I always say, never begin anything with a qualifier. I used to hate it while in school when some kid would step up to do some boring presentation in front of the class would preface it by saying something like, "Well, this is going to royally suck, so get ready." Fantastic. And here I am thinking that your presentation on "The Crucible" was going to show a comparative analysis of John Proctor and that bald guy from the old Who's Line is it Anyways show. So, be warned- this entry is not as exhaustive as my usual standard of writing goes. I must go back on my hatred of qualifying my work because as of today I've worked about 55 hours this week and with any luck we'll push that well into the 70's by the end of the weekend. So really, if you wanted a quality Listening Friday this week...
This week's offerings puts out a belated 'Happy Birthday' to one of my favorite composers, Mr. Sammy Nestico (b. 1924). He has the distinction of being one of the few composers featured on LF that is still living as it seems we tend to focus on old, dead white guys pretty frequently. Euro-centric views aside, Nestico is truly one of the greats, boasting 600+ published compositions over his still-continuing career of a whopping 73 years!
Meanwhile the rest of the nanogenarians are doing landscaping.
Besides being the premier arranger for the Count Basie Orchestra for over two decades, Nestico also grew his fame pounding the pavement in LA writing commercial jingles and anything else that would pay. Eventually he managed to break enough away from the pack and started publishing albums that while not commercially viable certainly allowed him to create something he could be significantly proud of. Nestico has a knack for tackling these tunes we've heard millions of times and making us listen to them for the 1,000,001st time as if it's completely new. His piano writing was (and remains) to have a hint of that Count Basie magic that just blends in so tightly with the wall of brass behind it. He pulls easily from the American songbook to create unique interpretations of familiar pieces as well as original compositions. He has such a distinct command of the big band architecture you just kinda sit back as you're listening and think:
So, it begs the question- if Sammy Nestico's written 600+ pieces of music, where the hell do we actually start? Well, I've zeroed in on a piece that may not be as well known to the purveyors of the higher echelons of musical tranquility, but you bums in the cheap seats will probably get it. Written to mark the 25th anniversary of Walt Disney World, "Disney Salute" starts off with a poetic rendition of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme that eventually transforms into a standard version of Zip-a-Dee-Do-Dah which eventually takes us to church with a down home gospel treatment following the soprano sax solo.
I am a firm believer in the importance of contrast. I have little place in my mind for people who seem to enjoy living on the fringes, enjoying only one partial bit of a complete observation. We've talked about this before (I think), but how do we define happiness? What is happiness without sorrow?
How can we understand a concept like daylight without starlight? Or twilight? Or moonlight? Or the difference between a sodium-vapor or metal-halide lamps? Therein lies the contrasts. The potential that exists between two or more states is how we as humans make rational comparisons. Unfortunately, this also means that we must sometimes explore that which is unpleasant, heinous or vile. Most importantly, in my humble opinion, we must avoid sugar-coating any of this, because the more we allow the passage of time to soften and dull the bite of that which is dire, the less verdent the opposing side of the spectrum becomes. We need the pain to enjoy the relief. Without one, the other has no meaning. It is with that preface that we being our exploration into what is quite possibly the most American of all the music we've explored this month, and that is of course Jazz. Being a uniquely American artform, Jazz music was born of slaves brought from Africa to the United States in the mid to late 1800's through the early 1900's. As these Africans became acclimated to the society of turn of the century America, they began to meld their own musical traditions with that of the music scene in America, which was still heavily influenced by the strong European musical traditions. America became an isolated petri dish of sorts, where spores from Europe and Africa were allowed to mix and thrive together apart from the rest of the world.
This was before YouTube. Which is important, because the vast majority of people in the continental US had a limited idea what was really going on in Europe on the pop culture scene and vice versa. News took months to travel by ship and prior to around 1870, commercially available recordings of music wasn't prevalent or even available to your typical American household, much less a slave on a cotton farm. Sure there was written music being shipped around, but in all reality in must have been slightly less than a complete vacuum compared to how music is shared across the pond today. So, the Africans and the Americans were together in a society that was still trying to find its footing in a larger world. The Africans and their children and grandchildren, of course, were there primarily against their own accord, but they did what any good and honest people do when confronted with a situation of grave inequity.
They found a way to cope.
