DiRECTI-NG JAZZ 0N TELEVLSWQ

Thesis for the Degree of M, A.
é‘mCHlGAN STATE UNIVERSWY
ROBERT LEWIS SPANGLER
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ABSTRACT

DIRECTING JAZZ 0N TELEVISION

by Robert Lewis Spangler

This thesis is intended to infOrm and to assist the
television director in directing programs of non-orchestrated.
improvisational jazz. By citing examples of both successful
and unsuccessful jazz programs, it will attempt to offer in-
sight into the past and thereby present useful perspective
for future reference.

Because the quality of a jazz performance may be
greatly influenced by a number of factors which fall within
the jurisdiction of the director, Chapter II will outline
some of the fundamental needs of a jazz musician, particularly
in regard to pre—program planning and studio rehearsals.

There is also an examination of the expanded role of the floor
director as a liaison between the director and the musicians.

While formal musical training is not essential to the
sympathetic and sensitive director, his task will be easier
and more enjoyable if he is familiar with the simple rhythmic
and structural aspects of typical jazz compositions. To this
end, Chapter III offers a layman's guide to understanding

commonly used time signatures and constructions.

Robert Lewis Spengler

The final chapter presents one approach to directing
jazz on television. This includes a discussion of Dr.
Colby Lewis' "Two Reasons for Changing Picture Statements"
as they apply to the inherent motivational properties of a
jazz performance, suggestions regarding framing and transi-
tions and information regarding the unique problems of stage
ing and audio that may be encountered.

A half-hour videotaped program is an integral part
of this thesis. It is on file with the Television and Radio
Department at Michigan State University in East Lansing,

Michigan.

DIRECTING JAZZ ON TELEVISION

by

Robert Lewis Spangler

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Department of Television-Radio

1967

 

Approved K_ <_
;/Major Professor

-.‘. _._‘_ v 0:1!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank my wife Monica for the hours she
spent typing rough drafts from my barely legible hand-
writing; Ron English, Jim Kaye, Bill Parker and Bob Ruskin.
the four fine musicians who made their talents so acces-
sible to me; and most especially Professor Arthur Weld
whose enthusiasm, understanding, and advice provided
the stimulus needed to boost this study over the final

hurdle.

—-Robert L. Spangler

ii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTION: SOME PERSPECTIVES.

II. THE DIRECTOR AND THE MUSICIANS. .

III. WHAT THE DIRECTOR SHOULD KNW ABOUT

MUSIC 0 O O O O O O O O O O O O 0

IV. DIRECTING THE PROGRAM. . . . . . .
ShOt Motivation. . . . . . .. .
Timing and Transition. . . .. .
Framing. . . . . . . . . . .. .
Staging. . . . . . . . . . .. .
Audio. . . . . . . . . . . .. .

APPENDIX I. THE VIDEOTAPE: A DIARY .

APPENDIX II. A DISCOGRAPHY. . . . . . .

iii

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42
44

48

63

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION: SOME PERSPECTIVES

It is not fair to claim that jazz and prime-time
television are strangers to each other, for jazz has been
heard. and even on occasion, seen on the medium. Most
often, it has been used in dramatic and adventure series.
to underscore scenes of action or violence. Almost in-
evitably the theme of these presentations will deal with
crime of some sort, usually narcotics traffic or prostitu-
tion. Jazz can also be heard performed by the I'house bands"
on the loosely-formated type of variety program typified
by NBC's Tonight Show. But while many members of these
studio orchestras are fine jazz musicians, they, or the
band itself, are featured infrequently and certainly not
under the most ideal conditions. Furthermore, even though
these men may be outstanding musicians, they were chosen
for their versatility reading ability, and playing skill,
but not necessarily because of the particular style they
play (as would be a musician auditioning for the Duke
Ellington orchestra). This can result in a great diversity
of styles and approaches, factors which cannot be viewed
as positive in terms of the empathy and cohesion necessary
to a significant jazz performance. This same kind of pro-
gram does, however, occasionally present "name" combos and
orchestras. But even then, limitations of time and manner

1

2
of presentation tend to result in performances far less
than memorable.

It can be stated fairly then, that although jazz and
prime time television are not strangers to each other, their
relationship has not progressed very far beyond the level
of casual acquaintance.

There was a time, eight years ago, when commercial
television got seriously interested in big time jazz, and
found a willing if not eager respondent. This was in the
late fifties, when Timex announced a series of "Jazz Spec—
taculars." These shows were greatly anticipated by the
critical establishment and the jazz fans at large, for they
represented the first venture of their kind. Unfortunately.
it was a veritable three ring circus of stars, presented
in a manner which now seems strongly similar to the fast-
talking, tight-cued "T0p Forty" radio programs of the pres-
ent. To give what is perhaps the outstanding example of the
critical reaction to that series, here, reprinted in its
entirety is a review by television critic and jazz fan Will
Jones of one of those programs.

Dear Timex.

Near the end of your last All-Star Jazz Show on TV
this fat man (Host Jackie Gleason) said. "Why don't
you send a letter to Timex and let them know the kind
of jazz you'd like to hear and the kind of guys you'd
like to have play it."

3

I don't know whether or not the fat man really meant
it. I couldn't tell whether he meant anything he said
during the whole hour. He was the most insincere-sound-
ing fat man I've heard in a long time. I'm easily
bothered by an utterance like "Y'know, sometimes we take
these jazz guys for - well for granted." Why the phony
pause? What else was he going to take these jazz guys
for? A one-way ride? No, sir, Timex. You know and I
know it was granted all the time, and the fake pause
was an attempt to reach for some coziness that wasn't
there.

Well, here's a letter. Timex, whether you really in-
vited it or not.

The kind of guys I'd like to hear play jazz? How
about guys like Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington and
George Shearing and Dizzy Gillespie? Crazy list, huh,
Timex? Exactly the guys you had playing on your last
show.

I say I'd like to hear them play-but where I'd like
to hear them play is something else again, Timex, I'd
rather hear them play anywhere other than on a Timex
All-Star Show.

You've got a wild thing going there. Timex. You've
got some of the best commercials in the business.
with John Cameron Swayze shloshing your watches in
water. I mean. if I accidentally dropped my watch into
the garbage disposal tomorrow and suddenly needed a new
watch, I'm sold; I'd buy a Timex. I would, that is, if
I didn't hate you so much for what you're doing to jazz
on TV.

Your commercials are quite effective in showing the
indestructibility of your watches. Just as effectively,
your programs prove the destructibility of jazz and
jazz artists.

I don't know quite how you've gone about it, but
you've succeeded in your last couple of programs in
turning some of the most-respected persons in jazz into
a bunch of blathering Uncle Toms. And when I say Uncle
Toms, I don't mean to draw any color lines. You've
created some white Uncle Tims, Timex-bouncing, howling,
finger-snapping caricatures of jazz performers. conned
somehow into appearing not as themselves, but as a
mis-guided ad man's concept of what the great watch-buy-
ing unwashed think jazz performers ought to be.

4

A few have got by you unscathed, Timex,}3ut not many.
Where you really trap them is when you have them mouth
the inanities invented by your script writers - or have
them blowing scripted inanities such as the finale of
that last show. "I'm tellin' you now, this is the bust-
out of all times," said your insincere fat one, wiggling
his fanny languidly in anticipation. And then 30 or
40 musicians ad-libbed a din that was not jazz, and
the fat one narrowed his eyes in a manner calculated to
suggest deep inner appreciation and wiggled his fanny
a bit less languidly.

If you really wanted suggestions from viewers, Timex,
here's a suggestion from this one:

Go on hiring the same kind of jazz musicians you
have been. Your instincts have been pretty good in
that respect. Oh, maybe you could tax your imagination
a little and try not using Louis Armstrong just one time
and see whom you come up with then, but I wouldn't"
insist upon that.

But after hiring the musicians don't abandon your
instincts. Don't turn them over to idea men. Let them
bring their own ideas to the show-the kind of ideas that
made you want to hire them in the first place.

Meanwhile, Timex, no matter how desperately I may
happen to need a watch, and no matter how solidly your
man Swayze has sold me, I'm going to refrain until
you tidy up your TV ways. He's pretty irresistible,
but I'm determined to resist - even the Timex self-
wind, the completely automatic watch, with the winding
stem on it. Yrs

. ' 1
Viewer Jones

The awful Timex fiasco. the only such major attempt
at presenting jazz on a semi-regular prime-time basis, must
have left some ugly scars on the commercial television com-

munity, and has undoubtedly induced a number of second

thoughts about undertaking such a venture again.

 

fi—

HWill Jones, "A Wild Hour With Jazz, Timex-Style,"
Downta't, (February 19,» 1959), p. 13.

5

But this happened eight years ago, and both tele-
vision and jazz, as young as they were, have done consider-
able maturing since then. Certainly jazz is no longer the
place for "Uncle Toms" of whatever hue. It is no longer
the music of the minstrel show with its knee-slapping and
grinning pearly teeth, if, in fact, it ever was.

Nat Hentoff, author, jazz critic, and writer of many
sociological articles dealing with minority groups in America,
succinctly presents the case for today's jazz musician.

However they regard the function of jazz, the new
players are linked by a conviction that their music

is art, not a form of show-biz fun and games after
dark. But they are not pretentious or portentous in
insisting on respect from audiences and entre—
preneurs. There is still much wit and unabashed lyric-
ism in the music. . . . Since their music is no longer
for the casual night-club goer, the number of clubs at
which they can play has diminished. The audience for
the new jazz consists of the same quality, and roughly
the same quantity, of serious listeners who are devoted
to chamber music and lieder.2

Although Hentoff is referring to the current jazz
avant-garde (see Appendix II). it can honestly be stated
that a growing number of music critics and listeners share
this point of view, even in regard to some of jazz's more
accessible forms.

