Art Farmer as he is remembered really began.
Perception
Argo Records
1961
Perception is the first album on which Art Farmer played solely the flugelhorn. Often paired with his previous 1961 release Art (Argo), hearing both together allows for some perspective of this defining event. The flugelhorn's warm tones better suit his lyrical, sensitive approach to music, and with it he found an instrument capable of carrying the style he'd spend the next thirty-eight years honing.
Interestingly enough, Farmer felt that the recording of Art was less laborious. "Sometimes things gel, and sometimes things that should gel don't, and nobody can really anticipate it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't work. In this case, it worked."
Both Art and Perception were recorded at the Nola Penthouse Studio in Manhattan. Though he declared the former to be his favorite album, Perception stands as a turning point in his career, separating the youthful trumpeter from the thoughtful, experienced flugelhornist.
Still buried in golden-age sensibilities, none of the eight songs included hit the six minute mark; most are under five. But the fluid confidence he and pianist Harold Mabern (who would briefly join The Jazztet a year later) brought to such tunes as "Nobody's Heart" and "Lullaby Of The Leaves" is a rarity even for Farmer. Also included are a couple rare originals; "Punsu" and "Kayin.'" He would build on those compositions much later, but Perception is where they, and Art Farmer as he is remembered really began.
The Art Farmer Quartet
Warm Valley
Concord
1982
It might be an overstatement to refer to Warm Valley as a concept album, but it certainly is a thematic one. The quartet, aside from Art Farmer, is made up of pianist Fred Hersch, bassist Ray Drummond, and drummer Akira Tana. This is one production which could not have been made with a quintet or sextet setup, since it relies so heavily upon aesthetics.
The passionate, exotic tones and wistful, bittersweet recollections of "And Now There's You" and "Three Little Words" contribute a great deal to that aesthetic. Sultry shadows cast by these pieces lay heavy over the entirety of Farmer's effort, set into place by its gorgeous cover art.
Simple as it would have been to use the flugelhorn's mellow tones to meander through Benny Golson's doleful "Sad To Say," Farmer instead decided to shake things up, utilizing a mute for the song. Those little touches, much like the deliberate caribbean undertones of "Eclypso," carry the momentum of Warm Valley through to its title track, which serves as a curtain call. The quartet furnishes Duke Ellington's classic with a placid climate, tying the piece into the rest of the album's carefree vibe. It's a lush, beautiful effort; easily one of Farmer's best.
Warm Valley
Concord
1982
It might be an overstatement to refer to Warm Valley as a concept album, but it certainly is a thematic one. The quartet, aside from Art Farmer, is made up of pianist Fred Hersch, bassist Ray Drummond, and drummer Akira Tana. This is one production which could not have been made with a quintet or sextet setup, since it relies so heavily upon aesthetics.
The passionate, exotic tones and wistful, bittersweet recollections of "And Now There's You" and "Three Little Words" contribute a great deal to that aesthetic. Sultry shadows cast by these pieces lay heavy over the entirety of Farmer's effort, set into place by its gorgeous cover art.
Simple as it would have been to use the flugelhorn's mellow tones to meander through Benny Golson's doleful "Sad To Say," Farmer instead decided to shake things up, utilizing a mute for the song. Those little touches, much like the deliberate caribbean undertones of "Eclypso," carry the momentum of Warm Valley through to its title track, which serves as a curtain call. The quartet furnishes Duke Ellington's classic with a placid climate, tying the piece into the rest of the album's carefree vibe. It's a lush, beautiful effort; easily one of Farmer's best.
Art Farmer
Yesterday's Thoughts
East Wind Records
1975
The same quartet heard on The Summer Knows first convened at Vanguard Studios in New York City to record Yesterday's Thoughts. They would form for a third album (second chronologically) as well, titled To Duke With Love (East Wind, 1976). The strict Ellington theme of that album however, led to the players sounding more cramped. Their performances on Yesterday's Thoughts fit equally with its successor, albeit lacking such a masterpiece track as "The Summer Knows."
The quartet format gave Farmer the opportunity to take control of each song's tempo and temperament. His lyrical bent took off when he was alone at the stage front, and one can't help but feel that his propensity to surround himself with top-tier talent wasn't to some extent a double-edged sword.
Yesterday's Thoughts is a well-balanced 45-minute album full of little touches that have substantial impact. When Billy Higgins' cymbals drop out prior to Cedar Walton's piano solo during "What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life?," the effect is stirring. Placed within a more inexact recording, this method could easily prove amateurish or worse, jarring. With Higgins seated at the drum set however, a seemingly effortless use of silence offers more resonance than any of the wilder, more pulse-pounding moments he enjoys on the record.
The 1970s saw Art Farmer increasingly uninhibited by the outdated need for sub-four minute songs. Much as it was on The Summer Knows, he used the extra time to build atmosphere and gravity within his songs, rather than adhering to bland structure or ostentatious showmanship.
Yesterday's Thoughts
East Wind Records
1975
The same quartet heard on The Summer Knows first convened at Vanguard Studios in New York City to record Yesterday's Thoughts. They would form for a third album (second chronologically) as well, titled To Duke With Love (East Wind, 1976). The strict Ellington theme of that album however, led to the players sounding more cramped. Their performances on Yesterday's Thoughts fit equally with its successor, albeit lacking such a masterpiece track as "The Summer Knows."
The quartet format gave Farmer the opportunity to take control of each song's tempo and temperament. His lyrical bent took off when he was alone at the stage front, and one can't help but feel that his propensity to surround himself with top-tier talent wasn't to some extent a double-edged sword.
Yesterday's Thoughts is a well-balanced 45-minute album full of little touches that have substantial impact. When Billy Higgins' cymbals drop out prior to Cedar Walton's piano solo during "What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life?," the effect is stirring. Placed within a more inexact recording, this method could easily prove amateurish or worse, jarring. With Higgins seated at the drum set however, a seemingly effortless use of silence offers more resonance than any of the wilder, more pulse-pounding moments he enjoys on the record.
The 1970s saw Art Farmer increasingly uninhibited by the outdated need for sub-four minute songs. Much as it was on The Summer Knows, he used the extra time to build atmosphere and gravity within his songs, rather than adhering to bland structure or ostentatious showmanship.
