Dameronia: The Life and Music of Tadd Dameron

Foreword

Foreword Remembering Tadd Dameron The year was 1951. I had just been hired as a saxophonist in Bull Moose Jackson ’s band, and when I arrived I discovered, very much to my surprise, that Bull Moose’s pianist was, of all people, my hero Tadd Dameron. I had been a fan of his long before I joined Bull Moose. I marveled at the way he treated small groups of five or six musicians consisting of trumpet, a saxophone or two, piano, bass, and drums, and I longed to know how he got such a big, full sound out of such a small number of musicians.The groups I heard included Fats Navarro on trumpet, Charlie Rouse on tenor, and Tadd himself on piano. Of course, Tadd had no idea who I was, but he immediately knew I was a fan of his. After our first rehearsal, when he had a chance to hear me play, he eagerly approached and, with a spirit of excitement, told me how impressed he was with me. Then he added,“The next time I go to Europe I’d like to take you with me if you’re agreeable.” If I was agreeable? I almost fell on the floor. It was then that we began our relationship, which would last until his unfortunate death in 1965. This meeting and our relationship would set the course of my career. Tadd took me under his wing and unselfishly shared the inner workings of his exceptionally creative and perceptive mind. It seemed like he held back nothing that his mind had acquired over years of experience writing for many famous luminaries—including even Duke Ellington, who was himself a genius. He never played it close to the chest; he revealed everything he knew as I bombarded him with my endless queries of who, what, where, when, how, why. I was on an excursion full of deep musical epiphanies that were miraculously taking me to places I never knew existed. Though he played tenor saxophone, Bull Moose Jackson had become more x ForeworD well-known as a singer while playing with Lucky Millinder’s band. He got the name “Bull Moose” because his hands and feet were large, as well as his head. Rather than acquiring a name relating to an ape of sorts, he became Bull Moose instead. He was a lovely man with a fantastic voice, which took him to fame with a tune called“I Love You, Yes I Do.” Tadd was a part of Jackson’s aggregation because he and Bull Moose, whose given name was Benjamin, had been schoolmates growing up in Cleveland, Ohio. Tadd was not working at the time when“Moose” (which is what we all called him) approached him and suggested that he could join the band for a while and leave whenever he wanted to. This was the time I joined the band. After settling into the band, it seems Bull Moose wanted to change the personnel , giving it a more up-to-date sound, something more hip yet commercial. Since Moose and his road manager, Snookie Hulbert (also a saxophonist with the group and a former member of the Jimmy Lunceford band), liked the way I played so much, they asked me if I knew a good trumpet player, bass player, and drummer. I did indeed. I suggested they call Johnny Coles, who could read anything and had a sound that could make the heart cry. Then I suggested Jymie Merit, who had played with B. B. King but was also a good jazz bassist. Then came the drummer: none other than Philly Joe Jones, who had not yet acquired the “Philly” moniker that Tadd would later give him. People will never know what a fantastic rhythm-and-blues drummer he was. As I began absorbing the length and breadth of Tadd’s knowledge, my writing began to change dramatically. I began to sound like Tadd Dameron. I remember once we were playing a town in Texas when he said, tongue-in cheek, “What a drag!You write an arrangement and someone comes up to me and says, ‘What a great arrangement, Tadd.’”Actually, he was so proud of me. Even though we were basically a rhythm-and-blues group, the band developed two different appreciative audiences, because we were playing Tadd’s and my work, as well. Some came to hear Bull Moose sing his hits, and some came to hear jazz. We realized this when we played...