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Sammy Nestico (1924-2021)

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Sammy Nestico, whose swing-happy compositions and arrangements for Count Basie's orchestra in the 1960s and '70s gave the band fresh relevance and enabled Nestico to fulfill a lifelong ambition, died January 17. He was 96.

Nestico started young, in the early 1940s, in the orchestra of Pittsburgh's ABC affiliate radio station before joining Charlie Barnet's band mid-decade. By honoring the wish of his worried mother, Nestico returned to the local radio station and enrolled in college, missing out on the album revolution of the 1950s, when he could have written for dozens of bands. It was a decision he would come to regret. When he began arranging for Basie in 1967, he followed in the footsteps of Neal Hefti, Ernie Wilkins, Nat Pierce and Frank Foster, creating catchy melodies and a swinging call-and-response architecture that kept listeners' feet tapping and the band yearning for more.

Sammy was always great to talk to on the phone about arranging or Basie. He was relentlessly upbeat and considered himself the luckiest man alive. In the early '70s, I remember playing Sammy's arrangements in the high-school orchestra. As a sideline business, Sammy had created educational packages with scores, parts and an acetate recording of the swing songs he wrote and arranged so you could hear what they should sound like. I interviewed Sammy in 2010.

In honor of Sammy, here's the entire multipart interview combined...

JazzWax: How was it growing up in Pittsburgh in the 1930s?

Sammy Nestico: It was hard. But everyone on our street was just like us, so we never felt we were poor. During the Depression, my dad worked for the railroad in the yards moving switches back and forth and repairing locomotives. There was money coming in, but he and my mom didn’t get along. They separated several times, but each time they’d get back together they had to split up again. The third time he left, we moved next to my grandma, and my whole life was happier.

JW: Why?

SN: There was no more strife. When we moved, peace came. I was 10 and became the man of the house. I was the oldest, with a younger brother and sister. When I was a kid, I wanted to be in a big band. After listening to the radio day and night, I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The great swing bands of 1938 and 1939 were just coming in, and I was listening to shows being broadcast from Frank Dailey’s Meadowbrook in New Jersey and from other unbelievable places. It was just wonderful. Trombonist Tommy Dorsey was my favorite because I was a trombonist in school. I can still name all the musicians in his band then.

JW: Did you listen to records?

SN: Yes. I had a $5 record player that I had received second hand. I wanted to buy records but we didn’t have any money. My mom gave me 10 cents a day for food, which meant that after two five-day weeks, I’d have a dollar. I saved my dollar by not eating for two weeks. I was hungry but doing without was worth it.

JW: How many records could you buy for $1?

SN: [Laughs] I would go to this little store that sold used jukebox records and buy seven of them for $1. They were all scratchy, but I didn’t care. I played them on that little record player. I still remember Charlie Barnet’s Night and Day and Tommy Dorsey’s Song of India with Marie on the flip side. When I finally played with Tommy later in the 1940s, I told him that he had given me lessons [laughs]. I had studied his records to learn what positions he used on the trombone to make his different notes sound so clean.

JW: How could you afford a trombone in school?

SN: I started playing a school instrument in the 8th grade. By the 10th grade I was working in local nightclubs. I came to it naturally and loved playing so much. I bought a trombone on one of those store lay-away plans with a $24 down-payment from my two weeks on the job. I told my mom she wouldn’t have to worry about making the payments, that I would handle them. But I didn’t keep at it, with school and everything, so she paid the rest, little by little.

JW: When did you start working professionally full time?

SN: In 1941, at age 17, I was in the orchestra employed by WCAE, the ABC radio affiliate in Pittsburgh. People would come in to plug their songs. If the band’s leader liked the tune, he’d give me the piano sheet to arrange. I wasn’t the main arranger, but little by little I was writing things for him. It was a simple little band at the time.

JW: How did you learn to arrange?

SN: I just listened to and analyzed every record I bought. There was no book then telling you how to write pop records. I learned from my hits and my misses. I wrote some awful things and told myself, “I won’t do that again.” I had no formal training at all.

JW: Did you always enjoy swing?

SN: Yes, from the start. I learned a lot about swing by listening hard to those Sy Oliver arrangements for Tommy Dorsey. 

JW: Hold on. You’re making it all sound a little too easy.

