Jazz and the Ambiguity of Influence, Part 9: In Praise of Clifford Brown


My favorite jazz trumpet player is Clifford Brown. No, not Miles, not Dizzy, almost but not quite Freddie Hubbard either. Not even Lee Morgan, though it's close, as I'll explain. Clifford Brown was a phenom, emerging from the Nowheresville of Wilmington, Delaware around 1950 or '51. He was a player to be reckoned with from the get-go and his promise was unlimited. We'll actually never know what limits he might have transcended though, since he died in a car crash on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in 1956, en route to the next gig, in Chicago. His pianist, Richie Powell, and Powell's wife Nancy (who was driving) also died.  Despite this truncated timeline I will not say, however, that his promise was unfulfilled. For in the short time of his playing career he reached heights of melody and invention that some may have equalled but none have ever surpassed.

As I learned more about Brown over the years I would encounter time and again the observation that the primary influence on Brownie was Fats Navarro. Naturally, I looked into Navarro, and sure enough found out that Navarro did pave the way with his immense fluency on the horn and ability to play fast runs with clarity and logic, qualities that Brown exhibited. But here's the thing: In terms of the way notes and phrases are presented and constructed, the influence is clear. But for me, that's where the influence ends. Why? Because Brown's ideas were better. Not that Fats's were at all bad. It's that Brownie's were next level. So, despite Clifford's virtuosic technique it always comes down to the ideas for me. Case in point: I forget which recording it's on -- maybe Clifford Brown in Paris -- but during one solo he starts executing an idea of perfect logic but flubs the last note. It doesn't matter. We knew where he was going with it, and that's what counts. Who knows if they kept that version by choice or if they had to move on because of a lack of recording time and money. It's certainly possible that the former is the case. In jazz and rock, artists often judge an imperfect track the keeper if the feel is better than on the perfect one. Speaking of feel, no jazz musician brought more joy to the music than Brownie, aside from Louis Armstrong that is.

Clifford's true heir was Lee Morgan. In fact, the spirit and style of Brown is so palpable in Morgan that I often wonder if there was some transmigration-of-souls action happening there. Let's do the math. Brown died in 1956, which was precisely when Morgan, at the young age of 18, began recording for Blue Note. If you listen to Morgan's work on Coltrane's hard bop classic of 1957, Blue Train, you can hear that he is already fully formed as a soloist, full grace and fire and endless imagination. Sometimes when I'm listening to Morgan I stop for a moment to make sure it's him and not Clifford. That's not to say Morgan is copying. Not at all. In addition to the buoyant spirit of Brown, one crucial thing Morgan really picked up from him was the ability to make each note sing, to give it its full worth -- even when the notes are 16th notes, short and fast. A while back I was curious about who Clifford's main teacher was. I learned that it was the Wilmington legend, Robert "Boysie" Lowery. His main lesson for all his young players was musical, of course, but also comes across like advice for life. That is, you can't take any note for granted. No note is insignificant, a mere means to get from here to there, where the "real" payoff is. Looking into Lowery and Brownie just now I came across this quote, which is killer: "When you look at the whole note," said Lowery, "you should be able to see everything it represents." Which makes me wonder: Maybe a note is like a holon, "whole in itself as well as a part of a larger system." Like Brown, Morgan also possessed the ability to play lines that keep extending beyond where you think they are going to resolve. So, instead of ending one idea and starting another, the core idea keeps unspooling, flowing like a fresh groundwater spring -- an image I choose intentionally, as Brown's signature composition was the aptly-named "Joy Spring." Brown's time here was short, but the gifts of music and life he gave us, they'll never run dry.


The Jazz and the Ambiguity of Influence Series










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