Annual Review of Jazz Studies, Volume 14

RUTGERS The State University of New Jersey ANNUAL REVIEW OF jazz studies 14 T H E IN ST IT U T E O F JA Z Z S T U D I...

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RUTGERS The State University of New Jersey

ANNUAL REVIEW OF

jazz studies 14

T H E IN ST IT U T E O F JA Z Z S T U D I E S

EDITORS

Edward Berger Henr y Martin Dan Morgenstern MANAGING EDITOR

Evan Spring ASSOCIATE EDITOR

George Bassett

studies in jazz The Institute of Jazz Studies Rutgers—The State University of New Jersey General Editors: Dan Morgenstern and Edward Berger 1. BENNY CARTER: A Life in American Music, by Morroe Berger, Edward Berger, and James Patrick, 2 vols., 1982 2. ART TATUM: A Guide to His Recorded Music, by Arnold Laubich and Ray Spencer, 1982 3. ERROLL GARNER: The Most Happy Piano, by James M. Doran, 1985 4. JAMES P. JOHNSON: A Case of Mistaken Identity, by Scott E. Brown; Discography 1917–1950, by Robert Hilbert, 1986 5. PEE WEE ERWIN: This Horn for Hire, as told to Warren W. Vaché Sr., 1987 6. BENNY GOODMAN: Listen to His Legacy, by D. Russell Connor, 1988 7. ELLINGTONIA: The Recorded Music of Duke Ellington and His Sidemen, by W. E. Timner, 1988; 4th ed., 1996 8. THE GLENN MILLER ARMY AIR FORCE BAND: Sustineo Alas / I Sustain the Wings, by Edward F. Polic; Foreword by George T. Simon, 1989 9. SWING LEGACY, by Chip Deffaa, 1989 10. REMINISCING IN TEMPO: The Life and Times of a Jazz Hustler, by Teddy Reig, with Edward Berger, 1990 11. IN THE MAINSTREAM: 18 Portraits in Jazz, by Chip Deffaa, 1992 12. BUDDY DeFRANCO: A Biographical Portrait and Discography, by John Kuehn and Arne Astrup, 1993 13. PEE WEE SPEAKS: A Discography of Pee Wee Russell, by Robert Hilbert, with David Niven, 1992 14. SYLVESTER AHOLA: The Gloucester Gabriel, by Dick Hill, 1993 15. THE POLICE CARD DISCORD, by Maxwell T. Cohen, 1993 16. TRADITIONALISTS AND REVIVALISTS IN JAZZ, by Chip Deffaa, 1993 17. BASSICALLY SPEAKING: An Oral History of George Duvivier, by Edward Berger; Musical Analysis by David Chevan, 1993 18. TRAM: The Frank Trumbauer Story, by Philip R. Evans and Larry F. Kiner, with William Trumbauer, 1994 19. TOMMY DORSEY: On the Side, by Robert L. Stockdale, 1995 20. JOHN COLTRANE: A Discography and Musical Biography, by Yasuhiro Fujioka, with Lewis Porter and Yoh-ichi Hamada, 1995

21. RED HEAD: A Chronological Survey of “Red” Nichols and His Five Pennies, by Stephen M. Stroff, 1996 22. THE RED NICHOLS STORY: After Intermission 1942–1965, by Philip R. Evans, Stanley Hester, Stephen Hester, and Linda Evans, 1997 23. BENNY GOODMAN: Wrappin’ It Up, by D. Russell Connor, 1996 24. CHARLIE PARKER AND THEMATIC IMPROVISATION, by Henry Martin, 1996 25. BACK BEATS AND RIM SHOTS: The Johnny Blowers Story, by Warren W. Vaché Sr., 1997 26. DUKE ELLINGTON: A Listener’s Guide, by Eddie Lambert, 1998 27. SERGE CHALOFF: A Musical Biography and Discography, by Vladimir Simosko, 1998 28. HOT JAZZ: From Harlem to Storyville, by David Griffiths, 1998 29. ARTIE SHAW: A Musical Biography and Discography, by Vladimir Simosko, 2000 30. JIMMY DORSEY: A Study in Contrasts, by Robert L. Stockdale, 1998 31. STRIDE!: Fats, Jimmy, Lion, Lamb and All the Other Ticklers, by John L. Fell and Terkild Vinding, 1999 32. GIANT STRIDES: The Legacy of Dick Wellstood, by Edward N. Meyer, 1999 33. JAZZ GENTRY: Aristocrats of the Music World, by Warren W. Vaché Sr., 1999 34. THE UNSUNG SONGWRITERS: America’s Masters of Melody, by Warren W. Vaché Sr., 2000 35. THE MUSICAL WORLD OF J. J. JOHNSON, by Joshua Berrett and Louis G. Bourgois III, 1999 36. THE LADIES WHO SING WITH THE BAND, by Betty Bennett, 2000 37. AN UNSUNG CAT: The Life and Music of Warne Marsh, by Safford Chamberlain, 2000 38. JAZZ IN NEW ORLEANS: The Postwar Years Through 1970, by Charles Suhor, 2001 39. THE YOUNG LOUIS ARMSTRONG ON RECORDS: A Critical Survey of the Early Recordings, 1923–1928, by Edward Brooks, 2002 40. BENNY CARTER: A Life in American Music, Second Edition, by Morroe Berger, Edward Berger, and James Patrick, 2 vols., 2002 41. CHORD CHANGES ON THE CHALKBOARD: How Public School Teachers Shaped Jazz and the Music of New Orleans, by Al Kennedy, Foreword by Ellis Marsalis Jr., 2002 42. CONTEMPORARY CAT: Terence Blanchard with Special Guests, by Anthony Magro, 2002

43. PAUL WHITEMAN: Pioneer in American Music, Volume I: 1890–1930, by Don Rayno, 2003 44. GOOD VIBES: A Life in Jazz, by Terry Gibbs with Cary Ginell, 2003 45. TOM TALBERT—HIS LIFE AND TIMES: Voices from a Vanished World of Jazz, by Bruce Talbot, 2004 46. SITTIN’ IN WITH CHRIS GRIFFIN: A Reminiscence of Radio and Recording’s Golden Years, by Warren W. Vaché, 2005 47. FIFTIES JAZZ TALK: An Oral Retrospective, by Gordon Jack, 2004 48. FLORENCE MILLS: Harlem Jazz Queen, by Bill Egan, 2004 49. SWING ERA SCRAPBOOK: The Teenage Diaries and Radio Logs of Bob Inman, 1936–1938, by Ken Vail, 2005 50. FATS WALLER ON THE AIR: The Radio Broadcasts and Discography, by Stephen Taylor, 2006 51. ALL OF ME: The Complete Discography of Louis Armstrong, by Jos Willems, 2006 52. MUSIC AND THE CREATIVE SPIRIT: Innovators in Jazz, Improvisation, and the Avant Garde, by Lloyd Peterson, 2006 53. THE STORY OF FAKE BOOKS: Bootlegging Songs to Musicians, by Barry Kernfeld, 2006 54. ELLINGTONIA: The Recorded Music of Duke Ellington and His Sidemen, 5th edition, by W. E. Timner, 2007 55. JAZZ FICTION: A History and Comprehensive Reader’s Guide, by David Rife, 2007 56. MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: My Life In Music, by Lalo Schifrin, edited by Richard H. Palmer, 2008 57. THE CONTRADICTIONS OF JAZZ, by Paul Rinzler, 2008 58. EARLY TWENTIETH-CENTURY BRASS IDIOMS: Art, Jazz, and Other Popular Traditions, edited by Howard T. Weiner, 2008 59. THE MUSIC AND LIFE OF THEODORE “FATS” NAVARRO: Infatuation, by Leif Bo Petersen and Theo Rehak, 2009 60. WHERE THE DARK AND THE LIGHT FOLKS MEET: Race and the Mythology, Politics, and Business of Jazz, by Randall Sandke, 2009

Annual Review of Jazz Studies is published by Scarecrow Press and the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers—The State University of New Jersey. Submissions and editorial correspondence should be sent to: The Editors, Annual Review of Jazz Studies The Institute of Jazz Studies Dana Library, Rutgers—The State University 185 University Avenue Newark, NJ 07102 or by email to Ed Berger ([email protected]) and Dan Morgenstern ([email protected]). Publishers should send review copies of books to the above mailing address, marked to the attention of the book review editor. Authors preparing manuscripts for consideration should follow The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition. In particular: (1) except for foreignlanguage quotations, manuscripts must be in English; (2) all material must be neat and double-spaced, with adequate margins; (3) notes must be grouped together at the end of the manuscript, not as footnotes at page bottoms, following either of the two documentation styles in chapters 16 and 17 of The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition; (4) authors should append a two- or three-sentence biographical note; (5) text must be in Microsoft Word; (6) music examples, complex tables, photographs, and other graphics should be submitted as separate computer image files, not embedded in the Microsoft Word file; (7) image files must be presentable for publication; authors should take into account that each image and its caption have to fit within a page frame of 4-by-6 inches (10.5-by-16 cm); captions (including the example number, when applicable) should be included within the text, not in the image file; (8) if a submission accepted for publication includes music examples transcribed from recordings, the author may be required to send in a CD of the recordings to facilitate editing the paper and checking the accuracy of transcriptions. Authors alone are responsible for the contents of their articles and for obtaining permission for use of material under copyright protection.

ANNUAL REVIEW OF JAZZ STUDIES 14 Edited by Edward Berger Henry Martin Dan Morgenstern Managing Editor Evan Spring Associate Editor George Bassett

The Scarecrow Press, Inc. Lanham, Maryland • Toronto • Plymouth, UK and The Institute of Jazz Studies Rutgers—The State University of New Jersey 2009

SCARECROW PRESS, INC. Published in the United States of America by Scarecrow Press, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.scarecrowpress.com Estover Road Plymouth PL6 7PY United Kingdom Copyright © 2009 by Rutgers—The State University of New Jersey (Rutgers Institute of Jazz Studies, Newark, NJ, 07102) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. ISSN: 0731-0641 ISBN: 978-0-8108-6919-6 (hardcover: alk. paper) ISBN: 978-0-8108-6920-2 (pbk.: alk. paper)

∞™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Manufactured in the United States of America.

CONTENTS

Preface

ix

ARTICLES Ellingtonian Extended Composition and the Symphonic Jazz Model John Howland Churchy Blues, Bluesy Church: Vernacular Tropes, Expression, and Structure in Charles Mingus’s “Ecclusiastics” Horace J. Maxile Jr. Charlie Parker and Popular Music Brian Priestley

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65 83

Chappie Willet: A Jazz Arranger in Swing Era New York John Wriggle

101

BOOK REVIEWS One O’clock Jump: The Unforgettable History of the Oklahoma City Blue Devils, by Douglas Henry Daniels, and Kansas City Jazz: From Ragtime to Bebop—A History, by Frank Driggs and Chuck Haddix Todd Bryant Weeks Circular Breathing: The Cultural Politics of Jazz in Britain, by George McKay, and The Evolution of Jazz in Britain, 1880–1935, by Catherine Parsonage Howard Rye

189

201

Books Received at the Institute of Jazz Studies Vincent Pelote

213

About the Editors

217

About the Contributors

219

About the Institute of Jazz Studies

221 vii

PREFACE

Each of the four intriguing articles in this issue of ARJS to some degree contravenes accepted precepts of jazz orthodoxy. John Howland, our astute colleague at Rutgers, traces the connection between Duke Ellington’s extended works and the “symphonic jazz” model of the 1920s as exemplified by Paul Whiteman and his chief arranger, Ferde Grofé. Although in no way detracting from Ellington’s vast legacy, Howland’s carefully reasoned thesis will no doubt spark controversy. Horace J. Maxile Jr., in his study of Charles Mingus’s “Ecclusiastics,” takes an unfashionably broad perspective, applying recent developments in cultural theory as well as the formal tools of traditional music theory. Perhaps such a multifaceted methodology is the only way to grasp the essence of an artist as complex as Charles Mingus. Brian Priestley’s exploration of the ties between Charlie Parker and popular music challenges the canonical depiction of Parker as a lone revolutionary genius, whose innovations seemingly sprang from nowhere. By examining Parker’s tone, melodic sense, and repertoire, as well as his efforts to appeal to a wider audience, Priestley underscores the saxophonist’s ties to the popular music of his time. Finally, John Wriggle, a graduate of the Master’s Program in Jazz History and Research at Rutgers-Newark, presents an extensive examination of the life and work of arranger Chappie Willet, an unsung hero of the Swing Era. Wriggle notes that arrangers like Willet “found themselves in the role, however hidden from the public, of defining the sound of a generation.” The book reviews cover a cross-section of the burgeoning jazz literature, and Vincent Pelote has again compiled a list of books received at the Institute of Jazz Studies. We encourage publishers and authors to send copies of their works for inclusion in future listings and for possible review. Please note that our ongoing “Jazz Research Bibliography”—a listing of scholarly jazz articles printed in journals not specifically devoted to jazz—will resume with the next issue.

ix

ELLINGTONIAN EXTENDED COMPOSITION AND THE SYMPHONIC JAZZ MODEL John Howland

While it is now often remembered merely as a minor footnote in most histories of American music, 1920s “symphonic jazz” exerted a significant influence on the music-arranging conventions of a wide variety of interwar entertainment forms. In popular music of the 1920s and 1930s, the foremost exponents of this idiom in both its dance band arranging and popular concert work traditions were the bandleader Paul Whiteman and his chief arranger, Ferde Grofé. Whitemanesque symphonic jazz was a stylistically heterogeneous idiom that referenced jazz, syncopated popular music, African American music, musical theater, and the light classics. The “jazz” of symphonic jazz paralleled 1920s journalistic uses of the term as both an adjective and a verb to imply a mildly irreverent interbreeding of white and black, high and low, and culturally profane and sacred music. The “symphonic” characterization of this idiom referenced the music’s heightened theatricality, its comparatively complex episodic, multithematic formal structures, and especially its “sophisticated” introductions, interludes, and codas, its unexpected modulations and dramatic cadenzas, and its emphasis on orchestrational and stylistic variety. This broadly disseminated idiom can be heard in arranging and concert work traditions in popular music, musical theater, the variety prologue shows of the deluxe movie palaces, and certain genres of film music of the late 1920s and 1930s. The proponents of Whiteman-style symphonic jazz sought not so much to position this idiom as high art, but rather to mold the musics of Tin Pan Alley, jazz, and the jazz-derived entertainments of Broadway, Harlem, and Hollywood into forms that could endow these idioms with an aura of glamour and elevated cultural refinement. Across the late 1920s to early 1940s, despite Whiteman’s continued popularity, there was a new critical desire to redefine the concert work tradition of symphonic jazz through the aesthetics of African American–style hot jazz. The origins of this shift are found in the development of the unique public image of Duke Ellington, the “serious jazz composer.” This image of Ellington was linked to both the agenda of Ellington’s own publicity machine and his more sophisticated compositions of the late 1920s and 1930s. 1

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Annual Review of Jazz Studies

This development culminated in the publicity and criticism for Ellington’s landmark 1943 “Tone Parallel to the History of the Negro in America,” Black, Brown and Beige (hereafter BB&B). In his 1993 essay “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige,” Mark Tucker explored the models and antecedents that Ellington drew upon to conceptualize and compose his “Tone Parallel.”1 Tucker concluded his study by proposing several avenues of further research. First and foremost, he suggested the need to examine Ellington’s composition against the backdrop of earlier “large-scale jazz works designed for the concert hall,” especially the concertstyle works promoted by Paul Whiteman. I contend that the design of BB&B does in fact represent the apotheosis of Ellington’s unique adaptations of—and expansions on—the model of Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. The relationship between Whitemanesque and Ellingtonian symphonic jazz is indelibly tied to questions of both cultural reception and structural design. This relationship is evidenced in Ellington’s concert-style works of the 1930s and early 1940s, up to and including BB&B. Ellington developed his compositional models for BB&B in the 1930s, a period when such efforts were received as part of a greater sphere of Whiteman-style symphonic jazz activities. The form of BB&B transcends the “elaborate recipes for giving a jazz tune extended form” that 1930s jazz critics like Winthrop Sargeant had contemptuously identified with Whitemanesque symphonic jazz.2 BB&B also reveals Ellington’s emerging interest in extended, suite-based forms. His expansions on the symphonic jazz idiom are found at multiple structural levels in BB&B—in the large-scale arranging routines of its various episodic segments, in the construction and function of its various “developmental” interludes, in the unusual structures of its themes, in its rich network of motivic cross references, and so forth. It is important to identify the ways in which this work expands upon—and transcends—the characteristic “recipes” of symphonic jazz form. These relations are revealed through comparisons between the compositional design of BB&B and the concert jazz models that came before it, both by Ellington and his peers. This article examines the relationship between Ellingtonian “extended” composition and the symphonic jazz model through a study of the compositional devices and forms employed in Ellington’s concert-style works up to and including BB&B.

JAZZ POLITICS AND THE WHITEMAN-ELLINGTON CONNECTION Paul Whiteman is now largely forgotten in mass culture, but his legacy has undergone a small degree of cultural reassessment over the last several

Ellington and Symphonic Jazz

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years. Most notably, Whiteman has been the subject of two recent books and a concert by the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra.3 Despite the generally positive light of this partial return to public view, the jazz world still harbors deep concerns about the public’s understanding of Whiteman’s music. Any attempt to compare the legacy of Whiteman with that of a revered African American peer like Duke Ellington or Louis Armstrong can still receive severe reprobation from certain jazz enthusiasts. Nowadays, this reaction is less likely to result from a negative aesthetic assessment of Whiteman’s music than from a protective reaction rooted in deeply invested concerns about policing the boundaries of the jazz canon. This divisive concern about whether Whiteman’s music can rightfully be called “jazz” has a long history that is bound up in the ideological politics of jazz criticism, musical style, and race, dating as far back as the 1925 essay “Jazz Contra Whiteman” by the American critic Roger Pryor Dodge.4 The critical response to one of the new Whiteman books, Joshua Berrett’s 2004 Louis Armstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz, illustrates a number of points about the modern “jazz contra Whiteman” debate. For example, one critic argued that what is desperately needed [now for Whiteman] is a comprehensive reissue series of the kind routinely afforded to . . . Goodman, Basie, and Duke Ellington. Which is not to say that Whiteman is a jazz giant on the same level with them. A recent book published by scholar Joshua Berrett, “Louis Armstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz” . . . , goes rather too far in that direction. He has [a] . . . well-researched narrative, but his central thesis—that Armstrong and Whiteman were equivalent “Kings of Jazz”—is absurd. If Mr. Berrett had written a biography of Whiteman rather than make such a ridiculous claim, he might have written the best work yet on this pivotal figure in American pop.5

This critic’s review is less concerned with Berrett’s assessment of Whiteman’s legacy than with demarcating a firm division between canonic jazz figures and popular music. While this critic notably advocates a reassessment of Whiteman’s “pivotal” role in “American pop,” he also suggests that there are major differences in the inherent cultural and artistic merits of Whiteman’s “pop” and the music of a venerated “jazz giant” such as Armstrong. His references to their valuative “levels” in cultural or artistic merit invoke a longstanding, bifurcated view of American culture as consisting of either “art” (i.e., the bona fide jazz tradition) or “entertainment.”

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This often rigid viewpoint does not take into consideration the hybrid nuances that can exist between high and low cultures. Despite this critic’s qualified support for reevaluating Whiteman’s legacy in popular culture, it is surprising to see defensive sentiments of this sort in the early twenty-first century, particularly in a jazz critic’s discussion of Armstrong, a musician who routinely bridged the worlds of art and entertainment. These concerns over policing the canonic boundaries of jazz are shaped by essentialist views of the jazz tradition and its relation to race and artistic creativity. Such perspectives do not often acknowledge the many pluralistic gray areas in American culture, identity politics, and racial interchange. Whiteman’s career is an exemplary model of the hybrid middlebrow culture that overlapped with the first half-century of the jazz tradition. The social and aesthetic complexities of this pluralistic commercial middle ground are far more interesting than the dated question of whether Whiteman is or is not part of the jazz tradition. In any consideration of the broad range of popular music discussed in 1920s “jazz” criticism, one must bear in mind that the primary attributes that post-1930 jazz critics considered essential to “true” or “hot” jazz (improvisation, the blues, swing, race, etc.) were not nearly as commonplace or prominently featured in syncopated popular music until the later 1920s. Even at that point, despite the “sweet-versus-hot” distinction having come into circulation, “authentic” jazz was lumped together critically and popularly with the music of sweet dance bands, hotel bands, and symphonic jazz. The divisions between these stylistic idioms were clean-cut only in theory and in individual recordings. In practice, popular music of this era encouraged stylistic confluences derived from variety entertainment. This entertainment aesthetic dominated the repertories and performance models of many white and black dance bands of the 1920s. Moreover, many bona fide jazz musicians—white and black—pursued diverse careers as professional musicians for hire, regardless of the stylistic demands and performance context of a given job, even if the sounds of these orchestras differed in important ways. This broad, variety entertainment–based musical culture of the 1920s was a major concern for post-1930 jazz critics who felt that the earlier “jazz” journalism of the 1920s was far too inclusive and confused about what constituted jazz and which elements in this novel music contributed to its infectious vitality. What is often glossed over in post-1930 critical discussions of 1920s “jazz” is that these various musical styles were in fact an overlapping family of syncopated musics in dialogue with one another. Post-1930 jazz critics sought to divorce “authentic” jazz from this context in their quest to de-


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fine a stylistically pure tradition. Charles Hamm has rightly noted that the terminological confusion with the idea of “jazz” in the 1920s originated in part from the “questionable theoretical assumption . . . that ‘jazz’ was a product of white American culture in the 1920s and that it grew out of the New York–based Tin Pan Alley style of songwriting.”6 The white critics of the 1930s seeking a more exclusive definition of jazz were promoting stylistic and ethnic traits that they personally valued in improvisation-based, hot-style black jazz. This post-1930 need to construct a historical narrative of jazz authenticity required a firm delineation of stylistic boundaries. To achieve aesthetic priority, these critics—including Roger Pryor Dodge, Hughes Panassié, Frederic Ramsey Jr., and Charles Edward Smith, among others—also sought to redefine authentic jazz as an “Art,” with the music of Duke Ellington being central to this agenda. The critical project to reposition the public’s perception of jazz from lowly commercial popular culture to an intellectual high art underscores the power of the myth of class mobility in American culture. The driving impetus behind this project was the belief that authentic jazz—and jazz musicians—should be afforded the same rarefied aura of high-culture prestige, status, and artistic entitlement that was tied to the classical music tradition. This class-based elevation of the style and performance aesthetics of black jazz (whether improvised or pre-composed) was intimately entwined with a simultaneous critical devaluation of the symphonic-style, arranged “jazz” of Whitemanesque entertainment. This development is the root of the critical fall of Whiteman from the jazz canon, as well as the dialectical opposition of Ellington and Whiteman as the respective signifiers for jazz and non-jazz stylistic poles. In constructing the boundaries and narrative framework of an “authentic” jazz tradition, these critics were successful in outmoding the privileged cultural authority of other syncopated popular music styles of the 1920s, especially symphonic jazz. A central ideological tool employed by this new critical school was the powerful dialectic that devalued “commercial” interests in favor of disinterested, creative “art” or “folk art” expressions (a romanticized notion of folk culture lay at the heart of much of this new criticism). This critical tool constructed a virtuous aura of artistic purity around black improvised instrumental jazz and simultaneously damned Whiteman and symphonic jazz. While this shift in the definition of jazz forged the modern discourses of jazz historiography and ultimately elevated the improvised black jazz tradition to the privileged position of an art, it greatly shortchanged our present-day understanding of the larger cultural context of the bona fide jazz tradition in the first half of the twentieth century.7 What the now-accepted narrative of authentic jazz marginalized was the

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extensive dialogue, interchanges, and musical overlaps between the worlds of “real” jazz and its syncopated, “jazzy” siblings in American popular music. There is a great value in this narrower, present-day definition of the jazz tradition—one that I am not willing to jettison. However, this definition requires more nuance concerning the tradition’s overlaps with popular culture, since throughout its history authentic jazz has by no means existed in an isolated cultural ghetto. Scott DeVeaux has recently made a useful distinction between the “core and boundaries” of the jazz tradition. By “core,” he means to identify “the essence of the idiom as we have defined it.”8 This idea includes both the tradition that has been passed on between musicians and the tradition canonized in post-1930 jazz scholarship. The “boundaries” of this genre are what John Szwed has referred to as the “jazz”—or jazz-in-quotes—tradition.9 Szwed’s idea of a parallel “jazz” tradition in part stands for the broad, popular-culture “boundaries” of the authentic jazz tradition—i.e., “jazz” represents the family of “jazzy,” syncopated popular musics that extend from Tin Pan Alley and symphonic jazz to stage and film musicals, Hollywood jazz-based film underscoring, 1950s jazz-styled mood music, and even the jazz stylizations of modern electronica subgenres like chill out. For many post-1930 jazz critics, Ellington was a key figure for defining the jazz tradition, while Whiteman came to represent the “confused” (and thus dangerous) “jazz” tradition in popular culture. The 1999 centennial of Ellington’s birth provides a wealth of journalism that illustrates the powerful image Ellington has gained in American culture. This image is ideally captured (and even shaped) in the centennial remarks by Wynton Marsalis: “Duke’s artistic development and sustained achievement were among the most spectacular in the history of music. . . . [M]ore than any other composer, he codified the sound of America in the 20th century.”10 This quotation reveals the sentiments of many people who are invested in Ellington as black America’s—and even America’s—highest representative of musical artistry and genius. While it rightfully celebrates the rich artistry of one of the most famous musicians of the twentieth century, Ellington’s new popular culture status as “America’s greatest composer” is commonly intertwined with a romanticized idea of the autodidactic nature of genius as well as entrenched race-based assumptions about Ellington’s artistic achievement. This present essay examines the compositional roots of Ellington’s early extended works. Evidence suggests that part of Ellington’s compositional development involved the adaptation, expansion, and ultimate transcendence of a formal model that was popular among Ellington’s white arranger peers. The wholly American tensions of race, class, and cultural identity


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that unduly attach themselves to this observation create an unfortunate potential for misunderstanding. Not all the possible paths of influence in Ellington’s compositional process can be adequately debated, supported, or refuted here. As Mark Tucker and others have revealed, Ellington drew upon a wealth of intellectual inspirations for creating the narrative program of BB&B.11 In writing the music for BB&B and other concert-length works, he likely drew inspiration from an equally diverse number of sources. At the most concrete level, the compositional act can involve transparent adaptations of generic or individual formal models; but it can also be far more abstract, in which case there may be no real evidence of formal connections between a work and its inspiration. Beyond the formal evidence that Ellington might have borrowed a generic formal model from the forgotten concert works of the Whiteman camp, there is also significant biographical evidence of Ellington/Whiteman connections. This evidence does not mean that Ellington did not draw more abstract compositional inspiration from African American peers—and friends—like James P. Johnson and William Grant Still. He very likely did to some level, but I have found few obvious signs of formal modeling, or even biographical evidence linking Ellington’s extended jazz works to the concert works of these two individuals. To say that Ellington’s concert works have compositionally based connections to popular culture, or to white popular music, does not in any way diminish his cultural accomplishments or his authenticity as a jazz musician or black artist. In the early- to mid-twentieth century, the very idea of a “jazz” concert work already implied a mixing of cultural classes, art and entertainment, and race. It should not come as a surprise then that a musician of Ellington’s great talent might occasionally adapt formal models from contemporary arrangements and compositions; composers have always done this, regardless of the boundaries of culture, class, geography, or race. As Ellington openly acknowledged, he and Whiteman had a long personal association. In his autobiography, Ellington states: Paul Whiteman was known as the King of Jazz, and no one as yet has come near carrying that title with more certainty and dignity. . . . We knew him ’way back when we were at the Kentucky Club [1924–25] . . . Whiteman . . . very loudly proclaimed our musical merit. . . . In 1939 [sic; the concert occurred on December 25, 1938], Paul Whiteman organized . . . his most successful [Carnegie Hall] concert. He . . . chose several people . . . to write original compositions connected thematically . . . with bells. I was honored to be among them, and my work was The Blue Belles of Harlem.12

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Another typical expression of Ellington’s respect for Whiteman can be found in a 1939 interview that was published just after the Carnegie Hall concert of December 1938: Mr. Whiteman deserves credit for discovering and recognizing ability or genius in composers whose works would not normally be accepted in dance bands. Whiteman makes it possible to commercialize these works. . . . [H]e has maintained a “higher level” for many years, and . . . there is no doubt but that he has carried jazz to the highest position it ever has enjoyed. He put it in the ears of the serious audience and they liked it. He is still Mr. Whiteman.13

Mark Tucker suggests that this latter interview displays Ellington’s “familiar smiling mask of diplomacy” and that it was rare for Ellington to “air . . . negative opinions publicly.”14 Noting the context of this quotation (a Down Beat article concerning Ellington’s views on contemporary bandleaders), Tucker contends that Ellington’s concluding sentence (“He is still Mr. Whiteman”) was just such an act of tactful, “ambiguous” diplomacy. This issue is more complex than Tucker suggests, in that Ellington’s autobiography and various interviews (over many years’ time) reveal a long-held respect and admiration for Whiteman’s promotion of jazz-derived concert works. While there probably is some note of ambiguity in this quotation, there is also an element of genuine (if guarded) appreciation for Whiteman. Ellington seems to have viewed Whiteman as a unique bandleader set apart from his peers by the ambitious concert jazz projects that he was singularly associated with. As noted, Whiteman “very loudly proclaimed [Ellington’s] musical merit.” Whiteman had a long history of encouraging Ellington’s compositional ambitions. Ellington seemed quite appreciative of these efforts, as evidenced by essays under Ellington’s name, his extant publicity materials, and numerous contemporary interviews. For many years, Ellington’s promotional-management agencies were proud to advertise that Whiteman’s orchestra had performed Creole Rhapsody at the presentation of Ellington’s award for best American composition of 1932 (by the New York Schools of Music). Ellington’s publicists likewise made good use of the fact that Whiteman conducted Ellington’s Mood Indigo in a 1933 New York Philharmonic Symphony concert at the Lewisohn Stadium of the City College of New York. (The number was arranged by Whiteman’s staff arranger, Carroll Huxley, with the Philharmonic augmented by Whiteman’s musicians.)15 In addition, as noted, Whiteman commissioned Ellington to write Blue Belles of Harlem for Whiteman’s


9

1938 Carnegie Hall concert as part of a series of short orchestral pieces on the subject of bells. Lastly, in 1944–45, Ellington was invited to contribute a composition to Whiteman’s new Contemporary Composers Concert (or Music Out of the Blue) radio series on the Blue Network (later the American Broadcasting Corporation).16 This commission resulted in Ellington’s Blutopia, a four-and-a-half-minute, concert-style work premiered by Whiteman’s radio orchestra on November 21, 1944. This last project strongly suggests both Whiteman’s continued commitment to Ellington’s concert work efforts and his favorable opinion of the extended compositions from Ellington’s first two Carnegie Hall concerts.17 (Ellington premiered a big band orchestration of Blutopia at his December 19, 1944 Carnegie Hall concert.) During this period, a number of other conductors in the Whiteman mold also invited Ellington to contribute concert works to various programs and projects. In 1941, for instance, the conductor and composer Meredith Willson commissioned “Music for Americans,” a 10-part score series that included Ellington’s American Lullaby. Willson premiered the composition series on his radio show, performed it as a suite with the Los Angeles Philharmonic at the Hollywood Bowl, and recorded the scores with his Whiteman-modeled, 30-piece concert orchestra. These works were additionally issued as piano solos in the Whiteman-originated Modern American Music score series published by Robbins Music (to be discussed later).18 In 1950, NBC and Arturo Toscanini announced a suite of popular-style score commissions, similar in aesthetic scope to the Music Out of the Blue and Willson projects, to be called Portrait of New York.19 While a planned Victor recording of the suite never materialized and the broadcast performance has yet to be verified, this commission resulted in one of Ellington’s most important concert works, Harlem, which he premiered with his own orchestra in 1951.20 These events and score commissions are little discussed in Ellington literature, but evidence suggests they were not peripheral to his ambitions as a composer. A final connection between Ellington and Whitemanesque concert jazz can be found in Ellington’s long association with Jack Robbins. As we will see below, Robbins was a close friend and business associate of Whiteman. Most important, Robbins Music published the extensive Modern American Music score series, a collection of symphonic jazz concert works that were premiered and/or commissioned by Whiteman and his associates. Several key compositions that connect Ellington to the symphonic jazz formal model were published in this series.

10


WHITEMANESQUE SYMPHONIC JAZZ The formal procedures of Black, Brown and Beige represent Ellington’s most thorough exploration to that date of the techniques of “extended jazz composition” that he had experimented with since his earliest concert-style work, Rhapsody Jr., copyrighted in 1926. The etymological roots of these ideas—“jazz composition” and “extended jazz” form—are uniquely tied to Ellington’s development as a composer in the 1930s. In contemporary critical efforts that sought to culturally elevate the blues, African American aesthetics, and the music of Harlem entertainment, the idea of jazz composition was held to be distinct from both jazz arrangement and Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. For this reason, it is important to understand this latter tradition before exploring Ellingtonian symphonic jazz. The symphonic jazz arranging idiom was a product of the early 1920s. In Grofé’s arranging work for Whiteman, this tradition is built on several interrelated topics, including: (1) “characteristic” scoring effects; (2) the concept of an arranging routine and its use in creating extended episodic form; (3) the Tin Pan Alley “modern” idiom and its use of extended harmony, modulation, and sequence; and (4) the relation of this arranging tradition to contemporary novelty ragtime. The governing aesthetic of this dance band idiom is based on stylistic variety, entertainment value, and novelty. These attributes are centrally expressed through the idiom’s use of what period arrangers called “characteristic effects.” This category of scoring effects references ethnic, nationalistic, and generic musical styles and their distinct instrumental combinations, rhythmic components, and melodic and harmonic traits. Arrangements were based on combinations of these scoring effects and a variety of sweet and/or hot jazz dance band styles. In Tin Pan Alley, the term “routine” denoted a song arrangement’s ordering of verse, patter, and chorus strains, the repetitions of these elements, their combination with instrumental effects and modulation, and the use of an introduction, interludes, and/or a coda. In his most complex scoring routines, Grofé’s arrangements involved three separate thematic strains and a variety of these elements. These concert-style song arrangements were a foundation for the Whitemanesque concert work tradition, and they in turn owed a great deal to both novelty ragtime form and the scoring routines of the grand production number traditions of contemporary variety entertainments. The novelty piano tradition, a 1920s, virtuosic, white extension of ragtime, served as a structural model for the Whitemanesque concert work tra-


11

dition. A typical three-strain novelty rag form is outlined in Example 1. This three-strain form is derived from the strain form models of classic ragtime and nineteenth-century marches. This model became the central formal template for the novelty rag tradition following the 1921 publication of Zez Confrey’s immensely successful Kitten on the Keys.21 In this tradition, strains are generally 16 or 32 bars in length. Modulation commonly occurs between the first and second strains, usually by third relation. Following the B strain, there is a return to the initial key and the A strain, often by way of a modulating interlude. The C strain, the so-called trio, is set in the key of the subdominant. Introductions and interludes are frequently four to eight measures in length. As contrasting modulatory passages, these episodes are generally colored with “modernistic” Tin Pan Alley chromaticism and/or whole-tone-based or extended harmonies. All these traits are important to the symphonic jazz concert work tradition. Symphonic jazz most fully flowered as a concert work idiom in the period from 1926 to 1930. This era is also significant in that commercial “concert edition” dance band orchestrations and piano solos in the symphonic jazz style had become big business for Tin Pan Alley publishers. In 1927, Whiteman himself instigated the short-lived “Paul Whiteman Publications” to publish his orchestra’s arrangements. This label was distributed by the Tin Pan Alley giant, Robbins Music, which by 1928 took over the series and narrowed its focus to concert works.22 It was through this sizable score series that the vaguely titled Whitemanesque idiom of “Modern American Music” gained considerable circulation. The relation of novelty piano to Whitemanesque Modern American Music can be articulated by examining one of the latter idiom’s most popular and prototypical concert-style works: Louis Alter’s 1928 Manhattan Serenade.23 Table 1 shows a formal outline of this composition. Novelty form is apparent in the work’s structure of three 16-bar strains, two 4-bar modulatory interludes, and a 4-bar introduction; modulations that occur between each strain; and the subdominant trio key of the third strain. There are several significant departures from the novelty tradition. The most immediate difference lies at the level of basic musical character. While novelty compositions were based on an unvarying dance pulse, Manhattan Serenade

Example 1.

The typical form of 1920s “novelty piano” compositions

12


displays rather melodramatic, widely varying tempi, performance expressions, and dynamic shadings, as well as liberal smatterings of ritards and rubato cadenzas. Formally, there are expansions on the novelty idiom both in the way the music is organized and in a more elastic approach to episodic form. In particular, Strains B1 and C2 reveal this new sense of episodic elasticity. For instance, B1 is extended by cadential delay and the four-bar, varied restatement of its (b) phrase. In C2 the episode departs from its original strain form in its eighth measure and thereafter repeats two measures and segues to Interlude 2. The Modern American Music idiom further differs from the novelty tradition in its use of both classically styled cadenzas and the expansion of interludes to include development-type material. Music critics have historically used the ideological rhetoric of classical development as a central tool for either discrediting or defending the compositional achievements of many concert jazz works. These types of critical responses permeate the reception histories of both George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Ellington’s early extended compositions. In this sort of critical reception, the ideal of thematic development is understood to mean the high intellectual standards of post-Beethovenian “organic development” in the classical repertory. In this tradition, musical form must be largely through-composed and logically unfold—or rather, “organically” unfold—through the perpetual structural transformations of thematic materials. The classical tradition and Western music in general exhibit many means of thematic development that are far simpler than the organic development model of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. In fact, various 1920s and 1930s texts and articles on popular music arranging—most of which were produced by symphonic dance band

Table 1.

Formal outline of Louis Alter’s Manhattan Serenade (1928)

mm

section

key

1 5 21 40 56 60 61 77 89 93

Introduction = 4 mm. Strain A = 16 mm. (a1b1a2b2) Strain B1 = 16 + 4 extension (a1a2b1a3 + b2) Strain B2 = 16 mm. (a1a2b1a4) Interlude 1 = 4 mm. Cadenza Strain C1 = 16 mm. (a1a2bc) Strain C2 = 10 mm. of orig. (a1a2b2 → interruption) Interlude 2 = 4 mm. Strain A3 (“recap”) = 16 mm. + 2 mm. extension

Cmin Cmin A A chrom. n/a F F mod. Cmin


13

arrangers—casually speak of employing thematic “development” techniques in the interludes of dance band arranging routines. This tradition can be seen in the 1926 book Arranging for the Modern Dance Orchestra, by Arthur Lange, who was the mid-1920s arranger for Whiteman’s rival, Roger Wolfe Kahn. In this text, Lange discusses the desirability of “developing” verse and chorus themes in the interludes and third “arranger’s chorus” of typical arranging routines of the day. He even refers to these passages simply as the “development” sections of a routine, as if alluding to sonata-allegro form.24 The idea of using thematic “development” textures in popular music arranging has a long history that extends well beyond symphonic jazz. In jazz-derived concert works, the “development idea” began as an expansion of these simple developmental conventions in 1920s dance band arranging. In the context of the concert work tradition of symphonic jazz, these gestures of motivic manipulation were meant to be signs of musical sophistication. Most of the Modern American Music scores exhibit fairly simple approaches to the development idea. In this repertory, there is clearly a shared body of development conventions that has passed between various composers and arrangers. Most of this idiom’s thematic transformations are employed as a means for strain extension, and these transformations are based on only slight melodic elaborations and changes in orchestration. The idiom thus employs both the development idea and the melodramatic, rhapsodic style of “serious” concert music in much the same way that a 1920s symphonic jazz arranger like Ferde Grofé had employed “characteristic” scoring effects within dance music. The relation of Whitemanesque concert works to the development idea can be illustrated by a brief consideration of Ferde Grofé’s 1928 Metropolis.25 This 20-minute work represents a new level of sophistication in its expansion on the symphonic jazz formal model and its developmental motivic and strain manipulation techniques. An outline of this composition’s form is shown in Table 2. This work expands the novelty compositional model to its limits. Metropolis is constructed from four strains, three of which are 16-bar forms. What is evident in Table 2 is the extent to which introductions and interludes have expanded and taken on new developmental functions. Metropolis displays an even greater elasticity in strain forms than Manhattan Serenade. There is an underlying tongue-in-cheek playfulness to this work, a sense that for every instance of highbrow posturing there is some element of entertainment to counter such seriousness. This mixture of stylistic markers is illustrated by contrasting the work’s popular, classical, and hybrid stylistic references. The first 20 measures of the work, for instance, establish a

Table 2.

Formal outline of Ferde Grofé’s Metropolis (1928)

mm

section

comments

1 63 79 97 NEW 114

Introduction Strain A1 Strain A2 Strain A3 Piano cadenza Strain B

134

Interlude 1

193 197

Vamp Strain B(b)1

Based on Strain A (“Skyline”) motive. “Skyline” 16 mm. (a1a2bc) 8 mm. → interrupted (10 mm. extension) 10 mm. → interrupted (10 mm. varied end) Recording inserts piano cadenza (rel. to m. 134 ff.). 16 mm. + 4 mm. insert (a1ba2a3). Phrase a3 includes 4 mm. insert between 1st and 2nd mm. At m. 146, false Strain B (4 mm. only). At m. 161, there is a transposed variation of m. 134 ff. vamp (4 mm.) 8 mm. original → 10 mm. rhythmic extension of an A minor chord vamp (4 mm.) 8 mm. original in minor key → 10 mm. rhythmic extension of an A chord (and its neighbor chord) Pno cadenza at m. 262. Foreshadows Strain C. “Fox Trot.” 16 mm. (aabc) “Fugato.” 16 mm. (two 8 mm. themes) Two additional entries (8 + 8)

215 217

262 321 337 NEW 369 438 444 458 472 476 488

Strain B(b)2 + Extension

508

Interlude 2 Strain C Strain B(b)3 “Fugato” cont. Interlude 3 Intro to Strain D Strain D1 Strain D2 Strain D3 Interlude 4 Strain D4 (Problematized) Interlude 5

544 560

Strain A Coda

“Fox Trot.” 12 mm. → 2 mm. extension 12 mm. → 2 mm. extension 4 mm. → interruption 12 mm. + extension (mm. 499–507 = rhythmic palindrome). Extended sequence-based passage from m. 522: [a] 4x; [b] 12x; [c] 5x repetition of final m. of [b] “Recap.” 10 mm. → 7 mm. extension Mm. 569–72 = 9 mm. rhythmic palindrome.

Notes: Outline derived from both Whiteman’s 1928 Victor recording of Metropolis (Victor 35933, 35934; rec. 13–17 March 1928) and the Paul Whiteman “Condensed Score,” from the Paul Whiteman Archives of Williams College. This “Condensed Score” (written on its cover) is an annotated copy of the Robbins 1928 piano solo. The publication was adapted as a conductor’s score for Whiteman at some later date. This score includes an insert for the “Fugato” section that is included in the 1928 recording, as well as extensive cuts that are not observed in this recording. Also, in 1945, Robbins Music published a short piano solo entitled “Skyline” that was derived from Strain A of Metropolis.


15

stereotypical “classical” texture in the aptly described “pomposo” Introduction, marcato brass fanfares, rolled timpani, and a quasi-Lisztian piano cadenza. The sincerity of such rhapsodic, “pomposo” scoring effects is seriously undermined in the comic vocal trio of Strain C, which is scored for a dance band rhythm section and the jazz-pop vocal harmonies of the Rhythm Boys (a group that included Bing Crosby). Lastly, a merging of the jazz voice with a characteristic classical effect is heard in Strain B3, which presents a four-voice “Fugato” section scored in New Orleans-style jazz polyphony. The “pomposo” Introduction to Metropolis ideally illustrates this work’s expansion upon the novelty-derived interludes of a composition like Manhattan Serenade. Like most novelty ragtime interludes, the structure of the entire Introduction to Metropolis is derived through the combination, recombination, sequence, and modest variation of two- to four-measure building blocks. In this “development” passage, these materials are almost entirely derived from the first phrase of Strain A. Grofé’s tools for constructing a larger compositional fabric from various Strain A–related motives in the Introduction closely resemble the compositional techniques of novelty ragtime. The first full statement of Strain A is shown at the beginning of Example 2 in mm. 63–78. The extended form of the Introduction involves eight major passages, each of which is built on the sequence and repetition of these two- to four-bar motives derived from Strain A. The use of sequence and repetition amounts to roughly 90 percent of the Introduction. Variation may be introduced by either technique. The most common means of variation are simple melodic variation, and rhythmic diminution or augmentation. One of the more complex applications of such variation techniques is seen in the ending to Strain A2 (mm. 87–92), shown at the end of Example 2. In this passage, variation techniques extend the strain’s fourth phrase, first by diminution and sequence of a submotive, and then by the addition of a six-beat chromatic variation on the opening of the Strain A motive. This larger two-bar phrase is sequenced up a whole tone in mm. 89–90. In m. 90, a new four-note chromatic motive is then itself subjected to variation and a series of sequences, each rising by whole tone. This whole-tone-based passage again modulates to the dramatic m. 93 statement of a chromatic variation on the Strain A theme. In total, these simple techniques of sequence and repetition expand a 16-bar strain to 21 measures. Another common variation tool is the introduction of harmonically or contrapuntally complex elements in subsequent restatements of melodic material. Again, this is a process in which subsequent strain variations are built through the addition of ever-more-complex elements. Such devices include

16


ornamental chromatic or whole-tone harmonies and counterpoint, elements that are generally superficial and do not significantly change the original melodic materials. In sum, with Metropolis, most of the thematic transformations are ornamental changes or variations based on slight melodic elaboration and changes in orchestration, as well as the restatement of a theme in different harmonic, registral, and expressive contexts.

Example 2.

Mm. 63–93 from Ferde Grofé’s Metropolis


17

ELLINGTON AND “MODERN AMERICAN MUSIC” As noted, in late 1920s to early 1940s journalism on Ellington, a prominent critical thread shifted the ideological basis of symphonic jazz away from its Whitemanesque roots and towards a concert idiom based on African American–style hot jazz. The central theme of this criticism is the idea of “jazz composition.” Critical efforts that attempted to elevate Ellington’s music to the level of high art sought to define “jazz composition” for an audience of classical music devotees. As such, Ellington’s music was routinely discussed in terms of classical ideology and placed in the heady company of Stravinsky, Delius, and other classical composers.26 Writers like R. D. Darrell and Constant Lambert based this criticism on a dialectic that set Ellington’s masterpieces of the “ten-inch record form” (Lambert’s term)27 in opposition to Whitemanesque concert jazz. Ellington’s publicity managers over the 1930s routinely recycled these comparisons to classical composers (first at Mills Music, and then at the William Morris Agency). That said, contrary to the Whiteman-Ellington dialectical opposition that was central to the critical arguments of early jazz critics like Darrell and Lambert, both Ellington and his publicists regularly situated the composer’s early extended jazz efforts directly within the sphere of Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. The importance of public relations to Ellington’s image can be sensed in a William Morris Agency Manual for Advertising, prepared for Ellington in 1938. This document illustrates the role management played in building the image of Ellington as a “serious jazz composer.” In a passage titled “Exploitation,” for instance, the agency provides the following advice on how to introduce the artist: Ellington’s genius as a composer, arranger and musician has won him the respect and admiration of such authorities as Percy Grainger, head of the department of music at the New York University; Leopold Stokowski, famed conductor . . . ; Paul Whiteman, whose name is synonymous with jazz; and many others. Sell Ellington as a musical genius whose unique style and individual theories of harmony have created a new music. He has been accepted seriously by many of the greatest minds in the world of music, who have regarded it a privilege to study his art and to discuss his theories with him.28

A related passage titled “Ellington’s Ability as Composer Given Serious Approval” states that the jazz blues era [has] produced few musicians whose accomplishments as composers and conductors have received serious critical approbation. The

18

Annual Review of Jazz Studies men who have achieved something more than popular and evanescent acclaim can still be numbered on the strings of one violin—George Gershwin, Paul Whiteman, Ferde Grofé and Duke Ellington.29

As these excerpts illustrate, William Morris’s spin on “Ellington, the serious composer” places him distinctly within the nexus of Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. Ellington’s interviews and essays of the 1930s suggest that he had long aspired to compose concert-style works. This goal was progressively realized through such works as Rhapsody Jr. (copyrighted 1926; published 1935), Creole Rhapsody (1932), Reminiscing in Tempo (1935), the score to the film short Symphony in Black (1935), Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue (1937), and several lesser-known 1930s Modern American Music scores for Robbins Music and Paul Whiteman. In his symphonic-jazz-based activities of the 1930s, it is hard to separate Ellington’s artistic self-conception from the image promoted by his publicity machine. These blurred boundaries between publicity, manager and client are even apparent in the origins of Ellington’s earliest concert-style works. According to Ellington’s son, Mercer, for instance, the motivating factor behind the composition of Ellington’s Creole Rhapsody was Irving Mills’s managerial scheme to broaden Ellington’s audiences by encroaching on Whiteman’s signature cultural territory.30 In fact, Mills’s fundamental tools in steering Ellington’s career up a complicated ladder of symbolic cultural achievements were his promotions of Ellington as the bon vivant maestro and “serious composer” in the manner of Whiteman and Gershwin, respectively. As noted, Ellington’s ties to the symphonic jazz idiom were further expressed through his associations with Robbins Music and its publications of his Modern American Music scores. Before discussing Ellington’s landmark extended concert works of the 1930s and 1940s, it is necessary to embark on a brief overview of Ellington’s Whiteman-Robbins commissions and piano solos. Ellington’s professional ties to Robbins began in 1923, after Ellington and his early songwriting partner Joe Trent wrote a musical show, Chocolate Kiddies. As Ellington recalled in his autobiography, “We played and demonstrated [Chocolate Kiddies] for Jack Robbins, who liked it and said he would take it. . . . Jack . . . published several of my piano solos around that time, such as Rhapsody Junior and Bird of Paradise.”31 Rhapsody Jr. was not copyrighted until October 21, 1926, by the Robbins-Engel company, suggesting a three-year window for the compositional dates of these piano solos.32 The


19

histories of both Rhapsody Jr. and Bird of Paradise are further complicated by the fact that the company waited nine years (until 1935) before publishing these compositions as Modern American Music piano solos. (Contrary to Ellington’s recollection, there is no evidence that these piano solos were published in the mid-1920s.) Lastly, in late 1938, after he ended his long association with Mills, Ellington signed with both the William Morris Agency and Robbins Music. As part of this latter association, Robbins published Ellington’s other Whiteman-related piano solos, American Lullaby and Blue Belles of Harlem, in 1942 and 1943, respectively. The formal design and certain stylistic elements of Rhapsody Jr. and Bird of Paradise strongly suggest they were composed closer to 1926, after the premiere of Gershwin’s well-known 1924 Rhapsody in Blue (though Ellington’s piano pieces bear no direct formal relation to this work). This hypothesis is largely based on the extant information for the history of Rhapsody Jr., though certain compositional details in Bird of Paradise equally support this belief, as will be discussed later. As suggested, Rhapsody Jr. was likely composed much closer to its copyright date than to the period of Chocolate Kiddies (1923). This assumption is partly based on Jack Robbins’s early promotions of Rhapsody Jr., which appeared in 1926–27. Mark Tucker has observed that a January 1927 article on Ellington’s Washingtonians lists Rhapsody Jr. as Ellington’s “latest composition” for Robbins-Engel. There was also a 1926 trade announcement of this work as a Robbins “exclusive.” Despite these connections to Robbins, no evidence has yet surfaced to confirm an actual 1926/1927 publication of this score.33 One further clue to the genesis of Rhapsody Jr. can be found in an extant lead sheet from this era, which unfortunately is undated.34 In light of the October 1926 copyright of this composition by Robbins-Engel, it is further possible that Irving Mills encouraged Ellington to compose this work years before Creole Rhapsody. (Mills likely began his professional association with Ellington in the summer of 1926.) Ellington never recorded Rhapsody Jr., and it was another decade before Jimmie Lunceford’s band recorded a significantly altered arrangement of it, in 1935.35 In the same year, Robbins Music published both a stock orchestration of Rhapsody Jr. (arranged by Lyle “Spud” Murphy) and a piano solo (presumably arranged by Ellington since no arranger/editor is cited), which was included in the company’s Modern American Music score series. Both the 1926 and the 1935 versions of Rhapsody Jr. are based on an episodic combination of 32- and 16-bar strains. The few writers even to mention this little-known work have generally been dismissive. For instance, in his book Ellington: The Early Years, Mark Tucker remarked that

20


“with its ninth and augmented chords, its whole-tone melodies and parallel triads, Rhapsody Jr. shows Ellington displaying some of the hallmarks of mid-twenties jazz modernism,” or more accurately, Whitemanesque Modern American Music. These characteristic traits of “mid-1920s jazz modernism” are tied to the work’s 32-bar A strain. Though these elements are somewhat heightened in the arrangements of the 1935 Robbins scores (the stock orchestration and the piano solo), they are equally evident in the undated, mid-1920s lead sheet. Tucker’s assessment of the parallels between Rhapsody Jr. and the symphonic jazz idiom are undeniably accurate. Rhapsody Jr.’s rough compositional date of 1923–26 places this work in a somewhat curious chronological position with regard to the emergence of the Modern American Music idiom. Paul Whiteman Publications did not begin operation until 1927. Before 1926–27, with the exception of Grofé’s symphonic-length compositions of 1924–27 (including Broadway at Night, Mississippi Suite, and Three Shades of Blue), most of the composers that were later associated with Whitemanesque, multithematic extended compositions were still composing in the novelty piano tradition or producing Grofé-style chorus-variation and jazzed-classics arrangements. In addition, before 1927, the only concert work truly of the Whiteman-Robbins type to be formally published was Grofé’s Mississippi Suite (for Leo Feist) in 1926. Related formal models from this period are found in the mid-1920s vogue for novelty piano and orchestral novelty compositions. Because of the early 1920s WhitemanEllington association, it is likely that Ellington was keenly aware of Whiteman’s various concert work activities, even during Ellington’s early years at the Kentucky Club. The readily available published scores to Gershwin’s Rhapsody and Grofé’s Mississippi Suite were the most obvious “jazz rhapsody” models for the young Ellington to emulate in 1925–26. However, Grofé’s suite was the only pre-1927 published score to display the emerging multithematic, novelty-based formal design that came to define the Modern American Music concert work tradition. Before 1926, of course, Gershwin had also composed his one-act opera Blue Monday Blues (a.k.a. 135th Street) and the Concerto in F, but the Gershwin concert works as a whole are much more formally complex than either mid-1920s orchestral novelty compositions or the standard structure of a late-1920s, novelty-influenced, Whitemanesque work such as Manhattan Serenade. It is the latter tradition that Rhapsody Jr. most closely resembles. With regard to the formal design of Rhapsody Jr., it seems less probable that Ellington drew directly from jazz-based concert work models in Harlem’s musical circles of the mid-1920s. (James P. Johnson’s Yamekraw,


21

which had a much more complex form, did not appear until 1927.) One likely influence may have been the multistrain, virtuosic piano works that were composed for Harlem stride piano cutting contests. Despite the close stylistic kinship between 1920s Harlem stride and the white novelty piano tradition, none of the Harlem stride pianists in 1926 were yet known for the type of mid-1920s novelty piano modernism found in Rhapsody Jr. It does seem possible, however, that a Harlem symphonic jazz ensemble like Leroy Smith’s orchestra could have been performing an abbreviated “jazz” arrangement of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in 1926. (Smith recorded his threeminute, novelty-style, fox-trot arrangement of the Rhapsody in Blue in 1928. His popular Whiteman-style orchestra began a high-profile extended engagement at the famous Harlem nightclub, Connie’s Inn, in 1926.)36 In the end, the most plausible formal inspirations for the “jazz modernism” of Rhapsody Jr. were mid-1920s Whitemanesque dance band arrangements, as well as novelty compositions like the popular Zez Confrey examples. These stylistic connections are revealed in an examination of the extant scores to this work. Tables 3a and 3b present formal outlines to the 1926 and 1935 scores of Rhapsody Jr. In its initial 1926 form, Rhapsody Jr. was based on four strains. Strain A, in both its melodic and harmonic construction, displays the work’s stylistic borrowings from mid-1920s “jazz modernism.” This strain is built in a simple ABAC form. Though it is based on whole-tone and extended harmonies, and includes small passages of chromatic voice leading, the strain is firmly rooted in C major. The 16-bar B strain undergoes a telling shift in the 1935 score. In its 1926 form, the melody of this strain is a jazzed version of Mendelssohn’s Spring Song, a perennial chestnut of the jazzed- and ragged-classics repertories.37 The 1935 score alters the main melodic notes of the strain’s first two measures, thereby obscuring its original melodic borrowing and its roots in mid-1920s, Confrey-style novelty ragtime. Table 3a.