Art Farmer
On The Road
Contemporary Records
1976
Sometimes there is no explaining why two perfectly capable musicians don't sound well together. Take Art Farmer and Steve Kuhn in the former's Sing Me Softly Of The Blues (Atlantic, 1965) for instance. Kuhn's piano seemed to be at odds with the flugelhornist, fighting him through tonal shifts throughout the album.
If a pair of musicians ever existed who should not sound well together, it is Art Farmer and Art Pepper. The two men contrasted wildly in both temperament and style. Pepper was amidst a comeback in 1976, hell-bent on proving to the world that he was as good as he thought he was. He was moody, insecure, and played with reckless passion. Farmer was pretty much the polar opposite. His calm, composed demeanor and methodical approach were informed by a career which had seen him perform in legendary groups and solid bands of his own forming. As a well-respected artist he had nothing in particular left to prove.
One can't help but wonder if Pepper brought pianist Hampton Hawes into the group, as Hawes was a musician of great regard to the altoist. Ray Brown plays bass while Steve Ellington and Shelly Manne take turns at the drum kit, likely due to scheduling conflicts. Recording was split between July and September of 1976. Manne was another Pepper alum, and perhaps was brought on in Ellington's absence at Pepper's request.
The album does have its share of faults. Art Pepper behaves himself far more than Art Pepper ever should, and there is some initial sense of anticipatory letdown when "Will You Still Be Mine?" closes On The Road and the usually explosive altoist quietly fades. Although Farmer's song choices are a bit too common, he does place some unique twists in his selections. After opening the album with "Downwind," a Hawes original, he and the pianist attack "My Funny Valentine" as a duet. Though usually one to own the melody in quartet performances, Farmer allows Hawes to amble through a rather orthodox rendition of the tired tune whilst his warm flugelhorn imbues it with some much needed murky atmosphere.
West coast musicians like Pepper, Hawes, and Manne offered an opportunity to hear Art Farmer in a slightly different context, as by this point in his life he split his time between New York and Europe. It's still Farmer, and he doesn't play up or down to anyone. But On The Road deserves more credit than it receives among his listeners.
On The Road
Contemporary Records
1976
Sometimes there is no explaining why two perfectly capable musicians don't sound well together. Take Art Farmer and Steve Kuhn in the former's Sing Me Softly Of The Blues (Atlantic, 1965) for instance. Kuhn's piano seemed to be at odds with the flugelhornist, fighting him through tonal shifts throughout the album.
If a pair of musicians ever existed who should not sound well together, it is Art Farmer and Art Pepper. The two men contrasted wildly in both temperament and style. Pepper was amidst a comeback in 1976, hell-bent on proving to the world that he was as good as he thought he was. He was moody, insecure, and played with reckless passion. Farmer was pretty much the polar opposite. His calm, composed demeanor and methodical approach were informed by a career which had seen him perform in legendary groups and solid bands of his own forming. As a well-respected artist he had nothing in particular left to prove.
One can't help but wonder if Pepper brought pianist Hampton Hawes into the group, as Hawes was a musician of great regard to the altoist. Ray Brown plays bass while Steve Ellington and Shelly Manne take turns at the drum kit, likely due to scheduling conflicts. Recording was split between July and September of 1976. Manne was another Pepper alum, and perhaps was brought on in Ellington's absence at Pepper's request.
The album does have its share of faults. Art Pepper behaves himself far more than Art Pepper ever should, and there is some initial sense of anticipatory letdown when "Will You Still Be Mine?" closes On The Road and the usually explosive altoist quietly fades. Although Farmer's song choices are a bit too common, he does place some unique twists in his selections. After opening the album with "Downwind," a Hawes original, he and the pianist attack "My Funny Valentine" as a duet. Though usually one to own the melody in quartet performances, Farmer allows Hawes to amble through a rather orthodox rendition of the tired tune whilst his warm flugelhorn imbues it with some much needed murky atmosphere.
West coast musicians like Pepper, Hawes, and Manne offered an opportunity to hear Art Farmer in a slightly different context, as by this point in his life he split his time between New York and Europe. It's still Farmer, and he doesn't play up or down to anyone. But On The Road deserves more credit than it receives among his listeners.
The Art Farmer Quintet
Blame It On My Youth
Contemporary Records
1988
The late 1980s found Art Farmer just a little bit grayer but every bit the polished and perpetually reliable musician. The decade had seen some of his best output on numerous labels. He continued to seek connections which would challenge him, teaming up with european jazz groups, recording with string orchestras, and meeting his old friend, tenor saxophonist Clifford Jordan in the studio for five records. He and Jordan were an excellent team, and most of their work together manages to endure even through countless repetition.
Blame It On My Youth was the strongest outing Farmer had toward the end of his career. Aside from Jordan, the quintet was composed of then-rising stars of the era. Pianist James Williams, bassist Rufus Reid, and drummer Victor Lewis would all prove themselves to be the next generation of jazz. Their carefully high-strung performance of his frequent cohort Fritz Pauer's "Fairy Tale Countryside" is timeless.
The album itself is captivating, At this point in their lives, Farmer and Jordan both had a firm grasp on their identities as musicians, and could structure their selections around the tone of their choosing. The flugelhornist later alluded to this in a 1995 interview when he stated "first comes the sound, and then you decide what you want to do with the sound...The identity is the individual, and that's what we start off with." It was evident that this outlook was second nature to these musicians, and Blame It On My Youth was as good as hard bop got in the 'eighties.
Blame It On My Youth
Contemporary Records
1988
The late 1980s found Art Farmer just a little bit grayer but every bit the polished and perpetually reliable musician. The decade had seen some of his best output on numerous labels. He continued to seek connections which would challenge him, teaming up with european jazz groups, recording with string orchestras, and meeting his old friend, tenor saxophonist Clifford Jordan in the studio for five records. He and Jordan were an excellent team, and most of their work together manages to endure even through countless repetition.
Blame It On My Youth was the strongest outing Farmer had toward the end of his career. Aside from Jordan, the quintet was composed of then-rising stars of the era. Pianist James Williams, bassist Rufus Reid, and drummer Victor Lewis would all prove themselves to be the next generation of jazz. Their carefully high-strung performance of his frequent cohort Fritz Pauer's "Fairy Tale Countryside" is timeless.
