Jazz & Pop '72

The 1972 Playboy All-Stars' All-Stars

It was a Year for reflecting, for gentle grooving. As singer-writer Bob Neuwirth, Bob Dylan's former road manager, put it: "It's like the big energy charge is over. After you've been up that high for a long time, you gotta come down and rest.... There are lots of people playing soothing music, music that doesn't rattle your brain when you're trying to get your nerves together."

One of the sources of calming energy was Bob Dylan, who turned 30 in 1971. His New Morning album--"a love song to life," one writer called it--was widely and frequently played. And for his only live appearance of the year, Dylan chose a life-giving event, an August concert at New York's Madison Square Garden to raise money for East Pakistan refugees. Playing in public with Dylan for the first time were the organizer of the event, George Harrison, and another ex-Beatle, Ringo Starr. It was also symptomatic of the inward looking, self-appraising ambiance of the year that Dylan had started writing his autobiography. "I never thought of the past," he said. "Now I realize that you should look back sometimes."

Through much of the year, solo singers--looking into the past, making the most of the present, tentatively probing the future--were in the ascendancy. Among the most publicized and analyzed of the deeply personal bards is James Taylor, of whom Miles Davis said that he sings like a blind man--from far inside himself. Right behind Taylor, and likely to lead the field in 1972, is writer-singer Kris Kristofferson. A former Rhodes scholar who got turned around in Nashville, Kristofferson is some ten years older than Taylor, but their basic concern is the same--how to stay reasonably whole in rough times. Also rising is another unyielding individualist, London Wainwright III, whose music is a continuing autobiography. The Zeitgeist being so receptive to singularity of view, the year was the best yet for Randy Newman, the most bizarrely, mordantly imaginative of the pop singer-composers. His records began to move well beyond cult sales as he also appeared more frequently in night clubs and in concert halls. And the entirely different--but no less one of a kind--Joan Baez also fitted the time, enjoying her biggest hit single in years, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, while continuing her public advocacy of nonviolent direct action for change, beginning in the self.

Another witness against violence, Carl Wilson of the Beach Boys, made music and draft-resistance history. Having been given the status of a conscientious objector in 1967, he refused alternative civilian duty, which he felt made no use of his talent. Wilson and his draft board had since been in continuous conflict until a Federal circuit judge ruled last year that he will be allowed to satisfy his draft obligation by performing with the Beach Boys at prisons, hospitals and orphanages.

The Beach Boys as a group demonstrated marked musical growth while experiencing a resurgence of popularity. Their floating, multilayered sound is just right for the current introspective, sensuous listening atmosphere; and the increased sophistication of what (text continued on page 160) they have to say--as in their recent album, Surf's Up--shows that pop avatars of the Sixties can survive if their music reflects the changed experiences and the maturation of their early fans.

Also demonstrating staying power in their diverse ways are the mellow, country-rocking Grateful Dead, The Band, the Jefferson Airplane (moving more into science-fiction rock), Creedence Clear-water Revival and The Who, whose new, resourceful album. Who's Next, made clear that they are not going to coast on the success of Tommy. Of the groups that broke through nationally in 1971, the most buoyantly arresting is Joy of Cooking. Berkeley-based, given its thrust and definition by two women (Toni Brown and Terry Garthwaite), Joy of Cooking is a high-energy blend of country, Gospel, jazz and blues, among other ingredients, stirred into original material with remarkable musicianship.

For the newest wave of teeny-boppers, meanwhile, there is Grand Funk Railroad--unremittingly loud and simple but obviously meeting certain adolescent needs as it keeps selling huge numbers of albums and filling concert halls and stadiums throughout the country. Also demonstrably appealing to the youngest legions of pop appreciators is the Jackson 5, one of the more genuinely ebullient products of the Motown sound factory.

There was much more to the year, however, than even the considerable range of sound and symbol that spans James Taylor and Grand Funk Railroad. On the festival scene, for example, there was both disaster, and in other places, some degree of serenity. The former was much more visible. In late June, a grotesquely mislabeled Celebration of Life festival--scheduled for a week in an isolated section of Louisiana--closed down after four days, leaving three dead. The victim of bad planning by its promoters, invasions by motorcycle gangs and the presence of sizable numbers of hard-drug users, the event, as one refugee said, was no festival at all--"It's been too harsh."

Less than a week later, the Newport Jazz Festival ended prematurely after hundreds of young people rushed from a hill overlooking the field, broke down fences and seized the stage. At the time, Dionne Warwicke was singing What the World Needs Now; but the marauders, some of them out of the world on drugs, didn't get the message at all. The New Yorker's Whitney Balliett noted sadly that "things being the way they are, it may well be the last major festival of any kind anywhere. About the only invulnerable place you could hold another one would be Radio City Music Hall."

There were some subsequent bloody signs supporting the Balliett thesis-- clashes between heavy-riding cyclists and music freaks at a huge early-September rock festival on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington; and stabbings, including one death, at another war between cyclists and rock listeners at a Watsonville, California, festival a day later.

