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​All Jazz Roads Should Lead to the Birchmere

2/28/2022

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Birchmere, 2006. Photo: Rudi Riet from Washington, DC.
The Birchmere nightclub in Alexandria, Virginia, is one of the most famous musical spaces in America. Birthed some 50 years ago, the club has occupied three locations, all in Alexandria. Its current spot on Mount Vernon Avenue has 100 tables that seat 500 people, each with clear sightlines to the stage, set with menus and signs on the tables to remind people to keep quiet during the performance.

Ticket prices are reasonable, and there is ample free parking. Artists are likewise treated with respect in a comfy greenroom: a separate dressing room with a washer and dryer.

The Birchmere premiered as a bluegrass music club, and its history evolved into diverse entertainment, which is an understatement: can you believe bluegrass, country, western, folk (both European and American), rock, blues, R&B, gospel, funk, Celtic, zydeco, pop, and jazz (the focus of this blog)?

The Birchmere presents one or two artists just about every night of the week to mostly sold-out crowds. In sum, an iconic room with an excellent sound system that facilitates the connection between artists and the audience.

In their book, All Roads Lead to the Birchmere: America’s Legendary Music Hall, authors Gary Oelze (original and current owner) and Stephen Moore (musician, writer) devote a chapter to jazz that they call “Jazz Hands.”

​The chapter profiles the 12 artists listed below. Biographical information is provided, along with a photograph taken at the club, an anecdote or two about their experience, and audience reaction. Another list is provided (names only) of artists who have appeared at the hall over the years.

Any jazz fan scanning the lists of artists below would likely conclude “pretty damn good, especially for a club that’s not a jazz club per se”:
​
Joe Sample (Keyboards)
Tuck and Patti (Guitar and Singer)
Chick Corea (Keyboards) [3]
McCoy Tyner (Keyboards)
Ottmar Liebert (Guitar) [20]
Herb Albert (Trumpet) [5]
Ramsey Lewis (Keyboards)
Herbie Hancock (Keyboards)
George Duke (Keyboards)
Dweezil Zappa (Guitar) [4]
Jean Luc Ponty (Violin) [2]
Candy Dulfer (Saxophone) [6]

Note: [  ] number of times at Birchmere

Other jazz artists who appeared at the Hall over the years include Gato Barberie (saxophone), Hugh Masekala (trumpet), Blue Note 75 All-Stars (tribute band), Jeff Lorber (keyboards), Kenny G. (saxophone), Najee (saxophone), Pieces of a Dream (jazz fusion), Preservation Hall Jazz Band (DixielandDixieland), Rachel Ferrell (singer), Robbin Ford (guitar) among many others.*

While jazz was not the dominant musical genre played at the Birchmere by any means, it was fairly represented. A decent mix of known stars and up-and-comers could count on their performances being well advertised on the club marquee, in well-placed newspaper ads, on the radio, and in recent years on the internet to followers numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

The result: well-attended shows and an uptick in name recognition. The latter is not to be overlooked. Birchmere attendees are known to be a mite more open-minded than most fans—they will attend an event outside their genre comfort zones simply because if it’s at the Birchmere, it has to be good. Not bad for a music hall not necessarily known as a jazz club.

A gig at the Birchmere is a resume-topper second only to Madison Square Garden and a few other performances spaces. In an era when jazz is not as popular as it once was—dropping from 13 percent in recorded music sales in 1960 to 1 percent today—thank goodness, the road to America’s Legendary Music Hall is still open and well-paved.

CODA
I highly recommend the referenced book below. No matter your specific musical preferences, you’ll come across numerous artists and songs that helped define your life one way or another. Moreover, I guarantee you’ll learn interesting facts about artists and songs you never knew before.                                                                              ​

​*Gary Oelze and Stephen Moore, All Roads Lead to the Birchmere: America’s Legendary Music Hall (St. Petersburg, Florida: Booklocker.com Inc., 2021), 395–403.

​

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President Carter’s White House Jazz Festival

3/31/2020

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Dexter Gordon and Herbie Hancock
Saxophonist Dexter Gordon and pianist Herbie Hancock on the South Lawn of the White House. June 18, 1978.
​In my opinion, the grandest assemblage of jazz musicians at the White House occurred on the night of Duke Ellington’s 70th birthday, April 29, 1969, when President Nixon awarded Duke the Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian honor (as discussed in my book Ellington at the White House 1969).

​But others claim that President Carter’s South Lawn gathering some nine years later, billed as the first White House jazz festival, tops the Duke event by a country mile.

​​Frankly, it’s hard to disagree: Carter’s introductory speech and the gasping, jaw-dropping lineup of jazz stars were exemplary.

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The New Orleans Young Tuxedo Brass Band open the festivities.

On June 18, 1978, Carter stepped up on the specially erected stage on the South Lawn of the White House and—facing the 800 people gathered before him (musicians and their families and invited guests)—gave the most enlightened and heartfelt speech by any US president on America’s own music. And he did so extemporaneously:
 
You are welcome to the first White House jazz festival. I hope we have some more in the future. This is an honor for me—to walk through this crowd and meet famous jazz musicians and the families of those who are no longer with us, but whose work and whose spirit and whose beautiful music will live forever in our country.

If there ever was an indigenous art form, one that is special and peculiar to the United States and represents what we are as a country, I would say that it’s jazz. Starting late in the last century, there was a unique combination of two characteristics that have made America what it is: individuality and a free expression of one’s inner spirit.

​In an almost unconstrained way, vivid, alive, aggressive, innovative on the one hand, and the severest form of self-discipline on the other, never compromising quality as the human spirit bursts forward in an expression of song.

