Eric Alexander at Chris' Jazz Cafe - P.A.W. Print

The first Friday evening of February was a sopping-wet, freezing Philadelphia drag. The wind promised to blow street signs off of Samson Street. The windows of Chris' Jazz Café were opaque with steam. Bebop, mixed with swing, flooded the doorway. The patron pays twelve dollars to a bouncer who is bigger than the piano at Ortlieb's Jazzhaus. And she notices that a live quintet is pumping as heavy as a subway train but suddenly as light as a ghost.


	"I think it is natural for a musician to be combative when he is playing and for me, that means trying to outdo the other saxophone player." photo, www.ericalexanderjazz.com

The cutting session was held between tenor saxophonists Grant Stewart and Eric Alexander on February 6th. It was not publicized beyond the hanging of a disposable placard in the window reading, "Battle of the Saxes." The show did not attract a crowd much bigger than the open mic nights get. The performers were New Yorkers.

"The best thing about playing in Philadelphia is the crowds. They tend to be pleasingly old school and very knowledgeable about the artists and the music and even the history of jazz," said alto saxophonist Vince Herring.

Chris' Talent Manager, Al McMahon, explains that Mr. Herring is one of the young New Yorkers calling on Philadelphia.

"I am constantly getting calls from the New Yorkers, asking me if they can come down and play," boasts Mr. McMahon.

Alto saxophonist Jon Gordon performed at Chris' in January. Mr. Gordon was the first-place winner in the 1996 Thelonius Monk International Jazz Saxophone Competition.

"Philadelphia has an unpretentious atmosphere. There is no playing down to people there," said Mr. Gordon.

Mr. Gordon spoke while serving breakfast to his sons Liam and Shane in the Stuyvesant Town section of Manhattan. Mr. Gordon first played Chris' four years ago with Brooklyn pianist George Colligan. He was last here in February with Philly tenor saxophonist Mark Turner.

"I would like to play there again," said Mr. Herring, who last played at Chris' with the Chris Farr Quartet in January.

Tonight, a jaunty, GQ-type in a dark sports jacket was the first to take a solo. Mr. Alexander appeared as if he had just discarded his tie after a day of trading stock.

"It's a superb room," Mr. Alexander said, "and there are so many great places to play here in Philly."

"Whenever the New York acts come down, they find that they are playing in a scene that is better suited to playing and more intimate than Manhattan's Village Vanguard," said Mr. McMahon.

There is no stage at Chris'. The players work on the floor, very close to the tables. On a given night, names you've heard announced by Sonny Rollins' and listed on Hollywood soundtracks are hitting this club.

"Philadelphia has a family feel to it," admitted Mr. Gordon. "Playing there can bring you back to certain kinds of basics because of the fine counterbalance of people ranging from John Swana to Bootsie Barnes."

Mr. McMahon deserves his bragging rights. New York jazz artists let loose at Chris' as if they feel they are giving Lilliputians music lessons.

"There are great players all over the place and Philly is one of the top, second-tier cities in the country," reports Mr. Alexander.

The New Yorker swept majestically through his solo on "If Ever I Should Leave You," blowing in cool tones reminiscent of Stan Getz on "Desafinado." He built up a harder bop a la Sonny Stitt on "Corcavado" whereon he pulled into a crescendo of dazzling arpeggio runs and side slipping to awaken Bird's ghost.

Mr. Gordon counters, "It is not that Philadelphia is a second-tier city. It has another vibe to it. Philadelphia has a real jazz tradition."

New Yorkers and Philadelphians alike feel at home at Chris'. But the idea of playing in New York is something akin to boot camp or taking the CPA exam.

"Up in New York, if you try something different in order to make a name for yourself, chances are, you won't last long on the stage and you will be avoided whenever you try to sit in," said Philly guitarist Jimmy Bruno.

"When you get up on the bandstand at the Village Vanguard," said the thirty-five year-old Mr. Alexander, "you become aware of certain standards. There's to be no screwing around."

"Philly, however," continues Mr. Bruno, "is a better place "to get your act together."

Partnered with the accenting crash-symbol by the hulk drummer Mark Taylor, and diving headlong into the swing-eighth-note pattern played for a spell in a delicious double time on "You Go to my Head," nobody was buying a drink from bartender Mr. McMahon. Each patron awaited the rebuttal by the other woodwind after Mr. Alexander's outro drove madly through whole tones of the 6-note scale ending his first solo, our jazz lesson concluding with a ten-second survey of Monk.

"I find that if I try to outdo someone I lose concentration and sound like I'm merely trying to beat them," said Mr. Stewart. "Whenever I play with another saxophonist, I play just as I would normally."

The younger opponent, who came here from the apartment he shares with his brother on 150th Street in Washington Heights (just north of Harlem), was wearing a gray sweat shirt, blue jeans and a fleece hat. Mr. Stewart took his solo while Mr. Alexander laid out and walked backstage-- perhaps to check the Dow.

Like Chuck Wepner surprising an overconfident Muhammad Ali, Mr. Stewart burst into a serpentine phrase of focused energy. He augmented and diminished the Frederick Lowe melody with his husky Coltrane timbre upon every other note, with dizzying precision. Sudden atonal bytes emulated the cadences of human speech as if the gravely voice of Dexter Gordon himself was speaking through his horn.

"Okay, if you really want to make it big nationally and get accepted by a big label, playing in New York is the accepted situation," said Pete Souders, the owner of Ortlieb's Jazzhaus on 3rd Street in Northern Liberties.

Mr. Ortlieb's club features the legendary drummer Mickey Roker and saxophonist Robert "Bootsie" Barnes every week.

"However, one must attribute some of the success of the jazz musician-diaspora to the jazz data megalopolis of the internet," said Mr. Souders, who contends that cyberspace has helped players to promote themselves without the help of the Manhattan vortex. Mr. Souders-- himself a tenor saxophonist, reports that there are musicians living outside the Big Apple who possess cell phones with New York area codes.

"And let's not forget the New Yorkers who flock to Pennsylvania to play with alto saxophonist Phil Woods in the Poconos," Mr. Souders added, just to balance the nomadic scales.

He concluded, "Then there are those outside of Manhattan, who make their career out of seeming to be New York-area musicians, such as Tim Warfield who lives in York but who commutes to all his regular Manhattan gigs."

