tag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:/blogs/news?p=2Blog2022-01-07T12:52:46-06:00Keith Karnsfalsetag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/68620552022-01-07T12:52:46-06:002023-10-16T09:44:35-05:00Seven Strategies for Interpreting Articulation in Your Big Band<p>Reprinted from the Spring 2020 OMEA Journal.</p>
<p> It is jazz festival season! All across Oregon, thousands of high school music students competing in jazz festivals in order to demonstrate their hard work, get feedback from knowledgeable judges, and ultimately dig deeper into this music. I judge many of these festivals. Recently I heard twenty-eight bands at a regional festival in my area. All of the bands played well, but by and large the handful of truly great performances I heard all had one thing in common: a commercial approach to articulation. </p>
<p> Articulation is one of the most expressive elements in music. It is one of the main ways we communicate style and energy to our audience. Articulation places phrases in time, and provides energy to a line. In commercial music—that is to say jazz, funk, rock, pop, Latin, etc.—we use what is known as commercial articulation or a commercial attack. This is what gives the music its zing, panache, and forward momentum. Simply put, commercial articulation is what makes a band sound tight. <br> Commercial articulation is very different than what we want to do in wind ensemble, orchestra, or even a jazz combo. Understanding how to interpret articulations is one of the most challenging aspects young bands face. Fortunately, there are some basic principles for interpreting commercial articulation that we can employ in virtually all jazz styles. I have compiled them into seven basic principles that will help us better understand how to get more music out of our bands. </p>
<p>1. Imitate What You Hear on the Recording <br> This is the cardinal rule of all jazz. The recording—not the parts or the score—dictates how the music is to be interpreted. </p>
<p> In my rehearsals, I play recordings constantly. These are usually short excerpts no more than ten or twenty seconds long. Each excerpt I play directs student attention to specific stylistic details in the music. Immediately after I play the recording, I ask my students to imitate what they hear. This creates a learning environment where all student performance is informed by a detailed study of iconic recordings. If you do not like the way your students play something, it is usually a sign that you need to direct their attention to the recording. </p>
<p>2. All Accents are Exaggerated <br> All accents must be exaggerated. I mean really exaggerated. This means that when a note has an accent, we don’t kind of accent it, WE HIT THAT NOTE HARD! For students not used to playing in a horn section, this attack can feel like we are overdoing it. </p>
<p>I like to think about this exaggerated articulation as similar how Shakespearian actor says their lines. The Shakespearian actor will spit out even the most tender of lines, overenunciating to the point where they may be spitting on audience members in the first row. If you ran into a person talking in a supermarket in the style of a Shakespearian actor, you might assume that person was unwell. But when you go see Coriolanus, or The Tempest, you would be disappointed if the actors were not enunciating in that way. It is the same when we play commercial music in a horn section. We are not playing the way we would play a solo, we are spitting the music out to the back of the hall. </p>
<p>3. The First Note in a Phrase Gets an Accent <br>Speaking of exaggerated accents, when we begin a phrase, we need to nail the heck out of the first note in the phrase. This accent places the beginning of the phrase in time, and propels it forward. Again, we want a hyper-aggressive, overenunciated approach to the articulation. </p>
<p>Without this accent, you may notice that your horns aren’t playing in the pocket, there are time problems, or the horn lines sound boring. How will you tell if the first note is accented enough? Refer to step one in this guide. </p>
<p>4. Anything Marked Short is Played SHORT <br> If you have a note marked with a rooftop accent or a staccato, it is to be played SHORT! Every note marked short should be hit very hard with our hyper-aggressive, over enunciated attack. My number one critique of young bands is that they do not hit short notes hard enough and they do not play short notes short enough. The desired effect is one of general stabyness coming from the horn section. </p>
<p>Now, I know some of you might be thinking of Earol Gardner’s fantastic lead trumpet playing with the Mel Lewis Orchestra in the 1980s. Earol played very fat articulations that might not best be described as short. Like most of the guidelines here, there are exceptions. In regard to note length, I will say two things. (1) Playing notes marked short with a very short, very aggressive attack is a good first approach to playing this music. This will be effective on most tunes, particularly the music of Count Basie. (2) If you think the chart you are working on is an exception to this rule, be sure to consult the recording. </p>
<p>5. Eighth Notes and Quarter Notes Followed by a Rest are SHORT <br>I call this buttoning a phrase. Any time we have eighth notes or quarter notes followed by a rest, they are almost always played short with a hyper-aggressive attack. This functions as a kind of punctuation mark to the ends of the phrase. </p>
<p>It is important to point out that these notes often appear without any articulation markings at all. Since it is assumed that quarter notes and eighth notes followed by rests are to be played short, many arrangers leave out articulation marks for these notes in order to save time copying parts. This means that the responsibility is on us to interpret this music in line with the style and not necessarily what is on the page. If you are unsure if this is the correct way to play a specific passage, be sure to consult the recording. </p>
<p>6. Eighth Notes Followed by Other Notes Are LONG <br>You know that ricky-ticky over swung dotted eighth-sixteenth feel that many beginners play with? What makes that sound so unappealing? Sure, it doesn’t swing, but why? I would say that ricky-ticky sound usually comes from just a tiny bit of space in between the eighth notes. This space ruins any forward motion the line might have. This can be compounded when you try and get your band to use a commercial attack. </p>
<p>When we play swung eighth notes, each note should be connected to the next note with no space in between (This does not apply to shuffle rhythms). This should tie into the legato quarter note sound of the walking bass which will tie into the quarter note driven sound of the ride cymbal. If you are unsure how an eighth note line should sound, be sure to consult the recording. </p>
<p>7. Cutoffs are Important <br>Where we cut off long notes is critically important. The cutoff places the end of the note in time. This is almost always done with a tongue stop on a downbeat. This means the tongue is literally stopping the air at the end of the note. It should sound like the end of the note was sliced off with a razor blade. </p>
<p>The general rule for cutoffs is that they are cut off on the next beat. A whole note is cut off on beat one of the next bar, half note on beat 3, etc. There is a fair amount of leeway on when something could be cut off so it is best to consult your lead players when making these decisions. </p>
<p>Without this cutoff, your long notes will lose their energy and your band will sound sloppy. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard a band absolutely nail a tough chart only to have their good work ruined by a raggedy cutoff on the first half note that came their way. If you are unsure about where a note should be cut off, be sure to consult the recording. </p>
<p>What This Looks Like in Music </p>
<p>Here is a pretty typical big band phrase you might see in a lead trumpet part. Note that some accents are marked, but not all. For example, even though the first note on beat three is not marked we should still hit that note with a hard accent. Since beat three is an eighth note followed by another note, the eighth note should be played long. Similarly, the eighth notes in m. 2 on beats one and two should be played long. In m. 2, the eighth note on the and of two should be played short even though it is not marked. This is because it is an eighth note followed by a rest. The dotted quarter note on the and of three should be hit hard with an accent as it is marked. It should also be cut off with a tongue stop on beat one. If your band plays like this, they will sound tight. If they do not, they will sound sloppy. </p>
<p>Be Tenacious <br>In my experience, you won’t be able to get your band to interpret the music this way overnight. Bands who have learned to play this way have spent a huge amount of time painstakingly studying recordings and imitating that sound. Your goal should be for these guidelines to form a baseline approach for student interpretation of all jazz and commercial music. It will take years of work to develop these habits. You can’t say this stuff once and expect it to work. You can’t even say this stuff once every rehearsal and expect it to work. You can’t say it two or three times every rehearsal. When your band doesn’t listen to you, you can’t give up and move on. You need to be prepared to spend an hour on four measures of music. Those rehearsals will probably look something like this: </p>
<p>a. Direct student attention to a specific musical goal, for example “I want those rooftop accents SHORT!” <br>b. Listen to the excerpt in question played by an iconic band <br>c. Have your band play the same excerpt <br>d. Unless your band has achieved the given goal say “No that is not it.” <br>e. Repeat steps a-d until either you have all died of old age or they have achieved the given goal. <br>f. Move on to the next spot and repeat steps a-e. </p>
<p>There is no silver bullet to transform a young band into a road-tested professional group overnight. My advice for anyone who wants to get more music out of their band is to focus on the style. You will not be able to think about style without spending a significant portion of time analyzing articulation. How do the beginnings of phrases sound? What do the short notes sound like on an iconic recording? Where are the cutoffs? The more you can get your band to be focusing on these things and imitate what they hear on iconic recordings, the better they will sound. </p>
<p>Throughout this article I have advised you to listen to iconic recordings. There is no shortage of fantastic big band records out there, but here are some of the ones I think are essential for everyone to own: </p>
<p>Count Basie, Chairman of the Board; Count Basie, Frankly Basie; Count Basie, Atomic Basie; Count Basie, Live at the El Morocco, Duke Ellington, Live at Newport 1956; Duke Ellington, The Ellington Suites; Stan Kenton, Contemporary Concepts; Jimmy Smith/Oliver Nelson, Bashin’: The Unpredictable Jimmy Smith; Thad Jones/Mel Lewis, Consummation; Thad Jones/Mel Lewis; New Life; Mel Lewis, 20 Years at The Village Vanguard; Maynard Ferguson, Come Blow Your Horn; Vanguard Jazz Orchestra, Lickety Split; Jim McNeely, East Coast Blowout; Bill Holman, View From the Side; Clayton/Hamilton, Live at the MCG; Maria Schneider, The Pretty Road; Darcy James Argue, Infernal Machines; John Hollenbeck, Songs I Like a Lot. </p>
<p>As I say in all of my clinics, it is literally my job to help anyone reading this article become a better jazz musician and jazz educator. I have dedicated my life to that cause. If there is anything I can do to help you to get deeper into this music, do not hesitate to reach out! </p>
<p>Dr. Keith Karns is a trumpet player, composer, arranger, and jazz educator based in Salem, Oregon. He has worked with Rich Perry, Lauren Sevian, Greta Matassa, Benny Golson, the Kansas City Jazz Orchestra, the One O’Clock Lab Band, and Stefon Harris. Keith Karns has a DMA in Jazz Studies from the University of North Texas. Keith is the Director of Jazz Studies at Western Oregon University.</p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/61904072020-01-28T10:51:47-06:002022-01-05T05:37:07-06:00SO YOU WANT TO GO TO MUSIC SCHOOL?<p><span class="font_large">It is audition season! Across the country, high school seniors are preparing to audition into various undergraduate music programs. There are a TON of great schools out there for the aspiring musician. Here are some tips for students, educators, and parents about how to navigate this process: </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">INVESTIGATE MORE THAN ONE SCHOOL </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">You might have your heart set on a certain school or institution, but it is worth your while to check out multiple schools. There are a lot of differences between a conservatory, a school of music, and a department of music, and in these categories there is a lot of variation between specific institutions. Each one of these different types of school offers its own set of advantages. You need to figure out which type of school is right for you. If you put all your eggs in one basket, you might discover that the school you thought you loved was not really right for you. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">VISIT CAMPUS </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">If possible, go visit campus before your audition. Many students make decisions based only on the reputation of the school, but unless you go to campus, meet professors and students, sit in on ensembles, you really won’t know if that school is a good fit for you. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">GET A LESSON </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Your private lesson teacher will be your primary mentor during your time in college. This is the person you will be working with most closely to craft your musical skill on your voice or instrument. The relationship between you and your teacher is the most important relationship you will have in college. Do you know who you would be studying with? Do you know how often they are on campus? Have you met them? Have you had a lesson with them? What is their teaching like? What is the culture of their studio? If possible, schedule a lesson the same day as your campus visit to help answer these questions. Many teachers will do this for free for prospective students. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">DEGREE PLANS </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">It might seem like something you don’t need to worry about now, but you need to look at the specific degree plans at the schools you are applying for. Will you be able to complete your program in four years? If disaster strikes and you do not finish in four years how will that impact things like financial aid, scholarships, and student teaching? Before you decide, you need to know how you will navigate your intended degree. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">FINANCES </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">How will you be able to make a living a professional musician if you are paying off $100K+ of student loan debt? It is important that you get a quality education, but the most expensive education does is not necessarily the best education. Before you make a decision on where to go, you need to know how much your education will cost, and how much you will need to borrow (and pay back) after you graduate. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">SCHOLARSHIPS </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">You have been offered a scholarship! HOORAY! When you look at your scholarship offers, think about how it will impact your total cost of attendance. If school A offers you a $20,000 scholarship, and School B offers you only $1,500, you might be inclined to take the $20,000 option. But if tuition is $40,000 at School A, and only $9,000 at School B, the $1500 scholarship is still the better deal financially. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ACADEMIC SCHOLARSHIPS </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">These are in fact a thing and can really help you finance your education. Find out what you are eligible for and apply. You should make it your job from the time you are accepted until the time you set foot on campus for classes to apply for as many scholarships as humanly possible. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">In conclusion, there are many great options out there, the trick is to find out which one is right for you!</span></p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/40426032016-02-15T14:32:01-06:002022-01-03T10:13:02-06:00Kanye West: Not a Gospel Virtuoso<p>So, a couple of thoughts about Kanye's show on SNL last night: <br><br><a contents="You can watch the video here." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/kanye-west-ultralight-beam/2985373">You can watch the video here.</a></p>
<p>The concept is really good, however Kanye has not developed his voice well enough to execute it. </p>
<p>West's shortcomings as a singer are highlighted by the sparse texture of the arrangements, and the virtuosity of his collaborators. For example, the beauty, virtuosity, and expressive quality of Kelly Price's vocals in this clip from SNL (Seriously, she crushes it!) underscore West's vocal shortcomings. Furthermore, West's attempt to mask his vocal using electronics--while usually a West Staple--only highlight the fact that here he is out of his depth. </p>
<p>This poses an artistic problem for West. Not only are Kelly Price, The Dream, and Chance The Rapper at the top of their game (Chance does not use what would be considered a virtuosic gospel singing voice, but unlike West, Chance is signifyin on what we consider a beautiful singing voice, and rather than disrupting the music with nonconventional technique, adds to it with a kind of expressive reticence) but with the exception of West's vocal contribution, the music itself is quite good (It is refreshing to hear sparse textures in the age of over-arranged/overproduced pop music). This is only further exacerbated by the crucial cultural message embedded in the music. </p>
<p>In conclusion: Kanye should take some voice lessons.</p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/39850192016-01-12T00:08:21-06:002021-12-17T01:26:23-06:00RETHINKING ARTISTRY IN MODERN ORCHESTRAL JAZZ<p>RETHINKING ARTISTRY IN MODERN ORCHESTRAL JAZZ <br> <br> <br>Keith T. Karns <br> <br> <br>PREPARED FOR THE 2016 JAZZ EDUCATION NETWORK CONFERENCE </p>
<p> <br>UNIVERSITY OF NORTH TEXAS <br>January 2016 </p>
<p> <br>INTRODUCTION </p>
<p> Big band jazz has been engaged in a quiet renaissance over the past several decades. A host of composers have been consistently pushing back boundaries in the field of jazz composition and arranging. Press reviews of recent big band and jazz orchestra records describe the music as possessing “extravagant insight[1]” being “astoundingly creative[2]”, and of answering the question of “what’s next in jazz[3]”. <br> Big band jazz is a widely discussed topic in academic analysis, pedagogy, and jazz research. Composers, performers, and scholars such as Rayburn Wright, Fred Sturm, Jim McNeely, Ethan Iverson, Bill Dobbins, Henry Martin, and Alex Stewart have all published detailed, thoughtful analyses of modern big band music in formal, pedagogical, and popular mediums[4]. <br> Yet this is not reflected in our conception of jazz history. For example, in his The History of Jazz, Ted Gioia describes big band jazz as “more a tool of historical pedagogy than a vehicle for artistic expression”[5]. Scott DeVeaux writes that big bands today suggest “…either nostalgia…or the academic sterility of the university lab band”[6]. In his 1988 article on jazz arranging, Gunther Schuller wrote, “…very little truly innovative achievement in arranging concepts can be claimed after 1960[7]”. This is essentially a reaffirmation of previous opinions on big band jazz dating back to the swing era. <br> During the 1940s, Ross Russell described the bebop movement as a revolt against “arrangers, vertical harmonies, soggy rhythms, non-playing orchestra leaders, Tin Pan Alley—against commercialized music in general[8].” Russell refocuses critical attention on spontaneity and improvisation and away from issues of form, texture and orchestration. <br> LeRoi Jones (Amiri Braka) reformulated the argument against big bands in his influential book Blues People: Negro Music in White America[9]. According to Jones, the rampant commercialism of big bands in the swing era made artistic expression all but impossible. Jones says that bebop was a reaffirmation of small group jazz. Bebop musicians “secure[d] some measure of isolation from what they had come to realize by now was merely cultural vapidity” [10]. This is important for Jones, because he views small group jazz as a musical manifestation of the ideals of freedom, revolution, and change. Jones is making a moral argument in favor of small group jazz. Viewed from this lens, arrangements are impediment to artistic expression, and therefore are not just a lesser form of music, but also a morally suspect form of music. <br> This perspective influenced many important jazz historians in the 1960s and 1970s and has become the tacit foundation for current historical discussions of modern big bands[11]. According to this line of thought, the poor quality of big band music in the 1940s—formulaic and repetitive arrangements, little time for spontaneous improvisation—condemns all big band music as an impediment to creativity and ultimately lacking in artistic substance. Despite the proliferation of this argument, it is not backed up by evidence[12]. <br> This paper shows that modern big band music has surpassed the limitations of old historical models proposed by Jones, Schuller, DeVeaux and others. It proves that far from being an impediment to musical expression, modern big band music is able to cast spontaneous improvisation and group collaboration in a new light through an orchestral approach to the music. This paper examines four (4) orchestral elements in three modern arrangements. These elements are (1) form, (2) texture, (3) orchestration, and (4) collaboration. This study will be done through analysis of three pieces: Maria Schneider’s “Arbiters of Evolution”, John Hollenbeck’s “The Falling Men”, and Bob Brookmeyer’s “The Big Time”. <br> </p>
<p>“ARBITERS OF EVOLUTION”[13] </p>
<p> After nearly a decade since the release of her last Jazz Orchestra Record, Schneider’s 2015 offering The Thomson Fields returns her to the pastoral ideal of rural Minnesota, and her love of birds and bird watching. “Arbiters of Evolution” is a particularly interesting track because it continues Schneider’s exploration of a very personal rural American ideal. She accomplishes this through her approach to texture, orchestration, and counterpoint. This piece also extends her reach into the realm of avant-garde jazz. Donny McCaslin received a Grammy nomination for best instrumental solo at the 2016 Grammy awards for his solo here. Scott Robinson too is in great form on the bari sax, not to mention George Flynn’s superb bass trombone playing. <br> Like the music of Gil Evans, “Arbiters of Evolution” thrives on the combination of western classical music with jazz. This can be heard in the form—which is a clear departure from typical big band form—and the level of detail in the orchestration and texture. This piece also provides a considerable time for improvisation and collaboration. Eleven and a half minutes—just over three quarters—of this fifteen-minute long piece is devoted to improvisation and collaboration. <br><br><a contents='Form Analysis of "Arbiters of Evolution"' data-link-label="arbiters-of-evolution-version-1-sheet1.pdf" data-link-type="file" href="/files/217648/arbiters-of-evolution-version-1-sheet1.pdf" target="_blank">Form Analysis of "Arbiters of Evolution"</a></p>
<p> An interesting facet of Schneider’s melodic construction is that she uses asymmetric phrasing. For example, in theme 1, the first a phrase from mm. 1-4 is four measures long. The next phrase comes in on beat three of m. five. The following phrase comes in on beat two of m. 10. Schneider sets up the expectation of four measure phrasing, yet with each new phrase takes a little more time before it comes in. Schneider resets in m. 17, beginning that phrase on beat 1 and continuing the procedure through theme 1. Schneider heightens this sense of asymmetry by using symmetrical harmonies. Schneider’s harmony changes every eight measures, moving to a new key before the melody does. This can be heard in the mm. 9-10. The harmony moves to F major in m. 9, but the b phrase does not enter until measure 10. This is repeated in mm. 25-26. <br> <br>Figure 1. “Arbiters of Evolution” Theme 1. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/c1ca2975b1924c2ffa6ce6383fb6c58aa7041be8/original/fig-1.png?1452577927" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> Schneider’s sense of harmony reflects contemporary harmonic trends. For example, in theme 1, each B section goes to F, however rather than F minor (vi), Schneider moves to F major (VI). Essentially the movement of the bass note is functional but chord quality is not. This type of harmonic motion is by no means uncommon today; Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and others pioneered this approach in the 1960s.[14] The presence of this type of harmonic device indicates the integration of all types of jazz styles not just the big band tradition. <br> The form of “Arbiters of Evolution” follows a (very) loose sonata approach. Unlike sonatas from the nineteenth century, Schneider abandons the harmonic expectations of a traditional sonata form. For example theme 2 is not in a key a fifth above or minor third below theme 1. Despite this the basics of the form are preserved. <br> In mm. 1-32 we hear theme 1. The first theme can be broken up into ABAB form. Each section is eight measures long. These sections can be broken down further into smaller phrases, following an a a’ b b’ a a’ b b’ form. <br> Theme 1 is followed by a brief transition before we hear theme 2 from mm. 37-68. Unlike theme 1, theme 2 is less formally structured and functions much more like a contrapuntal episode. In fact, this could be the function of this section if it were not for the recapitulation of this material in m. 221 and 256. <br> The second theme is followed by a short transition, which recapitulates theme 1 material before launching into the development. Here the development consists of five episodes that serve as vehicles for soloists Donnie McCaslin and Scott Robinson. The recapitulation of themes 1 and 2 occurs at m. 237. In this case, both themes 1 and 2 are transformed as they serve as secondary melodic figures supporting the conclusion of Robinson’s solo and the collective improvisation between Robinson and McCaslin. <br> Throughout the episodes, Schneider uses melodic and rhythmic fragments from the exposition to reiterate the melody. This is done overtly through brief paraphrases of melodic figures such as in mm. 221-236 and mm. 88-151. The thematic material is derived primarily from the ‘a’ material in the first theme, however theme 2 material also makes several appearances. This material is developed melodically such as in m. 221, but is more often done by developing rhythmic fragments from the melody such as in m. 88. Here Schneider reiterates the quarter note rhythmic motif of the melody. This creates a tenuous connection to the theme 1 material, tying the development to the exposition, but allowing enough melodic room for McCaslin to develop his solo. <br> Most of the thematic material Schneider develops is derived from theme 1 material. This can be heard primarily in one of two ways. The first is in the recurrence of quarter note figures in Cohort I (melody) groups. As stated above, this ties development figures to the theme 1 melody. The second form of melodic development derived from the theme 1 material is heard in meter. <br> <br>Figure 2. “Arbiters of Evolution” Theme 1. Transcribed to show metric shifts. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/c7befebb68dd8d935301d6316bff2eaf1637edc2/original/fig-2.png?1452577954" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> While the majority of the piece is notated in 4-4 (episode 1 alternates between 4-4 and 6/8 time signatures), the meter of the first theme is slightly different. Schneider emphasizes a pattern of 5+4+4+3 during this section (see fig 2). Hemeola, syncopation, and opaque bar lines are in fact major components of the piece (try counting the first thirty-two measures in 4-4). In the example of the first theme (mm. 1-32), the 5+4+4+3 meter is tied to the melodic integrity of the theme. It returns briefly in mm. 69-76 during the theme 1 recapitulation. This rhythm is developed during the first episode. For example, in m. 88, Schneider returns to the ‘a’ material from theme 1, however it initially is felt in a 4-4 feel. This material is alternated with new material throughout the first episode, but by m. 122, the metric feel shifts and is heard as 5+4+3, this is repeated in m. 132, and in m. 147 we finally arrive at the 5+4+4+3 feel just before launching into Episode II, the first free solo section. Schneider abandons the 5+4+4+3 rhythm after the first episode. All later recapitulations of theme 1 are done in 4-4 time. </p>
