Category: Ellington

Book Review: “Help!” by Thomas Brothers

6/30/2019

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.

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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.

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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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50th Anniversary of the Ellington Birthday Tribute

4/29/2019

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The White House tribute to Ellington began with Nixon reading the Medal of Freedom citation. Credit: Ollie Atkins, National Archives.

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One of the grandest events ever held at the White House occurred 50 years ago on Duke Ellington’s seventieth birthday, April 29, 1969. It began with a banquet in the State dining room, followed by a ceremony in the East Room, where Duke received the Medal of Freedom from President Nixon, who then, at the piano, accompanied guests in a joyous rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

Next up, a 90-minute concert by jazz all-stars playing 27 Ellington tunes. This was followed by a jam session (guests, military, all stars) that lasted until two in the morning. A summary of this stellar event excerpted from my White House jazz book The Best Gig in Town appears below.

ELLINGTON ALL-STARS BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE*
On the evening of April 29, 1969, President Nixon awarded the Medal of Freedom to Duke Ellington—the first time in United States history anyone in jazz had been so honored. To pay tribute to the maestro, a stunning array of jazz greats assembled in the East Room of the White House (another first) and performed twenty-seven Ellington songs in a ninety-minute concert.

This stellar evening will undoubtedly be remembered as one of the most glittering in the history of the White House.[1]

Both Ellington and jazz had to travel a decades-long journey to have their music heard at the presidential mansion. Born at the turn of the twentieth century in New Orleans and its environs, jazz spread slowly at first and then caught like wildfire in the 1920s as it swept through major cities, including Washington, DC. Yet one spot in the nation’s capital remained impenetrable to this new music for forty years.

Starting in the 1930s, Ellington took steps to bring jazz to the White House, arranging an audience with President Hoover in 1931. Despite being publicized in the newspapers, the meeting never took place. Three years later, Duke tried again, this time with the Roosevelts, but he was politely rebuffed.

It took nearly three more decades for jazz to make its first appearance: President Kennedy invited the Paul Winter Sextet to perform at the White House in 1962, following their overseas tour. But still no Duke. Then finally, in 1965, during Lyndon Johnson’s tenure, Ellington and his orchestra were invited to give the final performance at the White House Festival of the Arts on the South Lawn. At age sixty-six, he had at last arrived.[2]

Hopes for the jazz precedent set by Johnson, some people feared, would not carry forward under Nixon, who was not known by any stretch of the imagination to be a jazz aficionado. Happily, their fears were unfounded.

As to who initially conceived the idea of a White House party for the maestro on his seventieth birthday on April 29, 1969, all evidence points to his public relations man, Joe Morgen, Duke’s representative for more than twenty years.

After laying the groundwork for this singular event with his Washington contacts, Morgen was distressed to learn that Ellington was cool to the plan. In his memoir, Duke’s son Mercer discloses that his father’s reluctance to accept stemmed from his concerns about allying too much with one political party. “Joe insisted and insisted until ultimately [sister] Ruth indicated that she wanted the party to take place. Then Pop agreed to it.”[3]

Willis Conover. Wikimedia.

To produce a concert of such importance, the White House chose someone with connections, organizational skills, and stewardship: Willis Conover. For the previous fourteen and a half years, as a consultant to the State Department, Conover had broadcast music twice daily, six days a week, worldwide, via the Voice of America.

He was well known to President Nixon—and to the world—as the voice of American music, the voice of jazz. In short order, Conover assembled an all-star band for the Ellington tribute, consisting of a four-piece rhythm section and a six-horn front line, complemented by two singers, three guest pianists, and a conductor.

When the big night arrived, the guest of honor, accompanied by his sister, Ruth, stood with President and Mrs. Nixon in a reception line to welcome the quests. After the banquet in the State Dining Room, everyone moved en masse to the East Room, where Nixon presented the Medal of Freedom to Ellington. Much to the audience’s surprise, the president sat at the piano and led everyone in singing “Happy Birthday.”

It was now time for the concert. As master of ceremonies, Conover introduced the Ellington songs—from “Take the ‘A’ Train” to “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” to “It Don’t Mean a Thing”—performed by such jazz giants as Dave Brubeck, Earl “Fatha” Hines, J. J. Johnson, Gerry Mulligan, and Clark Terry. The audience responded with booming applause throughout the evening.[4]

Mary Mayo singing the familiar “Mood Indigo” backed by trombonist J. J. Johnson. Credit: Ollie Atkins, National Archives.

