Jazz Professional               

 

DUKE ELLINGTON

Bits and Pieces, interviews and quotes

Looks back - and forward
On Sacred Music
Ellingtonians
The First One Hundred Years
Love you madly
 

HARRY FRANCIS
It was the Duke’s ensemble that really won over British musicians to big band jazz. With its clear–cut instrumental combination of five brass, four saxophones and four rhythm, the orchestra had an enormous appeal for players and music writers alike.

The Ellington Orchestra was, of course, in a category all of its own, due largely to the special talents of its leader and the rapport that existed between him and eveiy one of its individual members.

On Ellington’s first British tour the reed section consisted of Otto Hardwick, Harry Carney, Johnny Hodges and Barney Bigard, the trumpets were handled by Artie Whetsol, Cootie Williams and Freddy Jenkins, the trombones by Lawrence Brown, Juan Tizol and “Tricky” Sam Nanton, and the Duke’s colleagues in the rhythm section were Sonny Greer on percussion, Wellman Braud on bass and Fred Guy on guitar and banjo. All the great original arrangements were in the book, including `Echoes Of The Jungle’, `Old Man Blues’, `Creole Love Call’, `Ring Dem Bells’, `Black And Tan Fantasy’, `The Mooche’, `Tiger Rag’, `Double Check Stomp’ and `Sophisticated Lady’.

In addition to the magnificent musical interpretation, all were put over with superb showmanship. How sad it is that so many of the giants who contributed so much to the Ellington repertoire are no longer around, but how good it was recently to see the apparently ageless Harry Carney still blowing away up there. So far as I can recall, he is the man with the unbroken membership of the orchestra, but if ever he was absent it could not have been for long. Surely a record—and one of which to be justly proud.

Duke Ellington will never really die, for we shall, for many, many years ahead, be writing and talking about his great contribution to music, and the musicians who so clearly demonstrated their ability to interpret it over five decades, just as we shall be listening to his artistry through the medium of the vast store of recordings, the compilation of a complete discography of which is now urgently necessary, he has left to posterity. We salute him as one of the truly great men of music, a deeply human personality, whose contribution to his art was both enormous and magnificent.

CLARK TERRY
On the subject of Duke Ellington—I will say what I’ve always said: he’s the greatest influence, not only on me but many, many musicians around the world, and the best thing that could have possibly happened to jazz—to music, period.

He was just a fantastically great person, a great musician, and I don’t think the world will ever know what a fantastic musical mind he had. I don’t think he ever really got his just due; people don’t realise yet what an inspiration he was.

You know, you’ve probably heard it said many times that his band was his instrument—well, if you were a member of his band, he had a way of getting out of your exactly what he wanted. You may not have been aware of the fact that you could do it, but he would get it out of you. Just to give you an idea—when we did an album called `A Drum Is A Woman’ he says to me: “Hey, Sweetie, I want to do this little thing about Buddy Bolden, and I want you to portray the role of Buddy Bolden.” I says: “But Maestro, I never knew Buddy Bolden, never heard him play; he’s never made records.” He says: “Oh, of course you know all about him. He lived a great life, the ladies loved him, he was handsome, cool, suave and smooth. He had a powerful sound, and when he played, he bent notes; when he tuned up in New Orleans, you could hear him across the river and he used to break glasses on the shelves of people’s china closets across in Algiers.

You know all that—with that in mind, just give me a little idea of how you think he might have sounded.” So I went into what I thought he was trying to get out of me, and he said: “That’s it, that’s it!” Same thing with the band. The band played his music just the way he wanted it played, you know. That s why it’s always been very difficult for any other band to play Ellington’s music. He handpicked guys to do his things.

It was said that he didn’t write parts—he wrote for the individual. Billy Strayhom used to do this also; I guess it’s something he acquired from his association with Maestro. He would write a chart, and even the voicing, he would have in mind the people who were going to play these various notes. With five notes in a chord, he would think: “Now Harry’s gonna play this, Rabbit’s gonna play this, Procope’s gonna play this, and Paul’s got this.” And there was a certain note, an E natural on the trumpet—the concert D—whenever this note was given to the trumpet section, he would always put it on Rex Stewart’s part, whether it would be the lead, the third, the fourth, or maybe parts that would be sort of abruptly changing lines.

