Stan Kenton, "Prologue: This Is An Orchestra"
Now that we've had a chance to talk about Stan Kenton from a purely biographical standpoint, let's take a long, hard look at the music that he created.
It's obvious that we can't do a full musical dichotomy of Kenton's lengthy career in one blog post alone. What we can do is establish the nature of his art: the key musical concepts, the various emotional devices he likes to fall back on, the way he utilizes the various solo voices he had access to. This may seem like a daunting task at first, but Kenton actually made our life a lot easier by essentially codifying his message in a single recording.
In 1952, Kenton recorded and released a series of tracks that came to be compiled on a single album: "New Concepts of Artistry in Rhythm." An in-depth look at the entire content of this album is for another time and another place. What is relevant for this discussion is the album's opening salvo, the 10-minute "Prologue: This Is An Orchestra," composed in segments by Kenton and Johnny Richards. Kenton also serves as narrator, expounding upon his musical mission while guiding the listener through an introduction of every member of his ensemble, from those now in the pantheon of jazz royalty (saxophonist Lee Konitz, trumpeter Maynard Ferguson, trombonist Frank Rosolino) to those who are mere footnotes in the ongoing musical odyssey (baritonist Bob Gioga, trombonist Keith Moon, trumpeter Don Dennis).
Looked at purely in terms of its musical merits, the piece doesn't exactly work as well as it could. There is an overall disjointed feel as the band jumps back and forth between different sounds and styles; this should come as no surprise when one reflects upon the way the piece was composed. The band's strongest soloists typically get the longest moments in the spotlight, but one wishes that even these showcases could be allowed a little more time to develop. To focus on these issues, however, is to miss the point of what Kenton was trying to accomplish with this work. This was meant to be not a masterwork of music, but rather a mission statement, an elucidation of the band's greater purpose.
The piece starts out, appropriately enough, with a dissonant, brass-heavy blast. Kenton announces "This is an orchestra!" (As if the band hasn't already made that abundantly clear.) Some dissonant, ruminating accompaniment underlies Kenton's first monologue, filled to the brim with purple prose, some self-congratulatory back-patting, and a couple statements of the obvious. Kenton concludes: "This is a cross-section view of this orchestra," accompanied by another, slightly more subdued brass blast. 55 seconds in, we're finally off to the races.
The band's intro begins with the rhythm section, specifically bassist Don Bagley, who opens things up with a double-time bass line before the band segues into a brief Sal Salvador guitar solo. Yet another brass blast sends drummer Stan Levey off into an unaccompanied double-time solo, followed by another climactic, dissonant swell. Kenton's words do a decent (if overly verbose) job of stating the roles of his rhythm section: the bass provides the foundation, the guitar serves as a melodic voice, the drums keep the beat churning steadily ahead. Despite the many musicians who would occupy these seats over the years, their roles remained essentially the same; it would be up to the individuals themselves to see if they could transcend these base job descriptions. Some would do so better than others.
At the 1:52 mark, Kenton gives a brief mention to trombonist/composer Bill Russo. This seemingly passing mention may seem odd compared to Russo's true value to the band; in my opinion, no composer better captured the Kenton spirit than Russo, save perhaps Pete Rugolo. Upon closer observation, however, it makes more sense. This piece is only intended to display the performance skills of the band members, and Russo was never a particularly skilled improviser. Even more cursory is Kenton's mention of "a young guy, Keith Moon." Moon apparently retired from touring in the mid-1950s due to familial commitment, a resume that's not exactly comparable with The Who drummer of the same name.
The piece's first prominent improviser introduces himself around 2:20, trombonist Frank Rosolino. His brief spotlight is typical Rosolino: boisterous, exciting, powerful. It seems the band can't help itself but swing behind him, with this sense of swing continuing through the brief ensemble portion that follows him. Following this is a seemingly passing mention of trumpeters Rueben McFall and Don Dennis, described as "young musicians...that are just getting started." Kenton would end up using a lot of these kinds of musicians toward the end of his career. The two play a simple duet underneath the introduction of lead altoist, Vinnie Dean, who displays a warm, pretty sound in what turns out to be a rare quiet moment for the band. Dean's approach is almost perfectly indicative of what Kenton sought out in his saxophonists: a soft, mild, benign presence to counter-balance (or perhaps to not get in the way of) the atomic brass section.
