Coleman Hawkins - "How Deep Is The Ocean" - An Analysis

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

I came across the following analysis of what made the late tenor saxophonist Coleman Hawkins [1904-1969] such a brilliant improvisor when I was researching my three-part blog feature on How The Rhythm Section got its name in Jerry Coker’s How To Listen To Jazz 

Jerry Coker, himself a teacher, composer/arranger, and noted saxophonist, has annotated every aspect of The Hawk’s performance on the 3.26 version of How Deep Is The Ocean which appears in the following video.

I have interspersed the video at several points in Jerry’s explanation of what’s going on in Coleman’s performance to make it easier for you to stop and start the video as you are reading the annotation.

Of course, Coleman’s renown for his 1939 solo on Body and Soul but he employs some similar techniques on How Deep Is The Ocean which was recorded in 1943 around the time that Bebop was coming into existence at Minton’s Playhouse and Clark Monroe’s Uptown House in NYC. And although Coleman is not playing in the bebop style per se what he is playing sounds very “modern” and in that sense almost timeless - like a solo that could have been recorded today.

It’s no accident that Coleman hired some of the early beboppers in his bands and that the beboppers held him in high esteem both because he took a chance on employing them and because he took chances in his own approach to the music.

Here’s how Jerry explains the elements that make Coleman’s solo on How Deep Is The Ocean so unique.

COLEMAN HAWKINS on "How Deep Is the Ocean"

vehicle type:    Standard (ballad) formal structure:    A(8)-B(8)-A(8)-BA(8)

arrangement:    4-measure piano solo introduction loosely placed melody chorus by tenor saxophone, with rhythm accompaniment, improvised chorus by tenor saxophone, with soft horns and rhythm section accompaniment improvised cadenza by tenor, followed by chord

Analysis/Annotations

Coleman Hawkins was an extraordinary improviser of ballads. He also played the blues and fast tempos commend-ably, but great ballad players are rare, and it was his classic  solo on "Body And Soul" (1939) that established his reputation for inspired mastery of the ballad. Three of his ballad solos were under consideration: "Body And Soul," "Say It Isn't So," and "How Deep Is the Ocean." The last was chosen, somewhat arbitrarily, because it contains a slightly greater number of Hawkinesque elements.

1.   Note the progression, which has both slow and fast harmonic rhythms and contains chord sequences that descend in semitones (chromatic). It also uses an interesting device in the first four measures of the A sections; the chord is the same for all four of the measures, but the bass line descends chromatically, producing a change of scale without actually changing the chord. Listen carefully and you can hear this device taking place in Hawkins' solo at many points in both choruses. Often it will sound as though he is playing the descending bass notes, but adding many other notes in between each of the longer, emphasized bass notes. The progression to the entire selection would have been apparent, in sound, even if there had been no accompaniment other than  Hawkins's self-accompanying phrases.

2.   Listen to the vibrato of his opening phrase and at the end of the selection. He is sometimes identified by that vibrato, though it is deeper and more pronounced than on perhaps any of his recordings.

3.   Listen to the manner in which Hawkins phrases the melody in the first A section (his first entrance). Because he is loosely rendering the melody and because he is implying the progression between the melody phrases, it would be helpful to listen to a recording of the tune by a group or player playing the given melody in its purest, simplest form, so that the listener will know which of Hawkins' notes are from the given melody and which are not.

4.   Hawkins decorated the melody so heavily in the next two sections (B and A) that the given melody is mostly implied, and in the last eight measures of his first chorus (BA) he has virtually abandoned the given melody altogether. Jazz players in general were beginning to adopt such practices to allow more time for creative improvisation. This became unnecessary with the invention of the long-playing (33-1/3 RPM) record.

5.   The harmonic device mentioned in # 1, in which the first four measures of the A sections have only one chord but in which a descending bass line causes changes in scale, produces an interesting scale in the second measure of those four measure sections, called the whole-tone scale. The name derives from the fact that only whole steps (two semitones equal a whole step) are used in constructing the scale, causing the scale to have a distinctive sound. Listen to what Hawkins played the second measure of his second chorus, where he used the whole-tone scale, not in a way that sounds like a scale, but like descending chord patterns. In the eighteenth measure of the second chorus (which is also the second measure of an A section), he plays a nearly identical pattern. As mentioned in Chapter 4, improvisers often hear (in their mind's ear) the same pattern against the same chord repeatedly.

6.   Another example of the association between pattern and chord was supplied by "Hawk" in the twenty-first measure of the first chorus, the fifth measure of the second chorus, and the twenty-first measure of the second chorus. Each of the three locations are identical, harmonically, all being the fifth measure of an A section, and he treated each of these places with the same improvised melody (which has an arresting double-time feeling).

7.   Notice the density of notes in the sixth measure of the second chorus, where he played six notes per beat, deftly. The density level is noticeably greater throughout the second chorus, which, along with the entrance of the horn background, served to raise the intensity level.

8.  The third time he played the double-time idea mentioned in #6, he repeated the idea sequentially through the chords of the twenty-second measure (of the second chorus), leading into the highly intricate, embellished  sequences of the twenty-third and twenty-fourth measures. "Hawk" finally got finger-tied on the last one of those embellishments (going into the twenty-fifth measure), unfortunately, but it is doubtful that anyone else could have executed it as well, much less conceived such a phrase. Hawkins' sequential phrases and fancy embellishments can be found on nearly all of his recorded solos.

