Duke's Drummers

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

“These drummers performed for others, for the band. We neglect drummers of that kind. We don’t seem to know what a drummer really is. He’s not the showman - the guy who sits the highest or has his cymbals on backwards. He’s the guy who makes the band sound good.”

- Buddy Rich, drummer extraordinaire

Given their limited ability to influence the melodic or harmonic aspects of a big band arrangement, drummers nevertheless often play an outsized role in influencing the shape, texture and “rhythmic feel” of the sound of these “charts” [musician speak for arrangements].

So much so that big bands are often characterized by the name of the drummer: the Jo Jones, Gus Johnson or the Sonny Payne Count Basie Band; the Shelly Manne, Stan Levey or the Mel Lewis Stan Kenton Orchestra; the Davey Tough, Don Lamond or the Jake Hanna Woody Herman band. Before he got his own big band, the great Buddy Rich was associated with the big bands of Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey and Harry James, all of which benefited from his powerhouse drumming.

But why?

Perhaps part of the answer lies in what big band drummer extraordinaire Mel Lewis labeled - a “signature drummer.”

“In case people don’t understand what I mean by that, that’s a word I picked up from Buddy Rich and it means people who have their own unique sound and feel and are recognizable the minute you hear them have what you call a “signature.” In an interview with Loren Schoenberg, Mel went on to explain:

“They are few and far between. That’s something that everyone would like to develop and it is developed on drums the same way that Lester Young, Coltrane, Miles and all these other people did on their horns.

It’s not as easy on drums because you're still an accompanist and to get a different sound from other drummers utilizing your feel. We all have to play “ding-a-ling” or “spang-a-lang” because that’s our job as drummers, but it’s how we do it and what we do that makes it different. Remember, the drummer is still in the background, you are not out front. A drummer that puts himself out front is not a great drummer. It’s not smart, it’s stupid and, if you are gonna do that you might as well play solo.  Your group is in front of you but you have to play behind them and inspire them by being so good that you reflect your personality.”

Some clues as to how a drummer can help shape a big band’s “personality can be found in the impression Burt Korall formed after seeing Davey Tough with the Woody Herman band perform its famous arrangement of Apple Honey at New York City’s Paramount Theater, in 1945:

“He went about his business with little of the grace of a Krupa and Jones, and none of the fireworks of Rich. But the excitement built as Tough, without physically giving the impression of strength, manipulated the band much as an animal trainer would a beautiful hard-to-control beast, making it respond to him. He cracked the whip under the ensemble and brass solo passages adding juice and muscle to the pulse and accents. Each soloist got individual treatment – a stroke here, an accent there, a fill further on, all perfectly placed.

He moved the band from one plateau to another, higher and higher. By the time the band was about to go into the final segment, the audience was totally captured. There was a point during this last section when it felt as though the band would take us through the roof.

When the piece came to an end with four rapid bass drum strokes, I couldn’t figure out what he had done. He had been in the foreground only once during a four bar break, …, otherwise his was the least self-serving performance I had ever witnessed. I turned to my friend. ‘He has no chops. How’d he do it? What happened?’

He smiled, not quite as puzzled as I. ‘It might not have seemed like much,’ he said. ‘But whatever he did, he sure lit a fire under that band.’”

In practical terms, what the drummer in a big band is trying to do is give the compositions and arrangements their fullest expression by providing a rhythmic foundation that propels the music forward.

In the following excerpt from Mark Gridley -Jazz Styles 10th Edition the author makes a number of observations, among them that the Ellington drummers were unobtrusive and primarily timekeepers. In other words, they didn’t do very much to shape the sound of the band.

While that may be largely true of Sonny Greer, Duke’s first and longest serving drummers, I think that the three who followed him - Louie Bellson, Sam Woodyard and Rufus Jones - all added considerably different drumming approaches to Duke’s music.

Ironically, while maintaining that there was little difference between them, Gridley points out the differences when he states “Greer used drumming techniques in the manner of early jazz drummers. He kept time on the snare drum with sticks and brushes, often switching instruments for a new chorus or to accompany a new soloist.”

And when he asserts that “Bellson changed the technique and technology of Ellington drummers. Like a bop drummer, Bellson kept time primarily with his ride cymbal, using his left hand to play musical punctuations on his snare drum.”

He then contends that: “Replacing Bellson was Sam Woodyard (1925-1988), Ellington's drummer of 11 years. Woodyard supplied a special spark to the band. His style was hard-swinging and unrelenting. Woodyard's approach was not complicated or flashy. He established a groove. Then, by playing so hard and so passionately, he musically challenged the band members to swing equally hard.”

And finally maintaining that Rufus Jones -  “in addition to fulfilling the traditional duties for his position, Jones was notable for also devising original rhythms to fit music that Ellington composed on his world tours during this era. In generating African, Latin American, and oriental flavors for Ellington's suites, Jones played rhythms that were new to the Ellington sound.”

