Storyville

The Jazz Ear: Conversations Over Music Ben Ratliff New York, Times Books/Henry Holt & Co., 2008.

A book that stems from oral histories, regardless of the subject matter, can do one of two things. It can stumble along a few hundred pages as a series of interviews; question, answer, question, answer and so on. The other option is that it can slide seamlessly chapter to chapter as a series of conversations. Ben Ratliff, noted New York Times jazz critic, has created the latter in The Jazz Ear: Conversations Over Music.

Ratliff sits down with fifteen of jazz’s greatest living legends to listen to and discuss the recordings that most influenced them. Expanding on his popular interviews for The New York Times, Ratliff ’s subjects – Wayne Shorter, Pat Metheny, Sonny Rollins, Andrew Hill, Ornette Coleman, Maria Schneider, Bob Brookmeyer, Bebo Valdes, Dianne Reeves, Johsua Redman, Hank Jones, Roy Haynes, Paul Motian, Branford Marsalis, and Guillermo Klein – cross generations and styles.

In each of the conversations though, he unearths an intimate portrait of the musician and his or her music. Prior to their conversations, Ratliff asked them to each pick out five or six pieces that they would liike to discuss with him. He then sat down with them to listen, often in the subject’s own home. Using this more intimate setting, Ratliff then skillfully coaxed out a profound understanding of the context of their work and how jazz, from horn blare to drum riff, is created conceptually.

ach conversation is unique and brings something new to the reader, as much it should. Each musician has a different style and brings their own unique experience to the music they compose and perform. The approach that Ratliff has utilized does bring some surprises. His subjects pick a wide array of influences from Ukrainian cantorial music to Ralph Vaughan Williams to the Fifth Dimension. While each conversation can stand alone, Ratliff has organized them in such a way that there are connections made from one interview to the next; both Metheny and Redman, for example, select songs from Sonny Rollins. The Jazz Ear is a wonderful insight to the artists and will have readers hurrying off to track down various records. No worry though, Ratliff has provided a listening guide for each of his interviewees – a great addition. Whether you are a seasoned listener or just now discovering jazz, Ratliff is a wonderful guide. The Jazz Ear will be in stores November 11. —Tristan Smith

Luck’s in My Corner: The Life and Music of Hot Lips Page Todd Bryant Weeks Routledge Press, 2008

We live in a time when musicians rely on social media, savvy PR stunts (such as releasing their records on a “pay-whatyou- want-for-it” model) and other advertising methods to make their music accessible. It’s also a time when a lot of focus has been diverted away from the one thing that draws people to music in the first place: the way it sounds, the way it makes them feel, how it speaks to them, comforts them, shocks them, makes them think, dream, cry, love or just escape.

The emotion that music, or any form of art for that matter, evokes from people is central to its purpose, and is what hits us at our core. To steal a phrase from Kansas City saxophonist Chris Burnett, “music is like water – it will find its own level or inherent audience.” Music that is full of depth and meaning will find its way to people who are looking for it. Music that doesn’t carry as much weight will also find its way to people who are looking for it. That’s how it always works.

Regardless – music is about creation. It’s about being there ‘in the moment,’ creating something out of nothing. Blowing air through brass. Fingers & picks plucking wood & steel. Brushes and sticks, gently sweeping or purposefully pounding on drums. Music is organic. It’s art – and it’s entertainment. Music is an expression of something that lies at our inner core. You can’t quite peg it, but you know it’s there.

As you’re reading this, you might be thinking: “isn’t this supposed to be a book review?” It is. Much like music itself, this book struck a chord with me – pun intended. These are the thoughts this book drew from my core, a book about a jazz musician who has been dead for over 50 years, nonetheless.

In his outstanding profile of the iconic trumpeter Oran “Hot Lips” Page, Todd Bryant Weeks reminds us of a time when the music truly mattered – in the mainstream. It speaks of a time when musicians – traveling bands – were out on the road for weeks at a time, picking up new sounds, influences, ideas, agents, fans, friends, enemies and even band members, playing music that left audiences in a frenzy, simultaneously exhausted and energized, craving entertainment and companionship from their fellow show-goers.

It speaks of a time when jazz was supported by radio, newspapers, governmental institutions, and the masses. In Kansas City and in New York, where many musicians eventually migrated to “make it big,” jazz was the soundtrack to forms of entertainment that laid the groundwork for everything that we know as “entertainment” today: comedy revues, dance routines, vaudeville, battles of the bands, theater, off-color jokes and the avant-garde. Had the parental-advisory labels been around in the 1930s, they would have been all over records and in the doorways of clubs.

And one could see all of this in a single evening at one venue. In the midst of it all was a man who was one of the greatest trumpeters, vocalists and entertainers from Kansas City’s golden era, Oran “Hot Lips” Page.

Week’s narrative speaks of a time when musicians such as Hot Lips Page were able to garner the same amount of attention, critical acclaim, and buzz amongst the general public as artists do today – with only their horns, voices and their ability to interact with their audiences. No gimmicks, websites, MySpace pages, or a major label investing millions of marketing dollars. If anything, this story reiterates the fact that record labels have been stacking the cards in their favor since the beginning.

