Like Wolfgang

Last semester, we talked in depth about Miles Davis's Second Great Quintet. For many reasons, this group was a pivotal force in the progression of the jazz conception in the 1960's, but as always, only half of the picture. Known for their chromatic harmony, complex rhythmic elements, and virtuosic soloing, in many ways, this group represented the height of the academic in jazz (it'd be worth noting that this was approached organically and not from the university setting, a path which has resulted in completely different music). As was noted last time, this may be the primary reason they are so intensely studied by ambitious students of jazz music: they provide a single stop for the most technically difficult aspects of the music. But as always, this can lead to short-sightedness.

In the last post, I talked in some detail about the problem of mistaking the fine details for the greater picture. It's important to remember that before Miles Davis ripped up and down those chromatic scales on his trumpet, he recorded the most famous jazz album – Kind of Blue – on which his playing exemplifies the study of sparsity. In many ways, the progression of the artistry of Miles Davis parallels both the history of jazz music and European music as a whole. The movement between complexity and simplicity has been a constant in all art throughout history. In music, we've moved from Bach to Mozart, Beethoven to Chopin, Schoenberg (of “Erwartung”) to Schoenberg (of op. 23), and Miles Davis (with the Second Great Quintet) to Miles Davis (on In a Silent Way). So, with that in mind, we'll take a look at some of the gallant in jazz.
To remain in Europe for one more moment, consider this famous Mozart piano sonata:



The right hand plays what may be considered an elaborate children's exercise, while the left hand just chugs away at the chords in one of the simplest ways possible. Gone are the extravagant fugal techniques of the baroque period. For many – mostly students of music – the beauty of this music can be the hardest to appreciate. There are very few substantive reasons as to why it works, and the ones you can come up with sound so elementary that they must be false.

Return to jazz. The music of Sonny Rollins embodies everything that makes this piano sonata successful. First, reconsider the piano as a jazz ensemble: the right hand improvises on the provided harmony in a simple triadic or diatonic fashion, the left hand merely keeps time and provides the basic chords. Now, watch this video:



Sonny's approach is fraught with a kind of difficulty not found in the music of the Second Great Quintet. In this simplistic style, the weight put on the soloist is considerably more than the group approach of the quintet. While creating and playing in a complex rhythm section presents its own challenges, it provides a safety net for the individual soloist: he or she can always pull a rhythmic motive from the group, engage in some kind of call and response, or simply lay out for a few measures to give the band a chance to fill the space. None of these are serious options in Sonny' approach, and the soloist succeeds or fails almost entirely on the strength of their individual playing.

Here we return to an idea from the last post: what is simple and what is complex. What is perceived as complex in the Second Great Quintet actually provides a number of outs for the soloist, while the seemingly simplistic approach of Sonny Rollins leaves the soloist entirely on their own. Going further with this, it may be that a change in perception of complexity occurs when shifting from the viewpoint of the performer to the audience: this certainly accounts for the inexplicable difficulty in playing Mozart or playing a great solo on “Impressions”.

Rollins wasn't alone in this style: many of the famous white players in the 50's and 60's espoused this simplistic approach. Jim Hall, Paul Desmond, Chet Baker, and the entire “Cool” school of jazz built their careers on the reduction of the work of Charlie Parker. Each of these players had their own unique qualities in their approach that could be discussed in some detail, but would take more time than is reasonable to cover here. In the mean time, throw these names in YouTube or Pandora and explore a more rarefied version of jazz.

Simplicity

In light of tritone substitution, modal mixture, upper extensions, and chromatic alterations, it can be easy to lose track of the music-making process. For a number of reasons, the study of music leads to the study of exceptions and oddities; some of these are technical -- we all know how to voice a major triad, but how do voice a major 9#11 chord? – some are compositionally based – how do I achieve a new sound in an old context ? – and some are historical – studying your predecessors' answers to the previous question. Unsurprisingly, as students largely study exceptions, their own creative output is bound to reflect this, most likely as an inorganic collage of learned techniques. As a beginning, this is good, and facilitates the learning process quickly, as an end, this is undesirable, largely resulting in mediocre or worse music. The bridge between student and musician – whether it be as an improvisor or composer – is crossed through moderation. As we've spent considerable time talking about the precise technical qualities of music, we'll devote some future posts to more abstract concepts. Because of this, immediate gain from these next few posts may not be as great and the ideas involved may not provide any definite answers, but consideration of the concepts discussed will lead to greater musicianship on a holistic level.

The first step in this process is the ability to consider an object's multiple levels of complexity and simplicity and the spectrum that connects the two concepts. Can an object be considered both complex and simple simultaneously? If something is made up of an intricate array of straight-forward processes, on which side of the spectrum does it lie? Similarly, if something is created by a small number of highly detailed components, is it easier or harder to understand than the last object? One answer to these questions questions the point of view of the observer. Your own computer provides a good example. On the most fundamental level, digital logic can't be any simpler, allowing for only one of two possible options: 0 or 1. Zoom out a bit and you'll begin to see a highly elaborate system that relies on a number of physical components and the software the allows these components to function. Finally, from your chair, the computer is fairly easy to comprehend: it has a keyboard and mouse, which take the input, the tower which processes the input, and a monitor which displays the output. Returning to music, this idea can relate to the level on which you analyze any given piece. Are you looking at individual chords, harmonic progressions, melodic processes, or large-scale form? The level of complexity of any given piece will be different in all of these areas.

Let's consider some examples. J.S. Bach's C Minor Fugue, BWV 847, provides an intricate display of motivic development (ignore any connotations this term may have in the traditional sense), ultimately basing almost every melodic line off the original fugal subject. On the other hand, the large-scale form – like it is in most fugues – is fairly simple: the composer introduces the melody in all of the voices, 'improvises' some contrapuntal sections, and ends whenever he sees fit, needing no preparation for the finale. As a counter-example, John Coltrane's “Giant Steps”, as it was originally recorded on the album, provides a complicated harmonic setting on which a limited amount of melodic material is prevented (it's worth pointing out that in the European worldview, the form of “Giant Steps” is about as simple as is possible, but in the context of jazz, it's highly complex). There's no specific lesson to be taken from these examples, but consideration of them is important.

If you begin to transcribe your favorite artists or review the scores of your favorite pieces, it's almost a certainty that the most stunning things will be the simple ones: Bill Evans soloing with the notes of the minor triad that's called for on the lead sheet, Shostakovich using triadic harmony in the slow movement of his cello concerto, the relative brevity of Beethoven's development sections, and the pentatonic solos of John Coltrane. While each player's final reaction to these qualities will differ, the important thing is to consider the implications of what you see. In closing, consider this question.

Bill Evans – a piano player whom the vast majority of the piano-playing populace dreams of sounding like – opens his solo to 'Nardis' on Explorations with only the notes F# and A. Why does he do this?

Diabolus in Musica

For centuries now, the resolution of the tritone has been one of the driving forces of change in tonal music. The extension of the V chord to the V7 chord produced stronger cadences when it began to appear around 1600 and has become status quo for any important harmonic passages; this remains true in jazz music, and the standard ii->V->I chord progressions illustrate this. The clever composer can manipulate this technique to create unusual chord progressions that maintain a sense of direction and rationality. This article will discuss a handful of these ideas, hopefully providing solutions to problems that have come up in your own writing.

This first fact to note in the exploration of this ideas is the paradoxical identity of the tritone. In many ways, the interval between F and B defines the C major scale, as traditionally, it must resolve to E and C, most likely in the form of the I chord, C major. Again, this explains the prominence of G7 chords in the key of C major: any space is determined by its beginning and terminating point, in tonal music, this is the tonic and the dominant. But F and B could also resolve in the opposite direction, leading to Gb and Bb. This would lead to the key of Gb – adding the Db to the interval more clearly demonstrates this – which just happens to be the key most distant from C major. As a result, the defining interval of any major key also outlines its most contrasting key. In jazz, this process is referred to as tritone substitution, and is common in the modern jazz repertoire. In practical terms, any time a dominant chord resolves down a half-step, tritone substitution has been employed.

