Tom Smith Sample Writing (Academic).

Tom Smith Sample Academic Writing
The Lost Years of Charlie Ventura; (IAJE Research Presentation, January 2002, Long Beach, CA). Tom
Smith
There are those from within the ranks of intelligentsia who forward the premise that jazz history is inexplicably
readjusted every few years, to qualify an artificial line of succession 1. or to right a real or imagined injustice. To
these people historical truths shift much in the same way tides shift in the ocean. One day, a musician is revered
as a savior, only to be unrepentantly savaged by a succeeding generation with different perspectives. Once
discounted as the mere rantings of the disenfranchised, recent high profile publications and documentaries 2.
about jazz history have in the minds of these people added qualification to their once tenuous assertions. In their
estimations, the new history of jazz is based upon group consensus of a real or imagined injustice, resulting in
the incessant repetition of an incorrect thought. Such practices usually begin with the unfortunate proclivity of
journalists to repeat something already written and incorporate it into a new article or review. Although the
quotation may be properly footnoted, the opinion is accelerated, to where issues of taste and conjecture are
often mistaken for truth. Trumpeter Donald Byrd has called this phenomenon “the lie that is agreed upon,”3. and
has spent much of his career fact checking biographical entries that carry his name, albeit with mixed results.
For those musicians who are not in a position to defend their historical legacies, evaluative analysis occasionally
transforms once revered substantive figures into secondary personalities, undeserving of pantheon elevation.
There is perhaps reason to assert that one of the more celebrated victims of this misguided phenomenon is
saxophonist/bandleader Charlie Ventura.
Ventura’s (formerly Venturo) disempowerment was due primarily to his own elevated naivete and an innate
penchant for self-destruction. Only in later years was he aware of the negative revisions to his legacy, and
diligently attempted to recoup over thirty years of relative inactivity and neglect. The results of his belated
historical restoration were mostly unsuccessful. A majority of current (2001) biographies contain often-repeated
catch phrases like “second or third tier,” “strained” and “exploitative”4. In still other instances, he is partially or
entirely ignored in contemporary jazz history publications. In fact, Ted Gioa’s highly regarded History of Jazz;
saw fit to ignore him entirely. 5. In the end, Ventura spent much of his time grasping for the solutions that would
revive his once totemic reputation, knowing full well that the rapidly evolving music industry had long since
passed him.
In earlier times, Charlie Ventura (born December 2, 1916) would have been hard pressed to have imagined
the tragic conclusion to a career that in the 1940s seemed permanently entrenched. He was a clerk in the
Philadelphia Naval Yard at the start of World War II and had already been classified for the reserves, thus
exempting him from military service. 6. Roy Eldridge recalled his frequent performances at a Philadelphia
nightspot and recommended him to Gene Krupa, during a period when the struggling bandleader was replacing
members from a band severely depleted by the draft. 7. A series of high profile Krupa led recordings and
entertainment venues, including forefront visibility in the movie George White’s Scandals helped introduce a

1940s persona of the white jazz “hipster” into mainstream culture. Ventura’s singular breakthrough occurred in
March 1945, when he recorded the ballad “Dark Eyes” from a trio extracted from the larger Krupa unit. The song
rapidly elevated his market value and drew the attention of an enterprising entertainment manager named Don
Palmer. It was Palmer who encouraged Ventura to form his own band, and the association would endure through
his most productive era (approximately 1946-50). During that period, his sidemen consisted of some of the most
talented and underrated musicians of the post big band era. An abbreviated list would include among others,
trumpeter Conte Candoli, guitarist Billie Bean, drummer Ed Shaughnessy, trombonist Benny Green,
pianist/vocalist/composer Roy Kral and vocalist Jackie Cain. 8. Ventura’s exuberance and natural stage
presence blended well with Palmer’s uncanny penchant for marketing his client’s show business gimmicks. Their
most popular concept was an inanely titled premise called “Bop for the People;” that among other devices
featured choreographed scat vocals harmonized or superimposed within predictable bebop flavored horn lines.
By 1948, Ventura was one of the most famous jazz musicians in the world, having recorded a number of minor
hits, and been declared the tenor saxophone winner in the Down Beat and Metronome “Reader’s Polls,”9. Even
after the Ventura/Palmer partnership dissolved in the 1960s, their former association would play a role in
Ventura’s life for many years to follow.
The 1950s
It is the consensus of the Ventura family and close associates that his acquisition of a nightclub helped
precipitate a series of unfortunate occurrences that led to his plummeting decline as an important jazz figure.10.
According to his daughter Rita Lenderman, Ventura settled in Lindenwald New Jersey (near Philadelphia) in
1949, where a property was acquired that he named Charlie Ventura’s Open House. It featured a variety of acts
that at one time or another included: singer Patti Page, Krupa, an assortment of comedians, and Ventura’s own
group. The top floor of the club contained the Ventura living quarters where his wife Madeline and three children
also resided. Family members and associates contend that he was ill equipped to manage a multifaceted
entertainment venue. “He didn’t make good choices at times,” said Lenderman. “The club was kind of out in the
country, so if you lived in the city you had to make definite plans to go. He also allowed himself to be used and
gave away far too much money at a time when it should have been going back into the business.”11. Ventura
first led the house band, but by the middle of its first year, formed a landmark contingent called the Big Four, that
featured himself, Marty Napoleon, bassist Chubby Jackson and Buddy Rich.12. As that band and its inevitable
byproducts diverted his attention, he became increasingly estranged from club business. By 1953, it became
apparent that the Open House would cease to exist as an entertainment establishment. Ventura initially
supplemented his income by working briefly at Camden radio station WKDM, unable to confront his first
substantial professional failure. 13. Increasingly, he relied on Palmer to secure more engagements away from
the problems in Lindenwald, including a tour of Japan in the summer of 1954, with pianist Dave McKenna and
vocalist Mary Anne McCall. 14. Reports of erratic behavior and frequent marital infidelities became
commonplace, until according to Lenderman, “one day in 1954, he took up with a woman named Dell Scott and
just never came back.” Ventura and Madeline divorced in 1955, the same year the Open House filed for
bankruptcy. Madeline assumed the responsibility of paying off the nearly seventy thousand dollars in debts, and
remarried soon after. As of 2001 she resides in Wilmington, Delaware. 15.

In 1956, Ventura’s band joined a long list of prominent jazz groups that relocated in the lounges of Las Vegas
hotels after Harry James helped establish the practice in the early 1950s. 16. Initially formed as a big band
before scaling down to a combo, it featured McKenna, trombonist Carl Fontana and Ventura girlfriend Dell Scott,
who reprised many of the vocal compositions originally popularized by Jackie Cain and Roy Kral. Early on,
pianist Frank Strazzeri replaced McKenna when the band took up residence in the Flamingo Hotel, before
accepting stints at the Sands and the Thunderbird. For nearly a year, Ventura’s band performed afternoon shows
opposite the Count Basie Orchestra at the Sands, where according to Strazzerri, Scott and Ventura fought
publicly on and off the bandstand. 17. It is not for purposes of titillation that the volatility of the Scott /Ventura
relationship is invoked. It is believed by producer Bob Lorenz among others, that Ventura’s association with the
hard living Billie Holiday influenced singer accelerated his eventual downfall. 18. According to Lenderman, “there
was a lot of drinking in that relationship.” Contrary to what is commonly believed, Ventura and Scott never
married and eventually went their separate ways sometime in the early sixties. 19. Still, it can be asserted with
some justification that Ventura survived the 1950s with his reputation essentially intact. “When I played with him,
it was the same as playing with Joe Henderson ten years ago or Joe Lovano now,” said Frank Strazzeri. 20.
The 1960s
Before Ventura and Scott became permanently estranged, they accepted an extended engagement in Denver,
Colorado before returning to Las Vegas. It is also believed that work in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area was
secured. Once free from commitment, Ventura often rejoined Krupa in a trio setting beginning in 1963. The
arrangement featured a tour in the summer of 1964, beginning with Hawaii, and according to his passport
included excursions into Japan and Mexico. This period seems to coincide with his split with Palmer. By this
time, it had become apparent that Ventura’s longtime associate could no longer tolerate his client’s undisciplined
personal life. 21. From that point on, Ventura would never again experience the high level of success he had
once known, and slowly descended into the depths of relative obscurity. From a period spanning from 1965-67,
he secured few bookings, with the exception of what remained of a series of albums led by actor/comedian
Jackie Gleason. 22. For most of that time, he floated randomly from one freelance engagement to the next, with
alcohol taking on a more substantive role. This period also coincided with the ascension of bands like the
Beatles and the Rolling Stones, a genre of music that Ventura found himself ill equipped to rival. “Rock music
really disillusioned him. He didn’t know how to adjust to the changing styles and for awhile kind of gave up,” said
Lenderman. 23. “It was like he was on top of jazz, decided he wasn’t getting anywhere and just quit. For awhile
after 1967 nobody knew where he went,” said Bob Lorenz. 24. Actually, the reasons for Ventura’s departure from
music were of a more domestic nature. Sometime in 1967, he returned to his parent’s Philadelphia home in the
company of a young woman carrying his child. During the pregnancy both Ventura and the woman kept
company there. In 1968, and away from the public eye, a boy (Thomas) was born. Soon after the birth of
Thomas, he was hospitalized for a debilitating ulcer. The prolonged illness (which reputedly involved another
unrelated medical procedure), further reduced his ability to perform, and may have been the genesis of
performance related confidence issues that would forever plague him. “I truly believed my dad discontinued
taking gigs because he doubted his abilities,” said Lenderman. He never came across as a "star” to me. He was
always humble and gracious.” During convalescence, Ventura was contacted by Beverly Palmer, the ex wife of

