Remembering Gil Evans, born on this day in 1912.

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The arranger, composer, and bandleader Gil Evans (May 13, 1912, Toronto, Canada – March 20, 1988, Cuernavaca, Mexico) has often been described as a kind of orchestral Svengali, someone who conjured almost mystical sounds taken from the great jazz ensembles to provide the perfect musical backdrop for solo artists such as Miles Davis or singer Helen Merrill.

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Gil Evans was undoubtedly a perfect foil for these artists, but he also embarked on a ceaseless exploration of the possibilities inherent in the field of orchestral composition and arrangement in the latter part of his career, even incorporating a variety of electronic instruments into his original sound palette.

Born in Toronto, Canada to Australian parents, he spent his early youth traveling through numerous countries until finally settling in Stockton, California, where he led his own band as a completely self-taught musician between 1933 and 1938. Later, Skinnay Ellis took over the group and Evans stayed on as arranger until 1941, the year in which he joined Claude Thornhill’s orchestra, where he remained until 1948, giving the band an evanescent, “floating” sound. From his hit “Snowfall”, Gil Evans acquired a solid reputation for arranging standards for orchestras, becoming a kind of “guru” for the new generation of composers and arrangers of the late 1940s.

Along with Gerry Mulligan, John Lewis, John Carisi, Lee Konitz, Miles Davis, and other musicians, between 1948 and 1950 they released the album that revolutionized all musical concepts of that era, creating the so-called “cool style.” Their group was and is known to posterity as the “Capitol Nonet.” From there came the album “Birth of the Cool,” one of the essential titles in the history of jazz. After this fertile period, Gil Evans disappeared from the jazz scene until the mid-1950s, when singer Helen Merrill insisted that he arrange her album “Dream of You” for Emarcy in 1956.

The beautiful, extraordinary, and exuberant arrangements Evans made for the classic songs on that album led him to resume his collaboration with Miles Davis on the album “Miles Ahead,” recorded in 1957 for Columbia, where Miles, under Evans’s baton, took to the stage with nearly twenty musicians, a truly extraordinary big band. This album was followed by the extraordinary “Porgy and Bess” in 1958, and the album “Sketches of Spain,” which paved the way for the fusion of flamenco and jazz. By the end of this triple somersault, Evans was a truly influential figure in the world of jazz.

After collaborating with Miles, Gil Evans produced his best solo efforts in the 1960s, with three albums recorded under his own name: the first and best of all, recorded in 1959 for Pacific Jazz and entitled “Great Jazz Standards,” is an absolute masterpiece; the second, “Out of the Cool,” recorded for Impulse! in 1961, was the first; and the second two years later in 1963 under the title “The Individuals of Gil Evans” for the Verve label. These albums clearly reflect his fascination with the German composer Kurt Weill. Also around this time, he did some work arranging records for the singer Astrud Gilberto.

In 1970, Evans began a new phase of his career when he appeared with his own big band at the Village Vanguard in New York, although his performances were inconsistent in this final phase. He reunited with Helen Merrill for a final project together, and his career ended on March 20, 1988.

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Gil Evans – The Individualism Of Gil Evans (Full Album)

Track List:

1. Time Of The Barracudas 2. The Barbara Song 3. Las Vegas Tango 4. Flute Song / Hotel Me 4a. Flute Song 4b. Hotel Me 5. El Toreador 6. Proclamation 7. Nothing Like You 8. Concorde 9. Spoonful

Alto Saxophone – Phil Woods (pistes : 8, 9) Arranged By, Conductor, Piano – Gil Evans Bass – Ben Tucker (pistes : 4a), Gary Peacock (pistes : 1, 2, 6, 7), Milt Hinton (pistes : 5), Paul Chambers (pistes : 3, 4a, 4b, 5, 8, 9), Richard Davis (pistes : 4a, 5), Ron Carter (pistes : 3, 4b) Drums – Elvin Jones (pistes : 1 to 3, 4a, 4b, 6 to 9), Osie Johnson (pistes : 5) Flute, Bass Clarinet – Eric Dolphy (pistes : 4a) French Horn – Don Corrad (pistes : 4a), Jimmy Buffington (pistes : 5), Julius Watkins (pistes : 1, 2, 4a, 6 to 9), Ray Alonge (pistes : 1 to 3, 4b, 6 to 9), Bob Northern (pistes : 5) Guitar – Barry Galbraith (pistes : 4a), Kenny Burrell (pistes : 1 to 3, 4b, 6 to 9) Harp – Bob Maxwell (pistes : 1, 2, 6, 7), Margaret Ross (pistes : 4a) Soprano Saxophone – Steve Lacy (pistes : 3, 4a, 4b, 5) Tenor Saxophone – Wayne Shorter (pistes : 1, 2, 6, 7) Trombone – Frank Rehak (pistes : 1, 2, 6, 7), Gil Cohen (2) (pistes : 4a), Gil Cohen (2) (pistes : 4a), Jimmy Cleveland (pistes : 3, 4a, 4b, 5, 8, 9), Tony Studd (pistes : 3, 4b) Trumpet – Bernie Grow (pistes : 3, 4b, 8, 9), Ernie Royal (pistes : 5), Johnny Coles (pistes : 3, 4b, 5 to 7), Louis Mucci (pistes : 5, 8, 9), Thad Jones (pistes : 8, 9) Tuba – Bill Barber (pistes : 1 to 3, 4b, 6 to 9) Violin [Tenor Violin] – Harry Lookofsky (pistes : 8, 9)

Tracks 1, 6 to 9 are bonus tracks. Tracks 1, 2, 6, 7 recorded at Van Gelder Studios, Englewood Cliffs, N.J. Tracks 3, 4b, 8, 9 recorded at Webster Hall, New York City Tracks 4a, 5 recorded at A&R Studios, New York City Remastered 2022 – Verve Records1964

Gil Evans Orchestra – Great Jazz Standards ( Full Album )

Gil Evans – piano, arranger, conductor…. Johnny Coles, Louis Mucci, Allen Smith (# 1, 2 & 5), Danny Stiles (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – trumpet…..

Curtis Fuller, Bill Elton (# 1, 2 & 5), Dick Lieb (# 1, 2 & 5), Jimmy Cleveland (# 3, 4, 6 & 7), Rod Levitt (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – trombone….. Bob Northern (# 1, 2 & 5), Earl Chapin (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – french horn… Bill Barber – tuba….. Steve Lacy – soprano saxophone….. Budd Johnson – clarinet, tenor saxophone (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) Al Block (# 1, 2 & 5), Ed Caine (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – reeds….. Chuck Wayne (#1, 2 & 5), Ray Crawford (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – guitar… Dick Carter (# 1, 2 & 5), Tommy Potter (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – bass…. Denis Charles (# 1, 2 & 5), Elvin Jones (# 3, 4, 6 & 7) – drums….

Track List:

“Davenport Blues” – 4:26 “Straight, No Chaser” – 6:19 “Ballad of the Sad Young Men” – 4:00 “Joy Spring” – 2:48 “Django” – 8:06 “Chant Of The Weed” – 4:25 “La Nevada” [a.k.a. “Theme”] – 6:17 Recorded – February 5, 1959

Gil Evans on his own
by Don Heckman

Published on THE JAZZ REVIEW, March-April 1060.

After a lengthy process, Gil Evans has re-established his
position as one of the most artistically successful composer-
arrangers in jazz. His work for Claude Thornhill
has been known and admired for years, but the limitations
inherent in the requirements of dance bands were
an obstacle to any major achievement. Despite the fact
that he was one of the important figures in the ’49-’50
Miles Davis Capitol sides, the strength of the various
personalities involved (Davis, Mulligan, et al) was such
that no individual could predominate.

In fact, these sessions may have been of less importance than was generally considered at the time since a variety of economic
and social conditions prevented them from exercising the
influence which they unquestionably deserved.
As with most artists who take pride in their craftsmanship,
Evans is able to transcend the limitations of any
given assignment, no matter how mundane. If it is required
that he favor his soloist, Evans can do so, as he
did in the Davis albums “Miles Ahead” and “Porgy and
Bess.” But the relationship between soloist and composition
is, by nature, extremely delicate and susceptible
to a strain in either direction, and the relative failure of
Gil’s World Pacific Ip “New Bottle, Old Wine” may well
have been caused by Cannonball Adderly’s disassociation
from the context of the arrangements. In a sense, when
the arranger places himself in a supporting role, he
hitches his wagon to a star. The results may vary as
much as the star’s temperament, and the fact that the
Evans-Davis recordings turned out so superbly is a
testimonial to the rapport between the two men.
Many critics praise Evans as an orchestrator but
refuse to acknowledge him as a real composer.

The conclusion is invalid. Rubens is no less an artist because
he chose to paint portraits from life, nor is Shakespeare’s
Hamlet any less masterful because the plot had been
used before him. One of the functions of art is to create
a symbolic illusion of life. Evans does not accept the
limitations in style, form, and expression of his model,
but rather uses it as a motif, a point of origin from life.