At the boisterous jam session that followed the concert, guests danced to the music of marine, all-star, and guest musicians, including jazz notables Dizzy Gillespie, Marian McPartland, and Willy “the Lion” Smith. The party lasted until sometime after 2 a.m.

Ellington and Willie “the Lion” Smith sharing a piano bench at the jam session following the all-star concert. Credit: Harvey Georges, Associated Press.

The excitement of Duke’s birthday bash no doubt influenced Nixon to schedule subsequent jazz soirees. At some point, after listening to the featured musicians that night, he told Leonard Garment, “If this is jazz, we should have more of it at the White House.”[5]

This singular White House jazz event reverberated throughout the jazz arts community like none other before. It was about recognition, about respect, and about honor. It reverberates still.

Ellington’s tribute also had an enormous impact on the African American community and on the millions worldwide who viewed a USIA documentary of the event (a White House first) and listened to radio broadcasts over Voice of America on Willis Conover’s daily jazz program.

Jazz critic Leonard Feather, one of the after-dinner guests, later wrote this about the evening:

It would have been easy to write off the whole affair cynically as a political ploy. True, it redounded to the president’s benefit . . . nevertheless, what took place that night transcended questions of either politics or race. . . .

Respectability was the name of the game, and respectability is what Ellington, more than any other man living or dead, had brought to jazz in his music, his bearing, and his impact on society.[6]

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*Excerpted from The Best Gig in Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974.

To learn more about the tribute, read Ellington at the White House, 1969. Packed with details and photos, it not only covers that amazing evening, but also presents a history of early jazz at the White House.

NOTES

For a full account of the Ellington tribute, including details about the jazz all-stars and the music performed during the concert, see Edward Allan Faine, Ellington at the White House, 1969 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2013).
A short clip of the Paul Winter Sextet at the White House on November 19, 1962, is available for viewing here under “Count Me In.” The sextet was, in fact, the first entertainment of any kind filmed at the president’s mansion; Harvey G. Cohen, Duke Ellington’s America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 498–99.
Mercer Ellington with Stanley Dance, Duke Ellington in Person: An Intimate Memoir (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1978), 186.
The recording of the all-star concert is available on CD: Duke Ellington 1969: All-Star White House Tribute, Blue Note, 2002.
Terence M. Ripmaster, Willis Conover: Broadcasting Jazz to the World (Lincoln, NE: iUniverse, 2007), 142.
Leonard Feather, From Satchmo to Miles (New York: Stein and Day, 1974), 57.

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Armstrong and Ellington: Two Masters of Modernism

3/30/2019

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Louis Armstrong (left, 1953) and Duke Ellington (right, 1954)

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Thomas Brothers in his biography Louis Armstrong: Master of Modernism draws an interesting parallel between two landmark jazz recordings: Armstrong’s West End Blues (1928) and Duke Ellington’s Black and Tan Fantasy (1927).

Compositionally, the two are near identical, and the Pops biographer suggests Ellington may have had a hand in West End Blues, although there is no direct evidence for such.

Brothers characterizes Armstrong’s West End Blues as resembling “a ‘fantasy’ or a ‘rhapsody,’ a type of piece that makes no pretense of integrating the parts into a coherent whole but, rather, offers delight in the unpredictable unfolding of different sound images, one after the other.”

He would have characterized Duke’s piece in the same way. Brothers further suggests (tongue in cheek, perhaps) that if Armstrong had been interested in crafting an image of himself as a composer (as Ellington certainly did), he would have named his opus West End Fantasy.

The structural similarity in the compositions, however, in my opinion, did not require a direct or indirect influence one way or another. It resulted from a common understanding the two composers had about the music they were creating—one with more variety and discontinuity than the unity and coherence prevalent in the then dominant Eurocentric music and one with an African foundation that came out of an American experience.

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Armstrong would become the central figure in the history of jazz for his solo playing and singing. Ellington would become its finest composer. His musical creations often used “the unpredictable unfolding of different sound images, one after the other” to the consternation of his critics, but to the delight of his many fans.

