Thursday, November 7, 2013

Gary Giddins: Celebrating Bird:The Triumph of Charlie Parker - Revised with a New Introduction

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




“ At Minton's Playhouse, originally the dining area of the neighboring Hotel Cecil, a new music policy had been introduced in 1939 by Teddy Hill, the erstwhile bandleader who once employed such incipient modernists as Dizzy Gillespie and drummer Kenny Clarke. He chose Clarke and the pianist Thelonious Monk to lead a house band for Monday night jam sessions, which succeeded in drawing distinguished as well as aspiring musicians. …


The young Turks were serving notice that old formulas were no longer good enough. They were in rebellion not only against the banalization of "our music" by commercial interests but also against the morass of cliches that governed so many improvisations. What they offered was not simply an elevated harmonic intricacy but rather a new articulation.”
- Gary Giddins, Celebrating Bird, pp. 72 and 74


“According to Gillespie, ‘Charlie Parker was the architect of the new sound. He knew how to get from one note to another, the style of the thing. Most of what I did was in the area of harmony and rhythm.’ It remained for the rest of the musicians in the ensemble to adapt Parker's precepts.”
- Gary Giddins, Celebrating Bird, p.76


“In an unpublished interview with Helen Oakley Dance, Duke Ellington's renowned trumpet soloist Cootie Williams called Parker ‘the greatest individual musician that ever lived," justifying his claim with the observation that’ every instrument in the band tried to copy Charlie Parker, and in the history of jazz there had never been one man who influenced all the instruments.’"
- Gary Giddins, Celebrating Bird, p. 76


Gary Giddins writes about Jazz with a tenacity of purpose that makes you feel glad that he’s on the side of the music.


Whether you agree with him or not, you gotta love his style and his passion.


The man can flat-out write and he does so with brio and bravura, especially when it comes to one of his Jazz heroes.


He almost breathes life into them as he is writing about them. [The fact that his biographies tend to be loaded with first-rate photographs is certainly also helpful in this regard].


Such was the case with his Satchmo biography of Louis “Pops” Armstrong and this miracle of manifestation is also on display in his recently published Celebrating Bird: The Triumph of Charlie Parker - Revised with a new Introduction.


Mr. Giddins’ recounts that when he was first writing about Jazz, there wasn’t enough readily available information to help him make the connection between Charlie Parker and Charlie’s nickname, “Bird” [aka “The Bird” and “Yardbird”] until an exasperated editor exclaimed: “..., everyone knows Charlie Parker is called Bird.”

Twenty five years later, Mr. Giddins would eradicate any hints of that naiveté with the 1987 publication of his definitive Celebrating Bird: The Triumph of Charlie Parker.



This is not a book review that purports to make any profound statements about Gary Giddins revision of Celebrating Bird: The Triumph of Charlie Parker which the University of Minnesota published in October, 2013.

The profundity is in Mr. Giddins’ well-researched and astute writing on Charlie Parker, one of the most important musicians in the history of Jazz, by one of the premier writers on the subject, not in any review of it.


What follows, then, are my personal thoughts and impressions of Mr. Giddins’ biography of Charlie “Bird” Parker; more along the lines of what I found to be interesting and instructive concerning his view of a Jazz musician whose influence I always felt, but never knew much about.


One of the main values of this book is that it tells Parker’s story in a coherent and continuous narrative; less the stuff of legends and more about the manner in which a Jazz genius came into existence.


Since the original publication of Celebrating Bird: The Triumph of Charlie Parker in 1987, much of the information about Bird’s life has become more readily available. But Mr. Giddins’ work helps the reader “see” this information, differently.





As detailed in the University of Minnesota’s media release:


“Within days of Charlie "Bird" Parker's death at the age of thirty-four, a scrawled legend began appearing on walls around New York City: Bird Lives. Gone was one of the most outstanding jaZZ musicians of any era, the troubled genius who brought modernism to jazz and became a defining cultural force for musicians, writers, and artists of every stripe Arguably the most significant musician in the country at the time of his death, Parker set the standard many musicians strove to reach-though he never enjoyed the same popular success that greeted many of his imitator, Today, the power of Parker's inventions resonates undiminished; and his influence continues to expand.


