Wes Montgomery's warm smile, self-effacing demeanor, and somewhat
awkward-looking right-hand thumb technique might have said "don't
take me too seriously," but the music he produced told another
story. Aggressive but rhythmically subtle, bluesy, musically sophisticated,
and technically astounding- especially in terms of its deft, lush
octaves and liquid chordal passages-his playing embodied the bebop-oriented
jazz of the late '50s and '60s more completely than any other
guitarist of the day. Almost as soon as he emerged from the relative
obscurity of his native Indianapolis, he was lauded as the most
important player since Charlie Christian.
Twenty five years after Montgomery's sudden death in 1968,
his significance remains unchallenged. In the late '30s and early
'40s, Christian helped usher in a new era and point the way to
horn-based improvisation on the guitar, but Wes took things to
their logical conclusion, creating a lasting jazz guitar lexicon.
Consequently, legions of players have fallen under the influence
of his timeless, blues-based approach-George Benson, Pat Metheny,
Larry Coryell, Pat Martino, Steve Khan, Kevin Eubanks, Joe Pass,
Emily Remler, Ted Dunbar, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Eric Johnson
to name a few.
An especially telling testament to Wes' enduring importance and
impact is Fantasy Records' recently issued boxed set The Complete
Riverside Recordings. While no Montgomery recording is without
merit, the Riverside sessions reflect a period during which he
had substantial artistic control regarding material, the length
of improvisations, and the sidemen involved. This monumental project,
with its extensive annotation and 12 CDs (with many unissued takes),
is more than just a salute to a great guitarist; it pays tribute
to one of America's finest jazz musicians, period.
John Leslie "Wes" Montgomery was born in Indianapolis,
Indiana, on March 6, 1923. "His parents weren't musicians,"
says his widow, Serene, "but all of the children were."
June, the eldest brother, was an aspiring drummer but died at
18. Monk was born in 1921 and went on to play upright and become
the first jazz musician to concentrate on electric bass. Buddy
was born in 1930 and is noted for his work on piano and vibes.
Even sister Ervena played piano in church. According to Serene,
"His family was poor just about like any other; they had
to work every day."
When the children were young, Wes' parents separated. Buddy stayed
in Indianapolis with his mother and sister, and the three older
boys moved to Columbus, Ohio, with their father. In the Sept.
'77 issue of Guitar Player Monk said, "I got to the sixth
grade, but I just couldn't cope with the school thing. It was
the tough '30s, the Depression, and I wanted to get out in the
street and start making a living. When I started working-hauling
ice and coal, unloading boxcars of fruit and vegetables, earning
a few quarters-I was happy."
Monk saved $13 to buy a tenor guitar (probably tuned E, B,
G, D, high to low) for Wes, who "was doing a good job on
it by the time he was 12 or 13." When Wes was 17, he and
Monk returned to Indianapolis. "He was always a musician,
but he wasn't playing like when he was older," Serene adds.
"When he had that 4-string, he would play a while and then
ride his bike or play football. He would only talk to us so long
before he'd go off with his box."
Wes and Serene married in 1943, two years after they met. According
to an early-'60s interview with the late jazz critic Ralph J.
Gleason, Montgomery bought an amp and a Gibson 6-string guitar
when he was 19; however, a biography in the Riverside archives
with information supplied by Wes, cites his age as 20.
Serene confirms this, remembering that it was after their first
child was born.
Although Wes had heard records by Django Reinhardt and Les Paul,
it was Charlie Christian who really caught his attention. "That
cat tore everybody's head up," he said in the early '60s.
"I never saw him in my life, but he said so much on records.
I don't care what instrument a cat played, if he didn't understand
and feel the things Charlie Christian was doing, he was a pretty
poor musician." Wes was especially impressed by "Solo
Flight," the Benny Goodman orchestra's showcase for Christian's
ground-breaking horn-inspired single-note choruses.
One of the first tasks Wes undertook with the 6-string was
to learn Christian's solos. "About six or eight months after
I started playing I had taken all the solos off the record and
got a job in a club just playing them," he told Gleason.
"I'd play Charlie Christian's solos, then lay out. Then a
cat hired me for the Club 440. I went on the stand and played
the solos. The guys in the band helped me a lot about different
tunes, intros, endings and things they had. They wired me up on
all those, but after that, that was it." One of the musicians
who helped expand Wes' knowledge was pianist Mel Lee, who later
worked with B.B. King.
Montgomery eventually went on the road for brief periods with
The Brownskin Models, pianist/arranger Snookum Russell, and The
Four Jacks And A King. "He was real good, but he didn't read
at all," says bassist Ray Brown, who played with Wes in Russell's
band in the mid '40s. "We'd start a chart, Snookum would
point to him, and he'd just eat it alive-he had those kinds of
ears. We recorded, but the 78s never came out. Wes was with us
for two or three months, and then he got homesick and went back
to Indianapolis, which was a real center of musical activity in
the Midwest. A lot of bandleaders picked up musicians there."
Serene remembers when Wes went out with The Four Jacks And
A King: "I guess he was the king, because they sang and he
played the guitar. They went to New York and thought maybe they
would hit it, but they like to starve to death." Between
road trips he would return to Indianapolis and resume a grueling
schedule of nighttime gigs and working various day jobs to support
the family.
In the late '40s, Wes, apparently eager to expand his influences,
occasionally drove to Detroit to hear Kenny Burrell, whose reputation
was spreading even though he was still in his teens. "Musician
friends of mine in Detroit and elsewhere mentioned that I had
been an influence and inspiration to Wes," Kenny states.
"I met him when I was not only working a lot in Detroit,
but also doing a lot of sitting in. I played mainly at the Club
Sudan, which had a policy of no alcohol so teenagers could go
in. Once in a while Wes and his friend [saxophonist Alonzo] 'Pookie'
Johnson would drive over from Naptown. I didn't realize the significance
of this until later, when Wes had become such a great and important
guitarist. Wes just listened when he came to Detroit, but we slowly
became friends. As I got to know him I realized that he was very
shy. I didn't really see him very much after that until he came
to New York."
In 1948 vibraphonist Lionel Hampton's big band passed through
Indy, and Montgomery was taken on board. The engagement lasted
two years. Brief unamplified solos from this period show him to
be still influenced by Christian, whom Hampton had worked with
nearly a decade earlier as a member of the Benny Goodman Sextet.
According to the autobiography Hamp, Wes' band mates included
bassist Charles Mingus and trumpeter Teddy Buckner. Maurice J.
Summerfield's The Jazz Guitar-Its Evolution And Its Players states
that his colleagues "nicknamed him 'Rev. Montgomery' because
he was a teetotaller." Wes told Ralph J. Gleason he became
aware of Tal Farlow's advanced guitar work during this period.
(From 1951 to 1953 Hampton's band featured Monk Montgomery on
electric bass, as well as trumpeters Art Farmer, Quincy Jones,
and Clifford Brown.)
