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CharlesCarson,PhDUniversityofDelaware
Clifford Brown’s Philadelphia
While it is often overlooked in favor of more powerful economic centers like New
York and Los Angeles, Philadelphia nevertheless retains a certain mystique for jazz
aficionados and musicians alike. Numerous articles and musicians repeatedly refer to
“Philly” as a somehow exceptional, almost in mythic terms. A list of musicians who, at
one time or another, called Philadelphia home reads like a “who’s who” of jazz: John
Coltrane, Red Rodney, Stan Getz, Bud Powell, the Heath Brothers, Philly Joe Jones,
Benny Golson, McCoy Tyner, Dizzy Gillespie, Jimmy Smith, and of course, Clifford
Brown…among countless others.
In this brief presentation, I would like to explore this unique environment, keeping
two ideas in mind: how Clifford Brown was shaped by the Philadelphia jazz scene, and
how, in the end, Brown and his legacy helped to (re)shape the same. But first, it believe it
might be useful to explore a bit of the history of Philadelphia, specifically as it relates to
the emergence and development of the city’s African-American community.
The city of Philadelphia played a central role in the development of African
American expressive forms—particularly musical forms—in the twentieth century.
Again, unlike other large urban centers like Los Angeles or New York, whose importance
largely was based on their position as centers of the production and commerce of these
forms, Philadelphia’s contribution was almost completely cultural. To be sure, every
large urban northern city has its own unique cultural heritage, but the special historical
circumstances surrounding the black experience in Philadelphia resulted in an African
American community who would be at the forefront of social and cultural change in
America.
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The exceptional situation of the black community of Philadelphia has been
recognized at least since 1896, the year that W. E. B. Du Bois began his seminal study of
the city’s black community, The Philadelphia Negro. Du Bois’ study uncovers subtleties of
African American urban life that had, until then, gone largely ignored by mainstream
American society. Among these are the central role of familial connections in African
American culture, the importance of church and worship, the essential differences
between the African American situation and those of other minority and immigrant
groups, and even the class divisions within the black community itself.
The history of blacks in Philadelphia reaches back to around 1638, when Dutch
settlers brought them to the area, along with whites, as indentured servants.1 Despite
early protests by certain groups of German settlers, members of the Society of Friends, by
the close of the 17th century the institution of Black slavery in the colonies was firmly
established, and indeed booming. Over the first three decades of the following century,
the Friends became increasingly concerned about slavery on moral and ethical grounds.
Nevertheless, it was not until 1775 that the Friends made it an official policy to exclude
any one who kept slaves.
By the end of the 1700’s, the institution in Pennsylvania was in decline. In 1780, a
law passed that slowly began to emancipate all slaves. This released many former slaves
into the workforce—a trend that continued to increase for the next 150 years—and
contributed to the mounting tensions among workers of all races as competition for jobs
increased.
As the free black population continued to grow, it became evident that some type
of leadership would be needed. This leadership came in the form of the church. While
1 Ibid., 24.
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the St. George’s Methodist church originally appealed to and welcomed Blacks, the
mostly white congregation began to object as the numbers of Blacks increased. In protest,
two men, Richard Allen and Absalom Jones left with the Black congregants and began
the Free African Society in an effort to guide and assist the growing free Black community
in Philadelphia. Eventually, Jones and Allen would part company, dividing their
congregation between denominations—Jones would begin an Episcopal church while
Allen would found a new denomination more closely rooted in the Black experience in
America, the African Methodist Episcopal church.
