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Composing the bass revolution : 's writing for the string bass, 1925-1941

Reference: Heyman Matthias.- Composing the revolution : Duke Ellington's w riting for the string bass, 1925-1941 Jazz perspectives - ISSN 1749-4079 - (2019), p. 1-35 Full text (Publisher's DOI): https://doi.org/10.1080/17494060.2019.1682638 To cite this reference: https://hdl.handle.net/10067/1636600151162165141

Institutional repository IRUA Composing the Jazz Bass Revolution: Duke Ellington’s Writing for the String

Bass, 1925–1941

Matthias Heyman, University of Antwerp

ABSTRACT

Throughout his career, Duke Ellington (1899–1974) has been partial to the deep sounds of the bass, as evidenced by records ranging from “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” (1926) to “Portrait of

Wellman Braud” (1970). He always made sure he had the finest bassists at his disposal and used them to good advantage, not merely as accompanists or soloists, but also by having them provide counterpoint, double melodic lines, add percussive effects, and so forth. It can even be argued that although he did not play the string bass, Ellington was instrumental to its development. This article discusses the compositional devices and strategies Duke used to explore new approaches to the bass function between 1925 and 1941, and reveals how he in the process helped define its role in jazz.

Jazz history has often been framed as a (chrono)logical, evolutionary narrative supported by a canon of masterpieces that was created by a select few iconic figures.1 These jazz greats serve as “exemplary performer[s]” who play “better […] than anyone else and whose creative innovations influenced everyone else,” as such advancing the music by way of their singular artistic, technical, or stylistic contributions.2 In this historiographic model, the

1 I would like to thank Alexander Dhoest, Greg Gottlieb, Andrew Homzy, Steven Lasker, Ken Prouty, my fellow contributors, and the two reviewers for sharing their insights and ideas. This article is based on a paper read on May 20, 2016 at the 24th International Duke Ellington Study Group Conference hosted by the Duke Ellington Center for the Arts (New York). This project is funded by a grant from the Research Programme of the Research Foundation – Flanders (FWO). 2 George Lipsitz, “Song of the Unsung: The Darby Hicks History of Jazz,” in Uptown Conversation: The New Jazz Studies, ed. Robert G. O’Meally, Brent Hayes Edwards, and Farah Jasmine Griffin (New York: Colombia University Press, 2004), 11.

1 focus lies heavily on individuals, whereas collaborative efforts go largely unnoticed. Yet, there can be little doubt that the act of creating jazz relies significantly on the cooperative process, on the joint making of a (performed or written) musical work. Musicians not only perform their music together, acting, reacting, and interacting with and against each other, they also rehearse and study together: they work out explicit and implicit performance routines, as well as music arrangements of the relevant repertoire, all the while musically and verbally sharing ideas to enhance the individual and group performance.3 Even composing, in the Western Romantic tradition perceived as a highly solitary and alienated act, often draws on real or virtual cooperation, not simply by having two writers work on the same composition or sharing their knowledge, but also by writing for specific musicians, taking their personal styles and strengths as an inspiration and guideline to one’s writing, something

Duke Ellington (1899–1974) was known to do frequently.

Despite such negligence for collaborative processes in dominant jazz histories, a number of highly influential studies on this subject have appeared, in particular by Ingrid Monson, who focuses on the rhythm section, or by Paul F. Berliner, who looks at the “[c]ollective aspects of improvisation.”4 Yet, it all too often remains the band leader who receives all credit for the success of an ensemble’s performance, as such downplaying the importance of the cooperative aspects that guide a jazz performance. While the members of certain key ensembles, such as Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, the “great” Quintets, and the classic quartets led by , , and , are usually acknowledged for their contribution to the music, most observers often reduce their input to a simple list of characteristics that essentializes their own performance style, once more emphasizing the creative individual. The complex, two-way processes that govern such a joint

3 See Paul F. Berliner, Thinking in Jazz: The Infinite Art of Improvisation (: The University of Chicago Press, 1994), 289–386 for more on these collaborative processes. 4 Ingrid Monson, Saying Something: and Interaction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). Berliner, Thinking in Jazz, viii.

2 performance are rarely revealed, although some exemplary works have been written that tackle this hiatus to some extent, as in some of the volumes in the Oxford Studies in Recorded

Jazz series, or in Nathan Bakkum’s exploration of the 1964 collaborations of bassist Richard

Davis and drummer Tony Williams.5 When the relationship involves a (number of) performer(s) and a composer, the literature becomes even more sparse.6 As noted, Ellington is usually singled out as a collaborative composer, not only by teaming up with William “Billy”

Strayhorn (1915–1967), but, more importantly in this context, also by writing music for and with the (wo)men in his band.7 It is known that the bandleader regularly used musical ideas, exercises, and excerpts provided by his sidemen, some consciously, as they sold Ellington their material, who subsequently worked it out for his orchestra, some unconsciously during a rehearsal or performance, only to find their idea transformed into a full-fledged arrangement some time later.8 But these discussions offer a unilateral perspective, only taking into account how Ellington built upon his sidemen’s contributions while mostly remaining silent about what and how his so-called “Ellingtonians” in turn gained from the maestro (save a financial compensation for their services, compositional or performance-wise). Naturally, certain benefits hardly need mentioning. Through their association with Ellington, many of Duke’s men became established names in the jazz community, respected by peers, critics, and fans alike. Such (inter)national fame enabled some of them to pursue their own artistic or financial

5 The Oxford volumes in this series that most extensively cover the cooperative nature of the performance are those dedicated to and His Orchestra (Catherine Tackley, 2013), the Quartet (Gabriel Solis, 2014), and the ‘second’ Miles Davis Quintet (Keith Waters, 2011). Bakkum, “Point of Departure: Recording and the Jazz Event,” Jazz Perspectives 8, no. 1 (2014): 73–91. 6 Jeffrey Magee’s essay on the collaborative creation process of ’s “” is a notable exception (“Revisiting Fletcher Henderson’s Copenhagen,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 48, no. 1 (1995): 42–66). 7 The longstanding perception of Ellington and Strayhorn collaborating on the very same musical work has been properly addressed by Walter van de Leur in his Strayhorn study (Something to Live for: The Music of (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002)). While a few isolated examples of this practice are known, mainly in early pieces such as “Pussy Willow” or “Grievin’,” since the 1950s both men mostly worked on individual compositions, some of which were compiled into a suite (van de Leur, Strayhorn, 47). 8 For a more detailed description of Ellington’s collaborative compositional approach (and some critique thereof), see Berliner, Thinking in Jazz, 305, and Terry Teachout, Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington (New York: Gotham Books, 2013), 112–5.

3 aspirations, notable examples being trumpeter , who in November 1940 departed for the higher-paid band of Benny Goodman, or alto saxophonist , who in January 1951 left to lead his own combo, taking trombonist Lawrence Brown and drummer with him.9 (With the exception of Greer, all of these men eventually returned to Ellington, Hodges in 1955, Brown in 1960, and Williams in 1962.) Moreover, when a sideman was co-credited for his compositional contribution (which wasn’t always the case), he reaped the monetary benefits from the shared royalties. Yet, the impact Ellington and his music might have had his band members’ musicianship, in particular from a technical or creative perspective, is somewhat neglected.

In at least one case the contrary happens as well, with Ellington largely being written out of the narrative and most attention going to the sideman. String bass player James

“Jimmie” Blanton, Jr. (1918–1942), best known for his tenure with Ellington between 1939 and 1941, is generally seen as one of the most influential bassists in jazz history, a true pioneer who “revolutionized” jazz string bass playing, in particular in how he developed it as a solo instrument.10 Since Blanton’s joining of the Ellington organization on November 3,

1939, and his subsequent emergence on the national jazz scene, a number of his recorded solos have been widely transcribed, several studies have been dedicated to his (mainly solo) style, and he has been entered into virtually all reference works and textbooks on jazz.11

Given this, it is clear that Blanton is framed as one of jazz bass’s “exemplary performer[s],” as such emphasizing the individualistic nature of this iconic status.12 Certainly, Ellington is at times credited for giving his bass player (inter)national exposure, but his compositional role in

9 Unless indicated otherwise, all dates pertaining Ellington stem from David Palmquist, The Duke – Where and When: A Chronicle of Duke Ellington’s Working Life and Travels, last modified September 23, 2019, http://tdwaw.ca. 10 While Blanton himself used to sign his name as “Jimmie,” others commonly spell it as “Jimmy.” 11 For a partial list of studies dedicated to Blanton, as well as literature that references him, see Matthias Heyman, “Silent Revolutions: An Exploration of 1941, Jimmie Blanton’s ‘Forgotten’ Year,” Jazz Research Journal 9, no. 2 (2015): 148. 12 Lipsitz, “Song of the Unsung,” 11.

4 establishing Blanton as a major jazz figure remains strangely overlooked in all existing literature. Still, without such elaborate bass features as “Jack the Bear” and “Sepia Panorama”

(both 1940), as well as other projects that relied on Ellington’s initiative or support, such as the recording of a series of /bass duets (1939, 1940, 1941), Blanton would not have risen as easily to the ranks of his instrument’s top performers, and his contributions to the bass’s development would have been less certain, or at the very least not as exhaustively documented. In order to truly understand Blanton’s place in jazz (bass) history, it does not suffice to look only at his music in itself, that is, to study and analyze the actual notes he played (on record); it is best complemented with a more expansive examination of the collaborative contexts in which he operated.

In this essay, I aim to partially address this gap by focusing on Ellington’s musical role in Blanton’s development as a performer, enabling his young bassist to explore new creative paths and push the technical boundaries of his playing. For this, I discuss the compositional devices and methods Ellington used to experiment with new approaches to the bass function, and show how he in the process helped to define its role in jazz. Indeed, it can even be argued that although Ellington did not play the string bass, he was instrumental to its development.

In all, this not only yields a better understanding of Blanton’s own musical evolution— or rather revolution, to use a trope frequently associated with him—as such adding further nuance to his historical account; it also reveals a side of Ellington’s compositional style that has rarely been addressed.13 In doing so, I demonstrate that the so-called jazz bass

13 Literature on Ellington’s composing is somewhat scattered, the only fully dedicated book being Ken Rattenbury’s Duke Ellington, Jazz Composer (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), which, regrettable, is rather flawed. A few other books—of better quality, for that matter—that partially address Ellington’s compositional style, are those by Mark Tucker’s Ellington: The Early Years (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1991) and, by way of contributions by Mimi Clar, André Hodeir and Gunther Schuller, Tucker’s edited volume The Duke Ellington Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), as well as Schuller’s studies Early Jazz: Its Roots and Musical Development (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968) and The Swing Era: The Development of Jazz, 1930–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). For the genesis of the trope of Blanton as a revolutionary, see Matthias Heyman, “Of Icons and Iconography: Seeing Jimmie Blanton,” Journal of Jazz Studies 10, no. 2 (2015): 124–6.

5 “revolution” for which Blanton is usually credited should not be attributed solely to him, but rather was a collaborative effort drawing on the skills of both Blanton and Ellington.

Ellington has always been partial to the deep, booming sounds of the bass, not only during Blanton’s two-year tenure. While his young bassist’s creativity and technical prowess inspired him to writing a series of bass features, Ellington had used the talents of his earlier bass players, in particular (1891–1966), Billy Taylor (1906–1986), and Hayes

Alvis (1907–1972), to good advantage as well, not merely as accompanists or soloists, but by having them provide counterpoint lines, double melodic, harmonic or rhythmic voices, add percussive effects, or re-enforce the lower compass of the orchestra; through such efforts, they succeeded in truly integrating the string bass into his orchestral palette. By surveying how Ellington wrote for the bass in the 1920s and 1930s, I show how many of the innovative compositional methods used during Blanton’s tenure in fact are rooted in earlier experiments, which not only pushed the boundaries of early jazz bass playing, but also laid the foundation for how Ellington used the bass as an orchestral voice in the remainder of his career.

Many of these pioneering efforts were fine-tuned and perfected over time, reaching an artistic peak during Blanton’s tenure with Ellington, a brief but very productive two years.

Naturally, the bassist’s legacy endured, not only through his direct successors in the orchestra such as Alvin “Junior” Raglin (1917–1955) and (1922–1960), both of whose playing was partially based on Blanton’s style, but also in Ellington’s writing from the 1940s to 1974. While I refer to bass parts and players from these later decades when relevant, I limit my discussion to Ellington’s writing for the bass from his first recordings in the fall of 1925 to his final collaborations with Blanton in the fall of 1941. These sixteen years aptly demonstrate the extensive impact Ellington’s innovative and influential composing for the bass had on this instrument, its performers, and how it was subsequently approached by other composers and arrangers.