The album itself is captivating, At this point in their lives, Farmer and Jordan both had a firm grasp on their identities as musicians, and could structure their selections around the tone of their choosing. The flugelhornist later alluded to this in a 1995 interview when he stated "first comes the sound, and then you decide what you want to do with the sound...The identity is the individual, and that's what we start off with." It was evident that this outlook was second nature to these musicians, and Blame It On My Youth was as good as hard bop got in the 'eighties.
Art Farmer Quintet
Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers
East Wind Records
1976
Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers may be the most contentious inclusion to this list, edging out nascent hard-bop era classics such as "Early Art" and "Modern Art." The flugelhornist wasn't particularly known for his live recordings, though he did record a handful. At Boomers is a rollicking good time, in an era when Art Farmer was better known for his balladry than fervent theatrics.
A caveat; At Boomers is a two piece set, recorded May 14 and 15, 1976 at the now-defunct Boomers jazz club on Bleeker Street in Manhattan. Clifford Jordan reunited with Farmer on stage, preceding the work they would do together in the following decade. Cedar Walton sat at the piano during those evenings, with Sam Jones on bass, and Billy Higgins on drums. Three years earlier, Walton had actually released his own A Night at Boomers, (Muse, 1973) with Sam Jones in attendance at that date as well.
Depending upon the listeners viewpoint, At Boomers does share the same drawback as many live jazz albums. Due to the constraints of vinyl pressings, the two sets aren't presented in their entirety or in the order they likely were played in. Any banter from Farmer is absent. He was a reserved, soft-spoken artist, and likely said little more than the song titles and who composed them. Although unedited performances are somewhat rare, they present the clearest picture of what a jazz band was doing on any particular evening, placing listeners among the crowd rather than in their living rooms. Still, Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers is a fun jam session and a welcome reprieve from his more high-minded endeavors.
Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers
East Wind Records
1976
Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers may be the most contentious inclusion to this list, edging out nascent hard-bop era classics such as "Early Art" and "Modern Art." The flugelhornist wasn't particularly known for his live recordings, though he did record a handful. At Boomers is a rollicking good time, in an era when Art Farmer was better known for his balladry than fervent theatrics.
A caveat; At Boomers is a two piece set, recorded May 14 and 15, 1976 at the now-defunct Boomers jazz club on Bleeker Street in Manhattan. Clifford Jordan reunited with Farmer on stage, preceding the work they would do together in the following decade. Cedar Walton sat at the piano during those evenings, with Sam Jones on bass, and Billy Higgins on drums. Three years earlier, Walton had actually released his own A Night at Boomers, (Muse, 1973) with Sam Jones in attendance at that date as well.
Depending upon the listeners viewpoint, At Boomers does share the same drawback as many live jazz albums. Due to the constraints of vinyl pressings, the two sets aren't presented in their entirety or in the order they likely were played in. Any banter from Farmer is absent. He was a reserved, soft-spoken artist, and likely said little more than the song titles and who composed them. Although unedited performances are somewhat rare, they present the clearest picture of what a jazz band was doing on any particular evening, placing listeners among the crowd rather than in their living rooms. Still, Art Farmer Quintet At Boomers is a fun jam session and a welcome reprieve from his more high-minded endeavors.
Art Farmer
Silk Road
Arabesque Records
1996
In October of 1999, Art Farmer suffered heart failure, dying suddenly at the age of 71. As such, he could not have known that Silk Road (Arabesque, 1997) would be his final major work as a leader.
Farmer's studio recordings during the 1990s saw one very noteworthy change from his output of the previous decade. Dave Monette of Chicago had built him the first flumpet, a hybrid instrument combining the strengths of both a trumpet and flugelhorn. Farmer, upon being presented with this new instrument, would employ it exclusively during the remaining years of his life.
"It's a good horn," he stated simply. "It has a darker sound than the trumpet, but it has more projection than the flugelhorn does, so if you want to go up in the high register and really project, you can do it with the flumpet more than you can with the flugelhorn."
"But," he continued, "if you want to get a mellow sound like you can with the flugelhorn, you can do that with this, but you can't get a real mellow sound with the trumpet...It is demanding, but you get something for what you put into it. I like it better than the flugelhorn because of these qualities."
Silk Road is one of Farmer's longest studio albums, finishing in just under an hour. Despite the inclusion of two saxophonists, the production isn't a blowing session. The sextet instead focuses their efforts on the intimacy and intricacy of each piece, and are rewarded with such easygoing delights as "Ancient Evening" and Don Braden's "Dance Of The One." Pianist Geoffrey Keezer joined Farmer in 1990, and his penchant for deft movements along the ivory has his contributions often arriving like sweeping sheets of rain shifting across the speakers. Hoagy Carmichael's "Stardust" is an opportunity for Farmer to demonstrate the range of his new flumpet, as its warmer tones fill the ballad, while still affording him the ability to climb up into brassy, higher registers during its sorrowful denouement.
Silk Road
Arabesque Records
1996
In October of 1999, Art Farmer suffered heart failure, dying suddenly at the age of 71. As such, he could not have known that Silk Road (Arabesque, 1997) would be his final major work as a leader.
Farmer's studio recordings during the 1990s saw one very noteworthy change from his output of the previous decade. Dave Monette of Chicago had built him the first flumpet, a hybrid instrument combining the strengths of both a trumpet and flugelhorn. Farmer, upon being presented with this new instrument, would employ it exclusively during the remaining years of his life.
"It's a good horn," he stated simply. "It has a darker sound than the trumpet, but it has more projection than the flugelhorn does, so if you want to go up in the high register and really project, you can do it with the flumpet more than you can with the flugelhorn."
"But," he continued, "if you want to get a mellow sound like you can with the flugelhorn, you can do that with this, but you can't get a real mellow sound with the trumpet...It is demanding, but you get something for what you put into it. I like it better than the flugelhorn because of these qualities."
Silk Road is one of Farmer's longest studio albums, finishing in just under an hour. Despite the inclusion of two saxophonists, the production isn't a blowing session. The sextet instead focuses their efforts on the intimacy and intricacy of each piece, and are rewarded with such easygoing delights as "Ancient Evening" and Don Braden's "Dance Of The One." Pianist Geoffrey Keezer joined Farmer in 1990, and his penchant for deft movements along the ivory has his contributions often arriving like sweeping sheets of rain shifting across the speakers. Hoagy Carmichael's "Stardust" is an opportunity for Farmer to demonstrate the range of his new flumpet, as its warmer tones fill the ballad, while still affording him the ability to climb up into brassy, higher registers during its sorrowful denouement.
