Thoughts on Fred Hopkins and Jaki Byard

 It has been a particularly painful last couple of months in jazz - the world lost two great musical spirits; I lost a musical colleague/friend and my first jazz mentor.
Bassist Fred Hopkins was a true original and like the truly original instrumentalists in jazz he was blessed with a readily identifiable style and sound. But more than just the music, Fred was a warm, incredibly gregarious, open person, almost childlike in his gentleness and also mischieviousness. With Fred this vital nature of his was inseparable from his music - Fred the person and Fred the musician were one and the same.
So many memory fragments of the time I spent with Fred as his musical colleague come to mind: - how, when flying for a gig usually with one of David Murray's bands on a plane headed for Europe, Fred could someone get to know everybody on the plane by the time the 6 hour trip was over; - how Fred used to always manage to arrive a fraction of a second "late" to the bandstand, particularly at our more dramatic big band hits, so that he could make a sort of "fumbling", grander, more amusing entrance. Or how, when taking one of his patented free-wheeling, out of time, often bowed bass solos, Fred would "accidentally" brush up, with his bow, against drummer Andrew Cyrille's cymbals, and would then continue to use this as the basis for his improvisations.
And what improvisations! Often Fred, when given a chance to do an a cappella solo, could segue to a point where he'd have the bass literally lying on the ground, and he would pull it's strings almost recklessly; like Billy Bang and many other open-minded conceptualists, he could take things so "out" that almost anything conceivable became ripe tools for creative input. But also like Bang, Fred when in the right frame of mind and when called upon could play with time within a swing context in a truly original way - his sense of swing had a fullness of tone, a sense of forward momentum combined with an almost effortless carefree quality that I have never encountered in any other bass player. Part of what came of Fred being Fred was a particular unpredictability as to what he might do with an actual chart you gave him, and there are stories of him erroneously playing notated charts upside down, or playing one chart for half the piece until the leader noticed the problem while the rest of the band played another chart. Even these things you just accepted because Fred was always so fully Fred: without a doubt one of the greatest bass players in jazz, but also one of the most unforgettable characters I will likely ever meet, someone you couldn't help but love.

Jaki Byard was my first jazz teacher, and I studied with him when I did my Masters Degree in Jazz at the Manhattan School of Music, from 1989 thru May of 91. I was originally assigned to another teacher there, but before my first day when I found out Jaki had recently been added to the faculty and after doing a little research, I knew I had to work with him. Jaki's lessons were always casual, almost irreverent; sometimes we'd just sit there for the hour with the Manhattan School studio's two grand pianos and play the blues in all 12 keys the entire hour; sometimes he would reminisce about what Monk "really" was like or how Sun Ra was doing the whole "cosmic" thing quite knowingly as an "act" or how he studied with Earl Hines. But somehow the net effect was that what he really taught me was how to be truly open at the piano - in fact, what better introduction to jazz piano than from the true walking jazz piano historian himself, Jaki Byard!

And what an open mind. In his playing and teaching, he touched equally upon authentic stride (which I think in reality actually rhythmically colored almost everything he did no matter how "progressive" the context), the bebop tradition, all the way up to Cecil Taylor and perhaps beyond. And he respected other forms of music, as well: one of the first memories I have in Manhattan, when I was...

African Journal

It was a trip which came up so much at the last minute that I barely had time during the preceding couple of weeks to get the requisite shots for Yellow fever, Hep. A, etc. in preparation, and had to leave for Africa literally 4 hours after returning from Europe with David Murray (meaning another "travel first" for me: the first time I crossed the Atlantic Ocean twice in one day!) I had been talking to Sengalese master djembe player Mor Thiam about wanting to see his country for a long time and so when he was asked by Jim West of Justin Time Records to travel to his home and record with some of the greatest musicians in Senegal, he asked me to be a part of the project and I immediately agreed.