6 This essay is organized chronologically in three parts. I begin by examining how

Ellington employed his earliest bassists, most notably Braud, his first true string bass player.

Next, I mostly focus on the (literally double) bass duos of Braud and Taylor, and then Taylor and Alvis, probably the first such pairing of string bassists in a jazz context. The third part is dedicated to Blanton. Upon his arrival in November 1939, Ellington used the talents of his newest addition to refine some of the concepts he had introduced in the past decade and a half, with the young bassist acting as a creative catalyst, inspiring the band leader to write some of his most enduring compositions. By using Blanton as a focal point, this essay reveals how Ellington, by way of his writing—that is, composing, arranging, and scoring— contributed to the development of jazz bass playing from the 1920s to the 1940s, always refining and reshaping the instrument’s various roles within his orchestra, and always experimenting with its timbres and textures. Belying the Romantic notion of the alienated genius-composer and, on the other side of the divide, the heroic performer, this act was by no means solitary. For while it were his many bassmen, from tuba player Henry “Bass” Edwards in 1925 to acoustic and electric bass player Wulf Freedman in 1974, who actually executed the bass lines, it was only through the close collaboration—and profound understanding— between the maestro and his bassists that these parts could have been crafted in the .

Basses Loaded: From “Bass” Edwards to Braud

While many consider Braud to be Ellington’s first bassist, he was in fact preceded by at least two other bassmen.14 Sometime in the late summer of 1925, the tuba player Henry

“Bass” Edwards (1898–1965) joined the small outfit, comprising an average of seven men,

14 Otto ‘Toby’ Hardwick, best known as Ellington’s lead alto saxophonist between 1919 and 1946, occasionally played string bass in the 1910s and early 1920s, but this was before Ellington formally became the leader of their small group. Moreover, he never recorded as a string bassist. As such, I do not consider him a regular bass player of Ellington’s band.

7 which at that time usually went by the name The Washingtonians.15 The band was mainly active in small nightclubs, in particular the Club Kentucky on West 49th Street in midtown

Manhattan, where it held an extended residency.16 At the time of these nightly engagements, they made a few records, with Edwards’s first session held sometime in September 1925, not long after he joined the group. Neither his, nor any of his following recording sessions with

Ellington, reveal any remarkable (brass) bass playing, but as Greer later remembered it,

Edwards certainly did not shy away from a solo opportunity during their live performances:

“[H]e’d call for four or five choruses, just like a trumpet player, and play all of them different,” all the while adding to the club’s atmosphere as “red and green [blinker] lights twinkl[ed] over his head.”17

Edwards remained with the group for little less than a year, and in the spring of 1926, he was replaced by another tuba player, Mack Shaw.18 During Shaw’s tenure, which lasted until

June 1927, several recordings were made that allow us to distinctly hear his forceful bass lines, in his particular case aided by the introduction of the electrical recording process, a new technology that certainly benefitted the sound projection of string and brass basses. The first electrical recordings cut by Ellington immediately reveal an early sample of his original scoring for the bass. On “East St. Louis Toodle-O” and “Birmingham Breakdown,” both recorded on November 29, 1926, during the band’s first session for the Vocalion label,

Ellington gave Shaw a part that seamlessly shifts between accompanying and rhythmically/melodically doubling other voices.19 As revealed by Michael Baumgartner in his

15 It is unclear whether Edwards, and later Shaw, Braud, or Taylor, played tuba rather than sousaphone, even though from a musical perspective, this matters little. For the sake of consistency, I use the term tuba. 16 The Club Kentucky was known as Hollywood Cabaret, the new name given in February 1925 after the original venue burned down two months earlier. 17 Greer in Stanley Dance, The World of Duke Ellington (New York: Da Capo Press, 1970/2000), 67. 18 No personal details on Shaw, including his birth and death date, are known. 19 Available on Ellington, The Brunswick Era, Volume One – 1926–29, Decca/MCA Records MCAD- 42325, 1990, CD.

8 extensive exploration of “East St. Louis Toodle-O,” this composition, the first from

Ellington’s hand that went beyond the constraints of the typical pop song of its time, quickly became a mainstay in the band’s live and recorded repertoire, with no less than twelve released versions between November 1926 and February 1932.20 A total of six distinct arrangements were written, the first in 1926 and the last in 1956, and in all of them the bass acts as the lowest voice of the reed accompaniment of the opening strain, doubling the tenor or (depending on the version) one octave below. The effect in the original, in no small part achieved by Shaw’s resonant tuba, is a dark, somewhat menacing mood which foreshadows the so-called “jungle style” that was to become an essential part of

Ellington’s compositional approach during his four-year tenure at Harlem’s Cotton Club. A somewhat similar scoring technique is used in the introduction to “Birmingham Breakdown,” another original recorded in this Vocalion session, albeit here the mood is certainly more buoyant, as can be expected with such a ‘hot’ tune.21 Again, we hear Shaw’s tuba coupled with a reed instrument, now primarily ’s baritone saxophone, the pair starting with a rising walking bass line followed by a descending ensemble figure, the whole a rhythmic and melodic foil to the highly syncopated, yet melodically static brass theme of the introduction.22 In the following A strains (in Ab major), Shaw combines chromatically weaving two-beat and four-beat lines into an original and varied accompaniment. In both tunes, these melodic bass lines contrast with those played underneath the solo sections, which are more basic, run-of-the-mill accompaniments, occasionally embellished with a small fill or whooping octave leap. This suggests that for the solos, Shaw created his own lines, whereas those for the ensemble choruses were predetermined, as such truly integrating the bass into the orchestral texture. As Baumgartner observes, “East St. Louis Toodle-O” (and

20 “Duke Ellington’s “East St. Louis Toodle-O” Revisited,” Jazz Perspectives 6, nos. 1–2 (2012): 29. 21 Available on Ellington, The Brunswick Era, Volume One – 1926–29. 22 For an analysis of “Birmingham Breakdown,” see Tucker, Ellington: The Early Years, 219–21.

9 “Birmingham Breakdown” by extension as well, we can assume) was more of a collaborative composition, with trumpeter James “Bubber” Miley providing some of the key elements.23

Thus, it is impossible to determine if the scoring in the eight-bar opening strain was indeed thought out by Ellington, or rather by Miley. On the other hand, the ensemble bass parts in

“Birmingham Breakdown” could very well be crafted by Ellington, as they are reminiscent of the varied rhythmic vocabulary of the bass part of many and stride compositions, an influence the young Duke certainly drew upon, not only as a pianist, but also as a composer and arranger.24 A more direct example of the transferal of a pianist’s left-hand accompaniment to a tuba part can be found in “Down in Our Alley ,” recorded for

Columbia little less than four months following the aforementioned Vocalion session.25 As

Tucker points out, the tuba’s phrasing, in a 3–3–2 pattern, is a rhythmic device often found in the stride accompaniments of James P. Johnson, or indeed of Ellington himself in his piano solo on this track.26 Furthermore, in at least one instance Shaw and Ellington’s left hand are paired, playing a striking “stylized Crescent City bass line,” in the first and last choruses of

“ Low-Down,” waxed on February 3, 1927.27

While these are all fairly basic scoring techniques, it does illustrate that already in the early stages of his professional career, Ellington sought to write dedicated parts for the bass, as such fully employing the capacities of the instrument and not merely using it as an accompaniment. However, this was by no means a unique feature, for several pieces written and performed by other bands reveal similarly scored bass parts. In what most likely is the very first recording with a clearly audible string bass, the New Orleans standard “Milenburg

Joys” in a rendition from June 22, 1925 by Ted Lewis and His Band, Harry Barth snaps out a

23 “Duke Ellington’s “East St. Louis Toodle-O” Revisited,” 32. 24 Tucker, Ellington: The Early Years, 230. 25 Available on Ellington, The Chronogical Duke Ellington & His Orchestra, 1924–1927, Chronogical Classics 539, 1990, CD. 26 Tucker, Ellington: The Early Years, 226–7. 27 Ibid., 235. Available on Ellington, The Chronogical Duke Ellington.

10 bass line that at times simply accompanies, but at other times doubles the trombone part or the tutti melody.28 More closely related to Ellington are “The Mess” and “Blues from the

Everglades” by Thomas Morris and His Seven Hot Babies, both recorded on November 12,

1926.29 On the former, a sonorously bowed string bass occasionally doubles the trombone, not merely as an accompaniment, but near the end also as a melodic fill. In the latter tune the string bass fulfills an even greater role, first as it is voiced as the bass part of the ensemble theme in the introduction, and then near the end, after the modulation from F major to D major, as it plucks an accompaniment that first offsets, and next melodically and rhythmically complements the syncopated ensemble melody. Incidentally, the bassist on these tracks is the future Ellington bassist Wellman Braud.

As Steven Lasker points out, by the late 1920s, the string bass gradually replaced the tuba as the standard bass instrument, reclaiming the place it had once held in New Orleans jazz bands since the 1900s.30 According to Hardwick and Greer, the small stage of the Club

Kentucky was not spacious enough to hold a string bass, obliging Ellington to use a brass bass instead. However, within three months after the Washingtonians’ contract at the club was terminated, in March 1927, Ellington hired Braud, his first string bassist.31 Braud hailed from

28 Available on How Low Can You Go?: Anthology of the String Bass, 1925–1941, Dust-to-Digital DTD- 04, 2006, CD, disc 1. 29 Available on Morris, The Chronogical Thomas Morris, 1923–1927, Chronogical Classics 823, 1995, CD. 30 Liner notes to Duke Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, Columbia and Master Recordings, Mosaic Records #248, 2010, CD, 7. While this falls outside of the scope of this article, it is worth noting that contrary to popular belief, the tuba was not the original bass instrument of choice in early New Orleans jazz/dance bands, as evidenced by virtually all photographs showing such ensembles (see the photographic collection of Tulane’s Hogan Jazz Archive at http://jazz.tulane.edu/collections/graphics/hogan-jazz-archive-photography-collection). Many early Crescent City bassists later pointed out that in the 1900s–1910s, their predecessors and themselves predominantly played with the bow, often in a two-beat feel (see http://musicrising.tulane.edu/listen/ for the oral history collection of the Hogan Jazz Archive). It can therefore be assumed that tuba players in the 1920s, some of which were converted string bassists, modeled their performance style on the earlier string bass practices, not the other way around, as is often claimed. 31 Braud played the tuba as well, but did so only sparingly while with Ellington. While cornetist remembers Braud playing the tuba, only three records of Braud on the brass bass, all from 1929 with a small band accompanying vocalist Ozie Ware, are known (Stewart, Boy Meets Horn (Oxford:

11 New Orleans, a wellspring of many great early jazz bassists, such as William “Bill” Johnson

(1872–1972), “Chink” Martin Abraham (1886–1981), Steve Brown (1890–1965), George

‘Pops’ Foster (1892–1969), John Lindsay (1894–1950), and Al Morgan (1908–1974). These men, all of whom occupied the bass chairs in many of the leading jazz bands in the 1920s and

1930s, were strong proponents of the New Orleans school of string bass playing, which in terms of time feel seamlessly shifts between two-beat and four-beat lines, occasionally alternated with walking bass lines or ostinato pedal points, simultaneously varying the instrument’s timbre by fluently combining arco, pizzicato, and slap bass lines into a rhythmically invigorating whole.32 Furthermore, they had little trouble fulfilling both accompanying and solo duties, all the while providing—independently or by doubling other voices—other melodic, rhythmic, or contrapuntal parts as well, often all within the same tune.

Early jazz bass playing is sometimes regarded as unsophisticated, or even primitive.

Consider for example the following provocative statement by French critic Hugues Panassié:

“The New Orleans musicians who played bass had a distinct style from the later string bassists. Theirs was a simple and extremely conscientious style, which limited itself to furnishing impeccable and fundamental bass notes. […] These musicians, then, were content to play fundamental notes.”33 Panassié was certainly not alone in purporting this idea, and similar remarks, often in less nuanced terms, can be found in literature from the 1940s to today. In one of the earliest written tributes on Blanton, Metronome critic Dave Koonce claims that prior to Blanton’s arrival on the national jazz scene in 1939, “bass men contended

Bayou Press, 1991), 160). Furthermore, his participation to these records is often doubted, and some suggest it is future Ellington bass player Billy Taylor who plays the tuba part (see Palmquist, The Duke, entry for 1929 03 04). 32 This touches upon yet another jazz bass myth that is not by further explored in this essay. Although many assume (1900–1957) was the first to use the walking bass approach, string and brass bassists can already be heard employing it on record since the mid-1920s. Consider for example New Orleanian Sidney Brown’s lines on “Bogalusa Strut” from October 22, 1927, by Sam Morgan’s . It is, however, fair to say that given Page’s prominence in Count Basie and His Orchestra, as well as his consistent and expert use of the walking bass, he popularized it. 33 Hugues Panassié, The Real Jazz, trans. Anne Sorelle Williams, adapted for American publication by Charles Edward Smith (New York: Smith & Durrell, Inc., 1942), 146.

