Ornithology: A Charlie Parker Alto Sax Solo Transcription

OrnithologyThe beboppers of the 1940s and 1950s advanced the use of contrafacts,* and the godfather of bebop, alto saxophonist Charlie Parker, used them liberally. After the many tunes he wrote over the chord changes to “I Got Rhythm,” the contrafact he probably recorded most was the tune “Ornithology,” which utilizes the changes to the old standard, “How High the Moon.”

I have no idea exactly how many recordings exist of Bird holding forth on “Ornithology.” I only know that there are lots. The tune was clearly a favorite vehicle for Parker, and the transcription shown here captures his first 32 bars of an extended flight. I hope to transcribe the rest of it in time, but the process keeps getting interrupted by other priorities, so for now at least, I thought I’d share this much of Bird’s solo with you. It’s plenty ’nuff to whet your chops on.

Charlie Parker not only had a phenomenal technique, but an equally amazing melodic concept. Both are on display here. Just click on the image and enjoy soaring with Bird.

If you enjoyed this post, visit my Jazz Theory, Technique & Solo Transcriptions for many more transcriptions, licks and technical exercises, and educational articles on jazz.

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* Contrafacts are new melodies set to the harmonies of preexisting tunes.

January 31, 2013 by
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The Fear of Cloning

The name of the tune is “Gunslinging Bird,” but the name originally given it by Charles Mingus was, “If Charlie Parker Were a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats.” Included in the Mingus Dynasty album, the tune was Mingus’s way of recognizing the enormous impact of Parker on other saxophonists. Parker’s approach was so overwhelming that scores of horn players, alto saxophonists in particular, sought to copy it. Bird was the way to sound.

Mingus was making a point that cloneliness is not next to godliness. Still, learning by emulation is a longstanding hallmark of jazz–and, for that matter, of any discipline. Whether it’s a girl watching her mom bake cookies in the kitchen, an English major contemplating a Hemingway short story, or a trumpet player transcribing a Wynton Marsalis solo, every person learns by seeing–or hearing–and imitating how the masters do it.

Today, both in print and on the Internet, a huge array of transcribed solos testifies that the venerable tradition of emulating the jazz luminaries remains alive and well. Yet so, too, does a common objection voiced by novice musicians: “I don’t want to sound like another musician; I want to develop my own style.”

It’s an understandable concern, but is it a valid one? That depends, really, on the goals of the individual. Let’s put it this way: If you listen to a lot of Kenny Garrett, and if you take it upon yourself to transcribe a bunch of Kenny Garrett solos, and if you steep yourself in those Kenny Garrett solos, then chances are you will come out sounding an awful lot like Kenny Garrett.

Now, if that’s all you aspire to, then that’s where you’ll end up: as a Kenny Garrett clone. But if you desire to forge your own voice, then Kenny will simply become a part of your vocabulary, a vocabulary that includes other influences besides Kenny and increasingly reflects your personal explorations with melody, harmony, timbre, and nuance. You are an individual, after all, and the sheer force of your individuality will direct you toward your own sound and approach.

So don’t be afraid to go through the masters. Doing so is a part of how every jazz musician learns. It’s not the only part of the growth curve, but it is a foundational one: working the pre-existing language of jazz into your head and your hands so you can communicate meaningfully with your instrument. The point of copying Bird isn’t to play like Bird, but to move beyond Bird and play like yourself. And you will. If you want to, you will.

That’s all that need be said. You just need to trust the process–and, I might add, enjoy it. Don’t worry about arriving; just dig the journey, and recognize that your landscape is slowly changing with every step you take.

Practice hard, have fun, and keep at it!

If you enjoyed this article, click here to find lots more similar posts, including chops-building exercises, jazz theory, solo transcriptions, and video tutorials.

November 9, 2011 by
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Charlie Parker: His Music and Life (Book Review)

Intellectually, all saxophonists understand that Charlie Parker had to pay his dues just like anyone else. We’ve heard the stories about a high-school-age Parker learning to play on a clunky old artifact of an alto saxophone held together by rubber bands; about his mortification when drummer Jo Jones “gonged” him by skittering a cymbal across the floor at a jam session; about Parker woodshedding for 13-hour stints in the Ozarks, developing his formidable technique. In theory at least, we know that Bird wasn’t born with an alto sax in his hands. He had a learning curve just like the rest of us mere mortals. There was even–and I realize this will leave many of you in a state of shock and denial, but it’s nevertheless true–a time when Bird sucked.

We know these things. Personally, though, I still find the idea of Charlie Parker as a novice hard to wrap my mind around.

So reading the book Charlie Parker: His Music and Life by Carl Woideck has proved not only enlightening, but also reassuring.* Musical genius though he was, Bird was still just a very human, flawed possessor of a God-given gift that he worked hard to develop. Seen in that light, Parker represents not an unattainable ideal, but a waymaker, a teacher, and an inspiration who encourages the rest of us to keep at it; to push past our personal limitations; to practice, practice, and practice some more.