The grammy-nominated tenor saxman/trumpeter Mr. Warfield was added to Messiah College's music faculty in January.

Mr. Alexander describes leaving his wife Esther and son Andre at home while touring, to be a necessary evil.

"Sometimes I have to be on the road for long periods of time. But my wife and I knew what we were getting into with this life of playing shows." said Mr. Alexander, who met his wife in Scotland, during a tour in 1995, while at a gig.

Mr. Stewart, reunited musically with this opponent for the first time in seven years, strikes a more bohemian pose, hanging out with pals at a booth between sets.

"I'm not married and don't have any kids, but I know it can be hard to maintain a relationship with the traveling and hours that we keep," Mr. Stewart said.

Mr. Stewart finished his stop-time solo on "Corcavado," by outfitting himself in half time with stretched, emotive notes played over a full swing bottomed nicely by an upbeat walk from bassist Madison Rast. The Toronto native here seemed to have figured out

"I find that if I try to outdo someone I lose concentration and sound like I'm merely trying to beat them," said Mr. Stewart. "Whenever I play with another saxophonist, I play just as I would normally."

that cutting Mr. Alexander meant transcending the swing and bop typically heard at Chris' and reinventing his instrument without departing from composition as would native Philadelphian Archie Shepp.

"It is a natural thing to try to outdo one another on stage," explained Mr. Alexander.

"I wasn't trying to cut Eric, just trying to keep up," said Mr. Stewart

Mr. Alexander does not rest his saxophone on his hip whenever Mr. Stewart is playing. Has he even heard of a cigarette break?

"It's part of human nature to be combative up there without being too histrionic, in order to bring music to a very high level," explained Mr. Alexander.

Mr. Alexander's trips backstage aren't leisurely. Usually he'll come back with some lamb's wool, shining his horn.

"I think it is natural for a musician to be combative when he is playing and for me, that means trying to outdo the other saxophone player," said Mr. Alexander.

The front lines converged on a rendition of Chet Baker's "On a Misty Night," seeming to read one another's mind on where to make the blowing changes. Mr. Alexander here built a soaring musical shrine to a onetime mentor, tenor saxophonist George Coleman who played on the original 1965 recording.

"We did not rehearse prior to this gig," Mr. Alexander insisted.

Pianist Tardo Hammer added crushes to a brief spell of broken time set beneath the brass' easy-going harmonic rhythm that built steadily into a wild chase scene, during which the axemen took intense, alternating four, eight and two-bar phrases.

"I don't think of it so much as a cutting session but as providing more of an opportunity to see how well you can focus and get into your zone," concluded Mr. Stewart.

The duo ignited on the tricky, three-quarter intro on the "Eternal Triangle," the prime example of hard-bop jazz, changing rhythm in the A section with the spontaneous feel of the Don Stickler arrangement and whipping up anticipation for the battle in the chromatics of the bridge. Echoing the famous battle between Sonny Rollins and Mr. Stitt, Mr. Alexander riffed open the roof.

"I cut my teeth on recordings like this," reports Mr. Alexander.

At one point during his riff explosion, Mr. Alexander sliced out a motif sounding like the melody of "Pagin' the Devil" as wailed by Lester "Prez" Young, only to be matched by his opponent in a faster variation of the be-bop melody. Mr. Stewart began to stroll while Mr. Hammer looked on with a grin.

"As far as someone winning or losing," explained Mr. Stewart, "I feel that our styles are similar in some respects but different enough that there's a bit of comparing apples with oranges."

Mr. Stewart initiated his own challenge of fireworks, suddenly taking the upper hand like a meaner, younger Sonny Rollins on the "Saxophone Colossus" album, then firing off a momentary knock-off of what sounded like Coleman "Hawk" Hawkins' "Body and Soul," which Mr. Alexander answered in kind furiously, with a pattern so wicked that Mr. Stewart stood back and allowed the stockbroker two extra bars. The coda was handled

"Whenever I play with another saxophonist I generally try and play just as I would normally, but when you have a player on a level like Eric you push yourself that much harder," said Mr. Stewart.

Mr. Bruno said, "Eric gives the traditional stuff a new flavor and bases the most modern ideas in tradition."

"I love him. His positive energy is always up," added pianist Mike LeDonne, a Hell's Kitchen resident of nineteen years.

Mr. LeDonne and Mr. Alexander, who play together every Tuesday night at Smoke on 106th and Broadway in Manhattan are releasing a recording of their quartet on Venus Records this month.

"Musically, Eric comes out of the tradition of Gene Ammons and Dexter Gordon," continued Mr. LeDonne, "But he is also creating newer harmonic ideas which you can identify right away whenever you hear them."

"Smokin' Out Loud," a new Hammond organ record-- which was recorded over four years, features Mr. Alexander, Joe Farnsworth on drums, bassist Ron Carter and guitarist Peter Bernstein.

"So many young tenor players have skipped over the real tenor traditions," said Juilliard professor Mr. LeDonne.

Mr. LeDonne will also be recording a record with Philly expatriate tenor saxophonist, Benny Golson. Later in the year, Mr. LeDonne will be recording with Mr. Carter and Mr. Farnsworth as a trio.

Trumpeter John Swana is almost a New Yorker. One of the most gifted trumpeters ever to blow, his collaborations with New York musicians are masterpieces. On Mr. Alexander's 1992 album, "New York Calling," for instance, Mr. Swana paired with native Brooklyn drummer Kenny Washington and Mr. Alexander to produce one of the greatest recordings of nineties bop.

"Eric's playing is very direct, he knows where he's going, and he is never meandering," said Mr. Swana.

"John Swana is one of the finest trumpet players in the world," said Mr. Alexander.

Lucky for us, the forty-one year-old Mr. Swana has never left Philadelphia. Considered a god by jazz artists who value improvisational spontaneity and the art of pick-up, Mr. Swana is awesome. Getting a verbal laureate from such a person is like getting a key to the city. It's almost as good as getting a complement from Mr. Roker.

"Eric is demon. He can play." said Mr. Roker.

Mr. Roker and Mr. Swana know that Mr. Alexander has combined root ingredients such as George Coleman's hard bop and the Falstaffian cheer of Dexter Gordon to create his own sound and a new chop vocabulary.