What can be taken from this is that, any time the interval of a tritone occurs, as long as the dissonance resolves properly, the following chord will provide a sense of finality to the dissonant chord. In the last few posts, I've listed a number of extended chords that contain the interval of the tritone, each of which can provide an opportunity for alternate resolutions of the tritone. Here are a few quick examples.

Fmaj7#11 – The lydian chord contains a tritone between its root and the upper extension (it's probably based as an augmented 11th and not 4th, but octave equivalency more or less takes care of the difference). In this case, the dissonant interval occurs between F and B, the same tritone that exists in G7. So, just as G7 can move resolve to two different tonic chords, Fmaj7#11 can resolve to C or Gb.

D-6/9 – The dorian chord contains a tritone between its third and its sixth, in this case, F and B again. Accordingly, this chord can also resolve to C or Gb. As a point of interest, if the chord resolves to Gb-6/9 (it's possible to resolve to minor chords on any of these roots), this resolution can be taken in a cycle of major thirds through the octave, resulting in D-6/9->Gb-6/9->Bb-6/9.

A7b5 – We haven't discussed this chord yet, but it provides ample opportunity to demonstrate non-standard tritone resolutions. The chord is an altered dominant chord arising from lowering the fifth a half-step. In this case, the chord would be spelled A C# Eb G. A closer look at this chord reveals it to be two tritones separated by a minor third, here seen as A/Eb and C#/G. Because of this, this chord offers four possible points of resolution: D, Ab, E, and Bb. Though he would have referred to it differently, the turn-of-the-century Russian composer Alexander Scriabin made ample use of this chord in his later music, using it to push tonality to its ends.

As stated before, this style of deceptive cadence is common throughout jazz music. What's not common is for the substitution to be made in the other direction: that is, on the ii->V section of the ii->V->I progression. In this, the same basic concept is applied, but the substitution is made on the dominant rather than the targeted tonic chord. In the simplest example, the progression D-7 → G7 can be transformed into D-7 → Db7. A more adventurous example could be D-7 → F-7b5: the F-7b5 chord contains the same F and B found in the G7 chord. This concept allows for modulations that essentially reach their goal before they've even started.

In the end, the whole process revolves around the variability of the pitches that surround the tritone itself; as long as the tritone remains untouched, any chord constructed around it will provide a suitable substitute. Some aspects of traditional cadences are lost in the transformation though. Part of the effectiveness of the V7->I cadence is provided by the root movement involved between the chords. Extended use of tritone substitution generally results in awkward bass lines filled with half-steps and large jumps. Additionally, the constant contrast of tritone-related keys can get just as old as anything else. Nonetheless, tritone substitution ample options when looking to break out of traditional chord progressions.

Minor Chords

Without retracing too much ground, we'll continue on into the domain of minor chords. Perhaps the most noticeable in transformations of the perception of minor chords came about through the popularity of modal jazz in the 60's. Both So What and Impressions used long stretches of the dorian mode in their song forms, effectively destroying the notion of the minor 7 chord as the subdominant – as in a ii->V->I progression -- or as a tonic minor – which tends to be built in the aeolian mode and is reinforced by V->i cadences. The end result is a sort of harmonic wallpaper that lacks an origin or destination. This effect extends far earlier than this modal music though: from its beginnings, blues has always been based on progressions of unresolved dominant chords.

The following list provides a number of extended minor chords. As before, these can be used as substitutes for any other minor chords in both composition and accompaniment.

Minor Triad – C Eb G

What was said for the major triad remains true for the minor triad. In short, the purity of a triad can create a strong effect when surrounded by extended and chromatic chords. The first movement of Messiaen's Vision de l'Amen for two pianos contrasts tritone-based chords – actually, similar to the voicing Herbie Hancock would use in the 60's – and minor triads to create one of his trademark mystical settings.

Minor 9th – C Eb G Bb D

Since the recordings of Bill Evans and his rise in popularity, the minor 9th chord may have effectively replaced the minor 7th chord for many harmony players; for guitars players especially, the ease of fingering 9th chords makes them by far the most common minor chord substitute. It's a lush, introverted sound that adds color without using any chromatic inflections.

Minor 11th – C Eb (G) Bb D F

The basic extended chord family stretches on the 11th for minor chords. While Major 11th chords are theoretically possible to create, the interval of the fourth (that is, between the root and the 11th) proves to be too dissonant to use practically. As it pertains to the voicing of minor 11th chords, it is common to drop the fifth of the chord: G in the case of C-11. Perhaps due to the number of tones from the major scale represented, the effect generated by the minor 11th chord is one of ambiguity; in fact, a simple respelling can show the chord to be a sus chord suspended over its fifth (Fsus4/C in this case). Though there's certainly nothing wrong with this effect, in order to maintain a sense of harmonic contrast and movement, the chord should be used judiciously.

Minor 6th – C Eb G A

The first modal chord on this list, this chord belongs to the dorian mode. Its dissonant effect is created by the interval of a tritone between the third and the sixth of the chord. It appeared frequently in dance band music of the 60's and before, though in jazz, the ninth of the chord is generally added as well. As a point of interest, the chord is an inversion of the half-diminished chord (in this case, A-7b5/C) and the creative composer can make use of this relationship.

Minor 6/9 – C Eb (G) A D

The minor equivalent of the 6/9 chord, this minor chord is built by fourths rather than thirds, with a tritone between the third and the sixth. It came to prevalence in jazz through the piano playing of Herbie Hancock and the writing of Wayne Shorter during the time period of the Miles Davis Second Great Quintet. Like the minor 6 chord, this chord belongs to the dorian mode, though it has a darker sound quality to it than the standard 6 chord.

Minor 9b6 – C Eb Ab D

Here's a chord that occurs extremely rarely in the jazz literature (to my knowledge, only Wayne Shorter's Iris and Teru call for similar chords. It does appear as a suspension in Israel). Its interval of a minor sixth allow it to be considered as a chord that invokes the natural minor mode, something rarely done in a modal sense in jazz music. Like some of the other chords in this list though, placement and use of this chord must be carefully considered due to its similarities to other chordal structures. Leaving out the ninth would create a major triad (Ab in this case), and even in its full voicing, the chord resembles a major lydian chord.

Minor-Major 7 – C Eb G B

The 7th chord of the melodic minor scale, this chord occurs frequently in latin music. It functions as a tonic minor, though ending a piece on the chord may be questionable (or not, it's really up to your taste and the setting).

As before, playing these chords on the piano is far more important that any text concerning them. The variety of sounds and voicings can't honestly be described in any short amount of time.

Major Chords

For one reason or another, we've all come to consider the major chord to be the most basic of harmonic structures. It's possible this comes from early exposure to major tonalities in the form of children's music or pop songs, though exact reasons are of course impossible to pin down. As one moves into jazz, it's inevitable that the Major 7 chord assumes the same role, providing the base point to which all other chords can be compared. This is a curious occurrence, as the chord is actually fairly dissonant, and when encountered in other musics, stands out starkly; in fact, it wasn't really until the writing of Duke Ellington that the chord became common place, players frequently using an added-sixth chord in to create a major tonality before that.

Nonetheless, in our current environment, it can be desirable to find some substitute for the chord to add variety to compositions (or standards). The following is a list of some typical chords that can play the role of a major chord. As we've discussed before, chords of the same quality (major, minor, dominant) can essentially be considered interchangeable, though some of the following chords will be too dissonant for some settings. For simplicity, we'll spell everything on the root of C. While voicings are always important in the creation of musical effects, there are too many to consider at the moment, so chords will be spelled ascending from the root to the highest extension. Finally, the descriptions provided obviously cannot do justice to the sound of the chord. It's important for anyone interested in employing these chords to sit down at the piano and play them and experiment with possible voicings.

