“Blanton’s bass peels the ceiling six blocks away”: Elusive bass tones and historically informed jazz recordings

Introduction: Peeling the ceiling^[1]

James “Jimmie” Blanton (1918–42) was a Black American double bassist best known for his two-year tenure (1939–1941) with jazz composer, pianist, and bandleader Duke Ellington (1899–1974), who featured him on several recorded and live works with big band, such as “Jack the Bear” (1940) and “Sepia Panorama” (1941), and a series of piano – bass duets (1939–41).^[2] Blanton is by many considered to be one of the most influential bassists in jazz history. In the years following his untimely passing of tuberculosis, he gained an iconic status as a true pioneer who “revolutionised” jazz string bass playing, particularly in how he developed it as a solo instrument.^[3] As a result, he became one of the most studied bass players in jazz: a number of his recorded solos have been widely transcribed, several studies have been dedicated to his playing, and his name has been entered into virtually all reference works and textbooks on jazz history.^[4]

[Listen to take two of “Pitter Panther Patter,” one of the four piano – bass duets Ellington and Blanton recorded on 1 October 1940.]

Despite Blanton’s prominence, the critical and musical insights that support this iconic status are based on a limited body of work, particularly the few key titles mentioned above. This resulted in an unnuanced and incomplete understanding of this bassist’s life, music, and legacy, something which I aim to amend in a series of works that have been appearing over the past decade.^[5] One of the aspects that remains neglected in critical analyses of Blanton’s music, was his tone, which has been characterised as “resonant” and “roaring”.^[6] Indeed, one reporter who heard him live, relayed that his “bass peels the ceiling six blocks away,” undoubtedly hyperbolic yet evocative.^[7] While jazz scholar Brian Priestley (2009, 85) observed that tone is often “thought of as god-given,” I wanted to understand how Blanton achieved his tone and in what ways it could have been (perceived as being) different from that of his peers to warrant such inflated reviews.^[8] I surveyed several potential impact factors, such as his performance technique and instrument, but found none differed significantly from those of his fellow bassists. Eventually, some clues were found by recreating Blanton’s music.

This exposition focuses on an experimental recording session undertaken in 2015 by the Brussels Jazz Orchestra and myself on bass in which we aimed to recreate the circumstances of a 1930s–1940s Ellington performance, both live and in the studio, in a historically informed way, for example, by using historically appropriate instrumentation, repertoire, location, recording set-up, and performance practice. I review the preparation, recording process, and results, drawing on a combination of visual analysis of historical photographs, complete participant observation, comparative auditory analysis, and formal and informal, semi-structured interviews with participants. This recording session and its ensuing analyses helped me understand that it was a combination of various circumstantial factors, including the clever practical use of contemporaneous music technology, that created the impression that Blanton sounded especially voluminous and forceful, by critics and reporters rendered into poetically descriptions such as “outsized” and “roaring.”^[9] In the process, such descriptions became an inherent part of the bassist’s iconic narrative, and, as per usual with such “uncritical object[s] of devotion,” his bass tone remained largely uninterrogated and, indeed, elusive.^[10]

God-given tones

In jazz studies, tone is one of the musical parameters that often eludes formal analysis, a possible reason being that it “is still one of the aspects of jazz performance thought as god-given and somehow unaffected by any conscious learning process,” as Priestley observes.^[11] This is further problematised because the term “tone” is not clearly defined. In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, it is described as “the quality of a musical sound,” yet what this quality exactly entails remains unclear.^[12] In fact, this definition is quite similar to The New Grove’s lemma on timbre: “a term describing the tonal quality of a sound.”^[13] Based on these definitions, both terms are seemingly similar. Yet, I would argue that timbre (alternatively named tone color) is only one component of tone, with others such as pitch frequency, pitch duration, pitch intensity (or amplitude), articulation (a combination of duration and amplitude), and pitch manipulations being equally as essential.

Nevertheless, many jazz writers describing a performer’s tone mostly use it in a narrow sense, mostlu referring ony to the timbre of a musical sound.^[14] This is perhaps not surprising as many consider timbre a key characteristic of a jazz performance. Despite this significance, timbre, or rather tone as most writers generalise it, is necessarily described in abstract terms, relying strongly on non-musical, often poetic metaphors. As I wrote elsewhere, tenor saxophonists Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young, both contemporaries of Blanton, are often stereotypically presented as stylistic counterparts.^[15] Accounts of their tone include Hawkins having an “aggressive robust style” and a “hard-tongued approach,” while Young’s tinbre is labelled as “pellucid,” “mauve-toned,” and “weightless.”^[16]

In that same article, I reasoned that such vague analogies are not only ambiguous and subjective, but lead to clichéd views, for example as in the above cases, with “Hawkins as the ultimate ‘hot,’ masculine representation of the jazz musician, and Young displaying the more ‘cool,’ feminine side.”^[17] Indeed, these aptly illustrate the “binary oppositions [that] govern both the theory and practice of jazz at every level,” as jazz scholar Tony Whyton maintains, giving the “masculine–feminine” polarity as an example.^[18] While such subjective impressions have their use as literary metaphors, they are not particularly effective in an analytical or scholarly context.

In historical and more recent literature on Blanton, such descriptions appear too. A particular focus is placed on his tone, which is typically characterised as “astonishingly full,” “outsized,” “resonant,” “roaring,” and “huge.”^[19] These examples, which stem from standard jazz history books and Ellington biographies, seem less concerned with timbre and point more towards another element that falls under the umbrella term that tone is: pitch intensity or amplitude. In practice, musicians typically use the term volume to describe amplitude but an equally important term to fully understand the critical descriptions of Blanton’s tone is projection, i.e., how one controls their tone by balancing volume, clarity, and precision. While both terms are related, they have clear differences: volume is quantifiable in decibels whereas projection cannot be measured and relies on subjective perception. Furthermore, volume is generally managed by the (acoustic) performer, whereas projection is also impacted by less controllable elements such as the acoustics of the performance venue, the stage design (including the way the band is positioned), and the texture of the music (e.g., solo as opposed to being “buried” in a dense orchestral texture).

From the comments above, it isn’t always clear what critics had in mind when reviewing Blanton’s tone: the sheer loudness of his bass playing, the way he was able to project his bass’s sound with clarity, or a combination of both. In the below analyses of the experiment, I investigate both elements and whenever possible, differentiate between them. The aim isn’t to examine their use in the aforementioned reviews but rather to gain insights into how Blanton produced tone, which I, for clarity’s sake, interpret narrowly as volume and projection, on his bass and how human and non-human factors may have positively impacted his volume and projection. In doing so, I deflate the implied idea that Blanton’s tone was simply “god-given,” it being just one more element of his iconic status we should take for granted.^[20]

The experiment required an in-depth examination of the diverse technical and practical aspects that may impact a music performance. The way an instrument is physically held, the motions a musician goes through while performing, the fingerings they use; these are all aspects that have a significant impact on the performance practice, for example by facilitating the speed of execution, by increasing a performer’s range on their instrument, by enabling specific timbre effects, or by allowing the use of extended techniques such as double stops. Similarly, a specific instrument might have certain physical qualities—the way it is built, its measurements, the material it’s made from—that contribute to any of the above elements, or other qualities such as increased playability in specific registers of the instrument. Other, more extrinsic factors lie outside of the influence of the performer and their instrument, such as the acoustics of the performance venue, the particular set-up or seating plan of the band, the audience participation (or lack thereof), the familiarity with the repertoire, and many human factors like the band atmosphere or the mindset of individual musicians.