9. Like Louis, "Hawk" sometimes speared relatively high notes suddenly after subdued phrases, as a preacher might employ the device to regain the attention of his audience. This trait is evident in many other solos, including "Body and Soul." In "How Deep Is the Ocean," he used the device twice, on nearly identical phrases, in the twenty-sixth measure of both choruses.

10. The tempo stops on the thirty-first measure of the second chorus, where Hawkins played his virtuosic cadenza, again creating the sound of chord motion without relying upon accompaniment.

How the Rhythm Section Got Its Name - Jerry Coker -Part 3, Piano and Functions of the Rhythm Section

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

This feature is a continuation of The Rhythm Section Part 1 Drums and Part 2 Bass and Guitar which in its completed form is Chapter 3 of Jerry Coker’s excellent book.that is focused on enhancing your appreciation of the music. 

Jerry Coker, himself a teacher, composer/arranger, and noted saxophonist, has written How To Listen To Jazz to fill the need for a layman's guide to understanding improvisation and its importance in the development of this artistically rich yet complex music form. Without relying on overly technical language or terms, Jerry Coker Shows how you can become a knowledgeable jazz listener - whether you are an aspiring musician, student, jazz aficionado, or new listener.

PIANO

"Jazz piano has a very interesting history. Early jazz was heavily-dominated by pianists, and some of the jazz vehicles, like ragtime and boogie-woogie, were expressly developed for and by pianists. Many of the early bandleaders and arrangers were pianists. This trend continued through the thirties, when other instruments like saxophone and trumpet were on the rise, ascending to dominance in the forties and remaining dominant over piano during the fifties and sixties. But in the seventies the pianists are again dominant, led by players like McCoy Tyner, Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, Keith Jarrett, and Joe Zawinul, all of whom are bandleaders, composers, and arrangers for major groups.

Ferdinand "Jelly Roll" Morton was one of the first well-known jazz pianists. Morton played as a solo pianist sometimes, and at other times in a trio (adding drums and clarinet); he also led the famous Red Hot Peppers Orchestra. Morton exhibited fine control of the keyboard, one aspect of that control enabling him to slow the tempo momentarily in his right hand, while maintaining an even pulse in the left hand, a feat demonstrated by Frederic Chopin in classical music. Morton claimed to have invented jazz. This is doubtful, but it is certainly true that his playing, his compositions and arrangements (which were extremely clever), and his leadership were valuable contributions to the development of early jazz.

James P. Johnson is sometimes referred to as the father of jazz piano for a variety of reasons. His recording of "Carolina Shout" was made in 1921, making it one of the earliest jazz recordings. His long career took him through several changes of style. For example, his early style was loosely based on ragtime, which he learned from listening to piano rolls and watching the motion of the piano keys. [Many piano rolls were made by pianist-composer of rags Scott Joplin. Joplin's music is known to many people today as a result of its exposure in the successful motion picture "The Sting." Also, composer-author Gunther Schuller's ragtime chamber orchestra, organized at the New England Conservatory in 1973, has featured many Joplin rags in numerous television appearances.]

By the late thirties, Johnson had adopted both the swing and the boogie-woogie styles. Boogie woogie was based on the chord progression to the twelve-measure blues form. It was described as being "eight to the bar" because the left hand (carrying the pulse and the background) usually played eight notes in every measure. Boogie woogie took the nation by storm. It was an exhilarating pulse for dancing because of the push of the double-time feeling, and it was an achievable feat of coordination for amateur or "parlor" pianists. Jimmy Yancey, Meade Lux Lewis, and Albeit Ammons also significantly popularized the boogie-woogie piano style.

Johnson's personal style, within any of the general stylistic changes he passed through, was always more modern than that played or other pianists within the same style. One of his early recordings bore the symbolic title, "You've Gotta Be Modernistic." Johnson was equipped with excellent piano technique, and his improvisations were filled with unexpected, clever, and modern elements, such as rich, extended chordal sounds and sudden but temporary change; of key in the middle of phrases.

Fats Waller was another influential pianist of the twenties and thirties. His humorous, rollicking style was captured not only on a number of recordings but also in printed piano arrangements that featured his many original tunes. Waller was extremely popular, particularly as a singer of clever songs, insuring that his gift would be noticed.[Two songs exemplifying the Waller wit are "Sam, You Made the Pants Too Long" and "Your Feet's Too Big." At the end of "Feet's Toe Big" Fats indignantly asserts, "Your pedal extremities are obnoxious!"]

Earl "Fatha" Hines was also active in the twenties, backing up famous singers on record, playing with luminaries like Louis Armstrong, and writing successful songs. Hines' career, like Johnson's, was long, still active in the seventies. Hines is credited with influencing a number of later pianists like Stan Kenton and Nat "King" Cole. (Many people today are unaware of the fact that Cole, in addition to singing, was a major jazz pianist, winning jazz polls in the early forties.) Hines also led some star-studded orchestras, one of which featured the then young Dizzy Gillespie and Charles Parker later to become leaders of the bebop style.

Duke Ellington was also well known as a composer and bandleader of the first magnitude but it is seldom realized by jazz buffs that he was also a major pianist throughout his more than fifty years as an active player. He was already a well-known pianist in the twenties, and in the sixties he cut an album called "Money Jungle" with Charles Mingus (bass) and Max Roach (drums) that attested to his continuing ability to remain an authoritative performer in a perpetually blossoming state.

