Smiley Winters
Smiley Etc.
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In every large American city, there is a group of jazz musicians who remain local color, in spite of their skill. Around San Francisco most of the fans catch them once a year at the Berkeley Jazz Festival, where, as the warm-up act, the full attention they deserve is lost on seat finding, shot downing, or toke taking. They remain unknowns for a few reasons. For one, the music industry is cleverly designed so that proximity to a major studio remains an important factor in getting recorded and being heard by a large audience. Also, the music these people are into is not easy listening, and getting behind it involves some devoted effort and time. Some local heroes make it to the national scene,
Read More but their number is limited by lack of local stages, record production companies, interest of local music columnists, and so on. The release on Berkeley's Arhoolie label of Smiley, Etc., a double record set featuring enough local color for a fall landscape is, therefore, a welcome occasion. The lead artist is Smiley Winters, a drummer who seems to be one of the fathers of the San Francisco scene and a master of the idioms he explores on this album. His sidemen include some of the best: Rafael Garrett, Bert Wilson, Mike White, Eddie Marshall and a half dozen others. They get together in various combinations behind one record of outrageous free blowing and one of more traditional blues. The first two cuts, by Wilson, feature him on tenor and soprano, and Barbara Donald on trumpet in some frenetic improvisations. Their phrases come together like one mind/soul was producing them and together they get off some furious duets, each lifting the other into higher planes. But the album's title tune, which is a side long, is the finest piece of this record and of the set. Basically it is a Winters-Garrett freak-show, in the best sense of the word. Following a brief, prestorm calm, Garrett explodes over the highly energized texture laid down by Winters and four other drummers, strings and reeds. Screaming, growling, chattering, raging with high musical taste and exuberance, he immediately sucks you into the flow, to the extent that you find yourself taking synched breaths with him. And Garrett has the same fine level of control over his vocalizations that Pharoah Sanders has over his over-blown registers. As an improvising screamer, he is one of the main practitioners of the voice as a free form instrument. But his soloing only begins with vocals; the rest of the cut finds him on thumb piano, flute, bass and horns, his driving performance on all of which often brings the group to a sustained frenzy. The listener becomes so involved that the end of the cut brings a wasted, enervated calm. The other record in this set has four cuts, three of them blues variations, and one extended drum solo. Underlying these cuts, and the entire album, is Winters' authoritative drumming. Although vaguely influenced by Max Roach, Winters is clearly
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