Major Triad – C E G

This may seem counter-intuitive, but a calculated use of a major triad can create drastic effects. While most of these will be accomplished through some sort of altered progression and not chord substitution, the purity of a tonic triad can be powerful and is often missing in jazz music. Of course, overuse both counteracts this and can make the music too simplistic for most player's tastes, but the option should be at least considered.

Major 9th – C E G B D

A simple extension of the Major 7th chord, this chord can be used to create lush textures without using any chromatic alterations. As with all extended chords, Major 9th chords provide the greatest effect when the upper extension is voiced in the melody.

Added 6th – C E G A

As mentioned before, until the time of Ellington, this chord was considered the basic major chord in jazz. As its structure is not third-based, it can be considered part of a family of chords that comes from the pentatonic scale rather than the diatonic scale and often invokes a mood more associated with folk music than art music.

6/9 – C E A D

This unique chord finds some of its earliest representations in the piano voicings of McCoy Tyner. Whereas the added 6th chord evokes folk music, the 6/9 chord, with its fourth-based structure, is decidedly artificial in its sound. Similar to the 6 chord though, the 6/9 chord also resides in the pentatonic scale and carries some of the qualities of that scale.

Major 7#11, or, Lydian – C E G B F#

The simplest of the chromatic major chords, the lydian chord has become commonplace in jazz today, and to some extent, may be losing its dissonant on veteran listener's due to its overexposure. The chord saw first saw frequent use in the music of Wayne Shorter and has increased in popularity ever since. The F# in the chord requires the use of the lydian scale in playing over it, and as such, when used as a tonic chord, changes the key of the piece. As it has become standard practice to improvise in the lydian scale over major chords though, this scale change is less of a hurdle than it may have been in the past.

Major 7#5, or, Lydian Augmented – C E G# B

This chromatic major chord lies outside of the standard major scale, instead finding its home in the third mode of the melodic minor scale, the lydian #5 mode. In the standard jazz literature, this chord is exceptionally rare, though it does occur in a few pieces by Keith Jarrett and Wayne Shorter. As it takes a skilled improviser to play over the chord fluently, frequent use of this chord can make songs difficult to play. As a side note, when encountered in classical music, this chord is considered to be a major chord with an added flat sixth, spelled from the third of the chord (in this case E G# B C). Debussy and Ravel use it to great effect in their pieces La Mer and Concerto for the Left Hand.

6/9#5 – C E A D G#

This strange chord is actually a personal creation. It fits in the Lydian # 5 scale, though it sounds markedly different from the Major 7#5 chord. I've provided it here as an example of a chromatic chord constructed through added tones. In practice, any chromatic tone can be added to any chord as a chromatic extension, though care should be taken to make things playable for improvisers.

6b5b9 – C E A Gb Db

And to completely ignore that last bit of advice here's a chromatic chord that offers no specific scale for an improviser to play. This chord can be described in numerous ways. If found in the music of Messiaen or Stravinsky, it could best be described as a reduced polychord, in this case Gb/C (the Bb is missing from the Gb chord). It's also possible to conceive of the chord as an added sixth chord over a chromatic bass note, here viewed as A6/C.

Hopefully exploring this list provides inspiration for compositional possibilities. Considering both the nature of harmony in jazz – as discussed in the last post – and currently accepted compositional practices, a thorough understanding of the sounds of these chords can be more useful than any traditional harmonic training.

Concepts of Harmony in Jazz

In discussing the application of harmony in jazz composition, it's important to consider the major ways in which the music differs from its European counterpart. With only minimal analysis, one can discover that the chordal palette of jazz music tends to be far broader than classical music. Even composers known for their use of extended chords – most notably, Claude Debussy – use them sparingly: the notion that his impressionistic style is the product of frequent use of extended chords is decidedly false. Yet at times, the works of even relatively early composers such as Haydn and Mozart seem to offer a wider spectrum of harmonic colors than the typical jazz standard. In order to understand this – and further one's own compositional abilities – we'll take a short look at some specific differences in these musics.

In the classical conception, chords generally occur as a combination of independent melodic lines, undoubtedly a byproduct of the music's choral roots. While pieces by composers such as Mozart and Schubert tend to employ block chords frequently, more often than not, this music has a substantial level of polyphonic activity. The advantage of this style comes in the drastic effects voice-leading can have on a harmonic progression. If you've ever taken a theory class, you'll be at least somewhat familiar with the concept of voice-leading: in short, a way of writing multiple melodic lines that flow between many chords smoothly. Creative approaches to this technique can turn a rather simple harmonic progression into a monumental event. This introductory passage of Shostakovich's Prelude in F Major from Op. 87 demonstrates how one can turn a rather tame – and by that point, old fashioned – modal mixture into a unique musical event.



What can be learned from this is that the effect generated by a chord does not arise simply from the chords quality, but the manner in which that chord was approached. While one can reply to all of this by stating the use of polyphony in Dixieland jazz, they'd be (probably knowingly) pointing out the exception to the rule. In general, improvised music doesn't lend itself towards complex voice-leading: by the time one begins to write enough of the material on paper, the spontaneous feel of the music starts to disappear.

Another difference – one that is an outgrowth of the last – is the classical composer's tendency to invert chords to create more fluid passages of music. In fact, the conception that the inversions of a single chord belong to a single family is fairly modern: composers as late as J.S. Bach considered the three inversions of a triad to be unique chords with separate functions. And indeed, every inversion of any chord provides a unique sound which the experienced composer can use to their advantage. If you'd like an easy example, go sit down at the keyboard and play G7 followed by G7/F: while both chords technically resolve to C Major, they sound surprisingly different. Yet in jazz, chord inversions rarely occur. Almost every standard has every chord written in root position; if an inversion does appear, 95% of the time it will be the result of a dominant pedal, which in many ways, is an entirely different compositional technique. The role of the bass player in the jazz rhythm section easily explains this difference. Written bass lines tend to be uncommon in the jazz repertoire, as, like any writing, they can easily impede the improvisatory feel of the music. That's not to say inversions don't occur – many bass players probably play inversions without the rest of the band really realizing it – but if a composer gives a bassist a long series of inverted chords, the variety of possible bass lines quickly dwindles.

The innovations in jazz writing that took place in the 60's show a conscious effort to circumvent these limitations. Chords expanded far beyond their typical four-note voicings, the general pace of the harmonic rhythm found in a piece slowed down, and non-functional chord progressions – that is, sequences that operated outside of the typical diatonic model – became standard. The final product was the shifting modal music of Wayne Shorter (which I've already touched upon a few months ago in this blog). And by and large, this model remains the standard for jazz composition. In this conception, a wide chordal vocabulary is necessary to approach writing. Starting with the next entry, we'll investigate some of the chords that came into use, as well as some lesser-used chords.

Dear John

“He had considered creation in its whole extent, and his descriptions are therefore learned. He had accustomed his imagination to unrestrained indulgence, and his conceptions therefore were extensive. The characteristick quality of his poem is sublimity. He sometimes descends to the elegant, but his element is the great. He can occasionally invest himself with grace; but his natural port is gigantick loftiness. He can please when pleasure is required; but it is his peculiar power to astonish.”

Samuel Johnson on English poet John Milton

What's to be said about John Coltrane? Lewis Porter already put the majority of it in words in his great biography of the legendary tenor player, so for any serious study, one would do best to seek that source out. As it is, this will only provide a few short thoughts about the man and his music.

Coltrane represents the hope of students, not because “Giant Steps” has become the benchmark for the training jazz musician, but because Coltrane moved beyond this piece almost as soon as he put it on record. All contemporary accounts of Coltrane as a young man speak more to his dedication than to his technique: he was in no sense a prodigy. Miles Davis was disappointed to be stuck with Coltrane at the assembly of his First Great Quintet, much preferring the playing of Sonny Rollins. Coltrane's breakthrough into his late period came from intense study and consideration of the music of Miles Davis and Ornette Coleman. While undoubtedly a musical genius, Coltrane's success came more from hard work than natural talent.