But not all festivals were misnamed. Other annual musical events--from Hampton, Virginia, to Monterey, California--went on without violent incident. And most successful of all, in terms of the pleasures of listening, were those that were kept small enough for a sense of communion to be actually established--the Philadelphia Folk Festival in Upper Salford Township; the Summer Festival in Concord, California; the free festival in celebration of nonviolence at Big Sur. The primary future direction of music festivals appeared to be toward human-scale gatherings. Members of what was once called the Woodstock Nation prefer, for the time being, anyway, to stay with smaller circles of friends.

Still considered right for grooving together to live rock were such gathering places as Fillmore West and Fillmore East. But the owner of both, Bill Graham, no longer felt that way. In the spring, that blunt, energetic promoter-organizer stunned rock insiders, and the vast audiences outside, by announcing the closing of the Fillmore, East and West. He was tired, he said, of agents and acts who wanted only to make money and of audiences that were less sophisticated than in the early Fillmore days.

"The scene has changed," Graham said gloomily. "What exists now is not what we started with ... and does not seem to be a logical, creative extension of that beginning."

For many, Graham's indictment of the present state of the music, and its audience, was far too generalized; and expectations were that, after a rest, this setter of high standards for music and for himself would find reason to return. In the meantime, there is a void. The Fillmores affected many people, even such seemingly unlikely figures as a New York police sergeant who had been assigned to the theater. "Nobody's going to believe me," he said on closing night, "but I'm going to miss the joint. I love Johnny Winter and think he's a great guitarist."

Another kind of leave-taking was that of Frank Sinatra. In June, at a Los Angeles concert for the Motion Picture and Television Relief Fund, the 55-year-old Sinatra, the most continuously magnetic of all pop-music performers for an earlier generation than those reared musically at places like the Fillmore, announced his retirement from show business. His last song of the night, Angel Eyes, ended as Sinatra, seen through spiraling smoke from his cigarette, sang softly, "Excuse me while I ... disappear." He insists he is gone for good and will now "read Plato and glow petunias." But, as in the case of Bill Graham, speculation remains lively that, one way or another, Sinatra will reappear.

There can be no return for Jim Morrison, who died of a heart attack, at the age of 27, in Paris during the summer. A superstar of the Sixties as leader of The Doors, Morrison had settled in Paris to write and is now in the same cemetery as Edith Piaf, Oscar Wilde and Molière.

The year's greatest loss was the death of Louis Armstrong. In July, at 71, Armstrong died in his sleep at his home in Queens, New York. Thousands of mourners filed by his open coffin at an armory on Park Avenue. Many later stood outside as a sedate service, with Peggy Lee singing The Lord's Prayer, was held at a small church in Queens. Some of his old colleagues, such as drummer Tommy Benford, had hoped for a traditional New Orleans send-off for Armstrong. ("It would have been the greatest jazz funeral the world has ever seen," Benford said.) But a few days after the church service in Queens, thousands did turn out in New Orleans for a tumultuous parade, with brass bands, in tribute to the spirit of Louis. And in an editorial, The New York Times gave its tribute: "If, as many believe, American jazz ... is this country's singular contribution to the art of the world, it was surely Louis Armstrong more than any other who made it so."

Another who has done much to make jazz siugu'ar and significant, 72-year-old Duke Ellington, toured Russia for the first time with his orchestra last fall. In the five-week circuit of major Soviet cities, Ellington discovered that his "I love you madly" (spoken by him in Russian, of course) was enthusiastically reciprocated. Ever the diplomat, Ellington, for example, for the ninth encore in Leningrad, called on Paul Gonsalves for an improvised version of Dark Eyes. It brought down the house. "Even matrons were smiling wistfully," The New York Times reported from the scene.

A composer-player-leader who has been much influenced by Ellington returned forcefully to the jazz world in 1971. Charles Mingus, largely inactive for a couple of years, was back in clubs and on conceit tours with his group. The City Center Joffrey Ballet premiered The Mingus Dances, one of the most ambitious fusions so far of jazz and dance, with choreography by Alvin Ailey. And Mingus' near-legendary book, Beneath the Underdog, was finally published by Knopf after bemusing and confusing a number of publishers for years. Unusually candid, (continued overleaf)Jazz & Pop '72(continued from page 160) instructively erotic and caustic about entrepreneurs and critics connected with jazz, the book, like Mingus, is sui generis.

Mingus, in addition, became the sixth jazz artist to receive a Guggenheim Fellowship in composition. The award was further evidence that jazz is slowly being regarded as sufficiently serious to qualify for foundation and Governmental aid. Such recognition from the arbiters of "official" culture is still, however, token. The Jazz Program of the National Endowment of the Arts, for instance, awarded grants last year of only $50,000 to no fewer than 49 individuals and organizations. (In a previous year, by contrast, the Endowment had granted $1,600,000 to 34 symphony orchestras.)