At first, this jazz form was not well accepted in respectable circles. I think there was an element of racism perhaps at the beginning, because most of the famous early performers were black. And particularly in the South to have black and white musicians playing together was not a normal thing. And I believe that this particular form of music—of art—has done as much as anything to break down those barriers and to let us live and work and play and make beautiful music together.

And the other thing that kind of separated jazz musicians from the upper levels of society was the reputation jazz musicians had. Some people thought they stayed up late at night, drank a lot, and did a lot of carousing around. And it took a few years for society to come together. I don’t know. I’m not going to say, as President, whether the jazz musicians became better behaved or the rest of society caught up with them in drinking, carousing around, and staying up late at night.

But the fact is that over a period of years the quality of jazz could not be constrained. It could not be unrecognized. And it swept not only our country, but is perhaps the favorite export product of the United States to Europe and in other parts of the world.

I began listening to jazz when I was quite young—on the radio, listening to performances broadcast from New Orleans. And later when I was a young officer in the navy, in the early ’40s, I would go to Greenwich Village to listen to the jazz performers who came there. And with my wife later on, we’d go down to New Orleans and listen to individual performances on Sunday afternoon on Royal Street, sit in on the jam sessions that lasted for hours and hours.

And then later, of course, we began to learn the individual performers through the phonograph records and also on the radio itself. This has had a very beneficial effect on my life. And I’m very grateful for what all these remarkable performers have done.
​
Twenty-five years ago, the first Newport Jazz Festival was held. So this is a celebration of an anniversary and a recognition of what it meant to bring together such a wide diversity of performers and different elements of jazz in its broader definition that collectively is even a much more profound accomplishment than the superb musicians and the individual types of jazz standing alone.

And it’s with a great deal of pleasure that I—as president of the United States—welcome tonight superb representatives of this music form. Having performers here who represent the history of music throughout this century, some quite old in years, still young at heart, others newcomers to jazz who have brought an increasing dynamism to it, and a constantly evolving, striving for perfection as the new elements of jazz are explored.

​George Wein has put together this program, and I’d like to welcome him and all the superb performers whom I met individually earlier today. And I know that we all have in store for us a wonderful treat as some of the best musicians of our country—of the world—show us what it means to be an American and to join in the pride that we feel for those who’ve made jazz such a wonderful part of our lives. Thank you very much.[1]
​
This enlightened, heartfelt speech electrified all who heard it that day, either on the South Lawn or on the radio, or read it the next day in a newspaper or a month later in a magazine. President Carter’s five-minute speech first touched on a cornerstone of jazz—the blurry line creative musicians walk between freedom and discipline and, by extension, between instinct and theory, individualism and collectivism, improvisation and composition, voice and technique.
 
He next touched on two of the several reasons that slowed acceptance of jazz as an art form in this country—namely, racism and a musical elitism that categorized jazz as roadhouse or speakeasy entertainment.

But it was Carter’s personal recollection of his early jazz experiences that piqued the most interest. In fact, to many, it came as a shock: Jimmy Carter?! The peanut farmer from Georgia known to be a classical devotee (by those in the know) or maybe a Southern rock enthusiast (by those not in the know)—was a jazz fan? And an avid one at that! Who knew?

And the lineup of talent on the South Lawn that memorable day was beyond “Wow!” From the daughter of bluesman W. C. Handy and 90-year-old pianist Eubie Blake to avant-gardists Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, and everyone in between. Here’s a full list:
Piano
Saxophone
Trumpet
Drums
Eubie Blake
Chick Corea
Gil Evans
Herbie Hancock
Dick Hyman
John Lewis
George Russell
Billy Taylor
Cecil Taylor
McCoy Tyner
Mary Lou Williams
Teddy Wilson
​Benny Carter
Ornette Coleman
Stan Getz
Dexter Gordon
Illinois Jacquet
Gerry Mulligan
Sam Rivers
Sonny Rollins
Zoot Sims
 
 
 
Doc Cheatham
Roy Eldridge
Dizzy Gillespie
Joe Newman
Clark Terry
 
 
 
 
 

​ 
Louis Bellson
Denardo Coleman
Jo Jones
Max Roach
Tony Williams






​

Bass
Guitar
Vibes
Singers
Ray Brown
Ron Carter
Milt Hinton
Charles Mingus
​​
​
George Benson
​

​​

​​
Lionel Hampton


​
​
​
​Pearl Bailey
Katharine Handy
​Lewis
​

​
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Saxophonist Dexter Gordon awaits his turn as trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie states his case.
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President Carter speaks to Cecil Taylor after his performance. "I've never seen anyone play that way. Does Horowitz know about you?"
The country was denied the opportunity to learn just how much of a jazz fan Carter really was when he didn’t win a second term in office. His book White House Diary hit the shelves in 2010, and I quickly purchased a copy to see if he had expanded on his fascination with jazz. Sadly, the president from Plains had surprisingly little to say about the indigenous art form that best represented our country.
​

He acknowledges “the big event held on the South Lawn” as “the best party we’ve ever had—the Newport Jazz Festival twenty-fifth anniversary. About 800 people came, and we had a collection of jazz musicians that was really remarkable.”

​But that’s it, except for the anecdotes about himself and his daughter: “I went on stage with Dizzy Gillespie, and joined him in a rendition of ‘Salt Peanuts.’ It was a high point in my life when the New York Times complimented my singing,” and “Amy performed on the violin, which was a real hit.”[2]
​
​Regarding a jazz concert in the East Room featuring Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughan, and Earl “Fatha” Hines, the president tells us: “It brought back old times when I was an avid jazz fan.”[3] Is it possible that the former chief executive was only a fan in his youth, his interest waning as he grew older, subsumed by his burgeoning love of opera and symphonic music?
 
