Charlie Parker: Celebrating a Century of the Genius Who Changed Jazz Forever

Though he lived hard and died young, Bird’s genre-busting style of sax playing ignited jazz’s bebop revolution.

His audience knew him as “Yardbird”, or more usually, just “Bird”. The variety of sobriquets given to jazz alto saxophonist Charlie Parker, who would have turned 100 on August 29, 2020, is indicative of his different personae – most important, of course, his musical personalities.

Parker was a legendary soloist, inspiring bandleader, daring composer, ingenious innovator and a source of inspiration for many generations still. A jazz idol, full stop. But his off-stage personality revealed a more tragic figure: a drug addict and alcoholic.

Bird lived hard and lost his performance licence, several jobs and attempted suicide twice. All in all, his physical and mental health were already waning at an early age. That he died young then, at just 34 years old, was not really a shock. He passed away a week after his last public performance, on March 12, 1955. This last concert took place in the famous New York nightclub Birdland – aptly named in his honour.

Charlie Parker is considered “one of the most striking performers in the entire history of jazz, and one of the most influential”, according to the Rough Guide to Jazz. The more authoritative encyclopedia in academic circles, The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, qualifies him in comparable terms and characterises Bird as a “supremely creative improviser”.

Early bird

Parker was born and raised in a musical family in Kansas City, Missouri, which was known for its vibrant music scene. He started to play the saxophone when he was 11 years old, taking lessons at a local music school and joining high school bands.

But he chiefly developed as a musician by carefully studying his older peers. Inspired by the big bands of Bennie Moten and Count Basie, Parker embarked on the blues and swing tradition of his time. Yet he felt something was missing.

Also read: Did Academia Kill Jazz?

His aural vision was to strut out to the quarter-note pulse of swing. But the adventurous Parker sought distractions from this predictable performance convention by making off-beat accents, syncopations and beats against the metric grain. At the same time, he also deemed the melodies of the standards musicians played in his era rather passé.

While leaving the original harmonies of songs basically intact, he took off to replace their melodies with creations of his own. These new lines and their subsequent improvisations generally included formulas like the “ya-ba-daba bebop” transcribed in onomatopoeic “scat singing”.

Bird and Bebop

Through Parker, complexity in jazz grew considerably. He aimed – and flew – higher, literally, by performing melodic lines that jumped to the next octave, overtly appropriating notes from a higher register. Like an alto riding piggyback on a soprano, and vice versa. This progressive musical concept required alterations in the supporting chords too. It enriched the accompanying harmonies with additional notes from these very same higher octaves.

To summarise Parker’s innovations in jazz is to describe the genre of bebop, of which he was one of the founding fathers and main protagonists. Bebop became the dominant style in jazz from the mid-1940s to the late 1950s, when it was subsequently overshadowed by new directions including free jazz and jazz-rock.

Bebop was then rediscovered in the 1970s, to ultimately become accepted as the “classic” style of jazz. And Bird is the epitome. He not only influenced his own generation and inspired his fellow saxophonists up to the present day. Every self-respecting jazz musician – no matter what their instrument – must study Parker’s unique playing style that essentially boils down to about a hundred different formulaic lines, which he sewed into his improvisations like a patchwork quilt.

Bird and Beethoven

Parker’s modernisation of jazz affected every single parameter of music, including instrumentation. With Parker and his associates, the big band era made legendary by the orchestras of Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman and the like, drew to a close.

The smaller ensemble, or combo, with a modest rhythm section of drums, bass, piano (or guitar or vibraphone, for that matter) and a few wind instruments, became the new milestone of jazz. Parker’s own quintet – which included, among others, Miles Davis on trumpet and Max Roach on drums – was, once again, trendsetting.

Given Bird’s far-reaching influence on the evolution of jazz, it’s no surprise that many aficionados consider Parker on a par with classical composers like Mozart and Beethoven. Such qualifications consider jazz as equal to classical music, and are testament to it being taken seriously as a mature musical genre. Jazz can be regarded as America’s original contribution to music history – and, by consequence, an important topic of academic study.

Parker’s centennial is currently being celebrated worldwide with new (re)releases, radio and television documentaries, and tribute concerts. And rightly so. Once you’ve been seduced by the Bird, you will never stop listening to classics like Confirmation, Scrapple from the Apple, Billie’s Bounce, or the one with the most amusing, yet appropriate title: Ornithology.

Emile Wennekes, Chair Professor of Musicology: Music and Media, Utrecht University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The 1960s Jazz Tribute to Malcolm X That Profoundly Expressed the Black Condition

The protest song ‘Malcolm’s gone’ not only pays tribute to one of the most influential black leaders, but provocatively likens him, as a Muslim and so-called enemy of the state, to Jesus Christ.