“Mother Bethel” as the church they eventually built on Sixth Street in
Philadelphia is affectionately called, is the oldest property continually owned by African
Americans in the country. The AME church’s role in the formation of the African
American community in Philadelphia cannot be overstated.2 Its “philosophy of
education with its strong emphasis upon self-help” epitomizes the spirit of African
Americans in Philadelphia to this day.3 (Think: Bill Cosby)
Over the course of the next century, the “negro problem” in Philadelphia
continued to grow as more Blacks became free. Coupled with this was Philadelphia’s role
as a gateway to the free north. As the first large urban area across the Mason-Dixon
Line, Philadelphia received a constant stream of escaped (and freed) slaves from the south
looking for work and freedom in the north. As with the freeing of local slaves, this stream
of Blacks from the south only contributed to the escalating tensions between white, black,
and immigrant laborers in Philadelphia. 2 Indeed, the church’s role as a symbolic marker of African American pride, accomplishment, faith continues to this day as it has become a major tourist attraction for African American visitors to Philadelphia. See, Elizabeth Grant, "Race and Tourism in America's First City," Journal of Urban History 31, no. 6 (2005): 860. 3 African American Episcopal Church: Fifth District, "African American Episcopal Church - Historical Perspective," www.ame-church.org/amehist.htm (accessed September 5, 2005).
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Several factors contributed to the unique social context of Philadelphia in the
twentieth century. First, its role as a point of arrival and sale of African slaves made it
one of the fastest growing black populations among the early colonies. Second, its
Quaker-influenced leadership meant that it was also among the first colonies to begin to
recognize the rights of its black citizens, and the liberal policies it instituted instilled blacks
with a sense of freedom (albeit limited) not experienced in other large cities in the north
or south. However, this legal freedom did not shield the black community from the racist
or discriminatory practices—whether benign or dangerous—of members of the
Philadelphia community at large, especially from upwardly mobile immigrants. Thus
blacks in Philadelphia had to skirt a fine line between freedom and hostility to an extent
that other, perhaps less “free” black communities did not. The result was a black
community that was largely self sufficient to the point of being insular, fiercely protective
of its freedoms, and increasingly proud of its long heritage in the region.
Musically, Philadelphia has been front-and-center in terms of innovation. In
addition to a long tradition of classical music (dating back to the colonial period),
Philadelphia played a pivotal role in the development of gospel, rhythm and blues, soul,
rock, pop, hip-hop and—of course—jazz. Much of this is due to the city’s diverse
population, which has often used their unique musical traditions as a means of carving
out their own space in the dense urban environment.
In this environment, cultural practices like art, music, and dance became markers
of a community that was at the forefront of black expression. The black community in
Philadelphia was, to be sure, a northern, urban population. But, at the same time, many
of its members were never more than a generation or two away from the rural south.
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This mixture—urbane sophistication with downhome sensibility—characterized the
Philadelphia that called to Clifford Brown in the 1940s.
Though Wilmington, DE was home to a thriving music scene—including a
number of local performers and venues—it really was an extension of a Philadelphia jazz
scene that reached perhaps as far northwest as Allentown, and definitely as far southeast
as Atlantic City. In fact, if you factor in the number of musicians who regularly travelled
from Philly to Rudy van Gelder’s studios in Hackensack, and later, Englewood Cliffs,
Philly’s reach overlapped with that of New York considerably.
As Nick Catalano points out, Brown began making regular trips to Philadelphia
while still in high school. These trips grew in frequency after he graduated and entered
Delaware State University, however, and it could very well be said that, although his
dorm was in Dover, his classroom was in Philadelphia.
That classroom, at least early on, was located at 17th and Chestnut. Here,
drummer Ellis Tollin ran a jam session/workshop for young musicians in Philadelphia
out of his music shop. Similar to what local DJ Tommy Roberts was doing at the
Heritage House on North Broad, Tollin would bring well-known musicians, in town to
headline at one of the bigger clubs, and for a small fee, underage musicians (who could
not get into the clubs) would hear them play a few tunes, talk about their craft, give
feedback, and even jam with their young admirers. Eventually, after Brown had
established himself as a major voice in the jazz world, he would return to this very
room—only as the guest artist (of course the question is—when?).
