David Liebman: Lieb Plays The Beatles

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

"Liebman is among the most important saxophonists in contemporary music . . . a leader and artist of integrity and independent direction." 

- Downbeat Magazine

“While others of his ‘60s generation have fallen off their ambition, Liebman has remained dogged about composition and trying different styles…he’s a fighter.”

- Ben Ratliff-NY Times

Too many things have happened in my life so I can go either way with coincidences: I can believe in them or I can disbelieve them and go with everything happens for a reason.

So why don’t I lay the sequence of events out for you and let you be the judge?

By way of background, I came to the music of saxophonist and flutist David Liebman’s very late in the scheme of things.

To give you some perspective on that comment, I’m at the age when my life has more history to it than future.

I’m not a Jazz historian so I can’t tell you just when Dave made the scene, but by the time he did I was largely gone from it and into other stuff like building a career and a family.

I knew that Dave had a pretty extensive discography because I would hear it occasionally on Jazz radio, but I really had not listened to his music in any sort of concerted way.

Thankfully, as is often the case, Michael Cuscuna and his fine team at Mosaic Records gave me the opportunity to catch-up with some of Dave’s stuff with the issuance in 2004 of the 3 CD Mosaic Select Dave Liebman & Richie Beirach [#12].

The music on the Mosaic set is made up of two live dates done at Keystone Korner in San Francisco in 1976 and some later studio dates from Germany and Japan from 1988 and 1991, respectively.

In his insert notes to the Mosaic set, Dave pretty much sums up the way I feel about this music when he states [paragraphing modified]:

“There are, to my mind, several themes, which permeate the three settings heard in this collection. Emotional intensity was definitely a common shared trait between Richie and myself. We communicated very directly both socially and musically. This was very clear to even the casual listener [emphasis, mine].

Stylistically, we were products of the 1960s generation, when a listening/hanging session could easily cover Bartok, Hendrix, Coltrane and Ravi Shankar for example. Eclecticism was the trademark of our generation. We and others from our period pursued this aesthetic with a vengeance, more so than previous jazz generations.

On the more subtle musical level, Richie and I constantly "chased" each other around harmonically; myself sounding notes outside the stated harmony while Richie colored or instigated supportive chords. We had first heard this used extensively with Coltrane and McCoy Tyner as well as Miles and Wayne Shorter with Herbie Hancock. This interaction constituted a major part of our musical discussions, whether in duo or in a quartet setting.

Richie is a master at unifying a rhythm section into a unit to offset the soloist. He was the perfect straw boss/helmsman, focusing Billy and Ron's energies towards maximizing their potential as both a support system as well as a source for new ideas and fresh energy.

I never had to think about what was happening behind me. I trusted Richie's judgment and it enabled me to be able to employ one of the most important aspects I learned playing with Miles Davis, which was the use of space to dramatize a musical statement. It doesn't get better than that for a horn player!!” [emphasis, mine].

Emotional Intensity and Space are key concepts that come to mind while listening to Dave Liebman’s music.

Another major element in his playing can be found in the following quotation from Richard Cook and Brain Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6^th Ed.:

“It's one of the paradoxes of David Liebman's career that an improviser who has put such emphasis (in bands such with pianist Richie Beirach as Lookout Farm and Quest) on collective improvisation and non-hierarchical musical tradition should so frequently evoke solitariness.” [emphasis, mine]

[BTW – Dave Liebman has recorded a ton of music and the Cook/Morton book is an excellent source for a large sampling of it with detailed annotations.]

When I listen to Dave Liebman’s music, I am immediately imbued with a sense of emotional intensity but one that is confined in terms of space and characterized by a feeling of solitariness.

Dave can be a very busy player. Usually a lot of notes springing forth from a complex harmonic conception such as Dave’s can result in a sense of emotional intensity, but it does not generally evoke space and solitariness.

So here I am, recently listening again to the Mosaic Liebman/Beirach 3-CD set and trying to sort through all of my newfound impressions of Dave Liebman for a blog feature I was developing when I get a note from drummer Eric Ineke asking me if I would be interested in listening to a copy of … wait for it… THE DAVID LIEBMAN TRIO: LIEB PLAYS THE BEATLES WITH SPECIAL GUEST JOHN RUOCCO [Daybreak DBCHR 74558].

I mean, how cool is that?

Talk about coincidence!

Of course, having done a previous blog review of The Ultimate Sideman: Jazz Master Drummer Eric Ineke Talks About Artists He Has Played with Since 1968 in Conversation with Dave Liebman, I knew that Eric and Dave were friends.

But I had never heard them play together.

I also have never been a fan of The Beatles, but I have a high regard for both Eric and Dave’s musical integrity so I thought the new CD was worth a listen.

And it is that and much more than that – it is a recording full of pleasant surprises.

Seventeen [17] Beatles tunes, most of which I will admit to never having even heard before, arranged singly or in medley, played to the highest musical standards.

So not only am I now awash in more of Dave Liebman’s music, Dave’s got me listening to the Beatles, too, and enjoying it.

Emotional Intensity - Space – Solitariness are all very much present in Dave’s interpretations of the Beatles music but the over-riding impression that the music on the CD created in me was a reconnection with three classic performances at the Village Vanguard by tenor saxophonists Sonny Rollins, Joe Henderson and Joe Lovano, respectively.