Celebrating Bird is the groundbreaking and award-winning account of the life and legend of Charlie Parker from renowned biographer and critic Gary Giddins, whom Esquire called "the best Jazz writer in America today." Richly illustrated and drawing primarily from original sources, Giddins overturns many of the myths that have grown up around Parker. He cuts a fascinating portrait of the period, from Parker's apprentice days in the 1930s in his hometown of Kansas City to the often difficult years playing clubs in New York and Los Angeles, and reveals how Parker came to embody not only musical innovation and brilliance but the rage and exhilaration of an entire generation.


Fully revised and with a new introduction by the author, Celebrating Bird is a classic of jazz writing that the Village Voice heralded as "a celebrating of the highest order" - a portrayal of a Jazz virtuoso whose gargantuan talent was haunted by his excesses and a view into the ravishing art of one of jazz's most commanding and remarkable figures.”


An indispensable primer on the life of Charlie Parker and his music when it was first published over twenty-five years ago, this revision makes it even more so because as Mr. Giddins states:


“Charlie Parker and his peers, shoulders to the wheel, inspiration through the roof, created the bedrock of modern Jazz, its aspirations and language. We hear him more than we know.”


In each of the book’s five chapters - Bird Lives!, Youth, Apprenticeship, Mastery, Bird Lives - Mr. Giddins helps us look at Parker’s life and music in the context in which it occurred and goes to great lengths to help us “hear him.”


If you ever wondered how Bird came about?; What was it like for him at the beginning?; How did he create such a formidable, musical persona, one that influenced many of his contemporaries?; Why and how does Parker’s influence on Jazz continue to this day?: the answers to these questions can be found in the 150 pages of Mr. Giddins biography along with a detailed discography and a selected bibliography.


To give you the “flavor” of Mr. Giddins’ polished style of writing and his many astute observations about Bird’s development and significance, here are excerpts from each of the book’s five chapters:


Bird Lives!


“[Upon his death, two New York papers published Charlie Parker obituaries under the name of “Yardbird Parker.”] Posterity made up for that neglect in a hurry, not with an accurate rendering of facts but with a rush of memories, many of them self-serving, a mad pastiche of discipleship and ardent love. ‘I knew him better than anyone,’ is the most frequent pledge a Parker biographer hears. But the fairest warning he can expect is that of the far from dispassionate observer who said, ‘You will talk to a million people and you will hear of a million Charlie Parkers.’ One wonders if it is possible to peel away the Charlie Parker created in death by family and partisans, hagiographers and voyeurs, and if so, to what purpose? Would a Charlie Parker reduced to life size be more easily apprehended, understood, and admired, or even closer to the truth, than the one of legend? The one irreducible fact of his existence is his genius, which will not cater to the routine explanations of psychologists, sociologists, anthropologists, or musicologists. But a basic ordering of facts, as best they can be adduced in spite of conflicting claims, may, at least, complement the music of Charlie Parker and engage the imagination of listeners who know the ravishing pleasures of his art.” [pp. 16-17]





Youth


“Without formal training, Charlie adhered to the golden rule or the autodidact: if it sounds good, it is good. Immersed in the ceremony of mastering an art for which there are complicated techniques but no absolute procedures, he worked feverishly to soak up its secrets and traditions. Despite his infrequent assertions of self he moved cautiously through the Kansas City jazz world, preparing himself not for the moment when it offered him acceptance but for when he could supersede local ritual and, fueled by everything he had learned, take flight, like Basie, like Lester. The good apprentice seeks worthy masters and accommodates their teachings in grateful humility. Buster "Prof" Smith contracted a large band for the Reno that fall, with Jesse Price and Jay McShann. He hired Charlie as second alto and took him under his wing, teaching him to shave thick reeds to project a bold, brighter sound. Charlie never missed a rehearsal, never came late. He called Smith "Dad" and visited his house for extra sessions. When the band moved up a grade to the Antlers, Parker openly emulated the older man's improvisations.” [p.49]