Formal outline of Rhapsody Jr., 1926 copyrights lead sheet

section

form/function

Strain A Strain B Strain C Strain A Interlude Strain D

Whole-tone based Jazzed “Spring Song” (Mendelssohn) Ragtime/stride styled

length 32 16 16 32 8 32

key

C D maj D maj C Fmin Cmin

Formal outline of Rhapsody Jr. (1935)

Table 3b.

mm

section

1 5 37 53 89 121

Intro Strain A1 Strain B Strain A2 Strain D Strain A3

Table 3c.

mm

length 4 32 16 36 32 31

key

form/function

— Cmaj D maj Cmaj Cmin Cmaj

Whole-tone based and sequential Whole-tone based Obscures 1926 borrowing Variation + extension (= aba [c+])

Formal outline of Bird of Paradise (1935)

section

length

form/function

Intro Strain A1

4 16 + 4 a1ba2 [c]

24 40 60 64

Strain B Strain A2 Interlude Trio Strain

16 20 4 16 [+14]

94

Strain A3

20

Sequential and chromatic E major. Phrase (c) extended through a 4-bar insert between the phrase’s 3rd and 4th mm. Phrase (a) based on 2-bar chromatic runs Repeat Modulatory Fmin → A maj. Form is an expansion of a 20-bar strain: A1 (4mm) → B1 (4) → A2 (7) → A1 (4) → B2 (4 + 8-bar cadenza extension). Returns to E major

1 5

Table 3d.

Formal outline of American Lullaby (1942)

mm

section

length

key

form/function

1

Intro

12 a1a2b

Fmaj → mod

Mm. 9–12 modulation. Elides with Interlude1.

13

Interlude1 (Intro to Theme)

5

[Cmaj] mod

Introduction to Theme. Harmonically static.

Theme1 Interlude2 Theme2 Coda

[16] 5 [16] 4

[Cmaj] [Cmaj] [Cmaj] Cmaj

19 33 39 53

Interlude repeated Rescored Theme Transposes mm. 1–4 (A1)

Ellington and Symphonic Jazz Table 3e.

23

Formal outline of Blue Belles of Harlem (1938)

mm

section

length

key

form/function

1 15

Intro Strain A1

14 38* aaba

A maj A maj

Orchestra *Pno solo = 32-bar (12 mm. in 2/4)

53 57 69 82

Extension Strain B Strain B solo Strain C1

4 12 13 32

mod. B maj → [E maj] mod. E maj

114

Strain C2 (Incomplete) Strain A2 (Incomplete)

8 [+1]

A maj → mod

[12] = 8*

Fmaj

123

Piano solo w/ orch Piano solo Orch mm. 82–87; pno solo mm. 88–97; orch m. 98 ff. Piano solo → orch in final bar

The idiomatic origins of Strain C, which appears only in the undated, mid-1920s lead sheet, lie squarely in the compositional models of Harlem stride piano. Though the lead sheet’s melody provides the only surviving score materials for this strain, it seems significantly indebted to James P. Johnson’s rags of the late teens and early 1920s. This resemblance is seen both in Strain C’s construction through riff manipulation rather than a melodic conception, and in its use of a three-over-four rhythmic tension, a contemporary cliché in both novelty and stride piano. In melodic terms, Rhapsody Jr.’s D strain is virtually the same in each score. This theme is set in a standard 32-bar song form (AABA) and is meant to be performed “with decided rhythm” (marked out by a standardissue, novelty/stride oom-pah bass). This strain’s minor-key setting and various stylized figurations (particularly a frequent neighbor-note, triplet figure) lend a somewhat classicized air to its overall character. In the 1935 score, this touch of “classicism” is complemented with a newly composed, “modernistic” (and dramatic), whole-tone-based introduction. Tables 3a and 3b formally outline the 1926 and 1935 scores. Whereas each score invokes various novelty stylistic traits, neither displays a straightforward basis in contemporary, three-strain novelty form. In the harmonic schemes of each version, Rhapsody Jr. modulates only between C major/minor and D major. Thus both arrangements are rather distant from the novelty tradition’s template for key relations between strains. (Unlike most novelty works, for instance, Rhapsody Jr. has no clear trio strain set

24


in the key of the subdominant.) The episodic forms of the stride idiom were much less orthodox with regard to their large-scale harmonic organization and the number of episodes (and their variations) in any given composition (or its performance). For example, a classic stride composition like James P. Johnson’s Carolina Shout has four strains, a number of variation episodes, and some combination of an introduction, interludes, and/or a coda. The precise number and ordering of many of these elements (particularly strain variations and transitional interludes) could vary between performances. With this model in mind, it seems that the four-strain, 1926 score of Rhapsody Jr. was constructed in a hybrid episodic form that borrowed equally from contemporary novelty and stride piano idioms.38 By contrast, the formal revisions of the 1935 score bring this composition in alignment with the then-established norms of the Modern American Music tradition. The arrangement’s new sequence-based, harmonically drifting, whole-tone introduction assists this goal. The reduction to three strains and the removal of the uncharacteristic ragtime strain (the original Strain C) equally reposition Rhapsody Jr. within the Whiteman-Robbins idiom, as does the melodic alteration and harmonic complication of the B strain. The 1935 score also displays a certain Whitemanesque episodic elasticity in its recomposition of Strain A,2 with a newly varied strain ending that involves an expansion phrase built from both sequential repetition and a new motive based on dramatic, chromatically shifting, diminished chords. Table 3c presents a formal outline of Bird of Paradise, a composition that closely accords with the symphonic jazz formal model. Ellington once suggested that this work was composed in the mid-1920s, about the same time as Rhapsody Jr.39 This early date seems unlikely in that the style of the 1935 Robbins-published score is entirely out of character with the mid1920s novelty and stride strain models that had been the basis of the 1926 version of Rhapsody Jr. Indeed, Bird of Paradise displays a far more sophisticated use of integrated strain expansions and phrase extensions (both within and at the end of strains). It also reveals a much more refined compositional approach to the symphonic jazz formal model than any composer/arranger besides Grofé had demonstrated by 1926. American Lullaby presents a unique adaptation of the standard Whitemanesque model, departing from, or more accurately, dissipating the multistrain format of this idiom. This work, Ellington’s contribution to Meredith Willson’s 1938 radio project, is simple in its formal outlay, as shown in Table 3d. American Lullaby transcends the Whiteman-Robbins structural model by including only one real strain/theme, though other episodic materials do assume certain quasi-strainlike formal functions. The main theme


25

is 16 bars in length and built through 4-bar phrasing (A1BA2C). This theme presents a fluid use of cadential phrase elisions that is rarely found in Whiteman-Robbins concert works. The 12-bar Introduction, and its 4-bar Coda reprise, does somewhat resemble strain form in both its initial (A1A2B) structure and in the placement of its restatements in the work’s overall layout. This passage is never stated as a full musical period, though. In the work’s Introduction, for instance, there is a missing fourth 4-bar phrase (which would create a 16-bar strain), and the (b) phrase—the strain’s bridge phrase—melodically drifts away from strain-style construction as the episode segues to a cadenza-like passage in mm. 11–12. The work’s harmonically static interlude also avoids clear periodic phrasing through its cadential elisions. This interlude functions somewhat like a secondary introduction that leads into the main theme, as opposed to the more autonomous episodic interludes associated with the symphonic jazz formal model. Despite these various formal deviations, this structural design still betrays its origins as an extension of the Modern American Music–based formulae that defined the 1935 Rhapsody Jr. score and Bird of Paradise. Of Ellington’s four Modern American Music compositions, the sole score that he wrote expressly for Whiteman, The Blue Belles of Harlem, displays the most thorough merging of Whitemanesque form and the “Ellington Effect” (to borrow Billy Strayhorn’s famous phrase). This assessment is based on the quasi-piano concerto arrangement of this work that was performed at Ellington’s Carnegie Hall concert of January 1943.40 In many ways, this later arrangement looks forward to the rich merging of Ellingtonian and Whitemanesque ideals in Ellington’s 1944 composition New World a Comin’. As shown in Table 3e, Blue Belles is built from an elastic, three-theme episodic form based on modifications of 32- and 12-bar strains. In a manner akin to Grofé’s late-1920s concert works, the 1943 Blue Belles arrangement involves a variety of sophisticated compositional devices for manipulating episodic boundaries to create larger structural forms. Ellington had initially explored most of these resources in his first “extended” composition, the 1931 Creole Rhapsody.

CREOLE RHAPSODY, REMINISCING IN TEMPO, AND EARLY ELLINGTONIAN EXPERIMENTS IN “EXTENDED” FORM The January and June 1931 recordings of Creole Rhapsody are positioned in the Ellington literature as landmark events in Ellington’s aspirations to compose in “extended” forms.41 (These two-part recordings took up both

26


sides of 10- and 12-inch 78 rpm records, respectively.) According to Ellington’s autobiography, this work was composed after Irving Mills suggested that the bandleader write “a new long work—a rhapsody.” In response, Ellington “went out and wrote Creole Rhapsody” overnight. He claimed that he had written “so much music for [this work] that we had to cut it up and do two versions.”42 This latter claim is somewhat misleading—the second version of Creole Rhapsody was clearly a revision of the first arrangement. Ellington characterized this composition as “the seed from which all kinds of extended works . . . later grew.” In the late 1950s to late 1960s, in the wake of “third stream” jazz compositions by the Modern Jazz Quartet, Charles Mingus, and others, several jazz scholars began to acknowledge Ellington’s role as forefather of “serious” extended jazz composition. For instance, in his review of the 1959 recording of Black, Brown and Beige, the critic Robert Crowley claimed that if one could discount the [jazz] faking of Paul Whiteman, [then Ellington] was the first and . . . most energetic jazz musician to demonstrate . . . [these] tendencies [toward extended jazz composition] . . . by presenting [his] ambitious musical works. He laid out the ground . . . in a way that has undoubtedly guided jazz musicians with aspirations towards composition ever since.43

Both Crowley’s critical dismissal of the Whiteman orchestra’s symphoniclength compositions and his comments on BB&B echo a long legacy of criticism concerning Ellington’s interwar extended works from Creole Rhapsody to the 1944 New World a Comin’—the period in which Ellington’s concert works were most closely tied to the ideals of Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. Crowley contended that in 1943 BB&B was “acclaimed [only] in the popular music trade papers,” and that “the more astute the critic, the more adverse the criticism of the only really relevant aspect of the piece, its form or structure.” From this perspective, Crowley argued that what Ellington produced in [BB&B] is distinguished . . . by the delightful originality of its details. It is a series of loosely related or unrelated smaller pieces, interrupted rather than integrated by arbitrary “classical” transitions. Since reiteration is almost the only means of extension used, the music . . . seems excessively repetitious. The program . . . is absolutely essential to one’s accepting it as a single work.44

While Crowley’s description of BB&B’s formal construction is not entirely accurate, his description of this work as a “series of loosely related smaller


27

pieces, interrupted rather than integrated by arbitrary ‘classical’ transitions” echoes the 1930s classically biased criticism of Constant Lambert, R. D. Darrell, Roger Pryor Dodge, et al. In each case, the rhetoric of form is employed as a tool of critical empowerment. Neither Crowley nor these 1930s critics made any real effort to identify the assumed models of classical composition that they thought were relevant to their idea of “jazz composition,” nor did they provide any substantial discussions of what Ellington actually wrote. This critical scenario changed in the late 1960s, when authors such as Gunther Schuller and A. J. Bishop reemployed the rhetoric of classical form to again promote the idea of Ellington as a “serious” composer. Both Schuller and Bishop built their respective canonization projects on revisionist analyses of Ellington’s so-called seeds of extended composition, his Creole Rhapsody and the 1935 recording of Reminiscing in Tempo. In each instance, but particularly with Reminiscing, these authors de-emphasized—or missed entirely—the episodic, strain-based foundations of each composition. For example, Schuller first discussed these two works in a 1957 essay entitled “The Future of Form in Jazz.” Eleven years later, Schuller returned to the basic themes of this earlier essay in the Ellington chapter of his landmark 1968 book Early Jazz: Its Roots and Musical Development.45 Over the last decade or so, this pioneering text in jazz scholarship has been frequently attacked for its notational (or score-oriented) bias, and its critical foundation on formal ideals that derive from the classical tradition. Schuller’s discussion of Creole Rhapsody is a case in point. The roots of these problems originate in the 1957 essay, one of Schuller’s lesser-known, late-1950s manifestos on the ideals of “third stream jazz” (a term that he himself had coined the previous year). While his assessment of Creole Rhapsody is important in and of itself, he notably identified both this work and Reminiscing as key forebears to his own third-stream ideals for “extended jazz composition.” In this essay, Schuller argued that jazz was evolving into “a music to be listened to.” This “evolution” demanded that jazz must “reach out for more complex ideas, harmonies and techniques” and develop “more complex musical forms.” He characterized this quest to create “tonal materials on a larger scale” as a dangerous project for jazz composers that were merely “satisfied . . . [to] complacently reach . . . over into the classical field” and borrow “forms upon which to graft [their] music.”46 Schuller claimed that in his vision of extended jazz composition, form needed to evolve “out of the material itself” and from “within . . . [the] domain forms [that were] much more indigenous to its own essential nature.”47 This statement articulates key concepts for the accepted definition of Ellington’s “extended”

28


compositions. However, Schuller’s emphasis on advanced harmony, unusual phrase lengths, and complex form in his analyses of these two works was more indigenous to the rhetoric of classical form than to jazz of the 1920s and 1930s. Though he expressed his earnest appreciation of Whiteman in both essay and act,48 Schuller’s comments about borrowed classical forms being grafted onto jazz read as an effort to distinguish his so-called third-stream aesthetics from the poor reputation of the heterogeneous designs employed in Whitemanesque symphonic jazz. However, the Whiteman-Robbins concert work tradition had more to do with glorifying the idioms of American popular music than grafting popular music themes onto actual classical forms. In short, Schuller does not observe any connection between the Whitemanesque and Ellingtonian uses of strain-based episodic form in their respective concert-style works. Similarly, in his important 1963 essay on Creole Rhapsody, the critic A. J. Bishop does not consider the possibility of Whiteman-Robbins forebears to this work’s structural designs. Instead, Bishop described the January 1931 version of Creole Rhapsody as a “broad” ABABCBA compositional structure that he likened to classical sonata rondo form.49 Tables 4a and 4b present the formal structures of the two recorded versions of Creole Rhapsody. The January 1931 version is built on three strains of 32-, 16-, and 12-bar lengths. As shown in Table 4a, despite important differences, the three-strain design clearly resembles an elaboration on the three-strain Whiteman concert work model. As shown in Table 4b, Ellington completely recomposed the latter half of Creole Rhapsody for its second recording in June 1931. The importance of this recomposition is found in its new level of structural complexity. From m. 89, this later version is built from four variations of a new 32-bar Strain C. In the interlude of mm. 203–26, Ellington displays his first real experiments with the development idea. In this interlude, variously sized, smaller phrases are constructed into a larger modulatory episode. Each of these smaller segments is constructed through a truncated and varied statement of Theme A materials. Ellington’s approach is different from Grofé’s motivic manipulation techniques, but the compositional intent was likely motivated by the same principles. The development idea was manifested by Grofé through the combination, sequence, and modest variation of small motivic building blocks derived from a work’s thematic episodes. With Grofé, the development idea was a means of linking up themes and expanding episodic frames through phrase extension and the construction of independent interludes.

Table 4a.

Formal outline of first version of Creole Rhapsody (Brunswick, 1931)

mm

section

length

key

form/function

1

8

9

Theme A1 (a1) (a2)

8

A /E m (see note) A /E m

17

(b) Bridge

4+4

G → (B )

25 33 45 57

8 12 12 16

A /E m B maj E maj A /E m

73

(a3) Theme B, pt.1 Theme B, pt.2 Theme A2 (a1) + (a2) (b) Bridge

8

G → (B )

81

(a3)

8

89

Intro [Thm A var]

8

Amaj

97

Theme B, pt.2

12

E maj

109 113 125

Interlude Theme C Theme B, pt.1 [variation]

4 16 12

Emaj Emaj Amaj

137

Theme A3

35

A /E m

168

Coda

6

E min

PART I. Orch and clar. Orch w/ clar obbligato Cadenza-like piano solo Piano solo Clar solo with orch Trpt solo with orch Orch with alto sax obbligato On harmony of mm. 17–24 Orch w/ alto sax obbligato PART II. Piano solo. Reharmonized Thm A(a). Pno solo on Thm B, pt.2, harmony Orchestra interlude Trombone duet Trumpet duet. Melodic var. on Theme B, pt.1. Instrumentation changes each 8 mm. 6-beat snare drum pattern with 2beat brass response based on end of Theme A (a) (of m. 167)

A /E m

Notes: Theme A involves a certain degree of tonal ambiguity in that it cadences in E minor though Ellington wrote the passage in A major. In addition, in the phrase turnaround, E min changes to E maj9.

Table 4b. mm

Formal outline of second version of Creole Rhapsody (Victor, 1931) section 1

length

key

form/function PART I. = 144. Brass w/ clar obbligato. Retains tonal ambiguity of Creole Rhapsody #1 (CR1) Brass with clar obbligato Piano solo. Begins as CR1. Solo deviates from CR1 = 120. Bluesbased clar solo. Close to CR1. Trpt solo. Paraphr CR1. = 144. Orch w/ alto sax obbligato. Piano solo rel to A (a3) = 92. Trpt solo w/ saxes. PART II. Rubato. Intro based on Theme A (a). = 112. Saxes w/ trbn. Pno solo → clar solo w/ orch → alto sax cadenza & solo w/ orch → pno solo = 108. Clar solo w/ pno. = 116. Tutti based on Theme A (a). = 108. Trpt solo w/ orch based on mm. 17–20. Clar solo w/ orch based on mm. 21–24 Tutti based on Thm A (a) Saxes in unison Reeds and piano Rall. to cadence. Tutti paraphrase on Theme C.

1

Theme A (a1)

8

A /E m

9

(a2)

8

A /E m

17

(b) Brdg, pt.1

4

G

22

Brdg, pt.2 (var)

4

mod

25

Theme B, pt.1

12

37

Theme B, pt.2

12

49

Theme A2 (a1a2ba3)

32

81

Interlude 1

8

89

Theme C1 [NEW]

121

Intro to Part II (Theme A var)

32 a1ba2c 4

mod

125

Theme C2

32

B maj

157

Interlude 2

34

mod

191

Theme C3 (incomplete) Interlude 3.a (Theme A var) Interlude 3.b Thm A(b), pt.1

12

Fmaj

8

mod

4

Gmaj

215

Interlude 3.c Brdg, pt.2 (var)

4

mod

219

Interlude 3.d (Theme A var) Theme C4 Interlude 4 Coda (= Thm C)

7

mod

16 4 5 5

Cmaj mod A maj A maj

203 211

226 242 246

Emaj A/Em B maj

A maj


31

While Creole Rhapsody was certainly a “seed” for Ellington’s later extended works, the four-part Reminiscing in Tempo represents Ellington’s first transformation of symphonic jazz episodic form. Again, however, this framework has been overlooked in the work’s critical reception. Schuller, for example, in his 10-page Reminiscing analysis in his 1989 book The Swing Era, still holds roughly the same classical critical bias and musicopolitical agenda displayed 30 years earlier. Schuller takes the 1935 recording as a definitive text and provides a confusing chart of thematic permutations to demonstrate the work’s “organic” development. From this chart alone, one is left with the impression that each part of the work is essential to the composition’s “structural unity.”50 Or is it? In his 1936 response to the negative reviews that followed the work’s release, the critic Enzo Archetti observed that “on one point only do all reviewers . . . agree: that only the last side of Reminiscing is somewhat understandable.”51 While I do not necessarily agree with this assessment, its contemplation opens up new vistas on this work. In recent years, a number of documents have emerged that provide insight into the form of Reminiscing. First, the Smithsonian Institution possesses Ellington’s sketches and band parts for the 1935 recording.52 Second, several mid-1940s concert recordings of this work have been commercially released.53 These include an ABC July 21, 1945, radio broadcast from the Fieldston Ballroom in Marshfield, Massachusetts; Ellington’s November 13, 1948, Carnegie Hall concert; and a December 10, 1948, concert at Cornell University. The most striking information from these three sources is that Ellington performs Reminiscing as a continuous work, and this form consists only of Parts I through III. Contemporary critics routinely interpreted Part IV as a typical, Ellingtonian “10-inch record masterpiece” in and of itself, but they were baffled by the form of Parts I–III. The sketch materials are revealing on this matter. First, though “Rem. I” is written on the opening page, this title is in darker ink than the rest of the manuscript. In addition, the score materials are bipartite, with a through-composed score for Parts I–III forming one division, and Part IV forming the other. In the band parts, Part IV is written on a separate page. In the sketches, Part IV is on different paper. This evidence suggests that the divisions between parts were imposed by recording technology and that Part IV was created to fill out the fourth side of the recording. Table 5b presents an outline of Part IV, which is based on two 32-bar chorus statements. The arrangement further includes a middle, cadenza-like piano solo, and a recycled vamp introduction. Is Part IV complete in and of itself? Yes, and its structure provides insights into the form of Parts I–III.

Table 5a.

Form of Reminiscing in Tempo (1935)

mm

section

length

form/function

1 3

2 10

13 21

Vamp/Intro Introduction (“Pre-Theme”) Theme A1 Theme A2

33 37 47 49 57

Transition Theme A3 Transition Theme A4 Interlude

4 6 + 4 ext. 2 8 16

73 77

Vamp (var) Vamp

4 4

81

Theme A5

6 + 4 ext.

91 101

Theme A6 Theme B1

6 + 4 ext. 8

109

Interlude

8

117 123

Vamp + ext. Interlude

6 8

131 139 148 152

Theme A7 Theme A8 Transition [Theme B ref.] [Theme B ref.]

155 160 168 172

[Theme A ref.] Extension [Strain A ref.] Extension

8 8 4 (incompl) 3 (incompl) 5 8 4 8

180 184 188 194

Trans. to Vamp Vamp Theme A9 Extension

4 4 6 12

206 210

Vamp Theme A10

4 14+

PART I. F major. Vamp in pno solo. Melody based on Theme A. Reeds on countermelody. Saxes on countermelody D major. Alto sax solo w/ trbn. M. 26 ff. “New Orleans”-style. MOTIVIC. B major. Tutti → trbn. MOTIVIC. Unison saxes on melody (w/ rhythm) Trbn solo. NON-MOTIVIC. Trbn solo “Development.” Alternations between saxes/trpts and solo trbn. MOTIVIC. End of PART I on V7 of F. Reeds. PART II. F major. Begins with vamp that ended Part I. Muted trpt solo. Theme followed by an extension in unison reeds. Straight repeat of mm. 81–89 “Bridge.” Reeds/trpts → improvised alto sax solo. Trombones → bari sax solo → reeds. MOTIVIC. Piano solo (rhythm section out) Improv piano solo w/ brass organ-style accomp & rhythm. NON-MOTIVIC. Piano solo (rhythm section out) End PART II PART III. Piano solo with references to Theme B. Tutti on melody w/ rhythm. 3 mm. of Theme B and segues into Thm A. Variation of Theme A in tutti texture D major. Clar solo. MOTIVIC. “Development” of Theme A materials Theme A breaks off after 4 bars → A major and trombone solo Brass w/ reeds on pedal. MOTIVIC. Brass on vamp chords Clar w/ tutti in chrom vamp variation Extends Theme A. Chromatic w/ sequential passages in brass accomp. A major. Clar trio w/ brass on vamp. Coda. Not actual theme. Trpt/trbn duet.

8 7 + 5 ext.


33

Table 5a outlines Parts I–III, which I will refer to as “the work.” Reminiscing is built from a small collection of motives, each subjected to slight variation, truncation, and/or extension. In addition to its two 8-measure themes, the work also includes a number of 2- to 8-bar interludes, and one 16-bar development-type interlude. Reminiscing is undeniably rich in motivic references, manifest both in Grofé-style developmental passages and in a new technique that is best termed “motivic saturation.” With this term, I refer to the score’s perpetual references to a small number of motives. The sophistication of Ellington’s manipulation of these motives can be sensed both in the permutational relations that exist between several motives, and in his dense employment of these cells. This technique is seen in the passage that extends from Theme A2’s six-bar phrase extension and the subsequent mm. 33–36 transition to Theme A3. This passage is shown at the end of Example 3, where the motives are labeled A through E. The extension to Theme A2 begins in m. 27 and initially involves two statements of Motive C. From m. 29 forward, the passage is saturated with a string of motive references to create a larger

Table 5b.

Form of Reminiscing in Tempo (1935), Part IV

mm

section

length

1

Vamp

4

5

SONG A1 Theme A Theme A Theme B Theme A

8

37 43

Cadenza SONG A2 Theme A

6 8

51

Theme A

8

59

Theme B

8

67

Theme A

9

13 21 29

8 8 8

form/function F major. Vamp theme in setting of mm. 75–76. 32-bar song form. Trpt solo w/ reeds and basses on vamp chords. Bari sax solo with brass on chord vamp Trpt solo and reeds → alto sax w/ brass Trpt solo w/ reeds, basses continue vamp Piano solo (rhythm sect. out) B major. Trbn trio w/ rhythm. Reeds enter with new unison countermelody in m. 47. Unison reeds w/ muted trpt responses. Brass accomp resembles mm. 168–71 of Part III. Varied statement of Thm B w/ reeds on melody (+ rhythm & occasional piano responses). Mm. 63–67 plunger trombone solo. Tutti on harmonized melody, basses on vamp

34


developmental impression. On the larger level, the work’s two-theme structure seems unrelated to the Whitemanesque model. For instance, despite the work’s length, Theme B is only presented once in its entirety, and its second reference is in an unusual development passage that begins Part III. Theme B is also unusual in that it gives the impression of being an out-ofcontext, eight-bar song bridge. This impression can be explained through a further examination of Part IV. Example 4 presents mm. 5–36 of Part IV, where Themes A and B are set in a perfect 32-bar song form. Theme B is the song bridge, and all of the cell motives are key parts of this chorus. Without the Cadenza, Part IV resembles a standard jazz arranging routine for a 32-bar chorus. What is one to make of this relation? Part IV appears to represent the template that was deconstructed to build Parts I–III. This evidence suggests that Parts I–III were conceived through an episodic, “glorified” popular song arranging aesthetic that grew out of Whiteman-style symphonic jazz. This hypothesis is further supported by the evidence of Ellington’s ties to this idiom in his Creole Rhapsody and Modern American Music piano solos.

BEYOND SYMPHONIC JAZZ: “JAZZ COMPOSITION” AND THE DESIGN OF BLACK, BROWN AND BEIGE Both Ellington and his critics saw the 1931 Creole Rhapsody and 1935 Reminiscing in Tempo as the first fruits of Ellington’s long-held interest in extended jazz composition. Through the course of his career, Ellington mainly explored two formal models in his pursuit of this interest. His initial efforts at extended composition were based on adaptations of the multithematic, novelty/stride and symphonic jazz episodic models. Ellington’s second formal model was the extended suite, first represented by his 1935 score to the film short Symphony in Black: A Rhapsody of Negro Life (Paramount). This score is a nine-minute, four-part integrated suite that was assembled partly through adaptations of three earlier compositions. Though he never performed this work outside the film soundtrack, the extended suite form ultimately overshadowed the importance of the symphonic jazz formal model in Ellington’s postwar extended compositions. The larger ambitions behind Ellington’s pre-1940 extended compositions were revealed only after the premiere of the hour-long Black, Brown and Beige at his January 23, 1943, Carnegie Hall debut. This work represents the most comprehensive synthesis of Ellington’s models of symphonic jazz and the jazz suite. The formal procedures employed in BB&B also represent Elling-


Example 3.

35

Mm. 21–36 from Part I of Reminiscing in Tempo (1935)

ton’s richest exploration to that date of the accumulated techniques of jazz composition he had experimented with since his Rhapsody Jr. of 1926. While the cultural identity politics of BB&B’s rich program—the work’s “parallel to the history of the American Negro”—require a separate essay, a degree of contextual background is useful here. At its 1943 premiere, the conceptual program behind BB&B was conveyed in both the concert

Example 4.

Mm. 5–36 from Part IV of Reminiscing in Tempo (1935)


37

program and in Ellington’s own spoken introductions to the work’s three movements. This narrative is most succinctly stated in a prefatory section of the concert program: In this “tone parallel to the history of the American Negro,” three main periods of Negro evolution are projected against a background of the nation’s history. “Black” depicts the period from 1620 to the Revolutionary War, when the Negro was brought from his homelands, and sold into slavery. Here he developed the “work” songs, to assuage his spirit while he toiled; and then the “spirituals” to foster his belief that there was a reward after death, if not in life. “Brown” covers the period from the Revolution to the first World War, and shows the emergence of the Negro heroes who rose to the needs of these critical phases of our national history. “Beige” brings us to the contemporary scene, and comments on the common misconception of the Negro which has left a confused impression of his true character and abilities. The climax reminds us that even though the Negro is “Black, Brown and Beige” he is also “Red, White and Blue”—asserting the same loyalty that characterized him in the days when he fought for those who enslaved him.54

Though it omits much of the greater detail that Ellington conveyed in the performance introductions and the concert program, this brief statement captures the broad intellectual scope and cultural work that Ellington ascribed to this composition. BB&B was intended as a powerful racial and cultural statement on the African American experience. This serious social intent and the detailed program of BB&B greatly distance this work from the white symphonic jazz of the 1920s and 1930s. The cultural politics and intellectual history of this program have been explored by Mark Tucker, Lisa Barg, and others.55 For the concerns of this essay, it is useful to consider how the BB&B program adapts and diverges from earlier popular culture programmatic models in symphonic jazz and Harlem entertainment. The programmatic imagery associated with symphonic jazz centered on both the mythic—or “glorified”—aspects of the modern American metropolis and the modern metropolitan lifestyle so richly portrayed in the popular media of the interwar period. The web of cultural associations manifest in this new American metropolitan mythology are primarily represented in the cultures of both white Manhattan and Harlem—or “Black Manhattan,” as African American writer James Weldon Johnson termed it. Programmatically, symphonic jazz was associated with a small pool of perpetually recycled themes that can be divided into six primary categories: 1. The suave urbanity of the Park Avenue or the smart-set metropolitan lifestyle (i.e., evocations of penthouses, ritzy nightclubs, furs, champagne, caviar, limousines, etc.)

38


2. The idea of the metropolitan environment as “city symphony,” a subgroup of themes that included the mythological aspects of the skyscraper and the glorification of the machine, as well as the omnipresent noise and hectic ambiance of the urban milieu 3. The idea of the city as theater, with the gaudy and gilded nature of Broadway and jazz nightclub life being central topics 4. The modern metropolis as a rich cultural and ethnic melting pot 5. The mythology of Harlem as “Black Manhattan” (as James Weldon Johnson observed, Harlem represented the “miracle” of a “black metropolis” that contained “more Negroes to the square mile than any other spot on earth” and existed as a parallel universe “in the heart of the great Western white metropolis”56) 6. Evocations of the stylized themes of Harlem entertainment (black and blackface vaudeville, Harlem cabaret floor shows, and the all-black Broadway musical revues of the 1920s and 1930s), including (a) folkloric stereotypes of the black Deep South, (b) exotic “Jungleland” scenarios (underscored by hot jazz “jungle rhythms”), or (c) African American–oriented, rural-vs.-urban narratives BB&B’s program intersects this thematic pool in categories 3, 4, 5, and 6. The most relevant intersections involve the celebration of Black Harlem and themes from Harlem entertainment. Harlem entertainment contained an uneasy mix of performance conventions that both celebrated racial pride (particularly in the achievements of the Harlem community) and simultaneously perpetuated negative racial stereotypes for commercial white entertainment. This duality was intimately tied to African American signification practices.57 The restrictive programmatic formulae and clichéd character types of this theatrical tradition were central to most manifestations of black musical theater throughout the teens and 1920s. Only in the 1930s were minor changes introduced within these narrow conventions. By the 1940s, with productions like Ellington’s 1941 musical Jump for Joy, these restrictive formulae were more regularly challenged in favor of broader depictions of African American life. The narrative programs behind both BB&B and Ellington’s incomplete opera Boola are based on an important Africa-Dixie-Harlem topical model that shaped various productions and production numbers in Harlem musical theater and floorshows of the 1920s and 1930s.58 In his essay “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige,” Mark Tucker theorizes on the conceptual relation between BB&B and previous depictions of African American history in both the black historical pageants presented in Washington during


39

Ellington’s youth, and the interwar theatrical conventions that sought to portray black heritage in a highly stylized manner. In his overview of these popular pageants, Tucker points to such high-profile events as W. E. B. Du Bois’s elaborate 1915 presentation of The Star of Ethiopia, a program that sought to depict “10,000 years of the history of the Negro race” through “music by colored composers, lights and symbolic dancing.”59 (Ellington was apparently employed at a refreshment stand for the Washington, D.C., presentation of this pageant.) The historically structured narratives of these pageants had even deeper roots in certain nineteenth-century black minstrelsy traditions. Tucker juxtaposes the historical and narrative model of these pageants with the stylized representations of black history that Ellington encountered in his work as a nightclub entertainer in 1920s Harlem. Tucker points, for instance, to the African American historical themes that were routinely employed in the all-black productions of the white theatrical impresario Lew Leslie. Examples include the “Evolution of the Colored Race” scene in Leslie’s 1924 From Dixie to Broadway revue, the Dixie-toAfrica-to-Harlem narrative of Leslie’s famous Blackbirds of 1928, and the opening “Rhapsody in Black” number to Leslie’s 1931 production of the same name, a sequence that was billed as “a musical transition of the Negro from Africa to Harlem” (the latter two theatrical narratives were variations on a “back to Africa” theme). In addition to Ellington’s uses of this topical formula at the Cotton Club, Tucker also notes that Chocolate Kiddies, the 1925 revue for which Ellington wrote his first musical theater score, featured a similar Africa-to-Harlem number in its third act. This clichéd Africa-Dixie-Harlem narrative frame allowed producers to incorporate a broad spectrum of African American popular music genres, particularly when these genres are combined with the stereotyped plot devices and conventional black character types of contemporary theater. This stylized musico-theatrical tradition included popular “savage”-style dance numbers and stylized jungle-themed songs, slave-era hollers and work songs, nostalgic plantation songs, cakewalks, religious spirituals, hymns and shouts, blues, Tin Pan Alley ballads, love songs, minstrel and coon songs, dance numbers and novelties, hot jazz numbers, occasional nods to Creole culture, and so forth. The employment of these musical idioms could range from serious and sincere to parody. The spiritual, for example, appeared in a variety of forms ranging from emulations of traditional “folk” performances, to an elevated concert-style performance practice (in the manner of the Fisk University Jubilee Singers), to an “entertainment spiritual” genre that parodied the language and imagery of spiritual texts and their performance practice.

40


The serious cultural intent of BB&B’s program transcends these entertainment roots, but this transcendence involves the reclaiming and retooling of these traditions rather than their abandonment. Ellington had already attempted a similar refashioning of stereotypes in 1941, when he, Billy Strayhorn, and 15 writers produced the Hollywood musical revue Jump for Joy. Following the 12-week run of this revue, Ellington told a newspaper interviewer that his intent was “to give an American audience entertainment without compromising the dignity of the American people. . . . [E]very Negro artist . . . runs afoul of offensive stereotypes, instilled in the American mind by whole centuries of ridicule and derogation. The American audience has been taught to expect a Negro on the stage to clown and ‘Uncle Tom.’” According to this interview, the problem Ellington attempted to solve in this revue was “how to present the Negro as he is, without sacrificing entertainment features.”60 (Though this statement is not presented as a direct quote from the bandleader, it is presumed to represent Ellington’s personal opinion.) This project reclaimed and refashioned negative generic conventions for a new, positive social intent. Such confrontational numbers as “Uncle Tom’s Cabin Is a Drive-In Now” openly signified on previously negative entertainment practices, but these numbers were meant to be entertaining and not didactic. As the show’s primary composers, Ellington and Strayhorn similarly employed musical arrangements and stage revue conventions that came directly out of interwar Harlem musical theater traditions. In the same interview, Ellington directly links the social project of Jump for Joy with his ongoing work on an opera that intended to depict “the story of the Negro people.” This latter work was Boola, the aborted project that gave birth to BB&B. Like Jump for Joy, BB&B refashions Ellington’s musical roots in Harlem entertainment traditions and big band jazz for a new type of artistic statement. Through the recontextualization of this music in a concert work form, he sought to convey a serious cultural message that was wholly foreign to the earlier symphonic jazz concert work traditions that BB&B most closely resembled. Black, Brown and Beige has been subjected to a number of analyses over the last 30 years, the most significant of which are a 1974–75 essay (published in three parts) by Brian Priestley and Alan Cohen, and Gunther Schuller’s discussion of this work in his 1989 book, The Swing Era.61 While each of these studies has provided rich insights, they were conducted largely in a critical vacuum with little reference to the extended compositional forms and constructive devices that Ellington had employed in previous extended works. Likewise, neither analysis considers non-Ellington formal models.


41

After the disappointing critical reception to BB&B’s premiere at Ellington’s first Carnegie Hall concert, it was nearly 30 years before this work was performed again in its entirety.62 It is intriguing that a work that remained little heard during Ellington’s lifetime has recently become a popular topic in cultural, historical and musical criticism on Ellington. While this belated attention stems partly from the Ellington centennial of 1999, it also has to do with BB&B’s status as Ellington’s most “symphonic” composition in length, form, and conception, and its rich racial program.63 In his 1928 essay “Jazz Is Music,” the composer George Antheil aptly— though derisively—characterized the formal conventions of symphonic jazz concert works as “parade-form,” a term that he felt implied “a series of melodies which follow one another without meaning.”64 This classically biased, negative characterization of the multithematic, episodic forms employed in interwar symphonic jazz concert works was later reflected in Robert Crowley’s description of BB&B as a “series of loosely related or unrelated smaller pieces, interrupted rather than integrated by arbitrary ‘classical’ transitions.” Within the Whitemanesque tradition, the term “syncretization” can indicate the same sort of string of episodic juxtapositions, although it most aptly refers to characteristic “rhapsodic” or “classical” scoring effects and juxtapositions of disparate strains. Both implications of this term are relevant to the complicated design of BB&B. On the larger scale, each of BB&B’s three movements is divided into multiple episodes. For example, the Brown movement comprises three episodes: “West Indian Dance,” “Emancipation Celebration,” and “The Blues.” These large-scale episodes within each movement are self-contained, even though certain episodes are dovetailed together (as in the attacca segue between the “West Indian Dance” and “Emancipation Celebration” episodes of Brown). As shown in Tables 6 and 7, the internal episodes of each movement further break down into smaller arranging routines based on combinations of song chorus and multistrain forms, along with interludes, introductions, and codas. (By “song chorus form” or “popular song form,” I refer to big band arranging routines built from reiterations of a single popular song refrain, rather than arrangements built on two or three strains from the verse, patter, and/or refrain sections of a popular song.) The formal designs of these episodes are not without precedent in Ellington’s compositional work, both small- and large-scale. Many of BB&B’s internal episodes are closely related to big band arranging routines and/or some variation on Ellingtonian “10-inch record form.” In sum, with regard to the large-scale design of BB&B, Antheil’s idea of “parade form” can be used without derision. This form is built on nested episodic layers that only

42


loosely relate to each other through both the progression of BB&B’s program and a rich network of motivic cross references. Among symphonic jazz concert works of the late 1920s to early 1940s, this extensive motivic web of BB&B is unique, but it is also an extension of Ellington’s previous experiments with “motivic saturation” and the development idea. There are complications in choosing a hierarchical terminology for BB&B’s nested relationships between movements and internal sections and subsections. For example, in his spoken introductions to each of the three movements at the 1943 premiere, Ellington referred to the larger divisions of the work as “movements” and the internal movement subsections as “themes.” Ellington’s use of the term “theme” implies a more organic, through-composed movement form than is warranted in the nested, episodic design of BB&B. Schuller fairly accurately refers to BB&B as a “work in three movements and innumerable subsections,” but he most frequently calls these subsections “episodes.”65 Priestley and Cohen describe the larger work as a triptych, its three larger sections as “parts,” and the internal subsections of each part as “movements.”66 While this latter approach seems the most logical because of the self-contained design of the episodes, Schuller’s terminology seems the most appropriate in light of Ellington’s description of the work. The longest and most complex of the three movements of BB&B is the first, Black, which comprises three episodes: “Work Song,” “Come Sunday,” and “Light.” In this movement of over 20 minutes, these three episodes are joined together through various transitional bridges, each of which is indebted to the hyperbolic, quasi-rhapsodic interludes of the symphonic jazz tradition. Specifically, Ellington’s interludes display prominent textural shifts (often involving a move from a big band texture to solo instruments); dramatic changes in tempo with added rubato phrasing; cadenza-like passages over whole-tone, diminished, or extended harmonies; fanfare-like introductory bridges; and other related “rhapsodic” musical effects. These exaggerated symphonic jazz devices—like symphonic jazz form—gradually lose their prominence in Ellington’s subsequent concert work efforts from the mid-1940s onwards. As noted, BB&B represents a pivotal moment in Ellington’s lifelong ambition to write large-scale compositions. On an intellectual and artistic level, this work’s program introduces a wealth of cultural and racial concerns that Ellington continued to revisit for the rest of his life in his largescale compositions. With regard to the more limited concerns of the compositional models discussed in this essay, BB&B is unique among Ellington’s large-scale compositions. It exhibits a multilevel merging of


43

both his future jazz suite model and formal ideas developed in his earlier concert works. BB&B’s hybrid form simultaneously reveals Ellington’s emerging interest in extended suite forms, and his continued exploration of the developmental and quasi-rhapsodic devices that derive from the symphonic jazz model. “Work Song” is Ellington’s most complex transformation of this latter model. Table 6 presents a formal outline of “Work Song.” This eight-minute episode is without a doubt the most complex unit in the work. The design of “Work Song” bears a noticeable structural resemblance to the multithematic models of both Whiteman-Robbins novelty-based form and the more freely designed multistrain form of stride piano cutting contest works. More precisely, “Work Song” is based on a form of three themes that are connected and introduced by a recurrent “Tom-Tom” vamp figure and various developmental interludes. The opening section of Black (“Work Song”) displays a wealth of novelty-type sequential and chromatic structures, with typical symphonic jazz concerns for frequent modulation (in the latter half of “Work Song”) and quasi-rhapsodic properties, such as a varied and elastic tempo; flexible, expressive dynamics; and varied performance character. Where “Work Song” departs from the complex novelty-based, multithematic formal model of a work like Grofé’s Metropolis can be seen most directly in the construction of Ellington’s three primary themes and in the unique structures of his developmental interludes. For instance, as shown in Example 5, Theme A bears no relation to strain form. The thematic section A1 (m. 3 ff.) consists merely of three statements of a one-and-a-halfmeasure motive (Motive A). After these statements, Ellington introduces a developmental transitional interlude that combines variation and sequential treatments of the Theme A motive. In Theme A2 (m. 27 ff.), these three Motive A statements occur in more rapid succession due to the deletion of the original half-measure rests that separated each statement in Theme A1. The third Motive A statement in A2 is furthermore elided with a phrase extension. This extension consists of two partial sequential references to Motive A, and motivic foreshadowing of the primary motive of Theme B. The most straightforward theme in “Work Song” is the 32-bar (A1A2BA3) song chorus form of Theme C, but this simple design is complicated by two main elements: an internal chromatic modulation (at m. 188), and the situating of this chorus-style theme as the latter half of an extended, plunger-muted trombone solo by “Tricky” Sam Nanton. The internal half-step modulation from C major to D major in m. 188 (from A1 to A2 in the song form) is related to the type of clichéd final chorus modulation “for brilliancy” that the 1920s symphonic jazz arranger Arthur Lange

Table 6.

Formal outline of “Work Song” (Black, Brown and Beige, 1943)

mm

section

length

form/function

1 3

Vamp Theme A1

2 6

9

Transition

18

27

Theme A2

10

37

Theme B, “Work Song” Vamp var. Theme A3

18

E major. = 108. Tom-Tom Figure. Tutti. Mtv A (mm. 3–4) stated 3x (call and response between reeds and trumpets). Slight accel., = 120. Transitional interlude. Saxes, trbns, rhythm. Mm. 25–26 = trpt fanfare elided into Theme A2. Three-plus Mtv A statements passed between trbns, saxes, and trmpts. Mm. 31–36 of trbns are a phrase extension that foreshadows Theme B. Saxes and rhythm. In a call-andresponse type of structure. = 108. Vamp and dramatic interlude. Tutti. Followed by baritone sax phrase extension that functions as a 4-bar break. = 110–120. Bari sax solo continues. = 104. Tutti. Gradually slowing. Trpt cadenza and solo. = 116. Reeds & rhythm. Extended plunger-muted trombone solo. Allusions to Themes A, B & C. D major. Call and response between trbns and trpts. Foreshadows Theme C (with reeds referencing Mtv A). C major. Trpts unaccomp. soli. Quasi variation on trpt solo of m. 121 ff. = 75. Trbn solo continues. Trbn solo continues. Set in an [A1A2BA3] form that includes several modulations. D major. Brass on melody (reeds initially reference Motive A). Trbn solo returns in m. 191. Foreshadows Religioso transition of m. 211 ff. F major. Trbn solo cont. D major. = 108. Call and response between trbn solo and trpts/reeds. Religioso. = 76. Alto sax solo leads into “Come Sunday.”

55 65

75

8

115 121

Interlude = Development Theme A4 Interlude, pt. a

40 6 12

133 143

Interlude, pt. b Trbn Solo, pt. A

10 10

153

[brass]

4

157

[trpts soli]

8

165 180

Tbn solo cont. Trbn solo, pt. B = Theme C (32-bar song)

15 8 (A1) 8 (A2)

8 (B) 7 (A3)

211

Coda + Transition

6

Note: Performance markings are based on the Black, Brown and Beige score reconstruction by Maurice Peress (1999).


45

advocated in his 1926 book Arranging for the Modern Dance Orchestra.67 (The third- relation modulation of D to F for the theme’s bridge is also a typical Tin Pan Alley convention.) The more vexing issue with Theme C is how it nonchalantly emerges out of the first part of the trombone solo. Part (a) of this solo is a 37-bar episode that formally falls somewhere between a theme and a developmental interlude. Although this passage melodically sounds like a lyrical thematic statement (as opposed to a sequence-based interlude), it is largely constructed through a perpetual series of varied allusions to previous and forthcoming motives related to Themes A, B and C. This unique passage is furthermore constructed as a means of modulation, first from E major to D major, and then from D to C major. In short, this first half of the trombone solo carries many of the same formal functions as a typical symphonic jazz interlude. Although the 18-bar length and opening measures of Theme B (the “Work Song” theme) suggest a more traditional strain form, this episode’s actual structure is significantly more complicated. As seen in mm. 37–54 of Example 6, the first 8 measures begin as a 4 + 4 bar, strain-style phrase. From m. 44, this phrase is briefly extended through varied riffing on the melodic material of mm. 43–44. Measures 47–48 begin as a variation on Motive B (mm. 37–38). This “call” is then sequenced down an octave in mm. 49–50 as a “response,” and subsequently truncated to a new 1-bar “call” phrase in m. 51. This truncated motive is in turn repeated an octave higher (the second “response”). Finally, there is a concluding 2-bar statement of this varied motive in mm. 53–54. While Theme B outwardly resembles a 16-bar strain form, it is complicated by an internal 2-bar phrase extension and developmental antecedent phrase built on call-and-response variations of Motive B. There is an abstract relation between the opening figures of Themes A and B (see mm. 3–4 and 37–38 in Examples 5 and 6). Both themes begin with a two-beat ascending rhythmic figure. Each theme follows this figure with a three-beat, descending triadic arpeggiation.68 This similarity is not accidental. The two-beat rhythmic cell, for instance, is one of several motivic details that are referenced repeatedly throughout BB&B’s rich thematic and motivic fabric. In fact, all three of the “Work Song” themes seem like permutations of one another. As in the design of Reminiscing, these close thematic relations suggest a sensitivity to thematic and rhythmic transformation that is largely absent in the concert works of the Whiteman tradition. Within BB&B as a whole, Ellington’s concern for thematic transformation and cross-reference is most pronounced in the developmental interludes of “Work Song.” As noted, the first part of the trombone solo in mm.

Table 7a. “Come Sunday” and “Light,” from Black (Black, Brown and Beige, 1935) “COME SUNDAY”

mm

section

key

form/function

1

Intro

B + mod

12

Pre-Chorus 1

F

24

Interlude 1

F/Dmin

35

Vln Solo Strain (8 mm)

Dmin

43

Pre-Chorus 2A (8 mm)

Dmin

51

Dmin

67

Pre-Chorus 2B (8 mm) Interlude 2 (Train) Cadenza (pno)

Preluding gestures built from fragmented, out-of-order statements of motives from Chorus. Variation on A phrase of Chorus. Borrowing from “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” False start that gives way to Intro material. Violin solo over low reed background (Priestley/Cohen note this background is built on Ellington's 1920s “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” arrangement).a Vln solo continues, but becomes an obbligato line. Forefront is a solo trbn variation on phrase A of Chorus (over different changes). Repeat of mm. 43–50 with varied vln obbligato. Ellingtonian “train” texture.

68

Chorus

D

92

Coda/Bridge

D

59

a

mod mod

Solo pno cadenza/preluding in “church”-style Full 32-bar AA1BA2 chorus w/ alto sax as gospel-style “vocalist” against church-like brass and tenor/bari countermelodies. 2-bar coda by reeds that becomes an attacca segue to “Light.”

See note to Table 7b.

“LIGHT”

mm

section

key

form/function

—

Intro, pt. A Cadenza (trpt) Intro, pt. B

D + mod B

Trumpet cadenza.

1

Trumpet cadenza leads into 2-bar calland-responses between solo trpt and the orchestra (based on material from “Work Song”; see Priestley/Cohen).

mm

section

17

Strain A

56

Interlude

B to E to C

77

Subsection 1 (13 mm)

B

90

Subsection 2 (8 mm) Subsection 3 (8 mm) Subsection 4 (8 mm) Subsection 5 (8 + 6 mm)

94 102 110

key

form/function

B

B B B B

126

Subsection 6 (7 + 4 mm)

B

136

Subsection 7 (8 + 6 mm)

B

150

Interlude

mod

166

Coda, pt. A

A

208

Coda, pt. B

A

New material (related to Ellington’s “Ridin’ on a Blue Note”; see Priestley/Cohen). In an AA1BA2 form. Has a 16-bar B phrase with trbns in lead. Includes “Work Song” refs. Bass solo. Dense w/ various “Work Song” motives. Shifting call-andresponse patterns. Bluesy version of a “Work Song” motive set in reeds over a 13-bar, AA1BA2 form. Trumpet-based passage. Related to materials from “Work Song.” Clarinet and saxes. Swung reference to “Come Sunday.” Minor-key variation on “Work Song,” w/ trbn obbligato. Variation on “Come Sunday” material with trombone solo (also related to Ellington's “Jump for Joy”). Brass segue in mm. 120–25. Trbn statement of “Come Sunday” phrase A. Last bar is dovetailed with the beginning of a 4-bar reed bridge. Paraphrase of “Come Sunday” phrase A (in trombone lead), but set against trpt reiterations of a “Work Song” motive. Followed by a trpt bridge set against another “Work Song” motive. Includes references to motives from phrase B of “Come Sunday.” Leads to a false C major ending in m. 165. Final “shout” chorus feeling. Built in 8-, 10-, and 24-bar sections. Extensive call-and-response patterns saturated w/ motivic recall patterns. Dense transformations of motives from “Work Song” and “Come Sunday.” The flag-waving coda.

Table 7b.

Formal outline of Brown (Black, Brown and Beige, 1935)

“WEST INDIAN DANCE”

mm

section

key

form/function

1 5

Intro (drums) Intro (orch)

— D

15

Chorus 1

F min/maj +A

47

Interlude (train)

55

Chorus 2 (variation)

99

Coda

A

106

Transition

mod

A

A

March-style intro, solo drums. Clarinet reference to Revolutionary War tune “The Girl I Left Behind.” Primary theme of movement. ABA1C song form. (Priestley/Cohen note the A phrase is a variation on “Come Sunday.”) “Train” effect stylizations over an A pedal. Arrival of Chorus 2, but significant variations are introduced. Begins with an 8-bar extension of pedal, with the reeds playing a variation on the A phrase of the chorus. Followed by a 4-bar vamp bridge with trpts/trbn. Then a trombone variant of the A phrase of the chorus (with Latin-style improvised trumpet responses) with a 4-bar extension, and a new phrase led by three sequential statements in the clarinet and reeds (the implied 4th sequence never appears). At m. 91, the train texture of the beginning of Chorus 2 (m. 55 ff.) returns. Built on four statements of a tag ending. BRIDGE TRANSITION. A four-part, 18-bar bridge. Involves rhapsodic shifts in texture and character. Includes a minor-key quote from “Swanee River” and a brass-scored snippet of “Yankee Doodle.” Followed by a reeds reference to the theme of “Emancipation Celebration.” A chromatic scalar passage and four chords provide an attacca entrance to the next section.

