JazzProfiles: Johnny Guarnieri: Master Stride Pianist


© –Steven
Cerra
, copyright protected; all rights reserved.
Equal parts coffee
shop, steak house and bar,
Leon’s Steak House opened in 1945 on the corner
of 

Victory Boulevard

 and

Vineland Avenue

, in North Hollywood, CA.

Leon‘s occupied an odd niche. Regulars from
Lockheed Aircraft Corporation down the road in Burbank, Ca who built the bar’s
cabinets from spare aircraft parts and neighborhood residents often dropped by to hold their special occasion celebrations in the restaurant’s catering room.
Owned and operated by the Leon Grown family for about 50 years, the restaurant nearly closed in
1992 when the family decided to sell. But a group of employees pooled their money
with several other partners, bought the restaurant and kept it alive.
But 10 years later
it finally joined the legions of restaurants in the 
San Fernando Valley that have come and gone in the second half
of the 20th century as tastes changed and people sought
entertainment in different venues
The breakfasts
were huge, the steaks were grilled to perfection, but for any musician who lived
in the San Fernando Valley, for many years the main reason to drop by Leon’s
was to hear pianist Johnny Guarnieri give a clinic on the finer points of
playing stride piano.
No cover, no
minimum, order a brewski, a cocktail or a glass of your favorite vino, sit at
the bar or at a table that looked like a reject from the local ice cream
parlor, and take in the music of a time-gone-by as Johnny brought Ellington,
Fats Waller and many of the composers of the Great American Songbook to life
once again.
Johnny had deep
Jazz roots having begun his career by replacing the legendary Fletcher
Henderson on piano with Benny Goodman in 1939. He also played in the big bands
and small groups of clarinetist Artie Shaw, trombonist Tommy Dorsey’s big band
and Raymond Scott’s CBS radio orchestra.
Over the years he
recorded as a leader or as a sideman with such Jazz luminaries as Lester Young,
Roy Eldridge, Ben Webster, Don Byas, Coleman Hawkins and Louis Armstrong. He
also had long associations with bassist Slam Stewart and drummer Cozy Cole.
In the late 1940’s
Johnny joined the staff of the NBC in
New York and remained with that orchestra for 15
years until he moved to
California in 1962 where he performed for long spells
as a solo pianist until his death in 1985.
Sadly, few who
heard him play in the bar at
Leon’s Steak House were aware of his previous
Jazz achievements.
I always enjoyed
it when Johnny played some of the more obscure Ellington tunes like Birmingham Breakdown or Mississippi Moan or rarely heard Fats Waller
tunes such as Clothes Line Ballet or Moppin’ And Boppin’.
Thankfully, Star
Line Productions and Caz Jaz International have released some of Johnny’s music
on CD and it was while listening to Johnny’s Echoes of Ellington
[SLCD-9003] and Fatscinatin’ [CJCD-32296] that the
idea for this profile formed in my mind.
And thanks to a
friend’s generosity, I am able to share the following article about Johnny by
Leonard Feather that appeared in the
May 2, 1968 edition of Downbeat.
© -Leonard Feather/Downbeat, copyright
protected; all rights reserved.
JOHNNY GUARNIERI’S NEW
BAG
“If a jazz student
enters the scene in the late 1960s — after being attracted by the records or
concerts of Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Charles Lloyd, and the like — and
does his homework, he’ll discover some of the innumerable artists whose
contributions made possible the sounds of today. What is true of jazz applies
also to popular songwriting.
The study process,
however, is made more difficult for the young fan as he finds endless
contradictions in books written by members of various critical factions. He
remains unaware of — or is bemused by — countless errors, of sins of commission
and omission. In short, there is little hope that he will acquire a full,
accurately balanced view of the scene.
All this is a
preamble to an attempt to place in correct perspective the life and times of a
brilliant musician named Johnny Guarnieri.
Because he has
made virtually no records for many years, has been living in almost total
obscurity, and is all but ignored in most history books, Guar­nieri by 1967 was
a forgotten man. Living in
Hollywood since 1962, he had been playing jobs
unworthy of him, out of keeping with his distinguished back­ground as a name-band
sideman in the 1940s and successful studio musician in the ’50s.
One day I received
a letter from Tom Matthews, a local fan and friend of Guarnieri’s, suggesting
that an investi­gation was in order. The pianist, said the letter, was
experimenting with a new idea that deserved exposure.
A few days later I
found Guarnieri; it turned out that he was living just five minutes from my
house in
North
Hollywood
. A
little heavier than in the early years, he is now a stubby, moon­faced man,
amiable and garrulous, who peers through strong glasses. Though neither
aggressive nor arrogant, he is self-confident about his musical con­victions.
During an hour or
more at the piano, demonstrating his concept and chatting about it, he revealed
that he had been working on it for about three years, but had never
demonstrated it in a jazz club for a sophisticated audience.
A couple of weeks
later he played a series of gigs at
Ellis Island, a new club in the neighborhood. The barrier was now broken, for
he elicited an excellent audience reaction.
Briefly, Guarnieri
explained the back­ground of his concept:
“I have
always been greatly con­cerned with the preservation of works by the great
popular composers—the Gershwin’s, Youmans’s, Kern’s, and many others, who have
passed on. In the jazz field, nobody did more to glorify these works than Art
Tatum.
“After he
died, there was no great race between any heirs apparent to the throne. There
just was no replacing him; it was the end of an era. As the years went by after
his death, we missed his beautiful pianistic arrangements of these standard
tunes.
Oscar Peterson
plays a lot of them, of course, and is in the mold of Tatum; but there were
very few exceptions.
“I hated to
see a world develop in which there was no concern any more for Kern or for
Tatum. I felt that at the rate we were going, a hundred years from now they
would be nothing but little indexes in a book of names.
“So, for the
past three or four years, I’ve been using this great heritage of songs, playing
them in a certain un­orthodox way but without announcing in advance what I was
doing. After I got through with, say, Someone
to Watch Over Me
or Smoke Gets in
Your Eyes
, people would be startled and en­thusiastic. They’d say, ‘Gee,
that was wonderful but there was something dif­ferent about it. What did you
do?’
“I’d been
playing all these tunes in 5/4 time.”
Of course, as
Guarnieri well knows, 5/4 is not new in jazz, but previously it had almost
always been used for original instrumental works by the lead­ers of various
groups. However, as a steady ploy to re-educate the average listener and give
him a new slant on an old theme, it is an idea that surprises most listeners,
whether or not they are aware of what is being done.
The role of the pioneer
is one with which Guarnieri has long been familiar. In 1940 he became the first
keyboard artist to record a genuine jazz harpsi­chord solo, as a member of the Gramercy
5 contingent of Artie Shaw’s band. Eight tunes were waxed at two sessions, the
best remembered being Special Delivery
Stomp
and