The president’s ardor for the European import is abundantly clear in White House Diary as he rhapsodizes about classical performers who came to the White House—pianist Vladimer Horowitz, opera singers Roberta Peters and Leontyne Price, and cellist Slava Rostropovich—and takes forays with First Lady Rosalynn to hear classical expositions at the Kennedy Center and Metropolitan Opera.

​He also tells us (which many knew at the time): “In the inner White House office, we established a high-fidelity sound system, and for eight or ten hours a day I listened to classical music.”[4]
​
So which was the best jazz happening at the White House? The Ellington tribute in 1969? Or the Carter South Lawn jazz festival in 1978?

We have the music for the first event available from Blue Note Records in 1969 All-Star White House Tribute to Duke Ellington. Not so the latter. NPR recorded the music but has not released it. So what’s the hold up?

NOTES

  1. Recording courtesy of the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library and Museum.
  2. Jimmy Carter, White House Diary (NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010), 136, 202.
  3. Ibid., 136.
  4. Ibid., 12.
All photos courtesy of the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library and Museum.

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Book Review: “Help!” by Thomas Brothers

6/30/2019

1 Comment

 
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​
​Brothers devotes one half of his book to Ellington, the other half to the Beatles. My review concerns only the former. The author concludes the Ellington section thus:

At age twenty-seven, the failed composer discovered a new way to generate music by extending material from his soloists through framing and conceptualizing, nipping and tucking, harmonizing, and arranging and enhancing with contrast and form. . . . [He got] the best of their arranging ideas, the best of their editing, the best of their creative use of timbre, and the best of their fully framed compositions.
 
And he didn’t give them credit.

 
As Brothers documents, with but a few exceptions, Ellington did not write the songs, instrumentals, and extended pieces we associate with him—some 1,500 copyrighted pieces. He borrowed fragments or fully formed melodies from his sidemen without giving them credit.

He poached from nearly everyone in the Ellington camp, from Bubber Miley, Otto Hardwick, Barney Bigard, Johnny Hodges, Cootie Williams, Ben Webster, Rex Stewart, Juan Tizol, Lawrence Brown to Billy Strayhorn.

 
And, yes, that would mean some of your favorite songs—“In a Sentimental Mood,” “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore,” “I’m Beginning to See the Light”—and many more were written by someone other than Duke.

And that goes for your favorite instrumentals, like “East St. Louis Toodle-O,” “Black and Tan Fantasy,” and “Cotton Tail”—way too many to mention here. For the complete story, I highly recommend Mr. Brothers’s well-researched and well-written book.
 
This is not to say that Ellington never composed anything of value on his own. He did, for example, the famous three-part introduction to “Mood Indigo,” “Solitude,” and “Amad” and “Depk” in the Far East Suite, but as Brothers makes clear, Duke’s compositions were the exception to the rule. 

​In addition, according to Brothers,
​
Noncrediting was part of Ellington’s ecosystem for sustained big-band success. First, it would have cost him massive streams of revenue [from lost song royalties], and second, it would have undermined his carefully managed image as a composer-genius unique in the sprawling field of jazz.

​So why did his bandsmen all go along with it?

Security.
 
Ellington’s band was not only the most stable over those 40-plus years, but also—for most sidemen—the highest paying. Ellington’s ecosystem, as Brothers makes clear, included “giving raises and privileges to musicians who supplied their melodies, riffs, and pieces. . . . [Duke] preferred to keep the fluid dynamics of interactive creativity in the shadowy background.”

And for the most part, carping aside, his silent partners went along with it. A steady, well-paying job in a world-class orchestra was worth it.
 
The collective Ellington output remains unscathed; all that changes by the revelations in Help! is how we view Ellington. He is no longer the genius composer but the genius collaborator. Sadly, a lesser category with diminished importance and cachet than the former.
 
And it must be said, the new revelations do not tarnish in the least Ellington the conductor, pianist, talent scout, entertainer, agent, mastermind, and advocate.
 
An interesting exercise would be to assume that Ellington was the composer of every piece of music associated with his name. And then compare and rank the entire output with that of his American composer peers George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Virgil Thomson, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, Aaron Copland, Harold Arlen, Richard Rodgers, Hoagland Carmichael, and anybody else you would want to name.

I would rank the collective Duke at the top along with Gershwin and Rodgers.
 
As for Duke being, as is often said, jazz’s finest composer, does he now take a lesser place to Jelly Roll Morton or Fats Waller or Charles Mingus or John Lewis or anybody else?
 
All that can be said for certain, using contemporary terminology, is that Duke was CEO, COO, CFO, and President of Marketing and Public Relations of Ellington Inc. for over four decades.
 
CODA
According to Brothers, “Ellington’s career inevitably divides into two parts—before Strayhorn and after”—that is, before Strayhorn joined Ellington in 1939 and afterward.

​But there was a third part—after Strayhorn’s passing in 1967 and before Ellington’s death in 1974—a seven-year period during which the maestro produced at least three major works: The Afro-Eurasian Eclipse, Latin American Suite, and New Orleans Suite.

​Brothers did not evaluate or discuss this period, a shortcoming that could be addressed in the forthcoming paperback edition.
 
CODA CODA
It is my hope that Brothers’s in-depth look at collaboration in the Ellington realm will encourage other scholars to do the same for Duke’s peer composers mentioned above—George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, et al. Only then, can we reach a final judgment on Ellington’s compositional identity and practices.
 
To find out more about Thomas Brothers’s book Help!: The Beatles, Duke Ellington, and the Magic of Collaboration, click here.