Perhaps the greatest jazz pianist of all time, both in terms of ability and influence, was the remarkable Art Tatum, who recorded profusely for more than two decades (early thirties to middle fifties), turning out dazzling performances on hundreds of standard tunes. To describe his technique as "awesome" is somehow too mild a description. Even great classical pianists like Vladimir Horowitz praised and appreciated Tatum's absolute mastery of the keyboard. His harmonies were at least a couple of decades ahead of the times, and his pulse-feeling was flawless. If Tatum had a weakness, it was his lack of original, creative melody in his improvisations. For all that phenomenal technique, he seldom played an improvised melody of any degree of potency or lasting value. Nevertheless, great pianists like Oscar Peterson, Bud Powell, Clare Fischer, Hampton Hawes, and many others were inspired by the Tatum example. Tatum's best recordings are those in which he plays alone, as he liked to squeeze extra chords into the progression or invent breaks in an unplanned, spontaneous manner, which would have been curtailed by other instruments.

Teddy Wilson, chiefly through his work with Benny Goodman's trio and quartet, was highly regarded by jazz audiences and widely imitated by pianists of the thirties and early forties.

In the Bebop Era of the forties, the major pianists were Oscar Peterson and Bud Powell (both of whom had roots in Tatum) and Thelonious Monk. Peterson's style could be described as neo-Tatum. Powell, less emphatically influenced by Tatum, developed an original sort of left-hand style and improvised searing melodies that were very similar to the kind played by alto saxophonist Charlie Parker. Up to the time of Parker, most instrumentalists had been influenced only by players who played the same instrument, but the Parker era ended that.

Thelonious Monk was a jazz musician who played and composed as an individual, seemingly unconcerned with the opinion of others about his highly unorthodox style. His touch (the way in which his fingers depressed the keys) often sounded blatantly hammered out, as one might play "Chopsticks." His melodies were angular, rhythmically disjunct, full of notes that surprise the ear; and his chord notes frequently were so clustered together as to simulate a new version of "Kitten on the Keys." Nevertheless, he was a creative genius with a deep understanding of developing melodies in the manner of variations. The beautiful jazz ballad "Round Midnight," now a standard part of the repertoire of most jazz performers, was composed by Monk. Other Monk tunes that are widely played are "Straight, No Chaser," "Monk's Mood," "Epistrophy," "Bye-Ya," and "Ruby, My Dear." Monk was a musician without precedent, and a few pianists have successfully adopted his style, though musicians of all instruments have been influenced by Monk's output.

Some of the well-known pianists of the fifties are Horace Silver (originally with Stan Getz, still leading his own group in the seventies), Erroll Garner, Wynton Kelly (with Miles Davis), and Red Garland (also with Miles Davis). Garner and Garland form the first two links in a chain that revolutionized the modern-day pianists' left-hand chording style as well as influencing some aspects of the right hand.

In the late fifties and early sixties, the jazz world was blessed with the arrival of many superb pianists, including the major pianists as of this writing [1978/1990]: McCoy Tyner (with John Coltrane), Bill Evans (originally with Miles Davis), Herbie Hancock (originally with Miles Davis, also), Keith Jarrett (originally with Charles Lloyd), and Chick Corea (with Miles Davis). Their careers are far from over, excepting Evans, so that we needn't place them historically or pinpoint their styles and their contributions at this time.

It is worth mentioning here that many of the modern pianists are availing themselves of electric pianos, electronic gadgetry, and also electronic synthesizers. The addition of such instruments has added greatly to the repertoire of tone colors available.

The discussion of the rhythm section has not included all the names worth mentioning, nor has it included performers who play less-common instruments of the rhythm section, like Gary Burton (vibraphones) or Jimmy Smith (organ). But their importance to the jazz scene is not so much their accompmental capacities, as members of a rhythm section, but as soloists of exceptional ability.

FUNCTIONS OF THE RHYTHM SECTION

It was mentioned earlier that it would be absurd to call the Oscar Peterson Trio or the Bill Evans Trio a rhythm section, though the trios are made up of piano, bass, and drums, because they function as a complete group, not as a rhythm section waiting for the arrival of the horn players. But when those instruments are embellished by horns, then at least part of this function is to accompany and inspire the horn soloists. Individually, each member of the rhythm section is responsible for something that should be provided consistently. 

The drummer is responsible for time-keeping figures that will vary only slightly through the performance. The bassist provides a bass line and supports the pulse, along with the drummer, by playing mostly steady quarter notes (one note per beat). The pianist or guitarist will supply the chord progression, supported by the bass line. The members of the rhythm section are individually and collectively responsible for responding to the rhythms and melodies of the soloist, which means that the drummer will play additional rhythms that are not part of the time-keeping figures, the bassist will occasionally alter his steady quarter-note approach, and the pianist or guitarist will improvise the rhythms with which they attack the chords, all in response to the soloist's needs for support. 

Responding does not necessarily mean to echo or imitate what the soloist has just played. It can also mean to fill open space left by the soloist between phrases or while he pauses to breathe or while he contemplates the next phrase. In other cases, the so-called response is actually an inspiring suggestion made to the soloist by the rhythm section or an individual in the section.

