Here’s a look back at a still-timely piece that first ran ten years ago in April 2001.

It is always interesting to find out who has inspired our favorite musicians. It helps us get a better feel for why they play the way they do, and allows us to trace certain aspects of their music to their influences. It’s the reason why you own a Meters album or listen to Robert Johnson. You’ve heard their names, in most cases, because of who they influenced. By the same token, if you are looking to follow the path of an improvisational guitarist, there is one name you will definitely become familiar with: Django Reinhardt.

Django’s name seems to be getting dropped by everyone lately, in part spurred by the success of the Woody Allen flick, “Sweet and Lowdown,” which depicts a fictional swing guitarist of Django’s era who is haunted by the beauty of Reinhardt’s playing. Besides the film, recent interviews and articles with prominent musicians (notably Trey Anastasio) have found that Django’s style is still confounding and changing artists today.

Django Reinhardt has been an influence on guitar ever since he picked it up, although he was lucky to be able to do that ever again after his accident. On November 2, 1928, a fire began in Django’s caravan, leaving him badly scalded and rendering his left hand, and his future as a guitarist, seemingly in shambles. At 18, Django’s ability was so promising that news of the accident is said to have caused his Gypsy community to weep. Even then, his genius was obvious.

But Django’s passion for guitar could not be held back by such an obstacle. The burns on his body were an afterthought to Django. The pain that seared was not from his physical ailments, but the thought that he would never play again. Biographer Alain Antonietto offers evidence of his mindset then:

Whenever his mother, who never left his bedside, asked him, “What are thinking about, Django?” He would reply, “My hand.”

For a year and a half, Django worked to rebuild his hand and eventually gained enough strength to play with confidence. The other digits, though partially paralyzed, were still of some use to Django, for barring purposes. His accident had in fact forced Django to develop a unique style, one that will forever be studied and admired, but never reproduced. What followed after this joyous disposal of handicapped expectations is a story designed for volumes. In short, Django grew far beyond his inauspicious roots as a Gypsy guitarist.

Jazz caught Django’s attention early in his playing, because, as he explained to biographer Charles Delaunay, it “has a formal perfection and instrumental precision that I admire in classical music, but which popular music doesn’t have.” Classical music remained a heavy influence on Django throughout his career, though, with subtle references to works by Debussy and a version of Bach’s “Concerto in D Minor” in his arsenal of melodies. But it was jazz that was in Django’s heart. It was the only thing that would allow Django the freedom he needed. This passion might have made him a little overbearing, though. Violinist Stephane Grappelli, who began a twenty year partnership with Django in the early 30’s, recalled that “sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, because as everyone knows, he was rather difficult . . . but we got on well, anyway . . . music came first.”

This allegiance with Grappelli led to the formation of the Quintette du Hot Club de France, which was Django’s main vehicle for the majority of his career. Time away from the Quintette gave Django the opportunity to test his style on American soil, touring with Duke Ellington in 1946. Unfortunately, the reception was not as warm as he had expected. Django’s tendency for drinking, showing up late or just plain disappearing might have had something to do with the brevity of his stint. The American critics at the time didn’t take to Django much either.

Luckily, though, jazz fanatics back then had developed the obsession with recording live music long before there was a taper’s section. The shows Django played with Duke were recorded by a fanatic named George Steiner, who hung a microphone over the balcony at the Chicago Civic Center, capturing the work of the two legends in their element.

It was a dream pairing for jazz lovers, though, and probably for Django (though the confident Reinhardt more than likely wondered why he hadn’t been recognized sooner). Besides his Gypsy music roots and the classical background, Django had been drawing most of his influence from American jazz at the time. He went on to record several sides with Coleman Hawkins and drew from big band swing acts like Benny Goodman and later from the bebop movement.

Oddly enough, though his own sound remained different from all jazz guitarists that followed him. Fred Sharp, who incidentally owns the guitar Django played on during his stint in Chicago with Duke, argues that “as far as his influence on non-Gypsies like Larry Coryell, Jim Hall, Joe Pass, Tal Farlow . . . they knew of Django but were more inspired by horn players rather than guitar players.” Truly, Reinhardt is considered no less than a god by the Gypsy community. He has spawned a tremendous following in his own faction of the Gypsy culture, the Sinti’s, who now hold major residence in areas of France and Holland. However, his effects have gone far beyond that.

In a recent article in Downbeat Magazine, Trey Anastasio mentions Django as his favorite guitarist of all time. “He swings so hard, he’s so melodic,” notes Anastasio, one of growing number to appreciate his work. When asked by Rolling Stone to name some of his favorite guitarists, Jeff Beck mentions Django as “the one that stands out above all else.”

Jerry Garcia had a similar affection for his work. The connection between the two players is actually eerily similar. Both began their careers as banjo players, and both had accidents during their youth to their hands which forced them to change their style. Parallels aside, Garcia held Django in very high respects. In a 1985 interview with Jas Obrecht, Garcia was asked whom he would play with if he could go back in time and jam with anyone. Jerry responded that he would “follow around Django Reinhardt, the Gypsy guitarist . . . most of what he plays is hard to understand, no matter how much I’ve listened to it.” Garcia saw Django as the innovator that he was: “His technique is awesome. Even as good as players are today, nobody has come up to the state that he was playing at – that whole fullness of expression, the combination of having incredible speed and giving every note a specific personality.”

The list of guitarists that admire Reinhardt’s playing goes beyond Anastasio, Beck and Garcia. Django’s impact and influence on the history of guitar has made him a mythological figure in some regards. It’s safe to say that the majority of guitar players that have studied their instrument have come across his work. Fred Sharp, the aforementioned longtime Django enthusiast and, notably, the guitar mentor to jazz legend Jim Hall, reinforces the legendary status of the Gypsy. “Django was apart from any player, then and now,” Sharp affirms a sentiment echoed by long – time friend and playing partner Grappelli: “There can be many other fine guitarists, but there can never be another Reinhardt.”

What separated Django was his style. Every note rang true. His tone was remarkably clear and he voiced each phrase with passion. Besides that, his runs up the neck were taken at breakneck speeds, leaving even the most respected guitarist shaking his head in disbelief. Django is not just important because he was a great guitarist, but because he was unique. As horn players idolize Miles, drummers worship Max Roach, and bassists venerate Jaco Pastorious, guitarists revere Django. That is why he will continue to influence for centuries to come.