The protest song ‘Malcolm’s gone’ not only pays tribute to one of the most influential black leaders, but provocatively likens him, as a Muslim and so-called enemy of the state, to Jesus Christ.

Leon Thomas - from his debut album ‘Spirits Known and Unknown’. Credit: The Conversation

Leon Thomas – from his debut album ‘Spirits Known and Unknown’.
Credit: The Conversation

By the late 1950s foremost musicians like Charlie Parker, Charles Mingus and John Coltrane explicitly introduced politics in their jazz, as the civil rights movement started gaining momentum in the US. Musician and author Gilad Atzmon explained it in a 2005 essay:

Black Americans were calling for freedom, and jazz expressed it better than mere words.

This trend continued and intensified over the following decades, especially in free and spiritual jazz. These sub-genres represented an angrier battle for political freedom.

Profoundly beautiful

In 1969 avant garde jazz vocalist Leon Thomas, with spiritual jazz giant Pharoah Sanders, composed ‘Malcolm’s gone’. It’s a profoundly beautiful tribute to American civil rights activist and revolutionary Malcolm X, who was assassinated in 1965.

The song appears on Thomas’s debut solo album, Spirits Known and Unknown. It features Sanders (on tenor sax) and other free jazz luminaries like Cecil McBee (bass), Lonnie Liston Smith (keyboards) and Roy Haynes (drums).

Thomas is often a forgotten figure in popular music. He’s best known for his unique jazz vocal style that is characterised by the experimental use of yodelling and scatting, along with his own beautiful natural voice.

The singer, who died in 1999, is mostly remembered for his contributions to the recordings of jazz and rock heavyweights such as Randy Weston,Rahsaan Roland Kirk,Oliver Nelson and Carlos Santana. That is despite the gravity of Thomas’s own solo work and his contribution to jazz, especially in the area of vocalisation.

Seconds of silence

Thomas’s opening line, to the mostly instrumental ‘Malcolm’s gone’, is simply the utterance “Malik El-Shabazz”, X’s assumed Muslim name at the time of his death. It’s then followed by a few seconds of silence before the band starts playing a deeply melancholic melody. The melody is the sonic equivalent of the emotions that one feels upon hearing of the passing of a loved one.

Thomas rejoins the melody about two minutes later with the line

I know he’s gone… but he’s not forgotten.
I know he died just to set me free… yes Malcolm’s gone, but he’s not forgotten, he died just to save me, give me back dignity.

Thomas then explodes into a yodel. His gloomy wail is set to a striking cacophony of beautifully layered rhythms and melodies. The song then transcends into what resembles a spiritual jazz version of a Pentecostal funeral service. It ends with the ululating congregation honouring the late Malcolm X by clapping in unison.

The song invokes the imagery of masses of mourning people at a funeral. At the same time it creates an atmosphere of jubilation reminiscent of a congregation experiencing glossolalia and spirit possession collectively.

Sonically it draws on various black spiritual traditions to express, in sound, the emotion of losing a well loved and respected member of the Ummah, or the Muslim community. The lyrics clearly draw parallels between X and Jesus Christ, which some may regard as the ultimate tribute, or perhaps a very strong political statement given the sociopolitical climate of US during that period.

A volatile period

The late 1960s, the period when Thomas released the song, was a very volatile period for African Americans. It marked the end of the relatively nonviolent American civil rights era, and the beginnings of the militant Black Power movement.

Many black people at the time felt that the passive resistance of the civil rights era was no longer a viable option in their quest for equality. Cue an ideological shift toward the black nationalist, Pan-Africanist and socialist ideologies offered by the Black Power movements, hellbent on protecting themselves by all means necessary against an oppressive state.

It was also when many influential and leading figures were either silenced, imprisoned or assassinated. The situation was further exacerbated by the Vietnam War and the Nixon-era conservative politics.

“Malcolm’s gone” is not only a song that pays tribute to one of the most influential black freedom fighters to walk this planet (which in itself is a revolutionary act). It’s a song that dares to liken him to the very same deity that racist nationalist white America prayed to at night, Jesus Christ. This was a very provocative act given America’s Christian foundations, and the fact that Malcolm X, a black Muslim, was perceived to be an enemy of the state.

With minimal lyrics and a robust otherworldly feel the song is able to capture the pain and optimism of black America in a time of great adversity. At the same time it consolidates ideas of civil rights pacifism (through the imagery of Christ) and Black power militancy (in the form of crashing instruments and wailing). It is a profound expression of the black condition of the time, and a deeply dignified tribute to a fallen soldier.

Michael Shakib Bhatch is a lecturer in English and PhD candidate in Afrofuturism and African Studies at the University of the Western Cape.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.