Note: Across mm. 67–99, there are numerous disjunctions between the 23 January 1943 premiere performance of this movement and the brass, reed and rhythm parts of Maurice Peress’s reconstructed score to BB&B. These discrepancies are explained by Priestley and Cohen: “At the premiere performance, the brass lost their place during the pedal-figure [m. 67 ff. in the Peress score] and the entry of the pep section is four bars late.” (Priestley and Cohen, “Black, Brown & Beige,” in The Duke Ellington Reader, 196.) This disjunction is corrected in the Peress score through his use of the original manuscript charts. The score and recording align again at m. 99.

“EMANCIPATION CELEBRATION”

mm

section

form/function

1

“Emancipation Celebration” Chorus C phrase var (8 mm) B phrase (8 mm)

In B major. 32-bar ABA1C chorus (the initial A phrase is only 7-bars in length). Call-andresponses between trumpet solo and orchestra. Varied C phrase progression forms background for cornet/trombone call-and-response duet. Restatement of B phrase of chorus, with new riff-based background in brass. Background riff of mm. 40–47 comes to the foreground in reeds with varied chord changes and plunger-muted trombone solo. Phrase extended two bars through a bass solo. Bass solo continues over a new riff-based background. Harmonic progression unrelated to Chorus. Includes varied repeat of 8-bar phrase. Tutti interlude based on new call-and-response riffs. Built on chromatic neighbor chords around B . Return of original C phrase. Section repeated once. Return of A phrase as a piano solo with rhythm section.

32 40 48

B phrase var. (8 mm)

58

Bass solo (8 + 8 mm)

67

Interlude (8 mm)

75

C phrase (8 + 8 mm) A phrase (8 mm)

84

“THE BLUES” (a.k.a. “MAUVE”)

mm

section

key

form/function

1

Intro

D

7

Chorus 1

Cmin

23

Chorus 2

Cmin

35

Bari Solo Strain

[B ]

52

“Carnegie Blues” Strain

D

63

Interlude/Intro

65

Blues Vocal Strain

73

Coda

Grand, fanfare-like intro segues into motive exchanges on the first notes of the Chorus. VOCAL. Quasi rhapsodic, rubato phrasing built on an abstracted blues progression. VOCAL. New text with same orch setting but varied ending. Twelve bars in length. Unrelated, 16-bar strain-like harmonic progression for written tenor sax solo. Final phrase extended one bar. Return to D w/ 12-bar blues progression featuring call-andresponse between trombone soli and reeds/trpts. (This passage was transformed into “Carnegie Blues.”) Solo tenor preluding before vocal chorus. VOCAL. Progression built on the first eight bars of a blues chorus. From m. 71, brass and rhythm drop out and vocal completes line in rubato phrasing above the reeds. Movement ends with a 9-bar variation on the setting of Chorus 1.

D to Cmin D

Cmin

Table 7c.

Formal outline of Beige (Black, Brown and Beige, 1935)

mm

section

key

form/function

1

Intro

E

“Jungle”-style intro. Trbns/bari have first statement of an important 4note Intro Motive (E -G -F-B ). Built in an AA1A2BCDEC1A3 form of 6-, 8 and 10-bar riff-based sections. Sequential treatments and transformations of previous motivic material. Rubato piano cadenza. Accelerando performance of ragtime piano solo. (Mark Tucker has identified this as two statements of an 8-bar strain from “Bitch's Ball,” an early Ellington composition.) Interlude based on Intro motive. Exchanges between orch and pno. 3/4 time. Introduction to new waltz strain (8 mm). Theme is a waltz version of “Sugar Hill Penthouse” theme from later in Beige. Waltz in 32-bar ABCA1 form. Trpt lead w/ sax backing and plunger-muted brass. Modulating interlude.

70 71

Cadenza (pno) “Bitches Ball” (Ragtime solo)

— Gmin

91

Interlude #1

Fmin

100

Sugar Hill Waltz, Intro

B

108

Sugar Hill Waltz, Chos 1

B

140

Interlude #2, pt A Interlude #2, pt B

mod

Interlude #2, pt C Sugar Hill Waltz, Chos 2

G

148

156 164

C

C

195

Interlude #3

mod

199

Sugar Hill Waltz, Chos 3

E

207 209

Cadenza (bari) Intro Waltz #2

— —

Interlude extension built as a false chorus statement on phrase A of waltz. Interlude extension with emphasis on pno. Lyrical trombone solo with varied backing. Truncated A1 statement (6 mm). 4/4 time, slowed tempo, and hard swing style. Open trpt lead. Open trpt lead with full band. Only first A phrase stated before held cadence. Bari sax cadenza over held tutti chord, Bari sax cadenza continues as a 3/4time intro to new waltz section.

mm

section

key

form/function

213

Waltz #2

E

253

Cadenza (bari)

—

262

Cadenza (pno)

F

263 267

Song Intro Song (Chos 1)

F

305 311

Interlude #4 Song Variation (Chos 2)

F mod

New waltz section. Begins w/ clarinet lead. Two sections: the first paraphrases Waltz #1, and the second introduces heavier swing with drum rolls. M. 245 ff. is a coda-like passage. Extended modulating cadenza for rubato bari sax with tutti held chords. Some motivic material derived from both “Work Song” and “Sugar Hill Penthouse.” Lyrical piano arpeggios on C6/9 harmony. 4/4 time. Clarinet-based, ABCA1 song theme. Would be 32-bar form, but both C and A1 phrases include phrase extensions. Interlude that begins as a false chorus. A second song chorus, with significant variations. ABCA1 song form. A phrase extended to 14 bars. B and C phrases modulated to B with varied melodic content. A1 truncated and in D . Chromatic piano cadenza/interlude. Anthem-like theme in trumpets. In the character of Ellington's setting of the final phrase of the “Star Spangled Banner” for the January 1943 Carnegie Hall concert. References to “Work Song” and “Come Sunday” in background. A brass-heavy, false coda-like interlude passage in which orch and pno trade twos. Swinging, cut-time ensemble with closing high-note trumpet and references to both “Work Song” and “Come Sunday.”

392 399

Cadenza Anthem

mod A

414

False Coda Bridge

A

422

Motivic Recap Coda

A

Note: All the above analyses are based on the Black, Brown and Beige score reconstruction by Maurice Peress (1999).

Example 5.

Mm. 1–12 from “Work Song” (Black, Brown and Beige, 1943)

Example 6.



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143–79 is one of these rich motivic passages. The interlude of mm. 75–114, shown in Example 7, is arguably the most complicated of these connective interludes. This passage is elided to the end of Theme A3 (mm. 69–74) by means of the underlying baritone sax solo. Soon thereafter, the baritone sax becomes the central voice of the interlude. Unlike the single-motive, developmental passages of a composition like Grofé’s Metropolis, mm. 143–79 of “Work Song” contain a dense fabric of semivaried statements and references to motives A and B, and a third submotive. This passage represents a further step in the development of Ellington’s “motivic saturation” technique. Like the typical symphonic jazz interlude, these motivic materials are subjected to various repetition- and sequence-based serial statements. These motives are also subjected to a greater degree of varied melodic and contrapuntal combinations than one typically finds in either the Whiteman-Robbins concert works or Ellington’s extended compositions of the 1930s. In short, while multistrain form seems to have been the underlying template for “Work Song,” Ellington’s compositional design uniquely transcends the “elaborate recipes for giving a jazz tune extended form” that Winthrop Sargeant had rightly chastised Whitemanesque symphonic jazz for.69 Ellington transcends the symphonic jazz formal model at multiple levels in BB&B. First and foremost, he returned to the suite form that he had first explored in Symphony in Black. In BB&B, the suite form is further enriched through nested episodic layering processes. At the episode level of each movement, Ellington relies upon slightly more complex and/or lengthy versions of Ellingtonian “10-inch record form.” This act has come to form the very definition of Ellingtonian “extended jazz.” From the mid-1940s forward, Ellington’s concert works were most commonly composed as suites built from “extended” chorus-based arranging routines. To paraphrase Schuller, this is music “to be listened to”—i.e., concert music rather than dance music—with “more complex musical forms,” but this “extended jazz” still was based on the forms that were “indigenous to its own essential nature.” BB&B’s new vision of extended jazz merges with the rhapsodic and developmental gestures of symphonic jazz. However, for perhaps the first time, the symphonic jazz aesthetic is richly interwoven with the core musical and arranging traditions of African American big band jazz from the Swing Era. Gone are the Whitemanesque strings and other orchestral instruments; the mixed ensemble of classical, theater, dance band, and jazz musicians; and the secondary “jazz” stylizations and novelty elements of the symphonic jazz dance bands. Because of the heterogeneous nature of most Whitemanesque concert works, white manifestations of the

Example 7.



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symphonic jazz idiom rarely display much actual absorption of African American musical aesthetics—at least not until the late 1930s and 1940s, when such aesthetics became an integral part of concert-style arrangements in the orchestras of Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and Stan Kenton, among others. Over the course of Ellington’s Carnegie Hall concerts of the 1940s, the residual rhapsodic bridging elements that saturate every level of BB&B are far less frequently employed. (There are notable exceptions, however, in such works as the 1943 New World a Comin’ and the 1949/1950 Harlem.) As Ellington moved away from the symphonic jazz model, his postwar concert works focused more exclusively on extensions of compositional and arranging practices of the big band jazz tradition that Ellington’s orchestra embodied. These elements include a primacy of the blues idiom and African American musical aesthetics (slurs, blue notes, melismas, calland-response patterns, riff-based textures, swing, etc.), greater elements of improvisation, and chorus-based forms. Like many of his “10-inch record” masterpieces and BB&B, Ellington’s postwar concert works also begin to routinely reference a wealth of pre-jazz, African American musical traditions that form the bedrock of both Ellington’s own musical language and American popular music in general. This deep well of African American musical inspiration includes ragtime, nineteenth-century brass band music, southern dance tunes, stomps, drags and set dances, jubilee, gospel and spiritual traditions, and rural and urban blues. (These same idioms greatly influenced the Harlem stride piano tradition, which was the cornerstone of Ellington’s early musical education.) These idioms are often employed as stylistic signifiers—or “tone parallels”—for the programmatic content of Ellington’s concert works. Like BB&B, many of Ellington’s postwar suites involve programmatic statements about larger social, cultural, and political concerns of their day, with special emphasis on African American experience. From a strictly musical perspective, Ellington’s postwar concert works achieve a greater naturalness and uniformity of idiomatic expression than interwar symphonic jazz, with its self-consciously hybrid stylizations. By the time of Ellington and Strayhorn’s 1966 Far East Suite, Ellington’s concert works were almost entirely based on suite form. Some movements, such as the nearly 12-minute “Ad Lib on Nippon” from this suite, still involve lengthy chorus-based arranging routines, rhapsodic solo piano bridges, and instrumental cadenzas. However, these elements are far less frequently employed, and they less self-consciously reference a classical sound. Such passages are also far more likely than similar passages in

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BB&B to involve improvisational input from band members. (Jimmy Hamilton’s frequent clarinet cadenzas in The Far East Suite are a case in point.) A good example of this new type of suite-based, Ellingtonian “extended jazz” in BB&B is “Come Sunday,” the second episode from Black. The sophistication of this episode is on par with many Ellingtonian “10-inch record” masterpieces. As seen in Table 7a, the “extended” song-based arranging routine of “Come Sunday” is built on a 32-bar AA1BA2 song chorus (which did not yet have lyrics in the 1943 performance). As shown in Tables 7a–7c, the rich, spiritual-based theme of “Come Sunday” is nearly as prominent as the theme of “Work Song” in BB&B’s intricate web of motivic references. Where the “Come Sunday” episode departs from the typical arrangements of Swing Era big bands, however, is in the great liberties it takes with the chorus-variation routines of this tradition. Another key difference is this episode’s employment of introductory and interlude passages saturated in motive-based, intramusical and intermusical references.70 A clear, 32-bar statement of the “Come Sunday” theme doesn’t arrive until m. 68, two-thirds of the way through this episode, with Johnny Hodges’s sensuous alto sax lead evoking the moaning, wailing, and gesticulating intonations of rural, African American deacons and ministers. With a multitude of slurs, blue notes, and melismas, Hodges engages in a fervent and emotional call and response with a churchlike brass background (which also includes occasional tenor and baritone sax countermelodies). This texture is meant to invoke the musical “tone parallel” of a testifying deacon/minister and his congregation. (These associations were made explicit in the 1958 rerecording of this number with lyrics added for the gospel singer Mahalia Jackson.) The motivic material for this theme is referenced several times leading up to the full theme statement, which starts on m. 68. There is a certain kinship between this episode’s design and the relationship between Parts I–III and Part IV of Reminiscing in Tempo, although the chorusderived arrangement of “Come Sunday” is far less abstract. Even before its formal beginning, the “Come Sunday” episode is foreshadowed in the closing textures of “Work Song.” The deaconlike phrasing of “Tricky” Sam Nanton’s final “Work Song” solo segues directly into a bridge with a “religioso” reed backing and a gospel-tinged Hodges alto sax solo. The attacca segue between these episodes leads to an 11-bar introduction with various preluding gestures built from fragmented, out-of-order statements of motives in the “Come Sunday” theme. Before the start of the full, 32-bar statement of this theme in m. 68, Ellington presents multiple variation statements of phrase A from this chorus, written for the trombone of Juan Tizol. The series of prechorus phrases that begin the “Come Sunday” arrangement somewhat recall the more involved reiterations of the


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eight-bar phrase A in Reminiscing in Tempo. In the three prechorus passages of “Come Sunday,” there is one initial major-key statement of phrase A (at m. 12) and two minor-key statements that are somewhat obscured by a busy obbligato violin solo. Beyond the stylistic significations on African American religious music, “Come Sunday” also includes intermusical allusions to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (at m. 22), the dark background reed scoring and harmonies of Ellington’s famous 1926 composition “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” (beginning at the violin solo strain at m. 35), and a typically Ellingtonian, big band train effect for the second interlude (from m. 59). “Come Sunday” ends as it began, with a reed-based, “religioso” bridging interlude that segues directly into the next episode of the movement. While the delayed-theme design of “Come Sunday” is atypical of Ellington’s big band arrangements, it is far more indebted to earlier Ellington compositions than to the symphonic jazz model. The six-minute “Come Sunday” episode is clearly constructed as an extended, chorus-based arranging routine. Such big band arranging extensions also typically involve the prominent use of motivically related interludes, introductions, and codas. These interlude elements were favored in symphonic jazz dance band arranging of the 1920s, but they played a greatly diminished role in the arranging routines of the Swing Era. The arranging routine of “Come Sunday” has a clear dramatic or rhetorical structure, in that a listener hears progressively more complete statements of a protean song theme—the phrase A “idea” of the movement—as the arrangement unfolds. This pregnant “idea” is briefly explored in multiple guises until its full potential is passionately revealed at the end of the episode. By extending the parameters of standard arranging conventions through such innovative means, Ellington introduces a new approach to articulating the development idea from within the jazz tradition. This said, BB&B’s intricate web of references to “Work Song” and “Come Sunday” motives—many involving rhythmic and melodic transformations—still clearly owes a great deal to the symphonic jazz–derived “motivic saturation” technique that he developed in the 1930s. As seen in Tables 7a–7c, the remaining episodes of BB&B beyond “Work Song” and “Come Sunday” involve multiple levels of negotiation between chorus-based “extended jazz” arranging and the multistrain symphonic jazz formal model. Likewise, there are regular interchanges between Ellingtonian big band jazz and symphonic jazz rhapsodic textures. For example, “Light” is largely built through a Reminiscing-style “parade” sequence of eight-bar subsection episodes, but it includes a full song-form strain and a sizable developmental display of motivic references. By contrast, the suitewithin-a-suite design of the Brown movement involves rather straightforward, chorus-based arrangements for both “West Indian Dance” and “The

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Blues,” although the latter episode notably merges the blues idiom with various rhapsodic textures and gestures. Beyond Black, Brown and Beige, the Ellington Carnegie Hall concerts of the 1940s inspired the composer to write an important series of large-scale concert works. Like Paul Whiteman’s series of “Experiment in Modern Music” concerts from 1924 to 1938,71 each Ellington Carnegie Hall appearance across the 1940s featured several concert-style works within a larger variety entertainment program format. Each Ellington Carnegie Hall concert, like the Whiteman concerts, featured the premiere of a least one major extended composition written expressly for that event. At his Carnegie Hall concert of December 11, 1943, for instance, Ellington premiered his quasi-piano concerto, New World a Comin’, a work that represents his most thorough synthesis of Whitemanesque and Ellingtonian symphonic jazz aesthetics.72 Both these Carnegie appearances and their resultant concert works fueled heated critical debates about the merits of jazz versus “serious” music, the place of jazz in the concert hall, and Ellington’s ability (or lack thereof) to compose extended works. After 1944, Ellington devoted his large-scale compositional efforts almost entirely to suite-based extended forms, though many of these works continued to display applications and developments of the motivic and episodic techniques that Ellington had first explored in his extended compositions of the 1930s. The symphonic jazz imperative for the hyperbolic display of rhapsodic and developmental structural elements played a much-diminished role in Ellington’s compositions beyond 1950. In 1950, Ellington composed Harlem, a masterly, 14-minute work that is the apogee of Ellington’s mature, postsymphonic jazz conception for extended form, and Ellington’s richest exploration of thematic development.

NOTES 1. Mark Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige,” Black Music Research Journal, 13 (Fall 1993), 67–86. 2. Winthrop Sargeant, Jazz: Hot and Hybrid (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1946), 246. 3. Don Rayno, Paul Whiteman: Pioneer in American Music, vol. 1, 1890–1930 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2003); Joshua Berrett, Louis Armstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); and “The Jazz Age: Music of Paul Whiteman,” a February 17–19, 2005, concert by the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra at the Rose Theater, Jazz at Lincoln Center, New York.


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4. Roger Pryor Dodge, “Negro Jazz,” in Hot Jazz and Jazz Dance: Roger Pryor Dodge, Collected Writings, 1929–1964, ed. Pryor Dodge (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 3–8. The 1925 origins of this essay are outlined by Dodge’s son, Pryor Dodge, on p. ix of the preface. 5. Will Friedwald, review of Louis Armstrong and Paul Whiteman: Two Kings of Jazz, by Joshua Berrett, Arts and Letters, New York Sun, February 15, 2005, 18. 6. Charles Hamm, “Towards a New Reading of Gershwin,” in The Gershwin Style: New Looks at the Music of George Gershwin, ed. Wayne Schneider (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 6. Also see Kathy J. Ogren, The Jazz Revolution: Twenties America and the Meaning of Jazz (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). 7. See Scott DeVeaux, “Constructing the Jazz Tradition: Jazz Historiography,” Black American Literature Forum 25 (Fall 1991), 525–60; and Bernard Gendron, “‘Moldy Figs’ and Modernists: Jazz at War (1942–1946),” in Jazz among the Discourses, ed. Krin Gabbard (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 31–56. 8. Scott DeVeaux, from the abstract to his conference paper entitled “Core and Boundaries,” Leeds International Jazz Conference, Leeds, UK, March 11, 2005. 9. John Szwed, Jazz 101: A Complete Guide to Learning and Loving Jazz (New York: Hyperion, 2000), 6–10. 10. Wynton Marsalis, “Ellington at 100: Reveling at Life’s Majesty,” New York Times, January 17, 1999, Arts and Leisure, 1. 11. See Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige”; and Lisa Barg, “National Voices/Modernist Histories: Race, Performance and Remembrance in American Music, 1927–1943” (Ph.D. diss., State Univ. of New York at Stony Brook, 2001), 166–238. 12. Duke Ellington, Music Is My Mistress (New York: Da Capo, 1973), 103. This Whiteman performance can be heard on Paul Whiteman, Paul Whiteman: Carnegie Hall Concert, December 25, 1938, compact disc, Nostalgia Arts 3033–3025, 2005. 13. Duke Ellington, “Duke Becomes a Critic,” Down Beat, July 1939, 8, 35; reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, ed. Mark Tucker (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 95–96. 14. The Duke Ellington Reader, 132. 15. References to both the Creole Rhapsody and Mood Indigo Whiteman-Ellington performances, as well as other Whiteman-Ellington connections, were routinely recycled in Ellington’s promotional materials across the 1930s and early 1940s. A 1933 advertising manual from Ellington’s association with Mills Artists can be seen in Stuart Nicholson, A Portrait of Duke Ellington: Reminiscing in Tempo (London: Pan Books, 2000), 152–59. The Duke Ellington Collection, housed in the Archives Center of the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History, contains numerous advertising manuals from Ellington’s association with the William Morris Agency in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Also see H. T., “Music in Review: Paul

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16.

17. 18.

19. 20.

21. 22.

Annual Review of Jazz Studies Whiteman Brings the Broadway Spirit to the Classic Reaches of the Stadium,” New York Times, August 5, 1933, p. 9. There is some confusion over the title of this series in both Whiteman- and Ellington-related sources. The New York Times reported the name of the series as Music Out of the Blue in an article that appeared the day after the show’s premiere on September 5, 1944. In this article, the series is described as “thirteen contemporary composers’ weekly concerts.” (Ellington’s score commission is noted.) See “New Music Works in Radio Concerts: 13 Composers Named by Paul Whiteman Represented on Weekly Broadcast Series,” New York Times, September 6, 1944, p. 17. Whiteman’s biographer, Thomas DeLong, similarly refers to this program as Music Out of the Blue. See Thomas A. DeLong, Pops: Paul Whiteman, King of Jazz (Piscataway, NJ: New Century Publishers, 1983), 268. By contrast, Leonard Feather’s program notes for Ellington’s Carnegie Hall premiere of Blutopia cite the origin of the work as “the thirteen-week Contemporary Composer [sic] series on the Blue Network.” See Leonard Feather, program notes to Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, Carnegie Hall, New York, December 19, 1944, n.p., the Duke Ellington Collection of the Smithsonian Institution. In a related fashion, the weekly coverage in the New York Times cites this program as the “Contemporary Composers Concert.” See sample listings in “Radio Today,” New York Times, September 5, 1944, p. 31 (the premiere program) and “Radio Today,” New York Times, October 17, 1944, p. 37. Lastly, I have listened to tape copies of two broadcasts of this program (September 19, 1944, and October 17, 1945), and neither refers to the show as Music Out of the Blue. On the contrary, just after the show’s brief music overture (an odd, newly composed Hollywood film-style fanfare that segues into a snippet of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue), the announcer proclaims that the show will present “a concert of music by contemporary composers with Paul Whiteman and the concert orchestra” (with continued underscoring from the Rhapsody in Blue). From the author’s personal collection, no additional information known. DeLong, Pops, 268. Decca Presents an Album of Modern American Music Played by Meredith Willson and His Concert Orchestra, Decca Album 219, 78 rpm (3 discs), 1941. Duke Ellington, American Lullaby (New York: Robbins Music, 1942). “Six Composers to Collaborate on NYC Portrait,” Down Beat, October 20, 1950, 3. Leonard Feather, “Duke Readies New Works for Met Opera House Bow,” Down Beat, January 26, 1951, 1; Mercer Ellington, Duke Ellington in Person: An Intimate Memoir (New York: Da Capo, 1978), 96–97; and James Lincoln Collier, Duke Ellington (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 283. Zez Confrey, Kitten on the Keys (New York: Jack Mills, 1921). The sizable Robbins/Whiteman Modern American score series includes works by an impressive list of top-name Broadway, Tin Pan Alley, Hollywood, and popular band composers and arrangers. For an account of publications in the various Robbins Modern American Music score series, see appendices 1 and 2


23.

24. 25. 26.

27. 28.

29. 30.

31. 32.

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in John Howland, Between the Muses and the Masses: Symphonic Jazz, “Glorified” Entertainment, and the Rise of the American Musical Middlebrow, 1920–1944 (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 2002), 599–611. Louis Alter, Manhattan Serenade (New York: Robbins Music, 1928). This work was published both as a piano solo and as a concert orchestra arrangement (by Domenico Savino). Recordings include Nathaniel Shilkret and the Victor Salon Orchestra, Manhattan Serenade, Victor 35914 (rec. 1928; arr. Savino); and Whiteman’s later recording (arr. Leeman) in Paul Whiteman and His Concert Orchestra, Album of Manhattan: Metropolitan Impressions by Louis Alter, Decca Album 116, 78 rpm (3 discs), 1940. Arthur Lange, Arranging for the Modern Dance Orchestra (New York: Arthur Lange, Inc., 1926), 212. Ferde Grofé, Metropolis: A Fantasie in Blue (New York: Robbins Music, 1928). For examples of this trend in Ellington criticism, see: R. D. Darrell, Phonograph Monthly, July 1928, reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 35; R. D. Darrell, Phonograph Monthly (January 1931), reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 38–39; R. D. Darrell, “Black Beauty,” disques (June 1932), 152–61, reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 57–65; Roger Pryor Dodge, “Negro Jazz,” in Hot Jazz and Jazz Dance, 3–8 (the 1925 origins of this essay are outlined by Dodge’s son, Pryor Dodge, on p. ix of the preface); Roger Pryor Dodge, “Harpsichords and Jazz Trumpets,” Hound and Horn (July–September 1934), 602–6, reprinted in Hot Jazz and Jazz Dance, 12–26; Constant Lambert, Music Ho!: A Study of Music in Decline (originally 1934; republished London: Penguin Books, 1948), 155–64; and Constant Lambert, “Gramophone Notes,” New Statesman and Nation, August 1, 1931, 150. Lambert, Music Ho! 156. The William Morris Agency’s Manual for Advertising, c. 1938, for Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, from the first page, entitled “Advertising Manual.” Assembled on loose pages without numbers. From the Duke Ellington Collection of the Smithsonian Institution. Ibid., “Ellington’s Ability as Composer Given Serious Approval,” from a page entitled “Press Stories.” Mercer Ellington claimed that “Irving [Mills] understood the importance of adding prestige to the [Ellington] product. So did Ellington. When Irving came to him [in 1931] and told [Ellington] he wanted him to write a ‘rhapsody’ for performance [the] next day, [Ellington] sat up all night writing Creole Rhapsody. . . . What made it particularly significant . . . was that [this recording] occupied both sides of a twelve-inch [78 rpm] record. Apart from Paul Whiteman’s, few bands had had this privilege, so for a black band it was a major step forward and the first example of Pop’s ability in ‘extended’ composition.” Mercer Ellington with Stanley Dance, Duke Ellington in Person (New York: Da Capo, 1979), 34. Duke Ellington, Mistress, 73. Mark Tucker, Ellington: The Early Years (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1991), 266.

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33. Orchestra World (January 1927), 21. See Tucker, Ellington: The Early Years, 199 and 303, n. 18. 34. For a reproduction of this undated, mid-1920s lead sheet of Rhapsody Jr., see Erik Wiedemann, “Duke Ellington: The Composer,” Annual Review of Jazz Studies 5 (Metuchen, NJ: Institute of Jazz Studies and Scarecrow Press, 1991), 41, 60–61. Wiedemann notes that Mercer Ellington had the impression that the lead sheet was not in the handwriting of his father. 35. Arrangements of both Bird of Paradise and Rhapsody Jr. were recorded by the Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra in 1935. These performances can be heard on The Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra: Stomp It Off, vol. 1 (1934–1935), compact disc, GRP 1001694, 1992. Both recordings were made on May 29, 1935, and were issued together on Decca 639. For each chart, arranging credits were given to both Edwin Wilcox and Eddie Durham (both members of the Lunceford orchestra). 36. Leroy Smith and His Orchestra, Rhapsody in Blue, Victor 21328 (rec. February 23, 1928). 37. Felix Mendelssohn, “Spring Song,” op. 62, no. 6 (from Songs Without Words, 1842). 38. The 1926 score’s conclusion on the D strain is not entirely verifiable, in that on the undated, mid-1920s lead sheet this strain closes with a sectional double bar line, rather than a final double bar line. While the lead sheet does dutifully indicate a number of ordering instructions, it does not give any clear instructions how to conclude the piece. According to the standards of stride and novelty composition in 1926, it is likely that the composition returned to a final A strain statement. 39. Ellington, Mistress, 73. 40. This performance can be heard on Duke Ellington, The Duke Ellington Carnegie Hall Concerts: January 1943, compact disc, Prestige 2PCD34004-2, 1991. The December 1938 Whiteman performance can be heard on Paul Whiteman, Paul Whiteman: Carnegie Hall Concert, December 25, 1938, compact disc, Nostalgia Arts 303 3025, 2005. 41. Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, Creole Rhapsody, Brunswick 6093 (rec. January 1931), and Victor 36049 (rec. June 1931). 42. Duke Ellington, Mistress, 82. 43. Robert D. Crowley, “Black, Brown and Beige After 16 Years,” Jazz 2 (1959), 98–104; reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 184. 44. Ibid., 183. 45. “The Future of Form in Jazz,” Saturday Review of Literature, January 12, 1957, 561; reprinted in Gunther Schuller, Musings: The Musical Worlds of Gunther Schuller, a Collection of His Writings (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 18–25. See also Gunther Schuller, Early Jazz: Its Roots and Musical Development (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), 353–54. 46. Emphases in the original. Ibid., 18–19. 47. Ibid., 19.


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48. See, for instance, Schuller’s concert notes to a Whiteman tribute concert in Schuller, Musings, 44–46. 49. A. J. Bishop, “Duke’s Creole Rhapsody,” Jazz Monthly, November 1963, 12; reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 347. 50. Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 76–79. 51. Enzo Archetti, “In Defense of Ellington and His Reminiscing in Tempo,” American Music Lover 1 (April 1936), 359–60, 364. From the Ellington Scrapbooks of the Smithsonian’s Duke Ellington Collection. Also reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 122. 52. The extant band parts at the Smithsonian do not include the saxophone parts for Johnny Hodges and Otto Hardwick, or the (usually absent) parts for Ellington (piano) and Sonny Greer (percussion). 53. These Reminiscing in Tempo performances can be heard on the following releases: Duke Ellington, Duke Ellington and His Orchestra: The Treasury Shows, vol. 8, Storyville, compact disc, 6395484, 2003; Duke Ellington, Duke Ellington: Carnegie Hall, 11/13/48, compact disc, Vintage Jazz Classics 1024, 1991; and Duke Ellington, Duke Ellington: Cornell University Concert, compact disc, MusicMasters Jazz 01612-65114-2, 1996. 54. “Program for the First Carnegie Hall Concert,” The Duke Ellington Reader, 162. 55. See Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige”; and Barg, “Race, Narrative, and Nation.” 56. James Weldon Johnson, Black Manhattan (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1930), 4. 57. On musical “signification,” see Samuel A. Floyd, The Power of Black Music: Interpreting Its History from Africa to the United States (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 8. See also Henry Louis Gates Jr., The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of African-American Literary Criticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 58. The story of BB&B traces black American history from slavery in the South to a celebration of modern Harlem. BB&B’s Dixie-to-Harlem narrative was only the latter half of a larger story that Ellington had composed for his incomplete opera, Boola. As Maurice Peress and Mark Tucker have noted, two working texts have surfaced for this opera. The first is an untitled, 29-page manuscript in Ellington’s hand. The second, titled “Black, Brown and Beige by Duke Ellington,” is a 33-page typescript. As Tucker explains, “both the autograph draft . . . and the typescript suggest that Boola and Black, Brown and Beige shared the same scenario and sprang from a single creative impulse.” (Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige,” 76.) In both documents, the narrative concerns “the character [of] Boola, an African brought to the New World aboard a slave ship.” (Ibid., 77.) Each text follows Boola’s travels through several centuries of African American history. Tucker notes that for Ellington, Boola was “more [a] symbol than a fully realized character,

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59. 60. 61.

62.

63.

64. 65. 66. 67. 68.

69. 70.

71.

72.

Annual Review of Jazz Studies someone whose individual experience embraces . . . that of all African Americans.” (Ibid.) The larger conceptual frame for the BB&B program thus traces black American history from Africa to Dixie to Harlem. See also Maurice Peress, Dvorák to Duke Ellington: A Conductor Explores America’s Music and Its African American Roots (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 11–12, 180–88. Peress kindly provided me with copies of both texts. Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige,” 69. John Pittman, “The Duke Will Stay on Top!” (August or September 1941), The Duke Ellington Reader, 148. See Brian Priestley and Alan Cohen’s landmark analysis in “Black, Brown & Beige,” Composer 51 (Spring 1974), 33–37; 52 (Summer 1974), 29–32; and 53 (Winter 1974–1975), 29–32; reprinted in The Duke Ellington Reader, 185–204. Priestley and Cohen did not have access to the transcription recording of the 1943 Carnegie Hall concert, which was commercially released on LP in 1977 (The Duke Ellington Carnegie Hall Concerts, no. 1, January 1943, Prestige P-34004 [Berkeley, 1977], rereleased on CD as Prestige 2PCD-34004-2). See also Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 141–49; and Tucker, “The Genesis of Black, Brown and Beige.” For an account of the performance history of this work, see Andrew Homzy, “Black, Brown and Beige in Duke Ellington’s Repertoire, 1943–1973,” Black Music Research Journal 13 (Fall 1993), 87–110. The Ellington centennial’s plethora of journalistic commentary on this work is too extensive to mention here. For academic criticism, see the essays by Mark Tucker, Andrew Homzy, Kurt Dietrich, Scott DeVeaux, and Maurice Peress in Black Music Research Journal 13 (Fall 1993). See also the reprints of contemporary BB&B criticism in Tucker’s Duke Ellington Reader. For more recent academic discussions of BB&B, see Graham Lock, Blutopia (Durham: Duke University Press, 1999), 107–18, and Lisa Barg, “Race, Narrative, and Nation.” George Antheil, “Jazz Is Music,” The Forum 81 (July 1928), 64. Schuller, Swing Era, 141, 144. Priestley and Cohen, “Black, Brown & Beige.” Lange, Arranging, 212. Priestley and Cohen were the first to note the importance of this two-beat rhythmic figure. See Priestley and Cohen’s “Black, Brown & Beige,” in The Duke Ellington Reader, 188–89. Sargeant, Jazz: Hot and Hybrid, 246. I employ the term “intermusical” here as a correlate to intertextuality. For a similar use of this term, see Ingrid Monson, Saying Something: Jazz Improvisation and Interaction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 127–28. For an extended discussion of Whiteman’s “Experiment in Modern Music” concert series, see chapter 4 and appendix 4 in Howland, Between the Muses and the Masses. This performance can be heard on Duke Ellington, Duke Ellington: Live at Carnegie Hall, Dec. 11, 1943, compact disc, Storyville 1038341, 2001.

CHURCHY BLUES, BLUESY CHURCH: VERNACULAR TROPES, EXPRESSION, AND STRUCTURE IN CHARLES MINGUS’S “ECCLUSIASTICS” Horace J. Maxile Jr. Bass virtuoso and composer Charles Mingus (1922–1979) was one of the most influential jazz personalities of his era. The breadth of his performance experience was atypical, spanning many decades and stylistic developments in jazz. He performed with legendary artists such as Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, and Bud Powell before consolidating a formidable career as a bandleader, playing many of his original compositions in both small groups and big bands. With the Holiness Church and Duke Ellington as central influences, Mingus’s compositional voice resonates with personal substance and cultural homage. Describing Mingus’s style, Ekkehard Jost cites varied influences such as collective improvisation, call and response, impressionistic sound structures, bebop phrases, and Spanish-Mexican rhythms.1 Though eclectic, Mingus developed a personal voice that proved to be much more than a simple mixture of jazz styles. His innovations also anticipated later developments in free jazz and fusion.2 On the 1961 recording Oh Yeah Mingus “goes to church” in his composition “Ecclusiastics.” Nat Hentoff quotes Mingus in the liner notes regarding his church influence: “The blues was in the churches—moaning and riffs and that sort of thing between the audience and the preacher.”3 The tune aptly reflects this interactive, cultural dynamic and also renders a feeling of intense self-examination as the vocalist (Mingus) offers the listener an expressive personal profile. The aim of this article is to explore the areas of vernacular tropes and expressive devices as they play on, and with, the structural attributes of this tune. Specifically, this study seeks to incorporate issues of culture, expressivity, and vernacular contexts into analyses of jazz compositions and performances. Three methods of analysis come into play: (1) conventional methods for the purpose of orientation, (2) Schenkerian techniques for examinations of harmonic and voice-leading detail, and (3) topical analysis for addressing the expressive content of the tune. The expressive content of “Ecclusiastics” is addressed in terms of topics (or musical signs), a notion first codified in Leonard Ratner’s book Classic

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Music: Expression, Form, and Style and extended in V. Kofi Agawu’s Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music. Ratner and Agawu, focusing primarily on Western concert music, both define topics as “subjects of musical discourse.” Ratner, evoking the work of eighteenthcentury theorists, explores musical expression and meaning in terms of topics. Agawu, similarly concerned with how topics convey expression, codifies a theory of topics (or musical signs) that convincingly supports the idea of “interaction between topical signs and structural signs.”4 Adapting Agawu’s theory of topics to African American music has rich potential for illuminating the connections between structure and expression in African American performance practice. Since expressivity is at the core of African American musical culture, it is essential to address this dynamic in our analyses and interpretations of the music. The signs employed for this analysis of “Ecclusiastics” derive from musical tropes and cultural traditions of African Americans,5 including blues, call and response, spiritual/supernatural, and signifyin(g). While the blues, call and response, and spiritual/supernatural topics are readily associated with African American musical practice, the idea of musical signifyin(g) requires further discussion. In The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism, Henry Louis Gates uses the concept of signifyin(g) as a means of interpreting African American literature and vernacular culture: Signifyin(g) is the black trope of tropes, the figure for black rhetorical figures. . . . The black rhetorical tropes, subsumed under Signifyin(g), would include marking, loud-talking, testifying, calling out (of one’s name), sounding, rapping, playing the dozens, and so on.6

Samuel A. Floyd Jr., in The Power of Black Music, extends the idea of signifyin(g) as “figurative, implicative speech” to African American music.7 Just as Gates uses the vernacular to “read and inform the formal,” Floyd insists that African American music “can be examined through the same vernacular tradition, with the rhetorical tropes of verbal provenance replaced with those of its own genesis.”8 From this point of view, the unique emblems and sound phenomena of African American musical traditions “can serve as Signifyin(g) figures.”9 Floyd defines musical signifyin(g) as troping: the transformation of preexisting musical material by trifling with it, teasing it, or censuring it. Musical Signifyin(g) is the rhetorical use of preexisting material as a means of demonstrating respect for or poking fun at a musical style, process or practice through parody, pastiche, implication, indirec-

Mingus’s “Ecclusiastics”

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tion, humor, tone play or word play, the illusion of speech or narration, or other troping mechanisms.10

Mingus’s expressive profile in “Ecclusiastics” is marked mostly by signifyin(g), but blues and call-and-response topics abound as well. “ECCLUSIASTICS” “Ecclusiastics” displays a number of expressive traits common to African American musical culture, particularly the interactive and emotive dynamics of certain black worship experiences. In his childhood home, Mingus was exposed only to Western classical music and devotional music. His first exposure to African American music was the result of his stepmother’s religious affinities.11 Although the family was officially affiliated with an African Methodist Episcopal (AME) congregation, Mingus would sometimes join his stepmother when she visited a local Holiness church.12 The Holiness Church worship and musical style, with its encouragement of active, communal participation, was surely a basis for Mingus’s religiously themed compositions. To fully contrast the worship dynamics of the AME and Holiness churches is beyond the scope of this article. We do note, however, that the young Mingus probably perceived the Holiness Church as more “lively” in contrast to the more “reserved” worship setting and musical style at the AME Church.13 “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting,” from Blues and Roots (1959), is another Mingus tune that demonstrates a salient church influence. Mingus characterized this tune as “church music,” and continued, “I heard this as a child when I went to meetings with my [step]mother. The congregation gives their testimonial before the Lord, they confess their sins and sing and shout and do a little Holy Rolling.”14 According to Nat Hentoff, “Ecclusiastics” also projects an introspective side of Mingus: And it is in this piece . . . that this preacher is probing scrapingly [sic] into himself. “Ecclusiastics,” says Mingus, “is based on my struggle to get free from prison chains, the invisible ones and the real ones.”15

Within a blues framework, “Ecclusiastics” reflects on aspects of spirituality and captures expressive characteristics of African American worship such as call-and-response exchanges and group exhortations (shouts). The global structure of the Oh Yeah version of “Ecclusiastics” mirrors the characteristic rise and fall of emotive charge in select black worship

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experiences, perhaps similar to those witnessed by the young Mingus in the Holiness Church. In these spirited and participatory congregations, some members may shout exclamations of joy while others moan contemplatively. Some members may subtly tap their feet while others clap their hands. Within these varying modes of openly expressive and interpolative gestures, a definite order and structure shapes the collective worship experience. Layers of activity within the worship service steadily increase in intensity, culminating with the sermon, which is often concluded with a series of energetic exchanges between the preacher and the congregation.16 The 1961 performance of “Ecclusiastics” displays a similar representative arch shape, as shown in Example 1. Following two statements of the “head” (or tune), the solo choruses gradually increase in rhythmic energy and complexity. In the last solo chorus, climactic eruptions burst forth between the vocalist (Mingus) and the ensemble. This climactic activity subsides into two final statements of the head and the final vamp, which ends with a vigorous shout. The following analysis focuses primarily on the head, but selected features of the solo choruses will provide detail for discussions of topical content.

WITHIN THE BLUES FRAMEWORK Initially one hears “Ecclusiastics” as consisting of two parts, because two distinct moods are clearly presented. A transcription of the tune is provided in Example 2.17 The first mood, with its slow tempo and forlorn melody, could be considered a gospel ballad. The second mood (which begins with the change of meter at letter B) is a gospel jubilee, marked by a double-time

Example 1.


Example 2.

Example 3.

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feel, increased rhythmic activity, and a highly idiomatic chord progression. The final two bars suggest a third distinct mood as the performers participate in a shouting vamp. Despite these contrasting episodes, the overall structure of “Ecclusiastics” demonstrates a striking allegiance to the traditional twelve-bar blues. Brian Priestley commented that it is possible to think of this tune as a distorted twelve-bar blues. He interprets each chorus as consisting of four separate sections, which do not align neatly with the AAB phrase structure of a traditional blues, yet nonetheless substantiate an underlying blues form.18 Example 3 offers an alternative transcription without meter changes and marks Priestley’s phrase analysis with brackets. This rebarred transcription provides insight into Mingus’s blues agenda: definitive harmonic markers of the blues coincide with character changes. Example 4 aligns the rebarred “Ecclusiastics” of Example 3 with a twelve-bar blues progression and identifies two harmonic events that help reveal the blues foundation. The first event is the arrival of the subdominant at bar 5. This is a signature attribute of the blues, and here, the subdominant arrives precisely on time. Furthermore, the saliency of the subdominant through the solo choruses reconfirms the blues form. The second harmonic event is the return of the tonic at bar 11. Example 4 demonstrates how both “Ecclusiastics” and the standard blues highlight a return to the tonic at bar 11. During statements of the head,

Example 4.


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the final measures feature a shouting vamp where the ensemble participates in an exclamatory dialogue.

CHROMATIC FREEDOM Mingus achieves freedom from the blues framework through striking chromatic excursions and interruptions, both of which thwart the expectations set up by the blues framework and thus amplify the expressive quality of the tune. Schenkerian techniques enable us to account for the interpolated passages that create intriguing disruptions of continuity. The most apparent of these passages is the “gospel” section transcribed in mm. 7–14 of Example 2. Following the initial statement of dominant harmony at m. 7, Mingus harmonizes the descending thirds in the melody—a rather square melodic line—with a falling fifths progression, a straightforward harmonic sequence. Example 5 identifies this progression as a prolongation of the structural dominant (C7). The harmonic sequence breaks at m. 14, when the structural dominant is restated. Here Mingus employs a raised fifth (G), which drives the tune into the shout vamp. The raised fifth also echoes the harmonically emphasized blue third (A7) heard three measures earlier. Another interpolated progression is examined in Example 6. As previously noted, m. 5 marks the arrival of the subdominant in both the Mingus tune and a standard blues chorus. Mingus’s subdominant lasts for two bars, as in a standard blues, but he embellishes this event by interpolating a striking nonfunctional harmonic progression. As shown in Example 6, Mingus states B7 harmony at m. 5 and ascends through a harmonic sequence of minor thirds before reaching the structural dominant (C).

Example 5.

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Example 6.

Example 7 details the minor third harmonic progression in mm. 5–6. The first three legs of the sequence emphasize subdominant harmony (B7) in the melodic voice; note that a descending B major triad forms the initial pitches in the 32nd-note figures in Example 7a, an excerpt from the score, and in the reductive graph (Example 7b). This emphasis on the subdominant is typical of a traditional blues, but the harmonic progression that accompanies this melodic outlining of B harmony is not typical. Thus Mingus appears to confirm and confuse the blues agenda in the same musical idea. Example 7b also reveals an inner voice (represented by the notes with downward stems) in the same melodic passage. We can trace this inner voice by isolating the last pitch of each fleeting six-note figure in the melody (F–G–A ). The last downward-stemmed pitch (B) in the Gmaj7 chord is stated by one of the horns in the ensemble. The melodic goal of this inner voice is C at m. 7. C (C7) is also a harmonic goal, being the structural dominant of the tune. All the pitches in that inner melodic line suggest a conventional blues pitch collection (F–G–A –B–C). Example 7c further contextualizes that blues pitch collection with more surface-level events: the harmonization of the bass, the strident F in the upper melodic voice, and other pitches that embellish the inner voice. Example 7d illustrates a harmonization of that blues pitch collection using the chords of Mingus’s chromatic interpolation. Another kind of interpolation occurs at mm. 3–4. Example 8a shows the underlying melodic progression. The parenthesized space between the D and F in the sequential ascent is where we account for Mingus’s harmonic and melodic interpolations. The bass line that accompanies the tune begins with a stepwise ascent, as seen in mm. 1–2 of Example 8c. The bass sequence (F–G–A) leads us to expect a B chord in m. 2, and it does appear. This B7 chord is an anticipation of the structural subdominant that is con-


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Example 7.

firmed at m. 5. Mingus, however, interpolates an unusual chromatic falling fifths sequence (B7–E7–Am7–D+7) to accompany the greatly extended “blue” glissando that delays the definitive arrival of the structural subdominant. The raised fifth (A ) of the altered D7 harmony at m. 4 creates a common-tone resolution to the B7 chord at m. 5. The bracketed section of Example 8b represents the melodic interpolation. Here E, C, and E are the added pitches that disrupt the quasi-pentatonic sequence illustrated in Example 8a. Example 8b gives the actual durations of these vagrant pitches. Mingus undershoots the melodic goal (F) by a half step and harmonizes the unstable glissando. The melody becomes stable when the glissando stops on E. Mingus leaps downward, briefly interrupting the melodic ascent with the vagrant pitches C and E, and then moves toward the local goal (F). The D that was strongly suggested in the glissando is revisited as a highly dissonant ninth (E) in the final harmony of m. 4 (D+7), and rises to F as in the traditional blues scale. On the surface, these events unfold in real time, as shown in Example 8c.

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Example 8.

The interpolations examined in Example 8 raise rhythmic issues as well. The reductive graph in Example 8a illustrates a diatonic sequence involving four pairs of ascending minor thirds; the final third (D–F) becomes a space which is filled with an adventurous chromatic excursion (illustrated in Example 8b). At first Mingus compresses the rhythmic sequence, presenting three pairs of the minor thirds in succession (mm. 1–2). In the interpolation between the final pair of minor thirds, he plays with the sequential rhythm generated by successive statements of minor thirds in the opening measures. Mingus then confirms the structural arrival at m. 5 by completing the melodic sequence with a statement of F, a chord tone of the reestablished subdominant harmony.

EXPRESSION, TOPICS, AND INTERPRETATION Before an examination of the topics in “Ecclusiastics,” let’s consider aspects of the recording session and the composer’s positions regarding individuality, expression, and the transmission of ideas. The following is from the liner notes of Oh Yeah: “I’m trying,” Mingus adds, “to play the truth of what I am.” . . . As always on a Mingus session there were no written parts. Mingus gives his musicians oral guidelines . . . and he tries to indicate the emotional essence of each number. “After that,” he points out, “as long as they start where I start and end where I end, the musicians can change the compositions if they feel like it. They add themselves, they add how they feel, while we’re playing.”19


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The absence of written parts is indeed connected to the oral tradition of disseminating music in the black folk church. Many worship songs of the folk church are still transmitted orally, and the song leader sets the mood for each song. This way of teaching, learning, and experiencing music is perhaps a remnant from Mingus’s childhood church meetings. Therefore, Mingus could be considered a leader of this musical “congregation,” as he “tries to indicate the emotional essence of each number.”20 Not only does Mingus lead, he encourages individuality in collective expression. As in the openly expressive practices of the Holiness Church, the musicians in the recording session are encouraged to put themselves into the composition. Mingus seems relatively unconcerned about the direction his compositions move in. He is more concerned about beginning and ending together, just as the church leader (or preacher) sanctions various degrees of individual interjections and yet guides this communal interaction in the worship experience. The commentary above is particularly pertinent to “Ecclusiastics,” but the entire Oh Yeah recording features this type of musical dissemination and Mingus’s preference for individuality even within the ensemble dynamic. The African American cultural topics displayed in “Ecclusiastics”⎯from the large-scale dramatic shape suggested by the 1961 recording to the prominent blues inflections on the melodic surface⎯operate on various levels. Text and musical texture accompany melodic and rhythmic features in revealing expressive signs that speak to and about African American traditions. Among the musical signs identified in “Ecclusiastics” are blues, call and response, spiritual/supernatural, and signifyin(g). Mingus plays effectively with various levels of signification, as various realizations of these topics surface, from the title of the tune to pitch-specific emblems. A signifyin(g) posture is evident before the tune starts. The title is an intentional misspelling of the Old Testament book Ecclesiastes.21 The biblical reference itself suggests a spiritual/supernatural emblem. The English translation of “ecclesiastes” is “preacher,” and a number of Bible scholars refer to Ecclesiastes as “the book of the preacher.”22 Therefore, Mingus’s commentary on “riffs between the audience and the preacher” opens a metaphorical field of play between the preacher (Mingus) and the congregation (ensemble). With regard to global structures, additional spiritual/supernatural and blues topics surface. The dramatic shape generated by the entire performance suggests a spiritual symbol, and the distorted twelve-bar form, with its harmonic staples, verifies the blues topic. Mingus also trifles with the blues by inserting overt gospel nuances, both harmonic and rhythmic, into the

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form. The double-time gospel section marks a dramatic shift in rhythmic energy and highlights the “churchy” falling fifths progression.23 Moving toward surface events, we can identify the call-and-response topic in the interactions between the vocalist and the ensemble. When the ensemble restates the head at the beginning of the piece, Mingus’s vocal responses fill in the temporal gaps. Example 9 illustrates this call-andresponse exchange, which recalls the interactive dynamic of worship common to a number of African American congregations. The call-andresponse activity, and especially its text, also suggests a spiritual/supernatural topic. While portions of the text are difficult to transcribe, the more distinguishable text alludes to a spiritual theme. Mingus almost moans, “Oh yeah, oh yeah, Jesus,” then follows with “’Cause I know, I know I been wrong, yeah I have.” This text, offered by Mingus at a softer dynamic level, indicates a supplicative, reverent, confessional, and prayerful posture and discloses the tune’s introspective essence, as Hentoff notes.24 The expressive trajectory of worship experiences in many African American congregations is initiated with solemn moments of prayer and reflection. Mingus’ initial posture of confession signifies on this devotional aspect, as the full recording of the tune resembles the expressive profile of an entire worship service. Focusing our attention on more local events, the blues topic resurfaces in m. 3. Example 10 isolates this event. The glissando (mm. 2–3) is interpreted as a bent pitch. Bent pitches are essential elements of blues per-

Example 9.


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Example 10.

formance practice, and also frequent the distinctive melismas of gospel singing traditions.25 The brief chromatic passing tones in the head (G and C) prepare the way for the prolonged whole-step glissando (D–E), which generates vivid play with the third of the accompanying B7 chord (D). Here the bent pitch can be interpreted in both a blues and spiritual/supernatural (gospel) context equally plausibly. Blue notes (inflections) within melodic figurations point directly to the blues topic. In Example 11a, the pickup figure leading to m. 1 begins on G, an enharmonically spelled blue third in the key of F. Example 11b illustrates another compelling blues inflection in the tune. The A in m. 14 is an enharmonically spelled raised fifth (G) of the altered cadential dominant. The melodic ambiguity of the shouting vamp in mm. 15–16 leaves open the question of the G’s resolution. Insisting upon an upward or downward resolution to tonic chord tones—A or F, respectively—would have trivialized the power of the blues gesture. Each statement of the head features the musicians’ weighty emphasis on this blue note, as they ride the inflected pitch into the shouting vamp.

Example 11.

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The cadential vamp at the end of the first and last statements of the head features Mingus shouting over the exclamatory ensemble. He might be offering vocal sentiments of thanksgiving, while the other performers offer their own personal expressions. The interactive and spiritual nature of this performance, however, reaches peak intensity during the final bars of the last solo chorus, when the two saxophonists engage in an exclamatory duet. The energetic activity reaches a polyphonic high point in the cadential vamp before the return of the tune, as Mingus and the ensemble “shout” together. The topics mentioned above all appear in a later recording of “Ecclusiastics.” Although the Mingus vocals do not grace the 1972 recording, the ensemble convincingly recreates the signature call-and-response dialogue during the head.26 The cadential shouting vamp of the 1972 recording features harmonies shifting from I to IV, a plagal tag borrowed from gospel performance practices. Some solo choruses involve extended sections that employ conventional twelve-bar blues progressions, allowing for an even more flexible, interactively improvised form. The sections that feature conventional blues choruses suspend the overall form by attaching the cadential shouting vamp to the end of those choruses. On the whole, Oh Yeah captures a number of Mingus’s various identities, as he tried “to play the truth” of who he was. From pastiche (“Eat That Chicken”) to politics (“Oh Lord Don’t Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb on Me”), Oh Yeah proved to be one of his most personal and probing projects.27 “Ecclusiastics,” situated in that truth, expresses homage, intimacy, and spirituality. Mingus engages images of both personal and cultural memory, images which pervade his compositional style, even his method of musical dissemination. The intimacy and spirituality of the text—particularly in the slow sections—suggests his having a one-on-one conversation with a supernatural being. Even among these themes, the motifs of freedom and liberation pervade “Ecclusiastics” both intra- and extramusically. Mingus mentioned his “struggle to get free” from prison chains in reference to this tune. He was certainly aware of the political and social challenges facing African Americans in the 1960s, a time when the invisible chains may have been stronger than the real ones. Though only Mingus could identify the nature of his chains, “Ecclusiastics” offers a possible insight. Racial prejudices and stereotypes were among the many prisons against which African Americans persistently struggled. The blues, an authentic black folk music, was born of the work songs, field hollers, and everyday experiences of a destitute people. Within the blues framework, Mingus achieves musical freedom in many ways. Consider the chains of thirds throughout


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Example 12.

the tune, as illustrated in Example 12. The harmonic and melodic interpolations create intriguing nonfunctional episodes, as Mingus breaks out of the stereotypical blues box. An even clearer liberation motif is the overt intrusion of a gospel jubilee following the tune’s solemn opening measures. In “Ecclusiastics” Mingus preaches a veritable musical sermon that suggests the text “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. . . . A time to weep, and a time to mourn; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”28

NOTES 1. Ekkehard Jost, Free Jazz (Graz, Austria: Universal Edition, 1974; repr., New York: Da Capo Press, 1994), 35–36. Page citations are to the Da Capo edition. 2. Ibid., 39–43. See also Brian Priestley, “Charles Mingus,” International Dictionary of Black Composers (Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn, 1999), 828. 3. Nat Hentoff, liner notes, Oh Yeah (Atlantic SD-1377, 1961). 4. V. Kofi Agawu, Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991). 5. Horace Maxile, “Say What: Topics, Signs, and Signification in African American Music” (Ph.D. diss., Louisiana State University, 2002). This study expands Agawu’s topics theory to the musical traditions of African Americans. Structural signs, for Agawu, involve components of form, contrapuntal relations, and other structural bases for classic music. Topical signs (or topics) include: “alla breve,” “minuette,” “learned style,” “cadenza,” and “French overture” (among others). The African American cultural topics identified in the dissertation are blues, jazz, spiritual/supernatural, signifyin(g), and call and response. 6. Henry Louis Gates Jr., The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 51–52. 7. Samuel A. Floyd Jr., The Power of Black Music: Interpreting Its History from Africa to the United States (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 7.