Several of the above impact factors I surveyed in my 2015 article “Of Icons and Iconography: Seeing Jimmie Blanton.”^[21] Having examined the physical aspects of Blanton’s performance technique, such as his left- and right-hand playing posture, I determined that these differed very little from those of his bass peers in the same period. Also, I gathered information on the only instrument he used throughout his tenure with Ellington as to determine whether it had specific properties which would allow it to project more or would render it more voluminous than other string basses typically available to American jazz bassists in that time frame. In my earlier article, Blanton’s bass is misidentified as being constructed by Czech luthier Jan (aka John) Juzek, but in the interim, I was able to identify the actual instrument he used, a 1926 Josef Novotny. Similar to Juzek basses, this is a made-for-U.S.-import instrument made in the early-20th-century German-Czech luthier cottage industry. It is a solid, good-sounding instrument, albeit with no extraordinary sound qualities that could explain the critical attention to Blanton’s tone, according to its current custodian, a professional jazz bassist who wishes to remain anonymous.^[22] Considering the above, I established that intrinsic factors such as his performance technique and instrument didn’t differentiate considerably from the contemporary standard and, therefore, couldn’t have led to Blanton sounding significantly more voluminous than other bassists in the same period.^[23]

[During his tenure with Ellington, Blanton played a similar instrument as the one seen above. This Novotny from 1927 was put on sale several years ago, with the vendor sharing several close-ups of the instrument. Blanton’s own 1926 Novotny can be clearly seen in this photograph taken at an Ellington concert at Eastwood Gardens in Detroit, MI, on 28 July 1940.]

Perhaps extrinsic factors such as sound amplification could have rendered his bass more voluminous, or at least created that impression. Before the 1960s, bass pick-ups or microphones, bass amplifiers, and other sound technology aimed specifically at amplifying string basses were yet to be fully developed. Indeed, visual evidence reveals that many Swing-era bassists were placed in the back of the band without any dedicated microphones to assist their sound projection. By analyzing the few remaining photographic sources that depict Blanton in performance, I noticed that his placement in the overall seating plan of Ellington’s orchestra was atypical. He stands almost in front of the orchestra, with the piano on his right-hand side (from his perspective) and the reed section on his left-hand side. As I remarked elsewhere, this front-line position allows the bass’s sound to be projected unhindered towards the listeners.^[24] Furthermore, it places Blanton’s bass mere feet away from what can be considered the soloist’s microphone, often the only available microphone and which had to be shared for announcing, singing, and soloing (for which the featured horn player would come up front from their section seat). As such, Blanton’s bass may have been picked up easily through this microphone, potentially making it more audible for the audience, who would hear a combination of the full band’s acoustic sounds with whatever other sound sources were being picked up by the soloist’s microphone and played back unmixed through a primitive PA system.

Was this atypical position of the bass a decisive factor on how the instrument projected in the venue? Could the proximity of the bass to the soloist’s microphone favorably impact its audibility? I first formulated this hypothesis in my 2015 article but this warranted further examination.^[25] I decided to attempt a reconstruction of the particular ways in which the string bass was captured, amplified, and recorded, both in the studio and live, during the late 1930s and early 1940s, the time frame during which Blanton was active with Ellington. As before, visual sources were an important source to base my exploration on, now supplemented with first-hand insights obtained from a historically informed recording session. The experiment was inevitably flawed; no visual documents survived that depict Blanton with Ellington in a studio setting, so I used photographs of a recording session that predated Blanton’s tenure to base my reconstruction of a studio session on. This makes sense from the perspective that the previously acquired knowledge from such pre-Blanton sessions must have informed—and likely improved—the later recording sessions with Blanton from the perspective of how the bass was to be recorded to optimise its tone qualities.

While this goes beyond the scope of this exposition, it can be argued that Ellington had always ensured the best possible recording and performance conditions for his bassists. He had used the talents of his earlier bass players, such as Wellman Braud, Billy Taylor, and Hayes Alvis, to good advantage too, not merely as accompanists or soloists, but by having them double melodic, harmonic or rhythmic parts, provide counterpoint lines, add percussive effects, or re-enforce the lower compass of the orchestra. Rather than mere accompanist, the string bass became a truly integral part of his orchestral pallet. Correspondingly, Ellington and his associates must have experimented with ways to properly capture the bass, live and on record. Indeed, visual sources reveal how his pre-Blanton bassists seemingly had no fixed position within the band, being placed in the back, front, or even middle of the band. Such seemingly random placement was likely the result of every particular position choice being made in response to the specific acoustic characteristics of the venue or studio.

As noted, surviving visual sources imply that Blanton did have a fixed position, at least live. How that impacted the delivery and projection of his bass’s tone, is considered below. While is is impossible to ascertain how he was positioned and recorded in a studio environment, it stands to argue that at least some of the technological tools and concepts can be traced back to earlier experiments, one of which I examine below. As such, my recording experiment was not a re-enactment of Blanton’s live and studio work in its exactitude but rather a means to create several (non-commercial) recordings that could be systematically analysed and generate relevant practice-based insights into historical recording practices, early bass amplification, and, in the process, Blanton’s volume and projection.

Blanton and BJO

On 14 September 2015, I organised and participated in an experimental, non-commercial recording session with the goal to partially recreate the circumstances of an Ellington performance from the 1930s and early 1940s, both live and in the studio, in a historically informed way. Crucial to this project were not only a big band that was able to perform the music with a certain openness towards historical accuracy, but also a sound engineer with the necessary flexibility to properly record this music without the aid of today’s technology, on both accounts not a given as most current jazz bands and sound engineers have little to no experience with such a historically informed performance practice, to use the term commonly associated with Western classical music. Two partners were willing to participate: the Brussels Jazz Orchestra (BJO), Belgium’s only fully professional working jazz orchestra, in the “role” of Ellington’s band (with, for this session, myself taking on Blanton’s parts), and Sound Engineering Ludo Vleugels (SELV) to record the recreations. I engaged in a number of talks with BJO’s artistic management and SELV to discuss the conceptual approach and working method to make this session as historically accurate as economically and practically possible. Note again that the aim was not to recreate an Ellington session in its exactitude but rather to create the most appropriate historical circumstances to gain the necessary insights into the practices, procedures, and, ultimately, results that would have underpinned such a historical session. Among these circumstances are the repertoire, performance practice, recording location, and recording set-up, including equipment such as microphones.