Collectively, it is very important that the rhythm section maintain a steady, unified pulse, retain good balance, keep place in the chord progression, guard the form of the tune, feel improvised introductions and endings (very common) together, raise intensity levels where needed, and anticipate opportunities to play rhythmic figures together in their improvised accompaniment.

The function of the pianist and that of the guitarist are, for all practical purposes, identical. Therefore, it is common to see rhythm sections which use either piano or guitar, but not both instruments, as they will collide as two drummers or bassists would, unless their functions, by prior agreement, are sufficiently different that they do not collide. Count Basie (pianist) solved the problem in his band by having his guitarist (Freddy Green) strum in steady quarter-note valued chords, while Basie used a very sparse left hand and played light, semi-melodic figures in the right hand. Miles Davis' group solved the problem in the album "In A Silent Way" (Columbia CS-9875), which uses two electric pianos, and organ, and a guitar in the rhythm section, by approaching their improvised accompaniment not so much by chording in the conventional ways but by playing colorful sounds in different registers on instruments of different timbre (tone quality).”

How The Rhythm Section Got Its Name - Jerry Coker - Part 2, Bass and Guitar

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

This feature is a continuation of The Rhythm Section Part 1 Drums which in its completed form is Chapter 3 of Jerry Coker’s excellent book.that is focused on enhancing your appreciation of the music. 

Jerry Coker, himself a teacher, composer/arranger, and noted saxophonist, has written How To Listen To Jazz to fill the need for a layman's guide to understanding improvisation and its importance in the development of this artistically rich yet complex music form. Without relying on overly technical language or terms, Jerry Coker Shows how you can become a knowledgeable jazz listener - whether you are an aspiring musician, student, jazz aficionado, or new listener.

BASS

“Although the bass seems in most jazz groups to be the heartbeat of the group, as well as the instrument best suited to carrying a bass line, the earliest jazz groups were apt to be without a string bass or to use a bass horn or tuba instead. In fact, it was quite common in the twenties and early thirties for the bass player to carry along a bass horn as well as the string bass to play on some selections. Even when the string bass became a more standard instrument in the jazz bands, its role was subdued and restricted to playing simple chord tones on the first and third beats of the measure most of the time, and he seldom, if ever, played a solo.

The liberator of the bass was Jimmy Blanton, bassist with Duke Ellington in 1940-41, who is credited with creating the walking bass line as well as producing some of the first melodic bass solos. A bass line, generally in quarter notes (one note for each beat), that moves in a scalar, semi-chromatic fashion, as opposed to two notes per measure on simple chord tones.

Blanton died very young, before his full potential was realized. Ellington recorded an album with Blanton that illustrates his great talent. In its 10" LP form of the fifties (already a reissue of the 78 RPM originals), the album was called Duos. His lead was taken by bassists of the forties, like Oscar Pettiford, Milt Hinton, Slam Stewart (who bowed his solos and hummed in unison with himself), and Curley Russell. Pettiford's impressive technique and hornlike melodic style was followed by several bass virtuosos of the fifties and sixties, like Charles Mingus, Paul Chambers (with Miles Davis), and the astoundingly swift and complex style of Scotty LaFaro. It was most unfortunate that the lives of Blanton, Pettiford, Chambers, and LaFaro were all cut short, at the height of their playing careers. Another important bassist Ray Brown, is a master of the walking bass line, playing with one of the biggest sounds possible to achieve. He played with Dizzy Gillespie and, later, with the original Modern Jazz Quartet (before Percy Heath). The MJQ was the first jazz concert chamber group. Ray then joined the Oscar Peterson Trio, beginning a long and productive association. Percy Heath is an uncommonly well-schooled bassist, having spent most of his career with the Modern Jazz Quartet. For the last decade, the giants of the bass have been Ron Carter (with Miles Davis) and Jimmy Garrison (who gained fame with the John Coltrane Quartet). Garrison, probably inspired by Mingus and Brown, was largely responsible for the use of double-stops (playing of more than one note simultaneously) in bass solos. Another strong contributor to the bass style is Charlie Haden, who is most often heard with Ornette Coleman's Quartet.

When the rock style began to permeate jazz music, many bassists switched from the acoustic bass (wooden, upright) to the electric bass. Most of them, like Ron Carter, continue to play both acoustic and electric basses. Probably no bassist today rivals Stanley Clarke (with Chick Corea) in his handling of both kinds of bass, perfectly accommodating the jazz and rock styles.

A stunning arrival on the jazz scene was bassist Jaco Pastorius (with Herbie Hancock and Weather Report), whose remarkable speed, mastery of double-stops (actually many were full, rich chords), command of the harmonics range, and tasteful use of electronic gadgetry when needed made him an overnight sensation. [Harmonics are achieved on stringed instruments by very lightly touching the strings at certain places (while plucking with the other hand, of course), causing the pitches to be much higher but related to the pitch that would have been produced had the string been depressed all the way, as it normally is.]

On Portrait Of Tracy (Epic PE 33949) he played the piece unaccompanied, supplying melody, chords, and bass line, making his bass sound much like an electric piano. His improvisations, which moved as quickly and gracefully as solos heard on any other instrument, were highly original and filled with choice melodies. Pastorius also composed and arranged music with a talent comparable to his performing level.

