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Quattro vite jazz: Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Herbie Nichols, Jackie McLean
Quattro vite jazz è uno dei testi fondanti della moderna critica musicale, un vero e proprio classico della letteratura sul jazz. Attraverso i case studies di quattro musicisti geniali ma spesso avversati dai contemporanei perché considerati troppo «difficili» o «sperimentali» – i pianisti Cecil Taylor e Herbie Nichols, i sassofonisti Ornette Coleman e Jackie McLean – Spellman offre un resoconto aspro e disincantato del conflitto tra le esigenze dell’entertainment e quelle dell’integrità artistica, tra le asfissie del mercato discografico e gli orizzonti potenzialmente infiniti della ricerca musicale. Ciò che emerge da queste pagine, nel vivido racconto in prima persona dei protagonisti, è una vicenda di battaglie quotidiane per la sopravvivenza, fra difficoltà economiche, droghe e discriminazioni razziali; ma anche una storia di speranza e solidarietà, di inaspettati riscatti e rari, luminosi successi. Pubblicato originariamente nel 1966 e tradotto oggi per la prima volta in italiano, Quattro vite jazz è, come scrive l’autore nella nuova prefazione, «una macchina del tempo, il ritratto di quattro musicisti impegnati nella creazione artistica e in lotta contro fattori violentemente ostili. Quando ci sono lotte così, le belle storie da raccontare non mancano mai. E soprattutto, non invecchiano mai».
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1966
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February 25, 2023
Published in 1966, this book shows us how the lives and artistic fates of four influential musicians were affected by the atmosphere, business practices and prejudices of the jazz world during the late '40's and '50's: 1) the uncompromising classically-trained composer Cecil Taylor, 2) the innovative romantic artist Ornette Coleman, 3) the professional stalwart turned innovator, Jackie Taylor, and 4) the eccentric songwriter and pianist Herbie Nichols.
A.B. Spellman is an able historian and interviewer who knows his subjects well, having worked as a jazz critic for Downbeat and Metronome and as a writer of liner notes for the Blue Note label. (He subsequently taught African-American Studies—including three years at Harvard—and ended his working life with thirty years of service at the National Endowment for the Arts.)
Of the four performers Spellman covers in his book, pianist Cecil Taylor is perhaps the least sympathetic. He rails at the philistine “gangsters” that own the New York jazz clubs (true, many of them literally were mobsters) and their poorly maintained and execrably tuned pianos. But Taylor, a dissonant, percussive pianist, frequently banged the keys so hard that he sent them flying right off the piano, and thus deserves some of the blame for the wear-and-tear himself. What he laments most, however, was his failure to get the regular, short gigs that more conventional players are customarily given, for they are precisely what an experimental jazz band leader requires: time for his musicians to become comfortable with his difficult, demanding pieces. But Taylor never makes it easy for the owners, for, not only is his music often harsh and unmelodic, but his sets—which club owners plead with him to shorten—can be as much as two hours in length, sometimes consisting of a single tune. Yet Taylor refuses to compromise. Adversity makes him strong.
By contrast, the most attractive and poignant musician here is saxophonist Ornette Coleman. He is as uncompromising as Taylor, but somehow his single-mindedness seems inevitable, inseparable from the artist’s vision. His progress too is more difficult, for two reasons: 1) he was born and raised in the jazz backwater of Texas, where the only sound the people cry for is the honk of the r & b sax, and 2) his “free jazz” vision at first seemed an insult to bebop, for it rejected the formal chord progression and fixed tempo in favor of melodic improvisation built on the spontaneous accents of the bass and drums. As a consequence, Ornette Coleman, in addition to being infrequently hired, was sometimes also beaten up by patrons and hassled by fellow musicians. But he persevered and moved out to California, where he discovered collaborators and disciples and took his difficult—but no longer discouraging—path to greatness.
Jackie McLean played the saxophone from his high school years, and he grew up in New York City surrounded by bebop greats, having opportunity to learn from both Bud Powell and Charlie Parker. His career was hampered by an arrest for heroin addiction, for his loss of a “cabaret card” prevented him from playing music in any club in New York. But he honed his skills through many recording dates, and, through his collaborations with Charlie Mingus, grew in range and ambition until he became an inventive modernist himself, responsible for the innovative Let Freedom Ring.