Mr. Alexander was born in Galesburg, IL. When he was six, he played piano. At nine, he became a clarinetist. He played alto sax at twelve. When he was eighteen, at the University of Indiana, Bloomington, he converted to tenor.

"Eric is one of the young guys who is doing it right," said veteran Philadelphia tenor saxman Mr. Barnes. "Besides coming into his own, he has a respect for and deep rooting in what came before him. All of this explains why Eric is on his way."

Tutored under pianist Harold Mabern, bassist Rufus Reid and tenor saxophonist Joe Lovano at William Paterson College in New Jersey, Mr. Alexander made his first recording in 1990, with Philly organist and tenor saxman Charles Earland, on Mr. Earland's anthology, "The Almighty Burner," ripping a strong solo on "Europa."

"Out of all the young guys," said the sixty-ish Philly saxman Larry McKenna, "Eric is at the top." Mr. McKenna then corrects himself. "No, to me, they're mostly all young guys. Eric tops mostly everybody."

If it seems as if the lionizing of Mr. Alexander is mere pandering, it probably should be explained that the musicians do not view cities like ball players view them. To jazz artists, a club is a club, each venue representing another pay day, be it in Timbuktu or Jersey. The players do not have time invoke city rivalries. Moreover, the boisterousness of Mr. Alexander is considered by each musician to be a put-on.

"It's just a thing Eric does to add an element of fun and energy to the playing environment," explains Mr. Bruno.

For a successful New Yorker to spend as much time in Philadelphia as Mr. Alexander does, the musicians are appreciative. Each one of them regards residency in the Big Apple to be the truest test of a musician's fiber. They have nothing but respect for a player who pays his dues in Manhattan.

"In my early twenties, I moved to New York," explained Mr. Alexander. "I worked everything from telemarketing jobs to gigs to keep myself there."

Mr. Roker first went to New York in 1961.

"They took away my drum kit and replaced it with somebody else's at the Village Vanguard," Mr. Roker remembers.

Max Gordon, the club's owner informed Mr. Roker that the alto sax player did not like how Mr. Roker played.

"I had been selected to back up an alto sax player and was supposed to play several nights," continues. "The next night, I found that my kit was taken down and placed backstage."

Mr. Roker said he was annoyed that nobody had been courteous enough to tell him about the switch. He said he cannot remember the name of the alto saxophonist.

Most musicians feel that working in a competitive place makes a player stronger. There are more jazz clubs in New York than in any city. Manhattan's reputation as a jazz hive builds live audiences' expectations. The players compete with each other to get gigs. They work like writers on deadlines.

"But ironically," says Mr. Souders, "it is still a bitch to get gigs up there."

"Take Ari Hoenig, for instance," embellishes Mr. Bruno, "who is up there playing a more Avant Garde style, with Michelle Pilc. After two years up in New York, he can now play anything."

Mr. Hoenig played a dynamic set with guitar player Wayne Krantz during the last weekend of February. Typical for Chris', the salty musicians at the bar shouted their praises at the nouveau-New Yorker. Mr. Bruno didn't miss the show. He insists that Mr. Hoenig learned bebop and swing playing in his native Philadelphia collaborating with Mr. Bruno and others at Chris'.

"It's always a struggle for everybody when they start," says Mr. Bruno, who recalled that Mr. Hoenig's mother drove her teenage son to his first gig at Chris'.

Mr. Swana contends that a formative trumpet experience happened at Gerts Lounge (which used to exist on 15th Street), eighteen years ago. His story hints that the city of Philadelphia-- if not a jazz capital, is a big woodshed.

"I had spent the day playing like crap," said Mr. Swana, who after murderous contemplation (he cites thinking about how Charlie Parker would have played each set) eventually decided to give up the fight.

"When I started not to care anymore, suddenly everything came out right," remembers Mr. Swana, who rejoiced that the final set was magic.

The first trumpet on the stage (he doesn't recall the name) praised, 'I don't know what you're doing, but keep doing that.'

The rest is Swanagraphy.

While there are no more Cotton Clubs in Manhattan, the musicians ponder why New York is still the center of jazz.

"New York get more tourists, leading to a wider and more diversified audience and so more musicians end up there. This tends to lead to greater musical experimentation there," said Mr. Swana.

Mr. Swana considers that the most experimental jazz in Philadelphia is explored at The Tri-Tone on South Street and to a recently lesser extent, the Painted Bride Art Center in Old City, both of which he compares to the Knitting Factory in Manhattan's Tribeca.

Mr. Alexander contends, "New York is really the place to be for cutting edge, straight-ahead, hard-swinging, no-holds-barred jazz music with an educated audience and a pool of high level musicians, always head and shoulders above all other cities."

New York, while having "everything," does not have a signature jazz sound. It does not have the hard Dixie of Chicago or the R&B of Detroit or the big band inertia of Kansas City defining it. Paralleling this eclectic anonymity, Philadelphia has never been thought to have a sound either. The big names did not stay long enough to invent one. Even Count Basie stayed in Kansas City long enough to pound the beat into the ground.

Dizzy Gillespie stayed in Philadelphia only a few years, playing in the Frankie Fairfax band, a conventional swing outfit. Native North Carolinan John Coltrane came to Philly at seventeen. He and saxophonist Benny Golson walked together as teenagers in a local band called, Jimmy Johnson and His Ambassadors. At nineteen, he joined the Navy, serving until 1946. He joined King Kolax's and Billy Eckstine's bands in Chicago in 1947. In California, he worked in Eddy Vinson's group. In 1949, he joined Mr. Gillespie in New York until 1951. Next, Mr. Coltrane played with Earl Bostic's band as well as several other bands in Philadelphia, spending most of the time touring the country with Mr. Bostic and soon spending no more time than an outsider does playing in Philadelphia-- albeit his shows at Peps Show Bar and the Showboat were considered legendary. Finally, in 1951, Mr. Coltrane ran to New York when he got the call from Miles Davis.

However, the bop and swing of Mr. Golson, the Heath brothers, Mr. Coltrane, Mr. Gillespie, Philly Joe Jones, Lee Morgan, Grover Washington, Pat Martino and countless others-- while not always staying in town, somehow reverberated a message through the Liberty Bell and convinced a history-hungry town that these names alone changed the DNA of Philadelphia forever into a jazz town.

