Mel Lewis - The Big Band Man by Dan Morgenstern

May 13, 2025

I just started work on the second volume of my Jazz Drummers anthology and this article on Mel Lewis will be included in it. All my books are available exclusively on Amazon in both paperback and eBook formats. For a look at the Table of Contents for each of these, please scroll down the sidebar of my jazzprofiles.blogspot.com blog.

Before he moved to New York City, which is the geographical focal point of “Mel Lewis - The Big Band Man,” Mel was the drummer in what has come to be known as the Terry Gibbs Dream Band which appeared at a couple of different locations on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood on Monday nights [the off night for the studio musicians who populated Terry’s big band].

I was one of the fortunate aspiring young drummers who got to attend “The University of Mel Lewis” at these clubs during which he gave a clinic in big band drumming while powering the Gibbs Dream Band.

The following piece is essentially made up of a long, italicized lead-in quotation which Rick Mattingly authored for the Percussive Arts Society and was used in commemorating the 96th anniversary of Mel’s birth, combined with Dan Morgenstern’s March 23, 1967 Downbeat feature on “Mel Lewis - The Big Band Man.”

The Morgenstern essay celebrates the first twenty years or so of Mel’s career; the Mattingly memorializes the last 20, approximately.

Each piece displays the strengths of its author: in Rick’s case, his knowledge of the drummer’s perspective on playing Jazz; in Dan’s, his knowledge of the full, historical sweep of the music and the individual musician’s place in it.

“In an era when big band drummers were expected to be showmen who drove their ensembles with aggressive timekeeping and fast, furious fills, Mel Lewis (May 10, 1929 – February 2, 1990) defied the trend and served the music by supporting the band rather than by calling attention to his own playing.

The warm sounds of his “old K’s” and his calf-headed bass and snare drums served as a cushion for the band’s sound, blending with the other instruments rather than cutting through them. As Lewis sat calmly behind a small drumkit that looked more appropriate for a combo than a big band, the hint of a smile was often visible at the corners of his mouth as he led the band with the authority of his time feel, which was all the more impressive by virtue of its understated quality. Indeed, Lewis could swing a band just as hard with brushes as with sticks.

Mel sometimes complained that to most people, “chops” meant “speed.” He could handle fast tempos with no problem, but he was never one for playing blazing fills and solos. For him, “chops” had to do with control of the instrument, a sense of color, and above all, the ability to swing.

“I learned that the power of the drums was in this smooth glide of rhythm,” he once told writer Stanley Crouch. “It wasn’t the volume.” Lewis could play loudly when the situation called for it, but he could also play very softly. He was always proud when his band was cited for its ability to play with a wider range of dynamics than most big bands.

Lewis was highly regarded for his touch on the cymbals, and for choosing the right cymbal to play behind each soloist. He could get an amazing variety of sound from each cymbal as well. “Every cymbal I use is a ride cymbal,” Lewis told me during a 1985 Modern Drummer interview. “Every one of my cymbals is also a crash cymbal.

“I find that all the cymbals should be dark,” he continued. “Darker cymbals are more complementary to horns. When you hit a high crash cymbal with the brass section, you will knock out half their sound. If there are four trumpets and the fourth is playing the lowest part, your ride cymbal should be the fifth trumpet, which is lower yet. Trombones, of course, can go lower than my cymbals can, so I want to be somewhere in the middle register where I don’t obliterate the lead and I don’t destroy the bottom.

“With the saxophones, you want a roaring sound to envelop, because reeds don’t have the power that the brass has. That’s why I believe that during a sax soli — where you have five saxophone players standing up playing together — nothing sounds better behind them than a Chinese ride cymbal, because there’s a blend. Bass violin players love Chinese cymbals because the low sound and the Oriental type of roar make the bass sound spring forward. It gives tremendous fullness to the sound of the band.

“You should treat the different sections with different ride cymbals. Even in my dark sounds there is still a higher sound, a medium sound, and a lower sound. I’ll use the high sound behind a piano. I’ll also use the lowest sound behind a piano. But I won’t use the middle sound behind the piano because it’s too much in the piano’s range. Behind the piano, a flute, or a muted trumpet, I’ll also use the hi-hats or brushes. When I’m playing behind, say, a trumpet solo followed by a tenor solo, and I know that the tenor player is a hard-blower, I’ll use the Chinese cymbal. Now, if it’s just going to be a trumpet solo, or if the tenor player has a lighter sound, I’ll use my normal 22-inch ride cymbal. But I’ll always save my Chinese for the hardest blowing soloist.

