Tatum - "Yesterdays" live TV 1954

Let's have a look at Art Tatum in action. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a video is probably worth a thousand times times that - is that a million? Who cares? It's the lesson of a lifetime in three minutes. It's like a great painting you can keep returning to again and again, and still find new things in it you never appreciated before.

We know this arrangement was one of Tatum's 'party pieces', specialties that any solo performer must have. He recorded it many times. But in Tatum there is always improvisation in the sense that he is making everything sound fresh, and the differences and moods between versions become more apparent, the more you get to know him. Listen to the way he plays along the with the house band, playing their "we're back on" cue after commercials; making his own segue into his classic version of "Yesterdays". There is the whole history of jazz piano here, looking both forward and backward at the same time, but always so hip. The word 'stride' even seems inadequate. Hear the Monk-like seconds clusters? He was a big influence on the beboppers; that story about Bird getting a job as a dishwasher so he could listen to Tatum play every night. He wanted to be able to play his alto like Tatum's right hand.

This was recorded on Spike Jones' TV show in 1954 (he would pass away only months later, in 1956).

 

Just now in writing this post, checking the link from my YT channel to this post and listening to the track again, I thought it sounded 'too' fast, even for Tatum. Mechanically, unnaturally fast. Sure enough, after checking, it's sounding in Eb minor, instead of D minor. The pitch is wrong; we can see that he's definitely playing in Dm. And I'm sure all pianos were A=440 by the mid-50s.

I don't know why I didn't pick it straight away...but there ain't no perfect pitch in my 'shed. And no one said a word in the comments on YT. Where are all the perfect pitch people? 32,500 views so far, and not one soul picked it up.

I've now checked my original video file, then got out the DVD and checked that; both Ebm. Then I looked at other Tatum clips or docos on YT—all are Ebm. What's going on? Can everything on the internet and media be sourced from that one clip? (it comes from "Tatum Art" box set, Storyville Records 1088603, 2008). Maybe that's a sign of just how narrow our 'net' really is. Anyway, I'll be working towards getting a true key of Dm version out soon, somehow, once I figure out how to detune a video down a semitone.

As expected Tatum's harmonies are unusual. Let's look at the opening bars of the melody.
This the original Jerome Kern:

Notice the movement is from Cm in the first bar, to Fm6 in the second - not the more modern interpretation Dm7b5 | G7b9. This is because there is no implied G7, no B natural in that second bar. That is a clue that Kern was after a modal effect, a pivoting or rocking from the tonic Cm (C-Eb-G) to the Fm6/Ddim (D-F-Ab), a I-II swaying. The only difference between the Fm6 and Dm7b5 is what bass note you have: if an F in the bass, it's an Fm6; if a D, then a Dm7b5. Note the slight ambiguity here in Kern's bass figures, almost like the second bar is | Fm6-Dm7b5-Fm6-Dm7b5 |. This is also because the melody note is an F, so he doesn't keep that F in the bass.

Now let's check out Tatum's version compared to the original Kern harmonies for these first two bars. Because I think Tatum's choices had a lot to do with the natural resonances of the actual piano pitches, as well as finger/hand feeling, I'm transposing the Kern up a tone to Dm, so we can contrast with Tatum's take on the harmony:

That's a pretty interesting re-harmonization. Those sixths in the left hand were a common feature of Tatum's left hand chordal concept. I've called them 'diminished', but notice there is no 5th or flat 5th; we could just as easily call it Bbm6 - Am6. In fact if we played an E on the Bb it doesn't sound right, likewise an Eb on the A. So they're neither really 'diminished' or 'minor 6ths' in the strict sense. This Bbm6 voicing is like the top half of an Eb9, the Am6 likewise D9. But theoretical 'missing notes' from chords is what the palette of harmony is meant to be about. Sometimes two notes is all you need.

Tatum could easily span the Ab-C tenth on the Ab6 (sounding more like an Abma7 with the melody note G) although here it looks like he could be playing the C with the right hand. But he could play all 12 major 10ths - bang, down straight. Wouldn't that be a nice ability to have? To be able to nail every major tenth with the left hand, without having to roll/fake them.