A number of excellent biographies have been written on Charlie Parker, providing fascinating glimpses into his quirky personality, immense talent, and tragic excesses. Rather than merely adding one more book to the firmament of Charlie Parker life stories, Woideck has taken a different approach, focusing on the development of Bird as a musician. Woideck’s tome offers eye-opening and profitable insights into the different phases of Charlie Parker’s music, from Parker’s apprenticeship with Kansas City saxophonist Buster Smith, to his tenures with the Jay McShann and Fletcher Henderson big bands, to his co-development of new musical concepts with trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, to his peak playing years in the late 40s, to his latter period in the 50s, when Parker’s sense that he had taken the bebop approach as far as he could left him groping for a new direction even as his addictions increasingly took their toll.

A glance at the table of contents reveals the book’s logical, easy-to-follow organization. Part one offers a brief biographical sketch of Bird, creating a context for the examination of his musicianship that follows. Part two explores Parker’s music in four different periods: 1940–43, 1944–46, 1947–49, and 1950–55.

Woideck substantiates his discussion of Parker’s musical trajectory and playing style with copious analyses of Bird solos, using excerpts from such tunes as “Honey and Body,” “Embraceable You,” “Ko Ko,” “I’ve Found a New Baby,” “Body and Soul,” “Swingmatism,” and many more to illustrate Bird’s changing palette of nuances and techniques.

This is easily the most comprehensive exploration of Parker’s music that I’ve come across, made all the more so by appendices that provide a select discography and four complete solo transcriptions: “Honey and Body,” “Oh, Lady Be Good!” “Parker’s Mood” (take 5), and “Just Friends.” Being an alto sax man myself, like Bird, I could wish that the solos had been transcribed in the Eb alto key that Parker played them in. However, from a standpoint of general usefulness to all musicians, it’s understandable that the transcriptions and discussion examples appear in concert pitch.

Painstakingly researched and written with clarity and crispness, Charlie Parker: His Music and Life is a fascinating and enriching book for any musician and a must-read for alto saxophonists.

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* Carl Woideck, Charlie Parker: His Music and Life (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996).

March 20, 2010 by
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Of Sax Practice and Railroad Tracks

I just returned from a nice, two-hour saxophone practice session out by the railroad tracks.

The railroad tracks?

Oh, I guess I haven’t told you about my practice habits. They have as much to do with where I practice as what I practice.

Living in an apartment, I try to be considerate of my neighbors. I like to think that they’d enjoy my music, but realistically, there’s only so much that even the most ardent jazz lovers can take of listening to the same licks, patterns, and scales repeated ad nauseum, blaring down the hallway and through the walls. So for years, my practice room has been my car. My routine has consisted of driving to the outbacks of Kent County and parking at various locations along the CSX tracks between Kentwood and Lansing, where I practice my horn and watch for the trains to roll by.

I love trains. Obviously, I also love playing my sax. It’s nice to be able to combine those two interests in a productive way. Tonight, as I do so often, I parked at one of my favorite trackside spots near a small community called, appropriately, Alto. I didn’t see any trains, but I had a most productive practice hashing out some diminished and diminished/whole tone licks, and woodshedding the Charlie Parker tune “Ornithology” in several keys.

I always return feeling good about my playing after a session like tonight’s. The time goes so fast! And that’s as it should be.

The best way to make a living is to earn money doing things we’d pay money to do. Playing the sax is one of those things. I can’t say I make a living at it, but it certainly supplements my cash flow; it’s part of the picture of my livelihood. I’ve been at it a long time now, and most of that time I’ve been practicing in my car by the tracks–or, during the warm months, often outdoors. If I ever do buy a house and gain an honest-to-goodness practice room of my own, I think I will still maintain my railroad track sessions. I’d miss them far too much not to. Habits are hard to break, and there’s no reason to break a good one in the first place.

April 3, 2009 by
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Sunset Photos and Sax Licks

We finally got a break in the gray skies and snows. Today’s morning sun rose into a flawless sky, and sunshine predominated all day long, along with warmer–which, at thirty-two degrees, is not to say warm, but an improvement on what we’ve had–temperatures.

I grabbed my saxophone and my camera and headed out to Grand Ledge this afternoon, and on the way out there, I grabbed my first workout in months. I haven’t been in the gym since last October, I’ve been feeling the lack of exercise, and I finally decided the time had come to get back into my workouts. So I dropped in at a modest but great little weight lifting gym out by Lake Odessa and ran through a quick, twenty-minute break-in routine. One set per movement is enough; I’ll be feeling the pain Monday when it comes time for my next bout in the gym.

Anyway…I took a number of photos out near Grand Ledge. The ones I liked best were of an old, deserted farmstead at sunset. Thought I’d share a couple with you.

Old Shed at Sundown

Old Shed at Sundown

The Sun Sinks Lower

The Sun Sinks Lower

Afterwards, I found a place to park my car and practice my saxophone. It has been a while since I’ve spent time on my horn. I’ve been writing a book and have been singularly focused on that, and I need to exercise a little balance, tend to other things that are also important. Staying on top of my sax is right up there at the top. It felt good to limber up my fingers and run through some Charlie Parker licks.

It takes discipline to be a good jazz musician. Licks and ideas you think you own for keeps can desert you after a while if you don’t practice consistently. Fortunately, I’d only been away from my axe for a bit, not long enough to damage me. But it always feels good when I pick it back up.

January 31, 2009 by
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