Duke Ellington & His Orchestra
Ellington at Newport

Beginning a true review that does justice to what happened that evening in July of '56 is practically impossible. Honestly, one must acknowledge some real objective limits. Not so much because what was expressed by the Big Band during the entire performance is untranslatable into written form: the vinyl grooves are there to testify to the artistic prowess and interpretative ability of one of the greatest ensembles in jazz history.

There is something beyond the setlist presented that evening. One would need to fully immerse themselves in the atmosphere of that event. The fingers that played that piano in Newport no longer enjoyed the applause they were accustomed to; those fingers had to run faster than they ever had, they had to reach again after a trail that was fading. Clinging with all possible strength to the last perceptible glimmers: such was the responsibility weighing on the duke's shoulders.

After two decades of more or less uncontested dominance in the jazz scene, Duke Ellington had to begin accepting the idea of being sidelined, of belonging to something already done and completed. The post-war climate increasingly favored the rise of a more free, irregular jazz, focused on a limited number of elements. The growing interest in Bebop and Cool Jazz had created a layer of staleness on the duke's figure: rarely has an artist managed to reemerge from the catalog of "old glories."
The possibility that Duke Ellington would be counted among the stars of a distant past, with a bandwagon of musicians tasked with replaying a set of classics, was about to become a reality. The Big Band supported its tours with the proceeds from the duke's old classics: it was not calm seas they were navigating. Consider that, at that moment, the orchestra didn't even have a proper contract.

Like an artist on the verge of decline, Duke Ellington took to the stage at the Newport Jazz Festival knowing he had to risk everything.

Things certainly didn't start off well: the first section saw the absence of some orchestra members, missing at the beginning of the concert. After a break to make way for the other artists on the program, the duke and his orchestra returned to the stage, this time complete. Despite this, the Newport audience remained distant, aloof, far from the enthusiasm that the duke wished to evoke.

In the following suite, however, something happened that completely changed the game: the "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue" section is one of the reasons this live performance rises to legendary status. Because this is what the evening in Newport represents: one of the fundamental moments in the history of jazz music.

Duke Ellington offered the audience a reinterpretation of his famous suite, with a long saxophone solo supporting the central part (what would later be remembered as the legendary solo of Paul Gonsalves at Newport). A mammoth composition comprising 14 choruses. Gonsalves improvised on that suite until he collapsed exhausted, with the duke urging him to continue, aware of the importance of what was happening. The audience, until that point mostly motionless, found themselves dancing to the Big Band's notes, participating in what would be the rebirth of Ellington's career. One can still hear the enthusiasm of the duke and his band growing during the performance. It's almost possible to see the crowd rushing to the front of the orchestra.
With an audience now in a frenzy, the orchestra continued the performance impeccably, going far beyond the planned setlist.

It would then be up to the duke to take his leave with "Mood Indigo," in front of a crowd that had become insatiable. Duke Ellington's final farewell sealed one of the great moments in jazz history, a live event that would entirely change his career to come. From a star on the brink of decline, the duke was reborn that evening in Newport. The impact of that concert would be so strong that Duke Ellington would benefit from it until his death. The thunderous applause of that evening would prevent the duke's star from dimming.

The recording history of this live performance remains quite intricate. It seems that initially, the duke was not satisfied with the result and had additional material recorded in the studio. Thanks to the discovery of some tapes in 1996, the complete version of that event was traced. This led to the famous 1999 edition, still considered the most reliable in terms of audio quality and the reproduction of the performance.

In any case, the live at Newport remains the direct testimony of one of the peaks of an unparalleled 20th-century artist; to be jealously preserved for transmission to future generations.