SN: It wasn’t easy [laughs]. In my first arrangement for the radio band, I wrote all of the parts in the bass clef [laughs]. Even the drummer knew something was wrong. So I took the arrangement back home. The next week when I returned, my arrangement sounded better—but something was still wrong. I had forgotten to transpose the saxophone parts. So I had to work on it again. Little by little, I got things right. I would listen to my favorite records and try to imitate my heroes. The radio station was a great lab for me.

JW: When you put a record on, what exactly were you listening to?

SN: I’d tune in to the background. Back in those days, arrangers painted a picture. There would always be something in there that was fascinating, and I’d try to imitate it. I didn’t even have score paper nor did I know how to write for different parts. I’d just fill papers with notes. I taught myself the piano, learned the staves and started voicing. Little by little you listen, you learn, you imitate and eventually the result becomes you. Eventually I became Sammy.

JW: Your first big-band experience was playing with Charlie Barnet in 1946?

SN: Yes, what a great band. Six trumpets and four trombones and six reeds including Barnet. It was an integrated band, too. There were three black musicians in the band and two writing for the band, in addition to Billy May. Trombonist Porky Cohen was my roommate, and I was thrilled, like I was in heaven. Charlie Barnet was terrific. He was a playboy and a millionaire who just played music for the joy of it. He was easygoing. If there was anything that had to be done that wasn’t easy, he’d give it to the band manager to do.

JW: Who did you play with after playing on Barnet’s band?

SN: I returned to WCAE in Pittsburgh. But that was a mistake. I should have gone with Barnet to  California in the fall of 1946. But my mother kept saying, “You should be a teacher.” So I listened to her and enrolled at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh and earned a music education degree. My girlfriend at the time had said, “Let’s go to California.” But I didn’t listen, and I always regretted that decision.

JW: Why?

SN: If I had gone, I would have been writing for dozens of bands throughout the 1950s. Many of the guys left the Barnet band when it arrived in Hollywood and got an early start out there. But I never held my decision against my mom. She pushed me to stay in education, out of love. But it was a bad decision, career-wise.

JW: So you became an educator?

SN: Yes. In 1950, I taught high school for a year but I didn’t like it. I loved the kids, but the administrators drove me nuts. They were a drag. I hated academia because of the administrators.

JW: Then what did you do?

SN: By then, the swing era was all but finished and the  rock era was starting with Bill Haley. I re-enlisted and became staff arranger for the Air Force Band in Washington, D.C. for 15 years. During this time, I became the leader of the Airmen of Note, the top Air Force jazz outfit. When my period of service was through with the Air Force, I enlisted with the U.S. Marine Band and led that orchestra.

JW: You seem to have enjoyed leading these bands.

SN: Oh very much so. But it was tricky. Most of the musicians were great but occasionally you had guys who didn't swing immediately or didn't have the passion. One time I said to the band, “When the trumpet is playing a beautiful solo, can we have a little more support from the trombones?” One of the guys in the band cracked, “If you wanted more support, you should have written it in.” I said, “If I’d written in all the things you’re supposed to do in that bar, there’d be no room for notes.” I grabbed my ears and said, “You see these? These are what you’re supposed to be using. Your two ears—that’s called musicianship.”

JW: Were you a good educator?

SN: I think so. I was always about the feel and the execution. When I taught at the University of Georgia, I’d always tell my students, “Don’t go on to the next page after you play something. Go back and analyze the music until you understand how it works.” I never had lessons in my classes. We'd rehearse tirelessly until they got it.

JW: How did you finally wind up in California arranging?

SN: In late 1960s, I had heard about this tenor saxophonist with Woody Herman named Sal Nistico. But that's a whole other story.

JW: Sal Nistico?

SN: I knew I had been born Sammy Nestico. But when I had looked at my dad’s Navy bible, I saw that his last name was spelled “Nistico." Through my relatives, I found out that Sal and I were related. We’re cousins. So I called him up. He was playing with Count Basie at the time.

JW: What did you say?

SN: I said, “The next time you and the band come to Washington, D.C., come by and see me." I was leading the U.S. Marine Band there at the time. Not long after our conversation, the Basie band came to town, and Sal called and came over. When he saw what I had been writing, he said, “You ought to write for Basie.” I laughed and said, “I’m not good enough for him.” Sal said, “Yes you are. Why don’t you come out to the job and meet Basie.”