Over the next few years Wes constantly gigged in Indianapolis.
According to Buddy Montgomery, "All the musicians in Indianapolis
ended up playing with somebody sometime. If you were professional,
you ended up playing with musicians who were also professional."
Other jazzmen active in the area included bassist Leroy Vinnegar,
drummer Benny Barth, and, later, trombonist Slide Hampton and
trumpeter Freddie Hubbard.
In 1955 Wes joined the Montgomery-Johnson Quintet, with Buddy
and Monk Montgomery, drummer Sonny Johnson, and Alonzo Johnson
(the Johnsons were not related). That same year, the group participated
in a New York session for Columbia, recording "Love For Sale"
for an album that was never completed. Although Wes' one-chorus
solo showed that he had advanced beyond the level exhibited during
his days with Hampton, it lacked the refinement and excitement
he would eventually be known for.
Toward the end of 1957, the Montgomery brothers, Hubbard, Alonzo
Johnson, and drummer Paul Parker recorded several tunes in Indianapolis
that were issued through World Pacific/Pacific Jazz. A few months
later, Wes recorded for the label in Los Angeles with his brothers'
new group, the Mastersounds. Another date took place in 1959.
(Buddy reports that Wes subbed for Monk on electric bass for at
least one West Coast performance!) These sessions resulted in
albums such as The Montgomery Brothers Plus Five Others, Kismet,
and Montgomeryland, selected tracks of which are included on the
Blue Note compilation Wes Montgomery/Beginnings.
On numbers like "Wes' Tune," "Billie's Bounce,"
and "Old Folks," Montgomery clearly demonstrated that
he had evolved his Christian-derived vocabulary into an exciting
individual style. But while the releases failed to bring him sizeable
national recognition-probably because he participated more as
a sideman and continued to be based in Indianapolis-they did help
introduce him to the jazz community.
In September of 1959 saxophonist Cannonball and trumpeter Nat
Adderley reached Naptown with a George Shearing big band. "We
heard about this phenomenal guitar player, so we went to see him
at The Guided Missile Room, a small after-hours place in the ghetto,"
trumpeter Nat Adderley remembers. "There wasn't a phone in
the club, so we went down to a filling station to call [Riverside
producer] Orrin [Keepnews] at three or four o'clock in the morning.
The station was all locked up, so we had to wait until the next
day when we got back to New York."
Keepnews lost no time in bringing Wes and his Indianapolis
partners Paul Parker and organist Melvin Rhyne to the Big Apple
for his first recording as leader, The Wes Montgomery Trio. "One
day I got a call from Orrin Keepnews who said that Wes wanted
to use my guitar and amplifier to make his debut album,"
Kenny Burrell adds. "I figured Wes liked what he had heard
on my recordings, and figured my Gibson L-7 and Fender Twin would
be okay for him. Whatever the reason, I felt complimented and
pleased that he thought so much of me and my music. I was happy
to help him out because he was a friend and he hadn't brought
his guitar with him. He didn't like to fly, and my guess is that
he didn't like to take his guitar on the airplane-I still don't
like to take mine."
Wes' playing on tunes like "Missile Blues" and "'Round
Midnight," which feature him moving from single-notes to
octaves to chords, launched his Riverside period in stunning fashion.
1960's brilliant follow-up, The Incredible Jazz Guitar Of Wes
Montgomery, teamed him with pianist Tommy Flanagan and bassist
Percy and drummer Albert Heath. "Somebody must have written
his own tunes out for him when he came from Indianapolis, because
he had the music," Flanagan recalls, referring to Wes' apparent
inability to read music. "They were good songs: 'West Coast
Blues,' a waltz that was different for the time, and 'Four On
Six,' based on 'Summertime.' That was one of his first major recordings,
so I guess he just let it all hang out. He was very humble at
the date, acting in awe of us as players. He was a little nervous
because he didn't read or couldn't see a note as big as his head,
but his knowledge went far beyond anything that we knew. We were
stunned by his incredible musicianship. It was unusual to hear
a guitarist play in that style with just his thumb."
That same year, Wes appeared on Nat Adderley's Work Song, Harold
Land's West Coast Blues, and Cannonball Adderley And The Poll
Winners. He also recorded Movin' Along-on which he even played
6-string bass-and The Montgomery Brothers (issued on Fantasy)
with Buddy and Monk. But while he was named New Star on guitar
in Down Beat's Critics Poll for 1960 and earned top honors in
its Critics and Readers polls for the next two years, he was disappointed
in the money he was making. Keepnews recalls trying to cheer him
up at one point: "I told him, 'A year ago you were unknown
and broke. Now you're a star and broke. That's real progress.'"
From 1960 to 1962 Montgomery settled in San Francisco, partly
to minimize the long commute back to Indianapolis. "When
he lived in San Francisco, I stayed in Indianapolis to take care
of our kids," Serene recalls. "I could always get a
hold of him; he wouldn't leave home without telling us where he'd
be."
In 1961 Wes briefly joined saxophonist John Coltrane's group,
which included pianist McCoy Tyner, saxophonist Eric Dolphy, and
drummer Elvin Jones; no recordings are known to exist. In addition
to the Monterey Jazz Festival, they played a memorable engagement
at San Francisco's Jazz Workshop. "It was a very expensive
band," Keepnews remembers. "Musicians were very fond
of the Workshop's owner, who was taking a beating because the
sets were so long; the lines were long, but you're not making
money when people are standing on the street. There was a band
meeting where Wes suggested that they should cut down on the length
of the tunes. He said, 'John should be able to play as much as
he wants, but I'm willing to cut down my solos and I'm sure that
Eric would be willing to do the same.' Wes told me that when he
glanced over at Eric Dolphy after saying that, he understood the
meaning of the phrase 'if looks could kill' for the first time."
That same year, Wes collaborated with Buddy and Monk on Grooveyard And The Montgomery Brothers, The Montgomery Brothers In Canada, and Love Walked In, which also featured George Shearing. Then he teamed with vibraphonist Milt Jackson for the dynamic Bag Meets Wes. The only album under his own name was So Much Guitar!, arguably his best effort for the year. Ron Carter, bassist on the session, recalls, "Since Wes wasn't noted for writing out his music, we worked it all out by ear when we got to the date. For as complicated as his music was, it was also musically logical. We couldn't figure out why we hadn't thought of that. He was very comfortable to play with. My musical concern was how to make my notes fit his but not be overwhelmed by the roundness of his guitar sound; since he played with his thumb, his sound was very velvety and didn't have that edge that pick players or fingernail players have. So it made me play in a different part of the bass than normal. As it turned out they were the right choices to make. Wes showed us the tunes until we got them right. It wasn't a problem with [pianist] Hank Jones, and I wasn't too far behind. Hank and I worked out the chords and the forms between the two of us. Wes wondered how I caught on so fast, and I said that even though what he was doing was new, he was playing so logically that it was easy to catch on. My job was to meet him there at the corner."