Apprenticeship


“Parker was achieving the kind of fluency that only the greats can claim: complete authority from the first lick and the ability to sustain the initial inspiration throughout a solo so that it has dramatic coherence. His tone became increasingly sure, waxing in volume despite the purposeful lack of vibrato. It was candid and unswerving, and it had a cold blues edge unlike that of any of his predecessors. …” [p.64]


“Parker's countless choruses on "Cherokee" were a call to arms for young players who'd been exploring similarly advanced ideas in improvisation. His technique and speed, logic and lyricism, fire and shrewdness added up to a way out of the woodshed and into the light of accomplishment.” [p. 71]


Mastery


Bird flourished in the bustling, integrated atmosphere of The Street [52nd Street], engorging himself on drugs, women, drink, food, and music in any order they came. His appetite for life exhilarated his friends and made him an easy mark for parasites and pushers who dogged his steps as relentlessly as his fans. With mobsters like Frank Costello running things, Fifty-second Street was something of a safe house from the police, though not from such peculiarly American treacheries as the white servicemen who taunted black musicians on the stand or in the bars, especially when they were in the company of white women. Still, for the most part, New York was a movable feast, and Bird tasted of it fully, fusing with people of every sort and storing motley bits of information. He seemed able to discuss everything, from science to chess to politics. Just as you could never tell what he would play from one set to the next, you couldn't predict where his conversation would turn. He had a way of discerning the subjects that were of interest to people, especially young musicians. "He spoke beautifully, and he was very kind," Al Cohn said. "He could talk to intellectuals about music and art and turn around and talk to street people as though he were one of them." Pepper Adams was only sixteen when he met him in Detroit, and they became friends because of a mutual fascination with Honegger. When Birds opinions appeared in print, fans sprang into action. "After I read that he liked Schoenberg," Phil Woods recalled, "I started to listen to Schoenberg. Whatever Bird said, that was it, you had to check it out."


Yet his habit worsened, and his absences increased to the point that Gillespie was regularly making excuses and carrying the show. Genius doesn't know its own worth, Sartre wrote. By most accounts, Bird knew his, but the knowledge was never enough to still the demons.” [pp.94-95]


Bird Lives


“Despite its incalculable influence, the specific legacy of Parker's genius is known to a relatively small but international cult. Admirers wonder at the absence of civil honors (statues, streets, parks, stamps), though a more acute absence is that of adequate recognition in studies that purport to evaluate "serious" music. While the philistines guard the gates of culture, the immediacy of Parker's achievement continues to astonish. You hear him, perhaps unexpectedly, when you walk into a friend's house, on the car radio, or worked into a film score, and you are struck by the relentless energy and uncorrupted humanity of his music. It is never without direction. This most restive, capricious of men is unequivocal in his art. He never deigns to impress with mere virtuoso moonshine. He draws you in, raises you up. His ballads are stirringly candid, his fiery free flights ruled with zeal, desire, rage, love. Was he more enthralled by life or terrified by it? Dead at thirty-four, played out like a bad song, looking twenty years his senior. Yet Bird lives. Bird is the truth. Bird is love. Bird is thousands of musical fragments, each a direct expression of a time and place—a mosaic burst into radiant bits. As with Mozart, the facts of Charlie Parker's life make little sense because they fail to explain his music. Perhaps his life is what his music overcame. And overcomes.” [p. 145]

It has been said that God sprinkles a few geniuses into each lifetime to inspire the rest of us.

Maybe it takes a genius to reveal a genius?

You get the idea.

Order information is available at http://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/celebrating-bird/ and via most online retailers.


The following video tribute to Charlie Parker features him performing Ko-Ko with Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet and Max Roach on drums as recorded on November 26, 1945.


Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Joe Morello on the Conan O'Brien Television Program - "Take Five"

The following video is taken from Joe's 1995 appearance on Conan's late night television show.

Just to keep it interesting, Joe drops a stick toward the end of his solo and, while searching for a replacement in the stick bag attached to one of the floor tom toms, he manages to keep the solo going even while pulling out two tympani mallets before finding another drum stick!

BTW, for those who may not be aware, the sunglasses are not a hip affectation. Joe was legally blind.


Monday, November 4, 2013

James Price Johnson and William "Chick" Webb [From the Archives]

Due to "technical difficulties beyond our control," I was forced to remake both of the videos that accompany this post.  Out of respect for these early makers of the music, I didn't want this piece languishing in the blog archives without them.


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

From time-to-time, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles likes to give a quick nod to some of those who made the music during its formative stages.

Its our small way of remembering their contributions and it is a always great fun to compare what was happening in Jazz, then and now.

At times, even with the “distant” sound that characterized the audio of many of the earlier recordings, it can be quite startling to hear the improvised ideas and technical mastery of these early Jazz musicians.

Two such musicians that have always impressed us in this manner are pianist James P. Johnson, who died in 1955, and drummer Chick Webb, who died in 1939.

We have brought together video tributes to each of them as developed by the ace graphics team at CerraJazz LTD and coupled them with short portraits by notable Jazz writers.



© -Len Lyons and Don Perlo, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“In the hands of James Price Johnson [1894-1955], ragtime piano developed into "stride," a more boldly imaginative style characterized by a left hand that constantly strides from the lower to the middle register of the keyboard. Johnson played in a looser, more blues-based style than the classically oriented rag-timers. Though he was always drawn to composing orchestral works, he will be remembered most for his solo-piano playing and for his timeless composition "The Charleston" (1923). He was a profound force in the development of jazz piano, tutoring Fats Waller and influencing the piano styles of Duke Ellington, Art Tatum, Thelonious Monk, and countless stride players.

Johnson began learning classical piano from his mother. When the family moved to New York in 1908, he was exposed to ragtime and blues at rent parties and in Long Island resorts during the summer. He studied classical piano as well as harmony and counterpoint with Bruno Giannini and he developed a superb, almost athletic technique, which set a standard that other stride pianists were expected to emulate. He would often introduce paraphrased passages from the classics into his own blues, shouts, and rags. Johnson also learned the repertoires of the eastern ragtime players like Abba Labba (Richard MacLean) and Eubie Blake. Johnson was known for his playing at a club called The Jungle, where poor laborers from the South danced to his solo-piano shouts. One can easily imagine from listening to his recordings decades later the relentless rocking rhythms he must have generated in that environment.

In 1917, Johnson began recording rolls for the Q.R.S. company. His original “Carolina Shout” [1921 and the audio track to the above video] became a standard for the era for East Coast pianists: [Duke] Ellington and [Thomas “Fats”] Waller, for example, learned it by ear.” Jazz Portraits: The Lives and Music of the Jazz Masters [New York: William Morrow/Quill, 1989, pp.307-308].


© -Burt Korall, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“Buddy Rich. ‘Until the mid-1930s, I had never been any place where jazz was played. I was in another world, a world called show business that really had nothing to do with music. I lived in Brooklyn with my family when I was becoming involved with jazz. One Wednesday night in '35, a bunch of my friends took me to the Apollo Theater on 125th Street in Harlem for the amateur night thing. That was the first time I dug Chick Webb.

He was the total experience on drums. He played everything well. A little later, about the time I joined Joe Marsala at the Hickory House in 1937,1 went up to the Savoy to check him out again. What I remember most distinctly was that he was differ­ent and individual—not like Cozy Cole or Jimmy Crawford or any of the other cats. Even his set was different. He had cymbals on those gooseneck holders, the trap table, a special seat and pedals made specifically for him because he was so small.

Chick was hell on the up-tempos. He kept the time firm and exciting, tapping out an even 4/4 on the bass drum. That was something in the 1930s. Most of the guys downtown could hardly make two beats to the bar; they were into the Chicago style— Dixieland.