Coltrane shows the path from technique to expression. His mastery of Charlie Parker's bebop style allowed to speak simply when he reached his mature style: he borrowed from his own future with the thousands of notes he played with Miles Davis in 1960, leaving only what was necessary for what followed. He showed that one practices scales in order to not play them. The resultant level of personal expression in his music was matched only by Miles Davis in his greatest moments. The music on First Meditations, and Stellar Regions is almost overpoweringly emotional and can be exhausting to listen to. Ultimately, his late music initiated an ultra-romantic period in jazz. He's not too distant from Johannes Brahms in this, who studied the masterworks of Bach, Beethoven, and Schubert in order to transcend the mechanics of music in his highly expressive works. At their best, both discard passage work for vocal melodies, finding their greatest successes in a single note.

Also like Brahms, Coltrane appeared to be completely devoid of humor. If his music misses the beauty of the everyday, it only does so as it strives to speak on the most noble of subjects: a simple look at the titles of the pieces on Meditations confirms this. While Kind of Blue works equally well as foreground or background music, A Love Supreme demands focus and attention. In the end, Coltrane's music garners not fans but disciples. Furthermore, he demands not a passive worship, but an active role in the creative process. A love of Coltrane's music pushes the listener towards the creative. It's here that one runs into the biggest difficulty though, one which few have been able to surpass until this point: following in his footsteps while remaining faithful to its creative spirit.

Standards, part II

To review, the chords progressions you find in the songs you analyze give you a set of rules with which you can create your own harmonic sequences. In this article, we'll discuss the method you can use to string multiple progressions together into a longer phrase. To begin this, we'll first do away with the idea of an overarching key. Traditionally, passages move from tonic, to sub-dominant, to dominant, and back to tonic; this harmonic method was used up until the end of the nineteenth century and is used in almost all of the standards jazz players play. While it can be used to make an almost endless amount of great music, it requires a decent amount of training to use effectively and originally. Because of that, we'll ignore it for the time being. Instead, we'll consider each chord only in relation to either the chord that precedes it or the chord that follows it – the chord progressions you've written down already do this. What this allows us to do is substitute chords and renumber them with the Roman numeral system. For our purposes, any major chord labeled with an upper-case Roman numeral can be considered a I, or tonic, chord. For example:

The simple progression I → IV can be repeated ad infinitum by renumbering the IV chord as a I. Once the first chord change occurs, you can reuse the progression in respect to the IV chord. It helps to consider named chords here. Cmaj7 → Fmaj7 can be considered a I → progression; if we then consider the Fmaj7 chord to be a I chord, you can repeat the pattern and create a Fmaj7 → Bbmaj7 progression. When linked with the first set, you create a greater passage of Cmaj7 → Fmaj7 → Bbmaj7. The duration of each chord is up to you, but to begin with, it may be easier to consider each chord as one or two measures, with an emphasis on four and eight measure phrases.

This same process can be applied to any other chord quality – of which you'll probably see minor, dominant, and half-diminished most frequently. Be careful of extensions though: generally, you can feel free to alter any generic chord, but taking alterations away from chords changes their meaning and may ultimately result in the breaking of some of the rules you've established. In short, you can substitute a minor 6^th chord for a minor 7^th chord, but you probably shouldn't substitute a minor 7^th chord for a minor 6^th chord.

So let's take a few unusual progressions found in some songs and make something out of them.

We'll start with...

I → i (Green Dolphin Street)

IV → VII7 (All The Things You Are)

i6 → Vmaj7 (All of You)

bv-7b5 → IV7#11 (Footprints)

In addition to this, we'll include the basic ii-V-I cadences in both major and minor as well as the cycle of fifths inside of one key (meaning, the chord qualities of the key departed from in the cycle are maintained). Finally, dominant chords may resolves to their intended root, but can be either major or minor (for those of you that know about tritone substitution, we'll ignore it for the moment).

For fun, we'll start with the relatively unusual key of D Major.

Here's a rather thoughtless example of this process; the chord progressions have been labeled with their respective sources. For ease of reading (as it seems to me) chords have been labeled with respect to D major.

I → bV7 (All The Things You Are) → VII (resolution of dominant) → bvii-7b5 (ii-V beginning) → VI7#11 (Footprints) → II (resolution of dominant)

Substituting in the roots, this gives us

D → Ab7 → Db → C-7b5 → B7#11 → E

Rhythmically, we'll organize these into simple four measure phrases, so

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

Not genius by any means, and it could stand a little more distance between the roots of the chords, but it's a fine start to something. Taking a cue from the AABA pop song form, we'll simply repeat the same eight measures to create a second A. So, the form becomes:

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

The next goal is to create a contrasting eight measure phrase to function as the bridge. A few basic guidelines: typically, the bridge of a song is in a different key from the A section, helping to create variety. Since we're not using key structure here, this doesn't help us directly; in a broader sense though, we can take it to mean a contrast in harmonic color. For us, it'd be good to stray away from repeating the same chord qualities in the bridge, even if we can't claim it's technically in a different key. Also, varying the harmonic rhythm – the rate at which the chords change – allows for another way to create contrast between the A and B sections. But first, in order to get to the bridge, we'll put in a traditional ii-V cadence, picking A Major as a target (as luck would have it, A Major is the dominant key of D Major and the sub-dominant of the E Major we left from, so formally, this will work quite well). This edits the second A slightly, resulting in:

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | B-7 → E7|

So taking a few more of our basic progressions, we'll string together some more chords. This section will combine the major to minor movement in Green Dolphin Street with the minor 6 to major 7 motion found in All of You, resulting in

|Amaj7 | Amaj7 | A-6 | A-6 | Emaj7 | Emaj7 | E-6 | E-6|

Maybe more Major 7 chords than we'd like, so we'll substitute a 6/9 chord in their place. In conjunction with the minor 6^th chords, this provides a nice voicing contrast with the A section, as the two sections become differentiated by style of chord construction (3^rds vs. 4ths). The result is

|A6/9 | 6/9 | A-6 | A-6 | E6/9 | E6/9 | E-6 | E-6|

From here, we just add a third A section and call it done, making the final form:

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | B-7 → E7|

|A6/9 | 6/9 | A-6 | A-6 | E6/9 | E6/9 | E-6 | E-6|

|Dmaj7 | Ab7 | Dbmaj7 | Dbmaj7 | C-7b5 | B7#11| Emaj7 | Emaj7|

In the end, nothing extraordinary, but it's something to work with. All the remains to be done is the composition of the melody, which, unfortunately, can be decidedly harder to write than the song form. For now, just experiment with as many chord progressions as you can find and when you've finished a few song forms on them, try soloing on the ones you like.

Standards, part I

You can probably learn almost all the jazz composition techniques you'll ever need to use by dissecting the standards you tire of playing. Even the cheesiest of songs (I'm looking at you, “All of Me”) has a chord progression in it that you can steal and put to work in your own pieces. While standards have been the common formal language of jazz arguably since its inception, the dominance of the American songbook took place alongside the bebop revolution. The big bands of the 30's certainly played – and even sang – them, but the role of the arranger in this setting was strong enough to consider each band's adaptations as more or less an original work. Certainly reharmonization occurred in small groups, but the repertoire was more or less shared from group to group. Unsurprisingly, these songs ended up heavily influencing the mind of the jazz composer: the common choice of a thirty-two measure song form is not an arbitrary one, nor are the AABA and ABAC forms. What this means is that a detailed approach to the analysis of standards will yield you a wealth ideas that you can fall back on, and even easily use to produce far more modern sounding material.

