By 1968, Don Sebesky (1937-2023) had become, if not the preeminent jazz arranger of his day, then certainly one of the first to call to do the job. Other top-tier arrangers – like Quincy Jones, Neal Hefti, Lalo Schifrin and Oliver Nelson – had all left for Hollywood by then.
Sebesky’s ascendance – or, to some, his notoriety – was principally due to the huge crossover success he enjoyed with guitarist Wes Montgomery on records dating back to Bumpin’ (1965) and including the Platinum-award winning A Day in the Life (1967).
But jazz was changing at this point, too. Rock – or what we would now call pop – was taking over what listeners, particularly younger audiences, were listening to and/or buying. Straight-ahead jazz had long been out of favor in the popular zeitgeist. Jazz did its heady best to keep up, sometimes going to ridiculous extremes.
Somehow, though, Sebesky not only knew how to keep up but do it with a sense of interest and sincerity. He was neither slumming nor keeping up with the kids.
“He is a jazz-oriented writer/arranger with a wide knowledge of the contemporary pop/rock scene,” wrote producer Esmond Edwards of Sebesky at the time.1 I think that is right. Sebesky was engaged enough to understand both the jazz and classical traditions, but young enough to appreciate the “happening” music of the day.
Sebesky initially started out as a trombonist in the bands of Tommy Dorsey, Stan Kenton and, most notably, Maynard Ferguson, but his goal was always to write. He began arranging for singers Chris Connor, Shirley Horn and Carmen McRae and – most notably for Sebesky’s relationship with producer Creed Taylor – the little-known record called A Jazz Portrait of Charlie Mariano (1963).
Sebesky would go on to arrange Verve albums for Astrud Gilberto, Cal Tjader and Kenny Burrell, while following Taylor to his new position at A&M Records (1967-70). Naturally, that relationship would blossom once Taylor took CTI to independence in 1970 and thrive through about 1975, and continue intermittently through 1993.
While Sebesky was otherwise a “sweetener” or adjunct to albums at this point, these two Verve LPs represent his very first notable forays as a leader.
Don Sebesky & The Jazz-Rock Syndrome
This lively set of instrumentals certainly lives up to the “Jazz-Rock” designation of the title, at least as ears of the period would have heard it. Today, we would likely classify this sort of thing as easy-listening jazz or instrumental R&B. It surely swings, but, in its day, it was more likely to succeed in getting older listeners in to the new thing than attracting rock-oriented kids to jazz. Ultimately, neither camp bothered much with it.
The problem, as I see it, though, is calling out the “Syndrome” of it all. Whether it’s a psychological, physical or medical condition, a “syndrome” is not usually a good thing for one to have. Just as saxophonist Gerry Mulligan’s album If You Can’t Beat ‘Em, Join ‘Em! boldly proclaimed several years earlier, “The Jazz-Rock Syndrome” smacks of giving up and giving in to the disease. But if anyone could do it, Don Sebesky could.
To these ears, this record serves as more of an “audition tape” or “calling card” than something the average record buyer would bother picking up. If Sebesky’s name had any cachet in 1969, it would be with critics who blamed him for sweetening or syruping up Wes Montgomery. The intent here was likely to alert other artists and producers that if you’ve come down with the “Jazz-Rock Syndrome,” then Don Sebesky is the cure for your ills.
This is very much in line with the other pop-oriented arranger-led records Verve put out between 1967 and 1969: Consider Don Costa’s Modern Delights, Chico O’Farrill’s Married Well, Alan Lorber’s The Lotus Palace and Pat(rick) Williams’ Shades of Today, Think and Heavy Vibrations. Of these, Sebesky’s record is probably the most successful and, overall, memorable. For his part, Williams just gave up on trying and, instead, found success in Hollywood.
But Don Sebesky & The Jazz-Rock Syndrome is surely not the sort of thing producer Creed Taylor would have done or ever wanted to do. This record leans heavily in to a rougher-hewn sort of R&B, rather than the elegant jazz of the typical Taylor-Sebesky production. Think of anything Sebesky did with guitarist Wes Montgomery, most especially the magnificent “A Day in the Life” (1967), and compare it to this record. Here, horns blast, guitars wail and the drums are high up in the mix, so as to stand out, blaring from a radio or a jukebox.
The disc’s liner notes indicate that Sebesky felt that this record spotlights “the first big-band of the rock era.” Maybe, maybe not. But even if that were true, was the world really waiting for such a thing?