Repertoire

I selected two compositions suitable for the experiment’s purpose, “Jack the Bear” and “Concerto for Cootie.” These two big band compositions contrast in tempo and style and have a significant bass part fulfilling a range of functions. The medium swing “Jack the Bear” can de facto be considered a miniature bass concerto, with ample solo space for Blanton (24 measures) alongside conventional medium-tempo walking lines spanning two full octaves (Ab1 to Ab3) and an obbligato interlude in which the bass doubles the saxophone section part. Upon its studio recording on 6 March 1940, this Ellington composition (with possible contributions by Strayhorn, though Walter van de Leur doubts this) quickly became a fixture in the band book, allowing Blanton, soon to be one of the band’s star soloists, to be featured live too.^[26] Indeed, as fellow bassist and a friend of Blanton’s George Duvivier put it, “they were ‘Jack the Bearing’ him to death in every show.”^[27] As two bootlegged, live versions survived, more recordings exist to compare our versions with. This was especially relevant as one of the set-ups we would use was based on how Blanton was positioned during live performances. “Concerto for Cootie,” a slow swing piece spotlighting trumpeter Charles “Cootie” Williams, provides a contrasting composition that features no bass solo but has an inventive, independent bass line composed by Ellington (likely in collaboration with Blanton) that at times acts as an extra or a doubling voice, a counterpoint line, or a secondary melody in a wide dynamic range (pp to ff). Three live versions survived, two partial (one of which can be heard here) and one complete, allowing further comparison.

Other than the bass parts, which I transcribed myself, I used David Berger’s transcriptions of the score and parts from the Essentially Ellington series of the Jazz at Lincoln Center Library, which are based on the released master takes of both works.^[28]

Performance practice

BJO is not a repertory orchestra and rarely plays historical repertoire, focusing instead on new compositions, often commissioned to band members or external composer-arrangers. Still, the band members are familiar with Ellington’s music and have played some arrangements in different contexts. As such, they were sufficiently aware of how the music was supposed to sound to be able to match the historic performance style, e.g., wide vibrato from the horns, sparse drumming. Important, however, was that the BJO soloists’ contemporary style was “filtered out” by having them recreate the transcribed solos of the original studio recordings as closely as possible. While this is no longer a common practice in jazz, this is in line with standard improvisational strategies throughout much of the first half of the twentieth century, where a solo improvisation would often be worked out in advance and repeated either verbatim or with minimal variations in subsequent performances. Also, BJO, usually a sixteen-piece big band (three rhythm, five reeds, four trumpets and four trombones), had to alter their instrumentation, now using fifteen pieces (four rhythm, five reeds, three trumpets and three trombones), the same number as Ellington used during Blanton’s tenure. When possible, the instruments themselves were used in a historically accurate way as well: Unamplified acoustic guitar was used instead of a semi-acoustic or electric guitar, and my string bass was outfitted with gut strings.^[29] Still, certain practical and financial limitations had to be considered, for example, slide trombone and trumpet were used because valve trombone (originally played by Juan Tizol) and cornet (originally played by Rex Stewart) were unavailable, and many instruments were of a more modern vintage, with for example most saxophones having a smaller bore, which compared to 1920s–1930s instruments gives them a more direct sound, with less subtone, and the drums in a modern set-up, with a relatively small bass drum (ca. 20 inch) compared to the larger ones preferred by Ellington’s Sonny Greer (ca. 28 inch). However, none of these factors were significant enough to influence the recording process or the actual recorded results, and as such did not distort this experiment’s outcome.

To prepare myself for the recording session, I contacted three local (semi-)amateur big bands that were willing to dedicate a theme concert to music from during Blanton’s tenure with Ellington. I selected a repertoire that featured his bass playing, including “Jack the Bear” and “Concerto for Cootie.” Besides pure entertainment purposes—all concerts were open to the public—the goal of these performances, three concerts and related rehearsals, was to get myself familiarised with Blanton’s style in a big band context and help me shape my ideas on the technical and stylistic aspects of the music prior to the recording session.

Recording location

Next was finding a suitable recording location. Many modern recording studios are specifically designed to have neutral room acoustics that allows the sound to be recorded as “clean” as possible, thus enabling the sound engineer to add any desired effect in post-production. As agreed with SELV, we planned to record without any direct input or amplification, no in-room monitoring, and a minimum of microphones, as well as direct-to-disc processing (i.e., no post-editing or mastering, and only minimal live mixing). Therefore, a “lively” room that adequately captures the spatiality of the location, would be more suitable for our purposes. This would approach the circumstances of a historic recording studio more closely than a modern studio with state-of-the-art equipment. That is not to say that 1930s studios were not advanced, but sound engineers active in this period were less reliant on the available technical equipment and more on their knowledge of the different types of microphones, their placement, studio dressing (such as curtains or panels), and the use of the room and its spatiality, for example by altering the orchestral seating plan.

Belgium no longer has a completely original historic recording studio. Our preference was to record in Studio 1 of what used to be the broadcasting headquarters of the Belgian public broadcasting services I.N.R./N.I.R., the Maison de la Radio, now known as Flagey, in the Brussels municipality Ixelles, with its inauguration in 1938 one of Europe’s oldest broadcasting facilities. Although originally a broadcasting studio (now it is a concert venue), Studio 1 would be a suitable location as it retained a number of aspects of the average historical recording studios: a spacious live room designed to directly capture the music with only minimal live engineering (i.e., making an immediate volume mix based on aural judgement).^[30] Moreover, as it at the time was BJO’s resident concert hall, the musicians were already closely familiar with its acoustics. Unfortunately, this studio was already occupied in the available time frame.

BJO suggested Sonoro, their principal rehearsal space, as an alternative recording location. This converted barnyard located in Kontich, Belgium, is by no means a recording studio. However, its ample, open space with a low wooden stage and (partially draped) brick walls allowed it to mimic the conditions of similar spaces depicted in photographs of the Ellington band during a recording session in 1936 (see illustrations 1 and 2 below). Using a venue such as Sonoro to yield an impression of the band’s dynamic balance is not necessarily far-fetched; the result might not be entirely comparable to that made in a professional recording studio, but Ellington’s and other Swing band certainly performed in live venues that were not specifically designed for music performance and, therefore, had similar or worse acoustic qualities, such as convention halls, cafeterias and gymnastics halls of educational institutions, and military bases.

