By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
Putting aside the fact that Gillespie's treatments are far from irreverent (something else must have been going on behind the scenes), Kern's estate had to learn to love jazz and quick, because in succeeding years the songwriter's sumptuous harmonies and cagey key changes became a measure of jazz invention, some of it fairly radical. Kern's songs had always been popular with jazz musicians and singers because of his expressive melodies, but it took the headier precincts of modern jazz to appreciate all the harmonic possibilities, which became so much a part of bebop thinking that musicians often abandoned the melodies, superimposing what Max Roach once called "parody" tunes that they could copyright. One way or another, jazz kept much of Kern alive long after the pop world skittered away from him.
All that is remembered of Kern's 1939 flop musical, Very Warm for May, for example, is the imperishable "All the Things You Are," first recorded by Artie Shaw (vocal, Helen Forrest), Mildred Bailey, and Tommy Dorsey (vocal, Jack Leonard), and then abandoned until Gillespie and Charlie Parker tackled it in 1945. Two years later, Parker secured its place as a jazz perennial with his magnificent knockoff, "Bird of Paradise"; from the moment he intoned the dramatic intro, his vamp and Kern's harmonic plateau were mated forever. Parker loved the tune and Oscar Hammerstein II's lyriche used to call it "YATAG," an acronym for the line "You are the angel glow." But his recording showed that a harmonic sequence can so vividly support a melody that the mind's ear registers the theme even when the musician spins nothing but variations. Kern worried that his penchant for enharmonic changes (e.g., around the bridges of "All the Things You Are" and "The Way You Look Tonight") would alienate the public, but they were and are turnback heaven for jazz musicians.
So the November 16 concert by Jon Faddis and the Carnegie Hall Jazz Band devoted to Kern's music (no singers, no lyrics) suggested a worthy collaboration, if not a rapprochement, between jazz and a composer whowhether or not he or his heirs approvedhas long since become part of jazz's DNA. As usual, the CHJB assigned songs to its team of arrangers, leaving a few to feature the guest soloist, Gary Bartz (a last-minute replacement for the ailing Jackie McLean). From the first, it was evident that the subtext of the evening was the old issue of how much deference is due a venerated songwriter. The heirs who balked at Gillespie's embellishments would have hemorrhaged in horror at some liberties taken by Faddis's writers, especially the senior scribe, Manny Albam. Yet it was also apparent that the writers had done their homework.
Whatever Kern may have thought about jazz (is he on record anywhere with an opinion?), he deeply loved traditional forms of African American music, specifically spirituals: "Look for the Silver Lining" is indebted to "My Lord, What a Morning" and "Dearly Beloved" suggests a hymn refracted by harmonic sorcery. The evening began with Michael Philip Mossman's transfiguration of "Yesterdays" into a brass and woodwinds psalm, the melody arrayed in choirlike layersno rhythm section, no solos. Another Mossman arrangement, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," took the opposite tack, one especially suited to the dynamic strengths of the CHJB. Engineered with foursquare swing and plush reeds, the chart flamed with Basie-like brass tuttis, spare piano interjections, and the occasional drum fusillade. Faddis began a compelling solo with Dizzy half-valves and focused on his midrange, allowing his sound to spread at the release and indulging too many quotations ("As Time Goes By," "There's a Small Hotel," a Harry Edison lick) before rising to a heroic but controlled climax of the sort no one else can pull off. This was one chart the CHJB can file away for its greatest-hits retrospective.
Oddly, or not, Mossman, the youngest of the arrangers (born 1959), was also the most conservative. Michael Abene (born 1942) turned "Why Do I Love You?" into a clipped canter as played by Faddis, trombonist Steve Turre, and altoist Dick Oatts, before settling into a modernist groove for their solos, handsomely supported by the band (nice unison trombone accents) and closing smartly with ensemble variations. But Kern was accessed for his harmonies only, the tune cropping up chiefly in Turre's soloa quote, as it were. The breach between song and arrangement was less pleasing in Abene's "Look for the Silver Lining," which opened with a brass choir hymn and devolved into head and solos in which the latter failed to sustain the feeling or tempo of the former.