80 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24. 25.

Annual Review of Jazz Studies Ibid., 7. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 8. Brian Priestley, Mingus: A Critical Biography (New York: Quartet Books, 1982), 3–4. Ibid., 4–5. Eileen Southern, The Music of Black Americans: A History (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1997), 131, 453. The AME Church passed a resolution in 1841 that urged preachers to oppose folklike tunes in congregations and in public places. This resolution was a reaction to the informal meetings following the formal worship service, where congregants would form a ring, sing, dance, and shout. Suppressive measures did not work, as some AME members (and other black Christians) continued to have informal meetings and engage in more openly expressive, congregational worship. This “lively” style of worship is characteristic of the black folk church. By the beginning of the twentieth century, AME, Baptist, and Pentecostal churches “were to be counted among the folk churches,” but some Methodists and Baptists adhered more to the musical traditions of the mother churches (black and white) of the nineteenth century, which encouraged more choral singing and less congregational participation and interjection. Charles Mingus, as told to Diane Dorr-Dorynek, liner notes to Blues and Roots (Atlantic 1305), 1959. Nat Hentoff, liner notes, Oh Yeah. Horace Maxile, “Reverent References: African American Cultural Topics in William Grant Still’s Symphonic ‘Prayer,’” American Music Research Center Journal 13 (2003): 92–93. This worship dynamic is discussed with a particular emphasis on prayer. Sue Mingus, ed., Charles Mingus: More Than a Fake Book (New York: Jazz Workshop, Inc., 1991), 42. The transcription is taken from this source. Priestley, Mingus, 130. Hentoff, liner notes, Oh Yeah. Ibid. To my knowledge, Mingus never commented on how he constructed the title. Gene Santoro refers to it as “a typically punning title” (186). The title could be a combination of a few words: “Ecclesiastes,” “ecclesiastic,” or “enthusiastic” (the “lively” dynamic of African American worship and preaching). C. I. Scofield, ed., The Holy Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1945), 696. Mingus experienced minor difficulties in getting the ensemble to negotiate the dramatic and satirical change of pace in the 1972 recording. Hentoff, liner notes, Oh Yeah. Although bent pitches are blues-inflected emblems, I wish to indicate a distinction here. The bent pitch, in this context, is the technique of sliding or


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“bending” from one pitch to another, rather than an “out of tune” presentation of a single pitch. 26. Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus and Friends in Concert, Columbia, KG31614. 27. Hentoff, liner notes, Oh Yeah. 28. Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 (King James Version).

CHARLIE PARKER AND POPULAR MUSIC Brian Priestley

The title above is not intended to startle,1 but readers may agree on reflection that the words “Charlie Parker” and “popular music” are seldom heard in the same breath. The avoidance of such a focus magnifies a particular polarized perception of his importance and at the same time militates against a full realization of his achievement. Parker is generally thought of as the leading jazz soloist of the period 1945–55, ending with his untimely death at the age of 34. There is no attempt here to deny him his rightful place as one of key players in the history of jazz. But, as we achieve ever greater distance from his time on earth, the constant emphasis on his innovation (and, particularly, his alleged innovation in one specific area of performance) seems at best somewhat misguided. It may be relevant that an earlier version of this article was prepared for delivery to an audience of jazz educators. It reflected a disappointment that many who teach jazz performance (as opposed to the minority who teach jazz history) have a notoriously weak grasp of that history. This lack can hardly be blamed on the Parker literature; and, in truth, little of what I present below is new, apart from certain details and the all-important question of emphasis. Writers such as James Patrick, Scott DeVeaux and Carl Woideck (see bibliography) have situated Parker’s creativity within the context of the wider musical world, without exactly celebrating his relationship to popular music. But these writers have seldom influenced those performance teachers who, being performers themselves, are more concerned with techniques than contexts. Sadly too, Ross Russell’s Bird Lives! which clearly disdains the popular music that Parker was surrounded by, remains the most widely known book on the saxophonist. Indeed, if a Spanish speaker wishes to read about him, it’s the only book available in that language. Despite Russell’s continued influence, it is worth acknowledging that Parker’s work, no less than his career, was crucially embedded in the popular music of his day, not only in his apprenticeship but in his mature work. Despite an occasional ambivalence, he was aware that his whole approach was founded on the forms of popular music, as practiced in the late

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1930s, 1940s, and early 1950s—right up to the start of the rock-’n’-roll revolution, which reached critical mass in the mid-1950s. As a result, much of the evaluation of his work is lopsided and thus misleading. *** I will discuss briefly the features of Parker’s playing that lend support to this somewhat revisionist view and the implications for his reputation as a “remote genius” who acted alone and subverted all previous notions of how jazz solos should be played. He might even be seen quite legitimately as a precursor of what is now called “fusion” music. Given that “fusion” has the status of a dirty word among jazz scholars and journalists (though not among jazz students or educators), it is important to state that I consider this aspect of Parker’s contribution to be wholly positive. It is routinely noted that the entire history of jazz, and especially its birth, can be described as an act of fusion, particularly a fusion of African rhythmic and melodic practices with European elements such as functional harmony and melody. As is also frequently pointed out, each new regeneration of jazz style has constituted a new level of fusion, as in the work of Louis Armstrong and again in the work of the advanced “late swing” soloists. It makes little sense, therefore, to decide that the start of bebop in the early 1940s was somehow ineligible as another new fusion of intellectual and popular impulses. Equally, the official “fusion” style of the late 1960s up to at least the mid-1970s (what we used to call “jazz-rock” before the word “fusion” was coined) was just another revitalization of jazz, which took in elements that seemed new to jazz at the time. Of course that initially exciting development, typified by such experimental groups as Weather Report and the Mahavishnu Orchestra, was first taken to task for being too extreme and then taken in hand by the music business, which succeeded in watering down its strengths. Here there is a strong parallel with the Swing Era of the mid- to late 1930s. When the creative developments of people such as Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Duke Ellington, and Count Basie achieved a measure of popularity, those figures (and especially their imitators) came under considerable commercial pressure to curb their search for the “interesting” and become ever more salable to the mass public. A statistic in danger of being accepted as accurate, after being set in stone by the Ken Burns Jazz series, is that in the late 1930s 70 percent of the U.S. music industry’s profits were generated by jazz and swing performances. This statement, which has been contradicted in print, may rest on a dubious citation by James Lincoln Collier, an adviser to the television series.2 One advantage of comprehensive

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reissue collections from this period is that they force the present-day listener to take note of the amount of substandard material recorded by even the most successful bandleaders, let alone those hoping to join their ranks. At least 70 percent of the output of even a jazz-nurtured bandleader such as Tommy Dorsey consists of vocal features, a few being forgotten gems but most of them drearily generic. Returning to Charlie Parker, we should recall that his first official record session (as a member of the Jay McShann band) included the commercially successful vocal “Confessin’ the Blues,” on which Parker did not play, and which forever afterwards skewed the repertoire that McShann was allowed to record. This was the climate within which Parker grew to musical maturity and continued to operate. He was, of course, aware of the downside of these commercial factors and, like other major contributors to what became known as bebop, sometimes expressed dismay about them. He was also aware that the melodic and harmonic innovations of some key soloists during the “late swing” period were pointing the way of the future for him. But there is no sense in denying the huge debt he owed to the forms and conventions of popular music, which not only was all around him but indeed defined the field of activity he was involved in. We have, for instance, the testimony of bassist Ray Brown that when the Dizzy Gillespie sextet came under pressure from nightclub owner Billy Berg to ingratiate themselves with the club’s audience it was Parker who “wrote a couple of charts where the whole band was singing.”3 These charts were probably head arrangements rather than anything written down; but either way, this hardly sounds like a musician uninterested in communicating with the general public. *** In demonstrating the practical consequences of Parker’s attitude toward popular music, the first thing to pay attention to is his instrumental tone. We do not know enough of the physical process by which he acquired his individual sound, although it’s worth reflecting on its apparent similarity to that of one of his chief mentors, Henry “Buster” Smith, who left very few recorded examples. But we do know Parker must have been, at least subliminally, cognizant of the importance of his tone in communicating with his audience. Although instrumental tone is still one of the aspects of jazz performance thought of as god-given and somehow unaffected by any conscious learning process, the average saxophone player (with his worries about the suitability of reeds and mouthpiece settings) might well think otherwise. In terms of communication value, we’re not just talking about overall tonal individuality—which jazz scholars have barely made a stab at

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describing so far—but also about variation of tone within a single solo, sometimes within a single phrase. Although his early death robbed fans and journalists of the chance to question him at greater length about his apprentice period, it must be the case that Parker was listening seriously to music from at least the start of the 1930s. Given the economics of the period, that means listening to popular music on the radio even before he started frequenting the nightlife of Kansas City in his early teens. He would have therefore gleaned that, say, Louis Armstrong’s instrumental tone was a large part of his appeal and that, as they arrived on the scene, new trumpet players like Roy Eldridge had a different sound—and likewise with Coleman Hawkins and then Lester Young on the saxophone. Of these four players, it was only Young that Parker witnessed in person during 1935–36. (Given Parker’s stated enthusiasm for Chu Berry, it’s ironic to find Berry appearing in Kansas City with the Fletcher Henderson band on Thanksgiving Day 1936, when Parker is known to have been out of town because of his injury in an automobile accident that night.) The key point is that each of these soloists used his individual tone, even more than his choice of notes, to communicate with his audiences. (One might make a comparison with fusion here too, and note that saxophonists such as Stanley Turrentine, Grover Washington, or Wayne Shorter in his Weather Report period all have immediately recognizable tones.) In the same way, Parker cannot have been uninformed about the individual tones of African American singers he heard on the Kansas City scene or via radio and records. He had a wide knowledge of popular songs of the period, as confirmed in both anecdotal sources and the huge reservoir of informal live recordings issued after his death; among the latter, it’s revealing that the famous Dean Benedetti archive contains around 30 songs Parker never recorded in the studio. A representative anecdote comes from trumpeter Kenny Dorham, who witnessed Parker’s spontaneous version of “I’m Painting the Town Red (To Hide a Heart That’s Blue),” by songwriter Sam Stept, the author of “Please Don’t Talk about Me When I’m Gone” and others.4 Parker’s rendition was performed a decade and a half after this little-remembered number was current; perhaps he was familiar with the 1935 recording by Teddy Wilson’s group with Roy Eldridge and featuring Billie Holiday. In any case, he can hardly have ignored the unconventional tone of Holiday’s voice, compared with that of Ethel Waters or Ella Fitzgerald. Also, Jimmy Rushing noted that “these street blues singers”—as opposed to the relatively sophisticated jazz-blues vocalists in Kansas City, such as Joe Turner and Rushing himself—“were . . . going strong around Kansas—


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and no one seems to realize that.”5 Similarly, even the downtown area of the city must have been well stocked with storefront churches and the kind of preachers who made emotive use of their variable vocal tones. Ethnomusicologist Paul Berliner relates such practices to African music although, disappointingly, his book Thinking in Jazz seems to contain only two examples (of trumpeters Wilbur Harden and Miles Davis) showing deliberate manipulation of timbre.6 One of my favorite illustrations of Parker’s tonal variety is in his contribution to a version of “As Long As I Live,” written by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler for the Cotton Club Parade of 1934. Any self-respecting discographer will tell you the altoist never recorded “As Long As I Live,” but, as mentioned in my book Chasin’ the Bird, it provides the chord sequence used in a 1950 track for Norman Granz, which was issued after Parker’s death under the title “Ballade.” This track paired Parker with Coleman Hawkins, who improvised over these same chords on at least a couple of other records and probably suggested the song. One imagines Parker had no difficulty remembering it, given his knowledge of repertoire. Parker is heard only on bars 17–32 of the tune, for the whole track is only a chorus and a half long and Hawkins plays the opening and the closing 16 bars. The Parker solo illustrates several facets of his mature style, including the use of double tempo and quadruple tempo, an essentially diatonic approach to melody, uneven phrase-lengths, and an emphasis on the occasional longer note. But, as well as the tonal manipulation of these longer notes, there is a marvellous change of pace in bars 29–30 as he shifts into a triplet-feel, blues-based phrase reminiscent of the riff he recorded earlier as “Bluebird,” and this shift is appropriately underlined by his adopting a broader, more declamatory tone. *** Another example of transforming a popular-song chord sequence leads us to the next aspect of this discussion. It has been accepted since Martin Williams first said so, in Down Beat in 1965, that Parker’s tune “Confirmation” was not “predetermined” by an existing chord sequence.7 This assertion doesn’t mean Parker didn’t have one in mind, however, for I believe his A-sections to be based directly on the descending sequence of the first eight bars of “(I’m Afraid) The Masquerade Is Over,” by Herb Magidson and Allie Wrubel, the songwriters responsible for “Gone with the Wind” and “Music, Maestro, Please.” The song was a minor hit in early 1939 as recorded by Larry Clinton with vocalist Bea Wain and was later done at a tempo more comparable to that of “Confirmation” by both Dave Brubeck and Lou Donaldson. Perhaps not coincidentally, 1939 was also the year of

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Parker’s first visit to New York, although Ross Russell’s assumption that his repertoire of popular songs increased exponentially during this visit may be an exaggeration.8 Williams’s comments do, however, concentrate on Parker the melodist. He talks of how the head of “Confirmation” “skips along beautifully with no repeats, but with one highly effective echo phrase, until the last eight bars and these are a kind of repeat-in-summary to finish the line.” This description is a slight exaggeration, but not by much, and, because this comment was made a generation after Parker composed the tune, it reminds us how much his melodic fertility and precision were overlooked by his own generation, even those who “understood” his work. Those who didn’t are typified in Bill Crow’s anecdote of the society bandleader who agreed to let his sidemen play some jazz but, on hearing the head of “Scrapple from the Apple,” exclaimed in alarm, “No, no, play the melody first.”9 The point is not just that Parker’s written melodies often (but not always) draw on the same language as his solo improvisations, but that most listeners did not recognize their melodic qualities, because of the rapidity of his phraseology. Play them more slowly, however, or put them down on paper (an even slower process), and it becomes clear how influenced Parker was by the melodic language of European music, as filtered through American popular song. Indeed, having noticed the similarity in “Confirmation” to the chord sequence of “The Masquerade Is Over,” I was more recently struck by an echo of the actual melody of “Masquerade” in the first four bars of Parker’s much more intricate line. As a consequence, I requested that Henry Martin, who pioneered the application of Schenkerian analysis to Parker solos (see bibliography), investigate and demonstrate the resemblance, as seen in Example 1. Even more striking illustrations of Parker’s love of popular-song melody are to be found, of course, in his recordings with strings. Leave aside, for the present purpose, the status-symbol aspect of a black instrumentalist using such a method of accompaniment, a privilege that among African Americans was previously granted only to a tiny handful of singers. We should not consider that to be the sole, or even the major, reason why Parker was quoted as saying, “I asked for strings as far back as 1941, and then, years later, when I went with Norman [Granz], he okayed it.”10 Also leave aside the track “Just Friends,” the only one of these records to find favor with jazz fans, because it has an actual improvised solo. To be fair, it was also popular with nonaficionados. Think instead of songs such as Vernon Duke’s “Autumn in New York” (1935); though Parker adds linking


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Example 1.

phrases, his interpretation of the straight melody has hardly more decoration than Frank Sinatra’s 1947 recording. It’s worth underlining that almost all of Parker’s official studio recordings were produced with a pre–long-play mindset. With the exception of a studio jam session and his 1954 Verve tracks for an album of Cole Porter songs (a revealing choice in which Granz’s and Parker’s preferences again intersected), everything released in Parker’s name was put out as 78 rpm or 45 rpm singles, competing for the same radio exposure, jukebox space and retail sales as more popular music. One reason for citing “Autumn in New York” is its sales achievement, as described by reissue producer Phil Schaap. Schaap warns against any unthinking acceptance of record companies’ own statistics, or of listings in trade charts, which were less reliable then. Instead, he advocates monitoring a record’s sales through its subsequent visibility in the second-hand market. In this particular instance— given also its frequent appearance in New York–area radio station logs and jukebox listings, and its mention by Granz during a 1988 interview— Schaap characterizes “Autumn in New York” as Parker’s “third best-selling record” after “Just Friends” and “My Little Suede Shoes.”11 Like the chord sequence to “Confirmation,” the simple and untypical melody of “My Little Suede Shoes” has always been credited to Parker himself, simply because he provided the title and it was naturally assumed

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to be his own composition. However—as supported by anecdotal information adduced in Chasin’ The Bird12—scholar Philippe Baudoin has established that this melody was borrowed from popular song material, which Parker is presumed to have picked up while in Paris in late 1950. In short, his A-section and B-section respectively derive from the songs “Pedro Gomez” and “Le petit cireur noir,” both written by Henri Giraud (composer of “Sous le ciel de Paris”) and recorded—on opposite sides of the same 1950 single—with his trio Do-Ré-Mi.13 “My Little Suede Shoes” fits in well alongside other material Parker recorded in two sessions (1951 and 1952) with small jazz groups augmented by Afro-Latin rhythm sections (as compared to his guest spots with Machito and his Afro-Cubans, which used arrangements from within the band or by writer Chico O’Farrill). Apart from two Great American Songbook items by Cole Porter and Jerome Kern, and another original piece credited to Parker but actually written by trumpeter Cal Massey, his repertoire for these two sessions was drawn entirely from the equivalent “Great Latin Songbook,” namely items such as the Spanish song “La paloma,” the Mexican standard “Estrellita” and even the Mexican folk song “La cucaracha.” Anyone thinking this was a more cynical version of the strings venture, intended to tap into another existing market, may be brought up short by hearing Parker, on the Benedetti recordings, actually rehearsing his famous 1948 quintet in a version of the Brazilian samba “Tico tico.” More startling, but entirely consistent with the thesis of this article, is the story of his picking up the same song by ear, while working in the house band of Harlem’s Apollo Theater, probably during the winter of 1944–45.14 The moral of this Latin episode is twofold. As with a few of his pieces with Machito, Parker’s solo on “My Little Suede Shoes” (with its almost unvaried ii–V–I–vi chord sequence) is modal, in this case on the Ionian, or major, scale. This throws into relief his largely diatonic approach and also his rhythmic variety, not only within the phrase but also in terms of length of phrase. Frank Tirro’s diagram of phrase lengths in “Parker’s Mood”— and his discussion of “the gamut of note values . . . ranging from a note slightly longer than a half note to thirty-second notes”—is one of the few commentaries I have read on these essential aspects of his work.15 Even Berliner is full of musicians’ talk about rhythm but shows only one example focusing on Parker’s rhythmic versatility.16 The studio recording of “My Little Suede Shoes” is also a reminder of what a chance promoters missed by not having Parker perform regularly in public with such a Latin backing. There exists a 1950 aircheck, probably with Machito, in addition to a couple of live Latin numbers (and the calypso standard “Sly Mon-


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goose”) with his standard group, and that’s all. Hardly any photos survive of Parker with Latin musicians, but, tantalizingly, Dizzy Gillespie spoke of Parker, Roach, and himself working with New York–based African percussionists, possibly on more than one occasion.17 If Parker had explored this kind of avenue assiduously, it might have been more artistically rewarding than the work with string ensembles and might yet have connected with a broader public. *** Connecting with the public, however, is not an idea that concerns most fans of this music. It strikes me as no coincidence that by the end of the 1940s both Parker and Gillespie in their differing ways were seeking rather desperately for ways to bring their talents before a wider audience. It may be true that some musicians had a more elevated and unworldly view of the new jazz, such as the pianists Thelonious Monk (who lived with and was supported by his mother) and Bud Powell. But, like the showmen of an earlier generation, bandleaders such as Parker and Gillespie had to court their listeners with whatever strategies were on hand. The mere fact that Gillespie was more naturally gifted in this direction does not mean that Parker, for all his physically unflamboyant manner when playing, was not interested in these matters. We listeners, on the other hand, have bought into the idea that bebop was deliberately designed to be difficult and alienating and have treasured such statements by the participants as seem to back up our preconceptions. This seems to me the main explanation of why, despite the multifaceted nature of the developments within the music, so very much study has been devoted over the years to the harmonic aspects of Parker’s playing. Not only can these be summarized in a few lines, but much of his harmonic language was already commonplace, including in the world of popular song. Early journalists and critics did not overemphasize the harmonic aspects of Parker’s work, except perhaps for the influential Leonard Feather, whose book Inside Jazz (later reissued as Inside Bebop) quotes drummer Kenny Clarke as stating that the use of “difficult” chord sequences was developed at Minton’s Playhouse to deter less competent sitters-in.18 There is no direct reference to Parker in this connection, and for good musical reasons. It would seem to be the jazz educators of a subsequent generation who are most responsible for presenting harmonic-melodic nuances as some kind of talisman was good about Parker. For instance, it is perfectly admirable that Thomas Owens, in his unpublished thesis, meticulously catalogs Parker’s most frequently repeated melodic gestures. In his subsequent book on bebop,

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however, he devotes a paragraph each to the altoist’s tone and his rhythmic flexibility, followed by 10 pages on harmonic-melodic considerations, giving the impression that Parker’s continual shuffling of these motives is the most salient aspect of his style and of his influence on others.19 This mistaken emphasis is taken a stage further in Lawrence Koch’s book, also based on a thesis. Koch breaks down his analysis of Parker’s playing into subsections headed “Use of the Flat Sixth,” “Use of the Major Scale,” “Treatment of the Tonic,” “Treatment of the Dominant,” “Treatment of the Progression ii7–V7–I,” “Treatment of II7,” “Treatment of Other Secondary Dominants,” “Treatment of the VI7,” “Treatment of the Minor Chord,” “Treatment of the Progression I–I7–IV–iv,” and “Substitute Chords,” before finally treating “Shifting Harmonic Accents” and “Use of Rhythm.”20 A little later, Koch is preoccupied with Parker’s emphasis on the major 9th and the major 7th in the famous opening phrase of his 1947 improvisation on Gershwin’s “Embraceable You” (take A). Koch is somewhat skeptical about whether the altoist was consciously quoting from the popular song “A Table in a Corner,” written by Sam Coslow. As the transcription in Woideck (1996) shows, this song begins with the same six-note pattern, heard a total of four times in the same pitch relationships Parker uses.21 The song was published in 1939 and recorded by several top American bandleaders, such as Artie Shaw with his vocalist Helen Forrest (and, for what it’s worth, by “the Canadian Bing Crosby,” Dick Todd).22 But what is really striking—and staring us in the face here—is that the “higher chord intervals” used by Parker in 1947 were already present in a popular song from eight years earlier. That underlines how unhistorical it is to credit Parker with introducing many of the usages associated with him, including not only major 7ths and 9ths but also flat 5th substitutions, flat 9ths, raised 9ths (or flat 10ths, to be more logical), 11ths, raised 11ths, 13ths, and flat 13ths. Lester Young and others had made accented 7ths and 9ths acceptable for songwriters, and these other more lurid intervals were already found copiously in the work of Duke Ellington and Art Tatum, whose influence on more commercial souls perhaps took longer to percolate. But the harmonic advances of Ellington and Tatum were certainly not lost on Roy Eldridge, nor on Coleman Hawkins, whose casually arranged and casually recorded version of “Body and Soul” was also done in 1939 and studiously avoided the original Johnny Green melody after the first few bars. Somewhat to Hawkins’s surprise, it became a juke-box hit and, years later, he spoke of the jazz ingroup’s quizzical reaction to his success. “Thelonious Monk said to me, . . . ‘I could understand if you played melody because that’s what they like.’ . . . You


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know when the record first came out, everybody including Chu Berry said I was playing wrong notes on it. . . . But at that time you make some kind of a D change going into D flat and that was wrong.”23 Of course the mystery of the record’s popularity is explained by Hawkins’s manipulation of his tone, from soft and fluffy at the start of the solo to declamatory and hoarse shortly before the end—closely calibrated with a gradual increase in the pitch range and a gradual tightening of the rhythmic phraseology.24 A final comment on the harmonic-melodic content of popular songs of the time concerns Ray Noble’s “Cherokee,” published in London in 1938 and a hit in the U.S. in—once again!—1939. The composed melody of “Cherokee” is replete with 9ths (in bars 5–6, for instance, when played in long-meter, or double time) and 13ths (in bar 4). In the B-section also, 13ths are emphasized in bars 33 and 41, and 9ths are prominent in bars 35, 37, 43, and 45. Example 2 begins at bar 33 and juxtaposes the melody and Parker’s solo on “Koko,” which are based on the same chord progression. Parker’s 13ths, flat 13ths, and 9ths are identified by x, y, and z respectively, but because 13ths and 9ths are in the song’s original line, his use of these intervals is, to say the least, unsurprising. Saxophonist Charlie Barnet recorded a hit single version of “Cherokee” in an arrangement (allegedly sketched out in a taxi on the way to the studio) by trumpeter Billy May. The tune is given its due, over a repetitive preR&B rhythmic figure that helped the single become popular, but there are other aspects more germane to our discussion. For instance, in the last Asection of the first chorus, the melody is transferred to the trombones while a trumpet trio plays a written-out Roy Eldridge-type obbligato that contains

Example 2.

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in succession a flat 13th, a repeated natural 13th, three major 9ths, two flat 11ths, and three more natural 13ths. It seems reasonable to assume that these intervals had been promulgated by Eldridge and others, or else they would not have been incorporated into May’s score. Eldridge may also be the inspiration for May’s ensuing bridge-passage, which contains numerous flat 9ths and flat 10ths (or raised 9ths). Barnet’s record had a long life, even though initially (if you can accept the sometimes dubious statistical methods of author Joel Whitburn) it didn’t sell as well as Larry Clinton’s “The Masquerade Is Over.”25 As to why misconceptions about Parker’s alleged harmonic innovation arose in the first place, we perhaps need look no further than the 1949 Down Beat interview, his earliest extended coverage in that journal. No recording exists of Parker’s voice in this interview, unlike later examples, and it’s clear that the journalists were noting down, recalling and paraphrasing his words, rather than actually transcribing them. Nevertheless, Parker seems on the face of it to be quite explicit: “At the time, Charlie says, he was bored with the stereotyped changes being used then. ‘I kept thinking there’s bound to be something else,’ he recalls. ‘I could hear it sometimes but I couldn’t play it.’ Working over ‘Cherokee’ . . . , Charlie suddenly found that by using higher intervals of a chord as a melody line . . . , he could play this thing he had been ‘hearing.’”26 That is all well and good, and highly plausible, but nowhere in this quoted/paraphrased statement does Parker claim that he had created anything new. Unless we are hooked on the Romantic notion of the lone genius, it should be clear that he is referring to achieving fluency in playing what he had already heard from Tatum, Ellington, Eldridge, Artie Shaw, Charlie Barnet, and doubtless many others and would soon hear in concentrated form when Coleman Hawkins’s “Body and Soul” was released. If only Parker’s statement were more often interpreted as underlining the continuum between late swing and bebop and less as the Damascus Road conversion of a prophet in the wilderness, we would have a more accurate conception of the sources of his work. One final reminder of the intimate links between bebop and the popular music of the day is the dominance of the 12-bar and 32-bar song forms in Parker’s output. To be sure, some introductions and bridges marginally amend these forms in the work of Gillespie and Monk and also to some extent in that of Parker (think of “Segment,” for instance, or “Shaw Nuff,” whose introduction has been established as being his invention rather than Gillespie’s). But, by and large, the generalization stands. Yet Parker’s masterpiece “Koko” sticks out as being unlike anything that he, or anyone else,


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wrote at that time. Certainly Tirro went a step too far in claiming that “he totally discarded the old tune and composed his new melody, ‘Koko,’ over the chord progression of ‘Cherokee.’”27 In fact, the head of “Koko” is not based on these chords at all and, perhaps for that reason, some writers describe it as an introduction. It’s a unique mixture of organized ensemble statements and eight-bar improvisations by Parker and Gillespie, all accompanied only by the drums of Max Roach, thus giving a nonharmonic, rather modal feel. Clearly credited to Parker alone and written, according to Roach, in order to feature the drummer, it is more than an introduction but less than a melody and defines the piece just as much as the subsequent 64-bar solo based on the sequence of “Cherokee.”28 Its highly rhythmic, abstract conception makes it by far the most intriguing compositional material Parker ever created. However, the possibility exists that the opening octave-unison phrase of “Koko” is, after all, based on the opening of “Cherokee” (with an apparent twist from the B-theme of Ravel’s Boléro, a piece that had most certainly entered the popular consciousness by 1945). Compare the first five notes (D–F–G–B–G) of “Cherokee”—imagined at the same tempo as Parker’s solo on “Koko”—with the pitch relationships heard in the opening 10 notes of “Koko” (Example 3); note the complex timing and the emphasis on G–B–C–E and the long D . Here is the potential for scholars to mine a new vein of information about the techniques, particularly melodic and rhythmic, that fueled the endless creativity of Parker. This is perhaps what we should be looking at, rather than harmonic aspects and their Schenkerian analysis, or isolating the treatment accorded to individual pitches. In particular, the rhythmic subtlety of the opening phrase of “Koko” should lead to a far more sophisticated study of rhythmic practices throughout Parker’s work—a study that has barely begun and that

Example 3.

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may well need to be informed by a thorough knowledge of Afro-Hispanic music as well as of jazz. And, if no one has yet devised a satisfactory way of analyzing tonal variation, at least we should think and talk about it in a more detailed and more aware fashion. NOTES 1. A more loosely improvised version of this article was given at the Leeds International Jazz Conference, March 24–25, 2006, under the deliberately controversial title “Charlie Parker: The First ‘Fusion’ Musician?” 2. Geoffrey C. Ward, writer of the television series and coauthor of its associated book, is unable to corroborate that Collier was the source of the quotation. The following series of contrasting comments (italics mine) illustrates the problem: a. “In 1938 Benny Goodman played to approximately 2,000,000 people three times a week on N.B.C.’s Camel Caravan. Of the 50,000,000 records of all types sold in 1939, an estimated 17,000,000 [i.e., 34 percent] were swing.” (Neil Leonard, Jazz and the White Americans [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962], 139, which cites the source of his second sentence above as being Irving Kolodin, “Number One Swing Man,” in Ralph Gleason, ed., Jam Session: An Anthology of Jazz [New York: Putnam, 1958], 81); b. “In 1938, eighty-five percent of fifty million records issued were swing, and in 1939 Benny Goodman, broadcasting on the Camel Caravan show, drew two or three million people a night three nights a week.” (James Lincoln Collier, The Reception of Jazz in America: A New View, [Brooklyn, N.Y.: Institute for Studies in American Music, Brooklyn College of the City University of New York, 1988], 25, which cites the Leonard quotation above as the authority for Collier’s own statement); c. “Big-band swing accounted for 70 percent of the profits in the music industry.” (Geoffrey C. Ward, script of episode 10, Jazz, directed by Ken Burns, 2001); d. “Even though 75 percent of hit records featured swing bands during that period, at the time that swing caught on with the public, Time magazine reported that only 25 percent of all record purchases fit that style category.” (William Howland Kenney, Recorded Music in American Life: The Phonograph and Popular Memory, 1890–1945 [New York: Oxford University Press, 1999, repr., 2003], 180. Citation is to the paperback [2003] edition).

3. 4. 5. 6.

I am indebted to Simon Frith, Dan Morgenstern, Geoffrey C. Ward, and Chris Washburne for their help in collating these quotations and content myself with noting that the highlighted phrases are by no means directly comparable. In Gillespie/Fraser, 250. In Taylor, 233. Quoted in Daniels, 50. Berliner, 550, 552.

Charlie Parker and Popular Music 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

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Williams, 147. Russell, 103. Crow, 17–18. In Woideck (1998), 80. Notes to South of the Border: The Verve Latin-Jazz Sessions, Verve 837 141 2, as corroborated in personal communication dated August 30, 2004. Priestley, 218. Baudoin, “Le vol de l’Oiseau,” Les cahiers du jazz, 3, 2006 (nouvelle série). Crow, 336, from NEA Jazz Oral History Project interview with Eddie Barefield by Ira Gitler. Tirro, 289. A recent article on “Parker’s Mood” by Wolfram Knauer (Musica Oggi 24: 65–92) makes no specific mention of rhythmic variety and, surprisingly, has no comment on the source of the piece’s pre-composed introductory phrase—which is unique in Parker’s output. I am indebted to the novelist (and music fan) Jonathan Coe for his observation that the phrase is very similar to the opening of Gershwin’s “Summertime.” In passing, I am surprised too that Knauer finds “[Eddie] Jefferson’s lyrics [to “Parker’s Mood”] are less clichéridden than [King] Pleasure’s,” since one of the beauties of Pleasure’s version is his incorporation of traditional lines such as “When you see me comin’ raise your window high” and “Put a twenty-dollar silver piece on my watch chain”— a further reminder of Parker’s relationship to the popular repertoire. Berliner, 551. Priestley, 48; Gillespie/Fraser, 290. Feather, 8. Note also the recent book Pearl Harbor Jazz, by Peter Townsend (Jackson, MS: University of Mississippi Press, 2007), which makes similar points to this article’s about the way Parker has been viewed and finds both Feather and Ross Russell to be key proponents of the most popular misconceptions. Owens, 29–40. Koch, 311–28. Woideck (1996), 152. As noted by Russell Davies, BBC Radio 2, August 30, 2005. Quoted in Chilton, 164. These aspects are acknowledged by Schuller (441–45) but not in most other published discussions or transcriptions of the Hawkins solo. Whitburn, 45, 85. In Woideck (1998), 71. Tirro, 275. Haydon, 119.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Berliner, Paul. Thinking in Jazz. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 1994.

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Chilton, John. The Song of the Hawk. London/New York: Quartet, 1990. Crow, Bill. Jazz Anecdotes. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990/2005. Daniels, Douglas Henry. One O’clock Jump: The Unforgettable History of the Oklahoma Blue Devils. Boston: Beacon Press, 2006. DeVeaux, Scott. The Birth of Bebop. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Feather, Leonard. Inside Jazz. New York: Robbins, 1949. Gillespie, Dizzy, with Al Fraser. Dizzy: To Be or Not to Bop. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1979. Haydon, Geoffrey. Quintet of the Year. London: Aurum, 2002. Koch, Lawrence. Yardbird Suite: A Compendium of the Music and Life of Charlie Parker. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1988/1999. Martin, Henry. Charlie Parker and Thematic Improvisation. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 1996. Owens, Thomas. Bebop: The Music and Its Players. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. Patrick, James. “Charlie Parker,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz. London: Macmillan, 1988/2002. Priestley, Brian. Chasin’ the Bird: The Life and Legacy of Charlie Parker. London: Equinox, 2005/New York, Oxford University Press, 2006. Russell, Ross. Bird Lives! The High Life & Hard Times of Charlie (Yardbird) Parker. New York: Charterhouse, 1973. Schuller, Gunther. The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989. Taylor, Art. Notes and Tones. New York, Perigee, 1982. Tirro, Frank. Jazz: A History. New York: Norton, 1977/1993. Whitburn, Joel. Pop Memories 1890–1954. Menomonee Falls, WI: Record Research, 1986. Williams, Martin. The Jazz Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press, 1970/1983. Woideck, Carl. Charlie Parker: His Music and Life. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996. Woideck, Carl. The Charlie Parker Companion. New York: Schirmer, 1998.

DISCOGRAPHY Barnet, Charlie. “Cherokee.” 1939. Bluebird 10373. Brubeck, Dave. “The Masquerade Is Over.” 1957. Columbia CL1034. Clinton, Larry. “The Masquerade Is Over.” 1939. Victor 26151. Donaldson, Lou. “The Masquerade Is Over.” 1958. Blue Note BLP1593. Hawkins, Coleman. “Body and Soul.” 1939. Bluebird 10253. Parker, Charlie. “Autumn in New York.” 1952. Mercury/Clef 11088. Parker, Charlie /Coleman Hawkins. “Ballade.” 1950. Verve MGV8002.


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Parker, Charlie. “Bluebird.” 1947. Savoy 961. Parker, Charlie. The Complete Dean Benedetti Recordings. 1947–48. Mosaic MD7129. Parker, Charlie. “Confirmation.” 1953. Clef MGC517. Parker, Charlie. “Just Friends.” 1949. Mercury/Clef 11036. Parker, Charlie. “Koko.” 1945. Savoy 597. Parker, Charlie. “My Little Suede Shoes.” 1951. Mercury/Clef 11093. Parker, Charlie. “Parker’s Mood.” 1948. Savoy 936. Parker, Charlie. “Sly Mongoose.” 1952. Parker Records PLP401. Shaw, Artie. “A Table in a Corner.” 1939. Bluebird 10468. Sinatra, Frank. “Autumn in New York.” 1947. Columbia 38316. Wilson, Teddy/Billie Holiday. “I’m Painting the Town Red.” 1935. Brunswick 7520.

CHAPPIE WILLET: A JAZZ ARRANGER IN SWING ERA NEW YORK John Wriggle

[Chappie Willet’s] only formula for success is hard work—but definitely. An indefatigable person, he often puts in eighteen hours a day, sometimes going entirely without sleep if he has a “rush” job to do. He fully realizes the music business is a “tricky” affair, and the public may soon tire of “swing” or any other fad in music. So, it’s his business to “keep in the know” as to what the public wants, prepare it, and serve it while it’s hot—and he does. —Bill Chase, New York Amsterdam News1

Despite the transgenre foresight emphasized above, the career of the jazz arranger Francis Robert “Chappie” Willet (1907–1976) ran closely parallel to the rise and fall of swing as American popular music. Willet’s establishment in New York around 1935–37 coincided with an upswing in the music business following the leaner years of the Depression and the demise of his own dance band in 1934. By the close of the decade, Willet had arrived at the top of his profession—providing musical vehicles for stars like Louis Armstrong and Cab Calloway—as swing had arrived at the center of American popular culture. Eddie Durham, Andy Gibson, Buster Harding, Mary Lou Williams, and other arrangers working behind the scenes found themselves in the role, however hidden from the public, of defining the sound of a generation.2 To verify or discover more about Willet’s activities, I have sought out a number of professionals active during this period. Among those able to assist were Lyle “Spud” Murphy, Gerald Wilson, and Van Alexander, all jazz arrangers working in New York during the 1930s or early 1940s (and all based in Los Angeles at the time of my research). Others, including Leonard Reed, Cleo Hayes, and Harold Cromer, were veterans of the New York stage entertainment industry. Though all of these respondents were aware of Willet to varying degrees, none knew him personally, or worked with him directly, or could offer any answer to the lingering question, whatever happened to Chappie Willet? Likewise, contemporaneous coverage of Willet’s accomplishments in the black press, though often illuminating, raises as many questions as it answers. 101

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Born in Philadelphia on September 6, 1907, Francis Willet grew up with his father Chester “Buck” Willet, mother Elizabeth “Lizzie” Hill, and elder sister Elizabeth. In 1929, Francis enrolled at West Virginia State College, where he studied piano and music composition. While in school he also led a Charleston-based dance band known as the Campus Revelers. After graduating in the spring of 1933, Willet joined Edwards’ Collegians, a territory band, as musical director, arranger, and conductor. By the spring of 1934 the band had moved to Philadelphia, renamed “Chappie Willet’s Greystone Ballroom Orchestra”; the group disbanded at the end of that summer.3 This article is an overview of Willet’s following years in New York City— roughly 1935 to 1952—including a running list of attributed works and recorded documentation identified to date. The layout for works attributed to Chappie Willet is as follows: Title Performer or Client

Recording or Performance Date First Issue

(Composers; relevant copyright information) Additional notes For example: Apurksody Gene Krupa

Dec. 12, 1938 Brunswick 8296

(Gene Krupa & Chappie Willet; copyright May 7, 1938, E. unp. 165955) Note: “Apurksody” also issued in abbreviated form as “Theme” on numerous issued aircheck performances. Underlined titles (e.g., Blue Rhythm Fantasy) indicate that Willet’s authorship has been confirmed by copyright registration, by music manuscripts or publisher lead sheets identifying Willet by name, or by published testimony from the commissioning bandleader or performer. All copyright dates and registration numbers refer to listings in the annual U. S. Library of Congress Copyright Report. Titles not underlined (e.g., Alexander’s Ragtime Band) indicate that, in my judgment, Willet’s involvement is probable. Italicized titles (e.g., If You Were in My Place) indicate that Willet’s involvement is unverified or disputed. Many of the recording sessions cited may include additional uncredited Willet arrangements.4

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TRANSITION TOWARDS NEW YORK The lack of documentation regarding Willet’s pre-1935 career has left him—as historian Alyn Shipton puts it—“a shadowy figure” in chronicles of that era of jazz history.5 For the years 1935–37, as Willet shifted focus from his hometown of Philadelphia towards New York, documentation is hardly better, though a few scattered reports and recording sessions do provide some idea of his whereabouts, activities, and connections. Willet was out of the news for over a year following the breakup of his orchestra. Then on December 7, 1935, the Chicago Defender ran a brief notice describing Willet as “taking the east by storm. Williett [sic] first became known when serving as maestro for Edward’s [sic] Collegians, [an] eastern band.”6 Accompanying the notice was a publicity photo of Willet, in band uniform with baton, probably dating from his leadership of Edwards’ Collegians. This terse announcement on its own is vague at best, but subsequent articles in the black press gradually reveal what the arranger had been up to. The New York Amsterdam News of March 12, 1936, ran a headshot of Willet (again apparently from his Collegians days) accompanied by a review of the young arranger’s career accomplishments to date. A similar piece printed the previous month in the Chicago Defender (discussed in more detail later), in view of its parallel content, suggests that both articles were based on press releases provided by Willet himself. Over the course of the next decade, Willet appears to have made considerable efforts to publicize his activities in the black press, including the Amsterdam News and the Chicago Defender—much as Edwards’ Collegians/Willet’s Greystone Ballroom Orchestra appears to have pitched the Philadelphia Tribune during the spring of 1934.7 The March Amsterdam News article began with a brief description of Willet’s affiliations with West Virginia State College and his Greystone Ballroom Orchestra and continued as follows: Coming to New York in 1934, Willet made his first orchestrations for the Apollo Theatre where he met Luis Russell, who gave him his first chance to prove his skill. He made good, and when Luis and his band were engaged for Connie’s Inn on Broadway, he continued with him. His compositions “Jungle Madness” and “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” were featured regularly on the broadcasts from that spot.8

Willet’s band had broken up in Philadelphia in August or September 1934. Luis Russell’s orchestra was advertised for two separate weeklong appearances

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at New York’s Apollo later that year (Nov. 30–Dec. 6 and Dec. 28–Jan. 3) and for numerous occasions throughout 1935.9 But Willet’s first forays to New York City might have occurred even earlier. A story by Bill Chase in the Amsterdam News of July 10, 1937,10 seems to imply that Willet and the arranger Russell Wooding both worked on two significant New York Broadway productions: As Thousands Cheer, written by Irving Berlin and Moss Hart, which ran at the Music Box Theater from September 30, 1933, through September 8, 1934;11 and the Lee and J. J. Shubert revue At Home Abroad, written by Howard Deitz and Arthur Schwartz, which ran at the Winter Garden and Majestic Theater from September 19, 1935, through March 7, 1936.12 Regarding As Thousands Cheer, however, the article’s wording is somewhat ambiguous; Chase could mean that only Wooding was involved. If Willet did indeed work on As Thousands Cheer, he could have been in New York during the summer of 1933, after graduating from West Virginia State in May and before joining Edwards’ Collegians, an event first announced in the Pittsburgh Courier on September 23.13 As Thousands Cheer also had a trial run at Philadelphia’s Forrest Theatre from September 9 through 27, 1933;14 could Willet’s involvement have been a last-minute, local hiring? With regard to the March 1936 Amsterdam News article, Luis Russell’s band had indeed performed at Connie’s Inn for stage productions in the spring and fall of 1935.15 Although press reviews of these nightclub shows did not mention Willet’s name, they did cite the involvement of Russell Wooding, whose relationship with Willet is discussed later on. More possible connections between Willet and Luis Russell lie in performances of the Connie’s Inn revue at the Apollo in July and September 1935.16 These reports still leave plenty of uncharted space in Willet’s itinerary for these years. Fortunately, some of Willet’s contemporaries were able to provide additional reports. The first comes from the aforementioned arranger and bandleader Lyle “Spud” Murphy (1908–2005), one of Benny Goodman’s primary arrangers during Goodman’s residency at Chicago’s Congress Hotel from November 6, 1935, to May 23, 1936.17 By 1937, Murphy had begun editing a series of stock arrangements for publishers in New York City, including two Chappie Willet arrangements (more on this later). In a 2004 interview, Murphy recalled that he first met Willet in Chicago, not New York: He did some arrangements for Benny Goodman when we were in Chicago. . . . He was living in Chicago, I guess. . . .he just—he wanted to do something for Goodman, and Goodman said go ahead and do it, so he did. That’s all I


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know about it. . . . I didn’t see that much of him. . . . I would only see him, like, two minutes, you know?18

Although Willet’s presence in Chicago has not been verified, a number of factors support Murphy’s recollection. First, Allan McMillan’s Chicago Defender feature of February 8, 1936, maintained that Willet and arranging partner Russell Wooding had already done work for Goodman (no location was cited, however).19 Second, the timing is right: Louis Armstrong and Teddy Hill recorded Willet’s music in New York City between November 1935 and May 1936, but even if Willet were present at the sessions, he still had plenty of time to visit Chicago—and he may have stayed there only briefly, despite Murphy’s recollection. Third, Willet was later associated with Goodman’s drummer Gene Krupa. Finally, on a more conjectural level, it made sense for a young, ambitious dance band arranger to travel to Chicago and approach Goodman. During 1935 Benny Goodman’s orchestra became a national radio phenomenon, essentially spearheading the music industry boom of the Swing Era. By the time Goodman took residency at the Congress Hotel, where he broadcast weekly over NBC, his band’s appetite for new arrangements was remarkable.20 Describing Goodman’s role in the previous year’s Let’s Dance broadcast series, which ran from December 1934 to May 1935, Goodman’s producer John Hammond noted that the bandleader “was given a budget to commission eight arrangements a week for thirteen weeks, and four per week for the second thirteen weeks.”21 News of such enticing numbers must have circulated through the dance band world. According to Murphy, he alone provided Goodman with four arrangements a week by the time of Goodman’s 1936 residency in Chicago, while the orchestra continued to record charts by Fletcher Henderson, Jimmy Mundy, Horace Henderson, Gordon Jenkins, and others.22 According to Fletcher Henderson’s biographer Walter C. Allen, not even half the arrangements commissioned for the Let’s Dance series have been attributed to specific arrangers. Thus a large number of Goodman band arrangements, both recorded and unrecorded, were likely written by lesser-known or uncredited writers.23 The next eyewitness report of Willet comes from the tap dancer and stage show producer Leonard Reed (1907–2004). After building a reputation with the bandleader and producer Willie Bryant in the 1920s and early 1930s—and creating the “Shim Sham Shimmy” dance—Reed worked as a production manager at the Cotton Club and Apollo Theater in New York.24 In a phone conversation in 2002, Reed recalled Willet in the role of house

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rehearsal pianist at the Cotton Club, already working there when Reed arrived in fall 1937, and still there when Reed left about two years later.25 The July 10, 1937, Amsterdam News article does indicate Willet had worked at the Cotton Club (in addition to Connie’s Inn, the Harlem Uproar House, and Ben Marden’s Riviera Club in Fort Lee, New Jersey) by the spring of 1937.26 Reed said that Willet was “an excellent pianist . . . from Philadelphia” who accompanied, arranged, and helped develop routines for the many dance acts that came through the Cotton Club. According to Reed, Willet served in the same capacity at the Apollo Theater for its managing bandleader Reuben Phillips. Reed claimed Willet had connections with dance acts such as Charles “Honi” Coles and Cholly Atkins, Charles “Cookie” Cook and Ernest “Brownie” Brown, James “Stump” Cross and Harold “Stumpy” Cromer, Teddy Hale, and the dance director Clarence Robinson. Reed left New York in 1939 for Los Angeles, returning to work at the Apollo in the 1950s; he did not recall hearing any news about Willet after this period.27 Dance Specialty Nicholas Brothers

circa 1937? unrecorded

(Fayard Nicholas & Chappie Willet) Cotton Club performer Fayard Nicholas (1914–2006), who along with brother Harold (1921–2000) formed the Nicholas Brothers tap dance act, related his collaboration with Willet to Constance Valis Hill, a biographer of the duo. The Nicholas Brothers were featured in the Leonard Reed–produced third Cotton Club Parade (titled Tall, Tan and Terrific) that opened on September 22, 1937: Fayard . . . ever the prolific choreographer, created his first solo work in collaboration with the composer and arranger Chappy Willett [sic]. . . . Working with Willett in his Harlem studio [sic—if “his” refers to Willet, this is the only reference I have seen to a studio location in Harlem —JW], Fayard danced the steps and hummed the accents of rhythms as Willett, on piano, improvised the melody. “It was like we were in a rehearsal hall with mirrors and everything,” Fayard recalls. “He wrote down everything I said and showed him—I even sang some of it to him—Da da, dat-da dee do dee daa, like that. That would be the introduction. No music.” Unlike the thirty-two-bar musical structure the brothers most often used when working with big bands, Fayard’s more openly structured solo “was more of a classical thing,” he says, and it stretched past


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the eight-bar phrase. Instead of being episodic, with the B section following A, and so on, there was a more continuous weave of sound and movement. The resulting tapwork not only dovetailed with the melody but also included special accents that were reinforced by accompaniment. Fayard did not have a name for it, so he called it “Dance Specialty,” and he performed it after his and Harold’s “Specialty” act at the Cotton Club. Willett’s formal, written arrangement of the music for big band enabled Fayard to perform the dance not only in the intimate setting of the Cotton Club but also on bigger stages and with other big-band orchestras.28

Between 1938 and 1945, the Nicholas Brothers performed with the big bands of Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, Jimmie Lunceford, Count Basie, Louis Armstrong, Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, and Artie Shaw.29 Notably, the duo also shared the bill with Luis Russell’s orchestra at the Apollo during the last week of 1934—a likely date for Willet’s arrival at the theater, as suggested earlier.30 Writing for floor shows, and for dancers in particular, became a reputable—if not central—part of Willet’s career in New York. Dancer Charles “Honi” Coles (1911–1992), who became manager of the Apollo Theater, referenced Willet in an interview with historians Marshall and Jean Stearns: Finding an arranger who knew what we wanted was tough. . . . One of the best was Chappy Willett [sic]. We’d hum the crazy accents, along with the tune, and he put them in big-band arrangements.31

Tap dancer and historian Brenda Bufalino interviewed Coles in 1981 for the WGBH Dance Archiving Project.32 In a published summary of the interview tapes, Coles is quoted saying that Willet “taught him to write music,” but Bufalino qualified this in her own recollections of the Coles interview: Honi never told me that [Willet] taught him how to write music, rather he was an inspiration on how to create arrangements for dancers. . . . Honi said that Chappie would show up at the Apollo and go over the arrangement with the band and the conductor [Reuben] Phillips and tell them that every note was correct, and not to change one note. . . . I can say that in working with Honi writing arrangements, it was important that arrangements be sparse, that the arranger work with the dancer to hit some of the dancer’s licks, to give emphasis where the dancer’s material needed it, and to create stop-time grooves that would work well with flash material. A good arranger helped you to close your act, to write in shout choruses where the band would play full out, write out pianissimo, or fortissimo where the dancer’s figures needed it.33

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Willet’s work with the highly respected dance director Clarence Robinson is corroborated by nightclub chorus dancer Cleo Hayes. Hayes, born in 1915, was employed in productions involving Robinson and Willet at the Café Zanzibar during the 1940s: The last couple of days before the show would go in, [Willet] would come in and work with us and the band. . . . [Robinson] was the best, in every respect: he was easy to work with, you liked his work.34

Willet’s arrival on the New York nightclub scene may have been as timely as it was ambitious. In a 1951 retrospective of the entertainment industry magazine Variety, Abel Green and Joe Laurie Jr. claimed that: nineteen-thirty-six and 1937 were such boom years for Harlem hotspots like the Cotton Club, the Kit Kat, the Harlem Uproar House, Ubangi, Small’s Paradise, Plantation, Black Cat, Dicky Wells [the authors mean Dickie Wells, a nightclub entrepreneur of no relation to the jazz trombonist Dicky Wells] and others, that there was a shortage of sepian talent for the Negro theatres, which had to hire ofay actors to round out their bills.35

WORKING FOR THE BOYS Harold Cromer, born in New York around 1920, formed with James Cross the comedy and dance duo “Stump and Stumpy,” widely acknowledged as a model for Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis’s act in the 1950s. (According to Dizzy Gillespie, the bell of his trumpet was first bent upwards as the result of—or part of—a Stump and Stumpy act.)36 Cross (“Stump”) and Cromer (“Stumpy”) took part in a fall 1939 Cotton Club production,37 but in a 2004 interview Cromer maintained that the duo never did work directly with Willet. Partially corroborating Leonard Reed’s claims above, Cromer confirmed Willet’s indeed having worked at the Cotton Club but did not recall his necessarily having been on permanent staff. Cromer believed that Willet did not maintain a permanent residence in New York City but commuted from Philadelphia when there was work. Willet’s main partner and connection in New York was Russell Wooding, who shared space in Willet’s office at 156 West 44th Street. Willet smoked a pipe, Wooding cigarettes: “That . . . place was filled with tobacco!” According to Cromer, Willet worked on stage shows at the Jungle Club (which became Café Society Downtown) at 2 Sheridan Square, the Ubangi


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Club (previously Connie’s Inn) at West 131st St. and Seventh Ave., and the Kit Kat Club at 56th and Lexington, where he wrote for a band led by the vocalist Leroy Harris of the Earl Hines orchestra. The Kit Kat was owned by mobster Julie “Jules” Podell, who later ran the Copacabana. George Immerman was the Kit Kat’s booking agent, and his brother Connie ran Connie’s Inn below the Lafayette Theater (the nightclub eventually moved downtown in 1935).38 George was the derby-wearing dandy “with polished fingernails,” Connie was “the tough guy.” Willet worked on later editions of the Connie’s Hot Chocolates shows, and the productions of another mobster, Lew Leslie’s Blackbirds. Working for “the boys”—as the mobsters were known—required a little tact. “The boys knew who to get for the work,” said Cromer. Willet could do classical, jazz, or whatever style they needed, and the pay was good. Willet’s professional temperament was “classical, like the music he wrote.” “He could write fast, I can tell you that,” continued Cromer. For example, dancers would say: “We want something to dance the Susie-Q to.” And Willet would say: “Susie-Q? How many choruses?” He would write out a rough copy on the spot. Willet worked with dance teams “Chuck and Chuckles” (Charles Green and James Walker) and “Buck and Bubbles” (Ford Lee Washington and John William Sublett). Part of Willet’s role at the clubs and theaters was to write “middle numbers” for the chorus girls to model in fancy dresses. He also did work for Ethel Waters, Luis Russell (Louis Armstrong’s musical director from 1935 to 1943) and Lucky Millinder. Cromer recalled Willet writing a band arrangement featuring harmonica on “Organ Grinder’s Swing.” He said Millinder performed Willet arrangements of Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Minor” and Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” Cromer witnessed the Millinder band rehearsing “Rhapsody” in the basement of the Apollo: Willet entered in a rush, his satchel full of music, face sweating, constantly pushing up his glasses to keep them in place. Willet conducted the band while Millinder watched. Millinder could not read music, but had a “great feel,” and would later conduct the band following Willet’s lead. Willet also worked with Broadway songwriting teams Noble Sissle and Eubie Blake, Fats Waller and Andy Razaf, and Donald Heywood and George Bennett. Cromer specifically cited Heywood and Bennett’s “Make Clear Your Soul for Righteousness, Leaving No Thought of Hatred in Your Heart.” Cromer speculated that Willet may have orchestrated for vaudeville shows at the Mount Morris Theater, on Fifth Ave. and 116th Street, or Hammerstein’s Harlem Opera House. He believed Willet probably worked on Fats Waller’s 1943 musical Early to Bed, and remembered Willet’s being in

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the crowd that gathered outside the Broadhurst Theater with Waller, including radio celebrity Bob Howard and Abyssinian Baptist minister and future congressman Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. According to Cromer, Willet composed and arranged for a New York show called Flash ’n’ Dash, including an arrangement of “Skrontch,” a piece created for the Susie-Q dance. Cromer went on to describe a nightlife world where writers and musicians drank and hung out in after-hours spots, perhaps eyeing female dancers and entertainers. Willet would “have a few drinks, smoke a little,” but, as far as Cromer knew, led a “nice, traditional type of life.” Cromer thought Willet may have eventually married one of these “chorus girls.” After follow-up investigation, most of what Cromer said proves accurate. I have not found evidence of a show titled Flash ’n’ Dash, but there was a dance team called “Flash and Dash” (Jimmy Banner and Bobby Johnson) that performed in the spring 1938 Cotton Club Parade, the show that featured the debut of “Skrontch.”39 Willet did work with songwriters Eubie Blake, Andy Razaf, and Donald Heywood, receiving an orchestration credit in publicity for the downtown Ubangi Club’s Harlem on Broadway revue (featuring all three writers) in September 1941.40 The Lucky Millinder sideman Panama Francis cited Willet’s hand in the Millinder band’s arrangement of “Prelude in C Minor.”41 The trombonist and singer Clyde Bernhardt identified Willet as the floor show arranger during nightclub residencies of two bandleaders: Cecil Scott at the Ubangi Club around 1943 and Claude Hopkins at the nearby Café Zanzibar, on 50th and Broadway, in November 1944.42 Cromer’s claim that Willet worked with the Apollo dance director Leonard Harper might be further supported by Harper’s documented work with Connie’s Hot Chocolates.43 The odd reference to a harmonica feature could relate to a performer such as “harmonica virtuoso” John Sebastian, who performed at venues like Café Society.44 And there was an association with Adam Clayton Powell, Jr.: in 1944, Willet collaborated with writer, poet, and lyricist Langston Hughes on an election campaign song for Powell, titled “‘Let My People Go’—Now!”45 It does appear possible that Willet was not living permanently in New York City, or that he kept residences in both New York and Philadelphia for some time. The Chicago Defender cited Willet’s (and Wooding’s) office space on New York’s West 44th Street as early as February 1936.46 But Willet did not appear in the New York AFM Local 802 directory until the 1938 edition, where he was listed under “arrangers and composers” as “Chappie Willet, Apt. 8, 243 West 145th St.”47 Willet’s earliest Local no. 802 union stamp year (discovered to date) is 1938, which coincides with the directory


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listing. Willet’s Social Security application from November 1939 listed his address as the Harlem “YMCA, 180 W. 135 St.” On this form, Willet indicated he was single, and listed the “musician’s choice” tax-record occupation: unemployed. The 1941 union directory finally listed the midtown office at “Suite 203, 156 West 44th Street” (the first floor of this building housed Jimmy Dwyer’s Sawdust Trail). Musicians’ Union directories listed this address for Willet through 1952. But in the November 1950 edition of the New York telephone directory, Willet’s entry, which had previously listed him as “arrngr” at his midtown office address, was replaced by a listing for his wife, Olena H. Willet (1913–1989), at 561 West 147th Street. Her address remained listed through 1960. In corroboration of Cromer’s testimony, she was a stage performer. She provided her professional name, Olena Williams, in her 1939 Social Security application. In publicity for a 1937 stage production at the Adelphi Theater titled Swing It, Olena Williams is credited in the role of Gladys, Cabaret Queen (the show included music by Eubie Blake).48 She had also performed under her maiden name, Olena Hunter, according to a notice for the 1936 production of Dixie to Broadway.49 If Willet did in fact maintain a home in Philadelphia, it might have been difficult to hold a full-time arranger position at the Cotton Club—if such a position existed. Financial records relating to New York’s mob-controlled nightclubs offer little promise in tracking Willet’s employment, especially if he was a casual employee and—as suggested by his Social Security application—accepted payment under the table. Adding to the already shrouded nature of arranging and orchestration work, few people—including the performers—may have ever known all the venues where Willet worked at any given time.

