August 12, 1958—Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, and 55 other jazz masters gathered together for perhaps the most celebrated photograph of their genre ever made—“A Great Day in Harlem,” which became the cover of the January 1959 issue of Esquire Magazine.
The 33-year-old photographer, Art Kane, didn’t know what to expect when he invited musicians to come out at 10 a.m. on a hot summer day for a group shot in front of a Harlem brownstone at 17 West 126th Street. I wasn’t surprised to learn that this was his first professional assignment—who in his right mind, after all, would summon night-owl musicians at that ungodly hour?
Naïve Kane might have been, but he was also indomitable. As someone who’s struggled with getting good photographs, I really identify with Kane’s first experience with this art: As a boy who worshipped the American flag, he was so aggravated by his own failed attempt to capture the essence of “Old Glory” that he vowed never to take another snapshot. Thank God he thought better of it.
There are many other people who are delighted that he reconsidered—1970s’ male Sports Illustrated fans who rushed to the newsstands for the annual swimsuit issues that featured Cheryl Tiegs. In fact, at least one of my readers (and he knows who he is!) would probably have killed to have had the opportunity to photograph her and other glamorous females of the last several decades that Kane also worked with, including Andie McDowell, Jean Shrimpton, Verushka, Ali McGraw, Dolores Wettech, Beverly Sims, Lauren Hutton, Margaux Hemingway, Andie McDowell, and Iman.
I’m especially fascinated by this reproduction of the great photo. Clicking on one spot helps you identify particular musicians. For instance, I was able to pick out immediately Mary Lou Williams, but for some reason I couldn’t guess the identity of one of my favorite jazz musicians of all, Marian McPartland. Go figure. (This shouldn’t have been that hard; there are only three female musicians in the bunch, with Maxine Sullivan the third.)
The 33-year-old photographer, Art Kane, didn’t know what to expect when he invited musicians to come out at 10 a.m. on a hot summer day for a group shot in front of a Harlem brownstone at 17 West 126th Street. I wasn’t surprised to learn that this was his first professional assignment—who in his right mind, after all, would summon night-owl musicians at that ungodly hour?
Naïve Kane might have been, but he was also indomitable. As someone who’s struggled with getting good photographs, I really identify with Kane’s first experience with this art: As a boy who worshipped the American flag, he was so aggravated by his own failed attempt to capture the essence of “Old Glory” that he vowed never to take another snapshot. Thank God he thought better of it.
There are many other people who are delighted that he reconsidered—1970s’ male Sports Illustrated fans who rushed to the newsstands for the annual swimsuit issues that featured Cheryl Tiegs. In fact, at least one of my readers (and he knows who he is!) would probably have killed to have had the opportunity to photograph her and other glamorous females of the last several decades that Kane also worked with, including Andie McDowell, Jean Shrimpton, Verushka, Ali McGraw, Dolores Wettech, Beverly Sims, Lauren Hutton, Margaux Hemingway, Andie McDowell, and Iman.
I’m especially fascinated by this reproduction of the great photo. Clicking on one spot helps you identify particular musicians. For instance, I was able to pick out immediately Mary Lou Williams, but for some reason I couldn’t guess the identity of one of my favorite jazz musicians of all, Marian McPartland. Go figure. (This shouldn’t have been that hard; there are only three female musicians in the bunch, with Maxine Sullivan the third.)
The photo also inspired a 1994 documentary about the event. I have yet to see it, but certainly look forward to doing so now.
Looking at the photo, I can’t help but feel elegiac. The Esquire issue was called “The Golden Age of Jazz,” but in many ways that halcyon period was about to end, undone by changing public tastes, New York City’s wrongheaded cabaret law, and many musicians’ struggles with substance abuse. (It’s hard to believe, for instance, that within a year, Lester Young would be dead.) Ken Burns was assailed for ending his Jazz documentary series, for all intents and purposes, in 1960, but the genre was leaving the mainstream of American popular music at that point.
Kane’s photograph of the musicians, then, with 12 kids at their feet, evokes all the warmth, humor and poignance of a family reunion album, when one realizes that so many of the people one loved are gone for good.
Looking at the photo, I can’t help but feel elegiac. The Esquire issue was called “The Golden Age of Jazz,” but in many ways that halcyon period was about to end, undone by changing public tastes, New York City’s wrongheaded cabaret law, and many musicians’ struggles with substance abuse. (It’s hard to believe, for instance, that within a year, Lester Young would be dead.) Ken Burns was assailed for ending his Jazz documentary series, for all intents and purposes, in 1960, but the genre was leaving the mainstream of American popular music at that point.
Kane’s photograph of the musicians, then, with 12 kids at their feet, evokes all the warmth, humor and poignance of a family reunion album, when one realizes that so many of the people one loved are gone for good.
1 comment:
nice post
enjoyed it
music trumps politics any day!
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