The Eddie Condon Concerts Con Pee Wee Russell: A Raw, Unfiltered Jazz Punch to the Gut
Alright, let’s get real for a second. If you’re into jazz but haven’t heard The Eddie Condon Concerts Con Pee Wee Russell, you’re missing out on something wild. This 1976 release from Spain (yeah, Spain—stick that in your pipe and smoke it) is like a raucous house party where everyone’s had one too many drinks, but somehow they still nail every damn note. Released by Discophon, this album’s got more grit than a gravel pit and twice as much soul.
Now, before we dive deeper, let me tell ya—it’s not just another jazz record. It’s chaotic, messy, and unapologetically alive. The lineup? Insane. You’ve got legends like Gene Krupa pounding the drums like he’s trying to wake the dead, Pee Wee Russell blowing clarinet like his life depends on it, and Eddie Condon himself laying down guitar licks so sharp they could cut glass. And don’t even get me started on Jess Stacy tickling those ivories or Muggsy Spanier blowing trumpet like he’s declaring war. This ain’t background music; this is front-and-center, grab-you-by-the-throat stuff.
Let’s talk tracks, though, because if I don’t call out a couple, I’m doing this beast an injustice. First up: “Pee Wee Blues.” Holy hell, this track slaps harder than a high school bully. Pee Wee Russell sounds possessed here, ripping through his clarinet solo with all the grace of a drunk stumbling out of a bar—but somehow making it work. Like, how does he make squeaks and squawks sound cool? That’s talent, man. Pure, raw talent. And when the rest of the band kicks in, it feels like they’re daring each other to go faster, louder, crazier. By the end, you’re left breathless, wondering what the hell just hit you.
Then there’s “China Boy,” which hits like a freight train running downhill without brakes. Bobby Hackett’s trumpet cuts through the mix like a knife, while Gene Schroeder lays down piano runs smooth enough to make you forget your own name. But again, it’s that loose, almost reckless energy that makes it unforgettable. Nobody’s playing it safe here—they’re swinging for the fences, and damn if they don’t knock it out of the park. There’s no polish, no studio magic cleaning things up. What you hear is pure adrenaline bottled up and poured straight into your ears.
And can we take a moment to appreciate the absurdity of some of these song titles? “I Ain’t Gonna Give Nobody None Of My Jelly Roll”? Come on, that’s either genius or someone was really hungry during the recording session. Either way, it works.
So yeah, this album’s a gem—a rough-around-the-edges, spit-and-sawdust kind of gem. Listening to it feels like stepping back in time to a smoky club where the music mattered more than anything else. No egos, no pretense—just pure, untamed jazz.
Here’s the kicker, though: Why the heck was this recorded in Spain? Like, why not New York or Chicago, where most of these cats were from? Makes zero sense, but honestly, who cares? Maybe the Spanish air gave ‘em extra mojo. Or maybe it’s proof that great music doesn’t care about borders or labels. Whatever the case, The Eddie Condon Concerts Con Pee Wee Russell proves that sometimes the best art comes from throwing caution to the wind and letting chaos reign supreme.
Final thought? If jazz isn’t supposed to be dangerous, then this album didn’t get the memo.