<p> A typical big band orchestration features sections—trumpets, trombones, and woodwinds—each section acting together as a cohesive unit. A common orchestration technique is to give the melody to the saxophone section, hits and pads to the trombone section and melodic punches and stabs to the trumpets. One need only think of Erskine Hawkins’ “Tuxedo Junction”, or Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls” to recall this technique. Yet Schneider is known for avoiding this technique. <br> Schneider uses cohorts from various sections in the band. As Gunther Schuller points out, this is an orchestral technique that all but defined the Ellington Style[15] (Citation Schuller 48?). But the use of cohorts like this can also be attributed to a myriad of composers, on many pieces. In fact, this style of writing beginning with Duke can be traced through a host of composers such as Gil Evans, Claire Fischer, Shorty Rogers, and Bob Brookmeyer (Citation). <br> In “Arbiters of Evolution”, Schneider breaks the band into four distinct cohorts[16]. The members of these cohorts change, but during virtually all ensemble sections three of these four groups can be heard. They are Cohort I (Melody), Cohort II (Counterpoint), Cohort III (Groove), Cohort IV (Solo/Collaborative). Cohort III (Groove) rarely plays while Cohort IV (Solo/Collaborative) is in play and vice-versa. The exception to this rule is in m. 256-299, however here the only member of Cohort III (Groove) is the bass trombone. In this instance Cohort III (Groove) functions to recapitulate earlier textures. <br> What is particularly interesting about this kind of approach to orchestration is how quickly members of each cohort change. During each ensemble section, three cohorts are always interacting with one another, but the members of each cohort change very quickly, in some cases every few measures. For example, in Episode I, Cohort I (Melody) changes members every eight measures. This is mirrored in Cohort II (Counterpoint). This rapid changing of roles between members of the band contributes to the textural color heard in the piece. <br> It is also interesting to note that the two cohorts with the least amount of textural change are Cohort III (Groove) and Cohort IV (solo/collaboration). In the case of Cohort IV (solo/collaboration), this is not surprising, as there are a limited number of soloists that even a fifteen-minute long piece can handle. However, Cohort III (Groove) is almost entirely the province of bass and bass trombone, with sporadic appearances from trombone 3 (essentially to get more bass trombone sound) bass clarinet, piano, guitar and accordion. </p>
<p> Maria Schneider is known for composing dense textures. Her contrapuntal style and use of interacting cohorts naturally produces denser passages than a more traditional approach. Yet despite this density, Schneider is able to keep things interesting. This is partially because of the rapid changes in the members of each cohort as described above, but it is also accomplished by textural changes built into the form and each episode. <br> Each episode has a distinct identity, particularly when compared with previous material. This is partially accomplished by changes in key and metric feel, but textural changes are equally important here. For example, Episode I texture is much more homophonic than the contrapuntal material heard in the exposition. Episode II is very dense but also is the first time when the winds are completely out and so this too creates a significant textural change. Episode III returns to homophonic texture in the horns and so on. This treatment of texture plays a big part in keeping a piece this long interesting. <br> <br> What really makes this piece unique is not only the large amount of time—nearly eleven and a half minutes—devoted to improvisation, but also the incorporation of avant-garde techniques. If we consider jazz on a spectrum from conservative to avant-garde, the abandonment of musical elements—meter, hypermeter, chorus structure, pulse, harmonic rhythm, —can reposition a piece on that spectrum from conservative to free [17]. <br>In Episode II and Episode IV, Schneider abandons meter, pulse and hypermeter, but maintains harmony and harmonic rhythm. This positions these episodes closer towards the avant-garde than previous sections, but comes short of being entirely “free”. Both of these episodes are about ninety seconds long, each one provides McCaslin and Robinson and the rhythm section, the opportunity to venture outside the confines of the arrangement and interact as a small group[18]. <br> This is particularly important when considering complaints against big band music such as that arrangers do not provide enough opportunities for spontaneous improvisation. These sections—Episodes II and IV—not only provide a significant opportunity for improvisation, but also represent a deeper level of collaboration. Not just between the soloist and the rhythm section, but between Cohort IV (solo/collaboration) and Schneider in her role as the arranger and bandleader. </p>
<p>“Arbiters of Evolution” is a conglomeration of many different styles. It combines classical conceptions of form and orchestration with big band sensibilities dating back to Gil Evans and Duke Ellington. It incorporates modern improvisation and collaboration with avant-garde sensibilities. This piece has an ever-changing approach to time and texture. These elements are what set this piece apart, yet aside from the study of improvisation and collaboration, historical models that exclude big bands, have no vocabulary to address it. </p>
<p>“FALLING MEN” <br> <br> “Falling Men” is the ninth piece in a series of pieces John Hollenbeck composed for the Orchestre National de Jazz. These pieces were released in 2010 on the record Shut Up and Dance. “Falling Men” was nominated for a Grammy award for best instrumental composition in 2012. <br> Shut Up and Dance is structured as a series of eleven “mini concertos” (the first track on CD 1, “Up” is a 29 second introduction). As the title suggests, Hollenbeck’s aim is to study the relationship between rhythm and movement[19]. This approach has long been a trope among jazz composers—Cantaloupe Island, Bitches Brew, and Headhunters come to mind—however, Hollenbeck brings a fresh perspective here. Shut Up and Dance is essentially a fusion between jazz and contemporary twentieth and twenty first century classical—New Music—composition. The aim being to challenge preconceptions of what a jazz, or big band record should be. Included in his list of techniques are serial, electronic, gamelan, and minimalist styles. For example, “Shaking Peace” fits the style of Boulez’s “Structures” or John Cage’s “Music of Changes”. Similarly “Boom” is as much coming out of Paul Lansky’s “Idle Chatter” than anything else. <br> While his techniques vary, the common thread heard in all of these tracks is jazz. There are certainly experimental moments, however pieces such as “Melissa Dance”, and “Racing Heart, Heart Racing” do nothing if not satisfy the expectations of the twenty first century jazz listener. </p>
<p> “Falling Men” is perhaps the most familiar composition on this record. It features a familiar form—composed melody, followed by a solo section, a recapitulation of the melody, and a coda. “Falling Men” is consistent with the style for which Hollenbeck is known through the Claudia Quintet, the John Hollenbeck Large Ensemble. The familiarity of “Falling Men” to the average jazz listener has more to do with how adventurous other tracks are than how conservative “Falling Men” is. Like the previous tracks, “Falling Men” features New Music techniques alongside jazz. <br> A common feature in nearly all of Hollenbeck’s work is his use of linear structures in place of vertical block chords. This means that there are no hits or punches in the brass or woodwinds. All chords are arrived to and resolved linearly. The primary compositional element at play is counterpoint. This is not to say that there is no harmony or even that there are no homophonic textures. For example in m. 20, the entire ensemble plays a sustained Gmaj+11 chord, however this chord and the chords after it are reached melodically rather than as percussive hits. This immediately sets Hollenbeck apart from other big band composers. <br>This at once calls to mind music from Phillip Glass, such as “Music in Twelve Parts”. Like Glass, Hollenbeck utilizes repetitive structures in his music. For example, Figure 3 shows repetitive structures, a texture that runs throughout much of the exposition and slowly is altered over time. Unlike Glass however, Hollenbeck uses these figures in conjunction with more traditional melodies. In “Falling Men” this can be heard in m. 12 when the A section melody comes in. </p>
<p>Figure 3. “Falling Men” repetitive structures. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/708438bc835f8df24bb53bf6f2221a14f2146748/original/fig-3.png?1452578026" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> In Figure 3, the repetitive structures are built on the Eb and F major scales. In beat five of m. 3, 4, and beat 4 of m. 5, Hollenbeck deviates from the major scale. It could be argued that these deviations imply a dominant function. For example on beat 5 of m. 3, these pitches could be heard as an implied dominant augmented sixth chord or tritone substitution: DomAug6 or Gb7. It could also be argued that they imply dominant or altered dominant chords. For example on beat five m. 3: C7+11. However, this model breaks down on beat 5 of m. 4. The implied F minor could be considered an implied Bb9. If so the function is particularly week. Rather than consider implied vertical harmonies in this piece it is better to consider the strength of the line and the rules of voice leading. In m. 3, dissonance resolves down a half step. In beat 4 of m. 5, the line encloses the Eb on beat one. </p>
<p>Figure 4. “Falling Men” A section melody. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/a5aa3cdbf1b968bd1bca1410db2b42dbe902feeb/original/fig-4.png?1452578081" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> Figure 4 shows a transcription of the A section melody along with the repetitive structures and the bass line (enharmonic pitches are preserved from the original score). Here we see just how contrapuntally dense “Falling Men is”. Modality is created through counterpoint between these three voices rather than through comping instruments such as guitar or piano. Unlike a typical jazz arrangement, there is no period in this section not filled by independently moving contrapuntal lines. <br> Counterpoint is also an important factor when determining meter. While the excerpt is notated primarily in 5-4, the time feel is actually in 6-8. This is achieved through the melody and the bass line (6/8 in these voices is superimposed over the 5-4 of the repetitive structures). Figure 5 shows a transcription that better represents the metric feel of the A section melody. </p>
<p>Figure 5. “Falling Men” A section melody. Transcribed to show metric shifts. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/755fcbbee8f2b7163e21078cb4dd4e80cc218ebb/original/fig-5.png?1452578104" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> The most obvious distinction between this and other big band compositions is the departure from the traditional number and combination of forces. Rather than typical sections of five woodwinds, four or five trombones, and four or five trumpets, Hollenbeck uses what could be best described as a chamber music model. This is made up of five woodwinds, trumpet, three keyboards, electric bass, drums, and guitar. It is also important to note that only one keyboard—labeled KEYS 1 in the score—is for a keyboard player, the other two keyboard parts are written into the trumpet part and the second woodwind part. <br> <br> Like “Arbiters of Evolution”, “Falling Men” features a significant amount of spontaneous improvisation. Here trumpeter Guillaume Poncelet is featured and has the opportunity to solo in a quasi-free setting, as well as in a contemporary rock jazz mode. Poncelet is particularly good at incorporating elements of Hollenbeck’s arrangement into his solo. For example in m. 40, the woodwinds play a rubato F-Eb figure three times. Poncelet begins his quasi-free solo by developing this motif. While this level of collaboration is interesting, “Falling Men” also features group collaboration pertaining to the arrangement itself. <br> When I asked Hollenbeck for permission to use his score in my research, he was happy to oblige me but advised that the final product recorded on Shut Up and Dance was the result the result of significant collaboration with the Orchestre National de Jazz and that the recording deviated significantly from the score. This can be heard in several minor ways, for example in mm. 12-19, the second flute does not double the bass line until the second time through this repeated section. In m, 46, the repetitive structures that appear in the Bb trumpet part are given to the guitar. <br> However, there are also some major departures from the score that indicate key parts of the recorded piece came about through collaboration with the ONJ. For example, in the score, the trumpet solo in m. 50 is not present. Instead, repetitive structures are marked in the trumpet part. Shut Up and Dance is a series of mini concertos; had the written trumpet part been played it would have dramatically changed the character and nature of this concerto. The change to include the trumpet solo at m. 50 indicates the level of collaboration the ONJ enjoyed with Hollenbeck. <br> Another key point indicating some form of collaboration is in m. 65, the repeated rhythmic figures in the clarinet, alto sax and tenor sax. These figures are not clearly heard on the recording, they are either or so far down in the mix as to be non-existent from the listener’s perspective, or not present at all[20]. This suggests one of two kinds of collaboration. (1) Hollenbeck and members of the ONJ decided to omit these passages for musical or practical reasons, (2) in post production Hollenbeck, the engineer and/or members of the production staff decided to mute these passages in the mix. This last type of collaboration is a modern artifact—pioneered by Miles Davis in the late 1960s on pieces like “Water on the Pond”, “Circle in the Round”, and “Bitches Brew”. <br> <br>“THE BIG TIME” <br> “The Big Time” is the first track on the 2014 Vanguard Jazz Orchestra record Overtime: the music of Bob Brookmeyer. This record is important for several reasons. First, the VJO is the longest running big band in the world and is a crucial institution when we consider the past fifty years of jazz [21]. Secondly, Overtime was nominated for a Grammy award for Best Large Jazz Ensemble Album at the 2015 Grammy Awards. Most importantly however, Overtime is a collection of music composed by Brookmeyer over thirty years, several pieces such as “Suite for Three” were commissioned for this album, while others such as “The Big Time” were composed for the band during the 1980s but were never recorded. <br> “The Big Time” is an interesting composition because it provides a postmodern commentary on swing and popular music from the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s. Brookmeyer injects early swing and vaudeville sensibilities throughout the piece. At the same time, Brookmeyer is increasingly modern. Brookmeyer’s sophisticated orchestration, thematic development, and incorporation of twentieth century classical techniques set “The Big Time” apart from most big band arrangements. Indeed, even thirty years after it was composed, “The Big Time” sounds remarkably relevant, lacking the sounds that date music from past decades. </p>
<p> Form is one of the primary ways that Brookmeyer establishes a connection to the music of the 1920s and 1930s. Compared to other Brookmeyer works, this piece is quite short (just over four minutes long). Despite its brevity, Brookmeyer is able to pack a lot into that amount of time. <br> “The Big Time” is through-composed. This is a departure from the strophic chorus based formal structure heard in typical arrangements. Instead, Brookmeyer approaches form in a manner very similar to early swing arrangers such as Don Redman or Fletcher Henderson. Figure 6 shows a formal analysis of “The Big Time”, while Figure 7 shows a similar analysis of Don Redman’s “The Stampede”. When comparing these two pieces it is easy to see how relatively short melodic passages are developed over the course of an entire piece. </p>
<p>Figure 6: Form analysis of “The Big Time” <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/2b65a62e5b7555715a2737976fb34f26a2c25356/original/fig-6.png?1452578136" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>Figure 7. Form analysis of Don Redman’s “The Stampede (1927)” <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/3d87f64c218a79aaaf8e830bd6cc82e226dd215c/original/fig-7.png?1452578172" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> <br> In “The Big Time”, Brookmeyer relies on variation in his ‘a’ motive as a form device. This produces a series of short related phrases that avoid chorus structure. This same technique is seen in “The Stampede”. Brookmeyer’s technique differs in a few ways however. Brookmeyer develops his ‘a’ motive through orchestration; alternating between solo melody statements in the soprano, trumpet and trombone, with homophonic big band statements of the melody in the winds. This can be heard throughout the piece, for example in mm. 49-57 and mm. 85-92. This appears in “The Stampede” in m. 159 where Redman rescores the material from mm. 29-32. However, this is an infrequently used technique in “The Stampede”. A key difference here is that Redman develops his melodies through solo improvisation throughout “The Stampede”. Brookmeyer avoids this entirely. This is one way that Brookmeyer references early swing, but does not follow all of the implications of that genre. <br> Another point of interest is the B section. I label this section the “Blues Interlude”. Here the horns play unison blues scale lines mixed with brief outbursts of collective improvisation. The rhythm section accompanies with pedal Eb quarter notes[22]. This material conjures the image of early jazz while not directly imitating any band in particular. The material from this section is unique in that it contrasts greatly from the A section melody. More importantly however, is that the B section material is only stated once, a rare occurrence in a typical big band arrangement. </p>
<p> “The Big Time” is nothing if not representative of Brookmeyer’s style. As I have already stated, this includes a commentary on swing era music and early to mid twentieth century pop music in general. More specifically, it includes defining thematic elements of Brookmeyer’s own idiom. This can be heard in the quarter note accompaniment in m.107 and m. 183. This is a common thread in a variety of Brookmeyer works such as “Hello and Goodbye”, “The Nasty Dance”, “The American Express”, and “Make Me Smile”. To a larger degree, quarter note accompaniment is characteristic of the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis—and by extension the VJO—sound in general[23]. The Thad Jones arrangements of “A-That’s Freedom”, and “All of Me” are perhaps the best examples of this technique outside of Brookmeyer’s own writing[24]. <br> Another element of Brookmeyer’s idom present in “The Big Time” is the use of a scale or scale fragment as melodic material. Brookmeyer used this technique in “McNeely’s Piece”. In “The Big Time” the A melody theme is based off of the C major augmented scale. It is first heard in m. 49 in Dick Oattes’ soprano saxophone part. </p>
<p>Figure 8. A section melody to “The Big Time”. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/4ae3ae37f180878a8eff5a73e85b654148263fe5/original/fig-8.png?1452578197" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> Perhaps the most important aspect of Brookmeyer’s idiom is his reference to twentieth century classical composers. The most famous example of this is from Brookmeyer’s Arrangement of “My Funny Valentine” from the record Make Me Smile and Other Works by Bob Brookmeyer. Brookmeyer’s “My Funny Valentine” references Igor Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring”. Stravinsky is also represented in “The Big Time”, this time referencing “The Soldier’s Tale”. In measure 203 of “The Big Time”, Brookmeyer uses a Stravinsky interruption as a transitional passage to move from the blues interlude to the last recapitulation of the A melody. </p>
<p>Figure 9. “The Big Time” Stravinsky Interuption. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/edd6fe3effea4b92151163b00817d7be646b24b0/original/fig-9.png?1452578222" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> Of the three pieces in this study, “The Big Time” is perhaps the most familiar to the jazz listener. Unlike Schneider and Hollenbeck who defer from conventional big band forces, Brookmeyer wrote for what is considered a standard big band formation[25]. With the exception of the French Horn part and the auxiliary percussion part, the forces present in “The Big Time” do not differ from the typically big band arrangement. This does not mean that Brookmeyer uses the ensemble in traditional or uninspired ways. In fact, Brookmeyer’s use of orchestration techniques adds small but important details to much of the piece. <br> For example, in m. 85, Brookmeyer develops the ‘a’ section melody by transforming it from descending whole notes on a major augmented scale to descending half notes on the major scale. From the listener’s perspective, all we hear is a descending chromatic line in the soprano saxophone (Figure 8). However Brookmeyer scores it between two soprano saxophones (Figure 9). The effect of this orchestration leaves each soprano saxophone part hanging over slightly, causing very short durations of chromatic dissonance. Brookmeyer drives this home in m. 93 when both soprano parts hit a sustained pitch a half step apart. <br> <br>Figure 10. “The Big Time”. Melody transcribes from the perspective of the listener. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/0db251509bbe67b46e78fc35e28ddfeb66436271/original/fig-10.png?1452578288" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> <br> Brookmeyer deconstructs melodic figures and splits them among several instruments in order to present the melody in a different way. This happens throughout “The Big Time” in mm. 31-36, mm.89-94, and mm. 203-208. <br><br> Figure 11. “The Big Time”. Melody transcribed as it appears in the score. <br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/11e940f399590da13db6e86be1b0eee800acf98a/original/fig-11.png?1452578331" class="size_l justify_center border_" /> <br> Spontaneous improvisation is one of the problematic musical elements when dealing with Brookmeyer’s music. While “The Big Time” contains collective improvisation, and composed solo statements that are subject to individual interpretation, there are no true solo sections in “The Big Time”. This was a point of contention between Brookmeyer and members of the Mel Lewis Orchestra and was one of the reasons why he left in the mid 1980s (CITATION). <br> One of the questions that “The Big Time” raises is: how important is improvisation to jazz? “The Big Time” features most of the key ingredients of jazz. It contains syncopation, the blues, swing, and collective improvisation. It does not feature an improvised solo, and this is where things get problematic. This piece and others like it, refocus audience attention from the soloist to the group as a whole. In this sense, “The Big Time” might feature the most pure form of group collaboration[26]. Each voice is more or less equal in working toward a group musical goal. However, by eliminating improvisation, we can also argue that the piece has become less free. This is essentially Brookmeyer exerting his own control over the band. <br> This seems to be the case in regards to Overtime. Here, the lack of improvisation functions quite well. Most of the pieces on Overtime feature various members of the VJO who have been a key part of the band for many years. “Suite for Three” is a three-movement concerto for Dick Oattes, Scott Wendholt, and Rich Perry. “On the Corner of Ralph and Gary” is a sax battle between Ralph Lalama and Gary Smulyan. In all of these cases, Brookmeyer takes a lot of time to showcase these individual members of the VJO as soloists. If we view the absence of solo improvisation as heard in “The Big Time” as a refocusing on the ensemble, beginning with a piece that features the band as its own entity seems fitting. </p>
<p> Many historians today seem to argue that big band is an unnecessary medium in jazz. There is an opinion that if it only were not for high school and university jazz bands, big band music would be once and for all an artifact of bygone days. Yet it is hard make a musical argument to support this position based on modern big band music. Modern arrangers are capable of combining orchestral elements with improvisation and collaboration. Rather than rehashing the music of the past, modern arrangers are making the same kinds of individual statements that modern improvisers are. <br> Another important element of big bands are their roles in music communities. This is the focus of Alex Stewart’s excellent research on modern big bands[27]. According to Stewart, big bands are an important institution for working musicians. They are places where younger musicians learn the foundations of performance (how to swing, play in tune, sight read, show up on time etc.). They also provide a crucial networking tool for professionals. While most big bands do not pay much or at all, playing with a large group of musicians functions as a kind of informal audition. Playing for little money in big bands often leads to better paying opportunities in other groups. <br> Despite the opinions of many jazz critics and historians, modern big bands like those led by Maria Schneider, John Hollenbeck, and the Vanguard Orchestra are consistently putting out interesting music that advances the big band tradition. These groups are leaders in a much larger community of big band musicians, composers, arrangers, and audiences. It is time that we considered this music accordingly. <br> </p>
<p>BIBLYOGRAPHY </p>
<p>Alkyer, Frank . “Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society, Brooklyn Babylon” Downbeat Magazine (2011). <br> <br>Bruno Nettle, “Heartland Excursions: Ethnomusicological Reflections of Schools of Music” (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 113-114. <br> <br>Chinen, Nate. “Maria Schneider Orchestra The Thompson Fields” The New York Times, June 1, 2015. <br> <br>DeVeaux, Scott.The Birth of Bebop: a Social and Musical History, (Berkley: University of California Press, 1997), 2. <br> <br>Dobbins, Bill. Jazz Arranging and Composing: A Linear Approach. (Rottenburg: Advance Music, 1986), 9. <br> <br>Hollenbeck, John.“Shut Up and Dance” johnhollenbeck.com. (2010), Accessed December 3, 2015. http://johnhollenbeck.com/sound/shut-up-and-dance/ <br> <br>Iverson, Ethan. “Mini McNeely Tutorial 2” Do The Math. (April 2011), Accessed September 1, 2015. http://dothemath.typepad.com/dtm/2011/04/mini-mcneely-tutorial-2.html <br> <br>Jarenwattanon, Patrick . “John Hollenbeck Large Ensemble Newport Jazz 2011”. National Public Radio. Accessed August 15, 2015. <br> <br>Jones LeRoi. (Amiri Baraka), Blues People: Negro Music in White America (New York: Harper Collins, 1963), 18. <br> <br>McNeely, Jim. “About the Music” in Lickety Split. (New York: New Worlds Music, 1997), 4-11. <br> <br>Russel, Ross. “Bebop” in The Art of Jazz: Essays on the Nature and Development of Jazz (1959), ed. Martin Williams, 202 (Boston: Da Capo Press), 187-214. <br> <br>Sidran, Ben. Black Talk, (Boston: Da Capo Press, 1983), 8. </p>