THE BROADWAY MUSIC CLINIC I’m Tellin’ You in Front stock arrangement

1937 unrecorded

(W.C. Handy, Andy Razaf & Russell Wooding) Note: arrangement published by Handy Bros. Music, New York; copyright 1937. Coarranged by Russell Wooding. The Russell Wooding connection is tantalizing: Wooding’s career documentation is even scantier than Willet’s, and it is difficult to pin down much

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of his activity during the years they might have worked together. The obscure composition “I’m Tellin’ You in Front (So You Won’t Feel Hurt Behind)” was likely a number from a stage production, and the published stock arrangement credits the orchestration to both Willet and Wooding. According to reports in the black press, Willet and Wooding shared their second-floor office space, which they named the “Broadway Music Clinic,” from around 1935 through 1938.50 Alfred Russell Wooding, born in Hannibal, Missouri, on April 30, 1891,51 was listed in the “arrangers and composers” section of AFM Local no. 802 directories from 1932 to 1959, with a break from 1943 through 1946; he was included in the 1943 edition’s “Honor Roll” section, with “members of 802 [who] are now serving in the U.S. Army, Navy or Air Corps.”52 During peacetime exercises (before 1941), Wooding had been affiliated with the storied 369th Regiment Band. From January 13, 1941, to May 1, 1945, he served as chief warrant officer of the 155th Army Ground Force Band, which included musicians “from such name bands as Cab Calloway, Claude Hopkins, Louis Armstrong, Blanche Calloway, and Fess Williams.” This band was assembled at Camp Polk, Louisiana, but was stationed in Hawaii by August 1942.53 Wooding’s pre- and postwar union contact information was a home address at 166 West 120th Street.54 The 1961 AFM directory listed Wooding under the section “In Memoriam ’59–60.”55 Early in his career, Wooding led theater pit bands in Washington, D.C.— possibly employing the young Duke Ellington—and in 1919 was a cofounder of Washington’s Crescendo Club for African American performers.56 In the 1920s he worked in New York with the composer Clarence Williams, the Villapigue Quintet, and the 1928 Broadway productions of Fats Waller and Andy Razaf’s Keep Shufflin’ and Ransom Rideout’s Goin’ Home.57 Bernard L. Peterson Jr., in his 2001 book Profiles of African American Stage Performers and Theatre People, includes a brief listing for Wooding, describing him as a conductor, musical director, and “music arranger/orchestrator.” Peterson adds the following to Wooding’s credits: working with Blackbirds of 1929; directing the Wooding Jubilee Singers in a version of Connie’s Hot Chocolates; serving as choral director of a 1929 Broadway production called Great Day; and composing for a 1930 show called De Promis’ Lan’.58 The latter was sponsored by the National Negro Pageant Association of Chicago and played at Carnegie Hall on May 27, 1930.59 In May 1931 Wooding directed the New York Central “Red Cap Band” on four sides for RCA Victor; that same year, he and the “Red Caps” worked with Leonard Harper at the Lafayette Theater and performed opposite Cab Calloway at a NAACP dance at the Savoy.60 The Jubilee Singers


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appeared in the 1933 film short Rufus Jones for President, also featuring “The Will Vodery Girls” (a choir), a seven-year-old Sammy Davis Jr., and the vocalist Ethel Waters.61 The following year found Wooding providing “incidental music” for a Longacre Theatre production titled Brain Sweat.62 In the spring of 1935, Wooding arranged for Luis Russell’s orchestra in the Hot Chocolates of 1935 production, and in October of that year he directed a studio orchestra backing Ethel Waters for a Columbia recording date, including material from At Home Abroad.63 By November, he was arranging the Ubangi Follies production at the Ubangi Club;64 later that month, he was back with Luis Russell and the Hot Chocolates at Connie’s Inn, this time featuring Louis Armstrong.65 Wooding’s connections to Leslie’s Blackbirds, the Hot Chocolates, and Ethel Waters—who was featured in the 1933 As Thousands Cheer and 1935 At Home Abroad productions, the spring 1937 Cotton Club Parade (billed as Cotton Club Express, also including the Nicholas Brothers), and appearances at the Café Zanzibar and Apollo Theater—all support Cromer’s recollections.66 Another tangential connection between Willet and Waters is documented in Willet’s big band stock arrangement of Alex Lovejoy and Nat Reed’s 1939 “Push-Out (Te-Huey, Te-Huey, Te-Huey),” published by Handy Brothers Music that same year. “Push Out” was recorded by Waters that August, in a small group orchestration unrelated to Willet’s published arrangement. This Waters session also featured the song “Down in My Soul,” composed by another Willet associate: the pianist, composer, and lyricist Porter Grainger. Nothin’ to Do but Love unknown

1938 unrecorded

(Porter Grainger & Chappie Willet; copyright April 28, 1938, E unp. 165622) Grainger, another underdocumented figure, also maintained a workspace at the Broadway Music Clinic from mid-1937 until fall 1938, when Willet “bought out” Wooding’s and Grainger’s spaces (more on this later).67 One relic from this period is a 1938 copyright filing for a song titled “Nothin’ to Do but Love,” with music by Willet and lyrics by Grainger. (Apparently the song was never recorded or published; presumably there is no relation to “I Got Nothin’ to Do but Love,” popularized by Phil Harris.) Born in Bowling Green, Kentucky, on October 22, 1891, Grainger is listed by Peterson as a composer, lyricist, and songwriter, with credits for Broadway shows

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including Get Set (with Donald Heywood) in 1923, Lucky Sambo in 1927, and Brown Buddies and Hot Rhythm, both in 1930.68 W. C. Handy’s Negro Authors and Composers of the United States also lists Grainger, crediting him as the composer of “Cotton” and the standard “Tain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do.”69 The 1930 federal census reported Grainger’s New York residence as 2 West 130th Street, and his occupation as “song writer.”70 Grainger’s later activities are difficult to trace. One New York Times report documented his involvement as an arranger for the 1932 Zora Neale Hurston production The Great Day (a different Great Day than the production Wooding was involved in).71 Grainger provided music and lyrics for two productions at Small’s Paradise: Harlem Swing Hotel (c. 1935), where the “Susie-Q” dance was supposedly introduced, and Paradise on the Nile (1937), which featured a new dance tune called the “Bowling Green Skronch.”72 Grainger also produced his own musical revue Panorama of Negro Folklore, staged at the Alhambra Ballroom in February 1939.73 Harold Cromer said that Grainger composed a feature for him titled “Mr. (High-Falutin’) Personality.” Referring to Grainger’s command of the popular song and dance genres, as well as the racism of the music industry, Cromer noted that “[Grainger] wrote like they thought colored people couldn’t write.” Cromer also drew comparisons between Grainger and Billy Strayhorn, another composer whose work in the dance and theater world is still “unsung.”74 The employment connections that resulted in Willet’s first discography listings are as open to conjecture as his collaborations with Grainger and Wooding. It appears most of Willet’s recorded work for big bands initially sprung from his associations with these groups’ performances behind stage shows in nightclubs and theaters. Whether these first listed arrangements were originally part of these shows or were unrelated charts sold to the visiting bandleaders is guesswork pending discovery of these shows’ specific production content.

EARLY RECORDINGS I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed Louis Armstrong (Ted Koehler & Jimmy McHugh) Note: take A.

Nov. 21, 1935 Decca 623


I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed Louis Armstrong

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Nov. 21, 1935 Meritt (LP)19

(Ted Koehler & Jimmy McHugh) Note: take D. Chappie Willet’s Apollo Theater connection to the bandleader and pianist Luis Russell, along with Russell Wooding’s connection to Connie’s Hot Chocolates, are logical explanations for the initiation of Willet’s decadelong relationship with Louis Armstrong. In the fall of 1935, Luis Russell’s orchestra backed Armstrong at Connie’s Inn. Armstrong then made Russell his musical director, keeping Russell’s band intact.75 The Amsterdam News article of March 12, 1936, cited Armstrong’s rendition of “I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed” as one of Willet’s arrangements.76 Recorded by Armstrong for Decca on November 21, 1935, this piece appears to be Willet’s first commercially recorded arrangement. It is tempting to pinpoint elements of Willet’s early style from this— forensically unconfirmed—attribution of “I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed.” Compared to Willet’s work recorded a couple of years later—Armstrong’s 1938 recording of “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue,” for example—the arrangement sounds rather tentative, the effect being compounded by the band’s tentative execution. Yet the arrangement is also remarkable in unveiling several facets of Willet’s orchestration style that he continued to develop throughout his Swing Era career. “Fingers Crossed” contains “tricky” sax figures (e.g., the end of the bridge of the second chorus), reed section trills (during the out chorus behind Armstrong’s second solo), a brief rhythm section stop-time figure (during the coda ending), and the Willet trademark: a climactic ensemble whole-tone chord, held for two measures under Armstrong’s final cadenza, as shown in Example 1 (see appendix for a discussion of Willet’s whole-tone orchestration). I Hope Gabriel Likes My Music Louis Armstrong

Dec. 19, 1935 Decca 672

(Dave Franklin) Note: take B. I Hope Gabriel Likes My Music Louis Armstrong

Dec. 19, 1935 Decca 672

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Example 1. “I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed,” mm. 107–112, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. November 21, 1935; Louis Armstrong, Decca 623)

(Dave Franklin) Note: take C; both takes issued as Decca 672. See above. The Music Goes ’Round and ’Round Louis Armstrong

Jan. 18, 1936 Decca 685

(Edward Farley, William Hodgson & Mike Riley) Allan McMillan’s feature story on Willet in the Chicago Defender of February 8, 1936, reports that Willet and Wooding had formed their partnership and were creating arrangements for Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Ozzie Nelson, Fred Waring, and Paul Whiteman.77 Willet had “recently completed—with help from Russell Wooding—a dozen special arrangements for Louis Armstrong, and ol’ Satchelmouth liked them so much that he contracted Chappie for exclusive services.” The article cited arrangements of “I Hope Gabriel Likes My Music” (also cited in the March Amsterdam News article) and “The Music Goes ’Round and ’Round.” Armstrong recorded these vocal features for Decca on December 19, 1935, and January 18, 1936, respectively. The division of labor between Willet and Wooding during this period remains open to speculation, and the Armstrong Archives holds no music relating to the above titles. Did Willet work with Wooding and Armstrong on the fall 1935 Connie’s Inn production material?78 Presumably, Armstrong’s December 19 Decca rendition of Sammy Cahn and Saul Chaplin’s “Shoe Shine Boy” was Wooding’s arrangement from the Hot Chocolates show— the piece was named in a Defender review of the Connie’s Inn production that November—but the arrangement is so subservient to Armstrong’s per-


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formance as to be (otherwise) of little help in comparing Willet and Wooding’s concurrent orchestration techniques.79 Assuming that “Gabriel” is in fact a Willet arrangement, it too is relatively innocuous: neither “Gabriel” nor “’Round and ’Round” displays the “big production” ensemble qualities of Willet’s later works, or even of “Fingers Crossed.” Potential Willet moments in “Gabriel” might include the “secondary rag” quarter-note accents by the rhythm section under the vocal patter passages, or the call-and-response passages between Armstrong’s trumpet and the ensemble during the shout chorus. But the “Gabriel” arrangement, while certainly competent, is difficult to call a “standout” creation, as McMillan had described Willet’s unrecorded originals (discussed below). “’Round and ’Round” is even less helpful in previewing Willet’s characteristic sound. Blue Rhythm Fantasy Louis Armstrong

1935 or 1936 unrecorded

(Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971) Note: band parts housed at the Louis Armstrong House and Archives, Queens College. I Got Rhythm Louis Armstrong

May 21, 1937 Jazz Heritage Society (CD)5289147

(George Gershwin & Ira Gershwin) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” Jungle Madness Louis Armstrong

1935 or 1936 unrecorded

(Chappie Willet; copyright May 25, 1937; E pub. 62364) Tiger Rag Louis Armstrong

April 9, 1937 Jazz Heritage Society (CD)5289147

(Harry DeCosta, Ed Edwards, James LaRocca, Henry Ragas, Anthony Sbarbaro & Larry Shields) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.”

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In a previous Defender article from January 11, 1936, Allan McMillan wrote, “There is something about the arrangements of Chappy Willett [sic] that causes them to stand out. As most of them are presently being used by the Louis Armstrong orchestra listen in on them some time, especially ‘Jungle Madness,’ ‘Blue Rhythm Fantasy,’ ‘Tiger Rag,’ and ‘I’ve Got Rhythm.’”80 This early citing of Willet’s original composition “Blue Rhythm Fantasy”—for which manuscript parts stamped by Willet are held in the Armstrong Archives—suggests that the piece was composed by 1935. This theory is further supported by the Amsterdam News article’s claim that Russell performed “Fantasy” in broadcasts from Connie’s Inn, though the dates of these broadcasts are unspecified. The article also advances the—admittedly unlikely—possibility that, despite Teddy Hill’s recording of “Fantasy” in May 1936, Willet was indeed contracted to “exclusive services” with Armstrong, as suggested by the Defender article of February 1936. Unless the existence of additional Willet clients from this period should come to light, we can conclude that the space of a full year passed during which such an “exclusive” relationship could have existed, aligning fairly well with the calendar year 1936. Uptown Rhapsody Teddy Hill

April 1, 1936 Vocalion 3294

(Leon “Chu” Berry & Teddy Hill)81 Chu Berry’s composition “Uptown Rhapsody,” with its whole-tone theme stated by the sax section, is more than reminiscent of the saxophonist Coleman Hawkins’s 1933 composition “Queer Notions,” arranged by Horace Henderson. The jazz critic and composer Leonard Feather is one source to have credited the Teddy Hill orchestra’s “Uptown” arrangement to Chappie Willet.82 Pinning down the date of Willet’s first association with Hill is a little more challenging than with Armstrong. Berry’s credit on “Uptown” suggests that the piece had been in the Hill repertoire since Berry’s membership in the band; Berry probably left Hill around October 1935.83 As of April 1, 1936, when “Uptown” was recorded, the Hill band had not been in the studio since their first studio session in February 1935, and there is little documentation of what music the group was performing during the intervening year. One possibility is a piece titled “At the Rug Cutter’s Ball,” recorded at the band’s session of May 4, 1936, and already waxed the pre-


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ceding February by Gene Krupa’s Swing Band (with Berry and Roy Eldridge) as “Swing Is Here.” Eldridge claimed he cocomposed this piece with Chu Berry while the two were in Hill’s band the previous year.84 The Hill orchestra held residencies at the Ubangi Club and Harlem Opera House in the spring of 1935 and was then featured at the Savoy Ballroom through that summer.85 The arranger and bandleader Van Alexander, born in 1915, wrote: “In my teens I went there [to the Savoy] as often as I could to hear those bands. . . . Teddy Hill had one of the famous Savoy ‘house’ bands, and [“Uptown Rhapsody”] was his biggest number.”86 Apparently the arrangement was performed regularly as Hill’s radio theme.87 Alexander, who “did a lot of arranging for [Hill] in those days,” later recorded his own arrangement of “Uptown Rhapsody” for a 1959 Capitol album. In a 2004 telephone conversation, Alexander did not recall Willet’s name in connection with the piece: When I did this album called the Savoy Stomp [The Home of Happy Feet], I had memories of this tune and . . . I included all the tunes of the bands that played at the Savoy. I must have met him [Willet] during my days at the Savoy Ballroom. . . . I can’t picture him, but the name sure strikes a bell.88

Hill played the Savoy many times throughout the 1930s, and presumably at some point “Uptown” was supplanted by “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” as the band’s theme song. But Berry’s composer credit on “Uptown,” supported by Eldridge’s testimony regarding “Rug Cutter’s Ball,” does suggest that “Uptown Rhapsody” was performed by Hill in 1935. Hill held residency at the Apollo Theater in October 1935, then again at the Ubangi Club through the end of the year.89 Willet appears to have established his connection to the Apollo before these dates, through Luis Russell. But could Willet’s Ubangi connection have already been established by the time of Hill’s engagements there, perhaps through Russell Wooding’s relationship with the club? Unfortunately, very little historical documentation of the 1930s Hill orchestra has been published, and almost all of it—including interviews with Hill and his band members—refers exclusively to Hill’s final 1937 recording date, featuring Dizzy Gillespie.90 Blue Rhythm Fantasy Teddy Hill

May 4, 1936 Vocalion 3247

(Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971)

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Blue Rhythm Fantasy Teddy Hill


May 17, 1937 Bluebird B6989

(Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971) “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” turned out to be one of Willet’s most popular compositions, recorded twice by Teddy Hill (who is credited as the cocomposer on the copyright filing), once by Lucky Millinder, and once more as an extended, double-sided performance by Gene Krupa. Despite Hill’s credit as the cocomposer, there is no reason to believe his contribution extended far beyond that of commissioning bandleader. As noted earlier, McMillan’s January 1936 reference to Armstrong performing “Fantasy” suggests that this piece may have been in Hill’s book well before Hill first recorded it on a May 4, 1936 session for Vocalion.91 Hill recorded the chart a second time for Bluebird on May 17, 1937, with the addition of a second trombonist (probably Wilbur DeParis). The only other difference in the second Hill version was the presence of a new trombone background behind the trumpet solo. (This unison background also appeared in the February 1937 Lucky Millinder recording and was probably to be played only if two trombones were present.)92 Hill’s Bluebird session featured Dizzy Gillespie’s first recorded solos, on “King Porter Stomp” as well as “Fantasy.”93 Most of Hill’s other output remains forgotten or dismissed by historians.94 There has been little or no scholarly discussion of the group’s arrangers. The popularity of “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” was not unwarranted. Regular performances as Teddy Hill’s radio theme no doubt gave the piece an extra boost, but the music itself merits repeated listening.95 “Fantasy” is an exceptionally cohesive arrangement, continually referencing the chromatic and whole-tone musical material presented in the introduction and theme interlude (see Example 2). It’s a modernist or an exotic piece (the choice depending on one’s tastes) that also presents a healthy amount of swinging solo space for trombone, clarinet, trumpet, and tenor sax. Willet’s continued marketing of “Fantasy” to other bands over the next three years displays a pride well deserved; publisher Mills Music continued to print lead sheets of the composition in industry publications as late as 1976.96 Blue Rhythm Fantasy Mills Blue Rhythm Band

Feb. 11, 1937 Variety 503

(Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971)


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Example 2. “Blue Rhythm Fantasy,” mm. 47–54, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. May 4, 1936; Teddy Hill, Vocalion 3247)

Jungle Madness Mills Blue Rhythm Band


(Chappie Willet; copyright May 25, 1937; E pub. 62364) Prelude to a Stomp Lucky Millinder


(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62542) Rhythm Jam Lucky Millinder


(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62540) Did Willet write “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” for Mills Blue Rhythm Band before Teddy Hill or Luis Russell, or was the title a coincidence? Willet’s connection to Mills Blue Rhythm Band, directed by Lucky Millinder, could also have resulted from Willet’s ties to the Apollo: the band performed there in a November 1935 production that was produced by Leonard Harper and included the Nicholas Brothers.97 The band manager Irving Mills might have also facilitated Willet’s later links to two bandleaders managed by

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Mills: Cab Calloway and Duke Ellington. On February 11, 1937, Millinder brought a newly reorganized group to New York and recorded four Willet compositions for Mills’s new Variety label. The personnel for this edition of Millinder’s band was “set up” by the former business manager of Edwards’ Collegians, Philadelphia AFM Local 274 Secretary Frank Fairfax, Sr.98 The recorded Willet originals were “Jungle Madness,” “Rhythm Jam,” “Prelude to a Stomp,” and another version of “Blue Rhythm Fantasy,” with a few variations, or perhaps updates, from the Louis Armstrong version. Most notably, the introduction of “Fantasy” starts in a different key, but retains the shifting tonalities preceding the ensemble theme statement, which remains in the key of C minor. Thereafter, Millinder’s recording is closer to the arrangement reflected in the surviving Armstrong parts than to Hill’s version. Together, the pieces on this session display the characteristic qualities of most of Willet’s recorded charts: “flag-wavers” or “killer-dillers” designed to show off the band’s ensemble and soloist virtuosity. The alto saxophonist Tab Smith was heavily featured. The trumpeter Harry “Sweets” Edison, who also performed on the date, recalled the challenge of executing Willet’s charts: It took a lot of rehearsals to get what you wanted to get. And they had one guy, Chappie Willet, he used to write such hard arrangements it would take so long to get these players together. And musicians could read in those days . . .99

After You’ve Gone Louis Armstrong


(Henry Creamer & Turner Layton) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” Alexander’s Ragtime Band Louis Armstrong

July 7, 1937 Decca 1408

(Irving Berlin) I Know That You Know Louis Armstrong


(Otto Harbach, Anne O’Dea & Vincent Youmans) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.”


Jubilee Louis Armstrong

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Nov. 1937 Alamac (LP)2401

(Stanley Adams, Hoagy Carmichael) Note: film soundtrack performance (Every Day’s a Holiday). Memories of You Louis Armstrong


(Eubie Blake & Andy Razaf) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” Prelude to a Stomp Louis Armstrong


(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62542) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show”; issued as “Do You Want to Stomp.” Rhythm Jam Louis Armstrong


(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62540) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” Them There Eyes Louis Armstrong


(Maceo Pinkard, Doris Tauber & Williams Tracey) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” There’s a Lull in My Life unknown

1937 unknown

(Mack Gordon & Harry Revel) Washington and Lee Swing Louis Armstrong


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(Thornton Allen, Clarence Robbins & Mark Sheafe) Note: radio broadcast performance from the “Fleischmann’s Yeast Show.” On July 10, 1937, another McMillan-penned Defender notice referenced Willet’s arrangement of “There’s a Lull in My Life”—a song introduced in the 1937 film Wake Up and Live—as “one of the best that we have heard,” but did not identify a performing group.100 Bill Chase’s Amsterdam News article of the same date claimed that Willet’s continuing work for Louis Armstrong included “all of the music heard on the recent Fleischman’s [sic] program on NBC.”101 This claim may be exaggerated, but a recent CD issue of airchecks from this period does suggest that Willet’s contributions— some perhaps written before 1937—were a major part of the Armstrong band’s repertoire. The Fleischmann’s Yeast program airchecks include uptempo performances of the aforementioned “I’ve Got Rhythm” and “Tiger Rag” arrangements, plus a ballad performance of “Memories of You” with one of Willet’s obligatory whole-tone interludes. The other immediately recognizable Willet arrangements from the Fleischmann’s program are all instrumental blowing features for Armstrong and his star sidemen, particularly the trombonist J.C. Higginbotham. Among these blowing features are “Rhythm Jam” and “Prelude to a Stomp,” both recorded by the Millinder band three months earlier; Armstrong’s “Rhythm Jam” is nearly identical to the Millinder version, while “Prelude to a Stomp” features a number of variations. Other charts from the Armstrong airchecks resurface in Willet’s later work for Gene Krupa and Red Norvo, discussed later on. Compared to the Armstrong orchestra’s studio recordings of 1935–36, which seem to reflect hasty rehearsals of new repertoire, the aircheck performances are refreshingly hard driving and energetic. The group seems to revel in the tricky ensemble breaks of “Washington and Lee Swing” and “After You’ve Gone.” Willet’s arrangement of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” a “big production” vocal feature, resulted in a landmark ensemble performance in Armstrong’s Decca output. The term “big production” is somewhat related to contemporary industry descriptions of the “production number” aesthetic, in which an arranger utilizes “a startling variety of treatments,” including contrasts in tempo, rhythm, and dynamics.102 My parameters for Willet’s personal “big production” aesthetic focus on three recurring arranging and orchestration devices: (1) “parade” scoring techniques, such as brass “fanfare” passages, reed section “piccolo” trills, “tailgate” trombone figures, and ensemble bass line passages (see Example 3); (2) a generous dose of interludes or modulation passages between choruses; and (3) an extended


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Example 3. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” mm. 103–110, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. July 7, 1937; Louis Armstrong, Decca 1408)

ending or coda, often incorporating a pedal vamp or stop-time figure by the rhythm section. While hardly rarities in big band scoring, these devices do stand out against some Swing Era styles; Count Basie’s 1938 recording of “Jumpin’ at the Woodside” is a good example of a swing big band aesthetic strongly contrasting Willet’s “big production” sound.103 The improvement in Russell’s orchestra by this time was noted by Chicago Defender columnist Jack Oglesby, who suggested one reason behind the change “is the fine arranging of Chappie Willett [sic], of [AFM Local] 802, N.Y.”104 Perhaps wanting to follow up “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” with a similarly styled parade-themed score, Armstrong commissioned a likely Willet arrangement of “Jubilee,” recorded in Hollywood by a studio orchestra for Armstrong’s on-screen appearance in the film Every Day’s a Holiday. Discographer Klaus Stratemann credited this film arrangement to Luis Russell.105 Russell could have made on-the-spot alterations to a preexisting Willet chart: the two-minute arrangement appears to be a revision of the Armstrong band arrangement recorded the following January. Jubilee Louis Armstrong

Jan. 12, 1938 Decca 1635

(Stanley Adams, Hoagy Carmichael)

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Satchel Mouth Swing Louis Armstrong


Jan. 12, 1938 Decca 1636

(Louis Armstrong) The Trumpet Player’s Lament Louis Armstrong

Jan. 12, 1938 Decca 1653

(Johnny Burke & James Monaco) Note: take A. The Trumpet Player’s Lament Louis Armstrong

Jan. 12, 1938 MCA (CD)GRD 649

(Johnny Burke & James Monaco) Note: alternate take C; unissued on 78. Struttin’ with Some Barbecue Louis Armstrong

Jan. 12, 1938 Decca 1661

(Lil Armstrong) Note: band parts housed at the Louis Armstrong House and Archives, Queens College. Armstrong cut as many as four Willet arrangements for Decca on January 12, 1938, all demonstrating elements of the “big production” aesthetic. The session included a full-length (i.e., three-minute) version of “Jubilee” without the extra flutes and percussion of the film arrangement but with a chorus-long trumpet solo. “Satchel Mouth Swing” was a vocal version of Armstrong and Clarence Williams’s “Coal Cart Blues,” and the instrumental “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue,” also from Armstrong’s early repertoire, has surviving band parts stamped by Willet.106 Another probable Willet arrangement was “The Trumpet Player’s Lament,” a song deriving from a previous Armstrong film project.107 Historians Gunther Schuller and Dan Morgenstern have cited this session—particularly the performances of “Jubilee” and “Barbecue”—as a highlight in Armstrong’s discography.108 Morgenstern writes that these are superior arrangements . . . by Chappie Willet . . . [adding that in “Jubilee”] the band is at its best throughout, and the arrangement has musical substance. . . .


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“Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” . . . again, is a superior arrangement. . . . Louis creates a chorus that is perhaps his greatest on record—certainly one of the greatest.109

By the time of this celebrated Armstrong session, Willet appears to have established himself on the New York scene. Clients cited in Willet’s publicity around this time included the prominent bandleaders Willie Bryant, Benny Carter, Bob Crosby, Glen Gray, and Chick Webb. The March 26, 1938, “New York Society” column of the Chicago Defender named Willet among a group of “our musicians [who] are definitely developing in composition,” suggesting that “a dream has become a reality”; other black music figures listed included William Grant Still, Edward Margetson, Wen Talbert, and Carroll Boyd.110 Two significant events that spring brought Willet’s music—if not his name—into the national spotlight. The first was Duke Ellington’s residency at the Cotton Club, where the bandleader was featured in the spring 1938 Cotton Club Parade show; the second was the formation of the Gene Krupa Orchestra.

DUKE ELLINGTON AND THE COTTON CLUB PARADE The Cotton Club Parade, Fourth Edition ran from March 10 to June 9, 1938, featuring a mostly Ellington-composed score and some other pop tunes.111 In an interview cited in Stuart Nicholson’s Reminiscing in Tempo, Ellington explained that “we wrote the Cotton Club show ourselves.”112 Ellington’s royal use of “we” was very appropriate. The holdings of the Ellington Collection at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History clearly reveal that a number of arrangers, orchestrators, and copyists had varying degrees of input into the Cotton Club Parade’s music and that their combined efforts were somewhat frantic at that. Musical artifacts from the floor show itself are incomplete, and assigning definitive credits for various participants is difficult at best. The fourth Parade featured various acts in a series of floor show numbers, most with music by Ellington and lyrics by Henry Nemo and Irving Mills. All of the Ellington-composed pieces were recorded by the Ellington orchestra that spring, including some small band arrangements. Material from the Parade was also included in the band’s CBS broadcasts from the Cotton Club,113 some of which were recorded and later issued commercially on LP.114 A comparison of the available recordings with the contents

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of the Smithsonian Ellington Collection’s holdings suggests that different arrangements of each piece were used for the studio recordings, live broadcast performances, and possibly the Parade show itself. According to Leonard Reed and Fayard Nicholas, Willet was already involved in arranging for dance performers at the Cotton Club by 1937. Were the other arrangers or copyists whose names appear on the surviving Parade music also affiliated independently with the Cotton Club, or did Ellington or Willet turn to them as time ran out? Did Ellington or even Irving Mills choose to work with Willet, or was Willet thrust upon Ellington as part of the Cotton Club production crew? According to Cotton Club historian Jim Haskins, Ellington’s friend Will Vodery was brought into the Cotton Club around this time as a choir arranger, though he might have had greater responsibilities in the Parade.115 A program from the fall 1937 Parade, which includes a listing of the Nicholas Brothers’ dance feature, credits the orchestral arrangements to Will H. Vodery.116 Was Willet also working with Vodery? Vodery’s singing group, Vodery’s Jubileers, was featured in the spring 1938 Parade performances of “Carnival in Caroline,” though Ivie Anderson sang on the Ellington studio recording.117 An Amsterdam News preview of the spring 1938 production even claimed, “All musical arrangements have been made by Ellington and Vodery.”118 If You Were in My Place Duke Ellington

Feb. 24, 1938 Brunswick 8093

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: take 2 (vocal full band version). Arranged or coarranged by Willet, according to Ray Nance.119 Surviving score sketches housed at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History show no direct indication of Willet’s participation. If You Were in My Place Duke Ellington

Feb. 24, 1938 Raretone (LP)23003

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: alternate take 1 (vocal full band version) not issued on 78; the Raretone issue includes splicing with the issued take. See above. Swingtime in Honolulu Duke Ellington

April 11, 1938 Brunswick 8131


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(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: band parts (labeled “Hawaii”) for the second half of the recorded arrangement housed in series 1A, box 296, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. I’m Slappin’ Seventh Avenue Duke Ellington


(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: band parts for the second half of the recorded arrangement, housed at the Smithsonian, are stamped by Kaye Parker. I’m Slappin’ Seventh Avenue Duke Ellington

May 22, 1938 Jazz Panorama (LP)14

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: radio broadcast performance from the Cotton Club. Band parts as above. The March 26, 1938, edition of Billboard announced: “Chappie Willet, whose scorings have highlighted the leading colored combos, is handling the arrangement assignment for Duke Ellington at the Cotton Club.”120 Musically, the strongest cases for Willet’s arranging credit are “Swingtime in Honolulu” and “I’m Slappin’ Seventh Avenue.” “Honolulu” (along with “’Posin’”) was a vocal feature for the Peters Sisters (Annie, Mattie, and Virginia) in their New York nightclub debut. “Seventh Avenue” was a dance feature for Clayton “Peg-Leg” Bates, as reflected in the piece’s title, as well as in the rhythmic spaces left open in the first chorus of both the broadcast and the studio performances.121 The surviving parts for the recorded performances of both pieces begin with the tutti ensemble choruses, which show characteristic Willet arranging. “Honolulu” utilizes chromatic sax runs and trills,122 in addition to the out chorus “marching band” trombone bass line scoring recalling “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” (see Example 4). “Seventh Avenue” has an interlude of descending wholetone dominant voicings (see Example 5) and unison sax repeated-note figures. The surviving manuscript parts for “Honolulu” display Willet’s union stamp, but the orchestra parts for “Seventh Avenue” were stamped by Kaye Parker.123 Despite Parker’s stamp, it is impossible not to suspect Willet’s hand in this passage of “Seventh Avenue,” given Willet’s documented connection

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Example 4. “Swingtime in Honolulu,” mm. 111–118, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. April 11, 1938; Duke Ellington, Brunswick 8131)

Example 5. “I’m Slappin’ Seventh Avenue,” mm. 49–56 (rec. April 11, 1938; Duke Ellington, Brunswick 8131)


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to “Honolulu” and similar passages in his other work (see appendix). Additionally, the pianist Brooks Kerr recalled a conversation with the Ellington trumpeter Ray Nance in which Nance attributed the Cotton Club arrangements of both “Seventh Avenue” and “If You Were in My Place” to Willet. Nance likely participated in the “Seventh Avenue” recording of April 11, 1938, but his connection to “If You Were in My Place” is unclear.124 Among the surviving versions of the piece, the vocal full band version of “If You Were in My Place” seems the most likely to have involved Willet. Skrontch Duke Ellington


(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: score sketches housed at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History show no direct indication of Willet’s participation. Skrontch Duke Ellington

Feb. 24, 1938 Raretone (LP)23003

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: alternate take 1; unissued on 78. See above. Harold Cromer’s recollection of Willet’s connection with “Skrontch” merits examination, because the piece is built upon a favorite Willet device: recurring trombone accent-and-holds on the fourth beat (see Example 6), a feature similar to the scoring in passages of “Rhythm Jam” or “Prelude to a Stomp” (see Example 7). However, no forensic evidence has surfaced to confirm Willet’s role in the piece’s creation. Was the music or dance related to “Bowling Green Skronch,” composed the previous year by Willet’s associate Porter Grainger? Braggin’ in Brass Duke Ellington

March 3, 1938 Brunswick 8099

(Duke Ellington) Note: take 1. Surviving score sketches housed at the National Museum of American History show no direct indication of Willet’s participation. Braggin’ in Brass Duke Ellington (Duke Ellington) Note: take 2. As above.

March 3, 1938 Parlophone 266

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Example 6. “Skrontch,” mm. 42–48 (rec. February 24, 1938; Duke Ellington, Brunswick 8093)

Example 7. “Prelude to a Stomp,” mm. 65–72, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. February 11, 1937; Lucky Millinder, Variety 546)

Carnival in Caroline Duke Ellington

March 3, 1938 Brunswick 8099

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: surviving score sketches housed at the National Museum of American History show no direct indication of Willet’s participation.


A Lesson in C Cootie Williams

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April 4, 1938 Vocalion 4086

(Duke Ellington, Henry Nemo & Irving Mills) Note: band parts housed at the National Museum of American History are stamped by Jacinto Chabania. ’Posin Peters Sisters

Spring 1938 unrecorded

(Sammy Cahn & Saul Chaplin) Note: the Duke Ellington Collection holds no score sketches or parts for this title. Historian Klaus Stratemann cited an “unverified” report that Willet arranged “A Lesson in C,” a feature for the Parade vocalist Mae Johnson (Jerry Kruger sang on the Ellington/Cootie Williams studio recording).125 However, the Smithsonian collection holds no music in Willet’s hand for this title; surviving parts were stamped by Jacinto Chabania (a.k.a. Jerry Blake).126 The recorded performance does not strongly reflect Willet’s style, although some aspects sound familiar, such as the ensemble fourth beat accents during the out chorus. Judging solely from the Smithsonian holdings, there is also no way to absolutely confirm Willet’s role in other Parade repertoire, including “Carnival in Caroline,” Ellington’s instrumental “Braggin’ in Brass,” and Cahn and Chaplin’s 1937 “’Posin.” Prelude in C Minor Duke Ellington

May 29, 1938 Jazz Archives (LP)13

(Sergei Rachmaninoff) Note: radio broadcast performance from the Cotton Club. Bear Family Records (CD) 16340 BL cites this performance date as April 24, 1938. Band parts housed in series 1A, box 296, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Prelude in C Minor Charlie Barnet

May 16, 1938 Alamac (LP)2435

(Sergei Rachmaninoff) Note: radio transcription “RCA Thesaurus 537.”

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One definite Willet arrangement, documented in an aircheck of Ellington’s Cotton Club broadcast on May 29, 1938, was Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Minor.” A mostly complete set of parts reflecting this broadcast performance has survived, written in Willet’s hand and including his union stamp.127 This piece appears to be Willet’s first documented work in a genre he would return to: “jazzed up” arrangements of familiar classical repertoire scored as an ensemble tour de force with minimal improvisation (Cootie Williams’s trumpet solo was based on a written part). According to the Amsterdam News, Ellington was playing the arrangement by April 9, 1938,128 and although it was never recorded in the studio, Ellington continued to perform the piece through his spring 1939 European tour.129 Charlie Barnet’s Rhythm Makers Orchestra recorded Willet’s “Prelude in C Minor” in May 1938, in an arrangement identical to the Ellington version (minus a guitarist and Sonny Greer’s bell chimes). “C Minor” was one of twenty pieces Barnet recorded for RCA during a marathon session that featured a variety of arrangers, including Benny Carter, Ellington, Andy Gibson, and Billy May.130 While the Ellington and Barnet arrangements are identical, they differ slightly from Willet’s later published stock arrangement (discussed later on). Barnet may have secured the arrangement through his personal connections with Ellington.131 The Ellington/Barnet rendition of “C Minor” (written in C minor) showed off Willet’s—and the performing bands’—command of a wide range of devices and techniques in big band orchestration, from trills and scoops to half-time-feel polyphonic textures and sectional features. Willet seemed to favor writing full ensemble passages for three trumpets and two trombones during this period, regardless of Ellington’s and Barnet’s third trombonist; in the “C Minor” arrangement, the third trombone is essentially optional, doubling the baritone sax or another part most of the time.132 Likewise, the third trombone part in the Armstrong band arrangement of “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” is also doubling parts, often the third trumpet. The period expansion in ensemble size, from five brass to six or seven, appears to have had only a gradual impact on Willet. Apparently Ellington never recorded Willet’s work again, though additional material in the Ellington collection (cited later on) suggests that Willet did work briefly with Ellington in the mid-1940s. This scarcity of postCotton Club collaboration seems to support the argument that Ellington initially used Willet’s services merely as part of the Cotton Club “landscape.” Yet Duke’s broadcast performance of “C Minor,” a piece not directly related to the Parade show, seems to imply some sort of approval from the maestro. The Ellington Collection contains a publisher’s lead


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sheet for “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” stamped “complimentary,” perhaps a publicity gift from Willet.133 GENE KRUPA AND HIS ORCHESTRA Bill Chase’s Amsterdam News column of April 9, 1938, announced that “Chappie Willet . . . has been contracted to make arrangements for Gene Krupa’s (late of Benny Goodman) new orchestra, which is pretty swell going.”134 Krupa had left Benny Goodman’s orchestra just the previous month, and his new band’s first performance and recording sessions prominently featured Willet’s writing. As a name white band, the Krupa orchestra was privy to regular coverage in trade publications such as Billboard and Metronome. Krupa was already an established personality on the jazz scene, and any association with him would have been good for Willet’s business. Again, Willet’s initial connection to Krupa is open to speculation. Was Krupa simply a fan of the Lucky Millinder records that featured Willet’s music? The drummer recorded versions of all four Willet compositions that Millinder had recorded in February 1937. Or did Krupa meet Willet while Krupa was in Chicago with Benny Goodman, as Spud Murphy suggested? Willet had written “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” and “Jungle Madness” by January 1936, in the midst of Goodman’s Congress Hotel residency. Krupa historian Bruce Klauber quoted Krupa on Willet: Chappie Willett [sic] was my first arranger and we got some great things from him—“Blue Rhythm Fantasy,” “I Know That You Know,” “Grandfather’s Clock”. . . . I’ll never forget how much he did for bands that had to play shows; invariably vaudeville acts brought in music that was worse to listen to than to play, and it was murder to play from those sad, cut-up, marked-up, beat-up stocks. Chappie had the knack of being able to put down on paper what the performer wanted, and yet make it sound good.135

Grandfather’s Clock Gene Krupa


(Henry Work) The Madam Swings It Gene Krupa (Morry Olsen & Henry Russell) Note: unissued on 78.

April 14, 1938 Classics (CD)754

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Prelude to a Stomp Gene Krupa



(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62542) I Know That You Know Gene Krupa


(Otto Harbach, Anne O’Dea & Vincent Youmans) The Krupa orchestra cut its first records immediately preceding its April 16 Atlantic City debut. The April 14 session included Willet’s arrangement of “Grandfather’s Clock,” a new version of “Prelude to a Stomp,” and the first attempted take of “The Madam Swings It.” According to Maud CuneyHare’s 1936 Negro Musicians and Their Music, ”Grandfather’s Clock” was composed in 1876 by the African American composer and actor Samuel Lucas (1841?–1916); Lucas then sold the song to publisher Henry Clay Work, who claimed the song as his own composition.136 “Prelude to a Stomp” was one of Millinder’s recordings, updated for Krupa with a few more technical ornaments and performed at a faster tempo. The first theme statement by the saxes includes an additional eighth-note triplet figure, recalling the saxes’ background figures from the Millinder arrangement’s out chorus (and retained on the Krupa arrangement’s out chorus as well). “The Madam Swings It” was a feature for the pianist Milt Raskin. This relatively obscure composition was composed by Morry Olsen and Henry Russell, who had recently collaborated on the 1937 Broadway musical Orchids Preferred.137 The April 14 take was not issued until the 1990s.138 While the arrangement of “Madam” has not been previously credited, it contains an overwhelming preponderance of Willet’s characteristic writing, including an introduction consisting of chromatically ascending whole-tone voicings (see Example 8). Willet’s instrumental arrangement of “I Know That You Know” (a somewhat streamlined version of the arrangement Louis Armstrong performed in 1937) seems to reference elements of the Fletcher Henderson arrangement that Benny Goodman recorded on March 20, 1936, with Krupa at the drums; Willet builds upon Henderson’s piano stop-time breaks, ascending eighth-note brass passages, and modulations. George T. Simon’s review of Krupa’s debut performance on April 16, 1938, titled “Krupa’s Band Kills Cats at Atlantic City Opening,” was the lead article in the following month’s issue of Metronome. As reported by


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Example 8. “The Madam Swings It,” mm. 1–8, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. April 14, 1938; Gene Krupa, Classics CD-754)

Simon, the first two pieces performed were Willet arrangements, including “Apurksody,” the piece Krupa used as his radio theme over the next two years: If Gene had any cause for worry, that cause was probably submerged before his band’s musical history was even one set old. Right from the opening strains of his theme (“Apurksody”—read the first five letters backwards) and on through the colossal arrangement of “Grandfather’s Clock,” which officially opened proceedings, it was as obvious as the hair that had already fallen into Gene’s face that his band would satisfy the most belligerent cat’s meow.139

Unfortunately, a rare opportunity for Willet to receive public credit for his contributions was lost when Simon butchered his name in the same article: The merits [of Krupa’s band] consisted, in the first place, sixty or so great arrangements supplied by Jimmy Mundy, Chappy Willard [sic], Fletcher Henderson, Dave Shulze, George Siravo, and a few other members of the band.140

Although Krupa employed three trombones at the Atlantic City gig—as documented in Simon’s review—and on subsequent recording sessions, these initial dates included only two, in line with what Willet was apparently accustomed to. The other two pieces Krupa recorded that April (both

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Helen Ward vocals) were conceivably arranged by Willet, but they do not so readily display his characteristic style. At least eight different Willet arrangements were recorded by Krupa over a period of two years, but all of these charts could have been provided upon the band’s formation. The four new Willet contributions were all recorded within Krupa’s first month of recording, with the exception of “Apurksody,” which was performed at the orchestra’s first performance but not recorded until the end of the year. The known Willet charts subsequently recorded by Krupa through the fall of 1940 were all versions of older arrangements for Lucky Millinder, Teddy Hill, or Luis Russell. Rhythm Jam Gene Krupa

July 19, 1938 Brunswick 8198

(Chappie Willet; copyright June 7, 1937; E pub. 62540) Apurksody Gene Krupa

Dec. 12, 1938 Brunswick 8296

(Gene Krupa & Chappie Willet; copyright May 7, 1938, E. unp. 165955) Note: “Apurksody” also issued in abbreviated form as “Theme” on numerous issued aircheck performances. The Madam Swings It Gene Krupa


(Morry Olsen & Henry Russell) Jungle Madness Gene Krupa


(Chappie Willet; copyright May 25, 1937; E pub. 62364) Fall 1940 Jungle Madness Gene Krupa Joyce (LP)3002 (Chappie Willet; copyright May 25, 1937; E pub. 62364) Note: film soundtrack performance (America’s Ace Drummer and His Orchestra).


139

Regarding Krupa’s new version of “Rhythm Jam,” George T. Simon related Krupa’s explanation for the alterations to the original brass introduction Millinder had recorded: This arrangement by Chappy [sic] Willet originally had a different introduction, but it was too high for the trumpets, so, after 31 false starts, as Gene recalls it, Sam Donohue came up with this sax intro from an old Earl Hines record that Jimmy Mundy (also a Krupa arranger) had written.141

Krupa also described the genesis of “Apurksody”: We kind of goofed around till we found what we thought was the feeling of the band. We didn’t want to sound too much like Goodman, but we still wanted to swing. Ellington was really more of an influence, I’d say.142

The first issued version of “The Madam Swings It” was finally recorded on February 26, 1939, slower in tempo than the preceding year’s take. “Jungle Madness,” recorded April 17, had several alterations from the earlier Millinder version, including the addition of a tom-tom-and-clarinet duet in the vein of “Sing, Sing, Sing” (Krupa’s feature with Goodman), the removal of the middle solo and theme section, and the recapitulation of the first theme at the end of the performance. There is no reason to discount Willet’s involvement in these alterations, but they could just as easily have been made by Krupa himself. “Jungle” was recorded again by Krupa in a movie short featuring his band, probably dating from the fall of 1940. Krupa’s coverage in Metronome and Down Beat provides a few brief contemporary reviews of Willet’s music. In June 1938 Gordon Wright of Metronome wrote that “Grandfather’s Clock” and “I Know That You Know” “exhibit the outfit’s colossal drive plus some great drumming from its leader. Vido Musso’s tenor shines on ‘Clock,’ while Dave Schulze’s trumpet highlights ‘Know.’”143 The following month, Wright praised “Prelude to a Stomp” for delivering “fine rhythmic backgrounds for Vido Musso’s tenor and some solid boots from Gene’s drums.” Down Beat’s Paul Miller suggested that “Willett’s [sic] ‘Prelude to a Stomp’ gives the band its best opportunity to date to demonstrate that it belongs among the top-notchers. Two tenor choruses by Musso best highlight.”144 That September, Wright noted that “drummers should get a big kick out of Gene’s hi-hats in ‘[Rhythm] Jam.’”145 A reader’s letter published in Metronome’s April 1939 edition claims that Krupa’s “‘Wire Brush Stomp,’ ‘Nagasaki,’ ‘Prelude to a Stomp,’ and ‘Rhythm Jam’ are some of his best, while ‘Grandfather’s Clock’ is a fine novelty.’”146

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Not all of Krupa’s reviews were positive. An article in the July 1938 issue of Metronome, titled “Krupa Shaping Outmoded Style,” reported the bandleader’s emphasis on screeching and ponderous chords and screwy runs, with loving and frequent use of the whole-tone scale. Krupa is swell on his solo spots and behind the band on a few drive tempos, but the outfit is still strangely lacking in lift.147

It is difficult not to identify Willet with the reference to the whole-tone scale, a device he seemed to embrace as his stylistic calling card during the 1930s. Krupa did not heed the above warning too seriously, and continued to record and perform Willet’s music over the next year. Blue Rhythm Fantasy [Pt. 2] Gene Krupa

Nov. 1938 Joyce (LP)3002

(Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971) Note: film soundtrack performance (Some Like It Hot, a.k.a. Rhythm Romance); performance also issued as “Drum Fantasy.” Blue Rhythm Fantasy [Pts. 1 & 2] Jan. 2, 1940 Gene Krupa Okeh 5627 (Teddy Hill & Chappie Willet; copyright October 16, 1936, E pub. 57971) “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” likely entered Krupa’s book in April 1938, and a version was recorded for a film that fall. The April 1939 fan letter to Metronome, quoted above, praised a live performance of the piece and expressed the hope that Krupa would record it.148 Krupa finally recorded an extended, double-sided disc of “Fantasy” at his initial session for Okeh on January 2, 1940. The disc hit #26 on the Billboard popular music chart that September.149 Side A recalls the familiar Teddy Hill and Lucky Millinder arrangements (albeit slower in tempo), with some new background figures and solo space assignments, while side B includes an extended drum solo with a closing ensemble tag. The drum-solo-plus-tag sequence of “Fantasy” was recorded in the fall of 1938 for the Hollywood film Some Like It Hot (no relation to the later Billy Wilder work), later retitled Rhythm Romance. Numerous discographies have cited this extended version of Willet’s composition as a re-


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arrangement by the Krupa arranger Elton Hill—with Hill presumably handling the “extended” portion of the performance.150 However, Hill did not do any other credited arranging for Krupa until 1940. Could discographers have misinterpreted the “Hill–Willet” composer credit on the 1940 Okeh record label as referring to Elton Hill’s 1940 arranging work for Krupa, forgetting about “Fantasy’s” previous connection with Teddy Hill?151 Krupa’s rendition does not stray from previously recorded versions any more than his other 1938–39 recordings of Willet arrangements alter the originals from the Millinder book. As mentioned before, Krupa may not have commissioned any more new work from Willet. At least on recordings, Krupa increasingly turned toward arrangers such as Jimmy Mundy and Elton Hill, and in the mid-1940s he incorporated elements of the bebop style with writers Eddie Finckel and George Williams.152 Yet Krupa’s reference to Willet’s writing “for bands that had to play shows” may suggest a more long-term relationship.