Art Farmer was a reserved, stately
gentleman; an artist whose contributions to the realm of jazz music
couldn't possibly be counted on a discography or qualified with just a
few eloquent words. His output spanned the full second half of the
twentieth century, never waning in quality or commitment.
American trumpeter Art Farmer's cool notes in Vienna
by Amy Duncan
January 6, 1983
New York
Trumpeter-flugelhornist Art Farmer, whose lyrical style won acclaim during the ''cool jazz'' era of the the '50s, has been living and playing in Vienna since 1968. Iowa-born, Arizona-raised, Farmer concentrated his musical activity in Los Angeles and New York while he was in the US, but early in his career he began traveling abroad.
''I first went to Europe in 1953 with Lionel Hampton on a three-month tour,'' remarked the soft-spoken Farmer during an interview here at a recent engagement at the Blue Note. ''I went again with Gerry Mulligan's quartet in 1958 on a Jazz at the Philharmonic tour, and then in 1964 with my own quartet, with Jim Hall on guitar.''
Knowing Paris or Copenhagen to be more popular places for American jazz expatriates, people often ask him, ''Why Vienna?'' Farmer explains:
''In 1966 I was invited to go to Vienna to participate in an international jazz competition as a judge. During that time I met some of the local musicians, who told me about a radio jazz band that was being organized, and asked me if I would be interested in playing in it. At that time there was a lot of social unrest here in the United States and there wasn't much happening in New York with the music, so I decided, 'Why not?' ''
Farmer soon discovered that he would only have to work 10 days out of each month, leaving the rest of his time free to play with other jazz greats who had ''escaped'' the unreceptive climate for jazz in the America of the '60s - people like saxophonists Dexter Gordon, Ben Webster, and Don Byas, as well as violinist Stuff Smith and drummer Kenny Clarke.
''There were more of them over there than over here at that time!'' laughs Farmer. So he settled in, learned the language - ''through contact; I never studied'' - and has been there ever since.
But Art Farmer is still very much a part of the American music scene. He has been coming back to the US about once a year and sometimes more often to play and to record. He recently completed an album for Concord, ''The Art Farmer Quintet - A Work of Art,'' (CJ-179), and he has another in the works. He will play in Toronto in November, and plans a nationwide tour in December with a quartet.
Farmer's back-and-forth travels have given him some insights into how jazz is faring, both here and abroad.
''During the time I've been living there, I've seen a great deal of progress in the European jazz players. There always used to be a huge problem with the rhythm sections, especially drummers, and with the overall feel for the music. But that really has improved a lot.''
The reason for this improvement? ''Time, the access to the music through radio and records, and people going on tour have brought about this change,'' Farmer says. ''Quite a few Americans have gone over there and lived at one time or another. People have had exposure to American players, and the level of playing has gone up.''
Farmer says he feels jazz has become a universal art form, and where a musician lives is not as important as it used to be. More important are ''. . . how much you want to play and how interested you are. There used to be a time when the American jazz musician was worshipped, regardless of his own capability. That's changed now, which is a very good thing.''
How about the European audiences?
''In general, they're better than the American audiences, although the American jazz audience has improved. But you run into situations in the United States that you don't run into in Europe. Here people come to hear anything that's popular. If they walk down the street and see the name Art Farmer, they say, 'Oh yeah, I've heard that name somewhere before - let's go in there.' And then they come in and just sit and talk. I was born in the United States and I've been playing music for my living for 35 years at least, and it's always been like that. Of course I'm glad they come in, because otherwise we wouldn't get paid, but still . . .!''
Farmer says Europeans seek out jazz for love of the music, rather than to be ''trendy'' or part of a ''hip scene.''
''In Europe and other places in the world where I've played, when people come into a place where music is being played, the only reason they come in is because they want to hear the music. If they don't want to hear it, they don't come in.''
Yet, in spite of his complaints about the American jazz audience, Farmer admits that he has seen ''. . . a gradual, quiet resurgence in jazz in the States.'' Farmer finds that in Europe, jazz isn't necessarily centered around the larger cities.
''In a small country like Austria, I can go and play in little towns where the whole population might be only 20,000 people. I'll play in a club or at a concert, often sponsored by membership clubs or the cultural office of the city. The government supports the arts more there than here. It's amazing, because jazz isn't even their art, so to speak.''
But here in the US, before he made Austria his home, Art found slim pickings outside of the major cities - and heavy competition within them.
''I had worked at the Village Vanguard, but places like that and the Village Gate had their choice of the major jazz artists - John Coltrane, Miles Davis, the MJQ (Modern Jazz Quartet). It was like 'Wait your turn.' And once you leave New York City, jazz is pretty sparse.''
The way Art Farmer describes it, Europe can sometimes be close to heaven for a jazz musician.
''There's a tremendous growth of jazz going on in Europe right now - more than before. A musician like Archie Shepp can go to France and play one-nighters for a month. Even the avant-garde guys are doing OK!''
https://www.nytimes.com/1999/10/06/arts/art-farmer-71-be-bop-master-of-the-trumpet-and-fluegelhorn.html
Art Farmer, 71, Be-Bop Master Of the Trumpet and Fluegelhorn
Art Farmer, one
of the more important second-generation be-bop musicians, an improviser
who could say a great deal in a few notes on the trumpet and fluegelhorn
and later on his own hybrid instrument, the ''flumpet,'' died on Monday
in Manhattan. He was 71 and lived in Manhattan and Vienna.
The cause was cardiac arrest, said his manager and companion, Lynne Mueller.
Mr.
Farmer was considered a master of ballad playing. His tone was soft and
even and sure, with no vibrato and with canny silences built into his
improvisations.
He was born in
Council Bluffs, Iowa, and when he was 4 his family moved to Phoenix. He
studied piano and violin in grade school there. As a teen-ager he joined
a dance band playing big-band arrangements, and he often invited
members of whatever swing band happened to pass through town to come to
his house and jam with him and his twin brother, Addison, the bassist,
who died in 1963.
In 1945, when they
were 16, the Farmer brothers moved to Los Angeles, having promised their
mother that they would finish school. It was a time when great
musicians were coming out of the city's integrated high schools; at
Jefferson High Mr. Farmer studied with the well known music teacher
Samuel Browne, who also taught Frank Morgan, Hampton Hawes and Don
Cherry, among many others.