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Looking Back 50 Years: Notable Jazz Albums of 1968

12/31/2018

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Photo: Adobe Stock / JB

In the Jazzman of the Year category in the December 1968 DownBeat Reader’s Poll, magazine readers singled out, in order, vibraphonist Gary Burton, trumpeter Miles Davis, composer Duke Ellington, drummer Buddy Rich, and trumpeter Don Ellis. With a few exceptions, that sounded about right.

Gary Burton

Gary Burton not only represented a new voice on an instrument few in jazz opt to play, but also put forth a new concept on what he chose to play in a combo setting, as evidenced by his four albums in circulation that year: Duster (1967), Lofty Fake Anagram (1967), A General Tong Funeral (1967), and In Concert (1968).

The vibist’s two-handed, four-mallet approach spun soft, dreamy aural chords that separated him from his forebears on the instrument: Lionel Hampton, Red Norvo, Milt Jackson, and Bobby Hutcherson.

Conceptually, Burton chose to synthesize jazz and rock (even country at times), becoming one of the first jazz players to do so, though not as aggressively as later groups Miles Davis, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Mwandishi, Return to Forever, Lifetime, and Weather Report, giving these Johnny-come-lately outfits permission to use rock beats and distorted guitar in a jazz performance.

The guitarist on Tong Funeral is rising star Larry Coryell. Overall, the album comes across like a soundtrack to a theatrical performance, no doubt influenced by pianist Carla Bley, who would later expand on this construct in her epic Escalator over the Hill (1971).

Miles Davis

The Miles Davis Second Great Quintet—sidemen saxophonist Wayne Shorter, pianist Herbie Hancock, Bassist Ron Carter, and drummer Tony Williams—continued apace with the previous year’s stunning Miles Smiles album by releasing Sorcerer and Miles in the Sky.

Both received top-rated reviews in DownBeat. The leader once again won top honors in the trumpet and combo categories in both the DownBeat critics and readers polls. Moreover, the trumpeter’s frontline star players also issued notable albums of their own.

Wayne Shorter

Wayne Shorter received DownBeat’s top rating for Adam’s Apple, a quartet effort backed by his totally telepathic and adventurous piano partner, Herbie Hancock, along with bass and drums. The album is known for its compositions—“El Gaucho,” for example—but especially for the jazz standard “Footprints.”

With this release, the idea began to build in the jazz community that Shorter was much more than a soloist—indeed, a composer of merit likely to join the ranks of John Lewis, Charles Mingus, and Duke Ellington.

Herbie Hancock

Herbie Hancock’s Speak Like a Child, an experimental, slithery abstract combining of flugelhorn (Thad Jones), bass trombone (Peter Phillips), and alto (Jerry Dodgion), did not move the needle at the time.

Today, however, this album with its interesting, simple melody sound clouds has gained an appreciative audience. Another way to put it: Miles Davis had his Birth of the Cool, and Herbie had his Speak Like a Child.

Duke Ellington

Duke Ellington and his orchestra followed their 1967 outstanding Far East Suite with a homage to Duke’s composing and arranging partner Billy Strayhorn: And His Mother Called Him Bill.

Far East Suite is my number one favorite, And His Mother, featuring all Strayhorn tunes, is my number two. In my opinion, Duke’s mid-1960s band is the equal of the maestro’s famed late ’30s/early ’40s Webster-Blanton band and deserves a name unto itself. Perhaps Ellington’s Second Testament band? Nope, that name’s taken by the Basie aggregation.

The reason why it’s so difficult to come up with a proper moniker is that it had not one or two but numerous outstanding soloists at or near their peak: Paul Gonsalves (tenor), Johnny Hodges (alto), Harry Carney (baritone), Jimmy Hamilton (clarinet), Cootie Williams (trumpet), Rufus Jones (drums), and, of course, Duke Ellington (piano). Band nickname aside, And His Mother is the Ellington ’60s band at its peak—the same could be said for altoist Johnny Hodges.

As Nelson Riddle was to Frank Sinatra and as Lester Young was to Billy Holiday, Billy Strayhorn was to Johnny Hodges. Stray’s compositions brought out that special, sensuous Hodges sound. As singer/author Lillian Terry recently put in her book Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends, “Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress!”