Recording set-up

As noted, this recording session posed a challenge for SELV as today, very few sound engineers are familiar with the equipment and technique to record in similar ways as in the mid- to late 1930s. Currently, sound engineers have a wide variety of highly specialised materials at their disposal, with various technical aids enabling them to precisely measure the captured sound characteristics. Moreover, it resulted in a shift from a more practical approach, for example, by using the space’s acoustics to create the desired (recorded) sound, to more technology-driven methods such as post-production editing. SELV, a sound engineering enterprise that also engages with R&D and consulting, was willing to rethink its practice and retraced some of these historical recording practices. SELV and I surveyed and discussed every relevant photograph of the Ellington band in the 1930s and 1940s in a live and studio context known to me and selected two set-ups that we believed to be most representative of the historical reality, i.e., the band seating and (partial) microphone set-up as shown in a photograph of Ellington’s band from 1936 (see illustration 1 below), and the typical band seating and microphone set-up as shown in photographs of Ellington’s band during Blanton’s tenure in a live context (some examples of which can be found here, here, and here). In addition, we decided to start the session with a conventional, modern-day band seating.

While not grounded in a historical context, the first set-up (figure 1), which is based on the standard seating plan of many contemporary big bands in a live setting, including BJO, not only allowed the orchestra members to start this session in a familiar set-up but also to obtain a recorded sample that would sound familiar to our “modern” ears, as such acting as the control condition of this experiment.

Figure 1: Recording set-up 1, contemporary seating plan

The second set-up (figure 2) is based on a photograph of Ellington and his orchestra in the ARC Studios in 1936 (illustration 1), which we selected as it clearly shows all orchestra members and the entire layout of the band, allowing us to recreate this set-up fully. Moreover, save for the bass, it reveals the band being positioned in the same way as many current big bands place themselves in a live context, as such enabling us to focus maximally on the impact moving the string bass has on the sound balance. As noted, the use of this set-up is also borne out of necessity as thus far no visual sources have surfaced that reveal Blanton in a studio setting.

Illustration 1: the Ellington band with bassist Billie Taylor in the ARC Studios, New York, 17 July 1936.

Figure 2: Recording set-up 2, seating plan based on 1936 photograph (ill. 1)

The third set-up (figure 3) was based on the average stage set-up used in live situations in 1940–1941. As the Ellington band adapted to a venue’s particular layout, some variations of this set-up were used, but Blanton’s position in the frontline was a constant. I chose to retain the seating plan of the second set-up (based on the 1936 photograph) but place the bass in the crook of the piano and next to the reed section. Furthermore, as it only required the string bass to move, the remainder of the band could remain in position, and their internal balance would remain constant throughout the three recreations. As such, the recorded results would ideally reveal only the effect repositioning the string bass and its microphone had.

Figure 3: Recording set-up 3, seating plan based on 1940 live photographs of Blanton.

A key element in this historically informed session was the use of a historically appropriate microphone.^[31] For this recording, a ribbon microphone was used, not only because it was commonly used in the timeframe under discussion but also because it had specific features that impacted the sound reproduction. One of its key characteristics is the ability to effectively capture the full frequency spectrum and the harmonic series, or overtones, of all pitches. As the entire register is evenly balanced, the lower register, which often lacks its overtones and is thus less clear with other microphone types, is now fully present. As a result, ribbon microphones can handle deep, booming sounds without distortion, making them effective at capturing bass instruments. For this same reason, a ribbon microphone has to be used judiciously. When placed at an average distance of one meter, the entire instrument’s resonance is registered, as such capturing the string bass’s full register evenly. However, when positioned too close to a bass instrument, the low register is emphasised and the high, mid-, and low register are no longer in balance, resulting in too dominating a bass sound. This characteristic can be used advantageously. Indeed, astute sound engineers in the 1920s–1950s knew how to employ this feature to bring out the acoustic bass in a recording.

Another characteristic of the ribbon microphone is its bidirectional figure-eight polar pattern. This allows the microphone to maximally and equally capture the sound from the front (0°) and back (180°), and almost not from both sides (90° and 270°). As such, cleverly positioning the microphone could emphasise specific sound sources and minimise others. This helps explain the peculiar position of the bassist, Billy Taylor, in the 1936 photograph (illustration 1) that formed the basis for the second set-up in our session (figure 2). The divergent angle of the string bass and its dedicated microphone towards the remainder of the orchestra enables this microphone to capture the string bass fully, while most other instruments are in its left sonic “dead angle,” between the 60°–120° angle of the microphone, or are too far away to be adequately captured. In turn, the string bass itself is positioned in the band microphone’s left sonic dead angle, as figure 2 illustrates. This early example of (analogue) instrument separation enabled sound engineers to balance both sound inputs, one emphasising the string bass and another one capturing the rest of the orchestra, and live-mixing them appropriately.

Besides the type of microphone and its placement, another differing factor compared to today is the limited number of microphones. The surviving photographs taken during live performances in Blanton’s tenure show between one and three microphones. Also photographs from pre-Blanton recording sessions never show more than three microphones. We decided to use a maximum of two microphones, one for the string bass and one for the entire ensemble, which, depending on the set-up, would be used singly or combined.

Ribbon microphones and their placement played an essential role in properly capturing string bass in the eras prior to direct sound transmission (i.e., a direct line from a bass pickup or amplifier to the mixing board), and using this particular type was essential to this historical recreation. Unfortunately, vintage ribbon microphones are not easy to come by: they are seldom in pristine condition, and the few proper surviving ones that were for hire were out of the production budget. In recent decades, however, sound engineers have been rediscovering the advantages of ribbon microphones, mostly for intimate studio sessions, and manufacturers have started producing them again. In many cases, the backstock of (parts of) original ribbon microphones is used to build the new ones, and the main difference lies in the use of a stronger tin foil, making the modernised models sturdy enough to be used in musical contexts that can result in intense dynamic peaks that would be detrimental to the older, more fragile tin foils. Hence, such newly-produced ribbon microphones differ from vintage ones mainly in user comfort, and virtually not in acoustic qualities, which makes them suitable for our purposes. SELV had a number of ribbon microphones in their stock which they occasionally use for intimate live concerts with acoustic folk ensembles. This experiment required a different use of these microphones, now not merely for sound amplification but also for sound recording, and not for a small ensemble, but for a big band.

To prepare for the recording session, SELV consulted with a specialist in ribbon microphones to learn more about the appropriate use of this type in the particular context of this recreation. With this knowledge, five microphones from their stock were selected from which two were to be retained, one for the string bass, and one for the ensemble. I was invited to test all five, and upon listening to the playbacks of a brief recorded excerpt of myself playing my unamplified bass, I selected the microphone that to my ear had sound characteristics comparable to Blanton’s in his studio records with Ellington. This type, a Beyerdynamic M130, which is based on an original design from 1955, has the bidirectional figure-eight polar pattern that was typical of many ribbon microphones of the 1930s, making it the ideal type for the second set-up of our session. From the remaining four options, SELV chose an experimental, unbranded pre-production model with a large diaphragm and a built-in tube preamplifier to record the orchestra, as this type would best capture the entire ensemble in full detail.