Mr. Farmer
worked in Los Angeles with Horace Henderson, Johnny Otis and others,
leaving school to join Otis's group on tour. He recorded a be-bop
classic, ''Farmer's Market,'' with Wardell Gray's band.
In
1952 Mr. Farmer went on tour with Lionel Hampton, and in 1953 he
settled in New York, joining bands led by Gigi Gryce and Horace Silver.
In 1958 he was hired by the saxophonist Gerry Mulligan for one of his
bracing new pianoless groups.
At the
end of the 50's Mr. Farmer formed the Jazztet, a sextet, with the
saxophonist Benny Golson. Together they wrote a deep repertory of
harmonically sophisticated, tightly arranged music, and the group
defined the state of the art for mainstream jazz until the music's
prevailing winds began to grow wilder. The group broke up in 1962, and
Mr. Farmer started another jointly ed group, with the guitarist Jim
Hall. The Jazztet reunited in 1982 and played through most of the 80's.
In
the early 60's he often used the fluegelhorn, which has a warmer,
creamier sound, suiting his lyricism and terseness. Then in the early
90's he designed a mixture of the two instruments, the flumpet, which
combined projection with warmth.
When
work grew sparse in New York, he moved to Vienna in 1968 to join a
radio jazz orchestra. He ended up staying and starting a family but
traveled constantly, playing with local pickup rhythm sections around
the world. For the last few years, he had a residence in Manhattan and
was dividing his time equally between Vienna and New York.
Mr.
Farmer's discography as a leader is large and as a sideman larger,
encompassing work on the Blue Note, Contemporary, Soul Note, Enja and
Arabesque labels, among others. His most recent album, from 1997, was
''Silk Road'' (Arabesque).
Besides Ms. Mueller, Mr. Farmer is survived by his sister, Mauvolene Thomas, of Tucson, and his son, Georg, of Vienna.
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The Art Farmer Quartet featuring Jim Hall
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At
its core, jazz is a very personal music. So it’s not too surprising
that most jazz fans have a special group of favorite recordings that
speak to them in a direct, non-verbal way. They may not be the most
important albums in a historical sense, but the overall musicality
endears them to us as listeners. My favorites include the various small
group recordings of Count Basie, the Marty Paich Dek-tette, the after-hours recordings of Art Tatum, the John Coltrane Quartet with Roy Haynes, and the Art Farmer Quartet featuring Jim Hall.
By the time Art Farmer
and Jim Hall joined forces in late 1962, each was an established jazz
soloist. Farmer, born in Council Bluffs, Iowa and raised in Phoenix,
made his professional debut in Los Angeles in 1945. By the end of the
fifties, he had amassed an impressive discography, including recordings
with Wardell Gray, Lionel Hampton, Clifford Brown, Quincy Jones, Gigi Gryce, Sonny Clark, Horace Silver and Gerry Mulligan. From 1960-62, Farmer co-led the acclaimed Jazztet with Benny Golson. Hall, born in Buffalo, New York, and raised in Cleveland, also worked in LA as a member of the Chico Hamilton Quintet and later, in two editions of the Jimmy Giuffre 3. Hall bounced between LA and New York through the end of the 50s, recording with John Lewis, Ben Webster, Paul Desmond and Zoot Sims, in between gigs with Giuffre. After an international tour with Ella Fitzgerald, Hall settled in New York, and became one of the city’s top-call session men, adding recordings with Gerry Mulligan, the Modern Jazz Quartet, Sonny Rollins and Bill Evans to his already burgeoning discography.
Hall had worked with
Rollins since the tenor saxophonist had returned to the jazz scene in
1961. Although Hall was very complimentary towards
Rollins as a band leader, he was planning to leave the band around the
end of 1962. The Farmer/Golson Jazztet would disband around that same
time, but a few months earlier, they played a New York nightclub
opposite Rollins. The two men met and decided to form a quartet.
Although the actual date of their meeting is not known, it may have been
around August 1962, when Hall played in the rhythm section for the
album, “Listen to Art Farmer and the Orchestra”.
Rollins as a band leader, he was planning to leave the band around the
end of 1962. The Farmer/Golson Jazztet would disband around that same
time, but a few months earlier, they played a New York nightclub
opposite Rollins. The two men met and decided to form a quartet.
Although the actual date of their meeting is not known, it may have been
around August 1962, when Hall played in the rhythm section for the
album, “Listen to Art Farmer and the Orchestra”.
Farmer and Hall began
assembling their quartet in late 1962 or early 1963. Farmer said in an
interview that the quartet did not need a pianist, because Hall could
cover the chords and provide linear counterpoint on guitar. Farmer and
Hall sought rhythm players that could freely interact with the front
line. Steve Swallow
became the group’s permanent bassist shortly before the group began
recording in July 1963, but there were at least two bassists before him.
Hall stated in an interview that Ron Carter was the quartet’s bassist until he was hired away by Miles Davis (Carter first recorded with Miles on “Seven Steps to Heaven”, recorded in LA on April 16). Bob Cunningham, who had played with Dizzy Gillespie, Steve Lacy and Ken McIntyre,
played bass on the first known recording of the Farmer/Hall quartet.
According to Gene Lees, Walter Perkins had been the drummer from early
in the quartet’s existence; there is no record of any drummer holding
the chair before him. One important instrumental change came from the
leader. Farmer had doubled on flugelhorn for a year or so, but made the
larger horn his primary instrument right before starting the quartet
with Hall. In the liner notes to the quartet’s first album, Lees wrote
that once Farmer made the change, he would only play his trumpet when
practicing at home.
In their early months,
the quartet played several times at the Half Note in New York. This
would become their home base, and would be the setting for one of the
quartet’s finest recordings. Swallow also played frequently at the Half
Note before joining the group (usually with Al Cohn and Zoot Sims),
and Farmer first heard Swallow play in that context. After Farmer hired
him, Swallow hosted several quartet rehearsals at his apartment in
preparation for their first album. However, separate rehearsals became a
rarity after that, as the group preferred to develop their arrangements
on the bandstand. With the quartet playing five sets of music per
night, and touring frequently, they developed a quick and easy rapport.
The quartet’s repertoire was chosen for its melodic content. Farmer
brought in most of the tunes, emphasizing rarely-heard standards, but
Hall was the de facto musical director of the group, creating
most of the arrangements and lead sheets. Hall may have been responsible
for the quartet’s recording contract with Atlantic Records, since the
guitarist was a longtime friend of John Lewis, who was both the musical
director of the Modern Jazz Quartet and an established Atlantic artist.
