Ken Mathieson Classic Jazz Orchestra with Evan Christopher, Palazzo Spiegeltent, Edinburgh, Tuesday July 23rd ****
It can be a bit of a political minefield when a band which has a brace of ace soloists in its line-up is joined by a special guest: egos can be bruised as the star mops up most of the solo space assigned to his given instrument. But when New Orleans-based Evan Christopher made his debut as a guest with the Classic Jazz Orchestra on Tuesday evening, bandleader Ken Mathieson made a virtue of the fact that he now had three top clarinettists in his group.
Three clarinets playing featured together can be a thrilling sound – and, from the off, Martin Foster, Dick Lee and Christopher made a terrific trio; Foster’s lovely, grainy tone contrasting strikingly with Christopher’s sweet and hot sound on Charlie the Chulo. Dardanella featured several examples of the thrill of the clarinet trio: early on, they were seductive, playing in unison, before letting rip separately but simultaneously at the exhilarating finale. Sidney Bechet’s Moulin a Café also climaxed with a showstopping three-way dialogue between Foster, Lee and Christopher.
Other highlights included trombonist Phil O’Malley’s spare and elegant contribution to Mood Indigo and tenor saxophonist Konrad Wiszniewski’s slinky solo on Barney Bigard’s Lament for Javanette.
Indeed, Mathieson quipped that Barney Bigard’s estate would be having a bumper night, royalties-wise, but it was Jelly Roll Morton’s which received the bigger boost since the CJO performed a string of Morton numbers, including a couple which had never been played before – anywhere. None of these proved as electrifying, however, as an impromptu Blue Horizon in which Christopher, soloing with rhythm section, wowed the audience with a masterful display of his sultry, southern-drenched sound.
Orange Kellin & Morten Gunnar Larsen, Spiegeltent, Monday July 23rd ****
Rain beating down on the tent’s roof, damp coats, uncomfortable Spiegeltent seats, and two guys onstage who looked like they’d taken a wrong turn en route to a convention for Latin teachers: the early evening jazz festival gig on Monday did not promise to be a joyful affair. But the duo concert featuring the versatile Norwegian pianist Larsen (last heard here last year accompanying a singer on a programme of cabaret songs) and Swedish-born clarinettist Kellin proved to be well worth running the risk of contracting trench foot from the George Square mud.
These musicians are keepers of the flame of early and classic jazz styles and, on Monday, they exhumed tunes from the repertoires of three pioneering jazz men – and made them as fresh and thrilling as they must have been when they were written, in some cases almost a century ago. With their rousing opener, Jelly Roll Morton’s Big Fat Ham, any thought of this music being of purely historic interest went out the tent window; this was thrilling, exhilarating stuff which instantly hooked the audience and kept everyone pinned to their seats for a solid 90 minutes.
With his squawky, authentic New Orleans clarinet sound, Kellin complements Larsen’s delicate, refined piano style perfectly and what was particularly appealing was the fact that each of the musicians had a direct link to one of the other two composers whose work was featured: in the 1970s, Kellin worked with the great trumpeter Jabbo Smith, whose tender ballads I Owe It All To You and Must Be Right; Can’t Be Wrong were highlights, while the young Larsen met the legendary ragtime pianist Eubie Blake at around the same time. In other words, Monday’s audience was three degrees separated from a certain Scott Joplin…
First published in The Herald, Wednesday, July 25th
The young trumpeter doesn’t just wax lyrical about Bix Beiderbecke for Jazz Matters; he’s written us a (controversial in parts) essay…
Bix Beiderbecke is quite possibly the most influential figure in the entire history of jazz. In this distinction, Bix joins the ranks of early jazz luminaries such as Louis Armstrong, Jelly Roll Morton, Benny Goodman, and Bing Crosby. Countless books and articles have been written on these musicians, dealing with both their music and their personas. While much as been written about Bix as both man and musician, I always find myself coming back to the music much more than the personality. Bix stands alone in this list of influential musicians in that he was simply concerned with music more than much of anything else.
When we think of Louis Armstrong, one of the images that comes to mind is the showman and entertainer. That is not to take anything away from his music. The same goes for Jelly Roll Morton, who was known to be an extremely active self-promoter. We also hear of Benny Goodman’s colorful personality. We envision the man who wields his 18 piece big band as effortlessly as his clarinet, yet was known to skimp on reeds. I’ve heard stories about Benny picking up used reeds off the floor rather than buying a pack on his own.