To record the signals sent through by the microphones, a digital audio tape (or DAT) recorder was used. This device was only introduced in 1987, and brings an anachronistic element into the recording process. However, both the direct-to-disc recording technology, used from the 1900s to 1950s and the reel-to-reel magnetic tape-recording technology it replaced are now virtually defunct. SELV tried out three different DAT recorders in search of one they (subjectively) felt transferred the data as unaltered as possible. Next, the recordings of the selected DAT were sent to a computer in order to enable the music to be cut into separate recordings (one per composition and per set-up) and save them on a separate hard disc. Besides this, the recorded music did not go through any form of post-production: No effects were added, timing or pitch wasn’t altered or corrected, and the audio wasn’t mastered.

The only “nonveridic” manipulation, to use John Andrew Fisher’s terminology, was the live mixing of the signals from the two microphones, one for the bass and one for the orchestra, which was used for six of the fourteen tracks.^[32] Leaving both signals in a neutral mode would yield an unusable result as the volume output of both signals is too different, and the entire recording would be out of balance. Hence, some live mixing was necessary., a mediation that would also have happened historically. When needed, sound engineers in the 1930s–1940s manipulated the recording process through live balance mixing, in addition to skillfully employing the characteristics of the recording venue, the type and placements of the microphones, and the set-up of the musicians in the live room. It is precisely such manipulations that we experimented with in this recording session.

Across the (recording) track blues

On Monday 14 September 2015, we held a four-hour recording session at Sonoro during which “Jack the Bear” and “Concerto for Cootie” were played in the three aforementioned set-ups, and the results recorded for subsequent comparative analysis. We began with the first set-up, which approximates a representative live seating plan of a contemporary big band. This allowed BJO and me to begin in a familiar setting and get musically acquainted (I had not yet performed with this ensemble). In line with current big band performance conventions, I placed myself at the back of the band, between the trumpet section and the drums, and used a bass amplifier, a Gallien–Krueger Microbass Combo MB150S/112, with all settings, including the volume, placed in neutral to avoid emphasizing any register or add any unnatural effect. This amplifier was placed about a meter from my back, slightly to my left, to project the amplified bass sound to the entire band (figure 1). The dedicated bass microphone was also used, positioned about a meter in front of and at the height of my instrument’s left f-hole. The first set-up resulted in four recordings of both “Jack the Bear” and “Concerto for Cootie”: (1) without amplifier and microphone; (2) without amplifier but with microphone; (3) with amplifier but without microphone; and (4) with amplifier and microphone.

Without further judging the results, we recorded in the second set-up (figure 2), with the bass put in front and slightly to the right of the band. As this set-up was meant to recreate a 1930s studio situation, in particular the one shown in illustration 1, the bass amplifier was no longer used. Also, the bass microphone was used on all tracks, placed approximately one meter from the front of the bass at the height of its f-holes. This set-up resulted in two recorded tracks, one for each composition.

[BJO in set-up 2. Note the positions of the bass and band microphone. Photo courtesy of Koen Maes.]

Finally, we recorded both compositions in the third set-up (figure 3), an approximate recreation of the live set-up used during Blanton’s tenure (see here for an example). Here, I was positioned in the frontline between the reed section and the piano, a position similar to where Blanton was usually placed during live performances. Again, no amplifier was used, but, in line with the historical reality, no dedicated bass microphone was used either, leaving only the band microphone to capture the entire band, including the string bass. A total of four recordings, two of each composition, were recorded in this orchestral set-up, as we decided to try out two different microphone set-ups; one with the band microphone in the same central position as used in the second set-up and at the height of about two meters, and one with the band microphone placed in the soloist’s position it usually stood in live performances since Blanton’s tenure, and at a height paralleling the opening of a horn’s bell, thus ideally placed to capture most horn soloists.

After the session

After the session, SELV cut the recorded material, one long take comprising all of this session’s music, into fourteen separate digital recordings (figure 4), allowing me to compare and analyse them. No further post-editing was undertaken, and the recorded results can be considered “veridic,” to use another term by Fisher.^[33] For the analysis, I evaluated all tracks by ear, not using any computer analysis but my aural skills rooted in my experience as an occasional (subbing) bassist in regional and national big bands and an experienced analytical listener of the music of the Ellington band and many other Swing orchestras. I compared the BJO/SELV recordings to each other, allowing me to accurately assess the impact the characteristics of each set-up had on the record results and determine their advantages and disadvantages in terms of bass projection. This led me to the conclusion shared below. In order to validate these results further, I contacted Prof. Dr. Fumi Tomita (UMass Amherst), a jazz bassist who also specialises in historical research on jazz double bass playing. Without sharing my analyses or conclusions, I asked him to independently evaluate the tracks in the same way as I had, using only his analytical aural skills. Tomita’s conclusions regarding the bass’s projection, further discussed below, were quite similar to mine, thereby establishing a basic form of inter-rater reliability.^[34]

I discuss the analyses in the order in which they were recorded, following the logic of the three set-ups: the “modern” one as the control condition, the second one to mimic a 1936 studio set-up, and the third one to mimic a 1940–1941 live set-up. In addition, I describe certain other factors relating to the performance practice, based on a complete participant perspective and informal, semi-structured interviews with relevant band members. This yields further insights into how the band members subjectively experienced the performative aspects of this recording session, such as group dynamics and interplay.

Figure 4: Overview of all recordings.

Set-up 1

Before beginning the actual recording session, we made a try-out record. While we were already positioned in the first set-up, I refrained from using my amplifier, playing entirely acoustically. This run-through allowed Frank Vaganée, BJO’s artistic director, and myself to listen to the playback to evaluate the balance of the band on record. Next, Vaganée gave the musicians brief instructions to optimise the band’s natural acoustic balance, for example to the trumpet section to stand up rather than remain seated, and to the drummer to slightly lower his volume. In doing so, the musicians made their own balance, something that today is often entrusted to the sound engineer, both live and in the studio. BJO immediately responded, and a far more natural, acoustic balance was obtained, resulting in a transparent sound and tighter interplay in terms of timing, dynamics, and vertical “togetherness.”

This prompted Vaganée to remark to his fellow band members: “Do you notice that we listen to each other much better?”^[35] When asked during a break to further comment on his observation, he replied that “[Ellington’s] music allows you to really listen to each other because there are not as many [musical] layers going on at once; you can really focus on the dynamics. With our regular repertoire, even the easiest compositions have so many details happening at the same time.”^[36] This suggests yet another factor in explaining the forceful projection of the bass: Ellington’s and Strayhorn’s writing for the band, something I consider further on. Later, SELV stated that they too noted the immediate difference in balance after the band members had been asked to adjust their “normal” way of playing—which relies on a certain degree of stage miking, monitoring, and mixing—to these unfamiliar, acoustic circumstances.