As for the G7b5 - well the Db is so low it's a kind of a toss up between G7b5 and Db7b5. Half and half, top 'n' bottom. I've seen this voicing in Johnny Richards charts, in "Monk's Mood", a very ''40s' early bop sound with the low b5 (Db) almost in competition with the root (G). Usually the b5 on a dominant 7th will be more like a #11, that is, an 11th away from the root tone or fundamental. Here it's right up against it. And the Db in this context is kinda sounding like the C# of A7, the leading tone to get back to Dm again.

Sure, Tatum played this arrangement over and over, refining it over the years. But isn't that what 'living' arranging really is - making something that's basically worked-out come alive and fresh, like the performer just thought of it?

Chord Symbols - A Majority of One

Chord Symbol Nomenclature (Part Two)

Over the years I've gone through different phases of chord symbol thinking, virtually going full circle. Before computers, arrangers of course wrote out everything by hand. Type-set or printed music belonged to sheet music and a published orchestrations, not the sort of 'everyday' arranging that might be needed for a 30-second commercial here, a sting for a radio or TV show there; a chart for big band, strings and vocalist, or a new jazz chart written in a few short hours by some genius in the back of the bus on the way to the next gig.

Even so, there are still many situations where you need to write out some changes or a lead sheet by hand. I must have written out the changes to "Autumn Leaves" and similar standards a hundred times or more, in various situations, over the years. When you're writing fast and it's gonna be played in five minutes, those chord symbols have to be recognized instantly. Nowadays, when I try to write a lead sheet fast by hand, by the time I get to the bridge, I'm almost getting RSI.

My last hand-written big band chart must have been about the mid-'90s. I'm don't know if it's 'better' to use computers for composing and arranging, at least for jazz. Back then, it all had to be worked out in your head, and you wrote it down, refining as best you could. Now, I can lay down some ideas like a potter throws down a lump of clay on his wheel; then press playback and instantly hear what I  wrote. One thing is, I am so glad I learned to do it the old-fashioned way first.
 
Besides the sheer time-saving aspects of the modern PC - mainly copy/paste - there is one important advantage computers have over handwritten parts, especially for larger groups. When writing out separate instrumental parts from a score, an occasional hazard is you get missing bars, missing dynamics, slurs, all kinds of notations that the copyist sometimes doesn't exactly reproduce on every part. On the computer you write the score which instantly extracts parts, so you can avoid those basic kinds of errors. What you see on the score is what the parts will look like: you can see at a glance that all the sections have the same indications.

So now I would like to look at what happened at a key moment in chord symbol history, from the late '70s, when 'The Real Book' via Berklee entered the Jazzgeist. Man, did that book get around - for something meant to be sold under the counter. (I think they just raised the level of the counter.) Suddenly, everyone had a copy and everyone was playing the same songs, the same blues, the same standards, the same Bird tunes. Hey, let's narrow down the repertoire, let's dumb it right down! Praise the Lord, now we had our very own playbook! Our own book of Revelation!

Now, just on a whim, after writing these words, I got to thinking about the awakened ones who know about Gematria and just how important numbers are to our world. Gematria is the ancient practice of coding words into numbers, sort of like numerology, but with much more practical applications. So I decided to compare the Gematria of "Revelation" with "The Real Book", and lo and behold, look what I found:

Around this time the use of the triangle symbol for major, and the minus sign or dash for minor, starting to become common practice within the jazz community. Now just in case you're thinking I don't approve of the triangle and dash, I'd like to dispel that notion completely. I used them for years, and still do when quickly handwriting chord charts; but when I first went to computers I found these symbols didn't always decode as fonts properly in PDFs, so I went back to the old Cma7, Cm7. After a while I realized that the general musical public, aka one's customers, didn't always understand what was meant by the triangle and the dash anyway, so that in itself was for me a big reason to go back to the standard symbols.