Sonny with bassist Wilbur Ware and drummer Elvin Jones started off the live-sax-with-rhythm-section tradition in 1957 with A Night at The Vanguard, Joe Henderson followed with a1985 date at the legendary NYC Jazz club with bassist Ron Carter and drummer Al Foster and Joe Lovano’s stint took place ten years later in 1995 with Christian McBride on bass and Lewis Nash on drums.

Listed as one of his all-time favorite recordings, Dave has said of A Night at The Vanguard:  “Once again at the Village Vanguard, which obviously was a delight for musicians to play in, along with Elvin Jones and Wilbur Ware, the sheer power and creativity of prob­ably the greatest all- around saxophonist who ever played is astounding on this recording. And you can just feel the spontaneity happening.”

Sonny’s, Henderson’s and Lovano’s Vanguard albums are the epitome of musical dialogue because the music is so uncluttered and untrammeled that one can easily hear what is being “said.”

The bass lines can be heard clearly and pulsate like a heart beat, the clicking sound of the ride cymbal with its shimmering rivets creates waves of harmonic overtones while the tenor saxophone – the instrument with a sonority that is closest to the human voice – sings out, uninterruptedly with a clarity akin to that of an operatic diva.

There’s no place to go; no place to hide in the music. Each player is a solitary sound in a clearly defined space and the emotional intensity generated by such a setting is like nothing you ever heard before.

These initial impressions are in no way intended to diminish the importance of John Ruocco to the music on LIEB PLAYS THE BEATLES.

If anything, John’s presence on tenor saxophone, clarinet and bass clarinet as the “other voice” on some of the tracks just adds to the music’s intimacy. He is a sensitive and understated player who contributes greatly to the overall texture of the music.

In arranging the music for this album, David has pared down things to allow for the space necessary for deeper things to develop in the music. His solos are explorations into the architectural possibilities of the music: at times cantilevered with phrases that trail off and hang in the air while he ducks back under them, grabs them and takes them in a new direction.

Sometimes he builds his solos vertically like a harmonically shaped skyscraper that is reminiscent of the work of tenor saxophonist Coleman Hawkins and the sheets of sound approach of John Coltrane

Other times, he seems to horizontally box ideas together with a languid flow of melodic inspiration and a full-bodied sound that brings to mind that ballad styling of tenor saxophonists Dexter Gordon and Sonny Rollins.

However, Lieb shapes the space, it is always full of emotional intensity; he really puts himself into the music. You can’t wait to hear the next track and where this musical adventure will lead.

Adding immensely to the structure and shape of the music on are bassist Marius Beets [pronounced “Bates”] and drummer Eric Ineke [the “e” at the end of Eric’s family name is pronounced with a hard sound – “ah”].

Marius and Eric have evolved into one of the best straight-ahead Jazz rhythmic sections in all of Jazz and both bring fire and finesse to the music.

Marius’ bass sound is big and broad which gives just the right bottom to the music. His choice of notes frames the chords so well and his time is impeccable.

Eric and Marius together form what bassist Chuck Israel has described as “a marriage between the bass line and the cymbal beat.” Whatever the tempo, they just lock in beautifully and create a vibrant and buoyant feel to the time.

Eric doesn’t overplay, stays out of the way when that’s call for in the music, and boots things along when necessary.

LIEB PLAYS THE BEATLES is a brilliantly conceived and expertly played recording. It’s so nice to know that Jazz of this caliber is still being created today.

Our thanks to Eric for hipping us to it.

More about the music and how Dave approached it are contained in the following insert notes to the CD which he wrote [I have modified the paragraphing]. They are also available on Lieb’s website along with order information for the new LIEB PLAYS THE BEATLES which you can locate at www.daveliebman.com.

LIEB PLAYS THE BEATLES

FEATURING DAVID LIEBMAN, ERIC INEKE, MARIUS BEETS AND SPECIAL GUEST JOHN RUOCCO

“After doing several recordings over the past few years with this trio playing what I call "repertoire" material, (something I have done numerous times over the decades), I want to take the opportunity to explain the process which is quite different than when I record my original compositions. "Repertoire" for me represents what the body of music commonly referred to as "standards" in two categories: songs written for Broadway, Hollywood or other popular formats (rock, opera, etc.), as well as compositions by jazz musicians that have become part of the canon.

Previous projects of mine have ranged from Puccini to Jobim, Monk to Wilder, Kurt Weill to Cole Porter, West Side Story and of course Miles, Coltrane and Ornette Coleman. Arranging the given material is the primary challenge which technically may include musical devices such as re-harmonizing, inserting vamps, changing the forms and in some cases altering parts of the melody.

On some of the projects I have done minimal re-arranging, sticking close to the original; the Monk, Wilder and Weill projects are good examples of this more "hands off" approach. Beyond what I discover about my personal aesthetic doing this kind of work, there is the information that reveals itself when one delves into the music of great artists, discovering how they thought and worked out their material. I always learn something, from Puccini's soaring melodic lines to Jobim's exquisite balance between harmony and melody, to Monk's economic use of space and so forth.

Another benefit of rearranging known material is that it relieves the onus of writing original tunes for at least a period of time. One works with a known quantity from the start, most likely the melody and harmony primarily. Also, as far as potential listeners are concerned, there is at least a bit of the recognition factor possible, depending on how far away from the original I go. Finally, there is the fact that for the most part these tunes have stood the test of time.

