THIRD STREAM MUSIC - FROM

THREE PERSPECTIVES

One of my Jazz buddies suggested that I develop a blog feature on Third Stream music
and I thought it might be particularly appropriate to do so following our recent features
on the Neo-Classical postings associated with Paul Desmond and John Lewis,
especially because the latter was heavily involved in the early development of the Third
Stream Movement along with Gunther Schuller.
To accommodate my friend’s suggestion, once I started digging into the Jazz literature
on the subject, I decided to develop not one but three pieces on the topic, hence the title
of this posting.

Let’s start with a definition of terms so that we are all on the same page as to what
constitutes Third Stream music.

And what a better place to start than with an explanation by one of the movement’s
founders, Gunther Schuller, who wrote the following detailed description for Barry
Kernfeld, editor, The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz.

“Third stream” is a term coined by Gunther Schuller, in a lecture at Brandeis University

in 1957, for a type of music which, through improvisation or written composition or both,
synthesizes the essential characteristics and techniques of contemporary Western art
music and various ethnic or vernacular musics.

At the heart of this concept is the notion that any music stands to profit from a
confrontation with another; thus composers of Western art music can learn a great deal
from the rhythmic vitality and swing of jazz, while jazz musicians can find new avenues
of development in the large-scale forms and complex tonal systems of classical music.

The term was originally applied to a style in which attempts were made to fuse basic
elements of Jazz and Western art music -the two mainstreams joining to form a "third
stream."

This style had been in existence for some years, and is exemplified by such pieces as
Red Norvo's Dance of the Octopus (1933, Brunswick 6906), Ralph Burns's Summer
Sequence (recorded by Woody Herman's band, 1946, Col. 38365-7), George Handy's
The Bloos (1946, Jazz Scene [unnumbered]), Robert Graetinger's City of Glass
(recorded by Stan Kenton 's orchestra, 1951, Cap. 28062-3), Alec Wilder's Jazz Suite
(1951, Col. 39727), Rolf Liebermann's Concerto for Jazz Band and Orchestra (recorded
by the Sauter-Finegan Orchestra, 1956, RCA Victor LPM 1888).

Since the late 1950s the application of the term has broadened, to encompass fusions
of classical music with elements drawn not only from Afro-American sources but also
from other ethnic musics, such as Greek folk and popular music, and Sephardic,
Armenian, Japanese, and Hindu traditional music.
The third-stream movement attracted much controversy and has often erroneously been
allied with the SYMPHONIC JAZZ movement of the 1920s; symphonic jazz, however,
lacked the essential element of improvisation.

Other critics have seen the movement as an inevitable outcome of postwar eclecticism
and stylistic and technical synthesis. Third stream, like all musical syntheses, courts the
danger of exploiting a superficial overlay of stylistic exotica on an established musical
idiom, but genuine cross-fertilization has occurred in the work of musicians deeply
rooted in dual traditions.”

My first exposure to Third Stream Music came as a result of a chance finding of a used
Verve-LP entitled The Modern Jazz Society Presents A Concert Of Contemporary
Music [Verve 559827-2 ].

Pianist John Lewis is listed as the leader and he is joined on the date byJ.J. Johnson,
(tb); Stan Getz, Lucky Thompson (ts); Tony Scott, Aaron Sachs (cl); Gunther Schuller
(frhn); Manuel Zeglcr (bsn); Janet Putnam (hp); Percy Heath (b); Connie Kay (d).

It was recorded in March of 1955 and the CD reissue received the special token of merit
award in Richard Cook and Brian Morton’s The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.
Here’s their evaluation of the recording after which you’ll find a suggested discography
and bibliography should you wish to pursue the topic of Third Stream music more fully
on your own. [I’ve also appended a video montage featuring the Modern Jazz Society’s
performance of Django to the end of this piece.]

“One of the great forgotten masterpieces of the 1950s, this brilliant date is still available
only as a limited-edition reissue in Verve’s Connoisseur Edition.

Collectors are advised to snap up any copies they see, although it's disgraceful that this
classic should not be more easily available. The Modern Jazz Society was an initiative
by Lewis and Schuller to present new works and new arrangements, broadly in the
'Third Stream' vein which Schuller encouraged. Lewis was only the supervisor of the
original LP, but new discoveries - a rehearsal of a previously unheard J.J Johnson piece
Turnpike and a run-through of Queen's Fancy - find him at the piano.

The five principal pieces are all Lewis compositions, and they are among the finest
treatments of Little David's Fugue, Django and Queen's Fancy ever set down.
Django, with its final coda taken at the stately pace of a cortege, is so bewitching that it
can silence a room. Midsommer, which has not been performed or recorded in the
intervening 45 years, is a gorgeously evocative piece. The arrangements and
ensembles are intoxicatingly beautiful, but there are also the most handsome solos by
Stan Getz, J.J. Johnson and Lucky Thompson - the latter especially reminding us how
poorly he was served by most of his recording opportunities.”

DISCOGRAPHY:

Composers and performers associated with the third-stream movement include J. J.

Johnson (Poem for Brass, 1956, Col. CL 941); Andre Hodeir (On a Blues, on the album
American Jazzmen Play Andre Hodeir’s Essais, 1957, Savoy 12104); Milton Babbitt
(All Set, on the Brandeis Jazz Festival album Modem Jazz Concert, 1957, Col.
WL127); Bill Russo(An Image of Man on the album An Image: Lee Konitz with
Strings, 1958, Verve 8286); Gunther Schuller (Concertino for Jazz Quartet and
Orchestra, on the Modern Jazz Quartet's album Modern Jazz Quartet and Orchestra,
1960, All. 1359); Don Ellis (Improvisational Suite no.1, on the album How Time
Passes, 1960, Can. 9004); Bill Smith (Concerto for Jazz Soloist and Orchestra,
1962, CRI 320); Jimmy Giuffre (Three We, on the album Free Fall, 1962, Col. CS
8764); Larry Austin (Improvisations for Orchestra and Jazz Soloists, 1967, Col. MS
6733); Mike Mantler (13, on the album 13-3/4 (recorded with Carla Bley), 1975, Watt 3);
Ran Blake (Jim Crow, Silver Fox, both on the album Wende, 1976, Owl 05; Portfolio of
Dr. Mabuse, 1977, Owl 29); Anthony Braxton (Composition 82, on the album For Four
Orchestras, 1978, Ari. 8900); Leo Smith (The Burning of Stones, on the album Spirit
Catcher, 1979, Nessa 19); and Steve Lacy (Worms, on the Globe Unity Orchestra
album Compositions, 1979, Japo 60027).

