I've been listening to "Caravan" a lot lately, and its importance as a piece is becoming more clear to me with each spin. Written by the trombonist Juan Tizol, and brought to its current fame by Duke Ellington, the tune may be the one that started two major schools in jazz. First, with its Latin and Mideastern melodies and rhythms, it is very likely the one that made jazz international. Second, with its long sections built on unstable chords (dimished and dominant), it may have been the origin of modal jazz (although the blues were involved as well, of course). And to top it off, it's just a great piece of music. Here's a terrific version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4XKHkzDggk.

One of the greatest pleasures in listening to jazz is found in the walking bass. Its role is to provide the connection between the harmony and the rhythm, both of which are usually very complex. But in the hands of a master, when every note is chosen and played with knowledge and care, it creates a streamlined logic and sense of resolved expectation that is largely responsible for what Ellington called "the feeling of jazz". One such master was Ray Brown, who was the kind of bassist who elevated every date (live or recorded) that he played on. I had a teacher once who said that what he'd been enjoying the most in his personal listening over the previous year or so was "anything with Ray Brown". Here's an excellent clip of him playing Luiz Bonfa's "Black Orpheus": (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bJu2owDM2E).

I can't remember where I read this, but it doesn't really matter because it's not true: It was something along the lines of it being necessary to have at least two musicians to play jazz. The writer was probably simply repeating something heard in another context, about jazz being conversational in spirit or something. And it is, to a considerable degree, but it can be played solo at the highest levels as well. The listening and responding aspects are still there, but it's one's own statements (along with the structural elements of the piece) that have to be used in the process. In fact, it could be argued that some musicians reach their creative peaks on their own. Keith Jarrett is one, in my opinion, and Joe Pass, the great guitarist, another. Here's a good video of Pass doing the Ellington classic, "Do Nothin' Til You Hear from Me": (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZfQUYOEzpg).

"Come Sunday", from Duke Ellington's 1943 jazz symphony entitled, Black Brown and Beige, is one of those moments at the mountaintop of music. Featuring the great Mahalia Jackson, the piece is rarified in every possible way; the performance, arrangement, lyric and melody are all awesomely beautiful. And while the recording that I found on YouTube is fine, it should be heard in the best possible version for its full appreciation.

As I was listening to it again, the thought occurred to me that much of the greatest American culture is overlooked, and that the music of artists like Ellington and Jackson should be an integral part of what young people are taught in today's schools. In my experience, students respond with the greatest interest when they are presented with the best: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLXYK6n8PQ4&feature=fvst

Duke Ellington is a musician that should be listened to for many reasons. But one aspect of his artistry that gets too little attention, in my opinion, is his piano playing. His approach to the instrument is unique - he treats it like a miniature version of his orchestra (or band, if you prefer), and plays it in a way that reflects his composing and arranging skills, as opposed to most pianists who are thinking primarily as improvisers.

Ellington's music always makes me think of the contrast between the words theory and practice. Music theory is a well-named discipline: it deals with ideas about how music works, but it results in questions more often than answers, and to put it simply, there is much more to learn than is already known. Ellington's music is based on the concept of practice - the fact that he wrote and arranged vast quantities of music over a period of six decades - and that he was always looking for the most specific and beautiful way of solving each musical challenge. There's a freedom and originality in his music that distinguishes it from virtually everything else. Here's "In a Sentimental Mood" from the essential recording Duke Ellington & John Coltrane (1962), which I think will better illustrate what I'm trying to say: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCQfTNOC5aE

Hoagy Carmichael was one of the most sophisticated composers of popular music. He should be ranked with people like Strayhorn, Ellington, Porter and Gershwin. And it's interesting to note that of that group, he is the only one to have made multiple recordings as a vocalist. Although there are vocal recordings of the others out there (try to hear Strayhorn singing "Lush Life", if you can - but it isn't easy to find), they were incidental to their main work. Carmichael, on the other hand, considered it a central part of his art, and it's fascinating to listen to. His version of "Skylark", for example, is probably my favourite, and that's saying something, because it has been recorded beautifully numerous times, but his unadorned, unaffected treatment seems to reveal information about the song's structure and origin, which of course only its composer could do. Unfortunately, I can't find it on YouTube, but here's a good recording of his wonderful "Memphis in June" instead: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZnwIMw8emc

One interesting theory regarding jazz history has it that instrumentalists and composers have alternated in moving the music forward. It goes something like this: In the twenties, it was an instrumentalist (Louis Armstrong); in the thirties, a composer (Duke Ellington); in the forties, another instrumentalist (Charlie Parker); in the fifties, a composer (Thelonius Monk and/or Miles Davis - take your pick); in the sixties, an instrumentalist (John Coltrane); in the seventies, a composer (Charles Mingus, although he started much earlier). It's an oversimplification obviously, but it is an interesting one. In rock and roll's formative decade, the most important composer (songwriter, if you prefer) was also the most important instrumentalist: Chuck Berry. Yesterday, I wrote a little about his lyrics, today his contributions to the guitar.
Chuck Berry is rock and roll guitar. Every rock guitarist must come to an understanding of the way he plays to have any authenticity in their sound. The deeper they go into his work, the more successful they become. (Yesterday, I mentioned that neither the Beatles or Stones would have existed without him - I forgot to mention The Beach Boys.) It is fascinating to listen to early Berry recordings because he is so far ahead of his band rhythmically. You can often hear them learning as the song goes along. (Part of the reason for this is how each player interprets the three vs. two of blues, jazz or rock - more on that to come - but essentially Berry was a few years ahead of his band at this point.) His rhythm playing is the quintessential sound of rock and roll. His introductions were (and are) amazing in their power and originality. His solos had all the wit, excitement and intelligence of his performing. But perhaps most importantly, he also showed, definitively, that the way forward for rock was to be found in studying and extrapolating from the blues. As a matter of fact, with retrospect, it's probably appropriate that his work be considered alongside (I mean equal to) the blues in its importance to and influence on rock and roll.