12 themselves with lightly plucking tonics and fifths— a job surmounted in boredom only by that of the drawbridge watchman.”34 In a current textbook on the history of jazz bass playing,

Dave Hunt comments that the string bass “was never expected to serve as more than basic timekeeping accompaniment,” and calls the playing of the early jazz bassists “primitive” and

“crude even by musical standards of that day.”35 However, such a viewpoint is extremely unfair when considering that the creativity of early jazz bass players does not necessarily lie in the virtuoso solo statements we are accustomed to hearing from later bass men such as

Blanton and Pettiford, but rather in the sheer diversity and flexible approach that this first

(recorded) generation of bassists exhibited.

Braud’s playing is an excellent case in point. His strong roots in the New Orleans bass playing tradition (see above) brought a new sound to Ellington’s orchestral palette, inspiring the band leader to explore this instrument’s capacities and functions by framing the string bass in a variety of orchestrations and textures. This is already evident from Braud’s very first recording session with Ellington, on October 6, 1927. On “Washington Wabble,” the bassist is allowed a brief solo, a mere two measures of walking bass, a common approach with bass solos in this era.36 Despite its brevity, the solo is placed quite prominently at the start of the tune, a token of Ellington’s appreciation for his new bassist.37 Also of note is how Braud immediately plays out his New Orleans roots, his propulsive accompaniments combining a bowed basic two-beat, a plucked walking bass, a slapped clave-like line, and a number of

34 “Late Bassdom’s Greatest,” Metronome 62, no. 8 (August 1946): 48. 35 Hunt and Virginia Koenke Hunt, Jazz Bass Artists of the 1950s (Dearborn Heights: Cranston Publications, 2010), 17–8. 36 There is no consensus on what should be considered the first real string bass solo. Schuller dates it to Johnson’s 12-bar solo on “Bull Fiddle Blues,” recorded on July, 6, 1928 (Early Jazz, 201). This is, however, preceded by “Kentucky Stomp,” another lengthy Johnson solo (a 2-bar introduction and one 12- bar chorus) waxed little less than one month earlier. Taking into account brief solo breaks as well, “Washington Wabble” is predated by Lindsay’s two, two-bar breaks on “Grandpa’s Spells,” from a session led by on September 16, 1926. Another contender is Brown’s slapped line on Jean Goldkette’s interpretation of “Dinah” from January 28, 1926, which can be interpreted as an interactive accompaniment to Don Murray’s , as a bass/clarinet duet, or indeed as an actual bass solo accompanied by clarinet obbligato. 37 Available on Ellington, The Duke Ellington Centennial Edition: Complete RCA Victor Recordings: 1927–1973 (RCA/Victor 09026-63386-2, 1999), disc 1.

13 rhythmic ensemble figures. Furthermore, the two alternate takes of “Washington Wabble” give an insight into the creation process, with Braud in the first alternate plucking throughout, while in the second alternate take he bows the majority of the sections following Ellington’s piano solo. But the take that Ellington saw fit to release was the third one, featuring the most diverse bass line, an aspect that might have weighed on Ellington’s decision to clear it for processing. Indeed, this highly varied bass part immediately reveals the advantages of using a string bass over a brass bass, especially when using someone who was as firmly grounded in the New Orleans tradition of string bass playing as Braud.

Following “Washington Wabble,” Braud embroidered a number of other Ellington recordings with his varied bass lines, initially preferring to mostly use his bow, harking back to the days when this was the predominant performance mode in much New Orleans music.38

By early 1928, however, he began using the pizzicato technique more frequently, and soon proved to have truly mastered it. As pointed out in my article “Of Icons and Iconography,” prior to the mid-1950s, jazz bassists generally used a different pizzicato technique than today, plucking the strings in an outward fashion with the right hand not anchored on or below the fingerboard.39 This allowed the bassist to apply varying degrees of force in pulling the strings; the harder one pulled, the stronger the string rebounded against the fingerboard, and the more and percussive and snappy the note would sound. One could even add a more outspoken percussive effect by slapping against the fingerboard with the palm of the right (and sometimes left) hand on the backbeats or unaccented beats, resulting in the rhythmic and highly energetic alternating of pitched snap notes and non-pitched slap notes. It is particularly this latter technique, now generally known as the “slap style,” that can be seen as the equivalent of the hot and bluesy effects of the youngest generation of horn players. With

38 For source material to corroborate the notion that bowing was the primary performance mode, see the web links in note 30. 39 Heyman, “Of Icons and Iconography,” 132 and 138.

14 Braud, Ellington had a bass player who was fully prepared to accommodate every possible performance context, from the more mundane pop ballads to the state-of-the-art hot jazz tunes.

Indeed, Braud’s snapping and slapping could easily compete with the growling and yaya-ing “jungle” effects emanating from Miley’s cornet and “Tricky Sam” Nanton’s trombone.40 This is evident in the March 26, 1928 rendition of “Black Beauty,” which besides the timbral variety showcases Braud’s scorching solo skills as well.41 Once more, he begins by providing a bowed two-beat bass line before changing to a basic plucked two-beat, an approach he repeats in the final few choruses as well. The true highpoint lies around the 1:16 mark of the recording, where a call-and-response section appears between piano, drums, and string bass. According to Marcello Piras, this depicts “a tap-dancing routine,” with “Greer and

Duke’s right hand portray[ing] the light-footed Florence [i.e., Mills, the performer to whom this composition was dedicated]” and “Braud’s slapped bass impersonat[ing] her more muscular partner.”42 Indeed, the double-timed bass solos (the five-bar solo is repeated exactly) with its accentuated percussive timbre spotlight Braud’s prowess, and can certainly be considered among the most virtuosic bass statements of the 1920s. Piras considers this section “the prototype” for following depictions of dance routines as in the introduction to

“Bojangles” (1940), where the rhythmic exchanges between Ellington and Blanton are suggestive of famed hoofer Bill Robinson’s foot-tapping, to whom this miniature is dedicated, or “Pitter Panther Patter,” a 1940 duet.43 Many of Ellington’s compositions that highlight the string bass would frame the instrument in a duet setting, the most notable examples being the now-famed 1939 and 1940 duets (which are discussed below). This occurred in an orchestral

40 For an extensive explanation on the different snap and slap techniques, see Adam Booker’s essay elsewhere in this edition of Jazz Perspectives. 41 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 1 42 Marcello Piras, “Duke and Descriptive Music,” in The Cambridge Companion to Duke Ellington, ed. Edward Green (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 218. 43 Ibid., 219–20. Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8 (“Bojangles”) and 9 (“Pitter Panther Patter”).

15 setting as well, with, besides the aforementioned “Bojangles,” the introduction to “In a

Mellotone” and the middle section of “Sepia Panorama” (both 1940) as representative examples.44 Furthermore, prior to Blanton, Ellington had used the piano/bass duo as well, usually in small band recordings with Taylor in the bass chair, such as “Clouds in my Heart”

(1936) and “Subtle Lament” (1939).45 This framing eventually became one of the standard approaches to featuring the string bass. For example, consider “I’ve Got the World on a

String” (1946), “Safranski,” (1946, a.k.a. “Artistry in Bass”), and “”

(1947, clearly modeled after the 1940 Ellington/Blanton duet), a few of the many mid-1940s arrangements that to some extent spotlight the interplay between pianist and band leader Stan

Kenton and the bass player in his orchestra, Eddie Safranski (1918–1974).46 With the origins of this approach dating back to “Black Beauty,” it is indeed Ellington who can be credited for conceiving and consolidating this particular pairing.

While “Black Beauty” framed Braud in a duet/trio setting, his first full-fledged bass feature, “Freeze and Melt,” stems from April 14, 1929.47 Ellington transforms this Jimmy

McHugh composition into a spotlight for Braud’s energetic snap bass, with a series of two-bar solo breaks on the A sections of the opening and closing chorus. This predates another major bass feature by Ellington written for one of his later bass men: “Jack the Bear,” recorded on

March 6, 1940.48 Similar to “Freeze and Melt,” Blanton dialogues with the rest of the orchestra in a series of breaks placed at the beginning and ending of the tune. As such,

“Freeze and Melt” can be considered a prototype of “Jack the Bear” and other tunes that

44 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8 (“In a Mellotone”) and 9 (“Sepia Panorama”). 45 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 1 (“Clouds in My Heart”) and 10 (“Subtle Lament”). 46 “I’ve Got the World on a String” and “Safranski” are available on Kenton, The Story, Proper Records #PROPERBOX-13, 2003, CD, disc 3 and 2, respectively. “Sophisticated Lady” is available on Kenton, Sketches on Standards, Capitol Records 34070, 2002, CD. 47 Available on How Low Can You Go?, disc 1. This track was recorded under one of the many pseudonyms of the Ellington band, Joe Turner and His Memphis Men. Such pseudonyms were often used for contractual reasons, in particular to be able to record for another label than the one the band or performer was signed with. 48 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8.

16 feature string bass at the opening or closing, such as the Blanton concerto “Sepia Panorama”

(1940), earlier arrangements that briefly spotlight Taylor, Blanton’s direct predecessor in the band, such as “Pigeons and Peppers” (1937) and “Weely” (1939), or even non-Ellington compositions such as Horace Henderson’s arrangement of “Flinging A Whing-Ding” (1940, an Israel Crosby feature), and ’ and ’s “Two Bass Hit” (1947, a

Ray Brown feature).49

Following “Black Beauty” and “Freeze and Melt,” Braud would occasionally be given a solo spot, but similar to these two tunes, this was usually limited to a mere few bars, as can be heard on “Double Check Stomp” (a co-written composition of his), “Bugle Call Rag,” “Blue

Harlem” (all 1930), and “Harlem Speaks” (1933).50 In spite of the brevity of these solos, this still makes Braud one of the most prolific bass soloists of the 1920s and early 1930s, something which should not be solely credited to him, but to Ellington as well, as he offered

Braud the opportunity to display his solo skills. Another of Braud’s fortes was providing the highly varied and rock-steady bass lines that underpinned so many of Duke’s compositions.

While alternate takes reveal a certain degree of preparation and predetermination, many of

Braud’s lines sound spontaneous. It is likely that most were by his own design, yet they fully complement Ellington’s music as if the maestro had thought them up himself. Furthermore,

Braud had the technical skills and matching creativity that allowed him to play everything

Ellington demanded of him, from doubling melodic segments, as in the introductions to “Blue

Bubbles” (1927) and “High Life” (1929) or the interlude of “The March of the Hoodlums”

49 “Pigeons and Peppers” is available on Ellington, The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, Vocalion and OKeh Small Group Sessions (Mosaic Records #235, 2006), disc 3. “Weely” is available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 11. “Flinging A Whing-Ding” is available on Henderson, The Chronogical Horace Henderson 1940 – Fletcher Henderson 1941 (Chronogical Classics 648, 1996, CD). “Two Bass Hit” is available on Dizzy Gillespie , Algo Bueno: The Complete Bluebird/Musicraft Recordings & The Pleyel Concert (Definitive Records DR2CD11138, 1999, CD), disc 1. 50 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 4 (“Double Check Stomp”) and 6 (“Bugle Call Rag”), and Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 1 (“Blue Harlem”) and 4 (“Harlem Speaks”).

