Teddy Edwards / Howard McGhee: Together Again!!!!

Howard McGhee was one of the cats present at the creation, when bop became a thing. His life embodied a classic redemption story, complete with death (metaphorically) by drugs, years in exile and finally, by dint of his own struggles and a timely gig with Woody Herman, resurrection. While he had been widely admired and respected in the late 1940s as a pioneering trumpeter, the unspoken judgment was that it was his misfortune to come to prominence when Dizzy Gillespie had. Admirers of McGhee may have thought Gillespie had it somewhat easier, less affected by issues of race and drugs. Whatever the case, McGhee sank into a period of obscurity.

He did make some recordings in the 1950s, and if one of them, Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries (Bethlehem, 1956) is hardly memorable, while The Return of Howard McGhee(Bethlehem, 1956) is really not so bad, albeit not up to McGhee's work a decade earlier. It was not until five years later that Maggie's Back in Town (Contemporary, 1961) appeared to genuine acclaim. That was just the start.

McGhee had first worked with saxophonist Teddy Edwards between 1946 and 1948, but that was a different version of McGhee. And perhaps, a different version of Edwards as well.

Edwards had somehow fallen out of favor as the West Coast sound began to filter in. He made very few recordings between 1948 and 1957, although it was under McGhee's influence that he had switched from alto to tenor. So it was somewhat providential that both players came together to record Together Again in 1961. Jazz critics, like the proverbial cats, are difficult to herd, but, with one exception, were almost uniformly bowled over by the recording. In retrospect, just looking at the personnel might suggest that this was going to be a good one, but McGhee's companion on his Bethlehem recordings were hardly marginal players. Something just jelled here, which Edwards described as "a good feeling." Listening to the recording, another outstanding addition to the Contemporary Records Acoustic Sounds Series, is all that is required.

"Together Again," by Teddy Edwards is a bracing introduction. The air around the tune is brash, a kind of arrival announcement. McGhee rolls out licks that will appear in subsequent recordings. His tone, very different from a decade earlier, is not exactly pretty, but fuller and more confident. Edwards follows with a chorus that yields nothing to McGhee in swagger. Phineas Newborn, Jr., who was frequently accused of playing too much to no end, manages to avoid that. He is funky and mostly coherent. Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen both push matters along.

There seem to be two distinct versions of "You Stepped Out of a Dream," one of which carries the title and opens with McGhee playing a tightly muted introduction and stating the melody. His solo break is fluent, swinging and as good a performance as anyone will ever hear from him. He must have gotten intrigued by the changes because the listener hears them behind McGee's "Sandy" in a rather different form. Edwards is every bit a match for McGhee on this tune, if not more. On his solo on "Sandy," McGhee's characteristic style, the way he rolled his notes and phrased, was already there, fully formed. Edwards really gets going and somehow ends up quoting "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby." Newborn's solo is not in any way cluttered, and hints at what he could do when not wrestling with his demons. Ray Brown, of course, is Ray Brown, really hitting the upper extensions of the chords. "Misty" is a lovely job by Edwards, and, apparently, one of his signature tunes. "Up There" is a brisk romp over rhythm changes. Probably a good way to finish out a side. In "Perhaps," both McGhee and Edwards get back to their roots with Charlie Parker.

This is a remarkable recording on many grounds. It will somehow remain a mystery that in the 1960s and 1970s, some of the members of this band (Brown, Thigpen) went on to bigger and better things, some (Newborn) simply disappeared and McGhee and Edwards were perennially underrated. As Jimmy Carter once remarked, "Life isn't fair." Indeed it is not, and this recording would seem to prove it.

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