Whatever Happened to the Clarinet?

A few weeks ago, during Artown, I attended another concert by the Reno Jazz Orchestra. As always, the musicians were outstanding, and the Reno Youth Jazz Orchestra reminded me that jazz is still alive and attracting young talent.

Somewhere during the evening, though, I found myself asking a question that hadn’t crossed my mind in years.

Whatever happened to the clarinet?

When I first became interested in big band jazz, the clarinet seemed to be everywhere. Today, many big bands don’t even include one in their woodwind section.

At first that may seem like an odd thing to notice. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wasn’t just thinking about an instrument. I was thinking about how music quietly changes over time.

I wasn’t part of the Swing Era. Benny Goodman’s famous Carnegie Hall concert took place in January 1938, two years before I was born.

By the time I reached high school, popular music had moved on. Eddie Fisher, Rosemary Clooney, Nat King Cole, Teresa Brewer and others dominated the radio. Elvis was just around the corner, and the Beatles were still years away.

Like most teenagers, I listened to what everyone else was listening to.

Then, during my junior year of high school, something happened that changed my musical life.

Jazz at the Philharmonic came through Portland.

Those concerts didn’t stop there very often, and I was fortunate enough to attend one. Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald and the other performers were unlike anything I had ever heard. Popular music suddenly sounded predictable. Jazz was spontaneous, inventive, and full of surprises.

I looked for another Jazz at the Philharmonic concert, but they rarely came through Portland. It didn’t matter. One evening had been enough to start me down a path that has lasted the rest of my life.

Like many students with very little money, I discovered Columbia Records’ subscription offers. Buy one album and receive several more. I joined more than once and cancelled just as often. By the time I finished college, I had accumulated what I thought was a pretty respectable collection of jazz albums from the 1940s and 1950s along with and array of bebop and other advent guard artists.

Not long after that first concert, I bought Benny Goodman’s Carnegie Hall recording.

I must have played Sing, Sing, Sing a hundred times.

Even today I can still hear Benny Goodman reaching for that remarkable high C-sharp and Gene Krupa launching into what, in my opinion, remains one of the greatest drum solos ever recorded.

That album opened another door.

As my musical interests matured, so did jazz itself.

During college I discovered Miles Davis, Stan Getz, Herbie Mann and many others. Whenever I could, I made trips into San Francisco to hear musicians at clubs like the Black Hawk and the Purple Onion. Listening to great musicians in small clubs was an entirely different experience from listening to records in my fraternity  room.

Looking back now, I realize something I never noticed at the time.

I had become part of the change myself.

The clarinet had been one of the defining voices of the Swing Era. Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Buddy DeFranco and others demonstrated just how expressive the instrument could be. Even people who have never listened to jazz probably recognize the unforgettable opening of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.

But jazz has never stood still.

The post-war years brought bebop, smaller groups, and a new musical language. Charlie Parker, Stan Getz, John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley and many other saxophonists inspired a new generation of musicians. The saxophone projected more powerfully, fit the evolving style, and proved a little easier for many young musicians to master than the clarinet.

The clarinet didn’t disappear.

It simply stopped being the instrument that most young jazz musicians dreamed of playing.

There aren’t many Benny Goodmans around anymore.

That isn’t a criticism.

Every generation discovers its own musical heroes. Benny Goodman defined one era. Charlie Parker redefined another. Miles Davis seemed to reinvent jazz every decade or so.

Mine simply discovered two generations of jazz.

Today the clarinet is still very much alive. Musicians such as Paquito D’Rivera, Eddie Daniels and Anat Cohen continue to demonstrate that it remains one of the most expressive instruments in jazz. Organizations like the Reno Jazz Orchestra and the Reno Youth Jazz Orchestra continue to introduce young musicians to the full richness of that tradition.

Sitting in the audience that evening, I realized I wasn’t really asking what happened to the clarinet.

I was asking how something that once seemed so familiar could quietly become uncommon.

It happens in music.

It happens in sports.

It happens in technology.

It happens in the way we live.

Most changes don’t arrive with headlines or announcements. They happen one generation at a time until one day we suddenly notice that something we once assumed would always be there has quietly moved into the background.

The clarinet never really went away.

I just hadn’t noticed that the soundtrack had changed.