The manner in which he personally contributes to the
growth of this motif is as significant as if he were to
i/se original thematic material. And his pieces reflect a
viewpoint which is essentially optimistic, but never
maudlin or cloying; in them a full spectrum of emotion
is encompassed by a very large and human love of life.
In his most recent recording for World Pacific,1 Evans
has finally made a statement completely his own. It is
probably pertinent that on it and on an earlier Prestige,-
he plays piano. (It was true of “New Bottle, Old Wine”
but that record was hampered by the problems mentioned
eariier.) From his seat in the heart of the rhythm
section, Evans manipulates the sound units as though
they were extensions of his fingertips. The direct personal
involvement of the composer in the performance
of the composition may be far more important in jazz
than it is in “classical” music, a maxim which has been
demonstrated by composers ranging from Jelly Roll
Morton to Charlie Mingus.

The instrumentation on both recordings is similar, except

that the World Pacific sides have been slightly augmented
by the addition of more brass, a guitar, a multiple reed
man and Budd Johnson on tenor and clarinet. The Prestige
record reflects the fact that it is Evans’ first major
jazz enterprise since the Capitols. As a result, the
thematic content develops in a less complex manner than
on the World Pacific recording. There are also more
ballad settings on the Prestige which, although beautifully
orchestrated, are limited by this dance-band style;
a much stronger emphasis is placed upon sonorities than
upon rhythmic content. Big Stuff, for example is practically
a study of the sounds obtainable from the bottom
register of bass instruments. The last open fifth between
the two trombones rings with the richness of the implied
overtones. Nobody’s Heart demonstrates the use of
bassoon in a register first made notorious by Stravinsky.
In this case Dave Kurtzer’s rich, full sound completely
overcomes the difficulty involved in producing such high
notes. Evans’ voicings are superb. There are places where
soprano sax, horn, and muted trumpet produce an excellent
approximation of a symphonic woodwind section.
Tadd Dameron’s lovely If You Could See Me Now features
Jimmy Cleveland who plays with a particularly
resonant quality in his middle register. Evans’ accompaniment
is generally oriented around the French Horn
and is quite adequate in the frame of a dance band
style. One minor irritant is the occasional use of a triplet
tied to a quarter note and repeated on the first beat OT
the bar—an amazingly corny figure for someone or
Evans’ stature.
All the ballads are generally organized into two slow
sections surrounding a double time center. Remember
is very much in the Thornhill tradition, but Evans’ piano
playing is far more pleasant than Thornhill’s. Lacy plays
well in the up-tempo middle section. His use of time is
very similar to Coltrane’s, involving a superimposition of
rhythmic multiples of nines, sevens, etc., and using the
appropriate derivations as part of his basic rhythm. Lacy
also stands out on Ella Speed, a Georgia Brown-type
tune attributed to Leadbelly. Cleveland’s work here is
not so good, however. At this stage in his development
he still retained an annoying tendency to overreach runs
in his upper register and play on top of the beat. Evans
has included a written paraphrase in the style of his
Donna-Lee chart for Thornhill; it’s mostly successful,
except that the thickness of some of the voicings tends
to detract from the rhythmic propulsion. Again, too, he
uses four repeated eighth-notes on the first and second
beat of the bar similar to the triplet figure I mentioned
earlier. Just One Of Those Things is all Lacy. The arrangement
consists mostly of supporting figures for the
solo, although some of the brass punctuations suggest
Evans’ use of trombone comping on the Davis recordings.
Lacy makes extensive use of sequential patterns here,
a practice which could be disastrous in a lesser jazzman,
but which he brings off admirably.
Jambangle, the other up-tempo, is an Evans original, a
sort of up-dated boogie woogie. Solos by Lacy and
Cleveland are good enough, but the arrangement is prob-

ably the least interesting on the recording.
The World Pacific Ip differs from the Prestige in several
important aspects. The band is superior as a unit and
the soloists are better individually; Cleveland and Lacy
are featured again, but they have now gained in maturity
and expressiveness. The choice of material is also far
better, and its treatment is much more in the character
of jazz composition than dance band scoring. Evans
refusal to bow to the demands of fashion in solo style
has also worked well in the choice of Budd Johnson as
soloist for Chant Of The Weed and Theme. Johnson’s
clarinet style is uniquely affirmative and self-confident
in these days of the instrument’s decline as an important
solo voice. His warm, strutting interpretation of
Chant Of The Weed makes a pleasant contrast to Don
Redman’s angular whole-tone lines. Evans’ recreation of
the old Cotton Club theme lacks some of the nervous
vitality of the original but replaces it with a tongue-incheek
good humor. There is an interesting spot directly
before the ending which typifies Evans’ concern with
every last vestige of sound. Johnson plays some chromatic
swoops over a climatic build-up which eventually
returns him to the primary theme; yet as he does so, a
last, persistent chromatic echo cascades down through
Lacy’s soprano, adding a tiny fillip to the dissipating
climax.

