Let It Breathe

What makes a jazz solo great? Why do musicians keep coming back to certain master players for inspiration in developing their own skills and style? Is there any single quality common to the most admired (and most transcribed) solos in the jazz tradition?

Rhythm, whether it is a sense of swing or groove or an individual player's use of rhythmic elements, is crucial, of course. Note choices (the "melody" or pitch content) is also critically important. Dynamics, articulation, style... all of these factors contribute to the overall quality of a jazz performance. But I would argue that none of these elements, taken separately, inevitably makes for a great, memorable solo.

It seems to me that, to be effective in a deep way, a solo must breathe. There must be a dynamic sense of phrasing where all of the individual musical elements converge in a convincing way. The oft-mentioned balance between the expected and the unexpected is certainly a part of this, but it is more than toying with the listener's expectations that gives a solo that certain something that makes it all but unforgettable.

The music must breathe. There must be a sense of line, of phrase, a certain elegance and balance. Horn players have a bit of an advantage in accomplishing this goal. After all, one must literally breathe to operate brass and woodwind instruments! Rhythm instruments can be played continuously, no "stopping" to breathe is necessary.

Of course, letting the music breathe is not just a matter of physical necessity. When you think of a great tune, classical piece or jazz solo is it possible to grasp it as a whole? It seems to me that we recall music in chunks or phrases that stick with us and, when put in context, somehow hang together with a feeling of inevitability. It is almost as if the piece HAD to unfold the way it did for it to make such a powerful impression.

As I write this I keep hearing Donna Lee in my mind's ear. That tune has a marvelous shape; it breathes in exactly the way I'm trying to describe. Charlie Parker was a master of all of the elements of jazz improvisation (that is certainly stating the obvious!). But if you analyze his solos in terms of phrasing - where he plays, where he leaves space, the varied length of phrases he plays, the shapes of the lines he plays; his music breathes in such a masterful, elegant way. That sense of inevitability is most definitely present in many of his solos, and Donna Lee (essentially a composed solo on the changes to Back Home In Indiana) is a great example of this quality.

Jazz musicians spend a lot of time working on fundamentals - scales, arpeggios, transcribing, ear training etc. If you're reading this you no doubt know exactly what I'm talking about. Becoming an effective soloist with something to say takes a lot of effort and time.

Here's a suggestion for the coming year's practice sessions: put some of your attention on phrasing and breathing regardless of what instrument you play. Listen not only to the great instrumentalists but also to the great vocalists. Pay attention not only to when they breathe, but also why they chose to start or end a phrase where they did. Experiment with varying lengths of your phrases. You can do this while working on your fundamentals as well as when you're soloing.

Let it breathe.

"Doctor" Jazz?

I recently played a little gig with someone who is about to start working on a PhD in jazz at a well known music conservatory. Other than in academic areas like music education, history, theory or ethnomusicology, the idea of acquiring a PhD in music is rather absurd to begin with. But a PhD in jazz?

Just how does one qualify for such a lofty degree in an art form that thrives on innovation and improvisation? Just what skills should one have to demonstrate mastery of to obtain this PhD? By what objective standards (pardon the pun) should the prospective candidate by judged? Will conservatories start awarding honorary PhD degrees to the likes of Miles, Coltrane and Bird posthumously?

These are just the basic theoretical questions that pop into my mind. But one would think that, at the very least, a person who is even admitted to a doctoral program in jazz ought to be able to, um, play, right? I'm sorry to report that the musician I gigged with the other night plays the saxophone at an amateurish level, and that is putting it politely. This guy has a weak sound, terrible intonation and no concept of how to swing or phrase or play anything coherent. He spits out a stream of bebop cliches without apparent order or consideration of the musical context. In short, this PhD candidate ought to be an undergrad studying with someone who can teach him the basics of musicianship. There's no way this person qualifies for any kind of advanced standing as a jazz musician.