Chick set an example. He was hip, sharp, swinging. You know, only about a half-dozen of the top drummers since then, including today's so-called "great" drummers, have anything re­sembling what he had. If he were alive now, I think most drum­mers would be running around trying to figure out why they decided to play drums. That's how good he was!

As a soloist, Chick had no equal at that time. He would play four- and eight-bar breaks that made great sense. And he could stretch out, too, and say things that remained with you. It's dif­ficult to describe his style and exactly what he did. One thing is certain, though; he was a marvelous, big-band, swing drummer. Gene [Krupa] got to the heart of the matter when he said, after the Goodman-Webb band battle at the Savoy in '37, "I've never been cut by a better man."’ …

Webb in action made quite a picture. When swinging hard, he brought the entire drum set into play as he proceeded, moving his sticks or brushes across, around, up, and down the hills and valleys of the set. He choked cymbals, teased sound out of them, or hit them full; he played time and variations on the pulse on his snare, high-hat, cymbals, tom-toms, cowbell, temple blocks (often behind piano solos), and, of course, on the bass drum. He had facility to burn; fast strokes, with diversified accents, most often were played to forward the cause of the beat.” Drummin’ Men: The Heartbeat of Jazz – The Swinging Years [New York: Schirmer, 1990. pp. 19-21].



Glasses lifted to the early guys: no them – no Jazz.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Revisiting Joe Morello

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




If you were a drummer, it was always easy to find him.


If the classic Dave Brubeck Quartet was in town, just head for the nearest drum store some time after lunch and you’d be almost certain to run into Joe Morello.


Whether it was Roy Harte’s Drum City on Santa Monica Blvd. of Bob Yeager and Chuck Molinari’s Professional Drum Shop around the corner on Vine Street in Hollywood, CA, or Kenny Williams’ Drumland in San Francisco, Frank’s Drums in Chicago or Jack’s Drum Shop in Boston, Joe would be there holding forth behind a drum kit while drummers both young and old peppered him with questions.


And he couldn’t have been nicer about taking the time to answer them, usually with some sort of demonstration on a snare drum that he had tuned to perfection.




While he certainly had the acclaim of the general public and won his share of awards, for the life of me, I could never understand why Joe never received more approval from the Jazz press.


Many of the later extolled the polyrhythmic intricacies of Elvin Jones and Tony Williams or the spectacular flash of Buddy Rich, or applauded the melodicism of Max Roach, Art Blakey and Roy Hayes - each and every one, deserving of such praise in his own way - but Joe seemed to get dismissed out-of-hand as someone less-than-worthy, primarily because of his association with Brubeck.


Joe’s time was flawless and flowing, he played drums with power AND speed, had a well-developed sense of humor “on” the instrument and could practically blow-up a room with percussive pyrotechnics when given an extended drum solo.


Given the considerable range a drummer would need night after night to accompany alto saxophonist Paul Desmond’s lyricism on the one hand and pianist Dave Brubeck’s thunderingly complex improvisations on the other, and then hold one’s own on occasion when called upon to solo either briefly or at length, Joe was a musical marvel, let alone, modest to a fault about his talent and ability.


Once toward the end of his 12 ½ year stint with Brubeck’s quartet when I asked him about this lack of recognition by the Jazz cognoscenti, he laughed and said: “Well, I’ve had a steady, well paying gig for over ten years, have travelled all over the world and I get a featured drum solo every night. Not bad, eh?”


Joe’s masterful drumming is on display in the following video tribute on Deep in the Heart of Texas from the Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Southern Scene Columbia/Sony recording.


In his sleeve notes, Dave Brubeck had this to say about Joe’s playing on this old chestnut.


“Joe introduces the melody on drums, I follow with a repetition of the melody, but with a rather different harmonic approach from the original. … Joe concludes with a remarkably intricate performance which unwinds over three choruses, creating patterns within patterns, all of which are spun from the original melody we heard in the drum introduction.


