Who was the greatest American composer of the 20th century? Some would say it was Aaron Copland, who evoked the American landscape as vividly in music as John Ford did in film. Others would argue that it was Charles Ives, who composed music unlike anything heard before or since. Still others would strike up the band for George Gershwin, who brought the blues to symphony hall.
Yet as admirable as those men were, another composer towers over them: Edward Kennedy "Duke" Ellington, who was born in Washington 100 years ago this Thursday.
Like Copland, Ellington evoked the sounds and rhythms of this country, from the bayou ardor of "Creole Love Call" to the travelogue richness of "Harlem Airshaft." He also had a flair for instrumental portraiture, doing for Louis Armstrong, Mahalia Jackson and Sidney Bechet in his "New Orleans Suite" what Copland did for our 16th president in "A Lincoln Portrait."
Like Ives, Ellington was a musical innovator who refused to recognize the conventions of compositional form or instrumental technique. He'd use any sound that suited his aim, from a wordless vocal of the most angelic purity, to the most guttural growl a trumpet could produce.
And, like Gershwin, Ellington had no trouble navigating the distance between the dance hall and the symphony. Not only did he write for the hit parade, creating such best sellers as "Mood Indigo," "I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart" and "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," but he also composed for the stage, the symphony -- his tone poem, "Harlem," was commissioned by no less than Arturo Toscanini -- and even the opera (though his opera bouffe, "Queenie Pie," was posthumously completed by his son, Mercer).
But unlike those others, Ellington was not a composer in the European classical tradition. His milieu was jazz. Where classicists strictly set out what they expected musicians to play, Ellington was highly collaborative, relying heavily on the input, individuality and improvisational skills of his musicians.
In more than half a century working as a pianist and bandleader, Ellington employed and encouraged some of the greatest soloists in the history of jazz, men such as Ben Webster, Johnny Hodges, Jimmy Blanton, and Charles "Cootie" Williams.
Ellington's own voice as a composer was dazzling. As the critic Stanley Crouch has observed, Ellington's sensibility always determined the band's sound, "which is why the music maintained its identity through so many changes in the players, no matter how strong their individual personalities."
Still, when an audience cheered an Ellington performance, it wasn't just the bandleader they admired. It was also "the Duke's Men" who basked in the applause.
Perhaps that's why Ellington so rarely enjoyed the accolades his symphonic brethren took for granted. Never mind that musicians as great as Igor Stravinsky and conductor Leopold Stokowski proclaimed Ellington one of the century's greatest musical geniuses. The fact that he wrote music for dance bands and swing musicians -- pieces that sometimes called for his players to make melodies up as they went along -- made it impossible for many to accept the notion that Duke Ellington was a serious, much less great, composer.
Just how deep that prejudice sat became clear in 1965. Citing the "vitality and originality" of his work over the previous four decades, the three-man music jury for that year's Pulitzer Prize urged that a special citation be awarded to Ellington. Their recommendation was overruled, however, and no award was given. It wasn't until this year, a quarter century after his death, that Ellington finally won a Pulitzer Prize for music composition.
"Most Americans still take it for granted that European music -- classical music, if you will -- is the only really respectable kind," Ellington observed to critic Nat Hentoff, not long after his Pulitzer snub. Ellington may have been discouraged, but he knew how things sat. Jazz, he said, was seen as being "like the kind of man you wouldn't want your daughter to associate with."
Fortunately, as we near the next millennium, that is beginning to change. "There's a lot of talk about Ellington's place in 20th-century music these days," says David Hadju, president of the Duke Ellington Society of New York and author of a biography of longtime Ellington collaborator Billy Strayhorn.
"The irony to me is that more than anything, he seems to point to the 21st century," Hadju continues. "The way he worked challenges us to think in different terms about what it means to be a musical genius. Our conception is frozen in this 17th- or 18th-century European notion of the lone composer communing with his muse."
Ellington, Hadju says, represents "a whole different conception of what it means to be a composer."
A musical education
Ellington was not a conservatory-trained musician. He had what he called a "pool hall education," improving his skills as a pianist and composer by talking to, watching and listening to the musicians who hung around Frank Holliday's poolroom, on T Street between Sixth and Seventh streets Northwest in Washington. Holliday's was next door to the Howard Theater, and was a second home for many of the city's better pianists.
As he recounted in his autobiography, "Music Is My Mistress," much of what Ellington learned as a young musician in Washington was gained informally. "I got all the Negro music that way," he wrote. "You can't learn that in any school. And there were things I wanted to do that were not in any books, and I had to ask a lot of questions."
Ellington came of age when the brittle syncopations of ragtime were giving way to the smoother, more elegantly swinging cadences of stride piano. Scott Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag" gave way to Eubie Blake's "I'm Just Wild About Harry," which in turn opened the door for James P. Johnson's "Carolina Shout."
