(EI: If my essay about Whiplash is the prosecution, this is the defense. Very special thanks to Mark Stryker.)  

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Wow, Buddy Rich. Complicated. To do him justice would demand a sprawling essay that would wind its way through jazz, celebrity, race,  the sweep of 20th Century popular culture, child prodigies and child stars, the swing era, cultism, post-war big bands, jazz education, musical virtuosity, professionalism, craft and art and psychological analysis. What I offer here are just a few reflections.

What a life: Buddy was literally born into show business, joining his parents’ vaudeville act before the age of 2; he’d cap the show with a snare drum solo. By age 4 he was being billed as “Traps, the Drum Wonder.” Buddy eventually became the second highest paid child star of his era after Jackie Coogan (who most folks today only know as Uncle Fester on The Addams Family). Buddy worked briefly with Artie Shaw but became a household name with Tommy Dorsey from 1939-42 and ’45-46. (In between he was in the Marines.) He appeared in films and recorded with Prez, Bud, Bird and Jazz at the Philharmonic. Count Basie, with whom he also worked and recorded, was one of his closest friends, a father figure. Sammy Davis Jr. was another close friend. So was Sinatra – well, when Frank and Buddy weren’t trying to kill each other. Buddy was a product of show business, a product of jazz, a product of big bands and a product of an age when there was a lot of overlap between them all and the borders were porous. Buddy could really tap dance, really sing and, oh yeah, he played a little drums.

I think it’s important to remember that “Buddy Rich” and “The Cult of Buddy Rich” are different things, and it’s not fair to blame the former for the latter, even if the latter couldn’t exist without the former. I hate the cult. It grew up around Buddy because his charisma was undeniable, because his chops were truly spellbinding, because your average American (and rock drummer) has always mistaken virtuoso instrumental technique for artistry and expression, because Buddy was a media animal, and because he was a white star who came with the imprimatur of his black colleagues. Buddy was always on TV – Carson, Merv, Mike Douglas, guest spots on the Muppets, the Lucy show, etc. He was seriously funny, with great comic timing that surely came from studying all those comedians in vaudeville. He even co-starred with George Carlin and Buddy Greco in a summer replacement TV show in 1967. But he also didn’t have sustained success as a leader of his own band until launching the 20-year final act of his career in 1966. He was 48. Think about that for a minute: 48. That’s late to fulfill your ultimate destiny when you’ve already been in the business for 46 years.  Nothing was given to Buddy Rich; he earned everything, and he lived as if it could all go away tomorrow, because he had gone through enough false starts and failed ventures to know that it could.

Buddy was an incredibly gifted and natural musician. He did what he did better than anyone, though I’d be the first to admit that what he did is not something I need a lot of in my life – or maybe any at all. Power, speed, precision, intensity, excitement, grandstanding, bombast. They’re all indivisible with Buddy. But there’s more to it than that. There’s swing and groove and personality (for better or worse) and a pocket – not a bebop pocket, not a relaxed pocket, not a Basie pocket, not a Mel Lewis pocket. It’s a Buddy Rich pocket. Right on the damn beat and as consistent as an atomic clock. Don’t dig it? That’s cool. Buddy doesn’t give a shit what you think. Taste and patience? Well, those lines were kinda long when Buddy came around so, to paraphrase sportswriter Frank Deford on Bob Knight, Buddy went back to take extras on bile and ego. But Buddy had high standards and expected nothing from anyone else that he didn’t demand from himself. Respect.

Buddy’s early playing grew out of Jo Jones, Sid Catlett and Chick Webb, and he once said that he learned how to play brushes by seeing O’Neil Spencer with the John Kirby Sextet. Buddy admired Gene Krupa for elevating the profile of drummers, and surely some of Krupa’s showmanship rubbed off – though it’s worth remembering that Buddy was already a showman before he was out of diapers. “I was quite clear about what my job was by the time I went with Shaw,” he once told Burt Korall. “I knew I had to embellish each arrangement, tie it together, keep the time thing going, and inspire the players to be better. My way was to keep the energy level up and push hard. This concept was strictly from Harlem. I learned from black drummers like Chick Webb, Jo Jones and Sid Catlett. In those days, the only reason you were hired was to keep the band together. It was up to you to swing the band, add impetus and drive. And it certainly helped if you had a feeling for what the arranger wanted. The function of the drummer was to play for the band, and if you were good enough, you’d be noticed.”

Buddy never lost his swing era roots, but he heard Max Roach and his contemporaries and modernized his cymbal beat and left-hand accents along the way. By the ‘70s he was playing his own brand of rock and funk convincingly. Has any drummer in jazz traveled so far, from “Hawaiian War Chant” to “Birdland”?  Of course, the 1950 studio session with Bird, Dizzy and Monk is not his finest hour. What was Norman Granz thinking?! But Buddy was still trying to figure it out. Maybe it would have been better a decade later. Probably not. But I tell you what: He plays beautifully on those mid ‘40s sides with Lester Young and Nat Cole: sparkling and subtle brush work, playing for the group and not himself – just one of the cats.

I hear a lot of shuffling parade drumming in Buddy’s playing: The rudiments recombined at supersonic speed. Know who else made magic with rudiments? Philly Joe Jones – who loved Buddy (and vice versa). Speaking to Down Beat in 1976, Philly Joe said: “My favorite drummers are – and always have been – Max Roach, Art Blakey, Kenny Clarke, Buddy Rich. I always get looked at funny when I mention Buddy Rich. Shit! If any drummer looks another way when Bernard is doing his thing, he’s not only crazy but I’ll bet you’ll never hear his name get any size in music. Max don’t want to play like Buddy and I’m sure it’s the same with Art, Kenny and the others; but, really, who do you know can upstage Buddy Rich? Or get the same ovation from the audience? If you listen and watch Buddy and have hands and mind, you’ll cop something.”

Buddy drove a big band the way Sandra Bullock drove that bus in Speed, except Buddy goes faster – 100 miles an hour and in complete control, setting up figures, filling in the gaps, zooming around the drum set, having a ball just being Buddy Rich, because being Buddy Rich WAS a fucking ball. He could purr rather than roar when he wanted. He could keep his ego in check when he wanted, especially when working with his elders or distinguished contemporaries. But, shit, it was just so much more fun being Buddy Rich. It was also a big responsibility. After all, his name was on the marquee, just like it was when he was 4.

For me the best of Buddy’s own records are the early World Pacific LPs from 1966-68:  Swingin’ New Big Band, Big Swing Face, The New One and perhaps Mercy, Mercy (mostly for Art Pepper’s gripping alto ballad feature, “Alfie,” and some high-energy tenor solos from Don Menza). While there were certainly young players on those bands (Ernie Watts, Chuck Findley) there were also midcareer pros with real big band experience like the very musical tenor saxophone soloist Jay Corre, alto saxophonist Gene Quill, pianist Ray Starling and others. Even a guy like trumpeter Bobby Shew, who was just 25 when he joined the first band, had already been around the block. The result is that those bands phrase, blend and swing with a naturalism and shaded dynamics that Buddy’s later bands, stocked mostly with kids just out of college jazz programs, never do. Most of Buddy’s post-1970 recordings give me the willies – the beat is too thin, the band too loud, the electric bass too dorky, the time feel too driven. The ensemble too often sounds like a halftime marching band playing “jazz.” Many Buddy enthusiasts will protest and point to the 1976-78 band that Buddy dubbed his “Killer Force” after a Hollywood shoot ‘em up starring Peter Fonda and Telly Savalas. Some fine players came through the ranks, among them Steve Marcus (the tenor saxophonist who stayed on the band for 12 years as its major soloist and straw boss, until Buddy’s death), Bob Mintzer, Barry Keiner, Dave Stahl, John Marshall and Jon Burr. Buddy himself said it was his best band. I’m not convinced. I do like parts of the 1977 LP Buddy Rich Plays and Plays and Plays (RCA) – nuclear energy, inventive Mintzer charts, good solos and a real unity of spirit – but the vibe for me is still too much jazz-as-athletic-competition.

