Thinking in Jazz

by Berliner, Paul F.

  As indicated above, there is not always a correlation between the forms of music representation that arrangements use and their complexity. Band leaders sometimes teach elaborate arrangements orally or expect members to learn them from records. Even when bands use written arrangements, many restrict their use to that of learning aids. “With Blakey, you had to memorize the music since you couldn’t have it on the bandstand” (JH). Similarly, in Horace Silver’s band, “there were never any music stands, so we read [new music] off the floor half the time, or off the piano. Basically, you memorized it as soon as you could so you didn’t have to mess with it” (JMc).

  Some leaders consider it unprofessional for their members to read music during performances, particularly in small groups. They view the dependence upon written scores as an indication that musicians do not yet know the music. In this regard, performers who collaborate with veterans with primarily aural knowledge express awe at the clarity of vision and strength of memory that the older artists embody. Rufus Reid remembers that “Nancy Wilson hadn’t studied music formally, but her ears were as big as this house. She always knew what she wanted to hear. If I might play some funny lines behind her, she’d say, ‘No, don’t do that.’ Or she’d say, ‘Something’s wrong with that,’ and invariably it would be a note that was written wrong in the arrangement.”

  Collaborating on Arrangements

  The processes underlying the creation of arrangements vary according to the skills of band members and the social structure of individual bands. Some leaders create groups in order to perform original pieces that they have conceived in great detail. When leaders appreciate the peculiarities of instruments and share a technical musical language with band members, they can communicate their ideas easily and directly.

  As often as not, however, leaders have flexible views on repertory and arrangements, and they invite other members to contribute favored standards or their own works to the band’s repertory, and assist in arranging them. In such instances, arrangements represent the sum of the talents of group members. One musician with a gift for melody may collaborate with another to fashion an appropriate chord progression, and, perhaps, with a singer to create lyrics. Yet another player is an especially imaginative orchestrator, who, once provided a strong melody and progression, can envision complementary parts for the full ensemble. The strengths of other band members may lie primarily in composing parts for their own instruments.

  When the ideas of those leading the collaborative process are incomplete or imprecise, musicians assist one another in clarifying or refining proposed concepts. In some instances, composers whose knowledge of music is largely aural enlist the aid of specialists within their group, and occasionally outside the group, to set their arrangements into written form, thus speeding the transmission process among music readers.19 When individuals lack a technical language for discussing music, or when their goals lie outside the descriptive limitations of technical language, they sometimes suggest extramusical associations such as mood, story lines, or abstract, poetic, or graphic images to guide the group effort.20

  In general, however, the principal dialogue of artists remains the language of music itself. One performer proposes a piece’s basic idea by performing a melody, and, in response, other musicians compose alternative complementary patterns. The continuity of such practices reaches back to the earliest days of jazz. In 1919, Lieutenant James Reese Europe described his band members’ proclivity for “embroider[ing) their parts in order to produce new, peculiar sounds. Some of these effects are excellent.”21 Of his collaborations with Jelly Roll Morton, Johnny St. Cyr reported, “The solos—they were ad lib. We played according to how we felt. Of course, Jelly had his ideas and sometimes we’d listen to them and sometimes, together with our own, we’d make something better. . .. Reason his records are so full of tricks and changes is the liberty he gave his men. Sometimes. . . we get an idea. . . and we ask him to let us playa certain break, and he was always open for suggestions.”22

  Years later, Billie Holiday recalled her experiences.23 While Benny Goodman

  always had big arrangements[,]. . . with Basie, we had something no expensive arrangements could touch. The cats would come in, somebody would hum a tune. Then someone else would play it over on the piano once or twice. Then someone would set up a riff, a ba-deep, a ba-dop. Then Daddy Basie would two-finger it a little. And then things would start to happen.

  Half the cats couldn’t have read music if they’d had it. They didn’t want to be bothered anyway. Maybe sometimes one cat would bring in a written arrangement and the other would run over it. By the time Jack Wadlin, Skeet Henderson, Buck Clayton, Freddie Green, and Basie were through running over it, taking off, changing it, the arrangement wouldn’t be recognizable anyway.

  Everything that happened, happened by ear. For the two years I was with the band we had a book of a hundred songs, and every one of us carried every last damn note of them in our heads.

  Duke Ellington detailed his orchestra’s varied approach to arrangements:

  You’ve got to write with certain men in mind. You write just for their abilities and natural tendencies and give them places where they do their best-certain entrances and exits and background stuff. . .. My band is my instrument. 24

  The music’s mostly written down, because it saves time. It’s written down if it’s only a basis for a change. There’s no set system. Most times I write it and arrange it. Sometimes I write it and the band and I collaborate on the arrangement. Sometimes Billy Strayhorn, my staff arranger, does the arrangement. When we’re all working together, a guy may have an idea and he plays it on his horn. Another guy may add to it and make something out of it. Someone may play a riff and ask, “How do you like this?” The trumpets may try something together and say, “Listen to this.” There may be a difference of opinion on what kind of mute to use. Someone may advocate extending a note or cutting it off. The sax section may want to put an additional smear on it.25

  In contemporary jazz groups, as well, musicians explore various ways of rendering pieces throughout rehearsals, starting and stopping their performances at whim, and evaluating the outcomes. Eventually, in a give-and-take process, they settle on those that are mutually satisfactory and incorporate the most successful elements into the evolving designs of arrangements. Sometimes, Lou Donaldson asks a piano player to play “certain chords” before try-ing out a piece, “but usually,” he says, “I’ll just start playing the melody and let the pianist catch up.” When the performance is over, “I’ll ask him what would be the best sequence of chords to use in certain spots. Naturally, he’ll have two or three sets of chords that he wants to play. Whatever he suggests, we’ll try out.”

