Kevin Whitehead

Francis Davis and I both started writing about jazz around 1980, and he was one to watch and envy from the first. He was a clear, vivid, funny writer with broad tastes, broad knowledge, and strong opinions, such as only boring people like bass solos. In person, as in print, he had an endearing, self-deprecating sense of humor.

Francis Davis and I both started writing about jazz around 1980, and he was one to watch and envy from the first. He was a clear, vivid, funny writer with broad tastes, broad knowledge, and strong opinions, such as only boring people like bass solos. In person, as in print, he had an endearing, self-deprecating sense of humor.

Francis Davis and I both started writing about jazz around 1980, and he was one to watch and envy from the first. He was a clear, vivid, funny writer with broad tastes, broad knowledge, and strong opinions, such as only boring people like bass solos. In person, as in print, he had an endearing, self-deprecating sense of humor.

Last time I was in touch with him, he cracked jokes about his deteriorating condition. He helped me along in my career once or twice, and as Fresh Air's first jazz critic, he showed how it was done. Pick clear musical examples and point out what to listen for. I repaid him by shamelessly stealing one of his best lines. Ornette Coleman as Charlie Parker's country cousin?

Last time I was in touch with him, he cracked jokes about his deteriorating condition. He helped me along in my career once or twice, and as Fresh Air's first jazz critic, he showed how it was done. Pick clear musical examples and point out what to listen for. I repaid him by shamelessly stealing one of his best lines. Ornette Coleman as Charlie Parker's country cousin?

Last time I was in touch with him, he cracked jokes about his deteriorating condition. He helped me along in my career once or twice, and as Fresh Air's first jazz critic, he showed how it was done. Pick clear musical examples and point out what to listen for. I repaid him by shamelessly stealing one of his best lines. Ornette Coleman as Charlie Parker's country cousin?

I use that one all the time. Thank you, Francis.

I use that one all the time. Thank you, Francis.

I use that one all the time. Thank you, Francis.

Gene Ammons tearing it up on Beezy in 1952. The tenor saxophonist had come up in Billy Eckstein's mid-1940s big band, whose tricky syncopations and advanced harmonies identified them with the new brand of jazz called bebop. Most boppers played intricate solo lines, but Gene Ammons favored big gestures and scooping bluesy phrases. The better to spotlight his big sound.

Gene Ammons tearing it up on Beezy in 1952. The tenor saxophonist had come up in Billy Eckstein's mid-1940s big band, whose tricky syncopations and advanced harmonies identified them with the new brand of jazz called bebop. Most boppers played intricate solo lines, but Gene Ammons favored big gestures and scooping bluesy phrases. The better to spotlight his big sound.

Gene Ammons tearing it up on Beezy in 1952. The tenor saxophonist had come up in Billy Eckstein's mid-1940s big band, whose tricky syncopations and advanced harmonies identified them with the new brand of jazz called bebop. Most boppers played intricate solo lines, but Gene Ammons favored big gestures and scooping bluesy phrases. The better to spotlight his big sound.

He bounces off a classic bebop riff like it's a trampoline on Eckstein's U-Bop Shabam. Born in Chicago, Gene Ammons had studied with the celebrated high school teacher who educated scores of jazz musicians, Walter Dyette. Gene had had a head start as the son of the great boogie-woogie pianist Albert Ammons.

He bounces off a classic bebop riff like it's a trampoline on Eckstein's U-Bop Shabam. Born in Chicago, Gene Ammons had studied with the celebrated high school teacher who educated scores of jazz musicians, Walter Dyette. Gene had had a head start as the son of the great boogie-woogie pianist Albert Ammons.

He bounces off a classic bebop riff like it's a trampoline on Eckstein's U-Bop Shabam. Born in Chicago, Gene Ammons had studied with the celebrated high school teacher who educated scores of jazz musicians, Walter Dyette. Gene had had a head start as the son of the great boogie-woogie pianist Albert Ammons.

Father and son recorded together in 1947, near the start of Gene's career and the end of Albert's. Their contrasting approaches to the blues mark a generational shift to a swifter new style for the atomic age. This is Hiroshima. ¦

Father and son recorded together in 1947, near the start of Gene's career and the end of Albert's. Their contrasting approaches to the blues mark a generational shift to a swifter new style for the atomic age. This is Hiroshima. ¦

Father and son recorded together in 1947, near the start of Gene's career and the end of Albert's. Their contrasting approaches to the blues mark a generational shift to a swifter new style for the atomic age. This is Hiroshima. ¦

Gene Ammons' drive and massive sound made him a ready competitor in friendly battles with other tenor players, with Dexter Gordon and Billy Eckstein's band, and then with Sonny Stitt, off and on for decades, starting around 1950. On his own in the 50s, Gene Ammons made plenty of up-tempo stompers, but he was also a master of tender ballads. His big tone was variable.

Gene Ammons' drive and massive sound made him a ready competitor in friendly battles with other tenor players, with Dexter Gordon and Billy Eckstein's band, and then with Sonny Stitt, off and on for decades, starting around 1950. On his own in the 50s, Gene Ammons made plenty of up-tempo stompers, but he was also a master of tender ballads. His big tone was variable.