Whether it was Bellson’s bebop drumming, Woodyard’s hard driving grooves or Jones’ original rhythms, each became a “signature drummer” with the Ellington band.

Food for thought? See what you think.

Here’s Gridley’s text.

“DRUMS

There have been only a few drummers in the long history of the Ellington band: Sonny Greer (1919-1951), Louis Bellson (early 1950s), Sam Woodyard (mid-1955-1966), and Rufus Jones (1968-1973). Others played briefly with the band but remained relatively unknown. Ellington's drummers have performed a relatively unobtrusive role in creating the hand's sound. 

Although all were swinging drummers, none were as historically significant as Jo Jones with Count Basie, Max Roach with Charlie Parker, Elvin Jones with John Coltrane, or Tony Williams with Miles Davis. All Ellington drummers were primarily timekeepers. There are four eras of this role in the hand, reflecting Ellington's incorporating the strengths of four different drummers.

The classic tradition of Sonny Greer (1903-1982) lasted for more than half of the hand's 50-year history. Ellington's first drummer, Greer used drumming techniques in the manner of early jazz drummers. He kept time on the snare drum with sticks and brushes, often switching instruments for a new chorus or to accompany a new soloist. (Listen to how hard he swings on "Cottontail.") During the 1940s, he sometimes moved his timekeeping rhythms to high-hat. And, in a few isolated instances near the end of his tenure with the band, he played ride rhythms on the ride cymbal. Though simple in style and technique, Greer was dramatic in presentation. His equipment included timpani, gongs, vibraphone, and wood blocks. Listen to his work in "Echoes of Harlem," for which he devised exceptionally adept accompaniments.

A new era began in 1951 when Greer left and Louis Bellson (b. 1924) joined Ellington. In his two-year stay, Bellson changed the technique and technology of Ellington drummers. Like a bop drummer, Bellson kept time primarily with his ride cymbal, using his left hand to play musical punctuations on his snare drum. Blessed with enviable technique, he was a precise and tasteful accompanist.

Bellson also added a second bass drum and small tom-tom to his drum kit. Ellington took advantage of Bellson's capabilities by giving him solos. The recording of Bellson's solo on his own composition "Skin Deep" in Hi-Fi Ellington Uptown furnished a means for demonstrating sound quality in high-fidelity equipment that was just then becoming popular. The piece became a crowd-pleasing part of Ellington's repertory. Bellson's showmanship revitalized the band's appeal when all big bands were experiencing a declining audience size and Ellington was particularly low due to the temporary loss of Lawrence Brown and Johnny Hodges. After Bellson left, his successors on the drum throne were required to perform the often-requested "Skin Deep." They also employed the modern timekeeping techniques that Bellson used.

Replacing Bellson was Sam Woodyard (1925-1988), Ellington's drummer of 11 years. Woodyard supplied a special spark to the band. His style was hard-swinging and unrelenting. Woodyard's approach was not complicated or flashy. He established a groove. Then, by playing so hard and so passionately, he musically challenged the band members to swing equally hard. The records Ellington made with Woodyard have an insistence in their swing feeling that is unmatched by his records from any other period (see footnote 7 in this chapter). For many Ellington fans and a number of Ellington's musicians themselves, Woodyard was the all-time favorite drummer for the band.

The Bellson-Woodyard contributions to Ellington's style were expanded by Rufus Jones (1936-1990) between 1966 and 1973. In addition to fulfilling the traditional duties for his position, Jones was notable for also devising original rhythms to fit music that Ellington composed on his world tours during this era. In generating African, Latin American, and oriental flavors for Ellington's suites, Jones played rhythms that were new to the Ellington sound.”

Sonny Greer by Whitney Balliett

© -Steven A. Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

LAWRENCE BROWN: When I joined the Ellington band in 1932, it soon became clear just how important Sonny was. He was almost as popular as Ellington. Not only did he have excellent musical instincts and natural ability as a player, he was very genial and served as contact man for Duke. Sonny wasn't a schooled musician. But he could pick up things very readily. He was so much a part of what we did; he fit perfectly.

Sonny got to know music and his instrument by playing and being out there performing and absorbing what was happening around him. Adept as a rhythm man and as a colorist. Sonny also was a great "flash," an incredible showman. He had one of the most lavish drum sets in the world. Many drummers and other musicians came to see and hear Sonny because of his splendid equipment.

MERCER ELLINGTON: Sonny knew what audiences liked. He was one of the few people from whom Ellington readily took advice. A great reactor to material, he needed only a skeleton of an idea. With that as a base, he would contribute a great deal to the glory of a work. Sonny had a great ear and unusual reflexes. Ellington often referred to him as the real leader of the band. On the ground floor when jazz was being put together, Sonny was there to witness its development and be a key part of it.