But regardless of how the artists or their audience
may View the significance of their achievements, the fact
remains that since the demise of the Timex shows there have

been no network originated prime-time series devoted to the

presentation of jazz.

 

2Nat Hentoff, "Black, Angry, and Hard to Understand,“

New York Times Sunday Magazine (December 25, 1966} pp. 38,10.

6

When jazz has been presenufl.in its own context (rather
than occupying a slot within the format of a variety show,
as described earlier) it has been on either such non-prime
time programs as Look Up and Live, Camera Three and nggti-
8th Century, which generally handled the productions
with both taste and sympathy, or via series produced for
syndication. In the case of the latter, the half hour

series Jazz Scene USA made its debut in early 1963, but

 

as of June 1965, had been sold to fewer than twenty American
cities, although it attracted relatively more attention in
foreign countries.3
In examining the past and present state of jazz

on commercial television then, one might easily conclude
that jazz and television will never be "happily married."
I leave such conjecture to the critics except to suggest
that the obvious realities of network TV's rating wars indi-
cate that such a marriage would be, at best, a mis-match.
This seems to be especially true when perceived in terms of
the size of the jazz audience,‘yhich must, in all fairness.
be labeled a minority audience. Or as Leonard Feather puts
it:

In assessing the manner and extent of the use of jazz

in this medium it is reasonable to take certain facts
into consideration. One is that the prime-time evening

 

3Leonard Feather, "Jazz on Television, Part Two,"
Down Beat, June 3, 1965, p. 13.

 

7

television program, for the most part is aimed at

securing the attention of as many as possible of the

192,000,000 potential viewers in the United States.4

What prOportion of this 192,000,000 would watch a
jazz program in preference to the more easily accessible
:brms of pure entertainment cannot be determined, but it seems
reasonable to conclude that the network programing chiefs
have been economically realistic in scheduling their situa-
don comedies and first run movies in preference to that un—
known quantity, the jazz series.
And yet jazz dgeg belong on television. Those who

know it only through recordings have missed a great deal,
and a well directed television performance offers Opportun-
ities that are missing in the most congenial night club or
finest concert hall. For example, a well-chosen close-up of a
musician engrossed in his playing can mirror and therefore en-
hance the concentration, energy, or just plain fun that
is apparent in his music. I suspect that anyone who argues
that jazz is not a visual medium has never been fortunate
enough to witness the moments of humor, passion, and tender-
Iess that can only be implied by a strictly aural presentation.
Naturally, it cannot be claimed that such moments are assured
with each performance, for the jazz artist conceives every
phrase and idea at the moment it is played. He therefore

lacks the Opportunity to polish his performance for weeks,

 

4Leonard Feather,"Jazz on Television, Part One,"Down
Beat, May 6, 1965, p. 19.

8
or months as does a Horowitz or a Stern. Furthermore,
the very nature of jazz makes a performance which retraces
steps, or even treads upon safe ground equivalent to an
artistic failure. It is also true, however. that even the
greatest of performances would no doubt bore or even offend
the viewer not sympathetic to the music.

So while we may (for the present at any rate) expect
no significant increase in the amount of jazz being offered
on commercial network television, it does seem reasonable
to turn to the best mass media friend that jazz has had in
recent years; educational, or "public" television.

If the critics (both amateur and professional) of
network television have had a field day lambasting the com-
mercial networks for their neglect of jazz, they have con-
versely found themselves heaping praise upon the educational
system: specifically NET (National Educational Television).
The following remarks by usually hard-to—please Nat Hentoff
can be said to be representative.

The lack of jazz on commercial television has long

been one of the most familiar plaints among all of

us, and yet here is Gleason (Producer-Host-Critic-

Ralph J. Gleason) setting an exemplary standard for
jazz presentation on the National Educational Tele-
vision network.

Gleason's approach to jazz on television couldn't

be more simple and more correct. Each week's guest is
his own music director. The camera-men accommodate
themselves to the musicians—~not the other way around,
as has been the practice in nearly all other previous
associations between jazz and television. And Gleason
himself is only briefly and unobtrusively on camera.

The result is that the musicians on Jazz Casual

are able to reveal themselves more completely than
is possible in many clubs and in most concert situations.

 

9

Gleason is certainly the first to present jazz with
total honesty and with utter lack of superfluous "at-
tractions" on a national television series. He is set-
ting a most important precedent.

I have lost all hOpe that commercial network television
is going to do even moderate justice to jazz in the fore-
seeable future, at any rate, But as educational tele-
vision grows there can be an increasing number of Open-
ings for various kinds of jazz series on television.

The fact that Gleason has been successful at showing
that undiluted jazz is exactly right for the medium
will, I'm convinced, be a major stimulus for more such
efforts.

Although Jazz Casual is not currently in produCtion,
many NET cities across the country are repeating the series
(as one would replay an outstanding phonograph recording a
second or a fifteenth time), and is therefore possibly still
available for perusal by the reader (i.e. the prospective
director of jazz on television) in his area.

While I will resist the considerable temptation to
expound on the values and virtues of this generally fine
series, I do feel that a few relevent comments on some of
its features are apprOpriate at this point.

Generally speaking, the comments by Mr. Hentoff
describe the method and content of the program. It is im-
portant to note that while some of its shows used virtually
no set whatsoever, what sets were used were simple, attract—
ive and yet inexpensive. And although it has been nearly

two years since this writer last had the Opportunity to

see one of the programs, I recall that its uncomplicated and

 

5Nat Hentoff, "Second Chorus," Down Beat, May 7, 1964,
pp. 39-40.

 

10
direct approach could be satisfactorily duplicated on a
local level by any station with enough equipment to prOperly
televise a panel discussion. In other words, many local
television stations are capabka of producing their own
Jazz Casuals (or would it be casual jazz?).

Beyond the considerations of effective audio (an
area more critical than usual in jazz) a standard complement
of equipment essential to any television Operation ought to
yield satisfactory results.

One of the other essential ingredients is, Of course,
capable and willing musicians.

In most American cities, there are many musicians
who can play jazz and are happy to do so when the Opportun-
ity presents itself. If any single group is blatantly
guilty of the "busman's holiday" syndrome, it is the pro—
fessional or semi—professional musician. The well known
phenomenon of the "after-hours" jam session includes virtu-
ally any free time these performers might have, and their
willingness to perform on television when they can expect
a tasteful production (see Chapters II and III) has never
ceased to amaze this writer.

Naturally, if budgetary considerations permit, union
scale wages should be paid the men. However, this need
not be a drawback, if the men are willing to donate their
time. Fortunately, the American Federation of Musicians
tends to be extremely COOperative in allowing its members

to perform without pay, if those members wish to do so.

11

This is both because of the non-profit aspect Of educational
television, and because the Federation believes in the value
of such exposure.

Therefore, only studio time and Operational costs
emerge as absolute budgetary necessities. What remains
is the selection of a knowledgeable producer (easily the
subject of another work), talented musicians and a director
capable of assembling the many elements that will go into
an effective jazz program. The remainder of this study will
be devoted to the specific tasks of that television director

when directing improvisational jazz performances.

CHAPTER II
THE DIREC'IOR AND THE MUSICIANS

The process of directing classical or "serious"
music for television is one which requires an exact sense
Of timing and a knowledge of orchestral shading and dynam-
ics. But because it is fully orchestrated it carries with
it the inherent qualities of predictability, a built-in
"road map," for camera shots that can be examined an hour
or three months prior to shooting.

Jazz, because it relies almost exclusively upon im-
provisation and the challenge of instantaneous creation dur-
ing a performance, contains far fewer elements of predictab-
ility. (The orchestrated jazz band is obviously an exception
to this and will not be discussed here.) Consequently, the
director of jazz is required to possess certain skills and
knowledge somewhat apart from, but not exclusive of, those
necessary to the directing of classical music.

The information that follows is intended as a guide
to the elements, both musical and extra-musical, that play
an important part in the preparation for, and the performance
of, jazz on television. It is hOped that this information
will provide a useful "road map" to the successful present-
ation of this music.

A local semi-professional musician described a recent
experience while on tour with a jazz group in England.

12

13
A woman televisionéflrector greeted the band with a cold
efficiency when they arrived at the studio for a video-tap-
ing and, stOp-watch in hand, inquired as to the lengths and
orders of their solos. Her ignorance of the music and the
nature of its form was apparent to the musicians, and con-
sequently made them ill at ease. This communicatiais gap
grew to the point of confusion and misunderstanding with
the result that the performance was described as a "dis-
aster."

This story exemplifies many of the "dont's" one
could expect to encounter when directing jazz on tele-
vision. For our purposes, they can be divided into two
categories: "the director and the musicians," and "what
the director should know about the music." These are dis—
cussed in this chapter and the one to follow.

Because of the tenuous nature of the jazz performance,
it is affected by many external variables. The television
director, in aiming for the best possible production, will
necessarily desire the control of as many of these variables
as are within his domain,so that the performance, and there-
fore the production, will be granted the optimum conditions
for success. Most of the suggestions that follow are basic
enough to be applicable to any production situation involv—
ing live talent. To be sure, many of them will be redundant
to the thoughtful director who has made the needs of per-
formers a consistent and important factor in the preparation

Of any production.

14

Because of the directors necessary occupation with
other matters, the floor director must be expected to func—
tion not only as a means of relaying information, but also
as an extension of the director himself. Ideally, he should
be sympathetic to the director's point of View in regard
to the artists, the music, and the production concept so
that his answers are virtually the same as the director's
answers. Above and beyond the usual responsibilities of the
floor director are a number of seemingly minor considerations
which can make a large difference in the outcome of the
production.

