Jean Baptiste "Django" Reinhardt

It was Django Reinhardt (January 23, 1910 – May 16, 1953) who broke the domination on jazz by American musicians.  Not only did he play with passion and astounding technique, but he introduced a whole new vocabulary to the music.  Purists criticised his fusion of gypsy rhythms and melodies over swing standards as inauthentic and provincial.  However, his music now stands as a definite parallel stream in jazz to the likes of Ellington and Armstrong.

Reinhardt was born to Manouche gypsy parents in Belgium, moving shortly afterwards to an area just outside Paris.  He became fascinated by a banjo played by a neighbour who, after constant pestering gave the instrument to Django.  He rapidly became proficient by playing with others in the camp and more significantly pressing his nose against the windows of Paris cafes and bars to watch passing American musicians.  Django was soon good enough to play with local bands and amazed audiences with his speed and virtuosity.  Modesty not being one of his virtues, Django lapped up the applause and was soon convinced of his own greatness.  Added to his already unreliable character it was a wonder that he made it to any gigs at all.  The young Django was a consummate gambler, drinker and womaniser – if you read the piece on Robert Johnson last week you may begin to see a pattern here – he was married by 18 and while his wife kept the caravan and produced muslin flowers to sell, Django was busy pimping and losing his money on pool games and alcohol.  This lax attitude to his musical commitments was to pervade throughout his entire career, even into the years when he became a jazz superstar.  Whilst on tour with the Duke Ellington orchestra, and signed to play a concert at the Carnegie Hall as a featured soloist, Django met a Frenchman in New York and so pleased to find someone who he understood he went out drinking, leaving a fuming Ellington to try and explain his absence.  Reinhardt was finally found and dragged to the concert in time for the last couple of numbers.

It is Django’s stunning single string runs and lightning licks that are remembered now, made only more unbelievable by the nature of his technique.  Around 1928 the flowers made by Django’s wife caught fire in the night, everyone got out of the burning caravan safely but not before Reinhardt’s left hand was badly burned.  As a result of the accident he lost the use of his ring finger and pinky.  For a time he languished in a depression in hospital until his friends brought him a guitar to pass the time.  He determined to regain his mastery of the instrument, regardless of the limitations of only having the use of two playing fingers and a thumb to manipulate the strings.  The rest is history.  Django not only remastered the guitar, but took it to new heights of improvisational virtuosity.  His most famous recording period followed as he formed the Quintet de la Hot Club de France with violinist Stephane Grappelli.  The two, backed by a contrabass and dual rhythm guitars, were a masterful and beautifully matched pair.  Django’s blistering pace and out and out swing was balanced perfectly by the melodic and measured sound of Grappeli’s violin.  In character too the pair were opposite sides of the coin.  Grappelli, an urbane and cultured Parisian was often furious with the lack of concern shown by the illiterate gambler with regards to engagements and other band members.  Yet despite the personal disagreements their music still stands as some of the most swinging and innovative in jazz history.

Django continued in the Gypsy jazz idiom even after the dissolution, reestablishment and final splitting of his partnership with Grappelli.  He played with travelling American greats such as Coleman Hawkins and modified his style when after the war American records reached Paris again.  The BeBop of Christian and Gillespie inspired him and he experimented with amplification.  Many purists – can’t let anything go can they – complained that Django was losing his touch and fire, preferring the acoustic output of his early career, but a passionate musician he was simply unable to sit still long enough to stagnate.  Listening to some of the rare electric recordings by Django a more melodic and considered (but still technically outstanding) side to his playing emerges, and one that is sadly overlooked by many of the retrospectives that concentrate solely on the Hot Club recordings.