When Creed Taylor launched CTI Records in 1967, he wasn’t just starting another jazz label—he was rewriting the playbook. Jazz had always been an art form of raw energy, but Taylor gave it a sleek, cinematic polish, a high-gloss sheen that made it accessible without watering it down. The old-school hard bop cats might have sneered, but the result was undeniable: a sound that didn’t just reach jazz purists but also caught the ears of a whole new audience.
CTI was not some smoky, basement-club jazz outfit; this was jazz dressed in a tailored suit, lounging in a high-rise with a perfect skyline view. Taylor, a producer with the golden touch, had already made waves at Verve and A&M, but when he went independent, he turned CTI into a movement. He wasn’t just recording albums—he was crafting sonic experiences, lush and luxurious, wrapped in Pete Turner’s striking album covers that made every LP look like an art gallery centerpiece. CTI wasn’t about nostalgia; it was about pushing forward, about jazz that had the swagger of soul, the sophistication of classical, and the groove of funk, all wrapped up in a pristine Rudy Van Gelder production.
Taylor’s roster read like a jazz hall of fame: Freddie Hubbard, George Benson, Grover Washington Jr., Hubert Laws, Stanley Turrentine, and Ron Carter, to name just a few. These weren’t just great musicians—they were stars, soloists who could carry an album and sell it to audiences beyond the die-hard jazz crowd. CTI gave them room to stretch out, to take long, expressive solos that balanced virtuosity with melody. Taylor understood something fundamental about music marketing: people don’t just buy records; they buy identities, moods, and lifestyles. And CTI sold the idea that jazz could be elegant, sophisticated, and, most importantly, popular.
While other jazz labels clung to tradition, CTI was breaking boundaries. Taylor didn’t care about keeping jazz in its pure form—he was busy fusing it with funk, R&B, and classical music, creating something both refined and infectious. Don Sebesky’s string arrangements turned many CTI albums into cinematic soundscapes, with jazz solos soaring over lush orchestration. Purists scoffed, but listeners ate it up. CTI wasn’t trying to compete with Blue Note or Prestige; it was trying to redefine what jazz could be.
And then came 1970. Taylor, never one to settle, went fully independent, taking CTI out from under the A&M umbrella and into uncharted territory. This was a gamble—a big one. Jazz was already struggling against the rock explosion of the late ’60s, but Taylor had a vision. CTI would be bigger, bolder, and more ambitious than any jazz label before it. He didn’t just want albums; he wanted an empire.
That empire needed visibility, and Taylor’s solution was genius: the CTI All-Stars. This wasn’t just a tour—it was a traveling jazz supergroup, a full-fledged spectacle designed to turn jazz into an arena-worthy event. The lineup was ridiculous: Freddie Hubbard blowing his horn like a man possessed, Stanley Turrentine’s tenor sax dripping with soul, Hubert Laws’ flute weaving through the grooves, and Ron Carter holding it all together with that unmistakable bass. Add in percussionist Airto Moreira, the electric fire of Billy Cobham on drums, and George Benson’s guitar chops, and you had a force to be reckoned with.
The CTI All-Stars didn’t just play gigs; they put on events. In 1971, they stormed the Hollywood Palladium in front of 5,000 fans—a staggering number for a jazz show. Tickets were five bucks in advance, six at the door, which jazz critic Leonard Feather called a “fairly high tariff.” But the music was worth it. This was jazz for the people, jazz that knew how to groove, jazz that didn’t sit in a corner scolding audiences for wanting a beat they could nod their heads to.
If rock bands could fill stadiums, why not jazz? That was Taylor’s thinking. And for a while, it worked. The CTI All-Stars were a traveling advertisement for the label, a way to keep jazz relevant in an era when guitar gods and drum solos were stealing the spotlight. But it wasn’t just about playing live—it was about keeping the records moving, keeping radio DJs happy, keeping CTI in the conversation.
That conversation extended far beyond jazz circles. CTI blurred the lines between jazz and what would eventually become smooth jazz. Albums like “Mister Magic” (1975) by Grover Washington Jr. and “One” (1974) by Bob James didn’t just land in jazz bins—they found their way into R&B collections, into the hands of listeners who didn’t necessarily think of themselves as jazz fans. The crossover appeal was real, and it was lucrative.
But jazz purists weren’t buying it. To them, CTI was too polished, too commercial, too… smooth. It didn’t have the grit of Blue Note or the wild improvisation of the avant-garde of Impulse. Taylor wasn’t concerned. He had built a brand, and that brand was selling.
Still, the jazz world was changing. The 1972 CTI All-Stars tour brought the music to international audiences, playing in Munich during the Olympics and other major venues. But behind the scenes, challenges were mounting. The financial demands of running a high-production-value label were immense. Taylor was playing a high-stakes game, and eventually, the industry caught up with him.
CTI hit a financial rough patch by the late ’70s. The very things that made it a success—the lush production, the ambitious orchestration, the high-end packaging—also made it expensive to maintain. The industry was shifting again, and CTI’s golden era was coming to a close.
But what a run it had been. CTI had redefined jazz for a new generation, proving that it could be slick without losing its soul, that it could be accessible without being dumbed down. Taylor had turned jazz into a lifestyle brand before lifestyle branding was even a thing.