And then there is Herbie Nichols. I decided to read this book because of Nichols, for he is--with the exception of Ellington--is my all-time favorite jazz pianist/composer, author of compositions as quirky and memorable as Monk’s, but somehow—at least to this fan’s ear—more rhythmic, much closer to the heart of bebop. (His most popular piece is “Lady Sings the Blues.” You may have heard of it.) But in spite of his genius as a composer and his considerable skill as a player, he could never seem to convince either club owners or musicians that he could be an effective leader. Since he refused to compromise his own personal music, he played any old music he didn’t care about instead, in smarmy strip clubs and dixieland joints filled with with drunken frat boys. He contracted leukemia and passed away at the age of 44.
A.B. Spellman is an able historian and interviewer who knows his subjects well, having worked as a jazz critic for Downbeat and Metronome and as a writer of liner notes for the Blue Note label. (He subsequently taught African-American Studies—including three years at Harvard—and ended his working life with thirty years of service at the National Endowment for the Arts.)
Of the four performers Spellman covers in his book, pianist Cecil Taylor is perhaps the least sympathetic. He rails at the philistine “gangsters” that own the New York jazz clubs (true, many of them literally were mobsters) and their poorly maintained and execrably tuned pianos. But Taylor, a dissonant, percussive pianist, frequently banged the keys so hard that he sent them flying right off the piano, and thus deserves some of the blame for the wear-and-tear himself. What he laments most, however, was his failure to get the regular, short gigs that more conventional players are customarily given, for they are precisely what an experimental jazz band leader requires: time for his musicians to become comfortable with his difficult, demanding pieces. But Taylor never makes it easy for the owners, for, not only is his music often harsh and unmelodic, but his sets—which club owners plead with him to shorten—can be as much as two hours in length, sometimes consisting of a single tune. Yet Taylor refuses to compromise. Adversity makes him strong.
By contrast, the most attractive and poignant musician here is saxophonist Ornette Coleman. He is as uncompromising as Taylor, but somehow his single-mindedness seems inevitable, inseparable from the artist’s vision. His progress too is more difficult, for two reasons: 1) he was born and raised in the jazz backwater of Texas, where the only sound the people cry for is the honk of the r & b sax, and 2) his “free jazz” vision at first seemed an insult to bebop, for it rejected the formal chord progression and fixed tempo in favor of melodic improvisation built on the spontaneous accents of the bass and drums. As a consequence, Ornette Coleman, in addition to being infrequently hired, was sometimes also beaten up by patrons and hassled by fellow musicians. But he persevered and moved out to California, where he discovered collaborators and disciples and took his difficult—but no longer discouraging—path to greatness.
Jackie McLean played the saxophone from his high school years, and he grew up in New York City surrounded by bebop greats, having opportunity to learn from both Bud Powell and Charlie Parker. His career was hampered by an arrest for heroin addiction, for his loss of a “cabaret card” prevented him from playing music in any club in New York. But he honed his skills through many recording dates, and, through his collaborations with Charlie Mingus, grew in range and ambition until he became an inventive modernist himself, responsible for the innovative Let Freedom Ring.
And then there is Herbie Nichols. I decided to read this book because of Nichols, for he is--with the exception of Ellington--is my all-time favorite jazz pianist/composer, author of compositions as quirky and memorable as Monk’s, but somehow—at least to this fan’s ear—more rhythmic, much closer to the heart of bebop. (His most popular piece is “Lady Sings the Blues.” You may have heard of it.) But in spite of his genius as a composer and his considerable skill as a player, he could never seem to convince either club owners or musicians that he could be an effective leader. Since he refused to compromise his own personal music, he played any old music he didn’t care about instead, in smarmy strip clubs and dixieland joints filled with with drunken frat boys. He contracted leukemia and passed away at the age of 44.
When I saw him last, in his sister’s apartment in a low-income district in the Bronx, he seemed to be dying of disillusionment. He knew his worth, but it seemed nobody else did, at least nobody that could improve his condition...It was typical of Herbie Nichol’s life that Metronome, the magazine for which I was preparing the first article ever written on him, folded before the article could be published. By the time I placed it elsewhere, Herbie had died.
January 31, 2024
What book is written about in the description below this book's title?
Certainly not Four Lives in the Bebop Business.