his former business associate. A short time later they were involved in a volatile relationship that would last
intermittently until the mid 1970s. 25.
The 1970s
In 1970, Ventura reinstated residency in Las Vegas, where he worked as a radio disc jockey and occasional
lounge performer. 26. That same year his apartment was ransacked and burglarized. Among the items stolen
was his trademark bass saxophone. Originally purchased from bandleader Boyd Rayburn, the instrument had
been prominently featured on many of his earlier recordings, and had once been an integral component of his
stage show. Lacking the funds necessary for its replacement, the saxophone was never again used in his
performances. During a show celebrating his seventieth birthday in 1986, Ventura relived the incident for
Philadelphia disc jockey Al Raymond.
“Somebody more or less bribed the manager of this complex of apartments into believing he was with my band,
and that we had a gig in Denver or someplace. Well, he let him in and I got cleaned out.”27.
The apartment theft was merely the first in a series of ill- fated occurrences. After returning to Philadelphia in
1972, he was involved in a drunken brawl where he suffered a severe head injury, before falling off a stage in an
unrelated event a short time later. 28. Both injuries appeared to have been of a permanent nature. “I remember
him walking around with a cane when he first came to California in the early eighties,” said Frank Strazzeri. “I
asked somebody what had happened and they said he had been hurt in a fall. That was the first I had heard of
it.”29. Some time in late 1973, he returned to Las Vegas to perform briefly with Frank Sinatra Jr. Soon after, the
job market in Las Vegas stagnated, forcing Ventura to return east coast in search of work. 30. For much of the
mid seventies, he held down a part time position at the Sheraton Hotel in Windsor, Connecticut, appearing with
the Ricky Hollis Trio. 31. While in Windsor, he struck up a performing alliance with a gifted, yet unheralded
musician named Don McMann. Home made recordings kept by Ventura until his death, show proof of this
talented keyboard/accordion virtuoso, who seems at ease in any number of styles. They also reveal McMann’s
innate ability to stimulate the supposedly frail Ventura’s previous skills a performer. In addition to his inspired
playing, Ventura’s stage banter sounds sharp and crisp. 32. “That was the thing about him that always amazed
me, said long time associate Lewis DePasquale. “He could be so drunk sometimes and so helpless. But, once
he put the horn in his mouth he was the consummate professional. It didn’t matter if he was playing on the stage
of a great concert hall, or a wooden platform at the YMCA. When he was on, he was as good as anybody at
playing that horn and running a great show.”33. In 1974, Ventura surprised the New York jazz community with a
series of critically successful engagements with pianist Teddy Wilson at Michael’s Pub. 34. Then in 1976, he
accepted a position as instructor of jazz improvisation at Trenton State College. There has been some debate as
to when the appointment actually occurred, with Ventura himself believing it transpired in 1977. 35.Yet, a receipt
for services rendered, reveals that payment occurred on June 6, 1976. 36. Ventura discontinued his association
in mid semester to accept a tour of Poland. In order to honor his contractual obligations, he transferred
responsibility of the class over to his musician/disc jockey son Charlie Ventura Jr. When the episode was brought
up years later on his radio show in Stowe, Vermont, the younger Ventura would say with more than a hint of
sarcasm that teaching his father’s class “had been quite an experience.” 37.

The 1976 Poland tour was part of an attempt by Famous Door record producer Harry Lim and others to
promote the upcoming release of the only Ventura led long playing album that was not a compilation of
previously issued recordings. Considering Ventura’s relative inactivity and depleted name recognition, the
reasons for the album’s production are somewhat of a mystery, although it is believed that the Michael’s Pub
engagements and his nostalgic performances at the Sheraton may have played a factor. 38. Titled Chazz (a
common Ventura nickname), the album proved a disappointment, both in terms of sales and critical approval.
Chazz does in fact appear to suffer from weak personnel chemistry, despite the vaunted status of musicians
Urbie Green, and Warren Vache. “It ended up a terrible album due to no fault of Charlie’s,” said Lorenz. 39.
Chazz did have the desired effect of booking Ventura into another tour that included Chicago engagements with
McMann and drummer Mousey Alexander. Unfortunately, the positive effects of this latest Ventura resurgence
were short lived. With resources depleted, he secured temporary work on a south Florida cruise ship, where he
suffered yet again from alcoholic relapse. 40. Fearing permanent physical damage or worse, he committed
himself to a church related rehabilitation center in the Fort Lauderdale area called Faith Farm. The establishment
was similar to a Christian based version of the Betty Ford Center, where alcohol was forbidden and regular
church attendance was mandatory. In common fashion, he became the center of many of the establishment’s
most celebrated moments, including an episode where he roused the congregation with an especially vigorous
rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Ventura ended the decade at Faith Farm having lost most of the
contacts he had acquired only a few years prior. 41.
The 1980s
Ventura’s Faith Farm experiences were for the most part positive. During this period, he consumed little if any
alcohol and practiced regularly. He also limited his playing exclusively to the tenor saxophone. In the earlier
stages of his career Ventura had performed on a variety of saxophones, including alto, soprano, baritone and
bass. The agreed assumption is that that a series of erratic episodes had caused the disappearance of his other
instruments. 42. By 1980, Ventura now felt confident enough to reinstate his fledgling career by seeking the aid
of west coast benefactors. According to Lenderman, a patron arranged for a series of engagements and
temporary housing, prompting Ventura to relocate to Seal Beach, California sometime at the start of 1981.
“There was a flurry of activity to get him to California,” she said. 42.
An entry in a March edition of The Los Angeles Herald Examiner, with the banner “Saxophonist Ventura Drops
Sugar Coating,” reported that Ventura had been sighted in a group led by pianist John Bannister. 43.The
headline was in response to the oft- heard criticism that Ventura’s style of bebop was diluted and unsubstantial.
Aware that his natural skills as a marketer/entertainer had routinely overshadowed his artistic virtuosity, Ventura
used the article and similar schemes to rehabilitate his damaged legacy. It would be a practice that would
consume him for the rest of his life. When Lorenz was asked if patronizing terms like “Bop for the People” had
given critics the wrong idea, he hesitantly concurred. “But, there was nothing watered down about him,” he said.
“It was an completely unfair description.”44. Another news account from an October edition of the Seal Beach
Journal touted the attributes of Ventura’s residency, and spoke favorably of a new trio he was leading that
featured Tony Rizzi on guitar and Bob Maize on bass. 45. At the same time he was routinely spotted as a hired
front man for local organizations like the Charlie Stomp Big Band. A 1984 Stomp performance, videotaped for a

local television program shows the sixty-eight year old saxophonist at the top of his game. Later in the program,
host Joni Livingston-Banista probed into Ventura’s influences, his motivation for being a musician and the
reasons for his natural stage demeanor.
“I was originally inspired by Chu Berry of the Cab Calloway Band back in the mid thirties. I got so carried
away when I heard him that I said I had to play the saxophone. I don’t practice enough, not because I don’t have
enough time, but because I get frustrated with how much I still have to learn. There’s no end to it. I guess I don’t
get nerves when I play, because I get a stimulation from the people. They relax and motivate me. They show me
how to be honest with myself.”46.
The program was representative of a noticeable professional recuperation, enhanced at least in part, by his
longstanding relationship with a middle-aged former showgirl named Helen Mischel. The bond appeared to
demonstrate longevity and was relatively free of discord, until another of Ventura’s alcoholic relapses seems to
have ended it in 1985. 47. That Spring Ventura again admitted himself into a rehabilitation center; but remained
only for a short while. A couple of months later, he accepted an engagement at the Northsea Jazz Festival in The
Hague, Netherlands. It accounted for his last significant musical performance; an event he would spend much of
the rest of his life retelling.
“Oh it was absolutely wonderful. There were probably two- hundred (later the number became as high as
seven –hundred in future stories-TS) acts there. There was Woody Herman, Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson, Red
Norvo; there were just so many. I just can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see all of my old friends again. Of all
my overseas trips, it was the best.” 48.
Occasionally, in later years recipients of Ventura’s Northsea stories would have to redirect his conversation or
end it entirely, due to a newly acquired habit for “rambling;” a trait uncommon in his California media encounters
just a couple of years prior. The period before and immediately after Northsea were in fact radically different both
in terms of stability and location. When Ventura returned to the United States, he permanently settled in Atlantic
City, New Jersey. “He had just come out of a recovery program before going to Holland. I think his reason for
moving to Atlantic City was to get away from it all, start over and be close to family,” said Lenderman. 49. “I think
Atlantic City reminded him a lot of Vegas,” said Lewis DePasquale. “This way he could be close to home and still
run around in familiar surroundings.”50. Ventura’s relationship with (if not dependency of) DePasquale (a jazz
organist and apartment owner who Ventura nicknamed “Count”) was an enigma of sorts. Few if any Ventura
family members or associates had heard of him until Charlie was performing casual engagements in
DePasquale led bands. 51. A short time later, he was living in a DePasquale owned apartment at 6 North
Chelsea, where according to DePasquale, he “let Chazz stay rent free until a federal housing allotment was
granted in 1989.”52. At about that same time Ventura’s health suffered adversely from diseases of a dental
nature. According to DePasquale “a dentist in California started him with an implant that became infected, and
that resulted in a steady low grade fever.”53. Many stories have persisted over the years that an article in the
Saxophone Journal and subsequent newspaper reports led to an outpouring of financial support, making it
possible for Ventura to receive a new set of dentures. 54. Although fund raising schemes were concocted with
the cooperation of various media outlets, “stories of anonymous donors weren’t true,” said DePasquale. “I took
him to New York, where a dentist named Irwin fixed him up on his own dime.”55. While Ventura awaited his new
teeth, he performed occasionally (mostly with DePasquale) with great pain, choosing instead to spend most of

his time penning memoirs or discussing his career with anyone who would listen. These programs served as
excellent vehicles for Ventura to discuss the significance of his career. On at least two occasions, he was a guest
on his son Charlie’s radio program, where he recalled how he came to use his unique method of blending human
voices with bebop melodies. The following quote is paraphrased.
“Many years ago, when we were living in Philadelphia, I went to a theater where Duke Ellington was
appearing. When I got there, I heard this thing on stage where Lawrence Brown and Johnny Hodges were
playing Mood Indigo with this woman who had a high-pitched voice, and she was just blending along with the
instruments. Well, that sound just stuck with me. So I was playing in Milwaukee with Roy Kral when Dave
Garroway introduced me to Jackie Cain. After awhile we all started working together, and when I heard Jackie
and Roy singing together, I got an idea. So, you would have to say that Duke got me started with it.”56.
When Ventura was not charming radio hosts with tales of the glory days, he was filing away old stories into a
tape recorder and waxing impromptu solo motifs (bad teeth and all) for posterity. The walls of his tiny apartment
were covered with photos of family and associates. 57. Of particular interest was his assertion that he possessed
numerous unreleased recordings of older Ventura led bands. “I just need to select one or two good sounding
things, and get somebody to clean them up,” he was fond of saying. Those tapes eventually turned into an
ongoing Ventura obsession. “I never heard them, but he talked about them a lot,” said DePasquale. 58.
Final Days
Ventura spent much of the late 1980s trying to be noticed as an historical figure, appearing on the occasional
radio program or interviewing for nostalgia hunting magazine writers. 59. His dental problems did much to
destroy his confidence as a performer. He received little work, living mostly on social security and the good
graces of others. 60. He often missed engagements or forget them entirely, traits uncommon for a musician once
considered a consummate professional. Then in 1989, with a set of new dentures and a fresh start, he initiated
an earnest search for consistent employment. “But, he just wasn’t getting across and he was still drinking a lot,”
said DePasquale. “It was so weird sometimes. One day I went up to one of those entertainment bosses in
Atlantic City and asked him why he didn’t hire Chazz? So the guy tells me he’s never heard of him. Then I
looked up just over his head and there was this giant painting of Charlie Ventura. So, I pointed to the painting
and said that’s the guy. He just looked at me like I was nuts and walked the other way.”60.
A most troublesome event signaled Ventura’s final decline in early 1990, when just outside his apartment, he
was brutally assaulted and robbed. Among his more serious injuries were several fractured bones. 61.
Lenderman recalls that her seventy-three year old father phoned in the early hours of the morning
“uncharacteristically angry and very, very drunk. It was hard sometimes to understand what he was saying, but
you could tell he was furious about being been ripped off. I never did like that neighborhood he was in. It was no
place for somebody with his kind of problems. I thought he was going to get himself killed.”62. Apparently other
friends and family (including sister Delores Inverso) concurred, and after some prodding Ventura was
encouraged to seek one final attempt at rehabilitation. Self described as “a nursing home and rehabilitation
center,” 62. Absecon Manor served as Charlie Ventura’s last significant residence. For six weeks, he succeeded
in regaining much of the self-control he had surrendered to alcohol. “That place got the closest to fixing him up,”