Buddy’s own playing was more nuanced and tasteful in the early days of his band. The initial book came from the pens of Bill Holman, Bill Potts, Bill Reddie, Oliver Nelson, Phil Wilson, Bob Florence, Shorty Rogers, Don Sebesky and others. Yeah, the book doesn’t come close to Thad Jones (or Gerald Wilson), and many of those writing for Rich would do their best work in other contexts. But Buddy is such an animating spirit that he elevates the less inspired charts, and the good ones take off like rockets. The material is an interesting mix of originals, standards, flag wavers, virtuoso drum concertos (“West Side Story,” “Channel One Suite”) and covers of au courant pop tunes (“Norwegian Wood,” “Wack Wack,” “Uptight”) that attracted a younger audience without alienating the parents who remembered Buddy from the Dorsey days. This was not an easy tightrope to walk while carrying a 16-man payroll. Buddy saw it as a necessity to keep the band on the road and recording, and he pulled it off with panache and integrity. Respect.

The band at its best? Try the Basie-oriented “Basically Blues” (Wilson). Dig how Buddy guides the ensemble, swinging easy, setting up the brass perfectly and building to an honest climax in the shout. There’s real depth here. A lot of people forget that Buddy could play like this.

“Love for Sale,” arranged by Pete Meyers, who I don’t know anything about, but this is a rollicking chart. The band is tearing it up, and the thrilling speed-of-light snare drum break that Buddy unleashes at 3:53 is from another planet. I’ve heard it a zillion times and it still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Every time. Elvin and Trane make the hair stand up on the back of my neck too, for completely different and more profound reasons. But how much in life honestly makes the hair stand on the back of your neck for ANY reason? So when it happens, you gotta celebrate. Fuck yeah!

“Love for Sale” stayed in the book for the next 20 years, and it’s interesting to compare the original 1967 recording with the many later versions on YouTube. The tempo is always brighter in subsequent performances, and the bands invariably sound on edge and nervous. Is it the electric bass? The young players in the band? Buddy pushing and overcompensating because he subconsciously knows that the cats aren’t really swinging? All of the above? I don’t know. But it ain’t the same.

“Big Swing Face” (Potts). The blues in F. Nothing complicated but a really well-structured arrangement with a compelling narrative arc. Ernie Watts plays his ass off, the saxophone section soli is a beaut, the band plays with expressive dynamics and Buddy’s balance of suppleness and strength is rewarding in a way that his later work rarely is. No, it’s not Mel. Yeah, I like Mel better too. There’s NOBODY like Mel. But there’s nobody like Buddy either, and Mel would tell you that too.

“Big Swing Face” – the chart and the 1967 LP – holds a special place in my personal journey into jazz. It was the first jazz record I ever owned. (Kind of Blue was second.) I was 10 years old when my older brother played saxophone in the high school jazz band, and I can still remember hearing them play this chart in concert. The way the brass instruments and saxophones flashed under the lights, the volume of the band, the drums, the fun everybody seemed to be having and the irresistible “lift” of swing all made a huge impression on me. More than anything else, that experience and Buddy’s record compelled me to want to play the saxophone and jazz. So if I have a soft spot for Buddy Rich, well, there’s history there. Still, every time I go back to those early World Pacific LPs, they sound as good as ever to me, and I trust my ears enough to know it’s not just “first kiss” nostalgia.  I got hip pretty quick, and by the time I was in high school I was telling my friends that Philly Joe, Elvin and Art were hipper than Buddy. Now that I’m older I understand that hipness isn’t everything. Buddy Rich is nothing but Buddy Rich. That’s enough for one man. There’s only one of those – thank God! You don’t have to love him, and only a sycophant or a fool would love him unconditionally. I certainly don’t, but I love how Big Swing Face makes me feel. Respect.

Coda:

There’s a lot of video of Buddy and those who are interested can dive down the rabbit hole. I do want to point out some interesting odds and ends and things I tripped over while mulling this piece.

A movie short of Buddy of doing his vaudeville act was filmed in 1929. He’s either 11 or 12 here. While the video has apparently not survived the audio has. Here are two tastes:

Sinatra may not have had to worry about vocal competition from Buddy, and his pitch is, um, slippery. But, still, this is game.

A little hoofing: Buddy tap dancing with Louis DaPron, 1948

The sound isn’t great on this clip from the Merv Griffin show in 1967, but I love how clueless Merv is concerning the title of Herbie Phillips’ “A Little Trane.” The chart starts with an “Equinox” vibe and later quotes “Pursuance.”  The vintage graphics during Buddy’s solo at 4:27 have a “Spinal Tap” quality.

Buddy broke up his big band in 1974 and organized a small group that was in residence frequently at a club he opened in Manhattan called “Buddy’s Place.” He recorded an LP for the Groove Merchant label called Very Live at Buddy’s Place with – wait for it – Sonny Fortune on alto and flute, Sal Nistico on tenor, Kenny Barron or Mike Abene on piano & electric piano, Jack Wilkins on guitar, a very young Anthony Jackson on electric bass and Jimmy Maeulen on percussion. It’s a great blindfold test (especially Herbie’s “Chameleon” and the Latin-rock tune “Sierra Lonely”). It’s a pretty looney record – sometimes exhilarating, sometimes bizarre, sometimes both at once. The cover is a hoot: everybody in matching uniforms – white Pierre Cardin leisure suits with yellow turtle necks, except for Buddy, who wears a dark suit. Something weird happens on “Nica’s Dream.” They don’t play the bridge during the opening melody chorus, and after the head there’s a splice at the start of Fortune’s solo that cuts a chorus in half. He plays a 16-bar A, then what sounds like an 8-bar bridge, before the form gets back to normal. I think there may be a second splice that accounts for the truncated form, but it’s hard to tell exactly. “Billie’s Bounce” is trio with Barron leading the way. He double times like crazy, plays some McCoy-like fourths AND some barrelhouse blues. I hope I get a chance one day to ask Barron about working with Buddy and this track in particular. The tempo drops considerably. This must be the only example on record where Buddy slows down (or allows the band to slow down). I’d be surprised if he actually heard this track or approved it before it was released. Here’s a youtube playlist for the whole LP.

