A classic metaphor that cool jazz cats
will give for understanding jazz is that it should be thought of as a
woman1,
with all the nuances that implies. This is rather reductionist of
course, but there's a wide field of jazz that could fall under this
umbrella. Perhaps the song that most beautifully exemplifies this is
the Clifford Brown arrangement of “Delilah,” originally composed
by Victor Young2
for the Cecil B. DeMille movie “Samson and Delilah.” Brown's
version is the first track on his eponymous 1955 album with the
Clifford Brown and Max Roach Quintet. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpILJTxT1_s) The song does what jazz does
when it's at its truest: “Delilah” simultaneously encapsulates
its immediate context, makes bold rejections of traditions to
establish its pertinence, and resonates a feeling that's requisite to
the human experience. It also swings like somebody told it it
couldn't.
Clifford Brown is, like Lee Morgan,
one of the sadder stories in jazz. A prodigious trumpet player, he
got his start in the early fifties with the blessings of Fats Navarro
and Dizzy Gillespie, the defining trumpeters of '40s bebop. He had
not only extreme technical virtuosity3
but a sensitivity that came out especially on ballads. Jazz at the
time was moving from the more obtuse, inaccessible style of bebop to
what would become known as hard bop. This genre incorporated the
difficult harmonies of bebop but with more of an emphasis on the
roots and the identity of jazz, incorporating gospel and blues
influences. The height of Brown's artistic achievement came with the
quintet he co-led with drummer Max Roach, where he wrote many songs
that would go on to become standards and honed his unique sound. He
always focused on his music, abstaining from heroin and alcohol,
which had caused the ruination of many of his forbears. This made his
sudden death in a car accident in 1956 all the more tragic. He was 25
years old and had only been recording for four years4.
Clifford Brown & Max Roach was
a highly anticipated debut, and the title track didn't disappoint. It
starts off, as so many great songs do, with a cool double bass lick
from George Morrow. The lick is syncopated, meaning it has a lot of
notes that don't fall on the beat. This gives it the feeling of
falling into the start of each measure; a kind of Oriental vibe. The
piano enters, still not establishing whether the song is major or
minor, slipping around the keyboard. The drums' presence is announced
with a rising cymbal roll, a fairly classical ornamentation on a
straightahead jazz song. The hi-hat enters on the second and fourth
beats, which serves as the metronomic pulse of basically every jazz
song. Small hits on the toms add to the Oriental feeling. Harold Land
enters with a sax ostinato, or repeating figure, that finally asserts
that the key is minor. His syncopated rhythm locks in with the bass
pattern, driving the beat forward from measure to measure.
Underneath, the piano plays subtle dissonances that help round out
the sound. This whole intro section is beautiful and establishes many
key elements of the song: its tonality, its unswung but very tight
and driving rhythm, and its basic consonance.
Then
Brownie enters. His rhythm is metric but doesn't quite fit in with
the straightness of the rest of the band5.
The ascending three notes are less triumphant than sneaky; his
normally powerful tone is subdued, and the notes elide except for
some brief staccato notes. At the end of the phrase, there's an
assertion where the rhythm section briefly stops and the saxophone
joins to play the melody. This falls down with a brief trumpet trill
that adds to the foreign feeling. The end of the phrase should bring
resolution, but instead offers only dissonance. The song is in AABA
structure, meaning the first phrase is played twice, followed by a
bridge, followed by a recapitulation of the first phrase. The bridge
is marked by a sudden change in the texture: the drums open up, the
bass starts walking, and the saxophone ostinato stops so Land can
take the melody, a fairly meek attempt at a resistance to the first
phrase. The change during the bridge is fairly common for jazz songs,
creating tension and interest for the listener.
I
like to hear the song as being from Delilah's perspective, but
clearly performed by a man seeking to emulate this. The mood is
shifty, elusive, conniving, foreign; it conceals a pent-up energy
that feels like it's waiting for the right time to burst forth. It's
a saucepan of boiling water with a lid on it. There's a perpetual
feeling of suspense. There are small releases at the end of each
phrase that devolve into simmering anticipation. It's especially
interesting to contrast this with John Coltrane's version from late
in his life at a performance in Copenhagen6.