When I first arrived at Mor's home in downtown Dakar, I was struck by how richly he lived, and how highly regarded he is here. Mor owns three homes in Senegal, one of which he rents out, one on an island I have yet to see and which I’ve heard he rarely visits (though he's hired a a sentry to look after it), and his home here, where during the week I’ve been here, there has been a constant influx of people – friends, family, neighbors, I suppose as well, all coming by to welcome him - a return home by Mor is apparently a big event. When we arrived at his home, Mor officially told me "welcome home, D.D.", and I was treated to some traditional Senegalese food – fish with a strong, oily sauce, rice, vegetables, a delicious fruit drink called bissap, etc. And this is where the trouble started.

Although I had little time to prepare for my visit, one thing that had constantly re-stated itself in the little source material I did read was the necessity of never drinking the local water; bottled water was the only way to go. When I got to Mor’s, I was relieved to see that right at the dinner table was a bottle of mineral water; I am typically so paranoid about such things that I asked Mor if he’d mind if I "hoarded it" for a while, until I could get my own, and he didn’t mind at all. I think it was the next day that I noticed Mor’s sentry, Babanou, using a similar bottle, ostensibly filled with mineral water, to water the indoor plants Mor has. I asked Mor about it, and he explained absent-mindedly that he actually wasn’t sure if all the water in those bottles was mineral water at all, since they usually re-used the containers, filling them with tap water and then placing them in the freezer after their first use. Still, I wasn’t alarmed, because apart from some curious allergic symptoms I was feeling basically fine. That is, until 3 days later, when I discovered that I was suffering from a bad case of what is commonly known as TD, or "Traveler’s Diarrhea". 

This was, also, I think, precipitated by a meal that I’d almost just as soon forget. When I first arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at how "Western" everything seemed – the shower, though fairly "earthy" and "raggedy", was a functioning shower, with reasonably warm water (a fact Mor explained to me was actually quite rare and considered a luxury); and my worries were further allayed when I finally peered into the separate room where I hoped the toilet would be located and discovered a more or less Western device (that is, as opposed to the dreaded "hole in the ground", crouching affair also common here). So in a similar fashion, the meals were all served at a very Western looking dinner table, complete with table cloth, silverware, dishes, and even some beautiful woman helpers (in this case, Mor’s sister-in-law – who was intrusted with staying at Mor’s home and looking after his 2 year old daughter while his wife is in Atlanta; a teen-age looking niece, and another woman whose formal relation I still haven

 It started that night with a fever. Though rushed, I had managed to bring a few essentials, but unfortunately Tylenol, which is normally a staple of my traveler’s bag, wasn’t one of them, and I suffered for it that night with a series of strange hallucinations probably induced by my temperature. What followed, more or less, was 4 straight days in bed, on my back, at times literally completely unable to move. I finally "gave in" at one point and called my dad in Canada; he reassuringly defined what I had for the first time as "Traveler’s Diarrhea", which, he read from a book he dashed out to get, was almost always non-fatal; he recommended an international-styled doctor from the same book (man, I love that book :-)), etc., and this provided me with such a psychological lift that I suddenly felt quite ready to attend one of the rehearsals for Mor’s recording session that I had previously been forced to miss due to my illness. I arrived in good spirits, shook everyone’s hand and told them how good I felt, etc., etc., played a few notes… and was overcome by a profound stomach cramp that almost sent me reeling. I made one feeble attempt to use the outhouse they provided – the dreaded hole-in-the-ground version – but gave up and instead became morbidly fascinated and vaguely repulsed by the large cockroach I saw swimming for its life on its back in the waters leading towards the hole into which I was supposed to relieve myself. Instead, I lay down for a while in a stuffy room, and was later taken home, though I could hardly walk to get to the cab which was to take me there, and when I arrived, I literally passed out on a mattress on Mor’ floor, the reality of three days of an exclusive yogurt and ginger ale diet finally catching up to me.

Another interesting feature of Mor’s home is the central area, which features what resembles a "sky window", but which in fact, is no window at all, but an actual opening to the night sky, and also to the bright sunlight during the day. This means that when it rains (though this seems a rarity and has yet to occur), the water will presumably pour into Mor’s home (though there are drains installed to wash it all away). This also means exposure to all that the outdoors have to offer, particularly all manners of insects, and especially mosquitoes. As with the water, I had heard the warnings, and had been careful to pack plenty of insect repellent, but that night when I collapsed under the stars in Mor’s center room and didn’t have any more energy to move, the mosquitoes must have had a field day, because the next day I counted something like 75 bites on my two forearms alone (!) So I suppose it was adding insult to injury :-).