Liner notes writer Michael Zwerin (1930-2010) – like Sebesky, a trombonist and also a veteran of the Maynard Ferguson band – further cites the influence of The Mamas & The Papas throughout: Here, Sebesky covers their “Somebody Groovy,” bases his chart for “Dancing in the Streets” on Mama Cass Elliott’s phrasing and writes the fairly unflattering swinger “Big Mama Cass” for the singer. Even the lyrics to the Peter, Paul and Mary song “I Dig Rock And Roll Music” – featured here as an instrumental – dig in on The Mama & The Papas (as well as The Beatles’ “The Word,” also featured here).
That’s another aspect of this particular record that this listener just doesn’t hear.
While players in the horn section aren’t identified – odd for a “big band” record – soloists include guitarists Larry Coryell (in his then rock-ish way on “The Word” and “Dancing in the Streets”) and the also-rock-ish Joe Beck (“Somebody Groovy”), and flautist Hubert Laws (briefly on “Never My Love” and “You’ve Got Your Troubles”). Surprisingly, Sebesky himself helms the keyboards (and occasional solo), Chuck Rainey handles his signature electric bass on the bulk of the album’s tracks, and Donald MacDonald is on drums. Janet Sebesky is responsible for the occasional “ahhh” and “la-la-la” vocals.
Sebesky had previously arranged two of this record’s tracks for other artists: the lovely “Never My Love” for Astrud Gilberto on Windy (1968) and the ever-unappealing “You’ve Got Your Troubles” for Kai Winding on The In Instrumentals (1965).
The funky takes on “The Word,” Sebesky’s “Meet a Cheetah” and “Dancing in the Streets” all feature handclaps or audience sounds reminiscent of such hits as the Cannonball Adderley Quintet’s “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” (1967) and the Ramsey Lewis Trio’s 1965 “The ‘In’ Crowd” – the latter of which was coincidentally also produced by Jazz-Rock Syndrome‘s Esmond Edwards.
Sebesky’s originals here mostly sound like the sort of thing teens might be dancing to in the late sixties…if they were in a film or TV show of the period. They’re catchy and imaginative enough as a kind of easy-listening soul jazz, but a bit out of touch even so. The ballad “Banana Flower” – also the album’s sole single release – however, offers something a bit more interesting, and one that surprisingly never caught on or went anywhere.
Don Sebesky & The Jazz-Rock Syndrome was released sometime in the Fall of 1968 to mostly no notice whatsoever. But what’s odd in that is that four of the record’s tracks (“Shake a Lady,” “Banana Flower,” “Meet a Cheetah” and “Somebody Groovy”) were recorded as far back as June 1967,2 while the remainder of the album was recorded eight months earlier in January 1968. That lapse of time – especially in the fickle world of pop music – suggests that someone at the label wasn’t so sure about this record. Oddly, those instincts proved correct.
As a “calling card,” the record didn’t lead to many new opportunities, either. Of the originals here, “Meet a Cheetah” was also covered by Sebesky’s former boss, Maynard Ferguson, on Ridin’ High (1968 – also with this record’s Donald MacDonald and Don Payne, with Sebesky’s arrangement), Jack Sheldon on the Sebesky-produced and arranged The Cool World of Jack Sheldon (1969) and The Metronome Quintet’s At the Zoo (1969). “Big Mama Cass” also led to covers by the Buddy Rich Big Band (in Sebesky’s arrangement) on Mercy, Mercy (1968) and Paul Kuhn’s Big Band Berlin (1971).
But as Alfred Music Publishers published the charts for songs from this album and The Distant Galaxy (below), many military, college and high school bands played these songs at the time and quite a few of them were issued on record.
The Distant Galaxy
Like Don Sebesky & The Jazz Rock Syndrome (above), there is reason to believe that Verve Records – maybe even producer Esmond Edwards or Don Sebesky himself – didn’t quite know what to do with The Distant Galaxy. While this one is not explicitly credited to Don Sebesky (other than the cover noting that Sebesky arranged and conducted), it is Sebesky who is considered the artist behind the record – and in whose section the few available copies of this disc can be found in used record-store bins.
“Don and I are currently working on an album,” wrote The Distant Galaxy producer Esmond Edwards at the time, “which goes still further ‘out’ [than Jazz-Rock Syndrome] in the use of experimental recording techniques cum jazz. These effects will not be used merely for shock or gimmick value, but to enrich the aural experience and add new dimensions to the album. The basic intent will be to achieve a good interplay of jazz and underground rock elements.”3
The record is credited to “The Distant Galaxy,” what Billboard simply described in its one mention of the entity as “a new group.”4 If it ever was a real group, which is most unlikely, this eponymous disc is the group’s only release. The Distant Galaxy is more like a Don Sebesky concept album, with Chuck Rainey driving (superbly) on electric bass throughout, and Donald MacDonald or Ronald Zito (on “Lady Madonna” and “Guru-vin”) on drums.