Goodreads has corrected their mistake.
I hadn't looked at my old review since I wrote it, and I should give this book a proper review.
Four Lives was an important book when it was published in 1966. A good part of that was that it brought the name Herbie Nichols, who died three years before this book was published, into the consciousness of jazz fans who read it. Unfortunately, at that time, interested people could only read about Herbie Nichols' music. All of his recordings were out of print. The good news today is that Herbie Nichols' music is available to anyone who's wants to listen, whether they want to stream it or go old style (like I do) and listen to LPs and CDs.
I should also mention that the other three musicians whose lives are covered in the book, Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, and Jackie McLean, were better known in 1966 - though Cecil Taylor was only slightly less obscure than Herbie Nichols and few of his recordings were available.
As I began, Four Lives was an important book in 1966 and it's still relevant and a great read today.
Most of that is due to the fact that A.B. Spellman was an excellent writer who knew his subjects (with the probable exception of Mr. Nichols) and loved and respected their music. Jackie McLean, Ornette Coleman, and Cecil Taylor lived for 40 years or more after this book was published, but Four Lives provides an excellent introduction to their early lives and the foundations of their music.
I should mention that A.B. Spellman is still with us and has returned to his beginnings - that is, writing poetry. A new book, Between the Night and Its Music: New and Selected Poems, will be published later this year. I commend both Four Lives and his poetry to your attention.
Certainly not Four Lives in the Bebop Business.
Goodreads has corrected their mistake.
I hadn't looked at my old review since I wrote it, and I should give this book a proper review.
Four Lives was an important book when it was published in 1966. A good part of that was that it brought the name Herbie Nichols, who died three years before this book was published, into the consciousness of jazz fans who read it. Unfortunately, at that time, interested people could only read about Herbie Nichols' music. All of his recordings were out of print. The good news today is that Herbie Nichols' music is available to anyone who's wants to listen, whether they want to stream it or go old style (like I do) and listen to LPs and CDs.
I should also mention that the other three musicians whose lives are covered in the book, Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, and Jackie McLean, were better known in 1966 - though Cecil Taylor was only slightly less obscure than Herbie Nichols and few of his recordings were available.
As I began, Four Lives was an important book in 1966 and it's still relevant and a great read today.
Most of that is due to the fact that A.B. Spellman was an excellent writer who knew his subjects (with the probable exception of Mr. Nichols) and loved and respected their music. Jackie McLean, Ornette Coleman, and Cecil Taylor lived for 40 years or more after this book was published, but Four Lives provides an excellent introduction to their early lives and the foundations of their music.
I should mention that A.B. Spellman is still with us and has returned to his beginnings - that is, writing poetry. A new book, Between the Night and Its Music: New and Selected Poems, will be published later this year. I commend both Four Lives and his poetry to your attention.
May 30, 2013
in the morning part
of evening he would stand
before his crowd. the voice
would call his name &
redlight fell around him.
Per A.B. Spellman poesia, jazz e critica musicale si fondono nel vissuto quotidiano; come nell’incipit di questa poesia, dedicata a John Coltrane e contenuta in The Beautiful Days del 1965, rimasta a lungo l’unica sua raccolta poetica. Come Amiri Baraka, Spellman si legò prima al movimento beat e fu poi tra i fondatori del Black Arts Movement, coniugando come lui la produzione letteraria all’attività di critico e studioso della cultura afro-americana; di recente è tornato a pubblicare poesia, e sul versante della critica musicale collabora con NPR, per cui ha curato in particolare un’interessante Basic Jazz Record Library con Murray Horwitz. Poesia e critica musicale sono del resto intrecciati fin dai suoi esordi editoriali: un anno dopo The Beautiful Days, mentre ad Oakland veniva fondato il partito delle Pantere Nere, Spellman pubblicò Four Lives in the Bebop Business, ristampato nel 2004 come Four Jazz Lives e pubblicato ora da minimum fax con una bella copertina, che sembra suggerire una scansione sincopata dei 4/4.
