Get ready to be transported to a time when jazz was untethered and unfettered. 'My Buddy: Sonny Stitt Plays for Gene Ammons' is an album that pulls you back into the vibrant era of the 1960s, when two giants of the jazz world, Sonny Stitt and Gene Ammons, were creating sounds that would become legendary. The album was released in 1976 by Prestige, but it's far from your typical jazz record. No, this one has a backstory as compelling as its harmonies. Stitt, an accomplished saxophonist, recorded this album in honor of his long-time colleague and friend, Gene Ammons, who was serving time at that moment. It’s an outpouring of respect, a musical tribute—a rare testament to the strong bonds formed among great musicians.
Liberals might clutch their pearls at this revelation, but we all know that true artistry transcends political leanings. This album isn’t just some predictable compendium of tracks; it’s a bold performance that epitomizes skill, creativity, and raw emotion. Backed by a roster of consummate musicians, including pianist Duke Jordan, bassist Sam Jones, and drummer Roy Brooks, Stitt delivers a performance that should be required listening for anyone claiming to know jazz—not just those who find solace in mainstream easy-listening.
Let's talk about the sheer talent of Sonny Stitt, whose saxophone mastery was often seen as on par with Charlie Parker’s. He was an artist who didn’t need verbose critics to embellish his skill. His playstyle on this album is sharp, assertive, and brimming with emotion—one could almost say it claims its own space in the world of music where artsy noise-making simply won’t cut it.
Next, there’s Gene Ammons, a man of immense ability who unfortunately caught the wrong end of the system, relegated to years of silence while serving a prison sentence. But Stitt wasn’t about to let time erase his counterpart’s contributions. In tracks like 'Blues for Brad,' you hear the saxophone wailing as if calling out across miles and years to the imprisoned Ammons. It’s that kind of brotherhood which seems to be absent from today’s more fame-driven musical landscape.
For critics who argue the album sounds dated, let them remember Billie Holiday's statement: "If I'm going to sing like someone else, then I don't need to sing at all." Likewise, Sonny Stitt plays like no one else and doesn’t pretend to. His take on tracks such as 'My Main Man' lays down impeccable grooves that are timeless and enduring.
It’s easy to dismiss jazz as elite or out of touch—except that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Jazz, by its very nature, has long been a medium for pushing boundaries and expressing the inexpressible. This album does both, especially during Stitt’s interpretation of 'My Buddy,' where every note unfurls as a layered tribute to Ammons.
Consider the rhythm section: A perfect fusion of piano, bass, and drums gives Sonny Stitt the ideal platform to shine. Duke Jordan’s nimble fingers work magic on the keys, while Sam Jones and Roy Brooks underpin the whole affair with precision and wit. You can almost sense the room breathing with collective anticipation at each jive and syncopation.
Some might bewail the absence of original compositions in the lineup, but that critique dissolves when viewed through the lens of the album's purpose. By reinterpreting existing tracks, Stitt and crew skillfully illuminate what was and what could be again. It’s a nod to the classics with enough room to inject their own indelible flair.
Take note: Jazz is not the solitude of headphones in a skip-and-scroll world. It's a communal experience, a narrative. You don’t casually lie back and listen to this album. You engage with it, allowing each track to unravel the complexities and camaraderie captured in each note.
So, if you’re prepared to dive into a record that honors jazz in its purest form, unspoiled by today’s mass-marketed distractions, then 'My Buddy: Sonny Stitt Plays for Gene Ammons' is your gateway. It stands as a relentless challenge to musical mediocrity and remains a compelling reminder of the human spirit's resilience through artistic expression. Let’s honor not just the notes, but also the men who played them, channeling a brotherhood that could only find its true voice amid the echoing hollows of a saxophone.