A large number of third-stream works have been published by Margun Music; others
have been issued by such publishers as MJQ Music, C. F. Peters, and Cireco Music.
See aho FORMS, §4.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

G. Schuller: "Jazz and Classical Music," FeatherE

—: " Third Stream' Redefined." Saturday Review, xliv (13 May 1961). 54 -----: "The
Future of Form in Jazz," The American Composer Speaks: a Historical Anthology,
1770-1965, ed. G. Chase (n.p. [Baton Rouge. LA). 1966,216
G. Crane: Jazz. Elements and Forma! Compositional Techniques in Third Stream
Music (thesis, Indiana U., 1970)
C. J. Stuessy, Jr.: The Confluence of Jazz and Classical Music from 1950 to 1970
(diss., Eastman School, 1970)
M. Harrison: A Jazz Retrospect (Newton Abbot, England, 1976, rev. 2/1977) R, Blake:
"Teaching Third Stream," Music Educators Journal, lxiii/4(1976),
30 L. Lyons: "Ran Blake: Pianist and Teacher from the Third Stream," CK, iv/
10(1978), 16
A. Lange: "Ran Blake's Third Stream Visions," DownBeat, xlvii/2 (1980), 24
E. Santosuosso: "Third Stream: a Label for an 'Anti-label' Music," Boston
Globe (19 July 1980). §A.p.9
G. Schuller: "The Avant-garde and Third Stream," Mirage (New World 216,1985) [liner
notes]
M. Williams: "Third Stream Problems," Jazz Heritage (New York, and Oxford,England,
1985) [colln of previously pubd reviews]
G. Schuller: "Third Stream Revisited," Musings: the Musical Worlds of Gunther
Schuller (New York, and Oxford, England, 1986)
II.

“The world of music in the 1950s was still for the most part divided among sharply
defined lines of musicians who, on the jazz side, could not (or preferred not to) read
music — and then only of the simplest and most jazz-conventional kind — and also
could not improvise on anything but traditional tonal "changes;" while on the "classical"
side musicians could not improvise, could not swing, could barely capture the unique
rhythmic inflections and expanded sonorities of jazz.”
- Gunther Schuller
A word of caution at the outset.

This is a fairly complicated feature, both in terms of the technical nature of some of the
material it treats and because of the density of many of the annotations.

But if you ever wanted to know anything about the origin and early development of Third
Stream Music, these discussions are invaluable as a basic primer.

My suggestion is not to try and retain it all but to let the explanations just wash over you
to gain a basic awareness and a feel for what was involved in this melding of Jazz and
Classical forms that resulted in the birth of the Third Stream.

One thing I’m certain of is that you are going to enjoy pianist Bill Evans’ magnificent
performance on the 3rd section of composer George Russell’s All About Rosie in the
video montage that closes this piece.

Our second take. then, on Third Stream Music centers around two recordings that pretty
much represent the defining moment in Third Stream Music:

[1] the Columbia Jazz LP Music for Brass: The Brass Ensemble of the Jazz and
Classical Music Society [released April 1, 1957 as CL 941] and
[2] the Columbia Jazz LP Modern Jazz Concert: Six Compositions Commissioned
by the Brandeis University Festival of the Arts [released June 16, 1958 WL 127].

The eight tracks that make up these two LPs were combined and reissued as one CD in
1996 under the title: The Birth of the Third Stream [Columbia Legacy CK 64929].

In many ways, the 1957 Brandeis University Concert and the subsequent 1958
Columbia recording also represent the apotheosis of Third Stream Jazz, at least in its
initial form. One could certainly make the argument that the Third Stream ethos
continued in the works of Bob Brookmeyer, Maria Schneider, Carla Bley, Michael Gibbs,
Eddie Sauter, many of the compositions by various composers associated with Stan
Kenton's neophonic orchestra, some of the repertoire of The Metropole [especially
under Vince Mendoza] and the Concertgebouw Orchestra, both based in Holland, and
in the repertoire of some of the “Radio” Orchestras based in Germany, particularly the
WDR under the direction of Mike Abene.
The combined music that forms The Birth of the Third Stream is exhaustively
described and discussed in the inserts notes that accompany the CD as written by
Gunther Schuller, one of the principal organizers of the Third Stream movement and by
George Avakian, the producer of both LPs for Columbia.

Or as explained in the Preface to the notes:

“For a clearer understanding of the unique importance and long-range impact of these
eight compositions, we have reproduced in totality the liner of the original LP release of
Music For Brass (Columbia CL-941) followed by the pertinent portions of the
annotation for Modern Jazz Concert (Columbia WL-127).
BY GEORGE AVAKIAN AND GUNTHER SCHULLER (FOR MUSIC fOR BRASS,
1956)

“The Jazz and Classical Music Society is an organization started in 1955 by John Lewis
and Gunther Schuller (it was then called the Modern Jazz Society) to present
authoritative and exemplary concert performances of rarely heard music. The emphasis
was placed on contemporary music, including that written by composers in the jazz field
who would not otherwise have an opportunity for their less-conventional work to be
presented under concert conditions.
The Society gave a concert at Town Hall in New York in 1955 and planned a second
one in 1956, which was canceled when an unexpected conflict developed with a
performance by the New York Philharmonic Symphony of the key work of the Society's
program, Gunther Schuller's "Symphony For Brass And Percussion." Work had already
begun in recording some of the music to have been presented at that concert; so it was
completed nonetheless, and this album is the finished result.

The aims of the Society were, and are, of a nature designed to bring together musicians
in both the "classical" and jazz fields. Gunther Schuller exemplifies this intention in this
recording, in that he appears as a composer whose work is conducted by Dimitri
Mitropoulos, as a conductor of the works by the jazz musicians (whose compositions,
however, are not jazz as such), and even as a performer in the Brass Ensemble.

The grave problem of preparing good performances of difficult music is only one of the
reasons for forming the Society, but as musicians and composers, both Lewis and
Schuller felt that it was an extremely important one. For years they felt that the greatest
obstacle to the appreciation of unfamiliar music is the number of poor performances.
The cost of adequate rehearsals and the finding and assembling of capable, willing
musicians (not to speak of the countless musical and stylistic problems involved) made
first-rate performances of new music a great rarity. When they do occur, they are
inevitably the result of considerable financial expense, selfless devotion to the music, an
ability to resist the temptations of compromise, and. needless to say, the necessary
musical qualifications of the interpreters. Therefore Lewis and Schuller decided that only
a society of musicians (and their friends, whose support and contributions have been
invaluable), devoted to such an idea, could accomplish these goals under the present
conditions of the concert field.

