These bon mots from Cendrars echoed, whether consciously or not, the words of the standard written as a yearning teenager by Ellington’s arranging and composing companion Billy Strayhorn, Something to Live For. And more famously still, of course, ‘the bite of it’ could only be eased in Lush Life by “a week in Paris.” The lyric proved prophetic for Strayhorn’s love affair with the City of Light was possibly even more profound than Ellington’s.
Clearly the two men found themselves entirely at ease with the capital’s congenial cry of liberté, égalité, fraternité, as did a large number of black musicians who gravitated towards the continent of Europe after the war, many of whom took up residence permanently. Whilst this introductory essay can provide only necessarily the most superficial survey of Ellington and Strayhorn’s work in Paris, it should be noted that several members of Ellington’s orchestra itself were drawn to working extensively in the city of light. The very first truly independent small group session where a member of Ellington’s band was not just the titular but the actual leader of the session was that organized by Rex Stewart, and featuring Django Reinhardt, whilst the Ellington aggregation was in Paris in 1939; Johnny Hodges’s first venture into leadership took place in the city during the band’s residence in 1950; Paul Gonslaves, Clark Terry and Cat Anderson all led recording sessions or made albums in Paris and for Anderson, as well as numerous other Ellingtonians such as Sam Woodyard, Norris Turney and Booty Wood, the city provided a home and opportunities for further recordings in the years after Ellington’s death and what was, to all intents and purposes, the end of the Duke Ellington Orchestra.
Perhaps even more importantly to Ellington than social acceptance was the artistic respect accorded to his music. Certainly, he returned to the USA from the continent with his faith in the merits of his own art restored and reinvigorated by the significance ascribed to his music by European critics. Crucially, it was on the concert stage, rather than the floor of the club or dance hall where his music was received. Audiences sat and listened.
Such reverence, however, was perhaps something of a two-edged sword. In the audience for the orchestra’s very first concert in Paris at the Salle Pleyel on 27 July 1933, was the French critic Hugues Panassié. In 1946, he wrote an account of the several concerts he had attended during the Orchestra’s first stay in Paris. Translated by Stanley Dance, the piece appeared in Mark Tucker’s The Duke Ellington Reader. Of his first impressions of Ellington ‘live’, Panassié wrote:
“Duke began with the excellent It’s a Glory and the first bars of it will always echo in my ears. The sound of the band, as was to be expected, was much richer than on records. But the solos of the less powerful instruments – I mean the saxophones and clarinet relative to the brass – were more or less overshadowed by the accompaniments of counter-melodies. Thus I had much difficulty in hearing most of Johnny Hodges’s solos during the concert. In this regard, it is obvious that on records the microphone can overcome such disadvantages. In the same way, the saxophone section, as heard at the Salle Pleyel, seemed rather feeble in comparison with the brass section, while on records, the saxophones are placed near enough to the mike to adjust the balance.”
Such forensic examination of the merits of the Orchestra’s music and its presentation were to be a thread running through Ellington’s critical reception in Paris over the years. Panassié’s response to the hitherto unsuspected difference between the arrangements on record and the arrangements played in concert was initially delight:
“What struck me strongly was the discovery that the arrangements themselves sometimes differed from those used on the records. I understood that some had been done over, improved, enriched over the years by new ideas that came to Duke and his men. For others, I realized with astonishment at the second concert, several quite different arrangements existed which Duke used alternatively – sometimes one, sometimes another. Thus the Mood Indigo of the first concert scarcely resembled that of the second, where the melody was stated pianissimo by an extraordinary brass sextet.”
When Ellington returned to Paris in 1950, his audience were not delighted but horrified that not only the arrangements but the music itself had moved on. Reports in Der Spiegel that the audience nearly booed the band off stage may have been overstating it , but nevertheless the performance resulted in Ellington receiving a letter from M. Jules Bourkon, Directeur Géneral of Parisiennes Arts et Spectacles. The letter, written 13 April 1950, is worth quoting in full:
Dear Mr. Ellington,
I am very sorry that I must write this letter to you but I have to do it because of yesterday's performance and I think you yourself are aware that the success was not such as we expected it to be.
Unfortunately, the programme did not make appeal to the public although from the artistic point of view it was very satisfactory.
The real error was caused by the lights –the audience could not see much of what was being passed on the scene and although I insisted on putting more light
Mr Celley refused to follow my and the Chief Electrician's advice and kept to his own idea.
This experience is going to cost me too much. On the other hand it was a psychological mistake not to cut short Kay Davis’ song when the public showed its dissatisfaction.
We should never allow ourselves to go against the public's wishes as it is the thing of greatest importance. The audience was dissatisfied as well because the
programme was too short.
Because of this unfortunate evening of yesterday
which started in this way our tour in Paris I cannot foresee what consequences it may have for the future.
Therefore, we must see what we can do about it all and what decisions to make to our best understanding and mutual profit.