A revealing element of the 1971 National Endowment program was the provision of funds to 12 colleges and universities in order to establish residencies for jazz artists and instructors. Centers of higher learning, it became particularly clear last year, have become a new, firm base for jazz (or black music, as most of the teacher-players now call it). The Endowment grants for jazz on campus underlined this accelerating trend. Cecil Taylor has joined the faculty at Antioch, after holding a similar post in black music at the University of Wisconsin; Marion Brown is teaching at both Bowdoin College and Brandeis University; David Baker continues to strengthen black-music studies at Indiana University; Donald Byrd is in charge of a black-music department at Howard University; and Ken McIntyre, who developed black music as a full-fledged area of study at Wesleyan, has moved on to become professor of humanities and head of the music program at the State University of New York's Old Westbury campus. The thrust of Professor McIntyre's program is African-American music. (As another indication of what is ahead in the developing relationship between black music and the academy, McIntyre studied in Ghana last August under a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities. His subject: the relationship between Ghanaian music and its time concept as against black music's time concept in the Americas.)

Nor is the continuing rise of black consciousness among black musicians and writers limited to higher education. Until last year, for instance, Willis Conover, long-term broadcaster of jazz and popular-music programs on the Voice of America, had been the publicly unchallenged Governmental voice of jazz in Washington. He is jazz consultant for the National Endowment of the Arts, jazz advisor to the White House, a member of the jazz subcommittee for State Department cultural presentations and a jazz and pop producer for the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts (he produced a disappointing jazz festival there in September). Conover's power is now being strongly and publicly challenged in a rebellion of black musicians and writers. One of their demands is that he resign his Kennedy Center post. "The role of Willis Conover at the Kennedy Center," wrote Hollie West, a black writer-critic for The Washington Post, "is characteristic of how the music of black Americans is managed in this country. Blacks create it and whites control it."

Another illustration of the expansion of black consciousness was an award announced during the June graduation exercises of an intermediate school in East Harlem whose principal is black. Among the musical honors was the Bessie Smith Award for excellence in vocal music.

The use of music to intensify a sense of collective strength and individual self-worth was also exemplified last year at Kentucky's Berea College, most of whose students are from poor, white Appalachian families. Berea has added an expert in bluegrass music, Raymond McLain, to the faculty, in the hope of encouraging young mountaineers to cherish their culture. (Ironically, not only do bluegrass buffs abound in nearly all other sections of the United States but there are also more than 300 blue-grass bands in Japan. In Tokyo, on a Sunday afternoon in October, there took place the Appalachian Hibiya Central Park Bluegrass Festival--seven hours of Japanese-played high, lonesome country harmonies.)

Country music as a whole kept expanding its audiences all through America in 1971. A midsummer radio survey disclosed. The New York Times seemed surprised to learn, that country sounds are "now heard on 56 percent of the stations in the United States, putting it ahead of even the seemingly ubiquitous rock music, which is heard on only 40 percent." Meanwhile, the country performer emerging as most likely to follow Johnny Cash to national superstardom is Merle Haggard. During the year, he released an especially affecting album of Okie memories of California (Someday We'll Look Back) and began to attract increasing attention from television and film producers because of his restless, rugged intensity. Haggard cannot easily be stereotyped, it was discovered, not with standing his hits Okie from Muskogee and The Fightin' Side of Me. He told a reporter that he was furious with Capitol because the company wouldn't let him record a song he had written about an interracial love affair ("They said it would have been bad for my image").

But the country-music image is itself changing. In October, Charley Pride won the Country Music Association's Artist of the Year and Best Male Country Vocalist of the Year awards in a nationally televised event originating in Nashville. Charley Pride is black. He was, by the way, one of the biggest-selling country singers of the year.

Although the exuberant acceptance of Charley Pride by country audiences is an intriguing cultural phenomenon, Pride himself is an anomaly. He is likely to have few black imitators as an interpreter of white country songs. Much more indicative of what might become a trend was the considerable success--as an album and as a film--of Soul to Soul, a musical documentary filmed in Ghana on the occasion of that nation's 14th Independence Day celebrations in March. Such American soul powers as Ike & Tina Ter, Roberta Flack, Santana and the Staple Singers engaged in a cultural exchange with African singers and dancers. All concerned were so exhilarated that more such mutual explorations of roots and branches are likely.

In another film venture completed last year, Brother Sun, Sister Moon, about the early life of Saint Francis of Assisi, director Franco Zeffirelli declared himself attuned to a different kind of "sold" trend gathering momentum among the American young. Partly in reaction to the failure of the revolution to arrive as promised, a sizable number--not only the Jesus freaks--would like to agree with Zeffirelli that "the Seventies will be a decade of spiritual awakening." Zeffirelli considered it most apt to have Donovan, a longtime pop advocate of spiritual regeneration, write and sing the score for Brother Sun, Sister Moon. And his next project, Zeffirelli has announced is The Assassination of Christ.