Yesterday I saw the doctor my father recommended, and miraculously, after taking the medications he prescribed, I almost immediately began to feel better, to the point where I feel like I’m finally (knock on wood) adapting. Today, in fact, I woke up and almost feel like I have my strength back, and for the first time I can actually visualize the thought of perhaps staying the full 2 weeks without feeling a sense of panic :-)...

Nov. 21/98
"Success" at last. Woke up both yesterday and today feeling almost entirely like myself again; like I had paid my dues and was now seeing this new and foreign environment with the benefit of some new "protective shield" (I guess I’d already developed one for New York, over the years :-)). Went to the recording studio with great energy, but ended up spending most of yesterday and today mostly sitting around, as Check went about the business of laying down the basic rhythm tracks. At the end of the session yesterday, the famous percussionist Dou Dou D’Ayerose appeared, looking regal in an elegant, light-blue dashiki, and accompanied by another drummer whom I would suspect was probably one of his numerous children, who are all, it seems, part of his drumming groups. He proceeded to record a couple of purely percussion piece

11/28/1998 - Nov. 23/98
After 11 days of being here (including 6 days sick and on my back), I think I'm finally sort of settling into a groove here in Dakar (although albeit a not exactly "African" one). Pretty much every day I seem to have established a routine of getting up around 9 am, going to the local store down the street, and purchasing two yogurts (to calm my stomach), an International Herald Tribune, an orange crush, two litres of bottled water, and a can of ravioli and green beans, "in the event of fish" (a food I seem to generally have difficulty with, but which Mor’s family serves quite frequently). Besides, the whole ravioli thing gives me reason ("pathetically enough", I admit) to avoid the whole "collective eating" ritual without appearing rude. Got "caught" yesterday, however, the last day the whole band came to the studio, during lunch. I usually ask for a seperate plate, but unfortunately, when lunch rolled around there was no separate plate in sight, and when the other band mates, who had already gathered around the big bowl, saw me, they were sort of like "here’s a spoon! What’s the problem? Let’s eat!" and so I joined them, eating sparingly and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The woman who brought the food, however, who are aware of my "social acclimation" problems, saw what I was doing, and couldn’t stop laughing amongst themselves and at me from across the room, and I teased them, pretending that when I left the circle of eaters early, it was actually because I was so stuffed that I just couldn’t possible continue…..

Nov. 24th/98
Tues. morning – I’ve now been here 12 full days, and it looks like it’s likely that there’s just today and tomorrow to go, before I head back. The drummer of the group, whose name fails me (I’m really terrible, in that I haven’t really successfully learned the names of anyone in the band, with the exception of the leader, Chiek), when he noticed how much Mor and I admired the dashiki he was wearing, offered to go out and have one made for me over the following 24 hours, and yesterday he brought it to the studio and presented it for me – a bright, baby-blue and black/white-patterned, loose-fitting robe and pants with an elastic serving as belt, which I immediately put on. I suppose now I’m an "honorary African", but whatever the case, the clothes seem to serve a practical purpose as well – they’re really the best suited for this very hot climate – they’re loose, decorative, cool and light, plus they cover most of the body to protect against mosquitoes. Mor’s brother is a tailor, as well, so one of the first things I did last week when I felt better was to go to the market with him and with Eric (a young, white guy who is here from Missoula, Montana, perhaps to stay, and who knows the Wolof language very well, having lived here for a couple of years before) to hunt for appropriate materials. It seems that here the whole "ready to wear", off the shelf concept doesn’t exist – you basically chose your materials, hire a tailor, and have your clothes custom made. I had been admiring Mor’s clothes for some time, and since his brother does all of his tailoring, when he asked me what style I wanted, I basically pointed to Mor’s wardrobe. I also found some beautiful, rich blue material which I asked that he make into a dress for my [NB. now ex-]girlfriend Lesley. At any rate, I will see the results of all of this probably either today or tomorrow – he’s just arrived with a package of finished clothes today, in fact, though I’m not sure whether they’re for Mor or for me…..

