The Complete Lionel Hampton Victor Sessions 1937-41 (#238)

Hampton hits pay dirt for the first time with arrangements and players that are of equal quality. Benny Carter, 30 years old and just back after three years in Europe, announced his return to his native country with brilliant writing and playing, aided by a band full of mostly newcomers to New York who responded in inspired fashion to Carter’s scores. It’s worth noting that the great bulk of musicians on these sessions were under 30, and that their work, for all its maturity, still has the sheen of youth to it. Texas is represented by 22 year-old Benny Goodman trumpeter Harry James (his family moved there from Georgia when he was in his mid-teens), and 28 year old Herschel Evans, featured tenor saxophonist (along with Lester Young) with Count Basie. Evans had met Hampton in Charlie Echols’s West Coast band in 1935 and then worked with Hampton’s own big band before joining the Basie in late 1936. It was Basie’s rhythm section which astounded New York, and its drummer was Jo Jones (26), known for his emphasis on playing the flow of the rhythm rather than its strict demarcation. Dave Matthews (27) was to become better known as a tenor saxophonist/arranger, but at this time was leading the Goodman reed section, from which tenor man Babe Russin (27) had just migrated to the Tommy Dorsey band. As we have seen, John Kirby (29) was a mainstay of jazz record dates at this time, and was just months away from his first session as a leader – his pianist was Billy Kyle (24).

I’m In The Mood For Swing is not only a highlight in the Hampton and Carter discographies, but a jazz classic for all time. Everything comes together and a synergy takes place where the sum is truly greater than even these distinguished parts. Carter had a way of composing that created a perfect balance between written and improvised segments, and his mastery of orchestration placed everything in the optimal register for all the instruments at hand. Here, it’s a relatively intimate ensemble of trumpet, four saxophones, vibes and a three piece rhythm section (minus the standard for the time guitar).

Harry James was one of the most technically gifted trumpeters of his generation and a member of Goodman’s band, where he had become one of its most popular soloists. Unabashedly in love with Louis Armstrong’s music, he turned down a major magazine award as Best Trumpeter, stating that he couldn’t accept while Armstrong was still playing. Just a few years later, George T. Simon, a major chronicler of the big band era wrote that James “actually cried the last time he heard Louis play.” Not content to ape his idol, as Louis Prima and many others did, James was already his own man as he takes the lead during the first chorus, working his way naturally into a series of paraphrases and then free inventions that never lose site of the theme.

What follows is truly magical – Carter creating a solo that for all its spontaneity has the hallmarks of a classic composition. His use of symmetry can be heard in all its glory. Every phrase leads to the next, rhyming without falling into the trap of predictability. He also knows how to utilize space – the pause at the end of the bridge is a master stroke, filled as it is by Kyle’s descending left hand scale. Of Carter’s many innovations, it was his perfection of the saxophone soli that most people remember, and the one he crafted here is as representative of the genre as any.

Shoe Shiner’s Drag (recorded by King Oliver as London Blues) makes great use of a series of breaks. Carter’s elegant scoring of this Jelly Roll Morton blues is taken at what drummer Mel Lewis used to call an “in-the-crack tempo” that most bands avoid, since the tendency of many players is to either accelerate or decelerate to where they are more comfortable. It’s worth noting that Morton’s wife Mabel was the sister of Hampton’s mentor Jimmy Bertrand. As has always been the case, the blues function here as blank slate for the players to assert their musical personalities. Hampton, busy as a bee with arpeggios, double-time figures and the occasional dissonance, Carter poised and articulate, slightly more woody on the clarinet, James slashing through the changes like one of the Three Musketeers, and the piece de resistance, 12 bars of cascading blues-drenched southwestern sounds from Evans that make his death only seven months later all the more poignant. For all their differences, the solos mesh into a complete statement, unified by Carter’s setting and the players own innate humility and desire for the greater good. Matthews is responsible for the short alto statement towards the end of the performance.

Both this piece and Muskrat Ramble were unusual choices in 1938, and it’s a pleasure to hear them in these streamlined Carter reinterpretations. The latter includes some subtle but adventurous accents from Jo Jones, who spends the great majority of the session pedaling smoothly with his trademark hi-hat work. Bassist Kirby’s work is off kilter harmonically; it would be one thing if he was playing harmolodically with Ornette Coleman, but in this context the effect is disconcerting. The result is a series of linear solos that are not necessarily connected to the bass line, which meanders all over the place. A close examination of Evans’s chorus reveals great ambiguity in its 8+8 bar structure; it sounds as if he turns the beat around at one point. Jones, long accustomed to structural sleight of hand after years with Basie and Lester Young goes right along with it all, poker-faced. Carter, who follows on the clarinet, picks up the floating idea seamlessly and it’s not until halfway through his solo that things get back on the grid.

It’s a worthy reminder that playing across the bar lines was not something that Lennie Tristano and company introduced to the jazz world, though they turned it into a cornerstone of their approach. James swashbuckles again with Jones catching his last off-beat note as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Matthews always sounded a little jumbled and slightly less than coherent on the alto, and he’s followed by Kyle whose stabbing, off-kilter left hand jabs are one of the many legacies Earl Hines bequeathed to his fellow pianists. Russin’s chorus is typically smooth and is distinguished by his above-average lyricism. Hampton was a competitive player, and Carter’s placing him last in a string of solos, with limited space, was a smart choice to elicit his best.

Anytime At All is notable for James’s original stylings with the melody in the first chorus. Everything seemed to be in perfect balance for him, and it was only after he formed his own band that his ballad work took on the schmaltzy quality that helped skyrocket him to fame. Babe Russin was known for his advanced harmonic sense and his obbligato to the leader’s vocal is in the same high league as his contemporaneous accompaniments to Billie Holiday and Maxine Sullivan. Hampton sounds unusually like his peer Red Norvo in the coda.