Wes' sole recording for 1962 was Full House, with saxophonist Johnny Griffin and Miles Davis' rhythm section at the time-pianist Wynton Kelly, bassist Paul Chambers, and drummer Jimmy Cobb. (Davis apparently objected to their participation, but when Kelly asked the trumpeter if he would compensate them for the pay they'd be passing up, the go-ahead was given.) Recorded live, the album captured Wes at the height of his powers, taking especially extended solos on "Blue 'N' Boogie," "Cariba," "Come Rain Or Come Shine," and the title track.
After residing on the West Coast, Montgomery made his way back
to New York. Gigs were available, but he ran into a problem when
he applied for the necessary cabaret card. "He was accused
of filling out the questionnaire falsely," Keepnews relates.
"Wes stated that he had never been arrested. As it turned
out, he had an arrest record in Indianapolis. It had the notation
V.A.D., which didn't mean anything to anybody at police headquarters
in Manhattan. In Indianapolis Wes had worked pretty consistently
at this after-hours joint, the Missile Room. Apparently there
had been a raid, and all the musicians were taken downtown, booked,
and then turned loose." A New York cop who had taken a liking
to Wes because they both had a large family learned that V.A.D
stood for "visiting a dive." Realizing the charge's
insignificance, the police issued the card and Wes was free to
work the city.
1963's initial session not only was a first for Wes, but also
foreshadowed a future direction in his career. Fusion!/Wes Montgomery
With Strings featured his guitar framed by Jimmy Jones' stunning,
large-scale arrangements. To familiarize Jones with the material,
Wes recorded sketches of the tunes at home. Kenny Burrell played
second guitar on the date: "I had charts to read-mainly chord
symbols, because I was playing a lot of rhythm. Wes and I improvised
the introduction to 'God Bless The Child,' which Jimmy Jones felt
would set up the mood before the other strings came in. Also on
that tune, I felt there was a good balance between Wes' electric
and my acoustic. Wes probably had memorized his parts-the melodies
and so forth-but the other musicians loved him. That was one of
the smoothest sessions I've ever done. The string players especially
acknowledged his artistry; if they liked what you were doing,
they'd tap the music stands with their bows. That really relaxed
Wes and made him feel happy."
Shortly following the dates that produced Fusion!, Wes returned
to the familiarity of the organ trio, teaming with Jimmy Cobb
and long-time cohort Mel Rhyne. The result was Boss Guitar, actually
released before the strings album. Two more sessions took place
in 1963, which ultimately produced Portrait Of Wes and Guitar
On The Go.
In 1964, Wes' Riverside days abruptly ended when the label
was forced to go out of business. With the exception of Fusion!/Wes
Montgomery With Strings, the Riverside sessions had featured small
groups that focused on improvisation and interplay. Always the
perfectionist, Wes had refined his lush sound and developed his
trademark octaves into a high art. His three-stage approach to
soloing, which organically climaxed by moving from single-notes
to octaves to chords, reached its zenith. The Riverside recordings
"represent Montgomery at his peak," according to The
New Grove Dictionary of Jazz. Unfortunately, Wes' monetary gains
didn't equal his artistic triumphs with Riverside. "He didn't
sell worth a damn," Keepnews confirms.
Montgomery soon moved to Verve, coming under the auspices of
producer Creed Taylor, whose intentions are stated in Adrian Ingram's
book Wes Montgomery [Ashley Mark]: "I decided that if people
were going to hear Wes Montgomery, I would have to record him
in a culturally acceptable context. I wasn't particularly enamored
with surrounding him with strings, but if that was a way of getting
him known to more people, then that was the way it had to be."
So began Montgomery's "commercial period," where the
emphasis was on large-scale arrangements and accessible material.
Movin' Wes was issued first; Bumpin' followed in 1964.
1965's dynamic blowing session, Smokin' At The Half Note, reunited
Wes with Kelly, Chambers, and Cobb, and represented a brief rekindling
of Riverside's spirit and freedom. Recorded later that same year,
Goin' Out Of My Head not only marked a return to the large-ensemble
format, but also proved to be a financial turning point in Wes'
career: It sold extremely well and ultimately earned a Grammy
for best jazz instrumental.
For many years, Wes' fear of flying had limited the extend
of his tours-and possibly taken its toll on his physical well-being.
"In the '60s we were both very busy, but I was flying a lot
and he was driving," Kenny Burrell reminisces. "It took
its wear and tear on him to play in Chicago one night and open
in Los Angeles a couple of days later. As a friend, it was one
of my concerns about him. I often wondered why he didn't take
a little more time between gigs, and my guess is that he didn't
want to demand that. He was the kind of person who didn't want
to create any problems. I don't think I ever saw him mad."
Montgomery's venture abroad in 1965 represented one of the
few times he was persuaded to board a plane. "He would have
driven there if he could have," Keepnews adds. While in England,
Wes appeared on the BBC television program Jazz 625, which provides
an invaluable visual document of his vast capabilities. Backed
by piano, bass, and drums, Wes displays his prowess on six tunes,
including "Yesterdays," "Jingles," and "Full
House." Frequent close-ups of his hands illuminate many long-standing
technical questions.
In 1966, Wes continued to record in lush, formulaic settings,
issuing Tequila and California Dreaming. A year later, he and
Taylor moved to A&M, producing A Day In The Life-another best-seller-and
Down Here On The Ground. Road Song came out in 1968. While all
of Wes' "commercial" output had redeeming qualities-catchy,
interesting grooves and beautifully stated melodies-improvisation
was minimal, the material limited, and the context anything but
spontaneous. Nevertheless, many contemporary artists cite the
Verve and A&M releases among their first introductions to
jazz guitar.
Montgomery was disappointed by how the jazz press took his
last few records to task. "Those who criticize me for playing
jazz too simply are missing the point," he observed in a
1968 issue of Down Beat. "When I came up big on the Billboard
charts, they couldn't decide whether to call me a jazz or a pop
artist. There is a different direction in my music these days;
there is a jazz concept to what I'm doing, but I'm playing popular
music and it should be regarded as such." But he was also
disappointed by another aspect of his popularity. In the Sept.
'72 issue of Guitar Player, Barney Kessel quoted him as saying,
"See those people out there? They didn't come to hear me,
they came to see me play my hit records, because when I do a tune
of mine or Coltrane's 'Giant Steps,' they get bored and start
talking."
Although Wes had been on the road a great deal over the years,
Indianapolis remained his home. In 1968 he returned to see a doctor.
"For a while he had been taking nitroglycerine for his heart,"
Serene recalls, "but he wouldn't tell me and the children
that he wasn't feeling well. He had a heart attack and died in
my arms on June 15th. He was scheduled to go overseas the next
week."