  The possibilities for consideration are endless. On one occasion, a leader proposed that his band perform a 4/4 piece in 6/8, but when he reformulated the melody in the latter meter, it sounded contrived. Faced with the skeptical expressions of fellow band members, he immediately withdrew the idea. Another leader once raised the question of a piece’s ending, and the group’s saxophonist suggested that the horns repeat a short phrase from the melody as a tag, slowly fading out together. After rehearsing the figure several times, the band approved it unanimously. John Hicks recounts his experience with Betty Carter, who

  had a concept of the different kinds of sounds she wanted, especially on her original music, and we would discuss it together. There’s one tune where she wanted something different from a straight diatonic sound. We played this particular line that was going stepwise. It started on the A and went to the B and then to a C, etc. With each one of these chords, we played a different triad to give it a sort of augmented sound. With the A, we played a C triad, with the B, we played a D triad, and so on. Betty had a lot of ideas like that; she had a real fertile imagination as far as the things she wanted us to do harmonically. She might say, “John, can you dress that chord up and play it in a different way?” I’d play it in a different way, and she’d say, “Yes, that�
��s what I want.” She might not have the exact name of the chord, but she would have the sound in her head, and from the note she was singing, she could figure it out. Sometimes, we’d play a couple of different chords and see which one actually fit. These are the kinds of things we’d work out.

  Because of the interdependence of ensemble members, decisions concerning each part’s details commonly affect others, involving members in an ongoing process of mutual accommodation. At a rehearsal of Benny Bailey’s and saxophonist Charlie Rouse’s quintet, a lead sheet designated that the pianist improvise an introduction of a prescribed length. John Hicks considered the part and remarked that he would like “to extend it a bit” so that he could “really get into it.” Bailey agreed, and Hicks experimented with an expanded intro. At its close, however, when the horn players endeavored to play the melody, their parts lacked synchronization. Bailey stopped the music and suggested that Hicks incorporate a “more rhythmic figure” into his performance that would indicate the tempo clearly, “setting up” the rest of the players. After trying several versions on his own, each failing to meet his satisfaction, Hicks settled upon a likely solution to the problem and signaled the others for another trial. He began the introduction in free rhythm, gradually evolved a more regular feeling of the beat, and ended with a repeated riff in the bass that delineated the meter precisely. This approach effectively cued the horn players, and Hicks announced that he would make a mental note to preserve his performance’s “rhythmic shape” as a feature of the introduction.

  Turning next to a bossa nova by Hicks, the group performed the melody once, then alternated solos. Bailey improvised a lively solo chorus with an open trumpet, then a contrasting chorus with a cup mute, playing simply and softly. Afterwards, Hicks praised Bailey and explained that, although the arrangement had not specified it, the muted timbre of Bailey’s solo and its relaxed performance style had captured his piece’s feeling perfectly. Responding appreciatively, Bailey made the decision to adopt this approach for future performances. He also discussed with Keith Copeland softening the drum accompaniment whenever he muted his horn. Copeland decided to switch from sticks to brushes to complement Bailey’s dynamic levels.

  In some instances, the possibilities players hear in each another’s ideas and encouragement from other players within the group inspire the originators to expand upon their ideas, leading sometimes to exceptional creations. Such was the genesis of Bobby Timmons’s classic composition, “Moanin’,” in a “funky” eight-bar phrase that Timmons played for amusement in between numbers at rehearsals, self-effacingly dismissing it as “nothing, not really a tune.” The phrase was so infectious to Benny Golson that he urged Timmons to compose a bridge for it, and, as the saying goes, “the rest is history.” 26

  Changing Arrangements

  Many musicians, although benefiting from the guidance of arrangements, alter them over time. As the frameworks of compositions serve as inspiring vehicles for improvisation, new arrangements provide comparable inspiration, challenging group members to negotiate fresh musical models in performance and stimulating the conception of ideas in the process. Performing a piece “thousands of times over a career, you’re always going deeper and deeper into its possibilities, discovering new ways of doing things.” Chuck Israels explains. Alternative arrangements by Bill Evans sometimes treated “serious pieces with humor” or, conversely, “viewed silly pieces with serious thought.” On different occasions, Israels has performed pieces like “I’ll Remember April” in ways that “related directly to their lyrics” or in ways that ignored their associations and treated the melodies as musical abstractions. Thelonious Monk epitomizes the artist’s intensive attention to revising arrangements, commonly practicing a single composition for two hours at a sitting: experimenting with chord voicings and substitutions, subtly altering the melody’s contour and phrasing (BH). His plans remained in a constant state of evolution. He “always played his own tunes in different ways” (LH).