Trane's take seems to be from the point of view of Samson, struggling
impotently and belatedly against the woman who had castrated him.
It's full of rage that can never be actualized. Clifford's version is
more sophisticated in a sense that it is able to portray an emotion
that is meant to be regarded by the listener as an Other, not as a
personal connection. The song is very deliberately contained and
regulated, releasing its passion like a steam valve, toying with the
listener.
Land
dives in first, delivering a moving and melodic solo every turn of
which is in my memory. It's fairly easy to follow; simply let his
melody take you through. He uses many small motifs that recur, and
maintains a consistent attitude throughout. Small embellishments like
single-note crescendos. Moments of tension find their release and he
pauses to end sentences, but the pace never feels slow. Listen also
to Richie Powell comping behind him. Most of what he plays are block
chords, or multiple notes played at the same time. He doesn't
interfere by playing anything too melodic that will distract, rather
he seeks to fill out the chordal backdrop that Land will play over.
In moments where Land backs off, Powell steps in to keep the pace
going. Roach and Morrow also make deliberate choices that drive the
beat. Morrow consistently plays on the front of the note. He plays on
every note, but just slightly ahead, ensuring the song's movement.
Then,
Brownie's solo. A masterpiece of rise and fall, tension and release.
An interesting part of this song is its straight-eighth notes.
Instead of swinging and being able to fall back into the groove, the
eighth note is almost forced. Hear how he builds up and leads to
releases that don't come, or are misleading when they do. He switches
to high, abrupt notes as the rhythm section builds behind him, a wail
almost. I love his cracked notes. They instantly bring a sharp
passion that's all the more striking against the calm unhurriedness
of the piano. There's no wrong way to listen to his solo. Let
yourself be picked up and tossed around by his machinations.
Powell's
solo starts by augmenting an idea that Clifford hints at near the end
of his solo. This kind of referencing is pretty darn cool when it
works, adding a flair of narrative to the song. The solo is nice and
bluesy, adding a bit of calm after Brown's wail. The next section is
what's known as “trading fours,” where in members of the band
will take turns playing quick four-measure solos, after which the
drummer will solo for four bars. This leads into Roach's solo. Drum
solos are uncomplicated. We've been drumming since we could move our
hands, and the way you connect to a drum solo should be (and is)
ingrained in you.
Then
back to the intro, a calm after the storm, and the head out.
“Delilah” is deceptively unambitious. The song is simple but the
arrangement lends itself to such beauty and expression of emotion. It
almost requires it. This song could almost be background music, were
it not for the aura of menace that lurks around it. Delilah becomes a
figure for us, the figure of jazz, delineated by cigarette smoke and
dim lighting. She's a temptress, untameable, as she has to be to be
of any interest. Brown breathes life into her and makes her bite.
Jazz always does.
1Jazz
has always been, despite the numerous incredible female jazz
musicians, a boys' club. The reasons for this can't be
satisfactorily explained in the space of a column, and they seem to
be more extensive than the reasons that most popular music is
male-dominated. This isn't a good nor bad thing; like most things,
it just is.
2Whose
version can be found here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3YAUUjASjQ.
Fairly typical for a movie of this period, this iteration of the
tune Young discovered lacks the beauty to be found in his other
classics (“Stella by Starlight,” “I Don't Stand A Ghost of a
Chance With You,” “When I Fall in Love,” “My Foolish
Heart”). It's fortunate Brownie came around to find the
specialness of the song.
3In
his case, this means he was equally facile at producing very high
and low notes, he was able to play quickly, he could articulate
(meaning shape) notes of any duration or pitch, and he could think
through chord changes quick enough that his solos could be
expressive without sounding bogged down by the structure of the
song.
4This
was captured in one of the greatest threnodies in music, Benny
Golson's “I Remember Clifford.” I fell in love with the piece at
an early age, and performing it leaves me physically drained.
5If
you're curious, this is because he's playing quarter-note triplets.
This is a simple concept that becomes complicated in practice.
Essentially, a triplet is where three notes of equal length are
played in the space of two. When played over regular quarter notes,
this produces a polyrhythmic effect that sounds a little alien to
Western musical ears. This type of rhythm is featured throughout the
melody.
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