This Week on Jazz Spectrum - 8/23-8/25

Song of the Week – “All Too Soon” – Music by Duke Ellington; lyrics by Carl Sigman

By Fritz Byers

Each week, Fritz exchanges thoughts with Aly Krajewski about the Song of the Week featured on Jazz Spectrum Saturday.

Dear Aly,

Miles Davis, not widely known as a charitable praise-giver but certainly a lord of the manor when it comes to identifying true genius as opposed to the counterfeit variety, said on the occasion of Duke Ellington’s passing in 1974, “I think all the musicians should get together one certain day and get down on their knees and thank Duke.”  (Miles was rarely inadvertent in his word choices, so I’ve always thrilled at his omission of the word “jazz” before “musicians.”  While we’re at it, let’s remember Duke’s comment on the subject of genre: “There are simply two kinds of music – good music and the other kind.”)

Aly, let me tell a dimly remembered vignette about Duke, and then we’ll get down to biz.  

Many years ago, I encountered the only reliable description I’ve ever read of the mysterious collaborations between Duke and Billy Strayhorn.  Alas, I can’t remember where I read it, and, try as I might over the last couple of months, I’ve come up dry.  So, this is from memory, but I’m pretty sure it’s close enough to the source material to convey the essentials.

Duke and Billy are at the piano, trying to solve a musical problem that is holding up the completion of yet another masterpiece.  (The numbers are a bit indefinite, but Duke wrote about 1800 tunes; Billy somewhere around 200; and they are jointly credited with another 100 or so.  But the more you learn about their work, the more it’s clear the lines defining who wrote what are, to say the least, blurred.  Here’s another Duke-ism: For decades, when asked if he had a favorite composition of his own, Duke would invariably say “The next one.”)

So, there they are, at the piano, Duke on the bench and Billy leaning on the side, the in-process score spread before them.  Duke, whose elegance and tact were legendary, says to Billy, “William, if I left it to you, this is how you would resolve this section.”  And then Duke plays a perfect ventriloquism of Billy’s rich, subtle, impressionistic style.  Billy says, “Yes, that’s about right.”

Duke then says “And William, this is how I would resolve it.”  Duke plays a markedly different passage, unmistakably reflecting Duke’s own penchants for rhythmic accents and slightly angled, percussive embroidering of the melody.  Billy says, “Yes, that sounds like you.”

Duke says, “William, your way is just perfect. Thank you.”  And then Duke completed the score using his own invention.  The composition bears both their names.

 Aly, I think you could teach a class on jazz history organized around the elements of that story.  Maybe we should do that soon.

Duke did occasionally mention one of his songs as a favorite, although, given his tongue-in-cheek approach to such things, his lists aren’t really reliable.  In 1952, DownBeat polled the usual suspects to identify their favorite Duke tunes.  Third on the list was one of my favorites, “All Too Soon.”

By Duke’s design, we don’t know much about how this tune came to be. He composed “All Too Soon” in 1940.  It’s a slow-tempo ballad with a romantic feel, perfectly calibrated, as Duke would so often ensure, for the sonic textures of the tenor saxophonist Ben Webster, who shares top billing with the bassist Jimmy Blanton on the “Blanton-Webster” iteration of Duke’s long-running orchestra.  Carl Sigman added the lyrics later.  They’re apt. 

As best I can tell, this was Carl’s only collaboration with Duke.  He worked with other great composers, Jimmy Van Heusen, Tadd Dameron, and Bob Russell among them.  He wrote the lyrics to Tadd’s masterpiece, “If You Could See Me Now,” and provided the words for Bob Russell’s music on “Crazy He Calls Me.”  I don’t think we should get on our knees to thank Carl, but we ought to at least give him a small ovation for those works.

Of course, for our show this week we’ll start with the original 1940 recording of the tune, Duke’s orchestra beautifully framing Ben Webster’s exploration of the tune, which begins at the 1:51 mark.  Listen to the orchestra’s drone-like motif behind him, and then the way the band lifts from that into a beautiful counterpoint.  

Next is Mildred Bailey, from 1941.  Mildred doesn’t deserve the obscurity in which she now resides – she was a marvelous, understated singer.  She can swing, of course – hence her nicknames “The Queen of Swing” and “Mrs. Swing.” But her rendition of “All Too Soon” has an almost aching quality that perfectly complements Carl’s lyric, which evokes a love that ended, well, all too soon.

The pianist Claude Hopkins and the tenor saxophonist Buddy Tate are next, from October 1960.  The opening trumpet salvo is by Clark Terry, who had just left Duke’s orchestra the year before to join Quincy Jones.  But Buddy’s saxophone is the heart of the recording.  It’s gentle, but Buddy’s presentation of the melody is nothing like Ben’s.  And then when he expands his vision at the start of the second chorus, backed by beautifully orchestrated chording from the other horns, you get a glimpse of how melancholy this tune can become.  This is a wonderful version.

The first set concludes with Sarah Vaughan, backed by Tony Scott and His Down Beat Club Septet, from 1946.  Even then, early in her career, Sarah’s voice was almost too full to be cabined by so restrained a tune.  You can hear her range bumping up against the harmonies.  And yes, that’s Ben Webster again, following Sarah’s vocal with another breathy solo.

