Jumpin' at the Woodside - Buddy Tate
- 16 years ago
Jumpin at the Woodside – Buddy Tate 1982
This clips is from a concert in Berlin in 1982. Buddy is accompanied by pianist Wild Bill Davis, bassist Bernard Upsom and drummer Frankie Dunlop. In the ensemble and during some of the background riffs he is joined by Illinois Jacquet and Arnett Cobb on tenor saxes.
Buddy Tate was one of the great tenor saxophonists of the swing era. His playing drew on both of the great models of the day, combining elements of Lester Young’s understated, liquid economy with the robust, hard blowing attack of Coleman Hawkins. Tate had the big, mightily swinging sound of the “Texas tenor” school, exemplified by players like Illinois Jacquet and Arnett Cobb, but was equally adept at building an emotionally weighted solo out of the most minimal elaborations.
He adhered to the dictum that a jazz solo should tell a story, and had no time for bravura displays of empty blowing. At the same time, he was ready to experiment across the whole range of his horn, pushing into areas of sound and timbre which would later be explored by more modern movements in jazz. Even in his most abandoned, flat out playing, his control of both the horn and the music remained total, and was always purposefully directed.
This clips is from a concert in Berlin in 1982. Buddy is accompanied by pianist Wild Bill Davis, bassist Bernard Upsom and drummer Frankie Dunlop. In the ensemble and during some of the background riffs he is joined by Illinois Jacquet and Arnett Cobb on tenor saxes.
Buddy Tate was one of the great tenor saxophonists of the swing era. His playing drew on both of the great models of the day, combining elements of Lester Young’s understated, liquid economy with the robust, hard blowing attack of Coleman Hawkins. Tate had the big, mightily swinging sound of the “Texas tenor” school, exemplified by players like Illinois Jacquet and Arnett Cobb, but was equally adept at building an emotionally weighted solo out of the most minimal elaborations.
He adhered to the dictum that a jazz solo should tell a story, and had no time for bravura displays of empty blowing. At the same time, he was ready to experiment across the whole range of his horn, pushing into areas of sound and timbre which would later be explored by more modern movements in jazz. Even in his most abandoned, flat out playing, his control of both the horn and the music remained total, and was always purposefully directed.