My process for such projects follows a similar pattern. I go through song books by the composer playing the music at the piano, searching for something in the melody or/and harmony that seems interesting and will open a line of exploration. A potential pile develops which gets whittled down and leads eventually to small musical changes written directly on the lead sheets (all hand written by the way...no computer). Soon after I write a fresh lead sheet which becomes the first draft. Over the next months I go to the piano and check these tunes over and over, sometimes altering them drastically, arriving at an arrangement and appropriate rhythmic feel, all depending upon the instrumentation and personnel that will record with me.

For my latest excursion I have chosen the Beatles' music which has a biographical tie in as they were a significant part of the back drop of my generation's story in the 1960's, both musically and socially for what they represented at the time. Elvis Presley symbolized a break from the rigid conformity of the 1950's while the Beatles personified rebellion and change for our generation, definitely in America, if only because of their hair style at the time (hard to believe in the present!) More specifically it was their lyrics which evolved as they personally and musically matured from "I Want To Hold Your Hand" to "Fool on the Hill," etc., that spoke to us. The message was at times cute, philosophical, whimsical, even spiritual, just all over the map as we all were at that time. Their melodies, though not as deep as other notable composers I have dealt with, did handily support the lyrics. As stand alone chords, the harmonies were very basic and quasi church-like (but hardly blues based) while the rhythm was quite basic. Interestingly, George Harrison's tunes, much less in the overall count than the Lennon/McCartney combination shine for their ingenuity, emotional and lyrical depth.

The bottom line was that the Beatles' music was of a whole and stylistically consistent. Even physically on the page, much like Monk or Ornette tunes, they all look more or less the same, most of the time no more than two pages with an A section, a bridge and a coda. Certainly they were incredibly prolific, writing and recording hundreds of tunes in less than a ten year period. They chronicled both their lives and those of my generation, embodying the changes and social upheavals of the times. There was no going back to the stultifying popular music of the 1950s, (some early rock not withstanding).

For this recording there was no chord instrument, though I play piano on two tracks for the sake of variety. With Eric and Marius in mind along with the wonderful John Ruocco on assorted winds, it was quite a challenge to find the right three notes (two horns and bass) for expressing the content. Most difficult was to find something interesting to improvise on as we jazz musicians are accustomed to doing. The ambiance ended up being quite lyrical, restrained and plaintive, putting the melodies front and center. I hope you enjoy this excursion into a great body of music.”

The following video draws upon Lieb’s, Maruis’s and Eric’s rendering of The Beatles While My Guitar Gently Weeps to set the perfect sax-bass-drums-at-the-Village-Vanguard tone with which to close this blog feature.

Would that it were that the Jazz Gods could get Dave up from East Stroudsburg, PA and Marius and Eric over from Holland to play a trio engagement at The Village Vanguard in New York City.

Now if I could just get Lorraine Gordon [owns the Vanguard] to return my calls.

Rahsaan Roland Kirk - The Ineffable [From The Archives]

Thanks to the largesse of the Copyright Gods, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles was recently allowed to once again use the video that forms the closing tribute to Rahsaan, so we thought we'd celebrate this event by re-posting this piece.

“… Rahsaan Roland Kirk … [used] circus like multi-instrument playing to foment his own version of an improvisational revolution.”

- Don Heckman, in Bill Kirchner, ed., The Oxford Companion to Jazz, 

[p. 610]

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

If, as Louis Armstrong said, “Jazz is who you are,” then the music of Rahsaan Roland Kirk was a pure reflection of his eclectic, eccentric and exuberant personality. 

In fairness, none of these descriptors do justice to Rahsaan for he was ineffable – beyond words.

Blind from infancy, his musical achievements were stunning in their complexity.

Perhaps the most apt representation of Rahsaan Roland Kirk is that he was a Force of Nature.

As is often the case with such larger-than-life personalities, his strengths could also be his weaknesses.

“A stellar soloist, … [Kirk] could play with authenticity and forcefulness in any jazz style, from trad to free, and on a host of instruments—not just conventional saxes and clarinets but pawnshop oddities such as manzello, stritch, siren whistle, and nose flute. Kirk's arsenal of ef­fects was seemingly endless, ranging from circular breathing to playing three horns at once. This versatility came, in time, to be a curse. Had he focused on one or two instruments, he would have been acknowledged as a master. Instead he was too of­ten dismissed as little more than a jazz novelty act.”  - Ted Gioia, The History of Jazz, p. 329

The view of Kirk as a significant innovator is one that is widely supported by a large number of notable Jazz musicians and writers as evidenced by the following anecdote involving the late, alto saxophonist, Paul Desmond as told by Doug Ramsey:

“Taking in one incredible jam session in the ballroom of the Royal Orleans Hotel [during the 1969 New Orleans Jazz Festival], we witnessed Roland Kirk surpassing himself in one of the most inspired soprano sax solos either of us had ever heard. Kirk used Alphonse Picou's traditional chorus from "High Society" as the basis of a fantastic series of variations that went on chorus after chorus. We were spellbound by the intensity and humor of it and Paul announced that henceforth he would be an unreserved Roland Kirk fan even unto gongs and whistles.” Jazz Matters, [p.151].

It isn’t easy to listen to Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s music.

You really have to want to and you have to work at it.

