The Rise And Fall Of Seven
Ridin' High
Maynard Ferguson
Produced by Alvertis Isbell
Recorded at Bell Sound Studios
Recording engineers: Tori & Yarmark
Mixed & edited by Tom Dowd
Cover photo: Compliments of Bently's Cycle & Sports, Montreal, Quebec
Cover design: Haig Adishian
A&R Supervision: Ira Sabin
Enterprise Records 13-101
Distributed by Atlantic Records
1968
Maynard Ferguson - trumpet or flugelhorn
Natale Pavone, Charles Camilleri, Richard D. Hurwitz & Lewis M. Soloff - trumpets
James Cleveland & Locksley W. "Slide" Hampton - trombones
George Jeffers - bass trombone or tuba
Richard O. Spencer - alto sax or soprano sax
Frank A. Vicari & Lewis B. Tabackin - tenor saxes
Park "Pepper" Adams - baritone sax
Daniel B. Bank - bass sax or piccolo
Michael J. Abene - piano
Joseph A. Beck - guitar
Donald R. Payne - bass or electric bass
Donald F. McDonald - drums
John Pacheco - conga drums, tambourine or shaker.
From the back cover: Those were the days!
People were not so thoroughly imbued with the sense which passes for silliness today.
Heathcliff was younger then, as were most of us who were born around the same time. He used to cook for us so magnificently, purged by the dint of shear pleasure.
Then as the twilight of even began to fall and rustle the trees in its weak, we would smuggle around the fire in our robes and look at the flames as they danced. As we got toasty warm in front, our backs would get cold. Then we would look at the flames some more and consider all those won- derful days in the past: how many cornflakes would it take to fill one of those W.W. I mess kits; how were Tom Mix an' the Red Sox doin'; was Dad ever going to scrimp and scrave to get enough together to get the furnace fixed?
Most of us have grown up and gone our ways, with Heathcleft the most flagrant of all. Casti- gated, castrated, eviscerated, finally cremated, he had worked his way to the near-perihelion of his career only to be shot down in flames when his individuality got the best of him one day and he began putting meat in the chili while work- ing in the student cafeteria of a large Eastern university.
When Maynard was by last, with the band sounding better than ever before, we reminisced of him. It was quite an exhilarating experience, what with recollections of Heathkit and those days, the news about Dad (of which more later), and the feeling of good fellowship that comes of sharing (with Maynard, the guys in the band, two road managers, assorted wives, friends, fiancées, camp followers and the band bus driver) my cleverly appointed one-room efficiency digs.
Victuals presented somewhat of a problem (the poor fridg, gladly accommodating the fixings for an impromptu candlelit midnite tête-à-tête or two, as well as a liberal supply of orange juice for the morning, simply rebelled at the workload of keeping so many hungry, happy working people fed), but we managed; and with it all, everyone got to know each other pretty well that week... and the music was superb!
Things have changed somewhat, back there. Dad still hasn't gotten around to getting the furnace fixed, but he has addled some other improvements. The fireplace never drew too well anyhow (we all have many a tear-stained eye to look back on attesting the fact), so he blocked it off the rest of the way and installed some 15-inch loudspeakers and a pair of 200 watt amplifiers, there- by creating an exponential horn the magnitude of which has neighbors raving for miles around!
Now, in his total environment room, as he calls it, all he need do is put his stack of Haleloke and Frances Langford records (which he obtained, with a stroke of near-genius business acumen, at tremendous discount) on the changer, crank up the gain, and what with those 2 X 200 watts pushing in tandem he need no longer be concerned about the temperature outside.
He seems no longer concerned about the temperature inside, as well, as he has given up drinking too, in deference to the Electric Company.
And now you, dear listener are hereby cordially invited to partake of the music herein in a similar fashion. If perchance you are found wanting of a suitable fireplace-chimney complex, an excellent alternative would be to contact your favorite potable and/or your favorite wife (etc.), friend, fiancé(e), camp follower or bus driver and participate in the music thusly.
However so you may choose, in the words of that famous, too-little-known underground poet, Estelle Inez Garcin:
Autism affect/association ambivalence/ano- rexia nervosa/but most of all/ENJOY! ENJOY! ENJOY!!!
Prof. Clyde W. Windchaffe - Translated from the original text "Jungimmethum" by JACK SHAW
The Rise And Fall Of Seven
People were not so thoroughly imbued with the sense which passes for silliness today.
Heathcliff was younger then, as were most of us who were born around the same time. He used to cook for us so magnificently, purged by the dint of shear pleasure.
Then as the twilight of even began to fall and rustle the trees in its weak, we would smuggle around the fire in our robes and look at the flames as they danced. As we got toasty warm in front, our backs would get cold. Then we would look at the flames some more and consider all those won- derful days in the past: how many cornflakes would it take to fill one of those W.W. I mess kits; how were Tom Mix an' the Red Sox doin'; was Dad ever going to scrimp and scrave to get enough together to get the furnace fixed?
Most of us have grown up and gone our ways, with Heathcleft the most flagrant of all. Casti- gated, castrated, eviscerated, finally cremated, he had worked his way to the near-perihelion of his career only to be shot down in flames when his individuality got the best of him one day and he began putting meat in the chili while work- ing in the student cafeteria of a large Eastern university.
When Maynard was by last, with the band sounding better than ever before, we reminisced of him. It was quite an exhilarating experience, what with recollections of Heathkit and those days, the news about Dad (of which more later), and the feeling of good fellowship that comes of sharing (with Maynard, the guys in the band, two road managers, assorted wives, friends, fiancées, camp followers and the band bus driver) my cleverly appointed one-room efficiency digs.
Victuals presented somewhat of a problem (the poor fridg, gladly accommodating the fixings for an impromptu candlelit midnite tête-à-tête or two, as well as a liberal supply of orange juice for the morning, simply rebelled at the workload of keeping so many hungry, happy working people fed), but we managed; and with it all, everyone got to know each other pretty well that week... and the music was superb!
Things have changed somewhat, back there. Dad still hasn't gotten around to getting the furnace fixed, but he has addled some other improvements. The fireplace never drew too well anyhow (we all have many a tear-stained eye to look back on attesting the fact), so he blocked it off the rest of the way and installed some 15-inch loudspeakers and a pair of 200 watt amplifiers, there- by creating an exponential horn the magnitude of which has neighbors raving for miles around!
Now, in his total environment room, as he calls it, all he need do is put his stack of Haleloke and Frances Langford records (which he obtained, with a stroke of near-genius business acumen, at tremendous discount) on the changer, crank up the gain, and what with those 2 X 200 watts pushing in tandem he need no longer be concerned about the temperature outside.
He seems no longer concerned about the temperature inside, as well, as he has given up drinking too, in deference to the Electric Company.
And now you, dear listener are hereby cordially invited to partake of the music herein in a similar fashion. If perchance you are found wanting of a suitable fireplace-chimney complex, an excellent alternative would be to contact your favorite potable and/or your favorite wife (etc.), friend, fiancé(e), camp follower or bus driver and participate in the music thusly.
However so you may choose, in the words of that famous, too-little-known underground poet, Estelle Inez Garcin:
Autism affect/association ambivalence/ano- rexia nervosa/but most of all/ENJOY! ENJOY! ENJOY!!!
Prof. Clyde W. Windchaffe - Translated from the original text "Jungimmethum" by JACK SHAW
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