17 (1929), to adding rhythmic counterpoint, as in the finale to “I Can’t Give You Anything but

Love” (1928), or at the beginning of “Bandanna Babies” (1929).51

In a few instances, Ellington wrote a dedicated bass part for Braud.52 In “Flaming

Youth” (1929), for example, pianist and bassist team up by playing an embellished melodic walking bass, somewhat similar to the tuba/piano pairing in “New Orleans Low-Down” two years earlier.53 Another preset bass line can be heard under the vocal chorus of “Diga Doo

Doo” (1929), this time not consistently doubling the piano, but mostly complementing it.54

The pairing of string bass with the pianist’s left hand would eventually become a standard scoring technique in many 1950s and 1960s , , and post-bop compositions, as can be heard in bands led by pianist , alto saxophonist Cannonball Adderley, or pianist .55

Another stylistic device that Braud was regularly called upon to employ was the use of lines executed with a double time feel. This can already be heard in “Black Beauty,” where it is a solo device, but it was primarily used in accompaniments. As I note in my brief exploration of the perennial classic “,” recorded for RCA-Victor on December

10, 1930, much of Braud’s playing is self-effacing, but he can be heard playing a decorative line underneath ’s filigree theme (around the 1:39 mark), mainly in eighth notes, as such creating a double time feel that contrasts with the previous basic four-beat bass line.56 The effect is that of a melodic counterpoint, an obbligato-like bass line, or even a hybrid approach merging an accompaniment with an actual solo, all relatively novel

51 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 1 (“High Life”), 2 (“Blue Bubbles,” “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love,” and “Bandanna Babies”), and 3 (“The March of the Hoodlums”). 52 My use of the term “wrote” might be misleading in that it is not known if Ellington actually wrote out Braud’s parts. To the best of my knowledge, no parts from his tenure with Ellington survived, the earliest bass parts stemming from mid-1930s compositions, such as “Reminiscing in Tempo” (1935). 53 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 2. 54 Ibid. 55 Consider for example Silver’s “Señor Blues” (available on Silver, Six Pieces of Silver, 1956), pianist Joe Zawinul’s “Money in the Pocket” (available on Adderley, Money in the Pocket, 1966), and Hancock’s “Maiden Voyage” (available on Hancock, Maiden Voyage, 1965). 56 “Silent Revolutions,” 163. Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 5.

18 approaches to jazz bass playing of this era.57 While the line itself is likely Braud’s own design, the idea to use the bass in this way in this particular section might be Ellington’s. In any event, in most later versions of “Mood Indigo,” this concept appears as well, although not necessarily with the exact same notes, as can be heard in Blanton’s solo-like line (around the

1:22 mark) in a rendition of “Mood Indigo,” captured live in Fargo on November 7, 1940.58

Other tunes where Braud used this technique to some extent are “Diga Doo Doo” (1929),

“Misty Mornin’” (1929), “Hot Feet” (1929), and “” (only in the 1932 version), among others.59 Furthermore, such double-time feel can occasionally be found in the bass lines of Walter Page and (1908–1952), which is not too surprising given the fact that both had a close connection to Braud; by Page’s own admission, he greatly admired his playing, while Kirby took some lessons with the Ellingtonian.60 Both men might have taken their cue from Braud in using such double-timed lines in songs as “He’s Funny That

Way” (Page with and Her Orchestra, 1937) or “I Wished On The Moon”

(Kirby with Teddy Wilson and His Orchestra, 1935).61

One final aspect for which both Braud and Ellington should be credited is the recording of the string bass with the proper projection. As Ellington explained, Braud “believed in crowding the microphone,” something that can certainly be heard on the vast majority of

Ellington records from this era.62 Particularly in those tunes recorded prior to 1931, the string bass virtually dominates the rhythm section, and in terms of volume it is fully at par with the frontline instruments and soloists, something that is rarely the case on other jazz records from

57 In this context, I understand the term obbligato to refer to a written or improvised virtuoso instrumental part of almost-equal importance to the main melody. 58 Available on Ellington, The Duke at Fargo 1940: Special 60th Anniversary Edition, Storyville Records STCD 8316/17, 2001, CD, disc 1. 59 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 2 (“Diga Doo Doo”) and 3 (“Misty Mornin’” and “Hot Feet”). “Creole Love Call” is available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 1. 60 Ibid., 162–3. Frank Driggs and Walter Page, “About My Life in Music,” The Jazz Review 1, no. 1 (November 1958): 12. Rex Stewart, Jazz Masters of the 30s (New York: Da Capo Press, 1972), 154. 61 Available on Holiday, Lady Day: The Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia, 1933–1944, CXK 85470, 2001, CD, disc 1 (“I Wished on The Moon”) and 3 (“He’s Funny That Way”). 62 Duke Ellington with Stanley Dance, Music is My Mistress (New York: Da Capo Press, 1973), 115.

19 this era (notable exceptions are the small band recordings of Bill Johnson, and the Goldkette recordings with Steve Brown).63 While this relies in no small part on Braud himself—as Page put it, Braud “hit those tones like hammers and made them jump right out of that box”—it was Ellington who permitted the string bass to take the (acoustic) forefront of his music.64

This did not only brought prominence to Braud himself, but also to the string bass in general, spotlighting its timbral and stylistic possibilities to budding bass players, composers, and arrangers. Such forceful projection was mainly limited to studio work, where more than likely a dedicated microphone for the rhythm section, or even string bass by itself was used, as

Ellington suggested by his “crowding the microphone” commentary.65 When performing live, however, Braud performed without microphone (as can be seen on surviving photographs), and he was largely dependent on the acoustics of the particular venue they performed at.

During the band’s performance in Paris’s Salle Pleyel in late July or early August 1933,

Panassié observed that “you could hardly hear the that seemed so powerful in recordings.”66

All of the above approaches, many of which originated in the close collaboration between Ellington and Braud, expanded the string bass’s function beyond its traditional supportive role. They would lead the way for fellow arrangers and composers in their writing for the string bass, and simultaneously raising the bar for what was expected of jazz bass players.

“There I Was with Two Basses!”: Ellington’s Double Bass Teams67

63 Available on How Low Can You Go?, disc 1 and 3. 64 Driggs and Page, “About My Life in Music,” 12. 65 Ellington, Music is My Mistress, 115. 66 Hugues Panassié, Douze Années de Jazz (1927–1938) (Paris: Editions Corrêa, 1946), 110. Translation by Andrew Homzy. My thanks go to Andrew for pointing out this quote. 67 Ellington, Music is My Mistress, 164.

20 By the early 1930s, Braud had established himself as one of the leading string bassists in jazz; yet at the same time, he seems to have been featured significantly less as a soloist, at least on record. Furthermore, his bass was no longer framed in such innovative ways as before, and most records after 1931 reveal relatively run-of-the-mill bass lines, perfect for supporting the band and soloists, but hardly imaginative. It seems Ellington needed a new impulse to reinvigorate his bass writing. This spark arrived in the figure of Billy Taylor.68 In

December 1934, Taylor, Braud’s junior by fifteen years but already a veteran of McKinney’s

Cotton Pickers, Fletcher Henderson and His Orchestra, and Fats Waller and His Rhythm, among others, was hired to play alongside Braud.

Ellington was probably the first bandleader to employ a pair of string bassists, but the exact reason why he opted for this unusual instrumentation is a matter of speculation.69

Schuller and several subsequent writers speculate that Taylor’s hiring might have been

Ellington’s cue to Braud to hand in his notice, but no proof exists to confirm this claim.70 He assumes that Ellington was no longer satisfied with Braud’s playing, feeling that it was not suited to the new rhythmic concepts inherent to the burgeoning swing style, which include a more mobile walking bass and a less snappy timbre.71 Similarly, Schuller claims that as

Duke’s compositions became harmonically and rhythmically more sophisticated, the veteran

Braud (at 44 years the oldest band member at that time) might have found it difficult to cope with such progressive charts, but this too is pure speculation.72 It is, however, a fact that

Ellington’s rhythm section had gone unchanged since June 1927, and Taylor might have

68 Not to be confused with the pianist of the same name. 69 Some earlier bands such as those led by Paul Whiteman (e.g., “From Monday On,” 1928) and Isham Jones (e.g., “I’ve Found a New Baby,” 1934) used both tuba and string bass to add more depth to the band as well. These basses seem to have been played in unison mostly. Another early example of the simultaneous use of two bass instruments is when a was used as a solo instrument, while the band also used a brass or string bass as a rhythm instrument, which happened for example in Fletcher Henderson’s mid-1920s band (e.g., “Carolina Stomp,” 1925). Still, Ellington likely was the first to use two string bass players simultaneously, even though Taylor sometimes doubled on tuba. 70 Schuller, The Swing Era, 69. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid.

21 indeed been the man Ellington was looking for to update its sound and drive. In particular,

Waller’s sides, such as “Have A Little Dream on Me” and “Do Me A Favor” (both 1934), illustrate the new bassist’s versatility, with the former having a more traditional approach with a slapped, embellished two-beat and basic walking bass lines, whereas the latter displays a smooth, swinging and modern-sounding accompaniment.73 By contrast, Braud’s playing, which had certainly evolved—after 1931, he slapped and bowed only sparingly—was still firmly grounded in the bass playing traditions of the 1920s, and his wide range of techniques and stylistic approaches, once one of the band’s fortes, was no longer considered modern, progressive or surprising by the mid-1930s standards.

While Taylor’s hiring—and the reduction in Braud’s salary (see below)—might have been Ellington’s way of telling Braud it was time to move on, this is a theory without hard evidence. Another plausible theory is that Ellington wanted to experiment with his orchestra’s texture and timbre. This is evidenced by the observation that shortly after Braud’s departure in March 1935, Ellington hired to play alongside Taylor in the bass section.

(Like Braud and Taylor, Alvis also doubled on tuba—an instrument he apparently never played while with Ellington.) In the 1946 biography Duke Ellington, the first to appear on the maestro, Barry Ulanov suggests a similar hypothesis: “Duke hired two bassists to take

[Braud’s] place—not because two were needed to equal Wellman, but simply because Duke wanted to hear lots of bass, and really score for the instrument as a harmonic adjunct to the band.”74

Whether Braud left because he did not want “to stand […] next to that young boy playing all that bass and be embarrassed,” as Ellington later recounted Taylor’s sentiments towards sharing the bass duties with Blanton, or because he had other plans (he opened the

Vodvil Club, a short-lived cafe, together with clarinetist Jimmy Noone on March, 9) is also

73 Available on Waller, The Best of Fats Waller: Handful of Keys, Jazz Forever 67013, 2005, CD. 74 Barry Ulanov, Duke Ellington (First edition from 1946. New York, Da Capo Press, 1975), 162–3.

22 hard to assess.75 In mid-January 1935, both Braud and Ellington told a reporter of The

Chicago Defender that the former had no plans to leave the band, but little over a month later

Variety reported that the bassist was nearly dismissed by , Ellington’s manager, for having refused to accept a wage cut in order to compensate for Taylor’s hiring.76 Mills was forced to back down by six other Ellingtonians who threatened to walk out unless

Braud’s full salary was paid. Still, this blatant disrespect to a band member who had served eight years might have been the final straw that prodded the bassist into departing. Whatever the real reason(s), Braud was gone from the Ellington organization for good by early March

1935.

Ellington must have liked having two bass players, for he soon hired another, Alvis, who was summoned on May 22, 1935 with a telegram that read: “You join band .

Friday 31. Duke.”77 Alvis did as instructed, joining the band that Friday to remain until the spring of 1938, after which Taylor was again the band’s sole bassist—a brief and often unnoted tenure of Adolphus Alsbrook in October 1940 notwithstanding—until Blanton joined on November 3, 1940.78 Alvis, like Taylor, was young and experienced (he had been with

Mills Blue Rhythm Band since 1931). With both men in his band, Ellington now had two versatile and technically proficient bass players conversant with the new sounds and grooves the emerging swing style demanded of its rhythm sections. These solid bassists allowed Duke to further explore this unusual orchestral texture.

75 Ellington, Music is My Mistress, 164. 76 Rob Roy, “Deny Story That Braud of Duke’s Band Will Retire,” The Chicago Defender (January 26, 1935, page number missing. “Inside Stuff–Music,” Variety (February 12, 1935), 62. 77 Ellington’s telegram is cited on Palmquist, The Duke, entry for May 31, 1935. Alvis was available so quickly as he was a longtime member of , a big band under the same management as Ellington’s. 78 In the October 6, 1939 issue of The Call, a Kansas City newspaper, Alsbrook is mentioned as the newest addition to Ellington’s band, most likely as a second bass player (Alsbrook played harp, accordion, and guitar as well). This and his own hand-written resume are the only known references to this, so his tenure was most likely very brief, possibly mere days or weeks. My sincere thanks to Ken Steiner for sharing this information.

23 Studio engineers in the 1930s did their best to record all instruments with the highest fidelity, but inadequate playback equipment and techniques are largely responsible for the often poorly-recorded or under-recorded sound heard on many reissues. Somewhat paradoxically, this holds even more true when two basses are being used, their sound frequently drowned out in the background, possibly because they had to share a microphone, if they were even given one. (Some recording engineers might have figured that the use of two bass instruments obviated the need to amplify the orchestra’s lower spectrum.)