He will have competition. In Israel, this spring, Norman Jewison will start filming Jesus Christ Superstar. This rock opera by Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber began as a two-record album that has sold more than 2,500,000 copies in the United States alone. It next developed into two touring concert versions that ranged through the country with enormous financial success. And in October, a full-scale, Tom O'Horgan--directed production opened on Broadway, where it may well have the five-year run its coproducer, Robert Stigwood, predicts for it. By the end of the year, licenses for stage productions of this apotheosis of rock-populist spirituality had been issued for France, Germany, Spain, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Australia, all the South American countries, Mexico and the subject's home base, Israel.

During and after the Broadway (continued on page 208)Jazz & Pop '72(continued from page 162) opening, there was much voluble religious controversy swirling about Jesus Christ Superstar, but the crowds--largely but not exclusively young--kept coming. A Jesuit, the Reverend James Di Giasomo of Fordham University, is particularly supportive of what he believes to be the rock opera's salutary effect on the young, in that "it presents Jesus as a strong radical leader, attempting to change the world, and not merely from the standpoint of bourgeois religiosity."

Clearly, the past decade's expectations of glory in and through the new music will not die easy. Not only does a Jesuit see a rock opera as a way to a radical catechism but a member of an English table-tennis team visiting China earlier in the year feels he has accomplished some kind of consciousness raising by having exposed a large number of Chinese, at a public occasion, to The Moody Blues' album To Our Children's Children's Children. And a press agent for The Moody Blues', with the straightest of faces, proclaims that these Chinese listeners (who had never heard of the Beatles, Presley nor The Rolling Stones) were, in their baptism into rock, "doubly appreciative of the Moodys' music because of what they regarded as its revolutionary content."

Yet something did happen, and continues to happen, in and through the deeply changed nature of our popular music. On the one hand, even Bill Graham is not entirely turned off. "We live in the United States of America," he says, "and everything that succeeds succeeds like all hell. The kids made this music into the international, hip sound. Many of them resent it now because it has changed the scene so much and has made it pretty artificial; but it did something to the world; it turned it on ! And that's something!"

On the other hand, critic Ralph Gleason, who was in on the beginning of rock and goes far back into jazz as well, ended the year with great faith in the regenerative power of the good sounds: "At this minute in time, we are living in a garden of delights, in an atmosphere so filled with sounds of beauty and words of poetry that it is truly incredible. From The Band to The Who, from Van Morrison to Carole King to the Grateful Dead and the James Gang. Hour by hour, new ones appear."

But in Won't Get Fooled Again, from their 1971 album Who's Next, The Who say: "The world looks the same/and history ain't changed."

In any case, whether one is brought to a vision of the Promised Land by the music or runs into the music to escape from a present wasteland, these sounds are still extraordinarily important to the vast ecumenical audience for this unceasingly ecumenical music.

At the Brill Building on Broadway, where American popular music used to be manufactured by insular songwriters who knew little of this country beyond narrow sections of New York and Hollywood, Irving Caesar, 76, talked in the summer of 1971 about the radical changes that have taken place and are continuing, in what and how we hear: "They got those rock fellows in here now," he said. "You hear the damnedest goings on now. You know, the music business has become not a specialized thing. It's everyone's business."

All-Star Musicians' Poll

Our annual Jazz & Pop Poll would be incomplete without a selection by our incumbent All-Stars of their favorite musicians and groups. Eligible to vote were the 1971 medal winners: Cannonball Adderley, Herb Alpert, Burt Bacharach, Ginger Baker, Blood, Sweat & Tears, Bob Brookmeyer. Ray Brown, Dave Brubeck, Harry Carney, Chicago, Eric Clapton, Joe Cocker, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Hal David, Miles Davis, Buddy De Franco, Paul Desmond. Duke Ellington, Bill Evans, 5th Dimension, Ella Fitzgerald, Pete Fountain, Stan Getz, Dizzy Gillespie, Jim Hall, Lionel Hampton, Al Hirt, Milt Jackson, J.J. Johnson, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Herbie Mann, Paul McCartney, Gerry Mulligan Boots Randolph, Buddy Rich, Doc Severinsen, Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Smith, Booker T., Dionne Warwicke, Kai Winding and Si Zentner. The results of the All-Stars' balloting follow.

All-stars' All-Star Leader: Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Woody Herman again proved a redoubtable one-two-three combination, but Stan Kenton ceded to Quincy Jones for fourth, while the Miles Davis-Gil Evans deadlock for fifth was replaced by another, Doc Severinsen and Oliver Nelson. 1. Duke Ellington; 2.Count Basie; 3. Woody Herman; 4. Quincy Jones; 5. Oliver Nelson, Doc Severinsen.