Traveling through the circuits, playing dozens of towns, Hot Lips built a reputation for being an outstanding player, an engaging showman and an indemand sideman, all because of his talents. He worked the streets, introducing himself to the owners of clubs, other musicians and regular folks, building an audience on his own terms. From his work as the go-to man during Count Basie’s early days as a bandleader and as a featured soloist with Artie Shaw to becoming a star of New York’s 52nd Street, Lips’ powerful, growling sound, rooted in the blues, was a force to be reckoned with.

What’s equally important in learning about the life of Hot Lips is his stick-to-itiveness in pursuing his passion – his dream of leading his own big band. As he worked his way up through the ranks in the industry, Lips gained valuable insights on the industry and the ever-growing network of bands and the competitive drive between them.

As he navigated into a position to lead a band himself – big bands were on the way out. However, Lips remained confident and passionate in his pursuits, assembling musicians on the side while at the same time being one of the few players who could sit in on jam sessions with swing bands, small combos and the burgeoning bebop scene at once. Before his untimely passing, Lips was able to adapt to the quickly evolving music industry, playing his last sessions on early R&B dates that would become a foundation for rock’n’roll. He was a true musician’s musician.

Luck’s in My Corner reveals in great detail a history of not only Kansas City or New York music scenes, but a nation that was once hungry for something that was truly born here in our country – jazz. It reminds us of a time when the soul of our town – which still lives here – was something to be proud of, something worth supporting. We blasted our horns to the outside world, that this is the place to be – and this is why. There are many folks who know this, but here are others that should join the band. Pick up Luck’s in My Corner and discover the soul of America’s music. —Andrew Zender

Back tory In Blue: Ellington At Newport ‘56
By John Fass Morton
Rutgers University Pres, 336 pages, 107 illustrations, Hardcover $34.95, August, 2008

Round about one July midnight at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival, the Duke Ellington band began to “cook with gas,” as we hepcats used to say. Tenorman Paul Gonsalves tore off 27 choruses in the “interlude” between “Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue” – propelled by drummer Sam Woodyard, bassist Jimmy Woode, and Duke (“the piano player”). Big band buff John Morton vividly describes the happening that night, what preceded it in the music of the swing and then bop eras, and what came later, both for the Ellingtonians and for big band jazz.

In the mid-1950s, many believed that the Duke’s career and big bands in general were on the wane, even passé. Jazz was trending from swing into bop, and from big bands to small groups. Many big-band fans from the swing era now were barbecue-ing in suburbia and watching I Love Lucy on TV. Their children were going gaga-over rhythm and blues, and then, listening to 45s and the radio, they were knocked out by Elvis and rock & roll.. Yet some listeners of all ages remained intensely loyal to big band jazz, as still championed by Ellington, Basie, Herman and a few others. With Ellington’s 1956 performance at Newport, the author claims, Ellington renewed their loyalty and love.

Morton’s narrative focuses on the effect of the music on the crowd, and on the band itself. He tries to provide a convincing a minute-by-minute description of what happened: how the band’s late-evening set f lagged, then suddenly came to life; how the rhythm section fired up both Gonsalves and the crowd around the bandstand. And how a beaudaceous blonde Newport socialite down front burst out boogie-ing, a further turn-on for everybody. All these aspects of the scene, fired by the power and beauty of the music, blended into an unforgettable experience for everyone . Later, memories of that night were reinforced by the recording Ellington at Newport ‘56 and it became a jazz legend.

You will get more from your reading the book by listening to the recently remastered and restored CD of the performance. That will help you make sense of the way it must have been that night, and of the author’s occasionally somewhat murky and confusing description of how the performance unfolded. Not as musician, but as a fan, he tries to explain exactly why and how the music, as performed, had such an impact on the crowd and on the band itself. But he gets bogged down in trying to trace key changes, describe intonations, detail the recording engineers’ technical challenges in taping this concert “live” (Newport ‘56 was a first “live” jazz concert recording, by the way), as well as the frantic efforts by producers George Avakian and George Wein to make it all come out right. But vivid photos on many pages convey much that words can’t.

Time magazine reported a month later (in its August 20 issue, with Ellington on the cover), the Ellington performance was “…not only a turning point in one concert; it confirmed a turning point in a career. The big news was something that the whole jazz world had long hoped to hear: the Ellington band was once again the must exciting thing in the business. Ellington himself had emerged from a long period of quiescence and was once again bursting with ideas and inspiration.”

One charm of the book for me is its 50-ish flavor. To some nowadays the writing may come across as somewhat purplish, overblown prose. But who cares? The style fits the subject and the author’s point of view. Were you “hep” when “it was hip to be hep” (thanks, Dave Frishberg!)? Have you heard the (remastered) recording of that Newport night? Do you believe that the Ellington story can never be fully told? If your answer is yes to all or any such questions, you’ll dig this book. —Charlton Price