said DePasquale. 63. In fact, homemade videotape filmed at the site does much to verify the assertions of
DePasquale and others. In it, a noticeably rejuvenated Charlie Ventura is revealed fronting a credible jazz
concert in the establishment’s meeting hall. Accompanied by DePasquale and a colorful assortment of patients
and orderlies, Ventura is seen calling the tunes, arranging solo orders, and providing encouragement for his
sidemen. Moreover, his own playing is quite strong for a man of seventy-three, dentures, alcoholism and
previous tragedies aside. 64. Unfortunately, the positive effects of the Absecon experience were short lived.
Later that year, he was diagnosed with a terminal form of cancer and moved to a hospital in Pleasantville, New
Jersey. Bob Lorenz, one of the many former associates who visited, recalls being especially moved by the site
of Ventura’s right hand. “As I sat with him, I held it, and it just seemed so old. All I could do was remember all the
remarkable things that hand had once been capable of.”65. Ventura passed away quietly on January 17, 1991.
An informal viewing and memorial service was held at Leonetti Funeral Home in Philadelphia, with several local
musicians in attendance. No live music was present, but recordings of Ventura performances were played in
remembrance. His funeral occurred the following day at the Holy Cross Cemetery of Philadelphia with a fair
number of family and friends present. 66.
The Ventura Legacy
The rehabilitation of the Ventura legacy probably started in 1994, when he was inducted into the Philadelphia
Music Hall of Fame. Lenderman, accompanied by co inductee Grover Washington, Jr., accepted the award on
behalf of her father. “ It was a good event and I felt proud. But, I still had a lot of conflicted feelings about my
father. He had left us all when we were young, and for most of our lives he just wasn’t there. So you have to
understand that these phone calls in the middle of the night and pleas for financial assistance were very
confusing,”67. DePasquale, who died of cancer on October 10, 2001, occasionally took it upon himself to serve
as historical spokesperson for Ventura in later years; often interrupting descriptions of his own personal
generosity with announcements of upcoming DePasquale led tours. 67. Among his claims was that he had been
Ventura’s primary benefactor, while his own family had done little to demonstrate similar gestures. “The saddest
part was when the birthdays came around and none of the family would call,” he said. 68. Yet, physical evidence
exists, via Charlie Ventura’s Jr. radio show that publicly disputes this claim. In it, the father is interviewed,
celebrated and featured in a live performance of “Moonlight in Vermont,” assisted on piano by none other than
Lewis DePasquale. 69. From the perspective of historical evaluation, the DePasquale role is in need of further
analysis, although Charlie Jr. is certain that the bond between Pasquale and his father was a positive one.
“There is no telling what would have happened to Dad, had Count Lewis not been there for him,” he said. 70.
DePasquale’s widow still holds the Ventura tenor saxophone, with the intent of someday having it included in a
jazz hall of fame. 71.
Those mystery tapes Ventura often spoke of were never positively identified, although it is assumed that
Lenderman and others discovered them in an inconspicuous brown box shortly after Ventura’s death.
Lenderman gave three of the homemade cassettes to the author for study in 1997. Spanning a period from 1948
until the 1970s, they display the work of an important transitional jazz figure, whose bands helped bridge the gap
between swing and bebop, while at the same time, his individual performances demonstrated significant modern

extensions of the Coleman Hawkins and Chu Berry styles. Of particular interest are 1948 recordings extracted
from radio programs aired from the Hotel Sherman in Chicago and remarkable concerts featuring his 1949 band.
Ventura always asserted that his 1949 group was his best and favorite, and these recordings do much to forward
that notion. Ventura’s performance of “Euphoria” is especially invigorating, with the young Conte Candoli proving
especially adept at mastering a style of jazz trumpet playing only recently forged by Dizzy Gillespie and Fats
Navarro. The tapes also serve to reintroduce the great trombone virtuoso Benny Green, and a then relatively
unknown nineteen year old drummer named Ed Shaughnessy. “He was one of the finest people I ever worked
with,” said Shaughnessy. “I’m so glad our famous 1949 concert from Pasadena was reissued. The band was
really swinging and Charlie was cooking!”72.
In these early years of the twenty-first century, it is still considered somewhat of an historical impropriety to
mention the name of Charlie Ventura in the same sentence with more vaunted contemporaries like Illinois
Jaquett, who in the opinion of the author must be equated as at least an equal. Personal issues aside, a double
standard can be argued for the case that Ventura still pays for his politically incorrect willingness to entertain and
be popular, while at the same time certain novelties performed by select contemporaries are seen as fascinating
artistic diversions. If Ventura is to be saddled as the originator of a genre of bebop influenced variety music, then
it is only fair to assert that said popularity led to a number of standards and practices currently influencing
generic mainstream entertainment; the least of which being the implementation of all the cross voiced six to nine
member ensembles that exist in every country club in the western world, and on every cruise ship sailing the
high seas. Despite the protests of those who resist the notion of a reasonable Ventura examination, it must be
asserted that this important musician is deserving of a fair and unbiased accounting, before “the lie that is
agreed upon” becomes permanently and irreparably etched in stone.
NOTES
1. Buddy Bolden, who begat Freddie Keppard, who begat Joe Oliver, who begat Louis Armstrong etc.
2. Ken Burn’s Jazz for example.
3. Donald Byrd catch phrase used in his teachings at Howard University and North Carolina Central University.
4. Kernfeld, Barry. (2000). “Ventura, Charlie,” American National Biography Online.
5. In fairness, other performers possessing similar musical dispositions such as Illinois Jaquet were also omitted.
6. Interview with Rita Lenderman, June 15, 1997.
7. Ibid.
8. Kernfeld, Op. cit., Interview with Rita Lenderman, October 20, 2001.
9. Ventura tapes monologue, 1948 radiobroadcast WBBM, Chicago.
10. All parties interviewed made this assertion.
11. Lenderman, June 15, 1997, Op Cit.
12. Woolley, Stan. (1986). “Charlie Ventura,” Jazz Journal International, March, p. 15.
14. Kernfeld, Op Cit., Lenderman, June 15, 1997, Op Cit.
15. Ibid.

16. Wooley, Op Cit.
17. Interview with Frank Strazerri, October 27, 2001.
18. Interview with Bob Lorenz, September 20, 2001.
20. Strazzerri, Op Cit.
21. Lenderman, October 20, 2001, Op Cit.
22. Interview with Lewis DePasquale, September 1, 2000.
24. Lorenz, Op Cit.
27. Ventura radio interview with Philadelphia disc jockey Al Raymond, December 2, 1986.
29. Strazzerri, Op Cit.
31. DePasquale, Op Cit.
32. Lenderman recordings given to author.
34. Kernfeld, Op Cit.
35. Al Raymond, Op Cit.
36. From Charlie Ventura personal belongings.
37. Radio interview with Charlie Ventura Jr., July 1986
39. Lorenz, Op Cit.
43. Author unknown. (1981). “Saxophonist Ventura Drops Sugar Coating,” Los Angeles Herald Examiner, March 4, page unknown.
44. Ennis, Nancy. (1982). “Jazz Legend Relocates,” Seal Beach Journal, October 6, p. 8.
45. Lorenz, Op Cit.
46. From Orange County California television program Jonni’s People, February 1984.
47. Rita Lenderman correspondence A, November 3, 2001.
48. Radio interview with Charlie Ventura Jr., July 1986, Op Cit.
49. Rita Lenderman correspondence B, November 3, 2001.
51. Lenderman correspondence, November 4, 2001.
54. Kernfeld and others.
56. Radio Interview with Charlie Ventura Jr., July 1986, Op Cit.

59. Jazz Journal International and Philadelphia disc jockey Al Raymond, among others.
62. From Absecon Manor website.
64. From Charlie Ventura personal belongings.
65. Lorenz, Op Cit.
66. Interview with Rita Lenderman, November 11, 2001.
69. Radio Interview and performance with Charlie Ventura Jr., December 2, 1986.
70. Interview with Charlie Ventura Jr., September 29, 2001.
71. Interview with Delores DePasquale, October 13, 2001.
72. Ed Shaughnessy correspondence, November 5, 2001.
From American National Biography
Teschemacher, Frank
..........Teschemacher, Frank (13 Mar. 1906-1 Mar. 1932), musician, was born Frank M. Teschemacher in Kansas
City, Missouri, the son of Charles M. Teschemacher (pronounced tesh-maker), an executive of the Alton Railroad
Company, and Charlotte McCorkell Teschemacher. ("M." was his middle name in full, although it may have stood
for McCorkell.) When Frank was six, his father was transferred to Chicago, where the family settled into an
upper-middle-class neighborhood in the suburb of Austin. Starting with the usual childhood piano lessons,
Teschemacher soon abandoned them to teach himself popular music on the banjo. When he was ten, and after
some years of amused parental tolerance, it was decided he would restart formal training with regular violin
lessons, where he became a competent technician and excellent sight reader.
Born with severely crossed eyes (a condition that improved in later years) and plagued in his teenage years by
acne, Teschemacher was withdrawn and self-conscious. Then at Austin High School, his ability to perform
popular music bolstered confidence, and it was not long before he abandoned musical study altogether for the
more common rituals of adolescent socialization. That life revolved around a musical clique of young
neighborhood musicians, informally known as the Austin High Gang. The assemblage included, at one time or
another, brothers Jimmy and Dick McPartland, Bud Freeman, Jim Lanigan (a future bassist with the Chicago
Symphony), pianist Dave North, and drummer Dave Tough. In 1922, the boys were exposed to recordings of the
New Orleans Rhythm Kings and formed a band with the express purpose of emulating them. Teschemacher
organized most of their rehearsals, which sometimes took place in the Teschemacher home. From these efforts
came the Blue Friars, a band named for the Loop area speakeasy where the Rhythm Kings often played. It was
not long before the group was performing at tea dances and organizing their own engagements, with
Teschemacher providing most of the band's arrangements.
Frank took up the clarinet at the relatively advanced age of eighteen, during a summertime engagement with
Bud Freeman in 1924. He soon mastered it and made it his primary instrument. During that time, the young
Benny Goodman was often seen listening to Teschemacher while attempting to hide his presence from other
musicians. When spotted, he would be asked by Teschemacher or other band members to sit in. The influence
of Teschemacher's frenetic style was recognizable in Goodman's playing through the 1920s. In the fall of 1924,
Teschemacher played under the leadership of trumpeter Wingy Manone at the Merry Gardens ballroom with
Freeman and a fast-talking guitarist named Eddie Condon. Later the Blue Friars came under the management of
promoter Husk O'Hare, who changed their name to the Red Dragons and arranged for them to be studio