Consequently, many records with the Braud/Taylor or Taylor/Alvis pairings are difficult to assess in terms of Ellington’s use of this particular orchestral color, and many in fact give the impression that only a single bass is playing, which is contradicted by the recording ledgers.79

A few records from the two-month period Braud and Taylor shared bass duties do illustrate how the bass duo handled their parts. Their first session together stems from January

9, 1935, and of the four titles recorded on that day, “Let’s Have a Jubilee” in particular illustrates Ellington’s innovative use of his two bassists to good advantage.80 It begins with both men on string bass, one playing pizzicato with the other doubling the same line arco. The next section features a basic, slapped two-beat line, which could be played by a single bassist, but the slapped non-pitched backbeat is possibly re-enforced by the other bass man. The real surprise comes in the climatic tutti (from to 2:02 mark to the end), when Taylor picks up his tuba to join Braud’s two-beat line, adding much depth to the band’s texture. The tune ends majestically with a contrapuntal melody played by the snap-style string bass and the tuba, the latter dominating the orchestra’s sound.81 This is an excellent example of Ellington’s

79 Lasker conducted extensive research into the various record companies’ studio ledgers, and his liner notes for Ellington reissues such as The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, Columbia and Master Recordings, The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, Vocalion and OKeh Small Group Sessions, and The Duke Ellington Centennial Edition: Complete RCA Victor Recordings: 1927–1973 are, when possible, based on these ledgers. 80 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 5. 81 As Lasker observes, the last phrase of this bass counterpoint is a quote from a segment of the coda of Fats Waller’s “Squeeze Me” (liner notes to The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, Columbia and Master Recordings, 17).

24 innovative writing for two basses, but for unknown reasons, he hardly ever returned to it, instead favoring the more basic approach heard in the introduction.

A review in the Chicago Defender of a performance at the city’s Regal Theatre (from

January 13–19, 1935) provides more clues on how the pair was orchestrated live, which seems to approximate the studio situation: “[I]n the rhythm section, [Ellington] has […] two bass fiddles and one doubles on horn [i.e., tuba] in playing hard hitting numbers. The horn usually makes two half notes to a measure, while the fiddle ‘picks’ four quarter notes, but in no case does the horn predominate. He uses the same system on the fiddles, one is ‘sawing’ half notes, while the other is picking quarter notes, and believe me, this will make a

Chinaman ‘swing.’”82

The first session to include Taylor alone took place on April 30, 1935. On the four tracks recorded that day, the newest addition to the band displays his flexibility, with his playing on “” being very much in the mold of Braud, with a basic two- beat on the A-sections and a bowed bridge; “Showboat Shuffle” reveals a more modern conception and sound, much less ‘snappy’ than Braud.83 This latter composition also carries a two-bar pre-arranged interlude that offsets Taylor’s slapped bass with the trombones in a hocket-like fashion (at the 1:04 mark), another one of Ellington’s compositional touches that illustrates his continuous efforts to integrate the bass in the orchestral weaving rather than merely using it as a supportive backdrop.

About a month later, Ellington returned to his “double” bass concept, as Taylor was joined by Alvis. His arrival did not change much, however, and once again many recorded sides do not reveal bass parts requiring two players, or add anything substantial beyond what a single player could provide. A composition that does puts both bassists to good use is

Ellington’s extended composition “Reminiscing in Tempo” (September 12, 1935), recorded in

82 Jack Ellis, “The Orchestras,” The Chicago Defender, January 26, 1935 [page number missing]. 83 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 5.

25 four parts spread over two 78 discs.84 Throughout the thirteen-minute work, Taylor and Alvis can be heard plucking and bowing almost only double stops, not merely by playing one note each, but also by playing each man’s own perfect fifths in unison with the other’s, as such truly amplifying and harmonizing the bass register (e.g., part 1, 0:04 to 0:40). In some instances, they even play four different pitches, each intoning a distinct fifth interval (e.g., part three, 2:39 to 2:45). Other engaging bass parts can be found in for example part one (1:22 to 1:27), where the pair plays a double-stopped eighth-note line, at the beginning of part three

(0:09 to 1:00), where the bass(es?) play(s) an embellished two-beat with several fills, and in part four (2:30 to 2:38), where the basses join the rest of the band in stating the melody.85

Sonic effects similar to those found in “Reminiscing in Tempo” can be heard on a few other recordings, among them “Stepping Into Swing Society,” “Skrontch” (alternatively spelled as

“Scrounch”), and “The New ” along with its “Prologue To Black and

Tan Fantasy” (all 1938).86

While it can be argued that Ellington did nothing too adventurous with his bass pair, a few other tracks further demonstrate its advantages; examples include “”

(1936) and the aforementioned “The New Black and Tan Fantasy” and its prologue, in which the dark, heavy bass sound (in the former along with its see-sawing shape) helps to invoke the

“jungle” effect that had been part of Ellington’s orchestral palette since the mid-1920s.87 A different approach to two-bass orchestration is found in “The Gal Form Joe’s” (1938) and “I

Let A Song Go Out Of My Heart” (1938, Alvis’ final studio session with Ellington).88 In these renditions, one bass provides the accompaniment while the other takes on a more

84 Ibid. 85 “Double stopping” refers to the practice on string instruments to play two or more notes simultaneously. In jazz, this practice was virtually unused on the string bass in the time frame under discussion. 86 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 5. “Prologue to Black and Tan Fantasy” and “The New Black and Tan Fantasy” are on ibid., disc 8. 87 Available on ibid., disc 5. 88 Available on ibid., disc 8.

26 percussive role, slapping a non-pitched rhythm on the instrument’s fingerboard, as is heard softly underneath the latter’s final theme (2:34 to end), and more distinctly in the former around the 0:57 mark. This timbral and rhythmic effect ties into the traditional slap bass techniques that were Braud’s specialty, and that were continued and modernized by Taylor and Alvis, analogous to the “growling” brass technique that had been started by Miley and trombonist Charlie “Plug” Irvis, and were continued by their respective successors, Charles

“Cootie” Williams and Nanton.89 While this specific effect was an original addition to

Ellington’s sonic palette, he did not call for it frequently in later times, possibly because it required two bassists, or because the slap sound was gradually passing out of style.

After Alvis left, sometime in the late spring of 1938, Ellington went back to using a single bassist, although later in his career he occasionally returned to the two-bass format. The

Taylor/Blanton duo notwithstanding, which was not intended as an actual pairing, Ellington coupled Raglin and Pettiford on a number of occasions.90 For this particular duo, Ellington wrote the “double” bass feature “Basso Profundo,” which was captured live at the Carnegie

Hall concert of December 27, 1947.91 This reworking of “Boogie Bop Blue,” essentially a jam-tune Ellington used to feature his men, starts with both bassists (with Raglin using a five- string bass with a high C, an unusual type of instrument which bassist Greig

“Chubby” Jackson (1918–2003) had introduced some years earlier) playing the theme in octaves/unison after which they exchange a series of improvisations, culminating in a

89 For examples of Taylor’s and Alvis’s slap style, listen to “Truckin’” (1935, available on ibid., disc 5) or “Tiger Rag” (1937, a small band rendition led by Williams, available on Ellington, The Complete 1936– 1940 Variety, disc 2), respectively. 90 Other bass pairs that Ellington employed, seemingly just once, include Taylor with Alsbrook (October 1939), Pettiford with Wilson Meyers (April 1946) and Pettiford with Al Lucas (December 1946, Carnegie Hall concert). Blanton and Raglin played side by side a few nights in mid-November 1941 in order to work the latter in. 91 Available on Ellington, The Duke Ellington Carnegie Hall Concerts: December 1947, Fantasy Records 2240752, 1999, CD, disc 2.

27 collective bass improvisation and tutti finale.92 Also, this was the only pair to be recorded in the studio (after Taylor and Alvis, of course), in a Columbia session three days prior to the

Carnegie Hall concert, which resulted in the album (1948). In spite of the prominence of the string bass in both works (consider for example the funky minor-key bass line which underpins almost all of “Dance No. 5”), the bass duo is not orchestrated in any remarkable manner, and, it can be argued that after the spring of 1938, this particular pairing was no longer a standard part of Ellington’s array of scoring techniques.

Few swing band leaders followed Ellington’s lead in using two basses, and those who did only did so much later. Among them are the little-known George ‘Happy’ Johnson, whose

1938 big band’s twin-bass team included Red Callender, Charlie Barnett, who in 1943 briefly employed both Pettiford and Chubby Jackson, in turn Jackson shared bass duties with Arnold

Fishkin in his own quintet in 1945, Lionel Hampton, who had Joe Comfort, Charlie Harris or

Roy Johnson play alongside in 1947–1948, and Callender’s own, short-lived

Pastel Sextet (1948), which besides the leader himself comprised Mingus. Unfortunately, we do not know much about how these two-bass teams were used because, for various reasons, only one such combination was recorded. Four tracks that feature both Jackson and Fishkin were made in 1945, with Jackson taking the lead and soli while Fishkin accompanies.93

Another band from the same period tried out an even more remarkable concept: doubling up the entire rhythm section. In late 1947, Whiteman-veteran and saxophonist King Guion began to use not only two bassists (Joseph Nagel and George Melaga), but two drummers and two guitarists as well (only one pianist was used) in an attempt to “present a unique, heavy dance beat […]. Twice as much rhythm beat, [Guion] figures, should capture twice the normal

92 This composition was reworked a number of times for different orchestrations, and appears under two alternate titles as well: “Basso Mo Thundo” and “Grand Slam Jam.” 93 Available on Jackson, The Happy Monster: Small Groups 1944–1947 (Cool & Blue Records C&B CD109, 1993).

28 danceability.”94 The reviewer, however, was not all in favor of the band’s unique concept, and

Guion failed to become an established name in jazz history.

Clearly, the concept of pairing two basses did not gain much acceptance in jazz circles until the 1960s, when some of the more daring experimental performers, many of them associated with the so-called movement, began using two bass players live and on record, among them saxophonists Ornette Coleman (Charlie Haden and Scott LaFaro on Free

Jazz, 1961) and John Coltrane (Reggie Workman and Art Davis on Olé Coltrane, 1962), and pianists Andrew Hill (Richard Davis and Eddie Khan on Smokestack, 1963) and Cecil Taylor

( and on , 1966).95 Obviously, these two-bass concepts were approached very differently than Ellington’s, but we might speculate that

Ellington—with his twin bass teams—and Blanton had provided inspiration to these avant- garde bass pairings, not in the least by way of Ellington’s and Blanton’s strong influence on

(Cecil) Taylor and (Richard) Davis, respectively.

Between December 1934 and the spring of 1938, Ellington always had two bass players at his disposal, yet he did not use both of them on every occasion. There are a number of records where only one bassist is used, in particular in the small band discs that appeared since early 1936, a way of Ellington to allow his star soloists, notably Bigard, Hodges,

Williams, and Rex Stewart, the opportunity to record under their own names, as such earning some extra money making records for budget labels which sold for 35 cents at a time when the orchestra’s records sold for 75 cents. These small bands, mostly septets or octets made up of Ellingtonians, were ostensibly under the leadership of the sidemen, but it was mostly Duke who ran things. The thematic material often originated with the leader-sideman, or with

94 Joe Carlton, “On the Stand: King Guion,” The Billboard 59, no. 44 (November 8, 1947): 34. 95 Arranger Pete Rugolo used this pairing as well on his 10 Saxophones and 2 Basses (1961, with Joe Mandragon and Red Mitchell), be it in a more mainstream setting. Here they are primarily used as horns, voiced in thirds or fifths.

29 Ellington himself, while the arrangements were usually sketched by Ellington, or, upon his joining the band, were assigned to Billy Strayhorn. As shall be seen, a number of them have interesting bass parts, mainly performed by Taylor, who participated to the majority of these small band sessions. Furthermore, many bass parts in Ellington’s compositions for large ensemble were scored so that they could easily be played by a single bassist, even though record ledgers and aural evidence indicate that two men were at work. In such instances, the bass pair simply performed these lines in unison, or alternated sections. Some of these small and big band records further reveal how Ellington, Strayhorn, and their bassist(s) continued to frame the string bass in inventive ways, some novel, others already introduced before or during Braud’s tenure, and further refined and modernized.

A number of works have the string bass player, primarily Taylor as noted, double other parts, such as in “Frolic Sam” (1936), where the introduction and outro is played in complete unison and perfect octaves by the entire band, string bass including, a first in Ellington’s repertoire, and most likely that of any jazz band.96 Two more frequent couplings, sometimes in unison, at other times with a complementary line, are with Carney’s baritone saxophone, as is the case in sections of “There’s a Lull in My Life” (1937) and the orchestral rendition of

“Pyramid” (1938), or with Ellington’s left hand, as in “Demi-Tasse” (1937), “Dooji Wooji”

(1939), and “Country Gal” (1939), where the clarinet joins string bass and piano as well.97

One remarkable example occurs in the intro to “Wanderlust” (1938), with a loping bass line somewhat reminiscent of Thelonious Monk’s “Misterioso,” first recorded in 1948.98 In fact,

Ellington’s jarring piano comping underneath Carney’s solo is similarly “Monkish,” to use an anachronistic term. Although we cannot assume that “Wanderlust” was a direct inspiration for

96 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, disc 1. 97 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 7 (“There’s a Lull in My Life”), 9 (“Pyramid”), and 11 (“Country Gal”), and on Ellington, The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, disc 2 (“Demi- Tasse”) and 5 (“Dooji Wooji”). 98 “Wanderlust” is available on ibid. “Misterioso” is available on Monk, Genius of Modern Music: Volume 1, 5321382, 2001, CD.

