88-Toting Gumshoe’s Toughest Case

When pianist Evan Horne arrived in Europe, hoping to kick-start the career comeback that had been eluding him, the mystery surrounding Chet Baker was the last thing on his mind. But when his friend Ace Buffington, who was writing a book about Baker, asked him to get together at Amsterdam’s Prins Hendrik Hotel, the very place where Baker died, he agreed.

Why not, Horne figured. Like almost everyone else in the jazz world, he often had wondered about the circumstances surrounding Baker’s reportedly accidental death in 1988.

Matters became considerably more complicated, however, when he arrived in Amsterdam to meet Buffington, then discovered that his friend was registered in Baker’s old room and--more important--that he was missing.

What’s going on here? Is this all the real deal? And if so, who is Evan Horne?

Start with the earlier question. It’s part real deal and part fascinating fiction: a book--”Looking for Chet Baker: An Evan Horne Mystery” (Walker & Co.), by writer-musician Bill Moody--centered on a search for the truth about Baker’s unfortunate demise (was he pushed, did he jump, or did he slip and fall from his hotel window to the sidewalk below?).

And Evan Horne? He’s the protagonist of four previous Moody jazz mystery novels, a piano-playing, Bill Evans-influenced sleuth who constantly manages, despite his better judgment, to find himself in the middle of mysteries, most of them directly connected to situations in the real world of jazz.

As in “Looking for Chet Baker” (and I won’t give away any more of the story), Moody has taken his character through some intriguing plots. In previous books, for example, Horne has tracked down someone who has been killing smooth-jazz saxophonists and leaving a bird feather on the bodies (“Bird Lives!”); hunted the killer of a jazz collector who has discovered long-lost tapes by trumpeter Clifford Brown (“Sound of the Trumpet”); and attempted to discover who, if anyone, may have killed tenor saxophonist Wardell Gray, the apparent victim of a heroin overdose (“Death of a Tenor Man”).

Moody, a drummer who has toured and recorded with, to name a few, Maynard Ferguson, Lou Rawls and Earl “Fatha” Hines, is one among a very few authors who have attempted to use literary means to bring the jazz world to life. It’s a daunting task, and Moody would probably be the first to agree that the mystery novel, with its structured, crime-solving format, makes the chore a bit easier.

Given the difficulties, it’s no surprise that the list of less structured, wide-open jazz novels is as short as it is. Among the better-known efforts: James Baldwin’s “Sonny’s Blues,” John Clellon Holmes’ “The Horn,” Rafi Zabor’s “The Bear Comes Home” (which includes some of the most insightful descriptions of jazz improvisation ever written), Dorothy Baker’s “Young Man With a Horn” and Harold Flender’s “Paris Blues.”

The latter two were made into movies: the Baker book--loosely based on the life of Bix Beiderbecke--into a film featuring Kirk Douglas, the Flender novel into a picture featuring Paul Newman and Sidney Poitier.

Jazz films, however, have been no more successful--and for the most part even less successful--than novels in portraying either the music or the music’s practitioners. Two of the better efforts--Clint Eastwood’s “Bird” (with Forest Whitaker) and Bertrand Tavernier’s “‘Round Midnight” (with real jazz saxophonist Dexter Gordon playing a role inspired by Bud Powell)--possessed a sort of grim verisimilitude without managing to capture the lightheartedness that jazz players often manage to sustain, even in their darkest moments.

Other jazz (and jazz-related) films have ranged from awful (“Lady Sings the Blues,” “The Benny Goodman Story,” “The Gene Krupa Story,” “The Fabulous Dorseys”) to moderately intriguing (“Pete Kelly’s Blues,” “Young Man With a Horn”) to earnest but flawed efforts (Robert Altman’s “Kansas City,” Spike Lee’s “Mo Better Blues,” Woody Allen’s “Sweet and Lowdown”).

Why have novels and films produced such a spotty record in dealing with such an important art form? What’s the problem?

Primarily this: the difficulties in depicting--in the literal worlds of words and pictures--the experience of what it’s like to create and perform within a nonverbal, nonvisual artistic medium. As a result, the emphasis shifts, almost inevitably, to such nonmusical aspects as a character’s individual pathology, the complexities of the surrounding culture and the material demands of making a living. In the process, the much more elusive, far more mysterious process of musical creativity is, so to speak, lost in the mix. (And it’s worth noting that classical music and musicians haven’t fared any better.)

Moody doesn’t solve the very real complexities of depicting that elusive creative process (although there are a few passages in which he approaches Zabor’s insightful descriptions). What he does do, with considerably consistency, is establish a milieu, an atmospheric setting, that resonates with echoes of the real jazz world. And, in Horne, he has devised a character who can pass the ultimate test of ringing true to the jazz musicians who read Moody’s entertaining jazz novels.

Verve Reproduces: There’s a distinctly retro look to the 20 releases in the Verve Music Group’s LP Reproduction Series. Selected from the Verve catalog, as well as the archives of A&M;, Clef, Coral, Decca, Impulse!, Limelight, Mercury, Norgran and Philips, the 24-bit, digitally remastered discs are being released on CD in special miniature-LP packages reproducing the original album covers.

The CDs are being released in an initial group of 20, with an additional set of 10 titles scheduled for August; most have never been issued on CD before, and all will only be available for three years after their release.

The first set includes albums from Count Basie, Willie Bobo, Dave Brubeck-Paul Desmond, Rosemary Clooney, Alice Coltrane, Ella Fitzgerald, Stan Getz, Astrud Gilberto, Dizzy Gillespie, Woody Herman, Stan Kenton, Carmen McRae, Sergio Mendes & Brasil ‘66, Wes Montgomery, Gerry Mulligan and the Concert Jazz Band, Anita O’Day, Oscar Peterson, Mel Torme, Sarah Vaughan and Margaret Whiting.

The quality and the appeal vary from album to album, but there are some marvelous individual items in the compilation.

The Brubeck-Desmond “1975: The Duets” was released two years before Desmond’s death and displays the last hurrah between these two longtime companions. Mulligan’s “Concert Jazz Band at the Village Vanguard” album from 1960 is the definitive recording from an ensemble that brought imaginative new life to the big-band format.

The 1963 Herman album (“Swingin’est Big Band Ever”) and the 1954 Basie CD (“King of Swing”) display two of the jazz world’s finest ensembles at the peak of their powers. McRae’s “Birds of a Feather” (1958) and O’Day’s “Incomparable!” (1960) position these two fine artists in superb settings--McRae surrounded by an orchestra directed by arranger Ralph Burns, O’Day accompanied by an orchestra conducted by arranger Bill Holman.

Montgomery’s “Willow Weep for Me” won a Grammy in 1969, and Gillespie’s “Afro” (1954) successfully fuses jazz with Afro-Cuban rhythms and features a brilliant four-movement version of “Manteca” composed by Chico O’Farrill. Peterson takes a rare look to the south in 1966’s “Soul Espanol,” although the “Soul” is more Brazilian than “Espanol,” with most of the titles tracing to the bossa nova catalog.

The series, with its appealing selection of material and its firm dedication to the authenticity of the originals, is in marked contrast to another current Verve offering. And perhaps the best way to view the LP Reproduction collection is as a corporate act of contrition for the unfathomable decision to issue the abysmal, marketing-department product (how else to explain it?) “Verve Re-Mixed.”