Table Of ContentBUCK CLAYTON'S
JAZZ WORLD
BUCK CLAYTON'S
JAZZ WORLD
by
BUCK CLAYTON
assisted by
Nancy Miller Elliott
Discography compiled by
Bob Weir
M
MACMILLAN
PRESS
Music Division
© Buck Clayton 1986
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 1986 978-0-333-41733-1
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission
of this publication may be made without written permission.
No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied
or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance
with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).
Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to
this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and
civil claims for damages.
First published 1986
Published by
THE MACMILLAN PRESS LTD
Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 2XS
and London
Companies and representatives
throughout the world
Typeset by Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd
Bury St Edmunds, Suffulk
in 10/11 'hpt Caledonia
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Clayton, Buck
Buck Clayton" s jazz ~orld.
1. Clayton, Buck 2. Jazz musicians
United States-Biography
I. Title
785.42'092'4 ML419.C/
ISBN 978-1-349-08729-7 ISBN 978-1-349-08727-3 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-349-08727-3
The publishers gratefully acknowledge permission to reproduce
in this book photographs from the collections of Buck Clayton
and Nancy Miller Elliott.
Contents
Foreword by Humphrey Lyttelton 7
Introduction 9
1. One morning in Parsons, Kansas 11
2. Los Angeles and the West Coast 30
3. Shanghai 66
4. I never heard such swinging music 79
5. Basie 89
6. In Uncle Sam's army 117
7. JATP and a trip to Europe 129
8. A new phase in my career 141
9. From New York to Australia 156
10. Humphrey Lyttelton and my English tours 173
11. Health problems 182
12. Still swinging 202
Chronological discography by Bob Weir 217
Index 243
Foreword
It was the French musician and critic Andre Hodeir who wrote that, with a
tiny number of exceptions, jazz musicians reach the end of their musical life
around the age of forty. Ironically, the book in which he made the sweeping
diagnosis-jazz: its Evolution and Essence-came out in the mid-1950s, at
exactly the time that the development of the long-play record and the revival
of interest in so-called mainstream jazz were combining to cast doubt on his
theory.
Among the considerable body of mature musicians who showed themselves
in this period to be playing as well as ever, one at least went far beyond that.
I can remember to this day the particular record-a 78 rpm single, as it
happens-which opened my ears to the existence of a "new" Buck Clayton.
Ever since he first recorded with Count Basie in the late 1930s, Buck had
made his mark as a player of great style, sensitivity and elegance with, as we
then believed, a penchant for the cup mute. Wrap your troubles in dreams,
recorded with Mezz Mezzrow's band during a 1953 European tour, revealed
a new dimension to his playing-a "presence," if you like, compounded of
majestically sweeping phrases, passionate attack and a tone of deeply bur
nished gold.
When we first met, and played together, in 1959, and in subsequent tours
during the 1960s, I gained an insight into why, despite the dramatically:
heightened authority in his playing, Buck was still spoken of by the jazz
writers in terms more appropriate to a fashion model or an ice-skater.
Considering the risks that he was always willing to take, his trumpet-playing
was, to be sure, remarkably poised, elegant, immaculate, polished and the
rest. Why did they not hear what I heard, night after night-the excitement,
inventiveness, passion and reckless daring?
The answer lies, I believe, in a couple of facts about his tours with my
band. Buck did a lot of writing for our concerts and recordings. He invariably
wrote himself the second trumpet part, on the grounds, first, that it was my
band and not his and, secondly, that he could then trim the arrangement so
that we could continue to play it after he returned to the States. Then again,
when I suggested initially that he should come on in each half for a special
feature spot, in the manner of most of the star American visitors, he showed
no enthusiasm for it. He wanted to play all through the session as a member
of the band, taking his solo turn with the rest of us.
Now, this is not the way that exciting, passionate and reckless jazz giants
normally behave. For such larger-than-life performance we accept, and
indeed expect, the hair-trigger temperament, the protruding ego and the
8 / BUCK CLAYTON'S JAZZ WORLD
dominating personality. Faced with a persona of reticence and reserve, we
take a bit more time to assess accurately the musician underneath. It helps
to have stood next to him on the stand for a whole string of dates and to have
realized very soon that, while he clearly subscribed to the "consensus" rather
than the "confrontation" policy in musical performance, the way that he not
only maintained but raised his own standards at every session itself presented
a formidable challenge.