30 “Misterioso,” it is on records such as this that one can hear Monk’s indebtedness to Ellington, both as a composer as well as a pianist.

A few other remarkable bass lines, in all likelihood conceived by Ellington, are worth singling out as well, including the quasi contrapuntal bass line on “Gypsy Without a Song”

(1938), the tonic, drone-like pedal underneath the solos of “Home Town Blues” (1939), and the ostinato, double-stopped bass line on “Dream Blues” (1939).99 Finally, it is interesting to note that both Taylor and Alvis were given very little opportunity to demonstrate their solo skills on record: the only known Alvis solo is the few hot, slapped bars on “Tiger Rag”

(1937), whereas Taylor is briefly spotlighted on “Four and One-Half Street” (1937), “The

Jeep is Jumpin’” (1938), and the aforementioned call-and-response introductions on such tunes as “Subtle Lament” and “Weely” (both 1939).100 While such scarcity of bass solos was by no means exceptional in this period—only Slam Stewart of the famed novelty group Slim and Slam was featured as a soloist on a regular basis—this would soon change with the arrival of a new, young bass player. While it is clear that he was not the first to perform bass solos, he was the first to be featured so extensively, both in frequency (i.e., the number of solos) as in quantity (i.e., the length of his solos), in the process setting a new standard for string bassists. His name was Jimmie Blanton.

“Jack the Bearing Jimmie”: Blanton and the Jazz Bass Revolution101

As noted, Taylor remained Ellington’s sole bass player for about a year and a half, during which he participated to a number of recording sessions for big and small band, as well

99 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 9 (“Gypsy Without a Song”), and on The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, disc 6 (“Home Town Blues”) and 7 (“Dream Blues”). 100 Available on ibid., disc 2 (“Tiger Rag” and “Four and One-Half Street”) and 5 (“The Jeep is Jumpin’”), and on The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 10 (“Subtle Lament”) and 11 (“Weely”). 101 “Jack the Bearing Jimmie” is a take-off on bassist George Duvivier’s comment that Ellington was “‘Jack the Bearing’ [Jimmie] to death in every show” (Edward Berger, Bassically Speaking: An Oral History of George Duvivier (Metuchen: The Scarecrow Press, 1993), 137).

31 as the orchestra’s second European tour (March to May 1939). The Ellingtonians’ rigorous regime of endless travel eventually landed them in St. Louis, where, on October 20, 1939, they started a two-week engagement at the Coronado Hotel’s Club Caprice. During this period, some members of the band discovered a virtuoso bassist playing in Club 49, and brought him to Ellington’s attention. After inviting him to sit in and liking what he heard,

Duke hired the young bass player: on November 3, 1939, Blanton officially joined Ellington’s band.102 For some time, he shared the bass chair with Taylor, but the latter did not stay long.

During the orchestra’s run at ’s Southlands Cafe—January 8–20, 1940—Taylor voluntarily left, supposedly uttering “I’m not going to stand up here next to that young boy playing all that bass and be embarrassed.”103 While no studio recordings were made of Taylor and Blanton playing together, a few broadcasts from their joint three-month period survive, the earliest stemming from the closing night of Ellington’s engagement at the Club Caprice, on November 2, 1939, while the last were captured at the Boston residency.104 On a number of the sixteen remaining air checks, the bass is difficult to discern, but even when audible, the playing—all accompaniment—is stylistically non-distinct, making it difficult to determine if what is heard is played by Taylor, Blanton, both men simultaneously, or each consecutively.

Thus, we can only assume that when they performed together—which certainly happened, as evidenced by a few photographs that reveal Taylor and Blanton in action during the band’s engagement at New York’s Savoy Ballroom on January 7, 1940—their interplay was kept relatively basic, and both men were left to fend for themselves in finding a proper way to deal with this doubled bass function. In any event, Ellington surely had not yet written or rewritten any bass parts for his newest bass pair.

102 See Heyman, “Silent Revolutions,” 149–51, for a more detailed sketch of Blanton’s career leading up this his joining Ellington, including his so-called ‘discovery.’ 103 Ellington, Music is My Mistress, 164. 104 Only the airchecks made in Boston, nine in total, are commercially available on Ellington, The Duke in Boston (Storyville Records JUCD2022, 2000).

32 Ellington would sometimes provide his bassist(s) with a sketch outlining the chord progression by way of root and fifth (chord symbols wouldn’t be used until much later, and only occasionally) as well as any lines that he wanted to have doubled, but his bass players almost never played using a part, a fact evidenced by visual sources. Such bass parts would only be used during recording sessions, initial read-throughs (in rehearsal or in performance), or premieres, and subsequently memorized for future performances. Thus, it stands to reason that Blanton, too, was expected to devise his own parts. Taylor might have offered some guidance, but it is doubtful that he brought the bass book with him on the road. In the absence of new scores from Ellington (and Strayhorn, who had joined the band in January 1939),

Blanton likely relied on his ear to guide him through the band’s back catalogue, a “sink or swim” method used for all newcomers in the orchestra. His profound knowledge of music theory and extensive performance experience provided him with the tools to do fit right in.

Ellington did not wait for Taylor to depart to showcase the skills of his new bassist. On

November 20, 1939, after a lengthy string of one-nighters in the Midwest, the Ellingtonians found themselves in Chicago for a few days, and Duke took this opportunity to give Blanton his first chance to work as the sole bassist in an Ellington outfit. On November 22, the band leader scheduled a small band recording session under Barney Bigard’s name, resulting in

“Minuet in Blues,” “Lost in Two Flats,” and “Honey Hush,” three titles that comprise mobile, functional bass lines; yet these do not fully reveal Blanton’s bass-playing skills.105 The young bassist, who had turned 21 just seven weeks earlier, really comes to the fore in the two duets that were recorded that same day: “Blues” and “Plucked Again.”106 Often overshadowed by the better-known 1940 duets (discussed below), these two sides are landmark recordings in jazz history, for they document the very first occasion piano and string bass ever recorded in

105 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1936–1940 Variety, disc 7. 106 Ibid.

33 duo.107 Furthermore, up to this date these were the longest jazz bass solos ever caught on record, although they would be surpassed less than a year later, again by Blanton in another series of duets.

In the 1939 duets, the focus lies entirely on Blanton’s playing, his first true recordings as a soloist; Ellington’s role is mostly as accompanist. Although both compositions are credited to Ellington, they are essentially jam tunes that allow Blanton to freely improvise over familiar chords progressions (a blues in G and D, and, in “Plucked Again,” a turnaround in F on the A sections and a series of II-V’s on the B section), ad lib backed by Duke’s soft piano accompaniment. Blanton soloes nearly continuously throughout the entirety of both tunes, never falling short of ideas, a feat that few jazz bassists before him could have accomplished, and certainly not on record, where bass solos still tended to be relegated to a mere few bars.

Such easy mastery, both from a technical as well as a creative perspective, demonstrates that by late 1939, he was already one of the top bassists in jazz. On a pure musical level, Ellington contributed little to these two sides, but his role in making the piano/bass duo a standard instrumentation in jazz cannot be denied, with its origins dating back to “Black Beauty”

(1927), after which he returned to it only occasionally (e.g., “Clouds in My Heart” (1936) and

“Subtle Lament” (1939), both with Taylor). During Blanton’s tenure, however, he established an annual tradition to record a number of duets, as such making this pairing a mainstay in jazz, as testified by numerous later records of piano and bass duets.108 Ellington would continue this tradition in a live context for years to come: “Pitter Panther Patter,” one of the

1940 duets, remained in the band book between 1943 and 1952, resulting in a total of twelve

107 As I note elsewhere (“Silent Revolutions,” 152), there are a few examples of string bassists recording with other instruments, such as guitarist Django Reinhardt with Louis Vola (“You Rascal You,” 1937), drummer Ray Bauduc with Bob Haggart (“Big Noise from Winnetka,” 1938), and Slim Gaillard and Slam Stewart on some July 1938 broadcasts. 108 While by no means exhaustive, these are a few examples of albums comprising solely piano/bass duets: This One’s for Blanton (Ellington with Ray Brown, 1972), Intuition ( with Eddie Gomez, 1975), As Good as It Gets (Jimmy Rowles with Brown, 1978), Ballads and Blues (Tommy Flanagan with George Mraz, 1978), Alone Together (Roger Kellaway with Red Mitchell, 1988), Night and the City (Kenny Barron with Charlie Haden, 1994), and Michael Moore/Bill Charlap (Charlap with Moore, 1995).

34 documented versions—live or on the air—by Duke with “Junior” Raglin, Al Lucas, Oscar

Pettiford or . After a twenty-year hiatus, he introduced it once again in 1972 and 1973 as a showcase for his penultimate bass player, . Furthermore, many of his later bassists would be featured in duet or trio settings (sometimes embedded within an orchestral setting) too, as in “Tip Toe Topic” (with Pettiford, 1946), “Who Knows” (with

Marshall, 1953), “Ad-Lip on Nippon” (with John Lamb, 1966), “Wanderlust” (with

Benjamin, 1971), and “Boola Boola” (with Jeff Castleman, 1973), to name but a few.109

By the end of January 1940, Ellington was again down to one bass player, and had no plans to hire a second one.110 Soon, he and Strayhorn began crafting dedicated orchestral compositions for Blanton. On March 6 and 7, 1940, Ellington’s band held their first session under their new two-year contract with RCA at Victor’s Chicago studio. Of the five tunes recorded at that session, two spotlight the young bassist as a soloist, and this for the first time in a big band context. One of these was to become the solo feature most closely associated with him: “Jack the Bear.”111 Originally a discarded Ellington composition titled “Take It

Away,” it was reworked into a bass feature upon Blanton’s arrival, according to Strayhorn by himself, although in his detailed study of Strayhorn’s music, Walter van de Leur has found no evidence to support this.112 Shortly after its recording, it quickly entered the band’s live repertoire, and soon “they were ‘Jack the Bearing’ [Jimmie] to death in every show,” as

Duvivier put it.113 It became one of Ellington’s classic charts, and stayed in the band book as late as 1970.

109 “Tip Toe Topic” is available on Ellington, Caravan (Giants of Jazz Recordings/Saar CD 53332, 1998). “Who Knows” is available on Ellington, Retrospection: The Piano Sessions (Lone Hill Jazz LHJ 10369, 2009). “Ad-Lip on Nippon” Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 21. The relevant versions of “Wanderlust” and “Boola Boola” are not commercially available. 110 The Baltimore Afro-American announced that “Billy [Taylor] will not be replaced,” something that was no doubt learned from Ellington’s management or perhaps the maestro himself (“Duke Loses One Bass; Gets Sax,” The Baltimore Afro-American, February 2, 1940, 14). 111 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8. 112 Van de Leur observes that “the entire manuscript […] is in Ellington’s hand” (Strayhorn, 34). 113 Berger, Bassically Speaking, 137.

35 Similar to the 1939 duets, Ellington’s musical role in Blanton’s successful performance on “Jack the Bear” is limited. Naturally, he wrote (or rather rewrote) the compositional framework, made sure the tune was recorded, and included it in the band’s live book, yet his writing for the bass is hardly innovative here. Save for a four-bar melodic interlude in which the string bass doubles the saxophone section, all the bass lines are of Blanton’s own creation.

