Elvin Jones On Detroit Jazz In The '50s Motor City Bebop

Elvin Jones on Detroit Jazz in the ‘50s

MOTOR CITY BEBOP

By Reggie Carter & John Sinclair

Master percussionist Elvin Jones spent ten days in his old stomping grounds last month, bringing his current quartet (Pat LaBarbara, saxophones; Ryo Kawasaki, guitar; David Williams, bass) into Baker's Keyboard Lounge for a series of swinging, stomping soirees. A native of Pontiac, Michigan. Elvin was active on the legendary Detroit bebop scene from late 1946 until he left in 1955 to take up residence in New York City, where he established his international reputation through featured work with Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, Bud Powell, J.J. Johnson, Sonny Rollins, and finally as a member of the ground-breaking John Coltrane Quartet (1960-65). A leader of his own bands for more than ten years now, Elvin recently signed with Vanguard Records after a long association with Blue Note and a pair of LPs for the artist-owned PM label.

Elvin was interviewed one afternoon in late February by the Sun's Reggie Carter and John Sinclair, who asked him to recall his days in the Motor City's hot early 50's jazz scene for our readers who were not fortunate enough to have been there. What follows, then, is Elvin's account of the glorious days when top jazz musicians came pouring out of Detroit to make their mark on the national and international music scene – a flood of talent unequaled in the jazz scene ever since. But let's let Elvin tell it like it was . . .

SUN: When did you first start playing around Detroit?

ELVIN: Well, I went to school in Pontiac, where I came up, and when I got out of the Army, in 1946, I came back and started working around Detroit. That was when I started meeting most of the guys here in Detroit – Billy Mitchell, Boo Boo Turner, Abe Woodley, Beans Richardson, Art Mardigan, all those cats – Phil Hill. A lot of those guys are dead now. Boo Boo is dead, Phil Hill. I think he's dead too.

My first real gig was with Phil Hill at the Crystal Bar, on Grand River near where the hockey stadium is. That was the place where I first started to get into the scene here. Art Mardigan was playing drums with Phil's band, and when he left the group I fell right into it. So that sort of got me acquainted with what we considered to be the real weights in Detroit. You know, these cats, Cuban Pete was playing congas, and Wardell Gray worked there a lot. Then Billy Mitchell was working at the Bluebird Inn, over on the west side, and Art Mardigan had that gig too. So when Art went on the road with somebody or other, I joined Billy's band, and I stayed with them for three years at the Bluebird, like between 1950 and 1953.

SUN: Who else was working in that band?

ELVIN: Well, it was Billy Mitchell's gig, and he had Barry Harris or Terry Pollard on piano, Beans Richardson on bass, Frank Foster (tenor) would play that gig a lot, and then my brother Thad (Cornet) came in and stayed a couple of years with that band. But before that the Bluebird would like bring in different artists to play with the house band – let me see, Miles Davis came there and stayed for about six months, and all kinds of other people. Wardell Gray, of course, and Sonny Stitt, Ben Webster, Bird would come through and work with our group backing them. At least once or twice a year, there'd be featured artists. They'd work with the band for maybe a month, you know, which was very good, because they suddenly gave the Detroit musicians of that time quite a perspective on what was happening in the music world away from Detroit. Nobody could be more knowledgeable about the true aspects of music than some of the visiting artists who came to work there. It was not only a very prestigious position to be in, but it was also one of the most educational experiences a young musician could have.

SUN: Weren't there a lot of people off of that set going out and joining the Basie band at that time?

ELVIN: I know Frank Foster was about the last one to go – Al Grey, Ernie Wilkins and some other guys were already with Basie, and then Thad (Jones) and Billy Mitchell went and joined - not right together, but about a month apart, and then Frank Foster. It was something back then, when they were telling Basie about all the musicians in Detroit – a lot of musicians went and joined Basic after that.

There was one time in there when Basie came into town, he was looking for a drummer – my brother Thad was working with Basie then, and he was looking for me during one of the intermissions so I could come and sit in with them. It was at the Graystone Ballroom, on Woodward, and I was working the date with the Miles Davis Quintet. Miles was staying in Detroit then, he was like the "artist in residence" for a while. and that particular group was with Miles, Yusef La teef on tenor, Barry Harris, Beans Richardson and myself. Anyway, Thad came looking for me, but I was nowhere to be found on the intermissions. (Laughter.) For obvious reasons, I mean I had to have my rest, you know?

But there were some pretty hip scenes around Detroit at that time. I think it was really very cozy. I really loved that – the whole atmosphere out there was like one huge music conservatory. I mean it was really a real atmosphere of learning. That's what I think is so great about Detroit, you know – not only were the musicians all very into it, but so was the audience as well. Some of the audience knew as much about the music as the performers, and I don't think anybody was ever uninformed about the kind of music that was being played, about jazz, about creative forms – everybody was hip to it. I think like the average person in a club at that time could tell you more about the music being played, or as much about it, as the musicians on the stand. That's how well-informed the audience was, and it gave a great incentive to the musicians to excell, because nobody wanted to be called "jive," you know? like, "get that turkey off the stage!" (Laughter.) You know, nobody wanted to get that laid on him. So everybody did their best all the time, because they knew they were playing to a highly informed audience at all times. It made a great difference, as opposed to other cities, you know, where community involvement wasn't all that great. I think the scene here was quite unique.

