Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis - The Chronological Classics: 1946-1947 (1998) CD Rip

05 Nov, 10:31
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Artist: Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis
Title: The Chronological Classics: 1946-1947
Year Of Release: 1998
Label: Classics [1012]
Genre: Bop, Hard Bop
Quality: FLAC (tracks + .cue,log,scans)
Total Time: 68:19
Total Size: 187 MB(+3%)
WebSite: Album Preview

Tracklist

01. Surgery (3:02)
02. Lockjaw (2:44)
03. Afternoon in a Doghouse (3:07)
04. Athlete's Foot (2:54)
05. Callin' Dr. Jazz (2:51)
06. Fracture (2:53)
07. Hollerin' and Screaming (2:41)
08. Stealing Trash (2:49)
09. Just a Mystery (2:16)
10. Red Pepper (3:05)
11. Spinal (2:32)
12. Maternity (3:03)
13. Lover (2:32)
14. Licks a Plenty (2:44)
15. Foxy (2:52)
16. Sheila (3:08)
17. Real Gone Guy (3:05)
18. But Beautiful (3:08)
19. Leapin' on Lenox (3:13)
20. Ravin' at the Haven (2:27)
21. Minton's Madhouse (2:24)
22. Huckle Bug (3:10)
23. Music Goes Down Around (2:58)
24. Lockjaw's Bounce (2:41)

Now why do you suppose they called him '"Lockjaw"'? Just listen. Eddie Davis based much of his style on the tough extremities of Ben Webster's gritty gutbucket tenor sax. Picking up where Ben left off, Jaws would growl, shriek and rock in ways that landed him on the cusp between bebop and rhythm & blues. Over many years he developed into a mature performer who was capable of great subtleties. We are fortunate to have this opportunity to hear his earliest recordings as a leader. Some of this stuff is startling. "Surgery," a smooth, searching, walking blues, exists in the same harmonic/thematic realm as Boyd Raeburn's quirky study for big band, "Tonsillectomy." The piece called "Lockjaw" is more of a muscle tussle, and "Afternoon in a Doghouse" is a simple finger-pop bop groove. As Gene Ramey rarely took bass solos, it's good to hear him grab a few bars during "Athlete's Foot." By December of 1946 Lockjaw was ready for two full-blown Savoy bebop sessions in the company of Theodore "Fats" Navarro. This pair of characters maintained a stimulating balance as Fats blew long bop lines of exquisite ingenuity while Jaws wrestled with his own funky textural dynamics. Wildly titled, each of these three-minute records hits you hard, right between the ears. "Hollerin' and Screaming" is the most outrageous example of this band's explosive chemistry. The record starts with a hoarse shriek from the tenor sax. The melody erupts like two cans of Sterno knocking around on the hood of an overheated bright red Chevy convertible. A sudden outburst from the trumpet is repeated verbatim on the drums. Fats and Lockjaw bark back and forth, jostling each other in cycles of friendly aggression. It's like listening in on a casual exchange of good-natured insults and creative cussing, the benevolent sort of everyday rudeness that enables trust and cooperation between individuals who exist outside of the dominant social group. In April of 1947, Jaws baked four sides for the Apollo label, sharing the melodic line with guitarist John Collins and blowing an exceptionally extroverted tenor. The extreme grooviness of both the Savoy and Apollo sessions were aided and abetted by the combination of Al Haig, Gene Ramey and Denzil Best. Now for the really rare stuff -- eight sides issued on the Lenox, Plymouth and Remington labels. "Real Gone Guy," a tasty hunk of rhythm and blues, was written by Nellie Lutcher. Lockjaw puts it to the torch, and Butch Ballard's drumming fans the flames. "But Beautiful" is the earliest example we have of Lockjaw Davis the interpreter of slow ballads. He smokes the melody with long puffs, savoring every breath. "Leapin' on Lenox," to use what would have been the correct spelling, is a strut by anybody's definition. Jaws bites his tenor until it begs for mercy. The rowdy "Minton's Madhouse" includes a long sax testimonial accompanied only by handclapping. "Ravin' at the Haven" is largely composed of frantic bop lines. The saxophone howls without restraint. "Music Goes Down Around" is recognizable as a quaint Tin Pan Alley pop tune, fitted with a new set of fangs as this gang of young toughs put new meaning on an old refrain. Gripping the mouthpiece between his chops, Lockjaw squeezes extra hard "and it comes out here."

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