[TR24][OF] Ben Webster - Ballads - 1967-1971/2017 (Jazz, Blues)

Ben Webster (tenor saxophone, strings),
Teddy Wilson (piano),
Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen (double bass),
Makaya Ntsoko (drums),
Ole Kock Hansen (piano),
Ole Molin (guitar),
Hugo Rasmussen (double bass),
Bjarne Rostvold (drums),
Kenny Drew (piano),
Albert Tootie Heath (drums)
Danish Radio Big Band, Niels Jorgen Steen

The identification of Ben Webster with slow ballads is so natural that it’s surprising
there have not been more albums like the present one. It seems the only previous
ballad collections are Ben’s three albums with strings, which obviously constitute
a special genre of “mood music”. The first of in fact was titled, with the naivety of the very
early LP-era, Music for Loving.
This album on the other hand, represents much better the performances which were an
essential part of Ben’s live repertoire. Selected from the typical saxophone-and-rhythm
format of his European period (1964-73), it deliberately places together a series of similar
tempos and similar standard songs, each played during a longer set of big-band music or
of Ben’s ow group. Unlike the with-strings recordings, it throws a clear spotlight on this
remarkable aspect of the saxophonist’s work.
Still, one might argue that such a selection process is also a falsification. That is, in live performance
Ben’s ballads were invariably part of a set, not the whole set, and therefore it is
“unrealistic” to link a series of individual items in this way. But the most interesting side-effect
of this album is to underline the split that Ben himself is said to have made between his ballads
and the rest of his playing. It has frequently been observed that, after the ballads became
prominent in the 1940s, he reserved all his romanticism for these pieces, which were progressively
divorced from the forceful, driving and even gruff sounds he preferred at faster tempos.
If this is true, it’s worth speculating about why this split came to be. It’s well known that
Ben’s initial ambition, after taking up the saxophone in 1929, was confined to imitating
Coleman Hawkins. Since it was only with ‘Body and Soul’ ten years later that Hawk
became widely recognised as a ballad interpreter, that was probably still Ben’s aim in his
earlies ballad efforts. But it was also through those famous early solos with the Ellington
band that fellow musicians – and Ben himself, no doubt – first realised how far he was
becoming a unique non-imitative stylist.
And there is an emotional dimension to this development too. While he was an
Ellingtonian, Ben became a particular buddy of the young (and tragically doomed) bassist
Jimmy Blanton; years later, in a fit of alcohol-induced depression, he explained his reaction
with the words, “Blanton died”. It might also be relevant that, although he often imagined
himself to be handy with his fists, he was devoted to his mother and aunt – and that those
were his most enduring female attachments. The story reported by Digby Fairweather in
‘Jazz: The Essential Companion’ (Grafton/Paladin) of Ben pretending to threaten a prostitute
(“I know you’re there, honey! Come on Out!”) seems to illustrate the rather jokey aggression
of his up-tempo work and the thwarted tenderness of his ballads.
In fact ‘Stardust’, performed with Teddy Wilson, was already a feature for Ben while he
was with Ellington, although he did not record it in the studio until 1951, as a member
of Johnny Otis’s band. Here it demonstrates all the pared-down ardour of his later years,
with the opening chorus containing nothing but the exact notes of the melody modified
only by timing and articulation – an amazing feat of subtle re-definition. This delightful
directness is thrown into greater relief on the two tracks with the Danish Radio Band, ‘Cry
Me A River’ deploying the brass and reeds I a dramatic arrangement which the tenorist
fits into with ease, especially in the final half-chorus. ‘Greensleeves’, with the strings and
woodwinds, affords also a useful comparison with two other notable versions, by Hawkins
and John Coltrane.
The remaining numbers are all tenor-plus-rhythm, with either Kenny Drew or Ole Kock
Hansen on piano, although ‘For Heaven’s Sake’ also has associations with a famous “withstrings”
recording by Billie Holiday (even if the rhythm-section harmonies here are closer
to Bill Evans). ‘My Romance’ shows Ben’s rhythmic freedom, with a basic behind-the-beat
feel leading to unexpected accents mid-phrase. Both ‘Willow Weep For Me’ and ‘Old Folks’
are taken at the dead-slow tempo which only really became fashionable in the 1960s, and
both allow Ben ample scope for his complex simplicity.
Not only is his timing full of the previously mentioned finesse, but the detail of his tonal
variation is fascinating. The more or less pronounced breathiness on prominent notes,
sometimes combined with slurs, contrasts with shorter and firmer tones and with the occasional
piercing foray into the upper register. Which is, in the final analysis, not far different
from the techniques he employed when not specialising in ballads.
BRIAN PRIESTLEY
(Author of Jazz On Record: A History (Elm Tree Books))