The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady, a Charles Mingus album released in early 1963, is easily one of my all-time favorite recordings. It consists of one composition divided into 6 parts. The album effortlessly weaves eleven musicians with uniquely strong individual voices together. At times these eleven can sound like an army (although admittedly some of this is due to the judicious use of overdubs), but the music always has space to breathe. Perhaps making music breathe is what Mingus does best. The CD version is inexplicably broken up into only four tracks, with the fourth track consisting of the last three movements, even though there are clear breaks between the sections. Much ado has been made of the liner notes of this album, written by Mingus’ psychotherapist, but I’m glad that I bought my copy used and the liner notes are missing so I can focus on the music and not be swayed by another’s analysis of its meaning or whatever. (I did an internet search, confused as to why I was hearing more than one alto and thinking I was incorrectly differentiating the tenor and alto, and found the same two reviews, neither of them illuminating or helpful (except in that they did hint that Mingus used overdubs, returning my sanity) and both glaringly vague as if based on heresay, plagiarized about fifty times!)
The suite opens with Danny Richmond, one of my drumming heroes, defining the sexy feel and quick pace of the first movement, entitled "Solo Dancer." He is soon joined by the ensemble playing a suave vamp, which gets nudged by a muted contrabass trombone (Don Butterfield). The tenor sax (Dick Hafer) introduces a melody which he will continue to refer to throughout the piece, then the alto (Charlie Mariano) slyly floats in taking over the solo for just a few measures, after which he tries to hand it back to the tenor as the drums change to a 6/8 feel, but a baritone sax (Jerome Richardson) with a bleeding heart takes over instead. Underneath, the ensemble gets contrastly more exuberant, forcing the bari to leave his sadness behind. The sun in the form of a trumpet peeks out for a moment, but then cold, fog and wet quickly dominate and briefly calms things down. Indomitable, the musicians fight valiantly with the alto at the helm, and then out of nowhere a muted brass cheer erupts, inciting a passionate soprano sax solo (Richardson). He lets go and soars, and eventually those same muted brass can contain themselves no longer and excitedly urge him on. Suddenly and almost inexplicably, the song melts to a quick end.
The second movement, entitled "Duet Solo Dancers," begins with a piano solo (Jaki Byard). It is heavy and burdened; the rain is back. Then, the saxes return, repeating the theme introduced by the tenor in the first movement. The alto expands briefly, then holds a note and lets it fade. The tuba (Butterfield) and baritone march in like two feet on a giant with the drums as its spine. A muted trombone (Quentin Jackson) tries to stop them, and although he is joined by others, the giant seems about to stomp them all out. Briefly, the giant rests, but then the fight continues until finally the muted trombone reels in agony as the drums continue to beat him down. But no, it was all in good fun; the trombone jumps back to life with the ensemble’s support. The alto bends a note in the background for awhile, then reprises the theme.
The third movement, "Group Dancers," again begins with the piano playing hauntingly; the rain is clearing but occasional thunder can still be heard. The ensemble, led this time by flutes (Hafer and Richardson), cheerily encourage the piano and let him continue. Then the alto stops everybody and introduces a Spanish-influenced guitar (Jay Berliner). The ensemble seems to dig this direction and gets behind a spirited alto-driven jaunt. The mood calms but the alto continues. He seems to momentarily split in two due to a soprano sax brashly doubling his part. Then, the alto does split in two, doubling himself, letting us know the solo is an overdub. With the baritone’s support, the alto leaves his upper register. The soprano (also an overdub since the bari is the same musician) jeers above, but the alto comes right back at him. Everyone gives way to let the alto celebrate his victory, but when they do he plays a beautiful cadenza then gets self-conscious and stops.
The fourth movement, "Trio and Group Dancers" (I must say I have no idea what any of these titles are referencing, if anything), starts with a quick introduction of several members vying to take charge. The upright bass, fittingly played by the bandleader himself, demands that they all get along; a singing ensemble of unspeakable brilliance results. But I guess the guitar feels left out, and just begins strumming, much to the chagrin of everybody. They kind of all look around, shrug their shoulders and try to ignore him. But hell no, he’s gonna play his flamenco-esque music and they’re gonna listen! But when he begins incessantly banging a chord repeatedly the ensemble decides they have had enough and try to return to what they were doing. But the guitar has infected them like a virus, and now the trumpets (Rolf Ericson and Richard Williams) are Spanish-tinged too. Suddenly, it’s a fiesta!
Okay, TIMEOUT! Let me just try to come to grips with this. How did any composer ever conceive this? How does he just continue to jump from one theme and style to the next while successfully making it all one song? Mingus, like Mozart, knows how to expertly toss the melody from one instrument to the next, while, like Beethoven, morphing the melody into a whole new vibe. And like Ellington, Mingus always accentuates the strengths of each musician in the band. Despite his obvious vast knowledge of music history, like a true auteur, Mingus never sounds like anybody but Mingus. Oh, but wait- there are still twelve minutes left….
Four ensemble beats bring the party to an abrupt close, and in the short fifth movement, "Single Solos and Group Dance," the piano (certainly it’s Mingus, unless Byard’s fingers suddenly got a lot fatter. This is the second time the bandleader plays a part which seems to restore order to chaos.) hammers away until he’s able to reintroduce the happenings before the rude guitar interruption.
The sixth movement, "Group and Solo Dance," begins as pure big band swing. And does it swing! Short solos constantly weave in and out, above and behind. (This section utilizes overdubs, as you can clearly hear two altos.) Then, the unwavering guitarist is back. The alto joins him in a duet. The ensemble respectfully returns. As the alto continues, a trumpet tries to break free. The alto and trumpet battle aggressively, with the ensemble trying to hold it together while the guitar does his thing. Eventually the tenor restores sanity by returning to his theme. Then, a muted trombone decides to lead a cabaret-esque romp as saxes croon and muted trumpets cheer on, which slowly speeds up until the drums are playing (dare I say inventing?) a fast punk groove. Eventually, the tempo calms, but before you know it, things have sped up and gone ballistic again! This idea repeats a third time, but this time an overdubbed alto and then tenor add their two cents. Finally the alto takes a brief solo very reminiscent of his solo at the beginning of the piece, but apparently Mingus was not satisfied with the original ending, because an overdubbed alto cadenza is pasted at the very end.
2 comments:
Yeah, those groups were legendary; Richmond was always right with whatever was happening. In the early 80s, Downbeat ran a piece about Jimmy Knepper, who talked at length about an alleged altercation between himself and the bandleader. I viewed it as a snub to Mingus' memory, but that's just me. Mingus pioneered what was known as the extended form; complex, multi-layered pieces with blowing sections that were not necessarily based on chord changes. Those practices still scare the hell out of a lot of people.
Jump to time present -- the contrasting section of my new piece was realized this evening at a friend's Technics piano; strange how an alternate instrument brings forth a torrent of new ideas. The changes suggest Coltrane, but I doubt that any horn player around here would be willing to tackle them.
mingus had a notorious temper, and if someone slapped me in the mouth hard enough to knock a tooth out, i'd probably hold a bit of a grudge, too.
i learned long ago (in fact, this is another story to be blogged about in the future) not too confuse a good artist with a good human being or to expect one to be the other.
of course, easier said than done.
i recently listened to a Parliament album and was reminded how fun they are and how much i used to like them before i had a pretty distasteful experience working with george clinton.
congrats on the further development of your piece. i guess it shouldn't be such a surprise that approaching something from a different perspective often yields previously unconsidered results but it still often takes us off guard somehow.
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