© -Steven
Cerra , copyright protected; all rights reserved.
“Shelly Manne was first-call
studio drummer for nearly every major film writer in Hollywood .
He worked for Mancini, Goldsmith and Fielding, Williams, Bernstein and everyone
in between.
But Jazz was his love, his
art.
For 45 years, he was one of
the most important voices in Jazz drumming elevating it to a new musical level
– and his influences are still felt today, nearly 30 years after his death.
Stan Kenton called him “the
greatest drummer in the world.”
Henry Mancini said: “He was a
fine reader, but that never got in the way of his musicianship. He was one of
the most consistent players I have ever known.”
Shorty Roger s
said he was a “genius.””
- Jack Brand and Bill Korst, Shelly
Manne: Sounds of a Different Drummer
“There are many reasons for
Shelly's success in the studios. He was very quick and bright and kept picking
things up as he went along. Nobody had
taught him to read. He learned timpani on his own. His natural talent and
his ambition made it possible for him to do a lot of things.”
- Florence “Flip” Manne, Shelly’s Wife
“In a truly formal sense,
Shelly could barely play the drums. If you gave him a pair of sticks and a snare
drum and had him play rudiments—an open and closed roll, paradiddles, and all
that kind of thing—he didn't sound like much. He never had that kind of
training and wasn't interested in it.
For him it was a matter of
playing the drums with the music. He
could play more music in four bars
than almost anyone else. His drums sounded gorgeous. They recorded
sensationally. All you had to hear was three or four bars and you knew it was
Shelly Manne.
- Larry Bunker, Jazz drummer and premier,
studio percussionist
This statement by
Larry Bunker is why the late, Shelly Manne is one of my enduring heroes.
I studied with Larry
Bunker. He was a stern taskmaster who was very precise about the mechanics of
drumming. He knew what he was talking about and could back it up in an instant.
Sometimes, after I
had finished playing a lesson, he would pick up the sticks and just rip through
it with power, speed and finesse.
But Larry always
emphasized that the point of the whole thing was to master the technical aspects
of drumming so that you could forget them and concentrate on bringing music out
of “… your mind, heart and soul.”
In a way, the
entire act of music is mind put into sound. It has to go through some sort of
physical medium in order to be heard.
Shelly Manne chose
the drums, but the whole issue is to have such control over the instrument and
over what you hear that the instrument physically doesn't get in the way of
visualizing sound.
Technique was to
Shelly merely a means of dealing with an instrument in the most efficient
manner possible so that it's no more than peripheral to expression.
[The above is a
paraphrase of something that tenor saxophonist Ralph Bowen said about music,
but it applies directly to Shelly.]
Shelly was a
musician who chose to express his musical “genius” through the drum kit.
Shelly didn’t care
about drum rudiments and techniques, per se, he cared about the drums as a
means of physically producing the sound of his musical conception.
I developed this
piece because I wanted to spend more time with Shelly’s own views and with
others talking about why he was such a special musician.
We placed his
reflections and the recollections of others about him somewhat randomly
throughout this piece as once it got into high gear, there was seldom anything
linear about Shelly’s career and we wanted this profile to reflect that.
On any given day,
he might make a couple of recording sessions and then play three sets with his
quintet at his club in Hollywood .
Can you imagine?
A first-call
studio drummer who never had any formal instruction in reading drum and
percussion parts!
And no matter the
helter-skelter of his professional life, he couldn’t have been nicer to you,
whenever he met you, whoever you were.
If you were a Jazz
fan then you were Shelly’s friend … period.
Not to take
anything away from his hard work and dedication, but he knew how fortunate he
was to be able to live his dream and he wanted to share the warm glow that came
from basking in his dream with others who were a part of the Jazz World.
Shelly enjoyed
living so much that he made everyone around him enjoy it more. He could take a
group of musicians or a group of people and just lift it by force of
personality.
And if you were a
Jazz or a studio musician, as you got to know Shelly better, your fondness was
also accompanied by admiration. A master of a profession knows another when he
sees him, and they knew that they were seeing one in Shelly.
They admired his
thoroughness, his tirelessness – the way he threw himself into every aspect of
music, really, into everything he did, with an enthusiasm and effort that
seemed limitless.
This from a guy
who had very little formal training as a drummer and what little he did have,
he took only that which interested him – musically.
As Jim Chapin,
author of numerous and highly respected books and manuals about drum techniques
including the monumental Advanced
Techniques for the Modern Drummer, observed of Shelly:
“Shelly was very
brave. Even when he couldn't really play, he'd sit in with major people. He
developed "playing chops"—a
certain level of facility. He always related strongly to the music, much like
Jo Jones.
