is only a brief nod in the final measures that give away its distant harmonic grounding in Jerome Kern’s ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. On ‘Bird Gets the Worm’ he does the same thing, only at an even faster tempo, and perhaps with a very slight melodic hint of its distant progenitor, ‘Lover Come Back to Me’, on the opening chorus of the first take. The saxophonist had never paid a great deal of attention to themes in any case, treating them largely as launching points for the serious business to come, and the sprinkling of such tunes where he ignores the theme altogether (‘Bird’s Nest’ is an earlier example) seems to allow him an even greater freedom of expression. He adopts fearsome tempos in all of them, but the surge of ideas flowing from the saxophone is even more unfettered than usual and never falter. ‘Bird Gets the Worm’, incidentally, also contains an early example of a device that would eventually become a bop cliché, the exchange of improvised four-bar phrases with the drummer and bassist Tommy Potter. Known as ‘trading fours’ (or ‘trading eights’, depending on the measure used), it became – and remains – a staple final chorus interchange between soloists and their rhythm players.
It was to be the last session for this particular line-up. By the time Parker completed his recorded output for Savoy in the latter part of 1948 (in sessions arranged in clandestine contravention of the ban), he had a new rhythm section, with John Lewis replacing Jordan, and Curly Russell taking over from Potter. The two sessions in September produced eight more sides, including his only other contrapuntal theme, ‘Ah-Leu-Cha’, and an interesting Latin-based blues extemporisation, ‘Barbados’, which prefigured projects to come. ‘Constellation’ became a favourite bop blowing vehicle, as did ‘Steeplechase’, laid down in one take (and a fragment of false start) after twelve attempts at ‘Marmaduke’. Both these tunes were part of a generally less spectacular second session, although one which has its share of characteristically sublime moments as well, notably on the vibrant ‘Merry Go Round’. A blues, ‘Perhaps’, completed the session. ‘Marmaduke’ provides further justification of the real value in issuing the alternate takes: the final master (take 8) is arguably the best ensemble version of the tune, but equally arguably not the saxophonist’s best solo performance. There are numerous examples of that situation which recur across his work, and provide endless matter for discussion and argument.
The masterpiece of that month’s work in the studio, though, and one of his finest creations on disc, was the incomparable ‘Parker’s Mood’, a slow blues which rounded out the first session. It is one of the most expressive blues performances ever committed to record by anyone, and it could be said that Parker’s most intense display comes on the opening chorus of the rejected first long take (take two), which is both slower in tempo and darker in mood than the eventual master, but breaks down just before the coda. The slightly faster master (take 5), while more relaxed and still unquestionably sublime, does not capture quite the same level of heightened emotion and poetic clarity as the saxophonist’s initial effort. Fortunately, the listener has both options readily available.
Parker made his debut at the Royal Roost, a chicken restaurant and jazz club on Broadway, on 3 September 1948, and for a time the venue became the new focal point for modern jazz, in large part as a result of the regular broadcasts made from the club. These were presented by ‘Symphony Sid’ Torin, whose dated spiels survive on most of the record releases of these broadcasts from what he dubbed the Metropolitan Bopera House. These recordings, issued in various forms on the Savoy label, are arguably the single most valuable body of Parker’s live recordings which have come down to us. Recorded between 4 September 1948 and 12 March 1949, they provide a snapshot of Bird’s working band caught outside the confines and restrictions of the studio, sometimes augmented by guests, and in decent sound (at least by comparison with the Benedetti tapes) and complete versions.
It was at the Roost at Christmas 1948 that Miles handed in his notice by stalking angrily from the stage, complaining that Bird ‘makes you feel about one foot high’. In his autobiography, he refutes the much-repeated suggestion that he walked out of the gig for good in mid-set, but confirms that his relationship with Bird – apparently never very close on a personal level in any case – had become irreparably strained. Arguments over money and his professed disdain for Bird’s clowning brought matters to a head, and the trumpeter departed to be replaced by McKinley Dorham, who abbreviated his forename as Kinny but eventually gave up and settled on the misrepresentation which everybody actually used, Kenny. Al Haig was also now the regular piano man in the quintet (another source of friction with Miles, who favoured either Lewis or Tadd Dameron, the pianist featured on the opening night at the Roost).
If 1947–48 were arguably the years of Parker’s peak musical achievements, certainly in terms of consistency and creative discovery, it was in 1949 that he began to gain the kind of public recognition which had so far eluded him. In November 1948, he signed a recording deal with Norman Granz (in addition to the JATP recordings, Granz had made two sides featuring Bird for a limited edition compilation a year earlier), the first fruits of which were a vibrant Cubop session with Machito and his orchestra in December, which realised the two-part ‘No Noise’ and the exuberant ‘Mango Mangue’, although a second session the following month was less successful, with Bird cutting only one side, ‘Okiedokie’. It was the beginning of a long and often productive relationship with Granz, initially for the Mercury label, and later for Granz’s own labels, Clef, Norgran, and ultimately Verve. It is the largest single portion of Bird’s confused discography, although the overall standard is not as breathtakingly high as the Dial or Savoy sides, in part due to Granz’s penchant for introducing unsuitable guests into an otherwise promising line-up.
Chico O’Farrill’s Afro-Cuban Suite, which was recorded in December 1950 but not released in full form until the late 1970s, and not in a good sound source until the Verve box in 1988, was a more ambitious collaboration with Machito, although, according to the composer, Parker seems to have been a late choice as one of the jazz soloists, stepping in when Harry Edison withdrew from the project. He was back in a Latin groove on the sessions of 1951–52 which made up an album released as South of the Border where he explored Latin, Mexican and Caribbean rhythms – indeed, the calypso groove of ‘My Little Suede Shoes’ provided him with his second most successful single release.
Bird visited Europe with his quintet for the first time in 1949, where they played several dates in France, and returned again in 1950 to Sweden, Belgium and France (recordings survive from both tours). The latter visit was cut short by a peptic ulcer which hospitalised him on his abrupt return to New York, when he should have been playing in Paris. Whatever reservations he may have had, he found the respectful reception he received there a sharp contrast to the prevailing ethos in the USA, and even talked of joining the expatriate jazz community scattered around Europe. In fact, he was never to return.
Just before the first tour, he cut two sessions for Granz, the first with guests Tommy Turk (an early example of that incompatible JATP-style mis-matching) and Carlos Vidal. The second session was the only occasion on which Granz recorded Bird’s working quintet of the day without the augmentation of guests or stand-ins. The sessions with Machito suggested that Bird was now ready to experiment beyond the small-group bebop idiom, and his next studio visit at Granz’s behest certainly achieved that aim.
The ‘Bird with Strings’ recordings have always been controversial. Many hipsters and followers of the true bop religion saw the move as a commercial sell-out, probably engineered by Granz, but Parker himself refuted that suggestion, claiming that ‘I was looking for new ways of saying things musically. New sound combinations’. He added that Granz was simply allowing him to fulfil an ambition he had nurtured since the early 1940s. He spoke often of his admiration for classical composers, notably Stravinsky and Bartók among the modernists, but there is little of their power or invention evident in his own efforts in this context. There had been a dry run of sorts the previous year when Bird soloed on ‘Repetition’ with the Neal Hefti Orchestra, which included a string section, for Granz’s compilation album. The fully-fledged strings project required numerous sessions to complete, however, although the finished releases are generally attributed to the session of 30 November 1949. Bird was joined by