Summit Ridge Drive

. Three years later, Guar­nieri was part of
another group that made history when he played in Ray­mond Scott’s orchestra at
CBS, the first racially integrated radio staff band.

Born in New York City on March 23, 1917, Guarnieri logically might have been
expected to take up the violin, since he is a descendant of the famous
Guarnerius family of violinmakers. But he took to the piano at 10, and not long
after graduation from
Roosevelt High School, landed his first name-band job, with
George Hall, in 1937.
“I remember
once we played opposite Claude Hopkins in
Brooklyn, and we were very thrilled when the guys
in Claude’s band told us that we had one of the best rhythm sections in the
busi­ness. It was, too, with Tony Mottola, Nick Fatool and Doc Goldberg.”
After an interlude
with Mike Riley’s combo, Guarnieri rejoined Hall for a while and then jobbed
around in local clubs until, in December, 1939, he auditioned successfully for
Benny Good­man, replacing Fletcher Henderson. (“For at least two months
after I’d joined the band,” Guarnieri said, “Benny kept calling me
Fletcher until he finally got to remember my name.”)
The Goodman job
was, as he once recalled in the book Hear Me Talkin’ to Ya, “a
fulfillment of a beautiful dream. It was what I had lived and worked for, and,
because I was a sober individual and wasn’t involved in rival­ries, drinking,
narcotics, money prob­lems, and such, like some of the other musicians, I
enjoyed every minute of it. It was all very vital and absorbing, in­cluding the
traveling.”
The pleasure,
apparently, was not entirely mutual. In the early days of their association,
Goodman assured Guarnieri that he was the worst piano player he had had since
Frank Froeba. Apparently it escaped Goodman’s ear that Guarnieri was aware of
important modifications taking place at that time in the role of the piano in
the rhythm section.
“Benny wasn’t
too happy with me, be­cause instead of a steady four, I’d comp differently,
using punctuations,” Guar­nieri said. “But I was lucky; Lionel
Hampton and Charlie Christian en­couraged me, told me I swung, and influenced
Benny to keep me in the band.”
During this
period, Guarnieri spent many of his nights off taking part in after-hours sessions
uptown, often visit­ing Minton’s with Christian and sitting in with Kenny
Clarke’s group. He feels now that had he not shifted into the studio world a
few years later, he might well have become an integral part of the early bebop
movement.
When Goodman
became ill and dis­banded temporarily in mid-1940, Guar­nieri joined Shaw.
Early in 1941, in­spired by the presence of Cootie Williams in the Goodman
band, he re­joined Benny, but later that year was back with Shaw.
Guarnieri took
part in several historic Goodman Sextet recordings. He is especially proud of The Sheik (a track that is now available
only on a Euro­pean LP) and of his solo on Poor
Butterfly
.
After a time with
the Jimmy Dorsey Band in 1942, he spent a memorable year at CBS with Scott,
whose sidemen at one time or another included Emmett Berry, Billy Butterfield,
Ben Webster, Hank D’Amico, Cozy Cole, and bassist Billy Taylor. For a while he
and D’Amico and Cozy moonlighted as a trio on