We used to spend a
lot of time together because we started at about the same time and had mutual
interests. I was studying with Sanford "Gus" Moeller, and he was
getting pointers from the great Billy Gladstone. Unlike a number of drummers,
Shelly never concentrated heavily on development of technique and great
dexterity. A bunch of us did—Krupa, Louie Bellson, Allen Paley, Alvin Stoller,
Lou Fromm, myself, and a few others attempted to combine the formal and
informal sides of drumming in the best way possible.
Shelly took what
he wanted from his meetings with Billy—stuff that would help him play. He spent
little time practicing and a lot of time playing and listening. That's better
in many ways. If you spend most of your time playing and practicing that much
by yourself, you become used to hearing yourself alone. Understand? You don't
hear yourself in relation to other people.
Unless you realize
the limitations of that situation and do both things - practicing and playing,
alone and performing with other musicians — you can have real problems out in
the world.
Shelly knew
exactly what he wanted to do. Being a speed merchant wasn't it. He loved Jo
Jones—his creativity and taste—and, of course, Dave y Tough. Time and becoming a part of the
music were his thing.”
Although Shelly’s
father Max Manne was an accomplished percussionist who at one time had also
been the musical director for the famed dance team of Vernon and Irene Castle
and headed-up special effects at the famed Radio City Music Hall during the
early years of its existence, it was the legendary percussionist Billy Gladstone
– “the drummer’s drummer” - a close
friend of the Manne family, who helped him get his start in drumming. Shelly
explains it this way:
“My father and two
uncles were drummers and very much involved in various aspects of
entertainment. But they never encouraged me to play drums. Billy Gladstone is
the one who got me involved in drumming. I had studied alto saxophone for six
months, at my dad's suggestion. But it didn't feel right.
I was just
eighteen when I decided I had to play drums. The sound of the instrument, which
had been so much a part of my life, was one of the things that attracted me. To
start, I used an old drum set that was in the storeroom of the Music Hall. I
played in and around town—mostly for free.
Later, when I got
my first real job on an ocean liner, Billy took me to Manny's Music Store on West 48th Street , not far from the Music Hall, and traded
the saxophone in for a set of Gretsch-Gladstone drums. Billy and Frank
Siegfried paid the balance. My dad didn't want to have anything to do with the
whole thing.
That day was
memorable in still another way. I met Basie drummer Jo Jones for the first
time. He was very encouraging and gave me a pair of 6A sticks. I used that
model for years.
I'll never forget
my first lesson with Billy, right after we bought the new set of drums. He took
me back to the Music Hall—downstairs where the musicians had their quarters—to
a room where the percussion instruments were stored. Billy showed me how to set
up the drums and how to hold the sticks. He talked about playing the hi-hat and
moved me into the right position. Then he put "Topsy" by the Basie band on the phonograph, and as he walked out of the room he said:
"PLAY!" Billy's "lesson" set the tone for my entire career.”
If you ever talked
at length with Shelly about drumming technique, you came away with the feeling
that he basically distrusted having an abundance of it.
As Burt Korall
explains in Drummin’ Men: The Heart beat of Jazz – The Bebop years:
“Shelly had the
feeling that too much technique would adversely affect the natural quality of a
performance. He was right, certainly about technical temptation – the
overwhelming concern that many drummers have about technique, sometimes to the
exclusion of the music itself. It is my
contention that a drummer has many more options if he/she develops hands and
feet and combines performance ease and facility with the taste and instincts
awakened and stirred by the music.”
As Shelly put it:
“I don't believe
in letting your hands control you. I have my own view of technique. It's only a
means to an end, not an end in itself. I don't think your hands should have the
final say in what you're going to do. What you play should be controlled by
your heart and your head, and they should deliver the message to your hands.
Some drummers become
so technically facile that their hands do their thinking for them. They
automatically do things that they've been practicing and consequently their
playing is somewhat on the cold side. I feel you have to let the music tell you
what to do.”
Shelly’s first big
break came in 1946 when he joined the Stan Kenton Orchestra where it became
apparent almost immediately that “… he could bring vitality to this large
sometimes ponderous orchestra. He was a source of color, variety, and, whatever
subtlety was possible in this large, loud ensemble. More than that, Manne
conceptually modernized the rhythmic feeling of the Kenton Orchestra, adding
significantly to its musicality and swing.” [this quotation and the following
are excerpted from Korall, Ibid, pp, 175-177].
