Far East Suite
After returning from a trip I maybe put together a photo album. Or at least put the pictures on my computer. Duke Ellington was in the habit of composing suites in reflection of the places he visited. Latin America, the Virgin Islands, England (the queen particularly), all these visits were commemorated by Ellington not in a measly photo album, but in music. One of the most beloved of these is called Far East Suite.
It was 1963 when Duke Ellington and his band set off on a fourteen week tour of the Mideast. This was their first tour sponsored by the State Department and two lucky State representatives actually got to travel with them. The grueling schedule covered Syria, Jordan, India, Ceylon, Iran, Iraq and other countries. At each stop the band would receive a briefing on the local culture and proceed to entertain royal families, dignitaries and ambassadors at events throughout the day. A couple of concerts at each major city brought jazz to thousands who may have never heard such music before. 17,000 people showed up for the opening concert at Damascus.
The trip was cut short when the band returned to New York after receiving the news of Kennedy’s assassination, but the sights and sounds of the trip had already begun to take the shape of new compositions from Ellington’s hand. Working with his close collaborator, Billy Strayhorn , it only took Ellington a few months to compose four pieces (Amad, Depk, Agra and Bluebird of Delhi) that were released as Impressions of the Far East in early 1964. Two years later the band recorded those tracks, along with five other movements, for RCA. This became known as Far East Suite.
The music is a blend of oriental modes, intriguing harmony and riffs, and straight-up swing. The overall effect is enchanting and easy to listen to, leaving the listener with an audible picture of Ellington’s impressions. Clarinetist Jimmy Hamilton on “Bluebird of Delhi” and saxophonist Johnny Hodges on “Isfahan” are two of my favorite instrumental features on the album. Isfahan in particular is a piece that stuns me every time I hear it. It was among the last compositions by Billy Strayhorn and exemplifies the lush beauty of his style. Despite the fact that this piece was composed a month before the Mideast trip, it contributes greatly to the album as a whole. Also of surprising loveliness is Ellington’s piano solo about five minutes into “Ad Lib on Nippon.” There is so much variety of style on this album, so much creativity, that it will take many listens to fully enjoy it all.
Django
If success as a musician were measured by the number of music festivals held in your honor across the world annually, I think that Django Reinhardt would win. By a lot. The man had an enormous impact on the world of jazz that was exploding in the United States in the 1930’s and 1940’s. The sound that he created was probably shocking enough at the time. Add the fact that he was not actually from America and used only three fingers of his left hand to execute that masterful technique and the stage was set for the birth of a new style: gypsy jazz.
Django (Jean Baptiste) Reinhardt was born in 1910 in a gypsy settlement outside of Charleroi, Belgium. As a youth he first learned to play the violin, then the banjo, for which he demonstrated a remarkable talent. That talent was later fully realized when he switched to playing the guitar. He was only 18 when tragedy threatened to rob him of this talent forever. A fire in Reinhardt’s caravan left the whole of his left side badly burned. Significant injury occurred to his left hand, which was left disfigured with two fingers paralyzed.
After recuperating, Reinhardt developed a revolutionary technique of fingering that allowed him to continuing playing the music that he loved. Solos would be played with only three fingers on the left hand, while the paralyzed other two fingers could be used with the others only in creating chords.
He first played solo in cafes, then spent several years performing with French singer Jean Sablon. In 1934 Reinhardt formed a quintet with violinist Stephane Grappelli that caught the attention of the members of the Hot Club of France. The next of the organization’s concerts featured Reinhardt and Grappelli and their newly christened band, Quintette du Hot Club de France.
Reinhardt’s career was launched. In the following five years the band recorded hundreds of sides and became internationally famous for the sound of “gypsy jazz.” This new sound combined the darker, chromatic tonality of Gypsy music with the swing rhythms and articulations of American jazz. The original quintet played acoustically without a drummer, the backing rhythm being provided by a “boom-chick” strumming pattern similar to American bluegrass. Reinhardt’s dexterous solos were full of octave-leaping arpeggios, bended notes, and chromatic runs. American jazz musicians were shocked at the “foreigner’s” ability to churn out such swinging beat. Classics emerged, such as “Nuages,” which became an anthem of the French people during the war.
World War II found Stephane Grappelli choosing to stay in London, while Reinhardt continued to move from place to place. He worked temporarily with a big band and also continued quintet work with clarinetist Hubert Rostaing replacing Grappelli’s violin. He also experimented with composition, most notably composing the soundtrack to the movie Le Village de la Colère in 1946 with Andre Hodeir. It was during this time that Duke Ellington invited Reinhardt to come to America and perform with his orchestra.
Reinhardt experienced modest success in America, playing for the first time the electric guitar and hearing for the first time the emerging sounds of bop. Returning home after a short time to France, he spent his last years recording and touring with his quintet. He died in 1953 after suffering a stroke. He was 43 years old.
The influence of Django Reinhardt today is undeniable. His music has endured as a colossal creative force and the number of musicians devoted to the style he created is a testament to its lasting impact. Suffering the loss of two of the soloing hand’s fingers would cause the vast majority of guitar players to put away the instrument for good. His love of the music drove Reinhardt to adapt. The new style he created was based on his limitation, yet it is the very style of which the most fully equipped of musicians strive to match today.
