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“I am three. The first one is always in the middle, without worries, without emotions; it observes and waits for the opportunity to express what it sees to the other two. The second is like a frightened animal that attacks out of fear of being attacked. And then there is a person full of love and kindness who allows others to enter the most sacred cell of the temple of his being, and lets himself be insulted, and trusts everyone, signs contracts without reading them, and lets himself be convinced to work under cost or for free, and when he realizes what has been done to him, he feels like killing and destroying everything around him, including himself to punish himself for being so stupid. But he can't do it: and instead closes himself off...”
Reading this excerpt from the autobiography (“Beneath the Underdog”-worse than a bastard), one understands how relevant was the definition given of Mingus by the eminent critic Nat Hentoff: that of “a cauldron of emotions.” Mingus always suffered from a painful sense of marginalization, as a “yellow negro,” not even a pure black, but a “dirty hybrid,” with a bit of Native American blood in his veins. Blacks and Native Americans combined in his DNA, practically the two cultures most brutalized by the civilized white American man. Polillo defined him as “... a difficult, unpredictable man... maladjusted to the limits of psychosis... victimizing and exhibitionist, honest like few others, naive... brutally sincere, pathologically unable to control himself, often unjust and ungrateful.” Bob Thiele, his Impulse record producer, compounded the dose by describing him as “a modern Doctor Jeckyll-Mister Hyde.”
Charles Mingus was, after Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk, the greatest composer that jazz has produced. And he was also the greatest bassist.
Together with his impressive technique, built with fanatical dedication, and with a touch of exhibitionism, Charlie possessed an innate melodic disposition, and an improvisational instinct in line with his impulsive and schizophrenic personality. Mingus's compositions were the ideal bridge between the two great postwar jazz revolutions: the bebop of the '40s and the free jazz of the '60s, refining the first language and anticipating the second. But his music was never the mirror of a well-defined current; on the contrary, Mingus makes history on his own.
In him, improvisation and writing are so intertwined as to be inseparable. Mingus avoided intensive use of the musical staff, instead choosing to sit at the piano and illustrate the pieces to his musicians, focusing on key points of the composition and explaining the dynamics, or rather, the feeling, something a musical staff could never do in its place. As in the Commedia dell'Arte, soloists were given complete improvisational freedom, respecting the previously established framework. The compositional method of Mingus is in a certain sense complementary to that of Duke Ellington, one of the figures he most loved and respected, who had in this his main foundation: composing the piece thinking of the soloist's feeling (making a piece “tailored” for Johnny Hodges, for example). On the contrary, Mingus decided first the feeling he wanted to achieve in the piece, and then explained it to the musicians, who were at least in part chosen for their adaptability.
In '57, a year after the release of “Pithecanthropus Erectus”, his first masterpiece, Mingus gave birth to another milestone, “The Clown”.
The first track, “Haitian Fight Song”, is one of the masterpieces of all jazz. The music begins with a brief bass prelude, which soon launches into an overwhelming rhythmic riff, followed by the gradual addition of other instruments in a legendary crescendo of sounds and dynamics. One almost finds it hard to believe that it is only a quintet, given the sound impact achieved. The solos of trombonist Jimmy Knepper, pianist Wade Legge, and alto saxophonist Shafi Hadi are absolutely adherent to the warrior-like spirit of this “protest” piece, and the faithful drummer Dannie Richmond masterfully underscores the progression of the musical flow. Mingus's solo, one of the most enjoyable, articulated, and structured bass solos documented on record, takes off. The world of sounds he manages to extract from the instrument, the logic behind the choice of each note, and above all his resolution in playing them are exemplary. Mingus himself comments: “... it could also be titled Afro-American Fight Song... The solo I take in this piece is full of concentration. I can't play it the right way if I don't think of prejudice, hatred, persecution, and how unfair all this is.” It closes after 12' a great masterpiece.
