So organic I forgot to count!

Sometimes I come up with a simple intuitive pattern and then wonder what in the world is the time signature. So organic I forgot to count! Such was the beginning of "Those Basinites". I came up with a nice noodly line which turned out to be in a confusingly slow 5/4. (More about the "confusingly slow" part later.) I improvised on that and variations thereof for a couple of days. What to do with it?

I could feel the incipient funkiness, but didn't think it would be apparent to anyone else without some major additions. "Aha!", I thought. "Write a bassline." Done. Oh boy, I love that bassline! The blood and guts of it showed the charming noodly line up to be an atmosphere rather than an actual melody. (Are you listening to the youtube link yet?)

A friend pointed out to me years ago that European-based music tends to be very goal/climax-oriented, where many other musics are more meditative, with less division between performer and listener. I'm definitely in the goal-seeking category. On the other hand, I have received kudos, AND conversely, not made it past the first listening round for grants, because of my tendency to write long, meditative build-ups. Always do go for the eventual explosion, though.

So, back to the charming noodly line - a problem, as I perceived it. I wrote a melody, expressly quite suitable for the trombone, since I was planning a concert with the excellent trombonist MJ Williams. And of course foreseeing the pugnacious vibrance of the eventual arrangement for Lyric Fury (my beloved eight-piece band of masters, which I hope you're listening to as we speak). The bassline turned out to be so chunkily engaging that it was almost a forest unto itself, with a brawling howler monkey scampering around in the trees. Huh? That is - loose, rowdy, and given to space and big leaps . And so space and spice also became the nature of the melody.

Melody and bassline totally erased the desire or even the need for the initial inspirational noodle chant. Which remains forsaken and absent from "Those Basinites" to this very day. Like a former girlfriend, who intro'd you to her best friend, now your wife? No, not that fraught. But still formerly intimately entwined and seeming essential.

Lots of excursions today! So, melody is written, still in that very slow 5/4. With sixteenth notes that swing. The sort of thing even gracious and respectable jazz musicians don't really want to read. I reconsidered and wrote it in a medium tempo 6/4 + 4/4, aka 10/4 (listen and count!). Eighth notes swing, and the basic beat is about a heartbeat long, instead of a long, slow breath. Lots easier to keep track of. It turns out to be quite readable in that rendition. Over the years I've realized that writing in a very readable form is much more important for the band members, than writing in the purest form in which I conceptualize the tune. (Let me know if this sentence makes sense.)

That's the birth of "Those Basinites". You want to know about the title? Pronounced like the receptacle, basin, plus -ites. Refers to the quirky and hardcore-wonderful inhabitants of the town Basin, Montana. Like the tune, I find them unusual, full of jolting space, and surprisingly funky, in the socio-musical meaning of the word.

Lyric Fury personnel in this live recording are: Cynthia Hilts-piano, Jack Walrath-trumpet, Lily White –tenor sax, Lisa Parrott-bari sax, Stafford Hunter-trombone, Marika Hughes-cello, Carlo DeRosa-bass, Scott Neumann-drums. Many thanks to the kind and excellent musicians!

Is it a bass or bamboo chimes?

"Bunny" is a song based on the perambulations of a five-year-old. She's grown now, but the skittering energy of her childhood lives on. As a matter of fact, I have found that children from 0-6 years are very prone to enjoy and dance to this tune, even if their parents would much prefer to hear Billy Joel or Frank Sinatra. That's the nefarious recruitment technique of a dedicated jazzician and educator - get 'em hooked on the clear energy before they've had their listening edge blunted. (Please! No offense to Frankie and Billy. It's just another direction...) Did you sign up for a philosophy class here? Well, maybe.

Anyway, how did "Bunny" come into being? I was hanging out with this beautiful child named Bunny. And I was improvising with a nice little rhythmic groove slightly influenced by the reggae and calypso I was playing regularly at the time (although the tune doesn't sound like either of these). I didn't really intend to solidify the melody. Thought I'd just keep it as a nice white-note vibe with some particular rhythmic action. Ah, but I wanted to play it with other melodic instruments.

So, as I conceded to concreting (is this a real word?) the melody, a nice varied texture arose on the contrasting (B) section - a little dreamier, a little less rat-a-tat in the rhythm section. With very little effort and practically no harmonic activity whatsoever, the tune formed itself up out of a giggle and a little toe-tapping. Yes, the fruit of focus is one of the never-ending pleasures of a dedicated composer. That's really it for the melodic/rhythmic/harmonic composition of this piece. But what about color?

Where would this tune be without the ridiculously high double-stop bassline? Different, that's where, and possibly in a bad way. Various bass players have responded in various ways to the rigors of their part for "Bunny". The phrase "It's impossible" and/or "I can't play this". The look of a hostage as they go ahead and endure without comment. Or the pointed, "It'll sound a lot better an octave lower. It doesn't even sound like a bass up there." Aha! That statement helped. Forever after, I could tell them that the bass should sound like bamboo chimes in this case. And that I know it's painfully high and near-impossible to play. That relieves a lot of discomfort and tense expectation. And then the tune has this sweet, scratchy little hollow-wood channel running through it. Me like it!

There's something I learned from/about "Bunny" that has helped with many a tune on the bandstand. I always perform it just as head, improvisation, head - not much arrangement. ("Head" means the written melody and its accompaniment, for those of you unfamiliar with the lingo.) I learned to ask the band to start the improvisation with a similar feel to the head. Then we end up with immensely more interesting colors and textures, not to mention a lot more very desirable space. Otherwise we play the head and slam into a generic white-note jam, or what I would consider a featureless yet smokin' display of technique. Unfortunately, in my opinion, a lot of solos which burn unceasingly could easily be transposed onto practically any other tune, because they have no notable relation to the initial tune and no shaping or phrasing to them. That's okay, I guess. But why bother playing a particular tune, and moreover (the ego resounds) why bother composing at all, if you're just going to play the same "improvisation" on top of it that you would play on "I Got Rhythm" or "Watermelon Man"? Can you smell a pet peeve roasting here?

A more generous approach which I also embrace, is that if the composed portion interests you or moves you, think of the beautiful opportunity to expand and be influenced in a possibly transcendant dance of birthing music together with the composer. And we will all live happily ever after . Smile. Breathe.

This recording is from my CD "Second Story Breeze" with the venerable and magnificent musicians Ron McClure on bass and Jeff Williams on drums. Available at CDbaby and Itunes.