But that's not the real issue I have about the use of the triangle and the dash symbol. It's about how they're being used today, about the essence of a symbol, and what an abbreviation should be. 

See, what I think what is needed in jazz harmony is a generic symbol for "major 7th plus" - which simply means a Cma7 chord where you are free and welcome to add the 9th, 6th (13th), and #11 if you can get away with it. It might be a Cma7 in the key of G, that is lydian mode. It might be the Cma7 in "All The Things You Are", or the Cma7 in "Con Alma". Both are great places to throw in that #11th on the C chord, the Lydian side of C. That's because both are a surprise modulation - not part of a functional diatonic sequence. Even when you get the more diatonic "I Didn't Know What Time It Was" (key G), the song needs that lydian Cma7 because of the melody.

So if you're gonna use them at all, my thinking is the triangle for the generic major 7th, and the dash for the generic minor 7th - that's it, that's all, nothing else needed. And that's taken care of maybe 75% of the chord types you'll be playing in general practice.

Here I've put down big fat open voicings in the bass stave to really nail the foundation sound of the chords, Cma7 and Dm7. Those fifths in the bass really lock in the chord, don't they? It's good to see different ways of voicing the same chord-sound, like different hues of color for a painter. Like a color can have many different hues, so can chords - all subtly different, depending on their voicing (that is, how the chord is put together architecturally).

So: the meaning of the triangle symbol is a generic C chord, to which we are free to add the 6th (13th), the 7th, the 9th, and in some cases the #11. Likewise, the dash signifies a generic Dm7 chord, mostly as a II chord, to which one can add and sustain every note of the C major scale - "minor 7th plus". This generic Dm7 can support E, G and B, (9th, 11th, 13th) and still sound like a Dm chord, much richer or deeper, given the root foundation (i.e. a low D in the bass). And simply by moving the root to G, you have the dominant 7th 'half-suspended' sound that maybe started with Bill Evans, that is a G7 with both the 3rd and the 4th together, usually with the 4th and 3rd as a major 7th interval, like a superimposed Cma7 on an Fma7: 

So these generic triangle/dash symbols means you can add the other notes from the scale, where it fits and sounds good. This process of adding notes to chords is of course what jazz players do all the time anyway; nothing new here. I'm just saying it'd be nice to have a more accurate symbol, a more elegant abbreviation, to describe the process and thinking behind what we're doing,

There is always the proviso that you're not clashing with the melody if it happens to be the tonic. Talking key of C, if you got a big tonic chord with a C melody note, you can't be bangin' out a B underneath it; if you got a G in the melody of that Cma7 chord, you don't put a #11 (F#) below to harmonize the G. The major 7th pulls the melody down and drains its power. It doesn't support the melody, the golden rule in harmonization.

To clarify, on this generic Cma7, there are many places in songs where you just can't or shouldn't add that #11 to a C chord when it turns up in different keys, different songs. Even more importantly, there is definitely no place at all for the natural 11th on a Cma7. If you some across someone trying to sell you this, you are witness to the telltale sign of someone who either knows nothing about chords, or is purposely trying to misinform you. They could be moonlighting for Wickedpedia:

In the first wiki-example above, the F clashes with the E a minor 9th below; adding the F (11th) defeats the whole purpose of having a major chord at all, which I suppose we could call Cma9 here. But adding the F is like some tone-deaf scientist stacking lego bricks; like pouring vinegar into wine, like going and coming at the same time. I'm not saying a very good arranger couldn't make something like this work, but in making it work you are really bending the tonal focus from one root to another, which is a kind of cheating or musical subterfuge. Same deal with their second example of a C11, another stack which has both the 3rd and 4th together. If they try to pass off this apartment block concept of stacked 3rds as a usable chord, they don't know shit about music. I guess the best we can say that it's in the realm of 'special circumstances'. Sure, we may find occasional instances in modern classical music; Stravinsky, I think the Ebony Concerto has these kinds of chords. But it's an effect rather than a functional part of a chord sequence. And here we are talking about general principles.

