The Rhythmic Genius of Jack DeJohnette

 

The Rhythmic Genius of Jack DeJohnette: Brewing Up the Future in Miles Davis' Bitches Brew

Ah, Bitches Brew. Even the title sounds like a potion concocted in a dimly lit jazz club, doesn't it? Released in 1970, this Miles Davis masterpiece didn't just stir the pot—it flipped the entire kitchen upside down, blending jazz with rock, funk, and a dash of psychedelic chaos. And at the heart of this sonic sorcery? The rhythmic wizardry of Jack DeJohnette, whose drumming wasn't just keeping time; it was bending it, twisting it, and occasionally giving it a good-natured wink. If Miles was the enigmatic chef, DeJohnette was the secret spice that made the brew unforgettable. But more than that, his contributions foreshadowed a musical revolution, hinting at the fusion frenzy to come. Let's dive in, shall we? Just don't blame me if you end up tapping your foot uncontrollably.

The Cauldron of Creation: DeJohnette's Role in the Brew

Picture this: August 1969, Columbia's Studio B in New York. Miles Davis assembles a supergroup of 13 musicians, including not one, not two, but multiple drummers and percussionists. It was like inviting a bunch of chefs to cook the same stew—bound to get messy, but oh-so-delicious. Jack DeJohnette, already a core member of Davis' live quintet alongside Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea, and Dave Holland, was handpicked for his "deep groove." Why? Because DeJohnette wasn't your average timekeeper. He treated his drum kit like a living orchestra, each cymbal and snare a distinct voice in a polyrhythmic conversation.

On tracks like "Pharaoh's Dance," DeJohnette lays down a metronomic pulse on the cymbals, evoking the restrained intensity of Tony Williams' work on In a Silent Way. It's hypnotic, almost trance-like, building a "groove thicket" that supports the album's dense, layered sound. Miles himself described the process like a sorcerer stirring a pot: "I'm going to add a dash of Jack DeJohnette." And what a dash it was! DeJohnette's rhythms drew from rock's steady thump and African polyrhythms, creating a heavier bottom end that grounded the electric guitars, keyboards, and horns in a way traditional jazz never had. His playing was complex yet generous—never overpowering, always inviting the band to explore. As one musician put it, it was part of a "controlled experiment" that turned improvisation into alchemy.

Humorously, there's even a tale from the sessions where DeJohnette "struggled" with a simple rhythm on "Miles Runs the Voodoo Down," prompting Miles to have percussionist Don Alias step in and "show Jack." But don't let that fool you—this wasn't a flaw; it highlighted DeJohnette's jazz roots, where accents and conversations trump robotic precision. It's like he was saying, "Why march in a straight line when you can dance through the chaos?" His rhythmic genius shone in how he rooted the music deeply, allowing solos to soar while sneaking in rattling asides that kept everyone on their toes. He tuned his cymbals meticulously and thought harmonically across the kit, blending sounds into something almost superhuman.

Foreboding the Fusion Storm: A Brew That Bubbled Over

Bitches Brew wasn't just an album; it was a prophecy. By defying jazz's traditional structures—ditching clear melodies for mood, texture, and rhythm—it ushered in the era of jazz-rock fusion. DeJohnette's contributions were the rhythmic harbinger of this shift. His grooves, blending jazz improvisation with rock's electric energy, foreshadowed the genre's explosion in the '70s. Think about it: without that "heavier bottom end," bands like Weather Report, Mahavishnu Orchestra, and Return to Forever might still be stuck in acoustic swing mode.

DeJohnette himself embodied this future. After Bitches Brew, he became Miles' drummer of choice, shining on albums like Live-Evil where he held down a funk/rock beat for epic 20-minute stretches. His post-Miles career? A staggering range that screamed "fusion and beyond." From his 1968 debut The DeJohnette Complex—a jazz/rock hybrid with free-form flair—to ECM releases like Pictures (where he multitracked piano, drums, and organ), he pushed boundaries like a kid testing how far he could stretch a rubber band before it snaps (spoiler: it never did). Albums such as The Amazing Adventures of Simon Simon layered keyboards and synths into orchestrated soundscapes, while Oneness evoked elemental forces with spiritual, rhythmic intensity.

In a way, DeJohnette's work on Bitches Brew was like planting a seed in fertile soil. It grew into the fusion movement, influencing everyone from modern artists like Thundercat and Robert Glasper to the broader acceptance of electric jazz. And let's not forget the humor in hindsight: What started as a "brew" that confused critics (one called it "beauty, subtlety, and sheer magnificence" amid the bewilderment) became the blueprint for music that refuses to sit still. If only those early listeners knew they were sipping on the future!

A Last Sip: The Enduring Magic

Jack DeJohnette's rhythmic genius on Bitches Brew wasn't just about beats; it was about breathing life into music, making it pulse with possibility. He turned the drum kit into a portal to new worlds, foreshadowing a fusion era where jazz could rock out without losing its soul. And with his passing in 2025, we remember him not as "just a drummer," but as a superhuman force who made the impossible groove.

So, next time you spin Bitches Brew, listen for that DeJohnette dash. It might just inspire you to stir up your own musical mischief. After all, in the words of the greats, life's too short for boring rhythms—add a little humor, a lot of groove, and watch the future unfold. Cheers!