Cannonball, Hard Bop, and “Work Song”

More on Cannonball, one of the inescapable (as if you’d want to escape him!) influences on contemporary alto sax players. We’re fortunate to have a sizable body of his work, featuring him as both a group leader and as a sideman, notably with Miles Davis.

Cannonball’s technical abilities were remarkable, but his style largely reflects a trend from the harmonic complexity of bebop to a simpler, more visceral approach. Don’t take “simpler” to mean “simple,” though. There’s nothing simple about the playing of Cannonball Adderley. He was a ferocious player, with an inventive, very personal way of weaving “outside” playing into a wonderfully earthy, “inside” overall conception.

To me, Cannon is the essence of the hard bop approach, which combined tunes most listeners could readily get a feel for with lessons learned from the bebop pioneers. Arguably, no better-known example of what I’m talking about exists in the Cannonball repertoire than “Work Song.” According to the YouTube notes, the following rendition of it was performed in 1964 for the BBC series, Jazz 625. I give you…”Work Song.

UPDATE: The YouTube clip that existed at the time this post was first published has since been taken down. Too bad, because it was exceptional, and my following comments hinged on it. As a compensation, the above link now takes you to an alternative, 1962 rendition. Sorry, no Charles Lloyd on tenor, but Cannon still burns like crazy!

Geeze, do you think those guys could play, maybe? Just listen to how they build energy. By the time Charles Lloyd is wrapping up his tenor solo, I want to stamp my feet and yell like a crazy man. Cannonball exudes a real joie de vivre. His group must have had a lot of fun playing together!

In previous posts on Sonny Stitt and Phil Woods, I’ve noted those players’ economy of motion. Bop lines like the ones they weave have no business originating from men who seem to barely move their fingers. By contrast, watch Cannonball’s fingers. They’re all over the place. So…who wants to critique his technique? Not me, that’s for sure. Besides, I’m of the philosophy, “Whatever gets the job done.” When it comes to that, Cannonball had everything it took and way, way more.

Cannonball Adderley: Primitivo

Let’s talk about Cannonball Adderly. Better yet, let’s get an earful of him–or should I say, of his sextet. Cannon doesn’t take the spotlight in the tune you’re about to hear, preferring to let his other band members shine.

The year is 1962, and “Primitivo” is the name of the Cannonball composition. The title aptly describes this brooding, chant-like modal piece with its droning bass and loose yet relentless rhythmic feel. Yusef Lateef plays a marvelous, haunting oboe solo–no pyrotechnics, nothing fancy, just a beautiful use of motif, with phrases ending on the same pitch–a note that falls off at the end like a sigh.

There’s plenty more to say about this tune, but I’m talking too much. Let’s listen.

Wow. Talk about mood. Talk about colorful note and scale choices. Talk about rapport between musicians. This tune has it all.

Must-See Storm Chasing Videos

The old adage, “One picture is worth a thousand words,” is quadruply true when it comes to video. So if you wonder why I work up such a lather over storm chasing, just check out the clips on Robert Prentice”s Atmospheric Images on YouTube.

In particular, you definitely want to watch Prentice”s video segment on the history-making 1999 Moore-Bridge Creek, Oklahoma, tornado. This was the last tornado to be rated an F-5 under the old Fujita Scale (updated last February and renamed the Enhanced Fujita Scale), and it sent that rating system out with the highest winds ever recorded–over 300 miles per hour.

My own videos are not, to date, of a quality I care to make public, though they are improving. Thankfully, seasoned chasers such as Prentice have produced a huge volume of top-quality storm videos, and Prentice has very generously made much of his material public. If you’re at all interested in storm chasing or severe weather, Prentice”s clips are a must-see.

Foundations in Bebop

Bebop is to jazz what Baroque harmony is to classical music. Both became the “common practice” of their genre, foundations on which the entire body of music that was to follow would stand. Even seemingly unrelated musical expressions, such as Schoenberg’s atonalism or Miles’s modalism, were creative attempts to break free from what had gone before, and as such are vitally linked to the common practice of their genre.

This is why I’ve concentrated quite a bit on developing my bebop capabilities–not that I’ve by any means mastered bop, but I get around in it fairly well, well enough to hold my own in most settings. My philosophy has been that a good foundation in the common practice of jazz, bebop, will equip me to handle a broad range of other music besides. The premise is simple: metaphorically speaking, if I own a car that can top out at one hundred thirty miles an hour, I know it will handle seventy, no sweat.

The harmonic sophistication and technical demands of bop lead to the development of a respectable musical toolkit. The melodic language is nearly as universal as the blues; a lot of it is in fact dipped in the blues, and works with reasonable success in blues bands.

