What, No Improv? Jazz's Little Secret
February 02 2009

One of my music idols is Art Tatum.

If you don't know who Art Tatum is, and you play piano, listen to him, and be prepared to weep. When another jazz piano deity, Oscar Peterson in his teens, heard a recording of Tatum for the first time, and then found out Tatum was just one pianist, not two, O.P. was so stunned he couldn't play for three weeks.

If you don't know who Art Tatum is, and you do not play piano, listen to him, and be prepared to weep as well. Music doesn't come much better than this.

Tatum (1909-1956) had it all. All. Innovative in his music. A fabulous sense of melody. Astonishing rhythm. And a technique more abundant than the medals in Michael Phelps' trophy chest. When his parents named him Art, they really meant art.

He was a genius, Art Tatum was. Not just a genius, the kind about whom you think to yourself 'I could do that if I worked at it.' He was a genius, the kind about whom you think to yourself "Oh. My. Gosh. What planet sent him here? If I worked a million years at it, I would never think of that.' A real genius.

A jazz genius. No one would dispute that classification for Tatum: jazz pianist.

Here's the catch: if you listen to a recording of him from the 30's, and then a recording of the same song in the 50's, they sound just about the same. Not just the song melody, but everything- the chords, the arrangement, even the "improvised" parts.

Tatum played Sweet Lorraine and Willow Weep for Me in 1954 just about the same he played them in 1937.

Isn't jazz supposed to be about spontaneity, freedom and on-the-spotitude. Aren't jazz daredevils all on the make-it-up-as-you-go plan? Isn't jazz without the improv like a burger without beef, or a an omelette without eggs?

And yet, no one would dispute that Tatum was a jazz pianist.

Well- this is jazz's little secret: a lot of jazz, a lot, is not at all improvised. It's worked out in advance. Composed. Planned. Arranged. Note for note. Improv: nada. And that's OK.

Sure, there's an element of spontaneity in jazz. A huge one. There's a freedom not to play the stuff you've worked out in advance. Even if you don't use that freedom, its availability gives an edge to the music you would not hear in classical music.

Tatum, for example, would throw this or that different phrase into an otherwise identical version of a song. Part of what makes listening to him so inspiring, is that you can listen to different recordings of the same song, and love each one individually. When you catch those little variations between recordings, they become even more exciting.

There is an improvised feel. And there's no doubt that Tatum created the music by playing around, by improvising at the piano. He didn't sit down with manuscript paper and write out the notes (which would have been tricky for him, since he was 90% sightless.) If he had, he would have sounded more like Franz Liszt, than jazzman Tatum.

There's no shame or scandal in the unimprovised element in jazz. Throughout jazz, there is plenty of make-it-up here-and-now. Besides, pure improvisation, and nothing but improv, can be as mind-numbing as pure alcohol; the absence of structure often turns music-making into droning indulgence.

Tatum isn't alone in his prêt-à-porter approach to jazz. Duke Ellington, Oscar Peterson himself and no doubt many others brought many already worked-out pieces to the jazz stage. I do too.

I don't mean to wade into the What is Jazz debate here. We can go there another time. It's more the opposite idea: don't tell me it isn't jazz, if Tatum, Bill Evans or I don't make up everything on the spot, if we've worked it out before. You'd be denying yourself and others access to some very great music.

And what a loss it would be, if we weren't able to listen to Tatum because of arcane terminological wars. His music is one of life's joys. And I'm not making that up.

- Click here to read Ron's article on piano genius Art Tatum (PDF).

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