Somebody captured on tape about an hour of Buddy’s stage announcements while he was playing his club in ’74. It’s a great window into the era and the World of Buddy Rich – his humor, stage presence, celebrity. He announces the band, points out the guests in the room – Alan King, John Newcombe (the tennis star), Joni Mitchell, among them – previews coming attractions (including trying to sign Miles for the club, which leads to a fascinating anecdote), and basically just raps to the people. Best of all is a moment a little less than halfway through the tape when Redd Foxx and Scatman Crothers – Buddy was friends with both – come up on stage to sing and jive around.

http://www.mikejamesjazz.com/br_clips.html#unique_index (Click on the “Buddy and Special Guests” link.)

Finally, I assume that anyone reading this has already heard Buddy’s legendary tirades screaming at the band on the bus. But if you’ve somehow missed this jazz rite of passage, here it is:

I mentioned Bob Knight earlier, so here’s an interesting companion recording: Knight chewing out his Indiana team during the 1990-91 season. Both Buddy and Knight used fear as a motivational tactic – Old School.

Did you know that Buddy’s tirades were especially popular among comedians? Jerry Seinfeld explains, noting that three of Buddy’s lines made into Seinfeld.

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Mark Stryker has been an arts reporter and critic at the Detroit Free Press since 1995 covering classical music, jazz and the visual arts. He is close to completing his book on modern and contemporary jazz musicians from Detroit for the University of Michigan Press.

Harry Truman plays Mozart (badly) at the White House.

Richard Nixon plays piano on Jack Parr (his own “music,” but he didn’t orchestrate the strings).

Bill Clinton, saxophonist, plays some of “God Bless the Child” on Arsenio Hall.

My centennial celebration of Lester Young.

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I haven’t thought of that marvelous 1958 Mad Magazine spread on Hi-Fi in decades, but it came up in conversation recently and I just found it at this forum. These days I’m most impressed by the last page, record reviews and letters to the editor.

Selma is wonderful! Highly recommended. I saw it yesterday at BAM with a packed house. So, so good. Kudos to my man Jason Moran for the score; however the real revelation for this viewer was David Oyelowo as Dr. King.  Tom Wilkinson as LBJ was terrific too. When Oyelowo and Wilkinson were onscreen together it was simply electric. Now I need to catch up with the other work of director Ava DuVernay.

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Recent reading includes two books especially relevant to MLK day:

Carl Van Vechten was multi-talented and prolific novelist, partier, photographer, and critic. He turns up everywhere when considering New York City in the 20’s and 30’s. Emily Bernard has focused on the most controversial part of his legacy in Carl Van Vechten and the Harlem Renaissance: A Portrait in Black and White.

The blurb from Elizabeth Alexander on the back of the book couldn’t be better:

An intrepid scholar, Bernard dives right into the waters of racial misunderstanding, political incorrectness, and unfettered love that drove Van Vechten’s career. This is a passionate, dead-serious exploration of and meditation on nothing less than negrophilia and its cultural yield.

I knew Bernard previously thanks to her superb essay “Teaching the N-Word,” where she mentions frequently using Van Vechten’s 1926 novel N–r Heaven in class. In A Portrait in Black and White Bernard has the opportunity to unpack N–r Heaven and its perennially provocative title in detail. It is simply a fascinating analysis.

Besides Van Vechten, I learned a lot more about James Weldon Johnson, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, and many other major figures of the Renaissance. I can fake my way through a discussion of black jazz of this era but I still have a lot of homework to do about fiction, poetry, and the visual arts. Thanks to Bernard I’m more intrigued than ever.

Read Bernard’s post on her relationship to Van Vechten and the genesis of this book at Yale Press.

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Ed Berger does jazz history a special service by getting to know his heroes while working on biographies that end up being unusually definitive. I was impressed by Berger’s big book on Benny Carter; now we have Softly, with Feeling: Joe Wilder and the Breaking of Barriers in American Music. Berger showed a final copy to the trumpet player shortly he died last year.

Wilder was a superb musician, someone of whom the phrase “could play anything” almost sells the matter short. Interestingly, in the book Wilder himself says that he was a more natural classical musician first, that playing jazz was more of an acquired study.

This is rare admission to make. Herbie Hancock told me the same thing in conversation once, but I didn’t really believe him, as Hancock has done so much with so many forms of black dance music in a manner that seems as natural as breathing. In Wilder’s case, this claim scans as more likely, at least in sense that his hard-to-find classical recital on Golden Crest is simple and perfect, not to mention that he spent his whole life in the studios, on society gigs, in Broadway pits, and even doing the occasional orchestral performance. (Apparently the exposed trumpet part in Petrushka was a Wilder specialty.)

It is easy to regret that there is not enough Wilder in free-wheeling jazz blowing sessions. Berger highlights the 1956 quartet date with Hank Jones, Wendell Marshall and Kenny Clarke Wilder ‘n Wilder, especially a long and groovy “Cherokee” with impeccable taste, charming melodic invention, and sovereign chops. 

But Berger also makes it crystal clear that playing jazz was just part of Wilder’s story. Breaking of Barriers in American Music lives up to its title as Wilder helps integrate the Armed Forces, Broadway, staff orchestras, and symphonic orchestras.  I was especially impressed with Berger’s research in the long chapter “A Dream Realized: Return to Classical Music (1964-1974),” much of which concerns Wilder only indirectly.

Read Berger’s 2001 profile of Wilder in JazzTimes.

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Blacks in classical music is a troubled topic, then and now. Last week on Twitter, saxophonist and composer Steve Lehman referenced a worthy essay by George Lewis, “Improvised Music after 1950: Afrological and Eurological Perspectives.”

Lewis, a brilliant man, is really on to something.

In developing a hermeneutics of improvisative music, the study of two major American postwar real-time traditions is key. These traditions are exemplified by the two towering figures of 1950s American experimental musics–Charlie “Bird” Parker and John Cage. The work of these two crucially important music-makers has had important implications not only within their respective traditions but intertraditionally as well. The compositions of both artists are widely influential, but I would submit that it is their real-time work that has had the widest impact upon world musical culture. The musics made by these two artists, and by their successors, may be seen as exemplifying two very different conceptions of real-time music-making. These differences encompass not only music but areas once thought of as “extra-musical,” including race and ethnicity, class, and social and political philosophy.

Lewis than goes on to bash Cage for not appreciating jazz. This lovely bit is really the heart of the matter:

John Cage’s critique of jazz-well presented in his 1966 interview with the jazz critic Michael Zwerin-is of relatively little value as music criticism but may serve us well here as a textbook example of the power relationships that Fiske has recognized. In response to Zwerin’s query about his thoughts on jazz, Cage replies, “I don’t think about jazz, but I love to talk, so by all means, come on up” (Zwerin 1991,161).

To this African-American observer, situated in the 1990s, the interview should perhaps have ended there. From a 1960s perspective, however, we are in the presence of power, as two white males prepare to discuss “the trouble with black people” without, in the declining days of American high media apartheid, having to worry about a response. Even on a subject to which he freely admitted his lack of attention, Cage’s opinion was apparently deemed sufficiently authoritative, by the structures of media power that decide such things, for the interview to continue and, finally, to be published and reprinted.

I have two problems with Lewis’s essay. The first is the same that I have with his essential book A Power Stronger than Itself: The A.A.C.M. and American Experimental Music: a strange lack of discussion about rhythm. To me, all the true virtuosos of jazz (or Afrological or BAM or anything else you prefer to call it) are virtuosos of rhythm almost before they are virtuosos of anything else. At the very least, when separating jazz and classical players at an audition where they have to play both musics, inevitably the jazz cats will be able to play the notes of whatever classical piece (as long as it’s not too hard) but the classical cats won’t be able to play any uncomplicated jazz with the right kind of beat.