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Royalty Thieves

5/30/2019

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Vinyl albums in store
Photo: Adobe Stock/Luaeva
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Back during the recording industries salad days—pre-Napster, pre-streaming—when LPs and CDs were still king of the hill, label companies routinely screwed recording artists out of their royalties from album sales. Dorothy Carvello in her recent tell-all book, Anything for a Hit, reveals how one major label, Atlantic, scammed its musician roster and, by implication, how the other big labels did as well. [1]
 
Under the guise of the so-called “free goods” clause in their artist contracts, the royalty thieves conducted their dirty business in broad daylight using three methods.

 
1. CUTOUTS
For those who remember LP jackets with sliced corners—cutouts—found in bargain bins probably never gave a thought as to how they got there. Well, when a label had an album with weak sales performance, they would cut a corner off the album covers or punch a hole in them and give the unsold albums to an intermediary for pennies on the dollar, who would then sell them to retailers.

In turn, the stores would sell them at a discount (relative to list price) and give a percentage to the label, who would pocket the money (sans store share, of course)—but nothing to the artist.
 
2. OVERRUNS
When the pressing plant pressed more LP jackets or CD plastic covers than records, the label would order more vinyl or disc plastic to slip into the jacket or box. As before, overruns went to the bargain bins.

And guess who pocketed the money? In this instance, however, these were top sellers by big name artists, not low-selling flop remainders. Much, much more lucrative, and the artists didn’t get a dime.

3. CLEANS
According to Carvello, the worst offense was selling “cleans,” albums meant strictly for promotional purposes and often so designated. The promotional cleans were capped by a certain number per the artist contract.

But labels pressed a lot more—who’s to know how many—and funneled them to retailers who sold them at full price. All parties (label, distributor, retailer) got their share except the artists—again, no royalties. [2]
 

With the above in mind, what is the royalty situation today for artists, where some 85 percent of industry sales are by digital downloads of one sort or another, paid streaming subscriptions being the largest component of the total at 47 percent? [3]

​If anyone knows, please let me know.
 
CODA
Ms. Carvello’s book is a frank, insider account of the music biz in the late 1980s to early 2000s. She was the first female A&R executive at Atlantic Records and one of the first at RCA and Columbia. Based on her book, many music business executives of the time were totally oblivious to the woman’s movement that began in the late 1960s and its demands for respectful treatment in the workplace.

Absent a #MeToo movement, Ms. Carvello nonetheless survived to tell the tale and set a path forward for women to contribute to the music industry.

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NOTES

  1. Dorothy Carvello, Anything for a Hit: An A&R Woman’s Story of Surviving the Music industry (Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2018).
  2. Ibid., 57–59.
  3. “The Story of the Music Industry in One Chart,” Rolling Stone, July 2018. See my take on this article here.
​
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Book Review: The Fifty Greatest Jazz Piano Players of All Time

2/28/2019

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oscar peterson
Oscar Peterson, Munich 1977. Ranked number 1 in Gene Rizzo's list of the greatest jazz piano players of all time.
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50 greatest jazz piano players
As stated on the book jacket of The Fifty Greatest Jazz Piano Players of All Time :
   
Jazz journalist Gene Rizzo surveyed the best, most original minds in the music industry as to who are the greatest jazz pianists of all time. They based their rankings on several qualities including skill, originality, and influence. . . . The book also ranks the next twenty selected [pianists], profiles the top ten women, and alphabetically lists all players considered.

The book, in fact, lists the 70 greatest jazz pianists of all time. The top 50 are ranked (Oscar Peterson is number 1, Keith Jarrett number 50), and the next 20 are listed alphabetically. Mr. Rizzo does not reveal the identity (or the number) of his surveyed “most original minds,” a major failing for a jazz book. 
Jazz fans expect transparency. For example, in its annual, long-running Critics Jazz Poll, DownBeat jazz magazine identifies the critics by name, as does all such magazines with similar polls.

In a brief forward, Mr. Rizzo characterizes the results as racially and demographically diverse. An interesting observation, I suppose, but why make such a statement? It smacks of experimental bias and suggests a planned outcome. If all 70 greats were black, so be it; if half were black, so be it; if 30 were septuagenarians, let the chips fall where they may.

Rizzo further says, “With apologies to the women’s movement, there is only one female entry [Mary Lou Williams at number 47],” and then ranks the top10 women players in a separate category. But jazz piano playing is not professional sport. Women are just as capable as men on the keyboard. Why rank women separately? In the recent 2013 DownBeat Critics poll, for example, Jane Ira Bloom is ranked fifth, Anat Cohen sixth among their peers on soprano saxophone. Anat Cohen, Nicole Mitchell, and Regina Carter all came in first on their instruments, clarinet, flute, and violin, respectively.

Maria Schneider ranked second in the Big Band, Arranger, and Composer categories. On piano, Geri Allen tallied seventh, Hiromi 15th. The polls in DownBeat, Jazz Times, and other jazz magazines do not separate the sexes by instrument (except vocalist for obvious reasons). So Mr. Rizzo, what’s with this “separate but equal” women’s category with its implied inferiority? (Mary Lou Williams and Marian McPartland are listed in the top 70 greats and the top 10 women).

The book also provides a list of jazz piano players that were considered for the main body of the book before they were consigned to the status of honorable mention. Trouble is, the “honorable” list has 158 names—how credible is that! It’s hard to imagine how the “original jazz minds” considered 236 pianists before granting 158 of them an honorable mention. Sorry, Mr. Rizzo, your “honorable” list is simply not credible; it’s a cop-out list. I imagine you saying to a pianist who didn’t make the top 70, “Oh, hey, don’t fret, you made honorable mention.”  

