Alain Tercinet's Notes for Gitanes CD

When he finally decided to cross the Atlantic, Edward 'Kid' Ory was about to celebrate his

70th birthday. He was only 24 years behind the young man that King Oliver had

recommended as his replacement in 1918 (Louis Armstrong). Four years after that, in

California - registered as Spike's Seven Pods of Pepper Orchestra - Kid Ory was recording

the first sides ever put down by a coloured New Orleans band. So in September 1956, the

Old Continent saw the arrival of a genuine jazz legend bristling with activity. It should also

be said that, thanks to an enthusiastic Orson Welles who'd put him on his radio show back

in 1944, Kid Ory was now the flag bearer for what they called 'The Revival', something that

was as fit as a fiddle in the USA. As were the veterans in the creole jazz band that Kid Ory

introduced to the audience at the Salle Pleyel in Paris on September 22nd and 23rd 1956.

After touring in France, Germany, Switzerland, Holland and Belgium, the trombone-player's

sextet had come back to Paris to say au revoir to their French fans; the stage was the

Theatre des Champs-Elysees, where Ory was recorded on December 5th 1956. One thing

was different however: Ory's most fateful sidekick was missing... drummer Minor Hall had

abruptly gone home to America for health reasons. He was replaced by Kansas Fields,

who'd settled in France after his arrival in 1953 in a band led by Mezz Mezzrow. Whatever

his (great) qualities he was recorded that night with a little too much presence, which

prevented the audience's full appreciation of Wellman Braud's playing. In defence of the

sound engineer it should be said that the hall's acoustics in those days did little help him

work with finesse.

In front of an audience as unruly as it was enthusiastic - traditional jazz supporters weren't

noted for keeping their feelings to themselves -, the aforesaid servants of the New Orleans

(style) showed they'd lost none of their pugnacity and enthusiasm. Alvin Alcorn was a sharp

trumpeter and he proved that even if he'd forgotten more than most would ever learn about

leading an 'ensemble', it didn't mean that he had to resort to any of the old cliches to be a

hit. His trumpet-part on Washington and Lee Swing shows how demanding he was.

The youngest in the band was Phil Gomez, a native Mexican - he was only 37 - and he fastpedalled

some inventive descants on his clarinet with a characteristic flavour that betrayed

his origins. On piano, Cedric Haywood, who'd played with both Illinois Jacquet and Sidney

Bechet, showed he was a highly eclectic player, especially when supported by a bassist of

Wellman Braud's talents. Crowning the whole bunch was the king of the tailgate-trombone,

Kid Ory himself, playing deep glissandos with drive and not straying in the process. He

opened the concert a little guardedly - no doubt thinking that the crowd's reactions were

hostile, whereas in fact they merely translated an eagerness that flirted with the noise that

school-kids make when having a good time -, soon he gave off his best. Serenity had been

recovered.

At the time the critics turned their noses up (as usual); they were apparently indifferent to

the fact that they'd been in the presence of one of jazz's genuine creators. Half a century

later, listening to this concert, you can't help wandering what got into them.