Yes—as on Hodges’s tribute to Strayhorn on “Blood Count,” “After All,” and “Day Dream,” the latter a late-at-night, sob-in-your beer favorite. The flip side of the Hodges coin—the bluesy side—Billy knew all too well, as illustrated on “Snibor,” “The Intimacy of the Blues,” and “Acht O’Clock Rock.”

Buddy Rich

Buddy Rich and his big band remained hot throughout the year with both the jazz public and DownBeat readers, who awarded the drummer a second place finish in the Album of the Year category for his appropriately titled The New One.

Don Ellis

Riding high on his 1967 breakout year, Don Ellis received 1968 Album of the Year honors for Electric Bath from DownBeat readers. Critic Harvey Siders, who awarded the album five stars, described Ellis’s chart for his orchestra as nervous, frenetic, and exciting—unconventional meter, the acoustic incense of Eastern rhythms added by “now” twang of sitars, tape loop delays, and sometimes abrasive clash of quarter tones.

Other critics heard it differently and did not characterize the band as exciting. Magazine subscribers sided with Siders.

Rahsan Roland Kirk

Multi-instrumentalist Rahsan Roland Kirk—tenor saxophone, manzello, stritch, flute, and other assorted instruments, like the oboe played individually or two or three at a time—released The Inflated Tear, another energetic carnival of sound, and one of his best albums of the ’60s.

John Coltrane

John Coltrane, who passed in 1967, took his place in the upper echelons of jazz immortals, alongside Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, and Charlie Parker.

Two of Coltrane’s albums, the now classic Impressions and Om, were reviewed in DownBeat in 1968; the former received five stars, the latter four. The torchbearers, the tenor men closest to him stylistically and personally, forged ahead with new albums: Albert Ayler (In Greenwich Village), Pharoah Sanders (Tauhid), and Archie Shepp (In Europe).

Aretha Franklin

Lastly, singer Aretha Franklin passed in August of 2018. Fifty years ago, DownBeat published a feature article on Aretha. In its Reader Poll issue, the Queen of Soul finished second to the one and only Ella Fitzgerald in the female singer category. For a magazine primarily focused on jazz, this was high praise indeed.

In my book Serendipity Doo-Dah Book One, I included a short piece on Ms. Franklin, covering her rise to prominence when she switched to Atlantic Records in 1967 and her recovery from her mid-career slump in 1977. Read it here.

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Native Dancer: A Tribute to 2018 Kennedy Center Honoree Wayne Shorter

11/30/2018

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Wayne Shorter. 2006. Photo credit: Tom Beetz.

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When most jazz fans think of Wayne Shorter, they are likely to conjure up one or more of his Blue Note albums (e.g., Juju), and/or one or more of his Miles Davis albums (e.g., Miles Smiles), and/or one or more of his Weather Report albums (e.g., Heavy Weather). My first thoughts, however, run to Native Dancer, that hybridized, outlier collaboration with musicians from Brazil. When the LP came out in 1975, I bought six copies and gave five to friends—I loved it that much.

Wayne had featured several Brazilian rhythm tracks on previous albums. Still, as Shorter biographer Michelle Mercer wrote,

No one was prepared for the deeply affecting sound of Wayne’s Native Dancer recording. It was unlike any Brazilian music most Americans had ever heard. The record’s first few notes introduced a voice, one that had to be the most potent falsetto on the planet [belonging] to Brazilian pop star and composer Milton Nascimento [to which] Wayne married jazz to Milton’s melodies in a kind of holy union that made other Brazilian jazz efforts of the time [Jazz Samba, Getz /Gilberto] seem like one-night stands. (1)

Having first learned of Nascimento from jazz pianist Herbie Hancock, Wayne covered one of the singer/songwriter’s tunes on a Blue Note album in 1970. Inevitability, one often realizes, dictated a shared recording date. With his Portugese wife Ana Maria’s encouragement, Wayne arranged to have Milton and two musical associates stay at his house in Malibu where they lived, and worked for two weeks, going to the studio to record Native Dancer on September 12, 1974.

Shorter recognized that if you have a one-of-a-kind singer, one who had assimilated the bossa nova of his fellow countrymen, along with the Gregorian chants of his remote Catholic church in the hinterlands, into a self-styled alto yodel (some called it) or his female voice (Milton called it), then a hybrid album—not a jazz album, not a Brazilian album—but a hybrid should be made. And that’s what Wayne did.

