The now-largely forgotten bass saxophonist Adrian Rollini (1903-1956) mixed and worked with the very best of the crack white jazzmen of his day. He was a phenomenon, possessed of perfect pitch and a child prodigy who gave his first piano recital at the age of four and became a full-time musician at 16.

Heard initially on xylophone and piano, he picked up the bass saxophone and made it his instrument of choice thereafter. Later he specialised on vibes while fronting his own group. The ultimate multi-instrumentalist, he also offered the goofus – ‘a curved push-button instrument’ according to Digby Fairweather’s helpful liner note and the ‘hot fountain pen’, a miniature unkeyed clarinet. It’s hard to think of an instrument that he couldn’t play, but it was the bass saxophone for which he was renowned and which gave him his niche in jazz history. Originally used as a rhythmic aide, Rollini made it both a viable ensemble instrument and an imperious solo one, the sound smooth or harsh, playing it with the kind of mobility and swinging ease that later players brought to the baritone saxophone.

Many of these tracks gained wider circulation in Europe in the late 1920s and influenced the aspiring ‘hot’ specialists of the time. In effect it’s the thymically vivacious attack of Nichols and his chums that explains their appeal and still gives them validity. Players like Mole and Lang were well ahead of their contemporaries as was Bix, of course, his two tracks rightly celebrated, again with Rollini’s breaks a vital adornment. Subsequent sides have Rollini as an add-on to the Spanish-Filipino Fred Elizalde’s Savoy Hotel band from 1937-39, Quealey and Davis his fellow US imports.

Seemingly never short of a musical idea and possessing the technique to express it, Rollini remained in demand for jazz and for commercial sessions too, his output eventually surpassing 1,500 titles. The best players chose him and he chose them, his prominence leading to sessions under his name, typified by the three 1934 sides with his brother Arthur, Goodman and Teagarden, ‘Davenport Blues’ their masterpiece. ‘Bouncin’ in Rhythm’ with New Orleanians Manone and Lamare is pretty good too, as are the final quintet sides with the sublime Hackett and the leader on Hampton-ish vibes.

By 1956, hard living and booze had done for Rollini; thankfully, Ray Crick’s meticulously-curated compilation is the ideal reminder of his greatness.