So combining the music of post-European America and Africa, Jazz began to emerge. It became, in many ways, a bridge that existed over and beyond racial confines. In many ways, it became a crutch to help the burgeoning sense of human equality rise above the shameful contrast of racial inequity. Of those most revered figures within the developing Jazz community was none other than Edward Kennedy "Duke" Ellington (1899-1974).
How you doin'?
Duke was so named due to a early tendency to exhibit the personality traits of a nobleman, a dear childhood friend determined that it was necessary to give the esteemed Ellington a title befitting such behavior and he was thusly crowned, "Duke". Duke never considered himself to be strictly a jazz composer, rather preferring to be a composer of American music. However, he pioneered many aspects of Jazz that are considered standard today and refined a particular sound, defined by his orchestra that performed regularly at the Cotton Club in Harlem. Duke pulled influence from a wealth of musical background and wrote countless pieces which are now firmly ingrained in the American psyche. It's essentially a part of our DNA.
There are some really cheesy pictures of this concept online.
The piece in particular we will be exploring today is his "Black and Tan Fantasy". Based on a spiritual, Black and Tan boasts a number of characteristic jazz ideology and "Dukism's" as well as a nod or two to the European forefathers. It opens with a march-like piano introduction followed by solo cornet. The theme then transitions from the sombre spiritual to a lighter, smoother saxophone lead and leaves behind the march-like stomp of the piano for a moment. After this it goes into a solo section and continues with the harmonic drive established during the saxophone lead. Growling brass and howling saxes punctuate the solo section as it returns to a head of sorts, which leads into a overly dramatic statement of the 3rd movement from Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor. You might recognize it as the funeral march.
Duke had a knack for creating a sound beyond what most of us consider jazz. He was an ambassador for the arts and he shared that gift with the world. While researching Black and Tan Fantasy, I uncovered a gem of 1920's cinema which came about 2 or 3 years after the release of the original piece. Called, "Black and Tan", it's a short musical movie about Duke composing his "Fantasy" with cornettist James "Bubber" Miley. His wife (in the film), Fredi Washington enters and hears them working on Black and Tan Fantasy. Two guys show up to repossess Duke's piano, since they've had trouble booking gigs and he was behind on the payments. Fredi bribes them with gin and they decided that it would be best to tell their boss that no one was home when they came to claim the piano. Fredi eventually manages to get the band work, but at the cost of her performing along with them. She was a dancer, but had a heart condition that forced her to avoid physical exertion and her doctor had cautioned her against dancing at all costs. However, she takes one for the team, dances and ends up on her death bed as a result. Apparently in the 1920's, when someone was dying it was appropriate to bring in an entire church choir as well as the Duke Ellington Orchestra to play while they proceeded to the next life. Fredi's last request was for Duke to play her the Black and Tan Fantasy. Duke obliges and as they reach the Chopin statement at the finale, Fredi dramatically draws her last breath and we close on a weeping Duke Ellington.
Still a better lovestory than Twilight. Obviously, film making has made strides since the 20's, but the music that Ellington created is as relevant now as it was then. So I invite you to listen to the Black and Tan Fantasy as they recorded with the full orchestra and then watch the film to see another angle of it. I hope you enjoy, and go America! See you next Friday. -ED Sources: www.youtube.com www.wikipedia.com http://library.nsula.edu/la-scholars-college-research/
In 1942, Glenn Miller was at the height of popularity on the American music scene. It was the year following the attack on Pearl Harbor that fully engaged the United States into World War II. Miller was compelled by civic duty to enlist in the Army with the goal of forming a band to promote morale and patriotism within the US military as well as around the world. The Navy actually turned him down first.
And look where that got them...