<p>Schuller, Gunther. “Sonny Rollinsand the Challenge of Thematic Improvisation”. The Jazz Review (1):1 1958. 6. <br> <br>Schuller, Gunther.“Arrangement”, In The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz 2nd ed. vol I, edited by Barry Kernfield. (London: Macmillan, 2002), 662. <br> <br>Schuller, Gunter.The Swing Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 48. <br> <br>Stewart, Alex. Making the Scene: Contemporary New York City Big Band Jazz. (Berkley: University of California Press, 2007). <br> <br>Ted Gioia, The History of Jazz 2nd ed, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 211. <br> <br>Sturm, Fred. Changes over Time: The Evolution of Jazz Arranging. (Rottenburg Germany: Advance Music, 1995). <br> <br>Taylor, Billy . “Jazz: America's Classical Music”. The Black Perspective in Music 14 (1). None: 21–25. doi:10.2307/1214726. <br> <br>Waters, Keith and Martin Williams, “Modeling Diatonic, Acoustic, Hexatonic, and Octatonic Harmonies and progressions in Two- and Three-Dimensional Pitch Spaces; or Jazz Harmony after 1960”, Society for Music Theory (2010), Accessed December 5th 2015, http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.10.16.3/mto.10.16.3.waters_williams.html <br> <br>Waters, Keith. The Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998). <br> <br>Wright, Rayburn. Inside the Score. (Delaven: Kendor Music, Inc, 1982). </p>
<p>[1] Nate Chinen, “Maria Schneider Orchestra The Thompson Fields” The New York Times, June 1, 2015. </p>
<p>[2] Patrick Jarenwattanon, “John Hollenbeck Large Ensemble Newport Jazz 2011”. National Public Radio. Accessed August 15, 2015. </p>
<p>[3] Frank Alkyer, “Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society, Brooklyn Babylon” Downbeat Magazine (2011) </p>
<p>[4] Rayburn Wright, Inside the Score. (Delaven: Kendor Music, Inc, 1982) <br>Fred Sturm, Changes over Time: The Evolution of Jazz Arranging. (Rottenburg Germany: Advance Music, 1995). <br>Jim McNeely, “About the Music” in Lickety Split. (New York: New Worlds Music, 1997), 4-11. <br>Ethan Iverson, “Mini McNeely Tutorial 2” Do The Math. (April 2011), Accessed September 1, 2015. http://dothemath.typepad.com/dtm/2011/04/mini-mcneely-tutorial-2.html <br>Bill Dobbins, Jazz Arranging and Composing: A Linear Approach. (Rottenburg: Advance Music, 1986), 9. <br>Alex Stewart, Making the Scene: Contemporary New York City Big Band Jazz. (Berkley: University of California Press, 2007). </p>
<p>[5] Ted Gioia, The History of Jazz 2nd ed, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 211. </p>
<p>[6] Scott DeVeaux, The Birth of Bebop: a Social and Musical History, (Berkley: University of California Press, 1997), 2. </p>
<p>[7] Gunther Schuller, “Arrangement”, In The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz 2nd ed. vol I, edited by Barry Kernfield. (London: Macmillan. 75-81), 662. </p>
<p>[8] Ross Russel, “Bebop” in The Art of Jazz: Essays on the Nature and Development of Jazz (1959), ed. Martin Williams, 202 (Boston: Da Capo Press), 187-214. </p>
<p>[9] Russel, “Bebop”, 187-214. </p>
<p>[10] LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka), Blues People: Negro Music in White America (New York: Harper Collins, 1963), 183 </p>
<p>[11] Ben Sidran, Black Talk, (Boston: Da Capo Press, 1983), 8. <br>Gunther Schuller, “Sonny Rollinsand the Challenge of Thematic Improvisation”. The Jazz Review (1):1 1958. 6. <br>Billy Taylor, Jazz: America's Classical Music”. The Black Perspective in Music 14 (1). None: 21–25. doi:10.2307/1214726. <br>Bruno Nettle, “Heartland Excursions: Ethnomusicological Reflections of Schools of Music” (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 113-114. <br>Ben Sidran, Black Talk, (Boston: Da Capo Press, 1983), 8. </p>
<p>[12] Many writers make exceptions to this rule. LeRoi Jones praises Basie’s band, but then goes on to claim that Basie’s primary contribution is in the field of small group jazz. Ted Gioa identifies Maria Schneider and Darcy James Argue for making important contributions, but argues that Schneider and Argue are exceptions to the Rule of Big Band Marginalization, rather than individuals leading the vanguard of a musical community. </p>
<p>[13] For a complete formal analysis of “Arbiters of Evolution” see Table 1. <br> </p>
<p>[14] Keith Waters and Martin Williams, “Modeling Diatonic, Acoustic, Hexatonic, and Octatonic Harmonies and progressions in Two- and Three-Dimensional Pitch Spaces; or Jazz Harmony after 1960”, Society for Music Theory (2010), Accessed December 5th 2015, http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.10.16.3/mto.10.16.3.waters_williams.html </p>
<p>[15] Gunter Schuller, The Swing Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 48. </p>
<p>[16] Some might argue that Cohort IV (solo/Collaborative) is not a true cohort because it only contains the soloists. I have included the McCaslin and Robinson solos in their own cohort not only because of the collective improvisation section in mm. 256-315, but also to include the members of the rhythm section that in Episode II and Episode IV. During these free sections collaboration between soloists and the members of the rhythm section is of utmost importance. </p>
<p>[17] Keith Waters. The Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998). </p>
<p>[18] Schneider includes minimal directions in the score, asking that each time the vamp repeats there is a crash to signal the repetition of the progression. </p>
<p>[19] John Hollenbeck, “Shut Up and Dance” johnhollenbeck.com. (2010), Accessed December 3, 2015. http://johnhollenbeck.com/sound/shut-up-and-dance/ <br> </p>
<p>[20] This is crucial because here we do have an example of block chords between these two voices. These figures function like a rock guitar riff, orchestrated for three woodwinds, however because they are either so soft in the mix or not present, for all intents and purposes, they do not exist on the recording. </p>
<p>[21] Past and current members of the VJO/TJMLJO are A BIG DEAL in jazz history and modern jazz such as: Joe Lavono, Tom Harrell, Jim McNeely, Bob Brookmeyer, Kenny Garret, Terrel Stafford, and Rich Perry just to name a few. </p>
<p>[22] The quarter note motif is a common technique in Brookmeyer’s writing and can be heard in “Make Me Smile”, “The American Express”, and “Hello and Goodbye”. </p>
<p>[23] McNeely, “About the Music” in Lickety Split. 4-11. </p>
<p>[24] Brookmeyer’s solo on this “A-That’s Freedom” also contains one of the gutsiest examples of motivic improvisation in jazz: a full chorus of repeated, smeared quarter notes, derived from the trombone introduction of the arrangement. </p>
<p>[25] With the exception of the French Horn part and the auxiliary percussion part, the forces present in “The Big Time” do not differ from the typically big band arrangement. </p>
<p>[26] If we were to make moral analogies to political systems and pieces like “The Big Time”, we might conclude that this type of piece favors a more egalitarian outlook than traditional jazz. </p>
<p>[27] Alex Stewart, Making the Scene: Contemporary New York City Big Band Jazz. (Berkley: University of California Press, 2007).</p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/39850072016-01-11T23:30:23-06:002021-12-04T10:47:09-06:00A BRIEF HISTORY OF JAZZ EDUCATION PRIOR TO 1950<p>INTRODUCTION </p>
<p>Current narratives on the history and development of jazz education imply that formalized jazz education is an entity beginning sometime after 1950. While this perspective captures the development of the jazz publishing industry, the expansion of collegiate jazz studies programs, and a host of camps, clinics, and other resources that have sprung up in the last sixty five years, it also seems to imply that opportunities for jazz education prior to 1950 were nonexistent. <br><br>From a twenty-first century perspective, this narrative is reinforced anecdotally. Charles Suber’s sentiment that “Recordings were the first jazz textbooks” seems to imply a virtually educational wasteland for interested students in the first half of the twentieth century (Suber 1989, iii). However this perspective does little justice to the vibrant jazz education climate of the first half of the twentieth century. This paper will address the formal, semi-formal and informal education communities during this period, as well as a brief look at printed pedagogical materials used by educators during this time. <br> </p>
<p>PUBLIC SCHOOL JAZZ EDUCATION <br> <br>One bizarre side effect of segregation was the regular occurrence of first-rate black public school systems. These schools enlisted quality educators, many of whom held advanced degrees (May 2005, 22). In addition to excellent instruction in academic subjects, instruction in music was also done at a high level. Many of these schools offered not only instrumental and vocal training, but also offered courses on music theory and harmony (Berliner 1994, 26). <br><br>While popping up in predominantly urban and middle class/wealthy black communities, these kinds of schools were by no means rare. DuSalle High School in Chicago, Thomas Jefferson High School in Los Angeles, Westinghouse High School in Pittsburgh, Cass Technical High School in Detroit, Crispus Attucks High School in Indianapolis, and Howard High School in Wilmington Delaware all serve as examples of the kind of quality music education available to many urban students during the first half of the twentieth century. <br><br> Many of these schools were virtual factories for future jazz giants. Walter Dyett at DuSalle High School in Chicago produced students such as Gene Ammons, Johnny Griffin, Eddie Harris, Richard Davis, and Nat “King” Cole. Russell Brown at Crispus Attucks High School produced similar results with the Montgomery Brothers, James Spaulding, David Baker, Freddie Hubbard, and J.J. Johnson[1]. It seems as if each region had educators specializing in developing jazz talent through the public schools. <br> <br>The curriculum taught at these schools was almost entirely based on western classical music. While it is true that some schools embraced jazz education as a part of music curriculum—such as Manassa High School in Memphis[2]—most schools shied away from including jazz as part of the music program. Indeed, at some schools simply being caught playing jazz could be a suspending offense (May 2005,25). This attitude would relax somewhat; by the end of the 1940s jazz had begun being included in high school curriculums in the form of stage bands (May 2005, 25). <br><br>The degree to which a school would encourage jazz among its students varied from director to director. However, at all of these schools western classical music was the main curriculum focus. The musical skills acquired here included instrumental proficiency, basic harmonic knowledge, but did not extend much into the realm of jazz or improvisation. Still, this background provided a foundation in instrumental proficiency and basic harmony that was easily applicable to jazz. <br> </p>
<p>COLLEGE JAZZ EDUCATION </p>
<p>Colleges would also be important proving grounds for many aspiring jazz students. While much has been made of North Texas State’s and Schillinger House’s (now Berklee) role in establishing jazz degrees in the late 1940s, all types of colleges played some kind of role in jazz education during this period. This includes state schools such as NTSU, as well as historically black colleges, and prestigious music schools. They all played a part in jazz education to one degree or another. <br>In the 1940s, three colleges would be critical in offering institutionalized jazz education. North Texas State College, Schillinger House (now Berklee) and Westlake College. Unlike other colleges at the time, these schools offered instruction specifically for jazz musicians, rather than the elective based instruction available at other institutions. </p>
<p>The jazz degree at North Texas State (Now UNT) was founded in 1947. This was the first established bachelor’s degree in jazz studies in the United States. Interestingly, this degree was originally called a “dance band major” because of the unpalatable connotations the word “jazz” held (Hall 2015). Gene Hall based the curriculum at NTSU on his 1942 master’s thesis. Hall proposed a full course of instruction that centered on a “lab band” that performed student compositions. It is this model that endures to this day at UNT. <br> <br>Lawrence Berk established the Schillinger House of Music in 1945. Schillinger House would become the Berklee School of Music in 1954, and would begin offering bachelor’s degrees in 1996. In this sense, Schillinger House was not a true college during the first half of the twentieth century, however its origins are. <br>Berk began the Schillinger House as a means of teaching the principles of composition and harmony of Joseph Schillinger. Berk was only one of a handful of teachers permitted to teach Schillinger’s method. Schillinger’s system of composition translated musical elements such as harmony melody and rhythm to geometric relationships. The link to his pedagogy and his music is yet unclear. Schillinger’s system for composition was not exclusively jazz based; however many of his students were prominent jazz and commercial composers such as Tommy Dorsey, Geroge Gershwin and Benny Goodman (Burk, James M and Wayne J. Schneider 2015). <br> <br>Westlake College of Music in Los Angeles was an important player in the college jazz education scene in the postwar 1940s. Established in 1945, it offered two and four year degrees in music with curriculum in jazz, although not an official jazz degree. Like Schillinger House, Westlake curriculum embraced the Schillinger system. Westlake was unique, it’s curriculum was designed in part to train future studio musicians. Many of the faculty such as Russ Garcia were also in demand studio composers and would pull students from school for work in the recording studio (Spencer 2013, 60). Westlake was alma mater to some of the greatest talents in jazz, Dexter Gordon, Don Cherry, Bill Holman and Gary Peacock to name a few. The school disbanded in 1961 and for this reason it is not as well recognized today. <br> <br>While not strictly a college, the black musician training center for black musicians at the Great Lakes Naval Base during the second world war represents another important training center for jazz musicians. During the course of the war, over five thousand musicians would be sent to the Great Lakes Naval Base to train. Len Bowden oversaw their training[3]. Bowden’s curriculum at the Great Lakes Naval Base is widely regarded as the first comprehensive curriculum for jazz studies (Murphy 1994, 34). These musicians would be called on to play not only for military parades and services, but also for dances and social gatherings. As such, Bowden developed a program that trained musicians for their roles in all of these areas. </p>
<p>Historically Black Colleges (HBCs) also played an important role in training young jazz musicians. Jazz education was present at many of these schools in one form or another since the dawn of the twentieth century[4]. Formal jazz education at these schools was rare, however many offered student run dance and swing bands that would play stock and original arrangements. These ensembles would perform for school dances, university events, and perhaps most importantly, fundraising drives. Ensembles at both Fisk and Alabama State were called upon to help raise money for the university during various budget shortfalls. Fisk and Alabama State are perhaps the two most notable HBCs to field stage bands during this time. At Fisk University, Jimmie Lunceford served as the leader for the Fisk Collegians. At Alabama state, Erskine Hawkins held the same role of the 'Bama State Collegians. (Hawkins was still in high school when the 'Bama State Collegians was founded, but it would be under his leadership that the band would make the transition to New York and ultimately to the Erskine Hawkins Orchestra). Other important HBCs that fielded stage bands include Tennessee State, Delaware State, Florida A&M, the Tuskegee Institute, and Howard University. In his paper on the subject, Andrew Goodrich cites over thirty such colleges operating some form of jazz ensemble during this time (Goodrich 2001, 54). <br><br>Despite the prevalence of HBC stage bands, the magnitude of their role in jazz education is unclear. For example, Clifford Brown, Benny Golson, Jimmie Blanton, and Cannonball Adderly all attended HBC's and participated in jazz ensembles to one degree or another. However, this is not to say that the musical training revieved at HBCs was the turning point in these musician's careers. Indeed, there is evidence that jazz training at HBCs left much to be desired. <br> <br>Many HBC jazz bands were not acknowledged by music departments. Since they were largely student run, the quality of instruction was far from uniform. London Branch first voiced these concerns in his 1975 Ph.d. dissertation. According to Branch, HBC jazz ensembles were underfunded, not respected by university faculty and staff, and not able to offer the courses students needed to operate as professional musicians (Branch 1975, 12). Branch identifies this as a problem not limited to the first half of the twentieth century, but as an institutional bias against jazz in favor of eurocentric models, that persists to varying degrees today. <br> <br>However, Branch's concerns do not take into account the many other factors that contributed to jazz education. Indeed, a college lab band in and of itself would be poor training for life as a professional jazz musician, however, then as it is now, academic training was part of a musician's education, not its entirety. Students at HBCs developed instrumental proficiency, harmonic knowledge, composition and arranging skills and networking skills that they were able to transfer to the study and performance of jazz. But the musicians who went on to earn success in jazz were not only engaged in academic studies, they were also involved in a variety of formal and semi formal activities that helped prepare them for professional life. <br><br> <br>INFORMAL AND SEMI FORMAL JAZZ EDUCATION <br> <br>This is perhaps the most well known element of jazz education during the first half of the twentieth century. William McDaniel writes rather baldly that jazz education began with the first jazz musicians, and relegates most of the ways jazz was taught during this time simply to “the oral tradition” (McDaniel 1993, 119). <br> <br>This type of learning was and still is important, but we can break it down into a more detailed analysis than McDaniel. In addition to institutional training available at many public schools and colleges, many if not all jazz musicians were involved in a network of musical performance and instruction. This network consisted of study of recordings and live performances, church music, family music making, private instruction, local performances and jam sessions. Most jazz students were involved in some if not all of these activities (Berliner 1994, 24). <br><br>Most jazz and early music education started at home. This could be as simple as playing jazz records in the house or family members singing. Many jazz musicians took lessons from music teachers who went door to door, teaching in the home, Children of professional or amateur musicians often absorbed music that way. Music in the home was often a gateway into other music communities outside the home. <br> <br>Private instructors served as mentors and role models for many of the young jazz musicians during this period. Private instructors were generally older or more experienced players. This type of instruction was invaluable both in helping develop young players, as well as refining the skills of already established players. For example, Clifford Brown’s study with Robert Lowrey helped Brown develop the basic tools of improvisation. Similarly, Lloyd Reese helped to develop a generation of jazz musicians in the Los Angeles area. Other teachers such as Joeseph Schillinger helped top-level musicians reach new heights in their professional careers. His work with artists such as Gershwin and Glenn Miller led to some of the greatest hits of the era such as Porgy and Bess and Moonlight Serenade (Pease 2015). Other teachers such as Lennie Tristano[5] and Gil Evans attracted a cadre of young professional musicians to instruct in improvisation and harmony. <br> <br>Private jazz lessons straddle the line between formal and informal. Many other learning opportunities would be strictly informal. Paul Berliner identifies record shops, music stores, nightclubs and even musician’s homes as venues for jazz education (Berliner 1994, 37). Here, learning happened through “the hang”. This provided younger players the opportunity to learn from more experienced players. This could include local members of the community as well as members of various touring bands. <br> <br>Jam sessions were another vintage of “the hang”. In addition to the networking and learning opportunities available simply through discussion, jam sessions not only gave young musicians a vehicle to work on actually performing music, but also brought together musicians and provided the opportunity for critical discussion and feedback. Jam sessions were equally important for young musicians as well as experienced ones. It was at jam sessions like the one in Wilmington Delaware were Clifford Brown was able to hone his craft, but it was also at jam sessions like the famous one at Minton’s Playhouse in New York where Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker and others were able to develop bebop. <br> <br>A slightly more formal brand of jazz education took place in professional groups. Many young players would join touring swing or dance bands. Alex Stewart describes these groups as places where young musicians are able to develop instrumental proficiency, improvising skills, arranging skills as well as the various professional behaviors needed (Stewart 2007, 6). This is done simply from absorbing the music on the bandstand, but also from developing personal relationships with older, more experienced players. This method of development describes the early careers of a host of musicians during this period such as Bix Beiderbeck, Rex Stewart, Duke Ellington, Bud Powell, Charlie Parker and many more. <br> <br> <br>EDUCATIONAL MATERIALS <br> <br>Published education materials during this period were few and far between. A few materials such as Ben Harney’s 1897 text Rag Time Instructor, Robert Goffin’s 1932 history <em>Aux Frontieres Du Jazz</em>, and Norbert Bleihoff’s 1935 text <em>Modern Arranging and Orchestration </em>highlight the otherwise lack of material available to young musicians in this period. Journalistic publications such as <em>Downbeat </em>and <em>Metronome</em> helped to fill this void. They would routinely interview various musicians, feature education driven columns by writers like Sharon Pease, and Will Hudson, and occasionally publish transcriptions, but this is far from presenting any kind of formal method for instruction (Baker 1981, iii-iv). <br> <br>Stock arrangements provided insights to many young students. Other young musicians found early inspiration by studying piano rolls and learning music that way. Many private instructors developed their own material for teaching concepts that would be available on a regional level. For example, Clifford Brown’s teacher Robert Lowrey had a method he called “The Classes” that according to his Downbeat interview was designed to help students hear and play chord changes. A host of material for developing classical instrumental proficiency such as the Arban's book for trumpet and Cornet and various counterparts for other instruments was undoubtedly important. <br> <br>However, the most prolific published material for learning jazz was from records. Transcribing, memorizing and imitating records would be the most readily available jazz resource available to young students. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>SUMMARY </p>
<p>Jazz education during the first half of the twentieth century was a mélange different methodologies and educational environments. Quality music education was available at many public schools. This level of instruction—while classically driven—eased the learning and performance of jazz by promoting instrumental proficiency and jazz literacy. Figures such as Walter Dyett, Russell Brown, and Jimmie Lunceford all represent high school band directors who were able to forge their students into first-rate jazz musicians. <br> <br>Colleges were also a place to gain musical experience. In addition to the three schools that began offering jazz curriculum at the end of the 1940s—NTSU, Schillinger House (Now Berklee) and Westlake School of Music—many state schools offered performance opportunities playing in student run stage bands. Some of these groups, such as the ‘Bama State Collegians would translate their college music experience into full-blown professional status. <br> <br>Like public school music education however, most college music departments were driven by classical music. College music students during this period would have to apply lessons learned in classical instruction to jazz on their own. <br> <br>Similar in nature to colleges was the black musicians training facility at the Great Lakes Naval Station. Led by veteran educator Len Bowden (Tuskegee Institute, Alabama State ect), this program is widely regarded as the first comprehensive jazz education. During World War over five thousand musicians went through that program. Some, like Clark Terry would go on to become leaders in the jazz world. <br> <br>In spite of the opportunities available at institutions during the first part of the twentieth century, the bulk of actual jazz instruction and learning that occurred happened in semi formal and informal settings. Music in the home as well as in the church would be very important entry point for young players. Private instructors would also play an important role in disseminating jazz knowledge to students of all experience levels. Some teachers such as Lloyd Reese and Robert Lowery would make a name for themselves simply for their role as mentors to young jazz musicians. <br> <br>The informal meetings of musicians are perhaps the most well known learning experiences in the history of jazz education. Famous ones such as those held at the house of Gil Evans in the mid to late 1940s illustrate the importance of “the hang” in learning music. This kind of social/educational gathering was important for all musicians in all points of their development. <br> <br>In addition to happening in musician’s homes, record stores, music stores, and nightclubs, these informal sessions also occurred at and during jam sessions. Jam sessions gave musicians a chance to workshop ideas and to informally audition for other players. They were equally important to musicians just starting out in jazz and veterans who were developing new approaches and ideas. <br> <br>Professional touring groups were also important places of learning. Not only did they learn from playing their parts in performance and rehearsal, but it also set up a kind of informal apprenticeship between young and experienced players. <br> <br>There was not a significant amount of resources devoted to jazz educational publishing during this period. With a few exceptions, journalistic publications formed the backbone of the written educational materials available. These consisted of interviews with artists, record and concert reviews, and occasional transcriptions. <br> <br>The most jazz resource during this time was of course records. Listening sessions were common occurrences. Students would transcribe and memorize solos and learn to manipulate their transcribed material in new and interesting ways. <br> <br>Far from being nonexistent, jazz education during the first half of the twentieth century was vibrant with activity. While not formalized—not standardized—in a single community, the educational network in place represents a finely tuned machine. Today college programs at UNT, USC, MSM, and elsewhere provide a one-stop destination for virtually all jazz education questions and needs. During this period, students would have to look in a variety of places. This does not diminish the quality of instruction, simply the means in which it was obtained. <br> <br> <br> <br>BIBLIOGRAPHY </p>
<p>Baker, David N. 1981. Jazz Pedagogy: A Comprehensive Method for Jazz Education for Teacher and Student. Chicago: Alfred. </p>
<p>Berliner, Paul. 1994. Thinking in Jazz: The Infinite Art of Jazz Improvisation. Chicago. The University of Chicago Press. </p>
<p>Branch, London. 1975. Jazz Education at Predominantly Black Colleges. Ph.D. dissertation, Southern Illinois University. </p>
<p>Burk, James M. and Wayne J. Schneider. "Schillinger, Joseph." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed February 17, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/24863. </p>