“Also, you should start with a crash and end with a crash. I see drummers ending with a crash cymbal, but then choking it. When you hit that big chord at the end, let it ring. Hit that bass drum and hit that cymbal: ‘POW’ instead of ‘pop.’ That’s exciting. There should be a finality to that final blow, unless it’s a soft ending, of course. Then you don’t need a cymbal, although I like to hit one softly. But that’s always been a thing of mine: Start with a crash and end with a crash.”

Mel Lewis, whose real name was Melvin Sokoloff, was born in Buffalo, New York. He began playing professionally at age fifteen and worked with the bands of Lenny Lewis, Boyd Raeburn, Alvino Rey, Tex Beneke, and Ray Anthony. When Lewis joined Stan Kenton’s band in 1954, many jazz critics credited him with being the first drummer to make the Kenton band swing.

The Kenton gig also provided Lewis with the setting in which he could develop his “small group approach to big band.” Mel wanted to play like the bebop drummers of the day, using ride cymbal more than hi-hat, breaking up the time, and dropping occasional “bombs.” That didn’t fit with a lot of the swing/dance bands that Lewis worked with early in his career, but it was perfect for Kenton, with whom Mel worked for three years.

Lewis moved to Los Angeles in 1957 and worked with the big bands of Terry Gibbs and Gerald Wilson, and with pianist Hampton Hawes and trombonist Frank Rosolino. He also co-led a combo with Bill Holman. In 1962 he made a trip to Russia with Benny Goodman. In addition, Lewis did a variety of studio sessions while in L.A. (My favorite trivia fact about Mel is that he was the drummer on the early ’60s rock song “Alley Oop.”)

After returning to New York in 1963, Lewis worked with Ben Webster and Gerry Mulligan. In 1965, Mel and trumpeter Thad Jones (Elvin’s brother) formed the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra, which began a steady Monday-night gig at the Village Vanguard club in February 1966. The band also recorded frequently, and the group toured the Soviet Union in 1972.

In 1978, Jones left the band to move to Europe, but Lewis kept the group going, calling it the Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra. One of the most distinctive features of the ensemble was its emphasis on soloists, who were always given plenty of room to stretch. Hearing Mel’s band live was often like hearing two bands in one. “It’s only a big band when everybody is playing together,” Mel told me. “When someone is soloing, then it’s a quartet.”

Although the Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra received high critical praise, none of the musicians, including Mel, could make a living from it. So they all did other work, and besides jazz gigs and recordings, Mel also did his share of commercial “club dates.” But despite being a consummate jazz musician, he didn’t have an “attitude” about playing gigs such as weddings. “Playing for dancers is great training for a drummer,” he told me. “It really teaches you to be consistent.”

Mel was known as one who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. In print, he could come off as being abrasive, but he was not malicious by any means. Mel called things the way he saw them, and there was often a twinkle in his eye when he knew his words were likely to raise eyebrows. Although he was open-minded about different types of music, in certain matters he could be quite inflexible. For example, he contended that it was impossible for a drummer to swing with matched grip. And he was vehemently opposed to the electronic drums and drum machines that came along in the 1980s, going so far as to declare that the company responsible for the LinnDrum machine should be blown up.

For a brief period, Lewis taught at the New School for Social Research in New York, and he occasionally gave drum clinics, but he was never one for private lessons. “I teach every Monday night at the Village Vanguard,” he would respond when someone asked him for lessons. But Mel was very encouraging to young drummers and would invite them to his apartment to listen to records and discuss music, go with a drummer to pick out a new cymbal, and generally serve as an advisor and father figure. When I worked full-time at Modern Drummer, Mel would sometimes call to suggest that I check out a young drummer that he felt showed promise. Danny Gottlieb, Joey Baron, Kenny Washington, Adam Nussbaum, Jim Brock, Dennis Mackrel, and Barbra Merjan were just a few of the drummers Mel championed, hiring many of them to fill in for him at the Vanguard when he had to miss a Monday night.

There were quite a few nights like that in the late 1980s. Lewis was diagnosed with melanoma, a form of cancer that can turn up in various parts of the body. It started in his arm, but he received treatment and thought it was cured. Then it surfaced in his lungs, and again he received treatment and thought he had it beat. Then it went to his brain.