“Beginning in the mid-1940’s, Kenton found
an enthusiastic, ever-growing, devoted audience. His music seemingly spoke to
the postwar young and veterans of World War II. The enveloping, orgasmic sound
of the orchestra had a hypnotic quality. The general feeling was that Kenton
was hip. And though many critics disagreed vehemently, supporters of the
orchestra would have none of that. They loved with a passion this vivid, often
stirring, immoderately loud music that made them feel good and seemed to promise
something for the future.”
Here’s what other
Kenton musicians had to say about Shelly during his time on the band.
Bob Cooper: “Shelly was an inspiration to me and
everyone else in the band. He had already done a lot and knew so much,
particularly about bebop—the new music we all were getting into. We learned
from him. His playing gave the Kenton band new life. Whatever he did seemed to
turn out right. We became friends right away.”
Pete Rugolo: “Shelly
and I spent a number of years together on the bus, doing all the one-nighters.
Stan loved Shelly; we all did. We felt he was the most creative drummer of them
all. I palled around with him. I guess I was pretty square—didn't drink or
smoke anything. Neither did Shelly. He and Flip and I liked good food, and we
kept trying new restaurants in various towns and cities. Stan was good about
letting the wives travel with us. We were on the road almost all the time. Flip
was wonderful. She came to all the concerts and dances.”
Flip Manne: “I was on the road with Shelly for six
years. He admired Stan tremendously. He struggled a lot because there was never
any help from anyone in the rhythm section, including Stan, who was up front a
lot of the time. Shelly had to carry the whole band.”
Art Pepper: “Shelly loved to play. He never was into
drugs, drinking— anything wrong. The only thing he did was smile and be happy.
On the road with Stan, he made the best of an impossible situation. I'd be so
dragged and unhappy about the lousy circumstances, traveling on the bus what
seemed like forever between dates, putting your band uniform on in the back of
the bus. But it didn't make Shelly mad. I never once heard him put anything
down. He'd smile and say: ‘Here we go. We're really going to swing tonight!’
And he played great, always played great. He was completely content that he was
given this talent, this gift.”
Eddie Bert: “I sat next to Shelly for about eight or
nine months in 1947 in the "progressive jazz" Kenton band. He was
fantastic with rhythms. That was what was happening in the band. Polyrhythms.
Rhythm against rhythm— layers of rhythm like in Latin music. Stan was moving
into a Latin/jazz fusion.
Shelly could play
a different rhythm in each hand, another with the left foot, and still another
with the right. He switched time signatures in a minute—4/4 to 6/8, whatever.
He was so smooth because he just felt and knew how to cope with rhythms,
pulsation, time signatures.”
Bud Shank: “To tell you the truth, I can't imagine
the Stan Kenton band with another drummer. Shelly had that positive thing going
on. And it got over to the guys in the band. He was a real leader. Let me put
it this way, man. As far as I'm concerned, he was the leader of Stan Kenton's
band — at least when I was with Stan during the Innovations period, 1950-51.
Everything musical
started with Shelly. He didn't do any of the writing. But whenever an
arrangement was brought in, it ended up sounding good because of what Shelly
did. He kept his ears open and let the music talk to him. So many times, he'd
crack us up with one of his jokes, and that put the band in the right mood. He
was marvelous that way.
Shelly was
probably the most musical drummer I ever played with. He was moving beyond just
playing time and swinging. He was into melodies and making music. The attention
Shelly paid to tuning his drums, just so, made "melodic" playing more
than possible.”
Gerry Mulligan: “Shelly was so thoughtful in a big band
setting. What he did became a part of the music. He played the hell out of the
charts I wrote for Stan in the early 1950s. He sensed just how my things should
be done. I was trying for something else, which oddly enough had an effect on
other writers. I don't think Stan cared for my charts. He liked music stacked
up in impressive vertical structures. I always favored economy—horizontal
moving things.”
Shelly also had a
brief stint with Woody Herman’s Big Band before coming off the road and
settling into his “new life” as a small group and studio drummer for much of
the decade on the 1950s and beyond.
Pianist Lou Levy
was with Woody when Shelly joined the band and had these reflections about him:
Lou Levy: “As soon as Shelly Manne hit the first four bars the day he
joined us, everybody in the band turned around and smiled. It was a totally
different feel than what Don Lamond had established—but it was wonderful.
