Check ThisAction: The Mysterious Louis Stewart

From the day I was born, I was hearing jazz guitar greats. Years before, my father had begun buying singles, EPs, and LPs by Barney Kessel (with Jimmy Wyble on rhythm), Oscar Moore with the Nat King Cole Trio, Chuck Wayne with the George Shearing Quintet, Irving Ashby with the Oscar Peterson Trio, and the Red Norvo Trio featuring the vibist with Tal Farlow and Charles Mingus on bass. Eventually, his collection and mine included Jim Hall, Wes Montgomery, Charlie Christian, Herb Ellis, George Barnes, Al Viola, Kenny Burrell, Johnny Pisano and Billy Bean, George Benson, Pat Metheny, Joe Pass’ Virtuoso series, Charlie Byrd’s bossa nova, all of the Howard Roberts albums on Capitol, and Django Reinhardt. Lots of Django. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but my schoolmates’ households might have had soundtracks to South Pacific and The Music Man, The Andy Williams Christmas Album, and little else – certainly not a “collection” like my dad’s eventual 900 LPs. One name that would come up was English jazzer Louis Stewart (actually Irish). Insiders spoke of him in hushed tones, ranking him with the very best. In the July ’23 issue of VG, Wolf Marshall devoted his “Fretprints” column to analyzing his style. But his albums were hard to find, except for a handful with George Shearing. So I was excited when I got a press release for I Thought About You, an album he recorded in 1977 and was released in ’80. It turns out, Stewart cut seven albums for the boutique Livia label; in fact, the late Gerald Davis founded it specifically to spotlight the guitarist. In ’77, Stewart was working with the house band at London’s famed jazz club, Ronnie Scott’s. Booked for a series of shows was pianist Cedar Walton, known for his work with such legends as John Coltrane, Art Blakey, Milt Jackson, and Lee Morgan, among many others. Rounding out his formidable trio were bassist Sam Jones and drummer Billy Higgins – which gave Stewart the idea to bring them into Davis’ Dublin studio with Scott’s pianist, John Taylor. The eight tunes reveal a bebop maestro to be reckoned with. The Jimmy Van Heusen/Johnny Mercer title ballad is taken at a smooth, swinging pace. Taylor and Jones take masterful solos while Stewart mixes quick lines with spontaneous punches. Jones contributes “Unit 7,” with Taylor dropping out for some energetic bass-and-guitar sparring. The set also includes two numbers by Francy Boland and Jimmy Woods (of Kenny Clarke’s trio) and the modern standards “All Blues” (by Miles Davis) and “Straight, No Chaser” (Thelonious Monk). “Litha,” from mid-’60s Chick Corea, provides the best springboard for Stewart’s altering moods and velocities. Years ago, Martin Taylor mentioned working with Stewart, 12 years his senior, but until now I never found out what context. Taylor was my dad’s favorite living jazz guitarist, and he’s mine. He was Stephane Grappelli’s right-hand man for 11 years, and Pat Metheny declared, “He is one of the most awesome solo guitar players in the history of the instrument. He’s unbelievable.” I saw Taylor on his own and with Grappelli many times, interviewed him for Guitar Player in ’84, then again for VG’s January ’06 issue. For a period, he and Stewart formed Grappelli’s backing unit, but as far as I know they never played America. Thankfully, the two of them cut Acoustic Guitar Duets for Livia, and it was recently remastered and reissued. As expected, the results are magnificent. The repertoire includes standards by Count Basie, Luiz Bonfa, and Charlie Parker. But in the four hands and 20 fingers of these virtuosos, they attain new life. “Pick Yourself Up” is surely something Stewart played with George Shearing; here, it’s a fascinating exercise in interplay. Each has a distinct approach – Stewart’s harder attack, Taylor’s simultaneous bass lines and moving chords – but things really brighten up when the rhythm drops out, as it were, and they mix it up with simultaneous, dizzying leads. That’s topped only when the pair lend their jazz skills to arrangements of traditional Scottish and Irish folk tunes. As if all this wasn’t already jazz-guitar heaven, there’s also The Dublin Concert, a previously unreleased 1982 live recording of Stewart with Jim Hall, the only recording of them together. It is, of course, amazing – a study in contrasts and commonality of two jazz giants. Along with Sonny Rollins’ hot calypso “St. Thomas” and Duke Ellington’s lovely “In A Sentimental Mood,” Van Heusen’s “But Beautiful” best describes the proceedings. A big tip of the hat to Livia’s founders, who documented this music, and the folks at the revived label who are preserving it. Of the 900 or so interviews I’ve done over the decades, I’m embarrassed to say Louis Stewart wasn’t one of them. Even with all the technology available, I didn’t do the legwork to hook up with him before he died in 2016. As a friend told me when I was kicking myself over another bucket-list artist slipping through my fingers, “You can’t interview them all.” But I want to. © 2025 Dan Forte; all rights reserved by the author. This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2025 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.