For example: One of the most common complaints voiced
by professional or semi—professional musicians who offer
their services to broadcasting, is that they were made to
feel like outsiders. They felt as though they had little
importance to the overall Operation until rehearsal time,
or in some cases, until air time, and by then it was too
late. To alleviate this source of tension, it would be wise
if the floor director could be excused from normal "set-up"
duties at the expected arrival time of the musicians so
that they may be greeted at the door and ushered to the
studio. Another member of the crew might be drafted to
assist in the transport of equipment, if the group's parapher-
nalia is considerable.

Such a greeting and offer of assistance immediately
makes the artists a part of the activity, and helps to es—

tablish from the first their importance to the outcome

15
of the program, a realization which cannot help creating an
atmosphere of mutual interest,and even better, COOperation.

Once the musicians have begun to unpack, the floor
director should remain with them, ready to be of any fur-
ther assistance, and prepared to make sense of the apparent
chaos that often precedes a taping or broadcast. The reason
for this is that, although these musicians can and do per-
form in almost any kind of environment, few environments.
will appear as confusing and ominous as the television studio
in the midst of set up. Without unnecessary detail, the
floor director should explain how the activity they see re-
lates to the finished product, and specifically to them.

The information imparted by the floor director will not only
be enlightening, but will also provide reassurance so that
the artists are then left free to do exactly what theyczame
for, i.e., play their music as well as they can.

Besides the essential information given in regard to
hand and time signals, micrOphone positions, etc., the floor
director should be ready to address himself to some other
somewhat unique needs. The guitar player cannot find the
electrical outlet; the drummer desires to nail down his
equipment; the saxophone player wants to borrow a knife to
trim his reed, and many other problems special to musicians.
Needless to say, rapport is once again enhanced; and with
these simple needs prOperly satisfied, the production will

certainly benefit.

l6

Hopefully, many of the previous references to the
"apparent chaos" of pre-show activities will be unneces-
sary as a result of efficient preparation prior to the
arrival of the artists, but more realistic consideration
reveals adequate set-up and rehearsal time as the fantas-
ies they usually are. One point, however, must be strongly
stressed, for it undoubtedly holds precedence over all of
the other suggestions presented in this section--the matter
of adequate "warm up time" for the musicians.

The concept of "warm up time" is not an arbitrary one
designed to provide recreation for the artists. Rather it
is a necessary procedure which mg§£_precede a performance.

Musicians, all musicians, need to limber fingers, lips.
wrists, lungs, and even feet before they are ready to play.
Certainly anyone who has ever attended a symphony orchestra
concert is familiar with the inevitable cacophony of runs
and exercises that precedes each performance. But unlike
their symphonic brethren, jazz artists lack a central figure
in the person of a conductor to meld their individual voices
into one. They must respond to each other, and to do so,
they must be able to hear each other. A director mindful
of this need will have chosen a method of staging which
provides optimum conditions, not only for his audio and
video needs (see Chapter IV) but also for the best intra-
group acoustics. The artists must be allowed adequate time
to discover their prOper balance in relation to each other,

and to the room (studio).

17

If fifteen minutes or more can be made available
for such a purpose, it should be provided. No time is
wasted in this, in that it provides the perfect opportunity
for a realistic audio and video check out. Make sure that
both the crew and the musicians are aware of when this warm—
up time is planned, so that it does not interfere with any
of the other activities. It has been my all too common ex-
perience in the past to have had cooperative, talented
artists told to "shut up" by an over-zealous crew member who
considered their work far less important than his own. Such
an occurrence will make it increasingly more difficult to
secure such talent.

The preceding discussion is not meant to imply that
a"prima donna" aura surrounds jazz artists. It is, as
indicated earlier, an extension of the good practices of
dealing with talent to encompass the unique aspects of this
particular segment of the artistic community.

It should be further cautioned that the "folklore"
surrounding the world of the jazz artists is in most cases
merely that--folklore. It would be foolish and embarrassing
for any representative of the production team, from crew
member to director, to succumb to the temptations of using
musician's slang or to otherwise attempt to make the artists
aware of one's "hipness." A straightforward, mature approach

is appreciated far beyond any such display.

18

Although the above material refers generally to the
floor director as the director's primary agent it is assumed
that the director will, at his earliest convenience, make
his presence known to the artists, therefore lending both
prestige and authority to the floor director's role.

At some point in time, not necessarily on the day
of shooting, the director will want to meet with at least
the leader of the group to discuss his production concept
and the group's forthcoming performance.

If he is not himself a musician,and hopes to adequately
address himself to the subject of the music itself, he will
find certain basic information useful. The chapter that fol-

lows is intended to provide that information.

CHAPTER III

WHAT THE DIRECTOR SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THE MUSIC

The television director about to embark upon the
presentation of a program of jazz music does not neces-
sarily have to be familiar with the history of the music,
its evolution, or its current state to present it in an
effective manner. He does, however, need to address him-
self to certain areas of the jazz performance with both
knowledge and sensitivity. Since assistance with the
latter is beyond the range of this writer, the following is
intended to be of value in terms of strengthening the former.
i.e., knowledge of the music.

Initially, it is important that the director be, to
some degree, interested in or sensitive to the art form.

It is my strong belief that someone with no interest in or
appreciation of the music should not be assigned to direct
it and should bow out of such an assignment if that alterna-
tive exists.

Assuming then that the prospective director of a
television jazz presentation is one who is not incapable of
sympathetic responses to the music and the musicians, let
us now discuss the make-up of the jazz performance.

With the exception of some very new developments in
jazz,the jazz musician, regardless of era or school, im—
provises upon a melodic structure of some kind. This very

basic point is an extremely important one, since it must
l9

20
Often appear to the uninitiated jazz listener, regardless
of sensitivity and receptiveness, that once the initial
melody has been stated, the soloists merely "take off,"
as I have heard them put it. This is far from the actual
case, as the jazz soloist must find his "freedom" within
the confines of the structure of the melody upon which he
has chosen to improvise. In other words, if he is perform-
ing "Over the Rainbow," "Bye Bye Blackbird," "Once in a
While," or any other song (whether a standard or a jazz
original), he is restricted by both its harmonic and non-
harmonic aspects. While his improvised melodies may not
appear to relate to the original, they very definitely
do, although the relationship is less obvious with some
artists than with others.

Does this mean that the director must familiarize
himself with the hundreds of possible styles and approaches
in order to "follow" a 5010? The answer is "no." For while
familiarity is certainly an asset, it is not a necessity.
Fortunately there are other far more accessible clues
and landmarks provided by a jazz performance that will en—
able the director to "keep his place" in regard to the
music, as well as he might if the performance was fully
scored. Possibly the most important of these is a knowledge
Of the non—melodic construction of common song forms, that
is, an understanding of their rhythmic structure, form and

length.

21

There are two outstanding categories of songs which
are preferred by most jazz artists as vehicles for their
improvisations-—the so—called "standard" 32 bar melody and
the 12 bar "blues." Most other forms are variations on
either of these. The basic unit here is the bar (or measure.
as it's also known). The rhythm of each bar is designated
by a fraction such as 4/4 or 3/4. These designations are
commonly referred to as time signatures. Here now are ex—
amples of three time signatures presented in such a way
that the non-musician can easily learn to count them.

In the common time signature of 4/4, a bar can be
determined by counting on every beat: gpgrtwo—three—four,
_ggg—two-three-four, three-two—three—four, and so forth.

In waltz time (3/4 or 6/8) the count would go: gggftwo—
three, gwgftwo-three, three-two-three, figuretwo-three, etc.,
in the case of 3/4, or one:two-three-four—five-six, Ewgrtwo—
three-four-five-six, three—two-three-four-five-six, in the
case of 6/8 time.

Naturally, no director who expects to immerse him-
self in the diverse activities of his job will care to
saddle himself with the irritating task of counting measures,
and the use of an assistant to do this is really quite un-
necessary, as we will see.

The two basic forms mentioned earlier are so preval-
ent that they can be heard almost anywhere. Anyone who
listens to any form of pOpular music hears them constantly,
and except in some specific instances, an ability to reCOg-

nize them and be aware Of their form will easily be as valuable

22
as any amount of measure counting. For the time being, then,
let us remember this technique of counting measures and

examine these forms more closely.

The Thirty-two Bar AABA Form

A large percentage of pOpular music. especially

 

those songs generally regarded as standards, are built on
this form. It is easily broken up into eight bar units.
and the problem of keeping track of these is simplified by
the fact that only the third set of these is different from
the other three. Before this statement is allowed to be-
come totally confusing, let's look at an easy example in
the old song, IfGot Rhythm. Here are the first eight bars:

I got rhythm.

I got music,

I got my man,

Who could ask for anything more?

Now, the second eight, which utilizes exactly the
same melody as the first eight:

I got daisies,

In green pastures.

I got my man.

Who could ask for anything more?

The third eight-bar phrase is the only different eight-
bar melody in the song. It is known as the "bridge."

Old man trouble,

I don't mind him,

You won't find him,

Hangin"'round my door.

23

The final eight bars again utilize the original eight-
bar melody.

I got starlight.

I got sweet dreams,

I got my man,

Who could ask for anything more?1

This technique of repeating the first eight bar
phrase twice and then again at the end of the song is called
the "simple ternary" form, or, as musicians often refer to
it, the AABA form. The important factor here is the third
eight-bar phrase, the bridge, as it serves as a convenient
point of reference. It should be mentioned, however, that
there are a number of other types.of constructions which,
while relating to this common form, differ from it to some
degree. Furthermore, there are emerging schools of jazz
which are deliberately seeking to dispense with formal
construction as we have come to know it (examples of both
typical and unusual constructions will be presented in

Appendix II).

The Twelve-Bar Blues

Because of its fame as a concept and the occasional
misuse of the term in song titles (e.g. Birth of the Blues
is not technically a blues), many are surprised to learn
that the blues is a structured musical form. As implied,
the blues is nearly always a twelve-bar form, that is, each

full chorus is twelve bars long. Here are the lyrics of a

 

1 .
Copyright 1930 by New World Music Corporation,used
by permission.