As with any lifelong fan, my jazz antennae quivered as I read the book hoping to find mention of my personal favorites, those who occupy a special place in my heart and in my record collection. I found many. But there were significant others completely missing, not even given an honorable mention:
Muhal Richard Abrams••
Onaje Allan Gumbs
Ran Blake•
Andrew Hill••
Paul Bley•
Abdullah Ibrahim••
Dave Burrell•
Joachim Kuhn
Jaki Byard•
Les McCann
Stanley Cowell•
Myra Melford•
Marilyn Crispell•
Don Pullen••
Harold Danko
Hilton Ruiz
Anthony Davis••
Lalo Schifrin
Tadd Dameron
Horace Tapscott
The above pianists weren’t considered! In my book, some are top 70 candidates (•), some top 50 (••). So what happened here? Did the “original jazz minds” have a large hole in their jazz sieve? Could there be some explanation?

Many of the above pianists came of recording age during the early dark decades for jazz (1960s, 1970s). Many recorded for obscure labels (still do). Many spent more time overseas than on US shores. Many are not solid swingers in the mode of an Oscar Peterson or Gene Harris (Number 12). Many were (and still are) outcasts, new thinkers, avant-gardists.

Many are less derivative than they are original. But so are several of the pianists listed in the book. So I’m stumped. Lacking the identity of the “original jazz minds,” I can go no further.  

Now to the most egregious error: pianist Cecil Taylor was consigned to honorable mention. I, like many others, consider Taylor’s music difficult, devoid of swing perhaps, its beauty often lost in a barrage of sound. But his talent is undeniable. He has forged a dramatic percussive style like no other in the history of jazz, a style that has already influenced many, if not whole cloth, in snippets and swaths.

His is a unique voice, and in jazz that counts for a lot, trumps mechanical skill by a mile. As tenor saxophonist Bud Freeman said in Jean Bach’s film A Great Day in Harlem, “A hundred years from now, we’ll hear more of [quirky clarinetist] Pee Wee Russell’s playing than of Benny Goodman’s, who was truly a great artist.” Maybe, maybe not, but the point is well made. In jazz, voice or individual sound matters as much as or more than technical mastery of one’s instrument. Cecil Taylor has both.

One last point: noted jazz critic Len Lyons in his book The Great Jazz Pianists (Quill, 1983) listed and profiled 27 greats that included Cecil Taylor and three from my above list of unmentionables (Ran Blake, Paul Bley, and Jaki Byard). Okay, that was 32 years ago, and Mr. Lyons is only one “original jazz mind.”

To bottom line here, I would bump six pianists from Rizzo’s top 50, all excellent, mind you, but nonetheless derivative—namely, Andre Previn (number 7), Dick Hyman (32), John Bunch (35), Al Haig (44), Derek Smith (45), and Ralph Sharon (46)—in favor of singular voiced, overlooked innovators Anthony Davis, Muhal Richard Davis, Andrew Hill, Don Pullen, Cecil Taylor, and the songful Abdullah Ibrahim.

It bears mentioning that Muhal Richard Abrams and Andrew Hill came in sixth and 10th in a recent DownBeat Hall of Fame voting. Cecil Taylor, of course, has been a member of the Hall since 1975, not to mention his NEA Jazz Master award in 1990.

My mother always said, “If you say something bad about somebody, make sure you say something nice as well.” In that spirit, Mr. Rizzo’s accompanying profiles of the 50 greatest, as well as the top 10 women pianists, are insightful and informative without bogging down in the usual biographical detail.
 
Reservations aside, the book is recommended for long-term fans as well as novices. Aficionados can compare their own greatest list with Rizzo’s, slip some old albums on the player and rediscover an old friend or two; even reconsider a keyboardist previously dismissed. After all, favorite lists are fun (at least for the fans). Would you, for example, rank relative newcomer Benny Green number 6 and Herbie Hancock number 42?  

For those just coming to the music, Rizzo’s recommended CDs for pianists on the list would be a wonderful way to enter the world of jazz piano, which would likely lead to other artists on (and off) the list, and a lifetime of musical pleasure.
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Book Review: Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington

4/26/2018

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In Ellington at the White House, 1969, I tender the view that Duke Ellington is America’s premier composer, not just the greatest jazz composer, a consensus view if there ever was one, but the greatest composer of any kind in the history of American music.

Along comes critic Terry Teachout in his book Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington to challenge the absolute greatest view and raise the question of Ellington’s overall standing in the ranks of 20th-century American composers.

Teachout takes aim at the maestro’s songs, as well as his longer and larger works: the concertos, suites, and programmatic pieces.

Regarding songs, his major objection has nothing to do with form, but with process—the fact that Ellington “poached” (his word) key strains, melodies (“licks”) from his own orchestra members, oftentimes not sharing songwriter credits with them.

And why did Duke do this? Not because he had the talent to recognize a good melody when he heard one, but because, as the Wall Street Journal critic implies, he was incapable of coming up with a good tune all by himself, simply not a “melodist.” In other words, Duke stockpiled other people’s melodies, much like comedian Milton Berle stockpiled other people’s jokes.

True, the inspiration of many Ellington songs came from others. Hence, according to Teachout, Ellington is a collaborative composer, a qualification that detracts from his status in comparison with other composers.

Here is the rub: For this re-categorization to hold, we can’t consider Ellington in isolation. We know a lot about the musical Ellington, but what about other composers? Where did they get their inspiration? From whom did they poach? And who did they collaborate with? Certainly with their lyricists, orchestrators, show directors, and producers. But to what extent?