musicians at radio station WHT. Eventually O'Hare found freelance work and an engagement at the White City
amusement park, where the band was dubbed Husk O'Hare's Wolverines. Witnessing the pull that jazz had on
their son, Teschemacher's parents tried to steer him toward a college education in classical music. Their efforts
proved fruitless when during his senior year, he dropped out of high school.
As Wolverine activities curtailed, Teschemacher spent the latter part of 1924 and much of 1925 expanding his
musical associations to include trumpeter Muggsy Spanier, pianist Joe Sullivan, and drummer Gene Krupa, all of
whom had fallen under the spell of cornetist Bix Beiderbecke. From 1926 until the spring of 1928, he worked with
bands led by Floyd Towne, Art Kassell, and Charlie Straight, alongside enlistment for a plethora of recording
dates. In December 1927 he joined Jimmy McPartland, Freeman, Sullivan, Lannigan and Krupa for two
groundbreaking sessions led by Condon and singer Red McKenzie called the McKenzie-Condon Chicagoeans.
Teschemacher arranged all four of the recorded tracks, and his raucous, trumpet-influenced clarinet solo on
"Nobody's Sweetheart Now" became an anthem for a style of extroverted jazz that came to be known as the
Chicago School. This idiom demonstrated little regard for the tried and tested contrapuntal devices associated
with New Orleans jazz, and dared to expand the parameters of linear solo construction. The December 1927
recordings led to a string of similar efforts in the spring of 1928, with Teschemacher alternating between clarinet,
alto saxophone, and arrangement duties for many of the sessions.
On 15 February 1928 Teschemacher married Helen Berglund, a young Swedish immigrant. The Teschemacher
family did not approve of the union, while Frank's numerous out of town engagements quickly eroded the
marriage. After a period of estrangement, they divorced two years later. 28 April 1928, marked Teschemacher's
only known recording session as leader, producing two sides, with only a test pressing of "Jazz Me Blues"
surviving the destruction of original masters. He then ventured to New York and joined the old Chicagoans in an
ill-fated scheme to back singer Bea Palmer. After the group disbanded, Teschemacher remained in New York to
record sides with trumpeter Red Nichols and trombonist Miff Mole, before traveling to Atlantic City for enlistment
with society bandleader Sam Lanin and later Ben Pollack. He then returned to New York where he made
recordings with Don Redman and the Dorsey Brothers (Jimmy and Tommy). During the fall of 1928, suffering
from homesickness, he left New York and returned to Chicago.
For the next three years, Teschemacher often performed in society orchestras, including those led by Ted Lewis
and Jan Garber. While in Garber's employ, he played violin and occasionally sang, in addition to his woodwind
responsibilities. He then supplemented commercial work with jazz projects organized by Jess Stacy, Elmer
Schoebel, the Melrose brothers, and Manone. In 1931 he struck up an association with cornetist Bill Davison,
and the two immediately made plans to form a big band. The group had secured a coveted engagement at
Guyon's Paradise Ballroom when tragedy struck. On the morning of 1 March 1932, Frank was traveling as a
passenger in Davison's topless Packard convertible when the vehicle was struck broadside by a taxicab.
Teschemacher was thrown from the car and died. Some eyewitnesses insisted that among the cab's occupants
was a Guyon's bouncer who wanted to stop the vehicle for resumption of a fight he had initiated with
Teschemacher at a speakeasy several hours before. In the subsequent coroner's inquest, both Davison and the
taxi driver were cleared of any wrongdoing.
The significance of Teschemacher's music is difficult to discern. His image following death resembled
martyrdom, then was subsequently marginalized by many of his own contemporaries. He was probably more
talented than his detractors have asserted and less talented than admirers have claimed, while a recorded
output of thirty-four tracks (and a handful of other "mystery recordings" reputed to have been identified by a
computer matching system called the Smith/Westbrook Method) do little to justify his vaunted reputation. In fact,
Teschmacher's earlier recordings were mostly derivative, though some innovation and refinement characterized
later efforts. He was perhaps the most versatile of the Beiderbecke disciples--and their most ardent cheerleader.
Bibliography
A thorough study of the Teschemacher legacy is Vladamir Simosko, "Frank Teschemacher: A Reappraisal,"
Journal of Jazz Studies 3, 1 (Fall 1975): 28-53. The text is supplemented by a detailed and lengthy bibliography.
Further biographical treatment can be found in the Eddie Condon (with Thomas Sugrue) autobiography We
Called It Music: A Generation of Jazz (1947; rev. ed., 1970); Nat Shapiro and Nat Hentoff, Hear Me Talkin' to Ya:
The Story of Jazz by the Men Who Made It, (1955; rev. ed., 1966), p. 118; and the notes attributed to Marty
Grosz that accompany the Time-Life booklet in the Giants of Jazz series, Frank Teschemacher (1982), which
features an intriguing test to determine the identity of six reputed Teschemacher "mystery recordings." Recent
findings regarding the accident that caused Teschemacher's death can be found in T. Smith, "An Investigation of

the Death of Frank Teschemacher," International Association of Jazz Educators Research Proceedings Yearbook
(Jan. 1998): 56-62. Tom Smith
Duke Ellington's Far East Suite: Silk Road Perspectives a Half Century Removed.
Tom Smith, Professor of Music: Oriental Society for Oriental Music Conference:
October, 2013.
Since its original 1963 inception,1 an RCA recording/ album release (1966-1967), patchwork
experiments,2 reissues,3 critical examinations and numerous repertory performances,4 Edward
Kennedy (Duke) Ellington’s Far East Suite has become one of the most endearing and discussed
extended jazz works of the Post World War II Era, having significantly introduced Americans
especially, (via its implied exoticism component) to remedial tonalities common to Near and Far East
regions, alongside familiar tangents related to Ellington's ongoing professional relationship with co
composer Billy Strayhorn (1915-1967).
As was the case with American wind band music, post war jazz periodically injected naive exoticism
into what were often emotionally composed works of scenic observations, while in fulfillment of US
Government sponsored public relations tours.5 Ellington (1899-1974) and another composer Dave
Brubeck (1920-2012) were well known for these practices, as they helped mold a distinct genre
popular for much of the latter twentieth century.6 Throughout the 1960s, Ellington surrounded himself
with identically aged personnel, who like him, drew upon common Asian stereotypes utilized in motion
pictures and television programs.7 All the while, Strayhorn’s influences in what were his final days,
emotionalized Far East Suite even past Ellington’s better known kineticism, while simultaneously
balancing structural decorum within a guarded and refined orchestration, enriched in a distinct
theoretical methodology.
Ellington, along with Louie Armstrong and John Birks (Dizzy) Gillespie were among a pioneering
faction of African Americans who in the 1950s and 1960s created jazz music for any number of US
State Department functions.8 These endeavors took Ellington and his band to a wide assortment of
locales, including Asia, Africa and South America...venues never previously envisioned by traveling
musicians of Ellington's social demographic, who for the most part had been limited to restricted
neighborhoods in the continental United States. It was from this juxtaposed configuration of music and
cultural sharing that Ellington's 1963 State Department tour (his best known) was realized, and
where inspiration for the Far East Suite was derived. The simultaneous creation of a flung African
American diaspora did much to incite heightened creativity within Ellington and his men, who
immediately conjured new found exoticism inherent of their surroundings. Befitting his reputation for
imaginative social interaction, Ellington especially took great pleasure in these activities, alongside
inquisitive colleagues like Paul Gonsalves, Johnny Hodges, and Strayhorn, themselves active social
observers of great renown. Decidedly, these artists viewed foreign interaction with greater importance
than did white counterparts, in assumption of their dual roles as ambassadors to both country and
race.9 Concurrently, US government officials were enamored with the Ellington presentation and its
captivating effect on Asian audiences, as well as his celebrated ability for program adaptation and
tolerance... segregation era skills highly valued in places where unexpected circumstances were more
rule than exception.10
Despite good preliminary reviews,11 the recorded Far East Suite remained largely separated from
canon linked to Ellington’s better known 1930-1940 period, this despite incorrect present histories
stating otherwise.12 Many early reservations had to do with prickly distortions found on the original
master tape, as described by engineer Jimmy Nichols, a certain out of shape, not quite on pitch sound
as it applied to easily affected instruments like clarinet and piano. Fortunately in 1995, a more pristine
and discernible mix was realized, having profited from subsequent audio advancements that in turn
eliminated earlier technical glitches.13 Still, even a successful remix failed to distance FES (aka Far