The closest I can come to finding anything like this in jazz is the chord in "Skyliner" by Charlie Barnet, the last two bars of the A section. But that is really an arpeggiated figure, really a melody more than a held chord when all notes are sounded together. The brass section play this melody as sustained separate entries, making what they call a bell or pyramid chord. The song is in Db, the last two bars of the A section is Ab7. This is the basic idea:

The band on the original recording had three trombones, three or maybe four trumpets. Later recordings, like the one in '58 had four bones; the added 4th bone just plays a sustained Ab. On the original, the 3rd trombone's C is heard prominently as the lowest note of the brass chord, sustaining till the 4th beat of the second bar with everyone else.

Have a listen to the original '38 recording with the three bones:

The action happens around 0:27 seconds in, Here you can play just the excerpt:



Now a snappier version from '58 with the four bones. The extra (4th) bone is playing the tonic Ab a third below the 3rd bone's C - the previous version's lowest note (and therefore heard more easily).

Here the action is at 0:24 seconds. Notice how much thicker the start of the pyramid (bell chord) sounds with the four bones, with the root and 3rd together, compared to the 3-bone version with the 3rd on the (middle) C. This illustrates an important concept in arranging of adding root notes in that region around middle C. The chord is Ab7, and we have that 4th bone on the high tonic (the Ab just below third bone's middle C). To me it's 'muddier'.



Getting back to this supposed example of a 'textbook' chord, hear how the trumpet playing the Db (i.e., the 4th degree of Ab7), a minor 9th above the lower trombone C - which is sounded for two beats only - actually resolves on that last quarter note - back to the 3rd, confirming it's 'Ab7-ness'. We never actually get that complete sounding of the 'textbook 13th chord' - all the notes hitting together, which after all is the definition of a chord. It's basically a plain old Ab7. The point is that this example only shows the 'textbook' chord concept to be merely an effect, not a usable chord played in varied situations, the sign of common practice.

[Don't forget you can click on any image on this blog to enlarge it so you can check it out properly]

On that last beat of the second bar, there seems to be a slight modification; my (quick) guess is a kind of D9#11/Ab, or an Ab7+(b9); the Ab in the bass.

The 'never' label I added to the first musical example above - the natural 11th (F) on top of a C major chord of any type - is for the benefit of the Wikipedians, or the real musical Comedians, who seem to get quite attached to their academic theories of stacked chords in 3rds. Makes sense to them, except they've never played a chord sequence right in their life, let alone a gig, let alone a solo piano gig. They don't understand that chord shapes are made for the hand: 3 or 4-note chords are the rule, with extra notes being thrown in when you can get 'em in, for example, 2nds clusters with the thumb on adjacent notes. Soon we'll examine their page on the 13th chord - that one is hilarious! Read the attempts of musicians to get it right on the 'talk' page. It'll keep you laughing for months!

So, let's return to my original proposal for this idea of the generic major/minor symbol: the use of letter name plus either triangle or dash. Simple, elegant. Not likely to be misinterpreted by musicians sight-reading, when writing out by hand quickly. Some may ask, "why don't you call it 'C pyramid'?" If we start talking about 'pyramid chords' then we could be talking about the arranging effect, existing as long as there has been jazz arranging, known as a 'pyramid' or 'bell' chord - like the horns in "Skyliner" example above. So the potential for confusion is there.

Well now: what do we see everywhere nowadays when anyone writes out a song, a lead sheet, a big band chart? It's all triangle, dash plus a '7' after them! Or a 9, or whatever. It's gotten to the point where some people now think that the symbols for the basic major and minor triads are C∆ and C−. That is adding an extra symbol; where we had one symbol for the major triad, now we have two. For the minor triad, well, I suppose writing a dash is quicker than writing a small 'm', but only by microseconds. And then they still write the 7 or the 9 in as well.

So much for abbreviation.