All-Stars' All-Star Trumpet: This year, Dizzy Gillespie could not hold back Miles Davis for leadership. Freddie Hubbard slipped from third to fifth and Clark Terry and Doc Severinsen, who last year yielded to Art Farmer and Louis Armstrong for fourth and fifth, not only regained their former status but moved up a notch each. 1. Miles Davis; 2. Dizzy Gillespie; 3. Clark Terry; 4. Doc Severinsen: 5. Freddie Hubbard.

All-stars' All-Star Trombone: J.J. Johnson is once again the leader of the pack, as Bob Brookmeyer, Urbie Green and Kai Winding shuffled, with Green ascending a notch to second, while Winding and Brookmeyer moved two spaces, up and down, respectively. Frank Rosolino, at fifth, bumped Curtis Fuller. 1.J.J. Johnson; 2. Urbie Green; 3. Kai Winding; 4. Bob Brookmeyer: 5. Frank Rosolino.

All-Stars' All-Star Alto Sax: Cannon-ball Adderley retained the crown, as Paul Desmond, who barely beat Phil Woods, stood fast at runner-up. Ornette Coleman and Lee Konitz, last year deadlocked at third, this year deadlocked one down. 1. Cannonball Adderley; 2. Paul Desmond; 3. Phil Woods; 4. Ornette Coleman, Lee Konitz.

All-stars' All-Star Tenor Sax: Stan Getz held command once again, with Zoot Sims repeating as number two. Eddie Miller shot up to third from a fifth-place tie with Sonny Rollins, bumping Paul Gonsalves to a fourth-place tie with Wayne Shorter. 1. Stan Getz; 2. Zoot Sims; 3. Eddie Miller; 4. Paul Gonsalves, Wayne Shorter.

All-Stars' All-Star Baritone Sax: Harry Carney and Gerry Mulligan fought it out once more, with Gerry emerging as top man. Pepper Adams held at third, but only by tying All-Star newcomer Cecil Payne. Benny Crawford, also new, felled'71 's fourth-place duet by Ernie Caceres and Jim Horn. 1. Gerry Mulligan; 2. Harry Carney; 3. Pepper Adams, Cecil Payne; 5. Benny Crawford.

All-Stars' All-Star Clarinet: Buddy De Franco remained king of the hill, Jimmy Giuffre slipped a notch to third and Benny Goodman hitched up three spots to runner-up. Alvin Batiste descended two to fifth place, as Pete Fountain rose to number four. 1. Buddy De Franco; 2. Benny Goodman; 3. Jimmy Giuffre; 4. Pete Fountain; 5. Alvin Batiste.

All-Stars' All-Star Piano: Bill Evans was victorious over mobile Herbie Hancock, who raced to runner-up from fourth. Oscar Peterson slipped another notch this year, bumping Jimmy Rowles in the process, while Chick Corea reappeared in fifth after barely being bested by Cuban pianist Chucho for cleanup. 1. Bill Evans; 2. Herbie Hancock; 3. Oscar Peterson; 4. Chucho; 5. Chick Corea.

All-Stars' All-Star organ: Jimmy Smith again proved his invincibility, but Billy Preston found himself in an unexpected crowd for runner-up, as he was tied by Groove Holmes and Wild Bill Davis, who advanced three and one positions, respectively. Owen Bradley remained fifth, but Keith Emerson came on to deadlock him. 1. Jimmy Smith; 2. Wild Bill Davis, Groove Holmes, Billy Preston; 5. Owen Bradley, Keith Emerson.

All-Stars' All-Star Vibes: Milt Jackson and Gary Burton repeated their one-two finish, but Lionel Hampton dropped two places to fifth, as Bobby Hutcherson took his place. Roy Ayers deposed Victor Feldman for fourth-spot honors. 1. Milt Jackson; 2. Gary Burton; 3. Bobby Hutcherson; 4. Roy Ayers; 5. Lionel Hampton.

All-Stars' All-Star Guitar: Jim Hall maintained the lead, number-two man Kenny Burrell evicted Herb Ellis, who wound up fifth, and newcomers George Benson and Gabor Szabo drew third and fourth place, fading Joe Pass and John McLaughlin from earshot. 1. Jim Hall; 2. Kenny Burrell; 3. George Benson; 4. Gabor Szabo; 5. Herb Ellis.

All-Stars' All-Star Bass: Ray Brown and Ron Carter repeated as one and two; Eddie Gomez slipped a niche to fourth. Jack Six fifthed, dumping Richard Davis, while Miroslav Vitous moved from nowhere into third. 1. Ray Brown; 2. Ron Carter; 3. Miroslav Vitous; 4. Eddie Gomez; 5. Jack Six.

All-Stars' All-Star Drums: Buddy Rich is still number one, although Tony Williams was hot on his tail. Philly Joe Jones has company at third in the form of advancing Mel Lewis and neophyte Jack De Johnette. 1 . Buddy Rich; 2. Tony Williams; 3. Philly Joe Jones, Mel Lewis, Jack De Johnette.