The Society's planning of its concerts to date has been centered around various basic
instrumentations. Thus in the first concert the emphasis was on woodwinds, supported
by a harp and the Modern Jazz Quartet, a combination of instruments which resulted in
a more or less subdued chamber music sound. In the second concert (which will now be
given in the fall of 1957), the planning turned to a large brass ensemble, building the
program around the Schuller Symphony. With this piece as the representative of
contemporary "classical" music, two Gabrieli works to exemplify the earliest innovations
in brass writing over 300 years ago, and with the jazz world represented by three of its
most outstanding performer-composers, an unusually complete sampling of all aspects
of brass writing and playing was programmed. All but the Gabrieli pieces can be heard
on this recording.

Gunther Schuller's "Symphony For Brass And Percussion" was first performed (minus
the last movement) in 1950, and presented in its entirety for the first time in the following
year at an ISCM (International Society for Contemporary Music) concert, Leon Barzin
conducting. It has also been used by Jose Limon as the foundation for one of his
choreographies, "The Traitor."

In Gunther's own words, "The purpose in writing this work was primarily to write a
symphony. Secondarily, it provided me with an opportunity to make use of my
experiences of sitting day in, day out in the midst of brass sections, and to show that the
members of the brass family are not limited to the stereotypes of expression usually
associated with them. Thus, there is more to the horn than its "heroic" or "noble" or
"romantic" character, or to the trumpet than its usefulness in fanfares. Indeed these
instruments are capable of the entire gamut of expression. Their full resources and the
amazing advances made—especially in America—in the last 30-odd years have been
left largely unexploited by most contemporary composers.

"The concept of the symphony is of four contrasting movements, each representing one
aspect of brass characteristics. Unity is maintained by a line of increasing inner intensity
(not loudness) that reaches its peak in the last movement. The introductory first
movement is followed by a scherzo with passages requiring great agility and technical
dexterity. The third movement, scored almost entirely for six muted trumpets, brings
about a further intensification of expression. The precipitous outburst at the beginning of
the last movement introduces a kind of cadenza in which the first trumpet predominates.
A timpani roll provides a bridge to the finale proper, which is a sort of Perpetuum
mobile. Running through the entire movement are sixteenth-note figures, passing from
one instrument to another in an unending chain. Out of this chattering pattern emerges
the climax of the movement, in which a chord consisting of all 12 notes of the chromatic
scale is broken up in a sort of rhythmic atomization, each pitch being sounded on a
different 16th of the measure."

As for a discussion of the other works, let's have Gunther, who conducted tliem, take
over at this point.—G.A.

Just about the only common denominator among the three jazz scores is the
instrumentation. In every other respect, the three works are widely contrasting and
represent three definite styles and personalities. Where J.J., the most eclectic (and the
only brass player) of the three, delights in extracting rich, full-bodied sonorities from the
instruments, Giuffre in his score tends toward a leaner, more concentrated, almost
completely contrapuntal concept of brass-writing; and John Lewis seems to me to stand
somewhere between the two. Where J J. uses the instruments with an intimate
knowledge of their every subtle characteristic (and even with a certain degree of
caution) which is directly attributable to his first-hand knowledge of brass instruments,
Giuffre makes them more subservient to the musical material. Again John seems to
combine the best of both concepts.
J J. Johnson's "Poem For Brass" opens with a stately introduction, alternating the full
brass with cymbal rolls which lead to the main body of the movement, an allegro.
Mixtures of muted and open brass predominate. Miles Davis soon enters, improvising
over (and at times almost absorbed by) a constantly active background. J J. then also
solos, in his best unequivocal manner, using previously stated thematic material. A
sudden slackening of the tempo leads to an interlude in which the four horns (led by Joe
Singer) and the tuba indulge in some luscious parallel harmonics. The following section
features Joe Wilder's sensuous trumpet in a ballad-like strain.

Osie Johnson's cymbal sets the pace in the third movement, subtitled Meter And Metal.
Various brass combinations, sparked by Bernie Glow's driving trumpet, alternate with
cymbal breaks. Soon the line of continuity is broken; short chordal outbursts remain,
isolated, as if left hanging in silence. Suddenly the six trumpets in unison announce the
theme of the following free fugue which forms the main body of the movement. The tuba
starts the fugal ball rolling, and as various groups of instruments enter, the web of
sound thickens, and the impending climax becomes inevitable. At this point JJ. has
ingeniously combined five contrapuntal lines which Bound perfectly, both horizontally
and vertically; i.e.—they make sense both as melodic lines and as harmonic
progressions. Milt Hinton's wonderful bass gives this section a special lift. This idea
having run its course, four final declamations based on material from the first two
movements bring the work to an exciting close. The golden-toned high C# that John
Ware came up with at half past three in the morning to end the session seemed to me
at the time like the final strike-out in a pitcher's no-hit game.

John Lewis' "Three Little Feelings" show a side of his musical personality not generally
known to those who know him only from his work with the MJ.Q. The instrumentation
gave him an opportunity to present a more forceful side of himself and to work with a
wider dynamic range than the more intimate level of the quartet would seem to allow.

Without benefit of introduction, three thematic motifs, drawn in solid unison lines,
present themselves in quick succession. These three themes, cast in a minor key,
emphasize a certain blue-note feeling, in this case through the use of the flatted fifth. As
the themes pile up on top of each other one by one, an ominous note is introduced by a
timpani and cymbal roll; but this is quickly dispersed by a relaxing trombone counter
melody, played by JJ. Soon Miles enters, playing one of the three motives, a chromatic
four-note pattern whose center of gravity is the flatted fifth. Out of this eight-bar
statement emerges his first improvisation, disarming in its simplicity and economy, but
blending perfectly into the character of the piece. Osie Johnson's strong playing sparks
the next section, a powerful, snapping outburst in the brass. Later against a background
of richly voiced lower brass. Miles returns for a short solo, as if reminiscing, and the
piece closes with an almost Brahmsian feeling of gravity.
The second movement, again featuring Miles, presents John in an even more nostalgic
and poignant mood. An idyllic atmosphere pervades everything, especially in the middle
section where John gently extends two measures in such a way as to give them an
almost timeless feeling. The undulating movement in the trombones and baritones
makes the chord seem suspended in time, while Miles is free to wander about
unhampered, as it were. Also listen to the rich tone of Bill Barber's tuba as he underlines
the entire piece, blending when necessary with Milt Hinton's bass.