How is this smarter? Like I said, we need a generic symbol for the more advanced jazz concept of adding extensions to basic chords at the player's discretion. We already have a great system for naming the major and minor triads. And we already have the triangle and the dash, waiting patiently to be properly employed. If we add a 7 or 9 or anything else to them, it defeats the whole purpose of those symbols as abbreviations, to my mind.

I realize I'm the only one I know who advocates this thinking, but I like being in a majority of one.

"Blues On The Rhapsody" (1)

The Charlie Barnet 1949 recording of Johnny Richards' arrangement of (...) featuring Maynard Ferguson.

In the mid-70s record companies began re-releasing classic jazz albums (i.e., LPs), often paired together as 'two-fers', 2 LPs with a cover than opened out, some kind of artwork and sometimes good liner notes. Impulse, Prestige, Riverside, and most of the other big labels. These reissues introduced a lot of people, the youthful version of myself included, to some really great music.

About the same time some intriguing 'bootleg' albums surfaced, available in the usual stores, not under the counter. Labels with names like "Swing Era Records", "First Time Records". No copyright, no credits save for the band personnel, probable location and date. They were often radio airchecks, some were recordings that somehow never made it to general release. For collector's only, they present a part of big band jazz not always apparent on the 'legit' (authorized) releases.

These recordings give us a slice of musical life in the '30s, '40s up to the early '50s, and in listening to some of them, one can almost hear the decline of the big band era in slow motion. You get a sense what was popular before WWII, and how things suddenly changed after it. How people before the war just wanted to go out and dance, then after the war it was all about staying home, having babies, watching TV and buying shit. And it's been that way pretty much ever since. So who really won the war?

On some of these LPs, there is often buried gold. This one, Swing Era Records LP-1019, "Rhapsody In Barnet", one track stands out. A great arrangement by Johnny Richards, featuring Charlie Barnet on alto, tenor and soprano saxes and the very young (22 year-old) Maynard Ferguson taking a trumpet solo nobody could miss.

Richards' chart is a wonderful case study in great arranging—arranging in its true sense of taking another composer's material and reworking it. I like to call the process 'transmuting', because the artist is like an alchemist trying to extract gold from base metal. The goal is to end up with something that's better than what you started out with. When you think about it, arranging is really 'composed spontaneity' whereas improvisation is 'spontaneous composition'.

The arranger's role is a bit like a screenwriter in a Hollywood production; he's the one figuring out what will sound good - when, why, how, where. And of course he does this in isolation, a solitary process using his mind. In movie production, while everyone else has been going at it for two years, the composer is often the last down the line to get to do his bit - that is, come up with a great score in like two weeks before movie premiere. I read somewhere that Jerry Goldsmith rewrote a whole movie score in two weeks because the producers didn't like their original composer's work.

Johnny Richards, Juan Ricardo Cascales, born 1911, died 1968. (There's the very word 'scales' in his name!) I like this photo of the 'The Arranger at Work', though when the real work's getting done there's usually no photographer around. Looks like one hot night in NYC maybe. This guy produced some fantastic music over the years; he composed one of Frank Sinatra's big hits of the early 50s "Young At Heart", and played various instruments on many recordings. As an arranger/composer he is probably best known for his work for Stan Kenton - notably his "Cuban Fire Suite".

Even in a great recording of a great arrangement—no matter how great the arrangement—it’s the musicians playing on that recording that really make it happen. And the thing is, they don't have to be always great soloists; but they have to be good musicians in the sense they know how to play with each other.

Personnel:

Charlie Barnet - alto, soprano and tenor saxes

Saxes: Vinnie Dean, Art Raboy (altos), Kurt Bloom, Dick Hafer (tenors), Danny Bank (or could be Manny Albam) (baritone)

Trumpets: Doc Severinsen, John Howell, Maynard Ferguson, Rolf Ericson, Lammar Wright, Jr.