It’s complicated and sometimes it’s harsh and full of distress – very often, it does not lay easy on the ears.

“Kirk’s playing is all over the place from haunting blues derived themes to polytonal appendages; he executes difficult tempos with quite astonishing dexterity; he moves across chords with a bizarre, crablike motion; a heavy, sometimes massive sound, often vocalized and multiphonic; Kirk is Kirk and it would be a mistake to expect smoothly crafted Jazz. [paraphrase]”

- Richard Cook & Brian Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD

Fortunately, for those who are inclined to take-on the challenge that is Rahsaan, much of his music has been collected in two anthologies: [1] Rahsaan: The Complete Mercury Recordings of Roland Kirk [10 CDs, Polygram 846-630-2] and [2] Does Your House Have Lions? [2 CDs Atlantic Rhino R2 71406].

The Mercury compendium contains as an added benefit, a comprehensive treatment of the formative years of Kirk’s career and the defining characteristics of his early music by Dan Morgenstern, the Director of the Institute for Jazz Studies at Rutgers University.

In their Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, Richard Cook and Brian Morton said of Morgenstern’s notes that they “… afford unparalleled detail on perhaps the most significant phase of Kirk’s career.”

Here are the opening paragraphs from Dan’s extensive insert notes.

“Roland Kirk — or Rahsaan, as he preferred to be called in his later years — was a unique phenomenon in the history of music. To be sure, he was not the first to play several instruments simultaneously, Wilbur Sweatman, a pioneer of early jazz, played three clarinets at once, and so did Ross Gorman (known for the opening clarinet glissando on the first recording of "Rhap­sody in Blue") and Fess Williams. But these men used it as a showmanship trick, not for creative purposes. In that respect, Kirk came first, and his few emulators and imitators have not been serious competition.

Moreover, that was just one aspect of Kirk's total tonal personality. He mastered every instru­ment he played, and had his own approach to all of them. And every note he played or sang swung to the hilt. His imagination and energy were awesome, and he channeled all he had in him into his music. 

When he wasn't playing, he listened — to music of all kinds, to the sounds of nature, to everything around him.

When he wasn't making or listening to music, he talked about it, and when he slept, he dreamed about it — the idea of playing more than one instru­ment at a time came to him in a dream, he claimed. Of course he also had time for other things — women, children (he loved them, most of all his own), and good food and drink, which he consumed prodigiously. But in a lifetime of knowing musicians and lovers of music, I have never met anyone so totally involved in the world of sound as Rahsaan Roland Kirk.

…. He never limited his horizon to what was "in" or fashionable, and his playing reflected his deep understanding of the music's past, present and future.”

The title given to the later, Atlantic anthology is explained in the following story by its producer, Joel Dorn:

“One day in the late 1960’s, I was on the phone with Rahsaan and mentioned to him that just that day I had bought a house. He responded by asking: ‘Does your house have lions?’ I said: ‘What?’ He said: ‘Lions you know like in front of a museum or the post office. You know, concrete lions. Get a house with lions.'” – May, 1993

Joel goes on to add:

“I can honestly say that Rahsaan changed my life. When I first saw him in the ‘70s [Rahsaan died in 1977, he was only 41 years old], it was the greatest thing I’d ever seen … it was like watching a hurricane on stage. The energy was far heavier than anything I was seeing in the punk rock world. Yet it took you somewhere. The contrast of anger and beauty was incredibly affecting; it had a healing effect. … After a Kirk set, I would feel that I had taken a long journey, and it left you with hope.  This is what I always believed music could do, and I became obsessed with him. His records lived up to his live shows, yet they were all different.”

In addition to the writings of Dan Morgenstern and Joel Dorn, Garry Giddins lends his literary gifts and encyclopedic knowledge of Jazz to an excellent profile on Rahsaan Roland Kirk which you can locate on pages 431- 436 of his seminal Visions of Jazz.

Gary’s essay is entitled Rahsaan Roland Kirk (One-Man Band) and here are some excerpts:

“No one who experienced him in performance can forget the sight: a stocky blind man swaying precariously back and forth on the lip of a bandstand, dressed in a yellow jump suit, his face implacable behind black wraparounds, blowing dissonant counterpoint on three saxo­phones of varying lengths, while other instruments, some of his own invention, dangled from his shoulders, neck, ears, and, on occasion, his nose. Talk about one-man bands.”

“By now [Roland’s 1960 Chess LP Introducing Roland Kirk] , Kirk had his basic ar­senal. In addition to tenor, he played an obsolete cousin to the soprano sax that he called a manzello, a straightened alto with modified keys that he called a stritch, a siren, a whistle, and, a conventional flute. He found the manzello and stritch in the basement of an old instrument store and taught himself to finger two saxophones while using the third as a drone. In this way, he could play a variety of reed-section voicings and accom­pany his own solos with stop-time chords.”

“Kirk rejected the total immersion in protracted improvisation preached in Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz and John Coltrane's "Chasin' the Trane," but he did embody a prophetic refusal to relinquish the lusty pleasures of big bands (albeit a one-man version), swing, lilting waltzes, and nostalgic ballads, all of which he made aggressively new.”

Rahsaan Roland Kirk was a Jazz World onto himself. 