The first place to begin gathering information would be the harmonic structures of the songs, but first, let's talk about chess. It goes without saying that chess is a complex game, one in which the proper playing technique involves a studied approach to foresight, the memorization of common patterns, and the ability to recognize these patterns while only witnessing their initial steps. At the same time, the only information you need to simply play the game is the proper movement of all of the pieces (you'll almost certainly lose, but that's beyond the point). Composition is like chess, in the sense that to simply compose, all you need to know is how the chords move (thankfully, losing is a much more vague term in this area); in 99% of harmonic progressions, there are explainable reasons for a sequence of chords, but knowledge of them is supplementary and not necessary for the act of writing two chord symbols down on a page. Eventually, it'd be the best idea to find out why things work the way they do, but in the beginning, it's a hindrance to the creative process: again, we don't learn to play chess by memorizing openings, we just learn the way the pieces move.

Returning to the world of standards, all of the ways to sequence chords are laid out clearly in front of you in these songs. The most common of these progressions would be the ii-V-I, in both major and minor keys, with a close second being its greater structuring principle, chords moving in descending cycles of fifths – ii-V-I-IV-vii-III-vi. Just about every song you know is based on this pattern, with the distinctive qualities of the songs coming from the places it breaks the cycle of fifths. In “All the Things You Are”, the piece begins with this cycle in Ab Major, and when it reaches the IV chord, it jumps abruptly into C Major from a G7 chord. This instance can be described as a IV-VII7 progression. If you're lost, let's backtrack...

You'll need to have a basic understanding of Roman numeral notation to do any analysis. If you're not familiar with it, it's a system used to label chords in a single key in relation to the tonic, which is labeled I or i depending on if the key is major or minor. Each chord is labeled in uppercase or lowercase to signify major or minor, and the number represents the scale degree the chord is built on: iii in C Major is a minor chord – lower case – and built on E – the third note in C Major – so the chord is E minor. This system allows you to easily relate chord progressions from key to key, as well as conceptualize progressions in a general, non-key-related way (see, algebra is good for something). For our purposes, if a chord is altered – meaning, it does not fall in the original key – we'll relate to it with a # or b to locate it in relation to a scale degree inside the key, and the capitalization of the altered numeral will replace the standard chord quality in the key: bIII in C Major would be an Eb chord, not E, and a major chord, not minor. This is not the same system used in analysis of classical music -- they have their own method for labeling altered chords – but it's a useful short-hand for us. That a chord is a seven chord will be assumed, unless it is a dominant chord, with which you can attach whatever extensions the chord has onto the symbol: V7b9, V7#11, V7#5, etc. The important thing is that these Roman numerals allow us to locate more general, abstract qualities in specific songs.

So let's return to the songs. Just as you can build up a melodic vocabulary through transcription of solos, you can build a harmonic vocabulary by categorizing chord progressions you've seen. Keep a notebook set aside to put these progressions in, just as you have one for your soloing licks, and add to it every time you see something new. So far we have ii-V-I and IV-VII7, so you can put those down in your book and continue on to a different piece. Let's look at “All of Me” next. The song begins with a C major chord and is immediately followed by an E7 chord; there's a fairly simple reason why, but again, we don't care about why at the moment, just how. So considering that we're in the key of C Major, we can label this progression as I-III7. Write this down and continue on your merry way through the song. What remains is mostly a series of V-I sequences, but you might look at the F major to F minor that occurs later in the piece, which you could notate as IV-iv. Go through a few more songs and find interesting progressions and add them to your book until you've got more information than you know what to do with.

Next time, we'll discuss how to relate these progressions and build song forms out of them.

Vocabulary: Part II

While it may be the easiest to learn and the most important for a beginning improvisor, the system of vocabulary pioneered by Charlie Parker, with its catalog of stock licks, is only one of the improvisatory methods found in jazz. As the harmonic character of the music progressed, the methods used in melodic improvisation changed to suit the new styles of music. For the quick chord changes found throughout bebop, Parker's collage method functions extraordinarily well, but it seems almost out of place in the modal world of the 60's. On the other hand, starting in the early 40's, a group of improvisors known as the Tristano school promoted a improvisational method that seemed to ignore vocabulary entirely. When taken as a whole, these contrasting approaches show that the issue of vocabulary transcends short motivic ideas and is better described as a malleable set rules that govern improvisation.

Early jazz players constructed their solos by playing variations of the melody of whatever song they were playing. On the surface level, the virtuosic music of the bebop period did away with this practice, favoring intricate chromatic lines that referred only to the chord progression that the original melody was built on; but the idea of variation remained part of the improvisatory process and increased in importance as the technical fireworks of Charlie Parker and Clifford Brown came to a tragic early end. Beginning most notably in the solos of John Coltrane in the early 60's – more in his own quartet recordings than his work with Miles Davis – a method that combined stock vocabulary with variation began to appear. Transcriptions of Coltrane's solos on songs like “Impressions” will show that he works with only a handful of small melodic cells to create long passages of music; he frequently even begins each phrase with the same basic idea, tagging on new endings or changing the rhythmic character of the motive. To put this into practice in your own playing, simply pick your favorite D minor lick and play it over and over on “So What” and “Impressions”. Find out ways to make repetition of a small amount of material musically interesting: alter the rhythms of the phrase, play with longer or shorter notes, add notes in between the notes, play with a different volume level or in a different register of your instrument, etc. This technique works best in modal jazz, as the music provides you with long stretches of time to experiment in. Unsurprisingly, interviews with Coltrane at the time show that this was his primary reason for his movement into modal jazz.

While this style of improvisation was maturing from the 40's to the 60's, an entirely separate school flourished almost literally right beside it, but would become largely ignored due to its association with the less technical Cool Jazz movement. Recordings of the blind pianist Lennie Tristano are difficult to acquire these days, but his theory of improvisation, propagated by his two most well-known students Warne Marsh and Lee Konitz, provided a radically different approach to playing jazz. Though his style would become almost synonymous with pure improvisation, his teaching ironically reached back to the European classical tradition; students of Tristano studied the music of Baroque era and sight-singing, hoping to acquire a natural sense of melody that they could tap into in their solos. The resultant music drew equally from J.S. Bach and Charlie Parker.

As voiced through Lee Konitz, the Tristano school strayed from a strict vocabulary method, hoping to improvise as spontaneously as possible when on the bandstand: that is, if you were to transcribe multiple Konitz solos, no greater body of melodic patterns could be found. But Konitz still manages to sound like Konitz on all of his work, revealing that there was some system he used to create his solos. What is at work here is probably a systematic use of basic musical techniques. Simple concepts such as suspensions, chromatic leading tones, appogiaturas, and trills can go a long way in transforming basic melodic material into a finished musical product. The melodies of Frederic Chopin achieve there signature parlor-room sound by applying these techniques to what would otherwise be a old-fashioned melody. In some ways, this approach is easier to learn and to apply: memorizing the effect of a handful of choices is easy and ultimately based upon personal feeling, while the memorization of bebop vocabulary is highly mechanical and takes hours of practice. On the other hand, creating long, flowing lines with this system is incredibly challenging and requires the soloist to devote almost 100% of their attention to the moment at hand; similarly, playing a song with a lot of quick chord changes – all of the songs that the Tristano school played – becomes more difficult, as you have no prepared material to navigate tough passages. If you begin to investigate this method, you'll quickly gain an appreciation for the music that Marsh and Konitz made and learn to overlook their comparatively small repertoire.

In the end, the establishment of a personal vocabulary comes down to finding a concrete set of rules by which you'll guide yourself in solos. Coherence is key, and until you can achieve it in your music, you'll be stuck as a beginner. Any of these techniques will help you in achieving that goal. If these ideas seem restrictive to you, consider the work of avant-garde saxophonist and composer Anthony Braxton: while he started as a free jazz musician, he quickly developed a compositional style with which to frame his work. Braxton's work is in no way simple, but it achieves unity by his own rules, and the adept listener can connect the dots presented by Braxton's music in his head. Remember, true freedom is found in restrictions, and everything is chaos.