Trombones: Obie Massingill, Dick Kenney, Ken Martlock

Piano: Claude Williamson

Bass: Eddie Safranski

Drums/Tympani: Cliff Leeman

Congas: Ivar Jameniz

Recorded by the Charlie Barnet Orchestra for Capitol Records March 17, 1949, in New York City.

Part Two coming soon.

Blues On The Rhapsody (2)

Side-on view of the Charlie Barnet band in action, mid-'40s;
note the trombones and saxes lined up together in the front row
(luckily (?) there's no dancers threatening the trombone slides)

At one stage I was going to knuckle down and transcribe this Johnny Richards arrangement. It's one of my favorite charts. It sits right on that line between swing and bop, capturing the the essence of both, while at the same time 'updating' the source material - which is of course Gershwin's "Rhapsody" - composed in 1924. What do I mean by 'updating'? What I'm talking about is the fundamental artistic principle of absorbing the past to produce the future. With this arrangement we're talking jazz 'updating' of the highest order - or 'transmutation', as I like to call it, because it reminds me of the alchemists' attempts to extract gold from base metal. If the word 'jazz' means anything at all, it means improving something, literally 'jazzing up'. Doing whatever it takes to make that spirit come alive.

Have a listen again to the Johnny Richards arrangement, played by the Charlie Barnet Orchestra in March 1949, featuring the then 22 year-old Maynard Ferguson:



Now, I'm not the world's greatest transcriber so I knew it was going to take me quite a while to get the whole thing down. But that in itself didn't worry me especially. What did worry me was the knowledge that at the end of it all, I really couldn't be 100% sure that what I wrote down was what the guys were actually playing in that chart on that day in '49. After all it's a mono recording in a big barn of a studio with the equipment of the late '40s. I'm not saying the recording equipment wasn't up to scratch back then; some audiophiles reckon it was just as good as they use now, if not better. But for whatever reason, I had no hope of being sure that in a full band chord, I could faithfully pick out, say, the 2nd trombone's note and be sure that it was the same note that Richards wrote.

So what does any arranger do when faced with a mountain of work? Why, go to the masters for inspiration, of course! I find page 70 of Russell Garcia's "The Professional Arranger Composer Part II" particularly helpful:

"The Art of Avoiding (A Common Arranger's Malady)"
(Russell Garcia)

To that list we can now add going on the internet. Surfing the web is a procrastinator's dream. By the way, that reminds me of a great Lee Morgan tune - "The Procrastinator". If you like musical asides as I do, here it is:



Even this little aside can even show us something: notice the way Lee Morgan plays his composition twice, first 'straight', 'classically' with bowed bass, then 'hip' ('swung') as Ron Carter moves into a walking bass style. This is the kind of 'transmutation' or simply 'jazzing up' I'm trying to describe here.

Like a good student taking the master's advice, I immediately stopped working on the transcribing, and once more went on an internet search. This time, by using a different combination of search terms, I happened to stumble across a fantastic website (since disappeared) that had dozens of original scores from famous bandleaders of the '30s and '40s. Direct links to PDF files. Charts scanned by someone, somewhere, sometime (that is, not by the website host; he just put 'em up there). Separate pages for the different bandleaders with many well-known charts. Some scores - a few originals and some modern transcriptions - but mainly instrumental parts.

Then I see a section on Charlie Barnet, hit that link, and among several Johnny Richards charts, there she was! To my astonishment, right there on the page, were links to this very chart: scans of the individual parts, handwritten in what looked to me like an authentic style for the time (1949). After downloading, this is what I first laid eyes on:

It was like searching for gold - and actually finding some, for a change. I had the individual parts for almost the whole band, lacking only the first and second trumpet parts. But now I could 'reverse-engineer' the score, put it back together by copying all the separate parts into a new score. If you gotta have missing parts, the lead & second trumpet parts are probably the 'best' parts to lose, if you have to lose two. It's pretty hard to mistake a lead trumpet line, as it's the melody line of the whole band; and by having the third and fourth trumpet parts, logic should dictate what the second part should look like.

