Harold Land: The Fox

There was once a legendary trumpet player named Jack Purvis who was a disciple of Louis Armstrong. Purvis was an excellent player, but he was in and out of trouble for most of his life. So he spent some time in jail. In fact, so much time that Purvis once led (documented in the Fort-Worth Star Telegram, March 30, 1938) a broadcast from a Texas prison in Huntsville. Purvis led many lives, and was sometimes spotted in odd places like merchant ships where he worked as a deckhand, not a musician. The stories about him are hard to credit, but Michael Steinman, the noted jazz historian, reports that he spoke to a trumpet player who told him that twenty years after the date of Purvis' supposed death, someone came up to him in a club where he was playing claiming to be... Jack Purvis. Legendary trumpet players are often like that. They do not behave like "normal" people, often have problems with drugs or alcohol—as Purvis did—and thus lead complicated lives.

Dupree Bolton, too, was a legendary trumpet player. Not a few other musicians basically said he had the worst heroin problem they had encountered. By that they meant Bolton would disappear on the job in order to score drugs. He refined his fearsome chops in prison stints in Oklahoma and California (Bolton was with Art Pepper in San Quentin, where he reputedly practiced seventeen hours a day. Hearing Bolton for the first time is a bit like what being run over by a departing jumbo jet must feel like. The word "amazing" is not inappropriate because his technique, while not immaculate, is jaw-dropping. He comes at a listener like a rocket-propelled grenade. You will find Bolton on this historic recording. Judge for yourself.

There was one crucial difference between them. Purvis was white while Bolton was black. But one suspects that neither of them would have fit snugly in a modern university jazz program, or most anywhere else, for that matter.

When The Fox was released in 1960, it caused a sensation in the world of bop. Harold Land, on tenor saxophone, was already a great player. He would go on to accompany Clifford Brown on "Joy Spring." Listening to him here makes it quite clear that he belonged in company of Brown's caliber.

Oh, then there is the rhythm section. Elmo Hope (piano), Frank Butler (drums), and Herbie Lewis (bass). On the title track, "The Fox" they sound as if they are in nearly complete control at what must be at least 360 bpm—at least. And Hope and Land are responsible for all the compositions.

"The Fox" is the title track. The solo order is first Land, then Bolton, and finally Lewis. On the way out, they trade. To be honest, the playing is not entirely clean, as if anyone could navigate a horn flawlessly at that tempo or stay "together" with someone else. This is Dr Johnson's dog walking on its hind legs, and Bolton slips once or twice. Still, it is amazing. They take a break on "Mirror-Mind Rose," and both Land and Bolton seem to say that they can play both play pretty too, although Land is more convincing. "One Second, Please" is back to bop, with Land in the lead. Bolton's solo is if anything, both singing and scorching, and Hope follows suit. Trading fours again, before the out chorus, gives Butler a chance to be creative. On vinyl, this is Side One. The interval, as they say, comes at just the right time, because there is a lot to absorb.

Side Two begins with "Sims A-Plenty." This time Hope leads off, more than respectably, with Land in tow. Bolton then follows directly with what can only be called a factual statement. Butler finally gets a clear solo, and a good one it is too. The title, honestly, is a mystery, but Land was prone to enigmatic titles, like "Smack Up," which he explained had nothing to do with heroin. "Little Chris" is a tune that Land wrote in honor of his son. Bolton rips through one of his cleaner solos and Butler's very musical statement leads the band into the out chorus. "One Down" is one tune where the band's intro chorus sounds a little shaky, but Bolton once again tears off powerful choruses, with Lewis firmly driving in the background. Another rhythmic Butler solo complements the rest.

Complaining about anything on a recording of this caliber seems a bit grumpy. If not a perfect performance, it is a sensational one. All the excitement the release generated over sixty years ago was justified. In retrospect, it was Bolton who was the focus, as he should have been, for he ended up in prison once again. Bolton later recorded with Curtis Amy on Katanga (Pacific Jazz, 1963) so there are a few other chances to check him out. Listening for his uncredited early work in big bands and—there are a few leads—has kept musicologists occupied.

Without wanting to raise an unpleasant subject once again, knowing how hooked (and unrepentant) Bolton was most of the time does lead to speculations about drugs, bop, impossible tempos, creativity—the whole Bird syndrome. So many great players—not a few of them trumpeters—destroyed one way or another by heroin, alcohol, or both.

With Bolton, as with Fats Navarro, Bunny Berigan and Doug Mettome, the music is (almost literally) their monument. Craft Recordings has produced an exemplary vinyl reissue that allows all the subtleties of this historic blowing session to come through. If only there were more.

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