24

common blues, Roll 'Em Pete. Note that the lines of the
complete stanza are broken up into three parts. Each of
these represents a four measure section.

I got a girl who lives up on a hill,

I got a girl who lives up on a hill,

She wants to quit me but I love her still.2

Regardless of the number of minutes an improvising
jazz musician may devote to his solo, if the twelve-bar
blues is the vehicle with which he is working, his choruses
will usually be built on that form and in multiples of twelve
bars. The same can be said of other formal constructions.

Using the previous discussion as a point of departure.
it is valuable to point out a number of devices employed by
the jazz artist when improvising upon these forms. For pur—
poses of clarity, it seems best to list a number of import-
ant terms often used by jazz artists in referring to these
devices. While they are obviously a kind of jargon or even
slang, they are quite far removed from the area of "hiptalk,"
and can therefore be considered to be both universal and
relatively enduring. They are explained strictly from the
director's point of view, and in some cases are not complete.
They tend to exemplify situations relevent to small combo

performances of from three to eight men.

 

2Roll 'Em Pete by Pete Johnson and Joe Turner, cOpyright
1941 by MCA Music, a division of MCA Inc., New York, N.Y.,
used by permission. All rights reserved.

 

25

Chorus: This confusing term may mean either a literal
chorus, as described above, or the entire improvised
solo, regardless of actual length. .In the case of
the latter, the term 'choruses' may also be used.

In—chorus: This is the first actual chorus of the song.
usually performed by the band as an ensemble, usually
a statement of the melody.

Head: This may mean the same thing as "in-chorus." or (de-
pending upon the context) any non—written arrangement.
in which case the term "head arrangement" may be used.

Out—chorus: This is the final chorus of the song, usually
performed in an ensemble fashion, and consisting of a
restatement of the melody.

Lead: The prominent voice in the ensemble portions is re-
ferred to as the lead instrument,

Bridge: This is the third eight-bar phrase in a standard
AABA structured melody. For the purpose of textural
variety, the bridge on an in- or out—chorus will some—
times be performed by an instrument which has not pre-
viously been the lead instrument. Drums,,bass or piano
are usually chosen, in that order of preference. The
bridge is also referred to as the "release," or "channel."

Riff: This is an ensemble backdroP for a soloist.

Rhythm Section: This may be any combination of rhythm play-
ers. Older schools of jazz employed a bass. piano,
guitar and drums. Contemporary players may eliminate
any of these, although bass and drums are rarely absent.

Horn: Any non-rhythm-section instrument may be called a
horn.

"Foursz" This refers to the practice of trading four-bar
intervals between soloiSts. This will usually be between
a horn player and the drummer, although other variations
are used. This usually occurs toward the end of the
piece, and begins with the horn taking the first four.
Four fingers held up by any of the instrumentalists may
generally serve as a signal. Less common are variations
of "eights," "two's," and "ones."

Intro: This may be two, four, or eight bars long, and it
is most often played by a member of the rhythm section,
usually piano or guitar.

26
Tag: A tag, or series of tags may be played at the con-
clusion of a chorus (usually the out-chorus). These
are most often four-bar units repeated any number of
times at the discretion of the lead instrument.
(Note: trumpeter Miles Davis is noted for his use of
this device).

Once the above information has been assimilated, it
will be a relatively easy task to outline the performance
of a piece from "intro" to "out-chorus." A brief consulta—
tion with the leader of the group should easily yield com-
plete data in regard to the length and order of solos, thereby
suggesting a virtual camera—plotting script, although in many
cases esthetic considerations will supersede the limitation
of choruses.

The author further suggests that, if all else fails.
and both the order and length of solos fail to correspond
with the planned outline (as can definitely happen), the
director would do well to simply remain alert, watch the
musicians for visual cues and allow his instincts to sense
and suggest the most likely new approach. For these reasons
the most valuable asset a director can have when directing

a jazz program is a familiarity born of listening to typical

jazz recordings (see Appendix II).

CHAPTER IV
DIRECTING THE PROGRAM

It's the tOp of the ninth, the home team leads by one
run but the visitors have a man on second with only one out.
The batter connects with a searing ground ball that pulls
the first basemen off the bag. He makes a magnificent diving
stop, tags the base in the nick of time, and fires the ball
to home plate to stOp the runner who has rounded third and
is on his way to score the winning run. Realizing that he
won't make it, the runner turns in his tracks and heads back
to third. The catcher throws the ball to the third baseman.
and back and forth it goes until the runner is trapped be-
tween the two players and tagged out, putting a tense and
exciting finish on a thrilling game.

For those in the stands, the moment will long be
remembered, but for the folks at home? Well, the television
director chose to show us the manager of our home team as
he stood on the edge of the dugout watching his men perform
the successful rundown. It was an interesting shot, well
framed and focused, but, needless to say, totally unmotivated.
Also needless to say, several thousand viewers were think—
ing very unkind thoughts about the director.

In all likelihood, this story never happened and

probably never will. It is even unlikely that the director

27

28
might have stayed on the shot of the first baseman after
he had thrown the ball to third, for he would have known
what the center of action and interest was, how to get the
shot, and when to take it. In baseball, if you follow
the ball, you seldom miss the action. Baseball, it can be
said, provides plenty of shot motivation.

Jazz is not baseball, but it is my contention that
it too provides plenty of shot motivation. A jazz perform-
ance suggests what is important, when it is important,
and even some of the better points of view. And yet too
often a director who misunderstands or ignores those motiva-
tions leaves his audience figuratively lOoking at the manager.

Baseball is just one of several of the more obviously
motivated activities that dictate the director's role within
moderate limits. On the other end of this spectrum we might
place an activity like televised drama. Here again an under—
standing of the activity will reveal its inherent motivational
clues. Drama, however, is a more highly sophisticated form
than baseball. Consequently, a complete understanding of
the form and a resultant grasp of its motivational aspects
will be considerably more difficult to come by.

Directing jazz falls somewhere between these two
points. Just as someone familiar with the logical sequence
of baseball or the nuances of drama could explain the correct-
ness of a series of shots, the director of jazz can deter-

mine a correct approach to his craft. This is not to suggest

29
that a single approach exists. Rather it is intended to
imply the existence of certain elements which will clearly
take precedence over others. Since these elements can be
easily misunderstood or overlooked, the following section
will be devoted to an examination of shot motivation as ap-

plied specifically to the small group jazz performance.
§hot Motivation

The imaginary baseball sequence cited at the begin-
ning of this chapter was an extreme example of an ignorance
or misunderstanding of the motivational clues which are
present in most, if not all, of the activities presented on
television. Whether in a panel discussion or Shakespearean
tragedy, the jolt that accompanies an unmotivated shot is
never comfortable for the viewer; but with jazz, as with
any musical form which develops in an essentially sequential
manner, the jolt is particularly strong and obvious.

And yet it is not unusual to see a director cut to
a shot of the bass player during the middle of a building
solo by the tenor saxoPhonist. Even worse, the shot may
come at any point during the chorus, and we may stay on it
for a merely random period of time. Or, worse yet, he may
take another equally irrelevant shot while the saxophonist
(still the center of musical interest), plays on with no
visual support whatsoever. Logically the director's job
in such a situation should be to call attention to this
center of musical interest and to enhance its presentation

until that center changes (at the conclusion of the

30
sax0phonist's performance and the beginning of the next
solo).

It can be said then that the director's primary respons-
ibility to the jazz performance is to emphasize and enhance
the center of musical interest. This is simply another way
of saying that his shots should be motivated by the music,
for when he shows us anything, the director says in effect:
"This is the important thing to see and to listen to." If
he is wrong in this, he not only misleads the novice jazz
viewer, but he also offends the knowledgeable fan. The fol-
lowing discussion will Offer some insight into the motivational
clues inherent in a jazz performance.

As a basic rule it can be said that the soloist will
be the center of musical interest and, therefore, the center
of visual interest as well. However intriguing and intricate
the other members of the group may be in their support of
him, the soloist is nonetheless the key figure for the dur-
ation of his performance. (Important exceptions to this
will be discussed later.)

Similarly, ensemble or unison sections should receive
corresponding visual support.

Bearing this in mind, the "rundown sheet" (as dis-
cussed in Chapter II) now becomes a very useful tool in
plotting the shots for each song to be performed. Because
it contains information regarding the structural make-up

of the song (the order and perhaps length of the solos) it.

31
in effect, lists the areas of musical interest in the order
in which they will occur. In other words, when listed in
a vertical column allowing two to three spaces between en—
tries, the "rundown sheet" has become a virtual shooting
script to which the director need only add his camera block-
ing.

At any rate, for the director of a jazz performance.
the "rundown sheet" is as useful as, and in most ways is
parallel to, a score for a concert performance or a script
for a play. With it, the director can be assured of the
primary sequence of events which will require his attention.
and correspondingly prepare for them.

But the "rundown sheet" is still only a tool, and
not the complete machine. Like a score or a script, it
too is subject to a variety of interpretations. Since many.
interpretations will validly meet the criteria of enhancing
and emphasizing the center of musical interest, it seems
approPriate here to discuss two basic techniques which.
though notably distinct, may easily be used together in
various combinations and to varying degrees.

1) As stated earlier, there are many elements
of visual appeal inherent in the successful jazz performance.
Consequently good visual and esthetic results can often be
achieved by simply maintaining a shot of the soloist for
the duration of his performance, and not changing picture
statements until the next soloist (new center of musical

interest) begins. While this technique is certainly correct.

32
it may be a trap during extended~solos-—arbitrarily, let
us say three or more choruses—-or in those dreary perform-
ances that fail to qualify as successful.