The bass has undergone quite a transformation. Like the drums, the bass was relatively insignificant at first, sometimes not even included in the earlier jazz groups, and the first assignments were pretty mundane. People like Blanton, Pettiford, Mingus, and LaFaro proved the instrument's virtuoso possibilities and soloing capacity, while Clarke and Pas-torius have brought the instrument to its full fruition, technically and stylistically.

GUITAR

“The earliest jazz guitarists were mostly blues singers, like Huddy Ledbetter ("Leadbelly"), who used the guitar in an almost purely accompanimental capacity. In fact, a banjo was the instrument more likely to be found in the early jazz groups. Banjoist Johnny St. Cyr was a regular member of the famous Joe "King" Oliver and Louis Armstrong Orchestras in the early and middle twenties. In time the banjo was replaced by the guitar; for a while, at least, the guitar's role in the group was somewhat limited, like those of the bass and drums. The early guitars were not amplified, played virtually no solos, and simply supplied a strumming, pulse-keeping part. Eddie Lang (with Red Nichols, Miff Mole, Joe Venuti, and other Dixieland groups of the late twenties and the thirties) was one of the first liberators of the guitar, playing solos occasionally and having a more important role to play in the rhythm section.

Charlie Christian was one of the most significant and widely imitated guitarists in jazz history. It is remarkable that Christian lived for only two years after being discovered by Benny Goodman. Although he died at the age of twenty-three, his influence has been felt by nearly every major guitarist since that time. Furthermore, Christian was simultaneously involved in two different eras of jazz history: the Swing Era (the period that was noted for the profusion of famous big bands and the jitterbug dancers) and the Bebop Era that followed. Christian's guitar was amplified electronically, and he was a heavily featured soloist. His improvising style was angular (that is, his improvised melodies contained many wide leaps) and extremely original, seemingly without precedent, though Christian claimed that Gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt was a strong influence for him.

After Christian, the guitar became a much more popular jazz instrument than before, giving rise to a number of fine guitarists during the Bebop Era (and thereafter), like Jimmy Raney (with Stan Getz), Tal Farlow (with Red Norvo), Billy Bauer (with Woody Herman and Lennie Tristano), Arv Garrison (with Charles Parker), and studio guitarist Johnny Smith (with Stan Getz). 

Perhaps the most inspiring impro-viser of that group of guitarists is Jimmy Raney, who developed a flowing, graceful improvising style that always contained interesting note choices (sometimes deriving from polychords, the stacking of two unrelated chords simultaneously). Raney was also responsible for inspiring Stan Getz to one of his finest performances as a sideman on the album, 'Jimmy Raney Plays,'' for which Raney was the composer. Ironically, Getz appears on the album under an assumed name, Sven Coolson, because he was under contract to another recording company. Getz' playing style was typical of the "cool school" (a restrained manner of playing) popular at that time.

The great master of jazz guitar, Wes Montgomery, was a self-taught player with a bittersweet career. Wes played with the Lionel Hampton Orchestra in the forties, and though already a very accomplished player and ripe for stardom, he returned to his home, Indianapolis, to live a more conventional and stable family life. It took him away from national exposure before he could rise to early fame, but the people in the Indianapolis area, especially the jazz musicians, were intensely aware of his mastery. Wes and his two

brothers, Monk (bass) and Buddy (piano), teamed up with Pookie Johnson (tenor) and Sonny Johnson (drums) to form a quintet that was legendary, performing for many years at the Turf Bar. It ranked among the finest jazz groups ever assembled. Individually, every player was an excellent soloist, and as an ensemble, their repertoire (mostly originals) was enormous, yet full of complexities in the arrangements, which were all played from memory. It was a perfect example of a group of self-taught players whose music nonetheless was expertly crafted and stylistically abreast (or ahead of) the times.

Wes Montgomery's improvising style was revelatory, especially in terms of building a solo to a point of climax, which he accomplished by playing the guitar in different ways (in themselves innovative). The first part of his solo, perhaps the first chorus or two, would be played as most players do, that is, in a single melodic line. Then in the middle of the solo, Wes would begin playing in octaves (two notes that are eight scale steps apart, bearing the same letter name but in different registers), which he could do at about the same speed as other guitarists would play single lines. Incidentally, most guitarists today will, at times, play in octaves in the manner invented by Montgomery. Then, in the next stage of his solo, Wes enlarged the octaves into tightly-compressed chords that moved in a melodic fashion, which harmonized his melodies. Finally, the compacted chords would open up into very full, widely spaced chords. By combining the various textures (single line, octaves, tight chords, and open chords), in their particular order, his solo would grow in intensity throughout its length, and the solo acquired an acute sense of order. Montgomery's sense of form also extended itself into the weaving of his melodies, each melodic fragment getting repeated, developed, and played in variations.

Suddenly, around 1959, Wes was rediscovered by the rest of the world, almost overnight, resulting in many semi-pop albums, in which Wes played tunes like "Goin' Out Of My Head" in octaves and little else. For those who knew him

well musically, it was frustrating that he finally gained deserved recognition and economic reward for his genius, but at the expense of much of his musical greatness. Wes Montgomery died just a few years after his rediscovery.

Because Montgomery brought the guitar to perfection in the existing jazz style, it is natural that, after his death, the next great guitarists, with the exception of George Benson, played in a jazz-rock style that contrasted sharply with earlier guitarists. The new giants of guitar included Larry Coryell, John McLaughlin (with Miles Davis and Mahavishnu), and John Abercrombie (with Billie Cobham). Their manner of playing involves the use of string stretching (when it is applied to sustained tones, the pitch "yaws") and a profusion of electronic gadgetry, like phase shifters, reverberation, echo-plex, fuzz-tone, and cry-baby [wah-wah]pedals, much of which originated in the rock style.”