Bing Crosby was also no slouch when it came to self-promotion. That’s quite a toupée Bing’s wearing from the 1930s on. When it comes to Bix, I really believe that there wasn’t much there besides the music. Can you imagine Bix wearing a toupée?
Maybe this is the heart of why there is such as fascination for Bix as the man. I’ll admit I wish I could have an hour with Bix, and ask him all of the burning questions I have about the records he made, the people he played with, and experiences on the road. However, I think I’d be sorely disappointed. Here’s how I envision it going down:
Andy: Did you intend to play that figure going into the piano solo on “Goose Pimples? Why did you blow sharp on the out chorus?
Bix: _ (shrugs)
Bix was certainly a kind person for the most part. He was good to kids who would meet him backstage. He would help other musicians having a bit of a hard time. He loved his family in his own way. However, I’m sure his first love was music. We’ve all read the stories about Bix going to fool around on the piano on set breaks rather than going out back to smoke a joint or chase a girl. I also think that he would sit at that piano all night regardless if the room was packed with alligators or if he was all alone. It’s not enough to say that Bix was modest. He just didn’t care.
Bix was also alone in his approach to music. I believe that Bix was the first important jazz musician to be born out of records. Today we take it for granted. If I want to go hear Red Nichols, I pull out one of my Brunswick 78s or a CD reissue, grab a beer, listen, and study. When Louis Armstrong first got a cornet at the Waifs’ Home in New Orleans, there was no such thing as jazz in the sense we would understand. He learned the to play the horn from a trained instructor in an appreticeship-like situation. He played everything from marches to mazurkas.
Louis eventually found jazz playing alongside musicians such as Joe Oliver. While Bix did receive intermittent instruction on the piano from a young age, it wasn’t until he heard those Original Dixieland Jazz Band records in the late 1910s that he went out and bought a cheap cornet and began imitating those other-worldly sounds eminating from the phonograph horn.
While someone with the innate talent of Bix’s would no doubt have ended up doing something in music, it was these first records that instantly changed his life, thereby becoming the first major jazz musician influenced mainly from records.
For evidence of this, refer to the majority of the “Bix and his Gang” records on the OKeh label. Many of the tunes were pulled from the Original Dixieland Jazz Band’s library, rather than the current tunes of the day. In 1928, he’s still using the “silent cowbell” ending found on the ODJB records of 10 years prior. This ending had effectively gone out of fashion in the early 1920s. Are these some of the first jazz repertory recordings? Either way, it’s a major sea-change in the development of jazz.
Bix had such an unbelievable intensity in his music. Contemporaries speak of it often. Yet, when it comes to his personality, he’s passive. Looking back 80 years since the time of his death, it’s hard to imagine such incredible music coming out of that meek-looking kid with the skinny fingers. Admit it. When I first saw that Fox Movietone film showing Bix standing up to play along with the Whiteman trumpet section, I couldn’t believe that this guy who cuts out early at the end of the phrase could be responsible for At the Jazz Band Ball or Sorry. Aside from the shock of seeing Bix move on film, I’m left even more puzzled as to how Bix really came to be.
Maybe that’s just how it is. Bix was really just a guy who was obsessed with good music. He made no airs about his stature in the jazz world, nor did he intentionally portray himself as the stereotypical struggling, socially-inept jazz musician who drinks too much. All of us musicians get sidetracked from our music by other interests and distractions. Bix had such a pure ideal about music. As a musician, I can only try my best to live up to it. When it comes down to it, Bix just was. A rarity. Something unattainable.
We sure could use a Bix Beiderbecke today.
****
If I had to recommend two tracks the first would be Sorry – by Bix and his Gang. Listen to how effectively Bix leads the ensemble. This is the characteristic that is most often lost today. Bix was a better ensemble player than soloist, which is saying something!
And the other would be Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra’s recording of Gypsy. While this is not my overall favorite recording, it is one of my favorite Bix solo examples. Listen for the economy of notes he uses in expressing the melody. It’s a rather obscure Bix cut, and I’d recommend you listen to the entire recording to get the full effect. Don’t cheat and jump to the Bix solo…
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