East Suite) from other important and unanswered questions, the most significant asking if the work
was even a suite at all, or nine entirely individual "song-like" compositions (of which Isfahan was best
known). This was an important, albeit displaced issue for mid twentieth century jazz (at that time vying
for academic ascension), where every penned iconic note was deemed integral towards genre
elevation the equal of classical music. During the 1960s, it was common for jazz critics (unaware of
parameters equated with academia) to mistakenly believe that works created to fit one side of either a
45 or 78 RPM disc were not as seriously considered, probably unaware of vaunted shorter forms like
nineteenth century German lieder. While in the embrace of such naive perceptions, those within jazz
music’s evaluative circles nervously wondered if the infectious songs that comprised the better portion
of Ellington's catalog fulfilled requirements necessary for legitimate inspection, thus infusing jazz with
the coveted academic perpetuity it had long sought.14 Those and other incorrect assessments were
likely attributable to misunderstandings endemic of classical musicians who injected preponderant
quotients of superficial jazz into their own works, while some like Gunther Schuller openly embraced
both classical and jazz on equal footing with his participation in a new (mostly extended) form
called Third Stream, a music that evolved into a genre in of itself, eventually becoming influential
within disciplines most associated with broader media. For his part, Schuller (a pioneering jazz
academic alongside his classical attributes) did little to dissuade such mutually exclusive notions in
either his benchmark text Early Jazz or later works that lent credence to there being distinct
differences between jazz "songs" and the longer works he composed.15
When Ellington died in 1974, opinions about his final creative period were varied, with some
dismissive of the 1965-1974 ensemble, an occasionally distracted crew, often accused of eroded self
discipline and inflicting ego.16 There were even implied references to the Ellington/Strayhorn tandem
having become a cliched parody of itself, continually recycling the same material to the point of
redundancy.17 However, with the passing of time, and despite flaws real or imagined, the suite
was gradually rehabilitated to higher than before status, potentially worthy of inclusion beside more
respected Ellington works like Black, Brown and Beige, and Such Sweet Thunder.18 Then later, as
jazz scholarship assumed a more respectable perch, issues pertaining to short and/or extended music
became less important, culminating with a highly publicized Ellington Centennial, when his artistic
status drew closer to territory reserved for Ives and Copeland.19 At that same time, reexaminations
surfaced as a broad influx of Ellington biographies made their way into academia, including those
related to Far East Suite, with its most lively discussion pertaining to the title itself. Seeing as
how eight of the nine pieces were based on Near East locales, why did Ellington insist on naming
it Far East Suite. Was he really (as some critics have maintained) unclear on his geography?20 Then
finally, did subsequent latter day discoveries of western integration applicable to the Far East
(especially China) validate a rumored assertion that Ellington had envisioned his so called disparate
sketches as something more? Could his possible knowledge of the legendary Silk Road have
invigorated a strain of interconnected subject matter not previously considered?21
Ellington and Strayhorn
William Thomas "Billy" Strayhorn was introduced to Ellington after one of Duke's performances at the
Stanley Theatre in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (USA) December 1938.22 By that time Ellington
was already a preeminent American composer and leader of one of the world's most popular bands.
After a brief audition, which consisted of Strayhorn playing some of his own compositions and
interpretations of the Ellington canon, he was subsequently hired, although given no specific role other
than to assist Ellington with his burgeoning song writing responsibilities. With the exception of a four
year interlude (1946-1950) the partnership would continue for twenty-five years, until Strayhorn's
death from esophageal cancer, coinciding with the Far East Suite album release.23 An aspiring
classical pianist, Strayhorn's musical interests had once gravitated more towards composers like
Stravinsky and Ravel than anything resembling jazz. However, the younger Strayhorn saw in Ellington
an ambitious man of urban sophistication and elegance, who had already experimented with longer
semi-classical works. At the beginning of the relationship, he became interested in the stylish

trappings of New York club life, and the observations that accompanied it, many of which later inspired
songs that magnified environs to an even greater extent. This attribute paralleled Ellington's own
lifetime infatuation with romantic exoticism.24 The relationship between the two men was intensely
close although platonic.25 Never in their long association did Ellington pay Strayhorn a regular salary,
and in what became one of the simplest arrangements in the history of American music, Ellington
assumed control of all Strayhorn related finances, paying for housing, food, wardrobe, and living
expenses, in exchange for the younger man doing whatever pleased him within the constructs of
preexisting Ellingtonia, a common term defining all things within the Ellington sphere as a specific
genre in of itself.26 In doing so, Strayhorn often waived publishing credits, while automatically
inserting everything he composed into the Ellington band library. With such an arrangement in
play, Ellington obviously granted Strayhorn enormous autonomy. As time passed, the men's personal
and artistic rapport became so strong that Ellington allowed Strayhorn to finish his own incomplete
manuscripts, while most observers found it hard to distinguish where one composer began and the
other ended...a practice at highest manifestation during the creation of Far East Suite.27
In early 1964, while performing in England, the two debuted four pieces inspired by the 1963
tour: Mynah, (better known and henceforth labeled Bluebird of Dehli), Depk, Agra, and Amad, which
they called Expressions of the Far East. When it was time to record Far East Suite, they had already
added four more works, including one actualized out of sequence.28 True to form, Ellington and
Strayhorn's collaborations intertwined with uncanny symmetry, but at no time did Ellington ever
relinquish intent, motivation, direction and (most significantly) process... meaning that Ellington and
Strayhorn together were always part of that larger Ellingtonia genre, where Duke's will was the only
real consideration.29 For his part, Strayhorn amiably deferred to Ellington in all such matters, with the
exception of that four year respite, where he relocated to Paris, in protest for his unaccredited
composing role in a Broadway musical attributed exclusively to Ellington.30
The Far East Suite (Edward "Duke" Ellington/ Billy Strayhorn)
(All compositions by Ellington & Strayhorn except 3. by Strayhorn and 9. by Ellington. Times indicate
album length.)
• "Tourist Point of View" – 5:09
• "Bluebird of Delhi (Mynah)" – 3:18
• "Isfahan" – 4:02
• "Depk" – 2:38
• "Mount Harissa" – 7:40
• "Blue Pepper (Far East of the Blues)" – 3:00
• "Agra" – 2:35
• "Amad" – 4:26
• "Ad Lib on Nippon" – 11:34
• Recording Musicians
• Cootie Williams, trumpet
• William "Cat" Anderson, trumpet
• Mercer Ellington, trumpet & fluglehorn
• Herbie Jones, trumpet & flugelhorn
• Lawrence Brown, trombone
• Buster Cooper, trombone
• Chuck Connors, trombone
• Jimmy Hamilton, clarinet and tenor saxophone

• Johnny Hodges, alto saxophone
• Russell Procope, alto saxophone & clarinet
• Paul Gonsalves, tenor saxophone
• Harry Carney, baritone saxophone
• Ellington (composer), piano
• John Lamb, bass
• Rufus Jones, drums
By the 1960s, Ellington often specialized in compositionally driven suite music of approximately fifteen
musicians, with trumpet, trombone and reed sections providing accompaniment for highly
individualized improvisations. Throughout their careers, Ellington and Strayhorn never discarded
intellectual property, believing it could be used for future projects at a later time.31
The Case For Ellington's Silk Road
Since its inception, Far East Suite's perceived absence of programmatic connectivity has dominated
discussions of the work. According to critic Neil Tesser:
"To begin with, it shouldn't be the Far East Suite at all. The 1963 State Department tour that this music
commemorates brought Duke Ellington and his famous orchestra to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), Egypt,
India, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Pakistan, Persia (now Iran), and Turkey -- a glorious itinerary of the Near
and Middle East, but not a truly Far Eastern city in the lot. Only one of the Suite's nine sections makes
programmatic reference to Japan or China, and that one, Ad Lib on Nippon, was inspired by the
following year's journey to Japan."
Tesser then went on to praise the mostly Near Eastern exoticism, despite his fanciful emendation of
the world map.32
Concurrently, when asked in 1990 why Ellington had applied Far Eastern labels to works with obvious
Near Eastern names, longtime Ellington trumpeter Clark Terry replied: Does somebody think Duke
couldn't read a map?33 The remark appeared to alter preexisting notions, and heighten future
speculations that FES was more than observers had believed.
This writer's fascination with FES connective tissue began in 1989, following a performance with
Ellington drummer Louie Bellson. Over an animated postmortem, he shared that while in India,
Ellington learned of an ancient Chinese monk who spoke of a remarkable Silk Road, that stretched
east of the Ottoman Empire, and extended to Changan (Xian) in Central China. According to Bellson,
Ellington speculated that Turkish Muslims embarking on such journeys would on every step of the
way, add new facets to their personalities to where they would be entirely different people by journey's
end.34 Although Duke Ellington was never allowed entry into China, this writer did venture to the end
of that very Silk Road, and marveled at the unique configuration of Chinese Muslim that resided there,
lending anecdotal credence to a possible connection with Far East Suite.35 Certainly, Ellington's
creative patterns were of suitable disposition to assume some kind of cultural augmentation was in
play, while also knowing that his process would by this time in his life, prevail over Strayhorn's cultural
introspection. Still, for FES to be conclusively proven a suite beyond all doubt, there would first need
be evidence of a theoretical link drawing assertive commonality to the individual pieces. Interestingly,
the answer to that conundrum appeared to derive from process common to nineteenth and early
twentieth century German composers.
The Ellington Process /Motivic Construction
While on his 1963 State Department tour of the Middle East, Duke Ellington held a press conference
in Bombay (Mumbai) during which he discussed his conceptualizing for what would become the Far
East Suite, where he stated the following:

"With this much beauty in India the music, the scenery, the colors, the people, there is bound to be
some effect on my music, but I cannot tell now exactly what it will be. I have nothing definite in mind. I
prefer to absorb everything, to drink it all in, and then to have it come back to me naturally. I want it to
be an external process; I want it to be reﬂection and not refraction. Of course, we have had the
fascinating experience of hearing Indian music, of seeing your instruments, of touching them, but I
can’t say to what extent I will use the ideas I have picked up here. Jazz can be taught in the sense
that one can learn what the people who went before have done, and one can study certain principles
and theories. But in the ﬁnal analysis, you have to feel something in order to create."36
For some Ellington scholars, his external reflection methodology demonstrates too much random
process for connection of a proper suite.37 This is in addition to that troublesome recycling issue,
where Ellington and Strayhorn inject old works into new formats with great frequency... and not in the
standard manner of implied tribute, but as unfiltered "body of work" infusion. Such is the case
with Mount Harissa (formerly a Strayhorn vignette called Nob Hill), which
immediately becomes Eastern via Ellington's insertion of regionally typecasted cymbal patterns.38 By
the 1960s,such practices were already common to Ellingtonia, beginning as early as 1937, when
trombonist Juan Tizol submitted a work of impressionist exoticism
entitled Caravan.39 Therefore, when FES was envisioned, Ellington's longstanding core of celebrated
improvisers were already well versed in reflective processing. As short example, Paul Golsalves had
little trouble conjuring suitable Persian imagery for Isfahan, an eleven note bird-song melody was
easily configured on Jimmy Hamilton's clarinet for Bluebird of Delhi, while Depk 's obvious
improvisational references to Jordanian dance music appeared second nature.40
But what of connectivity? Certainly in Mount Harissa, there are rhythmic nuances that complement
similar patterns in Tourist Point of View (again those aforementioned cymbal patterns). But are veiled
references enough to suggest a larger more substantive concept? A few scholars have suggested a
certain wisdom in diverting analytic attentions away from Ellington's timbral/ harmonic construction and
more towards his extended motivic strategies, a lesser explored but greatly undervalued course,
sometimes described of scant use, in light of incorrect Ellington judgments that he was mostly a
talented miniaturist lacking the skill-set for construction of larger forms.41 In truth, many of Ellington’s
extended scores do indeed infer subtleties common to motivic organization, suggesting an ability for
his extended works to grow from a core musical statement. Composers like Schoenberg called this
process Grundgestalt... in line with certain German music theorists who conceive the compositional
process as inherently improvisational.42 In Grundgestalt, it is vital for composers to approach
extended works as uniquely structured improvisations with their own distinctive motivic paths, that
expand and evolve in a manner similar to conception, cocoon, then butterfly. Those of the
Grundgestalt school believe a composer may be conscious of his/her primary motif even while it exists
subconsciously, meaning it is always retrievable intentionally or on a supposedly irretrievable
subconscious level.43 Schoenberg even went so far as to declare much of the creative process to
be an always evolving slowed down improvisation where thematic material undergoes a constant
process of reconstruction.44 Mid twentieth century jazz musician Ornette Coleman utilized a variation
of this concept with a spontaneous group improvisational technique called Harmolodics, where
improvised melodic contours were shaped and reshaped in a manner dictating no two renditions of the
same work were ever the same.45 The Ellington process (although partly improvisational) is more akin
to a purer Schoenberg methodology, where improvisational components are best realized, then
reshaped while in subconscious motivic construction of the static composition. In fact, most of
Ellington's longer works appear to utilize these very methods of evolving motivic spontaneity, and on
more than one occasion he admitted as much, while critical of those dismissive of a jazz composer's
ability to process in such a manner.46
Schoenberg saw the purest form of Grundgestalt as a motivic idea with enough inherent musical
power to invigorate entire compositions.47 Ellington appeared to demonstrate as much in Far East
Suite, with principal themes for movements Blue Pepper: Far East of the Blues and Amad,

implementing very basic scales whose downward course is interrupted by swift upward shakes. These
shakes are most often tight minor seconds, although the second measure of Blue
Pepper demonstrates a surprising (and probably intentional) eastern sounding augmented second. In
the opening movement (Tourist Point of View) there is something even more subtle...a turn-like figure
followed by disjunctive, angular comping (that accompanies the first Gonsalves’s tenor saxophone
solo). These concepts also figure prominently in the next movement, (Strayhorn’s) Bluebird of Delhi,
with various fundamental shapes of similar motivic figures essentially retained. There is also retention
of pitch content throughout all of the movements, suggesting an ongoing familiar pattern, often
deflected by critics obsessed with the moot point of chronology... incorrectly asserting that proper
extended works are always realized in uniform sequence. Of course, no such creative sequence bears
resemblance to Far East Suite, with Bluebird of Dehli having been written first and Tourist Point of
View three years later, with two other movements (Isfahan and Ad Lib on Nippon) originally conceived
independent of the suite itself.48 But, as already emphasized, such chronological factors do not
change the underlying technical parameters. As extended Ellingtonia was shaped, Ellington and
Strayhorn routinely formatted preexisting material for insertion into new concepts, while detractors
tend to resist such theories, because they are seen not within commonly defined organic parameters
most associated with jazz... in their view, lacking adequate richness, surprise and flexibility.49
However, there is no reason to believe that a composer of Ellington's depth could not work on
many levels at once: motivic, ritualistic, programmatic, and discursive, while enjoying their
simultaneous coordination. Therefore, it can be asserted with some authority, that enough theoretical
connective tissue exists to make the argument for Far East Suite being an intentionally conceived (and
pure) extended work.
The Ellington Process/ Programmatic Considerations and Silk Road Geography
Although the Schoenberg Grundgestalt application tends to define a purely musical application, there
is nothing to suggest that the subconscious component could not be applicable to non-musical
considerations, meaning that Ellington could have very well applied this to matters of geography. As
previously stated, Ellington was an adept multi-tasker within the subconscious realm, meaning his
inferred knowledge of a Chinese monk's Silk Road could have been internally processed much in the
same way he processed music. But, for those applications to bear fruit, Ellington would have been
required to substantively ingrain intense subconscious imagery of his Asian travels. Of this we have
little doubt. Throughout his final decade, travel influenced Duke Ellington's compositions on a totemic
scale, with its infused imagery dominating both tonal palette and public discourse. Actually, his
Asian tours seemed bordered on epiphany, reveling almost euphorically in remembrance of Tokyo,
Damascus, Kabul, New Delhi, Mumbai and Sri Lanka, locations once believed unattainable for African
Americans of his generation.50 In fact, the phenomenon was so pervasive as to spread within the
ranks of the orchestra itself, its membership essentially entrapped in the rich imagery that
subsequently elevated their improvisations... from baritone saxophonist Harry Carney's musical
depictions of the Taj Mahal (Agra), Johnny Hodges poetic musings within the framework of Isfahan (a
Strayhorn song formerly titled Elf ) and Jimmy Hamilton's multicultural clarinet cadenzas within Ad Lib
on Nippon.51
Still, for there to have been this supposed connection with Ellington and a Silk Road, one would have
to link titles and music to the road itself, a process that initially yields only partial results. The original
Silk Road extended over four thousand miles, and for a span of more than two thousand years, it was
continuously networked to include several tributary roads, and eventually a series of maritime routes.
Although silk was certainly the major trade item from China, many other goods were traded
(including pepper) as well as various technologies, religions and philosophies.52 Upon first
examination, Silk Road paths do appear to cross through locations found in the suite, including Mt.
Harissa (Lebanon), Depk (Jordan), Amad (Syria) and Isfahan (Iran), while other visited locations like
Sri Lanka and Mumbai were prominent maritime stops.

Silk Road (approx. 600-800 AD)
Mt. Harissa, Lebanon, Isfahan, Persia (Iran), Depk (dance-Amman, Jordan)
Amad (Inspired in Damascus, Syria)
However, Indian locales like Agra and Dehli appear to negate an Ellington Silk Road premise with their
locations situated far south of the road's main Tibetan corridor. Additionally there is insertion of a
Japanese location that shares no history with the road at all. But, when considering Ellington's
Chinese monk, a more connective premise takes shape. Ellington was obviously referencing the
prominent figure Xuanzang, a Chinese Buddhist monk, scholar and translator, well known for his
interactions with India during the early Tang Dynasty. He traveled across the Tarim basin via the Silk
Road's northern route, and in 643 AD returned from its southern corridor. He was famous for a
seventeen year overland round trip to India, and provided the inspiration for a well known Chinese
novel called Journey to the West.53 According to scholars, he also contributed precise and colorful
accounts of places along the Silk Road... a story most likely told to Ellington by Indian diplomats,
where the composer in turn could have referenced Silk Road routes and Xuanzang's cumulative
travels as one in the same, seeing as how Silk Road geography is seldom if ever referenced in
generic histories taught in North America.54 When examining the Xuanzang map, Agra and Delhi
locations are immediately found.
Then there is Blue Pepper: Far East of the Blues, the only FES composition bereft of a specific
geographic location, but the most obvious clue of all, and one initially panned by critics, who
expressed disdain for its obvious rock drum pattern, at the time considered a shocking abomination to
Ellingtonia. However, when heard with contemporary ears, the movement ranks as the suite’s pleasant
surprise. To quote Louie Bellson:
“(Critic) Leonard Feather told me he wouldn't even listen to it. And he wasn't the only one. Nowadays
you listen to Blue Pepper and it sounds entirely contemporary...like a very hip caravan doing their
thing through the desert. I think when Duke wrote that he was way ahead of his time. And of course as
we all know, music critics never are. As far as I'm concerned they buried the thing, and it's why people
don't talk much about it now when they talk so much about the ones like Isfahan.”55
The album’s liner notes provide a sparse description for the work, but certainly suggest an obvious
Silk Road connection:
“Blue Pepper or Far East of the Blues, speaks of the universality of the blues. The title might also be a
subtle reminder of the time when pepper-to the West- was a luxury import from the East. The definitive
solo statement is made by Johnny Hodges, whose muse here differs from that in Isfahan.”56
In relation to Silk Road geography (along with process found in the music itself) the above
description certainly points to evidence of programmatic connectivity.

.
Travels of Xuanzang (7th Century AD)
Agra, Bluebird of Dehli ( India)
The album’s liner notes provide a sparse description for the work, but certainly suggest an obvious
Silk Road connection:
“Blue Pepper or Far East of the Blues, speaks of the universality of the blues. The title might also be a
subtle reminder of the time when pepper-to the West- was a luxury import from the East. The definitive
solo statement is made by Johnny Hodges, whose muse here differs from that in Isfahan.”56
In relation to Silk Road geography (along with process found in the music itself) the above
description certainly points to evidence of programmatic connectivity.
Ad Lib on Nippon/ End of the Road
Musical impressions of Ellington's 1964 Japanese tour were written well after
earliest FES movements, Ad Lib on Nippon (credited exclusively to Ellington) has in recent years,
taken on a creative life of its own, especially among Japanese musicians, who perform it frequently,
while adapting it to any number of formats (including string ensembles), that are played with great
enthusiasm in North America.57
Neil Tesser’s 1988 reissue notes do much to accentuate contention that Ad Lib on Nippon was written
specifically to provide Far East Suite a sense of finality, with appropriate harmonic and motivic
connectivity:
"Ad Lib on Nippon" may have been written later, inspired by an entirely different tour, but in purely
musical terms, it very much belongs to the Suite; in fact, I would argue that its inclusion was necessary
for the artistic integrity of the work. A minor blues, its first discernible theme (marked by the bowed