Furthermore, upon recording the first track, several BJO members expressed their surprise at the strong projection of the bass, for example by asking me if I had used any amplification during this trial recording. The drummer wondered aloud why they did not play without bass amplification the entire time, which he later acknowledged to not be an actual call for change but rather a rhetorical question. During a break, I asked him to elaborate on his statement, and he remarked that from the moment a sound monitor, which playbacks the sound captured by the stage microphones to the musicians, is introduced on stage, the whole dynamic balance changes, and many musicians seemingly automatically begin to play louder as they are still able to hear the softest instruments through their monitor(s). Yet, at a certain point the music might reach such intense dynamic levels that certain instruments, such as piano and string bass, are lost in the mix, even with amplification. When questioned how he coped with this problem, he said it helps to “have the bassist in my back because it allows me to continuously feel his acoustic beat, even when the band is playing loud.”^[37] While I was not positioned directly behind him, the first set-up, with the bass next the drums, felt most natural for both of us as our close proximity allowed us to lock in easily. Moreover, it closely resembles today’s typical band seating in large and small ensembles, with the rhythm section grouped together as one block. Also, historical photographs of Swing big bands show that this or a similar set-up was often used, not only live, but sporadically in the studio also.

Locking in was more difficult to achieve with the guitarist and pianist. While they could distinctly hear the drums and bass, their sound was projected away from us, making it hard for myself and the drummer to hear their accompaniment. As far as the piano goes, this is not always an issue: there is no piano part in “Concerto for Cootie,” and in “Jack the Bear” it is often framed in a transparent manner, almost as a solo instrument, for example by playing the lead melody or soloing in call-and-response with the bass. But during louder tutti sections, it is lost in the mix too. The inability to hear the guitar, one of the fundamental timekeepers in any swing band, is more problematic as it is essential to synchronise the time feel and achieve a strong, clear pulse that makes the music, which was after all meant to cater for dancers, swing. As such, not all participants, myself included, felt this first set-up to be ideal, although most horn players found it comfortable, likely because it resembles BJO’s common orchestra seating, with the rhythm section positioned to their right in the back.

The first set-up (figure 1) immediately reveals a few interesting results in terms of the actual recordings. On the first take of “Jack the Bear,” the unamplified string bass comes through loud and clear, albeit with a somewhat “woolly” timbre:^[38]

For the second take, the bass, now supported by the bass microphone, is clearly louder, but more importantly, it is also slightly more distinct, with a more precise center of tone and a more outspoken wooden timbre. While this is undoubtedly an advantage in solo sections, the string bass now tends to dominate the other instruments, and it nearly overpowers the soloists such as the baritone saxophonist, an undesirable effect.

The same phenomenon occurred in both takes of “Concerto for Cootie” recorded in this set-up, when from the moment the bass microphone is used, the bass no longer blends with the other voices, an effect which in this particular composition is essential as it is regularly framed as an extra horn, doubling or adding a part in the wind instruments’ voicings.

As the bass sounded voluminous enough in the previously recorded tracks, it would seem redundant to add a bass amplifier, but as noted, we decided to refrain from evaluating the interim results and retained the original planning, the order being shown in figure 4. Hence, we went on to record in the same set-up, now with a dedicated bass amplifier, obviously not a set-up rooted in the historical reality of pre-1960s jazz but one that could function as the control condition of this experiment. Belying its essential purpose, the amplifier did not truly amplify the sound of the bass. Indeed, the bass register is emphasised but the mid- and high register are no longer evenly balanced with the low register, resulting in an undefined, imprecise tone. At best, the tracks recorded with an amplifier sound like those recorded with only a bass microphone, but minus the defined, wooden timbre. At worst, they sound far too loud with an uncentered, “boomy” timbre. This could likely have been remedied by altering the bass amplification cabinet’s control settings but this would have been a technological manipulation that didn’t serve the needs of this experiment.

Two excerpts recorded in set-up 1, the first without bass microphone but with bass amplifier, the second with bass microphone and bass microphone:

Interestingly, Tomita reviews the tracks recorded in this set-up as having a good bass projection, with the set-up without bass amplifier being slightly less projecting than the one with.^[39] However, he does perceive the latter one as being “a little low end heavy,” reflecting my above analyses.

Overall, both piano and guitar are not properly balanced in this first set-up. When playing melodic or solo sections, the piano is audible but is under-recorded, whereas the guitar accompaniment as a whole is difficult to discern. They seem to be placed too far away from the band microphone to be accurately captured. For this and the other reasons given above, it stands to argue that this particular set-up is not preferable when playing this type of repertoire in a historically informed way. That said, on many recordings by Ellington’s band, the guitar indeed is hardly audible. It is clear that in the swing style, this instrument, at least in its accompanying role, was never meant to be recorded—or heard, for that matter—at the same dynamic level as the piano, string bass, or any other instrument.

Set-up 2

The second set-up (figure 2), with the string bass now positioned up front and to the band’s (own) right, results in a prime visual overview of the entire ensemble, a placement with particular advantages. Again, the guitar accompaniment was virtually inaudible to me, but my clear view on the guitarist allowed me to visually coordinate my pulse with his. All other instruments were clearly audible and visible, enabling me to closely anchor not only the bass accompaniment, but also the various melodic sections that I had to play in unison or counterpoint with other instruments, particularly in “Concerto for Cootie.” Yet, a few other musicians such as the drummer found it more difficult to coordinate with the bass as I was positioned a few meters away from them, and projected my sound not directly towards them, but at an angle.

The two tracks recorded in this set-up illuminate the advantages of separating the bass by cleverly positioning it and its microphone, as discussed before. With relatively little spill from the band, the bass now clearly stands out, yet without dominating the sound while retaining its natural wooden, acoustic timbre. As such, the resulting two recordings retain the best aspects of those recorded in the first set-up (without the bass amplifier) while avoiding the imbalance of the bass. Also, the piano is slightly more distinct as the bass is now more in balance. Overall, the results of this set-up are satisfying, and it is easy to understand why Ellington and his band used it on at least one occasion. As noted, comparing the results of this session with the four tracks that Ellington recorded in the same set-up, on 17 July 1936, is not the purpose here, but one can hear how on these and other records made in the same time frame, all before Blanton’s tenure, the string bass is well recorded, and the whole band is evenly balanced.^[40]

This excerpt features set-up 2:

Unless Blanton was recorded with a drastically new studio set-up, which is unknown, this suggests that the factor that impacted the reception of Blanton’s tone the most, at least by contemporaneous critics, is the way he was captured live. The third set-up seems to corroborate this hypothesis.

Set-up 3

For this set-up, I placed myself in the frontline, and two different microphone positions were tried out; one with the band microphone in a central position (hereafter: variation 1), just as it had stood in all prior set-ups, and one where it was placed in the soloist’s position (hereafter: variation 2), just as it would have been during Blanton’s live performances. Moreover, for “Concerto for Cootie,” the trumpet soloist stood in front of me, providing an extra physical obstruction between the string bass and the sole microphone. This mimicked the actual historic live conditions, as can again be viewed here or here.

