Djangology
'DJANGO' (JEAN BAPTISTE) REINHARDT WaS un- questionably the greatest jazz musician Europe has yet produced, and Charles Delaunay's well- intentioned but overwritten biography .there served up in a lumpish translation) is, surpris- ingly, the first book to have been published on 'the man.' The man,' because in this attempt at biography-as-anecdote he largely eclipses the musician. He plays, or forgets to play, dates, it is true; this is one of his activities. But so little is really said about his music it would seem that M. Delaunay's book is really intended for those dedicated souls who already know the musical answers from the 557 titles recorded between 1928 and 1953 and included in his discography, which takes up a good third of the book.
And so it may be. But in case there are any potential Djangoists hovering on the threshold, these are the facts: Django, the son of French gipsies, was born in a caravan at Liverchies, near Charleroi, on January 23, 1910. As a child, constantly 'on the move,' he soon acquired a reputation as a virtuoso at billiards, a sport he enjoyed almost as passionately as throwing dice with the grown-ups. Then (as later• in his career) his absolute disregard for moderation often re- sulted in his losing not only his last few sous, but his hat and overcoat as well. A single day at the travelling school was the period of his formal education.
All this, of course, before his passionate re- action to music-making of every kind led to the gift of a guitar by a neighbour when he was twelve years old. In a phenomenally short time he had mastered the instrument, simply by watching and remembering the fingerings used by other guitarists. He would practise for hours at a stretch when he was back in the caravan, and soon he was off searching out all the musicians in the neighbourhood. He started ac- companying singers at local festivities, and would lose all track of time (three days and nights on one occasion) when he was in the company of a congenial spirit.
He was not yet thirteen when he began his professional career at a Parisian dance-hall, ac- companying the popular accordionist Guerin() on the banjo. A little later, when the return of his gambling itch had used up his daily travel allowance, he would make pilgrimages on foot to the other side of the city so' as to listen to the new American music played by the Billy Arnold Band. Soon he was specialising in Ameri- can tunes, getting bigger and better jobs, and getting married--in the gipsy fashion, by 'elope- ment.' His fame had already reached Jack Hylton, who even braved an appearance in im- maculate evening dress at a decidedly undressed- up dive called 'Le Java' where Django was play- ing, so as to sign him up for his orchestra.
Then, suddenly, disaster struck and on the night of November 2, 1928. fire broke out in Django's caravan and the guitarist, barely escaping with his life, was so badly burned on the right side of his body and on his vital left hand that he remained bedridden for the next eighteen months. Little by little he recovered the use of his left hand, which eventually scarred over, but left two fingers permanently out of commission. He soon developed a new tech- nique to cope with this disability, and in 1934, after a period of free-lancing, during which he recorded with the singer Jean Sablon, he and the violinist Stephane Grapelly, whom he had met in Andre Ekyan's orchestra, formed the group which was to bring them world-wide recog- nition, the Quintette du Hot-Club de France.
From then on Django was a grande vedette, even after the quintette dissolved in 1940 be- cause of Grapelty's decision to stay in England for the duration. This success story also takes full account of the Django who was gambling- crazy, spendthrift, illiterate and utterly un- reliable (he once appeared on the stage three hours late at a concert with Duke Ellington at Carnegie Hall because he had met a French- man he could talk to about France), and his musical genius was only matched by his genius for self-destruction. His death at the age of forty-three was a tragic loss to jazz, but even eight years later every month sees still more of his recorded legacy made available. And now, of course, there is M. Delaunay's book : hardly a definitive work, but important, surely, as the first proper contribution to Djangology.
ARTHUR BOYARS
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