Spellman delinea il quadro della scena jazz a lui contemporanea non con astratte generalizzazioni ma attraverso quattro case studies, quattro ritratti composti principalmente da interviste: “Ho cercato di far parlare il più possibile i musicisti. Fosse stato per me, avrei preferito una sequenza di quattro autobiografie”. La scelta è esemplare: “Ornette Coleman e Cecil Taylor”, l’uno texano autodidatta e l’altro uscito dalle migliori scuole musicali del New England, “sono due dei tre più importanti nuovi musicisti jazz del decennio (il terzo, John Coltrane, non ha voluto essere incluso nel mio lavoro)”, scrive l’autore —ed è una perdita significativa, considerando che Trane sarebbe morto l’anno successivo—; Jackie McLean è un veterano che si è aperto e ha inglobato ogni successiva innovazione jazzistica in uno stile fortemente personale; Herbie Nichols infine è un compositore di grandissimo talento ma ignorato da case discografiche e proprietari di locali, relegato a side-man dei gruppi più retrogradi, “finendo a morire di vecchiaia a soli quarantaquattro anni”.
Il testo restituisce un’ampia casistica delle condizioni precarie e degradanti del “business del bebop”, espressione con cui Spellman definisce il contesto economico creato da una rivoluzione musicale che sottrasse il jazz all’intrattenimento e ne fece una forma d’arte consapevole, spostandolo dalle sale da ballo ai locali notturni. Di questo “business”, sostiene, fanno parte anche i musicisti che non suonano bebop, che ne hanno portato avanti lo spirito radicale più che la forma, e che si scontrano con la convinzione pregiudiziale che il jazz d’avanguardia non venda. Tra i numerosi esempi riportati nel testo, sintomatico è quello del Five Spot, locale leggendario della scena newyorkese: come riconosce lo stesso proprietario Joe Termini, fu Cecil Taylor a farne la fortuna nel 1956; ma pur ammettendo che «riempiamo di più il locale con lui che con tanti che hanno ben altre reputazioni», Termini gli preferisce spesso proprio questi ultimi. Innovatori come Taylor e Coleman, insieme ai loro sidemen (tutti e quattro i musicisti sono stati bandleaders), sono pertanto ridotti in condizioni di tale indigenza da compromettere l’evoluzione stessa della loro arte; oppure costretti ad abbandonare le loro comunità d’origine, condannandosi a sradicamento e alienazione. Nelle parole di Coleman: «Sono un nero, sono un musicista jazz. Poco importa se esecutore o compositore. In quanto nero e in quanto jazzista, mi sento del tutto avvilito. Il fatto è che per avere un profitto, o almeno per andare in pari, devi calcolare ogni cosa, fino alla carta igienica. Gratis non te la danno, e ti serve».
Il testo è fitto dello slang e delle voci di strada, oltre che di numerosi aneddoti; lo stile è discorsivo, il taglio prettamente biografico piuttosto che discografico (anche perché i jazzisti di rado venivano a sapere dove andavano a finire le loro sedute di registrazione), l’aspirazione è al racconto e all’intervista piuttosto che al saggio. Manca un indice dei nomi, abbondano le testimonianze dirette. Un documento storico imprescindibile.
Post scriptum: jazz & hip hop.
Nella prefazione all’edizione italiana, Spellman sostiene che “quello spirito del ghetto così flagrante in Jackie McLean, in Herbie Nichols, in Ornette Coleman, è migrato nello hip hop”. La contiguità fra i due generi è stata celebrata anche da Herbie Hancock in occasione del concerto del secondo International Jazz Day, il 30 aprile 2013 a Hagia Irene, Istanbul. Coerente quindi la scelta di Baz Luhrmann per il suo The Great Gatsby, nel trasporre la Jazz Age di Fitzgerald alla più recente espressione musicale e culturale afro-americana ad essere cooptata dalla cultura mainstream e bianca. Dal modernismo al postmoderno, da Jay G. a Jay-Z. Non a caso anche Cosmopolis, tanto il libro quanto il film, mostrava una simile contiguità fra hip hop e alta società.
of evening he would stand
before his crowd. the voice
would call his name &
redlight fell around him.