bass line played by John Lamb) briefly echoes the Suite's middle movement, "Mount Harissa" -- thus
cementing the Suite's symmetry. From there, Ellington's piano builds a series of increasingly inventive
variations that then make their way, at fast tempo, into the ensemble. After a piano interlude, the
climax is provided by Jimmy Hamilton's clarinet escapade, his longest solo on record, and one of his
best. (Hamilton's performance lends credence to his claim that "Ad Lib" was in fact his own
composition, and it's reasonable to assume that he in any case played a large part in its
development.)”58
Clarinetist Jimmy Hamilton was one of Ellington’s greatest post war talents, but among his most
contentious when it came to publishing issues, frequently (along with Johnny Hodges) protesting
Duke's reluctance to credit other band composers.59 But, while the uptempo blues points slightly to
deviated motivic intent, its angularity bears resemblance to material already heard, including the
Ellington/Strayhorn soundtrack for Otto Preminger's 1959 motion picture Anatomy of a
Murder.60 Granted, the arco bass (also heard in Mt. Harissa) could have been part of some disguised
Hamilton remnant, but the clarinet foray if anything, points to connective tissue more associated with
Ellington, especially Duke's piano solo (an extraordinary work of miniature Grundgestalt), first
performed during the Japanese tour itself, that features thematic material heard later in Hamilton's
clarinet solo, not before.61
Most significantly, it is with the clarinet solo that geographic finality is possibly attained, in that its
opening scale appears not to be of Japanese origin, but decidedly Chinese (at least before the
inevitable jazz mutations occur).62 And while it is common for Western composers to fuse East Asian
cultures into one homogeneous entity, in consideration of preexisting evidence found elsewhere, one
could certainly make the case that Ellington got to the end of his Silk Road.
I know one thing, Duke sure wanted to go to China and would have done anything to have gotten
there, said Louie Bellson.63
Perhaps by design, once work on the recording was completed, Ellington never again played Ad Lib
on Nippon...64 maybe already believing (by way of a Japanese detour) that he had finally arrived
safely in Xian, with all passengers having been made the better for their trouble, while an ever present
Billy Strayhorn watched gamefully over his shoulder.
NOTES
1. Far East Suite was mostly inspired by a 1963 Ellington Orchestra State Department tour of the Near
East (November, 1963), cut short by the Kennedy assassination, although much of its source material
was the result of previously composed works.
2. Various partial incarnations occurred during subsequent tours of England and Japan in 1964 and a
recording in 1965.
3. Two RCA reissues were released (1979, 1998) and a final on Bluebird (1995).
4. According to US State Department cultural liaison Mark Tauber, by 2003, no fewer than twenty
endowments of varying amounts had been funded for regional performances of Far East Suite.
5. Interview, Anneke Archer, US State Department, September 15, 2012.
6. Interview, Darius Brubeck, Bucharest Romania, April 10, 2010.
7. Interview, Clark Terry, May 4, 1990.
8. Brewin, Bob (2007): "State Department Dispatches Virtual Jazz Ambassadors.” Government
Executive, 26:3, p. 11.
9. Clark Terry, “Op.cit.”
10. The Ellington penchant for adaptability has long been celebrated for his career resurgence at the
1956 Newport Jazz Festival, with impromptu correction becoming almost instinctive, a result of his
years rearranging Cotton Club programming, segregation era touring, obstinate musicians, and nearly
fifty years as a traveling bandleader.
11. Most sources like New York Times ranking it a star less than perfect, while DownBeat Critics Poll

ranking it 1968 Album of the Year.
12. Clark Terry, Louie Bellson, and other Ellington alumni attest to 1967 musicians especially
viewing Far East Suite a product of the aging deterioration of Ellingtonia.
13. Keepnews, Orrin (1995): “Far East Suite,” CD reissue liner note supplement.
14. Chance, Dean (1988): “When Jazz Had an Inferiority Complex,” Crossroads, 1:1, pp. 29-34.
15. Although a great proponent of jazz, Schuller has long been accused of intellectualizing classical
forms, while stereotypically discerning jazz as a predominantly intuitive exercise.
16. During this period, numerous provocative behaviors ensued, including band members refusing to
enter the stage before Ellington himself, and saxophonist Paul Gonsalves regularly falling asleep
during performances.
17. A commonly referenced complaint of 1970s DownBeat Assistant Editor Jim Szantor, who
bemoaned Ellington’s lack of newer, works inclusion, as compared with bands led by Woody Herman,
Thad Jones, Don Ellis etc.
18. 2008 rankings within “The Penguin Guide” rate the work four out of a possible four stars.
19. Interview, John Hasse (Smithsonian Jazz Curator), June 30, 1993.
20. Tesser, Neil (1988): “Far East Suite” CD reissue liner notes.
21. Interview, Louie Bellson, April 29, 1989.
22. Rocker, Jason (1979): “Strayhorn’s Muse,” 1979: unpublished.
23. Louie Bellson, “Op.cit.”
24. Rocker, “Op.cit.”
25. Although Strayhorn was openly gay, Ellington was not, while the greater number of scholars point
to Strayhorn’s homosexuality as reason for his ongoing personal and professional relationship with
Ellington, during a time when said behaviors were not so widely accepted, whereas Strayhorn utilized
Ellington connections for business purposes and expanded social interaction.
26. The term Ellingtonia has been widely used by Ellington biographers, including Mark Tucker, John
Hasse, and Ellington’s son Mercer.
27. Interview, Dan Morgenstern, International Association for Jazz Education Convention, January 9,
2006.
28. Ibid.
29. Bellson, “Op. cit.”
30. Ethier, Scott (2006): “In Ellington’s Shadow: The Life of Billy Strayhorn,” Humanities, 27:6, p. 30.
31. Morgernstern, “Op. cit.”
32. Tesser, 1988 liner notes, “Op. cit.”
33. Terry, “Op. cit.”
35. The Islamic community in contemporary Xian (2011), while distinctly Chinese, is a juxtaposed
combination of numerous related and disparate cultures.
36. Lommano, Mark (2012): “Ellington's Lens as Motive Mediating: Improvising Voices in the Far East
Suite,” Jazz Perspectives, 6:1-2, p.151.
42. Green, Edward (2008): “Ellington from a Motivic Perspective,” Jazz Perspectives, 2:2, p.219.
43. Green: p. 226.
44. Lommano: p. 155.
45. Perhaps best displayed in Coleman 1959 composition Lonely Woman.
47. Green: p. 220.
48. Lommano: p. 157.
50. Television interviews especially (Parkinson /BBC etc).

52. Waugh, Daniel. (2007): "Richthofen's "Silk Roads": Toward the Archaeology of a Concept." The
Silk Road, 5:1, p. 4.
53. Grousset, Rene (1971): “In the Footsteps of the Buddha.” JA Underwood (trans) Orion Press. New
York. p.4.
56. Dance, Stanley (1967): “Far East Suite,” original album liner notes.
57. Interview, Chuck Owen, Durban, South Africa, October 2, 2006.
59. Hamilton is quick to share these reservations within the context of every known Ellington
documentary where he has been interviewed and/or featured.
60. Highway driving scenes especially.
62. Ad lib on Nippon; Far East Suite (1967): original recording, 7:40 (minutes/seconds).
63. Bellson, “Op. cit."
64. Morgernstern, “Op. cit."
Three Woody Herman Biographical Reviews
From Annual Review of Jazz Studies (1997-1998)
Ed Berger, Editor
Scarecrow Press
Gene Lees, Leader of the Band: The Life of Woody Herman (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995, 414 pp.,
$35.00; 1997, 448 pp. $15.95 paperback)
Robert C. Kriebel, Blue Flame: Woody Herman's Life in Music (West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue University
Press, 1995, 298 pp., $18.95 paperback)
William Clancy, with Audree Coke Kenton, Woody Herman: Chronicles of the Herds (New York: Schirmer Books,
1995,352 pp., $27.50)
Reviewed by Tom Smith
In the ten years since his death in 1987, historical reevaluation has accorded Woody Herman totemic
respectability. Once considered the equal of Stan Kenton in a distinguished yet flawed second tier of
predominantly white big band leaders, Herman has since ascended to a status more befitting Ellington or Basie.
Columbia reissues of many of his earlier recordings have done much to qualify this assertion. This is especially
true of recordings featuring Herman's mid-1940s band commonly known as "The First Herd." Often evaluated as
the less significant counterpart of the more celebrated "Second Herd" or "Four Brothers Band," the First Herd is
now often used as the measuring stick from which comparisons to bands like the 1940 Ellington band are made.
Herman knew his place in history and at the end of his life did little to discourage a number of writers from
initiating biographies. Conflicted by an inner modesty of his talents and by the knowledge that time was short, he
begrudgingly entered into a number of extensive interviews, with people ranging from jazz writer Herb Wong to
Newsday columnist Stuart Troup. It is Troup's efforts that resulted in the first significant Herman biography, The
Woodchopper's Ball, published in 1990. Herman was not always the easiest interview subject in the mid-1980s,
and for good reason. He was beset by a series of tragedies including the death of his longtime wife, debilitating
illnesses, and collection of his personal assets by the Internal Revenue Service. At the time of his death, Herman
was penniless and nearly homeless. It is not surprising that the three best Woody Herman biographies were
more the result of personal anecdotes from the many musicians and friends he came in contact with. All three of
the biographies reviewed here were released in 1995, Herman's sixtieth anniversary as a bandleader.
Leader of the Band: the Life of Woody Herman is the long-awaited work of noted jazz writer Gene Lees. His