The second track, “Blue Cee”, is a refined blues with gospel influences that, while not reaching the brilliance of the opening track, still contains a beautiful Mingus solo. The third piece, “Reincarnation Of A Lovebird”, is an embrace to Charlie Parker, composed by a tearful Mingus. A poignant piece, representing Mingus's feelings towards his deceased friend. One of the most beautiful and ambiguous melodic lines ever heard, with an undefinable and contradictory flavor. Magnificent solos from all the musicians. Masterpiece.The album closes with “The Clown”, a long experimental narration improvised with musical commentary, interpreted by Jean Sheperd, dealing with the troubled psychological mechanisms of a clown. In my opinion, the weak point of the record, not up to the very high average level of the other tracks.
Nevertheless, it would be unfair to penalize this essential album with a rating lower than 5.
BUY IT.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
04 The Clown (12:11)
Man, there was this clown, and he was a real happy guy, a real happy guy, he had all these greens and all these yellows and all these oranges bubbling around inside of him. And he had just one thing he wanted in this world, he just wanted to make people laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world, we was a real happy guy...
Let me tell you about this clown, he used to a raise a sweat every night out on the stage and just wouldn’t stop, that’s how hard he worked, he was trying to make people laugh. He used to have this cute little gimmick where he had a seal follow him up and down a step-ladder, blowing Columbia the gem of the ocean out on a b-flat scale sears-roebuck a model thirteen twenty-two “A” plastic bugle, a real cute act, but they didn’t laugh, well you know, a few little things here and there, but not really, and he was booking out in all these tank towns, playing the rotary clubs, the Kiwanis clubs and the American legion hall; and he just wasn’t making it, but he had all these wonderful things going on inside of him, all these greens and yellows and all these oranges, he was a real happy guy, and all he wanted to do was to make these people laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world, to make people laugh, and then something began to grow, something that just wasn’t good began growing inside of his head...
You know, it’s a funny thing. _____ something began to trouble this clown, you know little things, little things once in a while would happen, that would make that crowed begin to howl, but they were never the right things, like for example the time the seal got sick on the stage, all over the stage, the crowd just, just broke out, little things like that. And they weren’t suppose to … they weren’t supposed to be funny. This began to trouble him, and it bothered him. And this little thing began to grow inside of him. And all those greens and all those oranges and all those yellows, they just weren’t as bright as they used to be. And all he wanted to do was to make that crowd laugh, that’s all he wanted to do...
There was this one night _____ when he was playing at the rotary club. All these dentists, these druggists, all these postmen sitting around, and they were a real cold bunch, nothing was happening. He was leaving the stage when he stumbled over his ladder and fell flat on his face, just flat on his face. When he stands up and he’s got this bloody nose and he looks out at the crowd and that crowd is just rolling on the floor, he’s just knocked them flat out, this begins to trouble and even more. He begins to see something, he begins to see something...
And right about here is when things began to change, but really change. Not the least of which our clown changes his act. He bought himself a set of football pads, a yellow helmet with red stripes, hired a girl who dropped a 5-pound sac of flour on his head every night, maybe twenty feet up. Oh man!, what a pit, that just broke them up every night, but not like the buke. And all those colors, all those yellows, all those reds, all those oranges, a lot of gray in them now _____ And all he wanted was to make this crowd laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world...
They were laughing alright, not like the buke but they were laughing, And all the dough started coming in. He was playing the big towns. Chicago, Detroit, and then it was Pittsburgh one night. A real fine town Pittsburgh, you know. But three quarters way through his act, a rope broke, down came the backdrop, right on the back of the neck, and he went flat and something broke, this was it. It hurt way down deep inside, he tried to get up. He looked out at the audience, and man, you should’ve, you should’ve, you should’ve seen that crowd. They was rolling in the aisle. This was bigger than the buke. This was bigger than the buke....
He really had them going, this was it, this was the last one, this was the last one. This was the last one. He knew now, man, he really knew now. But it was too late and all he had wanted was to make this crowd laugh, well they were laughing, But now he knew. That was the end of the clown. And you should have seen the bookings coming. Man, his agent was on the phone for 24 hours, The Palladium, MCA, William Morris. But it was too late...
He really knew now.
He really knew.
He really knew now.
William Morris sent regrets...
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