At Basin Street
Rating: 4˝ out of 5 stars
Clifford Brown and Max Roach at Basin Street reemphasizes the loss jazz suffered when Clifford and Richie Powell died. Brownie's loss is more immediate; one of the first of the younger sound and go back to Dizzy and Roy and Navarro for inspiration, he is a dynamo here, working horn-in-sticks with Roach. Sonny Rollins made this a power-laden group solowise when he supplanted Harold Land on tenor, and Powell and bassist George Morrow are two-thirds of a cohesive rhythm section.
What Is This Thing [Called Love] drives hard, with Brownie and Rollins stickouts; [Love Is A] Many Splendored Thing, taken up-tempo, is pushed initially by Clifford's sailing solo, moves into a staccato, yet rolling Rollins, then fine Richie, followed by a Roach drum excursion.
[I'll Remember] April and [Powell's] Prances also move at good speed, with Time the first and only ballad to show up. Written by Richie, it is mindful of Leavin' Town, recorded by Zoot Sims with Chubby Jackson some five years ago, and is marked by a serene chorus midway from Powell.
The Scene [Is Clean], written by Tad [sic] Dameron, displays perhaps the best Rollins work of the date. Gertrude's Bounce is again Powell's composition—an oddly-constructed, provocative line that undoubtedly will become used by a lot of groups. Indefatigable Clifford solos first, Sonny next, with Powell comping neatly, then soloing, followed by more acrobatics from Max.
Enervating, full-bodied jazz, this, and thoroughly recommended.
- Jack Tracy; Downbeat; September 19, 1956
A Tribute To Brownie
To me, the name of Clifford Brown will always remain synonymous with the very essence of musical and moral maturity. This name will stand as a symbol of the ideals every young jazz musician should strive to attain.
This name also represents a musician who had intelligent understanding and awareness of social, moral, and economic problems which constantly confuse the jazz musician, sometimes to the point of hopeless rebellion.
In the summer of 1953, while I was working with the Lionel Hampton band in Wildwood, New Jersey, I begged Hamp to hire three of the musicians from Tadd Dameron's band, which was nearing the end of it's Atlantic City engagement—Gigi Gryce, Benny Golson, and Clifford Brown. They were all hired and then began an association that I'll always be grateful to Lionel for.
Brownie stayed on to go to Europe with this band and became closely associated with several other young musicians who were of growing importance in the jazz world, such as Art Farmer, Anthony Ortega, Jimmy Cleveland, Alan Dawson, and George Wallington. Although this band never played in the stats together, I think it was one of the best Hamp ever had.
By means of an extensive recording schedule abroad, Brownie came first to the eyes and ears of the French and Swedish jazzmen and they were immediately aware that a new thoroughbred was on the jazz scene. The uniting of Clifford Brown with the trumpet must have been declared from above. For seldom does a musical vehicle prove to be so completely gratifying as the trumpet was to Clifford.
Here was the perfect amalgamation of natural creative ability, and the proper amount of technical training, enabling him to contribute precious moments of musical and emotional expression. This inventiveness placed him in a class far beyond that of most of his poll-winning contemporaries. Clifford's self-assuredness in his playing reflected the mind and soul of a blossoming young artist who would have rightfully taken his place next to Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, and other leaders in jazz.
Coming from a wonderful family in Wilmington, Dela., he was quiet, yet the most humble of persons, never displaying arrogance or animosity even when the situation would have demanded it. His loving and understanding wife, Larue, and his baby son, Clifford Jr., made up a team keeping Clifford as happy as a man could possibly be, as he stated in his last letter to her.
I imagine Clifford must have recorded about 25 albums in his short-lived career. I'm sure there will be the usual amount of memorial albums released, but this time the record companies owe it to the future of jazz to make available every possible fragment of the beautiful musical gifts Clifford gave the world with unbounded love.
In this generation where some well-respected and important pioneers condemn the young for going ahead, Brownie had a very hard job. He constantly struggled to associate jazz, it's shepherds, and it's sheep, with a cleaner element, and held no room in his heart for bitterness about the publicity-made popularity and success of some of his psuedo-jazz giant brothers, who were sometimes very misleading morally and musically. As a man and a musician, he stood for a perfect example and the rewards of self-discipline.
It is really a shame that in this day of such modern techniques of publicity, booking, promoting, and what have you, a properly-backed chimpanzee can be a success after the big treatment. Why can't just one-tenth of these efforts be placed on something ported in every country of the world but it's own?
Except for a very chosen few, the American music business man and the majority of the public (the Elvis Depressly followers specifically) have made an orphan out of jazz, banishing its creators and true followers and adopting idiots that could be popular no place else in the universe. I'll bet so far as to that the salaries of Liberace, Cheeta, and Lassie alone could pay the yearly cost of booking every jazzman in the country.
This is why it's such a shame that Clifford Brown, Charlie Parker, Fats Navarro, and other have to leave the world so unappreciated except for a small jazz circle. I hope some of us live to see a drastic change.
In June 1950, Clifford Brown's career was threatened by an auto accident while he was with the Chris Powell band, which kept his from his horn for a whole year. Exactly six years later, by the same means of an auto accident, death took its toll of Clifford Brown, along with Richard Powell (brother of Bud Powell) and Richard's wife.
Clifford, at 25, was at the beginning of showing capabilities parallel only to those of Charlie Parker. There was nothing he would stop at to make each performance sound as if it were his last. But there will never be an ending performance in him, because his constant desire was to make every musical moment one of sincere warmth and beauty; this lives on forever. This would be a better world today if we had more people who believed in what Clifford Brown stood for as a man and a musician. Jazz will always be grateful for his few precious moments; I know I will.
-Quincy Jones, Downbeat, August 22, 1956