Between his success as a civilian and as an Army bandsman, Miller assembled what can be considered by some to be the best conglomeration of musicians for any given musical period. He developed a unique sound, using enough familiar textures to capture his audience, but then changing subtle things to make it truly the "Glenn Miller sound". You may notice today's Listening Friday is not actually a Glenn Miller tune. Glenn Miller tragically perished in 1944. He was flying from the UK to France when his plane was lost. The official story claims that his flight fell victim to an errant drop of explosive ordinance by a flight that was returning from a canceled attack. Another story claims that the plane was destroyed as a result of friendly fire. In 1997, a German tabloid published a story that Miller had in fact arrived safely in Paris, but died from a heart attack the following day in a French brothel. In 1997, I stood at the Glenn Miller memorial at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. You must understand, he is a personal hero of mine. From my earliest forays into the world of trombone, Miller has been a companion. He was first introduced to me when my father decided that if I were to play trombone I ought to listen to an actual trombone player. When I stood in Arlington on that hot summer day and contemplated the destructive gossip that had befallen my musical role model... It hurt. It was perhaps the first time in my life where I had experienced the possibility that a hero was less than heroic. It was a highly unpleasant experience. Now, much of the sordid tale has been debunked and many other conspiracies have blossomed in the fertile soil of doubt, but most agree that it was in fact false and that Miller met his ends in a tailspin into the ocean. But that feeling is still carried with me. So, in a Madsen-esque transfer of epic proportions, I shall now build you two transfer-bridges from Glenn Miller to the Grinch and back again. First of all, Glenn Miller's goal of transforming the military music machine did not die with him in 1944. As the Air Force was born, so was the Air Force band and eventually, carrying on the mantle of military jazz, the Airmen of Note. There is also an authorized "Glenn Miller Band" that is civilian-led, but that's a story for another time. The Airmen of Note continue to play his charts as well as many of their own, including our listening for today. "Your a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" was originally written by Dr. Seuss with music supplied by Albert Hague. Thurl Ravenscroft provided the remarkable bass voice that made the song a hit. But Bob Thurston himself (a product of the Florida State College of Music) arranged his own version for the Airmen of Note as the chief composer-arranger for the group. The bass trombone solo that opens the piece (and continues throughout) is performed by a gentleman named Dudley Hinote, another FSU grad and also the Flight Chief for the Note. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with bass trombone, it's essentially what happens when you mix a flamethrower that runs on testosterone with a regular trombone.
I call it, "The Apocalypse in Bb"
So, the bass trombone is the tenor trombone's more aggressive, alcoholic big brother. Chief Master Sergeant Hinote offers a commanding presence on the horn, really defining his version of the Grinch, making Thurston's arrangement on par with the original for sure. So without Glenn Miller, we wouldn't have the Airmen of Note or Bob Thurston's arrangement or Dudley Hinote's wicked bass bone solo. Transfer #1: complete. Now for #2, let's go back to the hero thing. The problem with having real heroes (and I mean real as in the sense that we're not talking about Superman or some dumbass Pokemon thing or whatever you stupid kids watch these days) is that they are in fact real. Humans are completely flawed creatures. We have the capability to learn from the mistakes of other humans around us, but quite often inexplicably fail to do so. Many times quite deliberately! We cave to temptation, we are lazy, we are sometimes too industrious, there's avarice and oppression and just generally being a not great person in general. Humans tend to make lousy heroes.
But the problem comes because I think somewhere in the creation of these human supermen and superwomen, we forget that they are in fact fallible. We project upon them the antithesis of all our insecurities and shortfalls. We cast them in light that shines of invincibility. And it just can't hold up. There's no shortage of examples in history of heroic individuals cracking under the pressure. Seeking quiet respite and release at the hands of less than reputable folk. And they invariably get caught and we all get swept up in the frenzy, because nothing sells soap better than Bob Johnson, family man and local hero being caught with his pants down at the neighbor's house.
Florida Man to the rescue!
It's reflected in our TV, our media, our society. We look to reality TV to provide us a template for how we should conduct ourselves within our microcosms. The problem is, these heroes (or antiheroes) aren't really human anymore. They've been invented by TV producers and the like to create a superficial entity that generates enough mass appeal to, again, sell soap.
Or ducks or something. I can't fathom this, people actually watch this crap?!
When I think back to that day the seed of doubt was planted in my young mind, and I stood at that small block of marble on the ground in Virginia, fighting back tears, it still hurts as bad now as it did then. Despite knowing that the idiot German who wrote that article was essentially disproven to oblivion and that Miller most likely met his death at the hands of a simple accident, it still hurts for some reason. And I don't have an explanation.