52nd St.

, accompanying Billie Holiday at the Onyx
Club.

“After
leaving Scott, I got my own little group together and worked on staff at WMCA.
I did a lot of recording for the NBC Thesaurus library—about 100 sides with
June Christy among other things.”
The late 1940s
were incredibly busy years, especially in the recording studios. In proportion
to the total quantity of recording that was taking place, one might say that
Guarnieri was the Hank Jones of his day, participating in jazz and pop sessions
of every kind.
He led several
small groups, one of which (on
Savoy) featured Butterfield, D’Amico, Lester
Young, guitarist Dexter Hall, Cozy Cole, and bassist Billy Taylor. Some
sessions, including a 1946 date on Majestic, included his brother Leo on bass.
Having used John
as a sideman on several dates, I recall with particular pleasure a group, under
the nominal leadership of Slam Stewart, also featur­ing Red Norvo, Morey Feld
and Bill DeArango or Chuck Wayne. These 78s, on Continental, were later
transferred to an LP under Norvo’s name. A high­light was Honeysuckle Rose, in which Guarnieri played and sang so much like
Fats Waller that he fooled many a Blindfold
Test
subject.
Always an
eclectic, Guarnieri ex­plained that he played in the styles of Waller, Count
Basie, Teddy Wilson and other giants of the day because they represented the
ultimate in jazz piano and because he felt he could devise no better or more
attractive style. Greatly respected by his contemporaries, he played on dates
with Louis Armstrong, Roy Eldridge, Lester Young and Coleman Hawkins.
As studio work
took up more and more of his time, Guarnieri faded from the jazz spotlight,
though several times he had risen as high as third in the Down Beat and Metronome polls. The 1946 readers’ poll in the latter
had him trailing only Tatum and Wilson.
In 1954, Guarnieri
joined the staff at NBC, where he endured eight years of stability and
anonymity. For a while he was on the equivalent of the Tonight show, when it was called Broadway after Dark.
“I enjoyed
that program when Jazzbo Collins was handling it, because he gave us a chance
to do something,” he said. “I also did the Today show many times with
Dave Garroway.
“During all
that time I wasn’t really as much away from jazz as you might think, because
there was always some­one to play with. Any time we found a loose five minutes
around, we’d use it —I’d trap guys into jamming with me: Don Lamond, Eddie
Safranski, Mundell Lowe, Clark Terry, and some of the other jazz-oriented staff
men.”
The decision to
move west was motivated by a combination of events, mainly marital problems and
a desire to write for motion pictures.
“I thought I
could make enough money to subsidize myself and become an honor-bound kind of
writer, doing only what I believed in. I wanted to play, too, and practice and
enjoy my­self, and along with this I thought I could get some good writing
contracts. Well, I soon found out that contacts are not as easily followed up
as I at first imagined. There’s so much com­petition. It was a whole new world,
and things were much rougher than I’d ex­pected.”
The only actual
score Guarnieri got to do was one commercial for which he wrote, arranged and
played, leading a sextet. Finally, willing to settle for a weekly paycheck, he
worked as a soloist from 1963-5 in the bar of the Holly­wood Plaza Hotel. It
was the wrong room with the wrong clientele; but he put the time to good use.
“I was faced
with the eternal problem of no bass and drums, so I turned to the Tatum style.
I worked on doing things with the left hand alone. Since my hands are not large,
and I could never play those big chords with the right hand, I started to
compensate by making the left hand so complete that the piano would be almost
like a stereo instrument.”
At the same time,
he began to de­velop an idea that had its roots in the NBC sessions with
Safranski & Co.
“I had
written a lot of 5/4 pieces in the ’50s and early ’60s, but I found a new
concept: I could use this meter not just to write originals, but to keep some
of the great songs alive, and also to give a new twist to the styles of those
idols whose ideas I’d emulated through the years,” he explained.
“I kept on
developing this feeling until playing any tune in five became second nature to
me. I also found that I could play like Basie in five, like Teddy, like Tatum,
like Fats.
“After the
Plaza, I started doing two things. Every time I performed any­where, I would
either play my music in 5/4 and announce it ahead of time, or I’d go right
ahead and do it without telling them. The difference was ironic. When I
announced it in advance, the reaction would always be, ‘Well, you can’t dance
to it,’ or, ‘Why do you want to fool around with something that’s already
intrinsically good?’
“But when I
didn’t announce it, and the people would revel in it, they’d ask me why
somebody didn’t do something about exploiting it. I would tell them that I just
hadn’t been lucky enough yet to find somebody who believed in it.”
A session around
the Guarnieri key­board is an extraordinary experience.

