The Gravesite

Jazz Stories - Chapters from "Just Say Yes: Memoirs of a Geezer "

All That Jazz - encounters Duke Ellington, Mel Torme, Anita O'Day and Dave Brubeck
Life is an Ad Lib Solo - my jazz formula for living

read some mini reviews of the book /  read other chapters

All That Jazz

In the aftermath of Ken Burns’ superb documentary series, Jazz, there seems to be a renewed (and in some cases, inceptive) interest in this All-American art form.  Many universities, and even some high schools, have very accomplished jazz or swing bands in their music departments.  And groups such as Big Bad Voodo Daddy have melded the primitive excitement of rock with the musicality of the big-band era.

Even though these bands and the dancing they inspired were the rage in the twenties and forties, the public in general was not particularly devoted to the jazz aspects of the art form.  Though fans had their favorite arrangements and songs from the orchestras’ repertoires, they usually were unaware of the names of the improvising soloists.
Not me, boy. My teenage bedroom walls were covered with photos of bandleaders and their groups, sidemen, and jazz greats.  I could name all the personnel in every picture.  This music and its makers was my consuming interest.

The first time I heard a live name band in person was in 1939, standing on the sidewalk outside a Redondo Beach ballroom while Jan Savitt and his orchestra played 720 In the Books for a matinee dance session.  Touring bands would play one-niters in nearby Hanford (50 miles) or Fresno (70 miles), and my friends and I caught virtually every one.

One of my favorite jazz singers was former Gene Krupa vocalist Anita O’Day.  When I went to nearby Hanford to see Stan Kenton, whom should I see backstage but Anita O’Day herself!  It seemed that her husband was stationed at nearby Lemoore Air Force Base and was a friend of Stan’s.  I told her how much I admired her singing... and then she asked me to dance with her!  So, at fourteen years of age, there I was dancing with my favorite jazz vocalist!  My high school paper had an item the next week: “What’s this about John Graves and ‘I love my husband, but oh you kid!’”

The only time in my whole life that I ever solicited an autograph happened at an all night diner, following a one-niter in Fresno by my all-time favorite, Duke Ellington.  The entire band filed in to eat, and I managed to get every single player’s signature on a menu (including the Duke’s).  Unfortunately, all my treasured memorabilia got lost following my mother’s death, including the menu.

My own musical playing adventures during high school in the war years centered around three different aggregations: a five piece group of my peers from several of the small towns around Porterville, a quintet-plus-singer comprised of former name-band musicians who were too old to serve in the armed forces, and a seventeen-piece orchestra playing at The Sierra Ballroom in neighboring Visalia (featuring some servicemen from a nearby airbase who had been big band musicians). Between these groups I managed to play two or three times a week, learning countless songs and priceless insights from this great range of mentors.

*My years at The College of the Pacific in Stockton, California, brought me in touch with some more idols.  Dave Brubeck was playing there in a small club, and we struck up a friendship that has lasted all these years. When he came to play a concert in Adelaide, South Australia, he kept the press and fans waiting for twenty minutes while we reminisced back stage about mutual friends and our experiences together.*

 A ten-piece band of local musicians that I played with opened for an Errol Garner concert and I had a nice conversation with this jazz icon.  When Stan Kenton’s band came to play for our campus prom, I was privileged to do a radio interview with him.

The Ken Burns PBS saga explored the impact of racism and segregation upon the development of the jazz art form.  Born and raised in rural California, I had never encountered overt acts of prejudice against African Americans. (Asians were the target of Porterville’s intolerance.) In most of the jazz world, a person’s musical ability was the only criterion for judgement.

While playing a two-week engagement in Tuscon, we would meet Mel Torme after his last show at the Santa Rita Hotel and go across the river to Jimmy’s Chicken Shack, where black and white musicians would jam ‘til dawn.  Mel played great drums and never sang better.

My first brush with the dark reality of Southern segregation came with an engagement in Texarkana.  We were looking for a rooming house, as was our custom.  Answering our knock was a very dignified black woman who said the owner was out but should be back momentarily.  When he arrived, we told him the lady who let us in said we could wait.  He said, “That wasn’t no lady!  That was my nigra.”  (This was in 1950.)
Thank goodness things have improved sociologically in a half-century.  Too bad we can’t say the same for the music.