<p>Evans, David. "Handy, W.C.." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed February 17, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/12322. </p>
<p>Hall, Brad and Marjorie Lynn Hall. "Hall, Gene." The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, 2nd ed.. Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed February 17, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/J584200. </p>
<p>May, Lissa F. 2005. “Early Musical Development of Selected African American Jazz Musicians in Indianapolis in the 1930s and 1940s”. Journal of Historical Research in Music Education. 27:1. 21-32. </p>
<p>McDaniel, William T. “The Status of Jazz Education in the 1990s: A Historical Commentary,” International Jazz Archives Journal 1:1. 119. <br> <br>Murphy, Daniel. 1994. “Jazz Studies in American Schools and Colleges: A Brief History”. Jazz Educators Journal 26. 34-38. <br> <br>Pease Ted. “The Schillinger/Berklee Connection” Berklee College of Music Website. Accessed February 19, 2015, https://www.berklee.edu/bt/122/connection.html </p>
<p>Robinson, Bradford J. and Barry Kernfeld. "Lunceford, Jimmie." The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, 2nd ed.. Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed February 16, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/J276600. </p>
<p>Robinson, Bradford J. "Tristano, Lennie." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed February 19, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/28400. </p>
<p>Spencer, Michael T. 2013. “Jazz Education at the Westlake College of Music, 1945-1961”. Journal of Historical Research in Music Education. 35:1. 50-65. <br> <br>Stewart, Alex. 2007. Making the Scene: Contemporary New York City Big Band Jazz. Berkley. University of California Press. </p>
<p>Suber, Charles. 1989 Quoted in David Baker’s Jazz Pedagogy: A Comparative Method of Jazz Education for Teacher and Student. Van Nuys, CA. Alfred. <br> <br>West, Hollie. 1980. “Clifford Brown Trumpeter’s Training.” Downbeat Magazine. July. </p>
<p>[1] This is not to say that these schools alone forged these musicians. Rather, these schools played a role in a larger community of music education. </p>
<p>[2] Jimmie Lunceford taught at Manassa High School in 1927. While there he organized a student group that would eventually become the Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra (Robinson JB and Barry Kernfield 2015). </p>
<p>[3] Bowden is a sort of giant in the field of jazz education during this time not only because of his work at the Great Lakes Naval Base, but also for his role in establishing jazz bands at southern colleges in Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia. </p>
<p>[4] The first college jazz educator could be considered W.C. Handy, who taught music and the techniques that would eventually become jazz at Arkansas Agricultural College from 1900-1902. </p>
<p>[5] Tristano would found his own school of jazz in 1951, using Lee Konitz Billy Bauer and Sal Mosca as his teaching staff, however as his staff and students became more successful professionally and embarked on their careers, he closed the school to return to private teaching (Robinson 2015).</p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/39850062016-01-11T23:27:52-06:002021-12-25T00:11:35-06:00THE STUDIO RECORDINGS OF MILES DAVIS 1965-1970 <p>Postbop and Early Fusion</p>
<p><br><br>This paper will summarize the musical development and output of Miles Davis during the mid 1960s through early 1970. It will focus on the development of postbop and fusion and the various musical, personnel, business and cultural issues that led to the music’s development and reception. Live recordings will be discussed, however the primary musical documents will be drawn from the studio recordings during this period. </p>
<p>INTRODUCTION </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miles Davis’ output in the mid nineteen sixties represents the development of two associated yet distinct forms of music: postbop—the music of his second great quintet—and jazz-rock fusion. These two styles developed from the fall of 1964 through early 1970. This paper will chronicle the development of these two styles and discuss musical, personnel, and business issues pertaining to the music. </p>
<p>It is important to note that there was no switch thrown to signal the transition from postbop to jazz-fusion. Instead, these two styles coexisted in Davis’ studio experiments from late 1967 through mid 1968. This gradual shift in concept represents a period of experimentation and exploration on behalf of Davis and his band. </p>
<p>For the purpose of clarity however, this paper will address post bop jazz and fusion separately in order to adequately describe the nature and development of both styles of music. I do this with full knowledge that some material recorded between December of 1967 and 1968 such as Miles in the Sky and Filles de Killimanjaro can be considered from both postbop and fusion perspectives. </p>
<p>THE SECOND GREAT QUINTET </p>
<p>The Davis’ quintet from 1965 through 1968 is often regarded as the “Second Great Quintet”. This group was formed when Wayne Shorter joined Ron Carter, Tony Williams, Herbie Hancock and Miles Davis in the fall of 1964. The group is credited with forging a new style of jazz, mixing hard bop and avant guard styles. The chief musical documents from this group are E.S.P. (1965), Miles Smiles (1966), Sorcerer (1967), Nefertiti (1967), Miles in the Sky (1968), and Filles de Killimanjaro (1968). Other documents such as Live at the Plugged Nickel (1966) and various live audio and video recordings also provide an essential perspective on the differences in performance practice and repertoire between Davis’ live and studio sessions. </p>
<p>Barry Kernfield describes the music of the second quintet as a tonally ambiguous bop style (Kernfield 2001). This ambiguity was created through a number of ways (1) a non-functional approach to jazz harmony, (2) a unique approach to musical structure and composition, (3) new procedures for improvisation and accompaniment, (4) the incorporation of the avant garde into bop oriented styles. </p>
<p>Harmony in the compositions of second quintet was not always functional. Harmonic objects—chords—were often times avoided or diffused harmonic function. They relied on the strength of chord succession rather than on the strength of tonal resolution (Waters 2011). </p>
<p>For example on Wayne Shorter’s “Limbo” from Sorcerer the harmony on the rhythm section introduction is: </p>
<p>Eb-9 | Db-9 | C7b5 | F13sus | Bb13sus | D | Abo | Bb13 | </p>
<p>While there are elements here that hint at function, such as the move from C7b5 to F13sus and F13sus to Bb13sus, the primary element that could be heard as functional is the root movement. The chord qualities obscure function (Waters 2011, 204). </p>
<p>Davis was not interested in recording music that was not new. Harmony was one aspect that his band was revolutionary, composition is another. Davis encouraged the quintet to push the boundaries of the music. This led to all members of the band—but specifically Wayne Shorter—to devise new approaches to form. </p>
<p>For example on the Wayne Shorter composition “Iris”, Shorter's lead sheet deposit with the library of congress is much different from what the quintet would ultimately record (Waters 2011, 84). Shorter's lead sheet is in 4/4 but the recording is in 3/4. With the move to 3/4 Shorter's melody is transformed from a ten to sixteen measure statement. As if that were not enough, the solo form is an alteration of that, a twenty five bar form made up of a 16 bar statement of the melodic form followed by an eight bar phrase of the form at double the harmonic rhythm, a single bar is added to the end of this for good measure. </p>
<p>While Shorter’s original harmony is not exactly functional, it is by no means as sophisticated as that on the final recording. Shorter’s original shows a series of unaltered major and minor seventh chords. The recorded version consists of eleventh and thirteenth chords all of which are altered in some way. In addition measures eighteen and nineteen and twenty-two, twenty-three and twenty-four feature a syncopated harmonic rhythm on the dotted quarter note. </p>
<p>In many cases, the collaborative approach to composition and arranging evidenced by “Iris” is transparent to modern day listeners. Many of the studio tapes show not only the gradual evolution of pieces such as the quintet’s version of Eddie Harris’ “Freedom Jazz Dance”, but they also contain the conversations between takes that led to the final arrangement of these tunes. As we can hear in “Iris”, this kind of collaboration led to some inspirational music that was tailor made for the group. </p>
<p>As the group developed it’s own voice, it also developed new procedures for improvising and accompaniment. Much has been made of the “time no changes” concept first heard on Miles Smiles. This technique abandons harmony and harmonic rhythm, and in some cases hypermeter and meter as well. The absence of harmony forces the improviser to focus more on motivic development and interaction rather than relying on harmonic motion to create unity. </p>
<p>For example, in Davis’ solo on “Orbits” he uses the melody as a motivic cell to develop his solo. Davis begins with long bop phrases, but returns briefly to the melody at 0:47. Davis commits to the melodic cell at 1:09 and develops it at the end of his solo at 1:30. This is an idea that Shorter picks up and continues throughout his solo. </p>
<p>In addition to improvisation techniques, the second quintet reimagined the role of the rhythm section. It would not be uncommon for Hancock to avoid comping throughout an entire solo or indeed an entire composition, as is the case on “Orbits”. In these instances Hancock functioned more as a third horn player, playing single note solos with little or no chords. </p>
<p>Tony Williams would also bring a new approach to the accompaniment and interaction in this group. Williams would sometimes play “around” the rhythm rather than directly with it. Williams general strategy was to maintain his ride cymbal pattern so he could interact more freely with the rest of the drumset (Smith 2001). This can be heard in abundance on compositions such as “Hand Jive” or “Tout de Suite”. </p>
<p>Davis would also challenge the role of horn players. For example, on “Nefirtiti”, Davis and Shorter do not improvise; instead they play the melody throughout the piece becoming accompanists for Hancock, Carter, and Williams. </p>
<p>But perhaps what the second quintet was known for was the incorporation of avant garde music into hard bop. Keith Waters considers the avant garde not as “free jazz” or “not free jazz”, but rather existing on a spectrum from free to conservative. Waters identifies meter, hypermeter, pulse, harmonic progression, and harmonic rhythm, as elements that can be preserved or abandoned to create a more conservative or a more free texture. For example a tune like “Prince of Darkness” the texture is fairly conservative (for the second quintet). Here the band preserves the hypermeter, meter, pulse, harmonic progression and harmonic rhythm. (These elements can seem diffused, particularly with Hancock’s minimal comping strategy and William’s rambunctious drumming). In contrast, are compositions like “Hand Jive” where after the head, the rhythm section abandons Hypermeter, Meter Pulse, Harmonic progression and harmonic rhythm (Waters 2010). </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To an outside observer, it would seem that the quintet led double lives. In the studio they would record music that represented the bleeding edge of contemporary jazz. Yet in live performances the quintet still played Davis’ same repertoire of the past decade. With the exception of a few tunes such as “Masquelero”, “Agitation”, and “Footprints”, the quintet performed the mix of standards and hard bop tunes Davis had become famous for. Compositions such as “I Fall in Love Too Easily”, “Walkin’”, and “If I Were a bell” were featured on virtually every live performance. This would remain the case until early 1968 when Davis would begin to include more elements of jazz fusion into live performances. </p>
<p>Despite Davis’ conservative approach to repertoire selection, the way the quintet performed these tunes was anything but conservative. As can be heard on the “Live at the Plugged Nickel”, the quintet did indeed play a conservative repertoire when compared to what they had recorded a year earlier, but the approach to the old repertoire was the same as those used to record new material in the studio. In this way Davis is able to use new techniques to signify—show a different perspective—on his standard repertoire. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>True to his nature, Davis did not ruminate long on the aesthetic of the second quintet. Indeed, the six records the quintet released between 1965 and 1968 show a constant development of concept and technique. For example, Davis’ final two quintet records, Miles in the Sky and Filles de Killimanjaro show Davis’ restlessness. While there is still plenty belonging to the second quintet’s aesthetic, the use of electronic instruments, collaboration with artists such as George Benson, Joe Zawinul, Dave Holland, and Chick Corea, and above all tracks such as “Stuff”, and “Tout de Suite” foreshadow his new musical focus. </p>
<p>FUSION </p>
<p>Miles Davis’ fusion experiments can be said to begin in late 1967 with the addition of Joe Beck to the quintet. From 1967-1969 Davis would experiment in the studio with electronic music and what would ultimately become jazz-rock fusion. This music highlighted several important changes in Davis’ musical concept: (1) the expansion of his working band with electric and other instruments, (2) the extended use of vamps, drones, static harmony, and pedal points, (3) ground rhythms based on rock and the music of the 1960’s counterculture, (4) the use of the recording studio as a compositional tool, (5) the prioritization of melody, groove and mood over improvised solos. These changes were foreshadowed to varying degrees on Miles in the Sky—particularly on Davis’ composition “Stuff”—and to varying degrees on Filles de Killimanjaro. But to the listening public these changes must have been gradual and subtle. The transformation Davis went through in concept from 1967-69 would not be evident to the public until the release of “In a Silent Way” and would then be solidified by “Bitches Brew”. </p>
<p>EARLY FUSION EXPERIMENTS </p>
<p>The primary musical documents of early fusion include session recordings and albums from 1967-1970. These include “Circle in the Round” (1967), “Water on the Pond” (1967), Miles in the Sky (1968), Filles de Killimanjaro (1968), In a Silent Way (1969) and Bitches Brew (1969). </p>
<p>In December of 1967 Davis and his second quintet would record twice with guitarist Joe Beck. These recordings such as “Circle in the Round” and “Water on the Pond” show Davis early experiments with the music. Davis was ultimately unhappy with Beck (Chambers 1981, 145) and possibly as a result, these recordings would spend years in the Columbia vaults before being released on various compilation albums. </p>
<p>While these tracks are interesting from an archeological point of view, it is also hard to fault Davis’ decision to keep them unreleased. The original 1968 edit of “Circle in the Round” is a thirty-three minute long track born on the editing room floor. According to Enrico Merlin’s sessionography, it took over fifty edit points to splice Davis’ rehearsal takes into the track that was released in 1979 (Tingen 2001, 304-305). Some of these edits are quite obvious such as the one at 4:47 and disrupt the overall vibe of the piece. In short, it sounds like Davis and company tried many different sounds in rehearsal and later used studio editing to splice these sounds together in some kind of unified way. </p>
<p>“Circle in the Round” follows a D phrygian vamp orchestrated in Beck’s electric guitar. The electric guitar is heard throughout the track outlining a 12/8 time feel and giving Ron Carter the rare opportunity to solo at 23:49. While this is not enough by itself to distance the band much from other music happening at the time, the electric guitar sound is so different from the textures previously used on Nefertiti and other recent records that it is still a departure in texture from the quintet aesthetic. <br> <br>The “Circle in the Round” session puts Hancock on celeste. This texture change from piano to celeste is representative of the greater aesthetic shift in Davis’ music. While this doesn’t conform to the electric aspect of fusion that he would take up a few months later with the electric piano, it further distances the track from the textures recorded on previous second quintet material. <br> <br>“Water in the Pond” by contrast, feels much more organic. “Water on the Pond” was recorded several weeks later and it gives the impression that Davis’ electric concept went through several refinements in the intervening time. </p>
<p>The structure here is more traditional with an intro and matching tag and an ambiguous head-solos head structure. The one edit point at 2:14 is not nearly as disruptive as those heard on “Circle in the Round”. This recording marks Hancock’s first time playing electric piano and while he might sound timid when compared to later recordings it is far from disappointing. The rhythm is straight eighth note and is infused with rock elements (Williams plays a “George of the Jungle” style riff at the top of the tune), but it also has a fair amount of the second quintet’s identity in it, particularly during in the interaction between Williams, Carter, Hancock, and Shorter at 6:15. To me, this track sounds infinitely more successful as a musical entity than “Circle in the Round”, but it also sounds much closer to the soul jazz that had been in vogue for most of the 1960s. That could be one reason why this track was not released until years after it was recorded. </p>
<p>Davis’ fusion experiments would continue through 1968. Beck would be replaced by George Benson on Miles in the Sky. From our perspective in the twenty first century it is easy to hear the fusion influence on the second quintet’s remaining two albums. “Stuff” from Miles in the Sky and “Tout de Suite” from Filles de Killimanjaro are all but declarations of intent on behalf of Davis. They contain all of the elements of fusion, rock rhythms, electric instruments, and several edit points (Tingen 2001, 308). But for the most part the fusion elements on these records is more subtle, most being seen primarily in instrumentation, personnel and occasional rhythms rather. </p>
<p>During this period, Davis would begin to take over as the primary composer of the group. Previously Shorter had been the most prolific composer in Davis’ group. On Miles in the Sky, this began to change, with Davis contributing the bulk of the material for the record. By the time the band recorded Filles de Killimanjaro Davis was the sole contributor. Davis would remain the primary contributor on future projects as well (Tingen 2001, 302-316). <br> <br>The Filles de Kilimanjaro session in June of 1968 represented the end of the second quintet. During this session Davis brought in Chick Corea and Dave Holland to help finish the session. Some attribute the breakup of the quintet to Carters’ unenthusiastic approach to the electric Bass. More likely is that Carter, Williams, Hancock and Shorter all desired to play with new people as leaders or members of new projects (Davis 1991, 294)(Tingen 2001, 47). Corea and Holland along with Joe Zawinul, John McLaughlan and Jack DeJonnette would help form the core of Davis’ new group. </p>
<p>Prior to 1967, Davis’ live performances consisted of relatively the same repertoire he had been playing for over ten years with the exception of a handful of second quintet tunes. By late 1967, Davis had begun to incorporate more of his studio material into live performance (Tingen 2001, 112). By the fall of 1969 just after the release of “In a Silent Way”, Davis’ repertoire was a heady mélange of music including tunes from his hard bop repertoire such as “Walkin’”, “’Round Midnight” and “I Fall in Love Too Easily” as well as second quintet tunes such as “Nefirtiti”, “Footprints” and “Masquellero”. In addition to these, his band was also playing his new material such as “Bitches Brew” (CITATION). <br> <br>Like his live performances with the second quintet, the choice to play his old music was not a conservative one. As the Miles Davis Live in Europe 1969: The Bootleg Series Vol. 2 videos show, Davis and company use the application of his new sound to older music. These performances show that Davis’ new interpretation of his older repertoire was not an abandonment of old technique, but instead was a broadening of palate that included his hardbop aesthetic, the sensibilities of the second quintet as well as the incorporation of fusion. </p>
<p>BITCHES BREW <br> <br>Bitches Brew was recorded in August of 1969. If In a Silent Way can be considered Davis’ first fusion album, Bitches Brew realizes the direction of In a Silent Way and indeed that of his previous fusion experiments. Ted Gioa describes Bitches Brew as “a signal event”, meaning that Davis had drawn a line in the sand and all improvising musicians had to choose wheather to hold on to the traditions of bebop, hardbop, and swing or go with the new electric movement (Gioia 2011, 326). <br> <br>At its heart Bitches Brew succeeds because of four things: (1) the overt use of rock rhythms, (2) the use of post bop and avant guard improvising technique, (3) collaboration at the highest level, (4) sophisticated studio editing. </p>
<p>In “Pharaoh’s Dance” the rhythm is entirely derived from rock and popular dance music. This in fact is a development continued from In a Silent Way, however it is still distinct from Davis’ early fusion experiments such as “Water on the Pond” or the soul jazz influenced tracks of the second quintet such as “Frelon Brun”. Both tracks include elements of ground pop rhythm, but also include Tony Williams hyper aggressive interaction with the soloist. Bitches Brew avoids that texture. Instead Jack DeJohnette and Lenny White maintain the rock groove throughout the record with little solo interaction. </p>
<p>While the rhythm from Bitches Brew remains firmly in the pop-rock sphere, the improvisation technique avoids pop-rock aesthetic. For instance, Wayne Shorter’s solo on “Bitches Brew” relies much more on traditionally jazz oriented material. Shorter’s sixteenth note passages at 12:28 still sound like his playing in the second quintet. While diffused, Shorter’s development of motifs—-an ascending six note sixteenth note passage transposed in half steps—is much more based in post bop than rock. This can be heard in both Shorter and Davis’ solos to varying degrees. This may not seem significant, yet when compared with John McLaughlin and the Mahavishnu Orchestra’s “Celestial Terrestrial Commuters” where rock and pop technique drives all elements of the tune, the significance of the jazz approach becomes apparent. </p>
<p>Since his early work with Joe Beck in 1967 Davis had been more or less constantly collaborating with new musicians in his fusion and rock experiments. Here, his expansion of the group to 12, (14 if you count Airto Moreira and Billy Cobham who only played on the Jan 28th 1970 session of “Feio”.) is the largest group he had led. Davis brought in players who had already been experimenting with jazz-rock and psychedelic jazz fusion such as Jack DeJohnette and John McLaughlan. The use of commercial musicians such Bob Dylan’s Harvey Brooks also added a sort of literal fusion of styles to the group. <br> <br>The expanded forces of the group was an important addition to the fusion concept. While Davis abandoned the multitextured aesthetic of the second quintet, he added more forces to create a different kind of texture. The use of two electric pianists mixed in left and right channels with two drummers mixed in left in right channels not only created a new musical color, but it also created a new way to perceive this group on record. </p>
<p>MARKETING </p>
<p>There are many explanations for this change. Davis himself claims that he wanted his music to be more rooted in the music of Africa (Tingen 2001, 42). This can be heard through the gradual switch from music focused on chords or modes to music focused on rhythm and groove. </p>
<p>Standard historical narratives paint a less flattering picture of Davis’ motivations for going electric. Davis’ move to fusion is described as his fall from grace—capitulating to market demands, or worse intentionally selling out in order to maintain a certain level of prestige (Crouch 1990 33), (Brown 1992, 20). </p>
<p>These claims are easy to make as (1) so many jazz musicians were struggling in the 1960s (Tingen 33), and (2) fusion proved to be among the most monetarily lucrative of Davis projects. <br> <br>But these models seem too reductive to represent the whole story. More compelling are the arguments recently made by authors such as Steven Pond and Jeremy Smith. Pond argues that most discussions of fusion either focus soley on the commercial aspect of the music or ignore it completely. Both perspectives end up missing the point: that fusion musicians such as Hancock, Shorter, and Davis had a specific musical and social agenda and the record companies had another. Too often are the actions and intentions of record companies equated to those of the musicians (Pond 2005, 27). </p>
<p>This would in fact seem to be the case. As early as 1967, Columbia executives began issuing internal memos brainstorming ideas to bolster Davis’ appeal. The result was advertising in rock publications as well as underground papers (Smith 2010, 11). The resulting ads equate Davis’ projects with disparate elements of rock and popular music such as B.B. King, Otis Redding, and rock concept albums (Smith 2010, 10). This was a gambit to attract a younger, primarily white audience that may not have been exposed to Davis prior to the late 1960s (Smith 2010, 12). </p>
<p>These ads did not begin with In a Silent Way or specifically target fusion. The Columbia attempt to “Aim Miles at a rock audience” was underway as Nefertiti hit the market (Smith 2010, 16). </p>
<p>This approach grated with Davis. His new conception of fusion was in part a return to Afrocentric music. Marketing his music specifically towards white audiences defeated a large part of his social agenda. In the late 1960s and early 1970’s Davis began to identify more and more with the political nature of “blackness”. Davis preferred to think of his music not as jazz or rock—these were Uncle Tom Words according to Davis—and instead thought of his music as Black music. This identified him more with the black power movement than with jazz communities of the previous decade (Smith 2010, 22-23). </p>
<p>This perspective can be seen in the way Davis’ fusion albums were presented. Album covers from Bitches Brew, Big Fun and On The Corner display depictions of black men and women. (It speaks to how entrenched racism is that had Davis chosen to put a white woman on the cover of one of these albums, no one would have batted an eye, but his choice to proudly display black people is worthy of note.) If this were not enough, his 1971 album A Tribute to Jack Johnson ends with the defiant Johnson quote “I’m Jack Johnson, Heavyweight Champion of the World. I’m Black”. </p>
<p>This perspective paints the commercial success of fusion as a combination of factors, (1) a sophisticated yet appealing musical and physical product, (2) the result of a shift in marketing strategies on behalf of Columbia records. In effect the commercial success diffused Davis’ goal for this music: to reach out to young African American men and woman and effect social and racial change. </p>
<p>CONCLUSION </p>
<p>Davis’ development throughout the mid to late nineteen sixties began with the move to postbop. From late 1964 through 1968, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter and Tony Williams made new tonally ambiguous music. The six studio records they recorded over this time fused hardbop sensibilities with an avant garde aesthetic. The result were intricate and nuanced compositions that eschewed traditional concepts of form, and harmony. Davis’ group played these tunes with a new approach to accompaniment and improvisation, relying less on the vertical harmony of piano comping patterns and more on the horizontal harmony of improvised lines. </p>