Helen Merrill
Japan gets many things right. Economics. Literacy. Dispensing hot coffee out of vending machines. In my book, there is one other thing that Japan has excelled at in a major way: their recognition and appreciation of a jazz artist named Helen Merrill.
Helen Merrill was born in New York City in 1930 with a much more exciting name: Jelena Ana Milcetic. The daughter of Croatian immigrants, Merrill became a part of the jazz community early in life. At 14 she was already singing in jazz clubs in the Bronx. Yet this voice undoubtedly stood out from other girl singers of the time. She didn’t scat like Ella Fitzgerald or swoop impressively between octaves like Sarah Vaughan. She was quieter. Whispery, almost. Yet her quietness could not be mistaken for weakness. She possessed remarkable control over her voice and phrased songs in a way that made her interpretations unique unto themselves.
1954 saw the release of Merrill’s first album, simply entitled Helen Merrill. It was produced and arranged by a young Quincy Jones, who Merrill said scratched out several of the arrangements the day of the recording. It was Jones who also had the foresight to feature trumpeter Clifford Brown on the album. Each with a refined sense of expressiveness, Brown and Merrill proved to be an excellent match. Neither blow the listener away in their virtuosity, but instead seem to be telling the same story in the same way: with swinging class. The recording that Clifford Brown made with Helen Merrill should have been one of dozens to be released during his lifetime. Instead, he was to have a recording career of just three years before he died in 1956 at the age of 25. His influence in jazz, though, is apparent through the many tribute albums recorded in his honor. Helen Merrill is one of those artists, having made a 1994 album as an homage to his legacy.
The acclaimed released of her debut album led Merrill to a contract with Mercury for four more albums. Merrill toured Europe during the 1950s and 1960s, recording extensively and working with just about every well-known jazz artist alive at the time. She lived in Italy for a time and also in Japan, where her music was especially loved.
Time apparently is not slowing Merrill down. At a total of more than 40 albums, her most recent album was released in 2004 and her live performing has been consistent over the years. In a career that spans more than 60 years, that is impressive to say the least. But it is her debut album with Clifford Brown that remains in my mind the most impressive achievement of her career. Unfortunately, it is often overlooked. Merrill’s website notes that the readers of the Japanese magazine FM Radio voted the recording the best jazz album of the past 50 years. I’d say it is time for the rest of the world to take a listen as well.
A Great Day in Harlem
The basement in which my band rehearses has a giant poster on the wall that I often find myself staring at as I sing. My eyes wander comfortably across the many faces as the band plays until I often realize with a shock whose eyes are staring back at me. Count Basie. Thelonius Monk. Charles Mingus. Mary Lou Williams. Gene Krupa. And here I am singing jazz to them? A severe attack of insecurity usually follows. The photograph is “A Great Day in Harlem,” probably the most recognized jazz image in the world. Curious about the making of this stroke of genius, I checked out the 1994 documentary of the same name, directed by Jean Bach.
It was the brainchild of Art Kane, who was the art director at Seventeen magazine before he decided to launch professionally into photography. As a freelancing photographer, Kane was hired in the summer of 1958 for a jazz issue of Esquire. Lacking a studio or any real experience at all, Kane decided to attempt something crazy: the gathering of as many jazz icons as possible in Harlem for a 10 am photo shoot. The time was probably the craziest aspect of it, considering the hours the musicians kept. “Most of these guys had never seen early morning,” one participant pointed out, adding that they were probably surprised to discover that there were two 10 o’clocks in the same day.
Nevertheless, they came. A total of 57 musicians turned up that day on 126th Street between 5th and Madison Avenue in Harlem. And apparently even the early hour did not prevent the raucous reunion that ensued. The vast majority of them had performed and recorded together over the years and video footage on the documentary shows them talking happily, clapping each other on the backs and laughing. Newcomer or time-honored veteran, they were all giants in the jazz world. Trumpeter Art Farmer recalled his excitement at seeing his idol, Roy Eldridge. Sonny Rollins remembered being most excited by the presence of Coleman Hawkins. He recalls the time he spent as a child waiting outside of Hawkins’ apartment for an autograph.
The documentary has generous footage of different musicians poring over the photograph, looking back on younger versions of themselves and friends. “Oh, that’s Pee Wee Russell!” exclaims one. Another analyzes the respective weight gains or losses among the photographed. They point out how all the drummers are standing together and how Dizzy said something to Roy Eldridge at the moment the picture was taken that made him laugh and turn away from the camera. They explain the rather odd row of twelve kids sitting on the curb with Count Basie. And of course the man behind the lens gives us his memories of that day.
The documentary is almost as invaluable as the photo itself. Full of excerpts of the musicians performing, it reminds us why they were all there. Now I feel like I know a little more of the storied faces appearing in the photograph. If they could hear what I am singing at them during rehearsals, there would probably be more than a few guffaws. But maybe not. Maybe they would just be happy that the music that they loved is still being loved today.