Montgomery's death stunned the jazz community. "I think
Tal Farlow-whom Wes admired a lot-told me that he had died,"
says Jim Hall. "It was quite a shock. He was just a nice
family guy." But Wes was also a complex individual who was
"not easily explored," as Buddy puts it. He was exceedingly
self-critical, and for unknown reasons experienced headaches,
dizzy spells, and nervousness. Yet most of his associates best
remember the simpler aspects of his persona. "He was really
nice and sort of unsophisticated, a plain kind of man," Nat
Adderley says. "He had been a welder-a salt-of-the-earth
kind of person with this tremendous talent. He was a great jazz
talent in a plain unsophisticated man."
Jim Hall particularly recalls Wes' humorous side: "After
mentioning that I practiced a lot whenever I was playing with
[saxophonist] Sonny Rollins, Wes said, 'I never practice; I just
open the case and throw in a piece of meat.' The implication being
that the guitar is a beast in the case. One time he was playing
at the Monterey Jazz Festival and didn't have an amp, so I volunteered
to go to a local shop and pick one up. When he saw the size of
this huge thing, he said, 'Man, I ain't going to play that much
guitar!'"
But for those who didn't know Wes personally, it's his music that speaks most eloquently. Its timeless sound, spirit, variety, and vocabulary ensure that it will be referenced far into the future. "Had he lived a little longer I'm sure he would have been even more stunned about how he was the first person in many a year to revolutionize what guitarists sound like," Ron Carter summarizes. Now and forevermore, Wes lives!
When Wes Montgomery arrived on the scene in the late '50s,
he filled a void that had existed since the days of Charlie Christian.
While a number of great guitarists were already well established,
he immediately leapt to the forefront with an unprecedented combination
of instrumental innovation and musicality that fueled the imagination
and touched the heart.
Wes astounded listeners with his rich octaves, demanding block
chords, and the way he used his right-hand thumb to sound the
strings. But it was his melodicism, harmonic sense, swing, phrasing,
and ability to improvise chorus after chorus with a rhythmic synthesis
of bebop sophistication and bluesy soulfulness that reflected
both his true musical depth and the jazz values of the time. Today,
he remains one of the instrument's most towering figures. His
influence continues to be far-reaching, and the majority of his
recordings sound every bit as spontaneous as they did when they
were first issued. Anyone who hasn't heard Wes Montgomery simply
hasn't heard jazz guitar.
Although Wes' personality was as warm as the lush sound of his
Gibson L-5, he also "wasn't easy to explore," in the
words of Buddy Montgomery, his sole-surviving brother. Issues
of personal complexity aside, he certainly paid his share of dues.
Beginning in the mid '40s, Wes went on the road with several groups;
however, he "like to starved to death," according to
his wife, Serene, who eventually gave him seven children. His
musical abilities were fully formed by the early '50s, but for
most of that decade he remained in obscurity in his native Indianapolis
where he held a series of menial day jobs to feed his family-even
when his brothers Buddy and Monk achieved a degree of success
as the Mastersounds. Although he received acclaim from all quarters
during his artistically fruitful four years with Riverside Records,
he was discouraged by the lack of monetary rewards. When he finally
experienced substantial commercial success in the mid to late
'60s with records for Verve and A&M, he was criticized for
selling out and at the very least felt self-conscious about his
new direction.
On June 15, 1968, Wes Montgomery suddenly died of a heart attack.
As an artist in his own right, he had surfaced at the relatively
advanced age of 36 and recorded for less than a decade. Maybe
it was a miracle that that his career outside of Indianapolis
even happened at all-but short as it was, it left lasting memories.
LARRY CORYELL: Wes Montgomery built his solos in a new way.
Given enough space, he would start out with single-note lines,
and then go on to octaves. Most people who admire him stop at
his octaves, because they were such a huge innovation. But from
there, he would move to another level with chords. He didn't play
the most advanced voicings in the world-they weren't as closely
voiced as Johnny Smith's, for instance-but he had a way of punching
them that has been emulated time and again. Wes' lines were more
modern than anyone else's and certainly on the level of a horn
player.
I met Wes and saw him play on a few occasions. Once, when I was
with the Gary Burton Quartet, we sat next to each other on a plane.
I was using light-gauge strings and doing a lot of bending back
then, and Wes remarked, "Yeah, that's all nice, but sometimes
it's not so good to get up there and bend all those notes and
ride all the time." He wasn't being critical; it was just
an observation.
Someone who knew Wes, I can't remember exactly who, said his production-type
albums were his way of making a statement as an Afro-American.
The fact that deeper issues motivated him to reach a wider audience
is a very positive point. He was an individual with incredible
purity. Once I got to know him a little bit, I saw how his personal
warmth and genuineness were inseparable from his creativity.
TED DUNBAR: Les Spann, a guitarist who played with Dizzy Gillespie,
told me about Wes because I also used my thumb. I was in pharmacy
school at the time, and, as luck would have it, my class visited
an Indianapolis company in 1957, which was when I first met him.
In about 1960 I ended up getting a job in a drug store right across
the street from the Missile Room where he played. After I'd close
up, I'd play and hang out with him. When he left to make Full
House [Riverside] with Miles Davis' rhythm section, I took his
place in his group for a couple of months.
When I first met Wes we talked about playing with the thumb, and
he said, "Control is a bitch, ain't it?" He told me
to practice with my amp because the guitar and the amp are one
instrument. That made so much sense. He perfectly understood how
his thumb worked, and he treated it like a science. He also talked
about phrasing, saying, "You have to phrase everything you
play. No note should be wasted; everything inside a statement
should be economical and to the point. The phrasing should have
a feeling on it." He was that specific. He understood music
with only his ears. Buddy and Monk also had that kind of talent.
One day I asked Wes how he got such a fantastic sound out of his
old Gibson amp. He took me to a raggedy radio shop where a guy
with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and glasses down on
his nose did something that made it respond the instant you'd
touch the guitar. You could play his instrument with only your
left hand-that's how sensitive his set-up was.
Wes once said, "You know, I don't have to play." He
meant that he wasn't going to die if he couldn't play the guitar.
I learned a lot from that statement. He had a large family, and
he was going to do whatever it took to fulfill his responsibilities.
Playing came so damn easy to him. He was always just smiling and
laughing like it was nothing. He was one of those unique human
beings who understands the qualities that make good music. He
didn't try to impress anyone. Even though he practiced, he didn't
have to do it 18 hours a day. I've never seen anyone like him.
PAUL HUMPHREY: In 1960 I sat in with Wes and Melvin Rhyne when
they were in Detroit. Wes liked my drumming and asked me to join
him and his brothers in California. They wanted to work some local
clubs so I could learn the arrangements before heading out on
the road. The first place we played was a little club in Oakland;
I made 50 bucks. From there, we headed up the coast to Vancouver
where we recorded a live album at The Cellar called The Montgomery
Brothers In Canada [Fantasy].
After that, we drove east and ended up at the Half Note in New
York. On opening night, which was in May of 1961, Miles Davis,
Gil Evans, Lex Humphries, Charles Mingus, and Cannonball and Nat
Adderley were in the audience. Wes played a Fender amp, and he
had something that had just been developed: a system that enabled
him to play through his amp without using a cord. At one point
he went outside the club and played while he looked back through
the window. After a couple of sets, we had a jam session where
Mingus played Monk's bass.
