Act Reading Humanities

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given sit-

50

uatioo or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-oftune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

Based on the passage, how did Berry's personality affect his career?

• His ambitious, competitive personality was off-putting to other musicians, who were reluctant to play with him.

• His genial personality endeared him to other musicians, but his career suffered when he spent more time socializing than practicing.

• His modest and easygoing personality kept him out of the spotlight and, consequently, he received less attention as a performer.

• His shy, introspective personality was misunderstood as snobbish arrogance, so he was offered few recording-session jobs.

Tags

CCSS.RI. 9-10.2

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.8.2

CCSS.RL.9-10.2

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given sit-

50

uatioo or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-oftune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

The author mentions Berry's solo in "Oh, Lady Be Good" primarily in order to:

• illustrate why most people haven't heard of Berry

• provide an example of Berry's musical excellence

• contrast Berry's later work with Berry's early work.

• establish that Berry's solo was better than Count Basie's

Tags

CCSS.RI. 9-10.2

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RI.8.2

CCSS.RL.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.9-10.2

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

The author points out that many serious Jazz enthusiasts know little about Berry primarily in order to:

• criticize scholarship that has provided an unbalanced history of jazz

• demonstrate that the author is more knowledgeable than most jazz scholars.

• illustrate the secrecy Berry demanded in order to preserve his family's privacy

• explain why it is likely readers would be unfamiliar with Berry.

Tags

CCSS.RI. 9-10.2

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RI.8.2

CCSS.RL.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.9-10.2

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

According to the author, Berry's solos as a recording session musician were often very short because he:

• wasn't a very good saxophone player until late in his career

• drew more attention playing ensemble passages

• worked within the recording constraints of the era.

• preferred playing many short solos to playing a few long ones.

Tags

CCSS.RI. 9-10.2

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RI.8.2

CCSS.RL.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.9-10.2

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

The author indicates that during Berry's time as a musician, swing music was primarily regarded as:

• an opportunity for soloists to show off their skills

• a genre to be most appreciated by young people

• musician's music that lacked a popular audience

• music for dance parties but not music for study.

Tags

CCSS.RI. 9-10.2

CCSS.RI.11-12.2

CCSS.RI.8.2

CCSS.RL.11-12.2

CCSS.RL.9-10.2

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

As it is used in line 35, the word "court" most nearly means to:

• seek to attract

• romantically pursue

• dangerously provoke

• pass judgement upon

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.4

CCSS.RI.9-10.4

CCSS.RL.11-12.4

CCSS.RL.8.4

CCSS.RL.9-10.4

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

In the seventh paragraph (lines 57-75) the author compares sidemen to traveling salesmen in order to:

• make clear how often musicians had to travel

• indicate that musicians often had side jobs

• illustrate sidemen's supportive role in a band

• show haw hard sidemen worked to get hired

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.5

CCSS.RI.6.5

CCSS.RI.7.5

CCSS.RI.8.5

CCSS.RI.9-10.5

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

The author describes Henderson's "Blues in C Sharp Minor" as:

• innovative, indulgent and colorful

• fast-moving, memorable, and eerie

• artful, sublime, and unexpectedly upbeat

• odd, haunting, and relaxing

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.5

CCSS.RI.6.5

CCSS.RI.7.5

CCSS.RI.8.5

CCSS.RI.9-10.5

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

According to the author, what is unique about the June 1940 rendition of the song "A Ghost of a Chance"?

• It's the only recorded piece that features Berry from beginning to end

• Berry plays an alto saxophone instead of his usual tenor saxophone

• It was the only public performance Berry gave in 1940

• Berry showcases his unrivaled ability to play a solo that blends into the background

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.5

CCSS.RI.6.5

CCSS.RI.7.5

CCSS.RI.8.5

CCSS.RI.9-10.5

DIRECTIONS: Each passage is followed by several questions. After reading a passage, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on your answer document. You may refer to the passages as often as necessary.

HUMANITIES: This passage is adapted from the article "The Quiet Sideman" by Colin Fleming (©2008 by The American Scholar).

Near the end of his eight years as a recording session

musician, tenor saxophonist Leon "Chu" Berry

landed a short-lived spot with Count Basie's orchestra.