With several progressive albums by John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman
in the Atlantic catalog, plus the MJQ producing well-received albums,
the company seemed keen on recording cutting-edge instrumental jazz. The
Farmer/Hall quartet fit right in to this agenda.
It might be a surprise
to today’s audience that nearly half of the quartet’s recordings came
from television appearances. As was stated many times during this
period, jazz and television shared the quality of immediacy. While most
TV shows at the time were presented on videotape, many of the aesthetics
of live television were still in place, and presenting jazz on the
small screen required little editing or post-production. In the US, the
Farmer/Hall quartet appeared on NET, the predecessor to PBS, while their
UK performance was broadcast on BBC. Because both of these networks
were non-commercial, the group was allowed to play extended performances
without being interrupted for advertisements.
The first recording of
the Farmer/Hall quartet comes from an appearance at the New School in
New York. The first half of the concert included a talk on jazz by
composer Hall Overton
and was broadcast on WNET-TV. No video of the program is known to
exist, but an audio recording of the final minutes of the broadcast has
survived and is available for listening on the web.
Overton drones on for three pedantic minutes before turning the focus
to the quartet, who then performs “Stompin’ at the Savoy”. After Hall’s
oblique reading of the melody, Cunningham walks and then bows through
his two-chorus solo. The rhythm section continues through Perkins’ drum
solo where he adjusts the drum pitch by pressing his elbow on the drum
head. We can clearly hear Perkins scatting the rhythms as he solos. When
Farmer enters, Hall’s accompaniment is already reduced from what he had
played during the drum solo. Eventually all of the background
disappears as Farmer plays unaccompanied (but still on the changes) for a
full chorus. The band returns under Farmer, but the performance ends
abruptly with a station announcement for the following week’s program
(there may not have been commercials, but there were time limits!).
According to John S. Wilson’s report in the New York Times, Farmer promised—and delivered—a full set by the quartet after the broadcast ended. About a month later, Wilson reviewed the Newport Jazz Festival,
where Farmer and Hall appeared with the Gerry Mulligan Sextet. At one
point, Mulligan and the other members of the band left the stage while
Farmer and Hall played a duet. No recording of this impromptu
performance has been found, but it may exist in the Voice of America holdings at the Library of Congress.
On
July 25, 1963, the quartet entered the Atlantic studios in New York for
the first of three sessions that would produce the album “Interaction”.
On the first track, the then-new “Days of Wine and Roses”, Farmer opens
by playing the tune in E-flat with Swallow providing a few telling
musical comments. For the solos, the band modulates into F, and then
goes back to E-flat for the final theme statement. In between, there are
lyric solos by Farmer, Hall and Swallow, and a brilliant unaccompanied
full-chorus duet by Farmer and Hall where the two lines intersect,
diverge and stretch the harmony. Hall was well-known for his progressive
harmonic thinking, but it’s clear that Farmer’s ears were growing in
this direction, too, and his solos with Hall are among the most
adventurous he ever played. The opening chorus of “By Myself” displays
an interesting idea that Farmer would use throughout these recordings:
he plays a deliberately wrong note in a strategic place to imply
advanced harmonies. Here, it is the last note of the first A section,
and Farmer plays it down a half-step. And just to show that it wasn’t a
mistake, he plays it exactly the same way in the closing chorus. Farmer
and Hall make the most of the recurring pedal point in their solos, and
when Swallow’s turn comes, his solo is framed with a loose interplay by
the other three members of the quartet. Swallow’s work on acoustic bass
may be quite a revelation for those who only know him as an electric
bassist. His sound is quite full and he displays great agility on the
instrument. Due to his advanced technique and great musical imagination,
he was able to act as a third melodic voice in the quartet.
The next session, on
July 29, yielded only one tune for the album, a samba version of Charlie
Parker’s “My Little Suede Shoes”. This was a feature for Walter
Perkins, and the track opens with a dialogue between drums and
flugelhorn. Hall plays a brilliantly conceived solo based on a handful
of small motives. Farmer’s solo also starts with short, seemingly
disconnected ideas, but after connecting the thoughts, he closes with
long flowing lines over straight-ahead 4/4 time. Perkins’ solo starts
with the combination of scat and elbow-adjusted drum, but then he moves
to his crash cymbal, and while holding the cymbal tightly between his
forearm and his chest, he bends the cymbal while striking it with a
mallet to create an unusual choked sound (On the “Jazz Casual”
television show, we can see Perkins demonstrate the technique).
Jazz critic Martin Williams
was present for the final session on August 1, and he provides us with
the only description of “Great Day”, a spiritual-like piece written by Tom McIntosh.
The group made several attempts at recording this work, and while there
were complete takes available to the producers, the song was left off
of the original album. Apparently, Perkins wanted to accompany part of
the arrangement on tambourine (and had practiced his technique during
the previous week), but Farmer asked for the part to played on the drum
set. MacIntosh admitted that the song needed work, and Williams reported
that a two-bar break was deleted and later re-inserted into the
arrangement. At least one take had a flawed ending, and it sounds like
the group was struggling to find a suitable groove. Fortunately, the
quartet was able to move on from this point, and record all of the cuts
for the second side of the album. A stunningly beautiful version of
“Embraceable You” was apparently the finest of several attempted takes.
Farmer is the principal soloist and his lines are distinctive for both
their grace and their harmonic adventurousness. In the last chorus, Hall
and Swallow delicately move back and forth across the line of
accompaniment and dialogue. A light-touched “Loads of Love” opens with
an extended duet for Farmer and Perkins (on brushes). As on the
broadcast of “Savoy”, Farmer’s solo is based on the unheard chords, and
he skillfully outlines the changes as he goes. Perkins solos on his own
before Swallow enters with a dramatic quadruple-stop. Bass and drums
continue in duet for a while longer before Hall makes his first entrance
on the track—nearly three minutes in! There’s delightful interplay by
the rhythm section before Farmer re-enters, hinting here and there at
the melody. The album concludes with the premiere recording of Sergio Mihanovich’s
lyric waltz, “Sometime Ago”. Hall had heard the song during a trip to
Buenos Aires, and his solo on the present version brings out the
harmonic tension from deep within the composition. Swallow’s deep-toned
solo features passionate lyric lines, and Farmer waltzes through the
changes while Hall and Swallow offer animated commentary.