Along with him and Herbie Hancock, there were three Brazilians:

Milton, Wagner [Tiso], and Robertinho [Silva]. There were also two players from the pop scene, Dave McDaniel, a bassist with Joe Cocker, and Jay Graydon, a guitarist, producer, and songwriter. There was Dave Amaro, [Brazilian singer] Flora Purim’s guitarist, on a couple of tunes, and [husband, percussionist] Airto [Moreira] on most of them. The engineer was Rob Fabroni, who had worked with The Band and other rock groups. And finally, Jim Price, a multi-instrumentalist who had worked with the Rolling Stones, produced the record. (2)

The album opens with “Ponta De Areia,” a singsong, nursery school melody over an unusual 9/8-meter sung by Milton in his liquid, instrumental-like wordless falsetto voice. Heard underneath is a shadow piano melody by Herbie. The other singer on the date, Wayne, enters smoothly on his soprano saxophone, repeating the childlike melody before he joins Milton in a duet. “Ponta” ends as it begins except for Waynish obligatos underneath.

Perhaps fearing the first-track exotica might be a bit much for first-time listeners, Wayne follows “Ponta” with his own composition, “Beauty and the Beast.” A solid toe-tapper that begins with hesitant, funky block chords by Herbie that segues into a strong, melodic statement by Wayne, then alternates back and forth between the two as the tune continues; ostensibly one is “Beauty,” the other, Beast.” At song’s end they are one in the same.

Nascimento sings “Tarde” clearly, softly, yet another display of his tremendous vocal range. For this luxurious mood piece, Wayne pulls out his first instrument—tenor sax—and plays a romantic solo over a Hammond organ cushion. Milton reenters with a sweeping, wordless falsetto behind Wayne’s tenor excursions, pauses for a spell, then returns with an even higher-pitched falsetto.

Hancock later remarked, “After Wayne soloed, when Milton would come back in, you couldn’t even tell it was a voice. Because when Wayne played, it sang, and Milton’s singing has an instrumental quality to it.” (3)

Milton begins “Miracle of the Fishes” wordlessly, wailing away, then slips in some lyrics along with the wail as Wayne, on tenor again, joins in with gusto. The free-spirited pair soar off together, not so much as an energetic vocal/sax duo, but more like a saxophone cutting contest that might take place on the fringes of avant jazz. The backup musicians (organ, guitar, drums, percussion) are exceptional in this unrestrained, up-tempo romp.

Shorter is back on soprano for the lovely ballad “Diana,” named for the newborn daughter of Flora Purim and Airto, ably supported by pianist Hancock.

Nascimento wrongly titled “From the Lonely Afternoons”—should have been “Lovely” or “Happy.” The singer-songwriter sails a wordless vocal over the band’s jumping, finger-snapping groove that compels Wayne on tenor to spread a Coltraneish flurry of notes over the head-bobbing musical stew. At the close, other voices (members of the band?) join Milton before Wayne declares “Good Afternoon.”

Critic Howard Mandel, who awarded Native Dancer five stars in DownBeat magazine, was especially enamored by the saxist’s homage to his wife “Ana Maria,” writing, "A lovely line is offered again and again with the slightest embellishment, gradually blossoming into a large, encompassing circle that Hancock laces with sweeping and graceful runs.” (4)

As revealed by Shorter biographer Mercer:

Milton sang “Lilia” with wordless vocals [as he did on several others], which was for him a style born of necessity and perfected under pressure. Under Brazil’s military dictatorship in the sixties and seventies, the ruling regime monitored pop music, censoring anything seemingly rebellious . . . When Milton recorded [an album] in 1973, the censors denied clearance on several of its songs. His record company asked him to write new lyrics. But Milton didn’t want to play the military’s editing game . . . So Milton protested by singing without words, using his voice in an instrumental role. (5)

And did he ever on “Lilia.” A trebly “LaLaLaAyeAyeAyeYa-eeea” wail over a bouncy organ-piano-guitar broken 5/4 meter rhythm–his “alto yodel almost indistinguishable from Shorter’s airily ethereal soprano sound, which draws the song to a climax by ringing out one tone against a shifting rhythm bed.” (6) Whew!

Wayne’s soprano settles into a gentler approach on Hancock’s introspective “Joanna’s Theme,” which closes the album. The four non-Nascimento tunes on the recording—this one, plus “Diana,” “Ana Maria,” and “Beauty and the Beast”—are collectively gorgeous and belong on this intriguing album, largely because of the uncanny similarity between the principal soloists’ voices.