THE RED NORVO PAPERS A-Tisket, A-Tasket Red Norvo

July 28, 1938 Hep (CD)1050

(Van Alexander & Ella Fitzgerald) Note: take 1 unissued on 78. Band parts housed in MSS 48, box 2, folder 29, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. A-Tisket, A-Tasket Red Norvo

July 28, 193 Columbia (CD)53424

(Van Alexander & Ella Fitzgerald) Note: take 2 unissued on 78. Band parts as above. A-Tisket, A-Tasket Red Norvo

September 9, 1938 Circle (LP)3

(Van Alexander & Ella Fitzgerald) Note: radio transcription World Broadcasting (“Russ Norman and His Orchestra”). Band parts as above.

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Blue Room Red Norvo


1938 unrecorded

(Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers) Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 3, folder 65, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Blue Skies Red Norvo


(Irving Berlin) Note: radio transcription World Broadcasting (“Russ Norman and His Orchestra”). Band parts housed in MSS 48, box 3, folders 66 and 71, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Jump Jump’s Here Red Norvo


(Mildred Bailey, Henry Nemo & Red Norvo) Note: take 1. Band parts housed in MSS 48, box 13, folder 352, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Jump Jump’s Here Red Norvo


(Mildred Bailey, Henry Nemo & Red Norvo) Note: alternate take 2; both takes issued as Brunswick 8202. Band parts as above. Jump Jump’s Here Red Norvo


(Mildred Bailey, Henry Nemo & Red Norvo) Note: radio transcription World Broadcasting (“Russ Norman and His Orchestra”). Band parts as above. The Madam Swings It Red Norvo (Morry Olsen & Henry Russell)

1938 unrecorded


143

Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 14, folder 403, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Persian Rug Red Norvo

1938 unrecorded

(Charles Daniels & Gus Kahn) Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 18, folder 509, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Russian Lullaby Red Norvo

1938 unrecorded

(Irving Berlin) Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 20, folder 566, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Toy Town Jamboree Red Norvo

1938 unrecorded

(Major Hurwitz, John Redmond & Mary Shaeffer) Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 26, folder 737, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. Washington and Lee Swing Red Norvo

1938 unrecorded

(Thornton Allen, Clarence Robbins & Mark Sheafe) Note: band parts housed in MSS 48, box 27, folder 768, the Red Norvo Papers, Irving S. Gilmore Music Library, Yale University. On July 28, 1938, Red Norvo’s orchestra recorded two Willet arrangements for Brunswick featuring the vocalist Mildred Bailey: “Jump Jump’s Here” and “A-Tisket, A-Tasket.” Two takes of “Jump Jump’s Here” were issued contemporaneously, whereas “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” remained unissued until the 1990s. Norvo led an excellent band, and these recordings represent—in this author’s opinion—some of the best readings of Willet’s writing in the arranger’s discography. An article in the New York Times cited Norvo and Bailey’s live performances of “ATisket” during the summer of 1938.153

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The holdings of the Red Norvo Papers contain a significant arsenal of Willet arrangements dating from 1938, a year the band held residency at a number of New York venues, including the Commodore Palm Room, Paramount Theater, Pennsylvania Hotel, and Famous Door.154 Additional performances of “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” and “Jump Jump’s Here,” along with the instrumental “Blue Skies,” were recorded for a World Broadcasting transcription session on September 9, 1938 (the arrangement of “Jump Jump’s Here,” truncated for the Brunswick record, is performed at full length for the transcription). The remaining titles are unrecorded, including the instrumentals “Blue Room,” “The Madam Swings It” (notably different from the Krupa version, though some background riffs and modulations were retained), “Persian Rug” (with Willet displaying his chromatic tendencies), “Russian Lullaby” (different from the Fred Norman arrangement Norvo recorded the same year), and a fast-paced “Washington and Lee Swing” (a bit more streamlined than the Louis Armstrong arrangement). “Toy Town Jamboree” (including the “Parade of the Clockwork Soldiers” quote) was a vocal feature for Bailey. Apparently “Blue Skies” and “Persian Rug” were received especially favorably, as evidenced by additional manuscript parts for third trombone and baritone sax in an unknown hand (and other parts recopied by the trumpeter Lyman Vunk in 1939).

STOCK ARRANGEMENTS Jump Jump’s Here stock arrangement

1938 unrecorded

(Mildred Bailey, Henry Nemo & Red Norvo) Note: arrangement published by Robbins Music, New York; copyright 1938. Orchestrated by Les Brown. This arrangement partially reflects Willet’s arrangement for Red Norvo. A modern recording of this arrangement was released by Andrej Hermlin in 2001 (BMG 7432 18938825). Grandfather’s Clock stock arrangement

1939 unrecorded

(Henry Work, arr. Chappie Willet, sc. Spud Murphy; copyright February 28, 1939, E pub. 75171)


145

Note: arrangement published by Robbins Music, New York; copyright 1939. Orchestrated by Spud Murphy, with the citation “based on Chappie Willet’s arr.” Prelude in C Minor stock arrangement

1939 unrecorded

(Sergei Rachmaninoff) Note: arrangement published by Robbins Music, New York; copyright 1939. Orchestrated by Spud Murphy, with the citation “based on Chappie Willet’s arr.” Push Out stock arrangement

1939 unrecorded

(Alex Lovejoy & Nat Reed) Note: arrangement published by Handy Bros. Music, New York; copyright 1939. You Can Count on Me stock arrangement

1939 unrecorded

(Robert Maxwell & Joseph Myrow) Note: arrangement published by Exclusive Publications, New York; copyright 1939. Two articles in the May 7, 1938, edition of the New York Amsterdam News announced Willet’s new affiliation with publisher Robbins Music Corporation.155 A Robbins Music stock arrangement of “Jump Jump’s Here” was published that year, scored by Les Brown; it contains only a few passages recalling the Willet arrangement as recorded by Red Norvo, notably the clarinet lead passage of the last eight bars of the first chorus. In 1939, Robbins Music published two 1938 Willet arrangements, scored by Spud Murphy: “Grandfather’s Clock” and “Prelude in C Minor.” Each of the Murphy charts strays only minimally from the original Krupa, Ellington, and Barnet performances; the “Grandfather’s Clock” publication specifically cites Krupa’s Brunswick 8124 recording.156 In the 2004 interview, Murphy claimed he did not have access to Willet’s original scores and that having an original score to work from was a rare enough occurrence that he probably would have remembered it.157 But many elements of

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Murphy’s “C Minor” arrangement match the surviving Ellington band parts exactly, including identical dynamic markings and performance techniques (scoops, etc.), which are virtually inaudible on the recordings. Transcribing the arrangement from a recording was unlikely in any event, since at the time there was no commercially released recording of the Ellington and Barnet bands’ “C Minor” arrangement. Note also the highly unusual crediting of both published arrangements as “based on Chappie Willet’s arr.” (with Willet’s name spelled correctly!). The only structural difference in Murphy’s version of “C Minor” is the omission of Willet’s three-measure unison horn break. The tag ending was also altered, but not significantly—certainly not by stock arrangement standards of the period. All of this evidence leads me to believe Murphy had some access to Willet or his written music, perhaps through the Robbins organization. At least two stock arrangements were scored by Willet himself in 1939, but for other publishers: the aforementioned “Push Out” for Handy Brothers Music, and “You Can Count on Me” (from the 1939 film Straight to Heaven) for Exclusive Publications.158 There is no obvious correlation between the latter orchestration and the Ellington band version recorded that June or Count Basie’s Elton Hill-arranged version, recorded the same month.159

INTO THE 1940S One Alone Cab Calloway

Dec. 1938 unrecorded

(Oscar Hammerstein, Otto Harbach & Sigmund Romberg) I Ain’t Gettin’ Nowhere Fast Cab Calloway

August 30, 1939 Vocalion 5195

(Cab Calloway, Porter Grainger & Chappie Willet; copyright May 29, 1939, E unp. 196815) Bill Chase’s Amsterdam News column of December 17, 1938, claimed that “all those swell arrangements played by Cab Calloway and crew at Loew’s State this week were from the pen of the very youthful and talented Chappie Willet.” Chase specifically cited the 1926 composition “One Alone,” Calloway’s feature for the vocalist June Richmond.160 Calloway’s 1937,


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1938, and 1939 residencies at the Cotton Club (including the third, fifth, sixth, and “World’s Fair” editions of the Cotton Club Parade) and his spring 1939 appearance at the Apollo were also potential occasions for Willet collaborations.161 On August 30, 1939, Calloway recorded Willet and Grainger’s composition “I Ain’t Gettin’ Nowhere Fast,” another example of Willet’s “big production” treatment. Dizzy Gillespie has another solo here, in his first recording session with Calloway’s band; the tenor sax soloist is Chu Berry, another connection to Teddy Hill. Could Berry—who enrolled at West Virginia State before Willet—have facilitated any of these connections?162 Further evidence of Willet’s growing status in the New York music establishment was his reported inclusion in ASCAP’s October 6, 1939, “25th Anniversary” celebration concert at Carnegie Hall, featuring figures such as Armstrong, Calloway, and Porter Grainger.163 Willet’s studio was also becoming something of a social scene, the site of parties attended by the jazz composer and critic Leonard Feather, the New York Amsterdam News columnists Dan Burley (a jazz pianist) and Bill Chase, as well as members of Cab Calloway’s band (during their Strand Ballroom residency in July 1941), Erskine Hawkins’s band, and the Ink Spots (during their Paramount Theater residency in August 1941).164 The Amsterdam News columnists even named Willet one of “New York’s eligible (and perhaps desirable) bachelors” of 1940, and later printed a notice of the pregnancy of his wife, Olena Willet.165 Harlem Stomp Louis Armstrong

Dec. 18, 1939 Ambassador (CD)1906

(Buddy Feyne, Irene Higginbotham & Jay Higginbotham) Note: radio broadcast performance from the Cotton Club. Harlem Stomp Louis Armstrong

March 14, 1940 Decca 3092

(Buddy Feyne, Irene Higginbotham & Jay Higginbotham) Wolverine Blues Louis Armstrong


(Jelly Roll Morton, Benjamin Spikes & John Spikes)

148

You’ve Got Me Voodoo’d Louis Armstrong



(Louis Armstrong, Cornelius Lawrence & Luis Russell) Struttin’ with Some Barbecue Louis Armstrong

April 15, 1940 Ambassador (CD)1907

(Lil Armstrong) Note: radio broadcast performance from the Cotton Club. Band parts housed at the Louis Armstrong House and Archives, Queens College. Willet’s discography appears to have benefited from Louis Armstrong’s spring 1940 residency at the Cotton Club. On March 14, 1940, “King Louie”—as Willet referred to Armstrong in a publicity mailing to the trumpeter that year—recorded likely Willet arrangements of “Wolverine Blues” and “You’ve Got Me Voodoo’d.”166 Willet may also have arranged “Harlem Stomp,” another “big production” feature for Armstrong’s trumpet and vocals, recorded on the same date. Armstrong continued to perform Willet’s arrangement of “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” during this period, as documented in a radio aircheck; a fifth (baritone) sax part in the Armstrong Archives suggests additional scoring for the orchestra’s personnel circa 1943–47. Stardust Louis Armstrong

Aug. 1945 Swing Mania (CD)682470

(Hoagy Carmichael & Mitchell Parish) Note: AFRS radio transcription “Magic Carpet 101”; only the eight-bar introduction of Willet’s arrangement is reflected in the above performance. Band parts housed at the Louis Armstrong House and Archives, Queens College. Willet continued to write for Armstrong through at least 1944, the date of Willet’s union stamp on an arrangement of “Stardust” held at the Armstrong Archives (and partially documented in a 1945 radio transcription). This manuscript is copied in the hand of the bandleader, guitarist, and composer Maceo Jefferson, and likely dates from Armstrong’s residency at the Café Zanzibar (opposite Claude Hopkins’s band) in fall 1944.167 Willet’s intermediary Luis Russell had left Armstrong’s organization at some point


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during 1943, and Armstrong’s demand for Willet’s work probably declined in turn. Prelude in C Minor Lucky Millinder

1942 unrecorded

(Sergei Rachmaninoff) Rhapsody in Blue Lucky Millinder

circa 1942? unrecorded

(George Gershwin) Rustle of Spring Lucky Millinder

circa 1942 Hindsight (LP)233

(Christian Sinding) Note: radio transcription performance. There’ll Be Some Changes Made circa 1942 Lucky Millinder Hindsight (LP)233 (Billy Higgins & W. B. Overstreet) Note: radio transcription performance. Also issued as radio broadcast performance on Alamac (LP) 2425; this performance has also been listed as an AFRS Jubilee broadcast circa 1945.168 “Let My People Go”—Now! Lucky Millinder

1945 unrecorded

(Langston Hughes & Chappie Willet; copyright September 7, 1944, E unp. 389290) Note: lead sheet published by Text Music Publishing Co., New York; copyright 1944. Willet continued to work for Lucky Millinder. A photo of the bandleader in the New York Amsterdam News of April 29, 1939, was captioned: “Lucky Millinder, whose new band, playing sensational arrangements by Chappie Willett [sic], is threatening the leaders in the field of swing.”169 Millinder’s drummer Panama Francis, describing a Savoy ballroom “battle” with the

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Jay McShann orchestra in early 1942, remembered: “We opened up with one of our big flag-wavers, ‘Prelude in C Minor,’ a great arrangement by Chappie Willet, to show off our musicianship.”170 The bassist George Duvivier, who played with Millinder’s band in 1941 and 1942, further confirmed that the group played Willet arrangements during that time.171 In an anecdote reminiscent of Harold Cromer’s testimony, Dizzy Gillespie—also in Millinder’s group at the time—told the British jazz journalist Steve Voce: “Lucky would just sit there and watch while Chappie rehearsed the band a couple of times. Then Chappie would say ‘You got it, Lucky?’”172 Willet’s contributions to Millinder during this period also likely included “There’ll Be Some Changes Made” and Christian Sinding’s “Rustle of Spring.” Both arrangements were preserved as radio transcriptions recorded around 1942. The up-tempo rendition of “Changes” was a feature for Panama Francis, while “Spring” has facets found in Willet’s other swing versions of classical repertoire like “Prelude in C Minor” and “Sonata Pathétique” (see below): a written trumpet solo, climactic quarter-note triplet scoring, and an emphasis on up-tempo ensemble virtuosity. Reports from Harold Cromer and Chicago Defender columnist Al Monroe suggest Willet provided Millinder with two other arrangements: “Rhapsody in Blue” and “‘Let My People Go’—Now!”173 Sonata Pathétique Jimmie Lunceford

Feb. 28, 1940 Columbia (LP3)16175

(Ludwig Van Beethoven) Note: alternate take A unissued on 78; issue listed above unconfirmed. Band parts housed in box 23, folder 11, Frank Driggs Collection of Jimmie Lunceford Orchestrations, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Sonata Pathétique Jimmie Lunceford

Feb. 28, 1940 Columbia 35453

(Ludwig Van Beethoven) Note: take C? Band parts as above. Willet’s rendition of Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathétique” for Jimmie Lunceford featured Ed Wilcox on piano, Willie Smith on clarinet, and Paul Webster on trumpet. Wilcox related an anecdote illustrating Lunceford’s visual entertainment concerns:


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I remember once when we were playing our concert arrangement of “Sonata Pathétique” in the Oriental Theater, Chicago. I didn’t know our light man . . . was going to give the cue when I came in so that a pinpoint light hit me. . . . It shocked me so bad, I don’t think I played five notes out of that first run. I felt so ashamed, but the band was tied up in knots.174

The trumpeter and arranger Gerald Wilson, who performed on the recording of “Pathétique,” did not recall whether Willet was present at the recording session—held in Los Angeles—or if Willet personally rehearsed the piece with the band. But Wilson clearly recalled the music, and Willet’s arranging capability: It was a classical number, and he had done a wonderful job with it. I have the recording. . . . It was great, I loved the little trumpet trio thing they had [Wilson sings passage]. . . . It was so neat, ’cause you hear all of that . . . in the classical version, of course. And it was nice playing, and it was a difficult arrangement—I mean, you had to be really on your toes. . . . we played it very fast, too. I was very interested in knowing this person [Willet]. . . . I was thrilled to death to play his music. . . . He was a real fine arranger, composer and orchestrator. . . . Even when you’re orchestrating, you’re still composing. I never heard any of his original compositions, but a guy that can arrange like he did, and orchestrate, he had to be a fine composer.175

Gunther Schuller painted a far bleaker picture of “Pathétique.” Elsewhere praising Willet’s writing for Armstrong and Krupa,176 Schuller condemned this session as a defining blow to Lunceford’s entire artistic career: As if to underscore the band’s by now almost obsessive insistence on variety . . . the [Lunceford] band descends to the absolute depths in an unspeakable arrangement (derangement would be a better term) of bits and pieces of Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathétique,” a truly pathetic offering. From now on the band flounders erratically towards its ultimate decline.177

Opening Jimmie Lunceford

1939 unrecorded

(Chappie Willet?) Note: band parts housed in box 20, folder 3, Frank Driggs Collection of Jimmie Lunceford Orchestrations, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. “Pathétique” was the only Willet arrangement that Wilson remembered being in the Lunceford book between 1939 and 1942, his years in the band.

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The Lunceford discography and the Lunceford holdings at the Smithsonian Institution support Wilson’s recollection. However, Willet did work with Lunceford both before and after Wilson’s tenure. The Smithsonian holdings contain parts for an unrecorded chart titled “Opening,” with a Willet stamp from 1939. This was probably a stage show number, perhaps from one of Lunceford’s Apollo appearances in January or May of that year.178 East of the Sun Jimmie Lunceford

1942 unrecorded

(Brooks Bowman) Note: band parts housed in box 7, folder 8, Frank Driggs Collection of Jimmie Lunceford Orchestrations, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Hallelujah Jimmie Lunceford

May 1943 Festival (LP)146

(Clifford Grey, Leo Robin & Vincent Youmans) Note: radio transcription performance; broadcast date July 12, 1943. Band parts housed in box 9, folder 8, Frank Driggs Collection (as above). Yesterdays Jimmie Lunceford

May 1943 Festival (LP)146

(Otto Harbach & Jerome Kern) Note: radio transcription performance; broadcast date July 12, 1943. Estrellita Jimmie Lunceford

Spring 1944 Festival (LP)146

(Manuel Ponce) Note: radio transcription performance. Band parts housed in box 7, folder 13, Frank Driggs Collection of Jimmie Lunceford Orchestrations, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. The Smithsonian holdings also contain three later Willet arrangements: “Hallelujah,” with a union stamp date of 1942, documented in a Jubilee Armed Forces Radio aircheck around 1943; “East of the Sun (and West of the Moon),” also dated 1942, and apparently unrecorded; and “Estrellita,”


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dated 1943, and documented in a radio transcription recording around 1944. An arrangement of “Yesterdays,” also performed by Lunceford, was credited to Willet in Amsterdam News and Chicago Defender articles in January 1943. This piece was recorded as an aircheck in the same broadcast as “Hallelujah,” but the Smithsonian holdings lack band parts.179 “Hallelujah,” a typical Willet up-tempo instrumental arrangement focusing on the ensemble, is a bit more brass-heavy than his earlier swing charts. “Yesterdays” and “Estrellita” are extended, concerto-style features for the trumpeter Freddy Webster and one of the trombonists, respectively.180 Lunceford presented a number of these extended instrumental arrangements during this period—Ed Wilcox’s arrangement of “Alone Together” is another example—all utilizing changes in tempo (ranging from dirge to “bright”), rhythm (ballad, mambo, etc.), and meter (cut-time, waltzes, etc.), as well as cadenzas for the soloist. “East of the Sun” is a vocal ballad arrangement, probably featuring the singer Dan Grissom. Low Down Guy Duke Ellington

1945 unrecorded

(Chappie Willet?) Note: lead sheet housed in series 1A, box 210, folder 5, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Sister to You Duke Ellington

1945 unrecorded

(Chappie Willet?) Note: band parts housed in series 1A, box 342, folder 14, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. The Ellington Collection contains two works with Willet’s 1945 union stamp, both copied in the hand of Maceo Jefferson. “Sister to You” is preserved in piano lead sheet form, while “Low Down Guy” survives only as a single third trombone part. Neither piece appears to be documented in recording or copyright. An Amsterdam News article from 1941 briefly referred to Willet arranging for Jan Savitt’s orchestra; another notice in 1943 announced unspecified work for Earl Hines.181 However, as with earlier reports of connections with the bandleaders Willie Bryant, Benny Carter, Bob Crosby, Glen Gray, Ozzie Nelson, Fred Waring, Chick Webb, and Paul Whiteman, details of these affiliations remain unknown.

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CHAPPIE WILLET ARTISTS ENTERPRISES The manuscript paper used for Willet’s “Pathétique” arrangement included a letterhead with Willet’s name, office address, phone number, and the description “music service” and “recording studio.” This points to a fascinating development in Willet’s career during the 1940s, as he branched into the fields of talent booking and management, recording, nightclub stage show production, and publishing. A notice in the November 12, 1938, Amsterdam News hinted at these larger ambitions in announcing that Willet was “taking over offices he formerly shared with Russell Wooding and Porter Grainger for one huge recording studio, and music clinic.”182 More plans were announced in a February 4, 1939, article titled “Plea for Training: Arranger Says Young Singers Need to Study”: “Yes sir, the plight of the amateur performer nowadays is very sad, and the future of Negro talent seems even less promising,” declared Chappie Willet, ace Broadway arranger and talent discoverer. He made this declaration during the audition hours at the Cotton Club Wednesday, and aspirants were being turned down in droves either because they were just so-so or hadn’t been properly rehearsed. . . . “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to plan a campaign especially to help the amateur. The white performers realize the importance of the right training, but the Negroes are still hoping for stardom, and at the same time are unwilling to prepare properly for it.”183

An impressive spread appeared in the Amsterdam News of July 22, 1939, with music columnist Bill Chase announcing: “Ace Arranger Turns to Recording Field.” This unusually extensive article was accompanied by six photos depicting activities in Willet’s headquarters, including Willet at the control console, Sister Rosetta Tharpe at the microphone, and “Willet’s capable secretary-accompanist, Miss Scott” at the upright piano. In the article Willet explains that his new recording gear could be used for everything from “recording the songs of famous Broadway stars in rehearsal to visiting private parties and banquets where guests delight in having recordings of their voices made.” The article also notes that Willet could “record programs off the air,” and that “many prominent personalities have commissioned him to make a disc of their participation in recent broadcasts.” Willet was casting his net wide. By October 5, 1940, Willet’s management and “finishing school” operation was in full swing, as announced in a Chicago Defender article that reviewed his reputation to date:


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Chappie Willet Artists Enterprises, which occupies an imposing suite of rooms at 156 West 44th Street, just west [sic] of Broadway, is not only the mecca of Broadway’s outstanding stars, but is right now the haven of young hopefuls and amateurs who hope to make a name for themselves in the entertainment world. Chappie Willet has already made a name for himself as an arranger for such famous stars as Cab Calloway, Jimmie Lunceford, Gene Krupa, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Avis Andrews, the Peters sisters, the Nicholas brothers, Mildred Bailey, Rev [sic] Norvo, Sister Tharpe, June Richmond, Andy Kirk, the Cotton club shows and many others, but he has long been fired by a desire to do something really helpful for young Negroes whose chance in the entertainment field is slightly less than encouraging without proper training and handling.184

The above references to Richmond, Andy Kirk, and Rosetta Tharpe may be connected to their appearances in the “summer” 1940 Cotton Club show— the last show presented by the tax-troubled venue.185 Tharpe had previously appeared in the club’s spring 1939 show, and Avis Andrews had performed in the fall 1937 and winter 1940 productions.186 As mentioned earlier, Willet also worked with Richmond through Cab Calloway. Another Defender article from 1942 announced that the composer Donald Gerard Heywood (born 1897 in Trinidad)187 had “recently aligned himself with Willet” and the music school, and that “because of Chappie’s and Heywood’s ability for choosing material best suited for embryo talent, they are much in demand by those who are on the threshold of stardom. Daily, white and colored singers besiege their offices.”188 As mentioned above, Willet had arranged Heywood’s music for the Ubangi Club’s September 1941 production Harlem on Broadway. Willet had also arranged—along with Lorenzo Cauldwell—Heywood’s 1940 Caribbean Cruise production at the Irving Place Theater.189 Heywood provided Willet’s office address as his “place of employment” on a draft registration card circa 1942.190 One of Willet’s earliest protégés was the singer (Carrie) Belle Powell, later known as Virginia Powell. Powell—not to be confused with the performer Isabelle “Belle” Powell, Congressman Powell’s wife, or with the singer Ginnie Powell—was one of the three “Melody Girls” featured in the 1936 edition of Connie’s Hot Chocolates.191 After aligning herself with Willet sometime in 1937—the two appeared together in a publicity photo printed in the Chicago Defender that December—Powell went on to be featured with the orchestras of Willie Bryant and Claude Hopkins.192 Powell also appears in one of the publicity photos Willet sent to Louis Armstrong in 1940, now held in the Armstrong Archives. Other performers cited in the

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press as connected to Willet, his booking service, or his school through the 1940s include: Mercedes Gilbert (1894–1952), an already established performer and author who had appeared in Porter Grainger’s 1939 Panorama of Negro Folklore production;193 Hyacinth Curtis, a Broadway stage and Cotton Club performer, also known as Mrs. Clarence Robinson;194 the Bye Sisters (Doris, Frances, and Henrietta), featured at the Elks’ Rendezvous Club, Small’s Paradise, and on tour with Lionel Hampton;195 and the Reeves Sisters (Doris, Geneva, and Marie), also featured at Small’s Paradise.196 Know How to Do It Duke Ellington

1943 unrecorded

(Billie Hayes) Note: lead sheet housed in series 1A, box 193, folder 1, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Stand for That Jive Duke Ellington

1943 unrecorded

(Billie Hayes) Note: lead sheet and score housed in series 1A, box 355, folder 14, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Unlucky Woman Duke Ellington

1943 unrecorded

(Billie Hayes) Note: lead sheet and score housed in series 1A, box 399, folders 6 and 7, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Billie Hayes (no relation to the television actress) was a Bessie Smith-influenced blues singer, composer, and recording artist (including “Man Shortage Blues” and “I Can’t Get Enough,” both from 1943).197 The Ellington Collection contains three hand-written lead sheets of Billie Hayes features or compositions, or both. “Know How to Do It,” “Stand for That Jive,” and “Unlucky Woman” (with no apparent connection to the Leonard Feather work of the same title) all have Willet’s 1943 union stamp, the latter two titles with accompanying scores in the hand of Tom Whaley, another nightclub arranger and a key Ellington assistant.


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A press report linked Willet’s talent school to the model Marva Louis, who was married to boxing star Joe Louis and was just embarking on a stage career.198 Other names publicized by the Willet office include Tick and Tock (presumably a dance duo, featured at the Elks’ Rendezvous Club under Leonard Harper), Mae Iris Davis (a former USO act), Kathie McAdams (billed as “beauty plus brains”), and Derniece Harris (a theater and cocktail pianist).199 Harris served as “director” for a Willet-produced presentation at a Renaissance Ballroom fashion show; despite the event date of December 7, 1941, a participant, Dan Burley, later reported that the production had been “truly bigtime.”200 The Hicky Ricky Esvan Mosby

circa 1940 Document (CD)5601

(Paul Black, Albert Gibson, Esvan Mosby & Chappie Willet; copyright August 15, 1940, E unp. 228569; November 7, 1941, E unp. 274977; July 20, 1942, E pub. 106386) Note: solo vocal performance, probably from a demonstration disc. The Hicky Ricky Three Chocolateers

1941 Republic Pictures

(as above) Note: film soundtrack performance (Moonlight Masquerade), no known audio reissue. The Hicky Ricky Harry James

circa 1941 unrecorded

(as above) Note: lead sheet published by Leeds Music Corp., New York; copyright 1941. The Hicky Ricky Duke Ellington


(as above) Note: score housed in series 1A, box 427, folder 7, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History.

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Willet’s office recording studio was also used for creating demonstration discs for his various song projects, such as “The Hicky Ricky.”201 Dan Burley’s Amsterdam News column explained: The Chocolateers new song, “Hicky Ricky,” recorded at Chappie Willett’s [sic] studio, got into the hands of the publishers via the waxed disc which was submitted to Leeds Music. In turn, the Andrews Sisters will sing and record it!202

The Andrews Sisters recording apparently never panned out, but in 1941 the dance and comedy trio the Three Chocolateers (then Paul Black, Albert Gibson, and Esvan Mosby), veterans of the 1938 Cotton Club Parade, performed “The Hicky Ricky” in Hollywood for the Republic Pictures film Moonlight Masquerade.203 Willet and this trio filed the piece for copyright in 1940, and sheet music published by Leeds in 1942 billed it as “the new dance sensation created by The 3 Chocolateers” and “featured by Harry James and His Orchestra.”204 James never recorded the piece commercially; perhaps his band backed the Chocolateers in theaters, as Cab Calloway’s orchestra had.205 The song’s lyrics include references to the Conga, Susie-Q, Peckin’, and Skrontch dances, while the lead sheet arrangement displays elements of Willet’s hand: chromatically shifting flat-fifth dominant chords constitute the introduction (see Example 9) and surface again during the verse. The Duke Ellington Collection contains a three-page score for “Hicky Ricky” in Tom Whaley’s hand. The simple one-chorus arrangement is scored for four saxes, three trumpets, two trombones, and rhythm section. This lineup is decidedly not reflective of the Ellington band’s instrumentation during the 1940s (which included five saxes and at least three trombones) but is typical of the surviving Whaley scores held by Ellington. The Ellington Collection offers no additional evidence that the band performed this piece as part of a stage or theater production.

Example 9. “The Hicky Ricky,” mm. 1–4, arr. Chappie Willet: Articulations and dynamics are from the 1942 Leeds Music piano lead sheet; no chord symbols were assigned to the introduction (pub. 1942; Leeds Music)


Eh! Now Bye Sisters

159

1941 unrecorded

(Lewellyn Crawford [& Chappie Willet?]; copyright September 3, 1941, E unp. 268863) Note: published by Chappie Willet. The copyright filing lists Crawford as sole composer and lyricist, with Willet as publisher. Eh! Now Peters Sisters

1941 Warner Bros. Pictures

(as above) Note: film soundtrack performance, issue unverified. Eh! Now Duke Ellington


(as above) Note: score housed in series 1A, box 425, folder 11, band parts housed in series 1A, box 111, folders 6–7, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. During the winter of 1941–42, publicity in the black press connected Willet to “The Indigo Room,” a venue affiliated with the Chauffeurs and Domestic Workers Club, at 4 Valley Place off Fifth Avenue in New Rochelle, New York (north of the East Bronx). This operation was probably shortlived: Westchester County directories listed the club only in 1941 and 1942. Willet’s role is not entirely clear, but apparently he was at least handling the talent booking, “presenting big-time Broadway to the New Rochelle residents.”206 “I’ve long been in search of a spot where I could break in young talent,” Willet claimed in the Amsterdam News, “and now I feel that I have just the right spot.”207 This “large, ivy-covered cottage,” variously described as “a mixture of the Savoy Ballroom and Bowman’s Lounge” and “[Willet’s] sin-den,” presented performers such as Inez Washington, “Lou [sic] and Bebe” (Lewellyn Crawford and Helen Watkins), and “Sandra and Lakeeta” in revues like Rockin’ in Rhythm.208 According to the Chicago Defender, Willet and the dance director Lew Crawford—who had previously worked with Leonard Harper on the Ubangi Club Revue—cocomposed “Eh! Now,” which was reportedly performed by the Peters Sisters for a Warner Brothers film short in 1941,209 and by the Bye Sisters that same

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year. (The song is apparently unrelated to Elton Hill’s “Hey Now,” recorded by Cab Calloway.)210 Cleo Hayes recalled the little-known Bye Sisters song-and-dance act as being slightly outdated even in its own time: They were a young group of girls. I think it was three or four—the odd person was not a sister. But they were very lovely girls, and they were talented. At that point in time, what they were doing, that kind of show business—it went out, you know.211

The Ellington collection also holds a score for “Eh! Now” in Tom Whaley’s hand. Like the “Hicky Ricky” score, this simple eight-page arrangement is scored for “stock” instrumentation, but includes introduction, verse, and chorus passages, plus a full set of band parts in ink (including music for three trombones). A piano lead sheet in Willet’s hand—crediting “Chappie Willet and Lew Crawford”—notes “V-chorus” (vocal chorus?) and “Dance.” Directions written on the parts refer to a 16-bar tag ending and repetitions of a dance chorus, suggesting that this piece was indeed used in some production. Although Ellington appeared with floor shows at venues like the Café Zanzibar throughout the mid-1940s, my initial efforts to pinpoint the maestro’s performance of “Eh! Now” have been inconclusive. Darlin’ Lucky Millinder

May 25, 1944 Decca 18779

(Frances Reckling & Lucky Millinder) Note: lead sheet published by Douglas Publishing Co., New York; copyright 1943. A Rainy Sunday Luis Russell

Oct. 19, 1946 Apollo 1139

(Art Franklin, Lucky Millinder & “Blackie” Warren) Note: lead sheet published by Duo Music Publishing Co., New York; copyright 1944. A Rainy Sunday Peters Sisters

1947 Storyville (DVD)16053

(Art Franklin, Lucky Millinder & “Blackie” Warren) Note: as above. Film soundtrack performance (Hi-De-Ho [1947]).


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On July 29, 1944, the Chicago Defender announced, “The newest addition to that section of Broadway known all over the world as ‘Tin Pan Alley’ is the Duo Music Publishing corporation, headed by prolific songwriter and arranger, Chappie Willet.”212 Songs published by Willet’s company included two Lucky Millinder-associated compositions. “Darlin’” was recorded by Millinder’s band with Judy Carol for Decca on May 25, 1944; a lead sheet was printed by Douglas Publishing Co. in 1943, and apparently revised for the 1944 Duo Music copyright filing.213 “A Rainy Sunday” was recorded by Luis Russell’s band with the singer Lee Richardson for Apollo Records on October 19, 1946.214 “Rainy Sunday” was also performed by the Peters Sisters in the 1947 All-American Pictures film Hi-De-Ho, featuring Cab Calloway;215 newspaper publicity for this song claimed radio broadcast performances by Calloway’s orchestra and presentations at the Café Zanzibar circa 1944.216 Duo Music was probably short-lived, and beyond the above titles was little mentioned in the press. Lead sheets for “Darlin’” and “Rainy Sunday” are held in the Smithsonian Duke Ellington Collection, likely publicity gifts from Willet.217 FINAL YEARS As suggested by Leonard Reed’s testimony, and “arranger” listings in AFM Local 802 and local telephone directories, Chappie Willet maintained a presence in New York into the early 1950s. The Chicago Defender cited Willet (along with Sy Oliver) as an arranger for the Swing Session Revue tour scheduled for July 1946. Further documentation of Willet’s activities fades out following a January 1947 notice hyping Kathie McAdams, and a February 1947 Pittsburgh Courier report of Willet’s office being featured in an All-American Pictures newsreel.218 Advertisements in the Amsterdam News for “Chappie Willet Enterprizes [sic]”—“Talent wanted! Booking best in vocal and instruments”—ran fairly regularly from November 1946 through May 1947.219 I have found no similar notices from after this time. Tap dancer Cholly Atkins recalled the Count Basie orchestra’s playing Willet’s arrangements behind his act while on tour, probably during the summer and fall of 1947:220 A guy out of Philadelphia, Chappie Willet, arranged the music for our whole act. We had some real pretty melodic saxophone passages, and Basie’s band just loved to get to a certain part. There would be no brass in there, nothing but rhythm and saxophones. And the cats would start singing.221

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The business reality was that the vibrant nightclub and theater scene of the 1930s had been faltering for some time. After the closing of the sketchilyfinanced Cotton Club in 1940, the Kit Kat succumbed to similar pressures in 1942 (though the location later reopened as the Café Life, then the Blue Angel).222 Through World War II, Willet presumably continued to work with shows at venues like the Apollo Theater, Ben Marden’s Riviera, Murrain’s Cabaret, the Ubangi Club’s Broadway location, or the Café Zanzibar.223 The jazz critic and historian Hugues Panassié claimed Willet’s “best arrangements have not been recorded”; could he be referring to material featured in stage shows such as these?224 After the war, the Broadway scene began to change even more noticeably. In February 1947, as the Café Zanzibar reduced the size of its productions, Willet’s colleague Clarence Robinson confessed, “Times are different now and we must cut down on overhead.”225 The Zanzibar closed completely by May 1947; Connie’s Inn and the Ubangi Club had quietly closed some time before.226 Louis Armstrong disbanded his orchestra in spring 1947. Jimmie Lunceford died the same year, though his orchestra continued a bit longer. The big bands of Cab Calloway and Luis Russell disbanded in 1948. Lucky Millinder’s orchestra continued through the end of the decade, but the Swing Era was ending. A December 24, 1949, notice from the Chicago Defender possibly revealed Willet’s own need to minimize overhead: “Joe Louis has opened offices on Broadway with Bill (Courier) Rowe and Chappy Willette [sic] as partners.”227 Rowe, a columnist for the Pittsburgh Courier, had teamed with the recently retired boxer in some sort of short-lived advertising venture.228 Was Willet merely subsidizing his office rent, or was he perhaps interested in the advertising or jingle side of the music business? Given the further decline of live stage entertainment in New York City over the 1950s and the absence of any New York City directory listing for Olena Willet after 1960, it seems likely that he had retired to Philadelphia by the 1960s. There are no listings for Willet himself in New York or Philadelphia city or union directories after 1952. Willet suffered a heart attack sometime around March 6, 1976; he was pronounced dead of related complications at Philadelphia’s St. Agnes Hospital on March 30, at the age of 68. The Cumberland County Historical Society confirms that he was buried on April 3 at the Bridgeton First Presbyterian Church Broad Street Cemetery in Bridgeton, New Jersey—his father’s hometown.229 Olena was still listed as Willet’s wife on the death certificate, though she did not sign it. She lived until 1989, according to the Social Security Death Index. Social Security records also reveal that their son, Robert Fredrick Willet, died in 1983 at the age of 40. I have not been able to track down any other relations.


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CONCLUSION This narrative omits Chappie Willet’s last 24 years—over one-third of his life. It is frustrating that the era most likely to be illuminated by those still living has proven the most difficult to investigate. Even if the significant amount of publicity surrounding Willet’s career was largely generated through his proclivity for self-promotion, his almost complete omission from mainstream jazz history is, to this author, bewildering. Willet was hardly the only Swing Era veteran forced to leave the limelight by the myriad of economic, artistic, and cultural changes following World War II, but many of his peers were successfully sought out and documented by projects like Leonard Feather’s Encyclopedia of Jazz or other publications such as Down Beat, Cadence, or Storyville. Perhaps Willet, for whatever reason, simply did not want to be found or bothered. Perhaps also his theater world contributions have not been viewed as central to the jazz tradition. Or maybe he was just—literally—forgotten. Willet’s death certificate listed his occupation as “retired music arranger,” suggesting he had no second career following his period in New York. The closing of the Cotton Club in June 1940 could be seen as a turning point in Willet’s career. The venue had been a regular source of work (and prestige) for the arranger, and after its closing he appears to have shifted his efforts more toward booking and management. Cleo Hayes observed that by the 1940s there was less demand for original production music in the nightclub floor shows: By the time Zanzibar came along, they were beginning to use popular music. They were not having things that were written especially for the show. That was Cotton Club. . . . There was no repeat on that, black or white.230

Willet’s composing and—increasingly—publishing interests also adapted over time, as he turned from his instrumental dance band tunes (such as “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” and “Jungle Madness”) of the mid-1930s, toward novelty vocals (such as “The Hicky Ricky” and “Eh! Now”) in the early 1940s, and then to vocal ballads (such as “Darlin’” and “Rainy Sunday”) in the mid-1940s. This evolution certainly suggests that Willet “kept in the know” regarding popular tastes. Willet’s postwar image may have prematurely “aged” because his primary associates up to that point—Wooding, Grainger, and Heywood— were identified with a previous generation of musicians that had come up in the 1920s or earlier. Then again, his image may not have mattered. The end of World War II saw the beginning of the collapse of the entire live

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performance music industry, from bars to Broadway, regardless of genre, style, or fad.231 Nightclub taxes, television, the expansion of the suburban lifestyle, and other phenomena had catalyzed a gradual, irrevocable shift in American entertainment.232 As an arranger, Willet held a role central to the American music industry of the first half of the twentieth century. It is difficult to imagine a comparable position in today’s music business; within popular genres, the increasingly vague title of “producer” reflects some related functions. In a time when most jazz performers consider themselves composers and computer software has eradicated entire support industries, the achievements of a Willet, Murphy, or Wilson are increasingly difficult to appreciate. What we can clearly see is that, for a brief period in time, Chappie Willet was one of a handful of figures at the top of the music profession, unquestionably achieving his goal—as set out in Allan McMillan’s 1936 Chicago Defender feature—to “reach the top of the ladder by 1940.”233 Willet was associated with the major popular musical talent of his era: Armstrong, Calloway, Ellington, and Krupa are some of the best remembered. Willet was partially responsible for some of these icons’ finest moments, and his work undoubtedly provided inspiration for the next generation of music professionals. All the while he may have been able to maintain connections with his home and family in Philadelphia. In spite of epithets like “shadowy figure” and “unsung,” it is possible that Chappie Willet considered himself one of the lucky ones.

APPENDIX: THE CHAPPIE WILLET SOUND With a career as undocumented as Chappie Willet’s, assigning discographical arranging credits raises a number of issues. Clear cases for attribution, such as surviving manuscript orchestra parts displaying the arranger’s name, are the welcome exceptions. An arranger’s traditional, competitive need to create a distinct musical identity through unique stylistic devices becomes an invaluable tool to the historian or analyst. However, the same arrangers often had to adapt to guidelines that fell outside their particular style. These writers’ efforts to demonstrate a personal style under these circumstances create possibilities for—and highlight the importance of—isolating a specific “bag” of an arranger’s devices. Generally, Willet’s identified recorded arrangements are instrumental “flag-waver” ensemble features, designed to showcase the client group’s technical dexterity. Even Willet’s vocal features tend to rely heavily on in-


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strumental ensemble presentation. Within this basic approach, Willet’s arrangements tend to fall into one of four general—though often overlapping—categories: (1) minor key (usually C minor) “exotic” pieces (e.g., “Blue Rhythm Fantasy,” “Jungle Madness,” and “You’ve Got Me Voodoo’d”), often including scoring for “jungle” tom-tom drums or growling brass; (2) instrumental blowing features, usually spotlighting multiple soloists (e.g., “Rhythm Jam,” “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue,” and “I Know That You Know”); (3) tour de force technical expositions deriving from the “jazzing the classics” tradition and involving little improvisation (e.g., “Prelude in C Minor” and “Sonata Pathétique”); and (4) “big production” vocal numbers, often with “parade” orchestration effects, numerous interludes or modulations, and a big coda finale (e.g., “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” “Swingtime in Honolulu,” and “I Ain’t Gettin’ Nowhere Fast”; see the discussion of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” in the preceding text). Spanning these general categories are a number of orchestration devices that Willet favored, including ensemble accent-and-holds on the fourth beat of a measure, brass “slur” or “dip” figures on the downbeat of a measure, and metric displacement (“secondary rag,” etc.). None of these devices are unique to Willet’s writing; some may be considered Swing Era clichés. But perhaps the most immediately identifiable Willet device—the metaphor of “trademark” or “calling card” might be appropriate—is the use of chords stating or implying whole-tone harmony, often in the form of augmented or flatted-fifth dominant voicings. The interlude passage in Willet’s arrangement of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Minor” (Example 10) is a representative example.

Example 10. “Prelude in C Minor,” mm. 57–61, arr. Chappie Willet: The chord symbols in the Ellington orchestra guitar part (shown above) do not reflect the augmented fifth voice in the trumpet and alto saxophone parts, or the baritone sax part’s flat-ninth voice; Willet’s arrangement of “Sonata Pathétique” utilizes a nearly identical ensemble voicing (rec. May 29, 1938; Duke Ellington, Jazz Archives LP13)

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The role of the whole-tone scale in American music has remained fairly constant through most of the twentieth century. Willet’s whole-tone sound was part of a long-held dance band tradition stemming from an industrywide fascination with vaguely European-inspired “modernism.”234 Publications of the period provide some contemporary context for the pervasiveness of this association: Arthur Lange’s 1926 book Arranging for the Modern Dance Orchestra, in a section on modulation techniques, referred to chromatic augmented chords as “far more effective than common chord modulations,” adding that the resulting “psychological effect” makes such a modulation “more noticeable” and “very interesting.”235 Wary of this cliché, historian Gunther Schuller characterized Don Redman’s 1931 “Chant of the Weed”—based largely on whole-tone and augmented chord voicings—as “meant to be ‘daring’ and ‘sophisticated,’ representing the latest state of the jazz-tune art.”236 Walter van de Leur’s 2002 book The Music of Billy Strayhorn suggests that Strayhorn’s use of “whole-tone, autonomous dominant chords” in his 1939 composition “Passion Flower” “point[s] up . . . admiration for the French ‘impressionist’ composer Claude Debussy,”237 whether Strayhorn heard the connection or not. The whole-tone cliché was solidly entrenched in American dance band writing by the 1930s. Typical examples of its use in the swing idiom are Will Hudson’s 1934 arrangements of “Wild Party” (for Fletcher Henderson) and “Jazznocracy” (for Jimmie Lunceford), both of which assign whole-tone harmony to the brief “effect” passages outlined by Lange.238 In addition to examples supplied in the main text of this article, Willet’s use of whole-tone harmony (often combined with the chromaticism of, for example, “Prelude in C Minor”) can be found in: “Uptown Rhapsody” (Example 11), “Rhythm Jam” (Example 12), “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” (Example 13), “Apurksody” (Example 14), “You’ve Got Me Voodoo’d” (Example 15), and “Opening” (Example 16). Chord symbols are my own.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This research was funded in part by the Institute of Jazz Studies Morroe Berger–Benny Carter Jazz Research Fund. Thanks to Ed Berger, Tad Hershorn, Dan Morgenstern, Evan Spring, and the staff at the IJS; Lewis Porter, John Howland, and Henry Martin, Rutgers University–Newark; Maryann Chach and Reagan Fletcher, Shubert Archives; Michael Cogswell, Louis Armstrong House and Archives, Queens College; Vince Giordano; Phil Greene, Arthur W. Diamond Law Library, Columbia University; Minnie Handy Hanson, Handy Brothers Music; Suzanne Lovejoy


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Example 11. “Uptown Rhapsody,” mm. 34–38, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. April 1, 1936; Teddy Hill, Vocalion 3294)

Example 12. “Rhythm Jam,” mm. 41–48, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. February 11, 1937; Lucky Millinder, Variety 546)

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Example 13. “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue,” mm. 87–90, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. January 12, 1938; Louis Armstrong, Decca 1661)

Example 14. “Apurksody,” mm. 19–26, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. December 12, 1938; Gene Krupa, Brunswick 8296)

and Richard Boursy, Irving S. Gilmore Library of Yale University; Arturo Ortega, University of North Texas Music Library; Ricky Riccardi; Phil Schaap and Ben Young, WKCR-FM New York; Kay Peterson and Susan Strange, Smithsonian National Museum of American History; and Annie Kuebler, Institute of Jazz Studies, for assistance with handwriting identification in the Cotton Club Parade materials.

Example 15. “You’ve Got Me Voodoo’d,” mm. 97–104, arr. Chappie Willet (rec. March 14, 1940; Louis Armstrong, Decca 3092)

Example 16. “Opening,” mm. 13–26 [piano/conductor part], arr. Chappie Willet (1939; Jimmie Lunceford, unrecorded)

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NOTES 1. Chase, “Arrangers Are Real Originators of Swing: And Chappie Willet Is Near the Top of the List,” New York Amsterdam News, July 10, 1937, 20. 2. These four arrangers are just a few examples of influential jazz writers who never became entertainment celebrities themselves: Eddie Durham (1906–1987) wrote for Jimmie Lunceford (“Oh Boy,” 1935), Count Basie (“Sent for You Yesterday,” 1938), and Glenn Miller (“In the Mood,” 1939); Andy Gibson (1913–1961) wrote for Cab Calloway (“Come On with the ‘Come On,’” 1940), Basie (The World Is Mad,” 1940), Charlie Barnet (“Xango,” 1945), and Lucky Millinder (“D Natural Blues,” 1949); Buster Harding (1917–1965) wrote for Calloway (“Jonah Joins the Cab,” 1941), Artie Shaw (“The Sad Sack,” 1945), Roy Eldridge (“Yard Dog,” 1946), and Basie (“House Rent Boogie,” 1947); and Mary Lou Williams (1910–1981) wrote for Andy Kirk (“Walkin’ and Swingin’,” 1936), Benny Goodman (“Roll ’Em,” 1937), and Duke Ellington (“Blue Skies,” 1946). 3. John Wriggle, “Chappie Willet, Frank Fairfax, and Phil Edwards’ Collegians: From West Virginia to Philadelphia,” Black Music Research Journal 27/1 (Spring 2007): 1–22. 4. For example, the Krupa sessions of 1938, the Calloway session of August 30, 1939, the Armstrong sessions of July 7, 1937, and March 14, 1940, and the Lucky Millinder transcription sessions of 1942. 5. Alyn Shipton, Groovin’ High: The Life of Dizzy Gillespie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 23. 6. “Ace Maestro,” Chicago Defender, December 7, 1935, 9. 7. John Wriggle, “Chappie Willet, Frank Fairfax, and Phil Edwards’ Collegians: From West Virginia to Philadelphia,” Black Music Research Journal 27/1 (Spring 2007): 1–22. 8. “Youth Creates for Armstrong: Willett [sic], Hot Tune Writer, Holds Music Degree—Russell aided Him,” New York Amsterdam News, March 12, 1936, 8. 9. “Apollo Theatre,” New York Amsterdam News, December 1, 1934, 10; ibid., December 29, 1934, 10; ibid., March 9, 1935, 10; ibid., April 6, 1935, 10; ibid., June 15, 1935, 11; ibid., August 24, 1935, 7. 10. “Arrangers Are Real Originators of Swing: And Chappie Willet Is Near the Top of the List,” New York Amsterdam News, July 10, 1937, 20. 11. “As Thousands Cheer,” Internet Broadway Data Base, http://www.ibdb.com (accessed August 5, 2006). 12. “At Home Abroad,” Internet Broadway Data Base, http://www.ibdb.com (accessed August 5, 2006). The Shubert Archives holds no material from At Home Abroad specifically citing Willet’s participation; archival correspondence from Chappell Music (August 10, 1935) suggests Russell Bennett was responsible for scoring the production. Surviving orchestra parts reveal a number of copyists’ involvement. None of the parts are recognizably in Wil-


13. 14.

15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22.

23.

24. 25. 26.

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let’s hand, though conceivably he worked under Bennett. In any case Willet’s connection to At Home Abroad was probably fairly peripheral. “Mr. Francis Willet,” The Yellow Jacket, June 1, 1933, 1; “Newsy Newsettes,” Pittsburgh Courier, September 23, 1933, sec. 2, p. 6. “Berlin–Hart Revue Opens: ‘As Thousands Cheer’ Will Stay in Philadelphia Two Weeks,” New York Times, September 10, 1933, N5; “Theatrical Notes,” New York Times, September 26, 1933, 26. “Chocolates Cast Opens for Easter,” Chicago Defender, April 20, 1935, 11; “Connie’s Inn Opens on Broadway with Hot Show,” Chicago Defender, November 9, 1935, 9. “Apollo Theatre,” New York Amsterdam News, July 13, 1935, 11; ibid., September 28, 1935, 7. D. Russell Connor, Benny Goodman: Listen to His Legacy, Studies in Jazz, no. 6 (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1988), 54–58. Lyle “Spud” Murphy, telephone interview by the author, February 12, 2004. Allan McMillan, “Chappie Willette [sic] Tells How Songs Are Made Popular,” Chicago Defender, February 8, 1936, 8. No specific titles were mentioned regarding Goodman. D. Russell Connor, Benny Goodman: Listen to His Legacy, Studies in Jazz, no. 6 (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1988), 55. Walter C. Allen, Hendersonia: The Music of Fletcher Henderson and His Musicians (Highland Park, NJ: Walter C. Allen, 1973), 319. Lyle “Spud” Murphy, telephone interview by the author, February 12, 2004. Jimmy Mundy (1907–1983) wrote for Earl Hines (“Copenhagen,” 1934), Benny Goodman (“Swingtime in the Rockies,” 1936), Gene Krupa (“Bolero at the Savoy,” 1938), and Count Basie (“Super Chief,” 1940); Horace Henderson (1904–1988) wrote for his brother Fletcher’s band (“Queer Notions,” 1933), his own band (“Kitty on Toast,” 1940) and Charlie Barnet (“Charleston Alley,” 1941); Gordon Jenkins (1910-1984) wrote music popularized by Benny Goodman (“Goodbye,” 1935) and Woody Herman (“Blue Prelude”). Walter C. Allen, Hendersonia: The Music of Fletcher Henderson and His Musicians (Highland Park, NJ: Walter C. Allen, 1973), 320. As noted earlier, no arrangements in Goodman discographies, the Yale University Goodman Collection, or the New York Public Library Goodman Collection are currently attributed to Willet. In the February 12, 2004, interview, Murphy claimed he had identified a recorded Goodman performance as a possible Willet arrangement during some type of formal “listening” event in the Los Angeles area. He could not recall which title, or what the occasion was, and I have not found any record of this event. Reed also worked as manager for boxer Joe Louis. Leonard Reed, telephone interview by the author, December 2, 2002. “Arrangers Are Real Originators of Swing: And Chappie Willet Is Near the Top of the List,” New York Amsterdam News, July 10, 1937, 20.

