(from the original liner notes by Flip Mancuso)
Bitter Suite is a portrait of late-night New York in 1959, all neon haze and cigarette curl, where swing and sophistication collide. Jack Templeton, better known for the charts he penned for the great vocalists of the decade, turns his arranger’s pen inward here. The result is a big-band album that sounds both urbane and restless—cool on the surface, simmering underneath.
The first sounds of Brass Blaze hit like lights rising on the bandstand, a confident burst of brass leading into a medium groove that struts rather than shouts. Benny Rivas’s alto makes the first statement, clean and insistent, before Nick Moretti’s trumpet cuts through the texture like a spark. The rhythm section sets the tone: this is a band that breathes together.
That pulse carries into The Grapefruit Agreement, where Clay Thompson’s tenor voice stretches across the bar lines with sly intent. Templeton writes like a man who knows how to let the saxophone speak its piece. The trumpet’s reply adds a touch of wit, and Hank Lawson’s piano closes the deal with a wry grin. The atmosphere is club-dark, conversational, quietly electric.
In Quietly Infused, the band eases back. The melody lingers like smoke over the slow swing of the rhythm section. Thompson’s tenor opens the curtain and then hands it to Moretti, whose trumpet lines hover between poise and melancholy. It is one of the album’s most intimate moments.
Don’t Call, Just Swing lifts the temperature again. A two-beat intro tumbles into full swing, the sections snapping back and forth in perfectly voiced chatter. Rivas and Thompson trade quick bursts of heat before Moretti steps up with a gleaming high-register solo. The ensemble writing here shows Templeton’s sense of momentum: each chorus feels like a new room opening onto the same dance floor.
There is an easy confidence in The Gall of It All, a tune that strolls more than it drives. Thompson’s tenor sings in long phrases, Rivas follows with a line that curls and dips, and Moretti rounds it out with brass that glows rather than blares.
Then comes The Icy Reception, a medium swing laced with humor and surprise. Rivas slips through the first bridge with cool precision, and Thompson follows with a tenor solo that slowly turns up the heat. By the final chorus, Chuck Grimes’s drums push the band into overdrive, shaking the icicles loose.
A Hint of Lime provides a respite, a slow blues in spirit if not in form. Thompson’s's tone is rounded and weary, his phrases unhurried. A short vibraphone feature brings a light sparkle before the tenor returns to close the circle.
No sooner does that smoke clear than Whiskey in the Wake tears in, the album’s fiercest swinger. Rivas rides the melody high and sharp, the brass punctuates like laughter from the bar, and the band charges through a modulation into Moretti’s trumpet break. The final shout chorus is pure combustion, powered by Grimes’s drum fills and the tightest ensemble writing on the record.
Highball with a Twist follows as the wild experiment, a burner that never sits still. DeCosta tears through his solo, Moretti answers in kind, and Leon Caldwell’s baritone roars like an engine. Midway, the tempo folds into half-time and Rivas floats over it in cool contrast before the band hurtles back to full speed for the final thirty seconds. It is the album’s showpiece of controlled chaos.
The tone turns reflective in Ashes and Aftertaste, where the tenor sings a melody steeped in warmth and memory. The arrangement hints at blues but never commits, and when the short shout chorus fades, DeCosta’s horn returns, softer now, like conversation drifting away.
The balance of intensity and ease continues in Swing Riot, a tune that celebrates ensemble interplay. DeCosta opens the door, and then the solos roll through—Reggie Polk’s guitar, Rivas’s alto, Lawson’s piano, even Walter Dean’s bass taking a turn before the whole band rejoins in exuberant unity.
In Backroom Jump, the tenor riff leads the charge, a sly melody that could have come from a jukebox behind a locked door. The rhythm is crisp, the phrasing tight. Rivas, Moretti, and Lawson keep the energy simmering until DeCosta brings it home, quoting the head as if to say he never really left.
The lights dim again for Amaro at Midnight. Piano, bass, and drums whisper the introduction before Eddie Lorne’s trombone enters, deep and velvety. Solos from trumpet, guitar, and piano trade quiet confidences. The trombone’s return gives the piece a calm symmetry, ending with grace rather than applause.
Finally comes Storming the Club, a title that tells the truth. The rhythm section hits the pocket early, and DeCosta rides it hard. Lawson’s piano solos sparkle against the driving beat, and Moretti’s trumpet surges through a final modulation. The band roars one last time before the door closes on the night.
Every soloist makes a mark here: DeCosta’s commanding tenor, Moretti’s brilliant trumpet, Rivas’s bright alto, Caldwell’s grounded baritone, Lorne’s lyrical trombone, Lawson’s nimble piano, Polk’s supple guitar, Dean’s firm bass, and Grimes’s crackling drums. Together they bring Templeton’s writing to life with elegance and edge. Bitter Suite may have been conceived by a man known for vocal charts, but on this record the instruments do all the talking, and what they say lingers long after the last chord fades.
PERSONNEL
Jack Templeton, conductor, composer and arranger
Saxophone Benny Rivas and Herb Nolan (alto), Johnny Miller and Clay Thompson (tenor), Leon Caldwell (bari)
Trumpet Nick Moretti, Al Watkins, Billy Monroe, Carl Travis
Trombones Malcolm McAdams, Eddie Lorne, Pete Santos, Lloyd Harrison (bass trombone)
Rhythm section Hank Lawson (piano), Reggie Polk (guitar), Walter Dean (bass), Chuck Grimes (drums), Liz Arnstein (vibes)
Produced by Leo Frankel
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