Even today, CTI’s fingerprints are all over modern jazz, fusion, and even hip-hop. The grooves, the production values, the cinematic feel—it all echoes in contemporary music. Creed Taylor may have been a businessman as much as a producer, but he understood something crucial: music isn’t just about sound. It’s about experience.
And CTI, for all its ups and downs, delivered an experience unlike anything jazz had seen before.
Here’s the full CTI Olympics concert, two and half hours long, from August 20, 1972, at Kongresshalle in Munich, Germany, with legendary New York DJ Frankie Crocker as the Master of Ceremonies. This was no ordinary jazz concert. CTI made a statement with Deodato’s electrifying take on the 2001: A Space Odyssey theme—an abbreviated version kicks off the performance with a bang.
Personnel: Freddie Hubbard - trumpet, Stanley Turrentine - tenor sax, Hubert Laws - flute & piccolo, Joe Farrell - tenor & soprano sax, Hank Crawford - alto Sax, Grover Washington Jr. - alto & soprano sax, Bob James - acoustic piano, electric piano, organ, Ron Carter - acoustic bass, Jack DeJohnette - drums, Jackie Cain & Roy Kral - vocals, and Esther Phillips - vocals.
Hard to go wrong with this rhythm section: Bob James, Ron Carter and Jack DeJohnette. I’m sure the musicians pushed each other to even greater heights with their unique improvisations during these concerts. When artists of this caliber come together, the results can be nothing short of spectacular—and that’s exactly what we hear.
For me, the real standout is Grover Washington, Jr. At just 29 here, he was still relatively new to the major leagues of jazz, but he more than holds his own, delivering a performance that proves he belonged among the greats.
I was present at Sonny Rollins’ Town Hall concert in 1978 when Grover Washington Jr. was his special guest. Sonny sometimes invited other musicians to join him—Dizzy Gillespie, Donald Byrd, Freddie Hubbard—but that night, it was Grover. And I can say with certainty, he more than held his own.
The Saxophone Colossus was a force of nature, his improvisational brilliance capable of leaving even the best players in the dust. But not Grover. On both alto and tenor, he proved he was a master in his own right.
01 Also Sprach Zarathustra / Show opening with band intros 0:00
02 Marvin Gaye Medley featuring Grover Washington Jr. with additional solos by James, Hubbard, Turrentine, & Crawford 4:07 Grover plays the last soon, just after the ensemble plays the melody for “What Going On?”
03 Intro 15:02
04 Impressions (solos by Hubbard, Turrentine, Laws, James, Carter, Farrell, Crawford & Grover) 15:46
05 Intro 33:50
06 Dahoud (Jackie & Roy) 34:50
07 Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most (Jackie & Roy with Hubert Laws) 36:57
08 Waltz For Dana (Jackie & Roy) 41:10
09 Intro 44:42
10 Sound Down (Joe Farrell - feat. additional solos by James, Carter & DeJohnette) 45:23
11 Intro 1:09:54
12 Red Clay (Freddie Hubbard - feat. additional solos by Turrentine & James) 1:11:42
13 Intro 1:29:51
14 Baby I'm For Real (Esther Phillips) 1:31:11
15 In The Evening (Esther Phillips - feat. solos by Turrentine & Bob James on Organ) 1:35:14
16 Outro for intermission 1:41:42
17 Intro 1:42:22
18 Sugar (Stanley Turrentine - feat. additional solos by Hubbard & James) 1:42:58
19 Intro 1:54:59
20 Misty (Hank Crawford) 1:51:27
21 Intro 2:02:20
22 Windows (Hubert Laws & Bob James) 2:02:58
23 Intro 2:13:53
24 Blues (Esther Phillips - feat. solo by Hank Crawford) 2:14:16
25 Inner City Blues (Concert Outro by Frankie Crocker) (featuring Grover Washington JR) 2:25:47
I’ll have more to say about Grover Washington, Jr in a future post. Not surprisingly, his performances here are simply breathtaking.
The CTI All-Stars, a collective of jazz luminaries assembled by producer Creed Taylor, had their final performance during a European tour in March 2010 at the Internationale Jazzwoche Burghausen in Germany. This tour was organized to capitalize on the remastering and reissuing of much of the CTI back catalog.
The original CTI All-Stars were active primarily in the early to mid-1970s, touring to promote individual and collective albums on CTI Records. Over time, changes in the music industry, shifts in public taste, and financial challenges led to a decline in such large ensemble tours. By the late 1970s, the original lineup had disbanded, and while there were occasional reunions and performances in subsequent decades, they became less frequent. The 2010 tour served as a commemorative effort, but since then, there have been no further CTI All-Stars concerts, marking the end of an era for this influential jazz ensemble.
The concert featured above, first released on a three CD set, is long out of print. It shouldn’t be.
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On Monday, In Defense of the Baby Boomers.
Until we meet again, let your conscience be your guide.
Thank you! Fun to relive those days. I might still have my Benson "White Rabbit" and "Bad Benson" albums. I hope so. Will have to look for them.
beautiful job telling the story of the CTI experience and experiment, it was a great ride…and still is, thank you!