It’s unclear who helms the keyboards and guitar on the sessions, but keyboardists Dick Hyman, Warren Bernhardt and Sebesky himself, as well as guitarist Larry Coryell, take sporadic solo honors on the disc.
Curiously, The Distant Galaxy, unlike the Jazz-Rock Syndrome disc, was issued as part of Verve’s 5000 series, which designates its non-jazz releases, like those by The Righteous Brothers, The Mothers of Invention, The Velvet Underground, Jimmy Witherspoon, Irene Reid and Arthur Prysock (the above noted Pat Williams albums were also released in this series).
Despite the presence of then-in rock guitars, harpsichords and sitars, the irony of it all is that The Distant Galaxy is a far more satisfying “jazz” album than the more crossover-oriented Jazz-Rock Syndrome. If it veers at all toward rock in any meaningful way, it might be the way Sebesky blends strands of then-in psychedelic rock (à la The Electric Prunes) with Baroque pop (which Sebesky explored further in his arrangements for Wes Montgomery’s swan song Road Song, an album he worked on during the recording of The Distant Galaxy).
Sebesky offers intriguing covers of songs by Cream, Simon & Garfunkel, The Byrds, The Temptations and, of course, The Beatles. Soloists include Hubert Laws on soprano sax (!) for both “Dance the Night Away” and “Mr. Tambourine Man” (the latter of which adds Vinnie Bell’s uncredited trademark “Underwater Sound” guitar) while offering his more familiar flute to the attractive, though unusual take of “The Sound of Silence;” pianist Dick Hyman on the lovely take of “I Wish It Would Rain” (he solos on two other tracks as well); and trumpeter Marvin Stamm and guitarist Larry Coryell (perhaps the disc’s biggest name at the time) on two tracks apiece.
The originals include Sebesky’s groovy “Soul Lady” (with Hyman on organ, not piano, as listed) could easily have been an outtake from Jazz-Rock Syndrome, were it not for the strings and synthesizer sweetening. Most notable here, though, are the sinewy “Water Brother,” and the cleverly titled “Guru-vin’.”
The magnificently-crafted “Water Brother” likely gets its title from a reference in Robert A. Heinlein’s 1961 sci-fi novel, “Stranger in a Strange Land,” denoting a deep, sacred bond formed by sharing an otherwise scarce drink of water in a Martian ceremony.
Sebesky adds sci-fi Moog effects that mimic the theremin sounds in an old sci-fi movie and layers on the sort of funky-strings section that would make Richard Evans’ Soulful Strings proud. Laws carries the melody, and helms a dynamic flute solo, while Warren Bernhardt rocks the clavinet in a way that wouldn’t be heard again until Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition.”
Producer Creed Taylor was apparently so captivated by “Water Brother,” that he insisted George Benson record it for the guitarist’s 1969 album Tell It Like It Is (there, in a Marty Sheller arrangement). As good as this one is, the fleet-fingered Mr. Benson’s version may well be even better.
“Guru-vin,” a modernized Middle-Eastern funk masterpiece, is replete with a tabla (or something that sounds very much like one) and Coryell gamely helming a rock-ish electric sitar for the first and only time that I’m aware of. Vocalist Lois Winter delivers the melody and some improvisations in a high-pitched wordless vocal that anticipates Sebesky’s later work with Joan La Barbara. The funky rhythm – recalling Bernard Purdie’s work on guitarist Gabor Szabo’s earlier Jazz Raga (1967) – is highlighted by some of Sebesky’s more daring string embellishments.
Little wonder that both “Guru-vin'” and “Soul Lady” found renewed favor some two decades later on many vinyl and CD easy and acid-jazz compilations of the nineties and early aughts – particularly in European releases. By this time, unsurprisingly, no one bothered with “The Distant Galaxy” appellation. These songs were rightly credited to Don Sebesky himself.
The bulk of the disc was recorded on three dates between March 28 and April 26, 1968. In May, this disc’s “Elvira Madigan Theme” (a.k.a. Mozart’s “Piano Concerto No. 21″) paired in a medley with “Honey” (the number-one 1968 country-pop hit by Bobby Goldsboro) was issued as a single (backed with producer Edwards’ own “Blue Scimitar” – which was debuted on pianist Ray Bryant’s 1966 Edwards-produced Lonesome Traveler).
While an ad appeared claiming that the A-side was “The most potent pairing since ‘Picnic/Moonglow’,”5 no album appeared to support it and the single quietly disappeared.