The young pianist was quick to pick up on the new trend. He was determined to learn from the best, even if it meant taking unorthodox methods. For instance, when a friend obtained a piano roll of "Carolina Shout," Ellington mastered the piece by slowing the piano mechanism down so he could see precisely how Johnson played the piece.
Later, after the fledgling bandleader had established himself in New York in 1923, he sought out the city's best stride pianists: Johnson, Thomas "Fats" Waller and Willie "The Lion" Smith. Nor was his quest for musical enlightenment limited to keyboard exercises. Ellington also wanted to know more about the blues, and about the hot jazz sound of New Orleans.
"He learned about New Orleans from people who were from New Orleans," explains baritone saxophonist Joe Temperly, a veteran of the Ellington band who currently plays with the Lincoln Center Jazz Band. "People like [soprano saxophonist] Sidney Bechet, and [bassist] Wellman Braud, and [clarinetist] Barney Bigard. He studied with various different people, ... people who taught him how to be himself, how to play for himself."
Ellington incorporated those lessons and influences into his writing style, but it didn't stop there. "My band is my instrument even more than the piano," he said once, and throughout his career, Ellington made a point of exploiting that instrument to the fullest.
Most bandleaders and arrangers thought of a dance band the way a tailor would think of a bolt of cloth -- as raw material, waiting to be shaped. Just as the cloth would have a specific color and thread-count, the band would have specific sounds and a set number of instrumental roles. For most bandleaders in the '20s, arranging a song was not unlike using a pattern to make a suit.
Ellington took a different approach. For him, a band was a collection of individual musicians, each with his own specific voice. "It was so individualized, his writing, that even the parts were not marked 'First Trumpet,' 'Second Trumpet,' " says Hentoff. "The names of the guys were on it. 'This is for Ray Nance,' 'This is for Shorty Baker,' etc. I never knew of a band that had that."
Because Ellington wrote so specifically, the sound of his band kept changing along with its membership. So when trumpeter James "Bubber" Miley was replaced by Nance, or when tenor saxophonist Paul Gonsalves succeeded Ben Webster, the shift in personnel was accompanied by new arrangements and compositions. The Ellington repertoire changed along with the band itself.
Yet the band's signature sound -- what Ellington's protege, Strayhorn, termed "the Ellington Effect" -- remained in place. It was this chemistry, the reaction between Ellington's individual genius and his band's collective personality, that made the music such a sensation.
As the conductor Andre Previn observed, "Stan Kenton can stand in front of a thousand fiddles and a thousand brass and make a dramatic gesture, and every studio arranger can nod his head and say, 'Oh yes, it's done like this.' But Duke merely lifts his finger, three horns make a sound, and I don't know what it is."
The Ellington sound
There were a number of reasons Ellington's sound seemed so magical. To begin with, his writing style derived from his own ear and taste, not from academic training or traditional compositional practice. As musician and critic Ken Rattenbury has observed, Ellington's scores "display a cheerful unconcern with the presence of academically undesirable consecutive intervals or false relations." In other words, he was less interested in "proper method" than he was in achieving his desired effect.
Ellington also adored the tonal density and rich concentration of sounds a jazz band could produce. Rather than keeping the reeds, trumpets and trombones as separate as items on a TV dinner tray, he delighted in blending and contrasting instrumental colors. "He wanted all those colors, and he wrote for ensembles," says Hentoff. "That's why nobody can really imitate him. His harmonic writing was clusters within clusters."
But above all else, Ellington was conscious of character in his music, and was as much a casting director as an orchestrator. "The Ellington band wasn't like any other band," says Temperly. "It was more like a repertory company, or a theatrical company."
Billy Strayhorn pointed out that Ellington would often make changes in his arrangements right on the bandstand. "I have often seen him exchange parts in the middle of a piece because the man and the part weren't the same character," Strayhorn wrote.
Such a personalized approach to composition was unheard of when Ellington started out. In the early '20s, writing for a dance band was in essence no different from writing for a brass band or small orchestra. There were a certain set number of players in explicitly defined roles -- first trumpet, second trumpet, third trumpet and so on -- who played the notes that were put in front of them. For the most popular songs, bandleaders tended to rely on "stock" arrangements, full-band scores produced en masse by music publishers. In most cases, the only thing that distinguished one band from another was a singer or soloist.
Ellington's band didn't just feature players, though; it showcased personalities. Perhaps the first great voice to emerge from his band was trumpeter Bubber Miley, who joined Ellington's Washingtonians in 1925.