George Lewis can swing on his trombone. I’ve heard him do it! So I don’t know why he avoids the words “rhythm” or “swing” in his eight paragraphs about Bird and bebop. With all due respect, surely the Langston Hughes origin story about bebop, that it comes from

…The police beating Negroes’ heads . . . that old club says, ‘BOP! BOP! . . . BE-BOP! . . . That’s where Be-Bop came from, beaten right out of some Negro’s head into them horns.

is simply less accurate than that those accents come from ancient, exceedingly complex and intellectual Afro-Cuban drums.

But maybe Lewis is acting like some of his elders, not telling the truth about how the music gets made to protect the secrets from getting out. (I understand that discretionary attitude, although of course I wage postmodern warfare on it weekly from my outpost here at DTM.)

The other thing that bothers me about Lewis’s essay is the general conceit of comparing Charlie Parker to John Cage. I respect Cage, of course, but the idea of putting him next to Bird is simply ridiculous. Bird is so much greater. Cage isn’t even fit to shine Bird’s shoes.

Still, it’s good — especially on MLK day — to have Lewis remind me that this opinion may not be so obvious in all circles, even in spheres usually considered to be moderately informed about music.

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On a lighter note, my wife Sarah Deming dug up the retro local access madness of Star and Buc Wild, the “Universal Playerhaters,” which she called “the best TV show ever.”

Six parts from 1999 are on YouTube. It’s totally genius. My man is quiet Buc Wild, who says little (he’s usually eating) yet somehow complements every moment perfectly. Big ups also to the tasty set. Part 4 is a good entry point, although all the clip contain comedy gold. (NSFW?)

I snapped an iPhone quickie between the ropes as Claressa Shields posed with the regulars at Atlas Cops and Kids today.

Bottom row (Left to Right): Nyisha "Siyah" Goodluck, Coach Sarah Deming, Little Nick Scaturchio, Claressa "T-Rex" Shields, Chris "BHopp" Colbert 

Top Row: Tara Ciccone, Mo, Hamza Alhumaidi, Reshat "The Albanian Bear" Mati, Coach Aureliano Sosa, Richardson "Africa" Hitchins, Bruce "Shu Shu" Carrington, Jr, Akil "That Guy" Auguste, Coach Hilergio "Quiro" Bracero, Derrel "Bro Man" Williams

Paul Motian’s melodies for improvisation rarely took more than a page to notate, but that doesn’t mean that his scores weren’t detailed. Motian frequently used phrase marks; sometimes chord symbols. Occasionally there’s something to raise a smile, like the tempo indication “latin” on the lunatic “Mumbo Jumbo.”

Motian always encouraged maximum freedom from his fellow musicians. Every version of his tunes is quite different. To cite an example I know well, “Byablue” was recorded twice by Keith Jarrett, both solo and quartet. While I learned Jarrett’s version as a kid, a glance at the chart handed to me by the composer was a revelation. Now when I play “Byablue,” I base it off of Motian’s handwriting, not Jarrett’s interpretation.

Going to the source gives one more room to make a personal statement. It’s also just interesting to discover the composer’s original intention, at least when the composer is profound as Paul Motian. “Victoria,” recorded in memoriam by TBP on Made Possible, is much closer to the score than previous versions where the melody and harmony was controlled by Jarrett or Sam Brown.

Cynthia McGuirl, Paul Motian’s niece and heir, has 115 of Motian’s handwritten charts. Those of us that love Paul’s music have been encouraging her to publish the collection. My personal vote would be for a facsimile edition, but that’s not the only option. Typesetting would be OK if a good editor was involved.

Cindy also has Paul’s fascinating unpublished autobiography, his legendary gig book (all the gigs he did, plus what he was paid) and many historical photos. Material from this archive has been showing up on Cindy’s remarkable blog and podcast, Uncle Paul’s Jazz Closet. (I’m particularly taken by the shot of Paul in a sailor suit.)

A few professional publishers have been contacted about making a Motian folio. So far I’ve been surprised at the lack of interest, but I guess music publishers are in the same bind as other vendors: sales of books and music are way down across the board.

Cindy is considering self-publishing a limited edition of her Uncle’s compositions in 4 volumes, ordered by date and albums. She’s hoping that sales of the first volume would pay for the 2nd volume, etc. Cindy gave her permission to post the original lead sheet of “Byablue” as she sees it for the composition book.

Surely all of Motian’s fans and students would love an official Motian book of tunes…? “Byeblue” is here, if you look around on Cindy’s blog you’ll find “Fiasco” and “Abacus” (very interesting phrase markings on the latter).

I became aware of Jorge Luis Borges in college. My new friend JM pressed a copy of Labyrinths into my hand and told me to read it. I was entranced, most particularly by the story “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote.”

Thanks to Mostly Other People Do the Killing, I went back to “Menard” tonight. Good god, what an immortal masterpiece. Every sentence is either hilarious or profound. For straight-up funny, try this, a description of an arcane Menard work:

…A technical article on the possibility of improving the game of chess, eliminating one of the rook’s pawns. Menard proposes, recommends, discusses and finally rejects this innovation.

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Since my previous post, MOPDTK has come under heavy fire for Blue, especially on Facebook. Some consider it racist; others cautiously approve of paying tribute to the masters but don’t like the packaging, which includes the Borges’s story “Pierre Menard.”

The question of racial appropriation certainly can be asked. For me, considering how much bad jazz and imitation black music I hear all the time from white culture everywhere (the garish “jazz” music on the most recent episode of Doctor Who, “Mummy on the Orient Express,” is a current irritation), MOPDTK actually playing the notes of a jazz classic seems perfectly acceptable.

Just a few further thoughts for those eager to condemn:

Black jazz means swing. And no, MOPDTK doesn’t swing on Blue. Not really, especially in the bass and drums. They are indictable for this, sure, but at the same time they are revealing something else about themselves in an arguably humble way. As Borges explains:

The archaic style of Menard – quite foreign, after all – suffers from a certain affectation. Not so that of his forerunner, who handles with ease the current Spanish of his time.

or perhaps:

He decided to anticipate the vanity awaiting all man’s efforts; he set himself to an undertaking which was exceedingly complex and, from the very beginning, futile.

The question, “How can you swing like Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb?” gets no satisfactory answer on Blue. But at least we know something more about this question than we did before.

To those not appreciating the meta, Borgesian, or conceptual aspects of Blue, my response is:

The importance of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and the rest of the cast of Kind of Blue is hardly confined to jazz. To declare that they not be allowed to be part of a deconstructed or conceptual undertaking might inadvertently suggest they are not “worthy” of arty mischief. Of course they are worthy! They are Gods, nothing is going to harm them.

Besides, Miles and Coltrane would have actually been around NYC when Cage made “4’33″” and Warhol printed “Campbell’s Soup Cans.” In a way they deserve to be looked at through the prism of Blue.

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I mentioned “Pierre Menard” in a jazz context on DTM a few years ago when discussing Bud Plays Bird. My comparison of that disc to the Borges story is in a way more appropriate than MOPDTK, as Menard stresses he is just trying to remember how Quixote goes, not copy it out. In the end Menard recreates only a few fragments, not the whole work.