Vocabulary: Part I

The importance of vocabulary to an improviser can be highlighted with a simple comparison to everyday speech (this metaphor has become commonplace by know, so if you know it and don't feel like hearing it again, skip this paragraph...). Verbal interaction between humans combines impromptu structuring ability and the recall of thousands of memorized phrases. Think back on the conversations of your day – even the passing greetings – and consider the amount of original material that any of the participants offered; you'll quickly see that at least 95% of these interactions contain mostly stock phrases that you've used countless times in the past. What changes from instance to instance is the context and stimulus for the conversation, both of which narrow down the selections of acceptable phrases to the few you consider at the moment. If this wasn't the case, merely ordering your lunch would be an almost insurmountable task. Now, return to our comparably more concrete world of jazz. Here the context is the chord being played by the piano player and the stimulus is the style of the song: ballad, medium swing, bossa nova, etc. In order to construct a coherent solo that capably stretches over multiple choruses, the experienced soloist draws upon the melodic material they've already learned to apply to these situations. In this sense, solos are constructed like a photo-montage, piecing together ideas of contrasting qualities to create a greater whole.

With that in mind, one of the first goals for a beginning improviser should be the establishment of a basic vocabulary. In this process, let your first rule be given to you from the possibly-apocryphal sayings of Pablo Picasso, “Good artists borrow, great artists steal.” Pick up your favorite album by your favorite artist – it doesn't matter if he or she plays the same instrument as you – and transcribe everything you can. For harmonic reference, it helps if you know the song that's being played, but if you don't, you can work on your ear training by figuring out the chords progressions in the song. If you don't already have it, the program Transcribe! – available at www.seventhstring.com -- is invaluable in this process and worth far more than its $50 price tag. Similarly, a notation program like Finale, Sibelius, or Guitar Pro will help you keep your notes neat and readable. Once you've got a good amount of material, find a way to separate and organize it: the simplest way would be to categorize by chord type or progression. The more systematic you are in your approach to this, the faster you'll see results; it's best to start a notebook to keep your material together for quick study.

The material you gather in this way will serve as the basis for everything you do after this. Memorization of the melodic patterns you transcribe will provide you with material to play over the chords in the songs you know. If you think this process leads to unoriginality, remember that Charlie Parker memorized the solos of Lester Young, Cannonball Adderly quoted the songs of Charlie Parker throughout his solos, and even in the composed world of classical music, Beethoven quoted Bach throughout his piano sonatas. But, in the end, your suspicions are correct; the material you gather through transcription functions best as a body of examples with which you can model your own ideas. Look at the licks you like best and ask yourself a series of questions: when do they use chord tones? When are upper extensions of the chord played? What kind of rhythms are used? What kinds of intervals are used? Once you've figured out the answers to these questions, you can begin to create original material with what you've learned. When you reach this point, you'll be able to return to the songs you know with the beginnings of a functional language and play better, more structured solos.

Composition in Jazz: An Introduction

Despite the efforts behind modern jazz education, the myth of spontaneous improvisation still dominates the perception of jazz. While it's true that the greatest players are known because of their soloing ability, the idea that the best of the best are able to magically conjure hundreds of measures of originally melody is provably false; one only needs to transcribe the solos of Charlie Parker to find an abundance of material that is repeated verbatim, showing that he'd practiced it thousands of times before the recording date or the gig. On some levels, this myth has been propagated not by the musicians, but the writers who write about the music, who, in their intentions to glorify their heroes, exaggerate aspects they don't really understand.

Simultaneously, people rarely broach the subject of composition when discussing about jazz. If Parker didn't come up with his ideas on the spot, he must have written them out before hand; while not composition on the symphonic level that people are trained to recognize it, Parker's success with this process shows that writing is a fundamental part of jazz – or really, any music – and might even be interchangeable with improvisation. Similarly, why is Thelonious Monk the only player truly able to sound naturally on his songs? Even with the best of players, there tends to be a break in continuity from the melody to the solos. It's simple: the idiosyncratic melodic language of Monk's heads is the same language he fills his solos with.

The next series of articles in this blog will focus on a wide array of the implications and applications of composition in jazz, ranging from the basic development of vocabulary, to the reconstruction of standards, to chromatic harmony and altered chords as they appear in the music of the 50's and 60's, to the use of composition in the process of generating a unique overall musical voice. Hopefully, this will provide some with the inspiration to put down their instrument and sit down at the piano (a difficult process for you piano players: you'll have to forget how to play for a few hours). Not having taken lessons in composition shouldn't stop anyone from writing their own music: Thelonious Monk, John Coltrane, and Charlie Parker never had these, and for that matter, neither did Arnold Schoenberg, John Cage, or Milton Babbitt.

The Lost Quintet

It's quite possible that the peak of Miles Davis's musical power will forever remain out of print. This 1969 live recording of the Mile Davis quintet at the Antibes Jazz Fest was last printed on CD in 1995, and at this time, is only available as an import from third-party sellers online. The music found on this recording reveals Davis in a transitional period that, in a way, embodied everything he had done and would go on to do. Recorded with what has become known as the “Lost Quintet” – for reasons that become evident if you reread the first sentence of this entry – this album shows Davis's full control of the free jazz concept, his virtuosity on the trumpet in a way rarely seen elsewhere, his nascent vision of jazz-rock fusion, and his emotional ties to the body of work that had made him famous. The band itself was a rare mixture of the past and the future. Of the Second Great Quintet, only Wayne Shorter remained in the band by this time. English bassist Dave Holland had replaced Ron Carter, Chick Corea – playing electric keyboard – took Herbie Hancock's place, and the powerful drummer Jack DeJohnette filled the gaping hole left by the departure of Tony Williams.

Of the songs played on this concert – “Directions”, “Miles Runs the Voodoo Down”, “Milestones”, “Footprints”, “Round Midnight”, “It's About That Time”, and “Sanctuary” – two dated from the 1950's, two came from the period of the Second Great Quintet, and two would soon appear on the landmark albums In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew (strangely, “Directions” would remain unreleased until 1980). Yet all are approached from the same free-jazz-plus-rock-intensity angle. In all of the pieces, Jack DeJohnette has the burden of time-keeping taken away from him, allowing him to accompany in a frenetic style. The keyboard solos of Chick Corea frequently ignore the song-forms entirely, instead focusing on the creating soundscapes with the new instrument. Shorter, playing soprano sax on many songs, plays with an energy and complexity rarely found on any of other recordings, channeling the voice of the recently deceased John Coltrane in his solos. True to the band's concert practice of the late 60's, the songs are played without break, creating one hour-long suite that could well be considered one of the greater long compositions of the 20^th century.

As for Davis's playing on the concert, a transcription of his solos would suffice as an encyclopedia of everything he would ever do on the trumpet. The bulk of the material he plays remains in the chromatic style he developed during the time of the Second Great Quintet – which itself recalled his early bebop playing with Charlie Parker – but echoes of other times appear throughout the concert. His solo on “Milestones” recalls his original recording of it, as well as the light, melodic style he played in with the First Great Quintet, but his playing on the long stretches of A minor that make up the bridge could have come right off of “Flamenco Sketches”. The solo on “Footprints” begins in the slow, bluesy world of the song, but ends with what may be the longest lines he ever recorded. The new melodic material he had developed in the recording sessions of In a Silent Way – a style that wouldn't be heard on recording until later collections of the studio sessions would be released in the 80's – is on full display here, with its frequent use of long chromatic scales and a rhythmic shift towards the sixteenth note.