But today, I think of the Grinch and those goofy little Who-people. I think of how his jealousy and anger brought him to bring down what he actually wished he possessed himself. And that in the end, the little Who-villites really were good heroes, because their Christmas celebration didn't have anything to do with presents or lights or trees or any of that crap. It was just well and good enough that they were together. But they also aren't real. To look in the face of complete destruction and devastation and to pick up and keep moving. That's what being a hero is all about. I will remember my hero, Major Glenn Miller of the Army Air Force, as sacrificing his life as a civilian to support his country and ultimately giving his life because he felt the music he loved was important enough to risk it all.
I enjoy precipitation. All forms of precipitation. Being a Florida resident, we are often afforded only one or two variants- rain or heavy rain with occasional hail. There are some who claim that it snows in Florida, however it's more like soft hail than anything that could conceivably be considered snow. Now, there are some who would say that a love for falling moisture has much to do with the cleansing or purifying nature of the act, or that it's symbolic of the cycle of carbon-based life. Those are all well-intentioned and beautiful things, however my love of rain and snow and hail and sleet and the life stems not from a psychological perspective, but a visual standpoint.
Of course, there's always Chocolate Rain too.
When it rains, the world is transformed. You see, it's more often not raining and you've got varying degrees of sun and cloud and after a while it all just gets pretty boring. It all looks the same. But when it all of a sudden rains, well then it's an entirely new world out there! This is especially noticeable when it begins to snow, as the transformation is more long-lived and has a few more stages in its evolution. Now, these alterations of our reality really aren't vast in the grand scheme of things. They are simply giving us the opportunity to look at our own unique world in a new and different way. Vince Guaraldi (1928-1976) was able to do just that with his music.
And his mustache.
Vince was born in in San Francisco, CA at a very pivotal time in the musical history of the United States. He grew up into the era of Jazz moving forward into the mainstream of American culture and he himself was actually a big part of it. I can say with almost 100% certainty that every person reading this (even you crazy Russians) have heard Mr. Guaraldi play the piano. Even if you don't know him by name, you've heard his music. Vince was contacted in the mid-1960's to do the score for a special animated Christmas special for Charles Schulz's Peanuts cartoon. The producer of the special, Lee Mendelson, had heard Guaraldi's trio playing their radio hit, "Cast Your Fate to the Wind" and decided that the group had the sound required for the show. Guaraldi accepted and shortly thereafter began to create music for the "Charlie Brown Christmas" special and eventually went on to score 17 specials overall. Sadly, Guaraldi died young of a heart attack, collapsing the same day after recording tracks for "It's Arbor Day, Charlie Brown". He was 47. What made him extremely memorable to me, aside from the obvious childhood influences we all probably share, was how he managed to find new ways to tell all these old stories. Take "Oh Christmas Tree" for instance. A very simple song in general:
Now, I know many of you don't actually read music, but that's OK. Here's what I want you to look for: the very top line is the melody and the 2nd and 3rd lines are what the piano would play. The 4th, 5th and 6th lines are just continuations of the music from the top. It reads left to right, just like you're reading the text now, but it's always stacked together like this when there are multiple parts. Now, above each couple of notes you'll see some letters. These letters refer to specific chords, which are essentially piece parts that make up everything except the melody. If we were to write this out, you'd notice a bit of a pattern here. It starts out with G - D - G - Am (which means A minor) - D7. Then it repeats that same pattern again (G D G Am D7). Sing O Christmas tree in your head and you'll notice that the melody at the beginning repeats the phrase "Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, how are thy leaves so verdant!" Same melody, same chords. Simple. Now check out what Vince did- Same melody (essentially speaking, he takes some rthymic liberties to make it a bit more zazzy), but look at the different chords! Now, keep in mind we're in a different key so in this case F = G, D = C, etc. We start out with C7 - F - Gm7 - Am - D7(b9) - Gm7 - Em7(b5) - C7 (b9) - F - Bbm/C. Now, that's a workout of alphabetic proportions. The additional symbols you see (the 7's, 9's and 5's) all refer to extra notes. With a simple C chord, a musician would assume that the notes C, E, and G are to be heard. When you add a 7 to that chord, we then expect the same C, E, and G, but now also a Bb. If you throw in a b9 you'd add a Db, and a b5 means Gb instead of G. The Bbm/C implies a minor Bb chord (which is Bb, Db and F) while playing a C below all those on the piano (which is actually a 9th).