This excerpt features variation 1:

In this position, with the guitar to my back and the piano to my right, I could, for the first time, clearly hear both instruments. While the actual notes of the guitar were not distinguishable, I clearly heard its rhythmic “chugging,” which made it easy to anchor our pulses. Similarly, the piano was distinct, especially in the dense tutti sections where it otherwise was more obscured. Overall, this set-up provided me with a prime aural overview of virtually all band members. Only those instruments placed at a considerable distance from me, like the baritone saxophone, were slightly more difficult to coordinate with, especially when they were soloing from their place rather than coming up to the soloist’s position.

When a horn player did come up to the soloist’s position, my position greatly facilitated our interplay, not only on a basic level, such as vertical “togetherness,” but also on the level of more subtle parameters, such as dynamics and phrasing. For this reason, I preferred this frontline position when playing this type of repertoire in an all-acoustic setting. Other band members, especially those placed behind my back, found it more difficult to hear me as I projected much of my instrument’s sound away from them. While this did not compromise the coherence of the music—the drums remained in the band’s backline position as a principal timekeeper—it did require some adjusting from BJO. However, this would not have been an issue for Ellington and his men as they were accustomed to having their bassist(s) placed in various positions, and from Blanton’s tenure on consistently in the frontline.

This excerpt features variation 2:

SELV offered a few interesting observations that further suggest the importance of positioning the string bass up front.^[41] When placed at the back of the orchestra, the bass tends to sound somewhat muffled as its sound crosses various physical “obstacles,” i.e., the other instrumentalists. By contrast, placing it in the frontline clears the sound’s path, not resulting in more decibels, but in a clearer, more balanced sound, the result of all the string bass’s overtones now being evenly balanced among themselves, as opposed to when these mix with the overtones produced by the other instruments. Similarly, the string bass’s frontline position allows its sound to reach the audience a fraction of a second earlier than if the instrument would have been placed in the back. Lastly, there is also a psychological factor. With such a large, bulky instrument right up front, a listener’s attention is almost automatically drawn to it, not only visually, but also aurally. Moreover, as existing live recordings of the Ellington band such as this one demonstrate, a number of presenters (including Ellington) clearly announced Blanton as the leading soloist in some of his feature pieces, (mentally) preparing the audience to focus on the string bass.

The recordings made in variations 1 and 2 significantly differed from one another, implying that the decisive factor was not merely moving Blanton to the frontline but also moving him near the soloist’s microphone. This becomes evident when comparing the tracks recorded in the second set-up, with the bass at an angle, to those recorded in variation 1 of the third set-up. In the latter, the string bass now projects slightly louder but never to that point where it is perceived as strikingly more voluminous. However, placing the microphone in the soloist’s position, as in variation 2, had an immediate and significant impact on the bass’s projection. Here, the string bass sounds so forcefully that it genuinely dominates the entire band, even bringing it out of balance. Of all fourteen tracks recorded that day, these final two reveal the string bass reaching the highest decibels on record, all the more remarkable as this was obtained using a single microphone.

This is supported by Tomita’s assessment. He singles out this set-up as the one that produced the bass that projects the strongest.^[42] While his evaluations of the three different set-ups and their variations don’t match mine entirely, we agree on a few key points: that the first setup with the bass amplification and third setup in variation 2 project the bass the best, although both are “a little low end heavy.”^[43] Of these two, variation 2 of the third set-up “jumps out a little bit more,” to use Tomita’s words, making it the one which indeed allows the string bass’s tone to be perceived as being “huge.”^[44]

This compilation allows to compare the openings section of “Jack the Bear” in all seven recorded set-ups:

With a disproportionately loud bass volume, using the third set-up in this variation 2 is unsuitable for studio recordings. As demonstrated, the second set-up, with the bass at an angle and a dedicated microphone, would provide a more appropriate set-up for studio use, although evidence lacks to corroborate that this was the particular set-up used during Blanton’s tenure. However, for live situations, where there was less emphasis on an aestheticised sound ideal, this was ideal for making the string bass an inherent part of the orchestra’s sound, allowing Blanton to fully fulfil his role as a star soloist with equal ease as the other soloists.

The outcome of this experiment helps to better understand how and why, in a live situation and under ordinary circumstances, Blanton was able to make his bass stand out from the big band, drawing the attention of critics and fans alike. As argued earlier, this wasn’t due to Blanton being able to literally produce more volume, which would rely on intrinsic factors such as his instrument or technique, all of which were comparable to those of his peers.^[45] Rather, it was the result of a combination of extrinsic factors such as his placement in the band which allowed for him to project his tone more precisely and with more direction.

Still, two caveats are worth pointing out. First, as the above shows, particularly in the second set-up, clever microphone placement allows the string bass to be recorded with a clear, distinct sound. However, this was a studio “trick” already in use prior to Blanton’s tenure with Ellington, and his predecessors such as Taylor, benefitted from this too. This is evidenced by the photograph of the 1936 session and other visual sources not included in this exposition (for example, consider this staged recording session filmed in 1937). More importantly, records from this time frame comprising Taylor reveal how his bass is relatively audible also.^[46] Perhaps the major distinction laid in the live set-up, which allowed Blanton to truly differentiate himself from his predecessors, soundwise? However, this appears to be contradicted by the second caveat. Many reviews, including those cited before, that praise Blanton’s tone were written several decades after his passing by writers that have never witnessed him live. This could be the result of uncritically reproducing notions from primary sources but I believe there is more to it. This particular perception cannot be attributed to a single factor but is rather the result of various intertwined factors of which Blanton’s divergent live position, in the band’s frontline and near the soloist’s microphone, was undoubtedly an essential factor, but not the only one. By way of a conclusion, I examine a few key factors, some technological, others musical, and others still psychological, that I argue have also played a role in this perception-turned-myth.

That’s a wrap: Debunking Blanton’s tone

On 22 February 1940, Ellington signed with RCA Victor, a major label that is believed to have used state-of-the-art recording material designed and built by RCA. This, combined with their experienced sound engineers and custom-made studios, contributed to an improved recorded bass sound. Author Eddie Lambert later observed that “[t]he late thirties Ellington band was well recorded by the standards of the time, but the [early 1940s] Victors are exceptional; in particular the bass part […] is clearly recorded.”^[47] As noted, due to the lack of evidence, it is impossible to determine the exact impact the above circumstances had on the ways Blanton was recorded in the studio. How the band was positioned in the studio, how many microphones were used, how these were placed, or if other factors were present that led to this exceptionally clear bass tone; all this is unknown.

Only one tantalizing clue regarding the adroit skills of Victor’s sound engineers is noticeable on record. While surveying the various renditions of “Jack the Bear” by BJO, I was struck by how the string bass never truly sounded like in the 1940 studio version. Either it was too dominant throughout, or it did not project as loudly during its opening solo as it did on the original. Upon closely listening several times to the 1940 studio take with a particular focus on the dynamic level, it became clear that the string bass was in fact mixed louder during the opening and closing solo sections. The sound engineer subtly lowered the bass volume around the 1:18 mark, and back up again around the 2:51 mark, although not to the same volume level as during the opening solo. As seemingly no other instrument is dynamically affected, this might suggest that Blanton was recorded with a separate, possibly dedicated bass microphone.

This is the only such instance of bass volume manipulation I could find in Blanton’s entire recorded output. In some cases, such as “Sepia Panorama,” a similar impression is created as Blanton plays more forcefully when soloing, and “sonically retreats” to the background when accompanying, but this is no actual volume shift caused by the sound engineer’s live mixing. Likewise, as photos such as this, this, and this suggest, Blanton occasionally stepped up to the soloist’s microphone when playing live, no doubt resulting in a similar dynamic increase during some of his solos. However, the audio quality of both surviving live renditions of “Jack the Bear” and similar live recordings is too substandard to reveal any aural proof of this type of dynamic manipulation in a live context. While such dynamic manipulation was a highly unlikely occurrence at a live performance anyhow, a factor previously mentioned is worth repeating. The frontline position of the string bass allows the instrument to be heard “unfiltered” by the audience, its sound not being sonically obscured by other instruments in front of the bassist, as often was the case in other Swing bands. While this wouldn’t lead to a substantial increase in volume, it was a minor yet contributing factor.

Despite the intriguing glimpse this dynamic manipulation in “Jack the Bear” offers, the recording practices during Blanton’s tenure remain largely an unknown factor in this evaluation. Yet, it cannot be denied that on these Victor sides Blanton was recorded more distinctly than most of his peers, with a tone that is clearer and more present. Therefore, Ellington’s switch to RCA Victor, which coincided with the emergence of a series of major bass features for Blanton, contributed to the increased critical attention for his voluminous sound.

A musical factor to deliberate is how Ellington and his collaborator Billy Strayhorn wrote for the string bass in their arrangements. Blanton’s solos are invariably framed so they do not compete with the rest of the band, allowing the bass to be clearly audible. This was done by casting the bass in a call-and-response context (e.g., in “Ko-Ko” or the opening solo of “Jack the Bear”), by having little or no accompaniment to his solos (e.g., in the coda of “Jack the Bear” or the Fargo version of “Pussy Willow”), or by limiting the other instrumental solo parts (e.g., in the opening piano/bass duets of “Bojangles” and “In A Mellotone,” or the piano/bass solo duet in “Sepia Panorama”). In those rare instances where the band does accompany the string bass, Ellington’s musicians were sensitive enough to restrain themselves from playing too forcefully (e.g., in the Fargo version of “The Sidewalks of New York”). In all these cases, such clever writing and playing enabled Blanton’s bass to come through loud and clear when need be, not by actually increasing its volume, but by creating a transparent ensemble texture that considered the dynamic limitations of the instrument.

Additionally, three psychological factors are to be deliberated. First, “Jack the Bear” was and still is Blanton’s most famous spotlight. Not only did it impress a host of bass colleagues, many of whom transcribed and studied its bass part, it was also Ellington’s first record made for the RCA Victor label, as such drawing quite some press attention. Therefore, many reviewers based their first impressions of Blanton on this particular record, with its truly voluminous, but technologically manipulated introductory bass solo— not only when it came out some weeks after 6 March 1940, but even today. Besides “Jack the Bear,” the (mainly 1940) duets were (and are) consistently singled out too, providing another source for critical evaluation. As only piano and bass are heard, the string bass’s sound can indeed be perceived as very voluminous.

Psychology also played a role in Blanton’s live perception. As noted before, in this specific live set-up, the audience’s attention must have been undeniably drawn to this lanky man holding such a big, cumbersome instrument. The visual attention the string bass’s central forward position garnered was reinforced by Ellington or resident presenters regularly calling out Blanton by name, a result of him being one of the featured soloists. With all attention, visually and aurally, now placed on Blanton, a mental hyperfocus on the string bass arose that would have rarely happened in other Swing bands, as such adding to the impression that he somehow sounded louder than his colleague-bassists.

Third, Blanton’s prominence as a master–bassist played a role in his perceived loudness too. As a performer reaches an iconic status, an oversimplified narrative, often not more than a descriptive list of presumed “essential” characteristics, is established that is passed on from writer to writer, from fan to fan, without much critical (re-)evaluation. In Blanton’s case, one of these celebrated key features is his voluminous tone. This may have entered Blanton’s “master narrative” as period writers based their observations on actual live performances, as exemplified by Wilma Cockrell’s “peeling the ceiling” comment.^[48] More likely, it can be attributed to past and present appraisals of what can be considered Blanton’s musical canon, particularly “Jack the Bear” and the 1940 duets, which, as noted, create the perception of him having a “huge” and “roaring” bass sound.^[49]

As many historical bass players were gradually relegated to the sidelines of the standard jazz (bass) histories, all attention was directed towards a handful of bass stars, with Blanton as a primus inter pares. In due time, his forceful tone became an inherent characteristic of the so-called Blanton style, but little effort has been made to find out how, why, and, indeed, if his tone was as voluminous as writings on him lead us to believe.

Chaser: Some concluding thoughts

This exposition has shown that particular aspects of Blanton’s tone can in fact be analysed and evaluated, specifically those pertaining his volume and projection. I argue that, overall, his tone didn’t differ significantly from his peers. Blanton didn’t necessarily sound (disproportionately) louder than other professional jazz bassists in that period, but a clever combination of theoretical and practical factors created this impression. Yet, one particular subset of his tone did deviate: his projection. Indeed, technological and musical factors such as his forward bass position and the tailor-made arranging for the bass did affect Blanton’s delivery, allowing him to project his tone with more clarity and precision than bassists had hitherto been able to. This was possible in no small part thanks to Ellington’s persistent vision of truly embedding the bass in the orchestral texture of his works. He had been attempting this earlier already, as I demonstrate in this article, but between 1939 and 1941, several circumstances coincided that enabled Ellington and Blanton to collaboratively craft the ideal conditions to bring the bass to the fore. Blanton’s creativity and technical prowess led Ellington and Strayhorn to compose a series of bass features, in the process transforming their bassist into one of the band’s star soloists. In turn, this new role necessitated that the string bass was properly heard during live performances, which was realised by the innovative and consistent forward position. Being signed to a new label with state-of-the-art tools and techniques ensured similar success in their recorded output. This combination contributed to the overall success of what later became known as the Blanton–Webster band, by many considered to represent an artistic peak in Ellington’s long career. As such, this exposition didn’t only explore Blanton’s tone but in the process led to a more nuanced and richer account of the resourcefulness and hands-on approach a collective of creative individuals take in striving to achieve the ultimate in their craft.

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