A question: Would bebop, the chromatic and scientific approach to playing jazz that involves the memorization of specific, complex vocabulary patterns, have occurred to its early progenitors without the atonal (i.e. twelve-tone) music of Arnold Schoenberg? Conceptually, there is a very large amount of overlap between the two styles. Both involve the dictated use of notes in a specific order - through the use of tone rows in twelve-tone composition, and in bebop through the use of lines or licks committed to memory in every conceivable key. In both cases what is left for the artist to freely choose is placement, primarily. The twelve-tone composer can use the next tone as part of a melody (in other words horizontally) or harmonically, or as part of a chord (i.e. vertically). Of course, the rhythms are up to the writer as well. In jazz, the notes are also very largely (if not entirely) predetermined, and the same kinds of choices (placement and rhythm) are left to the performer.

Schoenberg's music has taken a lot of critical poundings over the years, and it continues to do so. It's not to everyone's taste, I think it's fair to say, but Glenn Gould was a great admirer (and interpreter) of Schoenberg's, and so my guess is that we'll eventually catch up with it. But I am convinced that Charlie Parker et al were greatly influenced by it as a concept, and I'm not sure that their discoveries would have happened without Schoenberg's. Here's one of his early twelve-tone works, with the score included: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrjg3jzP2uI. And here's Bill Evans' "Twelve Tone Tune", a tip of the cap from a jazz musician of unsurpassed learning: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dB78xeZ8quk.

Charlie Parker is usually given most, if not all, of the credit for the development of bebop - the complex, chromatic, almost scientific approach to jazz improvisation that has been the music's center ever since. He certainly deserves his share, but the other musicians who were there at the breakthrough jam sessions at Minton's Playhouse in Harlem in 1941, especially Dizzy Gillespie and the guitarist, Charlie Christian, deserve some as well. At the very least, they seem to have been at the same place, stylistically, at the same moment. In fact, Christian may have arrived there first. Proving this contention would require more knowledge in the fields of musicology and history than I have at my disposal, but one thing is for sure: Charlie Christian is among the most important and accomplished musicians in jazz, as well as the first great electric guitarist. Some would even argue that he still hasn't been surpassed on the instrument. And we're left to wonder what he could have done had he lived past the age of twenty-five. Here's "Stompin' at the Savoy", recorded at Minton's: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x52x5hjpD5k

Yesterday, I mentioned that serious jazz musicians rehearse very little, which is true. But I want to be clear what I mean by that. By "rehearse", I mean playing with other musicians, which is not the same thing as "practice", which is done individually. Jazz musicians practice constantly. (The term they use for it is "woodshedding", as in, "I'm going back to the shed". It comes from the structure in Charlie Parker's Kansas City backyard that became legendary for the heavy practice hours that it hosted.) But everything that is practiced, from ear training to memorizing vocabulary to the detailed study of the history of both style and instrument - is done so that they don't have to rehearse. Bill Evans, the piano giant and one of the hardest-working musicians ever, once said that in the ten or so years that he played with one of his trios, they'd had about four rehearsals. But when the gig started, they "got it together very quickly on the bandstand". For evidence of the results, listen to any of his records.

I'm not sure where I heard my favourite Jimi Hendrix story, so I'm not positive about its veracity, but here it is anyway: When Hendrix was nine or so, he was evaluated by one of his school's counselors and when the report was filed, it said that the fact that he didn't have a guitar was damaging him psychologically. Well, as I mentioned, I'm not sure that this actually happened, but I do know that he eventually did get a guitar, and learned how to play it. His first album, Are You Experienced, was released in 1967, and for a rock trio record, it still hasn't been surpassed. "Purple Haze", the first song, might be the greatest opening track ever. The thrillingly dramatic intro opens up into a groove that features Hendrix' mastery of implied guitar rhythms - something he must have learned in the highly disciplined musical world of sixties professional rhythm and blues - but here adapted to an entirely new purpose. Another characteristic of the album is the astonishing variety of the soloing - it's almost compositional in nature. Hendrix seems to have had the ability to think way ahead in the song's form when improvising - an attribute often associated with Charlie Parker and other great jazz musicians. On "Manic Depression", for example, he plays against the beat to create powerful tension, on "The Wind Cries Mary", he plays a solo that seems to bring in elements of both country and blues - wait a minute, that's the formula for rock and roll itself - and gets the mix just right: it's one of the best solos I've ever heard. The songwriting throughout is quite simply beautiful: "Love or Confusion", "May This Be Love", "I Don't Live Today" and the title track (which uses a question mark, unlike the album title) are sophisticated, surprising, and yet natural, compositionally-speaking. There isn't a weak cut on the album.

A few words on the rest of the band: They are great. Mitch Mitchell on drums seems to have been influenced both stylistically and in terms of touch by the most important jazz drummer of the era, Elvin Jones. He uses variation more than most rock drummers do, for one thing. His interplay with Hendrix is fascinating throughout the record, and particularly on the instrumental, "Third Stone from the Sun". Noel Redding on bass, had more experience as a guitarist than most bassists do, which may have helped him to think along with Hendrix. His decision-making is uncanny - his groove, too. To sum it up: When listening to the album, keep in mind that this was their debut recording. Man.

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.