During a close friendship which I value more than anything else in my
musical life, we have maintained a running joke about the "wrestler's tricks"
he used to pull on me, getting me to lower my guard by pleading some
disadvantage (''I've left my jockstrap in the hotel" was the most blatant) and
then overwhelming me with a burst of unfettered power! On his visit to us
in the autumn of 1985, we had evidence that the capacity to pull wrestler's
tricks is not only undimmed but unconscious. During a rehearsal at which
we played through some of the many pieces he's written for my band, Buck
stood up while one number was in progress, walked over to where saxophonist
John Barnes was standing, picked up his baritone sax part and, having studied
it closely for a few seconds, put it back without a word and returned to his
seat. At the end of the number, a somewhat demoralized}. B. asked, "What's
the matter, Buck? Was I playing something wrong?" "What's that?" said
Buck. "No, no-I'd forgotten about that tune and just wanted to see what
it's called."
Like the full splendor of Buck's music, the reminiscences in this book
have taken a long time to come out. Characteristically, they are not startling
or sensational. Perhaps the most shocking to fans of long standing is the
revelation that he hated that cup mute with which he became so closely
identified in the early Basie years! But one thing is certain-the book will
demand the same reassessment of Buck Clayton, jazz musician, as did those
eye-opening records thirty-odd years ago.
But I still think there's a wrestler's trick in there somewhere ...
Humphrey Lyttelton
London, 1986
Introduction
Before beginning this story of my life, I'd like to give credit to so many guys
who encouraged me to do things. These people include, here in New York:
George Avakian, Brick Fleagle, Rev John Garcia Gensel, Cliff Glover, John
Hammond, Nat Hentoff, Dan Morgenstern, Sy Oliver, Hank O'Neal, George
Wein and Ben and Jeanne Wright; elsewhere in the USA and Canada:
Hughie Clairmont, Stanley Dance, Schifford Garner, Nat Pierce and Pat
Scott; in England: Max Jones, Humphrey Lyttelton and Steve Voce; in
Europe: Yannick Bruynoghe, John Darville, Felix Debrit, Charles Delaunay,
Hugues Panassie, Johnny Simmen and Jack Armitage; and, last but not least,
Dr Roger Currie in. Australia and Yasuo Segami in Japan.
I should like to make honorary mention of some of my friends who have
passed on since I began the book, all of whom have been part of my story:
Willard Alexander, Count Basie, Eddie Beal, Kenny Clarke, Bill Coleman,
Vic Dickenson, George Duvivier, Clarence Glass, Jr, Earl Hines, Helen
Humes, Harry James, Budd Johnson, Dill Jones, Jo Jones, Kenny Kersey,
Ed Lewis, Dan Minor, Benny Morton, Bill Pemberton, Peppy Prince, Gene
Ramey, Ernie Royal, Zoot Sims, Joe Turner, Dick Vance, Dicky Wells,
Cootie Williams and Trummy Young.
Buck Clayton
ONE
One morning in Parsons, Kansas
It was swinging one morning in Parsons, Kansas, around ten o'clock on
November 12th 1911, when I was born. This is my story, the life of a jazz
musician. My father, Simeon Oliver Clayton, in his youth played cornet in
Rockwall, Texas. Texas in those days had quite a few good musicians, almost
as many I think as there were in New Orleans, but New Orleans had the
fame for jazz. He told me many times of an old cornet that he once had but
did not have a case for. He would just stick it in his overcoat pocket and
carry it with him wherever he went. It was only natural that he would teach
me to play trumpet. As Dad got older he finally ended up playing a
sousaphone, which suited him, as he was a big man weighing about two
hundred pounds. Dad was real talented and at an early age became interested
in both music and writing. He was a very good poet and writer and once
owned and was the editor of a newspaper called The Blade.