Ballad Of The Sad Young Men is the only tune here
which corresponds to the ballads on the Prestige set.
There is an obvious difference of interpretation however.
Evans’ textures seem to be far more orchestral in character
and less reminiscent of sectionalized dance band
voicings. His employment of the flute as an integral
component of the massed body of sound differs from
the usual dance band practice of having it lead the
woodwinds, or else function in unison with muted trumpets
or saxes. Jimmy Cleveland’s poignant trombone solo
soars over a beautiful mass of shifting sound. Listen to
the long, held woodwind notes in the second eight which
leads into a tingling trombone smear. It is this kind of
concern with detail that makes Evans’ music so interesting
to hear.

Bix Beiderbecke’s Davenport Blues is another example.
The 1927 work serves as a vehicle for the contemporary
trumpet of Johnny Coles, yet, as is true througout the
album, no contradiction exists between the source material
and the soloist. The consistent integration between
the soloist and composition far exceeds the limitations
of any “school” or “period.” Coles plays with a warm,
open sound somewhat similar to Miles’. His solos, however,
are made primarily of short phrases that do not
necessarily have a strong organic relationship to each
other; a practice which Miles assiduously avoids in favor
of interrelated melodic lines. The choice of Straight, No
Chaser is a good one, and Evans chooses to emphasize
the humor that is implicit in so much of Monk’s work.
Listen to the gleeful piano and cymbal trills and the
moaning flute in the opening sections. The theme is
stated by a driving, orchestral unison—a tricky device
to use, since it depends upon the jazz feeling of every
member of the orchestra—and that was one of the main
reasons that the same kind of unisons were unsuccessful
in the Thornhill band. Steve Lacy’s excellent solo further
indicates his ability to interpret Monk’s lines properly,
an attribute shared by too few jazzmen. Lacy’s
talent is genuinely musical, and its expression is helped
rather than impeded by the fact that he has chosen a
difficult instrument. Joy Spring is a wistful bow in the
direction of Clifford Brown’s largely unfulfilled potential
as a composer. Evans allows the melodic line to evolve
from thematic material which precedes it, a sort of theme
and variation in reverse. It works out well, and the theme
is stated as in Straight, No Chaser by an orchestral unison.
Ray Crawford’s guitar closes the chart with a quietly
elegiac cadenza.

Theme is an original Evans riff tune written while the
band was playing a date at Birdland. Budd Johnson contributes
a tenor solo that is a model of virile, big-band
blowing. Evans weaves a complex array of brass rhythms
around Johnson, and the tenorman uses them to create
a polarity between their complex character and the solid
4/4 of his own rhythm. The final choruses employ a
climatic effect similar to Straight, No Chaser, thickening
the harmonic texture into an almost unbearable tension.
The almost interesting piece of all to my taste is the
effective denouement.

The most interesting piece of all to my taste is the
magnificent setting of John Lewis’ Django. There are so
many things to listen for: the majesty of the opening
brass statement (faintly recalling Sibelius’ Finlandia);
the delicate obligato between French horn and flute, and
the carefully woven interplay of piano and soprano sax,
played over a gently strummnig guitar. Johnny Coles
executes a well organized solo over a rhythm pattern
that shifts in and out of double time. Then comes a
positively rocking build-up as Evans lets out all the stops.
Lacy improvises a line under Coles, the reeds play
tremolos and the brass punches out rhythmio»explosions.
As the tension dies down there is a short improvised
passage in which Lacy softly echoes Coles’ lines; and
finally, a brief horn echo of the theme.
These recordings have given me many happy hours, and
I strongly recommend them as basic items in any comprehensive

jazz library, particularly the World Pacific.
And they are not like those “important” records that
remain untouched on the shelf as source material. Evans’
music on both of these records is vibrantly alive and,
unless I am drastically wrong, will be as enjoyable ten
years from now as it is today.

In a recent issue of The Jazz Review, Steve Lacy speaks
of the Evans’ band in glowing terms. “Sometimes when
things jelled I felt true moments of ecstacy; and recently
when a friend of mine who worked with the Claude
Thornhill Band in the forties . . . said that some nights
the sound of the band around him moved him to tears,
I knew exactly what he meant. So does anybody who has
ever played Gil’s arrangements.” And so should anyone
who has ever heard his music. These recordings are
among the best examples available.