Kevin Eubanks and Bootsie Barnes at Ortlieb's. photo detail, Len Bryant.

However, when you go to Chris' or Ortliebs', you become convinced that the worker bees, like the McKenna's and the Swana's, the Rokers and the Bootsie's, are the people who define the sound nightly.

Mr. Swana enlightens. "There is a certain swing-- a hardball kind with an edge, unique to Philadelphia, which is slightly more provincial than New York, which together with a bop influence is the real Philly sound."

"Add to that, a hint of funk and the blues, and you are talking about the actual Philadelphia jazz sound," said Mr. Souders.

Mr. LeDonne mentioned a conversation he had with trumpeter Donald Byrd about the flood of musicians pouring into New York from the smaller cities. Stanley Turrentine used to discuss the phenomenon of a Philadelphia-Chicago-Detroit-Pittsburgh Axis.

"The percentage of players to population coming out of each of these places is amazing," said Mr. LeDonne.

Mr. McMahon, to whom players asking for stage time at Chris', flock like Avian Flu to cows, is emphatic about people like Mr. Alexander visiting. His visit proves that the place is a jazz magnet.

Mr. Alexander, he says, comes to Philadelphia because, like the other young names, he can't resist it. This musician has heard that there is a movement going on down here and he wants to be near it.

"You have to keep your eye on these musicians. You are going to want to say that you saw them here in Philadelphia first and that you got close to them," advises Mr. McMahon.

"John Swana," he continues, "may not stay here forever."

Chris', unlike other Philly rooms, features the players on eye level with the crowd. There is no stage. The acoustics are decent, unless you are tucked in one of the dining booths in the club's hinterland. Tonight, Mr. Alexander is walking alongside of the tables of diners, making sure that every swig and bite is swallowed with a dose of his unique hooks.

"Eric will be a major contributor to jazz music-- if not a legend," portends bassist Bob Cranshaw.

An internet message board, displays the request by a impecunious Texas student, proposing a CD trade, "I'll take anything in return, anything at all with Eric Alexander playing on it."

"Right now," said Mr. Cranshaw, "Eric is growing and besides being a wonderful saxophone player, Eric is also a very open person, an absolute joy to be around."

In return, the student promises two CD's, by Joe Lovano and Kurt Rosenwinkle. "The Rosenwinkle CD", he promises, "has never even been opened."

Mr. Alexander insists that it is important to move various cities, experience new audiences and collaborate with other cities' musicians in order to catch influences that can't be caught in New York.

Mr. Swana features Mr. Alexander on his latest CD, a duet with New York trumpeter/flugelhornist Joe Magnarelli, "New York-Philly Junction," just released on the Criss Cross label and recorded in Brooklyn.

"There are definitely lines and phrases that Eric plays which are his own. He has created his own sound and there are other musicians who are now copping his licks," said Mr. Swana.

One of Mr. Alexander's first Philadelphia gigs was at Ortlieb's in the early nineties, playing with vocalist Shirley Scott, bassist Arthur Harper and Mr. Roker.

If you have never heard of Mr. Alexander, it is perhaps because jazz upstarts are no longer given the media support they received when artistic forms were praised for wildly mutating. Mr. Rollins had copped praise just for having hung around Coleman Hawkin's Harlem stoop as a boy. The collusion of record companies and the press seems responsible for our defining American Jazz with Pat Methany and Kenny G.. Nobody seems to be buying into revolutions any longer.

"Most music critics are not sophisticated enough to pay attention to Eric's inventiveness," complained Mr. Bruno who is annoyed that written laudations are usually saved for the creator of a unique, alternative sound, such as bebop played over a funk groove.

"That's not innovation but just sounding different," added Mr. Bruno.

Mr. Alexander and Mr. Stewart laid out, while Mr. Hammer took a solo on Rodgers and Hart's "Lover." Meanwhile, the corporate tenorist sang aloud a proposed melody to the other monster. Finally, they joined the pocket of a gentle cross rhythm, harmoniously following one another's changes with identical expectation, emphasis and phrasing. The drummer began to trade eights, followed in kind by each member of the quintet.

Mr. Swana said that one night at Chris', Mr. Alexander announced to audience-member Lou Lanza that he was going to beat the second violinist's long-distance running record. Mr. Alexander had heard that Mr. Lanza of the Philadelphia Orchestra, holds the Philadelphia record for the best marathon time clocked by a musician.

"Eric comes on with kind of a macho vibe and when I play with him I always have to make sure that I'm up for the gig," said Mr. Swana.

It is hard witnessing the cock-proud confidence of Mr. Alexander without imagining he is trying to teach the citizens of a poorer, dumber city the attitude necessary for attaining wealth and fame. He has said he stopped at seventy, in counting how many albums feature his playing. The recording dates seem to fall into his lap. In Philadelphia, however, remaining an artist demands constant investiture in various art forms in order to find pay dirt. Or else, it's off to a job at Wall Mart.

"You cannot solely play jazz gigs to make a living in Philadelphia," said Mr. Swana.

Mr. Swana has joined everything from Brazilian and Cuban jazz outfits to chamber ensembles at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The emphasis seems to be on survival through inspiration. He loves what he calls, the "art groups."

Mr. Swana contends. "The diversity of the artists in Philadelphia inspires your compositions and enriches you."

Mr. Stewart warns against falling out of wood-shedding.

Grant Stewart, tenor saxophonist

"I find that people can become too self-indulgent and egotistical if they think of themselves only as artists," he says.

The physical appearance of Mr. Stewart is bohemian. His blonde hair is a long, seventies style, complete with heavy sideburns. His saxophone is not as shiny as Mr. Alexander's.

"But on the other hand someone who's only a craftsman, often lacks the poetic side of the artist, so it's rare to find the right balance," Mr. Stewart philosophizes.

Mr. McMahon, Chris' official bartender, runs a talent agency on the side. He was watching Mr. Stewart take a masterly solo on "You Go to My Head." He compares Mr. Stewart to Wardell Gray and Mr. Rollins.

"There is a reason why Grant is up there keeping Mr. Stewart in check and that is because Grant himself is a monster," said Mr. McMahon.

