So far, I haven't shone my spotlight on a single drummer. It's not that I don't like drummers – they tend to be vital to the proceedings – but I don't like drum solos. Unlike children, a drummer should be seen and heard, yes, but not to the point where he or she dominates proceedings. The best drummers, in my book, are those who don't draw attention to themselves but just keep things ticking along unobtrusively: jazz drummers like Jack DeJohnette, Elvin Jones and Leon Parker; reggae-maestro Sly Dunbar, Afrobeat's co-creator Tony Allen, and the Brazilian stalwart of Azymuth, Ivan 'Mamao' Conti; funk-soul drummers Clyde Stubblefield, Earl Palmer and Al Jackson; Ringo Starr and Charlie Watts. All are ensconced in my own private Room of Fame. And the most musical drum solo in the whole wonderful world of jazz is still, I contend, Joe Morello's solo on Dave Brubeck's 'Take Five'.
You can't really say that Art Blakey was unobtrusive. He usually sat on a pedestal above the Jazz Messengers just to underline symbolically that they were his messengers. He also brought out an LP called The Big Beat, and his sure was big. There's no denying his importance, though. He was a great drummer and his Jazz Messengers were the equivalent of a Swiss finishing school for young ladies. So many future stars honed their skills under his direction that a list of alumni would go on forever. There's no denying either his ability to swing and to propel his quintets and sextets – or trios for that matter: he was one of Thelonious Monk's most sympathetic percussionists (perhaps because he started out as a self-taught pianist). Propel them he certainly did: with power and polyrhythm. I was lucky enough to catch him live at the North Sea Jazz Festival in 1985, albeit with a permutation of the Messengers that wasn't the most star-studded. He wasn't a big man, but my oh my he could make that kit resonate and he could keep going like a Duracell bunny. Much of the Messengers' repertoire was mid-to-up-tempo. If they threw in the odd ballad, one got the feeling it was because it was expected.
Because he helmed the Messengers for so long – from 1954, when Horace Silver co-founded the Messengers as a kind of musical co-operative, to 1990, mere months before his death – there are lots of live performances captured on video, with a wide range of combos. Ultimately, it was a very close call between this wonderful version of Dizzy Gillespie's '(A) Night in Tunisia' (or Tooneezya, as its composer would call it) and 'The Summit', a beautifully compact, near perfect performance, with great solos from three of what was arguably Blakey's finest formation, Wayne Shorter, Lee Morgan and pianist Bobby Timmons. Recorded live in Tokyo in 1961, it encapsulates what the Messengers were all about: quintessential 'hard bop' that featured tight but elastic unison playing, sparkling solos and an impeccable rhythm section.
Even though this 1958 performance live in Belgium has (the eminently capable saxophonist and very fine composer) Benny Golson in place of Wayne Shorter, I opted for this one because it more clearly and obviously illustrates just what a great drummer Blakey was. Egged on by Morgan and Timmons on cowbells, Blakey positively punishes his kit, both drums and cymbals, to the point where right at the end his ride cymbal just buckles under the onslaught. But don't let that give you the wrong impression: this is a piece, like Juan Tizol and Duke Ellington's 'Caravan', where the rhythm is fundamental to its whole ambience and character. It's a complex polyrhythm that Blakey lays down right from the start and his extended solo is a natural extension of that pattern, not something like so many drum solos tacked on as a chance to demonstrate what you can do. But great goshamighty, what Art Blakey can do on a fairly basic kit is quite astonishing. At one point, as his sticks cross, his arms become a veritable blur.
Benny Golson's solo demonstrates the pleasing and distinctive tone he got from his tenor, while Lee Morgan's is living proof that he was one of the most agile and fluid of all premier trumpeters. He made it look so easy. Pianist Bobby Timmons just does what's necessary here. Critics tend to point out the limitations of his soul-jazz piano style, but I've always loved his overt gospel influence. He also composed what was arguably Blakey's best-known number, 'Moanin'' (as well as 'Dat Dere' and 'This Here' for Cannonball Adderley's group). There are several versions of this available, including a 14-minute one from the same concert in Belgium – but the length suggests a little too much time allocated to the drums and Jymie Merritt's double bass. Enough said.
The classic Shorter/Morgan/Timmons/Merritt permutation broke up in 1961, to be replaced by what I would suggest was his second-finest outfit, the sextet of Shorter, trumpeter Freddie Hubbard, trombonist Curtis Fuller, pianist Cedar Walton and Reggie Workman on bass. No one outstayed his welcome in Art Blakey's finishing school. Changing the line-up and keeping it young and fresh 'keeps the mind active,' the leader suggested. In any case, no doubt most Messengers were keen to get cracking on their own careers. No doubt, too, that Blakey – like so band leaders – could be a hard task-master and a committed penny-pincher.
All those years behind the drums certainly didn't help Art Blakey's hearing – as one can imagine after watching this particular performance. It seems that he was quite deaf by the end of his career, but refused to wear a hearing aid because it supposedly threw his timing off and so relied on instinct and good vibrations. Former band members, though, claimed that his deafness was somewhat selective: he could hear bum notes and mistakes quite well enough in the best draconian James Brown manner, but didn't tend to hear complaints about the money he paid his Messengers.