At the time, the Ellington book was a mishmash, incorporating everything from hot jazz to "sweet" dance tunes. Miley, though, was steeped in the blues, and had developed a technique that enabled his trumpet to emulate the throaty growl of a blues singer. In addition, Miley used a plunger -- a rubber plumber's helper -- to articulate the sound emanating from his horn, allowing him to create strikingly vocal effects.
Ellington didn't just showcase Miley's growling style; he also incorporated the earthy directness of the trumpeter's lean, lyrical blues lines into the band's repertoire. Miley was at the heart of "East St. Louis Toodle-oo" (quickly adopted as the band's theme), and after Joe "Tricky Sam" Nanton began contributing similar growl effects on trombone, Ellington's new sound, dubbed "jungle music," became the toast of Manhattan, landing a standing engagement at the Cotton Club in Harlem.
The players' contribution
As singular as Ellington's sound was, the extent to which he relied on the collective genius of his bands makes it hard to understand what, exactly, his role as composer was.
As a writer, Ellington was insanely prolific, having copyrighted roughly 1,000 compositions in the course of his career. "But he certainly wrote more than those," says Ann Keubler, an archivist at the Duke Ellington Collection at the Smithsonian Institution. "I would say, conservatively, that he wrote about 1,500 compositions. ... Nobody has an exact count."
But what, exactly, did his composing entail? In some cases, Ellington wrote full scores that left little room for improvisation, as with the 1940 landmark, "Concerto for Cootie." In other cases, his pieces left enormous room for the soloist to have his say, with Paul Gonsalves' legendary performance of "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival being a case in point. Either way, his writing set the stage and established the terms; all that varied was the amount of direction he offered.
Thus, it would be ridiculous to say that Ellington's input on "Concerto for Cootie" was superior to "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" simply because he put more notes on the page. A jazz composer's role isn't, as Hadju pointed out, as single-minded and controlling as a symphonist's. What the jazz composer provides is a context for improvisation, leaving enough implied structure in an arrangement's "solo space" to give direction and inspiration.
Jazz improvisation, after all, isn't a matter of inventing music out of nothing. Generally, a soloist works off a song's chord changes -- the harmony that accompanies a melody -- and extrapolates new melodic ideas from the possibilities implicit in those chords. It's not the musical equivalent of pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
"It is my firm belief that there has never been anybody who has blown even two bars worth listening to who didn't have some idea about what he was going to play, before he started," wrote Ellington in 1962.
In that sense, Ellington the composer took an almost parental role in dealing with his players, keeping an eye out for their best and promising ideas, then allowing the musicians to make the most of them.
If that muddied the line between composer and bandleader, facilitator and muse, well, that was just the price of making music. Take, for example, the blues "Things Ain't What They Used To Be." Originally, the tune was derived from a Johnny Hodges improvisation.
"It was arranged by Duke," says Hadju, "and actually copyrighted in his son's name. What does that mean? For the answer, you have to look at the totality of Hodges' career. From 1950 until the time that he died, Hodges made as many [solo] records as Duke made. But there's not a single composition that's as good as the ones that he did with Duke, or that Duke elaborated on, expanded upon, or edited. That speaks volumes about Duke -- about Duke's taste, his judgment, his ability to bring the best out of somebody."
A lasting influence
Even a casual perusal of Ellington's career leads to the inescapable conclusion that he was one-of-a-kind, a genius beyond category. But it doesn't follow that his career was a musical cul de sac.
For one thing, Ellington's influence on other jazzmen was immediate and enduring. From bassist and iconoclast Charles Mingus to avant-garde pianist Cecil Taylor to Lincoln Center Jazz Band director Wynton Marsalis, Ellington's individualism has inspired at least three generations of jazz musicians.
None of these musicians has duplicated Ellington's magic exactly, but then again, they don't have to. As Hentoff points out, "Unlike Beethoven and Mozart and those folks, we have recordings of Duke. ... So I don't think [his legacy] will ever die."
Nor will the Ellington Centennial hurt. The Lincoln Center Jazz Band alone has more than 400 Ellington-related events scheduled (including sold-out concerts at the Kennedy Center Monday, and at the Meyerhoff in May), and there are concerts, exhibits and tributes planned all across the country.
Still, Hentoff, for one, can't help but wish for more. "This guy, his life and his music, ought to be part of the curriculum, starting in middle schools and high schools, as an example of American culture," says Hentoff.
What better way to celebrate the man who was the century's greatest American composer?
DUKE'S MUSIC MAKERS
Duke Ellington began making a name for himself as a bandleader in 1923, and spent the next 51 years fronting some sort of big band. Hundreds of musicians performed and recorded with him over the years. Here are some of the more celebrated Ellingtonians:
William "Cat" Anderson, trumpet, with Ellington band, off and on, 1944-1971: Best known for his stratospheric high notes as shown in "Madness in Great Ones (Hamlet)."