Al Mover, the phenomenal alto saxman of the Toronto Jazz Quartet mentored Mr. Stewart. The thirty-two year-old Mr. Stewart (who has three Criss Cross albums to date, leading on two of them), regularly plays with trumpeter prodigy Jake Wilkenson.

"I've been very fortunate musically since I came to New York in 1990," said Mr. Stewart.

He is also a featured soloist with the Omar Avital Sextet on Impulse Records' "Live at Smalls: Jazz Underground."

Musicians have forever joked that the way to make money is to sell their instruments. Therefore, Mr. Stewart gigs as often as possible.

"However, financially I've been through some tough times," Mr. Stewart concludes.

Mr. Bruno has done the "hock" idea one better. He has been shopping his name to guitar OEM's.

"I ended my deal with Guild to make a Jimmy Bruno model because I wasn't satisfied that Fender intended to market it responsibly after I saw how weakly Fender marketed the signature guitars," he said.

The Chris' front man informs that Fender was intending to charge fifteen thousand dollars, minus the advertising, promotions and guitar clinics necessary on the front end.

"Fender was going to charge twice as much for the instrument as it was worth, in my opinion and I felt that this was a waste of my time," said Mr. Bruno.

Fender bought Guild in 1997.

"But Hofner came along and they worked with me until we got everything right," rejoices the guitarist.

The 'Jimmy Bruno' model guitar, available at retailers in April, has a list price of $3,395.00. Mr. Bruno also lends his name to the B-6 Seymour Duncan pickup. Then there are the Thomastik-Infield 'Jimmy Bruno' guitar strings. Cross promotions will occur between these three companies and Roland Corporation and Apple Computer, the latter two of whom Mr. Bruno cites as having provided the equipment that mixed his latest CD, "Midnight Blue."

"This is the first time that a bunch of corporations are lining up behind one of my CD's," said Mr. Bruno, who played his first Philadelphia gig at the demised J.J.'s Grotto.

Money is always an issue. Following his accident in 1997, area musicians organized a benefit at Chris' to pay Mr. McKenna's medical bills. Bud Powell was found living on the streets of New York in 1965, penniless and dying of tuberculosis.

"But that's the price you pay if you want to be a jazz musician and I was well aware of that when I got to New York City," said Mr. Stewart.

The fifty-year-old Mr. Bruno was born in South Philadelphia. His father played on Frank Virtue and the Virtue's 1959 hit, "Guitar Boogie Shuffle." Mr. Bruno toured with Buddy Rich when he was nineteen. He worked Vegas crowds in his twenties.

"I came back to Philly because the problem was that I had steadily employed out west," said Mr. Bruno, grinning.

Mr. Bruno had pursued a rewarding studio career in Los Angeles where he recorded with Tommy Tedesco.

"Steady employment meant that I wasn't making much money," he mused.

Returned to Philly, Mr. Bruno started to blaze his own trail.

"Instead of waiting by the phone, I made other people's phones ring," he said.

Mr. Bruno organized jazz festivals in the area. He signed with Concord, the grammy-winning label in 1992. He recorded and marketed videos of guitar instruction. He became a first-call artist at Chris'.

"I realized that most jazz musicians are programmed to be poor," Mr. Bruno insists. "Any musician wants to cut off his ear to become an artist, I say, let him do it. But what's the point? It is a crock that there is no money in playing in Philly. The money is here."

But, rich or poor, Mr. Bruno still feels that New York is where the best experience is earned.

"If I run into a guy after he's been playing a year in New York, he's improved by leaps and bounds," said Mr. Bruno.

According to Charles Darwin's model of "Natural Selection," musicians who succeed in the Big Apple, become better adapted living inside of an instrument case. They live in little studio apartments and play cramped clubs with hectic schedules. Mr. Bruno's former jazz ward, Mr. Hoenig, by this logic, survives at tiny clubs like the Smalls' spinoff, Fat Cat, on Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, either because physically, he is very thin, or, because he knows that tomorrow, his drum kit could be sitting in backstage with Mr. Roker's if he doesn't stay monstrous.

Darwin's concept of "Adaptation" contends that the characteristics of a jazz musician are adapted to its ecological niche or audience. While on Galápagos, Mr. Darwin noticed that finches who fed on insects had sharper, finer beaks and were more suited to stabbing their prey, while others ate seeds and had powerful, parrot-like bills specialized at breaking the shells. Philadelphians, associating pep rallies with small-town warmth, acclimate to sports stadia rather than museums or concert halls.

"There is definitely a more heartfelt, hard-cut sound that comes from Philadelphia. It's a blue-collar feel," Mr. Swana explains.

Mr. Swana was born in Norristown. He went to Methacton High School in Collegeville, PA. The school was built near a cornfield. One of Mr. Swana's first gigs in Philadelphia was in Joe Sudler's Swing Machine at the Chestnut Cabaret.

Mr. Darwin asked why the bones of a jazz musician's arms and legs are similar in to those of a dog and a horse. His concept, "Descent and Modification," answered that any two species can be traced back ultimately to a common ancestor. The first internationally famous Philadelphia jazz cats were guitarist Eddie Lang and violinist Joe Venuti. Natural Selection produced such greats as Mr. Jones and Mr. Coltrane. The denizens of Chris' and Ortlieb's upheld the traditions of the former cats. But what precursory eco-phenomena account for Zanzibar Blue?

Zanzibar Blue-- established in 1990, is two miles away, on the Avenue of the Arts. Keisa Brown and the Rolling Thunder Band have flown in from Los Angeles tonight. Blue is featuring a special-- not music, but the food. Grilled Breast of Muscovy Duck for the main course, Sea Scallops DeVille as the appetizer and an 18 percent gratuity is added to parties of six or more.

"Zanzibar Blue is not really a jazz club to me," said Mr. Swana.

