Bill Barron never achieved the profile he deserved. A sax player who worked with pianist Cecil Taylor, drummer Philly Joe Jones, bassist Charles Mingus, and undersung trumpeter Ted Curson, his opportunities to record as a leader, always using his pianist brother Kenny, found wider success eluding him. Much of his finest work was cut in the ‘60s; Hot Line – The Tenor of Bill Barron was his third LP, documented on March 31st, 1962 for the Savoy label.
So many tenors were on the scene in the early ‘60s that the fate of jazz-buff fandom was far from exclusive to Bill Barron. The good news? Extensive work as an educator allowed the man to be selective in the circumstances surrounding his studio legacy, so it’s only a sad tale in that his discography isn’t more bountiful.
In the notes to Hot Line, Barron describes its contents as a blowing date, and he’s surely correct. It’s an uncommonly strong one, with a smartly assembled group employed in service of an objective at once laid back and intense. It’s a two tenor and rhythm section setup, the quintet consisting of tiptop players; Booker Ervin is the other horn, sibling Kenny warms the piano bench, the always solid Larry Ridley is on bass, and Andrew Cyrille (credited here as Andy) takes up the drum position.
However, unlike many blowing sessions, the focus here weighs more toward originals; they win 5-2 over standards (5-3 on some later CDs), the saxophonist programming four of his tunes and one written by frequent playing partner Ted Curson. With this said the pieces are conducive to an upbeat atmosphere, so if blowing is what one wants, the program won’t disappoint.
Bill Barron’s debut on record came as part of Cecil Taylor’s ’59 LP for United Artists, Love for Sale, an unusual and notable album since it presented one of the most brilliant, singular and uncompromising musicians in the annals of jazz at his closest point to conventionality, exploring three by Cole Porter and a blues (alongside Hot Line cohort Cyrille, Barron would play with Taylor again at the ’65 Newport Jazz Festival).
Later in ’59 Barron took part in Philly Joe Jones’ Riverside session Showcase, the association extending to the following year’s Atlantic effort Philly Joe’s Beat; not long thereafter he contributed to Charles Mingus’ Mercury disc Pre-Bird (later billed as Mingus Revisited). In February of ’61 Savoy awarded Barron his first leadership date, The Tenor Stylings of Bill Barron corralling Curson, 17 year old Kenny, drummer Frankie Dunlop, and bassist Jimmy Garrison shortly before he began playing in the Classic Quartet of John Coltrane.
Less than four months later Savoy coordinated another gathering, Bill, Kenny, and Curson joined by baritone specialist Jay Cameron, bassist Eddie Kahn, and drummer Pete LaRoca Sims for the ambitious Modern Windows – A Jazz Suite from the New ‘Soul’. Nearly ten months elapsed before Barron and crew waxed Hot Line.
Though most noted today as an alumnus of Mingus and for his fruitful ’63-’66 Prestige run, previous to Hot Line Booker Ervin had already amassed three LPs under his name: The Book Cooks for Bethlehem, Cookin’ for Savoy (both ’60), and That’s It! for Candid (’61). As evidenced by Hot Line’s opener “Bill’s Boogie” the two tenors have complimentary styles, the pair easily adapting their distinctive improvisational voices to the natural jamming environment mentioned in the liners.
Barron can be assessed as in the mold of young Coltrane, but he additionally favors some of the gruffness and circular patterns found in the playing of Eric Dolphy as he explores bursts of rough but well controlled terrain in the upper register. In short, he’s got a foot planted firmly in post-bop as the other one wiggles around in New Thing territory.
Ervin is bluesier, closer to what some have called the Texas tradition, with the gnawing, inviting element in his sound resulting in a discography significantly larger than Barron’s. It’s a reality that stings a bit when considering Ervin died of kidney disease in 1970 at the age of 39, almost twenty years before Barron was felled by cancer.
But let’s accentuate the positive, shall we? They’re both in prime form here, the gusty, searching reed-work continuing on “Groovin’.” Furthermore, the rhythm section is a major beacon of good vibes. For starters, Kenny’s keyboard line on “Bill’s Boogie,” somewhat remindful of Horace Parlan on Mingus Ah Um, is a treat. And across Hot Line the pianist is given the most space to solo, though it’s not that abundant and not derived from nepotism. Nah, big bro Bill was simply wise to how the 88s were/are much better suited for flights of improvisation than either bass or drums.
The originals are structured to allow Ridley and Cyrille to make an indelible mark on the music while avoiding the solo-spot formula that was starting to become a mite hackneyed by ’62. In this, Barron is again similar compositionally to Mingus; without biting his moves, “A Cool One” is quite resonant of Sir Charles’ style, so those fond of the master bassist could find Hot Line strolling right up their alley.
Speaking of bassists, Larry Ridley’s not spoken of enough for a guy possessing such (unsurprisingly) broad credits; he sounds outstanding here, large and aggressive but smooth and buoyant and always in command. He does get a 15 second walking intro and concise solo on the terrific expansion of Charlie Parker’s stone classic “Now’s the Time.” He doesn’t fall short.
Catching Cyrille at this early, more “inside” juncture is great for my avant-garde attuned ears. That he could roll in a straight-ahead fashion was not in doubt, for he recorded with the indefatigable Coleman Hawkins on ‘61’s The Hawk Relaxes for Moodsville/Prestige, but it’s nice to actually hear him in an “advanced bop” setting. Even here, Cyrille was clearly adept at communicating the essence of the rhythmic ideal and at making the cymbals come alive, and his brief spotlight in “Groovin’” is a gas.
“Jelly Roll” is even more train-like as hints of noir emerge, and the swaggering lope of the head in Curson’s “Playhouse March” brings a little West Coast to my mind (Shorty Rogers in particular), though it proceeds so swingingly that it can seem as if Roland Kirk is going to saunter out to wail on the stritch. A confident inspection of Nat Adderley’s “Work Song” delivers an appealing finale to Hot Line’s LP configuration (reissues have added a reading of Parker’s “Billie’s Bounce”).
Interestingly, the Bill Barron Quartet gave Savoy its last release (1972’s Motivation) before the vastly important label shut down operations. Curson’s mid-‘60s albums, Tears for Dolphy for Fontana and The New Thing and the Blue Thing for Atlantic also feature Barron. And Kenny, sixteen years Bill’s junior and still active, has developed into an artist of stunning prolificacy and stature. If far less busy, Bill Barron kept recording, Higher Ground cut roughly eight months prior to his death in September 1989.
His early stuff is the place to begin listening, and much of it is pretty easy to hear; Fresh Sound gathered up the three ‘60s Savoy slabs onto a 2CD set that’s also available digitally, but to my knowledge none of its tracks have ever been reissued on vinyl. All are very worthy candidates for repress, especially Hot Line; from start to finish it’s a delight. More than just a blowing session, it reinforces how deep the ‘60s jazz scene truly was.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