You are sure to be exhilarated when you step into it, but don’t forget to breathe as it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

The following video tribute to Rahsaan provides a mere sample, at best.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players

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

“This is Jazz in the 21^st century: these players hear the music differently. The music of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players takes from the Jazz tradition while at the same time synthesizing influences and inspirations from disparate, contemporary musical sources – something that Jazz has done throughout it existence.”

- The Editorial Staff at JazzProfiles

Some beginning thoughts and observations.

First of all, I am not a Jazz critic.

I know from personal experience how hard it is to play this stuff so in my role as “the editorial staff at JazzProfiles,” I refrain from criticizing, in the negative sense of that term, Jazz that doesn’t appeal to me.

So when John Dorhauer reached out and asked if I would be interested in listening to Emergency Postcards, a self-produced CD by the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players [HUP], a large Jazz ensemble based in an area west of Chicago of which John is the Director, I said that I would be happy to give it a listen, but that I wouldn’t promise to write about it if I didn’t like the music.

I’ve been struggling with how to write a review of Emergency Postcards ever since.

Not because I didn’t like the HUP’s music, but mainly because I didn’t understand what I was listening to.

Not being a critic – “Yes, I liked it and here’s why; not I didn’t like it and here’s why” - I was confronted with the dilemma Peter Keepnews succinctly states in the following:

“Those of us who have tried writing about Jazz know what a daunting challenge it can be to do it well. Expressing an opinion about a given musician or recording is easy; explaining what exactly it is that makes that musician or recording worth caring about is not.”

Secondly, I have commented previously and at length about the role of texture or sonority, in other words, the way the music sounds, in composing and arranging music for big bands.

The earlier expositions on the role of texture in big band orchestrations are most notably to be found in my earlier posts on the music of the Gerald Wilson Orchestra and the Maria Schneider Orchestra.

Here’s an excerpt from my earlier piece on Maria Schneider’s music by way of explanation:

“When writing about the music of Maria Schneider, the “texture” of her music is often stressed as that quality which makes it so unique and so appealing.

But what is a musical definition of “texture” which joins with melody, harmony and rhythm [meter] as a fourth building block used to create a musical composition?

Ironically, of the four basic musical atoms, the most indefinable yet the one we first notice is – “texture.”

“Texture” is the word that is used to refer to the actual sound of the music. This encompasses the instruments with which it is played; its tonal colors; its dynamics; its sparseness or its complexity.

Texture involves anything to do with the sound experience and it is the word that is used to describe the overall impression that a piece of music creates in our emotional imagination.

Often our first and most lasting impression of a composition is usually based on that work’s texture, even though we are not aware of it. Generally, we receive strong musical impressions from the physical sound of any music and these then determine our emotional reaction to the work.” [Emphasis, mine]

Thirdly, I wrote this about the young Italian alto saxophonist Francesco Cafiso in a previous profile:

“Some young, Jazz players use a lot of notes in their solos.

This tendency seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.

Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”

Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.

They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.

Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?

If such abilities to “get around the instrument” were found in a young classical musician romping his or her way through one of Paganini’s Caprices, they would be celebrated as a phenomena and hailed as a prodigy.

Playing Paganini’s Caprices, Etudes, et al. does take remarkable technical skills, but in fairness, let’s remember that Paganini already wrote these pieces and the classical musician is executing them from memory.

In the case of the Jazz musician, playing complicated and complex improvisations requires that these be made up on the spot with an unstated preference being that anything that has been played before in the solo cannot be repeated.

But often times when a Jazz musician exhibits the facility to create multi-noted, rapidly played improvised solos, this is voted down and labeled as showboating or derided as technical grandstanding at the expense of playing with sincerity of feeling.

Such feats of technical artistry are greeted with precepts such as “It’s not what you play, but what you leave out” as though the young, Jazz performer not only has to resolve the momentary miracle of Jazz invention, but has to do so while solving a Zen koan at the same time [What is the sound of the un-played note or some such nonsense].”

And lastly, in April, 1962 during what was then called "Easter Week", I was the drummer in a quintet that won the Intercollegiate Jazz Festival which was held annually at The Lighthouse Cafe located in Hermosa Beach, CA.

Much of the music that our quintet played was inspired by and/or derived from the Paul Horn Quintet.

By 1962, nearly every Jazz fan was familiar with the modal Jazz played by the Miles Davis Sextet in the Kind of Blue album, and with "unusual" time signatures immortalized by the Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out! album.

Modal Jazz uses scales instead of chord progressions as the basis for its themes [melodies] and improvisations. For “unusual time signatures” think the 5/4 of Paul Desmond’s Take Five or Dave Brubeck’s Blues Rondo a la Turk which is in 9/8 time but counted as 2-2-2-3 . In other words, those in other than the more standard 2/4 and 4/4 time.

What made the Paul Horn Quintet particularly appealing to our us was that it was playing modal Jazz in combination with unusual time signatures, just the thing to peak the musical interest of 5 young lads ranging in ages from 18-22.

Still with me? Here’s a recapitulation of the four points I’ve been discussing.

[1] - explaining what exactly it is that makes that musician or recording worth caring about is not an easy thing to do

-2] - “Texture” is the word that is used to refer to the actual sound of the music. This encompasses the instruments with which it is played; its tonal colors; its dynamics; its sparseness or its complexity.

Texture involves anything to do with the sound experience and it is the word that is used to describe the overall impression that a piece of music creates in our emotional imagination.

[3] - “Some young, Jazz players use a lot of notes in their solos.