Established in 1987, Ortlieb's charges free admission during the week and usually never charges ten dollars during the weekends. Chris', opened in 1989, usually charges no more than fifteen dollars on weekends. Zanzibar's cover often exceeds twenty dollars. The wealthier club features a gift shop where visitors can purchase rare jazz valuables, such as postcards and ashtrays. It rents itself out for parties. The main dining area holds one hundred diners. A peripheral dining area seats sixty and its café holds thirty. An awesome, removable glass partition separates diners from the stage at the lower level. It also rents its audio-visual equipment for on-site business meetings. Mr. Darwin could have used his term, "homology," to describe the one similarity shared between Zanzibar Blue and the "real" clubs: each venue serves food. Then, Mr. Darwin distinguishes that there are metaphorical similarities which have evolved based on "function," that do not evince the presence of a common musical ancestor. Mr. Darwin called his concept, "analogy." For instance, both fish and dogs have tails.

Mr. McMahon approaches the latter concept in discussing a spiritual meeting of classical and jazz styles. Herein, merely analogous traits in different musicians are similar because they are adaptations to a similar ecological niche: namely a Philly audience. "McKenna was playing with Swana one night and Philadelphia Orchestra conductor Christopher Eschenbach was watching with awe and respect, tapping his hand along, bobbing a little." Noting this and that Mr. Lanza's son is a jazz vocalist featured at Chris', causes one to ponder whether Mr. Darwin has accounted for a future 'Third Stream' movement to evolve in Philadelphia? Gunther Schuller did record with Dizzy Gillespie after all.

It is doubtful that such a movement could happen in the drive-through window jazz world of Zanzibar Blue.

"If you go to Ortlieb's or Chris', you see the cats hanging out, but you don't see that happening at the nearby supper club, whose staff doesn't even know who you are whenever you walk in," said Mr. McKenna.

Saxmaster, Larry McKenna

Mr. McKenna has performed as soloist with jazz stars such as Woody Herman, Rosemary Clooney, Tony Bennett, Sarah Vaughn and Frank Sinatra. Today, he plays everywhere from weddings, to bar mitzvahs, to smoky jazz clubs. He recently recorded an album with his former Temple student, drummer Jason Shatill, a sweet and swinging collection of standards, "It Might as Well be Spring," on Philly's Dreambox label. His CD "My Shining Hour, a tribute to the music of Harold Arlen, has received critical acclaim from reviewers all across the United States. Mr. McKenna says he will release his collaboration with Philadelphia singer Miss Justine, later this year. There is hardly a more recognizable face and sound in the Philadelphia jazz scene than Mr. McKenna's. Perhaps one day, he might get recognized by a bus boy at Zanzibar Blue and thus finally make it big.

"I don't want to take credit for their success, but John Swana was in my class twenty years ago at West Chester and vibraphonist Tony Miceli was my student at University of the Arts," said Mr. McKenna.

Mr. McKenna taught jazz theory, harmony and saxophone at Temple University, West Chester University, University of the Arts and Community College of Philadelphia, at one point instructing at all three schools simultaneously.

He concludes, "So if anybody calls me a legend, it's probably because I taught him at one point," said Mr. McKenna.

The "Mission" section of Zanzibar's website reads, "Zanzibar Blue's stage is home to many talented local musicians." But the only Philadelphia name mentioned on this web page is bassist Gerald Veasley.

"We-- and I mean the real Philadelphia musicians, never get calls to play at Zanzibar," said Mr. Barnes, "and I don't know why."

"As for the local players," said Mr. Swana, "I don't think Zanzibar treats them well … So, I'm just not into the vibe of that club."

It is difficult to run a jazz club in a "second tier" city. The owner doesn't know whether to expect the artists or the machinists from B.H. Fairchild's The Art of the Lathe to enter. Philadelphia lawyer Howard Ogden famously said, "Philadelphia: all the filth and corruption of a big city; all the pettiness and insularity of a small town." Whether a bohemian or a quarterback will come for a beer, is impossible to predict.

One night in January at Ortlieb's Mr. Roker, who was jamming on the Cole-Porter-Lowe-Gershwin lexicon with Mr. Souders in front of a cabin fever crowd at Ortlieb's, was nearly over-shouted by a large party of foreign exchange students who were snapping pictures and throwing back drinks.

"You need to keep the doors open," said Mr. Bruno.

The bohemians showed visible annoyance at the students.

"You need to have ten people come in and have a birthday party and then write you a five hundred-dollar check, Mr. Bruno explained.

The respectful patrons are used to the Birdland's and Blue Note's of New York. They long for the Blues Alley's of Washington, DC. They wish Ortlieb's and Chris' were like the Jazz Alley's of Seattle, or the Jazz Showcase's of Chicago and the Catalina's of Los Angeles.

"If Pete Souders would rather chase them out of his club, he might as well close," Mr. Bruno explains.

Mr. Souders and Mr. Roker continued to play, not visibly disturbed.

"Even though I'd hate to be jazz club owner in Philly," Mr. Bruno said, "just leave the doors open and I'll play facing the wall."

Legendary Philadelphia tenor player and instructor Mr. McKenna is internationally known. He has only two Criss Cross albums under his belt, but then again, Lee Strasberg was an acting legend long before he starred in his nine movies.

"Here's a guy whose very note is an artwork and whose solos are always perfect," said Mr. Bruno

Mr. McKenna is Philadelphia to the core, the kind of person you see in a windbreaker at WaWa, checking to see if the Inquirer he is about to buy is not missing sections.

"Like with Mozart, if you remove one note, the rest of the piece suffers," lauds Mr. Bruno about any sax solo played by the veteran.

Mr. McKenna, whom his peers credit for being the archetypal stay-at-home artist, did try to fly the coop twice. He attempted New York and Los Angeles. First, he left with two friends to search for a pad in Manhattan, in the late fifties.

"But after spending one day searching, I found myself not wanting to be there," said Mr. McKenna, who upset his friends by pulling out.

Then, in the autumn of 1961, he went to Los Angeles where he says he found it difficult to make connections. In spring of 1961, he struggled to make connections in Los Angeles, but returned to Philly to work a summer job, intending to return west in the fall. That summer, he met his late wife Kathy and soon they married, live shows and his first teaching assignments at Cardinal Dougherty, Father Judge and North Catholic High Schools paying the bills.

"New York is still where you go to see how well you stack up against the best players," said Mr. Alexander.

Music arranged by Mr. McKenna has been played on the Tonight Show, and in the movie, "Birdy," starring Nicholas Cage, in which the Philadelphian both played, and, appeared.

"Outside of studio work, I don't think that L.A. falls into any major category anymore," said Mr. Alexander.