2) The second technique which might be employed
is to change shots occasionally within the duration of a
solo. While this approach can also be correct, its suc-
cess is dependent upon its tasteful use, with an eye toward
resisting the "see how many shots I can take" school of
overdirecting.

While the mere statement of these two techniques of-
fers nothing significantly new, a closer examination and
discussion of them should prove useful in determining the
motivational clues which will lead to their most appr0priate
use. To assist us in this, here are the two "reasons for
changing picture statements" as presented by Dr. Colby Lewis
in his article on visual punctuation:

(l) to direct attention to a new subject, and

(2) to reveal a new aspect of the same subject in
order to emphasize a different point about it.

Using a four chorus sax0phone solo onaistandard 32—
bar song as our example throughout this discussion, we can
now take a closer look at the two techniques using Lewis'
two reasons as our criteria.

Upon examining the first technique, we see that it is

a near literal translation of reason number one. That is:

 

1Colby Lewis, "The Director Punctuates," NAEB Journal,
Septanber-October, 1966, p. 76.

33
if we have no new subject, no new picture statement is neces-
sary. We need not change statements until a new subject
(the next soloist) is introduced.

Reason number two, however, suggests that there may
be elements within a solo which may motivate a new picture
statement, thereby providing support for (and insight into)
the wise use of technique number two (changing shots within
the context of a solo). What then are the "new aspects"

of the jazz solo which the director ought to be aware of?

New Aspects of a Performance

Because jazz is so personal an art, the mood or feel-
ing it conveys may be expected to run the gamut of human
emotions. It may be angry and nearly overwhelming in its
power, or tender and gently lyrical. Even though these
moods are usually consistent within the format of each in-
dividual song (a ballad which began as a pretty statement
would tend to explore that end of the emotional spectrum).
the soloist will himself undergo changes and develOpment
within his performance. These stages of development can
certainly be interpreted as "new aspects" of his performance.
and, therefore, qualify as prOper motivation for a new
picture statement.

The best way to recognize these changes-~and they
can be quite subtle, admittedly-—is to listen to the music.
But the director, in the midst of a program, may find close

listening a decided luxury. Consequently, the next best

34
alternative is to watch for the physical manifestations of
these changes. Since a solo usually grows as it unfolds,
he should be aware of cues which signal increased involve-
ment, intensity, passion, humor, et cetera. The physical
manifestations of these emotions will vary greatly, which
is another reason that at least a minimal familiarity with
the musicians is recommended. Generally speaking, how-
ever, the face of the artist will duplicate visually what
his music expresses aurally. Martin Williams' description
of noted director Robert Herridge in action is an example
of this kind of awareness at work. He noted: "a Close
concentration by the cameras on the deep involvement of the
musicians as they played--physical involvement that manifested
psychological involvement as well."2

In such moments of involvement, we are interested in
new and more poignant statements about our center of musical
interest. Therefore, the best approach should be to eliminate
the extraneous elements from sight.

Let us say that the vehicle for improvisation is a
ballad, and we are on a medium shot which includes man and
saxophone and a bit of background including the bassist.

As the solo progresses, and the involvement grows, the back-
ground elements serve only to distract, so we push in (zoom in.

dissolve or cut) to a medium close-up which eliminates the

 

2Martin Williams, "Videotaping with Duke," Down Beat,
(August 27, 1964), p. 20.

35

bassist and slurs us the neck of the sax0phone and the face
of the artist. Later we may want to eliminate all but his
face in a close-up.3

Admittedly, this is an example of extreme involvemait
of both artist and camera, but it is intended to make the
point that unnecessary information should be excluded. There
will, of course, be many other variations and interpetations
according to the artistic reSponses of the individual director.

Just as there will be moments when the close-up will
ultimately provide the most apprOpriate emphasis for the in-
dividual, there will be other times when wider, more inclusive
shots will be warranted to emphasize the expanded role of
the group. Because the successful solo is so significantly
influenced by the empathy and rapport of the supporting
members of the group, there will be many occasions when one.
or even all, of the other players should share visual em-
phasis by inclusion in the shot. .Often the soloist becomes
involved in a musical dialogue with another member of the
group. It may be that the bassist emerges as the strong
second voice. In this case, we would want to pull out
to include him in the shot, if at all possible. To leave
him out would be to recognize only one-half of the con-
versation which would be doubly unwise due to the interesting

visual possibilities of such a shot.

 

3Other physical manifestations of the soloist's involve-
ment may be seen in wider shots. These inClude changes in pos-
ture such as an increasingly hunche‘dback as the solo grows
(best seen in profile), a weaving or swaying motion of the
upper half of the body which roughly corresponds to the rhythm.
and, with a few volatile performers, an extremely agitated
nonem torso that would be lost in close-no.

36

It may also happen that the entire group becomes in-
volved in a sort of musical gestalt such as in the old
New Orleans (Dixieland) forms, or as is becoming increas—
ingly more prominent with the present day avant-garde.
Naturally the director will want to give almost equal em-
phasis here, as the soloist per se has all but disappeared
into the unit.

Besides the simple examples of exclusion and inclusion
I have presented, there are, of course, numerous other ap-
proaches and variations which may be utilized to emphasize
the new aspects of a performance. These may involve the
use of moving cameras (arcs, trucks, booms), electronics
(superimposures, split screens), lighting effects, and so
forth. The responsibility of enhancing the musical center
of interest should provide a stimulating artistic challenge
for the director.

Before we leave this discussion of shot motivation,
let me offer a word about the more practical aspects of
what has been said.

I have pointed out that the new aspects of a perform—
ance may serve to motivate new picture statments. It can I
be the case that these changes are so strong and obvious
that they virtually demand a new shot, or conversely, they
may be so subtle as to go easily unnoticed. Aside from
esthetic considerations, however, these moments can be
extremely useful in dealing with the merely practical prob-

lems of directing a television program. The wise use of these

37
moments (however subtle) may prove them to be the director's
friend when the business at hand is not one of enhancing.
but rather the problem of freeing a camera or adding the

spice of variety to a dull and static performance.
Timing and Transition

Our discussion of shot motivation suggested the
important things to see and emphasize in a jazz performance.
It is to be hOped that it has provided insight into "what"
should be on the screen. It remains now to address our-
selves to the elements of timing ("when"), and, to a lesser
extent, transition ("how"). .Once again, by considering
Lewis' two reasons, we can make some basic statements about
both of these.

When our purpose is to direct attention to a new
subject (first reason) we should naturally do so when the
new subject (next soloist) begins to play. Ordinarily, this
will happen at the beginning of a new chorus (although where
it occurs should present no problems since the director
will have already secured that information for his rundown
sheet) and so the director will be ready to change statements
on or about the first beat of the first bar of the new chorus.
Similarly, if the new subject is to enter on the bridge, the
vicinity of the first bar of that section is the best time
to change shots.

Although it can be very effective to cut to a new

soloist on the first beat of the first bar, it will not always

38

be desirable. Often, the concluding soloist will linger
a bit, and may play on for several bars into the next
chorus, or there may be an overlap at which point both the
concluding and the beginning soloist share a bar or two.4
This rather likely situation suggests the use of the mov—
ing camera as a transitional device. It can pull out from
the shot of the old soloist, reveal the new one, then push
in to feature him. This not only assures that no pertinent
information is lost, but also helps to establish the sequent-
ial relationship between the soloists, and the musical re-
lationship of both to the song.

More complicated, and less well defined, are the
moments when the new aspects come into play, since these
can be quite subtle and, therefore, difficult to locate in
points of time. Fortunately, the specific moment of one of
these new aspects is not of great importance.

This is true because of the structure of the music.
.In most cases it will appear that the change in intensity.
dynamics, or general level of excitement takes place in
one of three places within a ternary composition: (1) the
beginning of a new chorus, (2) the beginning of the bridge.

and (3) the beginning of the section following the bridge.

 

4This will happen often between two "horns," but
less frequently in the transition between a horn and a member
of the rhythm section.

39
These three locations (listed in the order of importance)
carry an inherent sense of tension and release which pro-
vide an ideal spot at which to change picture statements.5

Because of the musical transition to a new set of
chord changes at these locations, they will usually be the
places where the soloist does, in fact, reveal a new
aspect. Even if that is not the case, it will in all like-
lihood appear to be, and, therefore, remains preferable in
most situations. Here the first beat of the ffist bar of any
of these is the best place to cut to a new shot, and should
be utilized as such, particularly on medium or fast tempo
songs. On ballads, camera movements or dissolves are recom-
mended for use within the first bar of these three spots
because they can better approximate the mood and tempo of
this type of song.

The director who, for purposes of variety or special
effects, wishes a further breakdown, will find that the
following locations will be most natural and will, therefore.
call the least attention to themselves. On a 32-bar song,
the beginning of any eight, four, two or even one bar section
may be utilized. With the blues, the divisions beyond twelve
are four, two and one bar. The halfway point in the blues
form (six bars), is not an effective location for transitions,

although the end of eight bars may be in some cases. This

 

5In the case of the blxs or any other non-ternary form
the beginning of the chorus provides the primary location.

40
is particularly true during a vocal rendition because the
last four bars contain what might be described as the "punch-
line" for the whole chorus.

There may be some special applications when the director
purposely wishes to impart a chaotic and random effect. In
such an instance, the above suggestions could serve as an
antithetical guide. It is hOped, however, that such an ap—
proach would be limited to application where novelty and not

music is of prime importance.
Framin

There can be no rule about what specifically should
occupy the 3x4 frame. Every director's sense of composition
as interpreted by his cameraman must, by nature, be his own.
Therefore, I simply offer my own Opinion regarding those
rare moments when that frame is occupied by performing
jazz artists.

