Lennie Tristano & Group: Piano Stylist EP, Savoy XP 8084 (rec. 10/1947; rel. ?/1953)

 

Lennie Tristano (seen at right) was among the avant garde of American jazz musicians who proposed a new style in this vital native music when it needed new life. The mayo-and-vanilla approach of the big bands, whose three-chord novelty songs degraded jazz into mere mainstream pop, had strangled the excitement and creativity that ran free in the 1920s and ‘30s. (I don’t hate big-band jazz; some of it is inventive, but it bred conformity and formula and wasn’t good for the music’s soul.)

Much of early modern jazz developed without recordings. A pair of recording bans during World War II kept mainstream audiences unaware of changes in vernacular music. Aside from radio performances, or live events, this quiet revolution seemed to appear on the horizon after the recording ban, which began August 1, 1942, was lifted two years later.

The ban was officiated by Jimmy Petrillo, head of the American Federation of Musicians. He put it into effect because, as a determined union leader, he felt performers were cheated by on-air plays of the commercial recordings. He demanded restitution for every record played for broadcast. His plan: a union fund for each musician would be established; any airplay would result in royalties paid to that fund.

As well, no new compositions could be performed in this interstice. That’s the reason “As Time Goes By,” an obscure 1930 pop song, became a major hit via the 1943 film Casablanca, to cite one instance of how the music business worked within these strict sanctions. At this time, younger jazz musicians, through after-hours jam sessions, developed a new strain in American music.

Freedom from the constraints of what jazz had become—bands were corporations, with each member part of a team. Certain performers, like Tex Beneke of Glenn Miller’s orchestra or Frank Sinatra (then with Harry James’ band), might become pop stars, but the general vibe was that the bandleader was the star, and all his musicians mere employees.

The new wave of jazz musicians didn’t want this. Each musician was his/her own valid entity and could function as a soloist or collaborate whim whomever they chose. New compositions, generated through improvisations to the chord patterns of pop songs and show tunes, encouraged unboxed thinking by these young players. Standard songs such as “How High the Moon” and “Cherokee” sired many modern jazz classics. This new approach was nicknamed bebop and became a major force in jazz post-war.

Though the new music’s austerity frightened some mainstream listeners away, many people appreciated the excitement and freshness of bebop. A few of its leading lights became public celebrities. Trumpeter John Burks “Dizzy” Gillespie became the public poster-child of bebop, with his exaggerated horn-rim specs, beret, goatee and his eccentric approach to his instrument. Modern jazz was a vibrant subculture; in its world, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, Bud Powell, Gillespie and Lennie Tristano were superstars.

The 1950s saw the decline of the mainstream big band; one of America’s great musical figures, Edward “Duke” Ellington, came close to shuttering his band mid-decade. Such groups had large expenses—transportation, food, shelter, et al—and with less public enthusiasm and support, this format, which lasted two decades, faced extinction; the rise of youth music pushed the old guard further into the background. Modern jazz appreciation became a touchstone of sophistication for the average urban American.

In 1947, when today’s recordings were made, bebop was still in its thrilling infancy. Every day, new steps were made—on record, via live performance or behind closed doors as musicians played just to play. Harmonic ideas that flouted musical convention filled the air. The classical voicings of jazz instruments changed and evolved. Pleasing traditional harmonies became stark and modal; instruments played in unison octaves to commanding effect. And so forth. No idea was too outlandish; new innovations spread like a forest fire. Mainstream arrangers and composers listened and absorbed. A Henry Mancini synthesized modern jazz, as The Beatles would do with Black music, and reflected it back to pop audiences who could, at this remove, get it and enjoy it.

Today’s EP single consists of four tracks recorded by pianist-composer Tristano, guitarist Billy Bauer and  bassist John Levy. They were recorded in New York on October 23, 1947 and epitomize the anything-goes air of early bebop. The four song titles—“Supersonic,” “On a Planet,” “Air Pocket” and “Celestia”—suggest a concept of music from another world.

Bauer’s electric guitar leads these four songs, with Tristano the composer heard to elegant effect at the start of “On a Planet.” If these melodies sound agonized to modern ears, imagine how unusual they seemed 80 years ago when their ideas were new and unexpected. The near-atonal noodling of “Planet” is reflective, thought-provoking and evocative. Ideas tumble out of nowhere, are embraced by all three musicians and plumbed for harmonic variations. “Planet” is sometimes soothing but often distracting and demanding; our ears never know quite where it may go. It’s the finest track on the first side of this 1953 EP, which you can hear…well, you know!

“Air Pocket,” a joyous romp through the musical galaxy, opens side two. Tristano’s sprightly piano and Bauer’s frenetic guitar bubble and froth through a happy chord sequence that reminds of “How High the Moon,” the 1940 pop song introduced in a Broadway revue. Its free-associative chords and harmonies were a huge inspiration to this new wave of jazz composers and musicians.

“Celestia” is stately—a contemplation of the universe related in musical notes and phrases. Tristano’s piano leads this piece and the composer plays with passion and authority. The minor-keyed bridge (or “release”) is Bauer’s, and he approaches its strains with the same wide-eyed sense of wonder. This poignant recording is so full of hope and promise for a better world—one I hope we will all see yet.

This record has such low mastering that I had to boost its signal 100% to get an audible transfer. I then de-hissed it, since it was made on early audio tape before sound engineers understood its capabilities. I did a light EQ to brighten the sound without exaggerating its timbre. I hope I’ve done justice to these four remarkable avant-garde pieces of music.

Tristano’s life and career are too complex to capture here, but I direct those interested to a well-written and -researched Wikipedia page on the musician’s life and career: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lennie_Tristano#

Tomorrow: Another 180, as Chicago girl group The Dynettes deliver a pair of powerful items for Soulful Sunday. A Constellation Records 45 from 1965.