The second set opens with the vocalist Chris Connor, accompanied by the Ronnie Ball Orchestra, from September 1960.  Chris was born in Kansas City, as I was, but we don’t claim her as adamantly as we have claimed so many other jazz stars.  She came to prominence with Claude Thornhill’s band.  This record came out when she was atop the culture.  She didn’t stay there, but she kept making nice records till the early 2000s.

Next, another Ellingtonian in exile, the alto saxophonist Johnny Hodges, with the Argentinian pianist and composer Lalo Schifrin (he wrote the themes for “Mission Impossible” and “Mannix” and the Dirty Harry” scores, among many other familiar works.)  Their version of “All Too Soon” is an outtake from the 1963 session that produced Buenos Aires Blues, a fascinating document of Hodges’s plunge into arrangements by the great Oliver Nelson.  You can take the saxophonist out of Duke’s band, but you can’t take Duke out of the saxophonist.

Ella Fitzgerald is typically flawless and precise in her version, backed only by the guitarist Joe Pass.  I like Ella best in these pared-down settings (solo guitar with Joe or solo piano with Ellis Larkins or Paul Smith.)

Finally, a sublime pairing of the pianist Mal Waldron and the tenor saxophonist David Murray, from their 2001 date, Silence.  This seven-plus-minute version is by far the longest we’ll hear, and every second is engaging.  Mal is wonderfully restrained as he travels through the tune, and you know by now that I think David Murray is ceaselessly worth listening to.

Aly this is a departure from our recent focus on songs that debuted in movies.  I hope you enjoy the detour.

Fritz

Aly's Response

Fritz,

The irony of FINALLY getting back into our usual rapport during the week you select "All Too Soon" for SotW is not lost on me; apologies for the radio silence these last few weeks. Know that I was listening as diligently as I always do, even if I didn't have the energy mustered to put (electronic) pen to paper this month. 

Your Miles & Duke anecdote reminded me of one of the few other quotes of Mr. Davis' that I know off the dome: "When I'm playing, I'm never through. It's unfinished. I like to find a place to leave for someone else to finish it. That's where the high comes in." I think that comes to mind after reading your note this week because I'm enamored with the idea of creative collaboration, particularly after learning about Duke and Billy's (quite charming) exchange. As usual, I was sent down the rabbit hole on thinking about jazz as a singular act, and jazz as a place for some of the purest forms of collaboration. (Don't google "Jazz Collaboration Articles" if you don't want to see a nauseating amount of LinkedIn posts about how to use the principles of jazz to increase sales and enhancing your marketing leadership. Barf.)

I can only speak with firsthand experience to the feelings of visual creative collabs, as you know that's my bread and butter. But, with a father for a musician, I've seen secondhand what audial magic can be crafted when two or more are gathered in the Name of the Father (the father in this case being Charles Bolden). And the act of creation in any sensory experience has overlap in its glittering generalities, I think. I love to work alongside other talented people. Not only does it make me push myself harder to be innovative and interesting; but I'm a lifelong learner, and I get such a kick out of seeing what I can glean from another's practice. 

I worry sometimes that I lean on other people too much in my own practice. A self critical designer with a penchant for quick dismissal of my own ideas, it's certainly not difficult for me to cast ideas aside, to consider myself lesser than in the eyes of other, "better", artists. It's a slippery slope to find yourself sliding down, I know; but someone once said something about comparison being a thief, and I don't think they were entirely off base on that observation. 

Now, people like Miles and Duke and Billy probably didn't feel a need to work with other artists for the same reasons as me. It's evident in the above quote from Miles that he saw his own singular practice as an opportunity to weave within and without other musicians, as something more of a challenge to give juuuuust enough, but not to take it all for himself. Perhaps the geniuses are geniuses because they had the confidence in their own talents to know that they didn't have to work with others–and I can only imagine how sweet it might have felt for the empresarios of the genre to meet their "matches" and come together to work alongside each other. 

And it was some of the collaborations in this week's SotW that reminded me how foolish I was in thinking that "leaning on" other creatives might make me less of a creative person. I think it goes without saying that Ella doesn't need anyone else to prove that she is one of the Greats, obviously. But how much sweeter is her rendition of this week's tune with the inclusion of Joe Pass's sweet, soft guitar behind her powerful vocal? And how easy it would've been for Buddy & Claude's rendition of this song to be pretty good all on its own, without the smoothest trumpet this side of the Maumee River kicking it off thanks to Clark Terry? 

There's something to be said for paving your own way, sure. There's also something to be said for knowing that none of us are purely great of our own formation, without intervention from the people and places and ideas all around us, for all of our lives. I'll try to remember these words, and Duke's melodies, the next time I find myself dismissing a potential teamwork scenario. Sometimes you can make good things alone, and sometimes you can make even better things together. 

Yeesh, I'm starting to sound like a poster hung in a high school English classroom, aren't I?

Anyways. While you know I love to gab, I think I better leave the jazz-centric classes to be taught by much more adept professors, at least for now. Besides, I'm absolutely full up to my ears with very important things like Covert Spy Operations and Petting My Cats these days–much too busy for academia and all its quirks. But perhaps a collaboration might be possible down the road though...? 

Yours in Cooperation & Association,

Aly