Jazz As A Second Language: Jazz as Woman

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.

6http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4KgqBOk9eU