There is one challenge I face, though, that stems from saturating myself in a particular style. It’s hard to break out of the box and think in a different mode. I have to remind myself to lay back, take it easy, and not default to frenetic double-timing when I’m playing some up-tempo piece with the Grand River Blue Cats. That approach doesn”t fit, or rather, it fits when used sparingly. Ditto with smooth jazz. I am not a smooth jazz player–not that I can”t handle it, but it’s not my area of concentration. Smooth jazz is a highly nuanced music. A lot of it isn”t particularly challenging technically, but that doesn”t mean it’s simple stuff. You have to think in a smooth idiom, and in order to do that, you have to listen to a lot of the stuff. And to be honest, when I”m getting set to plunk down my fifteen bucks for a CD, I naturally gravitate to something a little more hardball. Jackie McLean. Mike Brecker. Cannonball. Eric Marienthal. That’s just my musical instinct, and maybe I need to broaden it.

But that being said, while I”m no music educator, I’ve heard it said more than once that a lot of young players are sidestepping the roots. That”s too bad. Bebop may not be what everyone listens to these days, but it remains the foundation, the source of much contemporary musical language. Studying it–really getting inside it and working at it–pays off. The best players know that”s true.

Sonny Stitt

My earliest encounter with Sonny Stitt was through a live performance album that featured Sonny on alto, Miles on trumpet, and Stan Getz on tenor. That was back in my college days, and at the time, I couldn”t detect a difference between Stitt and Bird. Both had a blazing technique, and both had a phenomenal command of bebop.

Today, of course, the differences are instantly discernible. Bird was simply nonpareil. His rhythmic approach was considerably more sophisticated than Stitt”s; his vocabulary was broader; his technique, more facile; his overall conception, more inventive.

But that is hardly to diminish Stitt. I am, after all, comparing him to Charlie Parker, and if Stitt stands in the shadow of Bird, he nevertheless stands dauntingly tall. Sonny Stitt was a monster of bebop, and when I listen to him today, my admiration for his playing remains as strong as ever.

Lately, I’ve been listening to a CD called Sonny Stitt: Just In Case Your Forgot How Bad He Really Was. The title is an apt one. The venue is once again a live performance, or possibly a couple live performances, featuring such other sax notables as Richie Cole and John Handy. Stitt plays both alto and tenor, and he shines on each.

Sonny’s quicksilver technique allowed him to execute the fastest passages with precision and conviction. He loved to play in double-time, and he typically outshone most other sax players at it. On this CD, the opening tune, a blues, spotlights Sonny’s penchant for high velocity playing. Following a riff-style blues head, Stitt, the sole horn man, charges into his solo with the aggressiveness of a heavyweight boxer on meth. The mode is double-time from the get-go–inventive, impeccable, a bebop tour de force a la Stitt. You just can”t ask for better.

I hadn’t listened to Sonny for quite a while, so it’s nice to return for a reminder of “how bad he really was.” He was the baddest! He was also accessible. He”s fun to play along with, and to absorb as best I can. Not that I”ll ever sound like Sonny–not that I would ever want to; I want my own language. But when it comes to a mentor in bebop, Sonny is hard to beat and well worth emulating. The man knew a huge number of tunes, and he knew them well. He also knew his horn inside out, and he had a solid command of the building blocks of music. To listen to him analytically is to sit at the feet of a true jazz master. If you at all aspire to excellence on the saxophone, don’t–do NOT–pass him up. Listen, be amazed, learn, and grow.

Church Music

I’ve been a follower of Jesus for nearly thirty years now, and from day one, I”ve played my saxophone as one of the means God has given me to worship him. I love doing so. However, I”m afraid the word worship is fraught with preconceptions and bad theology among Christians, and over the years, I’ve concluded I can’t live up to some of the expectations that arise as a result.

What do I mean? The best way I can explain myself is to consider a common saying among Christians in regard to the role of church musicians. To hear it told, my job is to “usher people into the presence of God.” I used to believe that, but today, I don’t think it’s possible. I can”t conjure up God’s presence, and I can’t cause people to experience it. The best I can do is simply worship God myself with earnestness and passion, whether with my instrument, or my voice, or simply in listening and silence. The rest is up to God and individual hearts.

Worship is an organic, intimate experience, and it deviates from person to person. One person may be filled with joy, and exuberant praise comes naturally to him; another may be struggling with a broken heart, and tears are the truest expression of her connection with God. A few seats down sits a couple who got into a nasty argument before church, and who are too pissed off at each other to feel very good about being in church at all right now. And those examples are just for starters.

In the midst of all the variables in even a small gathering, I’m supposed to “usher people into God”s presence”? Sorry, but I”m a musician, not a magician. I can”t usher anyone anywhere. Worship is part heart attitude and part divine action. It isn”t about selecting the right tunes, or about getting everyone to clap, or raise their hands, or dance, or any of that. Worship is a condition of the heart, and nothing I do can produce it in others. The best I can do is cultivate it in myself, and express it in ways that hopefully will free up others to follow me. Beyond that, I enter into spiritual manipulation, and I”m not willing to go there. I”ve seen too much of it, and it never bears good fruit.