He had one of the greatest singing groups in the territory. It was a quartet
in which he sang bass and was very popular in southeast Kansas. They called
themselves Clayton's Imperial Four and used to travel all over the state
singing at county fairs, concerts and various programs. When someone
wanted to hire my Dad's quartet they'd say, "Let's call Sim Clayton" (or S.
0. Clayton). I named my son Steven Oliver. I didn't want to put Simeon on
him because it's not a modern name, so I named him Steven Oliver and he
too was known asS. 0. Clayton. Many traveling quartets had to take second
place when they arrived in Parsons and were confronted by my Dad's quartet.
Clayton's Imperial Four was highly regarded by all as one of the leading
quartets at the time.
All four of the guys were wonderful singers. The baritone singer in the
group was Walter Davis, who had a beautiful, rich voice. Walter Davis was
the father of Wild Bill Davis, the great organist who played so many years
with the Duke Ellington band. He was one of the few people who came out
of Parsons that made a name in the jazz world. There were other musicians
to come out of Parsons that I'll speak about later on.
My home town was a small town of about 11,000 people. When I was a
kid it was mostly a railroad town. There was the MKT line-Missouri, Kansas
and Texas line, known also as the Katy line. The Katy line ran north and
south from Texas, Oklahoma and Missouri. There was also the Santa Fe line,
which ran east and west.
My home was a little dull to me. I spent all of my school days there, up
12 / BUCK CLAYTON'S JAZZ WORLD
through high school. My mother, Aritha Anne Dorsey, was a schoolteacher
when I was born. She was also a pianist and vocalist. She was born of Creole
heritage of slave parents, a descendant of a French Huguenot slave owner
named Howell Chastain. She always said that the fact that I had a Frenchman
as a forefather was nothing to be proud of, because he had seduced one of
his slaves.
I was named Wilbur after the inventor and aviator Wilbur Wright. My
mother wanted me to have a name that wouldn't have a nickname, like Bill
for William, Bob for Robert or Eddie for Edward. However, she defeated
her own purpose by nicknaming me Buck. When I was about twelve years
old little wild Indian boys were known as bucks. She always said that I was
a pretty wild kid so she named me Buck, because of being part Cherokee
Indian on my Dad's side of the family.
Mom was born in Stonewall County, Texas, on June 14th 1876 and moved
to Parsons at an early age. She received her early education in the public
schools of Parsons and was graduated from the beauty academy at Joplin,
Missouri. She owned and operated the first beauty parlor in Parsons. She
was a teacher in the public school systems of both Joplin and Parsons. She
married my dad on June 28th 1910. Both were members of the Brown Chapel
African Methodist Episcopal Church and prominent in music circles. My
father was president of the AME church council. My dad just barely missed
being born a slave as he was born on December 24th 1865, the year of
emancipation-which must have been a great joy for my grandparents. Dad
always complained of not getting any birthday presents because of being
born on Christmas Eve. He was born in Rockwall, Texas.
When I was a kid of about seven years old many of the toys that I played
with, when I could afford them, were degrading to black people. I once had
a toy called the "Alabama Coon Jigger." When you wound him up he would
dance. He was blue-black and had great big white eyes and great big red
lips. Even though Dad wrote many poems condemning prejudice, those
were still some pretty rough times for black people.
My mother never did like jazz, especially when she first heard it. She liked
classical music. Once she offered me fifty dollars if I'd learn Rachmaninoff s
Prelude in C sharp minor for piano, which I promptly did. Mom used to say
that jazz was for lowlife people, and sometimes in those days it would seem
that she was right. In Kansas City there was a place called the Yellow Front
where every weekend somebody would get knifed or shot. Murders every
week and sometimes more than one-maybe two or three. And all this was
happening in other Kansas City joints too. The same thing was happening
in New Orleans among prostitutes and pimps. Louis Armstrong used to tell
me later how many people he knew had been killed in little clubs while
listening to jazz by somebody that was either jealous or drunk. Louie told
me that even he had once been cut.
That was not the kind of life my mother wanted me to get into-those
little what we call "bucket of blood" places where you go in and never know
whether you're going to come out alive or not. She never asked me not to
play jazz, but she really didn't like it too much. My father had a little liking
