Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus
Well, I am suddenly, and officially a big fan of Charles Mingus. Up until tonight, I didn’t really know a lot about his music. I have had a bootlegged digital version of an album of him playing the piano, and a vinyl version of an album of his entitled Three Worlds of Drums. Then, a couple weeks ago I picked up Let My Children Hear Music on vinyl.
I was very impressed by Let My Children Hear Music. I wanted more, but I just hadn’t gotten around to getting it, nor had I chanced across it. Then, earlier tonight, I picked up some new records, and after I got back, I went on a minor downloading spree. Amongst all this new music ended up being The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. To say I was very impressed by this album, like I was Let My Children Hear Music, is an understatement.
I am trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about these two albums that I like so much. The first thing is that they have a dense “vertical” component. What I mean by this is that there is a great deal of layering of the parts played on them each. It seems like a common theme for these pieces to begin with a fanfare of bawdy horns, and to lead into a swinging melody which sets up the remainder. It all seems really carefully planned, but at the same time, surprisingly natural — it doesn’t have any rigidity to it, in spite of the fact that it has clearly been meticulously constructed in advance (for the most part at least).
At several points (especially on Black Saint), something unexpected emerges from the established sound. On the first and last track of Black Saint, it is a non-sequitur Spanish guitar part. On Let My Children Hear Music, there is an heavily orchestrally accompanied reading of a poem (read by Mingus himself). These bizarre elements complement the core of solid composition, blaring horns, and thunderous, symphonic percussion (in contrast to, say, rock percussion, or jazz percussion, a la Billy Cobham). The change in tone doesn’t upset the precise feel of it all; It has been carefully worked in such as to be different overtly, but not to drastically vary stylistically. Mingus somehow makes spoken word poetry seem compositionally natural. That takes some skill.
I think that, by far, the most impressive feature of both albums is the fact that they are so intricately composed. No track on either of these albums feels like an excuse for some jazz musicians to go ahead and improvise. This is a stark contrast to some other jazz which is actually quite good, but less (or at least less *obviously*) composed. Specifically, the work of Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy come to mind when I think of the contrast to Mingus’ compositional style. Coleman and Dolphy set the tone and build the theme of the piece, but the bulk of the presentation is devoted to their chops, or to the collective chops of the group. Mingus’ work, on the other hand is more devoted to the structure and specific layering of sounds and melodies, to produce songs that sound almost cinematic. It is as though each of these records is the soundtrack to a movie which doesn’t exist, or the score to a wild, suggestive 1930’s cabaret performance. It is really captivating to listen to.
I plan to devote more time to listening to Charles Mingus, and perhaps I will have something more insightful to say about his work in the future, but I couldn’t contain myself tonight when I was listening to this new album, I had to say something about it.