To be continued with Piano and the Functions of the Rhythm Section in Part 3 

How The Rhythm Section Got Its Name - Jerry Coker - Part 1, Drums

© Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Since 1900, when jazz -a uniquely American music form - began to evolve, much of its allure and artistic growth has depended on the creative freedom and expressive force that improvisation allows its performers.

Jerry Coker, himself a teacher, composer/arranger, and noted saxophonist, has written How To Listen To Jazz to fill the need for a layman's guide to understanding improvisation and its importance in the development of this artistically rich yet complex music form. Without relying on overly technical language or terms, Jerry Coker Shows how you can become a knowledgeable jazz listener-whether you are an aspiring musician, student, jazz aficionado, or new listener. In addition to looking at the structure of jazz and explaining what qualities to look for in a piece, the author provides a complete chronology of the growth of jazz, from its beginnings in the rags of Scott Joplin, the New Orleans style of the 1920s made famous by Bessie Smith, Bix Beiderbecke and Louis Armstrong, the Swing Era with Benny Goodman, and Art Tatum, Be-Bop, post Be-Bop, to the greats of Modern Jazz, including Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Freddie Hubbard, and Wes Montgomery.

Also including a list of suggested recordings, a section on the improvised solo, and a complete glossary of jazz terms, How To Listen To Jazz offers you a complete introduction to the entire jazz experience... the music and those who make it.

The following excerpt forms Chapter 3 of this excellent book which every Jazz fan should have along with Ted Gioia’s treatment of How to Listen to Jazz to help enhance your appreciation of the music. 

The Rhythm Section 

The term rhythm section probably began to be used in the early days of the big jazz bands (1925-1930), when one spoke of the trumpet section, the trombone section, or the saxophone section, in other words, when there was, for the first time in jazz, multiplicity of the trumpet, trombone, and saxophone (or clarinet). In prior times, as in the New Orleans style (1890-1925), such instruments seldom appeared in numbers greater than one. But when one spoke of the remaining instruments of the big band, like the piano, guitar, bass, and drums, the term rhythm section was used, lumping together four rather dissimilar instruments that shared the common function of maintaining the pulse or beat for some eight to thirteen wind instruments, in ensemble and during solos. This is an oversimplification, of course, as their duties also included supplying chords, bass lines, solos, rhythmic settings, and even melodies. But jazz is a music "with the big beat" or an emphasized pulse, and the piano, guitar, bass, and drums are especially suited to carrying that beat.

It is probably true, however, that the name rhythm section is, when applied to today's jazz, inaccurate and degrading. The term reduces those four marvelous instruments to the function of a bass drum player in a marching band or a drone in Eastern music. We surely wouldn't refer to the Oscar Peterson Trio or the Bill Evans Trio (each made up of piano, bass, and drums) as a rhythm section, as each of these trios is an entire group, one that does not rely on wind instruments to carry melody, harmony, arrangement, or solos.

Most music of the Western world will be found to have three main structural elements: bass line, chords, and melody. In the Baroque trio of the seventeenth century, for example, the bass line was played by a viola da gamba, the chords by a harpsichord, and the melody by a wind instrument (flute, recorder, etc.) or perhaps a violin. A group of instruments like piano, guitar, bass, and drums can easily carry the three structural elements of bass line, chords, and melody (indeed all three elements could be carried by piano or guitar alone), plus the added rhythmic dimension made possible by the inclusion of drums. Doubtless, we will continue to refer to them as a rhythm section for some time, but we mustn't think of that section as existing merely to supply a "big beat."

Such misconceptions have even found their way into the minds of the musicians themselves. For example, an arranger is subject to scoring all the horn parts first, leaving the rhythm section parts for the last, sometimes not even supplying written parts for them, an omission he could hardly consider in the case of, say, the lead trumpet part. For another example, the pecking order for improvised solos in sessions and in recordings will usually direct that all the wind instruments play their solos first, giving the last (and usually shorter) solos to the members of the rhythm section, when some of their solo drive has been dampened or used up accompanying long solos by the wind instruments. Rhythm section players, then, are understandably reluctant to come to a jam session and receive more punishment, especially if there are too many horn players (as, remember, the rhythm section plays virtually all the time, regardless of who is soloing). Still another example of warped values is evident in some horn players who won't learn the chord progressions by hard work and study, but expect the guitarist, pianist, and bass player to know the progressions and supply them endlessly while the horn player tries to find his notes by ear and guesswork. It would be helpful to take a closer look at each of the instruments of the rhythm section and how they function in the jazz group.