Confused?
Before we go deeper, let's just compare the second phrase to see if it's the same- 1st Phrase - (C7) - F - Gm7 - Am - D7(b9) - Gm7 - Em7(b5) - C7 (b9) - F - Bbm/C 2nd Phrase - F - Gm7 - Am - Eb9(#11) - D7(b9) - Gm7 - C7(b9) - F The answer is...sorta. I put the 1st chord of the first phrase in parentheses since it's a pickup note. You'll notice the original version above does not have a chord symbol there at all (but it's essentially the same chord that Vince uses). The first 3 chords are the same, but after the Am, he adds a bit of chromaticism to enhance the movement towards the D7. You'll notice that the Gm7 goes straight to the C7(b9) and to the F, omitting the Em7(b5) from the previous phrase. The piece is in the key of F (which if you've read any other Listening Fridays, you might recall that F would be called tonic here) and music always likes to return to tonic. It's like home. So in this case, both phrases sorta end on F, but in the first phrase he throws in that Bbm chord with the 9th in the bass to (again) zazz things up a bit. It makes it more interesting between the phrases because otherwise we'd have the same chord for 2+ measures.
OK. So I totally get it if I lost you back there. We got a little theoretical and that's not for everyone. The big takeaway is that Guaraldi added a lot of color to the standard work to make it his own. From a basic standpoint, it's not any better or worse. It's just...different. For Guaraldi, it was his way of changing his view on the world and in a very special way, it became the norm for many, many people in the world through the magic of that first Peanuts special. Does that mean that to make good music you just have to add extra notes? No. There is some exceedingly beautiful music (some of which we'll talk about next week) that utilizes very simple harmonic structure to create astounding effects. But with Vince, he had a knack for turning the standard on its head and making it work. There's no shortage of American children who got their first dose of jazz during that Christmas in 1965. And there's no shortage of musicians who had that seed planted by Guaraldi and his trio inserting their art into the American psyche. In a big way, it's very poetic. One thing you must realize is that Jazz is uniquely American. In fact, it's the only completely original American music. Everything else you hear today was either imported or a descendent of Jazz. That crappy pop music you kids listen to? The form that it's built on was invented by Jazz! Those awful three-chord rock tunes? Jazz with guitars and no horns. Even humble Miley Cyrus owes much to the rich traditions of texture, form and structure of Jazz. All Vince really did was introduce us to our long, lost ancestors. Homework: Make a cup of hot chocolate (or if you're in Florida get a $1 sweet tea from Mickey D's since it's still 84 degrees outside). Put your feet up on something comfortable. Press play. See you next Friday. -ED
Sources: The gif is from Blazing Saddles musicnotes.com provided the sheet music. youtube.com wikipedia.com
As a separate note, being that this Friday represents the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who (in my humble opinion) was one of the finest leaders our fair country has ever seen- I invite you to visit this particular entry, in honor of his memory today.
I don't watch American Idol, unless I happen to be in the room when my wife has it on. To avoid being needlessly antagonistic, I will keep my personal opinion of the show succinct:
I feel they do a good job at recognizing and developing disposable art. Performers are praised for things like stage presence and obviously on their ability to sing on pitch, but I feel too much emphasis is placed on appearance and presentation and not nearly enough on substance.
Apparently, I'm not alone.
Mr. Harry Connick, Jr. was apparently a "mentor" judge, and had the opportunity to offer advice on some jazz standards that were pulled from the Great American Songbook, something of which I have heard he is well-read. As of writing, I have not seen the particular episode in question. I've found various online dissertations on the matter, many of which are conflicting. Some people criticize that Mr. Connick, Jr. was arrogant and rude to the other judges in pushing his opinion. Others claim that he was right in presenting educationally sound musical ideas in a medium that has been long void of such thought. I have my bias, I'll leave that to Facebook flame wars and (other) arm-chair pundits to decide. Here's the first article I read.
The big takeaway from this (and it's true regardless of whether you feel Connick was out of line), is that the people on the American Idol stage usually possess little or no true musical education.