In consequence I would like you to change a little the programme and the end of the first and the second part and add two morceaux of encore which would be showy and please to the audience. It was we expect from the Jazz Orchestra.
Therefore four very showy morceaux should be added (two at the end of the first part and two at the end of the second part).
Stress should be put on the effects of lights and the audience should not be kept in the dark most of the time.
Kay Davis is to sing one song in the coulisses and another song after a while.
I insist that all this is done immediately to avoid bitter and grave consequences.
Do not forget, please, that from my part, I have prepared your reception in Europe and Paris well and fulfilled my duties in 100 per cent.
The unfortunate evening of yesterday was not my fault at all.
Hoping for your best collaboration and relying on your loyalty.
I am very sincerely yours,
P J Borkon
Ellington kept the letter amongst his papers. It was an example of the intense passion with which the French received his music and he was always mindful that he had some new chef d’oeuvre to present in concert when he appeared in the capital subsequently.
It was during this trip that Ellington renewed acquaintance with Orson Welles in Paris himself to work on two plays with his new protégé Eartha Kitt. The double bill comprised an anti- Hollywood satire entitled The Unthinking Lobster and a version of Marlowe’s Faustus entitled Time Runs. Welles asked Ellington to compose music for the presentation. In his book, America’s Mistress: Eartha Kitt, Her Life and Times, John L. Williams writes:
“Unfortunately the demands of touring meant that Ellington himself was unable to devote much time to the project. However he was able to send his regular co-writer, the wonderfully talented Billy Strayhorn, to Paris. Strayhorn was happy about this as his long- term lover Aaron Bridgers had recently moved to the city and just been hired as the pianist at Eartha’s favourite hangout, the Mars Club. Strayhorn was given four Orson Welles song titles (though no actual lyrics) to work with: Me is the Trouble, Zing, Zing, In the Dungeon of Guilt and Song of the Fool.
Close to show time Welles still hadn’t written any lyrics and was considering cutting the songs altogether. At one point he sent Hilton Edwards to Stockholm to meet Ellington and ask for a number of pieces of incidental music. Nothing appears to have come of that mission, however, at least for the show. Instead Welles went out with Strayhorn to the Café de la Paix and over several drinks came up with the odd, haunting words for Me is the Trouble (words surely inspired by his enigmatic new star): Hungry little trouble, bound in a bubble, yearning to be, be or be free/ All that you see, is all about me/ Hungry me.
Strayhorn gave them a mournful blues setting and hoped for the best...”
Was this the first time Ellington had been commissioned to score music for a theatrical drama? Whilst frustrated on this occasion, it was in Paris that Ellington and Strayhorn were eventually to collaborate successfully on just such a project. On Thursday, 29 December 1960, Ellington fronted sixteen French musicians to record music for a production of Turcaret, an 18th Century comedy comedy written by Alain-René Lesage. For its revival, Jean Vilar, the director of the Theatre Nationale Populaire commissioned Ellington only a week before the recording session took place. Ellington was in the French capital working on the soundtrack for the film Paris Blues.
During recording sessions for the film and the theatre production, Ellington had also appeared as a special guest on the popular singer Jean Sablon’s television show broadcast on 17 December by ORTF. Office de Radiodiffusion Télévision Française, the national agency charged between 1964 and 1974, with providing public radio and television in France, recorded several television appearances with Ellington.
February, 1963 in Paris saw a flurry of recording activity. Two live albums resulted from the orchestra’s stay: Duke Ellington’s Greatest Hits, released on Reprise and, more famously, The Great Paris Concert on Atlantic compiled from performance at The Olympia on 1 and 23 February.
Ellington recorded all three movements of Night Creature in Paris during this month, although only the first movement was taken from these sessions for The Symphonic Ellington. On 22, February at Barclay Studios, he also supervised and took part in Duke Ellington’s Jazz Violin Session with string players Stephane Grappelli, Sven Asmussen and Ray Nance. The album was not released until 1976. Five days later, he recorded an album with Alice Babs released only in Europe and receiving its first release in the USA in September 2016.
Perhaps in compensation for trying to steal Strayhorn away from the Ellington organization, Frank Sinatra had offered Duke not only a recording contract with the singer’s own independent record label, Reprise, but also the opportunity to act on behalf of the company’s Artists and Repertoire. It was during this stay in Paris that Ellington discharged these responsibilities with enthusiasm: he produced an album by Bud Powell with the pianist accompanied by Gilbert ‘Bibi’ Rovere on bass and Kansas Fields on drums; a beautiful album with the South African singer Sathima Bea Benjamin, A Morning in Paris and over the same twenty four hour period, a second album, Duke Ellington Presents The Dollar Brand Trio with the singer’s husband Abdullah Ibrahim on piano accompanied by Johnny Gertze on bass and Makaya Ntshoko on drums.
Four kisses, no doubt...
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