His first four bars of every B and C section also echo the melody. Dorham defaults to the melody in the second half of every A section (bars 5-8 and 13-16) with only one exception. Nearly half (!) of the solo’s 96 bars are derived from the melodic contour of the song. Just how much Dorham leans on the melody is both striking and atypical. All this underscores his gift as a compelling storyteller. The recurring melodic and rhythmic rhymes unify the solo thematically and contrast effectively with Dorham’s bustling ideas. When the harmonic rhythm slows, he consistently returns to Van Heusen’s melody, quoting it or creatively paraphrasing it. The harmony moves fastest in the first four bars of the A sections, allowing Dorham to thread the changes with sophisticated lines laced with chromaticism. A pecking, two-bar break finds him gliding into his solo with soft-shoe elegance as pianist Walter Bishop Jr., bassist Leroy Vinnegar, and drummer Art Taylor shift from a two-beat dance into swinging 4/4.
The flirty bounce, suave phrasing, and sassy smears speak to the heart K.D. The first things you notice about Dorham’s performance are the dark-complected allure of his tone and the urbane way he makes the melody his own. It’s a 32-bar A-B-A-C form, whose attractive melody and uncomplicated but rewarding harmony have made it a jazz standard. By the time Dorham recorded it in 1961, it was typically played as a medium swinger. “It Could Happen to You” was written in 1943 by composer Jimmy Van Heusen and lyricist Johnny Burke and introduced as a ballad in the film And the Angels Sing. Dorham seduces listeners with the soulful warmth, colorful wit, and understated wisdom of the hippest bon vivant on the scene. Dorham navigated a convincing path through the stylistic shifts of his time, from bebop to hard bop to postbop, in a way few of his contemporaries matched. He also forged a landmark partnership with vanguard tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson documented on five Blue Note LPs in 1963-64. He worked and recorded with Art Blakey and Max Roach, led his own bands, blossomed as a composer, and recorded regularly as a leader. Gillespie and Miles Davis were important influences, but the elongated running phrases and slick turnbacks Dorham plays with Bird evince an emerging originality.ĭorham’s most fertile period lasted from 1955 to 1964. He worked with the seminal big bands of Billy Eckstine and Dizzy Gillespie before joining Charlie Parker’s Quintet for two years in 1948-50. Everything about his approach is relaxed, expressive, swinging, personal-his crepuscular sound, lyrical melodic invention, harmonic acuity, piquant dissonances, behind-the-beat time feel, myriad articulations and tonal shadings, and the sly way his phrases snake through the chords, building in tension until resolving with the deceptive ease of a sleight-of-hand master.īorn in rural east Texas and raised in Austin, Dorham came of age during the first flush of bebop. As “It Could Happen to You” makes clear, he seduces listeners with the soulful warmth, colorful wit, and understated wisdom of the hippest bon vivant on the scene. (New York pianist Michael Weiss has provided JazzTimes with a transcription of Dorham’s three-chorus solo on “It Could Happen to You.” You’ll find it here.) The cover of Kenny Dorham and Jackie McLean’s Inta Somethin’ĭorham does not command attention with Gabriel-like power, brassiness, or bravura technique. The solo is redolent of everything I love about Dorham’s aesthetic, yet it’s also a unique entry in his catalog. It appears on Inta Somethin’ (Pacific Jazz), which discographies list under Dorham’s name though he appears to co-lead the quintet with Jackie McLean. The Dorham solo that slays me most is “It Could Happen to You,” recorded live in 1961 at the Jazz Workshop in San Francisco. Although a measure of wider recognition and critical attention have accrued in the 50 years since his death, even today he remains more celebrated among bebop-savvy musicians and connoisseurs than the general jazz audience. (as he is known to admirers) was underrated during his lifetime. That brings me to Kenny Dorham (1924-1972), a beautifully expressive trumpeter whom Art Blakey called the Uncrowned King. The one that most fires your emotions should get the nod. Now think about how those solos make you feel.
If you could listen to just one solo by that player for the rest of your life, which would it be and why? Consider improvisations that best embody the sound, style, personality, and individualism of the player. I call it “One Artist, One Solo.” Pick a jazz musician. Here’s a game I like to play that’s a variation on the familiar challenge of choosing favorite records to take to a desert island.
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