A Great Day in Harlem
The basement in which my band rehearses has a giant poster on the wall that I often find myself staring at as I sing. My eyes wander comfortably across the many faces as the band plays until I often realize with a shock whose eyes are staring back at me. Count Basie. Thelonius Monk. Charles Mingus. Mary Lou Williams. Gene Krupa. And here I am singing jazz to them? A severe attack of insecurity usually follows. The photograph is “A Great Day in Harlem,” probably the most recognized jazz image in the world. Curious about the making of this stroke of genius, I checked out the 1994 documentary of the same name, directed by Jean Bach.
It was the brainchild of Art Kane, who was the art director at Seventeen magazine before he decided to launch professionally into photography. As a freelancing photographer, Kane was hired in the summer of 1958 for a jazz issue of Esquire. Lacking a studio or any real experience at all, Kane decided to attempt something crazy: the gathering of as many jazz icons as possible in Harlem for a 10 am photo shoot. The time was probably the craziest aspect of it, considering the hours the musicians kept. “Most of these guys had never seen early morning,” one participant pointed out, adding that they were probably surprised to discover that there were two 10 o’clocks in the same day.
Nevertheless, they came. A total of 57 musicians turned up that day on 126th Street between 5th and Madison Avenue in Harlem. And apparently even the early hour did not prevent the raucous reunion that ensued. The vast majority of them had performed and recorded together over the years and video footage on the documentary shows them talking happily, clapping each other on the backs and laughing. Newcomer or time-honored veteran, they were all giants in the jazz world. Trumpeter Art Farmer recalled his excitement at seeing his idol, Roy Eldridge. Sonny Rollins remembered being most excited by the presence of Coleman Hawkins. He recalls the time he spent as a child waiting outside of Hawkins’ apartment for an autograph.
The documentary has generous footage of different musicians poring over the photograph, looking back on younger versions of themselves and friends. “Oh, that’s Pee Wee Russell!” exclaims one. Another analyzes the respective weight gains or losses among the photographed. They point out how all the drummers are standing together and how Dizzy said something to Roy Eldridge at the moment the picture was taken that made him laugh and turn away from the camera. They explain the rather odd row of twelve kids sitting on the curb with Count Basie. And of course the man behind the lens gives us his memories of that day.
The documentary is almost as invaluable as the photo itself. Full of excerpts of the musicians performing, it reminds us why they were all there. Now I feel like I know a little more of the storied faces appearing in the photograph. If they could hear what I am singing at them during rehearsals, there would probably be more than a few guffaws. But maybe not. Maybe they would just be happy that the music that they loved is still being loved today.