Per A.B. Spellman poesia, jazz e critica musicale si fondono nel vissuto quotidiano; come nell’incipit di questa poesia, dedicata a John Coltrane e contenuta in The Beautiful Days del 1965, rimasta a lungo l’unica sua raccolta poetica. Come Amiri Baraka, Spellman si legò prima al movimento beat e fu poi tra i fondatori del Black Arts Movement, coniugando come lui la produzione letteraria all’attività di critico e studioso della cultura afro-americana; di recente è tornato a pubblicare poesia, e sul versante della critica musicale collabora con NPR, per cui ha curato in particolare un’interessante Basic Jazz Record Library con Murray Horwitz. Poesia e critica musicale sono del resto intrecciati fin dai suoi esordi editoriali: un anno dopo The Beautiful Days, mentre ad Oakland veniva fondato il partito delle Pantere Nere, Spellman pubblicò Four Lives in the Bebop Business, ristampato nel 2004 come Four Jazz Lives e pubblicato ora da minimum fax con una bella copertina, che sembra suggerire una scansione sincopata dei 4/4.
Spellman delinea il quadro della scena jazz a lui contemporanea non con astratte generalizzazioni ma attraverso quattro case studies, quattro ritratti composti principalmente da interviste: “Ho cercato di far parlare il più possibile i musicisti. Fosse stato per me, avrei preferito una sequenza di quattro autobiografie”. La scelta è esemplare: “Ornette Coleman e Cecil Taylor”, l’uno texano autodidatta e l’altro uscito dalle migliori scuole musicali del New England, “sono due dei tre più importanti nuovi musicisti jazz del decennio (il terzo, John Coltrane, non ha voluto essere incluso nel mio lavoro)”, scrive l’autore —ed è una perdita significativa, considerando che Trane sarebbe morto l’anno successivo—; Jackie McLean è un veterano che si è aperto e ha inglobato ogni successiva innovazione jazzistica in uno stile fortemente personale; Herbie Nichols infine è un compositore di grandissimo talento ma ignorato da case discografiche e proprietari di locali, relegato a side-man dei gruppi più retrogradi, “finendo a morire di vecchiaia a soli quarantaquattro anni”.
Il testo restituisce un’ampia casistica delle condizioni precarie e degradanti del “business del bebop”, espressione con cui Spellman definisce il contesto economico creato da una rivoluzione musicale che sottrasse il jazz all’intrattenimento e ne fece una forma d’arte consapevole, spostandolo dalle sale da ballo ai locali notturni. Di questo “business”, sostiene, fanno parte anche i musicisti che non suonano bebop, che ne hanno portato avanti lo spirito radicale più che la forma, e che si scontrano con la convinzione pregiudiziale che il jazz d’avanguardia non venda. Tra i numerosi esempi riportati nel testo, sintomatico è quello del Five Spot, locale leggendario della scena newyorkese: come riconosce lo stesso proprietario Joe Termini, fu Cecil Taylor a farne la fortuna nel 1956; ma pur ammettendo che «riempiamo di più il locale con lui che con tanti che hanno ben altre reputazioni», Termini gli preferisce spesso proprio questi ultimi. Innovatori come Taylor e Coleman, insieme ai loro sidemen (tutti e quattro i musicisti sono stati bandleaders), sono pertanto ridotti in condizioni di tale indigenza da compromettere l’evoluzione stessa della loro arte; oppure costretti ad abbandonare le loro comunità d’origine, condannandosi a sradicamento e alienazione. Nelle parole di Coleman: «Sono un nero, sono un musicista jazz. Poco importa se esecutore o compositore. In quanto nero e in quanto jazzista, mi sento del tutto avvilito. Il fatto è che per avere un profitto, o almeno per andare in pari, devi calcolare ogni cosa, fino alla carta igienica. Gratis non te la danno, e ti serve».
Il testo è fitto dello slang e delle voci di strada, oltre che di numerosi aneddoti; lo stile è discorsivo, il taglio prettamente biografico piuttosto che discografico (anche perché i jazzisti di rado venivano a sapere dove andavano a finire le loro sedute di registrazione), l’aspirazione è al racconto e all’intervista piuttosto che al saggio. Manca un indice dei nomi, abbondano le testimonianze dirette. Un documento storico imprescindibile.
Post scriptum: jazz & hip hop.