Later, we appeared at Crawford's Grill in Pittsburgh. A young
guitarist who was working across the street couldn't get in because
he was underage, so I snuck him in the back door, found a place
for him to sit, and told him to not order anything. That kid turned
out to be George Benson when he was just 17. I also remember Wes
playing his guitar in the back seat of the car as we drove to
a jam session at the musicians' union.
We kept each other laughing as we drove across the country in
that Pontiac station wagon. Wes was a regular guy. Some people
are hard nosed and act like stars, but he wasn't like that. I
gained a lot from that experience. I met all the big stars, got
a little bit of a rep, and was able to grow.
STEVE KHAN: Wes' octaves, chords, and sound were wonderful,
but his writing is perhaps the most memorable aspect of what he
did. His tunes were very clever and used a lot of blues-based
material. Unlike a lot of guys who write only a line and wait
for the accompaniment to take care of how things are really going
to sound, he wrote tunes that were complete in terms of the line,
the rhythmic feel, and the chord voicings that punctuate the line.
Each of his tunes-including "Four On Six," "Mr.
Walker," "Movin' Along," "West Coast Blues,"
and "Twisted Blues"-is great in its own way.
Wes also was one of the guitar's most melodic improvisers. His
solos were amazingly swinging, melodic, fun, and romantic. If
you appreciate those elements, then you realize what a giant he
was. Jazz is always pictured as being played in smoky, dark rooms
with people talking and glasses clinking, but you wouldn't associate
that environment with the joy he radiated. I've never seen anyone
who seemed so happy to be playing such serious music. Even during
the period when he was playing pop kinds of tunes, he still went
all out.
I used to hang out in front of clubs so I could help Wes bring
in his amp. He would always say that he didn't know how he did
what he did, he just did it. Only after you've been playing for
a long time do you realize that when you're in the music, you're
not really thinking about anything. Today's players tend to be
more cerebral, because they've had the benefit of the educational
material that has come out over the last 30 years. But Wes just
heard the music, which is where you want to be in the end. A lot
of guitar innovations wouldn't have happened without him.
PAT MARTINO: My mother and father took me to hear Wes with
the Montgomery Brothers at a place called Pep's here in Philadelphia.
I was 16 or 17, and it about the time Groove Yard [Riverside]
was out. He was burning. At the end of the set my dad asked if
he wanted a drink, and Wes said sure. I couldn't believe he ordered
only orange juice.
Later on, Wes and I talked quite a bit when we bumped into each
other on the road. One time I was going into a club while he was
leaving, and I couldn't believe that he was helping the organist
carry a Hammond B3 down two flights of stairs. We used to speak
about that, and he would tell me how important it was to take
care of business. Sometimes I'd watch him warm up. When I'd want
him to explain what he had just played, he'd say, "I don't
know anything about these names you're asking me about. I really
can't give you an answer. That's not how I play. I play what I
hear." We never played together because I was too young and
still in awe.
My father turned me on to Johnny Smith, who was the first jazz
guitarist I heard. To use a contemporary analogy, Johnny was the
master of step-time programming, while Wes was my introduction
to real time. I was floored by how Wes played from the heart.
I admired Johnny and loved his playing because of the affect it
had on the relationship between my father and me. Wes gave me
the opportunity to introduce my father to something he was unaware
of. That had many implications.
When Wes' Riverside era ended, my personal feelings were based
on judgmental concerns. I was critical of anything that went against
an artist's aesthetics, and Wes' Riverside days were the aesthetic
ones. And then suddenly there was more interest in the sense of
production, the industrial. At the time, I was sorry to hear that
was taking place. But another part of me thought of how he had
to take care of his family. That more or less threw me back into
reality and made me realize what a beautiful person he was. The
end result was a broader opinion of what life was all about. I
was small-minded in those years. My main concern was jazz guitar
and nothing more. But being interested in Wes holistically, as
a person as well as a player, as a leader as well as a great musician,
made me realize that he could adapt to a number of identities.
The whole thing spilled out and I began to be interested in a
broader context.
The honesty of Wes' music was very important to me. He wasn't
a competitive image to chase. Most young players find that necessary
in our culture, but the way he was as a person neutralized that
entire dilemma. I was much more interested in being a better human
being, and he was the core of that entire issue. I wish kids had
the opportunity to be what I was and to see who I saw in those
days. He helped me grow up and be more sensitive amidst insensitivity.
Wes was the best person I ever met.
PAT METHENY: When I was 13 years old and just starting, Wes
was my first guitar-playing hero. A friend said I ought to check
him out, so I got five or six of his records. The first one was
The Wes Montgomery Trio [Riverside] with Melvin Rhyne and Paul
Parker, which I listened to over and over again. The first thing
I did was throw away my picks. I did everything I could to sound
like Wes Montgomery. But when I started using my Wes stuff around
Kansas City, I caught a major draft from the older guys for copying
him. It forced me to realize that trying to imitate him wasn't
musically good for me and it was even disrespectful. Today, I
have a real problem with people who try to sound like him. I don't
mind it too much when George Benson does it-somehow there's a
literal connection there that has a resonance and truth-but in
general it bugs me.
Wes' phrasing and melodic development affected me the most. He
had a story-telling quality that let ideas unfold over time in
a way no guitarist had done before. He took certain stylistic
breakthroughs of Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane and applied them
to the guitar in a way that is the ultimate achievement for an
improvising musician. On a phrasing level, he made the guitar
speak. Up to that point, players picked every note and had guitar-like
phrasing. He was in the same ballpark with the greatest horn improvisers;
he's probably the only pre-1970 guitarist I can say that about.
Wes and Jim Hall pretty much revolutionized the instrument. Those
are the two guys for me.
Wes was a harmonic improviser second to none. He also got that
horn-like Clifford Brown articulation happening. Even now there
are so few guitarists who can play inside a rhythm section and
make it swing like that. A lot of it was the thumb factor. Since
he didn't use a pick, he had to not only learn different ways
of negotiating tempos, but also innovate ways of getting from
point A to point B on the guitar neck. I recently saw a video
of him playing with a Dutch big band. What knocked me out was
that he casually looked around-as he used just three left-hand
fingers-making it all seem so easy. There was such a joyful, happy
spirit that I laughed the whole time I saw it.
One of my pet peeves is that people say Wes sold out, but his
later records are some of my favorites. The one I recommend most
highly is Smokin' At The Half Note [Verve]. I can sing every note
played by Wes, Wynton Kelly, Paul Chambers, and Jimmy Cobb. "If
You Could See Me Now" is the greatest guitar solo ever played,
including anything by Jimi Hendrix, Robert Johnson, or anybody
else. It's the highest level attained on the guitar in terms of
just dealing with music. I also love Down Here On The Ground and
A Day In The Life [both A&M]. Those records illuminate another
aspect of his improvisational talents: Stretching out and playing
50 choruses on a tune is one thing, but not many guys can take
eight bars and make a perfect jewel of a statement.