This album has little precedent (that I can think of). Jazz musicians have worked with vocalists from the very beginning, but mostly in a backup role, and either way, too. Instrumentalists backing up the vocalist, or the opposite, singers backing up the front line instruments. For example, choral groups have backed up trumpeter Donald Byrd, pianist Andrew Hill, and guitarist Kenny Burrell.

As for the other way around, we can turn to, of course, Duke Ellington and “Creole Love Call,” the Ellington composition best known for its vocal by singer Adelaide Hall. It was the first 100 percent nonverbal scat vocal in jazz. (7) Duke followed up on the use of the human voice as an instrument, especially on “Mood Indigo,” with its famed tri-part opening. In recent times, soprano saxophonist Steve Lacy would often use the voice of wife, Irene Aebi, along with the other frontline instruments.

Simply put, Native Dancer is one of the greatest albums of the late 20th century; and for this alone, Wayne Shorter deserves to be a Kennedy Center honoree.

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NOTES

Michelle Mercer, Footprints: The Life and Work of Wayne Shorter (New York: Jeremy Tarcher/Penquin, 2007), 164.
Mercer, Footprints, 169.
Mercer, Footprints, 173.
Howard Mandel, Wayne Shorter, Native Dancer review, DownBeat magazine, 1965.
Mercer, Footprints, 171.
Mandel, Native Dancer Review, DownBeat.
Ann Powers, Good Booty: Love and Sex, Black & White, Body and Soul In American Music (New York: Dey Street Books, 2017), 27.

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Nixon and the Ellington Medal of Freedom

7/31/2018

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Nixon presents the Medal of Freedom to Duke Ellington. 1969.

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When President Nixon awarded Duke Ellington the Medal of Freedom in 1969, it was only the seventh time the nation’s highest civilian honor had been awarded to a musician. And, of course, it was the first given to an African American and to a jazz musician. And that was truly special!

Since 1962, after JFK awarded the first to Pablo Casals, US presidents have been handing out Freedom Medals like they were Cracker Jacks prizes, dispensing them to more than 500 individuals, an average of more than 10 per year. Unwittingly or not, our chief executives have devalued the citation. Clearly, we can all agree, the award today is not as special as the one Duke received.

In December 2013, President Obama continued the top medal largesse, awarding a total of 16, one to former President Clinton, as if he needed another trophy. In Obama’s defense, all presidents prior to Clinton got one too, save for Nixon.

One went to jazz trumpeter and Cuban émigré Arturo Sandoval, an obvious act of political correctness. The ethnic breakdown of the other 15 honorees: one Asian, four black, and 10 white. Gender wise: 10 men, five women.

Sandoval is a mighty fine trumpeter and composer. But how many long-term jazz fans would select him over saxophone masters Sonny Rollins or Wayne Shorter, for example? Very few. And how many jazz fans would select reedman Charles Lloyd or saxophonists Joe Lovano or Ornette Coleman or pianist Keith Jarrett over Arturo Sandoval? The body of work and influence of the aforementioned living jazz alternatives far exceeds that of Mr. Sandoval.

Who would you have given the medal to?

For the record, the below lists past jazz recipients of the Medal of Freedom, by year:

Duke Ellington	1969
Eubie Blake	1981
Mabel Mercer	1982
Count Basie	1985
Frank Sinatra	1985
Pearl Bailey	1988
Ella Fitzgerald	1992
Arturo Sandoval	2013

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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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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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Blue Rose: The Clooney/Ellington Collaboration

2/28/2018

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In preparation for Duke Ellington’s 70th birthday tribute dinner at the White House in 1969, President Nixon asked the maestro to submit a list of people he would like to see invited. Ellington submitted 135 names, and the White House sent out invitations to all save one—Frank Sinatra (but that’s another blog).

Five female singers were invited, but only Mahalia Jackson accepted. The gospel diva had crossed Duke’s career path in 1957 when she lent her talents to his reworking of the Black, Brown and Beige suite for Columbia Records.