<p>By the end of 1967, Davis began to experiment with electric and popular music. The fruits of his early experiments with Joe Beck and George Benson are foreshadowed on the albums Miles in the Sky and Filles de Killimanjaro, but are not fully realized until 1968 when he recorded In a Silent Way. Filles de Killimanjaro signaled the end of the second quintet, it was also when he began collaborating with new musicians such as Chick Corea, Joe Zawvinul, and Dave Holland. During 1968 Davis retooled his band by embracing electric instruments, expanding his ensemble, and fully utilizing the use of the recording studio as a compositional tool. </p>
<p>If In a Silent Way was Davis’ first fusion record, Bitches Brew was the realization of the potential of fusion. Not only was Bitches Brew more commercially popular, but it created what amounts to a through composed musical fantasy that only exists on record. Central to the success of Bitches Brew is Davis’ collaboration with jazz and rock musicians such as Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Jack Dejohnnette, Bennie Maupin, John McLaughlan and Joe Zawinul, as well as his old band mates Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter. </p>
<p>Clearly this was the direction Davis chose to go in. the cover of Filles de Killimanjaro, one of the records that foreshadowed fusion, bears the inscription “Directions in Music” meaning Miles Davis is the one who sets the direction. This has been overlooked by many critics and scholars. </p>
<p>Critics such as Stanley Crouch were none too enthusiastic about fusion. Leonard Feather made more of an appologist’s defense of Davis when he said “When you have reached the musical mountaintop, the only way to go is down”. This represents the view of Davis as either a sellout, or a corporate stooge. </p>
<p>In actuality, Davis endeavored to connect his music with its African roots as a way of helping to effect social change. This goal was often times at odds with the goals of Columbia records who wanted to market Davis to a younger, whiter audience. The result was a lucrative, yet shakey relationship between Davis and his partners at Columbia. </p>
<p>Regardless of one’s opinion on the value of fusion or postbop, it is clear that during this period-1965-1970-Davis effected some of the most profound changes of his career. Within five years he established two forms of jazz that many musicians devote their lives to. </p>
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<p>BIBLYOGRAPHY <br> <br>Brown, Lee. 1992. “Adorno’s Critique of Popular Culture: The Case of Jazz Music. Journal of Aesthetic Education. 26:1. 17-31. <br> <br>Chambers, Jack. 1983. Milestones: The music and times of Miles Davis since 1960. Beech Tree Books. </p>
<p>Crouch, Stanley. 1990. “Play the Right Thing”. The New Republic. February. 30-37. <br> <br>Davis, Miles. 2013. Live in Europe 1969: The Bootleg Series, Vol. 2. Legacy CD+DVD B008YCMM2A. CD and Digital Video Disc. </p>
<p>Davis, Miles. With Quincy Troupe. 1989. Miles: The Autobiography. New York: Simon and Schuster. <br> <br>Gioia, Ted. 2011. The History of Jazz, 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press. </p>
<p>Kernfeld, Barry. 2001. "Davis, Miles." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed January 29, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/07310. </p>
<p>Pond, Steven F. 2005. Head Hunters: The Making of Jazz’s First Platinum Album. University of Michigan Press. <br> <br>Smith, Garreth D. "Williams, Tony." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press, accessed January 28, 2015, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/A2259387. </p>
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<p>Smith, Jeremy A. 2010. “’Sell It Black’: Race and Marketing in Miles Davis’s Early Fusion Jazz”. Jazz Perspectives. 5: 1. 7-33. </p>
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<p>Tingen, Paul. 2001. Miles Beyond: The Electric Explorations of Miles Davis, 1967-1991. New York: Billboard Books. </p>
<p>Waters, Keith. 2011. The Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68. New York: Oxford University Press. </p>
<p>Waters, Keith. 2011. “Modeling Diatonic, Acoustic, Hexatonic, and Octatonic Harmonies and Progressions in Two- and Three-Dimensional Pitch Spaces; or Jazz Harmony after 1960” Society for Music Theory. Accessed January 25th. 2015. </p>
<p>Walser, Robert. 1993. “Out of Notes: Signification, Interpretation, and the Problem of Miles Davis.” The Musical Quarterly 77:2 343-365.</p>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/34513042015-01-04T13:37:41-06:002022-01-04T04:02:12-06:00Group Interaction: a new strategy for understanding the music of Woody Shaw <br> It is no secret that I am a fan of Woody Shaw. More than any other trumpet player, Shaw’s solos, compositions, his fiery aggressiveness, have always captivated me as both a listener and a trumpet player.<br> While Shaw’s impact in jazz is well established in pedagogical circles, only a few writers have taken interest in deeper study of Shaw’s work (Gavin 2005), (Prouty 2004) (Richardson 2006), (O’Donnell 2009). The result is that while Shaw’s position in history is unassailable, it is also opaque. Regarded as ‘the last great innovator’, his innovations remain illusive (West 2013).<br> So far, the discussion on Shaw has focused on ways in which to adequately describe Shaw’s melodic style in terms of common practice jazz pedagogy. Simply put, writers—including myself—have tried to tie Shaw’s technique to the same chord-scale relationships used in learning bebop (Richardson 2006, 7), (O’Donnell 2009, 38), <a contents="(Karns 2012)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.keithkarnsmusic.com/blog/blog/two-diatonic-superimpositions-in-woody-shaw-s-solo-on-what-is-this-thing-called-love" target="_blank">(Karns 2012)</a>. The results of these studies have yeilded only the most byzantine explanations for this music. Indeed, we have focused so much on this aspect of Shaw’s style that we have overlooked the more basic nature of his solos: the context in which Shaw’s lines were created.<br> So far, the discourse regarding Shaw’s improvisation has remained focused on individual solo lines outside of the context of group interaction. This provides an incomplete analysis, particularly if we are to have a meaningful discussion of the avant garde elements of Shaw’s style.<br> In order to better understand this music, I think it is beneficial to try a new analytical tactic: the study of group interaction. Like Ingrid Monson’s study of interaction in Freddie Hubbard’s “Blues for Duane” (Monson, 1998), I will study not only Shaw’s melodic output, but also the output of his entire group. In this context, passages that eschew traditional pedagogical analysis come into focus as being part of a sophisticated interaction between members of Shaw’s band.<br><br> <div style="text-align: center;">STEPPING STONE</div>
<div> This is a sixteen measure excerpt from Woody Shaw’s second chorus of his solo on “Stepping Stone” from the 1978 Columbia record Stepping Stones: Live at the Village Vanguard. The excerpt begins at 2:05 on the bridge of Woody Shaw’s second chorus.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:2kRtp6p6YATQjaTEQHWC1X" width="300"></iframe>
</div> <br> <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/62417a4cdcd7456d3d165ccd8c34406ea453d3b8/original/murphy-interaction-project-0001.jpg?1420397413" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/e4b3109fb4490c81cb926ee61f93bc03ec3d399d/original/murphy-interaction-project-0002.jpg?1420397426" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> “Stepping Stone” is one of Shaw’s more modally static compositions. The form is thirty two bars; consisting of two eight measure A sections in F major, an eight measure bridge in F minor, and an altered final eight measure A section in F mixolydian.<br> At the bridge, Victor Lewis begins a comping pattern that clearly outlines beats one and three. The pattern is heard on the ride cymbal and snare drum. This figure is a departure from the previous swing patterns heard on the previous chorus and a half of soloing. Onaje Allen Gumbs quickly joins Lewis with a similar pattern in the piano, alternating between F-sus eighth note patterns that alternatingly bring out Bb and Ab on beat one.<br> The rhythmic clarity of this pattern heard in Lewis and Gumbs’ playing frees both Shaw’s solo and Clint Houston’s bass line. Shaw uses unevenly accented triplet patterns to diffuse bar lines in m. 5-8. Houston maintains walking quarter notes, but by the fifth measure has altered resolution of the root to fall on weak beats rather than on beats one or three (m. 6, m. 10.). This also places passing tones on strong beats. The overall effect further diffuses the bar line.<br> In the ninth measure of the excerpt, the harmony is supposed to go to an F mixolydian tonality, as evidenced by the previous two solo choruses by Shaw and Jefferson. Rather than follow this structure, the band collectively remains in the minor sus tonality and continues the bridge material through the end of Shaw’s solo in m. 17.<br> Gumbs begins his comping pattern in the bridge with two relatively simple voicings. By the end of the excerpt he has moved to much denser voicings (although there are notes doubled.) This technique provides more momentum to the already driving figure and creates an inexorable feeling of resolution towards the next formal section in m. 17. (My transcription of his voicings are approximate, I am confident in tonality, top voice and to an extent shape, however I do not claim that these are exact representations of his voicings. My transcription of his voicings serves to illustrate basic technique and interaction. They are not meant to be the last word on Gumb’s voicing structure in this excerpt.)<br> In the last eight measures, Houston supports Gumbs’ comping pattern and it’s implied point of resolution by altering his bass line in m. 12 and playing a ¾ hemiola moving towards m. 17. While this is the point of resolution for this figure, Houston does not resolve it as cleanly as Shaw, Lewis or Gumbs, instead diffusing his resolution to beat 3 of m. 17<br> Victor Lewis helps this build up of energy in m. 15 by abandoning the cymbal and snare pattern and instead playing triplets on the tom drum driving towards beat one of M. 17 and Carter Jefferson’s solo. Shaw reacts to these triplets almost immediately and responds with triplets of his own in m. 16.<br> This episode functions as a kind of pedal point. Rather than pedaling over a bass note however, Shaw’s band is pedaling over a specific rhythmic figure that is developed to elevate the energy of the piece. Because of the clarity of this rhythmic pedal point, Woody Shaw and Clint Houston are able to manipulate perceptions of the bar line with sophisticated rhythmic patterns and voice leading.<br> <div style="text-align: center;">CONCLUSION</div> <br> This sort of analysis shifts perspective from melodic content towards melodic context. I am becoming increasingly confident that any kind of formalist attempt to categorize Shaw’s melodic approach will be incomplete unless context is taken into account.<br> If we disregard interaction in our analysis, the extent of Shaw’s rhythmic and melodic phrases remains obscured. Shaw is able to diffuse meter and tonality because of the way in which his band is interacting with him. This I believe is the key to understanding this music.<br> <br><br>Stepping Stones<br><strong>Date:</strong> August 5<sup>th</sup> & 6<sup>th</sup>, 1978<br><strong>Location:</strong> Village Vanguard, New York, NY<br><strong>Label:</strong> Columbia<br><br><strong>Woody Shaw (ldr, cnt, flug),</strong> Carter Jefferson (sop, ts), Onaje Allan Gumbs (pno), Clint Houston (b), Victor Lewis (d).<br><br>a. 01 <strong>Stepping Stone</strong> (Shaw)<br> <br>b. 02 <strong>In a Capricornian Way</strong> (Shaw)<br>c. 03 <strong>Seventh Avenue</strong> (Lewis)<br>d. 04 <strong>All Things Being Equal Are Not</strong> (Gumbs)<br>e. 05 <strong>Escape Velocity</strong> (Houston)<br>f. 06 <strong>Blues for Ball</strong> (Tyner)<br>g. 07 <strong>Theme for Maxine</strong> (Shaw)<br><br>All Titles on: Columbia JC 35560-Stepping Stones: Live at the Village Vanguard.<br><br><br><strong>Bibliography</strong><br> <br>Dempsey, Nicholas. 2008. “Hook-Ups and Train Wrecks: Contextual Parameters and the Coordination of Jazz Interactions”. Symbolic Interaction. (31): 1. 57-75.<br> <br>Gavin, Franklin. 2005. “Woody Shaw’s Five Versions of ‘The Moontrane’”. <em>Jazzforschung</em>. 37. 113-112.<br><br>Karns, Keith. 2012. "Two Diatonic Superimpositions in Woody Shaw's Solo on "What is This Thing Called Love" <em>Unpublished Initial Doctoral Research</em>.<br> <br>Monson, Ingrid. 1998. <em>In the Course of Performance: Studies in the world of musical improvisation</em>. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.<br><br>O'Donnell Eric, <em>“An Analysis of the Major Aspects of Woody Shaw's Improvisatory Approach.” </em>Dissertation, Wayne, NJ: William Patterson University, 2009. <br> <br>Prouty, Kenneth Earl. 2004. “Woody Shaw’s ‘Rosewood’ revisited: Tradition and Exploration in Jazz During the 1970’s”. <em>Jazz Research Proceedings Yearbook</em>. 185-196.<br> <br>Richardson Edward, “Structural elegance and harmonic disparity in selected solos by jazz trumpeters Freddie Hubbard and Woody Shaw.” Dissertation, Baton Rouge LA: Louisiana State University, 2006.<br><br>Wesolowski, Brian. 2013. “Cognition and the Assessment of Interaction Episodes in Jazz Improvisation”. <em>Psychomusicology: Music, Mind and Brain</em>. (23): 4. 236-242.<br><br>West, Michael. 2013. “Woody Shaw: The Last Great Trumpet Innovator”. <em>NPR A Blog Supreme</em>. Accessed January 4<sup>th</sup> 2015. http://www.npr.org/blogs/ablogsupreme/2013/08/14/210572029/woody-shaw-the-last-great-trumpet-innovatorKeith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/34466972014-12-31T13:14:20-06:002022-01-07T07:49:39-06:00Deciphering Structure: Form and elements of the avant garde in Ambrose Akinmusire’s “Richard (Conduit)”<br> This year Ambrose Akinmusire has positioned himself as a new leader in modern jazz. His sophomore record for Blue Note “The Imagined Savior is Far Easier To Paint” has received overwhelmingly positive reviews from the jazz press (Barton 2014) (Woodard 2014, 26) (Chinen 2014). Since the release of “The Imagined Savior”, Akinmusire’s quintet has been headlining concerts and festivals across North America and Europe (Wilkins 2014). In addition, Downbeat Magazine has included “The Imagined Savior” in their list of top jazz albums of 2014, it lists as number two, beating out jazz heavies such as The Bad Plus, Tom Harrell, Sonny Rollins, and Chick Corea (Reed 2014, 46). It is safe to say that for the time being, Akinmusire is A Big Deal in jazz. Perhaps this is so striking because it represents a conscious departure from the neo bop movement that has prevailed in jazz for over three decades.<br> This presents a challenge for listeners and critics alike. The use of bebop and pedagogical models to examine Akinmusire’s work yields only limited results. This begs the question: What other perspectives can help us better understand Akinmusire’s work?<br> The first clue comes from Akinmusire himself. In promoting this project Akinmusire explains that his focus was on composition rather than on improvisation. According to Akinmusire, his goal was to integrate improvisation into a composition rather than to compartmentalize those elements (Akinmusire 2014). This statement seems to conform to the bulk of the record: collaborations with various artists such as UK based Singer Cold Specks or the OSSO String Quartet all feature creative arrangements of original music. However this mission statement is most apparent on the sixteen-minute live track “Richard (conduit)”.<br> This may not seem readily apparent to listeners. An initial pass through “Richard (Conduit)” will reveal avant garde textures and an opaque approach to time, harmony, melody, and form. Only thirty six measures of the sixteen minute long piece is made up of prefigured melodic material, the rest is devoted to improvised material. At first blush, this does not appear to be a composer’s track. However, the piece is highly structured. Ambrose and company spend most of the piece developing improvisation, but these improvised elements relate with each other in a way that defines form in a subtle yet sophisticated way.<br> How can a piece of music be structured when musical elements such as meter, hypermeter, pulse, and harmonic rhythm are abandoned? This is a fundamental question when dealing with any music that approaches the avant garde aesthetic. Akinmusire accomplishes this by using various textures as a compositional tool. In “Richard (Conduit)” Akinmusire avoids traditional structural objects in organizing the piece.<a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">[1]</a> Instead, Akinmusire treats meter, pulse, harmonic progression, and instrument forces as formal objects. These elements bind the composition together.<br> This paper will argue that Akinmusire and company use combinations of musical elements to formally organize “Richard (Conduit)”. This presents a progression from free textures to conservative textures and back to free textures in a way that uses improvisation as the impetus to achieve structural organization.<br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=http://open.spotify.com/track/63aJHbaC2evoh8YrWI2Mkd" width="300"></iframe><br><br>THE AVANT GARDE<br><br> It goes without saying that there are significant elements of the Avant Garde in “Richard (Conduit)”. But to dismiss this piece as being entirely emancipated from musical structure would miss the point. There is no point in the piece when all elements of music are liberated from one another. This is a situation common to most avant garde music. This brings up an important question when dealing with any avant garde music: how can we reconcile structure in “Free Jazz”?<br> The term Free Jazz is something of a misnomer. One would expect that when listening to so-called “Free Jazz” all players would be free from the rules and confines of straight ahead jazz. While the term may imply freedom, avant garde jazz is not a music of total freedom. This is of course an incomplete view of avant garde music and has been addressed by numerous authors. (Ekkehard 1974, 9) (Block 1993, 229). Instead, as traditional musical elements are liberated, the relationships between the remaining elements become more important.<br> For example, in the opening minutes of “Richard (Conduit)” Akinmusire and company have liberated meter, hypermeter, pulse, and harmonic rhythm. They are maintaining harmonic progression. This progression becomes much more important than it would have been, had the other musical elements been preserved. Indeed, this progression is the only thing linking the rhythm section with Akinmusire’s improvised trumpet solo. Conceptualizing the avant garde in this way, as the careful abandon of key musical elements is beneficial. It is not done purely out of a moral or personal aesthetic, but also to highlight the relationships between other disparate musical elements.<br> This sets us up to regard avant garde music as existing on a spectrum from conservative<a href="#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">[2]</a> towards free.<a href="#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">[3]</a> This is a model described by Keith Waters in his magnum opus “<em>The Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68” (Waters 2011, 80). </em>According to Waters music can move across this spectrum by preserving or abandoning one or more of five musical elements: Meter, hypermeter, pulse, harmonic rhythm, harmonic progression. This is perhaps the greatest tool devised for understanding avant garde music.<a href="#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">[4]</a><br> In regards to “Richard (Conduit)” we can hear that Akinmusire moves across this spectrum throughout the course of the piece. As we will see, part of the mechanism that maintains listener interest throughout the piece is his progression from free to conservative and back.<br><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/402b3e12698ac09d1051eede9d7d50a3e78838f5/original/ambrose-transcription-1-0001.jpg?1420054179" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/331369fd3839dd560d2fdccdcb2a122adb1eb808/original/ambrose-transcription-1-0002.jpg?1420054181" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/ce12ca7dafd526fe56b30f1f32e01b2f5f9f5f67/original/ambrose-transcription-1-0003.jpg?1420054183" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/61a461959027217acf8da2025fe0c5634ce7e2c8/original/ambrose-transcription-1-0004.jpg?1420054414" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><br><br>RICHARD (CONDUIT)<br><br> “Richard (Conduit)” begins with two minutes of improvising by Akinmusire. This improvisation sounds free, but rather than total freedom, the band has abandoned meter, hypermeter, pulse and harmonic rhythm. Akinmusire and company preserve harmonic progression during this section, moving through various pedal points.<br> These pedal points gravitate towards E. At time 2:21, Ambrose concludes his solo and pauses for a brief rhythm section interlude. During this interlude the rhythm section repositions the pedal point around E. This is done through a brief stop on a G pedal-the relative major of E.<a href="#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">[5]</a><br> The E pedal signifies what I call the “incantation”. This material occurs prior to the theme at time 2:31 and prior to theme prime at time 14:03. I call this material the incantation because it features different harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic material than the other sections of the piece: in this section, Akinmusire, Sam Harris and Harish Raghavan ruminate on either an E or material implying an E minor tonality.<a href="#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">[6]</a> In both instances of the incantation, Akinmusire plays this material with the utmost of fire and urgency, contrasting his later interpretation of the theme.<br> The theme begins at time 3:29. It is made up of three short passages played by the trumpet and tenor saxophone in octaves. Because of the prominence of E in the incantation section as well as being the endpoint of the theme, I have chosen to display the theme in E major. I justify this by the presence of G# and B in the melody.<br> The first and last horn passages in the theme are chromatic. They are interspersed with a modal passage.<a href="#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">[7]</a> Each passage is followed by a rhythm section interlude. As Akinmusire and Smith move through these passages, the interludes become shorter.<br> The way the theme is played is also of interest. Akinmusire’s part calls for him to play in the upper register of the trumpet. Typical performance practice is for this material to be resonant and loud. This is done partly out of necessity and partly out of tradition. Unlike his interpretation of the incantation material, Akinmusire plays sweetly in the upper register with a soft diffused sound. He uses bends, doits and fracks to infuse these notes with emotion rather than fire. This technique is both intimately expressive and ties Akinmusire to Miles Davis who also broke ground with such tactics (Walser, 1993 353).<br> The first theme statement dovetails into Walter Smith’s solo. Smith’s solo develops the texture of the piece, moving from a medium texture to a thick texture. Like style, texture in this piece is never just thick or just thin, but constantly evolving on a spectrum.<br> Sam Harris’ solo signals the move away from avant garde textures. At time 9:13 the band begins to preserve harmonic rhythm, harmonic progression, and pulse. After a brief interruption from Akinmusire, Harris continues his solo and the band begins to preserve meter at time 9:59. At the same time the band begins a decrescendo in both volume and texture to conclude Harris’ solo.<br> By the time Akinmusire begins his solo at time 11:36 the band is preserving all five elements of style. Quickly after Akinmusire begins his solo these elements begin to become opaque. This section is interesting because while hypermeter, meter, harmonic progression, harmonic rhythm and pulse become weaker as Akinmusire’s solo develops, they never are truly abandoned. Here these elements are diffused rather than abandoned. One can consider a board fader controlling these elements that are being slowly turned down as the trumpet solo develops.<br> At time 14:03 the incantation returns but this time Smith joins Akinmusire and the rhythm section. The return of this material reveals the importance of the repeated E as a part in the form. Akinmusire again is playing in the upper register of the horn with all the fire and spirit he can muster. It is here that the group abandons meter, hypermeter, pulse, and harmonic rhythm. This signals a return to the textures heard at time 2:31.<br> The theme prime statement is similar to the theme statement. Here the theme is played with more fire and urgency; this is helped by shortened rhythm responses. It is here that we can be sure that these responses are in fact part of the theme’s form, as at time 16:02 we hear similar material to what we heard at time 4:47.<br> <br> <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/b517f4ddb301e9528ef6118b7bf78419098f0976/original/ambrose-transcription-sheet1.jpg?1420053837" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br>CONCLUSION<br> <br> In a traditional sense, the composed material for “Richard (Conduit)” is very small. In a sixteen minute long piece, there are only thirty six measures of composed melodic lines.<br> The strength of this composition is not derived from prefigured melody. It is in its structure. Here Akinmusire provides a sequence moving through various avant garde textures. Because of the diffused nature of the melody, rhythm, and harmony of the piece, instrumental and rhythmic textures have a greater role in ordering the music.<br> Structure is created by three different compositional statements. The theme and theme prime statements offer a traditional model for structure and organization. Both appearances of the incantation prepare the theme statements by presenting contrasting texture and by establishing E as an important harmonic object in relation to the rest of the composition. These elements are tied together with the deliberate progression from free playing towards conservative playing, and back. In this way, Akinmusire is able to use various positions of avant garde texture to give weight to his compositional structure.<br><br><br><br>BIBLIOGRAPHY<br><br>Akinmusire, Ambrose. 2014. “Richard (Conduit)” (instrumental performance). By Ambrose Akinmusire. Recorded 2013. On The Imagined Savior is Far Easier to Paint. Blue Note 1972602, LPCD.<br><br>Akinmusire, Ambrose. 2014. “Ambrose Akinmusire-The Imagined Savior Is Far Easier To Paint (EPK)” ambroseakinmusire.com. Accessed November 19<sup>th</sup> 2014. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKOuk9j0F6U<br><br>Barton, Chris. 2014. “Album review: Ambrose Akinmusire’s ‘The Imagined Savior…”. The Los Angeles Times. Accessed November 20<sup>th</sup> 2014. <a href="http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/music/posts/la-et-ms-review-ambrose-akinmusire-imagined-savior-far-easier-to-paint-20140310-story.html">http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/music/posts/la-et-ms-review-ambrose-akinmusire-imagined-savior-far-easier-to-paint-20140310-story.html</a><br><br>Block, Steven. 1993. “Organized Sound: Pitch-Class relations in the Music of Ornette Coleman”. <em>Annual Review of Jazz Studies</em> :6 229-252.<br><br>Chinen, Nate. 2014. “Albums from Aloe Blacc, Sara Evans and Ambrose Akinmusire”. The New York Times. Accessed November 20<sup>th</sup> 2014. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/11/arts/music/albums-from-aloe-blacc-sara-evans-and-ambrose-akinmusire.html?_r=1">http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/11/arts/music/albums-from-aloe-blacc-sara-evans-and-ambrose-akinmusire.html?_r=1</a><br><br>Ekkehard, Jost. 1974. <em>Free Jazz</em>. New York: Da Cappo Press.<br><br>Mariah Wilkins Artist Management LLC. 2014. “Tour Dates: Ambrose Akinmusire”. Mariah Wilkins Artist Management LLC. Accessed on November 19<sup>th</sup> 2014. <a href="http://www.mariahwilkins.com/akinmusire/tourdates.html">http://www.mariahwilkins.com/akinmusire/tourdates.html</a><br><br>Reed, Bobby. 2014. “Top Jazz Albums of the Year”. <em>Downbeat Magazine</em> (81):12 46.<br><br>Waters, Keith. 2011. <em>The Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68.</em> New York: Oxford University Press.<br><br>Walser, Robert. 1993. “Out of Notes: Signification, Interpretation, and the Problem of Miles Davis.” <em>The Musical Quarterly</em> 77:2 343-365.<br><br>Woodard, Josef. 2014. “Ambrose Akinmusire: Life Beyond Ego.” Downbeat, 81:4. 26-31.<br><br><br><br> <br> <br> <div> <hr align="left" size="1" width="33%">