Did George Gershwin and Richard Rodgers seclude themselves in underground, soundless caves, only to later emerge with their conjured musical phrases etched on stone tablets? Of course not.

To one degree or another, their melodies reflected aspects of the world around them in collaboration with other human beings. The process by which their tunes came about may not be as well known as Ellington’s. But it cannot be assumed that they did not draw from sources outside themselves. Teachout’s charge of radical Ellington collaboration is overblown.

I believe it is the maestro’s larger and longer works that separate him from most (if not all) of his fellow composers. Here, our intrepid critic is downright skeptical, dismissing Ellington’s early large-scale works Creole Rhapsody, Symphony in Black, Reminiscing in Tempo, Black, Brown and Beige, and Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue as inferior; referring to his theatrical efforts Jump for Joy, Beggar’s Holiday, A Drum Is a Woman, and My People as second-rate or worse; categorizing his late-career suites Such Sweet Thunder, Far East Suite, Latin American Suite, and the Afro-Eurasian Eclipse as no more than fitfully inspired, with few solos interesting enough to justify their length; and eschewing Ellington’s Sacred Concerts as lacking memorable themes.

Over the years, as Teachout documents, music critics have slammed Ellington’s masterworks as formless and shallow, aimless, less than unified, slight, not good enough, pretentious, and patchwork, as well as lacking indelible melodies, harmonic direction, and structural cohesion.

Teachout drags out all the disparaging remarks, and by not challenging them, the assumption can be drawn that he is endorsing them.

When the critics are not characterizing the maestro’s music as “floor show music for tourists,” they target his “mosaic” method of composition, which they see as a string of unrelated cameos, especially not suited for large-scale works bearing the name concerto or suite.

Teachout also singles out the mosaic composer’s penchant for falsifying true inspirations for songs and taking preexisting compositions and shoehorning them into fresh thematic works. It matters little at this remove that “Harlem Air Shaft” had nothing to do with life in a Harlem apartment, or that “The Star-Crossed Lovers” on Such Sweet Thunder had nothing to do with Shakespeare’s plays, or that “Isfahan,” on the Far East Suite, was originally named “Elf” before the orchestra even toured the Far East.

All this inside baseball stuff is interesting, but it doesn’t matter when you listen to Ellington’s music in 2018.

In conclusion, Teachout says, “The majority of Ellington’s critics agree that he was at his best in the forties,” and then quotes composer/conductor Gunther Schuller: “[Duke] never really understood the nature of the problem he was facing in undertaking to write in larger forms.”

Then Teachout states, “It is a verdict in which most scholars concur, though it does not diminish his stature in the least.”

Oh, yes it does, Mr. Teachout.

You may say Duke is still one of the greatest of composers of any kind in the history of American music, but by letting all the trash talk stand without challenging it one bit, it does diminish his stature.

Could anyone who has read your book, taken your conclusions at face value ever honestly believe that Ellington is America’s premier composer, outranking his Great American Songbook peers Harold Arlen, Irving Berlin, Hoagland Carmichael, George Gershwin, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, and Richard Rodgers, among others? To say nothing of Eurocentric American composers like Aaron Copland or Charles Ives?

Could those readers believe that Duke even belongs in that elite Songbook group?

CODA
Numerous books have been written about the Great American Songbook composers, individually and collectively. None of these books has attempted to rank the various composers, perhaps out of respect for the individuals involved. Nonetheless, isn’t it about time for someone to conduct such a study involving a large number of experts? It would be welcomed, that’s for sure.

A model for such exists. Ten years ago, Hal Leonard published The Fifty Greatest Jazz Piano Players: Ranking, Analysis & Photos by Gene Rizzo. Setting aside both major and minor quibbles with that effort, the book remains a valuable reference. While open for debate, the number of composers considered should be less than 50, preferably less than 15.

The biggest hurdle to overcome is the number of experts and their identity (and secondarily, a funding mechanism for such an endeavor).

So who do you think is the greatest American composer? And who are the top 15? And why?
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Duke Ellington: America’s Premier Composer?

3/28/2018

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Ellington at Hurrican Club
Duke Ellington directing his orchestra at the Hurricane Club, 1943. Photo: Gordon Parks.
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In 2006, the Atlantic magazine compiled a list of the 100 most influential Americans of all time. Two musicians made the list: Louis Armstrong and Elvis Presley. At least they got one right! (Kidding, of course.)

The two were selected from a short list prepared by drama and music critic Terry Teachout: Louis Armstrong, George Gershwin, Aaron Copland, Elvis Presley, and Bob Dylan. Teachout had this to say about his second pick:

Of all inspired artists who created what is now called the Great American Songbook, it was Gershwin who did the most to infuse it with quintessentially American sounds of ragtime and jazz . . . At the same time, he produced a series of pop-flavored concert works, starting with Rhapsody In Blue, in which he pioneered the crossover genre, and in Porgy and Bess, he tore down the wall that had separated opera from musical comedy.

So, here we have the author of Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington picking George Gershwin and Aaron Copland over Ellington.

Hmmm.

See my review of Teachout’s book in next month’s post.

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Book Review: Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends

1/29/2018

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Left to right: Steve James (Duke's nephew), Lillian Terry, Billy Strayhorn, and Duke Ellington in his hotel suite, Juan-le-Pins, France, July, 1966. Photo by Herbie Jones.
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Every once in a while a book arrives that offers new insights—sheds new light—on the personalities that populate the sub-milieu that is jazz. One such recently published book is Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends: On and Off the Record with Jazz Greats by Italian jazz singer, radio and TV journalist, and producer Lilian Terry.