At the first
session, the quartet recorded a version of “My Kinda Love”. This version
was apparently issued on some foreign LP issues of this album (in place
of “Loads of Love”), but it is not included on the CD reissues from
Rhino or Collectables. There is an out-of-print Japanese Atlantic CD
that lists both “My Kinda Love” and “Loads of Love”, but I have been
unable to find a copy of the disc or an MP3 of “My Kinda Love”.
Atlantic next recorded the quartet during a December engagement at the Half Note. Over three nights, 22 separate performances were recorded and assigned master numbers.
Unfortunately, only the five songs selected for the original LP are available to us now, as the unissued tapes of the other 17 pieces were destroyed in a warehouse fire in 1978. The opening cut of the album is another version of “Stompin’ at the Savoy” and it makes for a fascinating comparison with the New School recording. At the Half Note, Hall starts in F major, hints at the melody in the opening chorus, and then Farmer improvises for two choruses followed by a formal theme statement in D-flat! Farmer resumes his solo in the new key. Hall’s accompaniment decreases in the middle of the solo, but instead of the unaccompanied flugel solo, the rhythm section builds again, leading to Hall’s solo, which opens with the guitarist playing against a broken time feel in the bass and drums. Close to the end of this chorus, Swallow intimates a two-beat country feel, and when the rhythm section kicks in again, Hall responds with a rustic, country-style lick that dominates the structure of his extended solo. Time and again, he leaves his progressive ideas to return to these old-fashioned ideas, emulating a bottle-necked blues guitar here and quoting the Charlie Christian classic “Seven Come Eleven” there (sometimes transposed a half-step below the rhythm section!) And in a way of showing that everything old is new again, there are places where the rhythm sounds like the Ornette Coleman Quartet.
Farmer opens Miles Davis’ scalar “Swing Spring” in duet with Perkins, with Hall and Swallow joining in on the next eight. The tempo is quite fast, and Farmer’s solo is boppish, rather than modal. Hall is more adventurous, starting his solo with drums alone, and creating fascinating abstract lines. Perkins solos against occasional backgrounds from Hall, and in the first part of his solo, he accents the snare and toms with one hand while keeping the time on his ride cymbal. Eventually, he stops the cymbal pattern and soon comes to a complete stop before Farmer returns to reprise the melody. Farmer evokes a wonderful, late-night atmosphere on his ballad feature “What’s New?” His beautifully sculpted improvised lines are matched by Hall’s sensitive accompaniment which moves freely between linear counterpoint and rich harmony.
“I Want To Be Happy” may be the most exciting recording the quartet ever made. Taken a furious tempo (which gets faster as it goes), the improvised ideas fly back and forth with abandon, and the constant musical surprises keep the listeners riveted. The opening and closing choruses bring back Farmer’s “wrong-note” concept from “Interaction”, and the solos by Farmer and Hall open with a variant on the broken time idea from “Savoy”. Here, the broken time extends for two choruses, and each member of the rhythm section moves into straight time at a different place. And how Farmer relishes this challenge, ducking and darting between interjections by his bandmates! Once everyone is back in straight time, Farmer cooks along for a few choruses, building in volume and intensity. Hall’s solo has several instances where he floats long asymmetrical lines against the frantic tempo. The final chorus of Hall’s solo may have been intended as a drum solo, but with Hall and Swallow maintaining the tempo and accompaniment, it sounds more like a three-way dialogue than an accompanied drum solo. When Farmer returns, the tempo is suspended as he loosely quotes the “Grand Canyon Suite” (which he had referenced near the end of his earlier solo). As the tempo returns, the speed increases as Hall and Farmer improvise together with a blazing display of competitive musical fireworks. Farmer jumps back to the melody without losing any of the fire and the performance ends with an ecstatic coda. The album’s final performance is Hall’s trio version of “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You”. The loping medium tempo makes for a nice groove, and the modulations from F to D-flat and back again add interest, but Hall’s solo is rather ordinary and there is little interplay from Swallow and Perkins.
The conservative nature of Hall’s “Sentimental” feature seems to have carried to the entire band on their next recording, an appearance on Ralph J. Gleason’s San Francisco-based TV series, “Jazz Casual”. Gleason’s show, which played nationally on NET, captured a very progressive set by the John Coltrane Quartet late in 1963, and would do so again with Art Pepper in May 1964, but the Farmer quartet played it safe during its January 1964 appearance. The best moments come in a performance of “My Kinda Love” which includes a fiery Farmer solo, and an a cappella duo chorus by the co-leaders. As noted above, the video also allows us to see Perkins’ unusual cymbal technique on “My Little Suede Shoes” (that performance also has a brief Farmer/Hall duet over a single chord). Other than that, there’s little of interest: “Sometime Ago” is predictably lovely, but the TV version is too slow and lacks the depth of the LP version; and “Change Partners”, never officially recorded by the quartet, is little more than a string of solos.
In the winter of 1964, Perkins left the quartet, and Swallow recommended his friend, Pete LaRoca as a replacement. Although LaRoca’s first recording with the quartet was on an inconsequential date featuring the singer Anamari, it was on the quartet’s next full album “To Sweden With Love” that the impact of LaRoca’s presence became clear. The album was recorded in Stockholm in April 1964, and the repertoire consisted of native folksongs presented to the group by Swedish jazz vocalist Monica Zetterlund.
All of the arrangements were by Hall (not Farmer, as listed on the album sleeve), and while the songs are not particularly distinctive, the performances are excellent. In fact, it’s fascinating to focus on LaRoca throughout the album and hear how his work energizes the rest of the group. Farmer seems particularly inspired, performing longer solos with a greater emotional range. And while the verb wailing is usually not associated with Farmer, he does just that on “De Salde Sina Hemman” (“They Sold Their Homeland”). Hall shows his rhythmic side on “Va Da Du” (“Was That You?”) with a powerful sequence of chordal riffing, and while the dynamic balance between bass and drums has changed with LaRoca’s appearance, the compatibility of Swallow and LaRoca comes through in several rhythm sequences where Hall lays out. And lest it be said that LaRoca was merely a powerhouse, his dynamic range, especially on “De Salde Sina Hemman” is particularly wide, ranging from the full-out playing behind Farmer to ultra-quiet passages in support of Hall and Swallow. Also, his brushwork is particularly tasty on “Kristallen Den Fina” (“The Fine Crystal”), which is essentially a duet between Farmer and Hall. Most importantly, the band was able to retain its unique identity, as evidenced by their performances of “Den Mostravige Brudgummen” (“The Reluctant Groom”) and “Midsommer Song”.