twenty-eight year relationship with Herman has often drawn comparisons to a similar relationship that existed
between Duke Ellington and writer Stanley Dance, the difference being that Lees actually worked for Herman as
a publicist in the mid-1960s. His "A Portrait of Woody," from a 1984 edition of his Gene Lees Jazzletter, was
considered the benchmark essay on Herman at the time. Not unexpectedly, Lees creates large sections of his
biography by expanding his preexisting text. The result is an uneven and highly opinionated work that reads
more like a screenplay than an objective biography. Only in the chapter on the First Herd's association with Igor
Stravinsky does he shed any new insights into significant events that did not directly involve him as a participant.
The talents that make Lees a great essayist often fail him as the "definitive biographer" that he claims Herman
wished him to be.
Lees's intimate association with Herman is both a blessing and a curse. Being within such close proximity to a
subject can provide valuable anecdotal information while revealing the human nature of the person observed. It
also gives Lees first-hand insight into the events that occurred during his watch. His descriptions of the band's
tenure at the Metropole and of shadowy Herman manager Abe Turchin are valuable historical insights and are
masterfully written. Lees's personal accounts of Turchin are especially illuminating. He describes a complex and
cluttered man, capable of betting on horses and football games, while simultaniously booking the band in places
where engagements were not thought to exist. Lees was quite impressed with Turchin's uncanny memory for
numbers:
I never saw him write anything down, never saw him take a note, and he never forgot a thing. He carried it all in
his head. [Saxophonist] Sal Nistico thought he was a mathematical genius. (251)
By all accounts, Turchin's most valued gift became the undoing of both himself and Herman. When it became
neccessary to justify financial records during an I.R.S. audit, no written records could be produced. Without
written documentation, Herman was personally saddled with a financial burden of 1.6 million dollars, a debt
attributed to payroll taxes not paid during a three-year period. This figure would have been substantially lower
had the written records existed. Lees devotes an entire chapter to a character profile of Turchin that examines
his connections to organized crime, his propensity for gambling away large portions of of the band's payroll, and
Herman's indifference or even tacit acceptance of it. It is the best writing of this most puzzling aspect of
Herman's life yet produced.
The danger of intimate association is that it can provide a near irresistible temptation to immodestly and
unnecessarily insert oneself into the proceed ings. Lees's accounts of "hanging out" with Bill Evans and wearing
Herman's clothes have been repeated by him incessantly for nearly thirty years. His story of being "put upon" by
Herman to convince Ingrid Herman (Herman's daughter) of the inadequacies of country music serves only to
elevate the status of the storyteller. In some cases, Lees's stories border on an uncomfortable violation of
privacy. One can observe value in describing wife Charlotte Herman's drug and alcohol dependencies. They
were at least partially responsible for the breakup of Herman's most celebrated band. But one must question if a
com plete chapter dedicated to the drug addiction of Herman's grandson is in good taste and worthy of the
space, considering that large portions of the Herman legacy are either ignored or glanced over. In fact, Herman's
entire history at Fantasy Records is limited to a single paragraph.
This brings up the larger, more serious issue of the author as researcher. Was Lees all that concerned with
providing a thorough documentation of the life of Woody Herman as much as he was in providing a
psychological profile of a personal friend who happened to be a great man? If his intentions were the latter, his
efforts were successful.
Robert Kriebel's Blue Flame: Woody Herman's Life in Music, is a purely chronological account of the life and
times of Herman and his band. It is fascinating in that Kriebel engages only eight interview subjects based on
personal initiative. All other interviews or individual quotations are taken from preexisting texts, magazine
articles, or album liner notes. This is the only extensive Herman biography to date not to involve the subject
person ally in the creative process.
The strength of Blue Flame lies in its ability to provide an almost day to-day account of the band's activities. For
example, one can take a week end in Febuary 1980 and learn that the band: "On Friday night played the Zulu
Ball at the River Gate. On Saturday and Sunday it worked AI Hirt's club in the French Quarter, and on Monday, a
junior college in Mississippi." This is' a style of research that is both painstaking and remarkable considering that
Herman led bands continuously over fifty years and that most information was accumulated by the author third-

hand. Kriebel is also the only Herman biographer to describe in detail every known Herman recording. He even
provides a review and personnel listing for the album Heavy Exposure, the seldom remembered Cadet release
the followed Light My Fire and preceded the poorly recorded Woody. The author leans heavily on album reviews
and liner notes for descriptive metaphors of recordings. Many are poorly written. Others border on the inane.
Consider this example: "All in all, a not quite great concert, but full of warmth and fun" (218); "a sound effects
coda whooshing like ajet plane" (196). Writing of this genre abounds in Blue Flame.
Kriebel does not succeed when exceeding his limitations as a music theoretician. In one musical analysis, he
states that Dizzy Gillespie's "Woody 'n' You" is an experiment in scales and harmony, based on piano-chord
progressions, but is by no means grade-school music" (56). One can only assume that Kriebel is not aware that
chord progressions are no different on the piano than they are on any other instrument, and that it is not the
instrument that dertermines the difficulty of chord progressions. His explanation is the equivalent of saying that a
stock car driver wins races because of his crash helmet.
Blue Flame borrows heavily; it uses seventy-six footnotes from The Woodchopper's Ball alone. There are also
some minor factual errors. Zoot Sims did not leave the Second Herd happily. He was fired after spitting on
Herman during an argument. This was verified by many musicians and reported correctly by Lees in his book.
Bill Chase did not leave the Herman band for the last time in 1966 to form the group Chase. He performed for
several months in 1969, appearing on a Cadet recording in September of that year. Bill Byrne was also incorrect
in recalling that the composition "Superstar," recorded by the band in 1974, was a theme from "Jesus Christ
Superstar." It was, in fact, the song "Superstar" originally recorded by the Carpenters.
Despite its occasional lapses in content and prose, this Herman biography succeeds more often than it fails. It is
an adventurous work with lofty aspirations. It is worth reading even if some of its goals are not always realized.
William Clancy's Woody Herman: Chronicles of the Herds is the most complete Herman biography yet written.
Clancy is himself an accomplished bassist. This special designation gives him a perspective into the man and
his musicians that the other authors can only view externally. He not only observes musicians, he relates to
them. Musicians are usually on their guard when they serve as interview subjects. Their answers are frequently
calculated and incomplete. It is obvious that the participant in this Herman biography were very comfortable with
Clancy. He gets out of the way and lets them talk. It is their story he is telling as well as Herman's. Clancy shows
Herman in the perspective that the bandleader most readily saw himself: a somewhat above-average musician
who had a talent for leading big bands. In the process, he was able to influence the lives of thousands of
musicians directly, and millions of followers indirectly. This viewpoint is made clear by Clancy because he allows
the story of Herman's life to follow its natural course. There are no predisposed opinions from the author. He
formulates his opinions by way of group consensus. Chronicles ofthe Herds is in fact one long series of
chronological inter views, all superbly edited and easy to read. Not only are there the same plentiful Chubby
Jackson and Terry Gibbs stories that are found in all accounts of Herman, but there are also numerous
interviews from musicians who played minor roles in the Herman story. It was often the case that these
musicians, in attempting to capsulize and enshrine every moment of their experience, paid the most attention.
One example of the lesser figure as observer is the nearly four pages devoted to the remembrances of Roger
Neuman, a tenor saxophonist who spent six months with the Herman band in 1967. It is obvious that Neuman
took great efforts to remember every detail of his time with the band, from the way Herman counted off a tune to
the way he handled the band's social idiosyncrasies. He offers deep in sight into Bill Byrne's brilliance as a band
manager and of his own disappointment when he was released just before a tour of England. His interview
shows the joy of dreams realized and the disappointments that accompany their conclusion. All the while it is
never forgotten that a world of Woody Herman's creation made these events possible. Clancy's multiple
interview chronology method is especially valuable in observing the Herman personality from the first days of his
Internal Revenue encounters in the late 1960s until his death twenty years later. As the years go by, musicians'
accounts often record that the fun-loving Herman of the First Herd was eventually transformed into a mercurial
personality who was chased by more than his share of demons. His financial constraints and ongoing concerns
of arrest and imprisonment understandably made him more difficult towards his musicians. This caused a
number of personal conflicts, some minor, and some totally consuming. Drummer Jeff Hamilton's frictional
relationship with Herman started over his receiving fifty dollars a week more than Herman thought necessary. It
is also highly unlikely that Herman would have pursued such an obviously unsubstantial venture like his 1984
New Orleans nightclub had he not been groping for any way to generate more capital to relieve to his financial
distress.
To his great credit. Clancy provides personnel changes for every significant period in the band's history. This is

the book to have when verifying if your friend or associate was in fact a Herman alumnus. It is also gener ously
stocked with photographs, and has a very legible type that is easy on the eyes. This reviewer could find only one
minor inaccuracy. On page 224, saxophonist Jay Migliore states that baritone saxophonist Roger Pemberton left
the band in 1958 and was replaced by Al Belleto. Although Belletto did replace Pemberton on baritone,
Pemberton remained with the band as third tenor, until he departed a few months later with trombonist Bill
Harris. Migliore's statement contributes to an inaccurate photograph identification on page 224. The baritone
saxophonist identified as Pemberton is in fact Belletto. The unidentified saxophonist behind Herman is
Pemberton. This is a very minor flaw in an otherwise inpeccably accurate work. The recent emergence of these
Herman biographies validly point out what may be a singularly important historical omission. Bill Harris may
possibly be jazz history's most underrated trombonist and one of its most endearing characters. Perhaps it is
now time for a more extensive examination of this extraordinary musician's contribution, not only to the music of
Woody Herman but to jazz music as a whole.
From Teaching Music Through Performance in Band series of books edited by Dr. Richard Miles.
Jazz Edition
Autumn Leaves Resource Guide.
by Tom Smith
Copyright 2008.
AUTUMN LEAVES
Music by Joseph Kosma
(1905-1969)
Arranged by Peter Blair (aka Blair Bielawski)
(1958- )
Unit 1: Composer
Joseph Kosma (aka Jozsef Kozma) was born October 22, 1905 in Budapest, Hungary. He was related on his
mother’s side to celebrated painter/ photographer Laszlo Moholy-Nagy. Formal education included courses at
the Academy of Music in Budapest and Academy Liszt where he studied privately with Bela Bartok. After earning
diplomas in composition and conducting, he secured a grant for study in Berlin where he met and later married
fellow musician Lilli Apel. The couple emigrated to Paris in 1933, where Kosma’s association with lyricist
Jacques Prevert and director Jean Renoir led to an active career of soundtrack writing for French language
motion pictures. During World War II, Nazi occupation forces placed Kosma under house arrest and officially
banned him from composing. But in tacit cooperation with fellow musicians, he continued to write under various
pseudonyms, most often using the names of his colleagues. Some of his best known works graced stylish
cinema classics like La Grande Illusion and The Rules of the Game.
Following a 1944 explosion that nearly took his life, Kosma composed the song Autumn Leaves for which he is
best known, and lived out the rest of his life in Paris, where he died in 1969.
Arranger and Milwaukee, Wisconsin native Peter Blair (aka Blair Bielawski) was born in 1958. He has devoted
much of his career to educational publications (Heritage Music Press, Hal Leonard, Lorenz), and has worked
professionally with Natalie Cole, Manhattan Transfer, Johnny Mathis, Aretha Franklin, the Temptations, Lionel
Hampton, and the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra. He has also served on the Board of Directors for the Retail
Print Music Dealers, and the Wisconsin Music Education Association.
Unit 2: Composition
In 1945, Kosma composed Autumn Leaves under the title Les feuilles mortes(The Dead Leaves),in collaboration
with lyricist Jacques Prevert,as part of a 1946 Marcel Carne film Les Portes de la Nuit. Over the years it became
a favored melody for vocalists and (mostly)jazz instrumentalists. This was due in part to its easily recognizable
form and straightforward II-V-I progressions in the tonic and relative minor. The song's minor key, along with its
seasonal metaphor, made it an obvious choice for musically describing introspection and regret.
Unit 3: Historical Perspective
Kosma originally composed Les Feuilles Mortes (Autumn Leaves) in 1945, as ballet music for Roland Petit's Le
Rendez-vous. Moved by the music and the dance, French film director Marcel Carne requested the melody be

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