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27. Leonard Reed, telephone interview by the author, December 2, 2002. 28. Constance Valis Hill, Brotherhood in Rhythm: The Jazz Tap Dancing of the Nicholas Brothers (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 139–140. 29. Ibid., 170. 30. “Apollo Theatre,” New York Amsterdam News, December 29, 1934, 10. 31. Marshall Stearns and Jean Stearns, Jazz Dance: The Story of American Vernacular Dance (New York: Macmillan, 1968), 299. 32. WGBH Archives refuses to distribute copies of this interview, conducted May 11–12, 1981. A “Scope and Content” archival description of the interview can be found on the WGBH website, http://www.main.wgbh.org/wgbh/ ntw/fa/titles/honi313.html (accessed May 20, 2004). 33. Brenda Bufalino, e-mail correspondence with the author, May 22–23, 2004. “Flash material” has been defined as “wildly exciting dance movements incorporating acrobatics, often used to finish a dance.” Rusty E. Frank, Tap!: The Greatest Tap Dance Stars and Their Stories, 1900–1955 (New York: Da Capo Press, 1994), 280. 34. Cleo Hayes, telephone interview by the author, November 14, 2006. 35. Abel Green and Joe Laurie Jr., Show Biz from Vaude to Video (New York: Henry Holt, 1951), 442. 36. Dizzy Gillespie with Al Fraser, To Be or Not . . . to Bop (New York: Doubleday, 1979), 386. 37. Theodore Strauss, “News of Night Clubs,” New York Times, November 26, 1939, 131. 38. Connie’s Inn reopened downtown on Broadway and 48th Street in spring 1935. “Night Club Notes,” New York Times, April 13, 1935, 11. The Ubangi Club was operating in the old Connie’s Inn space by January 1935. “Ubangi Club” (advertisement), New York Times, January 29, 1935, 37. 39. Paul Denis, “Night Club Reviews: Cotton Club, New York,” Billboard, March 26, 1938, 20. 40. “The Eubie Blake Collection,” Maryland Historical Society website, http:// www.mdhs.org/eubieblake (accessed January 16, 2005). 41. Stanley Dance, The World of Swing, 2nd ed. (New York: Da Capo Press, 2001), 380. 42. Clyde Bernhardt and Sheldon Harris, I Remember: Eighty Years of Black Entertainment, Big Bands, and the Blues (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986), 162, 169. Regarding Hopkins’s residency at the Café Zanzibar, see also Stanley Dance, The World of Swing, 2nd ed. (New York: Da Capo Press, 2001), 41–43; “Zanzibar” (advertisement), New York Times, December 19, 1944, 27. 43. Dan Morgenstern, “Hot Chocolates,” in Living with Jazz (New York: Pantheon, 2004), 610. 44. Louis Calta, “Night Club Notes,” New York Times, January 9, 1944, X4. 45. Arnold Rampersad, The Life of Langston Hughes, vol. 2 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 98; V.C. Bevenue, “Milwaukee, Wisc.,” Chicago


46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51.

52.

53.

54.

55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60.

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Defender, October 21, 1944, 17; Langston Hughes and Chappie Willet, “‘Let My People Go’—Now!” (New York: Text Music Publishing, 1944). Allan McMillan, “Chappie Willette [sic] Tells How Songs Are Made Popular,” Chicago Defender, February 8, 1936, 8. American Federation of Musicians Local no. 802, Directory and Instrumentation (New York: American Federation of Musicians, 1938). “The Play,” New York Times, July 23, 1937, 17; “Swing It,” Internet Broadway Database website, http://www.ibdb.com (accessed December 10, 2004). “Big-Time Stars in N.Y. Project Play,” Chicago Defender, April 18, 1936, 10. Allan McMillan, “Chappie Willette [sic] Tells How Songs Are Made Popular,” Chicago Defender, February 8, 1936, 8; Bill Chase, “Arrangers Are Real Originators of Swing: And Chappie Willet Is Near the Top of the List,” New York Amsterdam News, July 10, 1937, 20; “Unsung Heroes of Swing,” New York Amsterdam News, April 9, 1938, 13; Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, November 12, 1938, 20. Wooding’s 1891 birth year was derived from a 1917 draft registration card: “Alfred Russell Wooding,” reg. number 7665 (no date). Another draft registration card circa 1945 provides a birth year of 1892. “Russell Wooding,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card. “Russell Wooding,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card; American Federation of Musicians Local no. 802, Directory and Instrumentation (New York: American Federation of Musicians, 1943). Nell Occomy, “New York Society,” Chicago Defender, May 7, 1938, 15; “Russell Wooding,” National Archives and Records Administration, NA Form 13164, December 3, 2004; “Distinguished Harlem Regiment Protects Residents of Hawaii,” Chicago Defender, August 15, 1942, 12. This address matches his listing (with his wife, Silka Wooding) in the 1930 federal census and his listings in the annual New York City telephone directories through 1959. Fifteenth Census of the United States, Enumeration District 31-904, Supervisor’s District no. 24, Sheet no. 6-A. American Federation of Musicians Local no. 802, Directory and Instrumentation (New York: American Federation of Musicians, 1961). Mark Tucker, Duke Ellington: The Early Years (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 49, 58. As noted by Tucker, the story of Wooding’s hiring and firing of Ellington remains unverified. “Russell Wooding Continues Rise,” Pittsburgh Courier, July 20, 1929, sec. 2, p. 3. Bernard L. Peterson Jr., Profiles of African American Stage Performers and Theatre People (New York: Greenwood Press, 2001), 312. “Activities of Musicians,” New York Times, May 25, 1930, 122. Billy Jones, “That Shine,” Chicago Defender, January 10, 1931, p. 8; “Four Orchestras Will Play at Big N.A.A.C.P. Ball at Harlem Savoy,” Pittsburgh Courier, March 14, 1931, sec. 2, p. 9; “Wooding to Form ‘Red Cap’ Band,” Pittsburgh Courier, June 13, 1931, sec. 2, p. 8.

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61. “Rufus Jones for President,” Internet Movie Database website, http://www .imdb.com (accessed December 30, 2004). 62. “‘Brain Sweat’ Due Here on Wednesday,” New York Times, March 29, 1934, 27. See also “The Theatre’s Easter Parade,” New York Times, April 1, 1934, X1. 63. “Chocolates Cast Opens for Easter,” Chicago Defender, April 20, 1935, 11. 64. “Pearl Baines Has New Song Hit for Show,” Chicago Defender, November 2, 1935, 8. 65. “Connie’s Inn Opens on Broadway with Hot Show,” Chicago Defender, November 9, 1935, 9. 66. Brooks Atkinson, “The Play,” New York Times, October 2, 1933, 22; “Ethel Waters Scores in ‘At Home Abroad,’” New York Amsterdam News, September 28, 1935, 7; Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 123; Louis Calta, “Night Club Notes,” New York Times, January 9, 1944, X4. Waters was advertised as appearing at the Apollo in the New York Times of March 5, 1938. Franz Hoffman, Out of the New York Times, Jazz Advertised 1910–1967, vol. 7 (Berlin: Franz Hoffman, 1989), 108. 67. “Entertainment World,” New York Amsterdam News, June 19, 1937, 20; Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, November 12, 1938, 20. 68. “Porter Grainger,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card; Bernard L. Peterson Jr., Profiles of African American Stage Performers and Theatre People (New York: Greenwood Press, 2001), 118, 296. 69. W. C. Handy, Negro Authors and Composers of the United States (New York: Handy Brothers Music, n.d.; reprint, Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Out-of-Print Books on Demand, 1992), 12. 70. Fifteenth Census of the United States, Enumeration District 31-922, Supervisor’s District no. 24, Sheet no. 17-B. 71. “Rare Negro Songs Given,” New York Times, January 11, 1932, 29. 72. “Say Harlem Is Home of Dance Craze, ‘Susie-Q,’” Chicago Defender, December 12, 1936, 20; “It’s ‘Scronching’ Now at Small’s: Novel Dance Is Featured at Paradise,” New York Amsterdam News, April 10, 1937, 16. 73. “Panorama Friday Will Aid Nursery,” Chicago Defender, February 18, 1939, 10. 74. Harold Cromer, interview by the author, May 7, 2004. 75. “Theatrical Notes,” New York Amsterdam News, October 12, 1935, 7. 76. “Youth Creates for Armstrong: Willett [sic], Hot Tune Writer, Holds Music Degree—Russell aided Him,” New York Amsterdam News, March 12, 1936, 8. 77. Allan McMillan, “Chappie Willette [sic] Tells How Songs Are Made Popular,” February 8, 1936, 8. 78. Armstrong was featured in the Connie’s Inn show from October 1935 through January 1936, as advertised in the New York Times of October 19, 1935, November 6, 1935, December 28, 1935, and January 18, 1936. Franz


79. 80. 81.

82.

83.

84.

85. 86.

87.

88. 89.

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Hoffman, Out of the New York Times, Jazz Advertised 1910–1967, vol. 7 (Berlin: Franz Hoffman, 1989), 71, 74, 76–77. “Connie’s Inn Opens on Broadway with Hot Show,” Chicago Defender, November 9, 1935, 9. Allan McMillan, “Hi-Hattin’ in Harlem,” Chicago Defender, January 11, 1936, 9. U.S. Library of Congress, 1937 Copyright Report, “Uptown Rhapsody,” copyright July 10, 1937, listed as E pub. 56289. The saxophonist Howard Johnson has also appeared in label credits as cocomposer. Jim Godbolt, liner notes, Uptown Rhapsody (Hep [CD] 1033, 1992). Leonard Feather, liner notes, The Jazz Arranger, vol. 1, Columbia Jazz Masterpieces (CBS Records [LP] CJ45143, 1989). Willet is also credited for “Uptown Rhapsody” in John Postgate and Bob Weir’s Looking for Frankie: A Bio-Discography of the Jazz Trumpeter Frankie Newton (Cardiff, Wales: Bob Weir, 2003), 32. Notices discussing Teddy Wilson in the November 1935 issues of both Metronome and Down Beat suggest that Berry and the trumpeter Roy Eldridge had left Hill by that month. “Downbeat,” Metronome, November 1935, 28; Down Beat, November 1935, 4. The Down Beat notice is cited in Walter C. Allen, Hendersonia: The Music of Fletcher Henderson and His Musicians (Highland Park, NJ: Walter C. Allen, 1973), 325. Phil Schaap, Roy Eldridge Festival Handbook and Discography, 3rd printing (New York: Jazz Session–Phil Schaap, 1987), 2. As issued, “Rug Cutter’s Ball” was credited to Hill and reed sideman Russell Procope. Eldridge seems to be poking fun at “Uptown Rhapsody” in the first eight bars of his own group’s arrangement of “After You’ve Gone,” as recorded on January 28, 1937; the Hill recording of “Uptown” would have been released by then. “Harlem Opera House,” New York Amsterdam News, March 16, 1935, 10; George Simon, “Dance Band Reviews,” Metronome, July 1935, 15. Van Alexander, liner notes, Home of Happy Feet/Swing! Staged For Sound (EMI Records [CD] 7243 5 35211 2 7, 2001). Originally issued as The Home of Happy Feet (Capitol ST-1243, 1959). The Metronome editor George T. Simon listed “Uptown Rhapsody” as Hill’s radio theme in his book The Big Bands. The publisher EMI Mills claims that “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” was Hill’s theme. According to Richard N. Mellor, Hill used both pieces as themes. George T. Simon, The Big Bands, 4th ed. (New York: Schirmer Books, 1981), 588; Alan Warner, EMI Professional Song Catalog, vol. 4 (New York: EMI Music Publishing, 1992), 12–13; Richard N. Mellor, Spotlights of Fame: The World’s First Theme Song Book (n.p.: Richard N. Mellor, 1953), 32. Van Alexander, telephone conversation with the author, April 6, 2004. The Hill band was listed in Ubangi advertisements in the New York Times of October 30, 1935, November 28, 1935, and December 20, 1935. Franz Hoffman, Out of the New York Times, Jazz Advertised 1910–1967, vol. 7 (Berlin: Franz Hoffman, 1989), 72–75.

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90. Even Hill’s earlier session, featuring Roy Eldridge and Chu Berry, was generally overlooked during the participants’ lifetimes. Interviews of Hill (e.g., Down Beat, Dizzy Gillespie’s autobiography, etc.) always seem to focus on his later career as manager of Minton’s. 91. The surviving “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” parts from Armstrong’s band book were not marked with a date. “Blue Rhythm Fantasy,” Louis Armstrong House and Archives. 92. Another possibility is that DeParis “brought” the background with him when he joined Hill. An even more distant possibility is that the Hill band learned the background from the Millinder recording. In any event, contrary to most discographies, there is a second trombone audible on this final Hill session. A Duncan Butler photo of the Hill band, including both DeParis and Frank Newton (whom Gillespie replaced before Hill’s European tour that summer) was printed in the liner notes to the 1960s Columbia release The Sound of Harlem. Discographies (Tom Lord’s The Jazz Discography, etc.) which indicate DeParis was still with Millinder as of July 1, 1937, are certainly wrong; DeParis was in Europe with Hill, according to contemporary coverage in Melody Maker, Jazz Hot, and European photos of the group published in Dicky Wells’s autobiography. Additionally, why wouldn’t Millinder’s second trombonist for the July 1 session be Eli Robinson, who appears in 1937 photos of the band, and who provided an arrangement Millinder recorded that day? George Hoefer, liner notes, The Sound of Harlem, Jazz Odyssey, vol. 3 (Columbia [LP] C3L 33, 1964); Leonard Feather, “There’s Gold in That Thar Hill,” Melody Maker, July 24, 1937, 2; Hugues Panassié, “Teddy Hill’s Orchestra,” Jazz Hot, June–July 1937, 3–4; Dicky Wells with Stanley Dance, The Night People (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991). 93. Jazz historian Frank Driggs wrote that “Chappie Willet’s arrangements of ‘Blue Rhythm Fantasy’ on Vocalion and ‘King Porter Stomp’ on Bluebird were among their [Hill’s] finest recordings.” Frank Driggs and Harris Lewine, Black Beauty, White Heat: A Pictorial History of Classic Jazz 1920–1950 (New York: Da Capo Press, 1996), 132. I have found no additional information to support this attribution of “King Porter Stomp” to Willet. Though Willet often publicized his recorded arrangements, he never cited the piece. 94. An outstanding example is Gunther Schuller’s trashing of the Hill band’s entire discography in The Swing Era; he called Hill’s band one of “the poorest bands to come out of Harlem.” Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 422–423. 95. For example, the Hill band broadcast three times a week over WJZ (NBC) during the summer of 1935. “Teddy Hill Striding into His Own Air,” New York Amsterdam News, July 13, 1935, 11.


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96. A Portfolio of Great Jazz for Music Decision Makers (New York: Belwin– Mills Music, 1976), 112–114. 97. “Apollo,” New York Amsterdam News, November 23, 1935, 12. 98. Alyn Shipton, Groovin’ High: The Life of Dizzy Gillespie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 23. The 1899 birth year was derived from a draft registration card for “Frank Thurmond Fairfax,” September 12, 1918. The 1899 date is corroborated by ages provided in the 1910 and 1920 federal census schedules for Botetourt County, Virginia. However, Fairfax reported a birth year of 1903 on his Social Security number application (Form SS-5) of April 4, 1938; the 1903 date is repeated in his obituary in the AFM International Musician, April 1972, 9. 99. Harry Edison, interview by Stanley Dance, May 1981, cassette two, transcript page 18, Jazz Oral History Project, Smithsonian Institution Division of Performing Arts, Washington, D. C. Transcript on file at the Institute of Jazz Studies, Rutgers University–Newark. 100. Allan McMillan, “Hi-Hattin’ in Harlem,” Chicago Defender, July 10, 1937, 10. 101. Bill Chase, “Arrangers Are Real Originators of Swing: And Chappie Willet Is Near the Top of the List,” New York Amsterdam News, July 10, 1937, 20. Such claims regarding the Fleischman programming might explain the uncertainty of arranging credits for titles such as “Swing That Music.” Performed by Armstrong from 1936 into the 1940s, this arrangement has been credited to Willet, according to Michael Cogswell, Louis Armstrong: The Offstage Story of Satchmo (Portland, OR: Collector’s Press, 2003), 94. The Armstrong band member Greely Walton (1904–1993), among others, identified the piece’s arranger as the composer Horace Gerlach, according to historian Phil Schaap, e-mail correspondence with the author, July 5, 2006. The surviving band parts housed at the Louis Armstrong House and Archives show no direct indication of Willet’s participation. 102. Tom Bennett, “Arranging Music for Radio,” in Gilbert Chase, ed., Music in Radio Broadcasting, NBC–Columbia University Broadcasting Series (New York: McGraw–Hill, 1946), 86. 103. Count Basie’s “Jumpin’ at the Woodside” has trombones sliding chromatically from one note to another during background passages. A jazz trombonist executing a chromatic slide was, at one time, not in itself necessarily suggestive of tailgate, parade, circus, Dixieland, white, or outdated music. 104. Jack Oglesby, “‘Ol’ Satchmo’ Is King, Says Mr. Winchell,” Chicago Defender, February 26, 1938, 19. 105. Klaus Stratemann’s Armstrong filmography seems to be the sole source crediting the “Jubilee” arrangements to Luis Russell rather than Willet. Klaus Stratemann, Louis Armstrong on the Screen (Copenhagen: JazzMedia, 1996), 60. Of all the commercially recorded Armstrong band arrangements

178

106.

107.

108.

109. 110.

111.

112. 113. 114.

115.

Annual Review of Jazz Studies from the 1930s discussed here, manuscript parts for only “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” and “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” exist in the Louis Armstrong Archive holdings at Queens College (which contain 270 Armstrong band arrangements). Michael Ruppli, The Decca Labels: A Historical Discography, vol. 1 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1996), 69. “Satchel Mouth Swing” (a.k.a. “Coal Cart Blues”) was first filed for copyright on March 21, 1938 (E pub. 69031), including a credit for the arranger, Lewis Raymond. This credit may refer to a piano lead sheet publication, because the composition was recorded with lyrics for the first time in 1938. The clarinet solo assignment on “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” is briefly discussed in John Chilton and Max Jones’s Louis: The Louis Armstrong Story, 1900–1971 (London: Studio Vista, 1971), 162. Armstrong had reportedly recorded “The Trumpet Player’s Lament” for the film Doctor Rhythm; the scene was not used. Hans Westerberg, Boy from New Orleans: Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong on Records, Films, Radio, and Television (Copenhagen: JazzMedia ApS, 1981), 59. Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 193; Dan Morgenstern, “Louis Armstrong and the Development and Diffusion of Jazz,” in Marc H. Miller, ed., Louis Armstrong: A Cultural Legacy (New York: Queens Museum of Art and University of Washington Press, 1994), 130. Dan Morgenstern, liner notes, Louis Armstrong: Rare Items 1935–1944 (Decca Records [LP] DL 9225, 1967). “Star Talks over New Song,” Chicago Defender, December 18, 1937, 14; “Chappie Willet, New Luminary in Field of Composition, Shows How He ‘Goes to Town,’” Pittsburgh Courier, March 26, 1938, 13; Nell Occomy, “New York Society,” Chicago Defender, March 26, 1938, 14. The dates are provided in Klaus Stratemann, Duke Ellington: Day by Day and Film by Film (Copenhagen: JazzMedia ApS, 1992), 152. Cotton Club historian Jim Haskins listed the date of the first show as “midnight on Thursday, March 9.” March 9, 1938, was a Wednesday; the opening was most likely Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 130. Stuart Nicholson, Reminiscing in Tempo: A Portrait of Duke Ellington (Boston: Northern University Press, 1999), 195. Harold Jovien, “Hot Air,” Philadelphia Tribune, March 31, 1938, 14; ibid., May 5, 1938, 15; ibid., May 12, 1938, 14; ibid., May 26, 1938, 14. See W. E. Timner’s Ellington discography for a complete listing of these broadcasts and studio sessions. W. E. Timner, The Recorded Music of Duke Ellington and His Sidemen, 4th ed., Studies in Jazz, no. 7 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1996), 28–30. Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 128, 130, 145. Haskins wrote that in 1939 “Vodery . . . had been choir director and


116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122.

123. 124.

125.

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arranger at the club for a year.” Yet Haskins also cites the participation of the choral group “Vodery’s Jubileers” in the spring 1937 edition of the Parade. Ellington biographer Mark Tucker wrote that Vodery served as “arranger and musical supervisor for the Cotton Club Parade from 1936 to 1940”—a role that would have been quite different from what Haskins described and would also predate Ellington’s first 1937 residency at this incarnation of the club; Tucker suggests that Vodery worked with Alberto Socarras’s house pit band, not necessarily with Ellington (Socorras would later lead the house orchestra at the Ubangi for the September 1941 Harlem on Broadway revue; see program reprint in “The Eubie Blake Collection,” Maryland Historical Society website). Tucker also cites his interview with Garvin Bushell to suggest that Vodery wrote for Cab Calloway’s band when Calloway was featured in the first (1936) Cotton Club Parade. Mark Tucker, “In Search of Will Vodery,” Black Music Research Journal 16, no. 1 (Spring 1996): 141. Horst J. P. Bergmeier and Rainer E. Lotz, liner notes, Live From the Cotton Club (Bear Family Records [CD] 16340, 2003), 93. Stratemann, Duke Ellington: Day by Day and Film by Film, 152. “Cotton Club Show: Song Trio, Peg Bates Join Cast,” New York Amsterdam News, March 5, 1938, 17. Ray Nance, as related to Brooks Kerr, telephone interview with Kerr by the author, November 8, 2004. M. H. Orodenker, “Orchestra Notes,” Billboard, March 26,1938, 12. Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 131. At one point in “Honolulu’s” out chorus the surviving sax part differs from the recorded performance: for four bars the written sax line is replaced by a phrase including a trill figure, another device typical of Willet’s writing (e.g., “Grandfather’s Clock,” “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue”). The lyricist and composer Kaye Parker wrote music for Benny Carter (“I See You”) and Benny Goodman (“A Home in the Clouds,” 1939). Brooks Kerr, telephone interview by the author, November 8, 2004. Kerr related his 1973 conversation with Ray Nance at Churchill’s restaurant in New York. Nance consistently claimed to have substituted for Cootie Williams during the studio recording of “I’m Slappin’ Seventh Avenue” (as well as “Dinah’s in a Jam”) on Monday, April 11, 1938. The recording date’s ledger sheet, indicating Williams’s departure from the session, appears to support Nance’s claim. Steven Lasker, “Duke’s Brass, 1937–38,” The International Duke Ellington Music Society Bulletin 04, no. 2 (August–November 2004). “If You Were in My Place” had been recorded by the band on previous dates. It is possible that Nance also substituted for Williams in the Cotton Club show later that night (April 11), playing the full “book” for the show, including “If You Were in My Place.” Stratemann, Duke Ellington: Day by Day and Film by Film, 152. No source is listed for this report.

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126. Reed player Jerry Blake (1908–1961) wrote arrangements for Fletcher Henderson (“What’s Your Story,” 1937) and also served as musical director for Cab Calloway. 127. Series 1A, box 296, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. 128. Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, April 9, 1938, 21. 129. Edgar Wiggins, “Duke Ellington’s Band a Hit in France and Belgium,” Chicago Defender, April 22, 1939, 20. Ellington reportedly performed the arrangement again at the Apollo Theater on October 6, 1938. W. E. Timner, The Recorded Music of Duke Ellington and His Sidemen, 4th ed., Studies in Jazz, no. 7 (Lanham, MD: Institute of Jazz Studies and Scarecrow Press, 1996), 31. 130. Dan Mather, Charlie Barnet: An Illustrated Biography and Discography of the Swing Era Big Band Leader (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2002), 28–29. 131. Throughout his career, Charlie Barnet recorded many arrangements from Ellington’s repertoire. See Dan Mather, Charlie Barnet: An Illustrated Biography and Discography of the Swing Era Big Band Leader (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 2002), 132. The surviving second trombone part for “Prelude in C<sharp> Minor” was not copied by Willet. Presumably this was a replacement part (as opposed to an additional part), since the surviving trombone parts in Willet’s hand specify “first” and “third.” 133. Series 1G, box 511, folder 3, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. 134. Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, April 9, 1938, 21. 135. Bruce Klauber, World of Gene Krupa: That Legendary Drummin’ Man (Ventura, CA: Pathfinder Publishing, 1990), 46. 136. Maud Cuney–Hare, Negro Musicians and Their Music (Washington, D.C.: Associated Publishers, 1936), 46–48. Given the timing of Cuney–Hare’s publication, one is tempted to speculate that it motivated this particular choice of repertoire. 137. “Orchids Preferred,” Internet Broadway Database website, http://www .ibdb.com (accessed July 13, 2004). 138. Numerous discographies claim that CBS LP compilation Encore P14379 includes an additional “take 5” of “Madam” attempted in New York on May 4, 1938, presumably involving a special matrix renumbering by Brunswick to match the number used on the April 14 date. This additional take listing appears in Tom Lord, The Jazz Discography (Vancouver, BC: Lord Music Reference, 1996), K454. The purported alternate is also listed by Bruyninckx as the version of “Madam” issued on the LPs Bandstand BS7117 and Joker SM3236 LPs. On all these issues, however, the purported alternate is the same performance as the February 26, 1939, take that was assigned a Los Angeles (“LA”) matrix number. It is remotely conceivable that takes 3


139. 140.

141.

142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151.

152.

153. 154.

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and 4 from the May 4 date—again as listed by Lord and Bruyninckx—exist as “unissued” takes, but it seems highly unlikely that the take 5 master was transferred from New York to Los Angeles for matrix reassignment. It would appear there is no issued May 4, 1938, take of “Madam.” George T. Simon, “Krupa’s Band Kills Cats at Atlantic City Opening,” Metronome, May 1938, 9–10. Simon corrected the spelling of Willet’s name in a later reprint of the article. George T. Simon, Simon Says: The Sights and Sounds of the Swing Era, 1935–1955 (New Rochelle, NY: Arlington House, 1971), 96. The trumpeter Dave Schultz and the saxophonist George Siravo were both Krupa sidemen. George T. Simon, liner notes, Gene Krupa: Drummin’ Man (Columbia [LP] C2L-29, 1963). The passage referred to was from the end of Jimmy Mundy’s tenor sax solo on Hines’s 1934 recording of “Copenhagen.” Ibid. Gordon Wright, “DISCussions,” Metronome, June 1938, 20. Gordon Wright, “Impressions in Wax,” Metronome, July 1938, 21; Paul Miller, “Record Reviews,” Down Beat, July 1938, 18. Gordon Wright, “DISCussions,” Metronome, September 1938, 27. “Impressions in Wax,” Metronome, April 1939, 25. Sayre Hillerson, “Krupa Shaping Outmoded Style,” Metronome, July 1938, 30. “Impressions in Wax,” Metronome, April 1939, 25. It is unlikely that this fan letter was referring to the “themeless” 1938 film rendition. Alan Warner, EMI Professional Song Catalog, vol. 4 (New York: EMI Music Publishing, 1992), 12–13. For example, Tom Lord, The Jazz Discography (Vancouver, BC: Lord Music Reference, 1996), K455–K456. In another (hopefully unrelated) affront to Willet, an Otto Hess photo of Krupa, Jimmy Mundy, and Willet for George T. Simon’s 1963 Columbia LP compilation Gene Krupa: Drummin’ Man identifies Willet as “Elton Hill.” The Krupa arranger Elton Hill (“Hamtramck,” 1940), another largely undocumented figure, may have been Elton LeRoy Hill, a trumpeter affiliated with Lucky Millinder and Cab Calloway, and listed in AFM Local 802 directories in 1941 and 1942. American Federation of Musicians Local no. 802, Directory and Instrumentation (New York: American Federation of Musicians, 1941); ibid., 1942. Krupa charts by Eddie Finckel (1917–2001) include “Leave Us Leap” (1945); those by George Williams (1917–1988) include “Yesterdays” (1945). “Night Club Notes,” New York Times, August 28, 1938, X8. “New York’s New Swing Treat,” New York Times, February 25, 1938, 14; “More Swing,” Wall Street Journal, June 17, 1938, 9; Jack Gould, “News of the Nightclubs,” New York Times, August 14, 1938, 134; Theodore Strauss, “News of Night Clubs,” New York Times, November 27, 1938, 170.

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155. Dan Burley, “Backdoor Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, May 7, 1938, 16; Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, May 7, 1938, 17. 156. Henry C. Work, “Grandfather’s Clock,” arranged by Chappie Willet, orchestrated by Spud Murphy (New York: Robbins Music, 1939). 157. Lyle “Spud” Murphy, telephone interview by the author, February 12, 2004. 158. Thanks to Dr. Arturo Ortega, University of North Texas Music Library. 159. Chris Sheridan, Count Basie: A Bio-Discography (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1986), 80. 160. Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, December 17, 1938, 20. 161. Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 128, 133, 143. Calloway opened the fifth Parade on October 6, 1938 (according to the New York Times, October 4, 1938, 21) and the sixth Parade on March 24, 1939 (according to the New York Times, March 23, 1939). Calloway was advertised as appearing at the Apollo in the New York Times of April 2, 1938, and March 11, 1939. Franz Hoffman, Out of the New York Times, Jazz Advertised 1910–1967, vol. 7 (Berlin: Franz Hoffman, 1989), 110, 120, 136, 137. 162. Dan Morgenstern, “Chu Berry,” in Barry Kernfeld, ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz (New York: Macmillan Press, 2000), 103. Berry left WVSC in 1929 after “three years” of study; overlap with Willet was possible if Berry stayed until the fall of 1929. 163. “ASCAP Anniversary Features Race Music: Audience Cheers Artists in Week of Music Program,” Chicago Defender, October 7, 1939, 21. Due to a typo in the article, no last name for “Chappie” is given, but the identification is fairly safe. 164. Dan Burley, “Back Door Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, May 24, 1941; ibid., July 19, 1941, 15; “Willet Is Host,” New York Amsterdam News, August 16, 1941, 20. 165. Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, December 14, 1940, 13; ibid., January 23, 1943, 10; Dan Burley, “Back Door Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, November 7, 1942, 16. 166. One of Willet’s publicity photos, signed “1940,” was reprinted in Michael Cogswell, Louis Armstrong: The Offstage Story of Satchmo (Portland, OR: Collector’s Press, 2003), 94. The following page (95) includes a photo of the Armstrong band’s music stands on stage at an unspecified venue: one of the stands (alto sax?) has music for “Blue Rhythm Fantasy” sitting on it. 167. See Bill Smith, “Night Club Reviews: Zanzibar, New York,” Billboard, December 9, 1944, 24, 26. 168. Tom Lord, The Jazz Discography (Vancouver, BC: Lord Music Reference, 1996), M847. 169. “On Upgrade Again,” New York Amsterdam News, April 29, 1939, 21. 170. Stanley Dance, The World of Swing, 2nd edition (New York: Da Capo Press, 2001), 380. 171. Edward Berger, Bassically Speaking: An Oral History of George Duvivier, Studies in Jazz, no. 17 (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1993), 49.


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172. As told by Steve Voce, published in Alyn Shipton, Groovin’ High: The Life of Dizzy Gillespie (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), n. 367. See also Barry McRae, Dizzy Gillespie: His Life and Times (New York: Universe Books, 1988), 25–26. Gillespie also played in Millinder’s band briefly in 1937, as described in Shipton, 31. 173. Harold Cromer, interview by the author, May 7, 2004; Al Monroe, “Swinging the News,” Chicago Defender, May 26, 1945, 17. 174. Stanley Dance, The World of Swing, 2nd edition (New York: Da Capo Press, 2001), 117. 175. Gerald Wilson, telephone interviews by the author, April 1 and 15, 2004. Wilson added that Willet’s 1938 version of “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” for Louis Armstrong’s orchestra is one of his favorite arrangements, and that he uses the recording in his classes when teaching. 176. Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 193, 724–25. 177. Ibid., 219. 178. ”Lunceford at Apollo,” New York Amsterdam News, December 31, 1938, 16; “Apollo,” New York Times, May 20, 1939, 16. Additional appearances in August and December 1939 (though probably after Wilson had joined the band) are cited in Stanley Dance, The World of Swing, 2nd edition (New York: Da Capo Press, 2001), 410–13. 179. “Lunceford Answers Host of Queries on Arrangers of Music,” New York Amsterdam News, January 16, 1943, 14; “Lunceford Makes Musical History,” Chicago Defender, January 30, 1943, 19. 180. There is some discrepancy among Lunceford discographers about the identity of the featured trombonist on “Estrellita.” Bertil Lyttkens suggests Earl Hardy; Leon Demeuldre suggests Joe (or “James,” according to Lyttkens) Williams. Neither player has a substantial solography. 181. “Chappie Willet Takes Over Spot in Westchester for New Talent,” New York Amsterdam News, December 6, 1941, 20; “Earl Hines, After Losing Men to Army, Forms Sensational Mixed Band,” New York Amsterdam News, September 11, 1943, 13A. 182. Bill Chase, “All Ears,” New York Amsterdam News, November 12, 1938, 20. 183. “Plea for Training: Arranger Says Young Singers Need to Study,” New York Amsterdam News, February 4, 1939, 16. 184. “Broadway Has All-Race Studios for Recording,” Chicago Defender, October 5, 1940, 20. 185. “News of Night Clubs,” New York Times, April 28, 1940, 118; Dan Burley, “Cotton Club Closes,” New York Amsterdam News, June 22, 1940, 20. Technically the Cotton Club’s “summer” season took place before the summer began. “Buck and Bubbles” were on the bill as well. 186. Jim Haskins, The Cotton Club (New York: Random House, 1977), 128, 144; Ted Yates, “Cotton Club’s Revue Still Tops in N.Y.,” Chicago Defender, March 2, 1940, 21.

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187. “Donald Gerard Heywood,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card. Peterson cited Heywood’s birth date and place as 1901, Venezuela; Heywood died in 1967. Bernard L. Peterson Jr., Profiles of African American Stage Performers and Theatre People (New York: Greenwood Press, 2001), 118. 188. “Network Singer Plans to Aid Young Singers by Scholarship,” Chicago Defender, February 28, 1942, 20. 189. “Heywood’s Pet Musical Finally Hits Broadway,” Chicago Defender, May 4, 1940, 21. According to the New York Times, Caribbean Cruise folded while still in rehearsal. “Gossip of the Rialto,” New York Times, June 2, 1940, 121. 190. “Donald Gerard Heywood,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card. 191. “Three Melody Girls of Connie’s,” Chicago Defender, January 23, 1937, 4. 192. Allan McMillan, “Hi-Hattin’ in Harlem,” Chicago Defender, November 27, 1937, 11; “Star Talks Over New Song,” Chicago Defender, December 18, 1937, 14; “‘Oh, Willie’ New Fan Cry,” Chicago Defender, May 14, 1938, 19; Rollo S. Vest, “Detroit Topics,” Chicago Defender, October 24, 1942, 20. Powell also had a small role in the Broadway show Swingin’ the Dream in 1939. “Swingin’ the Dream,” Internet Broadway Data Base, http://www .ibdb.com (accessed August 10, 2006). 193. “Mercedes Gilbert’s Act Hailed,” Chicago Defender, March 15, 1941, 21; “Panorama Friday Will Aid Nursery,” Chicago Defender, February 18, 1939, 10. Gilbert was also involved in the National Negro Theater, which Russell Wooding was affiliated with. “National Theatre Opens in New York with Stars,” Chicago Defender, December 7, 1935, 8. 194. “Comeback, Maybe,” Chicago Defender, November 1, 1941, 7. Accompanying this notice was a photo of Willet and Curtis, which had previously appeared in the 1939 Bill Chase Amsterdam News feature on Willet’s recording studio. 195. “New Singing Sensations,” New York Amsterdam News, September 20, 1941, 20; “They’re Smalls Paradise Stars,” New York Amsterdam News, January 10, 1942, 16; Major Robinson, “Through Harlem,” Chicago Defender, July 11, 1942, 23. Willet’s relationship with the Bye Sisters apparently soured at some point: Robinson reported that “intimates of the arranger and talent scout Chappie Willet are saying that his singing finds, the Bye sisters, didn’t do right by him when they joined with Lionel Hampton and his crew. He had them under contract and they didn’t consult him at all.” 196. “Peters Sisters in a Pix Made in New York,” Chicago Defender, October 4, 1941, 20; “Star Twinkles,” Chicago Defender, April 18, 1942, 23. 197. “Latest Find,” Chicago Defender, July 17, 1943, 10. 198. Al Monroe, “Swinging the News,” Chicago Defender, October 2, 1943, 19. 199. “Season’s Greetings,” Chicago Defender, December 27, 1941, 20; Dan Burley, “Back Door Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, November 29,


200. 201.

202. 203.

204.

205. 206. 207. 208.

209.

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1941, 16; “Back on Broadway,” Chicago Defender, December 7, 1946, 13; “Talented Beauty,” Chicago Defender, January 25, 1947, 1. Dan Burley, “Back Door Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, November 29, 1941, 16; ibid., December 13, 1941, 16. One demonstration-disc recording of “Hicky Ricky” has been reissued, credited to “Stanford” Mosby and dated “circa 1938,” according to Guido van Rijn, liner notes, Too Late, Too Late Blues, vol. 10 (Document [CD] 5601, 1998). An announcement on the recording clearly states the solo vocalist’s name as Esvan Mosby, and the 1938 date seems too early. However, judging by this disc’s B-side performance by what appears to be a Los Angeles–based band (the “Camp Acton Jive Cats”), this material is probably not the performance recorded in Willet’s studio. Dan Burley, “Back Door Stuff,” New York Amsterdam News, April 12, 1941, 13. Jack Gould, “The Night Club Notes,” New York Times, March 13, 1938, 167; “Boston Foot-Lite Flickers,” Chicago Defender, June 7, 1941, 21; “‘Chocolateers’ in Republic Picture,” Chicago Defender, June 6, 1942, 23. The Andrews Sisters performance may have been planned for their appearance in the 1941 Abbott and Costello film In the Navy. “‘Chocolateers’ Tune Used in Navy Film,” Chicago Defender, April 5, 1941, 21. The sisters also appeared at the Paramount Theater in September 1940 with Jan Savitt’s orchestra, which performed “a very modern version of Rachmaninoff’s ‘Prelude’”; might Willet have worked with both acts? “Vaudeville Reviews,” Billboard, September 28, 1940, 22. “New Dance: As Usual It Started in Harlem and Is Called the Hicky Ricky,” Chicago Defender, September 14, 1940, 20; Albert Gibson, Esvan Mosby, and Chappie Willet, “The Hicky Ricky” [publisher lead sheet] (New York: Leeds Music, 1942). The 1940 copyright includes a lyric credit to Paul Black, whose name does not appear in the 1941 copyright filing for Kaycee Music Co. or the Leeds Music lead sheet. “‘Chocolateers’ in Republic Picture,” Chicago Defender, June 6, 1942, 23. “Tan Manhattan,” Chicago Defender, January 3, 1942, 21. “Chappie Willet Takes Over Spot in Westchester for New Talent,” New York Amsterdam News, December 6, 1941, 20. Maurice Dancer, “Tan Manhattan, Chicago Defender, September 20, 1941, 20; ibid., December 20, 1941, 21; ibid., December 27, 1941, 21; “Season’s Greetings,” Chicago Defender, December 27, 1941, 20. Al Moses, “Alvin Moses Says . . . ,” Chicago Defender, January 3, 1942, 20. See also “Willet Restores New Rochelle Nitelife,” New York Amsterdam News, December 20, 1941, 18. “Armstrong Triumphs at the Apollo Theatre,” New York Amsterdam News, September 7, 1935, 7; “Peters Sisters in a Pix Made in New York,” Chicago Defender, October 4, 1941, 20.

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210. “New Song Wows Gang in New York’s Harlem,” Chicago Defender, September 13, 1941, 20. 211. Cleo Hayes, telephone interview by the author, November 14, 2006. 212. “Willett [sic] Heads Music Firm,” Chicago Defender, July 29, 1944, 6. 213. U.S. Library of Congress, 1944 Copyright Report, “Darlin’,” copyright May 27, 1944, E unp. 377881, Duo Music Pub. Corp. 214. U.S. Library of Congress, 1944 Copyright Report, “Rainy Sunday,” copyright May 23, 1944, E unp. 376106, Duo Music Pub. Corp.; ibid., copyright September 5, 1944, E pub. 125215, Duo Music Pub. Corp. 215. The film has been issued on DVD (under Calloway’s name) as Hi-De-Ho (Storyville [DVD] 16053, 2005). 216. “‘Rainy Sunday’ New Hit Tune,” Chicago Defender, September 30, 1944, 7; “U.S. Orders 250,000 Records of ‘A Rainy Sunday’ for Overseas,” New York Amsterdam News, September 30, 1944, 5B. The latter report suggests plans for a V-disc record session that apparently never took place. 217. “Darlin’,” series 1G, box 497, folder 8; “Rainy Sunday,” series 1G, box 504, folder 3, Duke Ellington Collection, Smithsonian National Museum of American History. 218. “New Broadway Musical Variety Revue Goes Into Production,” Chicago Defender, June 29, 1946, 10; “Talented Beauty,” Chicago Defender, January 25, 1947, 1; “Willett [sic] Artists Bureau Newest Newsreel Feature,” Pittsburgh Courier, February 1, 1947, 20. I have not yet discovered a copy of the Willet newsreel. 219. The “Chappie Willet Enterprizes” ad ran in most issues of the Amsterdam News from November 23, 1946 (see p. 23), through May 31, 1947 (see p. 23). 220. Cholly Atkins’s testimony leaves the exact date of this tour somewhat unclear, especially because he names Marshall Royal as Basie’s lead saxophonist (Royal joined Basie in 1951). Perhaps Atkins—a friend of another Basie lead saxophonist, Earle Warren—was thinking of Preston Love, who took Warren’s place during 1946 and 1947. If so, Atkins may be referring to Basie’s stand at Atlantic City’s Club Paradise and New York’s Strand Ballroom in August 1947, followed by two months of one-nighters, and ending with Basie’s arrival in Los Angeles that December. Cholly Atkins and Jacqui Malone, Class Act: The Life of Choreographer Cholly Atkins (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 78–84; Chris Sheridan, Count Basie: A Bio-Discography (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1986), 1121–1122. 221. Cholly Atkins and Jacqui Malone, Class Act: The Life of Choreographer Cholly Atkins (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 80. 222. “Auction Sales,” New York Times, September 11, 1942, 36; Louis Calta, “News of Night Clubs,” New York Times, November 8, 1942, X5; ibid., April 4, 1943, X5.


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223. The connection with (John) Murrain’s Lounge and Cabaret, on Seventh Avenue and 132nd Street, is suggested in published interview excerpts with the composer and pianist Herbie Nichols (1919–1963), who cited this nightclub in relation to his acquaintance with Willet. Nichols performed with the Walter Dennis–led house band, featured at the club from around October 1943 through March 1944. A. B. Spellman, “Herbie Nichols,” Jazz, October 1964, 12; “Where to Wine and Dine,” New York Amsterdam News, October 23, 1943, 5B; ibid., December 4, 1943, 6B; ibid., March 18, 1944, 10A. 224. Hugues Panassié and Madelein Gautier, Guide to Jazz, translated by Desmond Flower (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1956), 295. In another publication, Panassié documented his viewing of the Lunceford band at the Kit Kat Club on November 8 and 11,1938; could Panassié have met or heard Willet’s work at that time? Hugues Panassié, Cinq Mois à New York (Paris: Éditions Corrêa, 1947), 76. 225. Rob Roy, “Zanzibar’s Closing Is Proof That ‘Broadway Ain’t What It Used to Be,’” Chicago Defender, February 22, 1947, 19. 226. Alvin Moses, “Nightlife in Harlem,” Chicago Defender, May 24, 1947, 19; Al Monroe, “Cocktail Bars Replace Cabarets in Many Cities: Few Big Spots Survive ‘Slump’ Across Nation,” Chicago Defender, October 25, 1947, 18. The Ubangi threatened to cease live entertainment as early as May 1944, according to James E. Powers, “Tax on Night Clubs Costs 5,000 Jobs of Entertainers,” New York Times, April 22, 1944, 1. Joe Howard’s Zanzibar nightclub moved through three different Broadway locations during its lifetime: an initial space “atop the Winter Garden” at 50th Street from July 1943 to November 1944 (subsequently occupied by Ruby Foo’s restaurant); a second location in the Brill building at 49th Street from December 1944 to January 1947 (previously occupied by Dave Wolper’s Hurricane Club, and subsequently occupied by Vanity Fair); and finally a smaller venue “just above 47th Street” from February to May 1947. The chorus line was dropped or reduced in the final move; some of the dancers moved to Club 845 in the Bronx, taking the “Zanzibeauts” name with them. Louis Calta, “Night Club Notes,” New York Times, January 9, 1944, X4; Al Monroe, “Swinging the News,” Chicago Defender, September 23, 1944, 7; “Levine-White Deal in Making for Old Zanzibar Location,” Billboard, June 30, 1945, 30; “Zanzibar Location Goes Ruby Foo,” Billboard, August 18, 1945, 27; “Mills Brothers, Eddie Haywood Zanzibar Picks,” New York Amsterdam News, February 1, 1947, 19; “Former Zanzibar Chorines to Be Featured in Club 845 Show,” New York Amsterdam News, February 22, 1947, 20; Rob Roy, “Zanzibar’s Closing Is Proof That ‘Broadway Ain’t What It Used to Be,’” Chicago Defender, February 22, 1947, 19; Frank Gill, “Night Club Reviews: Zanzibar, New York,” Billboard, March 1, 1947, 38; Alvin Moses, “Nightlife in Harlem,” Chicago Defender, May 24, 1947, 19.

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227. Al Monroe, “Swinging the News,” Chicago Defender, December 24, 1949, 26. 228. Chris Mead, Champion: Joe Louis, Black Hero in White America (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1985), 277. 229. Warren Adams, Lummis Library of the Cumberland County Historical Society, telephone conversation with the author, September 2, 2004; Nancy Grafton, Bridgeton First Presbyterian Church, telephone conversation with the author, September 9, 2004; “Chester Willet,” U. S. Selective Service Registration Card. 230. Cleo Hayes, telephone interview by the author, November 14, 2006. 231. For example, see “Swing Alley Staggering in Biz Doldrums,” Billboard, November 1, 1947, 24; “Ork Bookers Eye Hinterlands for $ as Biz Slumps,” ibid; “40 Philadelphia Spots Dropping Entertainment,” Billboard, September 6, 1947, 36. 232. One entertaining and fairly early observation of these changes can be found in Gilbert Millstein, “Lament for New York’s Night Life,” New York Times, May 22, 1955, 233. 233. Allan McMillan, “Chappie Willette [sic] Tells How Songs Are Made Popular,” Chicago Defender, February 8, 1936, 8. 234. For a discussion of modernism and the “symphonic jazz” musical paradigm, see John Howland’s dissertation, “Between the Muses and the Masses: Symphonic Jazz, ‘Glorified’ Entertainment, and the Rise of the American Musical Middlebrow, 1920–1944” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 2002). 235. Arthur Lange, Arranging for the Modern Dance Orchestra (New York: Arthur Lange, 1926; repr., New York: Robbins Music, 1927), 202. Page citations refer to the reprint edition. 236. Gunther Schuller, The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 370. 237. Walter van de Leur, Something to Live For: The Music of Billy Strayhorn (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 29. 238. The arranger Will Hudson (1908–1981) co-led the Hudson–DeLange Orchestra, and also created music for Cab Calloway (“The Man from Harlem,” 1932), McKinney’s Cotton Pickers (“I’d Love It,” 1929), and Mills Blue Rhythm Band (“Mr. Ghost Goes to Town,” 1936), among others.

Douglas Henry Daniels, One O’clock Jump: The Unforgettable History of the Oklahoma City Blue Devils (Boston: Beacon Press, 2006, viii + 274 pp.) Frank Driggs and Chuck Haddix, Kansas City Jazz: From Ragtime to Bebop—A History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005, xi + 274 pp.) Reviewed by Todd Bryant Weeks The Oklahoma City Blue Devils, the ne plus ultra of the territory bands, still command legendary status among generations of jazz musicians, scholars, critics, and collectors. The band’s undiminished reputation is based, in part, on the paucity of recorded evidence (a sole 78), but also on the illustrious assemblage of players who passed through the group’s ranks between 1923 and 1933. Many of these musicians (Walter Page, Buster Smith, Eddie Durham, Hot Lips Page, Count Basie, Jimmy Rushing, and Lester Young among them) were virtuosos who made definitive statements on their instruments, and in the process helped to redefine the notion of what it meant to swing. As a working big band, the Blue Devils could reputedly tackle complicated ensemble passages with the kind of precision and assurance unmatched in the highly competitive dance halls of Oklahoma City, Kansas City, and other towns from the Mexican border to Omaha. That they apparently worked from head arrangements only made them all the more remarkable. Several Blue Devils went on to become key members of the Bennie Moten Orchestra, and, in what is now the stuff of legend, Motenites went on to become Basieites. Accordingly, for those whose idea of swing begins and ends with Basie, the Blue Devils sit at the center of the big band Vorstellung. In addition, their commonwealth approach to running a band—the musicians shared equally in all profits and expenses— has long endeared them to writers who champion the notion of jazz as a democratic process. Given the dearth of research on southwestern jazz, aficionados have long awaited the publication of these books. The more problematic of the two is One O’clock Jump: The Unforgettable History of the Oklahoma Blue Devils, by Douglas Henry Daniels, a professor of history and black studies at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Daniels’s narrative, interwoven with band members’ biographies, is a kind of patchwork of stories and assorted facts that occasionally cohere into a composite picture of the Oklahoma City music world in the 1920s and 1930s. His previous jazz book, 189

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Lester Leaps In: The Life and Times of Lester “Pres” Young,1 demonstrated his facility with obscure sources (e.g., parish records in backwater communities like Woodville, Mississippi), and this new work is equally researchintensive. His genealogical research, which has unearthed new data on Buster Smith, Hot Lips Page, and others, lends depth and authenticity to the book. He exhaustively plumbed the Oklahoma City Black Dispatch, Kansas City Call, Chicago Defender, Pittsburgh Courier, and lesser-known papers such as the Sioux City Journal, the St. Louis Argus, and the Bluefield Daily Telegraph. He also interviewed Blue Devils Buster Smith, Leonard Chadwick, Le Roy “Snake” Whyte, and Abe Bolar extensively. Through this painstaking research, Daniels traces the band in its various incarnations from their early days in the dance halls and lodges of Oklahoma City to their final, infamous gig in the mountains of West Virginia. Daniels provides illuminating accounts of each musician’s early history, such as singer Jimmy Rushing’s 1920s Los Angeles period and his family life in the African American. Oklahoma City neighborhood known as “Deep Deuce.” Here Rushing worked in a confectionary-sandwich shop operated by his father before becoming floor manager at the Blue Devils’ Oklahoma City headquarters, Slaughter’s Hall. On this gleaming dance floor, the youthful, trimmer “James” Rushing set the tempos for the musicians and demonstrated the latest steps for the dancers. Readers will have difficulty culling a clear, sequential chronology from Daniels’s nonlinear narrative, especially as each band member’s story begins anew. Daniels relies heavily on quotations, often stringing together disparate “bites” without much concern for matters of style. His factual information should prove extremely helpful to researchers and historians, but the reader must tread carefully. While presenting new research that supports the notion of the young Hot Lips Page sojourning to Chicago in 1926 to meet his idol, Louis Armstrong, Daniels erroneously states that Armstrong initially arrived in Chicago in 1921, rather than 1922 (87). He locates the famous Bennie Moten 1932 Victor sessions in “Brunswick,” rather than Camden, New Jersey (88). An interview with Eddie Durham is dated November 7, 1988, over a year after Durham’s death. He also confuses the date of the Blue Devils’ one and only recording session, first correctly specifying November 1929 (55) and then switching to 1928 (63, 242). Still, we discover many unpublished accounts of the band, from its 1920s vaudeville beginnings with the Billy King Road Show to its later working environment to the social background of its local black audience.

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This audience was decidedly middle class, and Douglas goes to some length to describe the important relationship between the black business community, black churches, and various fraternal orders that helped to support the dance bands in Oklahoma City. The band’s onetime director Willie Lewis and a later director-bassist, Walter Page, were once music instructors at the Coleridge Taylor School of Music in the Sooner capitol, where they often gave classical recitals, sometimes joined by the whole band. Daniels suggests that Oklahoma City’s unique black middle-class environment “provided fertile grounds for the development of a rich Southwestern music tradition that is often overshadowed by the emphasis on Kansas City” (12). As celebrated in the essays of Ralph Ellison and Albert Murray (and the oft-cited sentiments of Stanley Crouch and Wynton Marsalis), the Blue Devils have assumed a singular place at the center of the rhetorical construct of “jazz as America’s music.” Accounts of the band often take on a mythological-literary aura rooted in anthropological models, where the musicians are depicted as hero-warriors who are chosen from among the ranks of the plebeians and who then go on to lead the fight against bigger and stronger but ultimately less charismatic adversaries—the “Little Band That Could,” as it were. Perhaps the band’s story is most deeply experienced through these constructs. In “Remembering Jimmy,” his 1964 homage to Jimmy Rushing , Ralph Ellison vividly recalled hearing the band as a teenager growing up on the East side of Oklahoma City: When we were still too young to attend night dances, but yet old enough to gather beneath the corner street lamp on summer evenings, anyone might halt the conversation to exclaim, “Listen, they’re raising hell down at Slaughter’s Hall,” and we’d turn our heads westward to hear Jimmy’s voice soar up the hill and down, as pure and as miraculously unhindered by distance and earthbound things as is the body in youthful dreams of flying. “Now, that’s the Right Reverend Jimmy Rushing preaching now, man,” someone would say. And rising to the cue another would answer, “Yeah, and that’s old Elder ‘Hot Lips’ signifying along with him, urging him on, man.” And, keeping it building, “Huh, but though you can’t hear him out this far, Ole Deacon Big-un [the late Walter Page] is up there patting his foot and slapping on his big belly [the bass viol] to keep those fools in line.” And we might go on to name all the members of the band as though they were the Biblical four-and-twenty elders, while laughing at the impious wit of applying church titles to a form of music which all the preachers assured us was the devil’s potent tool.2

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Ellison’s treatment of this narrative is in itself a kind of apotheosis, and we may grant him a bit of poetic license. And yet this is a first hand-observation. As a lover of jazz, a dedicated student of the trumpet, and a would-be classical composer, Ellison made a concerted effort to get acquainted with individual Blue Devils and purportedly loaned his mellophone to Hot Lips Page on occasion in exchange for the privilege of sitting in on the band’s rehearsals. Ellison’s fascination with jazz and the roving dance bands of the Southwest would inform much of his writing on a variety of subjects and remained strongly evident in his final novel, Juneteenth, in which one of his main characters is an ex-jazz musician turned preacher. In a 1977 interview the author remarked that “jazz was a part of a total culture, at least among Afro-Americans. People saved their nickels and dimes in order to participate in it. Hell, we used to work like the dickens to get the admission fee when a dance was being played by someone we admired. Jazzmen were heroes. . . . I guess they still are.”3 Ellison often invoked the Blue Devils when articulating his deeply felt ideals about jazz as a collaborative art and true expression of what democratic American life was meant to be, particularly as expressed by the hands, and in the hearts, of black Americans. And for Ellison the pursuit of those ideals was made manifest in the rituals of the public jazz dance and in the sweeping evocations (both comic and tragic) of the blues, which he saw as a form of symbolic action. To Ellison this music, and the action it demanded, were in their nature essentially American. But what of this ritual mythology and “symbolic action” as it applies to the Blue Devils? Were these musicians really, as Ellison scholar Robert O’Meally has written, “prototypical American[s], cut in the hero’s mold,” participating in a process that “embodies democratic communication at its finest: an artistic and implicitly political gesture…toward perfection”?4 Or were they just a group of men who went to work day in and day out, simply trying to feed their families? And is there a difference? Ellison developed as an artist and thinker in a time of great social and political upheaval in the United States. The Great Depression of the 1930s was a potent and alarming backdrop to the daily life of most Americans, and southwestern blacks were no exception. In the years before the crash, oil development in Texas and around Oklahoma City brought about unrivalled prosperity. This prosperity, while not shared equitably with the black community as a whole, did help foster a thriving Negro middle class, of which Ellison was very much a member, in aspiration if not in income. His early musical training was considerable, lending credibility to his accounts of the Blue Devils’ musical prowess.