Do I believe the Holy Spirit shows up in the midst of worship? Absolutely. But I can’t make him do so, nor can I determine how he will do so. I do think too many churches are so preoccupied with seamless musical productions they call “praise and worship” that they don’t give the Lord much opportunity to get a word in edgewise. I wonder how differently we would approach the act of corporate worship if we actually expected God to show up–if we really believed that he might have something to communicate or accomplish that placed the focus on his performance, not ours. Perhaps we”d be less concerned with smooth segues from one tune to the next, and more concerned with listening for his voice.

On the day of Pentecost, no mention is made of a well-rehearsed praise band facilitating the event which transpired in that upper room. As a church musician, I find this thought humbling, reassuring, and freeing. It allows me to keep things simple, and not make more of myself than I am. Because it’s not about me, it’s about Jesus. I’m just a man who plays the saxophone, and who loves God, and who has been given the gift of music as a language to express my love to my Lord. Hopefully, in what I and my fellow praise team members play, you will find something that frees and inspires you to find your own voice, be it song, or laughter, or tears, or whatever it is that most genuinely expresses your connection with God in the moment.

If you’ve prepared your heart through prayer, you’ll encounter God on your own, and if not, God may choose to initiate contact anyway, just because he loves you. Worship musicians can enhance an atmosphere for such a connection, but that’s about it. The rest is up to you and God.

It’s a matter of the heart.

Of Jazz and Whirlwinds

Last Saturday I played a big band gig in Bay City, Michigan.

Monday I intercepted a tornadic thunderstorm in Columbia, Missouri.

Those two pursuits–jazz music and storm chasing–may seem miles apart, but the passion that drives them is the same. And I have to think, as a person in whom both interests dwell with equal intensity, that they are related in other ways as well.

Each is, at heart, a search for beauty.

Each is a compelling and richly satisfying adventure, one that revels in exploration, challenge, intensity, wildness, and something within me that is bigger than myself.

Each unites knowledge and an endless thirst to learn with intuition and an unquenchable desire to experience something sublime.

In jazz, I prepare myself through countless practice sessions that culminate in the joy of a well-crafted improvisation. In storm chasing, my preparation lies in honing my forecasting skills, and the payoff is standing on a Kansas roadside, watching a tornado dance across the prairie a mile away.

In both pursuits, the discipline required is rewarding in its own right. Yet that adult quality of discipline leads ultimately to being caught up in the moment in a way that lets the child in me run wild and free.

In a jazz, solo, I’m swept up in the swirl of the music, the rush of ideas that tumble from my imagination into my fingers and out the bell of my horn. At the edge of a storm, I”m caught up in the environment; I feel the inbounds racing around me toward the updraft base, watch twirling filaments reach earthward from a rapidly morphing wall cloud, and yell in exuberance at the wildness of it all.

Both in playing jazz and chasing storms, in different ways, I encounter my heavenly Father. I experience his magnificent creativity, his awesome power, his childlike playfulness, and his tremendous worth. In jazz, I participate in God’s creative nature, and in so doing, I reflect it back to him as worship. In storm chasing, I stand apart from an act of creativity far too immense and uncontrollable for me to ever participate in. I can only admire it “in awesome wonder”–and see in it the face of the great Creator, and feel his extravagant, untamed pleasure.

One of my life goals is to get a decent video clip of myself playing my saxophone out on the Great Plains as a huge honking wedge tornado churns in the background a mile away. Crazy? Damn right. I like being crazy that way. It’s how God wired me. It’s a part of who I am–and the reason why this website is named Stormhorn.com.

Happy New Year!

Had an early evening gig in Kalamazoo, but I”m at home for the turn of the clock at midnight, and glad not to be out and about. A winter storm is covering the roads with snow and ice, and driving–which wasn”t fun on the way home earlier–can only be getting more treacherous.

I”m keeping this post short. Ten minutes left of 2007; six hundred seconds till 2008.

Have a happy and blessed New Year!

–Storm

Santa Baby

Christmas has come and gone, and some time has elapsed since my last post. I spent most of last week in Washington, D.C., visiting my friend Kathy. It was a great time–fun, relaxing, interesting, invigorating, and best of all, shared with someone close to me. Kathy teaches voice at Levine School of Music and has an extensive background as a vocalist and actress. She”s smart, talented, interesting, beautiful, classy, down to earth, wise, generous, tenderhearted, and overall, simply a flat-out wonderful person and dear friend. What a treat to get a taste of D.C. with her as my guide and companion! We took in a terrific production of Fiddler on the Roof, enjoyed dinner and a world-class Cuban jazz band at the Smithsonian, strolled through Annapolis, and spent plenty of time just chilling out, watching DVDs and talking. We both needed that down-time, time to simply be.