[UPDATE: Part 2.]

From the minute I heard that Mostly Other People Do the Killing was doing a note-for-note cover of Kind of Blue I was impressed. I kind of wished I’d thought of doing it myself.

—

Jazz tends to mirror trends in the art world to a certain extent. But what jazz has been conceptual art? As in, the idea and context matters more than an objective look at the material? That it exists almost solely to provoke discussion?

To be clear, most satirical or humorous jazz like The Art Ensemble of Chicago’s “Walking in the Moonlight” isn’t really conceptual art.  John Zorn playing free jazz alto on top of a Sonny Clark tune is certainly “conceptual,” but I don’t think Voodoo is really conceptual art, either. Archie Shepp honking “Girl From Ipanema” in response to Stan Getz? Yeah, almost…but it also just sounds like plenty of other Archie Shepp. If there’s a concept, it’s less important than the natural individuality of the tenor player.

Usually the word “jazz” ends up getting almost irrelevant to most conceptual jazz-related work. Anthony Braxton outside with 100 tubas: that’s conceptual art for sure, but at least I don’t think it has all that much to do with jazz. Braxton’s extremely strange jazz standards on piano is closer, but I wouldn’t be unduly surprised if Braxton just feels like playing piano in a quartet sometimes.

Probably there are other examples I don’t know. But surely there is nothing so blatant as Blue by Mostly Other People Do the Killing. This is conceptual art with the heart of jazz fully in the frame. 

I’m blogging about it mainly because I have heard so many musicians and fans react in horror. I’m afraid to tell all these folks this, but it’s true: You have already had a sincere and strong reaction to the conceptual art, so therefore you have already validated the work.

I don’t really like Blue, of course. How could I? But it is definitely a strong statement. When I can, I’ll grab it and happily file it my CD collection. It will probably go in the jazz section…

—

Sam Newsome blogged recently on a relevant topic: “What’s the Deal with Interview Music?”

The massively influential saxophonist and composer Tim Berne turns 60 on October 16. This is posted early to encourge everyone to go the Stone, where Tim will be in residence with a variety of groups tonight through Sunday.

In typical DTM fashion, I asked musicians to contribute to a birthday festschrift. (Apologies to many colleagues who might not have been on the email chain. If you see this and want to add on, find me.)

If had asked non-musicians as well, the submissions would have doubled in size. Rather perfectly, Valerie Trucchia (who felt like she just had to weigh in even though not a musician) ends the alphabetical order with a comment suggesting how many lives Tim touches in all walks of life.

Related DTM: Interview with Tim Berne.

—

RALPH ALESSI:

Happy Birthday, Tim. Thanks for the music, inspiration and friendship.

DJANGO BATES:

Meeting Tim for the first time: I arrived a day late to the first rehearsal of a George Gruntz Concert Big Band, somewhere in Switzerland. The room was full of New York heavies who not surprisingly looked askance at the bemused, skinny weirdo who crept in with his mouldy Eb Horn. At the coffee break I realised I had no Swiss money so I stood on the edge of the intimidating crowd wondering how I would ever find a way in. Tim made a bee line to me and said, “you look like you need a coffee”. The most generous and sensitive person in the room by a long way because he recognized my outsider status and addressed it, and, well yes, he paid for the coffee.

On that tour we talked a lot and exchanged our music, and within hours of the tour’s end he’d recommended me to Stefan Winter which led to my 3 albums for Polygram/JMT/Winter & Winter. Tim played my music to lots of influential Americans who mostly told him to take it away and do something with it himself. Which he did. Tim put Quiet Nights out on screwgun 70007. He helped me to get Sanborn to do a beautiful solo on Life On Mars (You Live & Learn – Lost Marble 001). He inspired me: listening to Fractured Fairy Tales on the tour bus reinforced and encouraged my hope that there was an audience and a community of musicians who wanted to be surprised, challenged, amused, and even confused! I think the only example of my music I had with me was Music For The Third Policeman; god knows how Tim extrapolated from that album that I might fit into JMT’s roster (or maybe he just wanted to confuse Stefan Winter by putting an English spanner in the works).

As I said, Tim’s the most generous person in the room, but he’s also a musician. I love Tim’s music. It’s idiosyncratic, awkward, passionate, and a fourth adjective which I’ll think of later. In Copenhagen some years ago I took some students to see Berne, Ducret, & Rainey perform. After the gig the students were discussing what/who it sounded like, at great length. After a while I said, “I’ll tell you what it sounded like: three master musicians at the very top of their game.” Luckily for me, Tim was walking past at that very moment and got to hear what I really think of him. Enough said!

JUDITH BERKSON:

Dear Tim, Happy Birthday! Thank you for being so supportive of me over the years. You lead the way for all of us in your singular, focused, transcendent musical voice, astonishing body of work and dedication to your art.

JIM BLACK:

Happy 60 Tim!! with love, coffee, and mechanicals from my heart!

URI CAINE:

Happy 60th Birthday! first heard Tim on his early JMT cds like Fractured Fairy Tales and Fulton Street Maul on Columbia and I loved the freshness and openness of the music (not to mention the great cover art by Steve Byram). Tim’s compositions are intricate and challenging- The music weaves improvisation with structured sections in such a natural and organic way. I also love the sly sense of humor in his playing and always admired his energy and passion in creating Screwgun Records. Tim  always had his own sound and is open to the weird and unexpected,and he has led so many  great groups through the years. He is a lot of fun to play with! Tim- I look forward to  hearing more of your great music in the future and to playing together soon again – Happy 60th!  love – Uri

ALEX CLINE:

Dear Tim:

Back in 1977, when we first met at your old loft in Brooklyn, who among us gave serious thought to the possibility that we would still be pursuing the elusive musical muse on the verge of your 60^th birthday?!  And yet here we are on the cusp of that daunting milestone!  How lucky we are!  Not only are we still alive, still continuing our respective streams of life, but we are still playing creative, uncompromising music, still continuing the streams of artistic vision,  accomplishment, and determination that so inspired us to head in this treacherous but, in its weird way, glorious direction.  So happy Continuation Day!  Thank you for keeping the fire going and for making so much distinctive and daring music.  Thank you for being such a skillful bandleader that you are able to so generously and effectively inspire and create space for so many willing and capable collaborators to contribute to the realization of your compelling personal musical manifestations, trusting in their talents, allowing and encouraging them to grow further as artists themselves .  Although it’s been ages since we made any of it together, some of it remains some of the favorite music-making experiences I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of sharing over the years.  All the best to you as you step into another open vista of life and music.  I pray that continued inspiration, good health, diligence, happiness, and peace may grace the decades ahead.  Life is fleeting, precious, and miraculous; may you wisely navigate it and deeply enjoy it for many more wonderful years to come.

A deep bow to you,

Alex Cline

KRIS DAVIS:

60! What an accomplishment on so many levels! You are a constant source of inspiration- thank you for your music and dedication.

