Growing up,
I didn’t get to listen to a lot of jazz. It typically wasn’t played around my
house by either of my parents and I certainly didn’t get exposed to it from any
of my peers. I do recall later on a time when my mother developed an affinity
for smooth jazz or “elevator jazz,” as I called it back then. Artists like
Spyro Gyra (or, if she wasn’t in the mood for the rowdiness of Spyro Gyra, The
Rippingtons), were a go-to. I fucking hated it. I still fucking hate it. It’s boring
and soulless and reminds me of intercom music from the days of being dragged to
musty grey department stores and schlepped around in a cart while my mom bought
box fans and fondue pots and continually told me “no” when I would ask to get
one single He-Man figure. But anyway, I digress.
That was my idea of jazz when I was
growing up, is my point. And I wanted no part of it. So you can imagine my
delight when I got older and discovered real jazz on my own and how wonderful
and inspiring and truly creative the world of jazz could be. I started to check
out all the greats: Bird, Diz, Miles… everyone. To this day, there are certain
artists and certain records that I know I should enjoy, but I struggle with.
Gerry Mulligan was one of these artists for many years. I’m a die-hard fan now,
but it took a minute. The first one that I ever listened to was his 1963 record
Night Lights and I instantly hated it. Obviously this has a happy ending
because I’m writing about it, but when I first heard it I thought it sounded
too much like the smooth jazz that made me resent my mom’s tastes years prior.
But there’s more to this little gem than that and upon multiple listens I fell
in love with its beauty and sheer sensuality.
Most jazz fans are no doubt familiar
with the work of Gerry Mulligan and, in particular, his piano-less material with
Chet Baker from the mid-to-late ‘50s cool jazz era. It was during this period
where the baritone saxophonist cut his teeth with some of the most talented
ensembles of the time. As an arranger, Mulligan worked with many jazz giants of
the ‘50s, such as Stan Kenton and Miles Davis. Because of these associations,
or perhaps in spite of them, Mulligan developed a bit of a reputation as
perfectionist and often demanded center stage attention from his audiences. On Night
Lights, however, Mulligan opts to take an unexpected back seat to his
sextet of stellar players, including valve trombonist and longtime collaborator
Bob Brookmeyer, Art Farmer on flugelhorn, Bill Crow on bass, Dave Bailey on drums
and the inimitable Jim Hall on guitar. The result is one of the most
breathtaking records of the 1960s.
For starters, Mulligan isn’t as
present on Night Lights as he has been in previous sessions. Kicking
things off is the title track, the first of three original compositions to
appear on the album. Uniquely, old “Jeru” doesn’t even play his signature
instrument on it, opting instead to lead the piece with a shimmering piano line
that sounds as if it’s being played in a smoke-filled after-hours club. Other
highlights include a rendition of Chopin’s “Prelude in E-Minor” with a distinct
Latin flavor and an enchanting version of the standard “In the Wee Small Hours
of the Morning.” Night Lights is a decidedly ballad-heavy album and
plays at a very slow pace, which is not necessarily to its detriment. Although
there are no real upbeat numbers to speak of here and it is markedly lacking
any improvisation (something Mulligan excels at normally), it more than makes
up for it in musical prowess and romanticism. Mulligan and company definitely
capture a mood here and that mood is unmistakably “night life.”
At just over 30 minutes (not
including the bonus CD track which is a fantastic alternate take of the song
“Night Lights” recorded in 1965), this record is a short but sweet bachelor pad
classic. Perfect for cocktails or for date night.
-
Jonathan Eagle
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