The human being seems to me to be a far more appeal-
ing subject for visual consumption by other humans than the
most intricate assemblage of brass, wood, or gut. He is
more likely to evoke empathic response, and, in general,
to be more interesting. The man wisp his instrument is an
interesting and compelling thing to see.

Far less interesting, however, is the shot of the

sax0phone bell, the guitar bridge, or the trumpet valves.

41
These shots have their place in demonstrations or in rare
change-of-pace applications, but they omit too much pertinent
information to be used regularly in a normal sequence of
picture statements. It is my feeling that to maintain a
shot of any instrument which is blown while excluding the
face from the shot risks the loss of rapport with the audience.
A brief tilt down to the fingers in action on a saxoPhone
may inform for a moment, but maintenance of such a shot
reveals far too little about the activity that is taking
place.

On the other hand, shots of instruments which are not
blown——percussion, keyboard, or string--may reveal a great
deal when only the hands and/or feet are shown. It is im-
portant to note, however, that pppp_hands are essential.

For example, the right hand of the guitarist is often shown
to the exclusion of the left hand. This is only half of

the story, since the left hand is at least equally necessary.
Naturally then, both hands ought to be included in the shot.
The same can be said for bassists, pianists, violinists and
vibraharpists. For drummers and organists, both hands and
feet are hard at work and offer many interesting possibilit-
ies for shots.

Finally, it can be said that the shots which reveal
the involvement of the artist will be most effective. His
virtuosity is subservient to the act of creating music.

For this is not the music of one man being interpreted by

another, as is usually the case with classical music. It

42
is, instead, being both created and performed by one man at
the very moment we hear it. The relationship between man
and instrument should be emphasized, but the man, engrossed

in the creative process, should receive primary consideration.

Staging

It seems apprOpriate to focus our attention for a
moment upon two areas of production which fall under the
supervision of the director, either specifically or as he
may see fit to assign them. These areas, staging and audio,
will be dealt with in a general manner. There will be no
attempt to discuss specifics, as each of them requires
specialized knowledge and could easily be the subject of
another study.

The manner in which any program will be staged is
largely dependent upon the overall production concept as
outlined by the producer or director. Since the elements
of staging and lighting will be determined to a great ex-
tent by their organic relationship to that concept, it will
be impractical and really quite unnecessary to detail spec-
ific suggestions. There is, however, one general principle
which should also play a major role in the designing and
execution of sets for programs including or featuring jazz

musicians.

43

As stated earlier, jazz musicians can and do perform
in many kinds of environments, from the neighborhood bar
to the concert hall. indoors and outdoors. But regardless
of where they play, they will invariably seek certain con—
stants.

Primary among these is how the group sets up (is
positioned) in relation to each other. As mentioned in
Chapter II, the intra—group acoustics are an extremely im-
portant consideration. Because the ability to hear and
interact with each other is an important factor, one which
may easily affect a performance, most groups will have a
preferred way (or ways) to arrange themselves physically
on the bandstand. The author recalls a major jazz festival
at which trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie had to summon stagehands
to reposition his drummer's set (which they had nailed to
a riser too far from the rest of the group). The result
was a delay of fifteen minutes in a major concert performance.
A conference with the leader will provide this kind of
knowledge in advance so that those in charge of staging may
then feel free to create an environment as bizarre or as
conventional as they might conceive, and yet still feel
confident that the performers will be satisfied. Such prior
knowledge should, in fact, make the job of staging much easier
and it seems unlikely that any truly significant disagreements

will arise between performer and designer.

44

From the director's point of view, however, it must
be noted that some of the arrangements preferred by the band
may tend to eliminate certain shot possibilities. Here we
are confronted by considerations of visual appeal as Opposed
to musical cohesion. Naturally, it.isup to the individual
director to weigh the merits of each in regard to what he
may ultimately hope to achieve.

Beyond this, we must consider the necessities of
placement as they effect the very important factor of audio
picksup. So ultimately (aside from what the set will look
like), we must conclude that the pggp staging arrangement
will be the one that successfully incorporates the demands
of the visual, aural and musical elements of the program.

It is hOped that the director will see the wisdom of em-
phasizing the third element, for without it, the best of

the other two will amount to very little.

Audio

Because of such variables as studio size and shape,
available micrOphones and the versatility of the console.
it seems highly probable that any specific advice regarding
audio pick-up will not apply to the majority of practical
situations. Therefore, for purposes of perspective rather
than instruction, I sought the views of Don Kemp, a very
capable audio engineer whose experience at WMSB-TV in East

Lansing has encompassed a wide range of live music pick—ups

45
including the annual Congress of Strings telecasts and
numerous jazz presentations. On February 11, 1967, Mr. Kemp
served as audio engineer for a half hour jazz program which
I directed (see Appendix I).

The program featured a quartet composed of bass,
guitar, drums and trumpet performing before a studio audience.
The following comments by Mr. Kemp will provide insight into
one effective method of approaching the jazz program from the
standpoint of a knowledgeable audio engineer:

Aside from two RCA BKrl dynamics for the audience
pickup, the mikes used were seen in the set. which is
the way I prefer audio for television. I like the close—
up sound it gets. The mikes used were all Electro-
Voice (E—V) dynamics:

635A Drums and Guitar (one for each instrument)

666 Bass
RE-lS Trumpet and cover (also for the announce

between numbers).

I would have preferred to use a ribbon microphone on
the bass. Such a mike is ideal for this, but as you
are aware, with drums in close proximity the mike just
won't take it. I chose the 666 for its responses to
low frequencies and its ruggedness.

The 635A has good frequency response and is a good
mike for close-up work on drums and amplified guitar.
I had to use a ten db pad in the line from the guitar
mike, since the console pre-amp was being overdriven
to distortion. I had thought that the drums would be
more likely to cause this. but they were fine.

The RE-lS is a new product from E—V, and, for my
money, is a great micrOphone. Bob Ruskin, the trumpet
player, was as favorably impressed as I was. I would
like to have several on hand as I think it will be
THE all-purpose mike for television.6

 

6Don Kemp, personal letter, May 1967.

46

Mr. Kemp commented further that there was very little
need to "ride gain" for this performance other than to boost
the soloist (particularly the bassist) slightly. He found
that, once the balance had been set, the group effectively
controlled its own dynamic range without much need for
electronic assistance.

In a later conversation, I suggested that the place-
ment of the mike used for the pick-up of the drummer should
have given more emphasis to the large cymbal (the "ride
cymbal"), since this cymbal plays an extremely important
role in time keeping. He agreed, and added that two micro—
phones might better capture the complete sound of the drum
set. We agreed that the mike used for the cymbal should be
placed facing the drummer to best achieve a "natural" audio
point of View similar to that of the members of the audience.

It may be added that such a natural perspective should
be the goal of the audio engineer with each instrument, and
certainly with the overall group balance.

To offer further assistance in this, here is a list.
in order of preference, of Mr. Kemp's personal choices of
the micrOphones that he feels will best capture the true

sound of the musical instruments with which they are paired.

Accoustical bass and guitar: Ribbon micrOphone (if
isolated from the drums which may be
damaging to this delicate instrument).
dynamic microphone.

Amplified bass and guitar: Condenser micrOphone, dynamic
micrOphone.

47

Brass instruments: Condenser micrOphone, dynamic micro-
phone.

Percusssion: Dynamic micrOphone, condenser microphone.
Woodwinds: Condenser micrOphone, dynamic micrOphone.

Piano: Condenser micrOphone, two dynamic micrOphones.

APPENDIX I

THE VIDEOTAPE: A DIARY

APPENDIX I
THE VIDEOTAPE: A DIARY

On February 11, 1967, while the preceding work was
still in progress, I had an Opportunity to test some of the
ideas I was writing about in a practical situation. On
that day, I directed a half-hour video-taped jazz program
that was aired on WMSB-TV as a part of the series called
.ngpp. Since the videotaped program is a part of this thesis.
it is hOped that the reader will arrange to see it after
reading this work. It is on file with.the Television and
Radio Department at Michigan State University.

The following is an account of some of the prepara-
tions for that program, my comments and criticisms regarding
it, and a few retrospective observations on the body of this
work as applied to my own practical experience.

Since I served as both producer and director for this
program, I had no difficulties in correlating my directorial
responsibilities with the production concept. It was my idea
to present a small combo in an informal, live—audience
situation. I knew that such an environment would be familiar
to the musicians, and therefore, conducive to a relaxed and
effective performance. I knew also that I would be able
to assemble all of the necessary elements for such a program

from resources which were readily available.

49

50

To secure a responsive and genuinely interested aud-
ience, I contacted Bill Currie, president of the Jazz
Society of West Circle Drive. As advisor to this group.

I had worked with Mr. Currie many times in the past in
presenting even more informal Sunday afternoon concerts

in various living units at Michigan State,and I knew that
he could be counted on to select a representative group of
members to serve as the audience for the program. In ef-.
fect, then, we would simply televise a fairly typical Jazz
Society meeting (or "session," as we usually referred to
them), in WMSB's Studio B.

Some time earlier (about mid—January) I had asked
four of the best musicians I knew to participate in the
taping, and I was able to arrange for their appearance.

I was admittedly at an advantage in that I was both a friend
and a fellow musician, but, here again, I feel that their
willingness was far from an atypical response.

The four men I selected (Ron English, guitar; Bill
Parker, drums; BOb Ruskin, trumpet; Jim Kaye, bass) were
chosen not only because of their individual ability, but
also because I could expect them to perform well as a unit
since they had performed together many times in the past.
They were also four of the most dependable peOple I knew--
a factor which should rank alongside musicianship in select-

ing performers for such a gratis performance.

51

For a time I had considered the use of a quintet so
that I would be working with a more typical combo, in terms
of both size and construction (piano, rather than guitar.
is usually the chording instrument), but my choice as a
pianist was drafted into the army several weeks prior to the
program.