  Although arrangers work out fundamental ideas on their own, they depend on rehearsals with other artists and live performances to test and evaluate ideas, especially for elaborate arrangements. “There’s nothing like hearing your music played night after night.” George Duvivier says. “You can always hear things you can improve upon, like the voicings. The ways some things move may look fine on paper, but they may not actually work when the musicians play them. With Chick Webb’s band, sometimes I’d try to get a heavier effect in a certain section and I’d weight the parts too much. They’d play through the parts and someone would say, ‘It’s a little too heavy in bars 4 and 5.’”

  Art Davis recollects that

  Booker Little did a lot of the writing in Max Roach’s band. Sometimes, he would write things on the spot for us to play. Other times, he’d have things already written. Also, Booker would modify the arrangements at times. He’d tell George Coleman to play something else here or there, or he would pick up his horn and try something out himself, playing something different from what he had written. This would add a little bit of flavor to the arrangements; just one note might make a difference. Sometimes, he would change whole sections just to get it in there.

  Flexibility is also the rule in Betty Carter’s bands. “We were constantly changing the songs around.” John Hicks remembers. “None of them stayed the same for very long. I didn’t write much of this down with Betty. Writing wouldn’t have helped that much. My own memory just developed over a period of time.” Kenny Washington appreciates Carter’s ingenuity, as well. “Take ‘My Favorite Things’ from The Sound of Music,” he suggests:

  Betty had been doing it in 4/4 for some time. . . and had recorded it on her record called Inside. By the time I joined the band, she was doing the tune at twice the tempo it was on the album. Then, a few months later when we’re playing it in a rehearsal, she says, “No, wait a minute. I don’t want to do it like this anymore. Listen, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to play in 3/4 time in the beginning, and then when you get to the bridge, play real fast in 4/4 time, and then when you get to the beginning of the chorus, switch back to 3/4 time.” That’s the way she conducted things. She would sit there at the rehearsals, and on a whim, she would say, “Let’s change it this way or let’s change it like that.”

  She had a big drawer full of music, and sometimes she’d pull out an arrangement of a song she had done maybe fifteen years before. We’d start playing the arrangement, and she would say, “No, I don’t want to do it like that. Kenny, I want you to switch to brushes and come in on the second chorus.” Sometimes she would do tunes and rehearse them, and you’d figure they would be on the next gig. But they weren’t. Then several weeks would go by, and suddenly she’d pull out one of those tunes, and you had better be able to play it. So Betty was hip for me. She kept my mind sharp. She’d change the music around so much, you really had to be on the ball.

  Challenges of this nature can become points of contention or humor among performers. During Benny Bailey’s and Charlie Rouse’s rehearsal, momentary confusion arose over several versions of a piece that John Hicks had written. After determining the final version and performing it, Bailey expressed his admiration to Hicks with the teasing plea, “Now that you got it, don’t work on it anymore. Don’t change it!” Then he recalled how Duke Ellington “used to have all those different versions of his pieces floating around the band. All the cats had five or six arrangements of the same piece. And when you joined the band, no one would tell you which one was the current one. They’d let you find out too late that you were playing the wrong one, and you’d scramble for another,” Bailey laughs. “Ellington was always rewriting the parts.”

  When bands alter their plans during rehearsals, members have the time to absorb new directions before performances. The challenges increase, however, when leaders extemporaneously introduce changes at formal music events. Leaders may vary repertory programs at whim as the evening progresses. As implied above, a related area of change is tem
po. Billie Holiday never performed the same piece at the same tempo twice. She constantly varied its mood to suit her own.27 Within the group such decisions by leaders may have implications that differ from player to player. In Lee Konitz’s experience, for example, improvisers may function better at different tempos from day to day, whether in reference to music thinking, emotional temperament, or physicality.

  Precise patterns within individual parts or within the larger scheme of arrangements are also subject to spontaneous revisions. At one recording session, pianist Red Garland began an introduction to “You Are My Everything” with free-rhythmic arpeggiations. Miles Davis called out, “Block chords, block chords!” Garland immediately stopped playing and, for the second take, altered his introduction.28 On another occasion, when saxophonist George Adams and John Hicks approached the bandstand, Adams asked Hicks whether he could playa piece in 3/4 that they usually performed in 4/4. When Hicks concurred, they featured the new version as the set’s opening number. Later, Hicks cited other examples of the agile responses required of players.

  In Blakey’s band, some of the older tunes from a few generations ago would be updated, and we would make new arrangements for them. The way that this would come about was that Art would tell Lee Morgan that there was a particular thing that he wanted you to do, and Lee would tell the rest of the guys, and we’d put it into the form of the tune. He’d break the tune down into sections and say, “At letter A, I want such and such to happen.” It might be a different meter or break time or stoptime. That would usually be done right on the bandstand.