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Bob
Daugherty is not only a master luthier, he's also an accomplished
photographer who has chronicled, on 35 millimeter black and white film,
the careers of many of the jazz greats he knew during his time as a
jazz and studio bassist in New York City and Los Angeles. |
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Nights at The Village Vanguard
  Along
Seventh Avenue, in New York City’s Greenwich Village, an awning hangs
over the sidewalk which reads, The Village Vanguard. The front door
opens onto a stairway which leads to the basement club below. To enter
is to find surprise and wonder: murals of jazz greats line the walls
and a who’s who of jazz players can be heard nightly.
On a visit to New York, when I was perhaps twenty-four, I went to hear
the band of Thad Jones and Mel Lewis at The Village Vanguard. They were
a Monday night fixture throughout the 1960s. That evening, I arrived
early; I stood near the bar at the back of the club. Nearby, the owner,
Max Gordon was greeting the musicians as they came in. They made their
way through the maze of small tables to the stage at the far end of the
room. The stage seemed to be lit only by the glow from the lights on
the music stands.
When all the players had arrived and were in their places, they began
the first tune. The sound of the band was breathtaking; the music
filled the room. These were some of the best freelance musicians in New
York. The original pieces written by Thad Jones were joyous, whimsical,
and spirited. It was a truly great jazz band. Mainly, my attention was
focused on the bassist, Richard Davis. He was playing a lion’s head
bass, the first I’d ever seen. He was standing off to the side of the
small stage, seemingly wedged between the grand piano and the drums.
His playing anchored the swirling surge of the music: his time was
solid, his intonation was right-on, and his blend with the ensembles
was a perfect match. Moreover, he delivered his highly unique style
with a seemingly perpetual smile. For that matter, the whole band
seemed to be having a really good time. Back by the bar, I was
thinking, “If I could ever get the chance to be up there playing like
that,” not for a moment believing that it would ever be possible.Some
years later, after I had moved to New York, I did begin to get calls to
play on Monday nights with Thad and Mel at The Village Vanguard.
Following in Richard’s footsteps was a bit daunting at first, but after
getting over my initial jitters, I had a lot of fun. I must have been
wearing a smile as well.During
the first week of January in 1972, the band was recording at Phil
Ramone’s A&R Studios on Seventh Avenue in mid-town Manhattan. On
the day before the session, I subbed for Richard at a rehearsal. I
asked if I could come back the following day to take photographs. That
was the day that this photo of Richard was taken. The album was to be
called, “Suite for Pops.”Looking
back to those nights when I was playing at The Village Vanguard, I
recall one evening when a young man introduced himself to me saying
that he was a bass player from St. Louis. I told him that I was also
from St. Louis. The parallel with my experience years before was not
lost on me. I wondered if he would leave that evening feeling as
inspired as I had on my first visit to The Village Vanguard.
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