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title="">[1]</a> For example, there are no true A, B, or C sections, at least not in a way that we are used to. There are formal elements that return, but with the exception of the two theme statements, this return is created by texture rather than melodic or harmonic content.</div>
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title="">[2]</a> By traditional I mean based on the conventions of bebop and hard bop.</div>
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title="">[3]</a> By free, I mean as Keith Waters does, the abandon of meter, hypermeter, pulse, harmonic rhythm and harmonic progression.</div>
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title="">[4]</a> I would like to note that just as Keith Waters points out in regards to Miles Davis Second quintet recordings, Akinmusire never plays truly free or truly conservative, rather he is positioned on a spectrum <em>between</em> those poles.</div>
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title="">[5]</a> It is unclear if the tonality on the E pedal is major or minor.</div>
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" title="">[6]</a> Akinmusire plays E minor material to prepare and resolve the E.</div>
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" title="">[7]</a> An application of pitch set theory to this material would be enlightening and is a promising avenue for future research.</div>
</div>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/32404072014-10-20T00:46:40-05:002021-12-26T07:49:37-06:00Composer Profile: Clare Fischer I have long been an admirer of Clare Fischer’s music. Fischer is perhaps one of the most influential yet least well-known arrangers of the twentieth century. His influence is wide and far-reaching and he has made significant contributions not only to modern arranging techniques, but also to Latin jazz, and jazz piano harmony (Jazz Times 2012) (Martin, 4) (Farris 1964, 46).<br> While his contributions to jazz are far reaching, this study will focus on his contributions as an arranger. Fischer’s greatest asset as a composer was his sophisticated uses of both vertical and horizontal conceptions of harmony. This can be seen in a multitude of his works for big band, vocal groups, chamber groups, Latin jazz groups, solo piano or jazz small groups.<br> Fischer's style can be characterized as a mixture of early Gil Evans techniques and the larger arena of the midcentury west coast aesthetic. This is hardly surprising since one came out of the other (Gioa 1998, 176). Fischer prefers woodwinds, particularly cohorts of mixed groups. This can be heard both through the lens of Gil Evans and Igor Stravinsky. He is also partial to conical bore brass instruments such as the french horn and tuba, and avoids traditional writing styles for cylindrical bore brass instruments such as the trumpet and trombone. Fischer's use of French horn and Tuba achieves a more orchestral sound typical of both the Gil Evans projects of the period as well as the various Stan Kenton ensembles for which Fischer was occasionally a part (Cook 2006, 740).<br> As we will see, Fischer takes care to balance the intervals within individual voicings. For example intervals in upper structures of a voicing are typically balanced with consonant intervals in lower structures and vice versa. Bill Dobbins and Martin Morretto have hailed Fischer’s harmonic approach not only for its economy, but for his ability to use harmony to aid the expression of music (Moretto 2013, 38) (Fischer 2000, 11). The care with which Fischer crafted his voicings enabled him to utilize techniques from classical music such as polytonality, dissonant intervals of major sevenths and minor ninths, and chromatic parallelism.<br> Not only are Fischer’s vertical constructions sophisticated, but his approach to them is as well. Fischer never truly abandons functional harmony, but uses suspension, contrary motion and chromatic parallelism to create counterpoint that is painstakingly constructed to obscure the tonal center (Moretto 2013, 26).<br> This paper will identify some of the basic ways Fischer is able to create such a unique contrapuntal and harmonic texture. I will be looking particularly at his arrangements from the 1957 album <em>Donald Byrd with Strings</em>, the 1960 Dizzy Gillespie album <em>A Portrait of Duke Ellington,</em> Fischer’s 1963 album <em>Extension</em>, and his 1969 album<em> Thesaurus.</em><br><br><br>CLARE FISCHER<br><br> Clare Fischer was born in 1928 in Durand, Michgan. Fischer’s high school band director encouraged him to learn multiple instruments. This would later give Fischer keen insight into orchestration (Stein 1993, 24). From 1937-1955 Fischer attended the University of Michigan and earned a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in theory and composition. This was interrupted by a brief stint in the army where Fischer arranged for the Military Acadamy Band at Westpoint.<br> Fischer’s time in college had a profound impact on him. In addition to mastering harmony and orchestration techniques, he was introduced to Caribbean and Brazilian music. This would spark an interest that would later help shape his career (Farris 1964, 46).<br> After leaving college in 1955, Fischer moved to California and began working as a studio musician and arranger. In 1957 Fischer began his first significant work as an arranger, with the vocal group the Hi-Lo’s. Fischer’s voice can be heard clearly when comparing his arrangements to earlier Hi-Lo offerings. For instance, the Hi-Lo’s 1953 recording of “April in Fairbanks” could hardly be considered jazz or even influenced by jazz. Yet, by 1959, Fischer’s arrangements for the group such as “Mayforth” are not only imitating the techniques of Gerry Mulligan, Gil Evans, Stan Kenton and others, but also anticipate the sound made famous by groups such as Take Six, The King’s Singers and the Manhattan Transfer. Fischer’s work with the Hi-Lo’s garnered acclaim and helped to influence jazz harmonic trends in the 1950’s and 1960s. Herbie Hancock cites his study of Fischer’s work with the Hi-Lo’s as a significant step in his own harmonic development (Jazz Times 2012).<br><br><br><strong>April in Fairbanks (1953) (Not Clare a Fischer Arrangement)<br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:1WTHAd131qUlr0MpPv665H" width="300"></iframe> </strong><br><br><strong>Mayforth (1959)</strong><br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:5q7vHeJLxuT7AxJuGngNIK" width="300"></iframe><br><br> Another important project of 1957 was Fischer’s work on Donald Byrd’s album, <em>Donald Byrd with Strings. </em>This venture showcases Fischer’s early combinations of jazz, midcentury commercial, and classical elements. Open listenings to “I Get Along Without You Very Well” and “The Touch of Your Lips” from this album, reveal the influence of classical composers such Stravinsky and Shostakovich, often times oscillating between almost cliché commercial techniques and the bleeding edge of primitivism inside a few measures. Even though this project was not released until the mid 1980’s, it is not only an excellent example of Fischer’s early orchestral writing, but it also led to his collaboration with Dizzy Gillespie on the 1960 album “A Portrait of Duke Ellington” (Moretto 2013, 4).<br><br><br><strong>I Get Along Without You Very Well (1957)</strong><br> <br><strong><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:2oly9fZFZx9fZpNmLfhfKT" width="300"></iframe><br><br><br>The Touch of Your Lips (1957)</strong><br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:5d1MSfBsZ3Zn7TZqMhV0Q8" width="300"></iframe><br><br> Fischer’s 1960 collaboration with Dizzy Gillespie on<em> A Portrait of Duke Ellington </em>would have represented Fischer’s first major success as an arranger in a strictly jazz context, but due to an omission by Verve, Fischer was left uncredited on the record and was largely unacknowledged for his work. (Geiske 1960) Still, Fischer’s work on this album is striking; particularly in that his scoring for woodwinds and brass is so similar in nature to textures used by Stravinsky in Historie du soldat. Indeed, Fischer’s approach here is nearly as far removed from traditional big band writing as it is possible to be.<br> Fischer’s study of Latin rhythm is particularly apparent on this project, as heard on his arrangement of “Caravan”. Fischer combines traditional swing interpretations with Stravinskyesque woodwind interruptions. Halfway through his arrangement in m. 126 there is a brief woodwind interlude followed by a break by Gillespie. When the band comes back in Fischer has changed the style of the arrangement to a 12/8 afro Cuban feel which continues until m. 183. Not only is this a shrewd choice for the piece as it is often done as a Cha-Cha or Mambo, but it also fits Gillespie’s personal aesthetic.<br><strong>Caravan (1960)</strong><br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:1srPQ7jbtViqYXncxqNX79" width="300"></iframe><br><br> In 1960 Fischer also began to produce important offerings in the realm of Latin music. This would continue for the rest of his career. His work with Bud Shank and Cal Tjader would produce many important recordings such as <em>Manteca!</em> and <em>Salsa Picante</em>. These would vary from the thinly veiled jazz interpretations such as Bud Shank’s “Samba da Borboleta” to more authentic offerings such as Fischer’s “Morning” and Tjader’s “Funquiado” which features Fischer on Hammond organ.<br><br><strong>Samba da Borboleta (1963)<br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=http://open.spotify.com/track/0XKIzzR6WzKuPo19k3iqvX" width="300"></iframe> </strong><br><br><strong>Morning (1960)<br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=http://open.spotify.com/artist/3XOVABzceOUTbR3iEz0ImO" width="300"></iframe> </strong><br><br><br><strong>Funquiado (1978)<br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:4xqaMJJffSthRLkkNzvsji" width="300"></iframe> </strong><br><br><br> <br> Fischer’s 1963 project Extension is his first for jazz orchestra. Unlike his 1969 big band album <em>Thesaurus,</em> <em>Extension</em> can be seen as a continuation of his approaches used in <em>A Portrait of Duke Ellington.</em> While Fischer’s orchestra is much closer in formation to that of big bands such as the Kenton orchestra, big band moments seem few and far between. Fischer avoids this particular sound in his forces, tuba and French horns diffuse typical brass section tropes and his woodwind writing smacks of classical chamber ensembles. This can be heard on his Stravinsky tribute “Igor” as well as on “Soloette/Passacaglia”.<br><br><br><strong>Igor (1963)</strong><br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:43VeSbFlorNWovfPlbwK1y" width="300"></iframe><br><br><strong>Soloette/Passacaglia (1963)</strong><br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:43VeSbFlorNWovfPlbwK1y" width="300"></iframe><br> Throughout the 1960s Fischer would continue to work as a composer and arranger, although during this time he became more active as a keyboardist. Fischer wrote for many groups throughout the decade. His contributions the Stan Kenton Neophonic Orchestra were particularly good, but his next significant project would not be until his 1969 release of his big band album Thesaurus.<br> Thesaurus is unique in Fischer’s discography because of its conformity to traditional big band composition methods. Almost the polar opposite of <em>Extension, Thesaurus</em> is different from most of Fischer’s work in its far-reaching conservatism. This can be heard in Fischer’s treatment of form, orchestration, and improvisation.<br> For example, Fischer’s arrangement of Ellington’s “Upper Manhattan Medical Group” features all of the hallmarks of traditional big band writing. The piece begins with a brief introduction. The trombones play hits in plunger mutes over a Db pedal given to the bass, bari saxophone and tuba. Cup mutted trumpets come in with the melody in the fifth measure and maintain the melody in unison throughout the entire form. The trombones and saxes take turns supporting the melody with hits but don’t break into cohorts the way they do throughout <em>Extension</em>. After the melody, Fischer takes a one-chorus piano solo. Fischer uses woodwinds for the backgrounds to the piano solo, and while this could have been an instance of Fischer’s nascent classicism shining through, he avoids those kind of figures and instead scores typical woodwind lines for the backgrounds.<br> Fischer’s arrangement subtly alters the form by inserting a brief woodwind interlude at the end of Fischer’s piano solo. This interlude develops the Db pedal and the trombone material heard during the beginning of the arrangement. The piano briefly comes back in after the interlude, continuing the Db pedal as a send off into the two-chorus tenor solo.<br> Fischer brings the melody back after the tenor solo splitting it between unison trombones, saxophones in octaves and piano improvisation. Conte Condoli comes in with a brief trumpet solo stating the melody on the bridge. He is supported by the saxophone section, and is propelled by brass into the last A of the form. The final A is the shout section and features the brass and flutes working cross-purposes. (It is unclear that the type of writing heard in the shout chorus would be as effective live as it was in the studio due to the overpowering nature of the brass with the flutes.)<br> It is important to point out that not all of the music heard on <em>Thesaurus</em> is strictly conservative. The exception is Fischer’s“In Memorium” dedicated to the lives of John F. and Robert Kennedy. Here we hear more familiar Fischer conceptions, albeit still in a big band setting.<br><br><br><strong>Upper Manhattan Medical Group (1969)</strong><br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:4oA32RVLb2h0DHTxffU8aZ" width="300"></iframe><br><br> The 1970’s saw Fischer become more heavily involved in commercial music. Long an advocate for electric instruments, Fischer’s foray’s into the Hammond organ and various synthesizers paid off when many jazz artists went electric in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Many of Fischer’s projects during this time featured these instruments.<br> Perhaps the most important of Fischer’s contributions during the 1970’s was his arrangements for the disco record <em>Rufus: Featuring Chaka Khan</em>. While not perhaps the most important record of the 1970’s, this outing led to a longstanding collaboration with Prince who held this record in high regard.<br><br><br><strong>Please Pardon Me (1975)</strong><br><br><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:2zU3Kf2KL0RFfSwSb5b4H3" width="300"></iframe><br><br><strong>Christopher Tracy’s Parade (1980)</strong><br><br> <iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="80" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:0k2VivnC5j4vokUZL57eWf" width="300"></iframe><br><br> Fischer continued to work as a soloist and composer and arranger both commercially and for his own projects. In addition to his busy career as a soloist Fischer composed and arranged for Usher, Natalie Cole, The Manhattan Transfer, Rob McConnell, and Diane Schuur. Fischer continued to compose for Orchestral jazz, as evidenced by his albums, Music for Strings, Percussion, and the Rest, The Clare Fischer Big Band: Continuum, and<em> Roseanna Vitro.</em><br><br><br>VERTICAL STRUCTURES<br><br> Clare Fischer described his sound as a product of voicings (Jackson 1986). This has been well articulated by authors such as Bill Dobbins, and Martin Morretto. (Dobbins 2001) (Moretto 2013) While many of Fischer’s chords and voicings sound dissonant on an initial listening, Moretto points out that most of Fischer’s chords remain inside functional harmony and rely instead on creative use of dissonance—particularly intervals of diminished and augmented fifths, major sevenths and minor ninths—to create harmonic tension. (Moretto 2013, 9)<br> <br><strong>Hoaky Blues </strong><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/4604db4c22aa93d41e37198946e9b5152a62e290/original/hoaky-blues.jpg?1413787021" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> “Hoaky Blues” is representative of Fischer’s harmonic idiom (Moretto 2013, 13). Altered fifths are common intervals in Fischer’s chords, as seen in the G7#9 voicing on the & of four in the first measure. In this chord Fischer voices the major 3<sup>rd</sup> and the sharp 9 using a major third to create a tension in the interval. Fischer resolves this dissonance through contrary motion on beat two of the second measure. The use of counterpoint to resolve dissonance is a hallmark of his harmonic style.<br> Additionally, on the & of four in the first measure, Fischer uses the interval of a major tenth in the left hand, and continues this voicing throughout this excerpt. This is a boiler plate technique for Fischer and can be heard in virtually all of his works (Moretto 2013, 13). Fischer’s wide spacing on this voicing adds depth to its sound, but more importantly, sets up a situation for contrary motion in the next measure.<br> Fischer continues to use dissonant intervals throughout this excerpt. Just as the major seventh is resolved from m. 1, a minor ninth is heard on beat two of the second bar between the F# and G (Fischer 2000).<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/7374172bc9d5acdbcce3ab4443c2ba851fbd5336/original/igor.jpg?1413787192" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br> <br> <br>HORIZONTAL OBJECTS<br><br> Fischer favors a polytonal approach to harmony that is heavily influenced by Igor Stravinsky. (Fischer 2000) This can be seen in his compositions “Ill Wind”, “Baroque”, and “Igor”. We will ex amine this briefly in his composition, “Igor”.<br><br><br> Of particular interest here is the polytonal voicing borrowed from the “Rite of Spring”. In the first measure Fischer uses a C/Bb polytonal voicing. According to Martin Moretto, this is a borrowed technique from the opening figure from “The Exalted Sacrifice” scene from the “Rite of Spring”. (Moretto 2013) <br> <br>The Rite of Spring “<em>The Exalted Sacrifice</em>”. Piano Reduction (Moretto 2013)<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/1304/4d3dc37ddc7474d84684fa04351664b9651c281d/original/screen-shot-2014-10-16-at-11-01-11-pm.jpg?1413787283" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><br> <br><strong> </strong>The primary difference between Fischer and Stravinsky’s voicings is in Fischer’s horizontal harmonic motion versus Stravinsky’s vertical motion. Indeed, this is a technique that sets Fischer apart and can be heard in virtually all of his compositions and arrangements.<br> Further polytonal material can be seen in the seventh measure of Igor with the Cmaj7/Db moving to C7+9+11. The C7+9+11 voicing is typical of Fischer’s voicings because he prefers the interval of a fifth between the bottom two voices. In this case the diminished fifth gives the chord a darker sound. Voicing diminished and altered fifths in this register is a usual technique for Fischer and can be heard in “Hoaky Blues”, “In a Mellow Tone”, “Ill Wind”, and many other compositions and arrangements.<br> While not a technique heard in Fischer’s commercial work after 1962, his use of such bitonal techneques is what sets him apart as an arranger. Nearly twenty years before Bob Brookmeyer’s foray’s into the realm of polytonality, Clare Fischer forged ahead as one of the innovators in field of jazz composition and arranging.<br><br><br><strong>Sources</strong><br><br>Byrd, Donald. 1957. “Donald Byrd With Strings”. Lone Hill Jazz LHJ10225. Compact Disc.<br>Cook, R.M. and Brian Morton. 2006. The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings: Eighth Edition. New York: The Penguin Group.<br> <br>Farris, Robert Thompson. 1964. “Clare Fischer: The Pan American Way”, <em>The Saturday Review</em>. (November): 46-47.<br><br>Fischer, Clare. 1963. “Extension”. Pacific Jazz. PJ77. Compact Disc.<br><br>Fischer, Clare. 1969. “Thesaurus”. Atlantic SD1520. Compact Disc.<br><br>Fischer, Clare. 2000. <em>The Music of Clare Fischer Volume I</em>. Edited by Bill Dobbins. Rottenburg: Advance Music.<br><br>Gioa, Ted. 1998. West Coast Jazz: Modern Jazz in California, 1945-1960. Berkley, University of California Press.<br><br>Gieske, Tony. 1960. “Accent on Jazz: Trumpet Men Do Keep Blowing”. The Washington Post. Retrieved 2014-10-15.<br><br>Gillespie, Dizzy. 1960. “A Portrait of Duke Ellington”. Verve MGV8386, 817107-2. Compact Disc.<br><br>Hi-Lo’s, The. 1958. “And All That Jazz”. Columbia CS-8077. Compact disc.<br><br>Jazz Times. 2012. “Herbie Hancock Remembers Clare Fischer.” Jazz Time Website. Accessed September 28, 2014. <a href="http://jazztimes.com/articles/76522-herbie-hancock-remembers-clare-fischer">http://jazztimes.com/articles/76522-herbie-hancock-remembers-clare-fischer</a>.<br><br>Moretto, Martin. “Clare Fischer His Musical Style and Harmonic Concepts.” Master’s thesis, William Patterson University, 2013.<br><br>Rufus. 1975. “Rufus Featuring Chaka Khan. ABC Records ABCD-909.<br> <br>Stein, Bradford J. 1993. “Clare Fischer Interview”, <em>California Jazz Now</em> 3 (8): 20, 24, 32.<br><br>Strunk, Steven and Barry Kernfeld. 2002“Fischer, Clare”. The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, 2<sup>nd</sup> ed. <em>Grove Music Online</em>. <em>Oxford Music Online</em>. Oxford University Press, accessed October 15, 2014, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/J990201.<br><br>Troup, Stuart. 1987. “From Gillespie to Prince, Fischer’s Arranged it All,” Newsday (October)<br><br><br><br><br><strong>Selected Discography</strong><br>The Hi-Lo’s. <em>Now Hear This</em>. Columbia CL1023. 1957.<br><br>Donald Byrd. <em>Donald Byrd with Strings</em>. Lone Hill Jazz LHJ10225. May 7, 1956-57.<br><br>Dizzy Gillespie. <em>A Portrait of Duke Ellington</em>. Verve MGV8386, 817107-2. April 27 & 28, 1960.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>First Time Out</em>. Pacific Jazz PJ52. April 12&14, 1962.<br><br>Bud Shank. <em>Bossa Nova Jazz Samba</em>. Pacific Jazz PJ58. September, 1962.<br><br>Cal Tjader, <em>Sona Libre</em>. Verve V-8531. 1963.<br><br>Clare Fischer Orchestra. Extension. Pacific Jazz. PJ77. 1963.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>Easy Living</em>. Revelation REV2. 1966.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>Manteca!</em>. Pacific Jazz PJ10096. 1966.<br><br>Clare Fischer Big Band. <em>Thesaurus</em>. Atlantic SD1520. 1969.<br><br>Rufus. <em>Rufus Featuring Chaka Khan</em>. ABC Records ABCD-909. 1975.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>Salsa Picante</em>. MPS Records (G)68209.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>Free Fall</em>. Discovery DSCD 921. 1985.<br><br>Clare Fischer. <em>Lembrancas</em>. Concord Picante. CCD-4404. 1990.<br><br>Richard Stolzman. <em>American Clarinet Music</em>. RCA Victor 1535412. 1996.<br> <br>The Clare Fischer Latin Jazz Big Band. <em>Ritmo!</em>. Clare Fischer Productions & Clavo Records CR 201209. 2012.<br><br>The Clare Fischer Orchestra. <em>Music for Strings, Percussion and the Rest</em>. Clavo Records. 2013.<br><br><br><br><br><br> <br> Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/31618112014-08-28T21:28:08-05:002022-01-07T04:53:51-06:00Life, Death, and Meaning: Deciphering Themes in J.S. Bach’s Cantata No. 4 (BWV 4) J.S. Bach is one of the most studied and most performed composers in western music. The deluge of work lionizing Bach and his music over the last century and a half has almost managed to hide the fact scholars and historians have yet to explain the power and appeal of Bach’s work. For example, in John Eliot Gardiner’s recent best-selling tome on the composer he opens with the line, “Bach the musician is an unfathomable genius…” <a href="#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title="">[i]</a> This is hardly a risky way to open a discussion on Bach, yet obscures the question: Why is Bach so highly regarded. Music histories, biographies of Bach and traditional musicological narratives often beg the question why the Bach’s music is held in such high regard. Despite Bach’s high praise among critics, there is a bizarre lack of discussion why Bach’s music is so great.<br> Too often analysis is offered means of answering this question. In offering a discussion of meaning, writers will often resort to various analyses as if categorization of technique equated meaning. This sort of academic bait-and-switch remains in the forefront of modern discourse. According to David Yearsly, the procedures of counterpoint tie music to meaning.<a href="#_edn2" name="_ednref2" title="">[ii]</a> Annabel Cohen identifies Bach’s contributions to tonality as his reigning achievement.<a href="#_edn3" name="_ednref3" title="">[iii]</a> Gregory Butler argues that Bach’s compositions transcend genre by synthesizing elements the composer absorbed from other genres of the period.<a href="#_edn4" name="_ednref4" title="">[iv]</a> While all of these observations astutely describe Bach’s Music they do not reconcile the universal acclaim that Bach’s music generates.<br> Hermeneutical analysis comes closer to explaining what resonates with audiences in Bach’s music. These studies identify themes found in Bach’s music that provide meaning beyond the analysis of musical objects. In Bettina Varwig’s recent study the author argues that the meaning of Bach’s music changes when the theme is put in proper context. Varwig paints a picture of eighteenth century Europe permeated by death a culture fixated on death and its consequences. <a href="#_edn5" name="_ednref5" title="">[v]</a> This can perhaps be viewed as a toned down version of Richard Taruskin’s sentiment that Bach’s music reveals, “…that the world is filth and horror, that humans are helpless, that life is pain, that reason is a snare.”<a href="#_edn6" name="_ednref6" title="">[vi]</a> This view, that Bach’s music is describing or revealing hidden truths begins to address the question of integrity of Bach’s music. As an anti-enlightenment perspective, it is easy to see why this narrative towards Bach’s music has been slow to catch on. <br> If we accept Turuskin’s view then we can begin to see that Bach’s music is not about the music itself, but a way of revealing the truth. The themes then as identified by a hermenutical analysis become much more significant. Thematic constructs such as death become much more than an issue of text or liturgy. The universality of the material elevates eighteenth century church music to a signification of the human condition. Both Varwig and Taruskin establish this perspective. They offer insight into how an archaeological understanding of seventeenth century psychology and theology might help us better understand the subjective nature of Bach’s music. What they leave unsaid is how changing viewpoints on Bach’s themes over the centuries have changed but in no way lessened the meaning and importance of Bach’s music.<br> This study will endeavor to answer three key questions in regard’s to Bach’s use of death as a theme. (1) In what ways does Bach’s treatment of the theme reflect an eighteenth century relationship with the material? (2) How does compositional technique support the text and the theme of the piece? (3) How does a modern interpretation of both text and music change the meaning of the piece? This discussion will be conducted through the lens of Cantata No. 4, <em>Christ lag in todesbanden</em> (BWV 4).<br><br><strong>BACH’S THEMES</strong><br> Death is an essential theme in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century art. As Jaroslav Pelikan writes, how historical periods interpret death is the greatest key to unlocking the “true spirit” of the era.<a href="#_edn7" name="_ednref7" title="">[vii]</a> A discussion of modern interpretations of death will be saved for later, but it is fair to say that death in the twenty first century is viewed as tragic, even cruel or obscene. Death in the time of Bach was viewed drastically different. Mortality in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was extraordinarily high. The average life expectancy during this period was 33.5 years. In 1752—two years after Bach’s death—it is estimated that only roughly thirty six percent of children born would reach their fifteenth birthday.<a href="#_edn8" name="_ednref8" title="">[viii]</a> In the century preceding Bach, the thirty years war depopulated much of Europe, including over half of the Holy Roman Empire. Some regions of Germany such as Bavaria were estimated as losing up to ninety percent of its population during this conflict.<a href="#_edn9" name="_ednref9" title="">[ix]</a> Simply put, this was a society permeated by death and the dying. It should come as no surprise that these pressures crafted a culture fixated on death.<br>This fixation resulted in a boom of literature on death. Christians across Europe produced manuals on how to manage one’s time on earth in preparation for death and the afterlife. Texts such as “The Pilgrim’s Progress” and the Rule and Exercise of Holy Living” and later “The Rule and Exercise of Holy Dying” all helped to shape the geistzeit in regards to death. In Germany, texts such as the <em>Christliche Sterbekunst</em> or “The Christian Art of Death”, offered a perspective of death as a reward for a devout life lived fulfilling the word of God. Death was simply a means of receiving the reward promised to the devout in scripture and was therefore viewed as welcome rest after the pains and tribulations of life. Texts such as the <em>Christliche Sterbekunst</em> advocated a return to the conservative Christian values of piety and devotion at the same time as the Lutheran church was turning away from orthodox polemical theology towards a purely biblical theological model.<a href="#_edn10" name="_ednref10" title="">[x]</a> This movement—Pietism—was centered in Halle, less than thirty miles west of Liepzig. Pietism therefore, was a strong influence on Bach’s work.<br> Pietist views towards death show a departure from the ideas of Martin Luther. Luther viewed sin and death as tied together. Death was the final punishment for sin. In Luther’s view only faith could forge a path to salvation. By the dawn of the eighteenth century Lutheran Pietists had taken a different view: devout action was the only path towards salvation.<a href="#_edn11" name="_ednref11" title="">[xi]</a> Therefore a person’s life and actions must be arranged to ensure salvation. This view has replaced the grace so key to Luther’s theology with a greater responsibility of the individual. Pietist texts stress world-weariness and a desire for death to quickly come. The theological differences can be readily seen when comparing Luther’s Mitten <em>Wir im Leben Sind</em> with the Phillip Nicolai hymn <em>Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme</em>.<br> <br> <div>