During all that time, Lewis played as often as he could, making several recordings and even taking a couple of trips to Europe. In October 1989, Mel was honored at a concert by the American Jazz Orchestra.

His Monday-night gig at the Village Vanguard was the most important thing in the world to him. The last time I spoke with him, in December 1989, he had just come out of the hospital. As usual, he predicted that the worst was behind him. “I’ll be at the Vanguard Monday night,” he told me. “I’m not sure if I’ll feel like playing, so there will be a sub on hand. But I’ll be there.”

In January 1990, he traveled to New Orleans for the IAJE Convention, where he gave a clinic and performed with his band. It was his final performance. Lewis died on February 2, just days before his band was to celebrate its 24th anniversary at the Village Vanguard.

I once asked Mel to evaluate himself. “Mel Lewis, I guess, is a guy who has never known anything in his life except drums and music,” he replied. “I admit I am very opinionated and I really can’t stand people who are mediocre. So that might be one of the harshest parts of me, but basically I’m a lover of humanity and, above all, music. I can’t see myself doing anything else in this life except playing music.””

Source: Percussive Arts Society, Rick Mattingly

“WHEN DRUMMER Mel Lewis settled New York City in May, 1963, after some six years in Los Angeles, he had established himself as one of the few outstanding jazz drummers on the West Coast. Today, Lewis is one of the busiest all-round drummers in Manhattan's studios, doing commercial record dates of all kinds, playing television shows and advertising jingles. But his spare time is devoted to a labor of love, the 18-piece big band he co-leads with cornetist-composer-arranger Thad Jones.

"I've really expanded since I've come back east," Lewis said recently. "This is the only place for a sideman to be if he's interested in music. There's more exposure to good players . . . the scene is more competitive — you want to play well here.

"You feel more like one of a whole. Out there on the West Coast, there were just a few of us, and nobody to go and listen to and keep up with. Things would be happening in music, important things, that you wouldn't find out about until much later—you'd be behind the times."

Besides, in Los Angeles Lewis felt that he had been type-cast as a big-band jazz drummer and that this categorization was holding him back. " Here," he said, "you're a musician, and you're called upon to do anything."

As a member of New York's musical elite, Lewis is often exposed to "griping” about only a certain group of musicians doing all the work. This is something that the young kids coming up should be thinking deeply about. Qualifications are very important—you must be able to do anything you're called upon to do, especially in commercial record dates and jingle dates.

"It's surprising how many big- name jazz players are in this. They play it as if they were born to it, and that's the way it has to be. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Lewis said he does not believe that playing commercial music has a negative effect on a musician's jazz ability. "If anything, it helps it—for the discipline involved," he explained and added that sometimes there is less of a difference than one might expect.

"You walk in and have to play country-and-western style," he said, "and you find out it amounts to nothing but what Sam Woodyard's been doing with Duke for all these years, or a basic Lunceford two-beat style. The music might sound hokey, but the actual execution is nothing but jazz with a back beat — and they do want it to swing."

The quality of music used in the commercial field is improving, according to Lewis: "On more and more of the dates, jingles and records that I've been doing in the past year or two, I'm being allowed to play fairly free, and restricted only where absolutely necessary. The rhythm section can get pretty loose; we even get into some free things . . . it adds something they like. You may have noticed that there is a tendency now to use the jazz waltz, and 5/4 meter, for effect."

In his studio work, Lewis often is teamed with Richard Davis, who is also the bassist of the Jones- Lewis big band. "Richard and I have spent days together," he said, "where we start with a Dixieland jingle on Tiger Rag, go on to a Jimmy Dean country-and-western date, and wind up at night playing something really far out — from one extreme to the other. In a week we might come up with every kind of music imaginable. And it's all well written and played with the best musicians."

In this kind of environment, Lewis emphasized, " it takes real ability and a halfway decent personality to make good. I don't mean that you have to be a phony and charm everybody, but you've got to be the kind of person that people enjoy being around. I had to learn that myself—it comes with growing up. Anybody who has the ability, and really wants to, can make it. But you've got to have the ability. . . ."

Versatility is the keynote here, and Lewis acquired much of his in a jazz environment.

"I'm thankful," he said, "for having gotten to play with almost every good jazzman around during my career, from Dixieland to avant-garde, leading a full life. I feel sorry for the guy who's in one bag all his life. He's missing out on the fun. Ben Webster, Dizzy Gillespie, Coleman Hawkins, Louis Armstrong, Eric Dolphy, Muggsy Spanier, Richard Davis, Eddie Sauter, Gunther Schuller — I've worked with all of them."

In addition to this list of associations — only a fraction of the many with whom

Lewis has played — there is his imposing record as a big-band drummer, beginning with clarinetist Lenny Lewis' band, which he joined at the age of 16, in 1946. It includes, in chronological order, Boyd Raeburn, Alvino Rey, Ray Anthony, Tex Beneke, Stan Kenton, Terry Gibbs, Gerry Mulligan, Gerald Wilson, Benny Goodman, Friedrich Gulda— and now, of course, the Thad Jones- Mel Lewis band.

Lewis' eyes gleam when he talks about the band, which has created quite a stir in the jazz world during its short life of a little more than a year. In addition to playing every Monday night at the Village Vanguard, the band has appeared at the Newport and Boston jazz festivals, recorded two albums (one of its own and one with singer Joe Williams), played several all-star benefit shows, and won the most-deserving big-band award in the 1966 Down Beat International Jazz Critics Poll.

"I still can't get over the band," Lewis said. "We didn't expect anything like this to happen; we just thought we'd have an outlet. . . . At this time, we're getting ready to make another record, live, probably at the Vanguard, and in early March, we're playing our first dance date, at the United Nations."

Lewis said he is extremely pleased with the attitude of Solid State, for which the band records. "We have complete freedom in the choice of material," he said, "which isn't often heard of today. Though we've been asked to include a few standards, nobody has told us which ones to choose and how to treat them." As for the dance date, Lewis was looking forward to it.

"I'd like to see people start dancing to jazz again," he said. "Jazz has always been danceable. We're not going to change anything; we have a few concert type pieces that can't be danced to, and we'll present them that way. Other than that, I'm sure people will be able to dance to our music. Joe Williams, who has been singing for the dancers at the Rainbow Grill, told me what a ball he had watching the people dancing and holding each other to his music."

The band, which includes a number of New York's top studio men, as well as some up-and-coming young players, has the orthodox big-jazz-band instrumentation, though it is anything but conventional in its utilization of it.

"We don't want to be categorized," Lewis explained. "We're trying, you might say, for a fusion of the various elements—we like to get into everything. If we're playing the blues, we'll play the blues. If we get into a 'new thing' groove, we'll experiment with voicings and freedom. But we're 18 men, and we don't ever want to lose sight of that. "We give the soloists a chance to stretch out. Eight-bar solos kept a lot of good jazz soloists out of the big bands, but we have guys lined up for every chair—and mostly jazz players. The rhythm section [ currently pianist Roland Hanna, bassist Davis, and guitarist Sam Herman] has quite a different approach from big-band rhythm sections of the past:

"With the guitar, we can move from a straight-time thing, a big-band 4 or 2 feel, into a completely free small-group idea—actually, you might say we have a small-group rhythm section in a big band. With such pros as we have, there isn't much chance of throwing anybody curves, but even so, I know just when to set up the lead-in for the sections at the right moment."

He also can play complicated things during ensemble passages because the men are used to it, Lewis said. The dropping-out patterns that the band uses, in which, during a solo, a horn player may be backed, in stages, by any one of the rhythm-section instruments, or any given combination of them, have not been used in big bands before, he continued, and "I think it's very effective. It also proves that playing in a big band doesn't have to be confining."

Lewis expresses pride in such innovations.

"We feel a little like pioneers," he said with a smile. "And yet, we've retained the things that a big band should have. Thad deserves a great deal of the credit for that. He directs the rhythm section, controls the dynamics, waves me out and in. It's never the same twice; we have no set routines whatsoever."

On the other hand, the drummer pointed out, the band is flexible enough to adapt to substitutes within its ranks ("when we have a sub, we'll make him comfortable and go with him, and the band will still sound good").

There is, then, considerable musical freedom in this band. How does Lewis feel about the concept of freedom in general, as applied to jazz today?

"The way it really should be," he said, "is that the freedom can be there and so can the swing. The pulse should be there —the way Elvin Jones uses it, the way Tony Williams plays with Miles Davis, the way Roy Haynes plays—they're playing free and swinging. They never lose sight of the time and still play anything they want to play."

Lewis added that he doesn't particularly enjoy "the completely chaotic things — where everybody plays just what they feel like — at least not over a long period of time. I can hear it in a burst, or a rubato passage, but if you go beyond that, to me, it still has to swing. Richard likes me to keep light but straight time behind him when he solos, so that, no matter how far out he goes, he knows where to come back. The foundation is there, so you can wind up organized."

Playing lightly, it was suggested, has almost become a lost art among young drummers. Lewis said that some of the reasons for this are technical:

"Dynamics has a lot to do with overall technique, choice of equipment, and tuning of the drums. Young drummers tend to lean toward high-pitched cymbals, which can be very piercing, and to have their drums too tight, which makes them speak louder and makes it hard to play lightly.

"I've always preferred a deep-sounding bass drum with little or no muffling, which means that you have to lighten up on your foot. And I like my drums tuned down — drums should be a bottom for the band, big or small.

"There are ways of playing loud. There's loud loud, and musical loud. Drummers are afraid they won't be heard, so they get overenthusiastic. Actually, when the horns are playing double forte, the drums can play forte and still be heard. It's better to start lighter, because you can always get louder. . . . It's harder to play light, just like it's harder to play slow than fast. You learn a lot of this in recording; if a drummer plays too loud, the engineer will eventually shut off his mike. If he plays lighter, the mike will stay on, and there'll be a nice, clean sound on the record."

Lewis is concerned about the reading ability of many young drummers: "I hear complaints from many prominent jazz writers about drummers in the groups they're writing for. . . . In studio work, especially, it's just not right. The other musicians are studying their parts, memorizing them, and then, when they're ready to play, giving the arrangement all those little touches, while the nonreading drummer is missing all the things the arranger wanted, the figures, the breaks.

"Also, there is fear involved. Guys who can't read are inhibited by the part in front of them. They get shaky, make silly mistakes, lose their normal confidence. It's disheartening, especially on a record date. But if the drummer can read fairly well, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's very important for every young drummer to make sure his reading is up to a high level."

Lewis himself learned to read by playing baritone horn and sousaphone in high school. He never studied drums.

I just watched and listened and asked," he said. "To this day, when I run into something that's above me, I ask, 'How do you play this?' Nobody ever turned me down. Today, I'm a better-than-average reader. You have to apply yourself; the basics come first— then the other things."

Lewis is concerned about the younger generation of musicians, a concern shared by most mature players. He had some further words of advice:

"Being a leader is a completely different experience. I can do as I please. But as a sideman, I have always believed in doing what the leader wants. Of course, I like to do what I want, but I'll bend in any direction to make the leader happy. A leader, an arranger, a composer deserves to have the music played the way he wants it to be.

"That's what is involved in being a pro. It goes back to Al Porcino's old saying [Porcino is an outstanding lead trumpeter] : 'If you don't want to do it, get your own band!' Music is still the old teamwork thing, but a lot of the up-and-coming young players don't seem to want to be part of any team. To be individualistic is great, but if you want to be part of the whole thing, you have to bend. And you can get a great deal of satisfaction from being able to do a good job."

Though Lewis keeps busy in the studios and is deeply involved in the present and future of the big band, he still finds time for small-group jazz gigs, mostly subbing with organized groups, such as those co-led by Al Cohn and Zoot Sims, Clark Terry and Bob Brookmeyer, and Thad Jones and Pepper Adams, plus occasional jobs with such as Joe Newman, Donald Byrd and Eddie Daniels. It's enough, he says, to keep him loose. Until recently, he was also on the ABC network staff.

Summing up the varieties of his experience, Lewis said, "It pays to be able to do a lot of different things. It pays to treat drums as a musical instrument. The drummer should be a musician. The days of cracks like '16 musicians and a drummer' are over."

Though versatile, Lewis remains loyal to his first love, big-band drumming. About playing with his own band, he said characteristically, "When the ensemble is right and in there punching, I get chills up and down my spine. It's a wild feeling, and we all share it. What a thrill that is! I hope that I've really fallen into something new and valid in terms of big band drumming.

I hope that I'm doing something that will make a real contribution. That's what a musician really strives for — not to be taken for granted as just a good player but having made a real contribution to the music."

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