All-Stars' All-Star Miscellaneous instrument: A tie for fourth between Keith Emerson and Pharoah Sanders highlighted this contest, as Rahsaan Roland Kirk again led the rest. Herbie Mann went from a deadlock with Yusef Lateef at third to a switch with '71 runner-up Toots Thielemans, ejecting Ravi Shankar and Lateef in the Process. 1 Rahsaan Roland Kirk, flute, manzello, stritch; 2. Herbie Mann, flute; 3. Toots Thielemans, harmonica; 4. Keith Emerson, Moog; Pharoah Sanders, soprano sax.

All-Stars' All-Star Male Vocalist: Ray Charles finally overcame Chairman Frank Sinatra for the laurels, as the recent retiree slid to third. Billy Eckstine advanced two to second place, Tony Bennett pianissimoed to fifth, while Joe Williams hung onto fourth place. I. Ray Charles; 2. Billy Eckstine; 3. Frank Sinatra; 4. Joe Williams; 5. Tony Bennett.

All-Stars' All-Star Female Vocalist: Ella is still queen and Sarah Vaughan still heiress apparent, in a race that saw Dionne Warwicke bump Carmen McRae for third. Nancy Wilson ceded to Aretha Franklin, and last year's Peggy Lee--Laura Nyro duet at fifth position became Roberta Flack's alone. 1. Ella Fitzgerald; 2. Sarah Vaughan; 3. Dionne Warwicke; 4. Aretha Franklin; 5. Roberta Flack.

All-Stars' All-star Vocal Group: New voices permeate this year except for repeat winner, the 5th Dimension, and the Four Freshmen, who found themselves down a notch to third. The remaining slots were filled with the runner-up Jackson 5, the Carpenters and Sly & the Family Stone. 1. 5th Dimension; 2. Jackson 5; 3. Four Freshmen; 4. Carpenters; 5. Sly &the Family Family Stone.

All-Stars' All-Star Songwriter-Composer: Duke Ellington came from nowhere to lead once again, with Jim Webb holding at second. Last year's winners, Burt Bacharach and Hal David, plunged to a tie with Michel Legrand for third, while Henry Mancini came up to tie Johnny Mandel for fifth. 1. Duke Ellington; 2. Jim Webb; 3. Burt Bacharach--Hal David, Michel Legrand; 5. Henry Mancini, Johnny Mandel.

All-Stars' All-Star Instrumental Combo: Miles Davis knocked B, S&T down to fourth, Chicago moved up one to tie for second with the Bill Evans Trio, and the Oscar Peterson Trio slipped to fifth to deadlock with the Modern Jazz Quartet, who dropped Young-Holt, Unltd. out of the running. 1. Miles Davis; 2. Bill Evans Trio, Chicago; 4. Blood, Sweat & Tears; 5. Oscar Peterson Trio, Modern Jazz Quartet.

Records of the Year

Playboy's readers were asked to write in their choices for the best albums of the year in each of three categories--best LP by a big band, best LP by a small combo (fewer than ten pieces) and best vocal LP.

Best Big-Band LP: Jesus Christ Superstar (Decca). The controversial rock opera, composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, promises to be one of the biggest sellers in history. As a trendsetter, this work has exerted so great an impact, through ballads such as I Don't Know How to Love Him and the theme, Superstar, that its recording has run full cycle--from original recording to concert-opera performance to Broadway to Broadway-cast album.

Best Small-Combo LP: Abraxas / Santana (Columbia). The influence of guitarist Carlos Santana and his Hispano-American group on the course of rock has been seminal. Originally from the Bay Area, Santana, in such compositions as Singing Winds, Crying Beasts and the Xavier Cugatlike Oye Como Va, fuses the freakiness of the San Francisco sound with the funkiness of Latin street rhythms.

Best Vocal LP: Tapestry / Carole King (Ode)., In the early Sixties, King preferred to write ballads for pop-soulsters such as The Shirelles, the Drifters and Little Eva. Now, after pianist-composers such as Laura Nyro have paved the way, King, in this album, is on her own. With a vocal style that's both confident and honest, she can, with equal aplomb, turn a bluesy phrase on So Far Away or jam with the best of them on I Feel the Earth Move.