Making an artist feel at ease came naturally to her, and that, along with a superb journalistic sense, allowed her to uncover fresh understandings of the likes of Duke Ellington, Abby Lincoln and Max Roach, Horace Silver, Ray Charles, Bill Evans, and Dizzy Gillespie.

You can sense that her subjects admired her for her talent, as well as for her innate ability to give as well as take without a trace of intimidation felt by either party. We learn anew of the various ticks, quirks, and idiosyncrasies of Master Ellington as if learning about them for the very first time—his playfulness, flirty attitude, attentiveness, literary sense, generosity, and superstitions.

We also learn how “La plus belle Lil” came to record one of the gems in the Ellington/Strayhorn canon, the focus of this review.

“Star-Crossed Lovers”
In July 1966, Lilian arrived at the Antibes Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festival on the French Riviera where she would sing with her trio and conduct interviews with Duke Ellington and other artists for her weekly radio show on the Italian radio network.

Backstage one afternoon, she approached her favorite soloist with the Ellington orchestra, altoist Johnny Hodges:

“I’m a passionate fan of your rendition of ‘Star-Crossed Lovers.’ . . . Is there any chance you could play it tonight?”

“Nope, sorry, we haven’t played it in years . . . Let’s go ask [Duke].” [1]

They did, and received his go-ahead.

That night, our inquisitive interviewer joined the French TV crew in the wings to watch the band’s performance. The maestro steered the orchestra through their lengthy set, wrapping it all up with a long closing number featuring Johnny Hodges:

The audience sent wave after wave of enthusiastic applause [in his direction]. Hodges, standing in front of the orchestra, turned to Ellington and then motioned with his head toward [Lillian in the wings. With an amused smile, Ellington then went to the microphone.] “A lady has come all the way from Rome and she’s asked for a couple of numbers from our Shakespearean Suite “Such Sweet Thunder” . . . let’s do the one which is Romeo and Juliet. And the Bard called them the star-crossed lovers!” [2]

At concert’s close, Lil waited for the orchestra leader to descend the stage steps. Duke graciously acknowledged her thanks and invited her to an after-party at his hotel suite where he introduced her to the song’s composer, Billy Strayhorn. She took the opportunity to confirm her passion for “Star-Crossed Lovers”:

“I’m glad you asked for it; it’s one of my favorites too.”

“I’m only sorry that it has no lyrics. I would love to sing it. And I would try to have that special, sensuous ‘Hodges sound.’ Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress.”

“And you would like to sing it? . . . Tell you what I’ll do . . . I promise I’ll send you some lyrics as soon as I get back to New York.” [3]

And he did.

Six months after the Antibes festival concluded and out of the blue, Duke informed Lil that she would be receiving an air ticket to join him and the band in Milano, Italy, for a Teatro Lirico concert in January 1967. She accepted, and when she arrived, Ellington fussed over her as other members of the band waved by, trumpeter Cat Anderson calling out: “There we go again . . . star-crossed lovers, I bet!”

The evening concert [at the Teatro] was excellent . . . Ellington was  enjoying himself, smiling at [Ms. Terry] from time to time as she stood in the wings, waiting for the moment when Hodges would play . . . Suddenly [she] realized they were actually playing their closing signature tune. [She stepped on the stage and] whispered to Ellington as he sat at the piano. “If there is no ‘Star-Crossed Lovers’, then I’ll take my sandals back” [she had gifted them to him the prior evening] . . .

The very moment the signature tune ended [Duke] went to the microphone and informed the public. “We have a request from Miss Lillian Terry, the greatest singer in Italy. She would like to hear the Romeo and Juliet theme from ‘Star-Crossed Lovers,’ the melody played by Johnny Hodges!”

Hodges got up with his alto sax and smiled at [Terry], going to the microphone. [4]


As the Bard would say, all’s well that ends well.

Some 15 years later, Lil found herself sitting at a dinner table across from jazz pianist Tommy Flanagan, Ella Fitzgerald’s accompanist for several years. A lively conversation ensued that led to Tommy asking her what songs she’d like to sing with him at the piano. “Loverman” and Strayhorn’s “Lush Life” came up first, and then Lil said,

“Ellington and Strayhorn bring to mind Johnny Hodges and his sensuous way of playing a particular ballad that has never been sung before. I told Billy of my disappointment that it had no lyrics; he promised to send me a text, and a month later . . . there it was.”
“And what song was that?”

“It’s from the suite Such Sweet Thunder” . . . Lil leaned over the table toward pianist Flanagan and he met her halfway to say in unison: ”Star-Crossed Lovers.”

He exclaimed, “I knew it! Why, do you know that’s my favorite ballad and hardly anybody plays it? And [Strayhorn] gave you the words himself? OK, let’s do it. Now which recording date would you have in mind?” [5]


On April 17, 1982, Lil recorded Lilian Terry Meets Tommy Flanagan—A Dream Come True with the Tommy Flanagan Trio, with Jesper Lindgaard on bass and Ed Thigpen on drums, for the Italian Soul Note label. Six songs were recorded, including those mentioned above plus Peggy Lee’s “Black Coffee,” Benny Golson’s “I Remember Clifford,” Monk’s “Round About Midnight” and a Billie Holiday favorite, “You’ve Changed.” [6]

George Avakian, at the time an independent record producer and top-line jazz artist manager, wrote flattering liner notes for the album. He noted that Europe had produced many fine instrumentalists but very few vocalists. Among them, Lilian Terry sounds the most American.

He cited her appearances at the prestigious Antibes Festival, where Lillian was the only European singer to participate, sharing the stage with Ella Fitzgerald, Anita O’Day, Nina Simone, and Mahalia Jackson [7].

