My musical musings have been noticeable by their absence over the last few months. My inclination to commit my thoughts about jazz to print took a severe knock with the death in October of my best friend, trumpeter John Chapman, and since then, I have not felt the urge to muse.
However, life goes on, as does the Yarl River Jazz Band. As I write, we are rehearsing a fine young trumpeter who will shortly make his debut with the band. So, what should be the subject of my latest musing? With John in mind and a freshly developing trumpet style to assimilate, could I do anything else but concentrate on the best of trumpets?
I have my own favourites among trumpet players, of course. Oddly enough, not the most obvious or expected ones. I love listening to George Mitchell on the Morton Red Hot Peppers and the classic Johnny Dodds sessions of July 1926, and I wish that he had been recorded more. Jabbo Smith competed with Armstrong for the crown of trumpet king in the late twenties and who could listen to his Jazz Battle (http://www.redhotjazz.com/Songs/jabbo/JazzBattle.ram) without being impressed; or be amazed at his precocious talent and confidence as an eighteen year old playing with the Duke on Black and Tan Fantasy in 1927. Thinking about Duke Ellington, wasn't Bubber Miley just the greatest mute player ever? And then came Cootie; was there ever a more assured player? While with the Ellington band, what about "Showtime" - Ray Nance - he sang, he danced, he played the best jazz fiddle ever and, what a trumpet player!
There are so many other trumpeters I love to listen to. Probably they'll be the subject of future musings (or drunken ramblings as they are known to family and friends). Charlie Shavers, the blues master who had the misfortune to die in the same week as Louis Armstrong, and miss out on all the obituaries. Shirley Clay, Joe Smith, Tommy Ladnier, Rex Stewart, Bobby Stark, Buck Clayton. I've already mused about Red Allen and Joe Oliver. There are so many great jazz trumpeters, even before thinking about the white guys - Bix of course, Charlie Teagarden, Yank Lawson, Wild Bill Davison, Jimmy McPartland, Bobby Hackett. Even the oft reviled Red Nicholls; his Corinne Corrina (http://www.redhotjazz.com/songs/nichols/CorinneCorrina.ram) is a favourite of mine, although I suspect that the trumpet solo is not his.
No. Instead of dwelling on my own favourites, this musing will be about John Chapman's favourite trumpeters. John came relatively late to traditional jazz. He was first and foremost a swing trumpeter, brought up in the strictly disciplined school of big band jazz, where the occasional sixteen bar solo was all that might be expected within an arrangement. He was proud to have been the lead trumpet in the Music Masters Band from Barrow-in-Furness which won the Melody Maker Championship in 1957. John and I spent many hours talking about music, usually in the wee small hours, after gigs, when I would drive him home, and we both needed to unwind by tracing back through our memories of great jazz experiences.
John's favourite trumpeters were Louis Armstrong, Harry James, Freddie Randall and Kenny Baker. He rarely spoke of Louis. Satchmo was like Jehovah - the name that can't be spoken. I know that John idolised Louis because there was Armstrong in everything he played. But, is that not true of every jazz trumpeter. The Yarl River Jazz Band play very few numbers associated with the Hot Fives and Sevens or with the All Stars. I would often suggest that we do something like Sunset Café Stomp or Mack the Knife, but John would look dubious and say, "An Armstrong number. Do you think so, Don?" 
The clear implication was, 'Why try to improve on what is already perfect'. He had better judgement than me. He was knocked out by the All Stars playing You'll Never Walk Alone - and he wasn't even a Liverpool FC supporter. And he pointed out to me how much better the later All Stars version of When You're Smiling was than the earlier, faster version from 1931. If in doubt, listen to them both. Both are marvellous by the standards of ordinary mortals, but the 1957 version has such poignancy, such control at a slower than expected tempo, that it is an outright classic.
I suppose Harry James represents every trumpet players ultimate ambition. After learning his trade in his father's circus band and mastering it in the polished big band of Benny Goodman, I suppose it was inevitable that he would turn out to be something of a showman. But it wasn't just flashy performances like Carnival in Venice and Flight of the Bumble Bee that gave Harry James a place in jazz history. He turned out some wonderful swinging recordings too, such as Boo Woo and Woo Woo, boogie-woogie masterpieces which I suspect inspired Humphrey Lyttleton's Bad Penny Blues.
I must confess that I hadn't given much consideration to the polished and sensitive trumpet playing of Freddie Randall until John raved about him at length. Then I started looking out some of his recordings, two versions of Sunday, from 1952 and 1971 and a storming rendition of Wolverine Blues. Randall's trademarks were his powerful driving tone across upper and lower registers and a beautiful feel for the music. His Dark Night Blues is an object lesson in muted playing. He always surrounded himself with some of the very best musicians too which, for non-trumpeters, is a special bonus.
In our late-night musical discussions it was never very long before the name of Kenny Baker came up. I suppose John and he shared a similar background. Both products of provincial towns where brass band traditions are strong and standards high (Barrow-in-Furness was the birthplace of legendary session musician Stan Roderick, who preceded Kenny Baker as lead trumpet in Ted Heath's post-war band), John shared with Baker a delight in the trumpet as a means of making music. Like many of his (and my) generation, John was brought up on broadcasts by Kenny Baker's Dozen on BBC Jazz Club, an experience that led to a lifelong involvement in the music. It was good that several of the long-deleted Kenny Baker recordings were reissued in recent years and that I was able to enjoy them in John's appreciative company, on a car cassette player as background accompaniment to our analysis of the success or otherwise of that night's gig. Perhaps our final analysis should contain some satisfaction that, in ever such a small way, our gigs, our music, formed part of that same wonderful jazz tradition as that of Louis, Harry, Freddie and Kenny.
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