Nella prefazione all’edizione italiana, Spellman sostiene che “quello spirito del ghetto così flagrante in Jackie McLean, in Herbie Nichols, in Ornette Coleman, è migrato nello hip hop”. La contiguità fra i due generi è stata celebrata anche da Herbie Hancock in occasione del concerto del secondo International Jazz Day, il 30 aprile 2013 a Hagia Irene, Istanbul. Coerente quindi la scelta di Baz Luhrmann per il suo The Great Gatsby, nel trasporre la Jazz Age di Fitzgerald alla più recente espressione musicale e culturale afro-americana ad essere cooptata dalla cultura mainstream e bianca. Dal modernismo al postmoderno, da Jay G. a Jay-Z. Non a caso anche Cosmopolis, tanto il libro quanto il film, mostrava una simile contiguità fra hip hop e alta società.
August 18, 2011
very good inside look at jazz from the perspective of 4 little known and generally unappreciated musicians: Herbie Nichols, Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, and Jackie McLean. man these dudes did NOT have an easy time of it and were really pushed down and aside most of the time. Author spellman i thought was not very good at setting these stories up though, too academic maybe? i've been told this is a great great jazz music book, but really i liked this book talking about kind of blue
The Making of Kind of Blue: Miles Davis and His Masterpiece
and this bio of davis
and this bio of coltrane
Coltrane: The Story of a SoundSo What: The Life of Miles Davis
and this almost unbelievable and just incredible story and story behind the story of art pepper
So What: The Life of Miles Davis
if you are into jazz though, "bebop business" is a must for your reading.
here's art pepper's, it didn't paste before Straight Life: The Story of Art Pepper
The Making of Kind of Blue: Miles Davis and His Masterpiece
and this bio of davis
and this bio of coltrane
Coltrane: The Story of a SoundSo What: The Life of Miles Davis
and this almost unbelievable and just incredible story and story behind the story of art pepper
So What: The Life of Miles Davis
if you are into jazz though, "bebop business" is a must for your reading.
here's art pepper's, it didn't paste before Straight Life: The Story of Art Pepper
December 5, 2007
Insane that it took me this long to get to reading this book. The version I read was called "Black Music, four lives" which is a terrible title compared to this original. In any case, I loved how passionate and vocal Spellman was about calling injustices out- that kind of stuff is so fucking tempered these days taht music writing is almost inflammatorily boring. I'm gonna pick up the revised edition from the library later this week and see what the differences are, but I hope he hasn't edited it too much: the rage (Spellman's, Taylor's, etc.) is palpable and it makes a great portrait of what the jazz life was like at the time for the advanced musicians.
Even if the stories of these four particular musicians wasn't of extreme interest to me, Spellman has some very perceptive things to say about the "polarization of interests that charceterize this era of overcommunication." He wrote that in 1966 yo, and it's so much more relevant (unfirtunately so) to our contemporary world.
A great book.
Two of my favorite quotes from it:
Cecil: I can’t get grants, but if you’re a black pianist who wants to play Beethoven – oh sure! There’s a grant for that! It’s that fucked-up liberal idea of uplifting the black man by destroying his culture."
McLean: “I think that some people SHOULD be junkies.”
Even if the stories of these four particular musicians wasn't of extreme interest to me, Spellman has some very perceptive things to say about the "polarization of interests that charceterize this era of overcommunication." He wrote that in 1966 yo, and it's so much more relevant (unfirtunately so) to our contemporary world.
A great book.
Two of my favorite quotes from it:
Cecil: I can’t get grants, but if you’re a black pianist who wants to play Beethoven – oh sure! There’s a grant for that! It’s that fucked-up liberal idea of uplifting the black man by destroying his culture."
McLean: “I think that some people SHOULD be junkies.”
April 8, 2013
For a jazz fan, a must. For anyone else, some fascinating insights into jazz musicians. The book is uneven in a sense, because some of the musicians are more 'uneven' than the others. Of course Cecil Taylor has a hard time selling his music.
January 15, 2023
An interesting snapshot of jazz c. 1966, with looks at four seminal musicians, AB Spellman’s book is a nice read for jazz fans.
Spellman profiles four different musicians, all of whom were doing different things in jazz and all of whom have become influential: Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Herbie Nichols, and Jackie McLean. All four are dead now, but they’re all quoted at length here, which is nice because it lets them speak for themselves, rather than having someone at a remove do it for them.
Even though this was pretty early in both Taylor and Coleman’s careers, each of them seem pretty fully formed. Coleman is pushing himself into new ideas and sounds, working on what would eventually become Harmolodics. Taylor, meanwhile, is as prickly as self assured as ever - a guy who mixed passions for dance and contemporary classical with group improvisation and jazz. Spellman was the rare guy in the mid 60s who got it - he’s a sympathetic listener and appreciates what each of these two innovators are doing.