The third movement returns to the minor key and tempo of the first section. A horn call,
beautifully intoned by Jim Buffington, introduces the piece. Then a variant of the
chromatic motive from the first movement makes its appearance, leading to JJ.'s finely
conceived, perky 40-bar solo. A strong climax and a recapitulation of the horn call (this
time played by all four horns) end the piece. In this movement, John has made
particularly excellent use of the timpani, without resorting to mere effects or bombastic
noise.

These pieces are superb examples of John Lewis' creative talent. In a very simple,
unspectacular way, he combines the romantic and the classical in a judicious blending.
His great melodic gift is veiy much in evidence. John has that rare ability to create a
melody which is thoroughly conventional, immediately hummable. sounds as if one had
heard it somewhere before, and yet is in fact absolutely original. Above all, this music
has that unassailable quality of lightness for which there is no substitute.

Giuffre's approach, as indicated above, is quite different. In his own words, "brass
instruments in large numbers suggest to me ceremonies of perhaps a royal nature, a
sense of excitement, as though something momentous were about to happen."

The stage is set by the timpani, playing a rhythm which, says Giuffre, "suggested Egypt
to me, and when the brass enter, I imagined the approach of a great Pharaoh and his
court; hence the title."

The form of the work is quite original, developing out of the thematic material itself.
Different sections feature different groups and material. Outstanding, for instance, is the
magnificent six-part writing for

trumpets alone (about halfway through the piece), where Bernie Glow's high C shines
forth like a beacon in the (lark. Another highly interesting moment is the bridge featuring
a trio of trumpet, horn and timpani. The difficult high horn part is played with
consummate ease by Joe Singer.
All the thematic material is finally gathered together for the final climactic section which
ends in a blaze of sound, topped by Bernie Glow's high F. (At 3:00 A.M., towards the
end of a lip-withering recording session. Bernie's infallible accuracy and power nearly
lifted the roof off at Columbia's vaulted studios.)

DIMITRI MITROPOULOS, musical director of the New York Philharmonic-Symphony,

needs no introduction, either as one of the world's greatest conductors or as a
champion of contemporary music. His keen interest in the Schuller Symphony and his
enthusiastic support of the aims of the Society persuaded him to participate in this
unusual recording.

GUNTHER SCHULLER, first horn with the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, is self-taught
in composition. Among his public appearances, he has been heard as soloist in his own
concerto with the Cincinnati Symphony, Eugene Goossens conducting. The present
work developed from this appearance, having been written at the suggestion of Ernest
Glover, director of the brass ensemble of the Cincinnati Conservatory, and conducted
by him. Schuller has also performed frequently with jazz groups, including the now
famous Miles Davis nine-piece recording group.

JOHN LEWIS, musical director of the Modern Jazz Quartet, is responsible for the
commissioning of the Johnson and Giuffre works. His first major work was "Toccata For
Trumpet And Orchestra," introduced at a 1947 Carnegie Hall conceit by Dizzy Gillespie,
with whose band John first became known as a pianist and arranger.

J.J. JOHNSON has won more jazz polls as the outstanding trombonist of recent years
than the New York Yankees have won pennants. He is also an exceptional arranger,
most of whose work has been for small combinations. After many years as a featured
member of both big bands and small groups, J J. organized an extraordinary quintet
with another fine trombonist, Kai Winding, and since 1956, has been leading his own
unit. "Poem For Brass" is his first large-scale work.

JIMMY GIUFFRE is the only one of the composers in this album to have studied
composition extensively; he is, of course, much better known to the jazz public as a
saxophonist and especially as a clarinetist. He is one of the musicians associated with
the development of a rather unique style of modern jazz on the West Coast, and his
new trio is considered to be the brightest and most individual new group to have
emerged from this school.”
FROM THE ORIGINAL NOTES BY GUNTHER SCHULLER (FOR MODERN JAZZ
CONCERT, 1957)

“As recently as ten years ago, this album could not have been produced, either in terms
of performance or in terms of the marketability of its contents.

But so rapid has been the progressive intermingling of influences in the jazz and non
jazz fields that there exists now a nucleus of musicians—albeit still limited in number—
who can combine the ability to read "far out" twelve-tone scores with that prime
requisite, the life-force of jazz? improvisation. (This should not be confused with the
ubiquitous manifestation known as "commercial music" which, while it demands of the
musician the ability to read and even occasionally challenges him to improvise, does so
on a cliche level that suppresses creative imagination by the stereotyped mass-appeal
patterns that it explicitly sets out to achieve.)

Music such as recorded here, of course, will once more bring up the often-raised
questions. But is this still jazz, and is this intermarriage of two separate kinds of music
valid?

In the short space available here, it is perhaps not possible to discuss conclusively such
a thorny question— if this be possible at all—mainly because people in general, and
jazz aficionados in particular, seem to have an irrepressible urge to pigeonhole their
favorites into neat little category packages. And thus such and such is jazz, such and
such is not. (We all know the purist to whom anything after 1925 is no longer jazz, or the
latter-day jazz protagonist who thinks anything left of center—center at present being
Sonny Rollins, Horace Silver, et al—also outside the realm of jazz.) It just so happens,
however, that creative musicians since the beginning of music—not to speak only of
jazz—have never concerned themselves too much about what their product would be
called or whether it would fit certain established categories.

The truly creative artist has always—to the extent of his talents and artistic sincerity—
followed the demands of his creative personality, and it has been the job of the historian
and theoretician to explain anil categorize artistic events after they occurred. (To cite
only one very simple but pertinent example, the music now called "jazz" was played for
years before it was known as such; arguments as to when it was first called jazz and
why are still in full swing.)

As a matter of fact, the entire history of the arts was, and still is, precipitated by
precisely those glorious moments in which the innovator of genius defies the
established patterns and rules, thereby opening up new vistas for him and others to
develop until the next big breakthrough occurs. The music lover of all periods, and also
the record buyer of today, has a long history of resistance to these innovations of the
great masters of past and present; and this is his right and privilege. We hope, however,
that he will not find it necessary to exercise this right in regard to this album.

At any rate, perhaps this is jazz or perhaps it is not. Perhaps it is a new kind of music
not yet named, which became possible only in America where, concurrent with a rapidly
growing musical maturing, a brand new musico-cultural manifestation came into being,
which has by now spread to all comers of the earth. Perhaps right now Japanese
musicians, for instance, are working on a synthesis of jazz and their own ancient
musical traditions. For who knows what the influence of jazz on other cultures as well as
our own will produce in years to come? Speaking for myself, I can only say that the
possibilities seem to me both exciting and limitless, and it seems irrelevant to worry
about whether this will be jazz or not. It does seem relevant to worry about whether it is
musically valid and meaningful within the time and society that produce it.

On this basic premise I will therefore not categorize and typecast the six works on this
record. In view of the newness of much of the music, this would seem premature, and
might in the process renourish prejudices which could limit the listener's enjoyment.
Instead, I should like to give the listener the all-too-rare opportunity of uninhibitedly
roaming over the wide range of personalities and concepts displayed here. For it was
one of the marks of success of this Brandeis concert that the six works commissioned
by the University not only were of high quality but as different in their immediate
concepts as is possible to envision, while yet all — in a general way — subscribing to
the same point of view. I will therefore limit myself to a few remarks about the works,
remarks of an essentially non-categorical nature, that will aid the listener in appreciating
some of the more salient moments on this record, both in terms of playing and writing.
"All About Rosie" by George Russell, is based — to quote the composer—"on a motif
taken from an Alabama Negro children's song-game entitled 'Rosie, Little Rosie.'" The
work is in three movements. In the first, a fast pace is set by the trumpet. Alternating
between sections in 2/2 and 3/2 meter, the composer builds a gradually mounting
tension through excellent manipulation of sequences and repetitions, culminating in a
sudden climactic ending.

The second movement changes the mood; it is slow and has a distinct blues feeling.
Notice how the composer at first effectively avoids establishing a specific tonality. Only
gradually do the several lines in the flute, bassoon, tenor, etc., coalesce into a definite
tonal picture, a process quite indigenous to George Russell's own particular modal
concept, which effectively encompasses everything from pure diatonic writing to
extreme chromaticism. Especially striking in this movement is the guitar writing,
superbly played by Barry Galbraith. Again a climax is built with the two trumpets in
unison over a rich ensemble. There is a sudden relaxation, and on a short questioning
note the movement ends much as it began.

In the third section, the fast relentless pace of the opening is resumed, with the element
of improvisation added. Outstanding in this respect is Bill Evans' remarkable piano solo.
The ideas are imaginative and well related, but — more than that — Bill's strong,
muscular, blues-based playing here fits dramatically into the composition as a whole.
Other solos (La Porta, Farmer, Charles, McKusick), and a recapitulation of the opening
statement, lead to a brilliant ending.

"Suspensions" is another one of Jimmy Giuffre's attempts to compose and notate, as

exactly as our inadequate musical notation will permit, music that represents his
particular viewpoint on the jazz and blues feeling. In this respect, the present work is an
extension of the kind of thing Giuffre has been doing for some years with his own small
groups. In "Suspensions," he has also once more used percussion, not as a rhythmic
foundation and backdrop, but as an integral melodic voice within his contrapuntal
structure. Giuffre also attempted to write for the players in an individual manner "with
which they can express themselves as they would in a solo"—to quote Giuffre from his
own notes for the Brandeis concert—which partially explains why there is no
improvisation in this work.

A dark and ominous sounding statement in the bass instruments opens Mingus'
"Revelations" and sets its initial mood. This is sustained for some time and is only
slightly relieved by a chain of solo passages for the French horn (Buffington), trumpet
(Mucci), and trombone (Knepper), which in their turn lead to a recapitulation of the
opening. The ominous mood continues, abetted by hissing sounds from gourds, jangling
tambourines, and ominous rumblings on the timpani (all played by Ted Sommer) that
culminate eventually in Mingus' own inimitable appeal to the Lord. An "old church-style"
piano solo in 3/4 sets a momentarily happier mood, but this soon capitulates to a more
romantic, almost yearning atmosphere, featuring a remarkable and very difficult
passage for French horn and bass in unison, played by Buffington and Zimmerman,
incidentally Mingus' bass teacher.

With Art Farmer in the lead, the more energetic vein is reestablished which, in turn,
gives way to two unusual measures in which, mixed with the moaning flute and tinkling
harp and piano embroidery, you will hear the wheezing and rattling of instruments being
blown through without producing pitches or tones (a device to the best of my knowledge
first used by Igor Markevitch in his work "Icare").

The next section, back in 4/4 time, is one of Mingus' remarkable extended-form
improvisations, where two continuously alternating chords form the sole harmonic basis.
This "preaching" session — as Mingus thought of it —  begins with the first word from
Brother Farmer who is answered by La Porta and later Knepper. As the tension and
"shouting" mounts, all the remaining instruments join in response, like a congregation.
At a point where drummer Ted Sommer enters the fray with all available instruments,
and where the paroxysm threatens to become virtually unbearable, Mingus relaxes the
tension and with two quieter improvised chords leads us back to the very opening of the
work. But Mingus has not yet played all his cards; he leaves us with an astonishing
ending, once more achieved with improvisatory means. No words of mine would be able
to give a just idea of this extraordinary and beautiful fade away ending. Just listen to it!

As for my own work, "Transformation," I thought of the piece as a kind of musical

reflection (in general terms) of the issue all these compositions bring into focus and
which these notes aim to clarify: namely, the continuing process of amalgamation of
jazz and contemporary "classical" music. The opening section is indistinguishable from
any of my other non jazz compositions. It makes free use of the "passacaglia" idea, in
this instance a constantly reiterated though changing line of single held notes (horn,
clarinet, bass, clarinet, flute, etc.). Ever so gradually, however, against this background,
tiny embryonic fragments of jazz material are introduced. These fragments grow in size
and frequency until they predominate and the music has transformed itself into jazz. At
a point where the original passacaglia idea (horizontal form) has been condensed into a
single chord (its vertical form), the instrumental background suddenly breaks off and the
vibes, piano and rhythm begin an improvised section. Notice here how beautifully
pianist Bill Evans manages the transition from my written background for the vibe
improvisation to his own improvised solo. Most listeners will probably be unable to tell
where one ends and the other begins. (This, incidentally, is one of the central problems
in jazz today: the integration of improvisation into increasingly complex compositional
contexts.)
As the piano improvisation runs its course, a riff is introduced in the wind instruments, at
first barely audible as if from far away. As the riff gains momentum and power, a kind of
stretto develops, opposing the wind instruments against the others. At the same time,
the rhythmic structure is broken up, and in rapidly alternating juxtaposition of jazz and
classical rhythms, the composition reaches a climactic ending.

Quite aside from the individual merits or qualities of the six works here displayed, I think
this recording predicts, above all, an exciting future in music — not jazz necessarily, but
music. When a musician like Bill Evans, for instance — and I could name any one of the
others too—can produce an extraordinary strong solo such as in Russell's work, then
change character to suit the entirely different demands of my composition, and then turn
around and deliver a flawless rendition of Milton Babbitt's exacting piano part, then in all
probability, along with developments in the mainstream of jazz, we can look forward
with assurance to a greatly enriched and exciting musical future.”
1956 -1996: A FOND REMINISCENCE FROM GEORGE AVAKIAN...

“The middle fifties was a grand time to be Director of Popular Albums for the company
that had created the long-playing microgroove record in 1948. The new medium had
caught on commercially-caught fire, in fact — but there was still a spirit of exploration in
which hardly anything seemed too daring to try. Best of all, the catalog was doing
incredibly well at the cash register, so I could risk new ideas without undue panic in the
counting-house. (Hysteria, maybe, but not total panic.)

Thanks to my wife, concert violinist Anahid Ajemian, my interest in contemporary

classical music had broadened from Stravinsky to Schoenberg to John Cage and
beyond. So it was with an open mind that I listened to my friend and Upper West Side
neighbor, Gunther Schuller, who had the eminently reasonable but patently impractical
idea of recording an album which has since come to be recognized as the birth of "Third
Stream" — Gunther's descriptive imagery for music which synthesizes elements of
classical music (first stream) and jazz (second stream).

Music For Brass was an album which might never have been recorded if the music
had not already been rehearsed for a Jazz and Classical Music Society concert which
never took place. Thus the first favorable tip of the scales came when I realized that a
considerable amount of studio time (and musicians' overtime) would be saved because
the musicians' ears, minds and "chops" were already into the score. Dimitri Mitropoulos,
music director of the Philharmonic, was prepared to conduct Gunther's work; his stellar
reputation and the fact that he was a contract artist at Columbia helped cushion what I
anticipated might be some grumbling on the bean-counting front. When Gunther asked
if I thought that Miles Davis — whom I had signed to a contract although I could not
release his work until early 1957 — might like to participate as a soloist in the Lewis and
Johnson pieces, my conviction that I should make this recording was sealed, even
though Miles's enthusiastic assent also meant delaying the release of the album.

The Schuller "Symphony" was recorded on the first session. Miles came and listened,
entranced, in a corner of the control room. He couldn't keep his eyes off Mitropoulos.
"Hey, George," he whispered — hoarsely, of course — "ask him if I could play with his
band some time." (Because he had heard Anahid's performance of the Kurt Weill violin
concerto with Mitropoulos conducting, Miles had convinced himself that I had influence
in that department.)

During a break, I introduced him to Mitropoulos, adding that Miles would be a soloist in
the next two works in the album, and perhaps one day... ? Maestro nodded sagely and
hummed an "Ahhhhh, perhaps." Miles beamed. (Yes, he used to beam now and then.)
Although I mentioned Miles to Mitropoulos when I gave him a copy of the album a few
months later, nothing came of it. (Miles never said another word about it.)

The Music For Brass LP was Gunther's debut, as a composer on one side and as a
conductor on the other.

("The industry's first two-for-the-price-of-one offer which refers to a person instead of a

free second album," I told him.) "Third Stream" became a familiar term as Gunther used
the tributary-river analogy to answer questions about this unique album.

Gunther became a tireless organizer of concerts which brought jazz and classical music
and musicians together. The 1957 Brandeis University Jazz Festival of the Arts included
six new compositions for a basic instrumentation — a reprise on a smaller scale of the
framework of the Music For Brass repertoire. We originally planned to record the music
"live," but rehearsals at Brandeis established that the hall was acoustically unsuitable,
so we made the recordings soon after at "The Church"—the 30th Street studio which
had once been an actual Greek Orthodox church.

In his 1996 essay, Gunther describes the burgeoning impact of "Third Stream," which
soon lost its quotation marks. It was the founding premise of Orchestra U.S.A.,
organized by John Lewis in the early sixties with Gunther and himself as conductors
and myself as manager. Gunther went on to new successes as a composer, as a
conductor (especially after his notable New York series, "Twentieth Century
Innovations") and as president of the New England Conservatory of Music, before he
"retired" to an extraordinarily full life of composing, conducting and organizing concerts
all over the world. Seemingly endless honors, prizes and awards have followed,
including a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship.

With the passing years, it's been said that one doesn't hear much about Third Stream
any more. There is good reason for this; it has been absorbed into the mainstream.
Abetting this development has been the Third Stream Music department of the New
England Conservatory, which Gunther founded in 1976 and which continues under its
original director, Ran Blake.

As great an influence as the first Third Stream recordings were on contemporary music,
jazz and non-jazz, possibly their greatest effect was the ignition of the skyrocket which
shot Miles Davis to lasting international stardom. Without Music For Brass, I might
never have dared to even think of creating the watershed Miles Ahead album with a 19-
piece orchestra. (Without it, as more than one observer noted at the time. Miles would
have continued "slogging along" making quintet and sextet recordings.) When I told
Miles that I had decided that his second Columbia album must be with a large orchestra
— "something like 'Music for Brass"' — I also told him there were only two arranger-
conductors he should consider Gunther, who had played French horn in Miles' ground-
breaking Nonet in 1950, or Gil Evans, whom I remembered from my 1940s sessions
with the Claude Thornhill orchestra (and, more recently, Johnny Mathis).

As I expected, Miles chose Gil, in whose apartment the Nonet was bom and rehearsed.
I still believe it was the right answer for Miles. But I have also stopped joking about
"Hey, Gunther, no Nobel yet?"”

GEORGE AVAKIAN
May, 1996

GUNTHER SCHULLER CONTINUES WITH HIS 1996 REMINISCENCES...

“How things have changed! Dare I say advanced and improved? When these eight
compositions were recorded and first performed about 40 years ago, the average record
listener and buyer, and even most critics, considered them (at worst)
"incomprehensible," "anti-jazz," even "anti-music," "absurdly avant-garde," "beyond the
pale," or (at best) "controversial," "difficult," "abstract," "unrewarding."