JW: Did you go?

SN: Of course. But instead of Sal introducing me to the Chief, he had trombonist Grover Mitchell do it. Grover was from Pittsburgh, my home town. When I met Basie, he asked me to write a couple of arrangements. I had already written The Queen Bee and Quincy and the Count. The second one wasn’t fully formed yet, but The Queen Bee was real nice. I gave that to him and a couple of others. After about three months, Grover called me after the job they had played someplace and said, “The Chief likes your charts. Write some more.” So I wrote more and more, and we finally had enough for an album.

JW: What was your first album with Count Basie?

SN: Basie Straight Ahead. Between my meeting with Basie and the call to do the album, I had finally decided to move out to California. I figured if I didn't do it, I'd really regret it. Two months after I arrived, I was conducting Basie's band at the recording session on Vine Street in Los Angeles. I couldn't believe it.

JW: How did you come to play piano on That Warm Feeling on the album?

SN: There was an organ in the studio. Basie plays organ. Fats Waller had taught him. On the session, he saw it and said to me, “I’ll play the organ, you play the piano.”

JW: Were you nervous?

SN: Oh yeah. I’m a terrible pianist and trying to play like Basie was like paving the Grand Canyon with asphalt [laughs]. I don’t think I impressed anyone playing that piano because for the next nine albums, nobody ever asked me to play piano again [roars with laughter]. I was scared to death. I was nervous.

JW: How did the next series of Basie albums work?

SN: Many of the albums we did after Straight Ahead for Pablo Records were never as good. It wasn’t the music. It was that Norman Granz [pictured] was producing Basie at the time and never cared how the music went. The early ones we did for other labels were set up well. But when Norman [Granz] got a hold of him, the high standards Norman had in the past just weren’t there.

JW: Why is that?

SN: I think Norman just disliked big bands. He kept telling Basie to start a combo and to hell with the band. Basie wouldn’t hear of it. Norman also would keep first takes on almost everything, even if there were mistakes. A song would end and from the engineer’s booth he’d call for the next tune. As for how he set up the band in the studio, he’d have the chairs arranged like it was a job, with different sections facing the same direction on risers. Today, when we record an album, each section is circled around different microphones. Norman just didn’t seem to care.

JW: How did you like working with Basie?

SN: I always felt that my entire career was pointed toward arranging for him. It was the greatest thrill of my life. Knowing him and knowing the band and being with the band was sensational.

JW: Did you get the Basie sound right off that bat?

SN: Almost. At first, my voicings were a little off. Pianist and arranger Nat Pierce, who had Basie's sound down cold, came to me and said, “On this or that tune, you need Basie chords. You have to try to get closer.” Nat was a great writer and a nice friend. I kept thinking about what Nat had said as I wrote for the band. The other quote that hit me was when Grover Mitchell came to me and said that Basie had said to him, “You know, too many guys are trying to write like Basie. They should write it like them and we’ll swing it like Basie” [laughs]. So I did.

JW: Did your personality come through?

SN: I think so. I remember my brother saying, “It’s Count Basie, but I can hear you in there, Sammy.” That’s the whole idea. That’s what you were shooting for with the Chief. To make the listener happy and to make the musicians happy but not lose your identity.

JW: Your arrangements have a particular attitude, a special swagger.

SN: I always like to make an ensemble sound bigger by prepping it with a piano solo. I like to have a sparse piano in there to set up the big band.

JW: You love building to a crescendo, don’t you?

SN: You bet. And dynamics—soft, loud, lots of contrasts.

JW: What was it like to conduct the Basie band?

SN: At first I was intimidated. On that first recording, Basie Straight Ahead, Marshal Royal, “Lockjaw" Davis, Bobby Plater and other giants were there. But after we started, it was just a matter of communication and everything eased up. There’s no band in the world that played like that. 

JW: Like how?

SN: The dynamics. The band played too soft and too loud. Which is just the way I like it [laughs]. That's what made the band sound conversational and exciting. I'd mention to the band what I'd want to do with dynamics in one place or another in the arrangement, and they'd mark up their parts. Then Basie would sing the feeling for them so they'd get it. The beauty of Basie is he'd let me do my thing, and he was always supportive. When we started Straight Ahead, I tried to do too much with the conducting. After the first run-down on the first song, I realized that all I had to do is give a downbeat and come in every once in a while. The band was a quick study, and I never imposed myself.