If my initial hunch was correct, and these might very well be the exact parts used by the musicians on the recording - and not just somebody else's transcription - then by putting all the parts together I'd have the closest thing possible to the original Richards score. That part of my brain that does transcribing suddenly experienced pangs of hope, joy, freedom!

Also linked on the page was a score - but not Richards' original; this one was done by someone else, in modern music software. So it seemed like somebody else had already got in there before me.

But first I had to check it all out, and start making observations. The largest file was a color scan, Barnet's part as above; but all the others were grayscale, looking like this:

Tenor 1, page 5

But they were from the same hand. And they certainly had that aged look about them, and I don't mean scan quality. For a start the copyist's handwriting is of the period, quick but accurate. Done with a proper music ink pen with the calligraphy nib, thin and fat lines possible.

To cut a long story short, when I put all the parts into a new score, there were many differences between the 'as written' version and the 'as played' (recorded) version. But they were all the same chart. This often happens in practice: charts were often amended to tweak the arrangement to suit the band. So, I decided to write two scores: one, a verbatim copy of the individual parts, exposing all the copyist's inconsistencies on the different parts, and another one - much more important to me - a score 'as played', or as close as I could get to it.

Why do I like this arrangement so much? The chart flows and builds, using the source material as a springboard; as I said, updating the 1924 Gershwin melodies, with their original rhythmic concept, to a then very modern-sounding swing/bop concept. Richards wrote the chart most probably in '48, from what I can gather; that means his version was written 24 years after the original. (2 x 24 = 48).

I don't want to tell the story of this arrangement in 'chronological order'. I want to dive straight into the 'nitty-gritty' and first pull out a couple of excerpts that will hopefully elucidate my use of the word 'transmutation' in relation to what jazz arranging is all about. Later on we'll get to the curious fate of this chart, and its ghostly presence in the jazz history books.

Here's one of the reasons I love this chart: after setting the (Gershwin) scene up, but before getting into the well-known melodies, there's a strange interlude that, as far as I can tell, bears no relationship to anything in the source material whatsoever. I can't find anything in the original that comes anywhere close to this passage. On the chart it happens at 1:35. This is what it looks like, in short score format, concert pitch:

It's a fantastic "late '40s" mood, and like I said, it's got nothing to do with the source material at all. But it really adds something extra to the chart. Remember, Richards had to fit in the six or seven definitive Gershwin themes somehow in a chat lasting just over seven minutes; which makes this interlude's existence all the more daring and unusual.

Just as interesting is the two-bar brass figure right before the interlude. Here it is, short scored with saxes at the top, brass on the bottom. The clefs are not showing, but it's the same as the above (treble and bass for both sections), chord symbol in between.

Richards had the use of six saxophones, as Barnet had a full five-piece sax section and himself played either alto, tenor or soprano - all three on this chart. On this excerpt, he's playing alto on the top note (B natural). The six saxes play an Eb7alt (Eb7#9b13, 'altered') chord, while the trumpets and bones play an almost, but not quite, retrograde-inversion figure, straight out of Stravinsky or Schoenberg. While he uses these modern classical techniques such as polytonality and his own very individual harmonization throughout - what he called his 'streams of harmony' approach - he manages to keep it organic the whole time.

More soon.

Blues On The Rhapsody (3) - the Trumpet Section

The trumpet section on this recording was phenomenal. Barnet was self-financed (i.e., rich) and so could afford the best musicians he could get. This is the the five-man section on that day, 17th March 1949, to the best of my knowledge:

John Howell
Doc Severinsen
Lammar Wright, Jr.
Rolf Ericson
Maynard Ferguson

I have listed them according to the parts they would nominally be playing - Howell as lead, Severinsen second, etc. I'm making the assumption that Richards' wrote for the normal section of four trumpets, and as the extra 5th trumpet Maynard Ferguson would 'take his pick' from the trumpet parts as a whole, and work something out in rehearsal or on the day. We know from the various bio-discographies of Barnet that he performed this arrangement over a period of a few months in early '49.