Best Big-Band LP

Best Small-Combo LP

Best Vocal LP

Jazz & Pop Hall of Fame

For the second year in a row, death claimed several fine musicians--trumpet great Louis Armstrong, tenor saxophonist King Curtis and lead singing lyricist Jim Morrison. Armstrong, one of our earliest Hall of Famers, was ineligible for the ballot, but sentiment undoubtedly played a primary role in both Morrison's second-place finish and Curtis' inclusion among the top 25 vote getters. Neither appeared in previous polls. Eight other newcomers debuted in 1972 Hall of Fame competition: Carole King, Neil Young, James Taylor, Stephen Stills, Peter Townshend, Elton John, Neil Diamond and Ringo Starr. But George Harrison, who came from 12th, and Mick Jagger, from fourth, both joined Morrison in the Jazz & Pop Hall of Fame, as they climbed to first and third, respectively. In the balloting, the continuing domination of pop-rock has edged all jazzmen but Buddy Rich off the leading-contenders' list. Previous winners are Armstrong, Frank Sinatra, Dave Brubeck, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Ray Charles, John Coltrane, Benny Goodman, Wes Montgomery, Herb Alpert, Miles Davis, Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Elvis Presley. Following are 1972's top 25:

All-Star Readers' Poll

Ever since rock began to replace the likes of Percy Faith and the Johnny Mann Singers as embodiments of pop, its simple country and blues roots have found their way into nearly every variety of contemporary music. Jazz and rock, especially, have intertwined, so much so that it has become increasingly difficult to determine what separates the two. Jazz, partially in deference to rock's unparalleled popularity, has either sought rock accommodation or moved in sectarian directions, which usually has led to greater complexity--and a more limited following.

Nowhere is this trend more obvious than in the instrumental-comb category, once dominated by jazz groups. Chicago, as in 1971, tout honors; but from the Stan Getz Quartet, the Herbie Mann and Charlie Byrd quintets, the Oscar Peterson Trio and Young-Holt, Unltd., there was only the sound of silence. At least four more long-established jazz combos toppled in the '72 poll to the likes of rock combos Jethro Tull, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Derek (Eric Clapton) and the Dominos and Grand Funk Railroad, all of whom placed in the top ten. Another evidence of increasing rock, hegemony is the piano competition, where Elton John, in his Readers' Poll debut, soared to All-Star status. Leon Russell and occasional soloist Neil Young also figured in the youth blitz, seizing high honors from the likes of Dave Brubeck (last year's winner), Ray Charles, Ramsey Lewis and Sergio Mendes. Booker T. is still the organ king, but Keith Emerson and Lee Michaels ascended to runner-up and third from eighth and tenth in '71.

For big-band leader, however, jazz, and most notably its pop wing, still made itself heard. Last year's underground surprise, Frank Zappa, plunged out of the top five. Doc Severinsen barely edged out newcomer Burt Bacharach for number one, while Maynard Ferguson and Quincy Jones advanced.

The death last July of Hall of Fame great Louis Armstrong was mourned by all of music. An All-Star for many years, Armstrong, despite his age, nearly beat out men half his age for horn-section status last year. Doc Severinsen and Al Hirt blew the same licks as a year ago, roaring in as first and second trumpeters. Herb Alpert ceded third spot to Miles Davis, who moved up a notch. Upwardly mobile was Bill Chase, as Art Farmer fell. The bone men, led by J. J. Johnson, showed no change through the first six slots; the only excitement in the alto area emanated from Yusef Lateef, who rose to high rank from obscurity. The tragic killing of r&b standout King Curtis dimmed the continuing Getz-Randolph show at tenor, although Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Pharoah Sanders advanced smartly. The baritone seems to belong to Gerry Mulligan, as do clarinet to Pete Fountain and vibes to Lionel Hampton.

On the other hand, the personnel in the male- and female-vocalist, vocal-group and songwriter-composer categories were not nearly so placid. Never before in the history of the Jazz & Pop Poll have so many rocketed to the highest level from near nothingness. Britisher Rod Stewart, on the strength of his soulful voice and superb backup by the other four Faces, soared to All-Starship, as did Carole King, whose Canarsie twang and mellow compositions swept her to queen of the vocalists. New names in each category included Elton John, Neil Young, Tina Turner, Chér, Karen Carpenter and Carly Simon. Though Burt Bacharach and Hal David recaptured the composing award, they had to stave off the two-three punch of Carole King and Neil Young. George Harrison, Gordon Lightfoot and Kris Kristoff'erson were notable newcomers. Breakups, more than any other factor, figured in the volatility of our readers' vocal-group choices. Simon & Garfunkel; Peter, Paul & Mary; and, of course, the Beatles, were ineligible. Even so, The Moody Blues, an English brood, proved a surprising winner; last year, they finished 21st. The Doors, Grateful Dead and Ike & Tina Turner climbed, but none more than the Carpenters, who shot through to runner-up from nowhere.

Ian Anderson, flutist for Jethro Tull, Bob Dylan on harmonica and flutist Herbie Mann battled for miscellaneous-instrument honors, with Anderson triumphant. Ginger Baker and Buddy Rich had a similar set-to on. drums. But this year, the decision went to Buddy. Finally, the explosive Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney took guitar and bass laurels, again, in races that featured the breakthrough of new faces and a trend away from jazz to harder rock.

Listed on the opposite page are the most popular artists in each category. All-Stars are boldfaced; they will be awarded silver medals, as will Hall of Fame winners an dthose whose recordings were rated tops by Playboy readers for 1972.