The recording was an immediate success, especially in Japan but also in the United States. The ballad that surpassed—and therefore was played on the air—was “Star-Crossed Lovers. [8]”

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NOTES

  1. Lilian Terry, Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray and Friends: On and Off the Record with Jazz Greats (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2017), 4.
  2. Ibid., 5–6.
  3. Ibid., 6–7.
  4. Ibid., 14–17.
  5. Ibid., 18.
  6. Ibid., 19.
  7. George Avakian, Liner Notes, Lilian Terry Meets Tommy Flanagan: A Dream Comes True, 1982, Soul Note LP.
  8. Terry, Dizzy, Duke, 19.
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Guest Post: Book Review of Serendipity Doo-Dah

11/21/2017

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I’m pleased to present this guest post by Lance Liddle.

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You know how it works, or rather how it used to work back in the day when the GASbook ruled the airwaves—or do you?

The songwriter, usually a Jewish or a Russian immigrant, writes a catchy melody, adds a lyric (or else knows a guy who has a way with words to form a team) and starts pestering all the music publishers in Tin Pan Alley. Eventually, he succeeds in getting his masterpiece published and before you know it, he's moved from Skid Row to Park Avenue and married an heiress.

Right?

Wrong!

The first thing our young tunesmith discovers is that 9 times out of 10, the moguls who make these decisions don’t know a crotchet from a hatcheck girl!

So how does his/her song get published and become a smash hit?

Luck, fate, happy accident, maybe someone up there had sympathy with our composer.

Edward Allan Faine thinks so, and he makes a strong case for 43 of some of the world’s most loved songs from 1918–1989 (and don't forget this is just book one!) that fate took a hand in guiding them to their destiny.

I’m not going to post any spoilers save to say that they range from Richard Whiting and Richard Egan’s 1918 song "Till We Meet Again" (the discarded manuscript was rescued from a waste basket by a secretary) to Tom Petty and Full Moon Fever that, in 1989, almost didn't make it owing to a . . . read the book and find out for yourself!

Faine's style is humorous and perceptive. There’s many a chuckle and a “Well I never!” that only those whose heart has never stood still will fail to utter. I’m already on to my second reading and picking up on other gems.

A cross section of artists and composers are in there. Jazzers, popsters, rockers who all had hits, often with unlikely items in even more unlikely circumstances.

There’s also a lot of quotes from songwriters who go along with the theme of divine inspiration—melodies or lyrics that arrive out of the blue and decree that you are the one to introduce them to the world.

Like Faine’s previous books* reviewed on this site, it’s highly recommended and well worth reading—again and again.

Serendipity Doo-Dah by Edward Allan Faine

*Bebop Babies
*The Best Gig in Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974


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LANCE LIDDLE is the author of the jazz blog Bebop Spoken Here, currently number 24 in the Top 50 Jazz Blogs and Websites.

You can also follow him here:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lance.liddle
Twitter: @bebopspokenhere

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Book Review: Duke Ellington as Pianist | Part 1

7/13/2016

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Duke Ellington as Pianist
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Matthew J. Cooper. Duke Ellington as Pianist: A Study of Styles. Missoula, Montana: The College Music Society, 2013.
​
​Matthew J. Cooper, in his excellent book, Duke Ellington as Pianist: A Study of Styles, claims Ellington was three pianists in one as early as the 1940s all the way through to the end of his career: a ragtime/strider, a swingster, and a post-bop modernist. 

Few would disagree with the first two—after all, Duke’s formative years occurred during the 1920s and 1930s, when ragtime, stride, and swing were all the rage. 

But a post-bop modernist? A style we associate with the 1950s and beyond—in the 1940s? Well, maybe. Whitney Balliett had this to say about the maestro’s piano style:
​

He has had a good deal of subtle influence, particularly on pianists Thelonious Monk and Cecil Taylor . . . prodding soloists with disconcerting far-out chords . . . out Monking Monk when the spirit was on him.
​
Cooper confirms that it was Ellington who influenced Monk and Taylor and not the other way around.

​He cites Duke’s clarinetist Barney Bigard, who recalled hearing “weird chords” from the maestro’s piano as early as 1927, and jazz historian Carl Woideck, who observed that the motive in the right hand on “In a Sentimental Mood” of 1935 is remarkably similar to the opening of Monk’s “Round About Midnight” first recorded in 1947. 


Duke famously said “Sounds like he’s stealing some of my stuff” after hearing a Monk record for the very first time. Based on his analysis of several Ellington compositions, Cooper reaches the same conclusion: Monk was indeed “stealing some of his stuff” or, said less confrontationally, “could have been thinking along the same lines.” 

In his final reflection, the author acknowledges jazz critic Len Lyon’s assertion that Duke’s modernist style initiated a percussive strain in the jazz piano legacy that found expression later in the work of Monk, Randy Weston, McCoy Tyner, and Cecil Taylor, although the latter two lacked the maestro’s economy of notes.
 
Taylor has openly acknowledged his debt to Ellington. Yet, as Cooper’s scholarship asserts, at the same time Duke was pioneering modernist piano, he would fall back regularly on his ragtime/stride and swing roots.

Coda
​Duke Ellington as Pianist contains numerous detailed transcriptions accompanied by analytical discourse that is mostly beyond the comprehension of the ordinary unschooled music fan. 

Nonetheless, these technical details should not deter jazz fans from reading and enjoying the book. The gist of Cooper’s musical argument is always discernible, and the additional historical and biographical information the author provides is—in and of itself—worth the price of the book. 

Of this I am certain, after the last page of the book has been turned: the reader will not only be rewarded with a better appreciation of the maestro’s keyboard artistry, but will henceforth concentrate a bit more on what the piano player is doing when listening to the Ellington Orchestra.
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