Barney Bigard, clarinet and tenor sax, 1927-1941: His fluid, lyrical clarinet work underscored the band's New Orleans influence. Collaborated with Ellington on "Mood Indigo."
Jimmy Blanton, double bass, 1939-1941: A brilliant improviser and virtuoso bassist, he was featured in such pieces as "Jack the Bear."
Harry Carney, baritone sax, bass clarinet, 1927-1974: Blessed with a big, powerful tone one critic likened to "the sound of battleships mating," he was featured on "Solitude" and many other tunes.
Paul Gonsalves, tenor sax, 1950-1974 (except 1970-1972): A stalwart and swinging soloist, his 1956 Newport performance of "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" was legendary.
Sonny Greer, drums, 1923-1944 and 1945-1951: An able timekeeper and exceptionally musical percussionist.
Johnny Hodges, alto saxophone, 1928-1970 (except for a few years in the '50s): Easily Ellington's most significant soloist, his languid tone and lyrical improvisations were memorably featured in "The Star-Crossed Lovers" and other works.
James "Bubber" Miley, trumpet, 1924-1929: Introduced the trumpet growl to the Ellington band, featured in "East St. Louis Toodle-oo."
Ray Nance, trumpet, violin, vocals, variously from 1940 to 1973: The most versatile of the Duke's Men, Nance is best-known for the trumpet solo in "Take the 'A' Train."
Joe "Tricky Sam" Nanton, trombone, 1926-1946: Extremely eloquent with the plunger and wah-wah mutes, he was a featured soloist on "Ko Ko."
Rex Stewart, trumpet, 1934-1945: Introduced the "half-valve" technique to make the trumpet's phrasing more vocalized.
Billy Strayhorn, piano, 1939-1967: As a composer and arranger, he was Ellington's right hand and most significant collaborator. Wrote "Take the 'A' Train," "Lush Life" and many others.
Clark Terry, trumpet, 1951-1959: A superb technician, equally adept at slow blues and blistering up-tempo improvisation.
Juan Tizol, valve trombone, 1929-1971: More a section player than a soloist, featured most notably on "Caravan."
Ben Webster, tenor sax, 1940-1943 and 1948-1949: One of the most influential tenor saxophonists in the history of jazz. Featured on "Chelsea Bridge."
Charles "Cootie" Williams, trumpet. 1929-1940 and 1962-1973: Influenced by Miley and Louis Armstrong, Williams was most notably showcased in "Concerto for Cootie."
ELLINGTON'S TOP 10
Here are 10 albums every Ellington fan should own:
* The Okeh Ellington (Columbia 46177)
Ellington's earliest hits, including "East St. Louis Toodle-oo," "Ring Dem Bells" and "Mood Indigo."
* The Duke's Men: Small Groups, Vol. 1 (Columbia 46995)
Sextets, octets and nonets from the '30s, featuring some of Ellington's best sidemen.
* The Blanton-Webster Band (RCA/Bluebird 5659-2 RB)
Considered one of Ellington's greatest bands, this group -- featuring bassist Jimmy Blanton and tenor saxophonist Ben Webster -- cut "Jack the Bear," "Take the 'A' Train" and other classics.
* Black, Brown & Beige (RCA/Bluebird 6641-2 RB)
The concert piece "Black, Brown & Beige" was one of Ellington's most ambitious works. These sessions from the mid-'40s include selections from that work, as well as pop fare like "Sophisticated Lady" and "I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart."
* Ellington at Newport 1956 -- Complete (Columbia 64932)
A double CD set including all of Ellington's most memorable Newport Jazz Festival appearance. Paul Gonsalves' performance on "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" is legendary (in stores May 4).
* Such Sweet Thunder (Columbia 65568)
Shakespearean in inspiration, this is some of Ellington's most expansive, ambitious writing, crowned by Johnny Hodges' playing on "The Star-Crossed Lovers" (in stores Tuesday).
* Anatomy of a Murder (Columbia 65569)
A witty, sensual, evocative movie score, demonstrating Ellington's versatility and ability to set a mood (in stores Tuesday).
* Money Jungle (Blue Note 46398)
A trio session with bassist Charles Mingus and drummer Max Roach, showcasing Ellington's piano.
* The Great Paris Concert (Atlantic 304-2)
With material both familiar ("Satin Doll") and exotic ("Suite Thursday"), this 1963 live set demonstrates the greatness Ellington's later bands could muster.
* The Far East Suite (RCA/Bluebird 7640-2 RB)
Some of Ellington's most colorful and evocative writing can be found in this 1966 musical travelogue.
ON THE WEB
To hear audio samples of Duke Ellington, go to www.sunspot.net/ features/sunday/arts