Shelly's time
thing was great. And it was his time. He didn't sound like Philly Joe, Stan
Levey, Tiny Kahn, Jo Jones, Dave Tough, or Chick Webb, Yet all of them were in there, somehow.
Anyone who is real good has a lot of people in them.
And he was a
pleasure to be around, so humorous and good-natured. Flip used to cook for us
after the gig in their hotel room. I remember some great things she rustled up
on her little electric grill.”
Burt Korall: “Shelly
reaped benefits from the Kenton and Herman experiences, especially his years
with Stan for as the band changed and expanded its musical horizons, becoming
more than a relatively commercial, blustery presence, Manne had to call on
untapped capacities, new ways and means to make the music work.”
Shelly’s thoughts
about big band drumming reflect on aspects of it that most Jazz fans are not
aware of:
“Big band playing
requires great flexibility and strength. The drummer has to bend and give and
pull and shove and move with the band and still keep that swinging motion
going. You're one of the key people in the large ensemble—along with the first
trumpet player and the section leaders— and can shove the band any way you
want. But it's hard work.”
Like so many other
veterans of Stan Kenton’s and Woody Herman’s bands, Shelly became enamored of
the Southern California lifestyle with its casual living, plentiful sunshine
and ready access to beaches, mountains and deserts, all within a two hour
driving time.
His first major
gig after leaving the Kenton band in 1951 was to become a member of bassist
Howard Rumsey’s All-Stars which appeared nightly in the Lighthouse Café on Pier
Avenue in Hermosa Beach, CA.
Howard Rumsey: “Shelly put the Lighthouse All-Stars on the map. The people loved him. He had
this ebullient manner and connected with audiences. During the time Shelly was
in the band, we played some great material, much of it by Shorty Roger s and Jimmy Giuffre. It was a wonderful
time for all of us.”
In the early
1950s, Shelly became increasingly involved in studio drumming.
Flip Manne: “Bobby Heifer, a big contractor in Hollywood , made it possible for Shelly to have a
career in the studios. He hired him to play some very complicated things for Rear Window, the Jimmy Stewart-Grace
Kelly picture for Alfred Hitchcock. Shelly sat down and just read them off,
playing the stuff perfectly.
There are many
reasons for Shelly's success in the studios. He was very quick and bright and
kept picking things up as he went along. Nobody had taught him to read. He
learned timpani on his own. His natural talent and his ambition made it
possible for him to do a lot of things.
During our first
years in Hollywood, there were wonderful writers at the studios—many of them
into jazz—like Andre Previn, Hank Mancini, Elmer Bernstein, Leith Stevens,
Billy Byers, Johnny Mandel, Jeff Alexander, Pete Rugolo, and others. They gave
Shelly freedom; they made it interesting and challenging for him.”
Shelly and his
bandmates from his days with Stan Kenton and Woody Herman helped destroy
stereotypical notions regarding jazz musicians that had been deeply embedded
for so long in the minds of motion picture, TV, and advertising executives.
An extraordinary
example of reliability, creativity, "instant ability," and good
feeling — in and out of the studios – Shelly and his colleagues made the major
breakthrough into motion pictures and television and they began to be employed
in media previously closed to them.
Andre Previn : “Shelly had no fear of anybody. There
were certain people in Hollywood he didn't want to play for. He felt they were frauds and
wouldn't accept work from them. Sure, there are frauds everywhere. But they
seem to be very public about it out there.
We worked a lot
together in the studios, in clubs and concerts. One of the things I admired
about him musically was his complete rhythmic freedom. He taught me a lot. We
would be playing somewhere and he would suddenly say: ‘Let's play five’ — trade
fives. That could drive me crazy, since he kept playing across the bar line
anyway. It meant harmonically you were always one or two or three bars away
from where you would ordinarily play. Shelly would do things like that because
suddenly he would think: "Let's see what this feels like."
Burt Korall: “Despite his studio commitments, Manne
remained active in jazz. He worked as a sideman but mostly as a leader. And if
you listen to the music he made on countless recordings over thirty-three years
in California , with occasional trips to New York , it is clear that jazz was not only his
passion but something more: a central, motivating life force.”
One of Shelly’s
greatest gifts to his friends was the establishment of his own club on Cahuenga Blvd in Hollywood , CA . In the 1960's, it practically became “a
home away from home” for Jazz musicians and Jazz fans, alike.
John Tynan, the
West Coast editor of Down Beat magazine wrote a lengthy article on Shelly and
the club which will post to the blog in a few days following this feature.
The world was made
a richer place because of Shelly Manne – “The most musical drummer who ever lived.”