<strong>Wir im Leben Sind</strong><br><em>In the midst of earthly life<br>Snares of death surround us;<br>Where, then, flee we in the strife,<br>Lest our foes confound us?<br>To Thee, alone, our Savior!<br>We mourn our grievous sin, which hath<br>Stirred the fire of Thy fierce wrath:<br>Holy and righteous God!<br>Holy and mighty God!<br>Holy and all-merciful Savior!<br>Everliving God!<br>Save us, Lord, from sinking<br>In death's deep and bitter flood!<br>Have mercy, O Lord!</em><br><br><strong>Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme </strong><br><em>Awake, calls the voice to us</em><br><em>of the watchmen high up in the tower;<br>awake, you city of Jerusalem.<br>Midnight the hour is named;<br>they call to us with bright voices;<br>where are you, wise virgins?<br>Indeed, the Bridegroom comes;<br>rise up and take your lamps,<br>Alleluia!<br>Make yourselves ready<br>for the wedding;<br>you must go to meet Him.</em><br> </div>
<div> Luther’s text preaches salvation through grace. The passage “Where then flee we in the strife lest our foes confound us? To Thee, alone, our Savior” sends the clear message that faith, not works is the path to salvation. By contrast Nicolai’s<em> Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme</em><a href="#_edn12" name="_ednref12" title="">[xii]</a> lays out the pietist longing for salvation through the use of the Bridegroom metephore. The passage “Make yourselves ready for the wedding; you must go to meet Him.” Clearly would mean to Pietists to prepare one’s self in living for death and the wedding of the soul to Christ.<a href="#_edn13" name="_ednref13" title="">[xiii]</a><br> Many of Bach’s works are in line with Pietist thinking. <em>Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme was the text to Cantata No. 140.</em> Bach’s freedom with Pietist themes is born out in Bach’s treatment of death. For example: BWV 8, “Liebster Gott, wann werd ich sterben? [Dearest God, when will my death be?]” BWV 161, “Komm, du susse Todesstunde [Come, O death, thou sweetest hour]”, BWV 198 “Laß, Fürstin, laß noch einen Strahl [Let, Princess, let yet a Beam]” all offer the pietist view of death as a reward for a devout life. The image of the soul as bride and Christ the bridegroom as seen in <em>Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme and cantata No. 140 has been well documented as a Pietist theological trope, and is one that permeates virtually all Bach’s sacred works.</em><a href="#_edn14" name="_ednref14" title="">[xiv]</a><br> But to say that Bach was a Pietist would be a drastic oversimplification. Indeed, Bach cannot truly be claimed by Pietists, Orthodox Lutherans, or Rationalists. As these were the three sects of theological thought in Bach’s time, his work falls somewhere between the three, clearly influenced by all but not belonging to any one in particular. This can be seen in Bach’s use of musical elements. Pure Pietists disliked aria and recitative as part of the worship service, yet these elements are abundant in Bach’s work.<a href="#_edn15" name="_ednref15" title="">[xv]</a> Similarly, Rationalists sought to do away with chorale tunes in favor of simpler styles, but these too were among Bach’s favorite devices. Orthodox claims to Bach evaporate when considering his use of Pietist imagery—namely that of the comparison between the soul and Christ as Bridegroom and Bride throughout his cantatas (For example: BWV 140, BWV 409, and BWV 21.).<a href="#_edn16" name="_ednref16" title="">[xvi]</a><br> Regardless of Bach’s theological leanings, it seems likely that in regards to the theme of death Bach identified strongest with Pietism. Bach treats death in two ways, offering in essence a carrot and a stick. Comforting texts such as BWV 82 <em>Ich habe genung</em> (I have enough) seem to trumpet the world-weary tropes of the Lutheran Art of Dying. Through prayer, reflection, meditation and revelation, the sinner comes to know god and in so doing retires from the world weary from the tribulations of piety and devotion. Bach’s other treatment of death is more akin to the Puritan preacher Johnathan Edwards hermanutical approach. This sinners-in-the-hands-of-an-angry-god motif is perhaps most evident in the fifth movement of BWV 20, <em>O Ewigkeit du Donnerwort</em> (O eternity, you word of thunder). This aria is essentially a sophisticated way of shouting repent on a village green.<br><br><em>God is just in His works:</em><br><em>For the brief sins of this world</em><br><em>He has decreed such lengthy punishment;</em><br><em>Ah, if only the world would heed this!</em><br><em>Time is short, death is swift,</em><br><em>Consider this, o humankind!</em><br><br> Essentially this passage is a call for a return to piety and devotion. The listener is forced to come to grips with his or her own sin and take responsibility for their actions. Rather than the reformation doctrine of grace as seen in the text by Luther, this text clearly connects sin with damnation. The unspoken corollary in this passage is that devotion and righteous—the opposite of sin—will lead to the heavenly reward contained in Bach’s more pastoral cantatas.<br><br><br><strong>BWV 4 <em>Chist Lag in Todesbanden</em><a href="#_edn17" name="_ednref17" title=""><strong>[xvii]</strong></a></strong><br><br><strong>Verse 1</strong><br><em>Christ lay in death's bonds<br>given over for our sins,<br>He has risen again<br>and brought us life;<br>therefore we should be joyful,<br>praise God and be thankful to Him<br>and sing Hallelujah,<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><strong>Verse 2</strong><br><em>No one could defeat death<br>among all humanity,<br>this was all because of our sins,<br>no innocence was to be found.<br>Therefore death came so soon<br>and took power over us,<br>held us captive in his kingdom.<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><strong>Verse 3</strong><br><em>Jesus Christ, God's son,<br>has come in our place,<br>and has done away with sin,<br>thereby taking from death<br>all his rights and power,<br>nothing remains but death's form;<br>he has lost his sting.<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><strong>Verse 4</strong><br><em>It was a strange battle,<br>that death and life waged,<br>life claimed the victory,<br>it devoured death.<br>The scripture had prophesied this,<br>how one death gobbled up the other,<br>a mockery has been made out of death.<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><strong>Verse 5</strong><br><em>Here is the true Easter-lamb,<br>offered up by God,<br>which was, high on the cross' stalk<br>roasted in hot love,<br>the blood marks our door,<br>faith holds it against death,<br>the strangler can no longer harm us.<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><br><strong>Verse 6</strong><br><em>So we celebrate the high festival<br>with joy of heart and delight,<br>which the Lord radiates upon us,<br>He himself is the sun,<br>that through the splendor of his grace<br>illuminates our hearts completely,<br>the night of sin has disappeared.<br>Hallelujah!</em><br><br><br><strong>Verse 7</strong><br><em>We eat and live well<br>on the true Easter bread,<br>the old leaven shall not<br>exist next to the word of grace,<br>Christ will be our food<br>and nourish the soul alone,<br>faith will live in no other way.<br>Hallelujah!</em>
</div>
<div> Yet to label Bach a strict Pietist based on these texts would be an oversimplification. While texts such as that found in BWV 20 and BWV 82 send the Pietist message that of death as a reward for a devout life, and that the listener should plan his life accordingly, there are other texts that take a decidedly more orthodox view towards death, particularly in the view of the crucifixion and resurrection. For example Bach’s willingness to set Luther’s text in BWV 4 <em>Christ lag in Todesbanden</em> indicates that he was not wholly won over by Pietist theology. There is no imagery of death as a reward for a devout life, or of the world-weary gently retiring to Christ. Indeed, Luther’s text offers a view of death wholly different from the Pietists. In this text, death and sin are inextricably linked. Passages such as “Jesus Christ, God’s son, has come in our place and has done away with sin, thereby taking from death all his rights and power…”<a href="#_edn18" name="_ednref18" title="">[xviii]</a> send the massage of salvation through grace not piety.</div> Bach’s use of pietist texts implies that perspective of Death as a release from the rigours of life. However, when examining the Art of Dying, namely preparing the soul for death by living a devout life, Bach falls out of the Pietist doctrine. Texts such as that used in BWV 4 imply that Bach, as Martin Luther, viewed grace as central to salvation rather than through any kind of devout preparation for dying.<br> <br><strong>IN DEATH’S BONDS</strong><br> As we have discussed, death and its implications were a huge theological tentpole in the Lutheran church during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. How parishoners viewed and dealt with death in their day to day lives was of utmost importance to the church, and so various courses of instruction were developed to help the flock down the right hand path.<a href="#_edn19" name="_ednref19" title="">[xix]</a> By many pastors, scholars, and theologians in Bach’s time, music was the prime means that biblical teaching was communicated to the congregation. Martin Luther used a quaint term, “Frau Musica” to describe the relationship between scripture and musical settings of sacred text as that of husband and wife.<a href="#_edn20" name="_ednref20" title="">[xx]</a> To that end there is no small glut of compositions on death by Lutheran composers from this period. As a member of a community of German composers, Bach was undoubtedly aware of these compositions and the techniques used to express specific ideas.<a href="#_edn21" name="_ednref21" title="">[xxi]</a><br> Among one of the strongest tools at Bach’s disposal for representing death is that of counterpoint. According to David Yearsly, the use of strict counterpoint to represent death was a tradition among north German composers such as Dietrich Buxthehude, Chritian Flor, Johann Gottfried.<a href="#_edn22" name="_ednref22" title="">[xxii]</a> Works such as Buxtehude’s <em>Mit Fried und Frud ich fahr dahin</em> (BuxWV 76) use elaborate contrapuntal and harmonic techniques to set imagery of death. It is hard to imagine that Bach would have been unaware of this tradition, particularly since he had a personal relationship with all three of these composers.<br> Bach’s counterpoint relies heavily on chromaticism to provide movement throughout the piece. Like Buxthehudes’s <em>Mit Fried und Frud </em>(also a Martin Luther text) Bach’s setting of Christ lag in Todesbanden in BWV 4 invokes images of funerary services, in this case as part of the Easter liturgy. In Bach’s setting of the first verse, his choice of mode defines the harmonic texture of the rest of the movement. Bach’s primary tool to develop counterpoint is the B melodic minor scale. In this movement if functions as a vehicle to move away from his tonic key of E minor. This scale plays an integral role in the harmony, harmonic rhythm, and counterpoint of the movement. Indeed, it is the framework on which the setting is built.<br> Bach’s use of the B melodic minor scale would be challenging to rectify in the hands of a less experienced composer. When superimposed over an E minor key center, this scale has intrinsic chromatic demands that cannot be justified inside the key center—namely the leading tone of A#. To accommodate this pitch Bach moves away from the key early in m. 3 reconciling the A# in the soprano with the V/V chord.<br> Bach did not choose this scale by accident. He uses this scale to create harmonic color that would be otherwise lacking in his treatment of the text and melody. Bach introduces this early in mm3 by accommodating the A# in the soprano with the V/V chord, and in mm 5 he tackles the C# with the V/ii chord. These kinds of sequences incorporate sonorities outside of the key and when they resolve create a stronger bond to the tonic and a more colorful line than their diatonic counterparts.<br> Another problem posed by the pitches in the melodic minor scale that exist outside of E minor is that in order to use secondary dominant sequences to harmonize these pitches, the duration of the harmonic rhythm in most places must be reduced from half notes to quarter notes. The reason being that many notes in the melody such as the C# in mm.5 require more than one chord to resolve dissonances back to a chord diatonic to E minor. This has a direct effect on the continuo part, because even though the harmonic rhythm only needs to be reduced to quarter notes in these places, in order to maintain a walking bass and the voice leading associated with it, the bass line must move in eighth notes. The result is figures like the one in mm. 5 where the V/ii chord on beat 3 is outlined using by implying a V6/ii to V/ii to ii. (Later figures such as the one in mm. 9 utilize passing chords in the bass and continuo to facilitate full chromatic movement of the line.)<br> At this point Bach’s contrapuntal layering becomes apparent. While the vocal lines move in eighth notes and quarter notes (all except the soprano, which is significantly slower) and the continuo moves almost exclusively in eight notes after mm. 8, Bach adds another layer of rhythmic complexity in the upper strings. The sixteenth note passages in the first and second violin function to outline the quarter note harmonic movement established in the continuo, repeating a pattern of three sixteenth notes and a quarter note for the first thirty five bars. This pattern is entirely dependent on the reduced harmonic rhythm that Bach utilizes to accommodate his scale choice in the choral melody.<br> All this may not at first seem germane to the discussion of Bach’s treatment of death in the text. However, if we view Bach’s contrapuntal acrobatics as representing the theme of death, then these devices become less about flexing musical muscles and more about expressing the meaning of the text. Salvation through the death of Christ is represented by counterpoint. Bach used chromaticism found in the B harmonic minor scale to create that counterpoint.<br> Bach’s strategy is reinforced when viewing the Pachelbel setting of the same text. Pachelbel was the teacher of Johann Christoph Bach, JS Bach’s oldest brother and sometime teacher. The relationship between Pachelbel and the Bach family has been well established by Peter Williams<a href="#_edn23" name="_ednref23" title="">[xxiii]</a>, Crawford Thoburn,<a href="#_edn24" name="_ednref24" title="">[xxiv]</a> and Elmyra Pardue<a href="#_edn25" name="_ednref25" title="">[xxv]</a>. In his discussion of compositional treatments of death in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, David Yearsly identifies Pachelbel as belonging outside the north German tradition of using florid counterpoint to symbolize death,<a href="#_edn26" name="_ednref26" title="">[xxvi]</a> yet even in Pachelbel’s setting it opens with imitative counterpoint in the vocal parts. While this is by no means as extensive or florid as that used by Bach, it also implies that both Pachelbel and Bach are working inside of a well-established system for textual representation of this specific theme.<br> Pachelbel’s treatment of Luther’s text utilizes a much more consonant mode than that of Bach’s. Like Bach, Pachelbel sets the choral melody on the fifth scale degree of the piece, but rather than using harmonic minor he uses the hypodorian mode of D dorian (or A natural minor), which as a scale does not have a strong mechanism to establish a key—namely the leading tone seen in the Bach setting. This is not a problem because the soprano is merely a descant part, and the consonance the scale provides lends itself easily to diatonic harmony. In addition, this scale choice introduces no accidentals to the melody not found in D minor, thereby avoiding chromatic harmony.<br> Without having to cycle through chords to accommodate pitches outside of the key, Pachelbel’s setting introduces few secondary dominant chords, and chromaticism in general is done on a much smaller scale. He does introduce non-harmonic pitches, for instance in mm. 16 he uses a VII+ to move between a tonic chord and a iii chord, (VII+ being a suitable substitute for V, in the deceptive cadence.) but the G# is buried in the parts and is not as overt as the devil-may-care chromaticism seen in the Bach setting. Pachelbel creates a leaner setting, both in terms of harmony and counterpoint. With no angular harmonic passages, Pachelbel eschews the florid counterpoint and harmonization that Bach so readily embraces.<br> It is difficult to say how much counterpoint would be required to symbolize death in this instance. Pachelbel’s imitative counterpoint at the beginning of the movement is far from homophonic, yet it seems equally distant to Bach’s setting—something that could be described as ten pounds of material in a five-pound bag. Much of this discussion has been based on David Yearsly’s claim that like Buxtehude, Bach is using florid counterpoint to symbolize funerary rites. <a href="#_edn27" name="_ednref27" title="">[xxvii]</a> Where Yearsly is lacking in his text is in providing a mechanism for differentiating between counterpoint that represents death and dying and other forms of counterpoint that do not take on such solemn imagery.<br> <br><strong> BACH IN THE MODERN WORLD </strong><br> If florid counterpoint was representative of themes of death in the eighteenth century, that tradition is lost today. More importantly, the twenty first century view of death has changed so drastically that the meaning of Bach’s pieces would be lost on most contemporary listeners. To optimistic futurists such as Raymond Kurzwiel who patiently awaits the scientific salvation from death,<a href="#_edn28" name="_ednref28" title="">[xxviii]</a> the second verse of BWV 4 would seem more of a challenge than an affirmation of faith. And even among Christian audiences death is no longer viewed as a peaceful departure from this world, but as the final act of humility before god. Yet despite the transmigration of the text from Bach’s day to the present, these Cantatas remain among the most popular sacred works in western music. While partial credit must go to the likes of Felix Mendelson and the innumerable Bach revivalists in the past one hundred years, no piece of art would suffer the attention that Bach’s music has unless it contained some form of cultural Truth.<br> To complicate matters, the philosophical/theological/psychological perspective on death has exploded in the last century and a half. Where once there were one or two perspectives located relatively close to one another in metaphysical space, now there seemingly hundreds of different perspectives on the subject. While virtually all of these perspectives would like to claim western music for their own hegemonic ends, for the purposes of this discussion we will remain within the sphere of Christian perspectives, dismissing for the moment other valid point of view to examine the modern incarnation of the tradition in which Bach worked.<a href="#_edn29" name="_ednref29" title="">[xxix]</a><br> To understand how mainline protestant theology (The Lutherans) applies to Bach, first we need to discuss Kierkegaard’s (Anti Climacus’s) work of Christian existentialism “Sickness Unto Death”. In this text Kierkegaard describes the human condition as a dual existence: finite and infinite knowledge. This is an important text in relation to the Christian view of death because it challenges traditional Christian models of death—namely that used in the eighteenth century—and a more modern conception of death that people in the twenty first century might be more accustomed to.<a href="#_edn30" name="_ednref30" title="">[xxx]</a><br> Kierkegaard paints a portrait of death not as a punishment for sin or as a reward for a life of piety. From this perspective, physical death is the means by which man comes to understand the nature—the despair—of God. Having to undergo physical death according to Kierkegaard is the price of what Martin Luther would call Grace. From this point of view we come to see death not as a reward, not as a punishment, but as the gateway through which we come to know God.<a href="#_edn31" name="_ednref31" title="">[xxxi]</a><a href="#_edn32" name="_ednref32" title="">[xxxii]</a><br> This forms the basis for much modern day main-line theology. Kierkegaard’s work has been carried on by such theologians as Moltman, Hartshorn, Thilike, and Bonhoffer.<a href="#_edn33" name="_ednref33" title="">[xxxiii]</a> These authors form the backbone of much of modern protestant thought in both America and in throughout the world. In search of a modern interpretation of Bach, it is not a stretch then to apply these views towards his sacred works.<br> In BWV 4, the first verse begins with “Christ lay in death’s bonds, given over for our sins….”<a href="#_edn34" name="_ednref34" title="">[xxxiv]</a> So far we have described this passage from the perspective of Lutheran Orthidoxy—Christ sacrificed his body for the sins of mankind. A modern interpretation of this text according to Kierkegaard would be different. According to Kierkeggaard the crucifiction is a symbolic sacrifice for the sins of man, but more importantly the crucifiction shows the path for salvation for all people. <br> Curiously both Kierkegaardian and Pietist perspectives would be remarkably similar in this regard. Pietists would view death as a reward for the devout. Modern Theologians would view death as the final hurdle in a taxing spiritual curriculum. Both perspectives advocate an active spiritual life in preparation for death. (The two perspectives on what that life is would presumably differ greatly.)<br> When we look at Bach’s music from a modern point of view, our interpretation falls somewhere adjacent to that of the theologians of his day. The meaning has changed, but only in its details. No longer are we praying for the hour of our death as the Pietists did, but we are offering ourselves for the final act of supplication before we know universal Truth. Kierkegaard’s death is to know the sorrow of God, that of a loving creator who watches in sorrow as we choose poorly in life. For Kierkegaard, death is the portal through that sorrow.<br> This is where we as a culture need to have a chicken-and-the-egg conversation. Can a piece of art take on a new meaning after all of its components are in place? Conservative attitudes run towards preserving the composer’s intentions. Unfortunately, even if we could preserve the intentions of Bach, that in itself would rob the music of cultural relevancy. The music would then become nothing more than a museum piece under glass.<br> Recent stagings of operas, cantatas and oratorios worldwide provide a different perspective. In 2001 a staging of at Lincoln Center in New York, BWV 82 was used as a lens to examine euthanasia in the twenty first century.<a href="#_edn35" name="_ednref35" title="">[xxxv]</a> In a day and age when repertory performances are being called into question as commercially viable, the controversy of this performance proved the commercial viability of repertoire when performed under the right circumstances.<br> <br> <br> <br><strong>Bibliography</strong><br><br>Antonovsky, Aaron. 1967. “Social Class, Life Expectancy and Overall Mortality”. <em>The Milbank Memorial Fund Quarterly</em> 45, No. 2: 1, 32.<br><br>Barrett, Lee C. 2012. “Paul Tillich: An Ambivalent Appropriation.” <em>Kierkegaard’s Influence on Theology:German Protestant Theology</em>, edited by Jon Stewart. Copenhagen: Ashgate Publishing.<br><br><br>Butler, Gregory G. 1993. “The Question of Genre in J.S. Bach’s Fourth Brandenburg Concerto”. <em>Bach Perspectives</em>, 4. 9-27.<br><br>Cohen, Annabel J. 1991. “Tonality and perception: Musical scales primed by the excerpts from <em>The Well-Tempered Clavier</em> of J.S. Bach”. <em>Psychological Research</em> 53 (4): 305-314.<br><br>Dürr, Alfred, Richard D. Jones. <em>The Cantatas of J.S. Bach: with their librettos in German-English parallel text</em>. London: Oxford University Press, 2005.<br><br>Gardiner, John Eliot. <em>Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven</em>. New York: Random House, 2013.<br><br>Gerhz, Christopher, and William Carlson and Eric Holst. 2011. <em>The Pietist Impulse in Christianity</em>. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers.<br>Kagan, Shelly,<em> Death. 2012. </em>Yale University Press.<br><br>Kerzweil, Raymond. <em>The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology.</em> 2005. New York: Penguin Group.<br><br>Kevorkian, Tanya. <em>Baroque Piety: Religion, Society and Music in Leipzig</em>, 1650-1750. 2007. Copenhagen: Ashgate Publishing.<br><br>Leaver, Robert A. 2007 <em>Luther’s Liturgical Music: Principles and Implications. Grand Rapids: </em>Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing.<br><br>Pardue, Elmyra P. "Cantatas on" Christ Lag in Todesbanden" by Johann Pachelbel and Johann Sebastian Bach: A Comparative Study." PhD diss., Memphis State University., 1971.<br> <br>Pelikan, Jaroslav. <em>Bach Among the Theologians</em>. (1986) 2003. Eugene: Wipf and Stock.<br><br>Varwig, Bettina. 2010. “Death and Lfe in J.S. Bach’s Cantata Ich habe genung (BWV82)”. <em>Journal of the Royal Musical Association</em>, 135 (2), 315-356.<br><br>Schrade, Leo. 1946. “Bach: The Conflict Between the Sacred and the Secular”. <em>Jounal of the History of Ideas</em>. 7 (2), 151-194.<br><br>Stiller, Gunther. <em>Johann Sebastian Bach and Liturgical Life in Leipzig.</em> 1984. St Louis: Concordia Publishing House.<br><br>Taruskin, Richard. 1994. <em>Text and Act: Essays on Music and Performance</em>. Berkeley, University of California Press.<br><br>Thoburn, Crawford R. "Pachelbel ‘Christ lag in Todesbanden’ Possible influence on Bach Work.” <em>American Choral Review</em> 19, No. 1 1977 3-16.<br><br>Thompson, Curtis L. 2012. “Taking a Moment for Trinitarian Eschatology” <em>Kierkegaard’s Influence on Theology:German Protestant Theology</em>, edited by Jon Stewart. Copenhagen: Ashgate Publishing.<br><br>Willams, Peter F. <em>J.S. Bach: A Life in Music</em>. 2007. Cambridge: University of Oxford Press.<br><br>Wedgwood, Cicely V. <em>The Thirty Years War. </em>2005 (1938). New York: The New York Review of Books.<br><br>Yearsly, David G. <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint</em>. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.<br><br>Young, Murray W. <em>The Sacred Dramas of J.S. Bach: A Reference and Textual Interpretation.</em> 1994 Jefferson: McFarland & Company.<br> <div> <hr align="left" size="1" width="33%">