It’s a little different with the other two. Nichols was dead when this book was written, and even though he’s quoted a little, his section is comparatively small. But Spellman paints him as a casualty of the industry, one where he had to compromise himself to make ends meet. Thankfully, in the years since both Mosaic and Blue Note have made large chunks of Nichols music available- and his legacy has been cemented by groups like the Instant Composers Pool.
McLean, meanwhile, is a survivor. He struggled with drugs, losing his cabaret card (and NYC performing privileges), and an onerous record deal that left him in debt. But he kept going, finally releasing records on Blue Note, touring Japan, and getting the recognition he deserved. It’s a nice counter to Nichols.
All in all, the book is a nice look at these four when their reputation wasn’t quite as set in stone as today. Taylor has a hardcore following, but isn’t as well remembered as the other three; Coleman went on to experiment with rock grooves and string sections. McLean kept plowing ahead, chasing his muse into the 1990s, and Nichols finally found his audience decades later. While this doesn’t put their careers into perspective, it does explain their origins and influences. It’s a good read for jazz buffs.
Spellman profiles four different musicians, all of whom were doing different things in jazz and all of whom have become influential: Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Herbie Nichols, and Jackie McLean. All four are dead now, but they’re all quoted at length here, which is nice because it lets them speak for themselves, rather than having someone at a remove do it for them.
Even though this was pretty early in both Taylor and Coleman’s careers, each of them seem pretty fully formed. Coleman is pushing himself into new ideas and sounds, working on what would eventually become Harmolodics. Taylor, meanwhile, is as prickly as self assured as ever - a guy who mixed passions for dance and contemporary classical with group improvisation and jazz. Spellman was the rare guy in the mid 60s who got it - he’s a sympathetic listener and appreciates what each of these two innovators are doing.
It’s a little different with the other two. Nichols was dead when this book was written, and even though he’s quoted a little, his section is comparatively small. But Spellman paints him as a casualty of the industry, one where he had to compromise himself to make ends meet. Thankfully, in the years since both Mosaic and Blue Note have made large chunks of Nichols music available- and his legacy has been cemented by groups like the Instant Composers Pool.
McLean, meanwhile, is a survivor. He struggled with drugs, losing his cabaret card (and NYC performing privileges), and an onerous record deal that left him in debt. But he kept going, finally releasing records on Blue Note, touring Japan, and getting the recognition he deserved. It’s a nice counter to Nichols.
All in all, the book is a nice look at these four when their reputation wasn’t quite as set in stone as today. Taylor has a hardcore following, but isn’t as well remembered as the other three; Coleman went on to experiment with rock grooves and string sections. McLean kept plowing ahead, chasing his muse into the 1990s, and Nichols finally found his audience decades later. While this doesn’t put their careers into perspective, it does explain their origins and influences. It’s a good read for jazz buffs.
January 6, 2018
Although it was a lot different from what I expected, this was a fascinating, if ultimately depressing, read. This is not at all a set of surface level profiles of four jazz musicians, rather an indictment into the treatment of African American artists and musicians in the 50s and 60s. Racism, classicism, poverty, drug addiction and daily struggles form the lives and (mis)fortunes of these talented musicians. None of whom earned the accolades they deserved at the time, though it would come for some of them.
April 22, 2021
Indispensable. The Cecil Taylor section in particular was riveting and frustrating, illuminating and inspiring and oh so validating because he'd say shit that would have me literally clapping my hands and yelling "yes!" out loud. The Herbie Nichols section, shortest and most contrite and with the fewest inclusions of direct quotations, is heartbreaking. At once Spellman creates a book that is: a testament to the unique artistry of four great individuals, a portrait of a time and place in an artform's history, and an indictment of a culture hostile to its most vital of essence.
April 6, 2020
An enlightening book about the Jazz scene from four different perspectives. Spelman does an excellent job of hanging back and letting his subjects do most of the talking. Would recommend to anyone interested in Jazz and or music history.
October 14, 2014
A classic profile of postbop innovators, originally published in 1966 as Four Lives in the Bebop Business. The old title is a better reflection of what the book is about - an unvarnished look at how some of the most original jazz players of the 1960s struggled to make art and make a living.
