Broadly it should be British, it should be exciting, it should be riveting as heck and
everybody who leaves a show should say, "Well, I didn't know I liked jazz," or, "If
that's jazz I like it."
Much has already been written about drummer/composer/bandleader Bill Bruford's role in the development of progressive rock. As a founding member of Yes and a key participant in numerous King Crimson incarnations to name but two, Bruford's instantly recognizable sound and mathematical precision helped define a number of classic recordings, including Yes' Fragile and Close to the Edge , and King Crimson's Lark's Tongues in Aspic , Discipline and Thrak. But as important as he has been in pushing the boundaries of that genre forward, he's always been a jazzer at heart.
"In the late '60s the BBC broadcast a great show, every Saturday night, of incoming American jazz artists, says Bruford, "and I saw all these great guys as a young teenager. But there were really three drummers who shaped my development. The Dave Brubeck Quartet was hugely popular here and the drummer, Joe Morello, was astonishing with that whole business of odd meters; I loved all that and fell right into it. Then, of course, there was Max Roach, who had this lovely elegant style; it seemed to be very mellifluous, with that whole idea of getting tunes from the drums. And finally there was Art Blakey for the sound , the way a drum kit could be made to sound so personal, that you could have your own authority on it. You didn't sound like Buddy Rich and when Buddy Rich played it didn't sound like Art Blakey.
Early Days as a Leader
Parallel to his work with progressive rock groups, Bruford began to forge his own career as a leader, with an emphasis on structured composition that still left room for group interplay. His first recordings, starting with '77's Feels Good to Me and ending with '80's Gradually Going Tornado , comfortably combined an idiosyncratic writing style with elements of progressive rock, jazz and fusion. "My first main inspiration as a writer was really sheer terror and humiliation, explains Bruford. "For two or three years I struggled with tuned percussion and then gave it up because it was simply too much work; but on the first album or two I did very much enjoy marimba and vibraphone. But as a writer, coming from art rock where the writing was very dramatic, I wanted to bring some of that drama to jazz. It wasn't ever going to be just swing choruses followed by an interminable line of soloists going over the same chord sequence.
The under-exposed and under-rated British keyboardist Dave Stewart, whom Bruford first met in a band called National Health a few years earlier, was a member of Bruford's first band, and there was a clear link between the two, in terms of writing style. "I'd seen Dave's writing and played some of it in National Health, Bruford says, "and that was kind of interesting. I don't think I was as knowledgeable or equipped as him, but I felt my way around it slowly, and he was of great assistance. I'm not a trained musician, so it took me a while to come up with stuff, study a bit and find out how to get from A to C which was usually through B, but I would send it through D instead. I've often had a good keyboard player overlooking my shoulder saying, 'I wouldn't do that if I was you,' or, 'It could be better by doing this.'
Earthworks Mark I and II
In '83, while still a member of King Crimson, Bruford recorded an album of duets with pianist Patrick Moraz, Music for Piano and Drums , that demonstrated a desire to reconcile his mathematical precision with a looser approach. While this would be a lengthy evolutionary process, the next step in that evolution was the formation of his band Earthworks, in '86. With the considerable talents of multi-instrumentalist Django Bates and saxophonist Iain Ballamy, Bruford began to gravitate towards compositions that, while still structured, were even more about interplay and freedom. While the band still revolved heavily around electronics with Bruford playing chordal drums, an electronic set-up of pads where he could trigger chord changes, there was no question that this was a jazz band, albeit one with a difference. "One of the great things about jazz is the ambiguity of it, says Bruford. "Is it this, or is it that; or maybe is it this and that at the same time? Is it simple, is it complex? Oh! It's simple and complex at the same time.
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