It’s said that he used to give this note to Rex because he had a way of playing his E natural with almost a semi–pure tone quality—a half valve type of sound. And it added some sort of a colour to the chord that he wanted, and wrote for.

He missed no opportunity to take advantage of everything that every individual in his group was outstandingly known for. He was a fantastic man. He was a great wit; a beautiful, warm–hearted man. A good person. I can’t think of any period, during the ten years I was with the band, that I didn’t enjoy—or I wouldn’t have stayed there that long. You know, there was a saying that if you stayed in the band ten years, you were doomed—you would never get out. Actually, I think I stayed about nine years and eleven months! But most of the guys stayed right there until the bitter end, and a few left but they returned. I suppose I was one of the few people who did leave and didn’t return. But while I was there, I just enjoyed the whole scene. I refer to my close to ten years’ stay as having attended the University of Ellingtonia for ten years. It was more or less like that, too; every day was a day of learning for me. As great as Pops was, the individual person who had the most influence on me, and on my playing, was Ellington.

I’ve heard Mercer’s band, and I do think it’s a good idea. Mercer is by no means an idiot; he’s a smart man, and he knows that he couldn’t possibly duplicate the Ellington band. A lot of people think that he is attempting to do this, but he is not. His idea is just to have a good band, and play Ellington compositions, not necessarily the way the band would have played them—because it’s impossible to have that identity.

First of all, without Harry Carney there . . I recall a few times when Harry had to leave; when a substitute came in to play baritone—many times Procope would fill in for Harry—it just was not the same. When Johnny Hodges wasn’t there—even during the period when Willie Smith played lead alto in Johnny’s place—there was a big difference. But Willie was such a fantastically great person, till even that became a part of Ellingtonia.

NORRIS TURNEY
I was first in the band while Johnny Hodges was still alive, and during that I played a lot of roles, all around the sections. I’ve handled just about every part in this band, except for Harry Carney’s baritone part. What happened, to begin with: we were to leave for Europe in ‘69, and one of our trombone players wasn’t able to make it. So I went back into the trombone section to fill the sound out there. And I read trumpet parts; I played Willie Cook’s part on clarinet. On the Japanese tour, I had to take care of Paul Gonsalves’ tenor part. I’ve been through the whole thing. I’m like a policeman—trouble–shooting here and there. I don’t have any parts; so I have to read from this part and that, and do the best I can. But I’m a part of the family—an Ellingtonian.

HORACE SII.VER Duke Ellington has influenced the whole music world. Some people have been influenced by him directly, and many of us unconsciously, probably, as we have by Charlie Parker, or any of these great masters in music.

CAT ANDERSON
This man Ellington is the most beautiful person in the world. I don’t know anyone who could take the stars he has in his band, assemble them together and write this wonderful music and make it sound the way it does. I could speak for centuries about Ellington. I just love the man.

I hope to God that he lives for years and years and never dies. It’s something that will happen. We’ve said to him: “What are we going to do?” Then we’re going to have to live on our memories of him.

Other bands may have a musician who will stay for a month, or a year—but you don’t find they stay too long. Ellington has men who have been in the band over 30 years. Gosh, and it’s beautiful. I know quite a few have been in 15 or 20. I myself have been in and out during the last 20 years. And it’s a wonderful thing when you can go and come into an organisation—as long as you go in the right way, that is.

Like Cootie Williams—he was out of the band 22 years, and he’s back with us. It shows that Ellington has something within him that can draw these people, keep them going and coming. We tell him: “We don’t have a band. We have a fraternity.” By the way, Cootie is the reason me being in the band. He talked me into it, originally. I was with Erskine Hawkins, then Lionel Hampton, and I kept telling him: “Yes, I’ll probably go over there and take the job.” One day he cornered me—I couldn’t get out of the house. He called Duke and I accepted the job.