These workshops, while not necessarily unique to Philadelphia, really went a long
way towards establishing the city as a jazz center. Aspiring musicians like Brown—
musicians who had both the talent and the drive—found encouragement not only from
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older, established performers, but also from like-minded youth. Such networks—long
before the days of the jazz performance major in college—were essential to the early and
continued development of future generations of musicians. Paul Berliner describes how
fluid networks of musicians are created, serving as forums for the working out of ideas,
transfer of knowledge, or just general support and camaraderie.4 These musicians are
often a mix of local celebrities, up-and-coming players, and young novices. Additionally,
more famous musicians may move in and out of these circles, as their touring schedule
moves them from place to place.
In an interview with Tim Merod, Benny Golson describes the role of these
networks when he was growing up in Philadelphia.
John [Coltrane] and I were constant companions in Philadelphia. There was a time when we were together every day when we were learning to play. We went to this concert and heard Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. What did we do after the concert was over? We walked up the street with Mr. Parker, and John was saying to him, “Can I carry your horn for you, Mr. Parker?” And I was saying, “What kind of mouthpiece do you use?” Playing like that, I had to find out his secret.5
And later:
John was eighteen, I was sixteen, and we were neophytes—in the real sense of the word. I mean, we were just getting started. We used to have so-called rehearsals at my house, and I’d go out and buy a seventy-five-cent, fifteen-piece arrangement written by Spud Murphy that sold all over the world, I guess. It’s called a stock arrangement…and we’d have a rehearsal. We’d have one tenor saxophone, one trumpet, and one alto saxophone!6
Musicians like Coltrane, Golson, and later, Brown used these networks as forums
for dealing with “problems” and “challenges” of the music, as well. At the time in which
4 Paul F. Berliner, Thinking in Jazz: The Infinite Art of Improvisation (London: University of Chicago Press, 1993), 37-41. 5 Jim Merod and Benny Golson, "Forward Motion: An Interview with Benny Golson," Boundary 22, no. 2 (1995): 56. 6 Ibid., 57.
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they were coming of age as jazz musicians, jazz was changing. These networks helped
burgeoning musicians make sense of, and assimilate, the modernism of bebop. “I
watched the music change,” commented Golson, “And I watched us change. We had to
recast our thinking.”
But obviously, more formal settings also existed. While these workshops provided
underage youths access to successful musicians, most of the public encountered the artists
in their natural environment—the jazz club. And Philly had plenty. In addition to larger
venues—like the Pearl; the Lincoln and Dunbar; of course the Earle, and later, places like
the Uptown—Philadelphia had a large concentrations of nightclubs, halls, and smaller
establishments, many of which featured jazz prominently. Chief among these were The
Showboat on Lombard Street; Pep’s Musical Bar at 516 S. Broad; The Blue Note (a
Clifford Brown favorite) at 15th and Ridge in North Philadelphia; The Downbeat at 21 S.
11th St.; Club Harlem over in West Philly; the 421 Club on Wyalusing; Spider Kelly’s on
Mole—not to mention similar venues in Wilmington and Atlantic City.
It was at a Wilmington venue that Brown would be inspired to take his career to
the next level. Catalano recounts a tale as old as time: a famous band rolls into town for a
one-night engagement, and—much to everyone’s surprise, a featured musician is missing.
At the last moment, a unknown local boy is thrust up on stage, where he proceeds to wow
both the audience and the band. In this case, the band was Dizzy Gillespie’s, the missing
musician was Benny Harris, and the unknown local boy was non other than Brown
himself. As a result this successful effort sitting in with one of his idols, Brown decides to
immerse himself in the Philadelphia jazz scene beyond just jam sessions. The next few
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years would see Brown opening for Max Roach, sitting in with Bird (again), eventually
taking a full-time job in a touring rhythm ‘n’ blues group, The Blue Flames.
Fronted by drummer Chris Powell, The Blue Flames exposed many people to
Brown’s talent—the group seemed to be everywhere at once, hitting all the major rooms
in the Philadelphia area, as well as venues in New York, the Midwest, and the South.
Throughout this all, however, Brown made Philadelphia his center of operations,
returning as frequently possible to reconnect with his family in nearby Wilmington.
