Duke Ellington
Concert Of Sacred Music

"Every man prays in his own language, and there is no language that God does not understand".

Holy words those that subtitle the first of Duke Ellington's "Sacred Concerts", holy and full of simple common sense. Try, however, to get them into the head of a dull representative of a certain ecclesiastical hierarchy that, in 1965 as now, specialized in denying the obvious and claimed to have a say on every subject, with a particular penchant for those on which he had no competence or insight. Here are the words of Reverend John D. Bussey, who even admitting he had not heard the music of the Ellingtonian Concert, still spits his fundamentalist curse: "The concert should be condemned because the life of the composer, so tied to nightclubs, is in contrast with everything the Church represents". To which a more astonished than outraged Duke Ellington at such rigid idiocy responds with a lesson in Christian humility: "I am merely a messenger trying to deliver a message. If I were a dishwasher in a nightclub, could I not set foot in a church? Has God ceased to welcome sinners?"

Born under these not exactly benevolent auspices, the Sacred Music Concert in the form of jazz fortunately manages to impose its beauty even on most of the Church itself, which isolates the more bigoted wings and already by the end of the same year allows its performance within the walls of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York, where we can enjoy the thundering acoustics on this album. A somewhat idle question creeps malignantly: what if it happened today, with the Vatican now wanting to impose its opinion even on the choice of underwear color? A shiver runs through me, but let's not think about it and take what Duke Ellington, with an act of true faith, has been able to give us.

A project like this seems to have been in the mind of the greatest jazz composer since the glorious '30s and early '40s, conceived under the ash of his innumerable "secular" successes, achieved also thanks to an incredible orchestra, technically surpassing other equally valid bands of the time. Some faithful members of this great jazz orchestra, the true "keyboard" at the disposal of the excellent though unspectacular pianist Ellington, we find here as well. People like saxophonist Johnny Hodges or trumpeter Cootie Williams would have long been more than worthy of forming their own band, but the newer musicians are no less so. Here, then, are both groups once again dutifully at the service of the great leader. Which on his part in the 1960s, instead of resting on his laurels, had a great desire to experiment, as demonstrated by his "reunions" with big names of more modern jazz, often with excellent results, exemplified by the superb "Money Jungle" with Charles Mingus and Max Roach.

A composition on a religious theme by a black American musician cannot overlook gospel and spiritual, but we should not expect to find here the noisy, theatrical, and somewhat boisterous vitality of black sacred ceremonies: everything is filtered through refined taste, typical of someone who was called "Duke" not by chance, and not just for his elegant dress. Human voices are present and support the already vast orchestra either as a choir or as excellent soloists, set according to the canons of sacred music or the traditions of black religious singing.

It is the first four words of the Bible, "In The Beginning God", that form the cornerstone of what can be called, with a term borrowed from classical music, the "overture" of this work. A rarefied piano introduction supported by a gentle rhythm paves the way for Harry Carney's powerful baritone sax voice, grumbling authoritatively the main theme, in which one can easily discern the words "In The Beginning God". Softened by a duet with Jimmy Hamilton's clarinet, the most serious of the saxophones then falls silent, and another stern voice arises, this time human, that of bass Brock Peters, stating the famous four words. Here the rhythm accelerates towards a decisive swing and the agile and virtuosic tenor sax of Paul Gonsalves enters, accompanying the choir in its listing of the books of the Old Testament. Then comes the turn of the incredible "hysterical" trumpet of Cat Anderson with its whirlwind crescendo of piercing cries, at the limit of the audible, and finally, to close this sumptuous introduction, the primordial pandemonium of Louis Bellson's drums, so wild as to truly evoke a scene of Creation.

"Tell Me The Truth" is a driving gospel sung by the powerful voice of Esther Marrow and enhanced by a brilliant rhythm; "Come Sunday", to continue the operatic likeness, could be defined as the most inspired "aria" of the Concert, thanks to Esther Marrow's poignant vocalizations that stand out clear against a velvety and refined wind background. The show of this singer continues in the typical swing "The Lord's Prayer", with bizarre and amusing "counterchants ala Mingus" by the winds.

The atmosphere returns to idyllic with the reprise of "Come Sunday", this time in an instrumental version that allows appreciation of Johnny Hodges's clear and ringing alto sax timbre. I don't know if you can, but it's the classic "lighter moment", at the limit replaceable with candles. "Will You Be There? Ain't But The One" is another dive into the world of black America's sacred songs, with the question of the solemn initial choral finding a response in the ensuing lively and casual spiritual, sung by Jimmy McPhail.

At this point, the soloists, the choir, and the orchestra fall silent: the floor is given to the Maestro, to the solid and essential but convincing pianistic style of Duke Ellington, who without unnecessary virtuosic trappings guides us into his deep dream of a world to come. "New World A-Coming" is indeed the title of this delightful Gershwin-esque piece, straddling jazz and classical music. The Concert closes in festive cheer "David Danced Before The Lord With All His Might", complete with tap-dancing by Bunny Briggs adding liveliness to this finale already irresistibly rhythmic by itself.

Maybe it was this unorthodox "tap dance of David" that unleashed the repressed venom in Reverend John D. Bussey's mind? No, because he condemned the Concert without even listening to it. Personally, I advise anyone, and believers in particular, not to repeat his mistake.