Big Band Jazz Clarinet: Essential Performances (9)

9. Barney Bigard & the Duke Ellington Orchestra * Mood Indigo * 1931


Barney Bigard (1906-1980) was an unusual figure in the history of jazz clarinet. From New Orleans, he was taught by the legendary Lorenzo Tio, Jr., instructor of nearly every great NOLA player we remember from that era--including Sidney Bechet, Jimmie Noone, Johnny Dodds, Omer Simeon, and Albert Nicholas. Yet of them all, Bigard was the only one who spent significant time, both touring and recording, with a prominent Big Band. That it was Duke Ellington's, arguably the most creative Big Band of them all, is a decided bonus.

Ellington had a love for the clarinet, fostered by his early experience hearing Sidney Bechet, who he referred to as "the foundation" and "symbol" of all jazz. (Dance, p10) For a time early in his career, Duke was able to get Bechet in the band, though Bechet never stayed with one group for very long, and was notoriously in and out of the music business for various reasons. Perhaps it was Ellington's love of the New Orleans Albert-system sound that made Bigard such a perfect fit. It remains one of Duke's great achievements that the New Orleans sound could be so well integrated into such a large ensemble.

The clarinetists of the Ellington band have been sometimes neglected by critics, sometimes over praised. Bigard himself was remarkably outspoken and shrewd in his opinions of the clarinetists inside and outside the band. For those of us distant from the era, it's helpful to read the words of an accomplished player from that era:

What [ Artie ] Shaw did to begin with was to make the clarinet sound unusually beautiful in the upper register. He wasn't a low-register guy, but he was more creative than Benny Goodman. Benny did all the popular tunes and standards, but Shaw made up his own and played them so well. The guy could execute like mad. Benny could also execute, and had much more drive than Artie, but I like Artie for the things that are almost impossible to do on the clarinet.
 

I thought Buster Bailey was one of the fastest clarinetists there ever was. He had his own style, and I could always tell his playing. He was a good musician with good execution, but he didn't have the jazz drive or the soul in there like Goodman and some other guys. In other words it didn't have the oomph to it. Where Buster was great was in a studio or a show. That's the same way I figure with [ fellow Ellingtonian] Jimmy Hamilton. He's a terrific clarinetist, but he doesn't have that soul to go with what he's doing. He should have been in classical music. He's got that studio tone to begin with, and he plays straight and fluent, but it's not jazz.

Omer Simeon was a fine musician, an unsung hero, and a great clarinet player. 

[from Stanley Dance's The World of Duke Ellington. pgs88-89]

To those of us who have read some rather strange scholarship on jazz clarinet, these words are a refreshingly clear headed assessment of the era, and worth remembering.

 

Jelly Roll Morton 1928-29 (featuring Russell Procope, George Baquet, Albert Nicholas, & Barney Bigard) * CD 322 from JSPCD Jazzbox903 * Remastered by John R.T. Davies

When starting this blog over six years ago, I knew it would take a while before addressing recordings like these. The repertoire is important, because many of the tunes are great and the composer/bandleader was a giant of jazz, but the clarinet playing is generally bad and sometimes awful. My goal for this blog was (and remains) to build a substantial body of reviews demonstrating true greatness of clarinetists throughout the various eras. Unfortunately, the overall recorded catalog of music that was created in the 1920s and 30s, which is arguably the most important era for the clarinet, was a bit indiscriminate as to the quality of players. Many of the greatest virtuosi (Jimmie Noone, Benny Goodman) were recorded right alongside some of the worst clarinetists ever documented in the studio. The poor players are almost universally flat, can't handle high notes especially, their tone is overwraught and weak from overblowing,  they break notes, their tonguing his ham fisted, their rhythm is bad, and unfortunately, they are too often copied as "authentic" by amateurs and doubling professionals alike.

While blues grittiness and pitch inflection are an essential part of playing jazz clarinet, an overall flat and flabby tone is not competent playing, no matter who is doing it. Neither Sidney Bechet nor Jimmie Noone played this way--their styles, while far apart in terms of timbre and instrumental approach, are worthy models of imitation. The same can be said of many Johnny Dodds recordings, such as the sides he cut with King Oliver. But Dodds, like many others, struggled at times with his pitch, and we should be honest about those moments. Now a word of caution: we shouldn't take this too far as no one plays spot on in tune, in a mechanical sense, every time. You can find plenty of examples of variable intonation, especially if you're tracking note to note, in any of the great players--including classical virtuosi who work within even more limited intonational parameters. But as a rule, the great players aren't sagging consistently below pitch, or riding a quarter tone sharp either.

This collection demonstrates the big step down in clarinetistry in Jelly Roll Morton's bands after the initial recordings with Omer Simeon and Johnny Dodds. A young Russell Procope (who had improved somewhat by the time he played with Ellington) plays flat on December 6, 1928's "Red Hot Pepper" and his solo on "Deep Creek Blues" is a real disappointment for such a beautiful tune. We can only imagine what a player like Noone or Bechet would have done.

By July 9, 1929, Procope had been replaced by George Baquet, who isn't any better. His clarinet is particularly bad on the out chorus of "Burnin' the Iceberg" and haunts "Courthouse Bump" and "Pretty Lil" from the same date as well. His intonation is so bad it sounds almost like a drunken parody at times. His low level playing continues on the next day's session, flabbing his way through a solo on "Sweet Aneta Mine" and sticking out horribly for his flatness on "New Orleans Bump (Monrovia)."

The torture continues on July 12, 1929, when Baquet rasps, flabs, and squeaks his way through "Down My Way", "Try Me Out", and "Tank Town Bump." I can't stress it enough: This is not 'authentic' jazz clarinet playing; it's just incompetent. Frankly, this sort of playing is unlistenable for any serious clarinetist, revealing that the standards for our very difficult instrument were sometimes poorly maintained on recordings, even by the most important band leaders. The clarinet playing is so bad the recordings would have better without a clarinet--and unfortunately, perhaps in part because of hideous performances like these, many bandleaders started deciding exactly that.

By November 13, 1929, Jelly Roll had replaced his clarinetist again, this time for a Red Hot Peppers session featuring Albert Nicholas, the childhood friend of Sidney Bechet who was to record successfully with him later in life. These recordings are not Nicholas's greatest recorded work by a long shot--he tends to be on the flat side, and his solos aren't great-- but he's at least a step up from the truly abysmal playing of Baquet.

Even Barney Bigard can't rescue this album, though his clarinet playing is better than most on the disc. The final four tunes, recorded on December 17, 1929, feature the Jelly Roll Morton Trio with Bigard on clarinet and Zutty Singleton on drums. Bigard struggles with his high clarion, altissimo intonation, and his attacks. Even though his ideas tend to be decent (he was a far more competent clarinetist at this point than anyone else on the Jelly Roll Morton sessions from these years) that really isn't saying much. His playing is excruciatingly out of tune on tunes like "Turtle Twist" and "My Little Dixie Home." This isn't good Bigard...it's actually embarrassingly bad for someone who was to play better (if inconsistently) in the future.

So why bother writing a review like this? Well, there are a couple of reasons. One of them is to say there have to be professional standards. If  a player can't handle the instrument on a basic level of musicianship, they can do real damage to the estimation of the instrument overall. Players like Buddy DeFranco and Artie Shaw routinely dismissed or disparaged the early New Orleans players, implying or openly saying they weren't important to the history of the instrument in jazz. If all anyone had heard were these Jelly Roll Morton sides, or some of the Hot Fives session where Johnny Dodds struggled with his intonation, this could be understood as an act of professional self preservation as much as anything else. This disc features such bad clarinet playing, it makes you want to go back in time with a saw and savagely adjust their barrels. But to dismiss all of New Orleans clarinet because of this would be terribly wrong. All one has to do (and should do) is listen to some Jimmie Noone as an antidote.

This disc earns a broken reed for clarinetists.

Jelly Roll Morton's Red Hot Peppers (featuring Omer Simeon and Johnny Dodds) 1926-27 * CD 321 from JSPCD Jazzbox903 * Remastered by John R.T. Davies

[This review covers the first disc of the five CD JSP boxed set of Jelly Roll Morton remasters by John R.T. Davies.]

If you've listened to a lot of early jazz before checking this out, the first thing you recognize is just how good the band is. In terms of ensemble playing, the colors of the instruments and how they are used by Morton are just as good as it gets. The Red Hot Peppers are as hot as the best King Oliver and Louis Armstrong recordings, while the colors and subtlety of tone are as good as the bands of Bix and Tram. The compositions are second to none, being the work of one off the greatest composers of any genre in the first half of the 20th century. The featured clarinetists are Omer Simeon and Johnny Dodds (with some help from Barney Bigard).

Omer Simeon, who was once called the "unsung hero" of the jazz clarinet by Barney Bigard, takes the clarinet part for the very first set, recorded in Chicago on September 15, 1926, demonstrating his excellent control of the horn and music on "Black Bottom Stomp", "Smoke-House Blues", and "The Chant." These tunes really show a depth of orchestrational ideas, ensemble sensitivity,  and formal innovation not often matched in jazz, and Simeon is a perfect fit.

Someday Sweetheart has one of the earliest (if not the first) jazz bass clarinet solo, also by Omer Simeon. Omer's tone is much more beautiful than many post-bop bass clarinet solos we hear these days. Those who play this instrument ought to have an honest sound concept--strong, balanced, rich-- and this Simeon solo is a great place to start.

Simeon's playing is also on display in his breaks to open "Doctor Jazz": he then adds a clever solo made memorable by his four bar whole notes. When it comes time to trade licks the blow over the ride out chorus and breaks, Simeon shows himself once again to be one of the top clarinetists of the '20s.

"Cannon Ball Blues" is a great example of ensemble color and balance once again, the group communally composing and highlighting the well directed arrangement. There is something natural about this band--it doesn't strain at the music or at expression, but simply goes about its business creating a thoroughly satisfying blues, like late afternoon sunlight on a front porch. Sometimes it's important to just be in the music, rather than trying to say anything. Recordings like these are a perfect antidote for the cult of overwrought self expression.

The first of the Red Hot Peppers recordings featuring Johnny Dodds is called "Hyena Stomp", and the difference in the band is immediately felt. Less genteel than Simeon, more aggressive in his overall sound concept, a tune featuring rhythmic guffawing seems a great way to introduce him. Yet even with all of that, Dodds seems much more at home and relaxed in the Red Hot Peppers than in the Louis Armstrong Hot Fives and Sevens. In fact, perhaps because of Jelly Roll's dictum that an ideal jazz performance should be "sweet, soft, plenty of rhythm", Dodds is able to show a wider range of artistry and emotion. And for all their entertaining novelty qualities, none of Jelly Roll's numbers really descend into typical novelty shallowness. Instead, they seem like emotional or biographical vignettes. "Billy Goat Stomp" is another perfect example. There is actually something beautiful in this minor key tune and the subtle colorations of the band, amidst the bleating effects!

Of all the tunes he recorded, few are as closely associated with Johnny Dodds as "Wild Man Blues." He cut it no less than three times--the first on May 7, 1927 with the Louis Armstrong Hot Seven, the second just a few weeks later with Jelly Roll Morton's Red Hot Peppers on June 4, 1927, and the third over a decade later, with himself as leader of Johnny Dodds and his Chicago Boys, paradoxically recorded in New York City on January 21, 1938. To compare and contrast the three is instructive. My favorite is last one, as he gives himself the melody and shows his range of soulful talking style on it. Of the two earlier recordings from 1927, I prefer the Red Hot Peppers to the Hot Sevens, but any way you cut it, it's a a special treat to hear the same man playing the clarinet parts in two important ensembles, just weeks apart.

"Jungle Blues" is another tune that uses effects but entirely avoids 'novelty' or faux-exoticism.  Thanks to the gentle balance of Morton's rhythm section, Johnny is really allowed to sing, giving us the beauty of his tone shining through all his soulful figurations.

The grittier, rougher Dodds chalumeau is on display for "Beale Street Blues," and his section playing is lively and confident on that remarkable, complicated tune, "The Pearls."
 
The last two  tracks on this album--"Wolverine Blues" and "Mr Jelly Lord"-- are taken from a session recorded in Chicago on June 10, 1927, and are of particular importance to jazz clarinetists, as they present the Dodds brothers as a trio with Jelly Roll Morton. Aside from their own musical qualities, they set precedent for the Benny Goodman trio eight years later, which was to blossom into the Goodman Quartet and Sextet; perhaps the most important work of Benny's career. Dodds is impressive throughout, grooving grittily but fleetly through "Wolverine Blues" and with that special sense of laid back, in the pocket rhythm he had on "Mr. Jelly Lord." The relaxed, perfect counterpoint between Morton and Dodds is a fitting way to end this collection, which moves from surprise to surprise and strength to strength.

Barney Bigard on Everyone

Few jazz clarinetists have amassed a comparable resume to that of Barney Bigard, whose career stretched from the 1920s through the 1970s. Born and raised in New Orleans during the crucial transition to the recorded era, and a student of the legendary Lorenzo Tio, Bigard went on to work in what many consider to be the most important of the Chicago-based New Orleans bands (King Oliver), moving to arguably the most creative big band ever assembled (Duke Ellington), before rounding out his triptych with Louis Armstrong's All-Stars.

Fortunately for us, beyond his formidable discography with each of those legendary ensembles (and his own as a leader), Bigard left us some important interviews and a slender, yet informative autobiography. His opinions on early New Orleans clarinetists and everyone else are presented in a clear, concise manner, without frills or subterfuge, and make for an interesting perspective. Many other clarinetists have weighed in on opposite sides of the opinions presented here (Goodman disagreed with Bigard about Frank Teschemacher, for instance), but these thoughts are worth remembering, if only to prevent jazz clarinetists from falling into a rigid orthodoxy of opinion.

All page numbers are from With Louis and the Duke, Oxford University Press, 1986, unless otherwise noted.


on Alphonse Picou:

I was really disappointed with Picou and in later years I found out that he became famous just for that little part in High Society, and in fact he got that from one of Sousa's marches. That was all that made him famous. [13]


on Lorenzo Tio:

On the other hand, the first time that I heard Lorenzo Tio I was not disappointed at all. I heard him on a parade playing his A clarinet. He knocked me out right from the very start. My uncle promised me that he would take me to his house, as he knew him, and ask him to give me lessons. [13]

I started to watch for Tio, where he would play and all. I followed him all over the city of New Orleans. Anytime he would play a parade I would be right there listening to what he was making on that clarinet. Wherever he played I'd go and stand around the bandstand and all my listening was to the clarinet. I didn't care about the rest of it. If I heard a riff of something else that I liked , then I would hum it in my head, and keep humming it. I'd leave the dance and keep humming it until I got home and no matter what time it was when I got home I would get out the horn and try to pick out the notes. I would keep on until I got it down right.

Tio was at that time the best damned clarinet player in the city... [15]

I found out that Albert Nicholas had been taking lessons from Tio before me. Albert was really far advanced and a fine clarinetist. Funny, although we both had the same tutor, we don't have the same style at all. He was also teaching Omer Simeon, and there's one of the real unsung clarinet players.  [16]

[Tio] was a great reader [of written music], even by today's standards. He had real fast execution and he could improvise--play jazz in other words--on top of all the rest. He would even make his own reeds out of some kind of old cane. Yes, Lorenzo Tio was the man in those days in the city of New Orleans. [17]


on Johnny Dodds:

I know for a fact that [Kid] Ory could never read, and Johnny Dodds couldn't either...to tell the truth, when I heard him he never did impress me much. [11]

He was a little what you might call "limited." But what he played was good. He by no means ever impressed me like Jimmie Noone did. [38]


on Jimmie Noone:

I really like his style. In fact, I stole a whole lot from Jimmie. While he was playing with Charlie Cooke he mostly played harmony parts or whatever they had written on paper for him, but after at The Nest he played mostly lead all night because the band was so small.  
     

on Pee Wee Russell, Frank Teschemacher, and jazz critics:

I used to buy DownBeat magazine all the time but once I read that Pee Wee Russell had won a DownBeat poll. That did it. I never read that magazine again. Guys like him and Frank Teschemacher aren't clarinet players to me. But then I suppose even in those days critics were just as ignorant as they are today. I never, ever, played to please the critics. Not once. I never really cared about them at all. Even today I still don't. I mean you can pick up a music paper and read them knocking all of the old-style New Orleans musicians that are currently out there doing their thing. [126] 


on Edmond Hall:

Edmond was a real fine clarinet player, and in fact was a more forceful player than I was. We were buddies because I had met him years ago in New York, but without a doubt he was the "cheapest" man I knew. He used to live in a place where he had to walk up so many flights of stairs to get up there, just to save rent. When Edmond got into the band [Louis Armstrong's All-Stars] they were going on a tour of France so I asked him to pick me up a couple of boxes of reeds that they make over there. He said that he would, and so when the band came back they played out here in California and I went to see them. Edmond said, "Man. I got your reeds." You know that he wouldn't turn loose that little box of twenty-five reeds until I had given him the money. He was like the duck's ass. Water tight. [124]


on New Orleans musicians:

To me it was just beautiful to see those old guys, at their age, coming out on stage and doing a lot of things the youngsters can't do. Most people forget that those guys are the foundation of jazz music. They started it, but naturally everything progresses as it goes along. It's like the Wright brothers' plane. Now you could throw a rock  and knock it out of the sky, but...give them credit for building the first. [125-26]

A lot of those old characters from New Orleans think that anything they do is alright just because they're from New Orleans. They think they can walk on your head if they want to, but it just isn't that way. [88]


on George Lewis:

[In the old days] I never heard of George Lewis. I heard him play once at the Beverly Cavern and once again when Louis Armstrong and I went to see him in New York. This time in New York he was so sick he couldn't play at all. I heard he was a nice enough guy but as to being a legend that people built him into? Willie Humphrey was more of a legend than George Lewis. [88-89]


on Musical Style:

The only thing I say is to play your own self. Don't be copying someone else. Try to create a style of your own and then stick to it. Any of the big names have their own style. You can always tell a Louis Armstrong or a Teagarden or a Hodges, but when you get down amongst the lesser ones it's hard to tell them apart. I tell all the young guys I meet, "It's good to take influence from someone, but don't play note for note like them. You'll never make it in this racket. Play your own way." [126]


on being a Jazz Clarinetist:

I never figured myself as being a "temperamental" musician. I put myself down as easy going and I think that helped my career a lot. I was never one to care about who had top billing, or who played the last act. Some guys, that was all they thought about. I just wanted to be good at what I did. I wanted to get jobs that were in my category. I didn't want to be no symphony man. If I had devoted all my time to that I wouldn't have been a jazz clarinetist. I did want to be a good clarinetist though. Just to read enough music to get me by. That's the way I always felt. I never thought of myself as an artist, or anything like that. Just as a good jazz player that always tried to do his best. Of course I try to live up to my own standards of playing. Sometimes it materializes, sometimes it doesn't, but I keep trying anyway. I would hate to say I was all set on the horn. There is always something more to learn. And you can't stay away from music for long--at least I couldn't.  [126-27]


on Artie Shaw:

What Shaw did to begin with was to make the clarinet sound unusually beautiful in the upper register. He wasn't a low-register guy, but he was more creative than Benny Goodman. Benny did all the popular tunes and standards, but Shaw made up his own and played them so well. The guy could execute like mad. Benny could also execute, and had much more drive than Artie, but I like Artie for the things that are almost impossible to do on the clarinet. [from Stanley Dance's The World of Duke Ellington. p.88]

To me the greatest player that ever lived was Artie Shaw. [quoted in Gene Lees notes to Artie Shaw: A Legacy, p. 5]

on Benny Goodman, Buster Bailey, and Jimmy Hamilton:

Benny is a hell of a clarinetist, really great, but he's not the easiest guy to get along with. [111]

I thought Buster Bailey was one of the fastest clarinetists there ever was. He had his own style, and I could always tell his playing. He was a good musician with good execution, but he didn't have the jazz drive or the soul in there like Goodman and some other guys. In other words it didn't have the oomph to it. Where Buster was great was in a studio or a show. That's the same way I figure with Jimmy Hamilton. He's a terrific clarinetist, but he doesn't have that soul to go with what he's doing. He should have been in classical music. He's got that studio tone to begin with, and he plays straight and fluent, but it's not jazz. [Dance, 89]

on Omer Simeon:

Omer Simeon was a fine musician, an unsung hero, and a great clarinet player. [Dance, 89]

Mpingo Documentary by Sir David Attenborough featuring Acker Bilk * 1992

Catching a reference to it on social media earlier today, I dug up a 1992 tv/e documentary called  Mpingo: The Tree That Makes Music, by Sir David Attenborough. It's a wonderful film giving excellent footage of mpingo wood, from the trees in Tanzania all the way to the concert halls and pubs of Europe.

When first clicking, I had no idea it would feature so much jazz clarinet. The great Acker Bilk was, in fact, the very first clarinetist shown (or even heard) on this documentary, near the seven minute mark, performing what appears to be a humble pub gig. Then, while showing off the manufacturing process of Buffet clarinets around the twenty minute mark, we're treated to Barney Bigard's classic performance of "Clarinet Lament (Barney's Concerto)" with the Duke Ellington Orchestra. At around 37:30 we're back at Acker Bilk pub gig, getting the chance to hear him, without strings or extended orchestration, launch into his most famous tune, "Stranger on the Shore." After this clip, Bilk offers his opinion that the clarinet is essential to jazz performance--which is not the sort of thing clarinetists are used to hearing when jazz is discussed, but Acker makes it clear he feels something is missing from a jazz band without it. It's great to hear him mention the light and dark qualities, the shadings the clarinet possesses in contrast to other instruments, noting that mpingo wood is responsible for the special warmth and tone quality of the instrument. Overall, it's a unique little moment of grateful reflection for the instrument, and a brief but eloquent argument for the clarinet's importance in our music.

One of the most moving moments of the documentary, for me, was hearing a conservationist named Robert Lamb describe the sound of the clarinet, in terms that I think will resonate with all of us who play this instrument: "What you're hearing is nature's voice: a direct connection between nature and music." This is highly recommended viewing for clarinetists and anyone interested in this remarkable wood.

Wynton Marsalis * The Majesty of the Blues * 1989

For those of us following Wynton Marsalis's career, The Majesty of the Blues seemed an abrupt change of direction when it was first released in 1989. The two albums leading up to it were Marsalis Standard Time, Volume 1, and Live at Blues Alley, both of which were virtuosic neo-bop quartet recordings. To suddenly jump back to New Orleans style, timbre and ensemble seemed a drastic shift. In retrospect, however, The Majesty of the Blues was a natural development. The return to New Orleans, musically, was already hinted at in the liner notes to Marsalis Standard Time, Volume 1, as evidenced by Wynton's unique application New Orleans jazz principals to bop. I've always felt the brilliance of that classic quartet was explained best by the trumpeter himself in the following quote:

“Every instrument,” says Marsalis, “is allowed the freedom to interpret the form from a different metric vantage point. This frees Marcus, Bob, and Jeff from having to keep a strict basic time, but gives them the responsibility of resolving superimposed meters correctly in the original form. Though we are approaching the form with rhythmic and metric freedom, everyone has to work within the flow of the improvisation. The last thing I’m interested in is freedom that can only justify itself by its existence. I’m interested in freedom that encompasses the fundamentals of music, allowing for inspiration rather than desperation.”

This concept was pushed to further extremes on Live at Blues Alley, and those of us who ran out to purchase The Majesty of the Blues expected something more obviously in the same vein. But instead of linear development of these ideas, we heard Wynton playing with New Orleans street beats, instrumentation, and subject matter (the New Orleans funeral). Of particular interest to jazz clarinetists, we also heard a clarinet style not often experienced outside of the Crescent City in those days: the tradition-steeped sound of Dr. Michael White.

Dr. Michael White's clarinet approach is directly descended from the New Orleans style which stretches back through George Lewis, Johnny Dodds, and Sidney Bechet, among others. His playing tends to overturn the paradigm that jazz styles are merely links in an evolutionary chain: that one stage of development "surpasses" or "replaces" another. Instead, he inspires us to listen seriously to players such as George Lewis, Johnny Dodds, Pee Wee Russell, and Raymond Burke. We've seen in previous posts that not every jazz clarinetist has appreciated all of these players (Barney Bigard and Buddy DeFranco were particularly dismissive of some of them). But Dr. White's playing is in many ways a call to reevaluate what others haven't fully appreciated, and to re-focus on the roots of jazz. While other subsequent recordings show a greater range of his artistry, his presence on The Majesty of the Blues is therefore of particular importance.

Beyond the music itself are Stanley Crouch's liner notes, which contain one of Wynton's most important summaries of the blues. And it's this that I really want to emphasize in this post. Three successive paragraphs are of particular importance.

The first deals with the expansive brilliance of the blues as a musical system:    

“The blues addresses the central chords of Western harmony, the I, the IV, and the V chords. Its central progression is the I, IV, I, or ‘amen’ cadence in Western religious music. It’s also a style and a form that gives you access to all 12 notes at any given time because the notes that are not in the key are non-harmonic tones, and those non-harmonic tones are blues notes. If you are in the key of C major, C, D, E, F, G, a, and B are the seven primary notes. B flat, the flat seventh, is a blues note; A flat, the flat sixth, is a blues note; G flat, the flat five, is a blues note; E flat, the flat third, is a blues note; D flat, the note Dizzy Gillespie uses on his blues Wheatleigh Hall, is the minor second. So, there’s all 12 notes of the chromatic scale right there.


The second reenforces what all great jazz musicians have known: that sound and timbral language are paramount to expression (not merely grafted on, but substantial to the musical meaning): 

“Though you have all 12 notes right there, the essence of the blues is a sound. There are notes within that sound which are not heard in the tempered scale, Negroidal timbral essences which are heard in the blues signers and in the band of Duke Ellington. Ellington would arrange music so that these tones would come out, tones that are not in the Western scale. By a sophisticated and successful combination of notes, the chords and the harmony would bend. In this way, the blues is a whole form and an innovation in the history of Western and African music simultaneously. When you add to that the percussive elements that have to be refined and dealt with that also come out of the American experience, the Negroization of the melodic properties of American music through the unique use of the major sixth interval, there is much to be done, all of which demands a specific kind of technical skill.

The third discusses the necessity of applying this to instruments--an African-American timbral language and unique musical system derived from multi-racial sources, applied in new ways to old instruments: 

“That’s why all of the great jazz musicians have been strong technicians on some level. But techniques vary. Take a titan like Thelonious Monk; he invented an entire technique for the piano because the European approach was not sufficient for what he wanted to do. Monk was focused on the sound that has its basis in the blues, and everything he did took direction from that. Coltrane, who had the kind of velocity technique people recognize, was always coming from the blues sound, as was Bird. Ornette Coleman’s whole conception is based in the harmonic freedom implied by the meaning of the blues note in and out of the scale.”

Wynton's observations concerning Thelonious Monk have particular significance. Had he wanted to, he might have said the same of Louis Armstrong, Artie Shaw, or Coleman Hawkins: each of them invented new ways of playing their instruments, because "the European approach was not sufficient for what [they] wanted to do."

I've lived with these three paragraphs for over twenty years now, and they seem to me an essential orientation if one really wants to be a jazz musician, as opposed to  being a musician who dabbles in jazz as though it was a "style." Too often, players mistake the Blues--which is foundational for any understanding of jazz--as mere effects to be grafted onto their playing, when in fact the Blues is a musical system of expression that must be lived consistently and allowed to transform both the player's technique and their fundamental musical outlook. It's my opinion that no jazz clarinetist can avoid these points--and that a willingness to investigate them opens a world of creative potential.
  

100 Jazz Tunes Everyone Should Hear (#6) Jimmie Noone Live

#6 - Jimmie Noone Live at the Yes Yes Club * July 17, 1941 * Honeysuckle Rose

The master of the Albert System, Jimmie Noone set a new technical standard for the jazz clarinet, influencing nearly all who followed, including the likes of Barney Bigard, Benny Goodman, Edmond Hall, Pete Fountain and countless others.

Here is a late live recording demonstrating his beautiful tone, it's warmth, muscularity, and inventiveness.   

[ This is not a comprehensive list, nor is it representative of the "most important" or "best." Instead, following Duke Ellington's adage that the greatest music and musicians are "beyond category", I'm starting 2020 by sharing 100 jazz tunes I feel everyone should have the chance to hear--really just tunes and performances that I love. ]

Cleveland Renaissance

I'm honored to be part of what is becoming a roots music renaissance in Cleveland. Musically speaking, this city has long been known for the Cleveland Orchestra and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but in the national eye, little has been made of the significant jazz and roots scene here. That seems about to change. The breadth of talent and style that is part of the living tradition here in Cleveland is now becoming a cultural focal point for the city, thanks to the work of the Cleveland Foundation and Roots of American music. My band, Eric Seddon's Hot Club, has been asked to take part in this renaissance, playing for the Uptown Saturday Night series, and in Cleveland's beautifully renovated Public Square.

Cleveland audiences are unlike any others I've played for in my career. They are highly educated, musically speaking, and know their history. Recently, for instance, a young man at a nightclub gig of mine asked me if I knew any tunes by Sidney Bechet, because my playing reminded him in some ways of the great New Orleans master. On other occasions people have mentioned Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Barney Bigard, Pete Fountain, and Edmond Hall to me. It is rare to find audiences outside of New Orleans who can comment so comprehensively about roots jazz. If you're in town, I hope you can catch one of these gigs:

    

Jimmie Noone with Kid Ory * 1944 * Essential Media Group CD (not numbered) * 2011 reissue

Last year, I stumbled across YouTube recordings of some of the very last performances of Jimmie Noone, from just weeks before he died in 1944, after joining Kid Ory's band on the Orson Welles Radio Show. Today, I'm happy to report that this CD reissue, with no liner notes or mention of the historical importance of the contents, appears to be a remastered collection of air checks dating from the last days of Jimmie Noone.

Jimmie's unique staccato technique and soaring altissimo are immediately identifiable on "High Society", though as I mentioned last spring, his playing of the 'test solo' suggests he might have been having trouble breathing at the time.

Though the cover says this is Noone with Kid Ory, I don't believe for a second that all of the tracks feature Jimmie on clarinet. The second track, "Sugar Foot Stomp" features a clarinetist who can only be considered incompetent compared to a master like Noone. The mystery clarinetist has a rough tone, plays out of tune, and is rhythmically far sloppier than Noone.  

Tracks 3, 4, and 5 feature Noone again on "Muskrat Ramble", "That's A Plenty" and "Panama Rag"--the only recordings of Noone on these standards, so far as I know. The lilting staccato, lightness of touch and velvety roundness of tone without sacrificing power are all there--that unique inimitable quality of Noone's distinctive Creole style. He doesn't take a 'solo chorus' on any of these, Ory opting for the band to remain with a polyphonic approach throughout. True lovers of this style will recognize that Jimmie is actually soloing the entire time, and while the rest of the band has its roughness (the lead trumpet is at times pretty poor), Jimmie is uniformly brilliant--showing an entirely different approach to this music than we often hear.

Track 6 is entitled "Jimmy's Blues" and is actually a version of "Tin Roof Blues. Noone isn't the clarinetist. Whoever it is, he was nowhere near the virtuoso of Noone. His tone is rougher, has none of the distinctive Noone style, and he plays flat. This is likely the clarinetist from "Sugar Foot Stomp." My guess is this was played as an homage to Noone after his passing.

Yet another clarinetist seems to be present on "Savoy Blues." The clarinetist's tone has more of that velvety quality we associate with Creole clarinet, including his altissimo and high clarion notes, but his technical figurations sound less like standard Jimmie Noone and in fact very much like Barney Bigard. Likewise with "Weary Blues." The soloing is very good, but if this is Noone, the soloing style is very different than any other recordings of his.

With "C'est L'Autre Can Can", we're perhaps back in the hands of a mystery clarinetist, but I wouldn't try to guess who. "Blues" sounds like it might indeed be Noone again...but perhaps not.

The transfers on this disc aren't the best quality, and the lack of notes and/or clarity about the personnel make this it bit frustrating, but to have several of the very last performances of Jimmie Noone commercially available at all makes up for most of the frustrations. The search for an audiophile level remaster of these (and more if they exist), with good historical information on the performances remains, but until those are available, Jimmie Noone fans will definitely want this disc.  

   

The Shekomeko Shuffle: In Search of Artie Shaw

Leading off his series In Search of Shakespeare, Michael Wood asked:

"[Why] go in search of Shakespeare? Can the life of a writer ever be as interesting or exciting as a conqueror, an inventor, or an explorer, a Napoleon, a Columbus, an Alexander the Great? Well yes it can. More so, because the writers and the poets are the explorers of the human heart, and long after the conquerors are forgotten, their legacy will be the most valuable to us as human beings."

If poets are the explorers of the human heart, perhaps musicians are the explorers of the soul--that region touching the eternal; the essential aspect of human beings so difficult to describe or analyze. And just as the geography of great writers warrants our attention, so too those of musicians--especially jazz musicians, who more than any others seem to carry their lives with them wherever they go, singing them through their horns.

America isn't the type of nation that likes to honor (or perhaps even remember) its artists, especially those outside the mainstream, who might serve little immediate commercial or political purpose. Try naming the historical markers for great poets or musicians, and you might find the list to be short. In my own lifetime, I can remember seeing only three monuments to writers: A statue of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in Portland, Maine; another of James Fenimore Cooper in Cooperstown, NY; and a statue of Hart Crane (since removed or relocated) in Cleveland. I'm sure there are others, but a casual trip through the UK will show more constant markers denoting important artists. In the history of jazz, only New Orleans seems to fully acknowledge importance of place, and has done an admirable job maintaining the roots of jazz history.

With this in mind, I set out this past week to visit one of  the most important landscapes outside of New Orleans for a jazz clarinetist: the site of Artie Shaw's farm near Pine Plains, NY, in the bucolic Hudson Valley Region.

Shaw remains for me among the most important of all jazz clarinetists, for several reasons. First, if you poll musicians you'll find that just about every type of clarinetist has endorsed him. In a world of rivalry, jealousy, and bravado, his playing remains close to universally admired.

New Orleans native and Ellington alumnus Barney Bigard called Shaw the greatest of all jazz musicians.

Buddy DeFranco, the first great bop clarinetist, called Shaw's 'Stardust' solo the finest ever played.

Don Byron, a representative of the avant garde in current jazz clarinet, has said "I remember the clarity of [Shaw's] tone, a harder, edgier, and more modern tone than Benny Goodman's. He could play stuff that made harmonic sense way up high, and where Goodman's playing seemed both triadic and ornamental, Shaw's note choices seemed to foreshadow the discipline that would become bebop."

Even the classical world has paid homage to Shaw's clarinetistry. Franklin Cohen of the Cleveland Orchestra said "Shaw is the greatest player I ever heard. It's hard to play the way he plays. It's not an overblown orchestral style. He makes so many incredible shadings."

This is nothing short of remarkable. There are few musicians who can claim, on any instrument, such a list of admirers.

Second, on a personal level, Shaw's geography has overlapped my own. Both of us grew up in New York and Southern Connecticut as kids. Both of us lived in Cleveland, and both of us had a deep attachment to the mystic beauty of the Hudson Valley region of New York State.

It was in the Hudson Valley that Artie Shaw made his most significant strides as a musician, expanding his musical style from swing to modern jazz. While living at Picardy Farm, four miles south of Pine Plains, New York, he wrote his autobiography and quietly deepened his playing, composing tunes reflective of the landscape. The first of these, entitled "The Shekomeko Shuffle" was a tongue-in-cheek tone poem describing the frustrations of having to commute from the farm, where he had felt such peace, to New York City. The tune begins and ends with a bitter quote from Stravinsky's Petrushka--but eschewing existential whining, Shaw launches into an argument that feels like an upbeat drive down the Taconic Parkway. Along the way, Shaw demonstrates how he was assimilating and transforming modern jazz influences--an expansion of jazz clarinet vocabulary that would ultimately result in the massive Last Recordings of 1953.

Shekomeko was very close to Shaw's farm--just over a few hills, in fact. Originally a Mohican village for converts of the Moravian missionaries, it was also the likely place where the fictional Natty Bumppo would have met Chingachgook in James Fenimore Cooper's Leather-Stocking tales.




The Jazz Clarinet goes to Shekomeko

Driving over the hills to the site of Shaw's old farm, I listened to tunes like "Lyric", which Shaw said was inspired by Robert Henri's quote about another painter; that he painted "like a man going over a hill, whistling." Nowhere has this music seemed more at home than these hills.




Landscape near the site of the Shaw Farm

Before this trip, I'd contacted the Library at Pine Plains, inquiring as to whether or not anyone still knew where Shaw lived, exactly, as the properties have changed hands and boundaries several times since he sold his acreage. As of this writing, I haven't gotten a reply--but I did manage to find out that his farm was located "four miles south of Pine Plains on route 82."

When I arrived at the spot along Route 82, there were a few options for potential homes. Not knowing exactly which might have been Artie's, I did the next best thing: stood alongside Route 82, by a barn that might have belonged to Artie Shaw, and played the Shekomeko Shuffle. Unless anyone can prove otherwise, I now lay claim to being the first jazz clarinetist since Shaw himself to play 'The Shekomeko Shuffle' along Route 82.




ES along Rt. 82

In one of my earliest posts on this blog, I mentioned the importance of place regarding the final Gramercy 5 recordings:

The music was intended by Shaw to sound "clear, pellucid" which he likened to the waters of a mountain lake, so pristine that you can see to the bottom. The metaphor is apt, and a worthy goal for jazz musicians: it implies a transparent honesty. Many such lakes exist up where Shaw had lived on a farm for much of the early '50s near Shekomeko, NY--a place he said he wished he could have remained.

"Picardy Farm..." he would write nearly thirty years later. "Good God, the emotions those two words evoke. The place where for the first time in my life I had found a real home, a warm sense of security, and a feeling of calm and peace of mind."

That sense of pristine beauty, clarity, and peace of mind is never far away in these recordings, and has probably never been equaled in jazz history.

Near the old Shaw farm is Taghkanic State Park, where one might experience one of those pellucid lakes. To see the morning mists turn into clouds in the sunrise at such a place, in a landscape that seems to eschew the banalities of commercialism and wrangling--somehow remaining pristine throughout it all--is to come into contact with some of the essential inspiration for Shaw's greatest music. It is a landscape that is unique for the variety of artists it has inspired: from James Fenimore Cooper's novels, to the paintings of the Hudson River school, to Artie Shaw, to Sonny Rollins.




Morning Mist over Lake Taghkanic

If I'd never gone to New Orleans, I might never have understood, on a deeper level, the roots of jazz--especially the playing of Sidney Bechet and the earliest jazz clarinetists. Likewise, going in search of Artie Shaw's farm; hearing and playing this music in this landscape, has brought me a deeper appreciation of both.

Johnny Dodds by G.E. Lambert * A.S. Barnes & Co. * 1961

That this slim paperback volume, only 88 pages total, put out as part of Barnes & Co's Perpetua "Kings of Jazz" series in 1961, is the only book length study we have of Johnny Dodds, might seem monumentally depressing if not for a couple of facts: First, sad as it might be to say, it's more than we have for Jimmie Noone. Second, while its brevity is disappointing, the content is solid and interesting.

Chapter One give a brief seventeen page outline of Dodds's life and career. Lambert discusses the racial divide in the New Orleans of Dodds's youth, with two distinct musical styles developing: one Uptown, where the black [ or "Negro"] community developed a more blues-based music, the other Downtown which favored more refined Creole orchestras. [pg 4]. Dodds operated between the two communities. As Lambert put it "Dodds himself was a Negro...but by this time a degree of mixing was standard in New Orleans bands. For example, when Johnny took his first full time professional engagement, it was with Kid Ory's band; Ory is [sic] a Creole from La Place, a small town ear New Orleans, who first brought his band into the city in 1913."

In 1920, Dodds replaced Jimmie Noone in King Oliver's Creole Orchestra in Chicago, where he entered the most noted part of his career. The roaring '20s were to be the decade in which Johnny made his mark, recording classics with King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, and Jelly Roll Morton. And while some of his work from the 1930s, when he was leading bands himself, might feature even more definitive solos for clarinetists to study, it's his work from the '20s that will undoubtedly remain the most famous.

Dodds remained in Chicago even after the center of gravity for jazz shifted to New York in the 1930s, and like so many of his generation of New Orleans style players, his contribution was too quickly neglected. Unlike some of his contemporaries, such as Sidney Bechet, Edmond Hall, Louis Armstrong, and Barney Bigard, he didn't live long enough to get a second wind with the New Orleans revival starting in the 1940s. As Lambert puts it:

"The biography of Johnny Dodds is a tragic one, rising through his quick success in New Orleans, on to the triumphant years in Chicago with the Oliver band, and the many fine recordings he made while leading his own group at Kelly's Stables, only to fade suddenly into the twilight obscurity of the last ten years of his life. He was admired by all the musicians who heard him in the early days--even Benny Goodman, a musicians far removed in style and temperament, has said that he never heard anyone get a finer tone out of the clarinet than Johnny Dodds--while the majority of his 1920 recordings are numbered among the ageless classics of jazz." [pg 16]

Lambert's analysis of Dodds's playing is keen and sensitive to fluxuations and changes throughout Chapter Two, which deals with the recordings.

In the third and final Chapter, the author offers his assessment of Dodds's contribution to jazz, and some of the points he makes are so profound, it's surprising and gratifying that anyone was publishing them in 1961. For example, when discussing the solo breaks Dodds made on the King Oliver recordings, Lambert points out:

"Almost any of the breaks by Oliver or by Dodds on these records are as perfected rhythmically as anything in later jazz, but the emphasis and the style were different, and unless we realize this we cannot help but fall into the error of constantly undervaluing the work of the New Orleans musicians. They were not simply pioneers whose place in jazz history was to pave the way for Louis Armstrong and his successors, but men with a fully developed and valid way of playing. It is true that an approach to this sort of jazz can be made neither with the techniques of the European academy, nor if one wishes to find in jazz a pleasant appendage to European culture." [pg 66-67]  

These observations are no less relevant today then when they were first published. Although it is a very slim volume, it's filled with such insights, pointing towards a reconsideration of this remarkable musician and his playing.

Fortunately for us, it will continue to be available for the foreseeable future, as Amazon now offers it in Kindle format.

Jazz Clarinet Gear Review: Introduction & 1981 Selmer 10S

[ NOTE: 'GEAR REVIEWS' ON THE JAZZ CLARINET HAVE BEEN CONSISTENTLY THE MOST VIEWED POSTS, SO I'VE DECIDED TO GO OVER THEM ONCE AGAIN, CLARIFY SOME THINGS, AND RE-POST, BEGINNING WITH THE SELMER 10S.]  


Introduction

What is a jazz clarinet?

The short answer: a clarinet played by a jazz musician.

The longer, better answer:

A jazz clarinet needs to enable the player a range of textures, flexibility, and volume needed to perform jazz.

This sort of instrument is not so easy to find as you might think, especially as most manufacturers these days are making instruments to suit a very specifically defined classical scene. I'm personally a vintage, large-bore partisan--I think the decline of the large, straight bore has accompanied, not coincidentally, the decline of the clarinet playing a dominant role in contemporary jazz. Having said that, great jazz has been made over the years on a wide array of instrument makes. Some quick history:

Benny Goodman played a Selmer L series horn in the 1930s, then the Selmer CT (or at least he endorsed them), then Buffet R13s once he'd gone into semi-retirement and was playing both classical and jazz gigs more evenly. He may have also played Boosey & Hawkes for a brief time.

Artie Shaw played Selmers with his big band. He endorsed and possibly played Conns as well. His final Gramercy 5 sessions were recorded on a Buffet.

Pete Fountain played a Leblanc Dynamic H, then his own 'Pete Fountain' model developed by Leblanc, later renamed the "Big Easy" before discontinuation after a run of about three decades.

Edmond Hall played Albert models, then a German System Hammerschmidt.

Sidney Bechet, Johnny Dodds, Omer Simeon, Jimmy Noone, Barney Bigard, Raymond Burke, and Jimmy Hamilton (early in his career) played various Albert system horns (often Selmers). These are instruments with a large, straighter bore than most clarinets played today. You'll note that this list contains many of the great New Orleans players--the NOLA sound is dominantly Albert system.

Dr. Michael White, who continues the New Orleans jazz clarinet tradition, has performed and recorded on many makes of clarinet, most recently a Wurlitzer Reform-Boehm, which is a hybrid of German bore with French Boehm-style keywork.

Eddie Daniels has made masterful jazz on a variety of clarinets over the years, including Yamahas, Leblancs, Buffets, and Backun clarinet. 

I've played jazz on several makes over the last few decades and thought my impressions might be of some help or interest to other jazz clarinet fans out there, begining with my first:


1981 Selmer Series 10S

The Selmer 10S was the first pro clarinet I ever purchased, at age 14. Looking for a free blowing horn that could match the sort of Big Band era timbre of Artie Shaw and Benny Goodman, it was chosen from a batch of several horns, including a 1980's era Buffet, a pre-R13 Buffet, and a Yamaha.

1981 Selmer Series 10S

The chalumeau of this horn is very liquid, mellow, and bulbous. It has a nice 'boom' to the sound and 'jumps' well in the chalumeau and clarion (that Selmer 'shout' Artie Shaw used to mention). Intonation in the very low chalumeau is tough, like most clarinets. (For what it's worth, and probably due to my playing style, I tend to find modern polycyclindricals a little harder to play in tune than straight bores--the angle of the horn probably has a good deal to do with it--I've always felt most comfortable holding the horn out like early Benny Goodman or Artie Shaw).

The clarion is really nice on this horn--great mellow quality, like the chalumeau. Everything matches well, timbrally. It's very warm, yet perhaps the sound doesn't yield the same 'crackle' or quite the same depth that the CT does when pushed. This isn't a big problem, though--the character of this horn is warmth, and that's not a bad thing!

The altissimo is a pure, 'fretless' Selmer altissimo. No clarinets are better at delivering this violin-like quality, where glissandi are possible, with a tremendous amount of power.

Bottom line: For me, this horn is excellent in many ways. It has the shout, the punch, and mellowness associated with the Selmers of old (though even the 10S is getting more scarce on the used market). Highly recommended for jazz, with the caveat that those who want a wider color palette will probably prefer a CT.

The Edmond Hall Sextet * Rompin in '44 * The Complete Session * Circle Records

Few windplayers had as immediately identifiable a sound as Edmond Hall. Gritty, warm, earthy, by turns biting and tender, he was a stellar sideman--perhaps best remembered today for his tenure with Louis Armstrong's All-Stars. He'd be even better remembered today had he taken Duke Ellington's offer to replace Barney Bigard in the early '40s. Instead, he stayed with Teddy Wilson's group at New York's Café Society. This was, for Hall, an artistic decision, and ultimately one we can all be glad he made. According to Frank Driggs, who wrote the liner notes to the album reviewed here, Hall considered playing with Wilson the zenith of his career. He wasn't the only jazz clarinetist to feel strongly about Wilson's playing, though, and when Benny Goodman managed to convince Teddy to return to his band for another stint, Hall was left to lead his own group.

A New Orleans native, Hall maintained the traditional front line of trumpet, trombone, and clarinet, but with a twist: instead of playing NOLA style polyphony, with the trumpet taking the vocal lead, he tended to mute the trumpet for color, as Artie Shaw had done with his Gramercy 5, and work from the type of head arrangements that both the Gramercy 5 and the Benny Goodman Sextet favored. The end result is something rare and exceptional: Hall's New Orleans "talking" quality fused with streamlined swing.  The group played the Café Society and, brilliant as they were, struggled to record. Ultimately, they landed only one date: December 4, 1944. Hall didn't waste his opportunity: during that session he laid down no less than three classics of the jazz clarinet canon--"Caravan," "Besame Mucho," and "The Man I Love." While many other clarinetists have successfully recorded these numbers, none have surpassed Hall's depth of soul and originality.

The session took place in New York City, under the supervision of Milt Gabler of World Broadcasting Systems. Hall's band at the time was comprised of Irving Randolph on trumpet, Henderson Chambers on Trombone, Ellis Larkins on piano, Johnny Williams on bass, and Art Trappier on drums. They had from 3 to 6 p.m. During that time, they recorded the following numbers:


Opus 15
The Sheik of Araby (four takes)
Night and Day (two takes)
I Want To Be Happy
The Man I Love (a false start and two takes)
Rompin' in '44 (a false start and three takes)
Caravan (three takes)
Besame Mucho (a false start and one brilliant take)
Face


For some unknown, blessed reason, in 1983 Circle Records released the entire recording session on LP [CLP-52], though it has not, to my knowledge, been rereleased.  This was perhaps the most important session of Hall's career as a leader. He was surrounded by sympathetic musicians of a high caliber, especially the brilliant Ellis Larkins on piano. The Circle disc contains all incomplete takes, false starts, and unissued takes--giving us a window into Hall's creative approach (his opening improvisation on "The Sheik of Araby" for instance, was carefully worked out before the session. As Duke Ellington once pointed out, the emphasis on coming up with solos on the spot is perhaps exaggerated--whether one comes up with a solo a day before or a second before, the important thing is to have come up with it).

This recording has been long out of print, and is very difficult to obtain.

For historic value and brilliance of material, this gets a top rating of Five Good Reeds.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia

Jazz Clarinet Question & Answer: School Jazz Band: Clarinets Need Not Apply?

This past weekend a reader of The Jazz Clarinet contacted me about an issue that is rather close to my heart:


Hi Eric,

I stumbled on to your blog "The Jazz Clarinet", so far I'm really enjoying it. Thank you. I have a question for you. My son is 12, he has played clarinet since the 4th grade (he's now in 7th). He is quite good, he has a nice natural feel, or so I think, I am a lifetime guitarist. He isn't able to join jazz band at school until next year, but his teacher suggested he learn sax since they do not have clarinet in the jazz band! He and I are both a bit confused by this. I have exposed him to Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman and the jazz of the 20's-40's. So, for now I would like to get him started myself on learning jazz clarinet, particularly improvising. Do you have any suggestions on book, ways to teach him jazz?

Thanks for your time.

Sincerely,
M. C.

***

 

 

Thanks for reading, M.C.!

 

Both the question and my ultimate advice on this matter require a decent amount of historical and personal background. It's a question that comes up frequently among jazz clarinetists, and one I've wanted to address for awhile now in more depth.

 

First, there is a long history of saxophone/clarinet doubling in jazz band history. While the Swing Era (circa 1935-46) has rightly been considered the golden era of jazz clarinet, it's important to realize that only two of the top bandleaders--Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw--were full time, virtuoso clarinetists. Others band leaders associated with the instrument (such as Jimmy Dorsey and Woody Herman), were almost invariably doublers, and equally invariably sounded better on saxophone than clarinet.

 

To play clarinet within the saxophone section was a standard double for many bands. Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Harry James and most other bands employed reed doublers, often hiring important jazz clarinetists such as Barney Bigard, Jimmy Hamilton, and even Lester Young to do so (Prez was not only one of the greatest tenor players ever, but a fairly interesting clarinet soloist too).

 

Up through the 1940s, clarinet parts were an important part of jazz band arrangements. This started to change sometime shortly after WWII, though the reasons for it are vague. As early as the 1950s, publications like DownBeat were wondering why the clarinet was losing prominence in the jazz world. As a touchstone for historical trends we might look to arguably the most important Big Band album of the decade, 1958's Atomic Basie, which featured an array of now classic, benchmark arrangements by Neal Hefti--none of which called for a clarinet. To my knowledge, no one ever complained.  

 

The 1950s also saw an exodus of Big Band alumni, now looking for work and stability, into the ranks of public school teachers. The impact of these musicians on our culture has been profoundly positive. If the Big Band has been preserved, it has been largely through High School educators and their college counterparts since the 1950s. Unfortunately, though, the need for a large number of simple, educational arrangements and methods coincided with a trend away from clarinets in the jazz band. The vast resources of jazz educational literature that have developed since then have tended to neglect instruments that weren't fashionable during the 1950s. That means that if a student plays clarinet or banjo (both of which are musically essential and culturally important to early jazz), he or she is generally asked to switch to saxophone or guitar. 

 

Ordinarily, this is no big deal. Most 12 year olds who want to play jazz aren't in love with a certain instrument, and just want to be in the band. But there are important exceptions.

 

Imagine a girl who has a natural coloratura soprano voice, trying out for the school musical, only to be told she has to sing mezzo--because those are the only roles they intend to do. Or imagine a boy who can sing countertenor told he has to be a Heldentenor. In such situations, you'd hope the music director would have the sense to use the talent they have, rather than slotting people into roles that go against their natural abilities.

 

Instrumental music is not quite so dependent upon natural endowment as these: it is true that a kid can generally hold an alto as well as they can hold a clarinet. Still there are natural traits, and even basic attractions to an instrument, that ought not be ignored. It's relatively rare for a kid to be able to play easily over "the break" early on, or cover the open holes of a clarinet deftly, or reach into the altissimo without instruction. I was like this, and therefore could have been one of those kids put in a bind wanting to play jazz. Which brings me to the personal part of this response.

 

The question of doubling came at around the same age for me. By 13, I had been casually transcribing jazz for a few years (though I wouldn't have known the word for it--I just copied recordings for fun), I had learned to improvise some basic blues, and was reaching into the altissimo as a regular feature of my improvisations. When the question of whether or not I should switch to saxophone to follow my love of jazz came up (this was in the mid-1980s), I was fortunate to have asked the question in the company of  some old New York veterans of the Big Bands, and a unique trumpet maker named Jerome Callet.

 

Callet, who has a specialty of teaching altissimo trumpet, put it best when he heard me play at age 13 and said "He has a natural sound on the clarinet: don't ruin that. Let him develop his voice." This concept of personal voice and distinctive sound is unfortunately growing less common, and I fear that if we lose it, as a society we're going to opt even more for a utilitarian approach to music rather than something that enhances basic human dignity. While this might sound very heady, the old jazz musicians I spent time with as a kid felt exactly this way, and often expressed it in similar terms--they saw voice and sound development as spiritually and culturally important. Rather than becoming cogs in a wheel (as classical orchestras have too often turned into), the jazz community was supposed to be a bastion for respecting and encouraging the unique and personal.     

 

Fortunately, my High School Band director agreed with these assessments--he was one of those enlightened jazz musicians too--and while our school didn't have a jazz band, he comped for me daily during Study Hall, featuring me during Concert Band concerts. He also lobbied at the County Band level, suggesting to those who ran the auditions that I might perform as a "featured soloist" if there were no charts with clarinet. I continued this approach at music camps, and was never turned down.

 

It has been my experience that jazz band directors are among the more open minded people in this world; usually quite enthusiastic about what they do. Jazz is a medium that prizes originality, risk-taking, creativity, and non-conformism--it's one of the few paths in our education system that actually encourages many of these qualities.  If a kid really wants to play jazz clarinet, or tuba, or flute, unless you're dealing with one of the very worst personalities in the music education business (and if so, I haven't met them yet), chances are they're going to reward that enthusiasm and determination with a chance.

 

My advice: If you're a kid who is addicted to Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw; if you're wailing the blues on the clarinet and feel great doing it; don't feel you need to switch to sax. When all is said and done, there probably will come a time when you play sax (even Benny and Artie did--and so have I), but if you really feel the clarinet is your thing, let your band director know. Tell him or her about the recordings you're into, and how much they mean to you. Suggest that you might read out of a trumpet or tenor sax book, if it's a question of method materials. Show that you're willing to be flexible. Chances are your band director will be impressed and want to encourage such enthusiasm.  

 

If it doesn't work out, and you have a very rare closed minded teacher to deal with, well, then  you have to look at your options again. Playing sax can be an extremely valuable experience, and even help your clarinet playing, so there is certainly more than one way of looking at this. But for me, a decisive moment happened when I asked this very question: it was a moment when a bunch of enlightened jazz musicians heard me and said my "voice" was important and worth something. A kid doesn't forget that lesson any time soon, believe me.

 

Best of luck to your son, M.C. Keep swinging, and please let us know how it turns out.

