LJ Idol Topic #5 - Organic
This is my entry for Week #5 of therealljidol.
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Blow by Blow
Musical styles naturally evolve as tastes and societies change. Up until the end of World War 2, for example, big band jazz music was where it was at, cat. By the mid-1950's, that constrained sound - constrained because you needed sheet music so all those musicians could play together - was out. Hard bop and cool jazz were in. Freedom was the word, dig?
So when the square old Duke Ellington and his big band took the stage at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1956, nobody had the slightest idea that Duke's set was going to be so hot that the crowd nearly rioted.
I now share with you one of the great moments of 20th century live music:
Back in its heyday, big band jazz wasn't music that you sat around listening to while drinking coffee and smoking cloves, baby. It was intended as dance music. As Duke Ellington started this piece, the Newport crowd was seated, striking the disaffected attitude of connoisseurs.
And you can't say "connoisseur" without saying "sewer."
Around 4 minutes in, and with Duke's encouragement, Paul Gonsalves picked up his tenor sax and played for an insane 27 choruses (according to Wikipedia he would eventually play a lip-numbing 60 choruses in future performances). The audience responds by (to use an obscure technical phrase we employ in the industry) going completely apeshit. They rose to their feet. They danced. They hooted and cheered and made an enormous racket.
That racket was the sound of Duke Ellington's career rocketing off again. His legacy - if it was ever in doubt - was secured. Duke Ellington spent the rest of his career being considered one of the greatest, hippest musicians instead of being considered a dried out old has-been. Gonsalves also secured a reputation as a genius. Coincidentally, the two great musicians died within days of each other, their lives and careers completely linked right to the end.
The art of soloing in Big Band jazz is equal parts virtuosity and inspiration. You can't just play any notes in any rhythm. The solo needs to arise naturally out of the piece and work in conjunction with the rhythm section.
There are so many different forms of jazz that I'd argue there's not really a set of rules for soloing that is consistent to all variations. Indeed, there's great variety within every genre of music and only a complete cretin would insist that there's only one proper way to play within any specific genre.
Gonsalves' solo isn't just great because its such a exuberant, inspired improvisation. Its great because it lives in the piece. In fact, it lives in this particular performance of the piece for this particular crowd. As the crowd's excitement rises, Gonsalves becomes more inspired and takes the piece to whole new levels. He's in it, Duke's in it, the band is in it and the crowd is there in it with them. Without everyone there in it, this solo doesn't happen in this particular way.
That said, as great as this performance is, its not what made Duke Ellington and his band great. They were always great. This world just needed a little kick in the pants to get up and dance, that's all.
If you want another example of how all it takes is a single performance by a superb artist to remind everyone that they are, in fact, the best at what they do, look no further than this sublime Aretha Franklin performance at the Kennedy Center Honors last month. If you've not heard it, you may want to have some kleenex nearby.
I'm curious if there were moments when you heard a live performance and were immediately floored. Feel free to share those moments down in the comments!
---
Blow by Blow
Musical styles naturally evolve as tastes and societies change. Up until the end of World War 2, for example, big band jazz music was where it was at, cat. By the mid-1950's, that constrained sound - constrained because you needed sheet music so all those musicians could play together - was out. Hard bop and cool jazz were in. Freedom was the word, dig?
So when the square old Duke Ellington and his big band took the stage at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1956, nobody had the slightest idea that Duke's set was going to be so hot that the crowd nearly rioted.
I now share with you one of the great moments of 20th century live music:
Click to viewBack in its heyday, big band jazz wasn't music that you sat around listening to while drinking coffee and smoking cloves, baby. It was intended as dance music. As Duke Ellington started this piece, the Newport crowd was seated, striking the disaffected attitude of connoisseurs.
And you can't say "connoisseur" without saying "sewer."
Around 4 minutes in, and with Duke's encouragement, Paul Gonsalves picked up his tenor sax and played for an insane 27 choruses (according to Wikipedia he would eventually play a lip-numbing 60 choruses in future performances). The audience responds by (to use an obscure technical phrase we employ in the industry) going completely apeshit. They rose to their feet. They danced. They hooted and cheered and made an enormous racket.
That racket was the sound of Duke Ellington's career rocketing off again. His legacy - if it was ever in doubt - was secured. Duke Ellington spent the rest of his career being considered one of the greatest, hippest musicians instead of being considered a dried out old has-been. Gonsalves also secured a reputation as a genius. Coincidentally, the two great musicians died within days of each other, their lives and careers completely linked right to the end.
The art of soloing in Big Band jazz is equal parts virtuosity and inspiration. You can't just play any notes in any rhythm. The solo needs to arise naturally out of the piece and work in conjunction with the rhythm section.
There are so many different forms of jazz that I'd argue there's not really a set of rules for soloing that is consistent to all variations. Indeed, there's great variety within every genre of music and only a complete cretin would insist that there's only one proper way to play within any specific genre.
Gonsalves' solo isn't just great because its such a exuberant, inspired improvisation. Its great because it lives in the piece. In fact, it lives in this particular performance of the piece for this particular crowd. As the crowd's excitement rises, Gonsalves becomes more inspired and takes the piece to whole new levels. He's in it, Duke's in it, the band is in it and the crowd is there in it with them. Without everyone there in it, this solo doesn't happen in this particular way.
That said, as great as this performance is, its not what made Duke Ellington and his band great. They were always great. This world just needed a little kick in the pants to get up and dance, that's all.
If you want another example of how all it takes is a single performance by a superb artist to remind everyone that they are, in fact, the best at what they do, look no further than this sublime Aretha Franklin performance at the Kennedy Center Honors last month. If you've not heard it, you may want to have some kleenex nearby.
I'm curious if there were moments when you heard a live performance and were immediately floored. Feel free to share those moments down in the comments!