As this series continues to explore musical genres with major roots in the Black American experience, I’d like to take a point of personal privilege and focus on the music that drew me into becoming both a jazz fan and a devotee of vocal harmony.
As a teenager, I had the privilege of attending a premier high school in New York City, dedicated to both music and the visual arts. At that time, it was called simply the High School of Music and Art, but has since merged with the High School of Performing Arts (portrayed in the movie and TV series Fame) into one building known as Fiorello LaGuardia High School. Those of us who went to M&A, as we called it, often spoke of ourselves as “Castleites” since our school building resembled a castle on a hill in Harlem. Though I was an art student, the music side of things was part of all students’ daily life, and we were proud that Leonard Bernstein had conducted and composed for our orchestra, and that trumpeter Donald Byrd guided our jazz chorus. We gathered in the stairwells (which had great acoustics) or outside of school after classes to sing. Our rite of passage to hipness was to be able to sing “Cloudburst” by Lambert, Hendricks & Ross (L, H & R) all the way through. I can still do it … 56 years after graduating in 1964.
The lyrics are simple enough, and the song itself doesn’t seem too challenging in the beginning.
I was blue and I was always wearing a frown
Because my gal had turned me down.
Then we met and you can bet I knew from the first,
You were my love and that’s when the old gray cloud burst.
My heart really flew the day you caught my eye,
I hope that we two will never say goodbye.
Clouds of gray have silver linings when they're reversed,
I found your love, and that's when the old gray cloud burst!
But then things shift into high speed, with Jon Hendricks rattling off lyrics at a dizzying pace and with machine gun precision.
This song was my introduction to what we now know as ”vocalese.”
Vocalese is the setting of lyrics to established jazz orchestral instrumentals. The word was coined by jazz critic Leonard Feather to describe the first Lambert, Hendricks, & Ross album, Sing a Song of Basie. On that album, overdubbing was used so that the three singers using Jon's lyrics could replace the entire horn section of the Count Basie Orchestra. Jon feels that the word most properly applies to such elaborate multi-voice orchestral works, and it is in this context that Jon is the "Father of Vocalese."
The term is muddied, however, because most commentators leave the word "orchestral" out of the definition. They do not distinguish between the multi-part works pioneered by Hendricks & Lambert, and the earlier style pioneered by Eddie Jefferson and King Pleasure, where one solo instrument's part is replaced by a single singer. The styles are obviously closely related, and it can be hard to tell where one shades into the other. It was this definition of vocalese that Kurt Elling was thinking of when he called Jon "the godfather of vocalese and perfecter of the art."
Whatever definition you use, vocalese is not scat, though one is commonly mistaken for the other. Scat is singing nonsense syllables, generally to a tune which is improvised on the spot. Vocalese is singing words to a pre-arranged tune.
If you’re still struggling to understand the nature of vocalese, consider the Mile’s Davis jazz classic “Freddy Freeloader,” featuring Miles Davis on trumpet, Julian "Cannonball" Adderley on alto sax, John Coltrane on tenor sax, and Wynton Kelly on piano.
Jon Hendricks invited a few of his friends to vocalese the song for a 1990 album of the same name. Hendricks wrote the lyrics; Bobby McFerrin sings Wynton Kelly’s piano solo, Al Jarreau sings the Miles Davis solo, Hendricks sings Coltrane’s tenor sax solo, and George Benson sings Cannonball Adderley’s alto sax solo.
One thing that may not occur to you when you first see L, H & R is that they were extraordinary for the time period they started in. Founded in the late 1950s, L, H & R was a mixed racial and gender group. Validating the Voice In The Music of Lambert, Hendricks & Ross is a fascinating University of Pittsburgh dissertation on this aspect of their performance by Lee Ellen Martin.
Lambert, Hendricks & Ross was an unusual vocal jazz trio. Made up of Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks, and Annie Ross, they were one of the only interracial and mixed gender vocal jazz groups in the United States in the late 1950s. They were known for their vocalese—a style of singing in which lyrics are set to recorded instrumental melodies and improvisations. Their music revealed that the voice could fulfill its traditional role by contributing language through lyrics, and simultaneously take on the qualities of an instrument. In 1957, they set words to Count Basie big band recordings and recreated the entire ensemble with three voices. Their album Sing a Song of Basie (1957), was not only a hit, but is now considered the first foundational group recording of vocalese. In addition to their unorthodox sound, they were also a highly unusual looking group in 1950s America. Lambert, Hendricks, & Ross was a racially integrated and mixed gender trio comprised of a white vocal arranger from Boston (Lambert), an African-American vocalist and lyricist (Hendricks), and a Scottish born, former Hollywood child starlet (Ross). Together from 1957 to 1962, Lambert, Hendricks & Ross redefined vocal jazz while simultaneously reflecting changing social attitudes towards race and gender in the United States.