Mr. McKenna's first gig was on New Years Eve at Beth Shalom Synagogue in the Logan section of the city, over fifty years ago, playing with a band organized by his high school drummer friend whose family worshipped in the temple. Mr. McKenna received fifteen dollars for the show.

The temple has moved to Jenkintown. Since, then the neighborhood literally disappeared. Thirty years ago, the houses and the temple built on weak landfill began sinking into the ground. They were bulldozed away. There is a metaphor to be enjoyed, contemplating the Philadelphia jazz world.

"Man, back in Bag's day, two guys from everywhere used to come down to Philly because there were so many clubs," said Mr. Roker.

Mr. Roker recalls that the cover charge was two dollars at the Showboat, an admission which also paid for two drinks.

"People like Miles always used to come down to the Showboat," he continued. "And J.J. Johnson used to come down to Peps. And Clifford Brown and Dizzy used to come to the Music City clubs," remembers Mr. Roker.


	"Workshops" at the Music City clubs featured Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, Lee Morgan, Clifford Brown, and others. photo, George Manney

"Mickey and I used to play at Peps Show Bar with Junior Mance and Joe Williams," said Mr. Cranshaw.

"Beers used to cost only a dollar at Peps," said Mr. Roker.

Philadelphia has never been a utopian artists' colony. The resident playwright of Interact Theatre, Tom Gibbons, has a day job. The city is has always been considered a bitter place in which to forge a living as an artist.

According to Dexter Gordon's testimony in Ira Gitler's Jazz Masters of the Forties, Bud Powell was beaten by a Philadelphia police officer who was arresting him for drunk and disorderly conduct prior to a gig with Cootie Williams. Mr. Gordon alleged that Mr. Powell was so badly brutalized that he suffered brain damage. In 1997 Mr. McKenna was hit by a motorist, while crossing Spring Garden Street. Although, it was a hit-and-run, the driver found the time to visit the floored Mr. Kenna to explain that the collision was the fault of the pedestrian. Then, the assailant fled. The Philadelphia jazz scene's consolidation into two strong clubs has happened as quietly but as surely as the nine hundred and fifty seven row houses had once slowly sunk into the ground in the Logan section of the city.

"The worst show I ever had in Philadelphia was my first and last at Deetrick's in Jenkintown," said guitarist Jimmy Bruno.

Mr. Bruno admitted that he is always leery about playing a gig in the suburbs.

"Jazz in the suburbs just never goes well," he said.

He had just persuaded the club to charge money at the door, a cover charge of five dollars. This minimum admission was stipulated in the contract written by Mr. Bruno and his agency. The contract now signed, Mr. Bruno suddenly noticed that Deetrick's was no place to house a band.

"They might as well have put a jukebox there," remembered Mr. Bruno.

Just before show time, he noticed that the club became dangerously over-populated.

"There is no stage, which means that the crowd of rude, yelling, screaming people were right on top of the band," he said.

Finally, a young man stood in the band's playing space, during Mr. Bruno's set.

"He is holding a draft beer, chatting away with some girl. He is at my left and the girl is at my right.," remembered Mr. Bruno.

A conversation began between the man and woman. The patron stood between Mr. Bruno and his bass player Craig Thomas.

"So I ask the customer if he was part of the band."

The patron did not respond. Finally, Mr. Bruno requested that the young man step away. The patron looked at Mr. Bruno with mock indignation,

"The guy acts as if he can't believe I just asked him this question, and says 'What do you mean, I'm just talkin' to my girlfriend'?

The club is now called 211 York. It no longer features live jazz.

One packed night at Chris', Mr. McKenna was playing with Mr. Bruno when the former frenetically began changing reeds, trying to overcome the death rattle of an ailing horn.

"I still have nightmares about this," Mr. McKenna recalls.

Requiring three times the normal amount of wind to operate, the instrument emitted a report which changed pitch and died every few seconds.

"No matter what I did, I couldn't get the thing to sound right," said Mr. McKenna.

The next day, a repair technician noted that the G-key, which had become bent, was restricting two valves. The previous night, Mr. McKenna had heard the voice of a stranger in the strange vibrato, the grating creaks and the guttural wails.

"It was the weirdest damned thing," he said.

However, pleased listeners who had heard the live broadcast from Chris' on WRTI telephoned him.

"More than any performance I can remember, I got telephone calls from listeners who told me, 'Wow, you never sounded better' and that they had never heard me come out with a performance as good," laughed Mr. McKenna.

Mr. Bruno only remembers that Mr. McKenna had seemed visibly perplexed, changing his reeds every few minutes.

"But Larry never sounds bad and on that night, he was playing every note masterfully as always," Mr. Bruno said.

"Seven years later, I still refuse to listen to the tape," said Mr. McKenna.

Fifteen years ago, Mr. Swana was playing with a big band on Commerce Square. The show was being recorded by WRTI. A minute before his solo, Mr. Swana noticed that his microphone stand would not extend.

He recalls, "I kept pulling until I had edged my chair leg over the raised stage and fell onto a bunch of music stands."

Mr. Swana quickly brushed himself off and returned to the bandstand to blow, gash on his side and all.

If Mr. Alexander's Darwinism is evinced by his battling Mr. Stewart, let it also be impressed that Darwin's concept of "Group Selection" is better evinced by the Philadelphia jazz cats. The survival of a group, according to Mr. Darwin, depends upon the performance of altruistic behaviors by its members. In this light, Mr. Alexander is always trying to cut while the Philadelphia cats are meanwhile lending each other a reed.

Last July, a pick-up band formed at Chris' spontaneously to celebrate Mr. Bruno's fiftieth birthday. Behold the brotherly love:

"It was one of the best musical experiences I've ever had," said Mr. Bruno.

Along with Mr. Swana, pianist Sid Simmons, Jeff Pedras on bass and Dan Monahan on drums, the emphasis was on ingenious improvisation, rhythmic combustion and diabolical swing. The natives are still talking about it.

"And there is hardly a nicer person to be around than Mickey Roker," said Mr. LeDonne.

Mr. Souders praises Mr. Roker. "I have tiny cubbyhole of an office at Ortlieb's and Mickey and Larry never ask to leave their musical instruments in there."