Big-Band Leader

Trumpet

Trombone

Alto Sax

Tenor Sax

Baritone Sax

Clarinet

Piano

Organ

Vibes

Guitar

Bass

Drums

Other Instruments

Male Vocalist

Female Vocalist

Vocal Group

Songwriter-Composer

Instrumental Combo

The 1972 Playboy All-Stars' All-Stars

The 1972 Playboy All-Stars' Band

The Playboy Jazz & Pop Hall of Fame

In the seven years that we've been asking our readers to name three artists to our Jazz & Pop Hall of Fame, their tastes have changed considerably. From Frank Sinatra and classic jazzmen like Duke Ellington and Count Basie, they have moved to rock musicians--last year adding Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Elvis Presley to the distinguished ranks. This year the rock train kept rolling--and riding up front were three of its engineers: Mick Jagger, honcho for The Rolling Stones; Jim Morrison, a poet who was disguised as a debauched pop star; and George Harrison, late of the Beatles.

Mick JaggerWith his lips pursed, leering slightly prancing and preening around the stage like a character out of Oscar Wilde, he is still master magician of The Rolling Stones. Now 27, a husband and father, Jagger has seen some changes since the early days, when he, Keith Richard and Brian Jones dropped out of school, moved in together and began to groove on rhythm-and-blues. Between 1962 and 1964, they sat in on gigs around London, developing their scruffy style., picking up the back beat from Chuck Berry and lifting their name from a Muddy Waters song. In 1964, as their records started hitting the charts, outrageous escapades, dope busts and frenzied concerts made news. The Stones' mystique spread rapidly, with Jagger always at ground zero, whirling suggestively, pushing his sexuality, politics, tough talk and driving rock. In 1970, he starred in two movies, "Performance" and "Ned Kelly." That year also marked the Stones' epic tour of America, which ended in mayhem and death at Altamont Speedway in California. The filmed tour became "Gimme Shelter," the title taken from a classic Stones tune. Jagger and the Stones now have their own record label and have so far released one album on it, "Sticky Fingers." Mick has moved to southern France with Keith Richard, where they set up a recording studio in Richard's house. There is talk of a new American tour for 1972. If they come, Jagger--in his Uncle Sam hat and Isadora Duncan scarf--will put the band through its paces, on and off the stage. The erotic prince rocks on.

Jim MorrisonBack in 1966, he had the face and cascading lochs of an innocent Renaissance angel, only his robes were black leather and snakeskin and the hymns he sang were mostly about death and decay and chaos--apocalypse, Los Angeles style. He was called the American Mick Jagger--but that was a little bit less than the truth. Jim Morrison was also, or at least wanted to be, a poet. The group he helped put together while studying film, at UCLA was named for a line of William Blake's--"There are things that are known and things that are unknown; in between are doors"--and for once, a rock group's name was appropriate. Morrison delighted in peering through those strange and dangerous keyholes: to break on through to the other side, as a song of his put it. He tried by drinking as hard as he could, by teetering unconcerned on ledges 100 feet above Sunset Strip, by getting it up onstage and urging audiences to join him--just to see what would happen. What happened was a series of busts, which culminated in a 1969 Miami trial that found Morrison guilty of obscenity and left the hip world snickering at him. He seemed to have moved past rock 'n' roll, anyway. He had been making experimental movies for a long time and he was writing poetry. By last year, The Doors had slopped performing together, with Morrison resting and reportedly happy in Paris. But as "L.A. Woman," his last album, was breaking in July--and making new believers out of a host of ex-Doors fans--Jim died suddenly in Paris of natural causes. He was 27.

George HarrisonIf any good at all has come from the quarrelsome breakup of the Beatles, it may be the emergence of George Harrison as a serious musician with his own direction and identity. It's been a long time coming. As a Beatle, he often seemed like the Invisible Kid--perhaps because he was the youngest, and felt it--even though early on, he knew more about guitar playing than either Lennon or McCartney. Not until "Help!"--their eighth American album--did his name appear as songwriter; but then in 1966 came "Taxman" and "I Want to Tell You" on "Revolver." After a tour that same year, he traveled to India to study the native music, but he got into more than sitar licks while he was there--and he came back with a contagious fascination for Indian spiritualism that started out as his personal search but sadly turned into Maharishi giggling at Johnny Carson coast to coast. George's spiritual concerns survived the flash fad, though, and by the time of the breakup, his head seemingly had moved farther from mop-top days than any of the rest. His three-LP post-Beatles album, "All Things Must Pass," was packed with fine music and musicians; and tracks such as "My Sweet Lord," with the chorus shifting from "Hallelujah" to "Hare Krishna," showed George was walking wider paths all the time. Then last August came the Bangla Desh benefit, a good-vibe bash that got him, Dylan, Ringo and Clapton together--and raised $250,000 for East Pakistan refugees. He's come a long way from teaching chords to Lennon in Liverpool.