Writing for the Virginian-Pilot in 2017, Rashod Ollison explores “When Lambert, Hendricks & Ross were the hottest group in jazz.”
L,H &R expanded vocalese and made it hipper and smarter. Each member possessed a dynamic tone and range, especially Ross, an early influence on Joni Mitchell and one of the most underrated female vocalists in jazz. Each also graduated from the school of bop, and the style informed virtually every note the group sang. Lambert masterminded the trio, which was born out of jam sessions at his apartment. He and Hendricks shared similar musical tastes and recorded together in the mid-'50s to limited success.
Their fortunes and sound changed when Ross joined the fold, bringing her refined trumpet-like range. Lambert wrote dense vocal lines for each singer – lines that didn't seem at all related. But they melded beautifully over spare instrumentation. Hendricks wrote deft lyrics with a poet's eye, leavened by a down-to-earth wit. The singers had flair to spare but never forsook the rich and nuanced musicality of their approach.
The eight albums L,H&R released between 1957 and 1962 are all excellent, brimming with stunning vocal performances. Three of those LPs – "The Hottest New Group in Jazz," "Lambert, Hendricks & Ross Sing Ellington" and "High Flying with the Ike Isaacs Trio" – were released by Columbia Records between 1959 and 1961. The sessions were produced by Irving Townsend and Teo Macero, famous for his work with Miles Davis.
After a career spanning decades, Hendricks died in 2017 at the age of 96. He was eulogized widely, and I appreciated this tribute from NPR.
First and foremost, he was a storyteller: funny, dexterous with language and erudite. Jon Hendricks could reference practically anything in his lyrics – from the controversy over Shakespeare's identity to the Spanish Civil War – and make them swing. Still, he'll be remembered best for his mini-oral histories of the jazz world — like his lyrics for Count Basie's 1930's classic "Jumpin' at the Woodside."
"The Woodside is a hotel on 125th [St.] and 8th Avenue," Hendricks told NPR in 2011. "Everybody stayed there because you didn't have to go to bed at nine or 10. You could have jam session at 3 a.m. Old vaudevillians and musicians ran the hotel, the man and his wife. And so I told that story."
Like his idol, the poet Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Hendricks penned folk poetry. Only he chose his words to mimic the sounds of instruments, fitting texts not just to melodies, but the most technically demanding jazz solos.
Enjoy the story told in “Jumpin’ at the Woodside,” if you can keep up with the rapid-fire lyrics!
One of the other historical side notes to attending M&A for high school is that one of my classmates, Marion Cowings, became an L, H&R understudy. He continues the vocalese tradition to this day. Check out his solo version of “Freddie Freeloader.”
Though Jon Hendricks gets much of the credit for establishing vocalese, the person who many attribute the creation of the form, at least in the solo realm, is Eddie Jefferson.
Although there were a couple obscure early examples (Bee Palmer in 1929 and Marion Harris in 1934, both performing “Singing the Blues”), Eddie Jefferson is considered the founder, and premier performer of vocalese, the art of taking a recording and writing words to the solos, which Jefferson was practicing as early as 1949.
Eddie Jefferson’s first career was as a tap dancer but in the bebop era he discovered his skill as a vocalese lyricist and singer. He wrote lyrics to Charlie Parker’s version of “Parker’s Mood” and Lester Young’s “I Cover the Waterfront” early on, and he is responsible for “Moody’s Mood for Love” (based on James Moody’s alto solo on “I’m in the Mood for Love”). King Pleasure recorded “Moody’s Mood for Love” before Jefferson (getting the hit) and had his own lyrics to “Parker’s Mood,” but in time Jefferson was recognized as the founder of the idiom.
I’ve talked about “Moody’s Mood For Love” before as it was a theme song for one of the most famous Black DJs, Frankie Crocker. Here’s Jefferson’s version.
