Errol Garner - 'Ain't Misbehavin''

The other evening, I went to see a concert pianist at the theatre in Brive play a repertoire mainly of pieces by the Brazilian composer, Heitor Villa-Lobos, and the Spanish composer, Manuel De Falla. Originally from Martinique, Wilhelm Latchoumia is based in France and teaches piano here and in Switzerland. He has accompanied various orchestras, won prestigious awards and toured around the world. He studied his instrument over many years and his technique was breathtaking to behold from my seat close to the stage. For the final piece by Villa-Lobos, 'Rudepoêma', he used sheet music for the first time, in the form of a kind of electronic tablet, which flashed up page after page of musical notation at the touch of a finger. I found the idea of following the notes on the screen with the speed at which his fingers were picking out complex patterns of notes quite simply mind-boggling.

The point is that Errol Garner, the popular Pittsburgh jazz pianist, famous among other things for 'Misty' (as requested by the psychopathic killer in Clint Eastwood's film) and the big-selling Concert By The Sea, had an equally extraordinary technique, but he couldn't read a note of music. He was entirely self-taught, which I find equally mind-boggling. How dey do dat? When answering questions why he had never learnt to read music, Garner replied famously and brilliantly, 'People don't come to watch me read.' Or words to that effect.

People certainly came to see him and/or bought his records. In terms of the affection he inspired in the public, he could probably be compared to Louis Armstrong and Fats Waller. In fact, while trying to find an authentically live video by the latter, I veered off onto this wonderful version of Waller's 'Honeysuckle Rose'. The affable (and famously silent) pianist, who usually performed solo or as here in trio format, takes the standard at a breakneck tempo right from the off. I love the introductory flourishes, typical of his mischievous habit of keeping both audience and band mates guessing what he was about to play, where he manages to confound his bass player and his drummer with false starts and misleading embellishments – so much so that his perennial bassist Eddie Calhoun just opens his hands at one point in a gesture of perplexity. Not that this stopped him and drummer Kelly Martin from slipping seamlessly into their stride at just the right moment. 'Stride' being the operative word here. Garner developed his own instantly recognisable style, but if it was rooted in anything it was probably the stride style of the 1930s associated with the likes of Fats Waller, Willie 'The Lion' Smith, James P. Johnson and, to a lesser extent, his fellow Pittsburghian, Earl Hines. Anyone wanting to understand what stride was all about just needs to focus intently on what Garner does for about a minute from the 3:05 mark on this video.

As for that signature style, most lovers of jazz piano can recognise Garner within a few seconds, but trying to describe what he does is, certainly for a non-playing dumbkopf like me, rather more difficult. As evident here, he could do extraordinary things in terms of tempo: the idea that you can slow down the left hand while speeding up the right or vice versa, for example, utterly confounds my innate lack of co-ordination. Apparently, he would enhance the rhythmic tension he could create by his right hand playing slightly behind the steady beat of his left by accelerating and decelerating the right-hand beat, a device nicknamed the 'Russian Dragon'. I couldn't tell you why. Technicalities aside, one thing was quite sure: Errol Garner could swing like a baaad mother... (shut yo mouth!) with apparent effortless ease. As the pianist modestly contended, 'Mine is just a gift I was born with.'

Allegedly, the great Art Tatum warned the young Canadian pretender to his throne, Oscar Peterson, to 'watch out for the small man.' Garner sure was small; at 5 feet two inches he was taller than the little French giant, Michel Petrucciani, but the eagle-eyed will have noticed that the piano stool he sits on here has been elevated by phone books or something similar. Small but radiant. The great bass player, Ray Brown, called him 'the happy man'. He seemed to play with a constant smile on his face, which inevitably brought smiles to the faces of his audience. As Woody Allen, one of his famous admirers, suggests: 'Everything Garner plays becomes optimistic and pleasurable.' An astonishing technique rooted in rhythm and melody along with a genial personality, it's not surprising that he was such a crowd-pleaser. Brian Priestley, co-author of Jazz: The Essential Companion, put it very nicely: 'He merely found the way to people's hearts and never lost it.'