“Play Penthouse Serenade the way Erroll Garner
would do it in five,” I would say. 
Or, “Play Honeysuckle Rose, and sing it, the way
Fats would have done it in five.” 
Next, “How
about Liza a la Teddy Wilson, or
Flyin’
Home
, Tatum style, in five?” Unhesitating,
Guarnieri would re­spond as if to the meter born. The five-beat feel, after
three years of dedication to the point of obsession, is second nature to him
now.

Even such antiques
as Tiger Rag came out fresh, wild,
and wonderful in a 10/8 stride. Waltzes, too, were con­verted to five through
the uncanny Guarnieri blend of cultivated instinct and technique. Each number
gained a delightful new dimension; none seemed awkward or bent out of shape,
though in the course of the interview I decided to act briefly as devil’s
advocate.
“Isn’t it
true,” I asked, “that multi­ples of two are endemic to a vast mass of
music, and particularly to traditional jazz, which is required to swing? If a
tune is written in quarter and eighth notes, how do you manage to stretch it so
that it fits logically into a five-beat format? Isn’t it an unnatural and syn­thetic
thing in some cases?”
“No,”
said Guarnieri firmly. “First of all, if we take a simple melodic track of
any tune that was ever written, play it on the piano without anything under,
and then put the top line on tape, you should be able to play three against
that top line, or four, or five, so that it comes out exactly right. By the
way, I’m not interested in doing any work at the moment in any other time valua­tion
except 5/4, because I can forsee 5/4, within the next few years, sweep­ing the
world completely.
“We’d better
get on the ball, because Brazil already has a good start on us, with songs like
A Man and a Woman; in fact, I believe
they’ve got 75 per cent of their current crop of writers turning out 5/4 music.
I heard from Southern Music—they handle a lot of music from
Brazil—that volume after volume of manuscripts in
5/4 is coming up from
Rio.
“I don’t mean
that everything except 5/4 is dead or dying. Sometimes I prove my point by
playing, for instance, a three- or four-chorus version of a Jerome Kern melody,
playing the first chorus as well as I can in four. Then I play the second
chorus in five, yet basically the same way, with the same general direction and
feeling, thinking in terms of pretty changes, because the harmonic element
still has to remain vitally important, no matter what meter you’re in.
“In the third
chorus I’ll switch back and forth between five and four. People hear this, and
they collapse! It’s not something I learned, really; I just stumbled on it,
then developed it little by little.
“I have a
theory that too many of our dance orchestras through the years knocked
themselves out to maintain rhythm sections that would over-accentuate the
strict tempo. They were so crazy about keeping that one-two-one-two going, they
became so basic that the sheer simplicity of the music tended to destroy it.
Now when we get into the rock ‘n’ roll era, and to a great extent the
destruction of the melodic form, what are we hit with? The tempo, just the beat,
and as much electrical wattage as can possibly be consumed. This was like the
final desecration, with every­body being sure to accent the one-two-three-four,
and very little left at the top. “The new framework, the new dress, has
this value: it gives the good music of the past several decades a flow, a
rhythmic flow of its own. I’m convinced that by employing this medium, many
artists will be able to reactivate a lot of the music that hasn’t been played
too much lately.
“To me, this
is an experience of a lifetime—like the unraveling of a great mystery. Each day
I find a new device, a new way, a new tune, something dif­ferent that goes into
this 5/4. When I run into people who knew me years ago, and find that I can’t
win them over, I tell them that anything I ever did in the past which they
found meritorious, I will not just duplicate but improve on; and sooner or
later I win them over.”
How could he
explain or rationalize the translation into 5/4 of such styles as those of
Tatum, Waller, and others who had never in their lives (or at least, never
