Through the dim and smoky atmosphere of the Manhattan jazz den called Birdland came some old and familiar piano tones. The holiday crowd quieted and the music took over, its tones pure and glassy, its melody suggested almost as much as stated, its long moments of silence as pregnant as the notes themselves. William "Count" Basie, the man who was as instrumental as Benny Goodman in popularizing swing, was back on the bandstand again, jumping high and handsome as ever.
Each number, whether a melancholy Bunny or Plymouth Rock or a driving version of Lulu's Back in Town, bore the basic Basie imprint. After the Count played a phrase or two on the piano, the rhythm section began to boost the beat while cymbals sizzled in the background. Five saxophones took up the melody, sweetly and a bit hoarsely, and then seven brasses began to clip into it with cross rhythms. Suddenly the snare drum cut loose with the effect of a burp gun, and the whole band leaped into ear-crushing chords and rammed home the climax.
At 47, Bandleader Basie sees new hope for such big outfits as his own 16-piece band. Like other jazzmen of the late '30s, he was forced to cut back in the mid '40s, toured for four years with a small combo. "People were trying to decide whether they were going to like bop," he says. "Nobody was thinking of dancing. Big bands had no place to work."
But soon the musical extravagances of bop began to wear thin. Some of its innovations, e.g., more advanced harmonies and trickier rhythms, were absorbed into the jazz idiom as a whole. Big-band music began to appear more often on records. Basie collected a new full-size outfit 16 months ago, bounced back with a reputation as the swingingest band in the land.
"Our old book was full of 'head' arrangements," Basie says. "I'd start out and the rest would come in when they felt like it. The saxes would get together and set a riff. We used to run into some wonderful things and remember them."
Nowadays the Count's crew has most of its riffs written out for it. Nevertheless, old favorites such as One O'Clock Jump sound pretty much the way they used to. All he had to do to bring them up to post-bop fashion, says the Count, was "to put mink coats on the chords."