Duke ellington biography book

I am disappointed in Teachout's "Duke". I admired his book on Louis Armstrong, not only because he writes elegant prose but also because his insights illuminate the complex character of Armstrong, making him more real to me now than he was before I read Teachout's book. Also, I like the way he embraced Louis' later music--the stuff high-minded critics often dismiss as mere pandering--as a natural extension of a popular art. Teachout obviously loves the man Armstrong, and he communicates this love to the reader in every sentence he writes. But Ellington? Well, the Duke is a different matter. I wonder whether Teachout even likes Ellington; I doubt he could ever love him.

Ellington can be hard to love. In addition to his womanizing (Armstrong was guilty of this too), Ellington was vain, secretive, devious, manipulative, quick to take credit for the artistic contributions of others, and fond of grandiose statements about his artistic intentions, statements that are often little more than hot air. He was also a chronic procrastinator, and Teachout does an excellent job of demonstrating how this vice prevented him from composing longer works, and hindered him from perfecting the few he did compose.

Is it necessary for a good biographer to love his subject? No . . . and yet--particularly when the subject is an artist of genius--the writer should at least appreciate his strengths, assess his weaknesses, and understand how both contribute to his unique achievement. It is here—in failing to demonstrate their contribution to Duke’s unique achievement--that Teachout fails his subject and his reader.

Ellington was undoubtedly a great composer, but a great composer for one particular band made up of certain unique musicians. He was a genius for knowing each musician's characteristic sounds, identifying new sounds as they arose by accident or improvisation, evaluating such sounds and articulating them into themes, and then transforming all this into successful original compositions. The Duke’s greatness is inevitably bound up with the way his musicianship triumphs through his manipulative methods, consolidating each musician’s burst of creativity into an artistic whole. He knew their worth, and paid them handsomely, but is it any wonder—as disagreeable as it may seem to us—that he had no qualms putting the name “Ellington” on these miracles of collective composition?

Two stories--neither told by Teachout--help make the Duke’s genius clear.

The first story involves a road trip. Duke was in the next room—I think they were on a train--while the boys in the band were fooling around. The slide trombonist picked up the valve trombone (or the other way 'round), and within seconds Duke opened the door, stuck out his head, and said, "What was that?" Duke had heard a new sound, and he needed to know what that sound was, right away, so he could use it.

The second story concerns the first recording of "Cottontail." Ben Webster, the tenor saxophone player, was a soft-spoken man who had a nasty temper when he drank. The night before the band was due in the studio, Duke called up Ben and invited him out for drinks (very unusual behavior for the Duke). Ben, hung over and still half-drunk the next morning, doubted he was up for a recording session, but Duke said they would just rehearse a few tunes first without turning on the equipment, so he could warm up until he was comfortable. Ben reluctantly agreed. The band began with “Cottontail,” a song they had never recorded before, with Ben taking an extended solo. You guessed it: Ellington lied. The take was recorded after all, and Webster played his solo with raw power and an unprecedented fierceness that he--or anybody else--has seldom equaled. Ellington always insisted that, whenever Webster performed the song with his band, he should repeat that original solo note for note.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that Teachout omits these two anecdotes. His book is excellent at accumulating details that show Ellington at work. But when it comes to demonstrating how his superb ear, practical knowledge of his musician’s weaknesses, and his willingness to exploit those weaknesses combine to reinforce his artistry, Teachout often fails to make the connection. He is very good at seeing the Duke’s failings, but not nearly so good at seeing how the Duke could transmute the Ellington band's base materials into his own peculiar—and transcendent—kind of gold.