DIMINUENDO AND CRESCENDO: A short history of a long, long solo.

"Diminuendo" is one of the most iconic jazz performances ever. The most famous rendition comes from the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival when tenor saxophonist Paul Gonsalves soloed for 27 straight choruses, inciting the crowd, 7000-deep with jazz aficionados and socialites from across the Eastern seaboard, into a frenzy. Some consider it one of the most culturally important live performances of the '50s. John Fass, in his non-fictional account of the performance, Backstory in Blue, compares it to Woodstock. Newport rejuvenated Ellington's career and brought big bands back to the forefront.

options

DIMINUENDO AND CRESCENDO: A short history of a long, long solo.

POSTED: Friday, July 22, 2011, 4:00 PM

Filed Under: Music | Blast from the Past jazz

I called up the biggest jazz head I know, my grandfather, to pick his brain about his favorite live performances. He named a couple, but emphasized one special epic — Duke Ellington’s “Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue.”

“Diminuendo” is one of the most iconic jazz performances ever. The most famous rendition comes from the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival when tenor saxophonist Paul Gonsalves soloed for 27 straight choruses, inciting the crowd, 7000-deep with jazz aficionados and socialites from across the Eastern seaboard, into a frenzy. Some consider it one of the most culturally important live performances of the ’50s. John Fass, in his non-fictional account of the performance, Backstory in Blue, compares it to Woodstock. Newport rejuvenated Ellington’s career and brought big bands back to the forefront.

“Diminuendo in Blue” and “Crescendo in Blue” were two songs written and recorded in 1937, during Ellington’s heyday. They were played as separate pieces from their release until 1951.

Today, it’s hard to look back and think that the legendary Duke Ellington was all but washed-up at the time. To summarize the explanation given in Backstory in Blue, the waves of immigrants in the ’30s who had embraced jazz as their first taste of authentic America were beginning to favor smaller ensembles. Post-war youth preferred rhythm and blues (and its offshoots) as the choice popular music. The purists who had championed Duke’s sound had grown older and driven Eisenhower highways and to calmer pastures for their slice of the suburban, picket-fenced American dream. Big band jazz was passé, and Duke Ellington was struggling.

In 1951, at the Birdland club, Paul Gonsalves asked Duke if he could solo between “Diminuendo” and “Crescendo” that night. Duke obliged, and Gonsalves soloed for nearly 28 choruses of improvisational cream that united of the songs in perpetuity.

The two songs became one officially in liner notes after Newport. My grandfather insists that there is a version of the songs with Philly Jo Jones on drums from beforehand that eclipses all other known recordings. This is very possible. Philly Jo Jones gigged with Ellington (and everyone else for that matter) in the early ’50s. However, I’ve yet to find this recording.

Jo Jones made a name for himself as one of the most gifted and influential big band percussionists of all time. Philly Jo impressed as a driving, powerful player, but he was more than that. He was a tap dancer with an innate sense for the stage that kept him all smiles regardless of the tempo. Philly Jo could play his sticks in a perfectly timed flutter, tickle the skins with fingertips, or do both simultaneously. He didn’t rely on his bass drums for power, in fact, he was more known for his cymbals and brushwork. (This solo in particular is bananas.)

Before Duke and His Orchestra took the stage, Jones and fellow Philly cat Coltrane were backstage chilling. Jones came up to the side of the stage to watch them play. When the band started to kick “Diminuendo,” Jones lost it, keeping beat ferociously with a rolled-up copy of the Christian Science Monitor, shouting and egging the band on — a hype man and supposed instigator to the pandemonium that was to unfurl. Columbia rep (and future legend) George Avakian saw this and put Jones’ photo on the cover of the album. Obviously, many of the people who actually played in the band that night didn’t take too kindly to this. Since, Jones’ influence on “Diminuendo” has become a matter of controversy and legend.

A lot of forces, human and supernatural, have been cited regarding this otherworldly showing. While other members of the orchestra have devalued Jo Jones’ contribution, Duke did not. Duke thought Jones was a hero.

