Pepper Adams: First Recordings with Lew's Notes, & Guest Post by Gary Carner on His Army Career, 2 of 2

This essay and the preceding one are adapted by Gary Carner from his detailed annotated discography and in-depth ebook biography of baritone saxophonist Pepper Adams (1930-1986). Last time, we heard the first two tracks of the first session where he took baritone sax solos. (Paying Subscribers also heard his first recording, on clarinet, with Tommy Flanagan.) Today we’ll hear the remaining tracks, and finish the story of his Army experience. First, My comments on the music:

Lew’s Notes on the Recordings:

As a reminder, these recordings were made in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in July 1952 but never released. The musicians were Frank Keys tp; Larry McCrorey ts; Pepper Adams (bari sax), Otis “Bu Bu” (sic) Turner p, voc; Ron Penney b; and the leader Hugh Jackson on drums. Turner was a Detroit legend and McCrorey, a college student, was clearly playing at a professional level, but to my knowledge he never recorded again. However, subscriber and music publisher Rob DuBoff informs me that McCrorey went on to a very distinguished career in medicine.

Last time we heard “Yardbird Suite” and “Dancing in the Dark.” Next was a ballad medley featuring various band members. From that, we choose to share only Pepper’s portion, “Blue Champagne,” a song that had been recorded by Jimmy Dorsey and other swing bands. Here and throughout this session, it is evident that Adams has deeply understood and absorbed the lessons of Charlie Parker:

Now for the old standard “Out of Nowhere.” Typical of Adams, he throws in several quotes—he begins at 1:35 with a quote that I don’t recognize, and at 1:55 I hear “London Bridge is Falling Down”:

Next is “Oh! Henry,” an original by Gil Fuller and altoist Ernie Henry that James Moody had recorded in 1948. Pianist Turner is impressively fluent here:

Now for Tadd Dameron’s “Our Delight.” The trumpeter finally takes out his mute here, but his solo is a bit of a mess. On the other hand, Turner supports him well, and shines once again in his solo. Adams takes a fine solo at the start.

Adams’s second solo at 2:50 is not improvised—it’s the written “soli” that appeared on Dameron’s own recording. He plays it without the trumpet and tenor sax, who most likely didn’t know it. For comparison, here is Dameron’s band playing it together in 1947—compare this with what Pepper plays at 2:50 above:

Next is another old show tune, “Fine and Dandy,” taken at a fast tempo. At 0:52 during Pepper’s strong solo he inserts what I think is a quote, but I can’t quite place it. The trumpeter is more solid here. McCrorey and Turner are dependably fine.

Finally, the oldest of the standards they played, “The Blue Room” by Rodgers and Hart, often called “Blue Room,” taken at a relaxed tempo. Sadly, the trumpeter takes what might be his worst solo right at the outset, essentially ruining the take. McCrorey and Turner are reliable, but Adams doesn’t seem to know the bridge of this tune very well. Still, he manages to end his solo with an impressive 16th-note run:

Some fascinating music! Now, let’s continue with the story of Pepper’s life during this time, researched by Gary Carner:

Pepper Adams in the Army, Part 2,

by Gary Carner

During the time that he made the above recording, before returning to the Army base in Missouri, Adams attended a jam session at Elvin Jones’s house. There he first met Elvin’s brother, cornetist and composer Thad, initiating one of the most important relationships of his life. Pepper realized that his and Thad’s musical approach were very much alike. “Here’s a cat proceeding on many of the same aesthetic lines that I’ve been doing for a number of years, but in the same way of combining beauty and humor,” Adams later told journalist Albert Goldman. “He, too, was playing harmonies that were certainly not common among jazz players.” At the time, said Adams, Charlie Parker “played some very interesting and very complex harmonic substitutions but the Bird-influenced players mostly did not.”

Back in the Army, Adams was a bit of a prankster. Across the street from the barracks, in an empty lot at the fort’s edge, he, his saxophonist friend Ron Kolber, and a few buddies, planted marijuana. “We set up a schedule,” said Kolber. “We marked down everybody’s name to take turns going out. We had a water can and a big hat. We had a schedule made up to water it.” Pepper and his accomplices would sometimes roll a joint and ask on-base military police for a light, reveling in the fact that the police were unfamiliar with pot.

According to Doc Holladay, common tasks that soldiers were expected to accomplish each day, such as neatly making their bed or perfectly marching in formation, Adams did with little care. “Everybody loved him,” said Kolber. “He was just the friendliest person in the world.” Nevertheless, many would avoid being seen with him because he was such a lousy soldier. They were afraid that by associating with him they’d somehow risk being shipped to Korea, something every musician was doing his best to avoid.