And yet... he managed to get accepted (enthusiastically, according to the anecdotes he told us sidemen) to this allegedly competitive program. In two years, assuming he passes all his classes, he will have bought himself a PhD, which, as far as I'm concerned, will mean absolutely nothing.

250 Jazz Patterns book

I just downloaded my copy of 250 Jazz Patterns by expatriate saxophonist Evan Tate. Studying patterns derived from scale and chord forms is one valid way to increase your jazz vocabulary and Evan's book is a well thought out addition to my library of pattern books. There are plenty of exercises in there for beginning improvisers as well as challenging stuff to work on if you've been at it for awhile.

More Video Lessons

Yes, I have been very busy creating video lately. Here is another lesson (in two parts) demonstrating useful fingerings for the basic seventh chords on the upright bass.

PlayJazzNow.com Releases New Tracks

I thought you should know that I just did a comprehensive new release of jazz standards play along tracks on my website PlayJazzNow.com.




I'm especially proud of the innovative tracks we've created especially for jazz vocalists. I've also added a bunch of new stuff for bass players, horn players, pianists and guitarists and drummers.

Please check it out and let me know what you think.

Listening to Jazz 101

Friends and family members, musicians and civilians alike, all seem to get "lost" when listening to jazz. To most, once the melody of the song has been stated, the rest of the performance sounds like cacophony. Since it is the improvising that most interests us players (creative beings that we are) I'd like to offer a little assistance to those who don't understand what "all that noise" is.

Let's take a simple song, like Pop Goes the Weasel. I unfortunately hear this one WAY too much played by my friendly neighborhood ice cream truck, but it is one I think we can all sing in our heads. This internal singing mechanism is the key to being able to enjoy a jazz performance, in my opinion. OK, here's my version of the song (speak to the hand if you don't agree with the lyrics - these are the ones I grew up with):

All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel,
The monkey stopped to pull up his sock,
Pop! goes the weasel.

A penny for a spool of thread,
A penny for a needle,
That's the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel.

OK, got it? When the ice cream truck stops in front of my house, that song plays over and over and over again, without variation of any kind. Same stupid melody, same harmony, same rhythm, same tempo, same form. (We're not going to worry our pretty little heads about most of these terms, so don't sweat it.)

This repetition of all the elements of the song is precisely what happens in a jazz performance (leaving aside "free" jazz and music that is through-composed -- again, don't fret).

Everything about the music keeps repeating like a loop EXCEPT for the melody. What happens to that, you ask? That is what the jazz soloist is creating in the moment: a new melody based on the form, harmony, tempo etc of the originally stated piece of music.

Simply put, the jazz soloist takes the original song and plays variations of the given melody based on the harmony (what we refer to as "the changes"). And yes, this IS just what is meant in classical music by "theme and variations", the only difference is that the variations are being spontaneously composed as you're listening. It's pretty cool when you think about it.

So how does this help you listen to real jazz (as opposed to our fictional PGTW version)?
It's best to start by listening to a jazz version of a song you already know, because your task is to keep the melody playing in your mind DURING the improvised choruses. So, while the solo is going on you are using the melody as a backdrop for what the player is doing. [This, by the way, is how most jazz musicians keep their place in the music as it is being played.] If you keep the melody playing in your head you will be able to hear the soloist's new melody as a variation of the one you already know. Try it - it works.

Eventually you will be able to hear certain song forms through repetition. For example, there are many songs in the jazz repertoire based upon George Gershwin's I Got Rhythm. If you can hear that song internally then you can hear and appreciate the way a jazz musician solos on that song form. That covers a lot of territory. Same thing goes for the blues -- and there are hundreds (thousands, maybe) of jazz songs based on the blues.

Find a recording of a song you know performed by a known artist (Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson, Sarah Vaughn, Bill Evans, Stan Getz, you get the idea). You'll have to "practice" listening if you want to get this, but it won't be hard work, just a fun way to open yourself to a whole world of beautiful music that is by no means cacophonous!