Among the problems they faced:
Getting gigs
Low pay from gigs
Crooked record companies
Hostility from older musicians
Misinterpretation by critics
Narcotics
Unreliable bandmates
Losing cabaret cards
Racism
Public indifference
It's not all dark though - there's a lot of great detail and great quotes from the musicians communicating their passion for what they were trying to do. Here's a sample, Jackie McLean discussing jazz styles:
Among the problems they faced:
Getting gigs
Low pay from gigs
Crooked record companies
Hostility from older musicians
Misinterpretation by critics
Narcotics
Unreliable bandmates
Losing cabaret cards
Racism
Public indifference
It's not all dark though - there's a lot of great detail and great quotes from the musicians communicating their passion for what they were trying to do. Here's a sample, Jackie McLean discussing jazz styles:
Now to me, Lester Young played bebop. He played bebop in a different kind of setting. He didn't have bebop drummers playing with him with Basie's band [...] Charlie Christian was a bebop musician; but before the term was dropped on the music; and of course Charlie Christian died before the movement reached the stage where it was called bebop. [...] Jimmy Blanton was another bebop musician in a swing setting.
And you could call Duke a bebop musician if you wanted to, particularly if you listen to Duke's piano comping, the way he accompanies up-tempo things on the piano. ... his conception of up-tempo things is not much different from Monk's conception. Monk's conception is derived directly from Duke, and it's beautiful to see that transition. But they take everything and put it into categories; they take Duke and put him into swing, now how can you place that man? Or how can you put jazz beyond Monk? How can you keep Monk tied into a bebop situation; it's just Monk; it isn't anything that would fit a name as terrible as bebop. If you go hear Coltrane, it's just 'Trane and it's nobody else, and it's not any kind of movement.
[...]What was 'Trane playing when he was in Miles's band? Was it hard bop or cool bop or was it 'Trane? The same way with Ornette. They hung the 'New Thing' on 'Trane as well as Ornette, but is Ornette any newer than Charlie Parker? I don't think Ornette thinks so. And why would you call music a 'Thing' anyway?
August 16, 2017
certe volte vorresti non sapere: hai certi dischi in casa, pensi che gli artisti che hanno inciso quei dischi un minimo di rispettabilità e stabilità l'avessero raggiunta e invece in queste pagine scopri che non fu così, anzi fu un dramma. intendiamoci, libri come le autobiografie di mingus e davis o la biografia di monk davano già l'idea del clima, ma qui forse è peggio. e andrebbe pure detto che nonostante gli sforzi di questo libro herbie nichols è rimasto un culto per pochissimi. ad esser sinceri a volte spellman cade in ripetizioni, ma non importa: gran libro, necessario per chi ascolta jazz, interessante per gli altri.
February 25, 2014
Molto bello, questo vecchio testo.
Bello proprio perché vecchio - datato 1966 - perché ci butta in quei fantastici anni, dove nel jazz (e nel mondo) stava succedendo di tutto, dove tutto veniva messo in discussione, tutto era possibile, bello e nuovo.
A rileggerlo oggi, quel libro; a rileggere cosa dicevano, pensavano, quegli allora giovanissimi e già grandissimi musicisti, gira quasi la testa.
Brava Minimum Fax.
Bello proprio perché vecchio - datato 1966 - perché ci butta in quei fantastici anni, dove nel jazz (e nel mondo) stava succedendo di tutto, dove tutto veniva messo in discussione, tutto era possibile, bello e nuovo.
A rileggerlo oggi, quel libro; a rileggere cosa dicevano, pensavano, quegli allora giovanissimi e già grandissimi musicisti, gira quasi la testa.
Brava Minimum Fax.
July 19, 2016
somehow i've lost my copy which is a damn shame cuz this book is gold. just noticed that spellman wrote an obituary for ornette in the wire (aug 2015). still a brilliant writer. don't think i've read anything really that captures jazz so well. not romantic -- critical close-listening culminating in deserved immersion.
September 28, 2007
The unvarnished truth of life in the music business.
October 31, 2009
Way the fuck seminal. Not about bebop - this is a first glimpse into what would become the free jazz era. Ugly-ass cover on that new version, though.
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