The Oxford American Book of Great Music Writing

Portrait of the Artist as an Aging Lightnin’ Hopkins Enthusiast

for McCall’s Multiplication Rock project. Ironically, it was never intended for television ;itwasonlysupposedtobearecord.ButitjustsohappenedthatTomYohe, theagency’sartdirector,wasintheroomwhenMcCallplayedthetape;hestarted sketchingoutwhatimagesthelyricstriggered.Thosesketchesevolvedintoastoryboard , and soon enough bulbs went off and wheels started spinning and both thesongandstoryboardwerepresentedtoMcCall’sbiggestclient,ABC.Thenetworkboughttheprojectandcommissionedtherestof MultiplicationRock,which included the songs “Three Is a Magic Number,” “Figure Eight,” and “My Hero, Zero.” The group then tackled the eight parts of speech through Grammar Rock, which included the trumpeter Jack Sheldon singing “Conjunction Junction.” Doroughputhistouchonallofit,songsaboutscienceandhistoryandcivics.The show would be cancelled in 1985, but by then would have already imprinted in a millionmindsthebasiclessonsofeducation’sthreeRsthroughasimplemusical principle—repetition. And, to boot, the songs easily hold their own against any of that era’s pop music. Doroughhadnoideaiftheshowwassuccessful;itwasn’tanythingyoucould measure in sales. “I didn’t know if anybody else was watching it,” he says. “So I volunteered to do assembly programs. I took the Manhattan Yellow Pages and bookedabouttenrecitals.I’dsay,‘ThisisBobDorough.I’mwithABCTelevision andSchoolhouseRock! WehaveaChristmaspresentforthekids....’ABChadnothing to do with it. I booked all these concerts myself. All I needed was a piano and a mike. I’d arrive at the school and the principal would say, ‘Well, we never heard ofyou,butthekidsseemexcited.’Andaftergettinguponstage,I’dgointo‘Three IsaMagicNumber,’andIwouldlookoutandseethekids.They’dbenudgingeach other: ‘It’s him.’ “Then I knew.” I saw Bob Dorough perform a few times before I got to know him, most recently in the sleepy lake town of Heber Springs, Arkansas, at a chamber music festival. His daughter, Aralee, is principal flutist with the Houston Symphony Orchestra, and had recently recorded an album with him, The Houston Branch. She’d been invited to Heber Springs to play chamber music and mentioned that her father was born in Arkansas, which inspired the festival organizers to invite him down as part of Arkansas Heritage Month. (He’d already been inducted into the Arkansas Jazz Hall of Fame.) Theturnoutforhisshowwassmall,abouttwenty-fivepeople.Theintimacy worked and it didn’t; the lo-fi dynamics were an injury. A good deal of Dorough’s performancedependsonthewayhissingingbargesinon,ribs,andkneelsbefore themusic.Runninghisvoicethroughwhatsoundedlikeatubeampmadethings a little rough. Butwhattheshowlackedinhi-fiwasovershadowedbyintelligence.Dorough BOOK OF GREAT MUSIC WRITING 331 1SMIRNOFF_pages.qxd 8/27/08 10:43 AM Page 331 minded this classical context: New arrangements of his bebop songs were followed by a modern, contrapuntal duet for flute and oboe (featuring Aralee and herhusband),followedbyapiano/fluteduetof“Yesterday”(anarrangementhe’d written for Aralee as a child), and then an abstract version of “All the Things You Are.”Thesongswerethreadedtogetherbytheflute’stouches.Thiswas,afterall, his daughter’s occasion. ThesecondsetopenedwiththeSchoolhouseRock! stuff(itusuallydoes),and Igotthatslightnostalgicrush.Sodidthesoundman,whowassomovedhehooted. This material was really all I knew of Dorough’s music then; seeing him perform it twice now, introduced the same way, as a singalong, and hearing a timid audience tip-toe through the multiplication bridge in “Three Is a Magic Number,” I realized that he might actually be sick of having to work these songs into his set. So the nostalgia vanished, though I did my best to shout the numbers out. We met up the next day, rising early. He seemed doleful—chuckling, and sweet,butalsounderstatedandcareful.Iorderedeggs.Heorderedpancakes,said to the waitress: “But done, you know what I mean? And a side of bacon, just for atmosphere.” WetalkedaboutSugarRayandLosAngeles;heintroducedmetoacoupleof theories on harmony. Thinking back on it now, his demeanor, I’m reminded of what Ellison wrote about Armstrong and the hard boppers: Certain older jazzmen possessed a clearer idea of the division betweentheiridentitiesasperformersandasprivateindividuals. Offstage and while playing in ensemble, they carried themselves likecollegeprofessorsorhighchurchdeacons;whensoloingthey donned the comic mask and went into frenzied pantomimes of hotness—even when playing “cool”—and when done, dropped the mask and returned to their chairs with dignity. Perhaps they realized that whatever his style, the performing artist remains an entertainer, even as Heifetz, Rubinstein or young Glenn Gould. WetalkedaboutSchoolhouseRock!,ofcourse,andIaskedhimifheevertired of playing it. “I’d be a poor musician if it wasn’t for Schoolhouse and a few other songs,”hesaid.“Theoretically,Imakeenoughmoneytoliveon.Icouldjustgoto the mailbox every week. But I troubadour because I love to perform. And I’m a ham. I just feel I should get out there when I see the right opportunity and take a gig and work it.” He’s played all over the planet; was there a kick to playing a quiet town like this one? He chuckled: “I just go where there’s a gig.” 332 THE OXFORD AMERICAN 1SMIRNOFF_pages.qxd 8/27/08 10:43 AM Page 332 Ajazzmanstepsoutofthesideman’sshadeandsings,apersonaforthepublic toconsider.Hemakesanadequatelivingatit,butabetteronehelpingotherpeople maketheirownmusic.Still,thosewhohearhimbecomemembersofawildfirecult. I...