The Modern Jazz Society
The Modern Jazz Society was founded by John Lewis in 1955 to present concer… Read Full Bio ↴The Modern Jazz Society was founded by John Lewis in 1955 to present concerts in New York City, “featuring twentieth-century and earlier classical music (Luigi Nono and Mozart, for example) as well as compositions by John and specially commissioned works by others (such as J. J. Johnson, Jimmy Giuffre, and Gunther Schuller),” as Schuller points out in his notes for the CD reissue of THE MODERN JAZZ SOCIETY. A year later the Society “was expanded to the Jazz and Classical Music Society.” Under that name it presented MUSIC FOR BRASS (Columbia Records) in 1956 – now available on CD as part of THE BIRTH OF THE THIRD STREAM,
On March 14, 1955, Lewis assembled a small orchestra of musicians and led them through two rehearsal and recording sessions in that one day – two days after the death of Charlie Parker and just as the news was beginning to circulate. Schuller says, “We were all stunned by this incredible news; he was, after all, a musical hero and inspiring mentor to all of us.” The nine-piece group recorded five of Lewis’s compositions, all but one new and never before heard.
The full title of the original Norgran album (subsequently reissued with a different cover on the Verve label – both labels were owned by jazz impresario Norman Granz) was “THE MODERN JAZZ SOCIETY Presents A Concert of Contemporary Music.” The music was performed (with minimal rehearsal) by an orchestra made up of a trombone (J.J. Johnson), French horn (Schuller), flute (James Politis), clarinet (Aaron Sachs or Tony Scott – the latter originally credited for contractual reasons as “Anthony Sciacca,” his real name), tenor sax (Lucky Thompson or Stan Getz), bassoon (Manuel Zegler), harp (Janet Putnam), bass (Percy Heath), and drums (Connie Kay). John Lewis was the arranger of three of the pieces; Schuller arranged the other two. Lewis, a pianist, did not play on the recorded session, but did on some of the rehearsals. Heath and Kay were fellow members of the Modern Jazz Quartet.
The sound produced by this group was light, almost ethereal – making significant use of the harp, both as a solo instrument and as a substitute rhythm guitar – almost Debussy-like in its use of pastel coloration. The compositions were among Lewis’s best: “Little David’s Fugue,” “The Queen’s Fancy,” “Midsommer,” “Sun Dance,” and “Django,” which had first been performed by the MJQ and is now a modern jazz standard.
Lewis had attended the Manhattan School of Music for three years, starting in 1950, and “became particularly fascinated with the music of Johann Sebastian Bach and the fugal and polyphonic writing of the eighteenth century,” as Schuller notes. The music on this album reflects that fascination, but never loses its jazz feel, a considerable accomplishment on Lewis’s part. The melodies are both rich and sophisticated, and – more important – the soloists rise with it to new heights. This is nowhere more evident than in Lucky Thompson’s tenor sax solos. Stan Getz had the bigger name then among tenor sax players, but Thompson utterly cuts him.
“Lucky” Thompson was called that because he was, throughout his career, amazingly unlucky. For years an expatriate living in France, he returned to the U.S., as Bud Powell had, in the ’50s, and he made a few albums of his own, but they were disappointing. He shined most on others’ albums, like Miles Davis’ 1954 Prestige album, WALKIN’ – and on THE MODERN JAZZ SOCIETY – rising above the level of “sideman” with his unique interpretations of others’ music. Thompson was a very melodic soloist, but uniquely oblique in the way he phrased his solos. He played notes in sequences no one else could approach, suggesting the melody almost by implication. The sophistication of his solos here impresses me each and every time I listen to them – but so also does his soulfulness. Thompson is the star performer here, albeit surrounded by major musicians as well. Getz’s leads (on two of the five pieces) pale into near-anonymity in comparison.
On March 14, 1955, Lewis assembled a small orchestra of musicians and led them through two rehearsal and recording sessions in that one day – two days after the death of Charlie Parker and just as the news was beginning to circulate. Schuller says, “We were all stunned by this incredible news; he was, after all, a musical hero and inspiring mentor to all of us.” The nine-piece group recorded five of Lewis’s compositions, all but one new and never before heard.
The full title of the original Norgran album (subsequently reissued with a different cover on the Verve label – both labels were owned by jazz impresario Norman Granz) was “THE MODERN JAZZ SOCIETY Presents A Concert of Contemporary Music.” The music was performed (with minimal rehearsal) by an orchestra made up of a trombone (J.J. Johnson), French horn (Schuller), flute (James Politis), clarinet (Aaron Sachs or Tony Scott – the latter originally credited for contractual reasons as “Anthony Sciacca,” his real name), tenor sax (Lucky Thompson or Stan Getz), bassoon (Manuel Zegler), harp (Janet Putnam), bass (Percy Heath), and drums (Connie Kay). John Lewis was the arranger of three of the pieces; Schuller arranged the other two. Lewis, a pianist, did not play on the recorded session, but did on some of the rehearsals. Heath and Kay were fellow members of the Modern Jazz Quartet.
The sound produced by this group was light, almost ethereal – making significant use of the harp, both as a solo instrument and as a substitute rhythm guitar – almost Debussy-like in its use of pastel coloration. The compositions were among Lewis’s best: “Little David’s Fugue,” “The Queen’s Fancy,” “Midsommer,” “Sun Dance,” and “Django,” which had first been performed by the MJQ and is now a modern jazz standard.
Lewis had attended the Manhattan School of Music for three years, starting in 1950, and “became particularly fascinated with the music of Johann Sebastian Bach and the fugal and polyphonic writing of the eighteenth century,” as Schuller notes. The music on this album reflects that fascination, but never loses its jazz feel, a considerable accomplishment on Lewis’s part. The melodies are both rich and sophisticated, and – more important – the soloists rise with it to new heights. This is nowhere more evident than in Lucky Thompson’s tenor sax solos. Stan Getz had the bigger name then among tenor sax players, but Thompson utterly cuts him.
“Lucky” Thompson was called that because he was, throughout his career, amazingly unlucky. For years an expatriate living in France, he returned to the U.S., as Bud Powell had, in the ’50s, and he made a few albums of his own, but they were disappointing. He shined most on others’ albums, like Miles Davis’ 1954 Prestige album, WALKIN’ – and on THE MODERN JAZZ SOCIETY – rising above the level of “sideman” with his unique interpretations of others’ music. Thompson was a very melodic soloist, but uniquely oblique in the way he phrased his solos. He played notes in sequences no one else could approach, suggesting the melody almost by implication. The sophistication of his solos here impresses me each and every time I listen to them – but so also does his soulfulness. Thompson is the star performer here, albeit surrounded by major musicians as well. Getz’s leads (on two of the five pieces) pale into near-anonymity in comparison.
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