I'm not sure I agree with Kenton that an ominous trombone blast is the best way to introduce the lithe tenor of Bill Holman, but that's what he gives us at 3:40. It's also unfortunate that Kenton's bloviated monologue covers up most of Holman's soloing. I've always believed that had his writing not become the main selling point of his musicianship, Holman would have become one of the top tenormen on the West Coast scene. Thankfully, Kenton gets out of the way in time for Richie Kamuca (another soft-edged saxophonist) to take a brief solo of his own. Between Kamuca and other notable Kenton tenor soloists over the years, you could more or less recreate the Woody Herman Four Brothers sound if you wanted to.
Although Conte Candoli is introduced by a more typically brash fanfare from the brass, his brief solo at 4:36 serves as a great reminder of the inherent warmth and beauty of his trumpet playing. This tender moment is interrupted by yet another ominous rumble, albeit a slightly more subdued one from before. Kenton's next monologue discusses the importance of having musicians who "are in constant study...[who] are intent on achieving greater heights." It turns out that in this case he's referring to altoist Lee Konitz, who plays a brief yet typically brainy solo. Thankfully, he's not cut off in the same way that Kamuca was earlier. Kenton briefly waxes personal about baritonist Bob Gioga, who had been with his bands since the very beginning. Gioga plays a written solo with an almost classical approach.
This is followed up at 6:38 by another written solo, this time performed by someone on the opposite end of the range spectrum: lead trumpeter Buddy Childers. Although Childers did not possess the stratospheric capabilities of other Kenton brassmen, he has no problem showcasing his big, clear sound and effortless facility from top to bottom. The writing underneath him, while dissonant, ebbs and flows with a subtlety not seen in some of Kenton's later efforts. Bass trombonist George Roberts and Kenton have some brief repartee, with Roberts initially defying Kenton's orders to display his bottom register. After discussing the importance of having a "1st trombone [who] can take black notes from dead paper and bring wonderful life to them" (accompanied by some appropriately pecky saxophone writing), Kenton introduces Bob Burgess, who plays a surprisingly docile solo over some impressionist-sounding underpinnings from the saxophones. Burgess' warm sound was no doubt influenced by one of Kenton's first lead bone men, Kai Winding; these traits would continue to be seen in Burgess' successors.
We're down to the final musician, and according to Kenton, this gentleman is "capable of stirring great feelings of fire." The ensuing high-note blast at 8:06 should come as no surprise; it's trumpeter Maynard Ferguson, who gets a solo that, at first, showcases his underrated skills as an improviser. It doesn't take long, however, for Ferguson to fall back on his trademark range. After he finishes his improvisation, he trades some more high note blasts with the rest of the band, who are by this point playing at a fevered intensity. Kenton always had a predilection for screaming trumpet players, but Ferguson's skills were on a completely different level than anyone else at that point. Ferguson quickly became Kenton's favorite soloist, and his over-the-top, energetic approach to playing (not to mention his sheer, undiluted power) came to be the golden standard that Kenton looked for in all of his future trumpet players.
After an abrupt break in the music, and with a somewhat melancholy piano accompaniment, Kenton introduces himself at 8:50 in a disarmingly humble, slightly self-effacing way. It's a nice change of pace compared to the rest of his pompous ramblings; it's almost like he's trying to make up for how much he ran his mouth through the rest of the piece. His monologue concludes with the quoted snippet at the top of the page, with the band swelling and building underneath. Kenton is forced to continuously raise his voice, finally reaching an all-out yell at his final pronouncement of "this is an orchestra!" The piece concludes with one final, climactic blast, with Ferguson screaming over the top of the whole thing and Levey pounding on his tom-toms as if they were tympani.
The piece has finally concluded, having given us a full account of not only the musicians Kenton had at his disposal, but also their various roles and purposes within the ensemble. The saxophonists are supposed to be cool, level-headed, complimentary. The trombonists are the meat and potatoes, providing warmth, depth, and force when necessary. The trumpets are the fire breathers, where the only real rule is "the louder and higher, the better." The rhythm section keeps the time and lays the foundation on which the real important stuff (read: the brass) is built. All of this has been stated clearly, pompously and perhaps even condescendingly. When all's said and done, we finally have a portrait of how music is supposed to be through the eyes of Stan Kenton.
This post is part of a series on the life and music of Stan Kenton. In the next post, I will be discussing the key criticism of Kenton's music, namely its perceived lack of swing, and whether or not that is a fair assessment.