There is one commercially available recording of this band – Live at the Fillmore East: It's About That Time – and really, the only bad thing that can be said about it is that it's not the recording of the Antibes Jazz Fest. The same level of intensity is maintained throughout the concert, which is about 45 minutes longer than the 1969 recording. If you can't find the Festival De Juans Pins recording anywhere, this is as close of a substitute as you'll be able to find.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

But all great things must come to an end. By the end of the decade, the members of Davis's band found themselves in the same position that those that came before had. Each of the band members had launched successful solo careers years before and found themselves in periods of artistic change. Shorter's compositions moved closer and closer to free jazz, with his 1969 Super Nova even including free versions of three earlier songs, “Water Babies”, “Capricorn”, and “Sweet Pea”. Tony Williams took an increasing interest in rock music, eventually founding Lifetime with guitarist John McLaughlin and organist Larry Young and releasing the group's first record – arguably the first jazz fusion album – in 1969. Carter and Hancock had ample job opportunities elsewhere as well, Hancock eventually going on to form Headhunters and fuse more modern African-American music with jazz.

The jazz scene in the late 60's was undergoing drastic change as well. The death of John Coltrane in 1967 is undoubtedly one of the largest events in the history of American music. Coltrane's unflinching dedication to pursuing the freedom of expression he saw in free jazz made him a hero to a younger generation of players that felt his interest endorsed their work. While his death certainly did not end this musical trend, it marked a point of divergence, after which many musicians had difficulty finding their own way. Simultaneously, rock music took more and more young listeners away from jazz, the rise of the Beatles signaling the fall of almost every jazz musician's career. While by this point, Davis had succeeded in making himself a pop culture icon who had to worry less about fleeting trends, even he realized that in order to remain culturally relevant, he'd have to draw inspiration from this new music.

Elements of this change appear before the impending break-up of the Second Great Quintet. The final albums the group released, Miles in the Sky and Filles De Kilimanjaro, introduced electric keyboard and bass to the instrumentation and experimented with long, open-ended jams as song form, pulling from rhythmic styles of the pop world. While traces of the spirit remained, the music on these albums demonstrated very readily that the character of the group had begun to move away from the brooding, chromatic post-bop world it defined into something new. Yet this material is still transitional, the full introduction into Davis's next period had yet to come, and the almost forgotten “Lost Quintet” had yet to solidify as a group.

The Side Men

A better view of the Second Great Quintet can be established by looking over the output of the group's sidemen in the period of its existence. Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, and Tony Williams all released albums as leaders during their stint in the band, and Ron Carter can be found on countless Blue Note albums throughout the 60's. These releases show the band members released from the creative direction of Davis, free to pursue their own interests. Simultaneously, the music on these albums provides a control group for understanding the music of Davis during this period.

Both Herbie Hancock's Maiden Voyage and Empyrean Isles predate Shorter's involvement in the band, and both essentially recreate the band of Miles Davis with the trumpeter replaced by the then up-and-coming Freddie Hubbard. Both also show Hancock's experiments with the mixture of modal and free jazz. Maiden Voyage has rightly come to be considered one of the greatest jazz albums of the 60's. Filled with all-original material, the playing on this album is remarkable for its fluidity in style. The texture of the music changes fro solo to solo, and the impression of a larger compositional structure is suggested when the pieces are considered from beginning to end; this is especially true on the more modal pieces “Maiden Voyage” and “Survival of the Fittest”.

While at times more adventurous than Maiden Voyage – it played home to the entirely improvised piece “The Egg” – Empyrean Isles was the first appearance of the now-popular tune “Canteloupe Island”. The band was reduced to a quartet for this album, leaving Freddie Hubbard as the only horn player. With only four tracks on the album, the music makes up in intensity what it lacks in length. The other two songs, “Olilqui Valley” and “One-Finger Snap” continue to explore modal composition, putting long harmonic stretches up against fast moving chords. Some of Hubbard's finest playing can be found in his solos on this album.

Tony Williams released two notable albums in this time period, Life Time and Spring. While reviews of these albums remain mixed even today, they are important for hearing the creative directions of the then-18-year-old drummer. Both feature all-star casts, with Spring being the only album to contain both Sam Rivers and Wayne Shorter. The music found on these albums remains in the hard-bop/free jazz style of the bands that Williams was playing in at this point in his career, and while none of his compositions are ground-breaking, it's worth hearing the drummer in this setting before he veered off into his other interests, more pop-influenced interests.

On the other hand, Wayne Shorter's acoustic releases from the 1960's have become canonical jazz albums and some of the most influential recordings made after World War II. I've already discussed his compositions in detail, so I'll just cover these briefly. In order, these albums are Night Dreamer, JuJu, Speak No Evil, the Soothsayer, The All Seeing Eye, Adam's Apple, and Schizophrenia. Each has its own flavor, with a general movement from pentatonic, popular music in the earlier albums to dark, chromatic music in the later ones. Ensembles vary from album to album as well, with the most notable example being the band on JuJu: McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones, and Jimmy Garrison from the John Coltrane Quartet filled in as Shorter's rhythm section, making any references to the other tenor player in Shorter's music even stronger.

Ron Carter recorded few albums as a leader in this period, but together with Jimmy Garrison and Richard Davis, he filled the bass role on a vast majority of the albums released in the 1960's. The recordings of all of these band members are worth investigating, still readily available, and most often fairly low in price. Each of them also played too many roles as sidemen to really list off, but together with their own releases, the four of them did much to shape the sound of the younger generation of jazz musicians recording in the 60's.

Freedom Jazz Dance, part 1

But while the music they played was markedly different from the music of their peers, what really set the Second Great Quintet apart – as you'll find to be the case with any great group of musicians in any genre – was the way they played this music. By the time the group reached its final state in 1965, free jazz and its advocates had already been on the scene for at least five years. Ornette Coleman's prophetically titled album The Shape of Jazz to Come was released in 1959, and Eric Dolphy's late masterpiece Out to Lunch – which featured Tony Williams on the drum set – came out in 1964, a year before the Quintet's first release, E.S.P. The effects of this musical revolution were numerous and far-reaching, but in short, it worked to level the roles of the individuals in a jazz combo; roles that were largely secondary – the bass and drums for instance – began to push their way forward in the ensemble, interacting more freely with the soloists and quite simply just playing more and louder than they had in the past. As early as 1961, pianist Bill Evans was implementing these ideas in his piano trio, creating a more fluid and organic music that still centered around traditional repertoire.

Miles Davis's position on free jazz was considerably more complex than the other musicians of the day. He publicly denounced musicians like Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, even criticized the later music of John Coltrane, a person whom he held in only the highest regards. But it's also clear that he wasn't on the same side as the critics that were attacking these musicians in all of the jazz publications of the day. It's important to remember that, first and foremost, Davis was a professional, popular musician, and while he always attested to his artistic integrity (and rightly so), the mind of the audience was always accounted for in his musical visions. On some level, this means that Davis must reconsider the use of musical new musical devices before he uses them in his music, finding a suitable way to fuse the progressive and the traditional, meaning that some delay in adoption of new techniques would be reasonable. At the same time though, the ethos of free jazz had always been present in the music of Davis: he always had the most bombastic drummers around and structured his groups around the sound of these players. Similarly, his love of country blues added a certain flexibility to his music, both rhythmically and tonally. Still, the music of the Second Great Quintet differs greatly from the rough, bluesy music of the First Quintet.

In 1965, Davis found himself surrounded by musicians of a generation that followed his own, the youngest being his freakishly talented drummer who maintained an obsession with the experimental. To these players, free jazz was not a music that came to replace their style, but the music which they came of age in. Consequently, that their playing referred to a freer style was the result of their own emerging musical voice, not a personal transition. This meant that if Davis wanted to have the best players on the scene in his group, he'd have to both accept their personal styles and learn to adapt to them. And, as can be seen in the music they made, he was apparently quite happy to do so. His own lines became far more chromatic, and while he more or less continued to play to the chords, the paths he began to take from chord tone to chord tone became far more complex. Throughout his autobiography, he speaks enthusiastically about this band, highlighting the talents and playing of all its members. Whatever prejudices Davis had against free jazz obviously didn't apply to his own group.