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During his youth Ellison was exposed to the writings and speeches of a generation of spiritual and civic leaders whose rhetoric was rooted in the Reconstruction ethos of their parents. Often highly educated, this generation (which also included members of the Blue Devils) had seen great social progress in their lifetimes but also understood how it felt to be on the short end of compromise. Despite the injustices plainly evident on the segregated streets of Oklahoma City, these leaders, through their good works and confident sense of their own righteousness, insisted on a stronger and more equitable social compact. Roscoe Dunjee’s Oklahoma City Black Dispatch helped set this tone for Ellison by reporting on the fight for equal rights in the courts or by simply repeating the words of local preachers like the Rev. John Wesley Oveltrea of the Tabernacle Baptist Church. In the January 9, 1930, issue, Oveltrea called for greater economic integrity and race consciousness among parishioners: A system of slavery exists today in our group. . . . No race is free that has not learned to respect itself and support and encourage its group enterprises. No race is free that does not cooperate unreservedly with its men of ability and vision. The . . . emancipation will be a reality when we cease to consider “black” as an emblem of inferiority, it will come when we are not economic beggars and learned to produce wealth as well as consume wealth. No race is free who depends on other races for jobs and sustenance. The Negro must take his place in every important function of life and government before we have achieved our freedom.5

In the Blue Devils’ music, Ellison saw a reflection of the core democratic values embraced by Dunjee and other prominent local figures. But how exactly were the Blue Devils part of this ethos? And how does a conception of the band as socially conscious middle-class strivers jibe with the popularly held notion of early jazz musicians as roustabouts, itinerants, and independent-minded artists living outside accepted codes of behavior—codes honed and upheld by those same community leaders who hired the Blue Devils to perform at their dances week after week? Perhaps out of necessity these musicians were able to move in both worlds, as suggested by some of Daniels’s accounts. Social and economic disparities between band members could even be worked to their advantage. Buster Smith recalled that upon arrival in a new town, the band would have a booking but no publicity, and the band members often had to rely on their own look-out to spread the word and scare up an audience. In a scenario only Hollywood could imagine, the musicians would split up and travel to different sectors of town, with the sophisticates like Lawrence Williams and Willie Lewis

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(who spoke French and German) working the more prosperous restaurants and expensive shops, while the rougher, more streetwise types hit the pool halls and barbershops. Daniels does address these disparities but is not very interested in them; the musicians are generally held up as men of high moral character with few, if any, faults. These social distinctions among individual band members are as important because they complicate any attempt to harness the entire group to any predetermined ideological narrative. The band has become a kind of canvas on which modern proselytizers for jazz as “America’s music” paint in romantic shades, depicting struggle, triumph, and eventual tragedy, followed by a kind of deification. Of course Ellison’s idealization of jazz is rooted not only in sociopolitical values and symbolic action, but also in pure celebration. Jazz becomes a conscious and unconscious ritual of catharsis through dancing, singing, and carrying on: a “purging of blue devils” providing spiritual armor against invisibility and negation. But how were the more concrete realities of these performances transformed in Ellison’s imagination? Have we perhaps relied too strongly on his eloquence? What was the band’s actual relationship to its community, which kept its musicians afloat by attending their performances at dances and tea parties and recitals and midnight rambles? All of these questions, it would seem to me, should be posed before one writes a book on the Blue Devils. In defense of Daniels, he does make some attempts to answer these questions, and perhaps it’s unfair to expect a sociological dissertation when he has provided so much important original research. But in seizing on the “upright” character of the Blue Devils, he often detracts from the bigger picture. Ultimately Ellison’s vision is broader and more humanistic. Daniels’s focus is decidedly Afrocentric, and his interviews tend to draw out details supporting his vision of a band founded by clearheaded, cleanliving family men rooted in the philosophical tradition of black self-reliance. Though this view has a basis in truth, the author often seems bent on instructing us that not all early black jazz musicians were scalawags. Daniels’s emphasis on the grassroots nature and community orientation of the Blue Devils is appealing but ultimately reductive, overshadowing other issues that beg consideration. The next book on the Blue Devils could dwell more incisively on the band’s musical style and antecedents; its relationship to the traditions of minstrelsy and black vaudeville; its repertoire and what that repertoire signified about performance contexts; and its typical performance routines, etc. Daniels does try to recreate their perform-


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ance atmosphere somewhat, but only in fragmentary segments folded into other factual material. In the end, what is missing in this book is the kind of narrative that allows us to relax into an integrated world partly of our own imagining. Daniels wants us as willing participants, and his biographical narratives are almost always engaging, sometimes harrowing, and ultimately inspiring. But what of the need to clarify and understand the import of these musicians’ work in the wider context of jazz history and American history? Perhaps that is too much to ask when the band left so little recorded evidence, but the Blue Devils’ legacy is too important to leave this question unaddressed. Walter Page’s contributions alone could fill a whole book. Daniels speaks to his influence on other band members and its eventual transmission to Jo Jones and Freddie Green of the Basie band, but the wider import of Page’s achievement—its far-reaching effects on the development of jazz—is addressed solely by the statement: “In their own way, these musicians [Durham, Rushing, Basie, Lips Page, and Walter Page] along with [Eddie] Barefield and [Ben] Webster and the more famous East Coast composers and arrangers, charted the development of swing and the music’s future.” This is, in a word, inadequate for a book that claims to be “a corrective to jazz histories that overlook the Blue Devils’ important contribution to this quintessential American music.” *** Frank Driggs, the widely known collector and historian, and Chuck Haddix, a disc jockey, archivist, and director of the Marr Sound Archives at the University of Missouri–Kansas City, have combined their respective talents to give us a new, thorough history of Kansas City jazz in its heyday, the 1920s and 1930s. As one would expect, the authors give particular attention to the bands of Walter Page, Bennie Moten, George Lee, Andy Kirk, Jay McShann, and Count Basie. Also discussed in detail are the early careers of Mary Lou Williams, Eddie Durham, Pete Johnson, Big Joe Turner, and Charlie Parker. Driggs, whose immense collection of photographs has allowed him to make a good living while keeping the history of the music alive, has had a 60-year love affair with Kansas City jazz. An early colleague of Marshall Stearns, Driggs began interviewing musicians from the Southwest when few historians were interested and little was known about the development and dissemination of the Kansas City sound. His research is the backbone of this work, while Chuck Haddix, a Kansas City native, brings extensive knowledge at the local level. Haddix has spent several years collecting his

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own stories and rubbing elbows with local experts, most notably Milton Morris, original owner of the Hey Hay Club. One gripe that has dogged Driggs in the past is the lack of solid documentation for his writing; this proves of little consequence here, as Haddix, through exhaustive newspaper research, has corroborated many of the stories Driggs dredged from myriad anecdotal sources. This text sets a new standard for histories on the subject. The book’s scope is admirable, and the authors faced a major challenge maintaining a clear through-line with such a varied cast of musicians, bands, club owners, and secondary characters: everyone from the pianist Blind Boone to the 1920s proto–big band leaders Carleton Coon and Joe Sanders to the journalist Dave E. Dexter Jr. to the machine boss Tom Pendergast. How best to tell this story, when a simple linear account seems out of the question? The answer: a skillful interweaving of individual anecdotes within longer, more complex narratives, achieving a layering effect not unlike that of a screenplay, where nested flashbacks help move the story forward while simultaneously providing vital background. As nationally known figures such as Duke Ellington, Fletcher Henderson, and Noble Sissle arrive on the Kansas City scene, we get a decidedly different view of their orchestras from a K.C.-centric perspective. Sissle’s band, it seems, was deemed too precious for the “stomp down” dancers at Paseo Hall. This was a “rockin’ town,” as becomes clear in numerous depictions of public gatherings, rampant vice, and organized crime, which inevitably clustered around the hundreds of clubs of the 18th-and-Vine district. The flat-out exuberance of Kansas City life in the 1920s and 1930s must have titillated even the most retiring bystanders. Who can resist this description of the Reno Club, which featured an early Count Basie unit as its house band on the eve of their “discovery” by John Hammond? Picture Kansas City’s 12th and Cherry in 1935 with the Club Reno almost at its Northeast corner, and parked there, almost seeming to lean against it, a John Agnos lunch wagon, horse-drawn and stacked high with liver, pig snoots and ears, hog maws, fish, chicken and pork tenderloins. Pick up a sandwich on your way into this musty, smoke hazed room, squeezing past the hustlers, grifters, solicitors, and off-duty musicians, to find a seat as close as you can to the bandstand. . . . The Reno Club’s early morning Spook breakfasts would often be sparked by the heralded appearance of Big Joe Turner, who, always surrounded by a cheering section from his Sunset Crystal Palace gig, would come in to “work out” with Sol’s “Girl Friday,” vivacious Chrystianna Buckner. Chrystianna had a song and dance for everyone, and people especially liked “Two Old Maids” and “I Ain’t Giving Nothing Away.” Out on the floor, with


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patent leather hair gleaming, would be the Reno Club’s highly polished “Hot Lips” Paige [Page] with white handkerchief in hand doing his “Louis Armstrong” on “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South.” Backing him up was . . . the Reno Club band. Nine brilliant instrumental satellites of sound responding to the sonic radiance of their personable mentor, Bill Basie. . . . At the club on such early Monday mornings would be found Jo Jones, “Big Un” Page, and trumpeter Joe Keyes, jammed up against the north wall, almost popping out of that back door next to the unfenced dirt yard. (137–38)

These words were written not by Driggs and Haddix, but by the always-colorful Richard Smith, head of the Kansas City musician’s local 627 during the 1960s. Smith’s piece was originally published in the Kansas City Star in 1973,6 and the authors do an excellent job of contextualizing his account. The authors’ sometimes-solemn tone of reportage doesn’t exactly dance off the page, but they often inject the narrative with engaging immediacy. Here, for example, is a description of the famous Union Station Massacre: On June 17, 1933, triggerman Verne Miller, bank robber Charles Arthur “Pretty Boy” Floyd, and Adam Richetti, a psychopathic alcoholic, converged on Union Station determined to free convicted bank robber Frank Nash, who was being escorted from Hot Springs, Arkansas, to the Federal Prison in Leavenworth, Kansas, by two FBI agents and an Oklahoma sheriff. Two Kansas City FBI agents and a pair of trusted local policemen met the law enforcement officers and Nash, as their Missouri-Pacific train pulled into the cavernous, limestone Union Station. Miller, Floyd and Richetti got the drop on the lawmen, hastily loading Nash into a Chevrolet sedan parked right outside the arched entrance of the Station for the quick trip to Leavenworth. The ambush went awry, and when the smoke cleared, Nash, a federal agent, the Oklahoma sheriff and two local policemen lay dead on the plaza in front of the bustling station. (9)

The last bit may smack of Dashiell Hammett but may also be indebted to William Reddig’s lively 1947 journalistic paean to Boss Tom Pendergast, Tom’s Town: Kansas City and the Pendergast Legend.7 Driggs and Haddix quote freely from Reddig, especially regarding the pervasive vice and gambling. We get vivid portraits of several K.C. underworld characters, including Piney Brown, Johnny Lazia, Ellis Burton, Milton Morris, and the celebrated nineteenth-century madam Miss Annie Chambers, whose 24-room mansion rivaled Lulu White’s Mahogany Hall. But the music remains front and center. Bennie Moten is prominently featured, and his “war of attrition” with Walter Page put me in mind of George Steinbrenner, longtime owner of the

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New York Yankees, and his adversarial stance toward other ball clubs. The comparison even extends to promotional gimmicks; Moten gave away door prizes such as souvenir caps, canes, and horns as early as 1924. But Moten was truly a local favorite, and the authors, relying heavily on the reminiscences of trumpeter Ed Lewis, construct a compelling portrait of the band’s first years in K.C. and acknowledge some crucial influences. Of particular interest are Moten’s early relationship with the K.C. recording pioneer Winston Holmes and the band’s debts to McKinney’s Cotton Pickers and the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra. Moten expanded his personnel several times, but a watershed moment came in the spring of 1924, when he formed an eight-piece band by adding Harlan Leonard to the newly formed reed section. This minor maneuver had important implications for the future of Kansas City jazz: “According to Harlan Leonard, band members collectively improvised in the studio around head arrangements memorized from sketched introductions. The loose head arrangements allowed ample room for solo flights and interaction between sections, which gave the recordings a spontaneity lacking in the first [recording] session [of October 1923]” (49). In such passages Driggs and Haddix try to isolate just what is meant by “the Kansas City sound.” In Kansas City, according to the authors, the typical southwestern “stomp down” style, which owed much to King Oliver and Jelly Roll Morton and New Orleans music in general, eventually gave way to the influence of the Henderson Orchestra and the early Ellington band’s “orchestral expression of jazz” (4). The Moten and George Lee bands absorbed this “highly orchestrated melodic style” (55), helping form a hybrid Kansas City sound, which was then “improved on”—or abandoned, depending how you look at it—resulting in a rawer, harder-swinging permutation of the more “sophisticated” sounds of the urban north. To the extent Driggs and Haddix can pause for breath in this ambitious project, they do a good job articulating the Moten band’s rhythmic revolution, particularly during its 1927–32 mature phase. With the addition of Walter Page and other Blue Devils—Basie, Hot Lips Page, Eddie Durham, and Buster Smith—the transformation was dramatic. (Simply compare 1925’s “She’s Sweeter than Sugar,” with the June 1927 performance of “Dear Heart.”) In 1927 the band still largely emphasized the “two-beat” style favored by dancers of the period, but the swing feeling that would come to full bloom in the brilliant 1932 Camden Victor sessions was already in evidence. The rhythm section had achieved parity with the other musicians in technical proficiency and fluidity, and the band’s sound was described as “almost like a train coming into the station” (96).


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Also of special interest are the compelling stories of largely forgotten second-string performers. Given their due are Countess Margaret Johnson, the gifted Earl Hines–inspired pianist who once successfully impersonated the ailing Mary Lou Williams in the Kirk band; Loren Dallas McMurray, the long-forgotten early saxophone virtuoso and leading light with the Coon-Sanders Nighthawks; the arrangers Rozelle Claxton and Tad Dameron; and other K.C. figures like Major N. Clarke Smith, Jesse Stone, Harlan Leonard, Julia Lee, and Thamon Hayes. Fittingly, the concluding chapters are largely consumed by the story of the late Jay McShann, the last of the major K.C. bandleaders. It is sometimes striking to compare Daniels and Driggs/Haddix in their treatment of the same subject matter. Take the underrated alto saxophonist Buster Smith for an example. Daniels supplies a comprehensive early biography and many significant details about his later life. However, he includes only a brief account of Smith’s influence on the young Charlie Parker: Around this time he took Charlie Parker under his wing, and his young protégé later confessed, “Sure I like ‘Pres,’ . . . but Buster was the cat I really dug.” . . . Smith recalled that Parker was always talking about going home and having his mother cook some “yardbirds” [chickens] for him—thus the source of the nickname “Bird.” . . . At least one Dallas saxophonist maintained that Smith was the man behind Parker. “A lot of people attribute what Charlie Parker took and developed to the stuff Buster taught him in his early years of playing.” (183–84) Driggs and Haddix provide a more thorough account, once referring to Smith as Parker’s “musical father” (179). They characterize Smith as possessing a “robustness of ideas and execution, foreshadowing his direct influence on the advanced technique of Charlie Parker” (91), and hypothesize that Smith influenced Parker’s double-time approach to soloing, his use of harmonic extensions, even his experiments with bitonality (190). There are no written musical examples in either text. Ultimately both of these books have a place on the shelf, although my feeling is that a truly comprehensive work on southwestern jazz—with well-chosen musical examples illuminating the development of the idiom— has yet to be written.8 Certainly there is enough spark and fire in the music to fill a dozen volumes.

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NOTES 1. Boston: Beacon Press, 2002. 2. John F. Callahan, ed., Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison (New York: Random House, 1995), 274–275. 3. Ron Welburn, “Ralph Ellison’s Territorial Vantage,” The Grackle: Improvised Music in Transition, no. 4 (1977–78), 6–7. 4. Robert O’Meally, ed., Living With Music: Ralph Ellison’s Jazz Writings (New York: Modern Library, 2001), xi–xii. 5. Rev. John Wesley Oveltrea, “New Methodist Pastor Tells of Emancipation,” Oklahoma City Black Dispatch, January 9, 1930, 5. 6. Richard J. Smith, “Jazz Festival Tonight: The Reno Club Reunion,” Star Sunday Magazine of the Kansas City Star, April 29, 1973, 10–14. 7. New York: J. B. Lippincott and Company, 1947. 8. For more musicological treatments of southwestern jazz with music examples, see Gunther Schuller, Early Jazz: Its Roots and Musical Development (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), and Marc Rice, “The Benny Moten Orchestra 1918–1935: A Kansas City Jazz Ensemble and Its African American Audience” (Ph.D. diss., University of Kentucky, 1998).

George McKay, Circular Breathing: The Cultural Politics of Jazz in Britain (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2005, xiv + 357 pp.) Catherine Parsonage, The Evolution of Jazz in Britain, 1880–1935 (Aldershot, Hampshire, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005, xviii + 301 pp.) Reviewed by Howard Rye George McKay states his purposes very clearly in his preface: “to consider African-American jazz music as an export culture, as a case study in the operation of the process or problem of ‘Americanization’” and “to interrogate the political inscriptions or assumptions of jazz, both formally . . . and in the particular” or, to examine, as the subtitle puts it more felicitously, “the cultural politics of jazz in Britain.” The overview provided in the introduction (“Jazz, Europe, Americanization”) is followed by five essays mainly addressing the second purpose, though the first is omnipresent as a subtext. The book is not written in “publish or perish dialect,” that convoluted language for obscuring lack of thought so prevalent in academia, but McKay does have a certain liking for words only he has heard of. The Greek word “aporia” has been used in English before, though not recorded by the Oxford English Dictionary in the sense in which it is apparently intended on pages 30 and 32. The hapless reader whose native language is not English will have trouble finding it in a dictionary. At least McKay didn’t write it in Greek characters, as any educated writer would have done not so long ago. “Distantiation” (39) is a noun form of a verb obsolete since the seventeenth century. I cannot praise its use, but I can be grateful that these occasional uses of obscure language are so few in number. Generally the writing is straightforward and readable. Some parts of the book look as though they are entirely made up of quotations, a state of affairs that one expects from experience will make offputting reading. In this case, the quotations are derived from an extraordinary variety of sources and are distinguished by an even more extraordinary pertinence. The reader is sometimes left breathless by the romp through the literature but is rarely bored. There is a vice attached to this virtue, which is an excessive reliance on the wholly inadequate secondary sources on the history of jazz in Britain before 1950. Note 1 (305) acknowledges three works covering this period, none of which can remotely be described as a work of scholarship and one 201

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of which (David Boulton’s 1958 Jazz in Britain) it is astounding to find anyone taking seriously at this late date. However, McKay has also relied on John Chilton’s Who’s Who of British Jazz, which is a work of scholarship, albeit by its nature unreferenced. A knowledge of the extensive periodical literature would have helped. One of the dafter quotations from Boulton contends that the first jazz records of genuine worth made by an entirely British unit were those of the Quinquaginta Ramblers led by Fred Elizalde in 1926. Boulton was writing before the publication of Brian Rust’s discography, but McKay is not and could at least have corrected the date. He does record that Elizalde was a Philippine-born Spaniard, without noticing that this fact invalidates the “entirely British” claim! But in any case Boulton was ill equipped to make such a judgment. The ignorance and indifference of Boulton and Jim Godbolt to the early history of African-American music in Britain—both before and after the Original Dixieland Jazz Band’s 1919 visit to London— is central to some of McKay’s theses (he even quotes me to this effect, apparently approvingly, on pages 102 and 131); nonetheless he considers these two authors worthy of citing on historical matters for which they are more of a tertiary than a secondary source and an uncomprehending one at that. One noteworthy consequence is the absence of any mention of the Dutch Jew Victor Vorzanger, whose racially mixed band, drawn from African-American former members of the Southern Syncopated Orchestra and British former ragtimers, recorded extensively in 1922–23. (Incidentally, this may prove to be the first appearance in print of Vorzanger’s true origins; wouldbe copyists should at least contact me for the evidence!) “Introduction: Jazz, Europe, Americanization” covers a lot of other bases at breakneck speed, including some brief comparisons of the reception of jazz in Britain, France, and the totalitarian states of Europe. There is a welcome deviation from orthodoxy in McKay’s acknowledging the gypsy as well as the jazz origins of Django Reinhardt’s improvisatory style. Possibly McKay doesn’t realize just how controversial this is. The ambiguous status of jazz has resonated in different ways in different receptor societies. Jazz has been a key element of American cultural penetration even though it is, and was perceived as, the creation of a persecuted minority on the margins of American society. Things get more focused with the case studies, which all relate to the post-1950 period and are therefore far less dependent on inadequate sources. Good use is made of 33 interviews as well as phone calls and email exchanges with participants. “New Orleans Jazz, Protest and Carnival” foregrounds the seminal figure of Ken Colyer. The ambiguous cultural

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position of jazz is nowhere more manifest than among those traditional jazz revivalists who combined an essentially anti-American involvement with leftist causes, notably the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), with their performance of an American music. At least it was a music America had already rejected! Some aspects of the paradox are perhaps overwritten. Many aficionados of British traditional jazz, especially the righteous New Orleans variety championed by Colyer, regarded it as a sort of folk music, in contradistinction to later styles, which they saw as a product of commerce. It is after all characteristic of this kind of leftist to see such issues in ludicrously simplified terms. The desire to bring “good music”—which in this context means no more than music perceived as “uncommercial”—to the people resonates through later chapters also. The crucial role of Colyer’s Omega Brass Band, bringing jazz out on to the streets, is justifiably emphasized. It probably is too fanciful to see the Aldermaston CND marches as a greyer, colder, British Mardi Gras, as McKay himself remarks (59). On the other hand, the carnivalesque aspects of the Beaulieu Jazz Festivals are real (82), though not altogether intended, as interview material with Lord Montagu, the promoter, makes clear. It seems to have grown on the author as he uncovered the facts—as it also grows on the reader—that the activities of this end of the trad movement formed a template for later musical activities involving very different kinds of jazz. The later history of trad as a branch of pop music played by aging men of sometimes conservative political allegiances for an aging audience tends to obscure this point, especially from close up, and it is good to have the accretions stripped away and credit given where it is due. In certain respects the next study, “Whiteness and (British) Jazz,” logically precedes consideration of Colyer and co., but placing it after undoubtedly improves readability. It considers the “whiteness” of British jazz in relation to Jim Godbolt’s “Anglo-Saxon” history of British jazz, the Fred Elizalde legend already referred to, and also the kind of attitudes that brought the abomination of the Black & White Minstrel Show into my own childhood. While acknowledging that “whiteness” and “blackness” are artificial constructs, McKay does not wholly avoid confusing color and culture (which is not an artificial construct), though he is obviously well aware of the difference. It is very difficult to avoid confusing color and culture, given that the blurring of these lines is a major part of the stock in trade of racists in and out of the jazz world. He points out that denial of the AfricanAmerican roots of jazz has been present in Britain ever since Nick

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LaRocca’s claims in 1919 and does not shy away from making clear how little the weasel words of those who would deny cultural specificity in the name of antiracism actually differ in their conclusions from those reached by racists. The description of Bruce Turner’s self-serving “colourblind rhetoric” as “utopian” and “post-racial” is delightful; McKay calls it merely a move “to minimize the black cultural advantage.” Dick Heckstall-Smith’s much more interesting explorations of what “being a white jazz musician involves and signifies” are given proper weight. McKay’s surprise that relatively few British jazz musicians have considered their whiteness surprises me, though. The manner in which class prejudice overlays race prejudice in Britain is only touched upon. A cursory reading of “middle-class” commentators in the contemporary British black press will soon reveal how far this factor can still operate to their economic and social advantage. It is not until the next chapter (“Jazz of the Black Atlantic and the Commonwealth”) that this issue decisively rears its head, and assuredly no accident that it is bassist Gary Crosby of the Jazz Jamaica All Stars who raises it. Other factors also cut across color in Britain. Both my partner and I come from backgrounds (at opposite ends of England) in which a mixed marriage had not been, and in the late 1960s still was not, a racially mixed one but the much more threatening alliance between a Protestant and a Roman Catholic. Over large swaths of the British educated classes, whiteness wasn’t perceived as an issue. The “color problem” was seen as something that affected the colonies. Whiteness was the central pillar of the identity of white colonials, especially Americans and South Africans, and their sensibilities were deferred to when they “had” to be (several examples are mentioned in this book) but that was as far as it went. Their harping on it was felt to be definitely in bad taste. Whiteness in Britain was an issue only to those who had absolutely no other status to identify with. It was even less likely to be perceived as a possible identification by the Jews who made up such a large proportion of British jazzers of the earlier generations. Targeted by the British Union of Fascists in the musicians’ Archer Street meeting place (97), they could easily feel themselves outside this dichotomy. This chapter seeks to fill in some of the lost history of African-diaspora jazz in Britain. Because McKay quotes my rather incomplete 1990 list of early-African-American recordings in Britain (131)—a more complete one from 1997 can be found in the introductory material to Blues & Gospel Records, 1890–1943 (4th ed., Oxford University Press), but discoveries are ongoing—I was startled to find Ted Vincent quoted (138) to the effect that the 1912 Lovey’s Trinidad Band recordings marked “the first Black ‘hot’

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music from any English-speaking country to get on record.” For the record, the first would probably in fact have been the recordings made in Liverpool by the Bohee Brothers in 1890, but these have not been recovered, so we must settle for the 1895 recordings by Cousins and DeMoss on the Berliner label. Even 17 years is a long time in cultural development. The error symbolizes for me McKay’s (fully acknowledged) dependence on historical research by others and reinforces my conviction that he should have read just a bit more widely in his consideration of this more distant background—more especially so because the movement to claim jazz as the music of white America relies in part on distancing “jazz” from the African-American string band music that represents the principal recorded legacy of the period “just before jazz.” This distancing was also at work in Britain from the beginnings of jazz criticism and is initially perhaps no more than generational. To the earliest writers on jazz, this string band music was the music of their parents’ generation and therefore naturally and inevitably to be regarded as outmoded rubbish. Time for them to move on. But also time for us to move on now. McKay’s dependence on secondary sources also means he has to move fairly quickly over the interwar period. The extensive research into Africandiaspora music in Britain in this period by Val Wilmer, John Cowley, and me is largely unpublished—except, as McKay ruefully notes, in Wilmer’s conscientious newspaper obituaries of the participants as they drop off the perch. When the postwar interactions of Trinidadian and African-American models are reached, McKay is on firmer ground, though perhaps I can be forgiven for yawning at another rediscovery of Trinidadian pop-ragtime pianist Winifred Atwell “and Her Other Piano.” Readers whose appetite is whetted will find an earlier and more detailed reappraisal in Stephen Bourne’s Black in the British Frame (2nd ed., Continuum, 2001), a work omitted from the bibliography and presumably unknown to McKay. A brief consideration is given to the Musicians’ Union’s ban on appearances in Britain by American musicians who were not primarily stage entertainers. A really interesting but possibly unanswerable question about this unhappy episode is not asked or answered here, though it would be highly relevant to McKay’s theses. The question is not why the Musicians’ Union took the stance (to be expected, after all) of basing its policy on the narrow interests of its members as it conceived them. It is why successive British governments of all political complexions chose to allow a vested interest to dictate policy without giving appropriate weight to any wider public interest in cultural exchange. No such ban ever applied to classical musicians, nor, as the jazz press pointed out in 1949, to the Austrian zither

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player Anton Karas. The Musician’s Union’s self-serving argument that anything an African-American could do their members could do just as well (essentially the same argument as Bruce Turner’s, dare I say) was accepted in government. As had happened several times before in British jazz history—for example in the controversies surrounding the Plantation Revues in 1923—trade unionism and racism found a common interest. This is worth a moment’s consideration, I think. Challenges to the progressive and antiracist pretensions of the trade union movement are hugely unpopular, but should they on that account be eschewed? Later segments of this chapter are concerned with the work and influence of Joe Harriott and the South African exiles who began to arrive after 1965. The lack of acceptance of Harriott and the exiles’ relative popularity are contrasted, though the obvious explanation is left to a perceptive quotation from Denis Constant-Martin, who points out that the Brotherhood of Breath could still be enjoyed by those who did not understand what they were doing musically. These sections are carefully researched with extensive reference to primary sources. “Politics and Performance” concerns itself with the political pretensions and performance practices of a later (post-trad) generation of practitioners with more or less leftish political commitments. McKay records with a straight face a good deal of political claptrap, even funnier now than when it was written. Paul Eley’s 1974 notion of the Scratch Orchestra’s developing “solidarity with the revolutionary class - the working class” (220) is thrown into accidentally pathetic relief by the 1976 photo of Welfare State parading in Burnley, Lancashire, which in 2006 is in terms of voting patterns the national capital of working-class racism. Also recorded is Russian exile Sergey Kuryokhin’s amazement that exponents of free jazz should identify with a political system that would suppress them if it came to power. These are different paradoxes from those considered earlier, but obviously related ones, and they are given careful and serious consideration, much of it in the words of the practitioners. Maggie Nichols is extensively quoted and is always interesting and informative, though I admit that I cannot understand the description of her as “member of the [Trotskyist] Worker’s Revolutionary Party, anarchist” (225). I had thought the first task of any Trotskyist gathering would be to expel the anarchists. The comparisons between the New Orleans revivalists and the likes of Mike Westbrook are well handled and thought provoking. So are considerations of the lack of a career structure for jazz musicians, the self-help organizations that have sprung up over the years, the effects of “jazz education” and Britain’s lack of it, and the relationships with the wider countercultures of the 1960s and after.

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The final essay, “From ‘Male Music’ to Feminist Improvising,” considers the “gendering of jazz.” The “blanket of silence” (Linda Dahl’s phrase) that diminishes women’s roles really exists. I regret the use of Winifred Atwell as an example of it because I do not believe her exclusion from jazz history is based on anything other than perceptions, whether right or wrong, of the triviality of her music. Much better examples could have been found. The chapter includes a well-deserved tribute to bandleader Ivy Benson as well as consideration of feminist free improvisers. Once again unexpected and thought-provoking parallels are drawn. En route a brief consideration is given to yet another ambiguity, the position of gays in jazz. Here again McKay has been let down a bit by dependence on inadequate secondary sources. He relies on John Gill’s Queer Noises for his historical basis. Gill knows nothing of the prewar gay scene, of which the African-American pianist Garland Wilson was a prominent member, and so neither does McKay. The bizarre desire of some jazz commentators to be shielded from the knowledge of their heroes’ gayness is worth confronting, and the pre-Beaulieu connection between George Melly and Lord Montagu has not previously penetrated this other blanket of silence, to my consciousness. Only on page 276 does McKay note women’s involvement in dancing to jazz, both on stage and off. However, he has already noted that there were only 60 females in the sample of 820 jazz enthusiasts used for Eric Hobsbawm/Francis Newton’s 1959 study The Jazz Scene. If you draw a sample from a source (membership of the National Jazz Federation) that is biased by both sex and age, then that bias will appear in your sample. Back in 1959, these figures told us much more about who was likely to join an organization such as the NJF than about the jazz public, and repeating them does not change this stubborn reality. Much more attention could be devoted to the way marginalization of dance in the study of jazz has also served to marginalize the female enthusiast. That this book so readily suggests avenues for further research is not the least of its strengths. George McKay has made a major contribution to understanding what happened in jazz in Britain and why it happened. Had he made the same use of the periodical literature as Catherine Parsonage, whose book is reviewed below, Circular Breathing might have been an even better book and approached hers in importance. *** Catherine Parsonage has clearly understood the deficiencies of the existing hardcover source material on British jazz in a way concealed from George McKay. She has gone back to primary sources and other researchers’

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work on them to provide the foundation of her account. The bibliography reveals the extent of her studies and omits very few works she might have found useful. I need to declare an interest here, since the extensive use of my research and a generous tribute in the preface might lead me to an undue disposition in favor of this work. Curiously, in view of the breadth of her studies, she too is unaware of that list of African-American performers who recorded in Britain and their attendant discographies in Blues & Gospel Records, 1890–1943, and she would have found it useful. An even odder omission from the bibliography is Edward Walker’s English Ragtime: A Discography. Some recent items in the magazine VJM’s Jazz and Blues Mart could have helped too. The work is divided into two sections: “Historical and Theoretical Perspectives” comprises three chapters, followed by six studies subsumed under the heading “The Evolving Presence of Jazz in Britain.” The historical perspectives begin with a short look at the cultural and musical antecedents: minstrelsy, musical comedy, and jubilee groups. Parsonage then moves to a study of images of jazz and ragtime presented by sheet music and how they evolved during the 1910s. As far as I know this is completely original research, and it certainly comes up with some fascinating results. In that age of sheet music sales, public perceptions were no doubt significantly affected by these images. It is particularly interesting how what would be perennial themes—dance crazes, moaning saxophones, low-life associations—already emerge so strongly. Drumming was preeminent in contemporary images of ragtime and jazz, and Parsonage is clear in associating this fact with the several AfricanAmerican drummers working in London in the teens. Some of them worked with English ragtime groups, transforming their music in ways that have been little studied, given the lack of later interest in this period of music history. Unsympathetic contemporaries often perceived their work as mere noise making, but nonetheless clearly regarded them as an interesting cultural phenomenon. The advantage of using sheet music for scene setting is that it presents a much-less-biased sample than the activities of the contemporary recording industry. A complete list of the songs consulted, with their British Library pressmarks, is published as appendix 1. “The Jazz Age in Britain” first looks at images of jazz after 1919, their relationship to modernist and primitivist trends in the arts generally, the post–World War I growth of social dancing, and associated changes in women’s dress. The remainder of the chapter is concerned with jazz and what Parsonage calls “the culture industry,” from the BBC to contemporary jazz criticism. She makes several very important points on the BBC’s cru-

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cial role in shaping public taste and notions of acceptability. Broadcasting, to a much greater extent than recording, broke the early 1920s monopoly on jazz of nightclubs, whether high-class establishments or dives. However, a very high price was paid in terms of understanding and artistic quality. The BBC sought to hide the American, never mind African-American, roots of contemporary popular music as far as it could. One manifestation of this was the BBC’s insistence on referring to “dance music” rather than “jazz,” but much more important was the prominence of polite imitations that later generations would often have difficulty recognizing as jazz. Though Constant Lambert’s favorable view of Duke Ellington, Music Ho! (1934), has become part of the mythology of jazz in Britain, it is not usual for writers on jazz to take works such as R. W. S. Mendl’s The Appeal of Jazz (1927) and S. R. Nelson’s All about Jazz (1934) seriously. Parsonage, however, mines them assiduously for what they have to say about the climate in which jazz was practiced in Britain and about the perception of its origins. This study moves on to encompass the emerging specialist press (Melody Maker and Rhythm). This was an era when most AfricanAmerican jazz was regarded as crude. Lambert, commenting that “most jazz is written and performed by cosmopolitan Jews” nonetheless believed that “the most vital qualities in jazz are due to the Negro mentality.” By way of the growth of enthusiasm for “hot” music in the universities, Parsonage shows critical standards gradually emerging, formulated particularly in the pages of the Melody Maker. I remain slightly unconvinced of the ultimate value of this historiographic investigation, but Parsonage’s thoroughness and understanding both compel attention. One particularly interesting insight to emerge is the extent to which Nelson—and T. W. Adorno in an extensively quoted 1936 essay, “On Jazz”—foresaw the self-feeding character of the later popular music industry. Already, Nelson writes: “Sob-stuff of the crudest possible type is ‘plugged’ until we shout the choruses in our sleep. As it is a case of Hobson’s Choice, the long-suffering public buys the records.” Though Parsonage’s subtitle indicates the work covers the years 1880–1935, the historical part of the book in fact begins, rationally enough, with the 1903 show In Dahomey. African-American performance practices, which are what is in question when jazz is discussed, had been heard in Britain before, even on record, but In Dahomey planted them foursquare in the public eye and ear. The show also brought to Britain the African-American performer who was most extensively recorded in Britain (or anywhere else) in this era, Pete Hampton. Astoundingly, Hampton is not mentioned at all—the most important consequence of the failure to locate the two missing works already mentioned.

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The preceding observation is not to be taken as adverse criticism of what is actually presented: a careful analysis of the show and its music from contemporary written sources, including the score. A synopsis of the plot, not always followed by contemporary audiences, appears as appendix 2. It is noted that the show “demonstrated improvised dance in Britain, which was to become a significant feature of dancing to later syncopated musical styles.” Will Marion Cook was a very direct link between this show and later developments, since he both presented In Dahomey and brought the Southern Syncopated Orchestra to Britain in 1919. Chapter 5, “The Music and Symbolism of the Banjo,” looks at the importance of the banjo in ragtime in Britain and thereby also at the AfricanAmerican string bands such as Dan Kildare’s Clef Club Orchestra and the Versatile Three/Four (recordings of both bands are available on Document records). It cannot be denied that these bands paved the way to jazz, even by those who find the connections so difficult to hear or who do not find it artistically rewarding to make the effort to grapple with the recording techniques of the era. I think Parsonage is the first to notice that the subsequent music called jazz not only adds wind instruments to the string band lineup but also omits the banjo. The banjo has become so associated with traditional jazz since the 1940s that conventionally educated jazz commentators do not fully consider its absence from the records of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band and contemporary groups that copied its approach or perhaps do not know enough about its ubiquity in the preceding period. “The banjo,” says Parsonage, “linked all the various forms of African-American music in Britain prior to jazz both symbolically and musically.” Parsonage speculates that the Original Dixieland Jazz Band’s decision not to use a banjo was part of their deliberate attempt “to deny the black origins of the music they performed.” I do not know whether there is any evidence to support this idea, but it seems entirely possible. The banjo’s absence may also have contributed to their perceived revolutionary character. The book proceeds to the 1919 arrival in Britain of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band and the Southern Syncopated Orchestra. This is probably the first time these two events have been considered in the same breath, as it were, even though both brought New Orleans jazz musicians to British shores. Parsonage’s account brings out the contrast between the contemporary perceptions of the ODJB as a novelty act and the SSO as a musical phenomenon worthy of serious consideration. This is partly because the SSO’s repertoire emphasized continuity with previous African-American performances. The SSO was the ultimate jazz nursery for Britain: its mem-

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bers spread out through the London club scene during and after various interruptions to the full orchestra’s British career, and it recruited many musicians to fill gaps in its ranks, both British members of the African diaspora and native musicians. The next chapter considers first the spread of jazz and jazzlike music for dancing, with particular reference to the bands at London’s Savoy Hotel and their development of an acceptable (some would say degutted) British jazz sound. The saxophone was now the iconic instrument. Parsonage notes that the members of the African-American string ensemble the Versatile Three/Four, long-established British residents, were performing as a saxophone quartet as early as July 1917. There follows a section about “The Plantation Revues,” a convenient invented term embracing two black-cast revues presented in London in 1923. Parsonage appears to think that I coined it in a 1988 article, but I think it had been used before. The controversies surrounding these shows—especially The Rainbow, in which a band led by James P. Johnson appeared—rehearse all the arguments over the importation of African-American performers that would resurface again and again. Trade union and racist interests accused Will Garland’s touring All Black company of immoral and illegal behavior, and I think Parsonage should have noted that these allegations were investigated by the police and found to be baseless. This finding must have been so contrary to the inclinations of the investigators that it can probably be relied upon! Parsonage draws a contrast to the relative freedom of employment enjoyed by the Paul Whiteman band on its 1923 visit to Britain, and gives some consideration to the London nightclub scene and the associations thereby set up between black jazz and the underworld. The next topic is the development of British jazz under the dual influence of models from the white New York school and the pursuit of respectability. Parsonage considers the subject through the activities of Jack Hylton, Bert Firman, and Fred Elizalde, who are probably correctly regarded as the seminal figures in the development of a British jazz style. She explains the emergence of “hot music” as “a clear American trend that could be easily imitated by British musicians” and examines the various ways that they did so. A majority of white American participants in the early development of British jazz were from the Boston area and out of the mainstream; I suspect Parsonage is the first to analyze the resulting musical effects. Fred Elizalde’s band at the Savoy broke this link and imported soloists from the ranks of the New York–based California Ramblers, such as Chelsea Quealy and Adrian Rollini. With their arrival at the Savoy, English cognoscenti and musicians were able to hear American musicians with an established recording reputation.

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This discussion leads naturally into a consideration of the trade union machinations on both sides of the Atlantic, which eventually put a substantial damper on the interactions of British jazz musicians and their American models. The government did initially offer some resistance; a 1930 minute records that “a way must be left open for the free interchange of new ideas.” This view prevailed long enough to allow the visits of Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington in 1933, which changed the face of jazz making in Britain by reinforcing the ideas that critics, Spike Hughes in particular, were by now promoting. The final chapter, “Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington,” considers these visits and the changes that led up to them, including the role of Hughes, a man who did not scruple to praise his own records when writing under his “Mike” pseudonym. We excuse him, so far as we do, because we know that the musical ideas came first, but it is well to be reminded that jazz was not immune from the commercial practices of the pop music industry. Parsonage also attempts a direct comparison of Armstrong’s and Ellington’s British presentations, including a brief look at their respective approaches to Tiger Rag. The book ends with brief looks at subsequent developments in BBC policy, and at the effect of the change in critical perceptions of white and black jazz on the development of jazz among British members of the African diaspora. The latter were left in a strong position when the government was finally badgered into forgetting about the free interchange of cultures and ideas. Curiously, no mention is made in this section of the seminal role of clarinetist and bandleader Rudolph Dunbar. Dunbar and Pete Hampton share the dubious honor of being the most inappropriate omissions from the index, but this work’s selection of significant names and facts is at least 95 percent appropriate, and the conclusions drawn score even higher. Excepting perhaps the purely factual Who’s Who of British Jazz, by John Chilton, this is unarguably the most important book ever written about either British jazz or jazz in Britain. The Evolution of Jazz in Britain stands alongside Mark Miller’s Some Hustling This! as essential reading for anyone interested in the real story of taking jazz to the world.

BOOKS RECEIVED Compiled by Vincent Pelote

Following is a list of recently published or republished books added to the archives of the Institute of Jazz Studies: Blackburn, Julia. With Billie. Pantheon Books, 2005. Bradbury, David. Duke Ellington. Haus Publishers, 2005. Brothers, Thomas. Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans. W. W. Norton & Company, 2006. Büchmann-Møller, Frank. Someone to Watch Over Me: The Life and Music of Ben Webster. University of Michigan Press, 2006. Burns, Mick, ed. Walking with Legends: Barry Martyn’s New Orleans Jazz Odyssey. Louisiana State University Press, 2007. Churchill, Nicholas. Stan Getz: An Annotated Bibliography and Filmography, with Song and Session Information for Albums. McFarland & Company, 2005. Cole, George. The Last Miles: The Music of Miles Davis, 1980–1991. University of Michigan Press, 2005. Daniels, Douglas Henry. One O’clock Jump: The Unforgettable History of the Oklahoma City Blue Devils. Beacon Press, 2006. Davis, Gregory. Dark Magus: The Jekyll and Hyde Life of Miles Davis. With Les Sussman. Backbeat Books, 2006. DeSalvo, Debra. The Language of the Blues: From Alcorub to Zuzu. Billboard Books, 2006. Determeyer, Eddy. Rhythm Is Our Business: Jimmie Lunceford and the Harlem Express. University of Michigan Press, 2006. Dietsche, Robert. Jump Town: The Golden Years of Portland Jazz, 1942–1957. Oregon State University Press, 2006. Driggs, Frank, and Chuck Haddix. Kansas City Jazz: From Ragtime to Bebop—A History. Oxford University Press, 2005. Feinstein, Sascha, ed. Ask Me Now: Conversations on Jazz and Literature. Indiana University Press, 2007. Gennari, John. Blowin’ Hot and Cool: Jazz and Its Critics. University of Chicago Press, 2006. Gordon, Lorraine, as told to Barry Singer. Alive at the Village Vanguard: My Life In and Out of Jazz Time. Hal Leonard, 2006. Grimes, Henry. Signs along the Road: Poems. Buddy’s Knife Jazzedition, 2007.

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Gushee, Lawrence. Pioneers of Jazz: The Story of the Creole Band. Oxford University Press, 2005. Hamilton, Andy. Lee Konitz: Conversations on the Improviser’s Art. University of Michigan Press, 2007. Koenigswarter, Pannonica de. Les musiciens de jazz et leurs trois vœux. Buchet Chastel, 2006. Meckna, Michael. Satchmo: The Louis Armstrong Encyclopedia. Greenwood Press, 2004. Mandel, Howard. Miles, Ornette, Cecil: Jazz Beyond Jazz. Routledge, 2008. Manning, Frankie, and Cynthia R. Millman. Frankie Manning: Ambassador of Lindy Hop. Temple University Press, 2007. Miller, Mark. High Hat, Trumpet and Rhythm: The Life and Music of Valaida Snow. Mercury Press, 2007. Miller, Mark. Some Hustling This! Taking Jazz to the World, 1914–1929. Mercury Press, 2005. Moore, Hilary. Inside British Jazz: Crossing Borders of Race, Nation and Class. Ashgate Publishing, 2007. Morton, Brian. Miles Davis. Haus Publishers, 2005. Nicholson, Stuart. Is Jazz Dead? (Or Has It Moved to a New Address). Routledge, 2005. Olatunji, Babatunde, with Robert Atkinson. The Beat of My Drum: An Autobiography. Temple University Press, 2005. Orgill, Roxane. Dream Lucky: When FDR Was in the White House, Count Basie Was on the Radio, and Everyone Wore a Hat. . . . HarperCollins, 2008. Parker, William. Who Owns Music? Notes from a Spiritual Journey. Buddy’s Knife Jazzedition, 2007. Perchard, Tom. Lee Morgan: His Life, Music and Culture. Equinox Publishing, 2006. Pickering, Michael. Blackface Minstrelsy in Britain. Ashgate Publishing, 2008. Porter, Ross. The Essential Jazz Recordings: 101 CDs. McClelland & Stewart, 2006. Ramsey, Doug. Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond. Parkside Publications, 2005. Ripmaster, Terence M. Willis Conover: Broadcasting Jazz to the World. iUniverse, 2007. Rutan, Grange (Lady Haig). Death of a Bebop Wife. Cadence Jazz Books, 2007. Schwartz, Roberta Freund. How Britain Got the Blues: The Transmission and Reception of American Blues Style in the United Kingdom. Ashgate Publishing, 2007. Shipton, Alyn. A New History of Jazz: Revised and Updated Edition. Continuum, 2007. Silver Horace. Let’s Get to the Nitty Gritty: The Autobiography of Horace Silver. University of California Press, 2006.

Books Received

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Stokes, W. Royal. Growing Up with Jazz: Twenty-Four Musicians Talk about Their Lives and Careers. Oxford University Press, 2005. Taylor, Stephen. Fats Waller on the Air: The Radio Broadcasts and Discography. Scarecrow Press, 2006. Weeks, Todd Bryant. Luck’s in My Corner: The Life and Music of Hot Lips Page. Routledge, 2008. Weiss, Jason, ed. Steve Lacy: Conversations. Duke University Press, 2006. Willems, Jos. All of Me: The Complete Discography of Louis Armstrong. Scarecrow Press, 2006 Zwerin, Mike. The Parisian Jazz Chronicles: An Improvisational Memoir. Yale University Press, 2005.

ABOUT THE EDITORS

EDWARD BERGER, associate director of the Institute of Jazz Studies, is active as a record producer and photographer. He is coauthor of the recently revised and updated Benny Carter: A Life in American Music and author of two other works in the Scarecrow Press Studies in Jazz series. HENRY MARTIN, professor of music at Rutgers University–Newark, is a composer and music theorist. He is also founder and chair of the Special Interest Group in Jazz Theory of the Society for Music Theory. His Charlie Parker and Thematic Improvisation is no. 24 in the Scarecrow Press Studies in Jazz series. Cengage recently issued the second edition of the abridged version of his jazz history text (coauthored with Keith Waters), Jazz: The First Hundred Years. DAN MORGENSTERN, director of the Institute of Jazz Studies, is a jazz historian and former editor of Down Beat. He is the author of Living with Jazz and Jazz People and has won seven Grammy Awards for album notes. He has taught jazz history at Brooklyn College, New York University, the Peabody Institute, and Rutgers University. EVAN SPRING, a widely published freelance writer, holds an M.A. in jazz history and research from Rutgers University and hosts a jazz radio program on WKCR-FM in New York City. GEORGE BASSETT studied music theory with James Randall, Milton Babbitt, and Claudio Spies, among others, at Princeton University. For over 25 years he has sung in and arranged for the jazz-, folk-, standards-, and rockoriented vocal group Cahoots, along with his wife, Nancy Wilson (no, not that one).

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ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

JOHN HOWLAND is an assistant professor of music history at Rutgers University–Newark and editor-in-chief of the Routledge jazz studies journal, Jazz Perspectives. He specializes in the study of arranging practices across big band jazz and jazz-related orchestral idioms in various American popular entertainment traditions. He is the author of Ellington Uptown: Duke Ellington, James P. Johnson, and the Birth of Concert Jazz, which was recently published by the University of Michigan Press. HORACE J. MAXILE JR. is associate director of research at the Center for Black Music Research at Columbia College Chicago. His research interests include musical semiotics, jazz analysis, and concert music by African American composers. He is an associate editor of the upcoming Encyclopedia of African American Music (Greenwood Press) and has published articles in Perspectives of New Music, American Music Research Center Journal, and Black Music Research Journal. VINCENT PELOTE is the head of technical services and sound archivist at the Institute of Jazz Studies. He has compiled discographies of Billie Holiday, Lionel Hampton, and the Commodore label. He contributed to The Oxford Companion to Jazz and has written many LP and CD program notes on jazz guitar, Mary Lou Williams, Benny Carter, Johnny Smith, and others. He has also contributed reviews to the ARSC Journal and Notes: The Journal of the Music Library Association. He is one of the hosts of the radio program Jazz from the Archives, on WBGO-FM in Newark. BRIAN PRIESTLEY is the coauthor of The Rough Guide to Jazz, now in its fourth edition, and a biographer of Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, and Charlie Parker. He is a practicing pianist with several recordings to his name, as well as a critic and reviewer for numerous magazines. For nearly 40 years he has been a frequent contributor to BBC radio and more recently has taught several college courses in the London area.

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About the Contributors

HOWARD RYE, M.A. (Oxon), is an independent scholar of African-American music. He is coauthor of the current edition of Blues & Gospel Records, 1890–1943 (Oxford University Press, 1997), associate editor of The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, and a member of the editorial team of the biographical and discographical research journal Names & Numbers. He edited the discographical magazine Collector’s Items from 1980 to 1995 and has contributed numerous articles to jazz and blues publications, notably a series of articles in Storyville, under the title “Visiting Firemen,” about African-American musicians visiting the British Isles. He has also worked closely with Dr. Rainer Lotz and others researching American visitors of the ragtime era. TODD BRYANT WEEKS has lectured on jazz and music history at Rutgers University–Newark and with the acclaimed Bard Prison Initiative. His writing has appeared in Uptown Magazine and he is a regular contributor to Allegro, the newspaper of the Associated Musicians of Greater New York, AFM, Local 802. He wrote the chapter on jazz for the book Forever Harlem: Celebrating America’s Most Diverse Community (Sports Publishing) and his first book, Luck’s in My Corner: The Life and Music of Hot Lips Page, was published in 2008 by Routledge Press. JOHN WRIGGLE teaches at the City College of New York and is writing a dissertation on popular music arranging in the Swing Era. A musicologist, trombonist, arranger, and jazz historian, he has also worked in film music production, radio broadcasting, record company production, and music publishing.

ABOUT THE INSTITUTE OF JAZZ STUDIES

The Institute of Jazz Studies of Rutgers—The State University of New Jersey is a unique research facility and archival collection, the foremost of its kind. IJS was founded in 1952 by Marshall Stearns (1908–1966), a pioneer jazz scholar, professor of medieval English literature at Hunter College, and author of two essential jazz books: The Story of Jazz and Jazz Dance. In 1966 Rutgers was chosen as the collection’s permanent home. IJS is located on the Newark campus of Rutgers and is a part of the John Cotton Dana Library of the Rutgers University Libraries. IJS aims to preserve and further jazz in all its facets. The archival collection, which has more than quintupled in size since coming to Rutgers, consists of more than 100,000 sound recordings in all formats, from phonograph cylinders and piano rolls to CDs and DVDs; more than 6,000 books on jazz and related subjects, including discographies, bibliographies, and dissertations; comprehensive holdings in jazz periodicals from all over the world; extensive vertical files on individuals and selected topics; and large holdings of photographs, sheet music, scores, arrangements, realia, and memorabilia. IJS serves a broad range of users, from students, teachers, researchers, and authors to musicians, media, record companies, libraries, archives, arts agencies, and jazz organizations. The facilities are open to the public on weekdays by appointment, at (973) 353-5595. For further information on IJS and its programs and activities, write to: The Institute of Jazz Studies Dana Library, Rutgers—The State University 185 University Avenue Newark, NJ 07102 or visit the IJS website at http://newarkwww.rutgers.edu/IJS/. The website features digital exhibits, an online tour of the facilities, and a schedule of the Jazz Research Round Table, a monthly IJS forum for presentations by jazz scholars. 221

Annual Review of Jazz Studies, Volume 14

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Annual Review of Jazz Studies, Volume 14

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 14

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 14 1996

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 12 (Biotechnology Annual Review)

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 9 (Biotechnology Annual Review)

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 10 (Biotechnology Annual Review)

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 2

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 3

Biotechnology Annual Review, Volume 1

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 2 1984

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 27 2009

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 16 1998

Annual Review of Medicine Volume 59 2008

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 1 1983

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 4 1986

Annual Review of Nano Research, Volume 3

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 23 2005

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 19 2001

Annual Review of Medicine Volume 55 2004

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 18 2000

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 21 2003

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 26 2008

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 17 1999

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 22 2004

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 24 2006

Annual Review of Immunology Volume 20 2002

Annual review of nano research Volume 1

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International Review of Neurobiology Volume 14

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