Jazz
Cream cornettists
Martin Gayford
he cornet has been out of fashion for 60 years. Early New Orleans music was dominated by cornettists such as King Oliver and Buddy Bolden, distant figures in Edwardian finery who occupy much the same semi-fabulous position in jazz as, say, Alfred the Great in English history. But their era ended abruptly when Louis Arm- strong rose above the horizon in the mid-Twenties, and when Louis switched to the longer, brighter-sounding trumpet almost everybody else followed.
The few mavericks who stuck to the cornet were presumably beguiled by its redeeming grace — an extraordinarily full tone, This lends itself equally to curt, powerful playing and the most fragile lyricism. Blown by a master, it can produce not only burgundian richness of sound, but also a range of timbres which stretch from the cooing of a dove to the parp of a taxi-horn. Masters, however, have been scattered sparsely through the generations. By my count, there are just three active today — Wild Bill Davison, Ruby Braff and Warren Vache. All are American. One is in his 80s, one in his 60s and one in his 30s.
By chance the oldest, Davison, and the youngest, Vache, are both playing in Eng- land at present. The veteran Davison first developed his jaunty, rasping style in Chicago under the Capone regime, and has retained it intact ever since. Vache, who first emerged in the Seventies, was one of the tiny handful of young musicians who took to traditional jazz at that time, rather than to some brand of electric music. Arriving late in the day, he was able to incorporate elements from many predeces- sors into his playing — Braff, the Ellington band's Rex Stewart, the trumpeters Char- lie Shavers and Bobby Hackett. From time to time there is a hint of be-bop. But the amalgam is personal and expresses the emotional warmth and impulsiveness of the man himself.
Duets between cornet or trumpet and piano are among the most delectable rari- ties in jazz, so when I read that Vache was to try his hand at the form at the Pizza Express, Dean Street, during the Soho Jazz Festival, I hurried along. The pro- ceedings were to start at 6.15 with some solos by the, pianist, Brian Lemon, the duets following later; but the cornettist,.a large, ebullient man smartly dressed in blazer and tartan tie, slid on stage before the first number was over and started to play. It was so early that people were still trickling in. Unfortunately, amongst the scant audience a table of non-listeners -- the hazard of live jazz — was already established and guffawing over the chianti. But Vache and Lemon, apparently obli- vious, dropped straight into a deep well of concentration and the music took wing.
The duet is an exposed and risky form. In Vache's case it revealed the full bril- liance of his playing. He started with a gentle version of Harold Arlen's lovely but seldom heard song, 'My Shining Hour' (his choice of tunes is fastidious, and he scrupu- lously avoids the hackneyed). His tone at slow tempos such as this has a soothing lullaby quality. He speeded up to play `You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To', and his sound became debonair and perky. He threw in a couple of passages using the emphatic, nasal effect that can be pro- duced by half-closing the valves of a brass instrument, and at one point shook a phrase as if it were a rabbit and he were a dog. He finished the set with 'The Song Is `Well, it doesn't look carcinogenic to me.' You' played at high velocity. The notes poured out in a bubbling, undulating cas- cade.
He thanked us for our kind attention, with one eye fixed on the noisy party — who were, one gathered, celebrating a spectacular promotion at Tesco's -- and then, within a few seconds, he had bound- ed up the stairs and out of the club. I went in pursuit, and found him refreshing him- self across the road. Over a hastily swal- lowed drink he explained his unscheduled early appearance. 'I couldn't lose the opportunity to play a little extra with Brian. Duets like this are different and interesting, and I don't often get the chance to play them.' Anxious to start again, he soon dashed back to the Pizza Express.
For the next hour one beautiful render- ing of a neglected song succeeded another: `Emaline', 'Old Folks', Duke Ellington's `Warm Valley', a clutch of tunes recorded by Billie Holliday, and several whose titles eluded me. Brian Lemon, however, merely gave each lead-sheet a glance of recogni- tion as it came out of a thick brown envelope on the piano. Music of this kind — melodic, intimate and generously ex- pressive forms one of the most engaging strands in jazz. It is a relief to discover that it is also surviving tenaciously.
By the time the third set had finished with a flourish, the room was full and the applause long and hearty. Vache looked round with a mildly triumphant air, and whizzed off to have a Chinese meal. He. and Davison, will be playing here and there until the end of the month. Catch them if you can.
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