And here’s King Pleasure’s version.
Sadly, Jefferson was murdered in 1979.
Eddie was shot dead after a performance at the historic Baker’s Lounge in Detroit on May 9, 1979 by a disgruntled former dancer for Jefferson who felt he was discharged by him without adequate cause. Sadly, the shooter was acquitted in his criminal trial several months later, Eddie Jefferson was only 60 years of age.
This vibrant performance was recorded just three days before his death.
Here’s a tribute to Jefferson soon after his untimely death, performed by Manhattan Transfer.
Before I discuss the vocalese heirs to L, H & R and Jefferson, like Manhattan Transfer, it’s important to recognize that American vocalese also sparked groups across the pond; the most well-known was the Double Six of Paris.
Les Double Six (also known as the Double Six of Paris) was a French vocal jazz group established in 1959 by Mimi Perrin. The group established an international reputation in the early 1960s. The name of the group was an allusion to the fact that the sextet used overdubbing techniques to achieve twelve-part singing. The membership of the group varied from recording to recording. They sang in French jazz standards, particularly themes by Quincy Jones and Dizzy Gillespie, thanks to the poetic or humorous texts written by the imaginative Perrin. Inspired several American groups, the singers vocalized in the manner of instruments, reconstructing brilliant improvisations of saxophone, trumpets or trombones.
The group was not long-lasting. Due to Perrin's health problems (she had contracted tuberculosis in 1949), Les Double Six dissolved in 1966. They recorded four albums between 1959 and 1964. Many members of the group went on to join the Swingle Singers, which notably reproduced the works of Bach in the jazz vocal style.
I fell in love with the Double Six’s vocalese version of John Coltrane’s “Naima,” which was written as a tribute to his first wife.
Here’s Coltrane’s original version.
Less well known—and also birthed in France—were Les Blue Stars, founded in 1952 by American singer Blossom Dearie.
Swinging back to the States, let’s fast forward a couple decades to the next big boost for vocalese: the formation of The Manhattan Transfer.
It’s been nearly forty years since Tim Hauser, a former Madison Avenue marketing executive, paid his bills by driving a New York City cab while aspiring to form a harmony vocal quartet sui generis that could authentically embrace varied musical styles, and still create something wholly unique in the field of American popular song. Hauser had been in doo-wop groups, folk groups, and even in a short-lived quintet named The Manhattan Transfer, but as the sounds of jazz, R&B, pop, rock ‘n’ roll, salsa and swing poured out of brownstones, Hauser now dreamt of four-part harmonies without limits.
In the Fall of 1972, Hauser’s taxi fare was an aspiring young singer named Laurel Massé, who was familiar with the sole album by Hauser’s earlier Manhattan Transfer combo, and was looking to form a group. A few weeks later, another of Hauser’s fares invited him to a party where he met Brooklyn native Janis Siegel; although already in a group, Siegel agreed to help out on some demos and before long she was the third member of The Manhattan Transfer. As Hauser, Massé and Siegel began rehearsing, Massé’s then-boyfriend, who was drumming in a Broadway pit band, introduced Hauser and Siegel to Alan Paul, who was co-starring in the original production of Grease, and the rest, as they say, is history.
One of The Manhattan Transfer’s earliest hits was the Erskine Hawkins tune “Tuxedo Junction,” which they recorded in 1976.
For music listeners and critics, The Manhattan Transfer’s killer album, simply titled Vocalese, was the ultimate success.
The album VOCALESE has become known as The Manhattan Transfer’s most critically acclaimed moment. “Vocalese” received 12 Grammy nominations, making it second only to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” as the most nominated single album ever. The album earned them Grammy Awards for “Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Duo or Group” and “Best Vocal Arrangements for Voices” for Cheryl Bentyne and Bobby McFerrin for their work on the song “Another Night In Tunisia.” The term “Vocalese” refers to a style of music that sets lyrics to previously recorded jazz instrumental pieces. The vocal then reproduces the sound and feel of the original instrumentation. Jon Hendricks, the recognized master of this art, composed all the lyrics for the album.
The group performed the album live in Japan in 1986.
With that great performance, I’m going to close. I realize that I left out half of what I promised last week—namely a cappella, so please accept my apologies and stay tuned next Sunday.
Swing it—and sing it!—and don’t forget to vote.