Right before Wes died in 1968, I met him at the Kansas City Jazz
Festival. I asked him for his autograph-today it's on my wall-and
explained that I was just learning. He said, "You've got
to know all the notes on the instrument." That probably was
the best thing he could have told me, because I was still avoiding
going up above the 5th fret. He was so nice to me, a little punk
with braces on my teeth. I especially remember the glow he had
and the vibe of goodness he projected. Wes was a very special
cat.
LES PAUL: When I first heard Wes Montgomery, he was at Count
Basie's in Harlem. I was absolutely floored by his technique and
what he was doing with his thumb. You could tell that he had listened
to me, Django Reinhardt, Charlie Christian, and others. Pat Martino
was playing across the street at Smalls' Paradise, and George
Benson was down the block. One night, the four of us met on a
corner. There we were, complementing each other in a circle. I
started to laugh and said, "There's so much talent standing
here that we could whip anything in the world."
Once when Wes, George Benson, and myself were sitting around,
Wes mentioned that he wasn't getting anywhere. I told him the
key is being commercial. "I'm not even going to entertain
that idea," Benson said. I made the point that you have to
play what people want to hear, not what you'd like to teach them.
Wes just sat there and listened. Somebody finally thought of putting
some strings behind his octaves. As soon as that stuff began coming
out, I knew he was on his way. The next time I saw Benson, he
still said, "No way." Finally, he did what he should
have done and began singing. I have no problem living with it,
dealing with it, or going to the bank with it. Wes had a wide
scope and was able to do many things. He was a great, great musician.
JOHN PISANO: At the time I met Wes, we were both on A&M.
His album Down Here On The Ground includes a tune I collaborated
on called "Wind Song."
I've heard about the flack over his so-called commercial stuff,
but I wonder how much of that was in his mind. I'm not saying
he didn't sell out, but everything he did was musical and something
he could have been proud of. What's the matter with a jazz player
making a few bucks?
The first time I heard about Wes, I had just joined Chico Hamilton.
We were working opposite the Mastersounds at the Jazz Workshop
in San Francisco. In the dressing room, Buddy and Monk asked me
if I had ever heard of him and mentioned that he used his thumb.
I remember thinking that he couldn't be that great if he played
with only his thumb. A few years later, his brothers were here
in Los Angeles. I told Buddy I had finally heard Wes and that
he was unbelievable.
One night when I was playing at Donte's in Los Angeles, Thumbs
Carllile happened to be sitting in a booth. All of a sudden, in
the shadowy darkness, Wes came in and sat down with him. At the
end of the set, I said, "Two great guitar players are here
tonight; however, they both play incorrectly." I thought
it was cute, and they both smiled. Wes sure was a phenomenon.
BUCKY PIZZARELLI: I played in the rhythm section on Wes' California
Dreaming [Verve]. I sat very close to him. Up front like that,
he could blow you right over. Everything he did was swinging at
all times. He made even the simplest thing happen. Nothing was
forced, everything was gentle and right to the point. He looked
at my gut-string guitar between tunes, and I said how much I liked
what he was doing.
The thumb causes you to use all down strokes, which is where the
swing comes from. I used to do a lot of sessions on 6-string electric
bass guitar; when I heard Wes use one on "Body And Soul"
[Movin' Along, Riverside] I thought it was absolutely beautiful.
He played it up high, which is the secret of that instrument.
Wes was like an updated Charlie Christian. Charlie played all
of those major and minor things, but Wes got into II-V's. Today,
I always tell guitar players to look for an empty street to go
down. That's exactly what Wes did with octaves.
MELVIN RHYNE: I met Wes in the early '50s when he sat in at
the Cotton Club, an after-hours place in Indianapolis. Everybody
admired him; hearing such a walking musical school house was a
real treat. When Wes was signed by Riverside, I went with him
to New York to do The Wes Montgomery Trio [Riverside]. He could
have gotten someone else-there are lots of better players-but
he didn't want to do that. I was still sort of green and disbelieving,
so I'm glad I didn't listen to what I was thinking.
Wes was a great teacher; you could learn a lot just by being around
him. He patiently explained a lot of tunes to me. He didn't read
music, but he knew chord names like F7 and Bb9. He could speak
the language, no doubt about it. He taught me what not to do as
much as what to do. One way he'd describe that is by saying, "You
can't learn something from someone who doesn't know more than
you." That's still valid today. He always spoke about being
honest. Dishonest musicians tend to blame other people, but you
can't produce quality under that situation. He spoke about that
pretty consistently, and it made for a great relationship.
Wes was a real comedian. When I first saw Flip Wilson, I thought
he looked a lot like Wes. One night at an after-hours club, we
decided to dry-gulch him. We played a low-down dirty blues like
somebody way up in the sticks to see if he could make something
out of it. It took him about one chorus to turn that beat up old
head into something beautiful. He was like a cat that always lands
on its feet.
I often think about Wes and the times we worked together. I was
fortunate to have done that.
LEE RITENOUR: Seeing Wes when I was about 15 made a tremendous
impact. He was one of the first guitarists to play with a lot
of rhythm, which had a big influence on me because I was very
rhythm oriented. He had a better pocket than anyone; his solos
were a kind of rhythmic/melodic lead playing that always had incredible
content. His phrasing affected all of my playing. For me, he was
the first crossover artist, because he played tremendous bebop
and could also work within Latin grooves and even with what was
becoming rock and roll. As a young kid who loved rock as much
as bebop, that was a very appealing quality. Another thing Wes
had over everyone else was a great sound.
There was a lot of serious jazz going down on those early Riverside
albums. Very few players were on Wes' technical level, but he
always made things sound much easier than they were. He was an
icon for me and probably the greatest jazz guitarist there ever
was.
CREED TAYLOR: When I began producing Wes' Verve recordings,
he seemed very level-headed and willing to try a new direction.
I gave him a record by Little Anthony And The Imperials called
"Goin' Out Of My Head" to see if he could do a version
of it that would attract a wider audience. After listening to
it, he said, "You must be goin' out of yours!" But I
told him I had already talked to arranger Oliver Nelson about
doing it in a way that would be interesting for him to play on.
I asked him to at least do the melody in straight octaves, which
was something he hadn't done very much for Riverside. Goin' Out
Of My Head [Verve] solidified our relationship, because he began
getting better gigs and making more money. At the same time, critics
began saying I was a son of a bitch for dressing him up with strings.
We took a lot of flack, but it didn't hurt.
In the beginning, Wes said he'd like to record with his brothers
because they were working with him in person. But I told him that
while they were excellent musicians, they weren't at the same
artistic level he was, so he had to look for support from people
like Grady Tate, Ron Carter, and Herbie Hancock. I also said that
when he made successful records, he could afford to pay his brothers
more money and everybody would be happier in the long run. He
continued to use them on the road, and it worked out fine. In
concert, he was the glowing star and they could support him quite
adequately. Wes was malleable, and, as far as I know, his brothers
understood.