Try three choruses of ‘singing along with Joe’ [i.e. keeping the melody in mind while listening to Joe’s solo] and you’ll find it quite a relief when you come out with him when he returns to the melody on the fourth chorus.”


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Saturday, November 2, 2013

Quartet

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




Imagine this if you will.


A young male in his late teens walking to high school dressed in a buttoned-down, Oxford cloth white shirt, open at the collar, with a Haynes crew t-shirt barely showing at the neck.


He’s wearing Levi bluejeans, no belt, white sox and black penny loafers with leather heels.


His hair is closely cropped and parted in an Ivy-league hairstyle.


It’s the dead of Winter, but he has no hat or jacket on because the southern California sunshine has him wrapped in a layer of warmth.


A spiral bound notebook and a few textbooks are firmly gripped in the crook between his left-wrist and hand while the fingers of his right hand are snuggled into the front pocket of his jeans.


With his aviator style dark glasses, he looks to all the world like the epitome of Coolness and, for the world that existed in his head at the time - was there any other? - he was.


The only thing missing were earbuds plugged into an Mp3 player, mobile phone or some other digital device with audio playback capabilities.


Unfortunately, the extent of the audio miniaturization of his day was the 33 ⅓ rpm Long-playing record, hardly something one could tote around on the walk to school.


But had there been such technology then, I know exactly what music it would be playing - More Swinging Sounds: Shelly Manne and His Men, Vol. 5 [Contemporary C-3519; OJCCD 320-2].


For me, no cooler sounds were ever played that the five [5] tracks that trumpet and valve trombone player Stu Williamson, alto saxophonist Charlie Mariano, pianist Russ Freeman, bassist Leroy Vinnegar and drummer Shelly Manne laid down at Contemporary studios in Los Angeles on July 16th, August 15th and August 16th, 1956.


To my ears, the unison sound/timbre of trumpet and alto sax that Stu and Charlie achieved on these recording was the epitome of Cool; it literally sent chills up my spine then and it has the same effect on me today.


The crowning glory of the music on that album was the fifth track - Bill Holman’s Quartet - A Suite in Four Parts.


Its four movements constitute 15:36 minutes of pure rapture; it is everything that Jazz should be: cleverly constructed compositions that unleash moving solos in a variety of tempos with plenty of room for the drums to stretch out [is my bias showing again?].


The sleeve notes contain these annotations about the piece.


“Of Quartet, Bill Holman writes: "Originally Shelly's idea was a long piece for the group, possibly with several sections, moods and tempos, long enough to extend the written parts and yet have space for blowing.


My interpretation: a jazz piece written especially for this group with its personality in mind; predominantly written, not too technically difficult to impair the jazz feeling, lines written to be played with a jazz feeling. Several sections to give contrast, form and continuity necessary for a piece of this length
.
Construction: 1st and 4th parts built mainly on traditional blues progression, very closely related thematically. 2nd part related to first and fourth, but to lesser degree. 3rd part melodically unrelated, but drum figures imply theme from 1st and 4th. Shelly improvises drum intro, develops theme. The four sections correspond broadly to the four movements of the classical sonata form. This form used, not because it is a classical form (...) but because it has proved itself, thru centuries of use, capable of supporting (as framework) a composition of this length.”


The editorial staff at JazzProfiles thought it might be fun to employ Parts 1,2,3 and 4 of Shelly quintet’s masterful interpretation of Bill Holman's Quartet as the soundtracks to individual tributes to the artistry of Kazimir Malevich [1878-1935], Salvador Dali [1904-1989], Lucien Freud [1922-2011] and Francis Bacon [1909-1992], respectively, and you will find these combinations in the video playlist that closes this feature.


As a result of these technological experiments with sound and video, I now also have all four parts of Quartet available on my WiFi tablet as You Tubes and as Mp3 files on my mobile phone .

I use the latter with earbuds and listen to these cools sounds during my morning walk.


My, my has the world changed in the past fifty years and thankfully, me along with it!