The Composer at his Horn: Part 2

But for those who want to learn and learn from Shorter's songs, the technical aspects of his compositions are important. The biggest diversions from traditional jazz writing that appear in his music come in his harmonic structures. First, he makes frequent use of altered seven chords, sometimes replacing nearly all of the typical chords you'd find on a lead sheet. Chords like the lydian chord (maj7#11), the lydian augmented chord (maj7#5), the dorian chord (-6/9), the phrygian chord (7sus4b9) and entire families of altered dominants (7b5, 7#5, 9#11, etc.) appear in every song he wrote for the Miles Davis Quintet. He was not the first composer in jazz to use these chords – Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk beat him to the punch by decades – but he was the first to write music that centered around the colors of these chords.

These various chords – which could easily be referred to as modal chords – call for the improvisor to play in a specific mode, rather than the more flexible major 7 and minor 7 chords. There is some influence of Europe here: the music of Debussy and Ravel was largely based around these alternate scales. But if you look at a book of Debussy preludes, you'll find that he used almost exclusively triads and extended dominant chords (mainly 9 chord and 13 chords), with only a few minor 7 chords and rarely a major 7 chord. Like Debussy though, Shorter avoided the V to I cadence in most of his songs, creating a similar endless feeling to the music.

These modal chords also look back to the landmark recordings of Milestones and Kind of Blue, but the modal songs on these albums were built on only one or two chords. What sets the music of Shorter apart from these early modal jazz compositions is the rapid shifting of modes. Whereas the first sixteen measures of “So What” used the D dorian mode, only the first measure of “Nefertiti” uses the Ab lydian scale. For the performer, this means a shift in thinking from both the tonal and early modal methods of playing. Often with Shorter's songs, it's necessary to dispense with the idea of key entirely. In the ballad “Iris”, the first three chords – F-9, Emaj7#11, and F#maj7#11 – have no realistic relationship to one another. The soloist must begin to consider each measure as a modal area and switch between the necessary scales as the next chord arrives (some modern jazz theory books approach all improvising in the same style, saying to play dorian on a ii chord, mixolydian on a V chord, etc. but these tend to be modes of the home key rather than scales distant from one another). In some respects, this makes improvising on these songs much more difficult, as there's no home key to act as a point of reference for the soloist. But learning to improvise in these song forms quickly improves one's ability to play traditional standards, as the soloist must began to conceptualize the chord changes as a sequence of chord tones rather than movement inside a single scale, allowing them to highlight the chords tones with more ease on a song like “Stella By Starlight”.

For the most part, Shorter only wrote in this style during his employment with Miles Davis. His solo albums from the late 60's became looser in form and more harmonically ambiguous, ultimately leading to the free jazz found in “Odyssey of Iska” (it looks like this album was just re-released on an on-demand level by Amazon.com. It has been out of print for some time now) and “Super Nova”. But the pieces written during this period were highly influential in their time, and remain so today. Many of the songs written by the other members of the band during this period – Tony Williams's “Pee Wee”, Herbie Hancock's “The Sorcerer”, Davis's own “Circle” – owe much to Shorter's ideas. And along with John Coltrane's “Giant Steps”, his songs remain a bench-mark in ability for students of jazz.

Listening:

E.S.P.
Nefertiti
The Sorcerer

The Composer at his Horn: Part 1

The body of material Wayne Shorter created during his stint with the Miles Davis band brought a number of innovations to small-group jazz writing. As noted previously, until Shorter's entrance into the Miles Davis Quintet, the vast majority of Davis's repertoire consisted of what we now refer to as jazz standards: Stella By Starlight, Round Midnight, On Green Dolphin Street, My Funny Valentine, etc. Following the release of E.S.P. – the first album recorded by the Second Great Quintet – would record only original music, largely written by Shorter, though augmented by pieces written by all of the other band members, including Davis. It's easy to overlook the significance of this today; before this group, few post-bop bands played mostly original works, preferring instead to differentiate themselves through interpretation of standards. Of the bands that did prefer to write their own music – those lead by Thelonious Monk, Horace Silver, and Art Blakey – Shorter's name appears on the roster of one. Prior to talking about the technical details of the music though, it is important to make note of his greatest strengths: his ability to maintain multiple compositional personalities.

If you look at the songs Shorter wrote throughout the 60's – E.S.P, Yes Or No, Sincerely Diana, and El Gaucho as some examples – it wouldn't be a stretch to think they were the products of different writers. Shorter had the ability to write music that exemplified his surroundings. For Art Blakey, he wrote modernistic blues and latin pieces that allowed the drummer to maintain his both earthy and commercial roots while remaining relevant in the forward-looking jazz world of the 60's. On his early solo albums, he showed a personality that fused the pentatonic-based musics of John Coltrane and the popular music world. Finally, when writing for Miles Davis, Shorter created dark, expressionistic portraits of the trumpeter, providing the brooding atmospheres that Davis already had the ability to turn a simple standard in to. The importance of this is the philosophy of composition it portrays in Shorter. This wide variety of styles displays a writer concerned more with the overall effect of a piece than the fine details of it; while Shorter established many new harmonic standards in jazz writing, it was his attention to overall concept that put him so far ahead of his contemporaries. Moreover, as he broke accepted harmonic rules with the intention of the overall effect and mood, the changes he made were a result of dedication to general concept.

Prelude, part 2

By this point in his career, Davis had a tried and true method for finding cutting-edge band members: stealing them from other bands. Davis found his new bassist, a young player named Ron Carter, in the Art Farmer and Jim Hall Quartet. Paul Chambers had already mentioned the abilities of Carter to Davis, and upon receiving Farmer's blessing to leave the group, Davis hired the first member of the new rhythm section. Next, Davis went to the band of one of his former sideman, alto sax player Jackie McLean. Here he found a young drummer of seemingly endless talent and technique -- quite possibly jazz's counterpart to the effortless genius of Mozart -- Tony Williams. After attaining the permission of McLean, Williams was hired to play in the most famous jazz group in the world at the age of seventeen. Finally, completing the rhythm section, Davis sought out a young pianist he had heard about a year prior and whom at this point was still relatively unknown, Herbie Hancock.

With a new quintet in place, Davis began touring, playing concerts that stunned critics and fans. Yet tension began to build in the band. At this point in his career, outside a few notable exceptions (So What, Milestones and one or two other songs) the majority of Davis's live repertoire was made up of the same standards every other group played. The group excelled at playing these, playing in faster tempos and with more rhythmic intensity than any other contemporary group, but the individual members excelled in separate ways. The rhythm section, made up of younger plays that represented a new generation of jazz, took a loose and free approach that drew upon the music of Ornette Coleman and John Coltrane. Because of this, the rhythm section -- particularly, Tony Williams -- took issue with George Coleman's immaculate tone and carefully constructed lines, believing that school of playing to a part of the past. Eventually, as he had no interest in changing his style of playing, this tension caused Coleman to seek opportunities elsewhere. Davis's first choice for Coleman's replacement was another of Coltrane's suggestions: Wayne Shorter. Unfortunately for Davis, Shorter was employed as Art Blakey's musical director at that moment and for one reason or another, decided to stay with Blakey. With Shorter unavailable, Davis hired still-underrated player Sam Rivers, whom Tony Williams had played with in before in Boston. Rivers's stint with the band was ultimately short-lived, recording only Miles in Tokyo, a great live recording which displays a band that might have been. When the band returned from Japan, Davis received word that Shorter had fulfilled his obligations to Blakey and could now join the band, completing what would become known as the Second Great Quintet.

Listening:

Seven Steps To Heaven
Miles in Europe
Miles in Tokyo