By late 1954, Brown had left the Blue Flames, and had started his legendary
collaboration with Max Roach. Later that year—after extended engagements in
California and Europe, the group returned to Philadelphia, where Brown settled on
Sansom St. in West Philly. That October, the group began what would be the first of
several bookings at The Blue Note. Wherever their touring took them, they always
returned to Philly to recharge their batteries, both emotionally and musically.
Part of this undoubtedly had to do with the quality of Philadelphia audiences.
Over and over again, numerous sources describe the patrons of Philly’s jazz establishment
as “knowledgeable.” By some estimations, that description is far too kind. For, while
audiences could occasionally be laudatory—even encouraging—to younger and
developing talent, they where not given to tolerate lesser musicians. Part of this stemmed
from the strong sense of tradition within the city’s African-American community—they
were proud of their musical heritage and eager to protect it. Through the years, countless
musicians had honed their skills to razor sharp accuracy here before taking it up I-95—
Gillespie, Coltrane, Morgan. As such, Philly became a proving ground for musicians. If
you made a splash in Philadelphia, then you really had some talent. Growing up in
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Wilmington, Brown knew this fact quite well. That made the encouragement and
accolades he received from musicians and fans in Philadelphia all the more important to
him, both early in his career, and even later, after he had achieved worldwide success
with Brown/Roach group.
Returning to the questions that opened this presentation, we can again ask how
Philadelphia helped to shape Brown’s musical development. First, his proximity to the
Philadelphia jazz scene from an early age exposed him—as we have seen—to like-minded
young musicians, musicians who shared his musical and intellectual curiosity, if not his
level of talent. Being a member of such a group has its rewards: it can provide guidance
and encouragement and times of confusion or doubt, as it undoubtedly did for Brown.
More importantly, however, the unique nature of the Philadelphia jazz scene—
with its numerous venues, both large and small—enabled young and gifted musicians to
gain access to the upper echelon of the jazz world. Musicians who came through Philly,
especially those who took part in the workshops organized locally, could—and in most
cases, did—influence Brown directly, allowing him to sit in, recommending him for jobs,
or hiring him outright. Many of the pivotal moments in Brown’s development occurred
as he watched the greats at work in person—Brown regularly cited early performances by
Dizzy Gillespie and (especially) Fats Navarro as helping to directly impact his own
approach to the trumpet.
Fats Navarro, whom Brown first encountered in Philadelphia in the late-1940s,
deeply affected Brown’s playing. Numerous critics and scholars hear Navarro’ influence
in Brown’s articulation, phrasing, and sound—particularly in his reliance upon the
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middle and lower registers of the horn. Other influences include the Heath Brothers and
Benny Golson, who played with Brown in Tadd Dameron’s band.
Finally, the discerning audiences in Philadelphia provided Brown with a certain
level of confidence in his abilities—if he could win them over, then he must really be on
the right track. Yet despite this, Brown remains, by all accounts, humble and appreciative
throughout his life.
But Brown gives back far more than he takes from Philadelphia. In addition from
memorable performances, the care he takes with those musicians younger than he
illustrates how kind and wonderful he was. Such was the case with another Philadelphia-
area phenom, Lee Morgan. In a conversation with Jeff McMillan, LaRue Brown-Watson
highlights the special bond the two shared: “They were hanging out, you know, but it
always ended up being a lesson.” She continues: “They were friends. Even with the age
difference, they were friends.” Morgan, who in a sense would be come jazz’s heir apparent
after Brown’s death, owed a lot to Brown, and his playing shows this influence, especially
early on.
In the end, Brown’s legacy in Philadelphia extends beyond the amazing
recordings he made during his career. It extends beyond his compositions. It even
extends beyond the long line of trumpet players who were inspired by his playing. It
includes the memories cherished by those who new him—even by those he only met in
passing. And though I never met him, I consider myself lucky to live in city—in a world—
that was, far too briefly, touched by his presence.