DRUMS

It has often been stated by jazz historians that jazz rhythms have their origins in the music of West Africa. No doubt there is some truth in this, but it would be a mistake to think that jazz rhythms and West African rhythms are very much alike. The music of West Africa is far more sophisticated and complex by comparison and well beyond the grasp of jazz drummers, even black drummers, as their color and ancestry cannot overcome several centuries of detachment from African culture. Even the music played at Congo Square in New Orleans by the blacks who gathered there in the late nineteenth century was already a diluted form of West African music, and the unusual rhythm instruments used there were largely at variance with the instruments of West Africa. Whatever similarities did exist during the spawning of jazz, soon faded away, replaced by a forerunner of the modern drum set (bass drum, snare drum, tom-toms, and cymbals). One of the earliest jazz drummers was Baby Dodds, but except for very small details, we can hardly relate his style to the West African style. In fact, we'd have an easier time proving that jazz elements like improvisation, call and response patterns, the blues style, jazz intonation, and jazz phrasing are derived from West African culture. About all that remains of African drumming in jazz (recent efforts to rediscover African drumming notwithstanding) is the general emphasis on rhythm and a few polymetric aspects.[Polymetric means the playing of one time signature against another.]

Early jazz drummers (1900-1930) were not very prominent or adventurous, tending to play relatively simple time-keeping figures and seldom soloing. Ironically, white drummer Gene Krupa probably did more to liberate the drummer from purely time-keeping functions than any drummer before him. This can be easily recognized by comparing Krupa's recordings (with Benny Goodman in the late thirties) with previous drummers. He is significantly prominent and solos often in those recordings. There were other important drummers in Krupa's time, like Sonny Greer (with Duke Ellington) and Cozy Cole, but Krupa's extraversion and flashiness were needed to bring the drums out of the purely supporting role. He forced you to listen to the drummer. He played a loud, heavy pulse with his bass drum, pounded out a quasi-jungle style on tom-toms (which was purely illusory and bore little resemblance to West African drumming), participated heavily on the overall sound of the ensemble, and played virtuoso, dramatic solos.

Joe Jones was another important drummer, also active in the late thirties, with the Count Basie Orchestra. Rather than focusing on a solo style, as Krupa did, Jones mastered the rhythm-section function of the drummer, supplying a solid, steady beat and blending with the other members of that great rhythm section (Basie on piano, Freddie Green on guitar and Walter Page on bass).

A few years later, in the early forties, the bebop style was born. As it was a very different style from the music of the Swing Era (1930-1940), it required a vastly different approach to playing drums, which was first supplied by Kenny Clarke. Clarke did away with the bass drum pulse, keeping time on the cymbals instead, using the bass drum only for explosive accents or for echoing improvised figures played on the snare drum. The pulse was infinitely more subtle than Krupa's, replacing the bass drum's "thump-thump-thump-thump" with a "ding, ding-a., ding, ding-a" on a very large cymbal (italics are used to show accents here).

Another change took place in the pulse feeling: whereas previous drummers either accented all four beats of a measure (as in 4/4 time) or accented the first and third beats, Clarke and other bop drummers switched the accents to the second and fourth beats, playing them on the sock cymbals (two cymbals that come together, operated by the foot) in a figure and sound that might be described as "(rest), chick, (rest), chick." Note that both the sock cymbal figure and the large (ride) cymbal figure played by Clarke have accents on the second and fourth beats and that neither figure is merely a thumping, unadorned pulse beat. The sock cymbal figure omits the first and third beats altogether and the ride cymbal figure adds sound between the beats, represented here by the "a" of "ding-a" These changes made quite a difference in the overall sound of drummers, the pulse, and the rhythm section.

Another innovation of the Bebop Era (chiefly 1945-50) was the new relationship between drummer and ensemble, particularly in the big bands. In the late forties, Woody Herman recorded "The Goof And I," in which drummer Don Lamond was very prominent, not as a soloist but as a sort of rhythmic coach to the entire ensemble. Lamond emphasized the ensemble's heavier accents, duplicating them on his bass drum, sometimes on snare drum or cymbals as well. This is not to be confused with the thumping pulse-beat played by Krupa in an earlier time. In Lamond's playing the bass drum was only supporting the band's accents, which are much less frequent than the pulse. His bass drum sound was explosively loud by contrast with the beats in which he wasn't using the bass drum at all. Lamond also played loud figures just prior to ensemble entrances and accents that made it easier for the ensemble to feel their rhythmic figures accurately. Several new terms were coined in this period; (1) bomb, a name for the explosive accents; (2) set-up, a figure that preceded an ensemble entrance and made that entrance more positive and accurate; and (3) fill, material improvised by the drummer in otherwise empty places, to take up the slack.

During and after the Be-Bop Era, the drums became an instrument for sizzling virtuosos, especially in the hands of Max Roach, whose phenomenal technique was baffling to the drummers of the time. Roach was particularly dazzling both as a soloist and as a drummer who could drive a group through some of the fastest tempos ever attempted by a jazz group. Most of his career was spent playing in the greatest of the small groups of that period, with Charles Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins, and the Max Roach-Clifford Brown Quintet. Roach dwelt on polymetric figures and on rhythmic form (variations on rhythmic motives). [Sometimes the rhythmic motives used by Roach were actually the rhythms of a known melody. By using the various components of his drum set, he even implies the contours of the melody.]

In the early fifties, while the Max Roach-Clifford Brown Quintet was in full bloom, a group in Detroit let by Barry Harris was featuring a new drummer on the rise, Elvin Jones, who later joined the John Coltrane Quartet and made some of the most significant recordings of the late fifties and early sixties with this group, including the album A Love Supreme. Jones perfectly complemented the dynamic Coltrane style. Far from merely keeping time for the group, Jones was a fully participating member, coinciding with and echoing every important rhythmic nuance of both the ensemble and the solos. It was a boiling, brewing, conversational style that didn't wait for empty spots to be filled.