This tendency seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.

Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”

Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.

They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.

Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?

[4] - playing modal Jazz in combination with unusual time signatures, just the thing to peak the musical interest young … Jazz musicians who want to put their own stamp on the music.

Let’s see if I can tie these four observations together as they relate to Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Emergency Postcards CD.

I was intrigued by the music’s texture [sound], by the technical virtuosity and facility of the young musicians playing it, engaged by their youthful exuberance  in executing it, constantly surprised by the new directions these talented players pushed the music, amused by their audaciousness in combining meter and melody in unexpected ways [Dave Brubeck would have loved these guys], amazed by the music’s humor and its poignancy [let alone some of its complicated song titles] and otherwise completely baffled about how I was going to explain the music and why I liked it.

So I did the next best thing.

I contacted John Dorhauer, the Musical Director of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players – not to be confused with the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in Physics – and asked him if he would make clear what’s going on in the music for each of the tracks on the CD.

Much to my delight [and, relief], he agreed and sent along the following annotations.

Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Emergency Postcards

“Death & Taxes”

This lead track from EP features a perpetual funk groove that winds through a few distinct permutations before finally returning to the opening idea.  The melody is first heard in a trio of trumpet, alto sax, and trombone, and this is immediately repeated with everyone joining in on the fun.  This gives way to the first solo (Tim Koelling, alto sax), which features backgrounds that progressively build the ensemble to a climax, only to drop back down in texture for the second solo (Andrew Ecklund, trumpet).  This section begins with a spacey, ambient version of the funk groove, but it switches back to the original hook halfway through.  After a brief ensemble section, the groove breaks down completely and shifts to a new funk groove built off a chunky hook.  This gives way to a bass solo (Dan Parker), which features another progressive ensemble build leading to a sudden drop off in texture.  The ensemble returns for a succession of biting punches that accentuate a series of drum fills (Keith Brooks), which ultimately brings back a brief statement of the original melody.

 “Stercorem pro Cerebro Habes (That is Definitely Food for Thought)”

“Stercorem” has a Latin groove cooked over a slow sizzle and a structure built around a compound ternary (ABA) form from classical music.  Both of the first two sections feature distinct melodies (the former starts in unison trombones, while the latter starts in unison saxes) that give way to solo sections built off their respective forms (Carl Kennedy, piano, and Luke Malewicz, trombone).  The final section is a fusion of these first two: though it uses the form and progression of the first section, the melodies from both sections are pitted against each other in a dense counterpoint.

“#howthef***didigethere”

Written by tenor saxophonist Vinny Starble, “#” features a constantly evolving texture supported by a mellow hip-hop groove.  The groove builds progressively over the intro as the ensemble slowly crescendos towards a peak.  Once the guitar solo enters (Chris Parsons), the ensemble builds towards another climax before dropping off and shifting to Starble’s tenor solo.  This extended solo section uses a single vamp, and it also includes its own rising/falling sense of tension.  The final build of the track occurs over the escalating drum solo (Keith Brooks) as members of the band enter progressively.  The opening vamp then returns, which ultimately tapers to a solo piano cadenza that reflects the fading tick of a clock.

“Cactus Fruit”

“Cactus Fruit” is a burning Bird blues that has an energetic drive that makes it an ideal opener for live sets.  After the initial full band blast, the drums fill into an angular soli for alto sax, tenor sax, and muted trumpets.  The rest of the band returns for the head of the tune, which pits all three horn sections against each other with layers of interwoven melodies.  This builds to a climax similar to the first four notes of the tune, which then gives way to the first solo section (Andrew Ecklund, trumpet).  Following this, the saxes take over with a virtuosic soli, culminating in the song’s first deviation from the 12-bar blues form.  Trombone pads and a New Orleans street beat introduce another section of melodic trade-offs between sax and trumpet pairings.  This deviation is short-lived, however, as another ensemble build leads back to the blues form and another solo (Adam Frank, tenor sax).  This then gives way to the final two choruses of the chart, and the resulting ensemble section is also its climax.  Though the blues form and short melodic motives are developed extensively, there is no repetition of extensive melodic material at any point throughout the tune.

“Honey Badger”

There is very little repetition of material in “Honey Badger,” as it is essentially a through-composed piece that explores a variety of styles and grooves.  After an ambiguous, winding intro, the music then shifts abruptly to a greasy speak-easy swing.  This section starts with a trombone solo (Phil Arquette), but ensemble backgrounds steadily build to a climax, at which point the groove changes yet again.  The bass lays down the foundation for a driving groove, and the texture evolves from a brass soli section to more contrapuntal one with weaving lines from the full ensemble.  A tenor solo (Adam Frank) is added over the same groove, but a new chord progression is introduced.  This then leads to yet another new section built over a similar groove that establishes unique melodic material played by the full ensemble.  What is unique about this section is that the bass line used generates many of the motives that develop throughout the piece.  After two more solos (James Baum, bari sax, Carl Kennedy, piano), another brief ensemble section gets interrupted by a short coda that uses the song’s intro.

