Lester Young in Books, a Paris Recording, and a Museum Exhibit

Known as President of the Tenor Saxophone, Lester Young was one of the most influential tenor saxophonists of the Twentieth Century, according to scholar and educator Douglas Henry Daniels, who wrote the most definitive biography of Lester Young.

In his book, Lester Leaps In:  The Life and Times of Lester “Prez” Young, Daniels points out that Young’s music style was unique and Young was an individualist, always experimenting.  Daniels also informs readers that Young was a gifted musician, a superior musician, and that although he was a colorful character, he was actually a gentle, sensitive artist.  At times he was also aloof and elusive.

 

There's a jazz poem “Lester Leaps In” (from a book titled Something About the Blues, by American poet Al Young ) that speaks to saxophonist Lester Young’s personality.  It says:

Here lived a man so hard and softspoken/ he had to be cool enough to hold his horn/ at angles as sharp as he was heartbroken/ in order to blow what it's like to be born.                                                                                                 
The poet probably named his poem “Lester Leaps In” after Lester Young’s original jazz music standard of the same title.

According to another Al Young poem, “Prez in Paris, 1959,” saxophonist Lester Young had moved to Paris by 1959, when his health was poor.  He recorded the album “Lester Young in Paris” at Barclay Studios, on March 4, 1959.  He died the next morning.

A portrait of Lester Young is included in the American Cool Exhibit currently on display at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC.  Lester Young was considered to have been one of those major American talents to have ushered in the concept of certain persons being “cool.” The exhibit will be on display until September 7, 2014.
 

On Mellowness and Flight

Ever wake up at dawn to the sound of a bird chirping outside your window?  This morning was one of those times for me.  My eyes opened slowly and I heard a bird chirping.  I thought about what a nice moment that was.  And for some reason, my next thought was a line I had heard somewhere before.  The line was:  ever heard Bird flap his wings?  That line echoed in my head, and then I thought:  Okay.  Where have I heard it before?  Where?  Then I remembered.  It was a line—actually two lines—from a poem about saxophone player Charlie Parker, who was also called Bird by his legions of fans.                                                                                                                                                     
I knew I had a copy of the poem somewhere; because I’d used it with several other poems in Conversations about Jazz Poetry, a public event I conducted last year.   Remembering where I’d filed those poems, I decided that a poem whose lines echoed in my head after I awoke to the sound of a bird chirping deserved to be pulled out of file and reread.  But I would pull it out and reread it later, after I poured my morning cup of coffee.

 

With my cup of coffee in one hand, I located my hardcopy file of jazz poems with the other hand and pulled out the poem, “Mellowness & Flight,” by George Barlow.  The line that had haunted me in a good way at dawn turned out to be two lines.

ever heard Bird/ flap his wings

The 19-line "Mellowness & Flight" begins and ends with the two (italicized) lines shown above.  And the poem compares Charlie Parker to: 

a bright blackbird / slicing blue sky

The poem asks us if we've ever heard Charlie Parker play the standard songs  "Laura," "Lover Man," and "Just Friends," and taken in Parker's mellowness.  The poet uses the bird-in-flight metaphor to describe Parker and asks us if we’ve ever felt like we were flying with him (Bird). 

Drinking my morning cup of coffee and rereading “Mellowness & Flight” have put me in a mellow mood.  Thoughts the poem have inspired in me have gotten my day off to a flying start.

A Women’s History Month Moment: Sarah Vaughan

The magnificently gifted singer Sarah Vaughan, born on March 27, 1924 and raised in the jazz music tradition, sang jazz songs as well as pop and bluesy ones.  However, journalists, the music industry and many of her fans have referred to her strictly as a jazz singer. 

During her long career, Sarah Vaughan performed around the world, including in my native city of Washington, DC.   On the occasion of one of her last performances in the DC area (late May 1989), it was my privilege and pleasure as a writer for Intermission Magazine  to review Sarah Vaughan's performance at Blues Alley in Georgetown.  Vaughan was scheduled to sing a few days later (June 2) at Wolf Trap in nearby Virginia.  She was 65 years-old at the time.  

At Blues Alley, Sarah Vaughan wore a coral organza gown with sequins, and she seemed to float down the club’s staircase and move effortlessly towards the stage.   Her trio (George Gaffney on piano, Bob Mays on bass, and Hal Jones on drums) had been playing a few mellow numbers leading up to her joining them.

 Once she was on stage and seated on a stool, Sarah Vaughan greeted the audience and began singing in her smooth, super controlled voice, moving from soprano to contralto to bass and back as she performed signature songs and ballads for which she was known. 

During most of the hour and a half-long show, the legendary singer remained seated on the stool.  (I learned later she’d been dealing with health issues; so that night she might not have felt well enough to do the entire show standing and moving around on her feet.)

Perched on her stool and looking gracefully out at the audience, Sarah Vaughan sang fan favorites such as "Broken Hearted Melody," and "I’m Through with Love," treating us to her full rich vibrato.  She also sang "The Man I Love," the theme from The Summer of ‘42, and "Misty" among other ballads and songs. 

A generous performer, she told the audience they were a good group and she then opened her act to requests.  Perhaps the audience had not expected The Divine One, as she was called, to allow requests, or perhaps they did not want to interrupt her flow, because they responded to her by simply saying, “Whatever you want to sing.”  They knew she would not disappoint them.

During the same year of that Blues Alley performance (1989), Sarah Vaughan received an NEA Jazz Masters Award (the highest honor awarded to a jazz musician by the National Endowment for the Arts).
 
Sarah Vaughan had been on my list of legendary older artists to see in a live performance while there was still time.  How fortunate for me that I caught her appearance at Blues Alley that evening (even though I was working on assignment); because she died the next year, on April 3, 1990.

The world will always be able to enjoy Sarah Vaughan’s wonderful voice by listening to the many recordings she left with us.  The recordings, along with books and other literature about her life and career will forever preserve her memory and her place in history.