RYAN FERREIRA:

i didn’t really know tim’s music until we started playing together.. i mean, of course i had heard his name in college at some point and i think i heard a record with him / ducret / rainey playing together.. when we first started getting together, i talked with a friend of mine (who’s been a fan of TB’s for a long time..) and asked him what i should listen to, so i could be prepared, i guess.. he gave me three records (but i can’t remember which ones – maybe fulton maul was one of them…) the one i listened to had joey baron and hank roberts – can’t remember if ducret was on there, too.. i listened to the whole thing, but decided i wasn’t really gonna seek out any other records – realizing that i had an opportunity to learn his music directly from him. since then we’ve had lots of duo sessions, played trio with dave king, dan, tyshawn, tom and ches, played quartet with mike / ches, joining snakeoil on occasion, being part of the septet (snakeoil + weiss / formanek), and the band with craig / ches / david torn.. its been feeling good to be part of all this – thanks, tim.

AND happy birthday!

MIKE FORMANEK:

Happy 60th Birthday Tim – Just making it to 60 is enough of a milestone to celebrate when you think about all of the great artists who did not. What’s really important though, is what you do with the time you have. In his case it’s definitely about the recordings, and the tours, the compositions, and the music itself, but it’s also about what he sees and what he hears in the people he meets and chooses to collaborate with. It’s about the forces he sets in motion once he gets an idea, and how quickly he’s already taken action on some insane sounding project that other people, myself included, aren’t even sure he’s serious about. I’ve witnessed and been fortunate to play a part in many of those projects over the past twenty-four years, since we were both in our thirties! There were countless numbers of events during that that I could talk about, but what’s most amazing to me is how much he continues to grow as a musician and how much humility he has about what he does that enables him to have that extremely rare balance knowing exactly what he’s doing with his music and where he wants to take it, and that completely open, curious, and receptive mind, always willing and anxious to learn something new. It’s part of what’s made him a force in music for all these years. That fierce and rugged individualism, and completely unique perspectives in his music are all his trademarks, along with his equally unique and particular sense of humor! It’s also what’s made him what I commonly refer to him as the “best sideman ever”! Learns the music, wants to rehearse, doesn’t bitch about anything, except the occasional F-flat or E-sharp on a poorly edited Sibelius part, and is always there to play the music. Positive, focused…and just so damn punctual! It’s been a wild few years getting to know Tim, and I’m extremely grateful to be able to call him one of my all time closest friends. But he’s also been a huge influence on me musically and personally, and I’ll go so far as to say that if we hadn’t met when we did my entire musical world would have a much different landscape than it does now. For better or worse, I can’t really say, but most definitely different. I can say with complete confidence though, that I’m really happy that they worked out the way they did!

Thanks Tim, for all the music, for all the inspiration, for all the support, for all the laughs and great times, and for all the friendship – Happy 60th, my brother! I can’t wait to hear what you’ll be doing at 70!

BILL FRISELL:

:          .        *.            .:       +

.       *.        .

deAr.    T iM.    .

wiShing.     YOu.        .   :  *

+         .   A super super….

HAPpy.   biRtH dAy!

.*.  +             YAY!     *.

Lots of LOVE.  ….. * ..:

*.       +

*.  ..   :  *. frOm the FriSells   -.

:      .      *

/________\.        /__\.      -[•]-   *

.   .:        +

.          .

TOMAS FUJIWARA:

Happy 60th, Tim. You’re a great friend and musician, and you have the best jump shot I’ve never seen.

MARY HALVORSON:

Happy 60, Tim. I can’t believe it’s been 16 years since I first saw you perform live with Bloodcount at the Knitting Factory’s Old Office. You have been an enormous influence on me as a person and as a musician, and your music continues to inspire me today just as much as it did back then. Thanks for being a wonderfully generous friend, collaborator, vacation adviser, and comedian. H&H…. Mary

DAVID KING:

Hi Tim……..It’s Dave…….wanna get a coffee?………I really love you and your music and your parties and your house and your wife (sorry) and your “get down to the lobby” wake up calls and the fact that no one is as funny as you. No one. Your fierce tone and gentle soul is the secret to your mysterious, awesome music I think.

With great love and respect happy 60th birthday Tim,

Dave King

MATT MITCHELL:

For Tim on his 60th Birthday

I could write at great length about what Tim Berne means to me:

as an instrumentalist who possesses a unique combination of singular identity and capacity for reinvention and openness;

as a composer who continually searches and expands his approaches while constantly chiseling away to reveal things;

as a bandleader who has allowed and required that I be completely myself in the context of his music, and indeed afforded me the chance to fully grow into myself, musically speaking, just as he has done for dozens of musicians before me;

as an inspiring example of a tireless yet sensible work ethic;

as friend who is as genuine, generous, supportive, loyal, and hilarious as anyone I’ve ever had the privilege to call a friend.

I’ll stop here, though, for as the man himself says: “Always leave them wanting less.”

Happy 60th Birthday, Tim. Thank you is not even close to enough.

SAM NEWSOME:

Tim, I’m really looking forward to getting to know you, personally and musically, during these Sci-Fi hits. Happy 60th and may there be many more to come!

OSCAR NORIEGA:

Happy Birthday Tim

Working with Tim is both a pleasure and work. His music is challenging and engaging to play, consistently pushing one to play something new. He inspires me not only to work hard on my music but to remember to stay young.

BOBBY PREVITE:

Tim,

60! Holy crap, that is OLD. Man, not being anywhere near that age I can only guess how that must feel. So sorry.

I suppose there’s only your memories left eh? And we had some killer ones from all those years with Chaos Totale, didn’t we? Too bad it’s all over now, but it was great! I remember everything.

Remember when we all overslept at that weird high security hotel? Very nearly missed the train, lucky Swell was on the case and woke us all up, as usual! Remember when the guy didn’t show up to take Dresser’s bass case off our hands before our flight and we had to cram it in the trunk of a tiny taxi? Mark was having kittens. I have the photo somewhere. How about when we were on that 12 hour train ride through Italy with no dining car, and the Duke jumped off the train in Verona to get sandwiches for everyone in the 9 minutes we were supposed to be stopped there? He would have been a hero, except he took 10 minutes and the train was gone when he got back. You eventually forgave him because he was so hungry, and,well, because he IS French, after all (man, that guy would eat ANYTHING, absolutely no standards).

Remember when you won the Pulitzer, the Grammy, and even the National Book Award (we never did figure that one out!) for Nice View (with a special mention of my drum part on ‘Third Rail’)? Fun times! You’re welcome.

How ’bout when we opened for Sting at the Hollywood bowl and they went totally crazy for Herb’s extended trumpet techniques, so much so that they booed Sting when he came on and then chanted ‘More Chaos, More Chaos’ for 15 minutes until we came back for 2 more encores? I mean, Sting had to be PC about it, because he’s Sting, but we could tell he was PISSED. Many laughs later at the hotel.

Well old pal, those were the days. I hope your retirement will go well. You can always look back and say, yes that was me, I once had a band that played the Super Bowl halftime show one night, (as I remember, Marc had his own wardrobe malfunction that day, YEARS before Janet) and the Unterfahrt the next, and sold out both!

How many people can say that?

Ok, gotta go, they are calling me in to dinner. Creamed corn tonight! And I think they are showing another Mickey Rooney film!

Hope we get to hang again some day. Our recreation periods are Tuesdays and Thursdays between 2:30 and 4 (or is it Wednesdays after 6)? Bring your tenor.

fondly,

Previte

TOM RAINEY: 

That went fast ….. Happy birthday Tim!