publicly) played a single chorus in five?
“What I play
is simply an extension of their original ideas. I’m sure if some of those men
were alive today, they would have changed considerably, not only by
experimenting with meters but in other ways. Fats Waller, for example, would
probably have incorporated a lot of Erroll Garner into his style, because of
the strong element of humor, which is natural to Erroll and would obviously
have appealed to Fats.
“Tatum, had
he lived, would probably be doing some fantastic things in five today—not as a
steady diet, but just once in a while. As for Basic, he may not feel it, but I
can still play his style the way he would sound if he did feel it. So could
Dick Hyman, by the way. Dick is a fantastic musician. I’m sure he could do
everything I’m doing with five, but he would do it just to prove a point; I’m
doing it because it’s all I believe in and am wrapped up in.”
Guarnieri has not
experimented with 7/4, 7/8, 9/8 or any of the exotic rhythms with which the
names of
Dave Brubeck, Don Ellis, and others have been
associated.
“I haven’t
studied them,” he said, “and I’m really not interested in other time
dimensions. As a musician I might become interested in them theoretically but
not to play myself. I’m too firmly convinced that five is the next gradua­tion
point for everybody in the world of music.”
Except for the
solo jobs at
Ellis
Island
, Guarnieri
has not yet exposed his unique repertoire-cum-technique to the public. However,
since the news of his work came to light, he has had two or three offers from
record companies. He will undoubtedly have an album on the market in the near
future.
“Don Ellis
and Emil Richards, who have both experimented so successfully with new meters,
have been very helpful to me,” he said, “especially in the mat­ter of
finding musicians to work with me. I’ve been trying out some ideas with a bass
player named Jim Faunt, who’s been working recently with Don’s band. He’s
phenomenal! He can pick up on these harmonically complex tunes and play them
without hesitation in five just as naturally as most bass players can in four.
I’ve also been rehearsing with a drummer, Joe Porcaro, who has the same kind of
ability.”
Though his
involvement with the pro­fessional rat race has brought him more than his share
of misfortune, Guarnieri is neither bitter nor pessimistic. On the contrary, he
feels that the tide has now turned. His enthusiasm seems boundless as he
expresses his gratitude for all he has learned in music.
“I’m very
grateful for my talents, and I consider myself a very lucky man, because I’ve
been around people from whom I could learn so much. Even though I’ve been just
a musician for hire, I think I’ve remained pretty honest, trying to do the
right thing at the right time.
“I want to
make five a commercial universally successful thing. I think it will help to
save music—the great music of yesterday. It isn’t a question of to­day’s music
being superior or inferior to yesterday’s; it’s just that the great musical
works of yesterday, in any idiom, should become accepted as the classics of
today.
“Within the
last 20 years — I can’t state this as a fact, but I’m sure ASCAP could provide
a detailed tabulation —  you find a
continuous slackening off in the performances of the great writers. Take a
great Kern or Gershwin stand­ard; compare the numbers of perform­ance credits
in 1938 against 1948, 1958, 1968. The champions of these works are
disappearing. Very few of the younger artists, whether they be singers or
instrumentalists, are concerned about building up a real repertoire of this
caliber. I’m not saying they don’t like the tunes; whatever the reason, they
don’t play them.”
The Guarnieri
theory has a dual ob­jective: to preserve the songs that de­serve to remain a
part of the next century’s musical legacy and to revital­ize them through this
process of metric innovation.
To those two aims
perhaps a third should be added: The theory should bring a new, prosperous and
musically gratifying lease on life to the patient and gifted artist who dreamed
it up.”





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