Similar to Braud on “Freeze and Melt,” he is framed as the soloist in an introductory call-and- response with the band, a procedure that is repeated at the closing of “Jack the Bear” as well, now with an appended four-bar coda that is entirely solo. By no means the first true bass feature, nor even the most recent type of bass concerto—seven months earlier, on August 30,

1939, Milt Hinton (1910–2000) was extensively spotlighted in ’s rendition of

“Pluckin’ the Bass”—this composition exerted an immense influence on jazz bass players.114

While contemporaneous reports are lacking, it is fair to assume that fellow bassists hearing

“Jack the Bear” were duly impressed, immediately recognizing its potential catalytic power on the development of jazz bass playing. It was without doubt an important model for budding bass players to emulate, sending many of them “into the woodshed,” as musician’s parlance has it, in the process helping to raise the bar of jazz bass technique.115 One might argue that the 1939 duets were even more influential given the central role the string bass was afforded, but Blanton’s contributions to “Jack the Bear” are more balanced and above all succinct, which makes them more appealing (and easier) to transcribe and imitate. Moreover, the band’s Victor records were distributed widely, even overseas, so that copies would have been easy to obtain, even though they were higher priced than those of most competing record

114 Available on How Low Can You Go?, disc 2. 115 One famous example is Charles Mingus (1922–1979), who among his papers had several self-made transcriptions of Blanton bass lines (Walter van de Leur, “Liner Notes: “Johnny Come Lately (1942),” in Strayhorn: An Illustrated Life, ed. A. Alyce Claerbaut and David Schlesinger (Evanston, IL: Agate Bolden, 2015), 90. As Stephen James recalled, “Jack the Bear” was one of them (personal conversation with author, May 16, 2014).

36 labels. With this in mind, it is not difficult to appreciate the breakthrough “Jack the Bear” represented in the evolutionary development of jazz bass playing in the early 1940s.

Indeed, soon after “Jack the Bear” was released we see a sudden increase of bass features that are seemingly inspired by this chart and its lead performer: Israel Crosby’s

(1919–1962) opening and closing solos on “Flinging a Whing-Ding” (Henderson, August 13,

1940) are very much in Blanton’s vein, “Ebony Silhouette” starts with a call-and-response section between Hinton and Calloway’s band (January 16, 1941), and Stan Kenton’s

“Concerto for Doghouse (A Setting in Motion)” (February 13, 1942) showcases Howard

Rumsey’s (1917–2015) bass extensively (along with some unison scatting alla Slam

Stewart).116 While the 1930s had seen just a few string bass features, the 1940s was inundated with them, reaching an absolute highpoint in 1946–1947: Brown on “One Bass Hit” and

“Two Bass Hit” (Dizzy Gillespie), Safranski on “Safranski,” a.k.a. “Artistry in Bass”

(Kenton), Hinton on “Basically Blue” (Calloway), Mingus on “Mingus Fingers” (Lionel

Hampton and His Orchestra), Red Callender on “Dissonance in Blues” (Gerald Wilson and

His Orchestra), Raglin and Pettiford on “Basso Profundo” (Ellington), Arvell Shaw on “How

High the Moon” ( and the All Stars), and Norman Keenan on “Rhapsody in

Bass” (Cootie Williams and His Orchestra), all were recorded in this two-year time frame.117

Furthermore, not only was Blanton’s solo work on “Jack the Bear” a model, but his accompaniments were as well. Overall, the construction of his walking bass line is

116 “Ebony Silhouette” is available on Calloway, The Chronogical Cab Calloway and His Orchestra, 1940–1941 (Chronogical Classics 629, 1994, CD). “Concerto for Doghouse (A Setting in Motion)” is available on Kenton, The Chronogical Stan Kenton and His Orchestra, 1940–1944 (Chronogical Classics 848, 1995, CD). 117 Save for Stewart’s solo work on the Slim and Slam sides, other 1930s records that extensively feature the string bass are “Reefer Man” (1932, Morgan with Calloway), “Rhythm Spasm” (1932, Alvis with the Mills Blue Rhythm Band), “Blues of Israel” (1935, Crosby with and His Chicagoans), “The Thing” (1938, Grachan Moncur II with Al Cooper’s Savoy Sultans), “Pagin’ the Devil” (1938, Page with The Kansas City Six), “Big Noise from Winnetka” (1938, Haggart in duo with Bauduc), “The Big Bass Viol” (1938, Haggart with The Bob Cats), and “Pluckin’ the Bass” (1939, Hinton with Calloway). Also, note that the list of 1946–1947 features is by no means not exhaustive, although the most elaborate spotlights are listed.

37 characteristic of his style, a combination of diatonic chordal and scalar fragments played throughout much of the bass’s working range (E1 to Bb3, in “Jack the Bear” between Ab1 to

Ab3) and frequently combined with chromatic passing tones, plus the occasional pedal tone.

The result is a bass line filled with melodic inventiveness, as such serving as more than mere accompaniment, but taking on a true contrapuntal role as well, in effect pointing towards the future of jazz bass playing, where such mobile, melodic bass lines would become the standard. As “Jack the Bear” was one of Blanton’s most imitated performances, it can be inferred that not only his soli but also his bass line construction served as a model for the next generations of forward-thinking bassists.

The other tune featuring Blanton recorded that day was an Ellington original named

“Ko-Ko,” a minor-key blues believed to have been part of Boola, a never-materialized opera on the history of Black America.118 Often hailed as a masterpiece, it is one of Ellington’s many original permutations of the blues—others from this same period are “Jack the Bear,”

“Sepia Panorama,” “Across the Track Blues” and “.”119 Blanton’s role in it is limited but important.

The work can be seen as a continuation of Ellington’s decade-old “jungle style,” a compositional approach he began using in the mid-1920s that imbues his music with a certain degree of exoticism and eroticism (although the latter seems less present in “Ko-Ko”). At the same time “Ko-Ko” is daringly innovative, with many dissonant voicings and a startling bi- tonal passage featuring the composer on the piano. Similar to earlier jungle-style pieces such as “East St. Louis Toodle-O” (1926) and “” (1928), it is written in a minor key in

118 See Teachout, Duke, 208–9 for the possible genesis of “Ko-Ko” in Boola. While Ellington never completed this rumored opera, he did write (and had already written) other extended compositions dedicated to African-American society and culture, most notable the 1943 suite Black, Brown and Beige: A Tone Parallel to The History of the Negro in America. 119 For “Ko-Ko” described as masterpiece, see André Hodeir, “Why Did Ellington ‘Remake’ His Masterpiece?,” in Tucker, The Duke Ellington Reader, 297–302, and Schuller, The Swing Era, 114–8, among others. Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8 (“Ko-Ko”), 9 (“Sepia Panorama” and “Across the Track Blues”), and 13 (“C Jam Blues”).

38 order to invoke a dark, somewhat menacing mood, which is further enhanced by the low tom- toms, string bass and baritone saxophone underneath the tune’s introduction, and Nanton’s ya-ya-tinged, growling trombone solo. As it develops through a series of sophisticated variations on its basic rhythm (three upbeat eighth notes followed by a note of longer duration), the rhythm section maintains a driving groove. Much of this energy comes from

Blanton’s bass accompaniment, which is not the typical walking bass line it appears to be, but almost functions as a melodic percussion instrument, somewhat comparable to a series of tuned toms. Blanton achieves this by playing a four-beat line comprising only the most elementary arpeggios and scales with a pointed staccato articulation, which results in a distinct percussive thrumming that suits the overall mood of “Ko-Ko” perfectly.

As Annie Kuebler explains, “[t]he individual interpretations are not breaks or showcases but form an integral part of the whole instead.”120 The bass solo is exemplary in this regard. In the call-and-response section between band and bass that follows a rousing tutti section,

Blanton maintains the general atmosphere by playing a decorated extension of his four-beat line rather than venturing into a true virtuoso solo flight. Whether this was Blanton’s or

Ellington’s idea is unknown. As noted, the Ellington bassists were commonly left to come up with a suitable bass part of their own, but it is interesting to hear how in the opening/closing call-and-response of the 1939 Ellington composition “Way Low,” Taylor plays a very basic bass solo, indeed, very similar to that of Blanton in “Ko-Ko.”121 Might Ellington have suggested this line to Blanton, remembering how well Taylor’s part fitted the dark, somber mood of “Way Low?”

Just a few days later, on March 15, 1940, Blanton was again in the recording studio, and while he was not featured as a soloist, he was framed in a truly innovative context. Three

120 “The Duke at Fargo,” Journal of Jazz Studies 8 no. 2 (2012): 142. 121 Available on Ellington, The Complete 1932–1940 Brunswick, disc 11.

39 compositions were recorded that day, “Conga Brava,” “Me and You,” and “Concerto for

Cootie.”122 The latter, hailed as another Ellington masterpiece, was to star trumpeter Cootie

Williams what “Jack the Bear” was to Blanton. “Concerto for Cootie” quickly entered the band’s live repertoire, and when Williams left the Ellington band in November 1940 to join the orchestra of Benny Goodman, the piece was briefly adapted for ’s amplified violin but quickly dropped. Three years later, the piece was reworked and given lyrics by Bob

Russell, after which it enjoyed new life as a vocal pop song, “Do Nothin’ Till You Hear from

Me.”

This slow swing piece was conceived by Ellington, who adapted one of Williams’s favorite warm-up exercises—the eighth notes which famously became the tune’s first theme—and built an entire composition around it.123 One of its main attractions is the use of contrast: swing vs. even; piano vs. fortissimo; solo vs. tutti, chromatic vs. diatonic, muted vs. open trumpet, legato vs. staccato. The bass line, composed entirely by Ellington, plays an essential part in this game of opposites.

As noted, Ellington had written specific bass parts before (for example the 1936 composition “Echoes of Harlem,” coincidentally another Williams feature), but this was the first time he—or any jazz composer, for that matter—worked out an entire bass line, not treating it as a supportive voice with the occasional instrument doubling or solo, but as a truly integral part of the entire compositional structure. Ellington wrote this part to function on multiple levels. At various points in the chart, the string bass plays the ensemble figures, either doubling the horns, for example doubling the baritone saxophone in unison in the introduction, or adding an extra voice, for example as a fourth ‘trombone’ in the A section.

122 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8. 123 Van de Leur suggests that the introduction of “Concerto for Cootie” was composed by Strayhorn (Strayhorn, 34).

40 Some bass lines also function as counterpoint. While one could argue that every bass line in a jazz composition is contrapuntal, there is a clear difference between generic lines meant to accompany and lines such as these, specifically composed to complement the trumpet solo. Finally, in certain sections the bass plays a straightforward walking bass, yet here too the accompaniment is entirely composed, as evidenced from a surviving handwritten bass part (in fact in Strayhorn’s hand). In “Concerto for Cootie,” Ellington clearly left nothing to chance—the bass line he wrote for Blanton is a perfect foil to the solo and ensemble parts.

While “Concerto for Cootie” might have had a less immediate impact on bass players than “Jack the Bear,” from a composer’s perspective it can be regarded as a significant milestone. Not only is it one of the most progressive charts of the 1940s, it is a good illustration of how Ellington’s writing for the instrument had evolved in the past few decades.

Indeed, not only Blanton was revolutionizing jazz bass playing with his virtuoso solo statements, Ellington too was pushing the technical and creative limits of the instrument by crafting parts that acted, reacted, and interacted with and against the rest of the orchestra. As noted, he had written innovative bass parts since the 1920s, and had introduced many novel approaches to framing the string bass in music, but now these developments reached a true highpoint.

The impact both men had on the development and perception of the string bass, which in many other bands was often still given a somewhat step-motherly treatment, was immense, and this within a mere four months upon their first recording session together. As discussed, in the wake of the Blanton showcases followed a host of bass features, and as his peers began to study his music, they significantly raised the overall level of the instrument. Moreover, band leaders were now expecting more from their bass players. Providing a steady beat was still the first prerequisite, but soloing, extensive melodic or rhythmic doubling, adding significant contrapuntal parts, etc. were now becoming a standard requirement for a

41 professional jazz bassist. Several composers and arrangers, in particular some of the more progressive writers of the mid-1940s such as George Handy (e.g., “Dalvatore Sally,” Boyd

Raeburn and His Orchestra, 1946) and Pete Rugolo (e.g., “Willow Weep for Me,” Stan

Kenton, 1946), rose to the challenge, not merely by giving the bass player in the band some solo space, but by crafting charts that use the string bass in highly inventive ways, following the high standards set by Ellington, Strayhorn, and Blanton.124

Following the recording session of “Concerto for Cootie,” Ellington continued to regularly spotlight Blanton, yet most of the innovative groundwork of their cooperation had been laid. Both men kept creating and performing on the highest creative and technical level, but no real novel approaches to framing the string bass were being explored. This does not mean that their work in what would turn out to be the final twenty months of their collaboration (see below) did not matter, as it certainly brought further prominence to the string bass, in particular as a high-level solo instrument. Consider for example Ellington’s second bass concerto for Blanton, “Sepia Panorama.”125 It was long believed that Ellington and Strayhorn mostly composed together, writing collaboratively on the same song, but in fact they worked out most of their material separately. While “Sepia Panorama” is no exception to that rule, it is one of their few true co-compositions as it combines excerpts of an old Strayhorn arrangement of “Tuxedo Junction” with newly written sections by Ellington.126

It is first recorded on July 24, 1940, and within two months became the band’s new radio theme, until it was replaced by Strayhorn’s “Take The ‘A’ Train” in January 1941. Although

“Jack the Bear” was Blanton’s signature tune, “Sepia Panorama” showcased his bass playing to an even greater extent, with an opening and mirroring closing call-and-response between

124 “Dalvatore Sally” is available on Raeburn, Boyd Raeburn and His Orchestra: 1945–1946, Storyville #STCD 8313, 2001, CD. “Willow Weep for Me” is available on Kenton, The Stan Kenton Story, Proper Records #PROPERBOX-13, 2003, CD, disc 3. 125 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 9. 126 See van de Leur, Strayhorn, 34–6 for a more detailed description of the process that led to the creation of “Sepia Panorama.”