<div id="edn1">
<a href="#_ednref1" name="_edn1" title="">[i]</a> Gardiner, <em>Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven, </em>xxv.</div>
<div id="edn2">
<a href="#_ednref2" name="_edn2" title="">[ii]</a> Yearsly, <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint, 15.</em>
</div>
<div id="edn3">
<a href="#_ednref3" name="_edn3" title="">[iii]</a> Cohen, “Tonality and perception: Musical scales primed by the excerpts from <em>The Well-Tempered Clavier</em> of J.S. Bach”, 306.</div>
<div id="edn4">
<a href="#_ednref4" name="_edn4" title="">[iv]</a> Butler,”The Question of Genre in J.S. Bach’s Fourth Brandenburg Concerto”, 27.</div>
<div id="edn5">
<a href="#_ednref5" name="_edn5" title="">[v]</a> Varwig, “Death and Lfe in J.S. Bach’s Cantata Ich habe genung (BWV82)”, 308-309.</div>
<div id="edn6">
<a href="#_ednref6" name="_edn6" title="">[vi]</a> Taruskin, <em>Text and Act: Essays on Music and Performance, </em>310.</div>
<div id="edn7">
<a href="#_ednref7" name="_edn7" title="">[vii]</a> Pelikan, <em>Bach Among the Theologians</em>, 68.</div>
<div id="edn8">
<a href="#_ednref8" name="_edn8" title="">[viii]</a> Antonovsky, “Social Class, Life Expectancy and Overall Mortality” <em>The Milbank Memorial Fund Quarterly</em> 45, No. 2: 1, 32.</div>
<div id="edn9">
<a href="#_ednref9" name="_edn9" title="">[ix]</a> Wedgwood, <em>The Thirty Years War</em>, 376.</div>
<div id="edn10">
<a href="#_ednref10" name="_edn10" title="">[x]</a> Stoeffler, <em>German Pietism During the Eighteenth Century</em>. 51.</div>
<div id="edn11">
<a href="#_ednref11" name="_edn11" title="">[xi]</a> <em>Milner, “Süß Todesstunde</em> or <em>Mit Fried und Freud</em>: Reformation Theology and the Lutheran “Art of Dying” in Two Bach Cantatas” Bach 31 (1) 41-42.</div>
<div id="edn12">
<a href="#_ednref12" name="_edn12" title="">[xii]</a> Dürr, <em>The Cantatas of J.S. Bach: with their librettos in German-English Parallel Text, </em>648</div>
<div id="edn13">
<a href="#_ednref13" name="_edn13" title="">[xiii]</a> <em>Milner, “Süß Todesstunde</em> or <em>Mit Fried und Freud</em>: Reformation Theology and the Lutheran “Art of Dying” in Two Bach Cantatas” Bach 31 (1) 38.</div>
<div id="edn14">
<a href="#_ednref14" name="_edn14" title="">[xiv]</a> Pelikan, <em>Bach Among the Theologians</em>, 65.</div>
<div id="edn15">
<a href="#_ednref15" name="_edn15" title="">[xv]</a> As Christopher Gehrz, William Carlson and Eric Holst have recently pointed out, Pietist views towards music were generally scattered ranging from the ultra conservative to the liberal. According to these authors there was no single opinion of the movement toward music. Gerz, Carlson, and Holst. <em>The Pietist Impulse in Christianity</em>. 236.</div>
<div id="edn16">
<a href="#_ednref16" name="_edn16" title="">[xvi]</a> Schrade, Bach: The Conflict Between the Sacred and the Secular”. <em>Journal of the History of Ideas</em>, 166.</div>
<div id="edn17">
<a href="#_ednref17" name="_edn17" title="">[xvii]</a> Dürr, <em>The Cantatas of J.S. Bach: with their librettos in German-English Parallel Text, </em>262.</div>
<div id="edn18">
<a href="#_ednref18" name="_edn18" title="">[xviii]</a> Dürr, <em>The Cantatas of J.S. Bach: with their librettos in German-English Parallel Text, </em>262.</div>
<div id="edn19">
<a href="#_ednref19" name="_edn19" title="">[xix]</a> Pelikan, <em>Bach Among the Theologians</em>, 64.</div>
<div id="edn20">
<a href="#_ednref20" name="_edn20" title="">[xx]</a> Leaver, <em>Luther’s Liturgical Music: Principles and Implications,</em> 93.</div>
<div id="edn21">
<a href="#_ednref21" name="_edn21" title="">[xxi]</a> Yearsly, <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint</em>, 19.</div>
<div id="edn22">
<a href="#_ednref22" name="_edn22" title="">[xxii]</a> Yearsly, <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint</em>, 12.</div>
<div id="edn23">
<a href="#_ednref23" name="_edn23" title="">[xxiii]</a> Willams, <em>J.S. Bach: A Life in Music</em>, 22.</div>
<div id="edn24">
<a href="#_ednref24" name="_edn24" title="">[xxiv]</a> Thoburn"Pachelbel ‘Christ lag in Todesbanden’ Possible influence on Bach Work.” <em>American Choral Review</em> 19, No. 1 1977 3-16.</div>
<div id="edn25">
<a href="#_ednref25" name="_edn25" title="">[xxv]</a> Pardue, "Cantatas on" Christ Lag in Todesbanden" by Johann Pachelbel and Johann Sebastian Bach: A Comparative Study."</div>
<div id="edn26">
<a href="#_ednref26" name="_edn26" title="">[xxvi]</a> Yearsly, <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint</em>, 12.</div>
<div id="edn27">
<a href="#_ednref27" name="_edn27" title="">[xxvii]</a> Yearsly, <em>Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint</em>, 12.</div>
<div id="edn28">
<a href="#_ednref28" name="_edn28" title="">[xxviii]</a> <em>Kurzweil, The Singularity is Near, 145.</em>
</div>
<div id="edn29">
<a href="#_ednref29" name="_edn29" title="">[xxix]</a> Hegel describes the religion of the modern times as “the death of God”. To include this perspective would go beyond the bounds of this discussion.</div>
<div id="edn30">
<a href="#_ednref30" name="_edn30" title="">[xxx]</a> Shelly Kagan outlines this view of death as simply switching off a machine. Kagan Death, 363.</div>
<div id="edn31">
<a href="#_ednref31" name="_edn31" title="">[xxxi]</a> Kierkegaard makes a distinction between physical death and spiritual death. Physical death is the death of the body that occurs at the end of life, physical death cannot separate man from God. Spiritual death is the death of the spirit and may occur at any time. Spiritual death is what separates man from God, this is Kierkegaard’s perspective on Hell. Barrett, “Paul Tillich: An Ambivalent Appropriation.” <em>Kierkegaard’s Influence on Theology:German Protestant Theology</em>, 245.</div>
<div id="edn32">
<a href="#_ednref32" name="_edn32" title="">[xxxii]</a> Barrett, “Paul Tillich: An Ambivalent Appropriation.” <em>Kierkegaard’s Influence on Theology:German Protestant Theology</em>, 245.</div>
<div id="edn33">
<a href="#_ednref33" name="_edn33" title="">[xxxiii]</a> Barrett, “Paul Tillich: An Ambivalent Appropriation.” <em>Kierkegaard’s Influence on Theology:German Protestant Theology</em>.</div>
<div id="edn34">
<a href="#_ednref34" name="_edn34" title="">[xxxiv]</a> Dürr, Alfred, Richard D. Jones. <em>The Cantatas of J.S. Bach: with their librettos in German-English parallel text</em>, 262.</div>
<div id="edn35">
<a href="#_ednref35" name="_edn35" title="">[xxxv]</a> Varwig, “Death and Lfe in J.S. Bach’s Cantata Ich habe genung (BWV82)”, 317.</div>
</div>Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/31448272014-08-22T13:27:36-05:002022-01-06T02:41:15-06:00Music History as Part of a Jazz CurriculumMusic History. No two words seem to inspire more dread in music students than these. The battery of music history courses can often be among the most challenging and least rewarding in undergraduate and graduate curriculums alike. Among jazz students these courses are often more problematic because they require prolonged study of material only tacitly related to jazz topics. This is compounded by a general attitude among musicology professors that our music--jazz--does not deserve as close scrutiny as say, the morality plays of Hildegard Von Bingen, the motets of Monteverdi, or the topics of alternity in nineteenth century Europe. (This is changing among many younger musicologists, but this change of attitute is not in evidence in most curriculums.)<br> Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of college musicology courses is the expectation that jazz musicians not only master the history and analysis of western music as described above, but also demonstrate an equal—preferably greater—grasp on jazz research topics as well. This seems like a huge double standard when compared with classical music students. This arrangement essentially doubles the musicological responsibilities of the jazz student.<br> Why do we have to take classical history courses? Knowledge of Montiverdi or HVB will not help us play II-Vs better, they won't help us in our interpretation of Body and Soul or Cherokee, they aren't going to help our high notes. As a trombone professor once told me: "Music history can't teach you shit about playing in the upper register!" So why should we be required to know this material?<br> Consider our counterparts in performance tracks: those who study strings, voice, piano or other classical musics exclusively. These students progress through traditional musicology courses alongside jazz students. If a musicology program is effective, it would be fair to say that a jazz student and a classical student who progress through the same musicological curriculum would have the same grasp of the topics covered. Upon completion of this program, both students should be able critically examine music from all periods covered in the course. (More likely they forget it all immediately after completion if the course, but that is a topic for a different time.)<br> It is here where the advantage goes to the jazz student. Classical training does a great job preparing students to engage in the music of Beethoven, Brahms, Mahler or Stravinsky. It does a poor job in teaching students how to engage in all music. For example, ask a classically trained student to discuss the evolution of opera and he or she will happily expound on Peri, Montiverdi, Gluck, and a host of other important operatic players. Now ask the same student on their thoughts regarding the birth of bebop or the evolution of R&B and Rock and Roll during the mid twentieth century, and he or she will be suddenly silent. Classical training does not prepare students to deal outside of the classical realm. (Many might take issue on this point as jazz and other popular musics are becoming taught more at universities, however these courses are typically electives, not requirements. Additionally I have my own personal reservations on the integrity of many of these courses when compared with the intensity of traditional musicology courses.) In short, the classical student has become limited by education.<br> This is not true for the jazz student. The study of jazz gives the student a skill set with which to study all forms of popular music in the twentieth and twenty first centuries. (It could also be argued that this same skill set could be used to study all music. I mean come on, just because JS Bach drove a horse and buggy to work in the eighteenth century doesn’t mean we should when we have perfectly good Ferraries to zip around in. But that’s a conversation for a different time.) In addition, because of the pesky musicology degree requirements, the jazz student just as qualified to engage in the discussion and in many cases the performance of classical music.<br> From this perspective we must ask ourselves, who is receiving the best education? In the modern music world there is no such thing as someone who only plays one kind of music, when that phone rings we want our students to be able to say yes to any performance or teaching opportunity regardless of what degree was earned. That being the case, it is the jazz degree and the seemingly endless arsenal of classical musicology courses that is the best at preparing the student for the real world. We should not complain about our classical training, it prepares us for any professional or academic situation. We should be more concerned about our classical colleagues who proceed through the same degrees as us, pick up the same student loans as us, yet only receive half the education. It is from these students where the real outcry should be heard. So this fall as the next round of musicology survey courses begin, instead of moaning about how unfair it is to be a jazz student studying Bach Cantatas, we should ask ourselves; who is receiving the better education: the classical student, or the jazz student?<br> Keith Karnstag:keithkarnsmusic.com,2005:Post/31424822014-08-18T13:05:28-05:002021-12-04T07:17:39-06:00Make Me Smile: A brief look at Bob Brookmeyer and the modern big band Bob Brookmeyer is an integral figure in jazz both in his role as a composer and performer as well as an educator. (Stewart 2007) (Robinson, 2002) (Argue 2009) Along with other pioneers of composition for large jazz ensembles such as Gill Evans, Brookmeyer has been integral in developing the modern jazz compositional style (Schneider 1998). Despite near universal acclaim for Brookmeyer's contributions, scholarship has been slow to recognize him and the modern big band as a viable source for artistic expression in jazz.<br> For example, in his <em>The History of Jazz</em> Ted Gioia discounts big bands saying that they are “more a tool of historical pedagogy than a means of artistic expression.” (Gioia 2011, 251). Scott DeVeaux takes it a step further by saying, “A jazz orchestra of fifteen or more musicians suggests either nostalgia, the specter of superannuated bodies shuffling to yesterday’s dance music, or the academic sterility of the university lab band.” (DeVeaux 1997, 2). Gunther Schuller is perhaps the most damning in his indictment of big bands saying, “…very little truly innovative achievement in arranging concepts can be claimed after 1960.” (Schuller [1988] 2002, 662).<br> These arguments reflect a broader view that composed or arranged jazz is somehow less substantial than improvised jazz. This view stems in part from the now decades long movement to classicize and nationalize jazz as America’s chief art form (Taylor 1986, 21) (Sales 1984, 11). This perspective values improvisation above other musical elements. In this context improvisation is viewed as a metaphor for a national identity, embodying the ideals of freedom, individualism, and democracy (Monson 1998, 149) (Taylor 1990). According to this view, the more improvisation contained in a piece, the more it reflects this assumed national identity. Put simply, quality is determined by the amount of improvisation contained in a piece. In this line of thinking, big band music is perceived as containing less or lower forms of improvisation and therefore cannot be of the same caliber as styles that rely exclusively on improvisation.<br> This line of reasoning seems to be based more on opinion than of empirical evidence. Who determines what kind of music is a means of artistic expression and how these distinctions made? Are we to take Scott DeVeaux’s advice and discount all modern jazz groups containing more than fifteen musicians? There is clearly more to be said on the subject.<br> Ironically it is Scott DeVeaux who advocates for a more detailed historiography and a rethinking of conservative models in jazz history. According to DeVeaux, the current narrative is a simplification that “raises as many questions as it answers” and should be replaced with a more nuanced view of jazz history. (DeVeaux 1991, 526). Indeed, with this in mind we see that the broad generalizations made about the big band are merely a result of an incomplete narrative rather than the findings of an in depth study of the last seven decades of big band music.<br> Recent work by Alex Stewart has begun to address these issues as they pertain to big band. (Stewart 2007) (Stewart 2004). Stewart’s work establishes the necessity of big bands as a training ground for musicians seeking to develop their musical skills and technique. Equally important to Stewart, big bands provide a means for musicians to create and maintain professional networks in an ever more competitive market. While Stewart has established the vitality of big bands in jazz communities, his work has so far focused on big bands as institutions and how they affect the music communities. As a study of musician communities Stewart’s work is invaluable, but there is more to say regarding the music itself. Very little of Stewart’s research has gone past categorizing compositional differences among current big bands. More work needs to be done focusing on the music these bands make.<br> The goal of this paper is to question the current historical models and provide a more detailed understanding of the role big band music has played in jazz in the last thirty years. This will be done through the lens of the 1982 Bob Brookmeyer composition <em>Make Me Smile</em>. This study will ask two basic questions: (1) how does technique reflect the quality of a piece of music? (2) How do the musical elements in Brookmeyer’s <em>Make Me Smile</em> create an artistic vision? In support of my arguments I will use John Litweiler’s supposition from his book <em>The Freedom Principle: Jazz After 1958 </em>(Litweiler 1990) that freedom of expression comes when musical tools become a means for expression rather than a series of well-executed techniques. From this perspective, a successful composition would be able to “reveal what cannot be revealed in any other way” (Litweiler 1990, 14). Using Litweiler as a tool, I will argue that while form, orchestration, voicing, and texture are not in themselves artistically expressive, it is in their masterful combination that a unique artistic statement is made.<br><br> In 1980 Bob Brookmeyer became the music director for the Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra. Brookmeyer took the role Thad Jones had recently vacated, in the Orchestra’s previous incarnation as the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra. The opinion among critics in the early 1980s was that the Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra was in decline after the departure of Jones (Davis, 1982, 106), (Wilson 1982, 100). Brookmeyer and Lewis quickly disabused critics of this notion with a series of live records released in the early years of the 1980s. <em>Make Me Smile</em> is the title track of the third such offering, <em>Mel Lewis and the Jazz Orchestra: Make Me Smile and Other New Works</em>, recorded and released in 1982.<br> <em>Make Me Smile</em> functions as the first movement of a four movement suite. While it may have been intended on being performed through-composed, each movement ends with a board fade and all tracks except the first one begin with material from the previous movement. This is presumably because the album was recorded live at the Village Vanguard over a five day stretch from January 7<sup>th</sup> through January 11<sup>th</sup> 1982 and the best takes of each movement were selected rather than the best performance of the suite. Further evidence supporting this suite as a through-composed work is seen in the published editions of these pieces by Kendor, (Brookmeyer 1981) where the material heard at the beginning of each track is absent in the score.<br> Each movement features a different member of the Orchestra. Mel Lewis compares this to the tradition in the Ellington and Kenton bands of writing compositions around special soloists (Lewis 1982). <em>Make Me Smile</em> features a twenty nine year old Dick Oates on alto saxophone, The second movement <em>Nevermore</em> features trumpeter Tom Harrell, <em>The Nasty Dance</em>, the third movement features tenor saxophonist Joe Lavano, <em>McNeely’s Piece</em> is the final movement and features pianist Jim McNeely.<br> <br> Brookmyer’s compositional technique has been well documented in works by Rayburn Wright (Wright 1982), Fred Sturm (Sturm 1995) and others. Brookmeyer preferred new approaches to orchestration, form, harmony, voicing, and texture that not only broke new ground in composition, but also helped establish the band’s own sound. (Wright 1982, 115) This is not to say that the band abandoned its history under the direction of Thad Jones or the big band tradition in general. Indeed in the liner notes Mel Lewis attributes the band’s new sound and approach to Brookmeyer saying that “We are concerned with the future through the past. In short—first we swing, then we look ahead….” (Lewis 1982)<br> The orchestration of <em>Make Me Smile</em> is at once new and unique. The piece begins with the trumpets and the woodwinds playing various percussion instruments in a slow syncopated ostinato. Brookmeyer alters this rhythm in the ninth bar, thus introducing the material that will return at the close of the piece.<br> Brookmeyer’s solo writing for Dick Oatts at once puts to rest possible complaints about limited time for improvisation. While it is true that with the exception of Oatts’ alto solo there are only cameo appearances of improvisation by other members of the band, Oatts has plenty of time—just over half of a ten minute composition—to improvise over the elaborate formal structures devised by Brookmeyer. During the improvised sections the extensive and detailed figures provided by the band add momentum and direction for Oatts. These sections are less akin to backgrounds and instead when the alto begins to improvise, the band takes up the melody as a continuation of the character of the piece. This can be seen during the improvisation section from 2:28-7:54 (mms 122-326). It is also worthy to note that Brookmeyer’s composed melodic statements are so idiomatic to Oatts’ style that they are difficult to distinguish from his improvisations.<br> A hallmark of Brookmeyer’s orchestration is his preference of cohorts of different instruments rather than sections to define a theme. (Sections are often used to support themes with pads hits and backgrounds, but rarely are sections employed to state major melodic sections.) This has been discussed in detail in many books on composition. (Wright 1982, 117) (Sturm 1995, 100-102). The use of cohorts to state melodic material puts more textural options in play. As a result textural contrast varies widely and often times rapidly such as at 1:27 (m.65) when the saxophones briefly state the melody in unison, or at 7:54 (m. 326) when the entire band plays the melody together in dense voicings, or at 2:02 (m. 99) where a cohort of horns are instructed to burst in on an intimate section with only the instructions “Ad lib—Silly”(Brookmeyer 1982, 6), or at 5:50 (m. 226) when the piece moves on a dime from a raging shout with all horns to an intimate rhythm section moment. All these are extremely effective techniques and provide drama and intensity to the piece, but due to the forces required for these textures, they are exclusive to big bands.<br> <em>Make Me Smile</em> eschews typical strophic approaches to form. In addition to having a dramatic effect on how ideas are presented, as seen in the large form of the piece (see fig. 1) it also has a profound effect on the harmony. For instance in the opening of the piece from 0:42-2:28(mms. 29-122) the form is ABA’CA’’. The first time the A section appears at 0:42 (m. 29) it begins in Eb, quickly moving in a characteristic motion downward (Ebmaj9 | Dbmaj9 | C7sus | Ab7sus | G-7b5| etc. The root movement seen here always appears with the A sections throughout the composition.) When the A section returns at 1:38 (m. 75) it appears not only changed melodically but also in a new key, F major. This happens again just before the solo section when the A section returns briefly at 2:23 (m. 113), this time heard in a cohort of trumpets and trombones in Db major. This constant modulation and alteration of themes is a technique not common in most jazz writing, either for big band or smaller ensembles, particularly in 1982. The formal manipulation seen in <em>Make Me Smile</em> is a sophisticated interpretation of melody and harmony that adds depth to the composition.<br> Brookmeyer’s use of orchestration, texture and form are perhaps some of the most striking aspects of his compositional output. These are techniques that can elevate a composition from something that is merely good to something that it could not have been if not for these devices. Technique is something that has long been dismissed by jazz writers as a barrier to expression. (Stewart 2007, 2-5) But it is in the mastery of technique that freedom of expression is achieved. In this sense there is no difference between the devices that make Charlie Parker’s solos great and those that make a composition great.<br> It is in this way that great music becomes more than the sum of its parts. Brookmeyer’s mastery of techniques such as form and orchestration give him the freedom to be expressive. Brookmeyer creates a statement that could not be made another way with different tools, therefore this piece must be artistically expressive. This is not to say that it is good or bad it is only that this piece is a representative example of Brookmeyer’s artistic vision.<br> So far the discussion of big bands has largely been focused on their commercial zenith during the 1930s and 40s. While it is true that there have never been as many bands than during the so called swing era, it does not follow that the music made by the remaining orchestras after this period is no less valid than music made by other artists. There seems to be a prejudice amongst critics that the authenticity of a jazz performance is dependent on the number of musicians in a band. (DeVeaux 1997, 2). This view is less a statement of fact and more an aesthetic opinion.<br> Alex Stewart’s work on the relationship between big bands and jazz communities has been a great step towards a better understanding of big bands. More work is study is needed to shed more light on the music itself. With the success of current composers such as Maria Schneider, Darcy James Argue and John Hollenbeck, the time for a detailed discussion of modern big band music has arrived.<br><br><br><strong>Bibliography</strong><br> <br>Argue, Darcy James. 2009. “Spirit Music: Bob Brookmeyer at 80”. Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society. Accessed April 16, 2014. <a href="http://secretsociety.typepad.com/darcy_james_argues_secret/2009/12/spirit-music-bob-brookmeyer-at-80.html">http://secretsociety.typepad.com/darcy_james_argues_secret/2009/12/spirit-music-bob-brookmeyer-at-80.html</a><br> <br>Brookmeyer, Robert. 1981. <em>Make Me Smile</em>. Delavan: Kendor Music.<br> <br>Davis, Francis. 1982. “Mel Lewis and the Jazz Orchestra Make Me Smile”. <em>Musician </em>48:106-108.<br> <br>DeVeaux, Scott. 1991. Constructing the Jazz Tradition: Jazz Historiography. <em>Black American Literature Forum</em> 25 (3): 525-560.<br> <br>DeVeaux, Scott. 1997. <em>The Birth of Bebop: a Social and Musical History.</em> Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.<br> <br>Gioia, Ted. 2011. <em>The History of Jazz, 2<sup>nd</sup> ed.</em> New York: Oxford University Press.<br> <br>Lewis, Mel. 1982. Liner notes to <em>Mel Lewis and the Jazz Orchestra: Make Me Smile and Other New Works</em>. New York: Finesse Records.<br> <br>Litweiler, John. 1990. <em>The Freedom Principle: Jazz After 1958. </em>New York: Da Capo Press.<br> <br>Monson, Ingrid. 1998. <em>In the Course of Performance: Studies in the world of musical improvisation</em>. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.<br> <br>Robinson, Bradford J. ed Barry Kernfield. “Brookmeyer, Bob.” In <em>The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz</em> 2nd ed., vol I, edited by Barry Kernfield. London: Macmillan. 311<br> <br>Sales, Grover. 1984. <em>Jazz: America’s Classical Music.</em> Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall Press.<br> <br>Schneider, Maria with Fred Sturm. 1998. “Interview with Maria Schneider”. <em>Evanescence: Complete Scores</em>. New York: Universal Edition.<br><br>Schuller, Gunther. [1988] 2002. “Arrangement”. In <em>The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz</em> 2nd ed. vol I, edited by Barry Kernfield. London: Macmillan. 75-81. <br> <br>Stewart, Alex. 2004. “Contemporary New York City Big Bands: Composition, Arranging and Individuality in Orchestral Jazz.” <em>Ethnomusicology</em>. 48 (2) 169-202.<br> <br>Stewart, Alex. 2007. <em>Making the Scene: Contemporary New York City Big Band Jazz.</em> Berkley: University of California Press.<br> <br>Sturm, Fred. 1995. <em>Changes over Time: The Evolution of Jazz Arranging.</em> Rottenburg Germany: Advance Music.<br> <br>Taylor, William “Billy” 1990. “Jazz in the Contemporary Marketplace: Professional and Third Sector Economic Strategies for the Balance of the Century”. <em>New Perspectives on Jazz.</em> 89-98.<br> <br>Taylor, William “Billy”. 1986. “Jazz: America’s Classical Music.” <em>The Black Perspective in Music</em> 14 (1):21.<br><br>Wilson, John S. 1981. “Bob Brookmeyer—Composer and Arranger with Mel Lewis and the Jazz Orchestra.” <em>High Fidelity</em>. 31: 95-100.<br><br>Wright, Rayburn. 1982. <em>Inside the Score</em>. Kendor Music, Inc. Delavan: New York.<br> <br> <br> <br> Keith Karns