 

 

Eric

 

Book Review : Tom Sancton * Song for My Fathers: A New Orleans Story in Black and White

Jazz clarinetists are particularly fortunate when it comes to autobiographies. Contributions to the genre include some of the most important players in the history of the instrument: Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Barney Bigard, Woody Herman, Pete Fountain, and Mezz Mezzrow have each published volumes, and at least one of them—Sidney Bechet’s Treat It Gentle—ought to be considered a masterpiece of American literature in its own right. Among the more recent books written by jazz clarinetists, however, is an extremely important memoir by Tom Sancton: New Orleans native, one time Paris Bureau chief for Time magazine, and trad jazz clarinetist.

Sancton’s book is entitled Song for My Fathers: A NewOrleans Story in Black and White (Other Press, New York, 2006). Beginning with the New Orleans jazz funeral of Doc Celestin on December 18, 1954, we’re given more than a glimpse into a crucial two decades of Crescent City history, unfolding through the eyes of young Tom Sancton. Son of a reporter and aspiring novelist, whose mother was a southern belle, he is thrown into the world of Creole and black jazz musicians during the foundation of Preservation Hall. His perspective is unique: a white kid in that milieu, at a point in time that will never be repeated—when musicians like George Lewis, Creole George Guesnon and Sweet Emma Barrett pioneered the early jazz revival.

The book is masterful, combining many genres seamlessly. A coming of age story, a chronicle, an analysis of oral tradition music making, with the flair and page-turning quality of a novel, this is simply one of the best books about jazz, and about New Orleans, I’ve ever read. Through much of it, Sancton’s adolescence on display as he learns to play clarinet, falls in love for the first time, and tries to balance his passion for jazz with school and other obligations. We overhear him taking music lessons from Lewis and Guesnon; in the process becoming privy to their struggles, ambivalences, and hesitations, as they were finally showcased and given a share of success for the music they helped pioneer and preserve. Throughout the book, the figure of his father looms large: the younger Sancton’s admiration, then disillusionment, with his father is skillfully and poignantly told, settling into a sober middle aged reassessment. None of this interferes with the musical aspect of the story—instead, like the quality of New Orleans jazz itself, Sancton’s life and the music become inseparable.

Like Sidney Bechet’s autobiography, this written demonstration of the life becoming the music, and the two flowing in and out of each other, is the most remarkable aspect of the book. Anyone who seriously involves themselves with New Orleans jazz must eventually come to this conclusion: it is the life one lives, and the depth of one’s soul, that must come through the music. There is no faking it. And Tom Sancton fakes nothing: you can smell the Zatarain’s, feel the humidity, taste the danger of bullets being thrown during a parade, get lost in the tunes—you can experience with him a type of hero worship turning bitter, then mellowed, then resolving into something like pure gratitude. I picked this volume up on the recommendation of a friend from NOLA, and at first wasn’t so sure what to think. It ended up giving me a far deeper appreciation of music, life, and the relationship of the two.

[ This review first published in the September 2015 edition of the EARLYJAS Rag ]

Jazz Clarinet Timeline to 1961

Jazz Clarinet history, like all others, has certain benchmarks and watershed moments that are of great importance to both the development of the instrument and the overall trajectory of jazz. That this timeline isn't as well known as, say, the jazz trumpet timeline is not because ours is so insignificant--it's mainly because trumpet players have done a better job of educating their audience. The average jazz aficionado knows "Buddy Bolden--King Oliver--Louis Armstrong--Cootie Williams--Roy Eldridge--Dizzy Gillespie--Clifford Brown--Miles Davis--Wynton Marsalis" and can recite similar genealogies with the precision of a Biblical scholar. The clarinet list can be a bit more complicated, but is no less impressive in its own way.

Being familiar with the timeline helps us put artists into context, and understand the importance of the instrument's place in our culture. For the performer, this can give a glimpse into the type of musical symbolism that the horn holds to the greater public.

Some of the important dates on the Jazz Clarinet Timeline are well known. Mention 1938, and most informed jazz fans could tell you about Benny Goodman's Carnegie Hall Concert. Others are less well known.

Here is a basic history of jazz clarinet, with an emphasis on recorded efforts:

Pre-1922--Picou and Tio

New Orleans is the birthplace of jazz, and therefore the birthplace of jazz clarinet. The talking style of playing, the richness of the chalumeau, and the emphasis on full, round sound that can also cut when necessary are all legacies of New Orleans. Players and teachers such as Alphonse Picou and Lorenzo Tio shaped the tradition which was to follow, with Tio in particular teaching many of the NOLA masters of the first generation of recorded jazz clarinetists.

Sidney Bechet

Though he first recorded in 1923, a year affer Leon Roppolo, Bechet was a major musical figure in the United States and Europe prior to that session. It's impossible to exaggerate his importance, not only to clarinet history, but to saxophone and jazz history overall. Bechet has been called the first jazz musician to have a fully developed solo style, and Duke Ellington referred to him as the foundation and symbol of jazz. Of particular interest to the clarinetist are recordings such as 'Blue Horizon', and his duo recordings with another great New Orleans clarinetist, Albert Nicholas (on 'Old Stack O'Lee Blues', Bechet takes the second solo). But honestly, his complete recordings are a must for any serious clarinets. We can't can afford to ignore the depth, soul, and humanity of Sidney Bechet's playing, regardless of the era in which we hear him. In addition to his music making, his autobiography, Treat it Gentle, remains arguably the greatest book written on jazz.


1922--Leon Roppolo

Outside of specialists in early jazz, Leon Roppolo is little mentioned these days. As clarinetist for the New Orleans Rhythm Kings his playing was remarkable and foundational for his influence on Benny Goodman. His altissimo flexibility and overall control is generally overlooked today, but speaks to a much longer history of jazz clarinet excellence, even on a technical level, than is generally recognized. His playing had an impact on several players, including Irving Fazola, Benny Goodman, and Pete Fountain.



1925-27--Johnny Dodds records with Louis Armstrong's Hot Fives.

With the recordings of Johnny Dodds, we have access to an important figure in New Orleans jazz. The Hot Fives recordings made with Louis Armstrong are among the most influential in history, not simply because Armstrong was so important, but the ensemble was as well. Dodds's violin-esque flexibility and core sound are apparent on tunes like 'Lonesome Blues'.

And while the Hot Fives recordings remain his most famous recordings, his work with King Oliver was exceptional as well, not to mention sessions he lead himself. 

1926-27--Omer Simeon's Hot Peppers Sessions

Omer Simeon was, in the words of Barney Bigard, an "unsung hero." The sessions Simeon recorded with Jelly Roll Morton displayed a clarinetist with unique polish and subtlety of phrasing ability. (For a good example, check out 'Black Bottom Stomp'). From the outset, the notion of rough, out of tune, unprofessional playing as being somehow the legacy of early jazz is thrown out the window. Simeon's playing proves that soul and technique are not opposed--and like Roppolo, he helped provide a jazz basis for the polished elements, without resorting to a European classical approach.


1928-1930--Jimmie Noone leads a band at the Apex Club in Chicago

Like Simeon and Roppolo, Jimmie Noone's playing is a testament to the unity of technique and soul. Sweet, fluent, and strong at the same time, Noone brought a new level of virtuosity to the jazz clarinet. His chalumeau technique, known for rapid triplet figurations, is rightly singled out, yet perhaps overemphasized, as his flexibility between the altissimo, clarion, and chalumeau was equally impressive. His relentless pursuit of technical mastery lead him to take lessons from Franz Schoepp, teacher of Buster Bailey and the young Benny Goodman, even as he worked as a professional.

Noone's achievement has been too often overlooked. This is partly because he has had few imitators. His playing was at such a high level that few amateurs can approach it, and all too often the New Orleans/Chicago style has been maintained by dedicated amateurs who, admirable as their intent might be, tend to preserve best what they can themselves imitate. On top of this, Noone tends to be overshadowed by the person who learned from him most: Benny Goodman, who not only also studied with Schoepp, but was influenced by Noone's playing in his native Chicago.
   

1935--Benny Goodman on the "Let's Dance" Program

When a young Benny Goodman was chosen to lead one of the three bands featured on the nationally broadcast "Let's Dance" program, it was a major moment in the history of jazz. In the battle between "commercial" sweet bands and driving "hot" bands, Benny's was the vanguard of uncompromising swing. With a trumpet section that often included driving players like Bunny Berigan, Nick Kazebier, and Pee Wee Erwin, a sax section lead by Hymie Schertzer, Gene Krupa driving from the drummer's chair, and Benny himself playing more virtuosic horn than anyone had ever heard in a jazz band, the Goodman sound was crystallized as a hard hitting, driving force.


1935-36--Goodman's Broadcasts from the Congress Hotel in Chicago

These broadcasts, and this band, were singled out decades later as Goodman's favorite. He encouraged jazz fans to give them another listen, and hear how the band played for the love of the music rather than for mere commercial gain or star status. Fortunately, many excellent recordings still exist from air checks and studio recordings of that time. Historically speaking, it was this band that drove a young Artie Shaw to abandon his "first retirement" when he heard his old rival over the radio one night, as he was driving through the Pennsylvania hills to a farmhouse he was soon to sell.

Spring, 1936-- Artie Shaw's 'Interlude in B-flat'

At the Imperial Theatre in New York, Shaw made his first of many returns to the music business with a composition of his own, entitled Interlude in B-flat for clarinet, strings and piano-less rhythm section. Complimented by George Gershwin after the performance, the piece propelled Shaw into the national discussion and still serves as an anthology of early jazz clarinet techniques, a display of liquid virtuosity, and a precursor to what was later called "Third Stream" (though Shaw himself rejected both the term and most of the music later produced under that label).


