Music: He Calls It Progress

Seldom in all its 57 years had Carnegie Hall been so jammed—and never so racked by such raucous music. The 200 fans on stage had the most tranquil spot: they were behind the brass. But out in front, the louder it got, the better they liked it. And no band yet had outblown Stan Kenton's for sheer din per man.

It wasn't swing: toothy Stan Kenton had already pronounced that "dead, gone, finished." Some doubted that it was even jazz: it had a shifty beat (and sometimes none), little—if any—form, and even less improvisation....

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