Wes was getting $10,000 per concert just before he died, which
was four times what he could have made in a whole week at a club
gig. He was very happy with the success. There's that constant
debate about artistry and maintaining integrity. It was very much
a commercial venture, although Wes and I certainly knew that there
was the artistic side of it. Today, Wynton Marsalis is a fat cat
at Lincoln Center who can do whatever he wants artistically and
still make a lot of money. We didn't have that kind of environment
back then.
Around the time of Road Song [A&M], Wes' last album, he began
telling me he was tired all the time. It was an ironic title,
because that was indeed his road song. As a musician, Wes Montgomery
was so glowing that a producer would have to be pretty stupid
to do anything but complement his artistry. Personally, he was
one of greatest guys I've ever met. He was always on time, and
never bitched about anything. Everybody loved him.
McCOY TYNER: When Wes was living in the San Francisco area,
John Coltrane used to invite him to play with us whenever we were
at the Jazz Workshop. We played at the Monterey Jazz Festival,
too, although I don't really remember that. [Whether anyone recorded
Montgomery with John Coltrane is unknown.]
John asked me to show Wes the changes to some of the tunes we
were doing. I'd name the chords, but he wanted me to play them
so he could hear how they sounded. His harmonic concept fit well
with mine, and his ears were phenomenal. He was a natural musician.
His thumb style and those octaves were outstanding, and he had
such a warm sound. Intellectual musical information is okay, but
ultimately you rely on your ear. I used to love to see how he
was going to approach a solo. His lyricism was real bouncy, vivacious,
and happy sounding. He could come up with a beautiful melodic
line for any chord. He was such a beautiful guy on top of it.
John asked Wes to travel with us because he added a melodic element,
but I don't think that's what he wanted to do with music conceptually.
He didn't feel intimidated by the people in the band, but I felt
he was a little uncomfortable with some of the things that were
going on musically. There were a lot of things happening around
him when he played, and maybe he felt that he couldn't contribute
to that. Whether he could have moved with us to the next conceptual
stage is maybe questionable. Eric Dolphy was in the band at one
point when Wes sat in. I knew that everyone's style was different,
so I'd vary my approach to complement their individuality, instead
of comping the same way for everyone.
Wes had such a dry sense of humor. Sometimes he would say something
funny, and then look at you with a straight face. After making
you laugh, he'd laugh at you laughing. One time we crossed paths
in Buffalo, New York; he was with his group and I was with Coltrane.
Wes mentioned that he wasn't feeling well, so I offered to take
him to a health food store. After one bite of that stuff, he asked,
"My god, what is this?" A few years later at a little
party in Oakland, he teased me by saying, "This guy told
me he had something good to eat, and then he brought out what
looked like a tree!"
PHIL UPCHURCH: Wes and I would have brief chats whenever he
would come to Chicago. One time I brought up his commercial music,
and he commented, "It's a drag, huh?" He thought I was
going to say something negative, but I said it was the greatest
marriage of his playing, Creed's talents, and pop music. He said
he was glad I liked it. I think he liked that music, but not as
much as playing straight ahead. He just went along with the program;
it was a way to get popular and make some money.
Wes' Riverside albums with Mel Rhyne-The Wes Montgomery Trio,
Boss Guitar, Guitar On The Go, and Portrait Of Wes-are classics.
His style is so strong, it has to touch you. Once you hear him,
you're going to want to do either his octaves or his chords or
both. He had the magic touch. Personally, he was as sweet as his
music. Wes Montgomery was the gentleman of jazz guitar.
NAT ADDERLEY: Cannonball and I were on tour with George Shearing
and the Burnished Brass. We heard about this phenomenal guitar
player, so we went to hear him at The Guided Missile Room, a small
after-hours place in the Indianapolis ghetto. There wasn't a phone,
so we went down to a filling station to call Orrin at three or
four o'clock in the morning. The station was all locked up, so
we had to wait until the next day when we got back to New York.
Wes was scheduled to do a session around the same time I was to
do the album Work Song. Both Orrin and I wanted to use Wes for
that record; I hadn't played with him before. We had a rehearsal,
and it only took him a minute to learn the tunes he didn't know.
They weren't first takes.
I played with Wes a couple of times after that. He was a little
older than we were and he had a big family. He was really nice
and sort of unsophisticated, a plain kind of man. He had been
a welder-a salt of the earth kind of person with this tremendous
talent. He had many incongruities; he was a great jazz talent
in a plain unsophisticated man. It was really odd for that kind
of man to have that kind of jazz talent. Jazz players usually
are more sophisticated. Wes was comfortable with us because we
were down-home boys from the South, although Cannonball and I
also had college degrees. It wasn't a case of us being the big
stars and him being from Indianapolis. We were more comfortable
than that.
He knocked me out with his octaves, which he could do so fast.
I had never heard anything like that. The fact that he had a great
single-line technique and his chords were accurate wasn't the
most impressive thing at first-it was the octaves that everybody
imitates now.
The instrumentation on Work Song was an accident. I actually thought
more about Sam Jones and the cello than I did about Wes. Wes was
a great addition; he made more things possible because I was thinking
of just having the cornet and cello be the front-line instruments.
We remained good friends. For years we'd eat at Wes' house when
we were passing through Indianapolis. His wife was always cooking
because he had so many kids. Adding a couple more plates wasn't
a problem.
When you achieve a certain stature, there is no good, better,
or best-everybody is creative. For instance, you can't compare
Thelonious Monk to Oscar Peterson. When you consider what Wes
did, he certainly deserves a place in the top 10. He wasn't better
than Charlie Christian, because they played at different times,
but Wes was my favorite player. How do account for the fact that
Wes came from Indianapolis? How do you account for John Coltrane
coming from Hamlet, South Carolina, or Dizzy coming from Cheraw?
Wes was just a brilliant man.
He was such a highly stylized player. He sounded as brilliant
when I first heard him as he did right before he died. He was
as good as you could get. I never really analyzed how he blended
with other instruments or what he played; it just always worked.
I never listened to him analytically, I just enjoyed what he did.
We always wish that things had happened in another fashion, that
Wes could have been discovered earlier. Just the same, he came
at a wonderful time in jazz and for the guitar. Immediately he
had all of the guitar players trying to emulate his octaves. He
was a musical and instrumental innovator.
RON CARTER: Wes was humane and unaffected by his success. He
was a guitar player, period. It wasn't an issue for him. He didn't
use the guitar as a political platform or for any other purpose,
which is stunning for someone who influenced music so much. People
don't think of geniuses like that as being nice people, but he
and his brothers were wonderful gentlemen. Had he lived a little
longer I'm sure he would have been even more stunned about how
he was the first person in many a year to revolutionize what guitarists
sound like.