Part of it was the abundance of places to hear and play music, too. Most of the clubs would have a band stand, and there would be all kinds of music being played in all kinds of different little places. The Crystal and the Bluebird, of course, and there was the Parrot Lounge, over on the east side, that was one of the nicer places. And there was that place where Maurice King always worked, over there on John R – yeah, the Flame Showbar, that was always like a first-class gig, you know. And

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there were places all up and down Hastings Street, and Brush, and John R, most of which had live bands in there, and on the west side too. So I think, in that alone, there's never been a town like that before or since. I certainly don't see it now, not only here but all over the country. But when I was here – I left in 1955 – you could go around for months and not go to the same club twice, seeing different groups all the time. And you could always see somebody around town that was taking care of business.

SUN: Cass Tech also seemed to be a hotbed for young musicians at that time.

ELVIN: Well, for one thing, that was an awfully good school, Cass Tech, as far as from a high school level, I don’t think there was anything like that in the country – not only for music, but for other technical studies as well. So that was a big factor, certainly, and a lot of young musicians came out of Cass Tech – Paul Chambers, Doug Watkins, Donald Byrd, Pepper Adams. all those cats – Louis Hayes, Curtis Fuller.

But I just think that there was a general acceptance among the population, that people were aware, musically minded, and all that. Plus there were always some swinging sounds around – you could always hear some sounds on the radio, there was lots of live music of all kinds, and too, I don't think television was so popular by then that it kept people at home. People would go out to have a drink or take their lady friends out on the weekends, or during the week, or whatever, as opposed to sitting at home around a television set. This had a lot to do with it, and television, of course, had a lot to do with breaking it all up, too.

SUN: Where did you stay when you were in Detroit during that period?

ELVIN: One time I stayed on the east side, right near Wayne University, just off of Woodward – I forget the name of the street. And I stayed at Billy Mitchell's mother's house, just off Third Avenue, and I stayed over on Pingree, I had an apartment over there. I stayed at several locations. I had a pretty good idea of how the city was built, you know.

See, here's the thing – when I worked here in Detroit, I also had a day job out in Pontiac. I was a clothes presser in a dry cleaners, you know, during the day, so I was able to choose the gigs I wanted to work rather than having to take just any old gig in order to pay my rent, you know. That way I could just play the kind of music I wanted to play, and I kept that day gig all the time I was here.

SUN: You were involved in the World Stage too, weren't you?

ELVIN: Right. I would always play in the concerts that were held there, and for a long time I was also working as the production manager for the theatre group at the Stage, too.

SUN: Wasn't that a musicians' cooperative?

ELVIN: Yeah, it was actually Kenny Burrell, and the McKinney brothers (Harold, Earl, Bernard, Ray), and a lot of other people who were involved in the scene, and we would put on concerts at the World Stage on a regular basis. The driving force behind the World Stage was a fellow named Fred Barnett. His father had the Barnett Trucking Company, and Fred was very interested in theatre and other art forms. He had this building at Woodward and Davison, with this huge top floor – like a loft – and they were turning it into a theatre. They would sponsor the concerts, which were organized and publicized by the musicians. I don't think any of them ever made a lot of money, but it certainly was a place to go, and it was a place for musicians to get stage experience in addition to working in clubs, so it helped prepare a lot of us to go out and work concerts and all kinds of gigs. Plus it gave people like Yusef Lateef a place to form the nucleus of his group, with Frank Gant, Curtis Fuller and the rest. All the younger kids were going up there to learn how to play. From a community point of view, it was a tremendous asset and a tremendous learning experience for everyone involved.

Then there was the West End Hotel, over in Delray, where we would go for sessions after everybody got done playing their gigs. I thought that was a great experience – everyone would finish their gigs on the weekends and then we would converge on Delray and have jam sessions all night. I was one of the nucleus of the group, so I would take my drums out there and set up, and anybody who wanted to sit in, of course, was perfectly welcome. But I was the one getting the five bucks for the gig. (Laughter.)

SUN: Who all would be on that particular set?

ELVIN: Well, Kenny Burrell set it up-he later became an in-law of Joe Blair and his wife, who ran the West End-and he had the gig, and later Barry Marris had it for a while. All I know is that they'd call me, and I would be the first one to get there, with my drums, and all the cats would come through there, including other musicians who would be appearing in town – everybody, you know? As far as the cats from around here, Yusef, Barry, Terry Pollard, Beans, Billy Mitchell, too many to mention, really. Donald Byrd and Pepper Adams a few times – It was such a friendly fraternity of people, you know, from all parts of town, and it went beyond the sessions too. I'd find myself at different times at Doug Watkins' house, or at Paul Chambers' place – it was always good and friendly among the guys on the set, quite a friendly atmosphere and none of these old petty jealousies that sometimes exist among musicians. Everybody was very brotherly, you know. It was really a beautiful scene, and it's a shame nothing like that exists any more.