The otherwise unissued music from the sessions oddly sat on the studio shelves for months on end. Sebesky returned to the studio on October 3 to record the very brief transition pieces (which mostly consist of Sebesky noodling around on the Moog synthesizer for about 10 to 15 seconds apiece) and re-record, for some reason, “The Sound of Silence” (here as “Sounds of Silence”) October 3.6
The final album and a promotional single release of “The Sound of Silence” (backed with “Lady Madonna”) finally appeared in November 1968. Again, no response. The Distant Galaxy was never heard from again. At the time, no seemed to notice or care.
“This album is stone commercial,” sneered High Fidelity magazine at the time, “and Sebesky evidently decided to throw the whole collection of gimmicks into it. He’s arranged a batch of pop material for strings, harpsichord. rock rhythm section, distortion guitar. In between and through the tracks is a lot of electronic folderal. These windy wheezings and skidding glissandos were already a bloody bore to hip listeners ten years ago, which I’m sure Sebesky knows as well as I do. But the kids are pretty square, and Sebesky evidently doesn’t mind selling them clichés for cash.”7
It’s worth noting that “Soul Lady” was also covered by Buddy Rich on Buddy and Soul (1969) and Kellee Patterson on Maiden Voyage (1973 – there as “Soul Daddy”), while “Water Brother” was also covered by the Charles Owens Mother Lode on I Stand Alone (1971).
About the covers: Both of the striking cover photos featured here are courtesy of the portrait photographer Joel Brodsky (1939-2007). Brodsky was best known early on for his rock photographs, notably The Doors’ earliest records (1967-69, and their 1980 compilation Greatest Hits), the debut albums of Nazz (1968) and The Stooges (1969), as well as Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks (1968).
He is also responsible for the iconic Funkadelic covers Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow (1970) and Maggot Brain (1971) as well as those provocative Ohio Players sleeves on the Westbound label.
His cover photos of many R&B/Soul acts for the Atlantic, Stax, Curtom, Buddah and Cadet labels in the early seventies tend to visually define that era of the music. Brodsky also photographed many of Herbie Mann’s albums during the early seventies, as well as those black-and-white images on Mann’s briefly-lived Embryo label. Brodsky also served as in-house photographer at Vanguard, where he did covers for folk and jazz records, and, notably, many covers for the aforementioned Larry Coryell.
Brodsky’s especially compelling gatefold portrait on Don Sebesky & The Jazz-Rock Syndrome – which cleverly depicts a line of eight models donning psychedelic Day-Glo body paint and necklaces of similarly-colored body-length streamers, each looking as if they are gradually freeing themselves of their outwardly blue mumification – always struck me as the precursor to the models featured in Maurice Binder’s opening titles sequence in the 1985 James Bond film A View to a Kill.
…I dedicate this post to my brother, Jeff, who would have hated these records, but would have endured them for my sake. I can hear him already: “Now, can we listen to something good?”…
Endnotes:
- Record World, April 17, 1968, p. 18 – Section II. ↩︎
- The June 1967 date is listed in the LP’s liner notes. Michel Ruppli’s “The Clef/Verve Labels: A Discography – Volume II, The MGM Era” lists these four tracks as June 1968, but I don’t think that is correct. It’s likely that Verve simply didn’t assign the tracks from this session with matrix numbers until about April 1968, which is when the tracks appear in Ruppli’s discography. ↩︎
- Record World, April 17, 1968, p. 24 – Section II. ↩︎
- Billboard, May 11, 1968, p. 8. ↩︎
- This now-obscure reference alludes to Morris Stolloff’s 1956 hit instrumental “Moonglow and Theme from Picnic,”
also a hit that year for George Cates. ↩︎ - Ruppli’s discography lists three recordings of “The Sound of Silence.” One version, with matrix 104839 (April 14) is listed as “unissued” and two others, both with the matrix number 104782 (one is dated October 3, the other is undated). The single that was issued lists the matrix number as 104702. I think Ruppli’s October 3 date indicates overdubs to the April 14 recording, but the single release likely lists the correct matrix number. ↩︎
- High Fidelity, March 1969, p. 124. ↩︎
“I dedicate this post to my brother, Jeff, who would have hated these records, but would have endured them for my sake. I can hear him already: “Now, can we listen to something good?”…”
I love this, Kate says this to me within 5-minutes after coming home from work. I have my music streaming around the house on different players – Kate gets home and it’s just a matter of time.
Thank you, Mark, for sharing more of some of the things we have in common.
Nice write up on two of my favorites, knowing Don from CTI releases I saw Distant Galaxy at a local store and picked it up then went to Discogs and picked up Syndrome soon after, I have only had them for 3 or 4 years and I play them often. Its great to see/read an appreciation for both, nice work and thanks!