Credit has also been given to a blonde named Elaine Anderson, a former model and life-long society woman, who took to the floor, directly in front of the band, and gyrated feverously. This was pre-Shakira, okay — no one did that back then. The crowd lost it.

Then there was Duke of course. He saw the moment, and let Gonsalves seize it, solo, for all of the choruses, purposely not cueing the key change for “Crescendo,” allowing the hysteria onstage and off to continue.

Paul Gonsalves himself had his eyes closed, having gone somewhere in his own realm. He didn’t see Duke, or the blonde or Philly Jo. That solo was all him.

Paul Gonsalves had home court advantage. A Rhode Island native, Gonsalves was a product of the Cape Verdean American community found in southern New England, and grew up performing both jazz and Creole music. He learned to play his first instrument, the guitar, from his father. In the tenor sax, he found his calling.

Paul Gonsalves was so good that he took naps while the band was in full swing, and still, Duke would never fire him. (Here’s a video of him taking a snooze during “Perdido.” Duke claimed that Gonsalves had a tropical illness. Gonsalves was a serious drug addict, so the naps might also be attributable to barbiturates.) They used to say that Paul picked up his drug habit gigging with Coltrane. Gonsalves used to say that after he showed Coltrane his prowess on tenor, Coltrane picked up the alto sax for good.

The expectation to solo for 27 choruses wore on Gonsalves, and he grew tired of the glory associated with Newport. In an interview with jazz writer Stanley Nance, he said:

"Of course, I thought I had only played a couple of minutes. I’ve never tried to memorize the record. I don’t even have it at home and have never listened to it. It has become harder and harder to do, night after night, because the people expect me to play a long time. The length is really determined by the way the rhythm section is working and how everything is building up. The climax may come after ten or five choruses, but if you go beyond it you destroy everything. One night in Des Moines, Iowa, a guy in front of the stand made me angry. ‘Hm, you, Paul Gonsalves … I don’t think you can play that long like on the record,’ he said. So I played 66 choruses. Some nights I play it and ideas come, but sometimes they won’t.”

Gonsalves died prematurely in 1974, a few days before Duke did. Duke’s son never told his father the news, believing that it would hurt him too deeply.

We’re not only going to hit you up (see below) with a video of Duke’s orchestra performing the song in 1958, but also a live performance of the song from 1953, the seminal full live performance from Newport, and a version from 1958, sans Duke, from a jam album with Paul Gonsalves and trumpeter Clark Terry. Proceed with caution. This much aural genius can be overwhelming.

(cassie.owens@citypaper.net)

Posted by Cassie Owens @ 4:00 PM Permalink | Post a comment

Previous Story: Q&A with MIKE CAHILL: "We have a primal fear of being alone in the universe. That’s why we reach out."

Comments (0)

Q&A with SHARI SOLANIS: "The goal isn't pornography"
SEXY TIME Q&A: I've never had an orgasm during sex with a man — and I'm 30!
NOW SEE THIS: Transit cop arrests marijuana activist for alleged disorderly conduct.
CONCERT REVIEW: Primus (3D & quadraphonic sound) @ The Tower 10/17
What we're trying to do this weekend
Q&A with Tony Goldwyn: "Life is gray, and relationships are, too"
ICEPACK ILLUSTRATED: Indian fare rules, Dunder Mifflin lives on, Tom Jones is a god
Bradley Cooper promises he's not an asshole
Q&A with Goon’s Seann William Scott
CITY PAPER WRITING CONTEST 2013: Send stories! Send poetry!

About this blog

Featuring everything from event roundups to concert reviews and sex talk, City Paper's Critical Mass is a space for off-the-wall coverage of Philly's A&E scene.

Follow Critical Mass editors Patrick Rapa and Emily Guendelsberger on Twitter:

@mission2denmark | @emilygee

Search this blog:

Topics:

Blog archives:

May
April
March

February
January

Past Archives: