The first words of Richard Penniman’s debut album, Here’s Little Richard, are seminal. In the years since the song was released in 1955, they have come to define the explosive birth of rock and roll music into the world and have been quoted countless times by countless musicians. Also, the first words of Here’s Little Richard are, in fact, not words at all, but some kind of inspired vocalized scat of an imaginary drumbeat. Penniman was probably the last person to think that, in writing down the phrase “A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-wop-bam-boom”, he was in fact writing musical history that would be remembered for decades and decades to come. It isn’t just the words that are sung, but the way the singer sings them. Elvis Presley and Pat Boone each tried their hand at “Tutti Frutti”, the song about which I’ve been writing. Presley’s is pretty good, but I feel that even attempting to do something Little Richard did first is setting yourself up for failure. Here’s Little Richard, an album made up of Little Richard’s previous singles and some new songs, is an explosive record of sheer rock and roll energy, and time has not dulled its razor-sharp edge.

Richard Penniman’s life was lived serendipitously in the thick of the musical developments that would inevitably lead to the explosion of rock and roll in the 1950s. Growing up in a religious family in Georgia, Penniman was exposed to gospel music at a young age, and he especially admired performers such as Sister Rosetta Tharpe. After meeting Tharpe and opening one of her shows at the age of 14, as well as learning to play the piano upon hearing the record “Rocket 88”, Penniman began to pursue music as a career. He performed in countless settings, each one adding a little more to his increasingly impressive resume: a traveling voodoo show, gospel concerts, drag shows, the Atlanta club scene. Eventually, Penniman began to form his own distinctive sound, combing gospel and rhythm n’ blues. Nevertheless, his early recordings failed to generate any kind of interest. The turning point came while Penniman, recording with producer Robert Blackwell and Fats Domino’s band, introduced a risqué song called “Tutti Frutti”. Needless to say, the song was a hit in 1955, and the rest, as we know, is history. “Tutti Frutti” was followed by four other hit singles during the next year or so, during which time Little Richard became something like a rock god.

Here’s Little Richard is something like a victory lap for Little Richard. Here, we have the six singles that made him a star: “Tutti Frutti”, “Long Tall Sally”, “Slippin’ and Slidin’”, “Ready Teddy”, “Rip it Up”, and “She’s Got It”; as well as six new songs. It all begins with those famous words we all know and love, and it never slows down from there. One caveat of the early rock and roll of the mid-1950s is the reliance of many songs on the 12-bar blues format. Make no mistake, the 12-bar blues is a timeless and endlessly thrilling song structure, but many older songs can feel quickly dated as soon as the listener perceives its presence. What’s remarkable about Little Richard’s songs is that they all sit very firmly in the rhythm n’ blues tradition. There’s very little deviation from the 12-bar blues. Despite this, each song feels wonderfully fresh and unique, because Little Richard knew how to take a standard structure and make magic with it. Sometimes it comes from changing up the beat, as in “Slippin’ and Slidin’”. Mostly, though, it’s the performance that sells it. Little Richard’s style was considered harsh and aggressive in it’s day. And it still should be. I mean, listen to that. He screams into the microphone so hard, the track overloads and distorts. Less noticeable, but still important, is his piano playing. Listen to the piano in the introduction to “True, Fine Mama.” Those are some intense keys. The other musicians deserve their share of praise, too. I love the saxophone solos provided by Lee Allen and Alvin Tyler, as well as Edgar Blanchard’s iconic guitar in “Rip It Up”.

Little Richard was never quite as popular in his day as his contemporaries: Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, or Chuck Berry. Nevertheless, his influence is felt radiating throughout all of rock and roll music. Songs like “Ready Teddy”, “Long Tall Sally”, “Rip It Up”, and of course, “Tutti Frutti” have been covered by Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, Wanda Jackson, and many others. Sometimes it’s almost as good as the original. But nothing compares to that burst of sheer energy emanating from Penniman’s mouth and hands. It’s easy to see how so much of rock and roll finds its origin point here in these raucous recordings. Richard Penniman just died earlier this year. He tossed the rock into the pond, and he lived to see the ripples spread out all the way to the edges and return again. There are not very many people who can lay claim to that, and there’s really only one proper response. You’ll find it recited in the beginning of this album’s first track.