The crew for each ggmgp production was composed Of
students from the Television and Radio Department and each
producer was to select his own crew members. I was fortun-
ate in securing two cameramen, a lighting and staging
director and an audio engineer, all of whom were experienced
in their fields. My floor director was chosen not so much
because of his experience as because of his positive at-
titude and his genuine interest in working with the musicians.
On the day before the taping, he read Chapter II of my
thesis. He stated that he found it helpful, and that he
would have no trouble in following its suggestions.

On the afternoon of Friday the 10th, the staging and
lighting director set up the risers and the "random studio
paraphernalia" that were to serve as our set and arranged
the chairs for the members of the audience. 'When I arrived
later that afternoon we discussed shot possibilities that
might be affected by our original plan of placing two rows
of peOple on the floor directly in front of the bandstand.
It was agreed that even with an aisle to allow room for a
camera, such an arrangement was too great a limiting

factor, especially since I wanted to avoid longer lenses

52
in favor of shorter "moving" lenses. As a result, we
decided that the audience (whose presence would be estab-
lished in the Opening shots), would be largely off camera
except for those who might be seen in reaction shots within
the program.

The audio engineer arrived at approximately the same
time (around 5:00 p.m.) and began to set up his equipment.
The musicians arrived at approximately 5:30, as scheduled,
and we began a two-hour rehearsal that yielded both a satis-
factory audio test and the rundown sheet that I would use
for the next day's program.

With the taping set for 10:30 a.m., I arrived at
9:00 to complete pre-show preparations. Since so much had
been accomplished on the previous day, I felt little need
for more studio time. After the cameras were checked out.

I sat down with the two cameramen to discuss some of my at-
titudes about framing. I am confident that this was an
important factor in avoiding the on—the-air delays which
otherwise would have necessitated "talking them in" to a
framing. I also suggested the area that each camera would
be responsible for, and the instrumentalists that they were
most likely to be shooting. We then tested these areas and
shot possibilities using members of the crew to stand in
for the musicians.

The musicians arrived at approximately 9:30. They
were greeted and assisted from that point on by the floor
director. My only contact with them was to finalize the

information I had secured the previous day (primarily

53
regarding the rundown sheets) and to give them the "go-
ahead" for their warm-up period.

The members of the Jazz Society were ushered into
the studio at about 10:15. This allowed the band to have
completed its warm-up before the audience arrived. The
idea here was to make their half-hour performance as fresh
and as new as possible for the musicians, the studio
audience, and ultimately, for the viewers. After a greeting
and a few words from me regarding what I wanted them to do
on the Opening shot, the audience walked through the opening
twice for the benefit of everyone involved. There was
time after this to allow the band to play another tune to
warm up the audience. Naturally, they chose a selection
Which was not going to be played on the program.

A few minutes prior to tape time, the band was sig-
nalled to "wrap-up" the song, and we awaited word from master
control that everything was ready.

At this point, only the Open of the program and the
sequence of shots which would be used to introduce the
members of the quartet had actually been rehearsed. I had
also utilized the band's warm-up tunes to check a number of
shot possibilities with the cameramen. Other than this, the
rundown sheet and the preparations I have described were to

serve as my'script."

program itself.

54

The next section is a series of comments on the

To provide a handy index for the reader

who wishes to consult the videotape, the approximate

time elapsed from the start of the prOgram will be given

preceding each remark.

00:00

00:55

02:00

03:30

Commentary

Opening shot.

In an effort to get a tight cue from the end
of the announcer's remarks to the opening
note of the first song, I cued the band too
soon. I would have been better off with a
little space than with this overlap. This

first tune ("Doxy") is a 32—bar composition.

As we push in on the trumpet player at the
beginning of his second chorus, note how
his concentration and involvement are evident

in his face.

This two shot of the guitarist and drummer
indicates their musical relationship, as
they were involved in some strong interphiy.
Note how much work the drummer is doing with
his right hand on the large cymbal, and yet
how little of this is heard due to the

micrOphone placement (see Chapter IV).

04:10

04:45

04:50

05:40

55
This is the only reaction shot in the program
because of the fact that I had not made pro-
vision for lighting the audience adequately.
Had I known that other such possibilities
were unlikely, I probably would have chosen

to use no reaction shots at all.

Note the guitarist's strong visual cue to

the bassist as he nears the end of his chorus.
This kind of cue can be valuable to the director
as well. We will see similar cues throughout

the program.

The loose nature of the programis a comfort
to the musicians but can be a hazard for the
director. Here the trumpet player blocks
the bassist for a moment, but quickly
understands the signals he receivesfrom the
floor director and moves out of the shot.
This possibility was foreseen, and the floor
director had briefed all of the men in the
band regarding such signals prior to the

program.

This shot of the drummer is informational and
interesting, but the push in at the beginning
of his second chorus is a little late.' It
would have been more effective to cut to a
new shot at thfispoint, but the choruses were

short and this was a two-camera show.

06:20

07:50

08:00

08:30

08:55

56
I was pleased with the rhythmic accuracy of

this cut to the full quartet.

The name of the host-guitarist is Ron English.
a fact which was never revealed by Mr. English

who otherwise did a fine job in his dual role.

This is a 32-bar composition called "So
What," and the bassist is the lead voice--
an unusual situation. Cuts between the
bass and the horns might have been very ef-

fective here.

Note the problem of framing the bassist to
allow for adequate head and hand room. This

is true of most string bassists.

This is virtually the same shot of the trumpet
player that I used in the previous selection.
While the bass and guitar present problems

in terms of the esthetic versus informational
aspects of picture composition (I wanted to
keep both hands in the shots), the trumpet
(and drums, for that matter), allow for more
variety and freedom than I took advantage of

here.

09:45

11:00

11:05

12:25

12:40

14:25

57
This cut to the two shot of the trumpet player
and guitarist comes at the beginning of the
bridge rather than at the beginning of a new
chorus. This is a good point of tension and

release in the composition.

Note the trumpet player's visual cue to the

guitarist as he wraps up his solo.

Because I know the work of these men, I ex-
pected a great deal of interplay between the
drummer and guitarist here. I therefore

cut to a two shot once again.

This two shot, which includes the bassist
with the guitarist, indicates how they are
also interacting. The out comes on the bridge

again.

We were all caught off-guard here as the
guitarist ended his chorus four bars early
(for reasons he still cannot explain).
Fortunately, the cameraman realized the prob—
lem even before I did, and pushed in to the

shot of the bassist.

The bassist is not playing recognizable time
here. This is where the director must be

particularly alert for visual and aural cues.

14:55

16:20

16:20

19:45

58
Because my shot pattern had been altered,
I decided to turn it into a positive
factor by cutting between the bass and the
horn on the final chorus. Unfortunately,
I failed to realize that the trumpet player
would block the shot of the bassist. Con-
sequently, I was left with two cameras with
shots of theguitarist and trumpet player, and
no shot of the bassist. I decided not to
compound the error and stayed with the shot

I had until the tag of the tune.

At this point, Ron English,the host,is strongly
contrasted with Ron English, the guitarist.

by the very definite change in mood as he
begins to play his ballad, "When Sunny Gets
Blue," a 32-bar composition. I should have
supported this change with a visual transition

such as a dissolve to another shot of him.

The value of including the drummer in this

shot is debatable.

There should have been some visual support.
such as a new picture statement, for the final

8 bars of this song.

19:25

21:20

22:20

22:30

24:50

25:05

25:10

59
The beginning of the bass solo on "Who Can

I Turn To," a 32-bar composition.

The super of the brushes on the snare drum
seemed well motivated according to the audio
we were hearing in the control room, but I
found that the high frequency sound of the
brushes "swish" was all but lost on home
receivers, thus making the shot fairly mean—

ingless.

This transition is accompanied by applause
and would be a perfect spot for a shot of
the audience, but again, my lighting is

inadequate.

The beginning of the trumpet solo on "Lover

Man," a 32-bar composition.

A loose barn door accounts for the loss of

set light here.

The beginning of "Eggie," a 32-bar tune.

This cut to the ensemble following the four
bar drum introduction was late, as were several

other cuts in the program.

25:40

28:05

60
Note the camera in the left side of the
frame. Since the announcer had informed
everyone that we were in a television studio,
and since the set itself consisted of an
array of equipment, I fully intended that
cameras should be seen on the air if they
were so pOsitioned. However, I neglected
to tell one of the cameramen of my attitude.
Consequently, you will see a pan to the right
to avoid showing the other camera. By the
time I realized what was happening and ex-
plained it to the on-the-air man, the second
camera had pulled back. I suspect I will

remember such details in the future.

This cut to a cover shot was to be followed
immediately by the closing slides and announce-
ments, but it was at this point that the
technical director and I discovered that our
audio engineer had not heard any of our
standby cues (which began one minute earlier).
To obtain the best possible audio for the
control room, he had set a speaker system

in a large cabinet on t0p of his console.
While the speaker was excellent for the pur-
post of judging balance and sound, it was so

large that it blocked his view of both the

61
monitors and the studio and, worse yet, it
prevented us from being heard over the music.
After a bit of shouting and arm waving, the
closing announce tape was rolled, the slides

were supered, and the prOgram was concluded.
Afterthoughts

The preceding comments were written after my fifth
viewing of the videotape. Since few directors have the Op-
portunity to examine their own work at such length and
leisure I hOpe that I put this experience to good use.

Two things in particular began to annoy me, perhaps as early
as the second playback. These were the lack of variety in
shot composition (as implied by my comment at 8:55) and a
number of missed opportunities in regard to emphasizing "new
aspects" (as I mention concerning the end of the guitarist's
ballad). These obviously do not correspond to the ideas

put forth in Chapter IV. By way of explanation, I should
point out that the videotape was made several months before
Chapter IV was written and was, in fact, a stimulus for
much of it, espectily the section which discussed the uses
of Lewis' second reason for changing picture statements.

