By Steve Provizer

Benny Golson’s accomplishments were enormous and lasting.

The late Benny Golson — One of the important jazz boxes he checked off was creating a sound that was his own. Photo: courtesy of the artist

My title alludes to one of Benny Golson’s most famous songs — “I Remember Clifford” (Clifford Brown). Although I didn’t know Golson, he’s been a part of my musical life for many decades and like many, I have an emotional connection with him, forged through his music.

Golson died on September 21^st at age 95. At age 28, he was part of the most famous photograph in jazz — A Great Day in Harlem. It’s not often we get such a clear marker of the procession of jazz history. With Golson gone, Sonny Rollins is the only one of the 57 musicians in that photo still alive.

When that photo was taken, Golson had already established himself as an improviser, composer, and arranger. He was part of the extraordinary jazz cohort from Philadelphia that came of age in the ’50’s — Lee Morgan, the Heath Brothers, John Coltrane, McCoy Tyner, Bobby Timmons, Jymie Merritt, Philly Joe Jones, and many others. The Philly scene was noted for the mutual support musicians gave to each other, which may explain why Golson maintained the mentoring sensibility throughout his life.

Golson paid early dues with Tiny Grimes, Bull Moose Jackson, then went on to play with Earl Bostic, Dizzy Gillespie, and Lionel Hampton. He joined Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers in 1958: his compositions were a major asset to the group, along with the fact that he brought Morgan, Merritt, and Timmons into the band. In truth, there has been no greater contributor to the book of jazz “originals” than Golson. He studied melody and understood it. ”My heroes,” he said, “are Puccini, Brahms, Chopin, and Duke Ellington.” His tunes include, “I Remember Clifford,” “Along Came Betty,” “Killer Joe,” “Stablemates,” (named for Herb Pomeroy), “Whisper Not,” “Blues March,” “Are You Real” and “Five Spot After Dark.” These compositions have been recorded countless times and will continue to be jazz standards.

In 1959, after his stint with Blakey, he formed the 6-member Jazztet with trumpeter Art Farmer. The group lasted until 1962; it would regroup sporadically during the ’80s and ’90s. Golson didn’t fall back on old repertoire for these later groups, but wrote a number of new arrangements. People often say the original Jazztet was a “hard bop” group. I’ve never particularly liked that category, partially because I believe putting groups like The Jazz Messengers and the Jazztet in the same genre slot is an oversimplification of jazz history.

Of course, Golson the musician/composer/arranger was a thread that ties the groups together, but their sonic output was very different. One key reason for this was the difference between Art Blakey and the Jazztet drummers — Dave Bailey, Lex Humphries, and Albert Tootie Heath. Blakey was a force of nature — his imprint was clear on every tune, be it a ballad or a burner. The Jazztet drummers were tasteful, responsive timekeepers — not apt to take Blakey-length solos. The Jazz Messengers were not a band to do an album with the contemplative pianist/composer John Lewis, but the Jazztet did.

Golson had the chops to function in any kind of group. Through Blakey’s urging, the saxophonist said he started to play with more “bite.” But the Jazztet was stylistically closer to his own voice and to that of his cohort Art Farmer. Farmer could wail, but was slightly more comfortable simmering on a lower boil. He doubled on flugelhorn and eventually played a highbred horn specifically designed for him called the “flumpet.”

One of the important jazz boxes that Golson checked off was creating a sound that was his own. I divide “sound” into two parts. One is the style of your playing — note choice. The other is your tone. Although Golson was an incredibly fluid and creative improviser, it wasn’t his note choice that made him singular. In that respect, he fit comfortably in a cohort of tenor sax players that included James Moody, Lucky Thompson, Jimmy Heath, and others. That said, his tone was completely his own. There was, at the same time, a reediness and a crispness that was singular, instantly recognizable. In his later career, Golson’s sound changed — it took on a harder edge. He was more stylistically in tune with the reigning currents in jazz, but it did make him sound, to my ears at least, a little less distinctly “him.”

Golson’s accomplishments were enormous. He recorded prodigiously and he arranged music for many important artists, wrote tunes, and scores for TV, films, and ads. As noted, he was an active mentor, educator, lecturer, and conducted many workshops and clinics. “Intuitively, whenever I write,” Golson said, “I want my music to last past my time. It’s not about ego. If a song lasts past my time, it will show that the song was truly worthy.” Rest assured, Mr. Golson, they are. There is no one in that famous Harlem photograph who made a more lasting contribution to jazz.

Steve Provizer writes on a range of subjects, most often the arts. He is a musician and blogs about jazz here.