“5 – e - & - a”

As its title implies, “5 – e - & - a” is an exercise in counting.  While it is a straight-ahead swing tune at its core, it also has measures of 5/4 meter sprinkled throughout that serve to thwart listeners’ expectations.  The melody follows a conventional AABA structure, and after a brief ensemble send-off modeled off the song’s intro, the first solo section emerges (Vinny Starble, tenor sax, and Luke Malewicz, trombone).  An ensemble soli section links the two solo sections, and unison brass and harmonized saxes trade off phrases that stumble in and out of 5/4 measures.  After the final two solos (Steve Duncan, trombone, and Chris Parsons, guitar), a climactic ensemble section gives way to a return of the song’s original melody.  This section starts much softer, but it brings back the original energy at the bridge.  It concludes with the full ensemble playing a short coda that borrows from the song’s intro.

“Lilacs”

This album closer blends numerous distinct styles together in what is another through-composed piece, and it treats the jazz band more like a symphonic ensemble (flute and clarinet are used extensively).  The intro features five chords over which the soprano sax (Tim Koelling) improvises a florid cadenza.  The docile R&B groove of the first section then kicks in, which also features an orchestrally conceived melody played by soprano sax, flute, flugelhorn, and trumpet with harmon mute.  Though this first section has two distinct phrases in an AABA form, the following solo section (featuring Dan Parker, bass, and Xavier Galdon, trombone) is played over a contrasting chord progression (borrowing the five chords from the intro) and form.  After a short return of both parts of the main melodic material, the music radically changes directions and veers into a brash and ominous symphonic march.  This second section is driven by a solo snare drum, and it also features thick brass writing.  Soprano sax solos over a stripped-down version of this groove with no chordal instruments, and this is interrupted by new material that is even more aggressive.  These interjections foreshadow the third and final section, which features a pummeling rock groove, symphonic writing for the winds, and even a dissonant circus waltz.  This builds to a point of climactic explosion in the brass, which tapers away to reveal a woodwind chorale coda taken from the beginning.

- John Dorhauer, Musical Director, Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Adjunct Professor and Freelance Composer at Elmhurst College and Roosevelt University

With John’s road map to Emergency Postcards as my guide, I listened to the music on this CD with a new awareness and appreciation.

You have to work on being receptive to it to do justice to the talent these young Jazz musicians bring to playing it.

This is Jazz in the 21^st century: these players hear the music differently. The music of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players takes from the Jazz tradition while at the same time synthesizing influences and inspirations from disparate, contemporary musical sources – something that Jazz has done throughout it existence.

But if you make the effort to “get into it” in much the same manner that you made the effort going from swing to bop to hard bop to modal Jazz and unusual time signatures to Free Jazz to Jazz-Rock fusion, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players will reward such efforts by moving your ears in different directions and by putting a big smile on your face.

The late, eminent Jazz author, Whitney Balliett once described Jazz as – “The Sound of Surprise.”

Trust me the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players’ Emergency Postcards CD is chock full of surprises.

As has always been the case, it takes a lot of courage, hard work and dedication to play Jazz. The music is rarely accompanied by a broad-based popular approval.

You play Jazz for the love of it and for the inner satisfaction that comes from achieving something that is not easily attainable.

Did I mention that it was hard to play this stuff?

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players website can be located at www.huplayers.com. The site includes order information for the Emergency Postcards CD, biographies of the various band members, videos and an itinerary of the band’s appearances.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players on Emergency Postcards are –

John Dorhauer: Director

Tim Koelling: [Lead] Alto sax, Soprano sax

Kelley Dorhauer: Alto sax, Clarinet

Adam Frank: Tenor sax

Vinny Starble: Tenor sax, Flute

James Baum: Baritone sax

Luke Malewicz: [Lead] Trombone

Phil Arquette: Trombone

Xavier Galdon: Trombone

Steve Duncan: Bass Trombone

Tom Klein: [Lead] Trumpet

Andrew Ecklund: Trumpet

Jen Marshall: Trumpet

Jenni Szczerbinski: Trumpet

Chris Parsons: Guitar

Carl Kennedy: Piano

Dan Parker: Acoustic, Electric Bass

Keith Brooks: Drums

Here’s a video of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players performing Cactus Fruit, which is a straight-ahead burner with a terrific sax soli that kicks in at 1:54 minutes, between a lively trumpet solo by Andrew Ecklund and a fine tenor solo by Adam Frank. Dan Parker on bass and Keith Brooks on drums really boot things along on this one.

Johnny Costa – Flying Fingers

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

After a while, the kids became accustomed to it and stopped starring at my half-shaven face when I stood with a razor in hand and mouth agape while pianist Johnny Costa performed during one of the episodes of Mr. Rogers [a public television program for children that starred the late, Fred Rogers and generally aired around 7:00 AM].

I couldn’t help myself; Johnny’s playing was so spellbindingly beautiful it was as though a large magnet was pulling me to go and look at the TV screen in the den. [And it seemed smarter to wander out in this manner rather than to rush and cut myself whilst shaving].

Often when Johnny had finished playing, I’d shake my head in quiet disbelief, while returning to the bathroom to deal with my by-now dry lather, at the incredible creativity that he had just tossed off so effortlessly.

Based in Pittsburgh and rarely traveling, thanks to the national prominence of the television show, which was also filmed there, I along with countless others were given the gift of being allowed to share in Johnny’s virtuosity.

Johnny talks about himself and his playing in the following interview he gave to Hank O’Neal and Bill Hillman, who produced his Flying Fingers CD for Chiaroscuro Records [CRD 317].

[The questions were not explicitly stated in the interview, but you can infer them by John’s responses.]