 

Pat Martino Trio with John Scofield - 'Sunny'

 

There are few things better in life than a good guitar/organ/drums trio. It's as far back to basics as the piano/bass/drums format but, generally speaking, there's less artifice and more groove. Wes Montgomery cut some great sides with Melvin Rhyne and Grant Green made records for Blue Note with 'Baby Face' Willette, 'Big' John Patton and Larry Young without the addition of his customary guest saxophonist. In his liner notes to his At Duc des Lombards live album, Christian Escoudé, the fine French guitarist, talks of 'that special sound that's born when the guitar gets together with the Hammon organ and the drums.' '

However, if there's one thing better in life, it's when two guitarists go at it hammer and plectrum in this format – particularly guitarists of the calibre of Pat Martino and John Scofield. This one's a 14-minute fret-board festival, with the two contemporaries trading scintillating licks and solos in styles that are both contrasting and complementary.

Not knowing my way around the mighty Hammond B3, I'm not really au fait with the bass-pedal business. Suffice to say that Joey DeFrancesco weighs in and adds plenty of heft to the proceedings, in more ways than one. The Philadelphian drummer, Byron Landham – who worked with another notable organist, Shirley Scott, in addition to his role as Joey DeFrancesco's drummer of choice – is near perfect for this type of soul-jazz, keeping it simple and driving the players along without ever drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Swing it, brother, swing!

Since this was recorded at the Umbria Jazz Festival in 2002, both Pat Martino and Joey DeFrancesco have shuffled off to a celestial Smalls Paradise. The organist, who played with Van Morrison and a host of golden others, went way too soon: a heart attack carried him off in 2022 in his early 50s. Well, you know what they say about cholesterol. Pat Martino died a year earlier. George Benson tells a tale of feeling like the new whiz-kid in the big city – until he wanders into Smalls and hears a young Martino. 'If this is a sample of what New York is like, I'm getting out of here!' Pat Martino made it to 77, but had a tough time of it latterly (with a chronic respiratory problem, which stopped him performing). In his middle years, however, he had to re-learn how to play the guitar from scratch after surgery removed part of his brain following a near-fatal cerebral haemorrhage left him with total amnesia. He has talked and written eloquently and fascinatingly about his musical re-education and the challenge of focusing on the present rather than the past. The mind-boggling result of that daunting re-education is here for all to stay.

But enough already about illness, death and other morbid matters. Let's focus on the music, because these 14 minutes fly by in a whirl of sheer joyful excitement. For a start, there's the number they chose: 'Sunny' was written by the country-soul singer-songwriter, Bobby Hebb, who penned the one smash hit for which he will be ever remembered as a kind of cathartic antidote, some have suggested, to the murder of JFK, swiftly followed by that of his brother. Apparently, he took comfort by immersing himself in one of my favourite big band jazz albums, Gerald Wilson's You Better Believe It! It's an upbeat, up-tempo record, but it's hard to see the link with the unapologetic pop of 'Sunny'. The song has subsequently served jazz artists like Billy Taylor, in addition to the ever-wonderful Georgie Fame and, mirabile dictu, the never-wonderful Boney M.! When it came out in 1966, 'Sunny' created sufficient furore in the UK and US charts to earn Hebb a slot touring with The Beatles that year.

The dapper Martino kicks things off by stating the theme in a scratchy, funky style before taking the first solo. It's swift, agile and as clean as his jacket. 'Great tone, great articulation,' as George Benson suggests. He gets a wry smile of admiration from Scofield when a lightning-tempo vamp makes you wonder whether the needle's stuck. 'Sco' then takes the baton, and his trademark slightly 'bent' electric sound draws a reciprocal glance of admiration from Martino. Good as the two solos are, things really start to smoke when DeFrancesco lets rips on the Hammond. Spurred on by Landham's relentless on-the-money drumming, Pat Martino then takes over again, playing a stylistic combination of Wes Montgomery's block chords and Grant Green's single-note picking. From the ten-minute mark, the two guitarists trade licks in the way that used to thrill me as a youth, listening and playing along on lead tennis racquet to John Cipollina and Gary Duncan of Quicksilver Messenger Service live at the Fillmore. Like a pair of gun slingers, the two jazz guitarists shoot it out on stage until the big climactic wind-down. Where did those 14 minutes just go?

 

Having graduated summa cum laude from the Miles Davis School of tough electric jazz in the first half of the '80s, John Scofield is thankfully still with us. Looking rather more grizzled these days, he tours half the year as a self-proclaimed 'road dog' and sits in with a bewildering range of musicians (often anchored by the brilliant drummer, Bill Stewart). He has made a ridiculous number of albums, both in his own name and those of significant others, including my personal favourite, That's What I Say, his tribute to Ray Charles – which is indicative of his musical breadth. Inside Scofield, a film narrated by the master guitarist himself came out at the back end of 2022. It's on my wish-list, along with what promises to be a fascinating 'brain mystery', Martino Unstrung.