• So What

1956

 LINER NOTES

All music is imitative. All jazz is imitative. From the moment a human being first hears a sound, whether it be human speech or the tinkling of a toy piano or the sound of singing in the bathroom, he tends, to absorb what he hears and to mold in its image what he later creates himself. There is no such thing on earth as complete originality. This is how jazz grew, as one musician listened to another and emulated what he heard and took it, to another town where he himself became the object of study.

Swedish musicians, like, musicians all over America, have listened to the American idols just as most of the leading U.S. trumpet men are almost certain to have a little of Gillespie or Miles in them and most tenor men are likely to reflect an interest in Pres and Getz, so do the top Swedish jazzmen mirror this impact on their ideation. This still leaves them complete freedom to improvise or write music as they feel it; in the case of Swedish jazz it happens to come out sounding as authentic and compelling as anything, concocted in the native land of jazz. Indisputable proof of this has been offered almost every time I have used Swedish records in a blindfold test. Almost invariably the performances drew warm praise, but rarely; if ever, could the blindfoldee determine the country of origin. Swedish jazz in its solo qualities is edentical with American jazz, in its orchestral work, what little there is of it has shown, no sepcial preference to East or West Coast styles (if they exist and, let's not get into that) but has simply shown expert craftsmanship and a natural feeling for the idiom.

Lars Gullin, the best known in America of all the Swedish stars, has been heard in a variety of settings, but very rarely with a big band. The reason is simple: in a small country such as Sweden it is economically impossible to keep even a single big band together playing jazz. But the interest on the part of the musicians was so great that during the late 1940s and early-50s, after working in various small combos, some of the men would band together late at night to run down the latest scores of Goesta Theselius. These sessions ultimately resulted in a few concerts, one of which took place in April 1955, when a big benefit was staged for the family of the just-deceased Charlie Parker. Gullin was featured with Theselius' big band and was so excited by the results that he could hardly wait to transfer the sounds to a recording studio. It was not until April 25, 1956 that his ambition was finally realized. The two big-band items in this set, Summertime and A Foggy Day were produced on that occasion.

Summertime, in this wonderful Theselius orchestration, brings out the basic beauty of the melody and of Gullin's superb solo style on a ballad. Some splendid trumpet work by Bengt-Arne Wallin is also in evidence.

A Foggy Day opens with the verse, played in slow tempo by Gullin; as the pace picks up for the chorus there is some great brass work; a trombone solo by Persson follows, as well as some trumpet by Jan Allan and piano by Rune Ofwerman. Theselius, by the way, is well known in Sweden not only as the country's foremost jazz arranger but also as a soloist who playedd both tenor sax and piano in an invigorating variety of settings from quartet to octet size. Fedja, a Gullin original has an attractively melancholy minor-key theme played at medium tempo with steady brush rhythms providing a swinging background.

Nils-Bertil Dahlander, the percussionist throughout both these sides, was known as Bert Dale when, he visited the U. S. and toured as a member of the Terry Gibbs Quartet a couple of years ago.

Gullin is first in the solo followed by Arne Domnerus and blending with him in an interesting passage of improvised interplay. Carl-Henrik Norin takes over for some Getz-like tenor and Ofwerman's swinging piano gets a beat most reminiscent of an East Coast pianist named Johnny Williams (if you happen to have heard Johnny Williams; otherwise he will remind you of Rune Ofwerman, which, is just as well.

Perntz is one of the most striking examples of Guilin's own writing. Scored for three saxophones, trombone and rhythm, it is , dedicated to a well known doctor in Stockholm, who did a great deal to get Gullin back on his much-followed feet after a serious illness a year or so ago. (Whether the doctor's name is Perntz was not made clear to me. Somehow, I doubt it.) Notice the smooth continuity between the three saxophone solos, their mood so consistent and their styles so well mated that you scarcely observe where one leaves off and the next takes over.

A word about the other two reed men: Domnerus, another native of Stockholm, is 32, worked with the bands of Thore Ehrling and Simon Brehm, was featured at an early jazz festival some eight years ago in Paris, and has had his own band since 1951. Norin, who comes from Vaesteras, Sweden, was born in1920 and worked with most of the same bands as Domnerus. His early recordings show him playing in a style more reminiscent of Charlie Ventura than of Getz, but he moved perceptibly with the times and in recent years has been accepted as the most modern of Sweden's tenor soloists.

All Of Me, a quartet side sails right into Lars' first solo with doughty support from Dahlander. After toying with the melody for one chorus Gullin grabs the chord sequence and has at it for four more. The fleet single-note lines of Mr. Ofwerman then have the spotlight for two choruses, followed by a series of fours involving first baritone and drums, then bass and drums, and before Lars takes it out there, is a 16-bar drum solo.

Mean To Me, a striking example of the "relaxation-without-lethargy" approach to a medium tempo, starts with a two-beat feel, Lars playing the first sixteen with Domnerus in the background and then, after a Persson release, moving to the rear while they reverse their roles. Persson is a 24-year-old prodigy who as early as 1950 was hailed as Sweden's answer to Jay Jay Johnson (Denmark had its own answer, of course, in Kai Winding). Ofwerman and Domnerus both take what may well be their best choruses on this, easy-going performance.

So What is a simple rift tune by Gerry Mulligan based on the familiar Love Me Or Leave Me chord pattern that has provided the basis for Lullaby 0f Birdland and many other jazz "originals". After an ensemble chorus taken mostly in unison there is a booting three-choruses-long solo by Persson - with a pleasant touch of low-note humor in bars 13-16 and a few moments, notably 'in the last eight measures of his first chorus, when the style is more redolent of Bill Harris than of the bop school. The next three choruses are Lars', with Persson adding a little background buildup in the last of them. Ofwerman cooks in the Powell-Silver-Hope manner on his two; then comes a series of Baritone-drums-trombone-drums fours before the 16-bar ensemble conclusion.

In reviewing these sides we said little about the leader's personal background, since it has been told many times, however, for the benefit of the less initiated it might be added that Lars Gullin was born in Gotland, a large island just off the West coast of Sweden in 1928; that he started on accordion, picked up a clarinet at 12 and gained some youthful experience in a military band. Arriving in Stockholm in 1948 he did not take up the baritone saxophone until a year later, after he had heard some records by Gerry Mulligan. Joining the Arne Domnerus band in 1951, he also recorded with such visiting fire-extinguishers as Zoot Sims and Stan Getz. In winning The Down beat critics' poll in 1954 he became the first overseas musician ever to win American magazine referendum.

If ever he decides to emigrate to this country, I might add, he is going to scare a lot of people, make a lot of records and gain a lot of admirers. Meanwhile, such admirable recorded evidence of his talent as can be inspected between these covers will do very adequately until the live thing comes along.

Leonard Feather