[JPL] Blues for an Organ Grinder

[Jazz Promo Services]

http://www.newsweek.com/id/138872

Blues for an Organ Grinder
Jimmy McGriff, a pioneer of the 1960s jazz-organ sound, remembered

Brian Braiker
NEWSWEEK WEB EXCLUSIVE
Updated: 6:56 PM ET May 27, 2008

For a span of several years in the 1960s, you couldn't walk through wide
swaths of Philadelphia without hearing the burble of a Hammond B3 organ. The
instrument came to embody a hip-hugging Philly jazz sound that was equal
parts churchyard hum, speakeasy sizzle and slash-and-burn barroom blooze.
And few would master the jazz organ sound like Jimmy McGriff, who served up
heaping slabs of greasy cheesesteak funk on and off for four decades until
his death this week, at 72, of multiple sclerosis.

Born to two piano-playing parents in Germantown, Penn., in 1936, James
Harrell McGriff began learning drums at 8 and would know his way around the
alto saxophone, piano, upright bass and vibes by the time he graduated from
high school. But a career in music would have to wait. McGriff was drafted
after graduating and served as a military policeman in the Korean War. Upon
returning, he'd gig nights (the upright bass would be his instrument of
choice for several years) and spend his days on the Philadelphia police
force. The City of Brotherly Love was a fertile environment for any young
musician in the early 1950s: Officer McGriff would spend his evenings
playing bass behind marquee vocalists such as Carmen McCrae and Big
Maybelle. 
 
It was around this same time that an older neighborhood kid began making
waves with the Hammond B3‹a fairly unhip choice for a gigging jazz and R&B
musician at that time. But Jimmy Smith filtered blues, bebop, R&B and gospel
through the instrument, changing the conventional wisdom on the organ for
good. His hardcharging houseparty sound would influence local musicians, and
go on to shape national trends. One of his proteges, Richard "Groove"
Holmes, played at McGriff's sister's wedding (who played at yours?)‹and
would ultimately become a mentor to McGriff when bass playing gigs started
drying up.   
 
McGriff bought his first B3 in 1956, stored it at avant garde pianist Archie
Shepp's house and, after six months of practice, quit the force. The high
school grad enrolled at a local school to study music. He must have excelled
at Combe College because he'd ultimately transfer to the Juliard School of
Music (located in New York, conveniently allowing McGriff to do a little
extra curricular woodshedding with Jimmy Smith, among others).  Success was
quick to follow: his first recording, "Foxy Due," was cut in 1958. The combo
featured a saxophonist named Charles Earland, who would himself switch to
organ before long and become forever associated with the instrument in his
own right. 
 
While playing at a Trenton club in 1961, McGriff was invited by a small
independent label called Jell to record an instrumental version of a Ray
Charles hit. "I've Got a Woman" sold well enough regionally for a New York
label to gamble on wider distribution. Few would have predicted it, but with
the help of the Sue imprint, the single would land on the national top 20
charts, climbing into the top five on the R&B side, all on the strength of
its chugging gospel pulse and that B3 grind. Capitalizing on the momentum,
Sue quickly released an album of bluesy organ jams in 1963. Called "I've Got
a Woman," the record featured two more charting originals and was a bona
fide crossover pop hit.
 
Five more albums followed over the next three years, many of them
successful‹including a Christmas album and a lushly arranged collection of
soundtrack themes. In 1966 McGriff moved over to producer Sonny Lester's
upstart Solid State label where he continued to record in an array of
styles, including a big band tribute to Count Basie. But for all the
variety, the unyielding constant in his music was the blues‹a perfect
amalgam of gospel churn and sinful yearn. Look no further than his biggest
Solid State-era single, 1968's "The Worm." As familiar to a younger
generation of hip hop and breakbeat fans as it was to their bellbottomed
parents "The Worm" is an infectious invertebrate of an instrumental: all
wiggle and slither.
 
After a failed retirement (he tried horse farming in Connecticut ... it
didn't take) McGriff continued to record throughout the '70s. But his
populist blues-based jazz fell out of favor with the rise of jazz-rock
fusion and disco. McGriff put on a brave face, gamely showing up for slick
electric jazz-funk outings alongside old school organ-jazz trio dates. After
a brief recording lull, the early '80s saw him return to his original
soul-jazz style through a rich collaboration with saxophonist Hank Crawford.
 
By the mid '90s, the sound he helped pioneer had become hip again. Suddenly
he was in demand at big gigs and festivals at home and in the UK, where his
brand of music is particularly appreciated. With Ray Charles saxophonist
David "Fathead" Newman and funk drummer Bernard "Pretty" Purdie, McGriff
formed the Dream Team and recorded a spate of albums in his classic juke
joint style up until 2002's backward-looking "McGriff Avenue." The trio's
gigs were cooking lessons in disguise: McGriff once said that the secret to
his live shows was playing to the audience member who was having the least
fun. "Once you get that person," he said. "You got the whole club."
 
As his health began to decline, McGriff slowly receded from the spotlight.
The gigging continued for as long as he was able. But by 2007 he so weak he
posted a message of thanks‹that sounded a little too much like farewell‹on
his website. "I HAVE BEEN A LITTLE UNDER THE WEATHER AND I AM STILL NOT
MYSELF," he wrote. "MIRACLES HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO HAPPEN AND IF GOD GIVES ME
THAT MIRACLE, I PROMISE TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I WILL COME BACK AND GIVE YOU
ALL THAT I HAVE TO GIVE." There were no miracles this week. But in that
final public note of optimism there are echoes of Jimmy McGriff's joyful
Hammond noise.

URL: http://www.newsweek.com/id/138872