About this time musicians and critics were beginning to refer to a new rhythmic concept, called the implied beat, in which it was no longer necessary for the rhythm section, particularly the drummer, to produce timekeeping figures. Instead, as long as they were all feeling the pulse together (and they were), it was no longer necessary to play the pulse

itself, as it would be apparent anyway in everything they chose to play. In other words, they didn't ignore the pulse, as everything was related to and measured by that pulse, but they simply didn't need to thump it out anymore. The pulse would be implied by what they did play. This was new to jazz, yet it had existed in many other forms of music for centuries. Thus we seem now to have arrived at a point about 180 degrees from where we started our discussion, at a stage where pulse-keeping was deemed redundant.

Compared to singers and to players of wind instruments and strings, a drummer plays an instrument that is almost without the capability of being tonal or melodic. Early drummers in jazz, when they tightened or loosened the heads on their drums, doubtlessly were more attentive to the tone quality than to the actual pitch of each of the drums. And the drummer is not likely to change the tuning of the drums to suit the key of each selection played. Furthermore, the pitches produced by drums do not sustain, nor are they Very distinct vibrationally or a high enough range to be perceived as specific pitches by many listeners. Even the cymbals, for all their beautiful ringing, are almost indistinct in terms of specific pitches heard by the average listener. Finally, the cymbals and drums used in jazz are, under normal circumstances, not built for the spontaneous tuning to specific pitches during the performance used with the timpani (which can be spontaneously tuned, owing to a foot-pedal mechanism) or the tabla (of India, tuned by pressing on the bottom head of the drum with the hand that is not beating the rhythm). Drummers like Art Blakey partially solved the problem by pressing the top head of the drum with an elbow, thereby raising and lowering the pitch at will. This limited solution, however, could not, in itself, push the drum style much closer to a recognizable melody.

If drums are relatively unmelodic, compared to wind and string instruments, they are even less capable of producing harmony. Thanks to these limitations, drummers often acquire, by experience, a defensive attitude about studying music, formally. Melody and harmony reign supreme in music classes (too much so, in fact), but the members of the class who play drums have less opportunity to apply melodic and harmonic principles to their instrument. Application and experience being crucial to the assimilation of such principles, the drummer is often at a disadvantage and called a "slow learner."

The solutions to all these problems are interesting to observe, historically. Krupa was already working on the melodic problem in the thirties, by rapid alternation between the different drums, creating the illusion of counterpoint (simultaneous melodic-rhythmic events, usually in imitation), and by using accessories, like the cowbell or the woodblock, in semi-melodic ways. Drummers of the forties, like Max Roach and Shelly Manne, began tuning their drums to specific pitches to aid the drive toward a more melodic concept. Roach and Mel Lewis did much to aid the element of story-telling form to the drum solo, that is, they repeated rhythmic motives and developed them slowly and completely, like the melodies to familiar songs. Some drummers, like Benny Barth, spent many practice hours drumming the rhythms of hundreds of popular and standard songs, in an effort to be more melodic.

Somewhere along the way, drummers stopped trying to compete melodically with the other instruments. Instead, they developed a pride in percussive melodies, not compared to or in strict imitation of or limited by standard pitch-melody concepts. Listen, for example, to the constantly chattering, conversational style of Elvin Jones, both in soloing and in accompanimental capacities.

Many of the foregoing contributions came together in the drum playing of Tony Williams, in the sixties and into the present, and were developed further by him. Finally, spontaneous tuning of pitches was added (though not in imitation of traditional scales and melodies), chiefly by Billy Cobham, through the use of electronic gadgetry that can alter pitch, quality, and reverberation. A Cobham solo is, by anyone's standards, extremely melodic.

Even the overall image of the drummer's musicianship has increased greatly over the years. In the forties and early fifties, drummers like Tiny Kahn and Louie Bellson were writing choice arrangements and teaching chord progressions to other members of a jam session. In  1958, at the Monterey Jazz Festival, Max Roach electrified the San Francisco Symphony with his performance of a difficult piece by Peter Phillips, written for Roach and the orchestra. By the end of the sixties, Elvin Jones and Tony Williams had become leaders of major jazz combos. In the late sixties, Stan Kenton had two drummers who had switched from wind instruments to drums, Dee Barton and John von Olen. And then there are those, like Stevie Wonder and Billy Cobham, who can perform virtually every task of the well-rounded musician, composing, arranging, playing several instruments, singing, and leading, with success and with perfection. Drummers like Alan Dawson and Max Roach, in addition to being great players, have also become successful as teachers of jazz drums in major colleges and conservatories. 

Another dimension was added to drumming in the late sixties when Miles Davis added a percussionist to his rock-oriented jazz group that recorded albums like In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew. Davis retained the drummer, as well, simply adding Jim Riley or Airto Moreira on miscellaneous percussion instruments too numerous to list fully, but the numbers included strings of bells, Latin American rhythm instruments, and virtually anything that would rattle, scrape, or jingle. The percussionist's music (written) or parts were generally unassigned, leaving to their tasteful discretion to play whatever and whenever they felt the need. Such percussionists add color, texture, and dimension to the overall sound of the group. In a sense, we have returned to percussion instruments like those used in Congo Square, a full 360 degrees of change and development.

To be continued in Part 2 with Bass and Guitar