Standing in for one of the Basie band's two tenor

5

giants, Berry took a Jead solo on "Oh, Lady Be Good,"

the 1924 Gershwin song that Basie had played for

years. In the 28 seconds that the solo lasted on

February 4, 1939, we are treated to no less than the

musical personification of mind and body working

10

together in divine tandem. When you hear the recording

for the first time, you're likely to wonder why you've

never heard of Chu Berry before.

Why you've never heard of him is pretty simple: a

lot of bard-core jazz buffs don't know much about him.

15

Berry was a solid session player who turns up on

recordings ,with Basie, Bessie Smith, Fletcher

Henderson, and Billie Holiday. But he did not cut many

sessions himself as a leader, and when he soloed, he

worked within the recording constraints of the era and

20

the swing genre-fast-moving 78s with solos often lasting

for a mere 32 beats.

The people who loved Berry were, not surprisingly,

other tenor players, a situation leading to the

dreaded "musician's musician" tag. But that's not

25

nearly praise enough to describe Chu Berry, who, when

given opportunity, displayed a musical dexterity that

would be envied by future generations of horn men.

Berry faced the lot of other horn players: having to

grind it out long and hard until something memorable

30

burst through; the prejudices and expectations of the

listening public; and the accepted wisdom of what is

and isn't art in a given medium. In this case, swing was

fodder for dance parties, not music worthy of study.

Oddly enough, Berry's? geniality might help

35

explain bis failure to court history's favor: it wasn't in

his nature to call attention to himself or his playing.

Born in 1908 into the black middle class in Wheeling,

West Virginia, the laid-back, affable Berry attended

West Virginia State in Charleston, where he switched

40

from alto sax to tenor and exhibited the willingness to

fit in that.characterized his presence in so many dance

bands. He was the rare artist who refused to put his

interests above those of the band, even if that meant

playing ensemble passages rather than taking a healthy

45

allotment of solo breaks.

College proved a training ground for Berry the

bandsman, as he teamed up with a number of amateur

outfits. He never played simply to show off. Instead, he

tried to bring out the positive attributes in any given

situation

50

or setting. Later, when Berry is performing with

the Calloway ensemble, we hear some ragged, out-of-tune

playing until Berry's first few solo notes emerge.

The other players, no longer languidly blowing through

their charts, immediately surge up behind him, all

55

fighting-fit. Once Berry finishes his solo, the shenanigans

resume.

After making his way to New York, Berry immediately

became a presence and soon was in demand. The

great jazz orchestras of the swing era were fronted by

60

musical directors/arrangers-Duke Ellington was preeminent-

who drew the acclaim. The sidemen were

musical traveling salesmen who sold someone else's

wares in the best style they could manage. It was with

Fletcher Henderson that Berry began to ditch some of

65

the sideman's subservient trappings. For starters,

Henderson wrote in keys that were rare for the jazz

orchestras of the day, and bis somber, indigo-inflected

voicings were ideal for a player of Berry's introspective

approach to his instrument: Berry sounds as if he's

70

being swallowed by his sax. "Blues in C Sharp Minor,"

for instance, is odd, haunting, and ultimately relaxing.

A Berry solo in it is slightly off mike, making the listener

feel as though he's been playing for some time

before we finally hear him. The effect is unnerving, as

75

if we weren't paying close attention.

In June 1940, Cab Calloway granted Berry a showcase

piece, "A Ghost of a Chance," the sole recording

in Berry's career to feature him from start to finish. It

was his "Body and Soul," a response to Coleman

80

Hawkins's famous recording, intended not as a riposte

to a rival, but as the other half of a dialogue. Its rubato

lines are disembodied from the music meant to accompany

it, which is spartan to begin with. This may be

Berry's one and only instance of indulgence on a

85

record, a cathedral of a solo in its flourishes, angles,

ornamentations, reflexivity. If sunlight could pass

through music, "A Ghost of a Chance" would funnel it

out in the broadest spectrum of colors.

The author uses the phrase "a cathedral of a solo" (line 85) most likely to create a sense that Berry's solo was:

• an intricate, awe-inspiring masterpiece

• a somber, mournful hymn

• a crumbling remnant of Berry's once-great skill

• a testament to Calloway's band leadership

Tags

CCSS.RI.11-12.5

CCSS.RI.6.5

CCSS.RI.7.5

CCSS.RI.8.5

CCSS.RI.9-10.5