HERB ROBERTSON:

Happy 60th Tim!

Thanks for 33 years of playing music together!  Always amazing.  Looking forward to the next 33 years of playing music together.  Enjoy your birthday and see you around real soon!

JACOB SACKS:

I wrote this while sitting across from Tim on the plane two days ago:

CHES SMITH:

Tim Berne should get more credit for the ways in which he champions/mentors/assists so many musicians on the scene. I’ve never encountered anyone so selfless in that regard. There would be distinctly less of a communal feeling around here if he were not around. His humor and intelligence holds us together.

Happy Birthday, Tim. Let’s take it all the way out.

CHRIS SPEED: 

Tim Berne is a hilarious cat, ingeniously self deprecating, and definitely uncomfortable if he’s reading this blog.  I wanted to write something comedic for him, or a roast that he would enjoy, but since I’m feeling nostalgic, and not naturally a funny storyteller, I’m going for heartfelt.

In 1992 I moved to NYC… and luckily was home when my roommate Jim Black was jamming with Tim in the basement one day. He invited me to come down to read some of his tunes, and then invited me to join a trio he was trying out with Jim and Mike Formanek, and that was the beginning of Bloodcount.  Looking back, I am in awe that Tim even bothered to work with me, there were so many musicians who were better, more experienced, etc.. Tim choosing to work with me says a lot about his willingness to take chances and not make the obvious move, his intuition was that the ‘odd’ combination was a good match for his music. In any case, I felt like I had won the lottery, hooking up with Tim is probably the most important connection of my musical life, a mentorship with one of the icons of new improvised music and the opportunity to participate directly in the insane journey his music takes you on.

Tim would joke that playing with him would make one unemployable, or apologize for “killing my career”. Which if there is any reality to that imagined scenario, to comparing having a professionally oriented jazz sideman career vs. getting to play, tour, record, and hang with Tim Berne, there is still no contest:-)

Thanks Ethan for the Tim Berne appreciation post, and Happy Birthday Tim.

CRAIG TABORN:

From the Walker in ’87 through countless train adventures to happy hours at farm you have always been and continue to be a huge inspiration and great friend. Thank you for all of it.

I think 60 was the old 80.

Happy Birthday Tim!

DAVID TORN: 

so, waitupwaitupwaaaituuuuup:
the undeniable Tim Berne, our looming maestro & steady generator of impossibly edifying vibe, is 60!
congratulations, tim….. long life, health, brilliant home-life, comfort, great coffee & single-malts etc etc etc to you.

i could say all kinds of abundantly & luminously true things about tim’s musical genius,
about his body-of-work, his meaningful tenacity,
his ongoing hub-like activities which’ve brought (& continue to bring) so many musicians together & so fruitfully,
his intense & continuously proliferate encouragement (as well as his embodiment!) of the quite freaking real commitment to personal & musical integrity & on & on & on & on…..
but, i’ll go no further with that, right now.

a few years ago, it came as a surprise to me to discover that, among my sons & their families, tim is generally known as Uncle Bear.

i suppose that the “Bear” part is obvious, eh?, but the “Uncle”-bit is more key:
that there was, among them, a broad recognition of their perceptions that tim was a “family member”, somehow, and that he & i were that close, rang a recognizable note.

the fact is: i love tim.
i don’t mean in that beneath- maudlin,  bullshitty-“bro’s”, “i love you, man!”  kinda way, i simply mean it:
i love the guy, and….. he’s been one of the very best of friends to me during this weird-bit-of-a-life.

happy b-day, ta!

dt

VALERIE TRUCCHIA:

I am not a musician, but am a friend and the wife of Oscar Noriega. I wanted to write something because for years Tim has been sending me his pictures mostly taken with his iPhone, always captivating and surprising me. His images are as astonishing as his music, with his unique eye they take you to unexpected places. I am very lucky to be able to see and hear Tim’s world that close, thank you and happy birthday Tim.

Last weekend I spent many enjoyable hours with those that live and breathe movies. I’m not one of that tribe, but I like sharing a conversation with those that do.

Thanks to Vince Keenan, I met Eddie Muller at last. With Etsuko Tamazawa, we all spent time at the Dashiell Hammett apartment on Post Street in San Francisco.

It was a great hang. I went a little fanboy crazy when confronted with an actual copy of Duke’s Celebrated Criminal Cases of America. (Every Hammettophile knows this book lurks beneath the alarm clock on Sam Spade’s shelf.)

When in the apartment, I grilled Eddie about every Hammett adaptation and screenplay. It was a such a pleasure listening to an expert in his element. There’s a lot more there than I had realized; most of it I haven’t seen.

Regrettably I still haven’t made my way though Etsuko’s list of top film noir (found at the end of DTM’s “Crimes of the Century”), but that’s a project I certainly intend getting done sooner rather than later.

—

Earlier, in Seattle at the start of this tour, Vince and I wondered about the great recent crime films. Are there any? Well, yes. But it’s not a golden age. Honestly I think thrillers are better these days than simpler crime movies. We are too sentimental and fancy to easily accept cops and bad guys as everyday people now. We need things to be done on a grander scale.

Somehow I never saw Jackie Brown until last night, but Vince said I should check it out. (He also sent me a link to an interesting commentary by Gary Deane. Deane agrees with me that Out of Sight is not that great – probably we are the only two who share that opinion.)

In Jackie Brown, I was struck by how much more comfortable Robert Forster seemed than his more famous fellow actors. Samuel Jackson and Robert DeNiro are somehow not quite right in this self-consciously simple tale. They are too big or too small. But Forster is a working man. He gets it. For me, he carries the movie. (Both women, Pam Grier and Bridget Fonda, are good too.)

Jackie Brown and the current A Walk Among the Tombstones seem obviously influenced by my favorite set of movies, those classic gritty crime films of the late 60’s and early 70’s. Just for fun, here are ten commandments:

Point Blank (1967) Arty yet believable. Lee Marvin as existential man.

Bullitt (1968) Plot makes no sense yet the tension maintains. Steve McQueen is not just hard, he is vulnerable. Famous car chase.

The French Connection (1971) Another famous chase. Gene Hackman has only the most tenuous hold on morality.

Get Carter (1971) Astonishing Newcastle noir. Michael Caine is meaner and more charismatic than anybody.

Dirty Harry (1971) Don Siegel’s reactionary masterpiece of working class entertainment is a successful closed system. Far too influential, but I admit I’ll always enjoy it.  The terrible sequels should never have happened.

The Long Goodbye (1973) Meta and marvelous. Elliott Gould in a black suit on a bright California beach. Many scenes improvised in standard Robert Altman fashion. Probably my favorite film of all time.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973) Robert Mitchum was a star, but he had no problem playing a minor criminal in superb underdone fashion. (Robert De Niro should have looked at this when preparing for Jackie Brown.) It seems like director Peter Yates learned from Bullitt, for Coyle solves a certain problem in the plot even more convincingly than in the book.

All you need to know about why it is hard to made a good crime movie now can be learned by comparing the recent Killing Me Softly with The Friends of Eddie Coyle (both adaptations of George V. Higgins).

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974) Well, maybe this is a thriller, not a crime film. But what a movie! It’s one of the most purely enjoyable flicks I know. A must for any serious New Yorker.