The lack of variety may be explained by the fact that I had
directed only one program in the nineteen months prior to

the taping, and was--to say the least--a bit rusty.

62

After the program, it was suggested by one of my
cameramen that the elimination of one of the risers (we
used a twelve-inch riser in front for the trumpet and
guitar, and a twenty-four inch riser in the rear for the
bass and drums) would have allowed for a greater variety
of heights from which to shoot. As it was was, the two
pedestal cameras were partially boomed-up throughout the
program to obtain a "normal eye-level" point of view. Shots
from a higher level were thus eliminated and camera move-
ment was also impaired somewhat by the high center of gravity.
I believe that the carpet we used to cover the risers might
easily have served to suggest the borders of the bandstand
in the front, thus permitting a lower rear riser and a con-
sequently greater range of camera angle and freedom of move-
ment.

Finally, I wish to thank my cameramen, Paul Witkowski
and Larry Stone for their cooPeration and patience, and for
their fine work. I am also indebted to Dr. Robert Schlater.
the faculty adviser to the MSU Broadcasters and the ggmgp

series. for making air time and facilities available to me.

APPENDIX II

A DISCOGRAPHY

APPENDIX II
A DISCOGRAPHY

Most writers, critics, and musicians in the jazz
community would agree that the art has more varied approaches.
divergent points of view and warring factions now than at
any other time in its brief history. They agree on little
else. -

While this situation produces considerable excitement
for the jazz fans, it makes the task of assembling a brief
and somewhat representative discography a very difficult one.
Let me state, then, that the lists which follow were assembled
for the purpose of acquainting the reader with the kinds of
music he may encounter as a television director.

With them I hOpe to familiarize the reader with a num-
ber of examples of the basic forms discussed in Chapter III
as well as to offer examples of music which either deviates
from these to varying degrees, or utilizes forms which are
significantly new. There will be no attempt at listing
all of the major artists, or even the best recordings of
the artists that are represented. Instead, what follows
is a compilation of recordings which are exemplary of both
the established schools and developing new trends in small-
group jazz as of July, 1967. Because of the nature of the

art they are (as they say) subject to change without notice.

65

Familiar Forms:

Brown, Clifford. At Basin Street (EmArcy MG36070).
Evans, Bill. Waltz for Debby (Riverside RS-9399).
Jones, Elvin. Dear John C.(Impulse AS-88).

Parker, Charles. Now's the Time (Verve MG Ve8005).
Powell, Bud. ‘This Was Bud Powell (Verve VSP—37).

Smith. Jimmy. Midnight Special (Blue Note 4078).

The six albums listed above contain general examples
of the basic styles and instrumentations of many of the
groups performing around the country today. We will not
discuss the all too numerous aspects of these recorded
performances except to point out.that they too are represent-
ative, and consequently deserve attentive listening. We
will instead turn our attention here to the constructions
of the melodies played by these groups lehOpeS of offering
some information which will enable the reader to better fol-
low the whole performance and, at the same time to familiarize
himself with these rather typical forms. We will begin by
citing the performances of songs in the twelve-bar blues form.

In all that follows (*) denotes an original jazz composition.

12-Bar Blues

Charles Parker: Laird Baird,* Cosmic Rays* (two cuts)
Chi Chi* (three cuts), Now's the Time.*
The multiple cuts provide an excellent

Opportunity to hear how differently a

Bud Powell:

Jimmy Smith:

32-Bar AABA

Clifford Brown:

Bill Evans.

Elvin Jones.

Charles Parker:

Bud Powell:

66
a jazz artist improvises from perform-

ance to performance.

Willow Grove.

Midnight §pecial.* Jumpin' the Blues,*

One O'Clock Jump.*

What Isyghis Thing Called Love? Time,*

Gertrude's Bounce.*

Detour Ahead,* Some Other_Time. (Note:
the final A section of Detour is 10
bars long, making this a 34-bar composi—

tion.

peagyJohn 01* Anthropology.* Ballade.*

.Eyerythinngappens to Me.

Kim* (two cuts), I Remember You, Confirma-
tion.* (Note: Kim is based on the
chord structure of.I Got Rhythm, as are

many'be-bop" compositions).

Get HaPPY. I Didn't Know What Time It Was,
Stairway to the Stars, Hallucinations,*
Celia.* 52nd Street Theme.* (Note:

Celia has an 8-bar tag at the end of the

67
first chorus. There is a 4-bar tag at
the end ;of I Didn't Know. This is not
too uncommon with standards; such a device
is used at the end.of the standard Mpgp—

light in Vermont.)
Jimmy Smith: A Subtle One.*

Now we turn to other forms of the 32-bar melody.
Unless otherwise indicated, these are constructed in an ABAC
fashion, which means that a fourth 8-bar phrase is added
at the and instead of repeating the A phrase. Technically.
there is no bridge in the same sense as the B section of the
more common AABA form. Consequently, the tension-release
element is not as strong at any particular point within the

develoPment of the line.

 

 

 

 

 

32-Bar ApAC

Clifford Brown. i Love Is a Many:§plendored Epipg. Egg
Scene Is Clean.$¥

Bill Evans. My Foolish Heapp,.Mngomance.

Elvin Jones. This Love of Mine.

Bud Powell. Sweet Georgia Brown, All God's Childpgp

 

 

Got Rhythm. (Note: All God's Children

is an ABAB construction)

Jimmy Smith :

68

Why Was I Born?

The following songs are of still other constructions

and are listed according to artists rather than in groups.

Clifford Brown.

Bill Evans.

Elvin Jones.

Charles Parker.

I'll Remember April is a 48—bar composi-
tion in an ABA form with 16-bars in each
section rather than the more common 8-
bar divisions. Powell's Prances* is

a 24-bar composition in an ABA form. It

has 8-bars per section.

Waltz for Debpy* is a 40-bar composition

in an AABAC form. The first chorus

here is in 6/8 time with all others in

4/4. Milestopgg* is also a 40-bar composi-

tion in an AABBA form.

Love Bird* is a 64-bar composition in an
AABA standard form with 16 bars in each
section. Fantazam* is also a 64-bar
composition in AABA form with 16-bar
sections. Feelin' Good is an unusual
44-bar composition in an AABA form with

11 bar sections.

The Song is You is a 64-bar composition

in an AABC form with 16 bars in each section.

69

The New Jazz

Ayler, Albert. Spiritual Unity (ESP-Disk 10010).
Coleman. Ornette. At the Golden Circle (Blue Note BST-84224).

Coletrane, John. Ascension (Impulse AS-95).

 

 

 

Davis, Miles. Miles gmiles (Columbia CS-940l).
Dolphy, Eric. Out to Lunch (Blue Note ST-84163).
Lloyd, Charles. Forest Flowgp (Atlantic 1473).

Rollins, Sonny. East Broadway Rundown (Impulse A—912l).

 

The music listed above represents both the present
and what may prove to be the future of jazz. Referred to
as "avant garde," "new thing," "free jazz,'I and by other
less complimentary labels, there are in actuality so many
varied concepts and approaches being suggested that the
term "new musics" seems most appropriate to describe the
phenomenon. Since there are nearly as many new directions
as there are musicians, this ltst can only attempt to of-
fer a cursory listening guide so that the reader may become
conversant with at least a few of them.

A fairly common goal of the new musics is to move
away from the rhythmic and harmonic restrictions imposed
by western musical tradition. Consequently, it is both
difficult and relatively unrewarding to enter into any
examination of the forms utilized here, since they may be
representative only of these performances and not used
again to any significant extent. It can be said that the
recordings by Messrs. Davis, Lloyd, and Rollins are more

obviously evolutionary than the others. and will flaerefore

7O
maintain a certain relationship to the music already dis-
cussed. For example, the two extended performances on the
Rollins record are both based on the 12-bar blues.

On the other hand, the five remaining albums present
music which may seem to have little evolutionarly relation-
ship to the past. While this is not actually the case, these
artists are among the most discussed and, to an unfortunate
degree, the most controversial in jazz today. Yet it
is an undeniable fact that their various approaches to jazz
have already begun to influence an entire generation of
young players. 1

Two very distinct approaches to small-group jazz
can be heard on the recordings by Albert Ayler and Ornette
Coleman, and several equally distinct excursions into the
realm of larger-group improvisation will be heard on the
remaining records. The Coltrane recording, featuring eleven
men, may typify the big band of the future, performing
without written arrangements. The Eric Dolphy album
offers examples of a more subtle use of group interaction
to attain still another kind of musical freedom. And the
Cecil Taylor recording presents a cross-breeding of all-
out freedom and intricate musical structures.

In dealing with all musics, whether new or old,
strange or familiar, remember that the principles set
forth in Chapter IV remain valid. The director should strive
to enhance the center of musical interest, whether one man
engrossed in a beautiful saxoPhone solo, or eleven men engaged

in a fierce group improvisation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Books

Bretz, Rudy. Techniques of Television Production. New
York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, Incorporated,
1953.

Feather, Leonard. The New Edition of the Encyclopedia of
Jazz. New York: Bonanza Books, 1960.

Hentoff. Nat and McCarthy. Albert (eds.). Jazz. New York:
Grove Press, Incorporated. 1959.

Reisner, Robert George. Birdzgghe Legend of Charlie
Parker. New York: The Citadel Press. 1962.

Articles
Down Beat, 1954—1967. All articles dealing with televised

presentations of jazz.

Hentoff. Nat. "Black, Angry and Hard to Understand." New
York Times Sunday Magazine, December 25. 1966.

Jones, Will. "A Wild Hour With Jazz, Timex-Style," Down
Beat, February 19. 1959.

Lewis. Colby. "The Director Punctuates," NAEB Journal.
Vol. 25. No. 5. September-October. 1966.

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