The songbirds who sent in their regrets:

Contralto Marion Anderson, who had known Duke for decades, and sat with him on President Nixon’s Advisory Council on the Arts
Diahann Carroll, who starred in the 1961 film Paris Blues that Duke scored
Leslie Uggams, who appeared with Duke on several televised variety shows
Rosemary Clooney, who collaborated with Duke and the orchestra on the 1956 Columbia album Blue Rose

Yes, that Rosemary Clooney, the one who starred with Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, and Vera-Ellen in the movie musical White Christmas (1954) and recorded 1950s mega-sellers “Come On-a My House,” “Botcha Me,” “Hey There,” and “Mambo Italiano.”

Clooney was the first singer not drawn from the ranks of the Ellington orchestra to cut a full album with the Duke. Only two other singers had that honor: Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra.

Moreover, the idea for the project came not from Ellington, but from Rosemary. She wanted to break free of her pop chains, and Duke needed a boost in association with a high-flying AM radio and TV variety show pop star. At the time (early 1956) the maestro wandered in a frozen wilderness of public apathy and needed a breakout. Blue Rose, he must have thought, could be the icebreaker.

As it would turn out, Blue Rose would be the first album ever to be overdubbed. Ellington recorded the orchestra tracks in New York, and Rosemary added her vocals in Los Angeles.

This technical first was necessitated by the fact the singer was severely pregnant and unable to fly to New York—which also meant that the album’s designated arranger, Billy Strayhorn, had to fly back and forth between New York and California to work with Rosemary on song selection, setting of keys and tempo, and other musical matters.

The material the two chose consisted of six Ellington standards—“Sophisticated Lady,” “I Let a Song Go out of My Heart,” “It Don’t Mean a Thing,” “I Got It Bad,” “Mood Indigo,“ and “Just Sittin’ and A-Rockin’"—and three lesser known Ellington-Srayhorn collaborations—“Grievin’” and “I’m Checkin’ Out-Goombye” (both from 1939) and “If You Were in My Place” (1938)—as well as three new Ellington tunes, one of which, “Blue Rose,” had no lyrics, but came with instructions: just scat along with it.

Prominent critics Will Friedwald and Gary Giddins had nothing but high praise for the album, the latter declaring “Sophisticated Lady” to be one of the finest recorded versions ever.

To my ears, however, the results are disappointing. Ms. Clooney, known for her sultry voice, is not sultry enough, sounding a mite tense and more like pop icon Dinah Shore than any jazz singer one could name.

Rosemary chose not to stamp her mark on the famed doo-wah doo-wah riff on “It Don’t Mean a Thing,” avoiding it altogether, leaving it to the instrumentalists. Her “ba-bee be-ba be-ba ba-ba” scatting on “Blue Rose” is amateurish, but Friedwald heard it differently, calling it “superlative.”

Nonetheless, one track, “Mood Indigo,” stands out, and could very well be one of the finest on record. Strayhorn rearranged the famous clarinet-trumpet-trombone-unison opening melody for Clooney’s wordless voice plus two trombones, which almost trumps the original.

Rosemary then sings the familiar lyrics in her most relaxed voice on the album. Outstanding solos follow by trumpeter Willie Cook and the two trombones (Britt Woodman and John Sanders) in unison again.

As Ken Crossland and Malcolm MacFarlane opine in their biography Late Life Jazz: The Life and Career of Rosemary Clooney:

[While] mid-1950s sales of Blue Rose were unspectacular . . . its importance in the careers of both its protagonists cannot be overstated. For Ellington, it took him back to Columbia and opened the door for Ellington at Newport ’56, which became the best selling album of his career and launched a resurgence that sustained him until his death in 1974. [Hence, the delayed thank-you from Duke to Rosemary in the form of a White House invitation.]

For Rosemary, it convinced the girl singer from Maysville [Ohio] that she was more than just a chirruping hit-maker. The experience of working with Ellington, she said, “validated me as an American singer. My work would not fade with my generation. I had now moved into a very exclusive group. [As her many late-life Concord albums would attest.]

Perhaps I have been a little harsh in my assessment of the album in question. Take a listen to the recently released Blue Rose CD on the Columbia Legacy label, and you decide.

One thing everyone should be able to agree on is that somebody passed up a golden opportunity to have Rosemary—when her late-life jazz voice had fully developed—to re-record over the original Ellington tracks, assuming the tapes could have been found in the vaults, of course.

Now that would have been something.

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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

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

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