IRVING MILLS
I noticed immediately that every time the band played there were the colourful passages. Every time they played (the same number) it sounded different. In those days all the other bands played the written arrangements as is. Duke said to me that he “occasionally writes”. I started to use Duke’s group for my recordings and found immediately that he was creative, co–operative. . . and appreciative.

KEN RATTENBURY
The very essence of jazz music, in the safe hands of Duke Ellington, has remained pure, native and instantly recognisable as a style. This man was clever; in its widest, deepest and most exalted sense, he fashioned a miracle out of a dream. . . and bequeathed to us countless hours of beautiful sound.

STAN KENTON
Duke Ellington? I’ve already said the greatest things that could be said about Duke. I think when this whole period of history about music is written, everyone will agree that Duke Ellington was the giant among us all. And Duke had a very beautiful, full life. He came from a good family; he didn’t starve like a lot of other musicians did. He didn’t go through a lot of suffering. He was brilliant, charming, he had a brain, he had talent, and he was even made handsome—so no man can ask for more than that.

I wasn’t too sad about Duke’s death. Naturally, none of us can live for ever—but Duke had a real full life. He was truly royalty. Well, he could have lived a few more years, and possibly kept going, but as it is—everybody has to give up some time or other.

DUKE ELLINGTON
I think the first number I composed (at the age of 16) which fitted comfortably under my fingers was `The Soda Fountain Rag’—so–called because at the time I was a soda jerker. I worked in a place called The Poodle Dog. There was a great pianist there, Lester Dishman. Wonderful. I leaned an awful lot just watching him. And I sometimes recall some of his devices in my playing.

He was a man who sometimes indulged himself going around from one place to the other. This appearance thing was not totally commercial, or was not necessarily considered a professional activity. People, before they went to work, would often stop at somebody’s house and just play the piano. Then go somewhere else, you know. And as they went along—I mean, naturally the people would serve refreshments. So by the time he got to work he was full of refreshments.

As the refreshments took over and he rolled off the piano stool, they’d call in the soda jerker to play the piano. That’s how I fell into my professional beginning.

We’ve had a lot of wonderful people in the band, you know, from time to time—Ben Webster, Jimmy Blanton, Shorty Baker, Clark Terry, Barney Bigard. Who else? So many wonderful guys. And even Bechet played with us in 1926.

He and Bubber Miley used to have what we called cutting contests. One would go out and play ten choruses then the other would do the same. And while one was on the other would be back getting a little taste, to get himself together, and a few new ideas. It was really something. Too bad we don’t have all that on tape today.

Billy Strayhom came in as a lyricist. He had written some music which was very good—a wonderful marriage of words and music—and I insisted that he came to New York (from Pittsburgh) to be my lyricist.

So he came and arrived on the day I was leaving for Sweden. So I left him at home with my son. He had access to my scores. When I came back from Sweden about six weeks later he had discovered how simple this whole operation was. And he was then an arranger.

DUKE. . . ON SACRED MUSIC
It’s just like “Heaven”; in the Second Sacred Concert. After going through what we call normal rhyming poetry for the first twenty–four bars, then you get to the last eight and you say: “Well, look, man, something has to be said here, you know.” And I was up in Lake Tahoe in the middle of the night, and this thing just fell in my lap—just like that. Oh, some real strange things happen, you know, when you get mixed up in this. You say: “Well, I need a line here”—and boom! The title of the number is `Heaven’ and the line was: “Heaven to be is just the ultimate degree, to be.” And I begin to call up my theologian friends—Pastor Gensel, Rabbi Shapiro, Rev. Weicker, in various cities. And each one of ‘em rattled off. . . Pastor Gensel, he must have talked for forty–five minutes, long–distance, you know, telling me what the words I had said meant. And Rabbi Shapiro—he went all the way back to “I AM” in the Ancient Bible. And Weicker, when I told him, he said: “Yeah!” and he hung up. Five minutes later, he called back, and he says: “Say that again. I want to record it.” These are the kind of things that happen.

So tell all of your lovely readers that we do love them madly, please. God bless.

Copyright © 1974, Les Tomkins. All Rights Reserved.