 

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All That Jazz - encounters Duke Ellington, Mel Torme, Anita O'Day and Dave Brubeck
Life is an Ad Lib Solo - my jazz formula for living

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More on John's work with Outstanding Composers

Life is an Ad Lib Solo

My first visit to Kansas City's new jazz museum was on a recent Friday afternoon, shortly after lunch.  We customers shared the various listening posts, where, with earphones, you could hear specific vintage records complementing the brief stories of the artist(s) featured in that particular exhibit, from pre-Louis Armstrong to post-Wynton Marsalis. (The odd thing to me was that while most of the artists we were listening to were black--all of us doing the listening were lily white.)
One of the features of this truly outstanding facility was a twenty minute documentary on the history and mystique of this dynamic art form.  As I watched this insightful presentation, it occurred to me that not only was jazz a vital part of my life--in many ways it was the pattern of my life.  "The Three Rs" began to take on a brand new meaning for me. 
The film, with moving stills, narration, and music briefly traced the art form's historical roots: "field songs", "hollers", and the laments known as "blues".  These were sung by the laboring slaves, incorporating the rhythms and syncopations of their African heritage.  Before long, the excitement and intricacy of a new music sweeping the Mississippi riverboats and shore-side saloons was added:  "ragtime".  By the early 1900s, America was dancing to a new music, played with an assortment of wind and rhythm instruments, called "jazz."  Many critics and musicologists consider jazz to be America's most significant contribution to the world's cultural inventory.
Most of this music was played by ear, and each musician was given a chance to spontaneously improvise (create a new melody, or "line") to a chorus of the song being played.  Often this was referred to as an "ad lib solo." 
As its popularity spread, this dance music gradually evolved into larger groups, resulting in the big bands of the thirties and forties.  With sections of saxophones, brass, and rhythm, they primarily played rehearsed orchestrations.  However, even during this "swing" period, portions of each arrangement were often allotted to individual band members to improvise an ad lib solo.
"Spontaneous improvisation" was not original with jazz.  Classical composers often indicated certain passages which were left to the performer to compose what was played "on the spot".  In jazz, the solo melody being instantaneously created must conform to the harmony and structure of the song being played, the tune of which was usually established by the entire ensemble in the first chorus.  A humorist notes, "that in 'playing around' this melody, it is important that the audience is still aware of the melody the artist is trying to avoid."
In doing all this, the ad lib jazz solo incorporates the three elements of Risk, Responsibility, and Reward--which seem to encapsulate my formula for living.
Since each solo is by definition unique, its effectiveness depends upon the melodic line created and its interpretation, plus the mood and dynamics of the presentation.  The element of risk  is ever-present, since the inspiration of the moment can often lead the soloist into unfamiliar harmonic or rhythmic complications.  Then too, there is always the peer factor--the desire to impress, and certainly to avoid making a fool of one's self in front of fellow musicians.
Of course, accepting risk as a part of one's lifestyle also has obvious built-in hazards: the possibility of failed projects, disillusionment's, and unfortunate relationships.  Of course, as in jazz, the willingness to venture into uncharted waters is predicated on a certain confidence in one's abilities, degree of preparation and demonstrated ability to cope.
"Faking it" often means merely playing by ear.  ("Hum a few bars and I'll fake it.")  In the literal sense, though, in jazz music it is considered irresponsible to attempt a solo if one isn't familiar with the harmonic structure of the tune itself.  Nothing reveals an amateur more quickly than improvised notes which obviously don't fit the original chords of the song being played.  Also, since this art form is collaborative, and other players may be creating an improvised background to compliment the solo, discordant notes would destroy the ensemble effect.  However, a musical mishap can be turned into a learning experience by a corrective awareness of the error.  This sense of artistic responsibility is the combination of an innate gift of talent, continuing years of practice and listening, and a musical dedication to the concept of "esprit de corp."
Choosing to live on, or near "the edge" in a civilized society requires not only a willingness to accept the disappointments that often follow taking calculated risks, but also the maturity to admit and avoid repetition of the mistakes and errors in judgment that negatively affect your life and the lives of others.  Taking risks without the concomitant sense of responsibility is, in the long run, almost certain to invite a plethora of problems.
Finally, the reward.  In a jazz solo, it is often an immediate, integral, almost magical part of the creative  performance process itself.  A player's personal satisfaction is often combined with genuine amazement at the level of artistic achievement he or she attained in a soaring moment of inspired creation.  Sometimes a nod, or approving look from a fellow musician may be all the reward needed.  For others, the applause of the listeners is their fulfillment.  (Occasionally, the money isn't all that bad, either.)
In the ad lib solo of living, the soaring, inspired moments may be rather sporadic, but the  satisfaction of meaningful relationships, the joy of discovery, and the surprise of unexpected accomplishments occur with surprising frequency.  Whether the rewards of such a risk-oriented approach to living outweigh the more assured benefits of living a sensible, cautious, carefully planned life is, of course, a totally subjective judgment.  But for me, I'll keep my Three Rs.  I wouldn't risk a change.

All That Jazz - Encounters with Duke Ellington, Mel Torme, Anita O'Day and Dave Brubeck
Life is an Ad Lib Solo - my jazz formula for living