“There’s very few things that I do that I’m completely satisfied with.

When it happens, it’s the most pleasurable thing in the world.

You say: ‘You know, that’s perfect. Or as nearly perfect as it can be.’

And what a great feeling that is.

But you know what?

With music as in living; you can’t really achieve what you want to all the time.

So you have to take what is good at the moment and go on to the next.

The reason the ‘first take’ [in making a recording] is often the best is because the ideas just flow. And then what happens when you do the ‘second take’ is that you try to recapture what you thought you had in the ‘first take.’

Somehow you can’t do that.

When we are taping the Mr. Rogers, one of the hardest things is to have to do things over and over again because of maybe a camera glitch or somebody blows a line or something and so invariably your taking the fourth or fifth or seventh cut; it’s somehow lost something at that point.

That happens which is why the first time is usually the best.

Jazz, as wonderful as it is, always leaves you open to walking away and saying: “I should have done this and I should Have done that.’ Or ‘why didn’t I use this chord?’

There are so many ways to play these things.

The minute it is recorded and it’s done, your walking home when you suddenly say: ‘Gee, I wish I could do that again. I try it this way or that way.’

But that’s the fun of Jazz.

The reason that I don’t want to do anything that sounds like anybody else is two fold.

First of all, I only want to play the songs that have endured, those by the great popular composers. They have been done so many times and in so many ways that I thought I should bring a fresh approach to them.

For instance, how many recordings are there if Stardust?

I had to try and do something with that song that is different.

And I don’t want to get into much of the newer music because I’m not sure that it is something that I can handle.

Talking about how you would play a certain piece brings up so many ideas.

For instance, you have what you feel you want to play; something tugs at you and say, ‘Well now, do you want to make it sound modern?’

You want to make it technical enough so that the people are not bored with it and yet you want to always make sure that the melody is there.

I have always tried to respect the melody.

The songs that I chose, I love the melodies. They are great songs by great composers and I want to keep that pure.

But at the same time, maybe you need to show what the left hand can do. Or maybe what both hands do together.

Maybe you want to be compared to Art Tatum or some of the greats. And sometimes you just want to be yourself.

And somewhere in this maze, you kind of find which way to approach these things.

But it needs a lot of thought; it just doesn’t happen.

I guess if you are playing in a saloon or something and you are running through some of these songs, you don’t have to give it so much thought and just enjoy and have fun with it.

But it does require thought and I think Jazz is getting more that way.

It used to be a lot easier and a lot more fun and more spur of the moment.

But now I think it is quite mental.

I think it has gotten to the point now where it is an extraordinary art form and it needs to be thought about.

Sometimes what I do is interject a Classical piece in the Jazz that I’m playing.

I never thought about it but I guess the reason I do that is kind of a surprise. I think it was a gift from Tatum because he would always do that.

Once in a while I’ll do the scales and a few exercises, but I really don’t practice that much at all.

I say this humbly but for some reason, the fingers work whether I practice with them or not. I know that’s not the case for most people so I guess I’m just lucky that way. But just because I don’t have to practice, that doesn’t make it the right way.

What I have is a gift from God, but you do the best you can with what you have.

[At this point in the interview, Johnny talks about some of the tunes on the Flying Fingers CD].

Tea for Two is one of those songs that whatever I learned I could kind of put it in this song because it kind of leant itself to that.

I started building my arrangement way back in the 1940’s and just added things to it as I went along. Today it has almost taken its form.

The first time I heard Art Tatum and the wonderful things he did with Tea for Two I thought, ‘Well, I gotta try a little of that, too.’

Before that, I had a chance to get and hear Mel Hinke in Chicago. He did something with the beginning of the tune where he went around the cycle of fifths.

And then I heard a man called Alec Templeton, a blind pianist and it was uncanny what he was able to do. The right-hand would play one melody and the left-hand would play another. He would put them together.

I thought, ‘How nice. I can try that with Tea for Two because I can put the verse in the right-hand and the melody in the left-hand. So that’s in there.

Another time, Ravel’s La Valse and it almost lends itself perfectly to Tea for Two, so that’s in there.

When I was learning to play boogie-woogie, I thought some of that would be good to also put into tea for Two.

My arrangement of Manhattan came about quite early in my life. I had never been there but I saw movies and was fascinated with the city. And I wanted a kind of ‘inexpensive’ version of [Gershwin’s] Rhapsody in Blue, in which I bring out what I think is in New York City from viewing the films like the traffic noises, café society, Chinatown, and The Bowery at the end of it.

I thought it would be like a little musical trip around the city of New York and that’s the way I try to play it.

The very first time I sat down to play Over the Rainbow, I want to thing about the movie [The Wizard of Oz] and what it means. That song makes me want to go someplace else; someplace maybe that’s better.

But then when I do I always want to come home. We all do, if we can get back home.

One of the things that I thought about when I played that song was that I wanted to keep it pure and keep the thought of it as beautiful as I could.

[John’s original composition] Flying Fingers came about because I wanted to write something for Mr. Rogers’ wife who is a concert pianist. Also for myself to use at the end of my concerts when I want to do something quick and fast.

I called it Flying Fingers because that’s he way it sound.”

You can get some idea of Johnny’s fabulously facility and interpretive ability on the piano by viewing the following video on which he performs a Gershwin Medley.