42 band and bass, and a piano/bass duet in the middle section (although Duke’s piano playing is so subdued that this section sounds more like a bass solo). As evidenced from its few remaining live recordings, the form and solo content of “Jack the Bear” are codified, leaving little room for improvisation, whereas Blanton uses “Sepia Panorama” as a platform for creative experimentation: some generic ideas and approaches are set, but the specific content is ad-libbed, further refining and perfecting certain concepts with each new rendition.127 Due to its (brief) prevalence on the air as the band’s theme song, as well as Blanton’s prominent role in it, this chart introduced many listeners to (his) high caliber bass soloing for the first time, and as such could well have played an even more important role than “Jack the Bear” had in the critical (re-)evaluation of the string bass’ role in jazz in the early 1940s.

Two other charts, “Bojangles” and “In a Mellotone,” both recorded around the same period as “Sepia Panorama,” briefly spotlight Blanton’s bass as well, in both cases framed as part of an eight-bar introductory piano/bass duet, but the bassist really comes to the fore in four duets recorded on October 1, 1940: “Pitter Panther Patter,” “Body and Soul”,

“Sophisticated Lady,” and “Mr. J.B. Blues.”128 While the two 1939 duets, recorded little less than a year before, receive very little, if any, critical attention in jazz literature—Teachout asserts that these two sides are “remembered today only because they allow us to hear

Blanton’s playing up close for the first time”—the 1940 duets, four sides recorded in nine takes, are often seen as a highpoint in the bassist’s output.129 While they display a more varied formal plan and more interplay between both protagonists, arguably making them a more pleasing listen experience, in absolute terms they are not as pioneering as the duets waxed one year earlier.

127 Compare for example the first studio take of “Sepia Panorama” with a live rendition captured in June 1941 in South Gate, CA, to experience the continuous development of this tune. The latter version can be found on How Low Can You Go?, disc 2. 128 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 8 (“Bojangles”) and 9 (“In a Mellotone” and all 1940 duets). 129 Duke, 205. For samples of such praise for the 1940 duets, see Schuller, The Swing Era, 112, or Lawrence Gushee, “Duke Ellington 1940,” in Tucker, The Duke Ellington Reader, 435, among others.

43 Still, a few aspects distinguish them. The inclusion of a ballad is a first in Blanton’s solo output. Up to the mid-1950s, very few ballads or other slow-tempo tunes featured string bass soli, although some exceptions from the same time frame as Blanton’s recorded duets can be found on tracks by Stewart (“Dancing on the Beach,” Slim and Slam, 1938; “Champagne

Lullaby,” Slim and Slam, 1941), Page (“Pagin’ the Devil,” The Kansas City Six, 1938),

Hinton (“Ebony Silhouette,” Calloway, 1941), and Crosby (“Profoundly Blue,” Edmond Hall

Celeste Quartet, 1941).130 Furthermore, he does not limit himself to a few bars of bass solo, but takes the lead throughout most of “Body and Soul” and “Sophisticated Lady,” making them even more singular statements. Another aspect that was virtually without precedent in jazz bass playing—only Milt Hinton’s brief opening arco phrase in “Ebony Silhouette” comes to mind—was his rubato approach in terms of phrasing and pulse, as such imbuing both ballads with a lively expressivity. Within a year of the start of their collaboration, both

Ellington and Blanton had spawned several innovations for the jazz bass, both in terms of playing it and writing for it. In the process, the pair generated unprecedented attention for the string bass, revealing the technical and creative capacities of the instrument to fellow musicians, composers, arrangers, critics, and the general audience.

This momentum faltered in 1941. In this year, Ellington focused his attention on other matters, in particular the writing, rehearsing, and staging of the musical revue Jump for Joy, which premiered in Los Angeles’ Mayan Theatre on July 10, 1941, and ran for twelve weeks in a row. As I clarify in my survey of this neglected year, string bass features were not considered an essential part of the show’s repertoire.131 Another reason why Ellington no longer wrote any charts that spotlighted the bass was the radio ban imposed by the American

130 “Dancing on the Beach” and “Champagne Lullaby” are available on Slim and Slam, Complete Recordings 1938–1942 (Affinity CD AFS 1034-3, 1992, CD), disc 1 and 3. “Pagin’ the Devil” is available on How Low Can You Go?, disc 2. “Profoundly Blue” is available on The Blue Note Years 1939–1999, Vol. 1: Boogie Blues & Bop 1939–1955 (Blue Note Records 96427B, 1998, CD), disc 1. 131 Heyman, “Silent Revolutions,” 157.

44 Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP), which started on January 1, 1941, and would continue for several months, depending on how quickly each broadcasting corporation reached an agreement with ASCAP. During this period, Ellington, an ASCAP member since 1935, could no longer perform his own work during the band’s broadcasted performances, and turned to his son Mercer as well as Strayhorn, both of whom were members of the newly formed Broadcasting Music, Inc. (BMI), to write several new compositions that could be played on the air, a necessity as the band was regularly and extensively engaged in venues with radio relays, as evidenced by their seven-week residency at the Casa Mañana in Culver City, California, starting January 3, 1941, and broadcast by the local station KHJ through the MBS network. Both men, however, hardly wrote any dedicated bass parts, the few solo breaks in Strayhorn’s arrangement of the 1927 pop tune “Chlo-e

(Song of the Swamp),” actually written and recorded on October 28, 1940, before the ban come into effect, notwithstanding.132 The result of these combined factors is that 1941 is often overlooked in overviews of the Blanton’s music, as revealed in my essay “Silent Revolutions:

An Exploration of 1941, Jimmie Blanton’s ‘Forgotten’ Year.”133 Yet, a few works captured in the final eleven months of his career are worth singling out as they further illustrate the more novel aspects of his collaboration with Ellington.

Continuing his tradition of the previous two years, Duke invited his bassist for a series of duets, now not in the recording studio, but in the context of their guest appearance on the radio show Kraft Music Hall. In three separate programs throughout 1941, on January 16,

May 29, and October 9, the pair played two tunes, “Jive Rhapsody,” “Jumpin’ Punkins,”

“Stomp Caprice,” “Frankie and Johnny,” “Take the ‘A’ Train,” and “Flamingo” respectively, all save one accompanied by the subdued backing of the Kraft Music Hall’s house orchestra

132 Available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 9. 133 Heyman, “Silent Revolutions,” 153–8.

45 led by John Scott Trotter.134 Besides the fact that only “Stomp Caprice” can be considered a true duet as it is the only track without any orchestral backing, these sides differ from the

1939 and 1940 duets in that they no longer extensively spotlight Blanton. On “Jive

Rhapsody,” “Stomp Caprice,” “Frankie and Johnny,” and “Flamingo,” the string bass is primarily limited to accompanying, although all include brief solos, ranging from six to thirty- two bars. The two remaining air checks, however, “Jumpin’ Punkins” and “Take the ‘A’

Train,” by and Strayhorn respectively, reveal Blanton in yet another original approach to string bass playing: “soloistic accompaniment.”135 On both tracks, he improvises a part that lies in between a highly embellished walking line and an actual bass solo. This concept, which was unprecedented in jazz and would remain so for approximately the next fifteen years, can be found in a few other tunes waxed in 1941, for example the Jump for Joy song “Bli-Blip,” or the subsequent big band versions of “Jumpin’ Punkins,” in particular those captured live or in broadcasts.136 Yet, in spite of its novel quality, such soloistic accompanying seemingly had relatively little impact on Blanton’s peers, nor was it noted by any critic or fan, a side-effect of it being primarily captured in fleeting broadcasted performances. While not as influential as any of Blanton’s and Ellington’s earlier concepts, this does once again illustrate Ellington’s sense of trust in his bass player as well as his broad- mindedness towards such radical ideas, even if they were not his own. While in effect he did not contribute to this particular concept, for example by writing music that would foreground it, Duke did allow Blanton to take his virtuoso (near-)solo flights in small and large band

134 None of these are currently commercially available. 135 Heyman, “Silent Revolutions,” 147. 136 Ibid., 161. “Bli-Blip” is available on Ellington, Centennial, disc 12. Most broadcast versions of “Jumpin’ Punkins” are not commercially available. A version recorded for Standard Transcription Library is available on Ellington, The Complete Standard Transcriptions: Duke Ellington and His Famous Orchestra 1941, Soundies SCD 4107, (1999/2004, CD, disc 2. Note that the studio version of “Jumpin’ Punkins” is not representative of Blanton’s soloistic accompaniment approach, instead using a straightforward walking bass approach.

46 settings of his own choosing, taking away to need to showcase him in newly written material.137

Unfortunately, their collaboration soon came to an end. In mid-November 1941, Blanton was admitted into the Los Angeles County General Hospital to convalesce from a developing case of tuberculosis he was diagnosed with some weeks earlier, abruptly curtailing his professional career.138 Somewhat unexpectedly, his health did not improve, and he passed away on July 30, 1942, at the tender age of 23. While a true tragedy for his relatives, friends, and fellow-Ellingtonians, Blanton’s untimely death did not drastically impact the sound of

Ellington’s orchestra, nor his writing for it. This was in part because the band leader quickly found a suitable replacement: . While the newest addition to the band did not have the same technical mastery or musical imagination as Blanton—but then again, very few, if any, bassists then had—he was a highly proficient musician moulded in the Blanton style. He almost immediately took over some of his predecessor’s features, in particular “Jack the Bear” and “Pitter Panther Patter,” but he was given his own spotlights as well, for example in “Suddenly It Jumped” (1944) or “Frankie and Johnny,” (1944, reworked from the

1941 version as played on Kraft Music Hall).139 These were in turn taken over by Raglin’s followers, Pettiford and Marshall, both of whom were granted their own showcases, for example on “Happy Go Lucky Local,” the fourth movement of the Deep South Suite (1946), and a new arrangement of the classic “Perdido” (1952), respectively.140

137 Heyman, “Silent Revolutions,” 164. 138 For a more detailed description of the period leading up to Blanton’s passing, see ibid., 152–3. 139 Available on Ellington, The Duke Ellington Carnegie Hall Concerts: December 1944 (Prestige Records 2PCD-24073-2, 1992), disc 1 (“Suddenly It Jumped”) and 2 (“Frankie and Johnny”). 140 “Happy Go Lucky Local” is available on Ellington, Happy-Go-Lucky Local (Discovery 70052, 1993, CD). The 1952 version of “Perdido” is available on Ellington, (Columbia/Legacy #87066, 2004, CD).

47 While these three men were directly inspired by Blanton, either by having played with him, or by having witnessed his playing up close, all of Ellington’s following bass men, including but not limited to (1929–2005), (1922–2003), John Lamb

(1933), Jeff Castleman (1946), and Joe Benjamin (1919–1974), ensured each in their own personal way that the legacy of Blanton and his precursors remained an integral part of

Ellington’s music through their virtuoso technique and imaginative playing. Furthermore,

Ellington and Strayhorn’s continued to craft highly inventive bass parts for their bass men, further building upon the innovative groundworks that had been laid in the sixteen years that span Edwards’ joining (1925) to Blanton’s departure (1941). A complete overview of all bass- centric work in the Ellington repertoire falls well outside of the scope of this essay, but it is clear that the Duke maintained a continuous tradition of exploring the various timbres, performance styles, and functions of the string bass throughout his fifty-plus-year career. In doing so, he contributed significantly to the development of this instrument in the way it was being played and written for, in particular in the period from the mid-1920s to the early

1940s. It stands without doubt that this helped to further define the string bass’s role in jazz, a feat Ellington is rarely acknowledged for. The methods he used were diverse; in some cases, he simply asked the bassist to double another instrument or even his own left hand, in other instances he created an entire bass part, and sometimes all he did was give his bass men every room they wanted to make their own statement. The result, however, was in all cases beneficial for both his music and the string bass. Indeed, much of Ellington’s music could not do without the string bass, but neither could the string bass do without Ellington.

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