Ranging from Babbitt's extraordinarily provocative combinatorial serialism

['Unfortunately, Babbitt's "All Set" is not on this CD. Playing time restrictions forced us to
omit it, along with Harold Shapero's "On Green Mountain."] to Giuffre's folksy
Polyphonic modal work, these pieces were viewed by most observers as either falling
between the proverbial stools of classical and jazz concepts, or simply so far outside
any tradition as to be not even worth discussing. That these [pioneering efforts] have
long since become "celebrated" and absorbed into a generally eclectic, broad-gauged
mainstream, where modern jazz and classical concepts often meet on an equal footing,
proves once again that, as so often in the whole history of music (and the arts in
general), what was once considered inscrutable and obscure and thus apt to be
rejected, not too long afterwards becomes perfectly accessible and accepted, even
routine.

A fair amount of controversy did, of course, swirl around this kind of music back in the
1950s and early 1960s, primarily in the professional magazines and journals. Great
fears were expressed on both sides of the stylistic fence that, in coming together, the
two musics would seriously damage each other. Jazz critics were worried that the
"spontaneity" of jazz would be severely afflicted with alleged "stiffness," "straightness,"
"abstractness" — what was deemed the "academicism" — of modern "classical" music.
Conversely, critics on the "classical" side either considered these "experiments" as
simplistic and naive, or were concerned that the sacred precincts of modern music
would be contaminated by the populist "vulgarities" and/or "simple-mindedness" of jazz.

Caught between being rejected or ignored, this kind of new music — mixing
improvisational techniques and concepts with straight composition, blending atonality
with tonalities, bringing classical musicians together with jazz players — found only a
relatively small receptive audience. Today, these "experiments" are seen as important
pioneering efforts which opened up all kinds of musical doors, and which long since
have become the basis for all means of new stylistic fusions and amalgamations.

Looking back to those heady, exciting days 40 years ago, it is also fascinating to
observe how the technical and stylistic horizons of musicians have broadened and
deepened in the intervening years. While the various kinds of musical alchemies and
stylistic fusions presented here could be managed 40 years ago only by a small handful
of musicians, it is commonplace today to find many performers who will readily deal with
any kind of music: improvised or written, tonal or non-tonal, "classical" or jazz. Webern,
Varese and Stravinsky co-exist and co-mingle happily with Parker, Mingus and
Coleman.

The world of music in the 1950s was still for the most part divided among sharply
defined lines of musicians who, on the jazz side, could not (or preferred not to) read
music — and then only of the simplest and most jazz-conventional kind — and also
could not improvise on anything but traditional tonal "changes;" while on the "classical"
side musicians could not improvise, could not swing, could barely capture the unique
rhythmic inflections and expanded sonorities of jazz.

Today those erstwhile separate worlds have come together, have cross-fertilized, in
variously overlapping ways, and learned much from each other. A rare pioneer on the
frontiers of jazz, such as Scott LaFaro, Bill Evans, Eric Dolphy, who in those days had
both the "chops" and the ears to deal with these new musical fusions, has been
replaced by a whole generation of younger performing and creative talents, for whom
those old stylistic and conceptual boundaries have long since disappeared.

One should also pay tribute to the courage and adventurous spirit of Columbia Records
and its then-young producer George Avakian in having the wisdom, against all
commercial, economic odds, to initiate these recordings, especially at a time when rock
and roll was radically changing the face of "popular" music and when questions as to
where music — classical as well as jazz — was heading were hardly answerable but
nevertheless hotly debated.
In retrospect, it is fascinating to see how well this music has survived the years, how
undated and timeless it still sounds. Known collectively as "Third Stream," i.e. the
offspring of the marriage of two mainstreams — classical and jazz — it is great to see
how well these creative efforts have stood the test of time.

It is also a joy to hear how remarkably well this music was played on the original
recordings, when, as mentioned above, such repertory was considered "very difficult"
(to say the least), on the outer edge of possibilities; and how beautifully sonically it was
recorded (let us remember monaurally, without the enhancing aura of stereo) in that
great, wonderful, now long-gone 30th Street studio.

It seems to me that retroactive congratulations are in order all around.”

GUNTHER SCHULLER
May, 1996

http://jazzprofiles.blogspot.com/2017/11/third-stream-music-from-three_4.html
 “When Brandeis University held its fourth Festival of the Creative Arts in 1957 at least
one of the programmes represented a most unusual gesture. It consisted of six
specially commissioned jazz pieces, and, for what little such distinctions are worth,
three were from jazzmen, two from straight composers sympathetic to jazz, and one
from a musician active in both spheres.

Though universities are supposed to foster research and other original work, this for
many years remained one of the few cases of such an institution doing anything
practical to further jazz. To have promoted a concert at which a well known band
marketed its familiar product would have been nothing, but here was created a situation
in which something new might happen. And there was no aimless or self-indulgent
 experimenting, an encouragingly high standard being attained by all six composers.
One of the pieces may be accounted a partial failure, yet these scores are a mine of
ideas for further development.

It might be objected that such commissions, by removing normal commercial pressures,

create an artificial situation, that music produced under such circumstances can offer no
realistic insight on jazz potentialities, and that the point is proved by so few of the 'ideas
for further development' having been widely followed up. But even now it is premature
to say that, our perspective being too short. It must be remembered that at all periods of
musical history the pieces which really made that history were in their own day the
property of only a limited circle of initiates. True, such patronage will seldom be
available for jazz until it is safely dead, but it is the worst sort of defeatism to discourage
commissions because they are rare.

And there is nothing artificial about the fine quality of the jazz which resulted on this
occasion: the best of it affords us a glimpse of the sort of music we might be able to
expect if jazz ever breaks away from the normally almost crippling limitations and sense
of values of the entertainment business to which it has always been linked. Besides, a
good piece of music is its own justification, and compared to its enduring value the
conditions under which it was created are finally of little interest.”
- Max Harrison, “The Brandeis Festival LP” in Jazz Retrospect
The Third Stream and After

The following excerpts by Terry Teachout appear in Bill Kirchner, Ed., The Oxford
Companion to Jazz and provide a nice recap of where Third Stream music has been
as well as where it was in 2000, the year this book was published.

And, in contrast with Gunther Schuller retrospective assessment of the success of the
music, Terry also does a thorough job of detailing some of the failures and
disappointments associated with Third Stream music.
“Starting in the mid-'50s, the Modern Jazz Quartet, a New York—based ensemble led
by John Lewis, recorded a series of compositions by Lewis, including "Vendome"
(Prestige, 1954) and "Concorde" (Prestige, 1955), that resembled the experimental
works of the West Coast school in their attempt to import fugal techniques into a small-
group jazz context.