“Everything is supposed to be put in a certain order, rolled up a certain way,” said Grey. “It’s kind of a regimentation that some guys just won’t put up with.” Adams ignored such standardization. “He never went out of his way intentionally to do it,” said Kolber. “He just didn’t give a shit.” He would grouse, “No one’s sleeping in my bed but me so why do I have to make it? I can’t understand why you have to make your bed so tight that you can bounce a quarter off of it and then you jump in and go to sleep.” When marching in formation, he was lackadaisical. Pepper wasn’t breaking rules per se, nor in any way retaliating in a passive-aggressive manner. “I think his whole point was just to keep his mind free,” said Holladay.

Although being band members gave them more latitude than other soldiers, Pepper pushed the envelope further. He would be admonished for his infractions, “but the only people that were reprimanding him were Army people, which he didn’t pay any attention to,” laughed Kolber:

In his rationale, if it didn’t seem to be good sense, he just didn’t do it. He never antagonized even the officers or the sergeants or the people in power there because he was such a likable guy, and he always came up with really common-sense reasons for not doing what he was supposed to do. It was amazing how he [would] get out of these things. When he used to get dressed for bed, he used to drop his pants and step out of them, and the pants used to sit there on the floor, and then he would get into it the next morning. He said, “Listen, you don’t give me enough time to get dressed. It’s hard for me to get up in the morning. We get up and everything is always rushed. This way I just step in, pull them up, and [Adams snapped his fingers for emphasis] it’s there, man! I’m on time and you’re happy. What difference does it make where I keep my pants?”

Kolber recalled that one officer’s response was, “You can’t leave your clothes on a dirty floor.” Pepper replied, “How can it be dirty when you’re making us scrub it every day?” “He never got into direct confrontation with them,” chuckled Kolber:

He was always too nice of a guy, and if something that they said made sense, then he would accept it. He sort of went along with most things. But when it started infringing on his personal habits, then…Whenever we took physical training, he was beautiful!” When we had to jump and meet our hands above our head he would never jump. He said, “Listen, I can play. That’s what I’m here in this band for, to play, and I can’t do all these other things.” He says, “It doesn’t take that much physical energy to strap a baritone sax around your neck.” He told the sergeant that. The officers always used to call him into the office, so I never heard too much about what they did. But he always came out smiling, smoking a cigarette, saying, “It’s all straight.” And they never bothered him…He was too well liked. No one could really dislike him because he was an intelligent man, knew what he was talking about, so people didn’t monkey around with him too much. They knew that, whatever he did, there was a good reason for doing it. . .He was a rebel at heart. I think that’s why we got along so well.

Almost at the end of his tour of duty, Kolber had long hair and a mustache, unusual for the army. By then he was a sergeant, and just as insouciant as Adams.

Eventually, Pepper, like many of the soldiers, was sent to Korea after all. Here’s Adams in the Army c 1952, and on the right, in Korea in 1953:

In early June, 1953, after about seven months tour of duty in Korea [Lew notes: detailed in Carner’s biography], Adams, with the rank of Corporal, was transferred to the U.S. Army Reserve and relieved from active duty. Although he was required to remain available for the next six years, if needed, he was never called back in any capacity.

In retrospect, Adams’s army stint “gave him a lot of time to work on what he wanted to do with his horn,” said his friend Jack Duquette. Furthermore, Adams gained a perspective that he didn’t have before he enlisted. At the outset, it was his goal, should he survive, to return to college, finish his degree, and become a journalist. Once he realized that four years of musical training in Detroit made him far more advanced than all the professional musicians in his platoon, eve more than those in other units who were considerably older and had toured with “name” bands, he concluded that he should instead become a professional musician. Adams explained his decision in his journal:

Three or four years ago I frequently went for several days at a time without practicing but it is no longer possible for me to do this. Formerly, while I enjoyed playing greatly, there were other things that I enjoyed equally. Now, however, if I go for any length of time without playing my horn, I grow restless and anxious to blow again. It is this fact more than anything else that has convinced me that I must try to make it musically when I get home. Logically, I should do otherwise; music is an extremely overcrowded and insecure field. I have enough schooling available under the G.I. Bill [which paid college tuition for veterans] to enable me to finish college. I believe that I could be quite happy in life as a college instructor, and I am sure that I would be a very good one. I am equally sure that I could be successful at several other occupations, too, but I realize that I could never be at peace with myself unless I first make every effort to satisfy my musical ambitions. There is no shame in defeat; the only shame would be in premature capitulation.

[Thank you again, Gary, for this terrific research and rare music!

All the best,
Lewis ]