Don’t call it a comeback. Or do call it a comeback, as that’s essentially what it is. A lot happened to Miles Davis between the Birth of the Cool and 1955. Within that time, Davis struggled with a debilitating heroin addiction that almost destroyed his entire career. After several humiliating incidents caused by his addiction and seeing that his trumpet-playing was beginning to suffer, Davis began to recover, and eventually made a comeback performance at the 1955 Newport Jazz festival, getting him a record deal with Columbia. Davis formed the “first great quintet,” with Red Garland on the piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and Philly Joe Jones on the drums. The most noticeable addition, however, is John Coltrane on the tenor saxophone. This is the first time we’ve encountered Coltrane on this journey, and it sure won’t be the last. With this dynamite line-up, Davis started to do something very interesting with his music. You see, Miles Davis had a knack for practically inventing brand-new jazz trends with his recordings. He had developed bebop alongside Charlie Parker. Later on, Birth of the Cool was hugely influential for cool jazz, while Walkin’ was seminal for hard bop. For now, having had his fill of inventing new genres, ‘Round About Midnight sees Davis streamlining and combining many existing styles of jazz into one, archetypical mode. At the time, ‘Round About Midnight was generally well-received by critics but criticized for its lack of innovation; all of it had been heard before. But that’s just the point – ‘Round About Midnight was everything that had been heard before, all at once. It’s an idea so ambitious it’s absurd, but even more absurd is that Davis, on this album and subsequent releases, actually succeeded.

The album opens up with “Round Midnight,” the classic Thelonious Monk tune that put Miles Davis back on the spot at Newport. Davis, by this point, had begun to use the mute on his trumpet as a signature style. Here, Davis plays long, relaxed, legato lines, and you can tell that he’s right up to the microphone. This style is maintained throughout the record – it’s delicate, sensitive, and quite delicious. Whenever Davis plays the horn, the whole rest of the band quiets down so that we can hear each soft, breathy note. On the other hand, John Coltrane’s fast, bombastic saxophone contrasts quite sharply, as exemplified in “Round Midnight,” when he is introduced by several loud, big-band bursts, and accompanied by hard-hitting percussion. Coltrane’s virtuosic soloing works in opposition to Davis’ relaxed playing, and both of them work together to streamline several types of post-bebop jazz. “Round Midnight” is followed by the Charlie Parker standard “Ah-Leu-Cha”, by far the fastest and most bebopy track. It stands out from the rest of the tracks due to Davis’ muteless horn and fast soloing, and it also showcases some of the best duet work done between trumpet and saxophone. “All of Me” and “Bye Bye Blackbird,” two of Davis’ most well-known recordings, are hard-bop renditions of classic swing standards, and exemplify everything wonderful about this record that we’ve already seen in the first track. And I absolutely fall head over heels for Davis’ trumpeting during these two songs. Before listening to these tracks, if you had asked me what a romantic trumpet solo would sound like, I would shrug my shoulders and plead the fifth amendment. Allow me to tell you right here: a romantic trumpet solo sounds like “All of Me” and “Bye Bye Blackbird.” It’s the warmest, fuzziest jazz I’ve ever heard.

While Davis and Coltrane certainly are the highlight performers of the record, I certainly do not want to shortchange Garland, Chambers, and Jones. Red Garland’s piano, often using soft staccato chords to punctuate melody lines, whether playing solo or accompaniment, never ceases to be a treat. Garland’s playing on “Blackbird” is especially delightful – pay attention to it, the way it feels as Davis plays the theme in the beginning. The record contains very few moments for Chambers and Jones to solo – they are almost exclusively the rhythm section accompaniment, but their dexterity in fitting underneath the varying styles of the soloists is more than impressive. “Tadd’s Delight,” is a highlight for the rhythm section, with a tricky theme section that changes time quite frequently. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it, but Chambers and Jones work with it effortlessly.

The record as a whole represents a turning point for Davis musically. Miles Davis was an exceptional talent prior to 1955 (though this record was not released until 1957), but this time period represents his ultimate peak in the eyes of many. For many people who don’t listen to very much jazz, Miles Davis is quite often one of the few – perhaps the only jazz musician they know and listen to. His recordings that appear on ‘Round About Midnight represent the start of momentum that would lead Davis to cross over into mainstream American music in a huge and unheard-of way. The way that this quintet handles these classic standards feels in some ways like a quintessence of jazz, and Davis would continue to follow through on this instinct, soon to cement his place as possibly he most well-known jazz musician of all time.

Brilliant Corners is surprising in some ways and not at all surprising in others.