Chinatown (1974) Very famous, with an original Robert Towne script worthy of the very best crime novels. In terms of going for something retro, Chinatown remains in a class of one.

Night Moves (1975) Maybe this isn’t quite as good as the rest of this list, but it is an appropriate end to the era. Gene Hackman can’t figure out a damn thing, and the conclusion is as downbeat as they get. They really don’t make them like this any more.

Ever since hurriedly commenting on Joe Henderson’s “Without A Song,” I’ve been nagged with the feeling I got something wrong.

While working on a transcription, the penny dropped. I called the substitute changes “Coltrane changes.” However, that’s not correct.

Eb / A7b5 / Ab maj7 / Gb7
B / Eb over E (or E maj7) / Db maj 7/ Bb7

The mediant movement in the bass is not Coltrane-esqe. While descending thirds are like the melody of “Giant Steps,” I don’t think Coltrane ever used descending thirds in the bass. His famous “Coltrane changes” uses an upward third in the bass, followed by normal dominant/tonic stuff.

The second four bars of JoeHen’s “Without a Song” actually recalls the changes of Henderson’s own tune “Inner Urge.” And that big Eb over E thing is pure 60’s modernism. Coltrane never used that chord except in passing: That is JoeHen’s world, along with contemporaries like Woody Shaw, Herbie Hancock, and Wayne Shorter.

Still, the idea of using obtrusively hip alternative changes in order to give an old tune new meaning stems from Coltrane. I got that part of it right.

And just one more fun detail: JoeHen has chromatically alter the melody to make it fit the reharm, playing Gb instead of G in bar four in order to go with the new key. This reminds me of Coltrane playing a shocking Bb instead of B in bar seven of the melody of “Summertime.”

—-

“Summertime” is an interesting tune to consider when thinking about jazz politics. It’s the most famous tune from the white composer’s black opera.

Duke Ellington’s trio version is a takedown.

But I think Duke (who had issues with Gershwin in general) is the exception. Unless I’m missing something, most straight-ahead jazz versions of “Summertime” are free of an ironic frame. Miles Davis and Gil Evans have a wonderful sophisticated arrangement but they don’t attempt redo the basic emotion. The only other possible “meta” version that I know about from the classic years is Jeanne Lee and Ran Blake, but Blake’s gospel rhythms seem honest despite the unusual pitches.

Perhaps – and this only a suggestion – Coltrane’s wildly swinging, Afro-Cuban influenced version with that big “blat” of Bb is a subtle rejoinder to white privilege’s appropriation of blackness. Certainly nothing McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones play on that track could be appropriated the way Gershwin appropriated spirituals.

“Summertime” is on the same album as the premiere Coltrane performance of “My Favorite Things.” Is “My Favorite Things” a political statement? It could be. I wouldn’t put anything past John Coltrane, all of his choices had depth. At the same time, we know that Coltrane tried out “The Inchworm,” “Nature Boy,” and “Chim Chim Cheree” explicitly to find another hit for his band like “My Favorite Things.” Hard to see that as really political (beyond how his band made these tunes really Afro-American and profound). It seems simply a way to gain more audience by playing current hits on the stage, radio, and silver screen.

This is all rather tangential, but after my first post, I got private correspondence from JM suggesting that JoeHen was reclaiming racist material and transcending the lyric as a purely instrumental work.

This is a familiar interpretation of certain events in hip-hop and other places where Black Studies plants a flag. But I just can’t see it as common-practice for classic jazz. Duke or Monk or Archie Shepp in certain cases, maybe. But not Joe Henderson.

Sonny Rollins has always said he plays standard repertoire because he loves the tunes. The Freedom Suite features not just one of the most famous political suites in all of jazz, but also cheerful renditions of “Someday I’ll Find You,” “Will You Still Be Mine?,” “Till There Was You,” and “Shadow Waltz.” Those standards feature fearsome black rhythm and a certain amount of natural Rollinish irony but surely aren’t an overtly political statement.

There’s no difference between the way Sonny plays the standards on “Freedom Suite” and the way he plays “Without a Song.” These are just good tunes for a improvisor to dig into.

Probably I should have mentioned Sonny Rollins in the previous “Without a Song” post. That song came up when I interviewed Bob Cranshaw: Sonny’s bassist says, “I like this tune.” Checking the discography, it seems like at one point Sonny played it a lot. It opens 1962’s classic studio date The Bridge. JoeHen certainly paid attention to Sonny Rollins, so his selection of “Without A Song” was a tip of the hat to Sonny as well as Trane.

Anyway, now that he knows that Eckstine changed the racist lyric on his hit record from 1946, John Halle’s renewed contention that “Without a Song” is politically incorrect for jazz musicians is baffling. I wrote the whole above post before reading his second sally, which includes this bit:

The difference with respect to the claims for Henderson’s arrangement of Without a Song is that there is nothing to debunk.  While Iverson will, of course, deny it, I’d be willing to bet that he, or the other jazzers reacting with such outrage, never had any idea of the original lyrics before they encountered them on Sunday.   His construction of the ex-post facto ironic narrative is pure invention-a bad faith attempt to shore up the ideological foundations of the music-a task which is both futile and, as I mention in the piece, entirely unnecessary.

Unless I’m misreading him, Halle’s essentially still scolding Joe Henderson for this repertoire choice. And, no, I didn’t know the racist lyric, and I’m surprised he thinks any of the masters knew it, either. If the racist version was common parlance, I doubt they would have played it. But if Mr. B did it! And if Mr. B did it, you knew you were cool.

There’s absolutely nothing there that I can see getting upset about. Halle’s idea is academia at its most disconnected. To double down on it with a bunch of references to Shostakovich and irony strikes me as bizarre.

To be fair to Halle, after my friend JM texted me something similar, I did suspect that my post could be misinterpreted as this kind of “ironic” defense, which is why I spent so much time above trying to define further what I mean. Before reading Halle today, I was going to cut him more slack in this space, mainly because I do believe in the left. However, now I’m less sympathetic, and am more aligned with Mark Stryker’s caustic tweet: “White pinhead playing racial ‘gotcha’ on point so irrelevant to black innovator’s art/life/politics = institutional racism.”

—-

My speculation about “Without A Song” being a tribute to the departed Coltrane gained a bit of unexpected weight from MG reminding me that Sonny Rollins has a recent record called Without A Song: The 9/11 Concert. Instrumentalists like titles; the title “Without a Song” is evocative. People are gone: we are without a song.

But my Henderson/Coltrane riff is just a theory. I woke up the next day thinking my first post was more like a fever dream than reality. At any rate, it has been fun for me to check out this track in detail. Right or wrong, I’m learning.

I’ve never transcribed Joe Henderson before, and frankly this was a bit of a trial. At some point I lost patience with the double-time flurries. They are so fast and growly! What I ended up writing in the second chorus is occasionally just a pointer in the right direction.

JoeHen doesn’t play on the Eb over E chord much. Both he and Kenny Barron change it to E major when threading.

After trying to deal with this solo, I have even more respect for how funky Joe Henderson is, even at this fast tempo.

I do hear a little Sonny in there, certainly some Trane. But they only made one Joe Henderson.

(Update: The transcription is really pretty inaccurate, even by DTM’s sloppy standards.)