My working assumption is that Maynard was reading the 4th trumpet part. That's where the chord changes for the solo he takes are written, so he would have to be watching them and therefore be sitting or standing in the section where he could see them - probably right next to the 4th trumpet (Rolf Ericson, I'm guessing). He might have been right in the middle of the section and 'cross-reading' - Rolf (on the 4th part ) on one side, and either John Howell or Doc on lead to his other side) - so he could see the first trumpet part and playing some of the unison higher parts, but taking the solo cues from the 4th part.

But there is an even more telling clue. On this 4th trumpet part are what looks like his own personal touches - literally, penciled-in amendments that match exactly what he's playing - right there on the part.

Here are the last two pages of the 4th trumpet part.

 (click to enlarge)

The audio clip below begins at letter T, Barnet's tenor right on that bar.



As you see, from letter U till just after letter V, penciled-in above the normal 4th trumpet notes, are the exact notes Maynard plays on the recording. As manuscript they don't look pretty; they look like they could've been written while holding a trumpet under your arm, maybe sitting at an angle. They are more pitches to hit rather than rhythms.

So though I can't tell for certain that they were written at the run-through for this chart on the day - to me, it sure looks like it. Either that, or somebody's got hold of a version of this chart (maybe to play in their own band?) and scrawled-in the ad-lib screams Maynard plays near the end. But if they did, wouldn't they try to write out the MF ad-libs a little better? Anyway, my gut feeling is there's a very good chance we are looking at the very pages Maynard was playing off that day.

Even though the big bands were on their way out, there were still daily, weekly news updates about the current situation of these famous bandleaders, Charlie Barnet being one of them. It was entertainment news. Just take a look at this excerpt from Downbeat magazine in 1949, to see just how much this music was an integral part of show-biz life back then. This from Downbeat March 25, 1949, eight days after the recording of the Rhapsody:

This is fascinating. If you read some of the articles in Downbeat and Variety from early 1949, you see the Barnet and other bands being talked about - people actually cared about who's now playing trumpet with Barnet, trombone with Woody Herman...what? It's a whole different world.

Here's another excerpt from Downbeat just about Barnet new trumpet section. (I apologize for the quality, this was off a library microfilm.)

and another:

In Barnet's autobiography, "Those Swingin' Years" (p.145) we get this: "that was the best trumpet section I ever heard" - and that means a lot coming from Harry James.

Barnet put it like this:

"Second first trumpet player"? - that's how good they were. Doc Severinsen was, like Maynard, very young then too. Ray Wetzel wasn't on this date, I think he might have joined that band later, as the above photos date from after the March 17 recording. So it's a toss-up between John Howell and Severinsen for who's playing the lead part; both could do it great. And we also have Lammar Wright, Jr - so there we have a wild card; I guess he could be playing any part except MF's. But I'll still go for my original idea that Ericson on 4th, Wright on 3rd, Severinsen on 2nd, Howell on lead, with Maynard cross-reading.

Barnet, as I mentioned above, came from a wealthy family, I believe the railroad business so he could finance his band even at a time many other bandleaders were struggling. 1949 is in fact the official year the big band era 'died', according to mainstream history. To kill them even quicker, many bandleaders were persuaded to feature the modern sounds of jazz - even Benny Goodman had a 'bop band' for a while in '49.

Charlie Barnet was one of the first bandleaders to feature multi-racial groups. His idol was Duke Ellington and there was a distinct Dukish vibe to his band. It was loose, to say the least. Musically he wasn't afraid to feature bold versions of jazz classics at a time when it really mattered. Not only the chart we're talking about, but his version of "All The Things You Are" - also featuring Maynard Ferguson - was pulled because Jerome Kern's widow complained. This from Jim Conkling, the producer of these classic recordings:

from 'Maynard!' by Ralph Jungheim, p.52

At that time, the new sounds of modern jazz really had the power to shock people. Let's see what Barnet had to say about it in his autobiography:

So these were very different times; lawsuits from publishers over jazz arrangements?

We should be so popular!