Around the same time, Lewis and the classical composer Gunther Schuller organized
the Jazz and Classical Music Society (originally the Modern Jazz Society), a group
devoted to the performance of music "written by composers in the jazz field who would
not otherwise have an opportunity for their less-conventional work to be presented
under concert conditions."

In 1956 a contingent from the Jazz and Classical Music Society recorded Music for
Brass (Columbia, 1956), an album of compositions for brass ensemble by Lewis,
Schuller, Jimmy Giuffre, and J. J. Johnson; the following year, a mixed ensemble of jazz
and classical instrumentalists led by Schuller recorded Modern Jazz Concert
(Columbia, 1957), a collection of six extended pieces by Schuller, Giuffre, Charles
Mingus, George Russell, and the classical composers Milton Babbitt and Harold
Shapero, all commissioned by and premiered at the 1957 Brandeis University Festival
of the Arts. (The contents of these two albums, minus the pieces by Babbitt and
Shapero, are now available on the Columbia CD The Birth of the Third Stream.)

Schuller contended in a lecture at the Brandeis Festival that these works represented a
new synthesis of jazz and Western art music, which he dubbed "third stream music."
Modern Jazz Concert and Music for Brass soon became the subject of intense
debate in the jazz community, and numerous other composers, including Teo Macero,
Friedrich Gulda, Andre Hodeir, Gary McFarland, Bill Russo, Eddie Sauter, and Lalo
Schifrin, began to experiment with related compositional ideas.

Third stream music is typically (though not always) composed for mixed groups of jazz
and classical instrumentalists. The standard jazz rhythm section is sometimes omitted
— Russo's An Image of Man (Verve, 1958), for instance, is scored for alto saxophone,
guitar and string quartet — and the regularly sounded beat of traditional jazz heard only
intermittently. In most third stream works, fully written-out ensemble passages, often of
considerable musical complexity, alternate with simpler improvised episodes involving
one or more jazz soloists.

The inherent tension between composition and improvisation may be emphasized, as in

Sauter's Focus (Verve, 1961), a suite for tenor saxophone and strings in which Stan
Getz's solo part is completely improvised from beginning to end; in other pieces, such
as Schuller's Transformation (Columbia, 1957), the improvised sections are carefully
integrated into the larger compositional scheme.

The extent to which the original third stream composers drew on classical techniques
varied considerably. Mixed-media works such as Schuller's Concertino for Jazz
Quartet and Orchestra (Atlantic, 1960), in which the Modern Jazz Quartet performs the
function of the "concertino" ensemble in a concerto grosso, and Giuffre's Piece for
Clarinet and String Orchestra (Verve, 1959), a through-composed work whose solo
part, though fully notated, presupposes idiomatic jazz inflection, clearly seek to
reconcile the disparate elements of jazz and classical music. By contrast, J. J.
Johnson's Poem for Brass (included on Music for Brass) and George Russell's All
About Rosie (included on Modern Jazz Concert), which are intended for performance
by jazz instrumentalists and contain no distinctively "classical" features, conform to the
third stream model only in the relative complexity of their harmonic language and formal
structure.

The third stream movement continues to this day under the auspices of Schuller and
Ran Blake, who chaired the third stream department of the New England Conservatory
of Music from 1973, and many highly imaginative mixed-media pieces, including
Michael Gibbs's Seven Songs for Quartet and Chamber Orchestra (Gary Burton;
ECM, 1973), Claus Ogerman's Symbiosis (Bill Evans; MPS, 1974) and Keith Jarrett's
Arbour Zena (ECM, 1975), continued to be premiered and recorded well into the '70s.

Unfortunately, these compositions failed without exception to enter the working

repertoires of established soloists and ensembles, and public performances of them are
now rare. (Orchestra U.S.A., a third stream ensemble founded by John Lewis in 1962,
disbanded three years later, and Stan Kenton's Los Angeles Neophonic Orchestra, a
similar group founded in 1965, was equally short-lived.) Much the same has been true
of pieces by jazz composers specifically written for performance by classical musicians,
such as Dave Brubeck's oratorio The Light in the Wilderness (1968), Roger
Kellaway's ballet score PAMTGG (1971), and Anthony Davis's operas X (1985) and
Amistad (1997).

The latter failure reflects a practical problem of stylistic integration which is also
common to third stream music: not only are most classical musicians unable to
improvise, but they find it difficult to realize in performance the unwritten rhythmic
nuances intrinsic to the jazz idiom. (In addition, works in which electronically amplified
jazz instrumentalists are accompanied by unamplified classical ensembles pose near-
insuperable problems of acoustical balance in live performance.)

The larger failure of the third stream idea to engage the interest of more than a small
number of major jazz soloists also suggests the possibility of an underlying
incompatibility between jazz improvisation, with its spontaneous variations on regularly
repeating harmonic patterns, and tightly organized classical structures such as sonata-
allegro form, in which there is no room for discursive episodes that are freely improvised
rather than organically developed.

For all these reasons, it may be that the future of attempts to synthesize jazz and
classical music lies not in third stream works for traditional classical media or mixed
groups but in substantially through-composed instrumental pieces written for large and
medium-sized jazz ensembles.

Many of George Russell's compositions, including Jazz in the Space Age (Decca,
1960) and Living Time (Bill Evans; Columbia, 1972), fit this description, as do such
works as Lalo Schifrin's The New Continent (Dizzy Gillespie; Limelight, 1962), in which
Dizzy Gillespie is accompanied by a big band, and Carla Bley's A Genuine Tong
Funeral (Gary Burton; Victor, 1967), a "dark opera without words" performed by Bley,
the Gary Burton Quartet, and a five-piece horn section. Of comparable interest are such
recent extended compositions for jazz orchestra as Bob Brookmeyer's Celebration
(1997), Bill Holmes All About Thirds (1998), and Maria Schneider's ballet score The
Hand That Mocked, the Heart That Fed (1998), which aspire to more rigorous formal
challenges, as well as a higher degree of harmonic and contrapuntal complexity, than
the big band scores of the past.

Whether such a synthesis is possible within the less structured framework of small-
group improvisation remains to be seen, however, and given the fact that jazz continues
to be primarily an improvisationally based small-group music, it seems probable that at
least for the present, jazz and classical music will continue for the most part to travel on
related but independent stylistic tracks.”

The following video montage is set to Carla Bley's Syndrome as arranged by Mike
Abene and performed by the Jazz Orchestra of the Concertgebouw. It will serve as an
example of Third Stream in 2009, the year it was recorded at the Bimhuis in
Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

http://jazzprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Third%20Stream
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