In the world of strange, highly experimental, virtuoso-driven, avant-garde jazz, Saxophone Colossus can seem like an oasis, or an eye in the storm. This is not to say that Sonny Rollins is less talented, or bland, or anything like that. But the opening bars of “St. Thomas”, the first track, are comprised of some of the loveliest sounding jazz I’ve heard on this quest so far. Where Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, and Thelonious Monk consistently challenge me with their complex melodies, harmonies, and solos, Sonny Rollins crafts exquisite pieces that are very listenable, very digestible, while still proving himself to be an astoundingly talented player. Saxophone Colossus is a seminal record in the development of a new sort of jazz called “hard bop.” After the wild craziness of bebop pushed jazz past sonic boundaries, musicians began to explore in two contrasting directions. One direction was a more classical, composed, impressionistic style, known as “cool jazz”, pioneered by Miles Davis and Gil Evans (see my blog post on Birth of the Cool for more on that). The other direction took influence from the exploding popularity of rhythm-and-blues, striving for a style that retained the musical complexity of bebop, while remaining danceable, accessible, and fun to listen to. The Jazz Messengers and the Miles Davis Sextet were instrumental in popularizing this new style in the early 1950s, and Saxophone Colossus is saxophonist Sonny Rollins’ take on hard bop, where he combines the blues, Caribbean music, and some great saxophone soloing.

Rollins grew up in Harlem, New York, to parents originally from the Virgin Islands. That heritage is the source of “St. Thomas”, based on a traditional lullaby that his mother would sing to him as a child (The original tune comes from the English folk song “The Lincolnshire Poacher”). The entire band on Saxophone Colossus comes together to make this fantastic and now widely-renowned recording – Max Roach opens the track with the percussion, lightly tapping a sprightly beat. Later on, Rollins plays the main theme on the sax, with Tommy Flanagan and Doug Watkins coming in on piano and bass respectively. Rollins’ style creates a soft, delicate tone with the saxophone, breathy and wavering, in contrast to the straight, cleaner tones of some of his contemporaries like John Coltrane. Rollins also enjoys playing with rhythm – his first solo on “St. Thomas” is a prime example of how Rollins is concerned just as much with modulating the beat as he is the notes. Roach is the other amazing part of this album – if you listen closely on “St. Thomas”, you can actually hear how, during his solo, he actually imitates Rollins’ solo using only the percussion. The long drum solos of post-bebop jazz are probably the most challenging thing to swallow when you’re relatively uninitiated to the genre, but when you really listen closely to what’s going on, you’ll find yourself immensely rewarded by the rhythm section. Some of the record’s best moments come when Rollins and Roach trade off solos in a call and response style – this happens most thrillingly in “Strode Rode” and “Moritat”.

If you’ve been following along with the last few posts, you’ll notice that the jazz track recordings are getting longer and longer. As interest in bebop and post-bebop jazz grew, musicians began to grow away from the two to five-minute-long recordings and opted for tracks that were more like the live performance. While “Strode Rode”, the shortest track, is a relatively brief five minutes, the tracks only get longer, with the last track, the much discussed and analyzed “Blue 7”, clocking in at a whopping eleven minutes. This can be intimidating, but it’s also an opportunity for the musicians to really explore with their soloing, rather than try to cram things down into something that would fit on a 7-inch 45 record. And no better example of this is the challenging album closer, “Blue 7”. Monstrously long, with an improvised, avant-garde melody, it’s a slow-burning blues piece that goes on and on, and definitely falls much farther on the bebop side of the spectrum, as opposed to the blues side. It’s a really amazing look at the spontaneous creativity that jazz can allow, especially within the context of 1956, when Elvis Presley began to dominate the airwaves with rock and roll, and the musical landscape was beginning to change in ways that no one could foresee.

Saxophone Colossus is worth repeat listens to glean the various little treasures that hide inside. It’s also a pretty fun album to listen to, thanks to its dedication to playing jazz in a catchy rhythm-and-blues style. It’s like holding up the popular music of the 1950s to a twisty, fun-house mirror, creating sonic distortions that sometimes entertain, sometimes amuse, sometimes provoke thought and meditation on how the great cultural exchange of music goes on and on through the years.

When I set out to write a piece on Birth of the Cool, I soon realized with great dread how unprepared I was.

Can you imagine a better introduction to the Era of Rock and Roll than the beginning of Elvis Presley’s recording of “Blue Suede Shoes”? I cannot.