JW: Did Basie ever talk to you?

SN: Not really. But he told a couple of people that he liked me. He wasn’t the kind of guy who ever built anyone up. But he was the sweetest man on the whole planet. He was a big teddy bear. He must have liked what I did. We did 10 albums together and we won four Grammys.

JW: Yet you’re not fully recognized for that accomplishment.

SN: Can I tell you something? I composed the songs, I arranged them and I conducted the band on those sessions. No one even said, “Thanks, Sammy” [laughs]. But it makes no difference. The guys were just great. All gentlemen. Wonderful people. And I was thrilled to be a part of that band.

JW: In some ways, you were Son of Hefti.

SN: [Laughs] Basie identified with that sound. Neal Hefti was my idol. I wanted to do what he did, come up with great tunes and arrange them simply for power, melody and swing.

JW: While you were in California, you were arranging and orchestrating for everyone. You orchestrated songs on two Sinatra albums.

SN: Yes, I did a lot with Don Costa in those days. He’d write a small sketch, two lines or so. Then I’d voice it for 18 musicians. I orchestrated Mrs. Robinson on My Way and five tunes on L.A. Is My Lady.

JW: How did you deal with the famous pressure out there with that kind of workload?

SN: The first year I was out here it was hard. You get more and more jobs, and you don’t have time to complete them all. They don’t give you time. They want everything tomorrow morning. So you stay up late and have the copyist pick up the work at 2 a.m. You don’t sit there and look at the moon or think of some girl laying over the piano. You write your first idea and you go with it. It’s usually your best idea anyway.

JW: That can be hard week after week.

SN: As an arranger in L.A., you’re either feeling boredom or panic. You never get used to it, but you can work within that framework. I just sit down and work. I work with a piano. I’ve always worked with a piano.

JW: Who paid you the greatest compliment?

SN: Let me think [pause]. There were two. The first was from the British arranger Robert Farnon. Everyone considered him the greatest. He arranged two albums for Pia Zadora in the mid-1980s, and she recorded them in London. Then they asked him to do another with her. Robert said, “Gee, my schedule is too busy. But I’ll tell you, when you go back to the States, there’s a guy named Sammy Nestico. You should hire him.” When I heard that, I felt so good. I didn’t even think he ever heard of me. That was the greatest compliment.

JW: Who gave you the other big compliment?

SN: Jerry Gray, Glenn Miller’s arranger. He called to tell me that my published chart of String of Pearls was his favorite arrangement of the song. And he was the one who wrote the original. It was only published, never recorded.

JW: Where do you do much of your composing and arranging today?

SN: I write melodies in my car or in the shower off the top of my head.

JW: How do you remember them?

SN: I sing the melodies and remember the intervals. When I reach a piano, I write them down. After I put the original motif down, I’ll dress it up or edit the result and work with it. I keep tuning it up until I get what I want [pause]. Then I say I got lucky [laughs].

JW: With so much music to write, does Sammy walk around all day snapping and swinging?

SN: [Roars with laughter] I don’t know about that. I sing to myself quite a bit. It has been a great life. Hey, I’m still going strong.

JazzWax notes: Here are Sammy's 10 albums for Count Basie (asterisks denote a Grammy Award)...

Straight Ahead (Dot/1968)
Standing Ovation (Dot/1969)
Have a Nice Day (Daybreak/1971)
Bing 'n Basie (Daybreak/1972)
Basie Big Band (Pablo/1975)
Fun Time (Pablo/1975)
Prime Time (Pablo/1977)*
On the Road (Pablo/1979)*
Warm Breeze (Pablo/1981)*
88 Basie Street (Pablo/1983)*

JazzWax clips: Here's Count Basie in 1968 playing Sammy's composition and arrangement of The Magic Flea...



Here's the Hungarian Border Guard Orchestra playing Sammy's Basie Straight Ahead...



Here's the SWR Big Band playing Sammy's Blue Samuel...



Here's Count Basie playing Sammy's Scott's Place...



Here's the Gifford Middle School Jazz Band in 2012 performing Sammy's Orange Sherbert. Yes, that's seven trumpets, seven trombones and seven reeds!...



Here's Basie playing Sammy's The Queen Bee...

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This story appears courtesy of JazzWax by Marc Myers.
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