The final recording of the quartet was another television appearance, this time for the BBC program, “Jazz 625”. Two separate shows were
recorded, but they have been issued as one long concert on the Jazz Icons DVD, “Art Farmer: Live in ‘64”.
A bootleg CD of this performance listed June 27 as the date, but Jazz Icons’ listing of June 6 seems to make more sense in light of known recording activities by Hall and Swallow. The bassist recalled that the BBC taping occurred during daytime hours in the middle of their engagement at Ronnie Scotts. He and LaRoca stayed up after the job, and each bought new shoes for the occasion. Despite the fact that the quartet had just recorded in Stockholm six weeks earlier, the London engagement was not part of the same European tour. The group returned to the US shortly after the Swedish recording and then traveled back to London a few weeks later. Trans-Atlantic travel was certainly much more challenging in the mid-sixties than it is now (despite the difference in airport security), and this grueling schedule may have led to Hall’s abrupt departure from the group.
The program opens with “Sometime Ago”, presented in a perfect tempo, settled between the two earlier versions. All of the solos are lyric and melodic, but Farmer’s is a real beauty, delving deeper into the harmonies than on any of his earlier recordings, and displaying superb note choices throughout. After such a gentle opening, the flying tempo of Kurt Weill’s “Bilbao Song” may something of a surprise. One of several pieces on this program that had been recorded but lost from the Half Note sessions, this unusual 28-bar song provides a brilliant showcase for the quartet. Farmer jumps into the changes with spirited boppish lines, taking advantage of the tension inherent in the shortened form. Hall breaks up the melody into pieces during his solo, and LaRoca turns up the heat during his exchanges with Farmer. “Darn That Dream” was a favorite ballad vehicle for Farmer, and this version uses a similar framework to his 1958 recording on the album “Modern Art”, but this rendition is much more harmonically adventurous and more melodically assured than the earlier version. Sonny Rollins’ “Valse Hot” was another unissued recording from the Half Note sessions. Farmer’s long, exploratory solo features several short, angular phrases that float over the brisk tempo. Hall’s solo is also motivic in nature, but the real treat is Swallow’s accompaniment that alternates between a 2-against-3 feel and a straight waltz-time walking pattern.
Cole Porter’s “So In Love” was never recorded by the quartet, but as Don Sickler points out in the DVD liner notes, it was obviously an arrangement that they had played before. Taken at a medium-fast tempo, both Farmer and Hall negotiate the tricky harmonic pattern with ease; however, the idea of Farmer trading complete choruses with LaRoca does not work—especially when they do it for three cycles on a song with an abnormally long form. Nonetheless, the soloing of the two men are quite impressive during this section. Hall is again featured on “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You”, and this version, slower than the one recorded at the Half Note, features a better-focused guitar solo and much more interplay from bass and drums. “Petite Belle” points to the future of the quartet, as it appeared on “Sing Me Softly of the Blues”, the album Farmer made in 1965 with pianist Steve Kuhn replacing Hall. This song was originally from the West Indies, but adapted and set to a bossa nova beat by Swallow. Although there are several short phrases in Farmer’s solo, the overall impression is that of a long, unending flow of melody. Hall’s solo may be his best of the entire program; he had played several sambas with Paul Desmond and he knew how to find the emotional depth in this style through effective use of lyric melody and subtle chording. “Bags’ Groove” was one of the quartet’s favorite closing numbers (the shorter of the original “Jazz 625” shows used a version of Farmer’s old theme “Blue Concept” in this spot—it is not included on the DVD). There was a brief version of this Milt Jackson standard at the end of the “Jazz Casual” show and a lost version from the Half Note set. This version runs nearly 10 minutes, and it allows the quartet to stretch out. Both Hall and Farmer use unusual note choices to bring tension to the blues form, and Hall’s altered quote of “Why Don’t You Do Right” is quite interesting (as a blues itself, Hall could have quoted the song straight, but the way he inserts it makes it more than just a casual reference).
The quartet moved from London to Berlin for its next gig, and Hall left the band in the middle of that engagement. No reason was cited, but Hall certainly had plenty of work in New York and his subsequent activity over the next years (free-lance recording, marriage and a long-running position in the house band for the Merv Griffin TV show) seems to indicate his desire to settle in the city for an extended period. Farmer brought in pianist Bengt Hallberg to complete the Berlin job, and for the next year, the quartet would feature a piano instead of guitar. Steve Kuhn eventually got the position, and the trio of Kuhn, Swallow and LaRoca worked as a unit on LaRoca’s Blue Note album “Basra” (with Joe Henderson as the sole horn player), and as a trio under Kuhn’s name on the Contact LP, “Three Waves”. Farmer and Kuhn both moved to Europe later in the 60s (ironically, Kuhn had a long-standing romantic relationship with Monica Zetterlund), and Swallow began his long association with Carla Bley(changing from acoustic to electric bass in the process). LaRoca became a lawyer, but still plays and records on occasion. Despite the abrupt end of their quartet, Farmer and Hall recorded again on Hall’s “Super Jazz Trio” album with Tommy Flanagan, on Hall’s live “Panorama” and most notably, on their co-led CTI album, “Big Blues”. However, their most memorable partnership remains this short-lived, but very creative 1960s quartet which left us a handful of recordings filled with memorable music.
All of the quartet’s audio recordings can be found on Collectables CDs 6235 (Interaction/Sing Me Softly of the Blues) and 7654 (To Sweden With Love/Live at the Half Note). The “Jazz Casual” broadcast is available on an Idem import DVD (the 2-sided disc has PAL format on one side and NTSC on the other, so the disc will play worldwide) and the “Jazz 625” concert is available on the Jazz Icons DVD “Art Farmer: Live in ’64”
Special thanks to Steve Swallow for his memories and cooperation.
The video recording embedded in this article is presented for educational and illustrative purposes. Jazz History Online neither owns nor controls the rights to this recording. All rights belong to the original copyright holders.
THE MUSIC OF ART FARMER: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH ART FARMER:
