by Steve Dunfey
On January 17, 1909, legendary jazz drummer Gene Krupa was born on the South Side of Chicago. On what would have been his 85th birthday this year (1994), drummers should celebrate the notoriety Krupa brought to drums and drumming. As the late jazz writer George Frazier put it, "He helped create a new culture. Never again would the drums know the obscurity of being a purely rhythm instrument.
Many drummers are already aware of the "firsts" that Krupa brought to drumming. He was the first drummer to be recorded with a bass drum—despite the fears of recording engineers—with McKenzie & Condon's Chicagoans in 1927. Krupa was also the first to popularize the extended drum solo, through his recording of "Sing, Sing, Sing" with the Benny Goodman Orchestra in1937. And he was the first jazz musician to become a matinee idol, appearing in over twenty feature films.
But what is most notable about Krupa's career was his consistent, lifelong enthusiasm and love for the drums. As Louie Bellson says, "The Lord gives us all something special. He gave a certain thing to Buddy Rich, a certain thing to Jo Jones, and he gave to Gene that wonderful quality of showmanship. Now, that doesn't take away from his playing; he was a great, solid player too. But there was something about him when he got behind a set of drums. You could put twenty other drummers on stage with Gene and your eyes would go right to him. His stature behind a set of drums, his love for the drums, and the way he approached the instrument just made him stick out above other people.
Krupa once told author Burt Korall, "I'm a child of vaudeville. The first thing you have to do is get their attention." Korall goes on to say, "Expressiveness was his primary concern; the showmanship merely was a means of holding the audience until his musicality became apparent to those who came to see and hear him play. Krupa had a profound effect on his fans. He met you on your own level. An affable, gentle man, he made you part of his music. Krupa loved music deeply and lived his passion through his drums."
Krupa's flair for showmanship brought a visual excitement to what was an already exciting sound. As author Bruce Crowther says, "His handsome, overwrought, gesticulating presence—both onstage and onscreen—changed beyond recognition the role of the jazz drummer and provided a lasting visual image of the swing era." As to the sound of Krupa's drums, his Chicago musical cohort, guitarist Eddie Condon, said, "Krupa's drums went through us like a triple bourbon."
Burt Korall identifies the essentials of that sound: "Krupa's snare drum sound was central to the character of his work. Crisp, clean, with a suggestion of echo, it enhanced the excitement of his performances. While playing 'time' or patterns across the set, Krupa also established engaging relationships between the bass drum and the other drums, and between the cymbals and the drums. He used rudiments in a natural, swinging, often original way."
And he had chops. Bellson says, "I would say that Gene was a great influence on every drummer. He brought drums to the foreground. Before his time, it was, 'Oh well, we've got 17 musicians and a drummer.' When he came into the picture, drums became a solo instrument. He added that great integrity to the drum section. When you see a drum soloist, even today, Gene is responsible for that."
Krupa, in his own words, made the drummer "a high-priced guy". With his charisma and popularity, he turned his respect and study of Black drummers like Baby Dodds, Zutty Singleton, and Chick Webb into an acceptance of jazz drumming by a broad listening public. It could be said that Krupa appropriated the style of these innovative Black drummers in the same way that Benny Goodman popularized Fletcher Henderson's arrangements and Elvis Presley appropriated the styles of Black rhythm and blues artists. In doing so, he brought a respectability to drums and drumming that extends to today's contemporary drummers.
According to Burt Korall, "Krupa struck a balance between instinct, the roots of jazz, and a scientific approach to drumming." The language came directly from Chick Webb. But Krupa formalized, simplified, and clarified it. Krupa thrust the drum-set into the foreground, making it not only a source of rhythm but of musicality and color as well. Before Krupa, only the great Black drummers had so powerfully mingled these key elements.
As authors Richard Cook and Milford Graves put it, "Krupa's impact on the jazz rhythm section is incalculable." Though Black percussionists who had worked for years in the shadow of the front men had some cause to be resentful, Krupa's respectful investigation of the African and Afro-American drumming tradition was of tremendous significance, opening the way for later figures as diverse as Max Roach, Elvin Jones, Andrew Cyrille, and Milford Graves.
Krupa was passionate about racial matters on and off the band-stand. While leading his own orchestra in the 1940s he made trumpet great Roy Eldridge the first Black musician to play as a section man with a white orchestra. On one occasion, Krupa used his fists to subdue the operator of a York, Pennsylvania restaurant who made "unfair and ungentlemanly" remarks towards Eldridge and then asked him to leave. For his statement on integration Krupa was arrested, jailed, fined ten dollars, and released.
In 1946, Krupa was one of the first swing band leaders to embrace the bop movement, hiring Gerry Mulligan as an arranger and bop instrumentalists like trumpeter Red Rodney. Up to that point, Krupa was not very cymbal-oriented. But he began to use the ride cymbal to keep time and lightened up somewhat with the four beats on the bass drum—using it to drop bombs behind the ensemble and soloists. As drummer Mel Lewis puts it, "He reached a midpoint between swing and bop and made what he did work."
Jazz historian Gunther Schuller describes Krupa's career this way: "In his commitment to real jazz—even in its more advanced bop manifestation—Krupa, with his fame, brought first-rate jazz to untold numbers of listeners who otherwise never would have had contact with it. He and his bands consistently aspired to the best and could always be relied upon to play with high discipline, enthusiasm, and an exuberant swing. Given the vagaries of the commercial world in which jazz has always had to fight for its survival, this was no small achievement. Krupa's commitment to jazz was sincere and unassailable. He was even more of a jazz fan than his thousands of admirers, with an almost childlike, inexhaustible enthusiasm for the music and a clear appreciation of that which was genuine. His relation to jazz was primarily emotional and instinctual—uncomplicated. He loved the spontaneous energy of jazz—and supplied a great deal of it in his drumming—and he thrived on that rhythmic feeling that separates jazz (in this case in the form of swing music) from most other forms of music."
From his early recordings with the Austin High School Gang in Chicago to his underrated small-group recordings of the '50s,'60s, and '70s, Krupa always played with an exciting emotional intensity. Even after suffering from heart attacks, emphysema, leukemia, and ruptured spinal discs, Gene's intensity still comes across on his final, 1972 recording "Jazz At The New School"—a Chicago-style romp with Eddie Condon and Wild Bill Davison. That he could play at all with these ailments—and just a year before his death from leukemia—is a testament to his personal courage. That he brought down the house as if it were Carnegie Hall in 1938 is indicative of the enduring power of his personality and his drumming. As Burt Korall says, "Krupa's playing on this recording goes beyond individuality. The drummer sums himself up for us; he consolidates his image for the last time on record. He leaves behind a vivid memory—of swing, charm, facility, and authority."
As comedian Steve Allen says, "Had Gene Krupa never been born, I doubt whether drums would be played the way they are today or if contemporary drummers would be as respected and recognized as they are. I'll always remember him not only as a jazz innovator and contributor, but as the true definition of a gentleman, and as a very special friend." So, may we all.