August 1936--The Goodman Quartet formed

Arguably the most important small group in the history of clarinet jazz, and among a handful of the most important small groups in the history of music. Goodman's Quartet with Teddy Wilson, Lionel Hampton, and Gene Krupa expanded jazz technically, soulfully, and socially.


1937-39-- The Camel Caravan ("Camel Hot Club") Radio Program

Benny's influence over the airwaves continued through the late 1930s. Using his popularity as a bully pulpit for jazz, Goodman put together an entertaining weekly show featuring his band, his quartet, and the songwriting abilities of Johnny Mercer. Central to the theme of the show was the shtick of Benny as a light hearted professor of jazz--but the history lessons, thin though they might seem by today's standards, were real attempts at raising awareness. A young Pete Fountain listened every week to this broadcast.

January 16, 1938--Goodman leads the First All-Jazz Concert at Carnegie Hall

The shot heard round the jazz world. With this, jazz entered the discussion of serious art music--a discussion that has not always benefited jazz musically, but in many ways has helped preserve the art when popular trends pulled a gullible public away. Once again, Benny's penchant for educating his audience was on display, as he presented not only his own band, but a retrospective which included nods to Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke, Count Basie (who also performed that night with Goodman), and members of the Ellington band. The Goodman band was not perfect on this night, but several performances, chief among them "Sing Sing Sing" were so profound as to demonstrate the range and depth of American jazz. Goodman, Harry James, and Jess Stacy's solos from that number in particular rival anything written by the highly respected classical composers whose music graced the venue.

Christmas, 1938-Artie Shaw performs 'The Blues' at Carnegie Hall

1938 was a high water mark for the rivalry between Goodman and Shaw. Artie took over the charts that year when his arrangement of a little known Cole Porter tune, 'Begin the Beguine' rocketed him to number one in the nation. From that point on, battle lines were drawn in the press and the public imagination. The year that held so many great musical moments for jazz clarinet, beginning with Goodman's triumph at Carnegie Hall, ended with Shaw's own masterful performance in the same venue.

1940-The first Gramercy 5 is formed

In the Fall of 1940, Artie Shaw called together members of his band to form a "chamber jazz" group that would feature his clarinet, plus muted trumpet, guitar, bass, drums, and, of all instruments, harpsichord--one of the most unique combinations of the era. Like Goodman's Quartet, it diverged from the New Orleans line-up popular since the days of King Oliver. Among the first singles recorded, the blues tune "Summit Ridge Drive" (named for Shaw's home address where the group had rehearsed) became a million seller.

The various Gramercy 5s that Shaw was to assemble over the next fourteen years were to feature some of his finest music--and come closest to his own unyielding artistic goals.


1944--Rompin' with Edmond Hall

By 1944, New Orleans clarinetist Edmond Hall (best know for his work with Louis Armstrong) had absorbed the influence of Goodman and Shaw, fusing it with his own inimitable warmth, to produce some of the greatest (and most neglected) swing era jazz clarinet. The recording sessions for "Rompin' in '44" provide a unique glimpse into this rare genius. There are few jazz musicians who have ever transcended their era--growing into different styles beyond their first popularity. Goodman never convincingly grew into a bebop player, nor did Louis Armstrong, for instance. Of the great jazz clarinetists, the two who stand out most in this regard are Shaw (who was able to expand his musical language indefinitely) and Hall, whose unique brand of NOLA swing remains a benchmark for soulful performance. His 1944 sessions produced many masterpieces, among them cuts of "Caravan" and "Besame Mucho" which have never been surpassed.

1947-48--The unlikely career and tragic death of Stan Hasselgård

In 1947, a young Swede named Åke "Stan" Hasselgård relocated to New York, in order to fully pursue his passion for jazz. Possessing a full sound reminiscent of the swing masters, he began immediately absorbing the more cutting-edge bebop language of the day, making him one of the few boppers who maintained a jazz-based clarinet sound, rather than approaching the horn from a classical angle. He was given the rare honor of being invited to join the Benny Goodman Sextet, and we are fortunate to have live recordings of that unique ensemble. On November 23, 1948 he was tragically killed in a car accident outside of Decatur, Illinois, but before this happened he had already pointed a way for modern jazz clarinet.

April 23, 1949--Buddy DeFranco records as a leader. 

One of the longest and most critically decorated tenures for a jazz clarinetist began in 1949, when a 26 year old Buddy DeFranco recorded a set of modern jazz tunes with an orchestra including such luminaries as Lee Konitz, Irv Kluger, and Serge Chaloff. The intelligent, virtuosic approach of DeFranco proved conclusively what the foreshortened career of Stan Hasselgård only hinted at: that the clarinet was a worthy vehicle for modern jazz of all varieties.

Despite the overwhelming evidence he commited to record, his vaste acheivement has yet to be properly assessed. Anyone who thinks the clarinet disappeared after the swing era must simply be ignorant of Buddy's work.      

1953--Buddy DeFranco: Mr. Clarinet

After "The King of Swing" and "King of the Clarinet" the name "Mr. Clarinet" sounds both bold and humble, simultaneously. The boldness is justified, as this, perhaps more than any recordings before it, threw down the bebop gauntlet. The quartet album is crammed with classic takes--including such essential tracks as "Buddy's Blues", "Ferdinando", and "It Could Happen to You", with Buddy joined by Art Blakey, Milt Hinton, and Kenny Drew.

1953 - Tony Scott: The Brunswick Sessions

One of the most unique and wide ranging jazz clarinetists in history, Tony Scott, made his debut recordings as a Quartet leader with his Brunswick sessions. Released under various titles, these sessions gave a new shape to modern jazz clarinet - lyrical, probing, insistent and often extreme in register and volume, Scott might be compared to Miles Davis if Buddy DeFranco was Dizzy Gillespie. Like DeFranco, his existence and long catalog of masterful albums contradicts the narrative that clarinet was no longer represented in jazz after the Swing Era.   


1954--The Final Gramercy 5 sessions

Among the very finest jazz clarinet recordings ever made, these last recordings of the enigmatic Artie Shaw were recorded after weeks of meticulous, paid rehearsal--highly unusual for that era. It seems Shaw deliberately recorded his "whole book" before saying goodbye to the world of creative music making. The four CDs worth of material left to us from those sessions serve as both a retrospective and precursor to much of what followed in modern jazz. 

When these were released in the 1990s, Shaw gave his opinion on the history of jazz since the final Gramercy 5, an opinion that perhaps sheds considerable light on jazz clarinet, and why it might have struggled since then:

"Isn't it interesting--here we are, almost 40 years later, and the records still hold up. [...] Not a lot has happened in jazz since 1954, except that it got more esoteric and hate-filled. I don't know what's going on in the music now. Music is not a political instrument; if you want to do that, you write the 'Horst Wessel Song' or the 'Star Spangled Banner', neither of which has very much to do with music. Look at the Russians with their painting--when it becomes 'socialist realism', come on, you're dealing with caricature." 

For those who can read between the lines, this is a highly compact and bracing indictment of much of the more ideologically driven jazz since 1954. For the jazz clarinetist, it's worth thinking through in particular, as esoteric and angry "hate-filled" music seem even less congruent with a deep understanding of our instrument than others.



1959--Pete Fountain's Tetralogy

In 1959, Pete Fountain came to his famous realization that "Champagne and Bourbon don't mix", decided that Hollywood just wasn't for him, and packed his family for the return trip to New Orleans. But before he left, he cut two very important albums. The first, Pete Fountain's New Orleans, seamlessly blended Pete's New Orleans style clarinet with a cool, West Coast rhythm section. It went on to become one of Fountain's best selling records, and is still available for download over sixty years later. The second, equally impressive despite having sadly slipped into obscurity, is Pete's first collaboration with the large ensemble scoring of Charles 'Bud' Dant, entitled The Blues.

After arriving in New Orleans, Pete quickly recorded two others--Live at the Bateau Lounge and Pete Fountain Day. Both of these are out of print, which is a major problem for clarinetists hoping to get a full picture of Fountain's brilliance as a jazz musician. These four remarkable albums recorded in five months are referred to here as Pete Fountain's Tetralogy.

 

Without question, Pete Fountain was the most successful jazz clarinetist with the general public since the days of Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw. That he didn't play bebop, and that his commercial success has sometimes been fueled by Nashville arrangements and easy listening albums, has often lead to his neglect by establishment critics. Yet few of his detractors have noticed two very important things: first, that the two biggest criticisms of Pete Fountain's style (that he is either too traditional or not traditional enough) are contradictory, and second, that his fusion of traditional New Orleans jazz with West Coast cool jazz and Nashville were as brilliant as Edmond Hall's fusion of NOLA and 'hot' swing.

 

The Tetralogy in particular forms a body of impressive work that ought to be required listening for all jazz clarinetists. 

 

Pete Fountain's massive recorded output over the next several decades accomplished more than stylistic fusion: he kept alive the tradition of jazz clarinet sound, steeped in both New Orleans tradition (from Irving Fazola's influence) and swing (from Benny Goodman). That the public has preferred this beautiful style of playing is worth noting and carrying forward.  

 

 

1959-61--Bill Smith's Trilogy with Dave Brubeck

In one of the rare blessed moments for a jazz clarinetist since 1954, Bill Smith managed to get three albums of his own compositions recorded with a top modern jazz ensemble: the Dave Brubeck Quartet. The resulting records (The Riddle, Brubeck a la Mode, and Near-Myth) presented some of the most interesting and satisfying jazz clarinet of any era.

 

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[This is a revision of the original timeline published back in 2013]

[Part 2 of this Timeline will consider the developments in the world of Jazz Clarinet since 1961]