The point he continually made was that the vocalists on stage were singing songs that they didn't understand. Songs are designed to communicate a message. Some tell a story about burning down Georgia. Others talk about falling in love, or worse, love lost. Some are sympathetic, others tend to be bellicose. Mr. Connick's qualm was when the disposable art interacted with the indispensable art of which he is bred. The runs and the trills and other vocal gymnastics fit with modern music. It's germane with pop. It's just like watching a firework show, bigger is better. But it doesn't have staying power. If you've seen one firework show, you've seen them all. You can take it or leave it.
Or remove your face with it.
Now, these "idols" do work hard, they do try hard and they put forth a great deal of effort into what they apparently love to do. However, the system is flawed. I've met too many people who claim that they can't sing or they can't play an instrument. No one can...initially. Harry Connick, Jr. had to have been (at one point in his life) an annoying child who when introduced to a piano would invariably begin pounding on random keys to make noise.
The first difference is he didn't stop. The second is someone handed him music.
Someone probably molded his banging into cogent order. It took time. He's 45, so there's potentially decades of effort right there. Therefore he is unique, because for some reason many people have decided that they can't sing or play unless someone of musical authority grants them the privilege. I'm here today to tell you that it's not true!
Will a few people become multinational pop stars? Yes. Will the vast majority of mankind fail to become a household name beyond their circle of friends? Yes. Should you sing or play anyway? Yes.
Will you ever be this cool? No.
I think for Mr. Connick, Jr., the biggest problem came when the vocal gymnastics didn't align with the somber message of the tune. When you're sad, when your world is crashing in on you, most people don't feel like doing gymnastics. A huge part of post-Classical music is connecting with those inner human emotions. When you sacrifice the art in sake of a fireworks show, you prove your ignorance. And deep down I feel it was that pervasive ignorance that Mr. Connick was hoping to right. Just like any good teacher.
So it is in that same vein I bring you something of that era gone by and hope to share some musical education with you as well. The chosen piece today is the "One Note Samba" by Antonio Carlos Jobim (1927-1994). Jobim was a Brazilian composer who with saxophonist Stan Getz (1927-1991) became a driving force in introducing the Bossa Nova style to the world with their hit "The Girl from Ipanema". If you've been on hold with the bank before, chances are you've heard it.
No Ma'am, we're musicians.
Now, Jobim is not the only centerpiece of today's lesson, we are looking at a specific rendition of the "One Note Samba". We now turn to Ella Fitzgerald (1917-1996) and Joe Pass (1929-1994). There exists 6 albums featuring collaboration between these two titans of the 20th century. Interestingly enough, the recordings were released from 1973 through 1986, close to the autumn years of both musicians. Pass had become famous for reinventing improvisation on the guitar by incorporating his apparent wealth of music theory knowledge and using creative harmonic patterns by fingering picking instead of using the more prevalent guitar pick. To me it sounds like he can emulate an entire rhythm section with his Gibson ES-175. Ella Fitzgerald had such a command of the voice, with a range exceeding 3 octaves and the ability to improvise freely with a vocal quality that was almost horn-like. She earned the moniker, the "First Lady of Soul" and defended the title readily through 60 years of professional performance. There is some music that no matter how many times we've heard it, you can always want more. For me, listening to Pass and Fitzgerald play the One Note Samba can never be enough. There are lyrics to this piece (originally in Portuguese):
This is just a little samba
Built upon a single note
Other notes are bound to follow
But the root is still that note
Now this new one is the consequence
Of the one we've just been through
As I'm bound to be the unavoidable
consequence of you
There's so many people who can
talk and talk and talk
And just say nothing
Or nearly nothing
I have used up all the scale I know
And at the end I've come to nothing
Or nearly nothing
So I came back to my first note
As I must come back to you
I will pour into that one note
All the love I feel for you
Anyone who wants the whole show
Re mi fa sol la si do
He will find himself with no show
Better play the note you know
For some reason, the majority of recordings I've found of this duo performing has Ella abandoning the words in lieu of singing the melody in scat. For those who may not know, scat vocals are nonsense syllables that emulate improvisation by instrument with the voice. Different syllables are used to mimic horns and create a wide array of articulation and tone. Ella was one of the best.
In the end, I don't really know why I love hearing these two perform this song. I guess I find it amazing for someone to say so much without really saying anything at all. Homework: Write about a time you communicated with someone without talking.
See you next Friday.
-ED