Around half a year ago, Kathy got into swing dancing, and it has really lit her fuse. If there”s one thing I love, it”s seeing another person discover something that makes her come alive, and dancing has done that for Kathy. I mean, the woman is into it. Besides being a whole lot of fun, dancing has provided Kathy with a safe, wholesome social outlet as a single woman. Being gregarious by nature, she meets plenty of people.

Recently, at the request of the host, Kathy sang “Santa Baby” at a dance party. A gentleman named Darrel, who plays keyboards for Chuck Berry, enjoyed her performance and invited her to sing at the blues club where he plays and where a lot of the folks in Kathy”s dance crowd like to do blues dancing. When Kathy mentioned I”d be visiting, Darrel said, “Tell him to bring his horn to the club.” So of course I did.

The thing about the blues is, it”s universal and crosses all genres. It”s the one thing all musicians who play in a popular vein understand. Jazz, country, folk, rock, R&B…it doesn”t matter what your bag is, blues is still blues. It may get dressed up in different stylistic and harmonic attire, but strip it down to the foundation and you”ve still got twelve bars, a I-IV-V chord progression, and the blues scale.

I had a blast sitting in with Darrel and his band, particularly since he played in jazz-friendly keys. We started off with “Night Train,” then kicked up the tempo with the next tune and kept things moving for the rest of the set. It”s so nice to be able to go to another city, sit in with a band, and immediately get on the same page with the other musicians. What a great feeling!

But the best part was when Darrel called Kathy to the microphone to sing “Santa Baby,” to the cheers of her dance crowd. Mind you, now, for all her flamboyance, Kathy is a modest lass–but she can do “sultry” in a way that left me envying old Saint Nick. What a shining star! And what was particularly nice was that, after knowing each other for a year, she and I finally got to make music together. For me, that was hands-down the highlight of the evening.

Playing music is a pleasure almost anytime. But when you can share the experience with a close friend, it becomes a form of communication, an added form of connection, a special link of mutual joy and satisfaction. It just doesn”t get much better than that.

Michael Brecker

Eleven months have elapsed since the passing of tenor sax giant Michael Brecker. The following is excerpted from the news section of the official Michael Brecker website:

JANUARY 13, 2007 – Following a two and a half year battle with MDS and then leukemia, Michael passed away. A memorial service occurred at a packed Town Hall in New York City on February 20th. Michael was lovingly remembered in words by Susan, Jessica, Sam and Randy Brecker, as well as Herbie Hancock, Pat Metheny, Dave Liebman and Darryl Pitt. In addition, Joey Calderazzo, James Genus and Jeff “Tain” Watts performed with Randy. John Patitucci and Jack DeJohnette performed with Herbie–who also performed with Paul Simon. Pat performed a solo piece which he composed for Michael more than twenty-five years ago.

Few tenor sax players have been as widely emulated as Michael Brecker. His sound and his approach were instantly recognizable, and his mastery of his instrument was legendary.

I first became aware of Michael and his brother, trumpeter Randy Brecker, years ago in college, with the release of a Brecker Brothers album titled Heavy Metal Bebop. I caught up with Michael next through Chic Corea”s Three Quartets. That record opened my eyes to just how much music four world-class players could generate in an acoustical format. Michael”s quicksilver technique, intensity, and overall musicality amazed me then, and they have done so ever since. Mike had the ability to play consistently at a dazzlingly high level, spinning out fresh, jewel-like musical statements with clarity, precision, and soul.

Brecker debuted in New York at age twenty-one in the group Dreams with his older brother, Randy. He evolved into one of the most coveted side-men in the music industry, and eventually went on to produce ten of his own recordings. Mike”s early style derived from rock guitar as well as jazz, and developed over the years into his trademark inside-outside approach. His eclectic tastes led him into a sweeping array of musical associations. A brief sampler of different artists and groups he has worked with reads like a who”s who of both jazz and rock: Herbie Hancock, James Taylor, Paul Simon, Chic Corea, Chet Baker, Steely Dan, Pat Metheny, Lou Reed, George Benson, Dire Straits, McCoy Tyner, Joni Mitchell, Quincy Jones, Eric Clapton, Aerosmith, Frank Sinatra, Charles Mingus, Jaco Pastorius, Frank Zappa, Bruce Springsteen, and Parliament-Funkadelic.

The music world lost a true luminary with Michael”s passing. Thankfully, Michael leaves us an exhaustive body of work to admire and learn from–and above all, to enjoy.

Thank you, Michael. You were gifted–and you were a gift.