Several musicians have mentioned that Mr. Roker purposely bumps into a player, nearly knocking him over at Ortlieb's while he's walking by, just to disarm.

"Mickey goes out of his way to make me feel special. He'll say he's so glad that it's me playing at Ortlieb's tonight," said Mr. McKenna.

"Larry McKenna," starts Mr. McMahon, "is not only legendary for being a first-call player but for being one of the most generous and sweet people with whom you could be on stage or be taught by."

Mr. Cranshaw, thirty-one-year-long collaborator with Mr. Roker, hails the semii-annual pow-wow of his former Milt Jackson Quartet co-workers.

"It is the most wonderful, uplifting experience playing whenever we team up again at Ortlieb's," said Mr. Cranshaw.

Mr. Cranshaw, Mr. LeDonne, vibes player Steve Nelson and Mr. Roker last paid tribute to their old vibraphonist boss in January. The gang will be taking Mr. Alexander to the Bahamas Jazz Festival on April 24th. The Paradise Island concert has been faithfully organized by Mr. Cranshaw, into whose hands the job fell after Stanley Turrentine died. The 'Milt Jackson' spot has been featured at the Nassau festival since the latter's death.

Mr. Turrentine passed away one night before completing a week-long engagement at the Blue Note in 2000.

"Mr. Turrentine had caringly organized the Milt Jackson revue," said Mr. Cranshaw, "So, I'm carrying it on for him."

Mr. Alexander will be taking Mr. Turrentine's place on the blow.

"I think it is important to play with like-minded people with whom I share the same musical aesthetic," said Mr. Alexander.

Mr. LeDonne's latest CD, "Bags' Groove," a recorded tribute to Mr. Jackson, adds flutist Jim Snidero to the tribute band, but minuses Mr. Alexander. This CD received four stars in "Downbeat Magazine."

The seventy-one year-old Mr. Cranshaw said as far as rooms go, he finds playing at Ortlieb's a comfortable experience.

"However, I would improve the room's acoustics, widen the stage and get rid of the piano," said Mr. Cranshaw.

The seventy-one year-old New York bass player explains that improving the venue depends upon invoking the talents of reliable a business person. Mr. Souders is the employer of Mr. Cranshaw's best friend, Mr. Roker. Mr. Cranshaw is a pension representative for the American Federation of Musicians Local 802, which runs a campaign called 'Justice for Jazz Artists' in New York. Although Mr. Cranshaw is not chartered to bargain collectively in Philadelphia, friendly persuasion may lead to Ortlieb's improvements.

"Pete Souders should replace that piece of junk," said Mr. LeDonne, regarding performing in the narrow club.

"That piano is beyond repair," Mr. LeDonne continued.

While Mr. Darwin explained that such teamwork is necessary for population-thinning, Mr. Alexander, Mr. Cranshaw and Mr. LeDonne could be accused of trying to scare their collaborators into working harder and fixing their instruments.

Mr. Bruno has some advice for New Yorkers who are knocking Mr. Souders' accommodations.

"You have three choices. Number one, bring your own piano. Or, two, you don't play there. Or, three, throw Pete a benefit and buy him a piano and a wider stage. Put a twenty-dollar cover at the door. It's not like you can't draw people to his club to catch your gig, right?"

Resident saxophonist Mr. Barnes countered, "We been through it a thousand times with Pete, that the piano is really, really bad, but he says it's the best we can do, so what can you think?"

Mr. Barnes continued, "All the great piano players play it and they just look out of the corner of their eye, well, you know."

Retired instructor Mr. McKenna played every Friday with his quintet at Alex's Jazz Underground on South 21st Street, until the club folded last year (it had been preceded at this address by J.J.'s Grotto). Last January, Mr. McKenna sat in with the orchestra on Gershwin tunes at the Academy of Music. Mr. Stewart named his best experience to be playing with drummer Jimmy Cobb every weekend for a month at the Guggenheim museum. When you play to eat, you end up in a variety of rooms, doing things differently than you had expected, thinking differently than you had figured.

"I was just at the Four Seasons Hotel Fountain Lounge brunch gig, filling in for somebody who was out sick," said Mr. McKenna, who is as "balanced" in arts and crafts as Mr. Stewart could ever imagine.

Mr. Swana has also been practicing the EVI (Electronic Valve Instrument) for sixteen years. This is a synthesized version of his Bach 72 bell trumpet which he has played at clubs and on albums. Mr. Swana, the leader on seven of the nineteen Criss-Cross Jazz albums in which he is featured, alludes to the importance of finding inspiration in both the most complicated, and, simplest things.

"Rachel, the mother of my child," Mr. Swana muses, "is an amazing graphic artist and I get inspired just looking at her pictures." Mr. Swana said he also got juiced last month by watching his daughter Rosalie and his stepchildren Eli and Frieda create Valentines Day cards, calling his family, "music-listening, artist-freaks." He does not live with them.

Mr. Swana's next CD, "Philly Gumbo Two Plus One," due in September, is a Philly-jazz who's-who, featuring Mr. Barnes, Mr. McKenna, pianist Sid Simmons, Mike Boone on bass and drummer Byron Landham. Its predecessor, "Philly Gumbo," contained mostly originals, including a tune written by Mr. Swana whose title suspiciously variegates its composer's view of the Philly sound, "Blues for Hicks."

Mr. Alexander's latest Milestone CD, "Nightlife in Tokyo," features Mr. Mabern on piano, Mr. Farnsworth on drums, Mr. Carter on bass. It is playing of the highest order.

Mr. Barnes and Mr. Swana and their Smokin' Sextet played to an awed crowed at Ortlieb's on March 5th and 6th. Mr. Barnes and his Organ Trio can be caught at Ortliebs every Wednesday night. Mr. Roker can be caught there on Thursday nights. Mr. Bruno and Mr. Swana are constantly appearing at Chris'.

"A lot of jazz clubs," started Mr. Barnes, "may get better promotions and what-not, but you'll never hear jazz like you ever heard in your life, like you hear at Ortlieb's and Chris'-- any night of the week."

Donations for Pete Souder's new stage may be made in the form of check or money order!

Chris' Jazz Café, at 1421 Sansom Street, can be reached at (215) 568-3131. Ortlieb's Jazzhaus, at 847 North 3rd Street, can be reached at (215) 922-7367.