[Dixielandjazz] Coleman Hawkins - The Savory Body & Soul

[Stephen G Barbone]

Among the savory collection is a 6 minute version of Hawkin's Body &  
Soul. It is completely different from his famous 1939, 3 minute,   
classic. Can't wait to her it.

Cheers,
Steve Barbone
www.myspace.com/barbonestreetjazzband

NY Times - By Ben Ratliff - August 18, 2010

Jazz Master Outplays Himself

There isn’t just one recording angel, or even a select few; there are  
thousands, maybe millions. Each rediscovery of old sound recordings  
comes to us through a different human filter: a person with a specific  
job, with specific tastes or aspirations.

And yet some recordings seem as if they were meant to survive, as if  
they were too good not to, no matter what the circumstances of their  
transmission through the ages, their purpose and their ownership and  
their custodians. In other words, sometimes a recording feels like art  
history, not just social history.

Among the recently discovered jazz recordings from the late 1930s into  
1940 made by William Savory, an audio engineer, at least a few rise to  
this level. There are nearly 1,000 acetate and metal discs in the  
Savory Collection. Ninety percent of them haven’t been digitized or  
even played, and of the 10 percent remaining, I’ve heard only about a  
dozen complete tracks. I’m in no position to assess the whole thing.  
(Nobody is yet in any position to assess when, how or what portion of  
the recordings can be commercially released.) But all that I’ve heard  
are special. And at least one is amazing: a live recording of “Body  
and Soul” by Coleman Hawkins from May 1940.

Mr. Savory, who died in 2004, worked in New York during the 1930s as  
an engineer for a transcription service: the kind of outfit with  
access to live radio broadcasts from around the country, and the  
ability to make disc copies of the broadcasts for whoever needed them.  
Evidently he brought home copies of what he liked as a fan, what he  
thought important or what had sentimental value, for here was a guy  
who befriended jazz musicians. That’s it: no master plan, no urge  
toward comprehensiveness.

Looking through the names on the discs — cataloged by Loren  
Schoenberg, the jazz scholar and executive director of the National  
Jazz Museum in Harlem, which recently bought the collection from Mr.  
Savory’s family — I saw a whole lot of Benny Goodman, because Mr.  
Savory loved Goodman’s music and came to know him. (He eventually  
married one of Goodman’s singers, Helen Ward, after she had left the  
band.) There’s a lot of Teddy Wilson, probably for similar reasons.  
There are recordings of now obscure swing-band saxophonists: Tony  
Zimmers, Stewie McKay. There’s someBillie Holiday, some Cab Calloway,  
some Mildred Bailey, a tiny bit of Louis Armstrong and John Kirby, and  
some extravagantly good jam-session Lester Young. And Coleman Hawkins.

When Hawkins came back from a five-year European stay in the summer of  
1939, the disposition of his music had changed. He had been playing a  
different role with audiences; he had become a star who blotted out  
the importance of his sidemen. In England and Switzerland and the  
Netherlands, audiences treated him with deference, as an exotic and a  
master soloist.

After his return, the record producer John Hammond remarked with  
dismay that he had become a “rhapsodist,” but that was no easy  
accomplishment. The studio recording of “Body and Soul,” from October  
1939, is an event, an actorly tour de force in three minutes, a  
continuous solo after a loose statement of theme; its equivalent in  
another form of music might be Jimi Hendrix’s “Star-Spangled  
Banner.” (Hawkins once said that Thelonious Monk, incredulous and  
envious that the record had become a hit, told him, “There’s no melody  
in there; what are they listening to?”)

It was Hawkins’s most famous song, and he recorded it many times  
again: the complete list includes stage versions from 1949 at Carnegie  
Hall and in Lausanne, Switzerland; studio revisits in 1956 with an  
orchestra and in 1958 with the clarinetist Tony Scott; and from 1944 a  
more abstracted version of the song — with even less of a melody —  
copyrighted as “Rainbow Mist.” What we haven’t had is an example of  
how he played it in clubs right after the record came out. Wouldn’t  
that be nice? Wouldn’t that be helpful to the historical record?

That’s what Mr. Savory kept for us. This “Body and Soul,” from May  
1940, comes from a gig broadcast from the Fiesta Danceteria, then a  
new joint in Times Square, where you could buy cafeteria food as a  
cover charge and dance to music free. According to “The Song of the  
Hawk,” John Chilton’s biography of Hawkins, the engagement went badly.  
The owners asked him to play stock arrangements of pop songs until the  
late set, and even then asked Hawkins to quiet down his brass players.  
Hawkins quit after a week.

But you wouldn’t suspect any of that. The Savory version, clear enough  
to indicate the breadth of his sound, is three minutes and two  
choruses longer than the studio recording seven months earlier, at a  
marginally faster tempo, and just as psychologically intense.  
Presumably many listeners knew the whole recorded improvisation by  
heart, but here he rarely refers to it. The performance takes its  
time, as Hawkins develops his improvisation alone over bass and drums,  
with gathering abstraction from the tune.

After the beginning of the fourth chorus the band comes in with a  
gingerly backing arrangement, as Hawkins enters his final stretch,  
starting to pour it on. (It’s like watching a great swimmer turning  
into lap 16 out of 20.) At around five minutes, before the coda, he  
does something extraordinary: a set of big upward arpeggios, bold  
wipes of sound, weird for the time. It’s remarkable, this recording.  
It’s not just nice. It’s not just helpful to the historical record. It  
might be better than the one we feel obligated to compare it with.