Count Basie

Piano · born 21 August 1904 died 26 April 1984

Click for Richard Cook Bio

William Basie was almost the same age as Fats Waller, and when a teenager he took advice from his fellow pianist. As a result, his early intrigues established him as a performer in the stride style, which he took with him into New York and New Jersey clubs at the beginning of the 20s. Then he toured on the vaudeville circuit, accompanying singers, before settling in Kansas City in 1927, having acquired his aristocratic nickname (his business cards offered the legend, 'Beware the Count is here'). He joined the highly rated Walter Page's Blue Devils the following year, and eventually switched to the Bennie Moten band (along with several other Devils, including Page himself), staying through the early 30s.

Moten's band had by this time grown into one of the strongest outfits in its territory, and the records make space for Basie's stride playing; when Moten died during surgery in 1935, Basie reorganized a new nine-piece band, The Barons Of Rhythm, which took up a residency in KC and began broadcasting, a move that led to a signing to Decca. Lester Young and Jo Jones were already with him; when Basie expanded to a 13-piece, Buck Clayton and Jimmy Rushing joined too. At the end of 1936, the band went to New York on tour, and while it was an institution which was destined to be almost permanently on the road, they never returned home to Kansas and remained based in New York. By the middle of 1938, Basie had recruited Harry Edison, Freddie Green, Benny Morton, Dicky Wells and Helen Humes, and the band had entered the top divison of swing-era orchestras. Green's arrival had particularized Basie's rhythm section like no other. With Green, Walter Page and Jones behind him, Basie established a new standard: the old two-beat music of the 20s had already gone, but this group smoothed and settled four-beats-to-the-bar, abetted by Page's walking-bass buoyancy, Green's imperturbable chording (he scarcely took a single-string solo in 50 years with the band), Jones's lithe rhythms with the bass drum diminished and the hi-hat cymbal taking over much of the beat, and Basie's own Morse-code approach, small bluesy phrases dropped on to the beat, accenting and commenting and prodding. The band's material was grown out of their native fondness for riffs and head arrangements, which often developed out of rehearsal ideas: One O'Clock Jump, a vintage example, was reputedly titled thus when an announcer asked for its name and Basie looked at the clock and christened it then and there. This gave his peerless team of soloists – Clayton, Edison, Wells, Young, Herschel Evans, Morton – the simple ground they needed to give of their best. The band's blues performances were amplified by the presence of Rushing, perhaps the greatest big-band singer of that time.

For their freshness and swinging exuberance, the Basie records of 1937–9 are definitive. But eventually the band's book had to change, and commissioned arrangements (from Eddie Durham, Buster Harding and others) began to arrive. Basie lost some key soloists (Evans, Young), but new men came in too, including Buddy Tate, Don Byas and Tab Smith. By the middle 40s the band's style had begun to ossify a little, and by 1950 the touring situation had declined to the point where Basie was forced to disband, although his fondness for playing the horses didn't always help finances. He led a small group for a couple of years, but in 1952 Basie's big band came back, and thereafter stayed busy until its leader's demise. In the 50s he began touring Europe and Japan for the first time, and new contracts with Verve and Roulette gave rise to hit records such as April In Paris (1955) and The Atomic Basie (1958). By now, the band had matured into a sleek, luxurious, failsafe machine – lacking in feel and passion to its critics but delighting admirers with the purring power of its delivery, and still boasting top-drawer soloists such as Thad Jones, Frank Foster, Eddie 'Lockjaw' Davis and Frank Wess. The band's book grew larger with smart commissioned pieces by the likes of Neal Hefti, Quincy Jones, Benny Carter and Ernie Wilkins. It rode out the 60s, a terrible period for this kind of jazz, with an almost careless aplomb: Basie recorded Green Onions and a couple of Beatles collections, but if it paid a few bills, he didn't seem to mind.

In the 70s, Norman Granz revitalized Basie's recording career by signing him to his new Pablo label, and a vast sequence of fresh recordings appeared, by both the big band and Basie in small-group contexts, or trading licks with Oscar Peterson. The touring never stopped: even when the leader had to come on stage in a motorized wheelchair, he quipped to the audience, 'How do you like my new limo?' After his death, Thad Jones, Frank Foster and Grover Mitchell in turn kept the Basie band alive, still touring under its old name and still working through what had evolved into a timeless book. Basie's orchestra had by this time became the blueprint for thousands of aspiring mainstream big bands, although matching the original in its deceptively effortless class and clout is something which has eluded most of them.

Biography from Richard Cook's Jazz Encyclopedia (2005).

If you'd like more information, check out The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz (2002) or The Biographical Encyclopedia of Jazz (2007), both of which are still in print.