Around 1960 I heard of this guitar player in Indianapolis. He
and his brother who played Fender bass were coming to town, and
they were going to upset the world. They both did. I didn't meet
Wes until I did the session for the album So Much Guitar with
Hank Jones, Lex Humphries, and Ray Barretto; we didn't tour with
Wes because he had the Mastersounds. As it turned out, I was about
to join Miles anyway.
Since Wes wasn't known to write out his music, we worked it all
out by ear when we got to the date. For as complicated as it was,
it was also musically logical. We couldn't figure out why we hadn't
thought of that.
Wes was a very comfortable person to play with. My musical concern
was how to make my notes fit his but not be overwhelmed by the
roundness of his guitar sound. Since he played with his thumb
his sound was very velvety and didn't have the edge that pick
players or fingernail players have, so it made me play in a different
part of the bass than normal. As it turned out they were the right
choices to make.
Wes played with a lot of pianists, but Hank Jones would always
take advantage of what you were doing-even if you played spoons!
Wes showed us the tunes until we got them right. It wasn't a problem
with Hank Jones, and I wasn't too far behind. Hank and I worked
out the chords and the forms of the tunes between the two of us.
At one point Wes asked me how I caught on so fast. I said that
even though what he was doing was new, he was playing so logically
that it was easy to catch on. My job was to meet him there at
the corner.
After that, I didn't see Wes for a while because he started traveling
more. The next time I saw him was on a session for some Creed
Taylor dates.
Monk didn't influence my electric bass playing. By the time he
came to New York I was starting to do less of that and more upright.
We talked about the bass a great deal. He played upright as well,
but found his niche playing Fender with Lionel Hampton in the
early '50s. We became good friends, and whenever he was in town
we'd talk about bass, gardening, and people. Even in the last
year of his life I went to Las Vegas for him; he was part of the
Las Vegas Jazz Society and brought in people to encourage the
jazz crowd. They didn't have a budget, and he was just stunned
that I'd be willing to play just for airfare. But it's all about
music and friendship.
I can't imagine anyone criticizing Wes. The whole point of playing
music is to have people listen to it. Regardless of who wrote
a particular tune, you have to listen to what is being played.
There aren't that many jazz players who can turn inane tunes into
something musically worthwhile-but Wes did it. A lot of writers
get so caught up in being more important than the printed page
that they miss the point of the music. Fortunately, a lot of guitar
players ignore that.
All guitarists are real different. Jim Hall has his sound and
way of playing, and so do George Benson, Gene Bertoncini, Bucky
Pizzarelli, and everyone else. You can't really compare them,
except maybe in how you enjoy playing with each one. I'm sure
Wes had no idea that he would shake up generations to come. He
was the first player since Charlie Christian to do that with the
guitar. Today there's not one guitarist playing any kind of music
that doesn't try Wes' octaves or chords. No one has matched what
he did, but they're trying because of him.
KEVIN EUBANKS: Wes has probably been a stronger influence on
jazz guitar than anyone else. You can't deny that the guitar never
would have happened without Charlie Christian-at least not in
the way that it did. But as far as modern players are concerned,
especially from the '60s when everything seemed to catch up with
itself and solidify into modern-day jazz, Wes would have to be
the most influential figure in the history of jazz guitar.
Every instrument seems to have a prophet, like Coltrane was to
tenor-we're talking modern stuff, although you can't get any deeper
on an instrument than Lester Young. But Wes seemed to lay the
guitar out like Bird did on alto. Certain people seem to be able
to show the symmetry of the instrument and a relaxed way of playing.
If you want to study the essentials of jazz guitar, all fundamental
great things are in Wes Montgomery.
He was a very complete player. His sense of time was great. Most
jazz musicians have a good sense of time, but Wes' ability was
so complete, with single-note lines, harmony, chords, octaves,
and the sweetness of playing a melody. It was the same way in
which people loved how Nat Cole could sing to them; it had a lyrical
sense that wasn't offensive. Even when Wes played something that
was a little more aggressive, he had a melodious sense that was
easy to listen to, felt good, and had a wholeness. Wes impresses
me as very calm, a balanced individual. I feel that I know him,
which is something I don't get from studying other people.
I've never felt that Wes got the complete recognition he deserves-maybe
it's because the guitar was a latecomer to the jazz scene, compared
to the tenor, trumpet, or piano. Wes was a great composer in a
standard sense. When I do gigs, a lot of people don't know his
songs unless they're guitar players. Others often view the guitar
as an isolated case, not as a pervasive instrument, but Wes' tunes
were just as complete as Bird's and Monk's. Keyboard players sometimes
make a big deal about playing with guitarists, but Wes never clashed
with the piano.
When Wes was criticized for his later period, people hadn't fully
appreciated what he had already done. He was a man, and he could
decide if he wanted to make commercial recordings. It's hard to
understand why people feel they have a right to criticize somebody's
decision about what they want to do with their life-particularly
someone who gave so much. Give him a break. Let him do what he
wants to do. Some of the melodies he played on the commercial
tunes were beautiful.
I've been schooled in trombone because my brother plays it, and
Wes reminds me of how J.J. Johnson delivered everything in a very
correct-feeling way. The roundness of the sound and the way he
executed things were very balanced.
People have a tendency to call someone a natural musician whenever
they feel you're not struggling on the instrument. Some say Wes
is a natural intuitive genius, but it takes away from the work
he did to achieve that level. He just didn't wake up knowing how
to move his hands in that way. It's not natural to play the incredible
chord solos the way he did, which has become pretty much a lost
art on guitar. From having transcribed a lot of his work I can
attest to the fact that what he did was very difficult. Because
he did so much work is exactly why it sounds so relaxed, which
shouldn't be confused with being easy. Having a natural inclination
might make it easier to put energy into something, but it doesn't
make it easier to do.
Since when does knowing music mean reading music? Those two things
are not synonymous. When you listen to someone, why should you
care whether they can read music or not? It's not necessary for
those two things to exist in the same place when all your talking
about is going to see a live performance or listening to a recording.
So many people look for ways to drag people down to the lowest
common denominator instead of appreciating what's there in its
highest form. They're wasting their time on some very irrelevant
things.
I first heard Wes when I was about 18. I was slow to appreciate
him because I was into rock and fusion and didn't really get into
jazz until I was 17 or 18. Even when I got into jazz I didn't
listen to guitar, I listened to Oscar Peterson, Sonny Stitt, Cannonball
Adderley, and Freddie Hubbard. I didn't understand what jazz was-its
whole history and lifestyle. To me, jazz was just a tune on a
page. I had always heard Wes' name, but it took me a couple of
years before I really understood how subtle and deep his music
was. When I started checking him out I realized he had it all.
When I stopped using a pick, I used to say, "Wes didn't use
a pick either." But I was just giving that as a reason for
not using one myself; I didn't really know what he was doing.
It wasn't until later that realized his whole feel and sound was
based on that. Now I know why I don't use a pick. We all owe a
great debt to Wes Montgomery.