BURT KORALL, author of Drummin’ Men: The Heartbeat of Jazz, The Swing Years Most important, no one played with such a sense of relevance in the Ellington band. His recordings with the Ellington orchestra and with small groups out of the organization make the point for him.

Listen to "Cotton Tail" (Victor, 1940), "Main Stem" (Victor, 1942), and "Jumpin" Punkins" (Victor, 1941) with the Ellington Orchestra. Also recommended are "Chasin’ Chippies" (Vocalion, 1938) and "Downtown Uproar" (Variety, 1937)—both with Cootie Williams and his Rug Cutters. These records reveal Greer's capacity to respond buoyantly and creatively to his colleagues, to swing, and to give the musicians and the music what they needed.

An imposing artist, someone to be seen and heard, Sonny Greer lived up to the description given to him by Jo Jones: he was indeed "Mr. Empire State Building."

It’s been awhile since we’ve put up something new by Whitney Balliett, the highly regarded writer whose essays about Jazz featured regularly in The New Yorker magazine for many years.  In order to rectify this oversight, here’s his article about Sonny Greer – Duke Ellington’s premier drummer for over 30 years – from Whitney’s anthology, Dinosaurs in the Morning: 41 Pieces on Jazz [Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1962].

© -Whitney Balliett, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“AT WORK, most modern jazz musicians appear to be suffering from shock. They adopt blank, mask like faces, stand rigidly still, and rarely speak to one another, let alone the audience. The only proof they are not hallucinations is the sound that comes from their instruments, and even this isn't always conclusive. Twenty years ago jazz musicians usually mirrored every emotion they were undergoing. Drummers, in particular, went further by adding the icing of guileless showmanship. They twirled their sticks or tossed them into the air, generally in time to the music, smiled expansively or grimaced (Kansas Fields always looked on the verge of tears), snapped their heads about militaristically, and manipulated the wire brushes like skilled house painters. The three consummate showmen-drummers were Sidney Catlett, Jo Jones, and Sonny Greer. (Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich were showoffs.) Now that Catlett is dead and Greer in partial obscurity, only Jones remains consistently on view. A week ago, however, Greer, who is sixty, appeared in full bloom at a Duke Ellington Society concert given in the Carnegie Recital Hall.

Greer quit Ellington in 1951, after thirty-odd years—a departure that has left a permanent gap in the band. A flattish, dapper man with a thin, tongue-in-cheek face and a patent-leather air, Greer epitomized the easy elegance of the Ellington band.

He was generally enthroned slightly above and to the rear of his colleagues, amid a resplendent array of equipment that included a couple of timpani, chimes, and a J. Arthur Rank gong. For all his outward grace and polish, though, Greer's style was and is strictly homemade. He is only a fair technician (his time is uneven, sometimes he is overbearing, and he misses strokes) and he has never been much of a soloist. Indeed, he often gives the impression that he is testing rather than playing his drums. He moves ceaselessly back and forth between his cymbals, sampling their centers, drops in sudden experimental offbeats on the cowbell (an unfortunately outmoded bit of drum paraphernalia), rustles his high-hat cymbals ominously and then clamps them shut with a whussht, inserts crescendo snare-drum rolls, sounds jumbo beats on his bass drum or settles into steady lackadaisical after beats on the snare rims. Greer's showmanship accents all this. A mock-serious look will dissolve into a broad smile, a wide-eyed expression into a sleepy one. An eyes-right-or-left head motion punctuates every number. After twirling a stick faster than a propeller, he may rear back in amazement at his prowess. Greer is sound and motion in miraculous counterpoint.

With Greer were Clark Terry on trumpet and flugelhorn, Hilton Jefferson, Wendell Marshall, and a ringer, Jimmy Jones, on piano. Two singers— Betty Roche and Ozzie Bailey—also appeared. Eight of the twenty numbers, most of them by Ellington and/or Billy Strayhorn, were taken up with vocals. Bailey was surprisingly attractive, in a thin, valentine way, while Miss Roche was calculated and tart. Aside from the four group numbers, Jefferson, Terry, and Jones each had two selections to themselves, and Greer had one. This was an up-tempo version of "Caravan," in which he started softly with his hands on the tom-toms, gradually increased the volume, picked up two sticks in his right hand, pitted this hand against his still empty left hand (much rattling and whapping), tucked his sticks nonchalantly under his right arm, returned to his hands, reduced his volume, and closed with a jarring bass-drum frump. During the rest of the afternoon, Greer ticked off all of his tricks — wire brushes on a large tom-tom behind Jones, mallet crescendos during the ensembles, spinning sticks, and casual, offbeat rim shots. In fact, Greer managed to convey the notion that he was still supporting the entire Ellington band – insouciance, white jackets, the Duke, and all.”