Nov. 26th/98
On Tues. night, I was presented with my tailor-made clothes made by Mor’s brother. It was actually very exciting to get some new clothes in this manner, wrapped in paper, as seems the custom here, and completely made-to-order. The problem was that the pants, for some reason, had been cut so that they were about six inches too long in the legs. As with everything here, I wasn’t sure what...

 The rest of our trip to Goree was dominated by a high degree of commercialism – people constantly approaching us to try and sell us their wares. Mor had warned us about this, and had advised us not to buy anything on Goree since it was a tourist trap. Immediately prior to Goree, Thomasears, who was acting as my guide and I believe is a young relative of Mor’s, had brought me to the central area of the city where I’d "stocked up" on African paintings, a large wall-hanging for my living room, an African bag, and a couple of vests (one of which, I’ve discovered, doesn’t fit!) It was amusing to watch him bargain – it really seems like both an art and a necessity here, and Thomasears told me to be sure to report back to Mor what a good job of negotiations he had done, which I later did.

When we got back to Mor’s that evening, it was already dark – and I mean, literally, pitch black – the power had gone out again – something which seems like literally a once-a-day occurrence. It’s hard to see how business is conducted here at all with the electricity being so unreliable, but I guess that’s just how things are. As has been the case on the numerous other times since I’ve been here where the power has gone out, Mor and his female helpers brought out the candles, and we were forced to sit around in pseudo-meditative silence.

Chiek, the producer and guitarist/keyboardist of Mor’s album, has promised to take me into town sometime before I leave to purchase some Senegalese tapes – since he’s the producer on the majority of them he says he can get them for wholesale. I imagine he must be extremely respected, as he is responsible as the true "man-behind-the-curtain" for the success of such popular artists as Yossou N'Dour (whose state-of-the-art studio we were recording at), as well as several female singers (he said that before he began, female singers hadn’t really been accepted in the world of Senegalese pop music, but he patiently set their voices to music and really presented them to the world for the first time). Other than this, I’m sure things will come up, but I’m essentially "biding my time". Have to also figure out what to give people as presents – I’m not sure if they were joking, but the women were suggesting to Eric, the guy living here originally from Montana, that "money would be better", when I suggested that I would give them tapes of my jazz music. Seems like money here is the international language that everyone understands, since it is in such short supply – anyone with some of it is instantly respected...

Today, after much "waiting around", Chiek brought me briefly downtown to hunt out tapes. Because he is so widely known and respected, he managed to get them for I guess what is considered the "wholesale" price – around 80 Senegalese Francs, or less than 2 dollars American (the regular price is a whopping $2 US). He chose an assortment of current African pop stars, presumably many of whom he helped get where they are by being the arranger on their albums. Interestingly, when I asked to buy some blank cassettes so that I could later make some copies of things for people, I was told that they cost the equivalent of $3 US per Maxell XLII tape, meaning that it’s cheaper to buy the original cassette here rather than bothering to illegally make a copy – perhaps this is what discourages piracy, though I’m not sure how people make a profit if they’re only bringing in $2 per cassette. Strange how the economy works here; I mean, someone told me that the average income of a typical Senegalese is something like $3/day. How does one survive on this? Similarly, after being shown Goree Island by the tour guide yesterday, after much intense negotation, Tommasear paid him the equivalent of about 4 dollars for all his hard work; I felt so guilty that I gave him another $2, which seemed to please him greatly…

11/27/1998 - Nov. 27th/98:
Countdown is beginning – 4 hours til we head to the airport. Made some very good friends; really enjoyed working with these musicians and getting to know Mor’s "extended family" (both relatives and otherwise) better. It’s funny how after a while you start to feel like you "belong" some place, or are actually living there. But I have another life waiting for me back home….

I even feel more comfortable, I would say, in my dashiki-inspired clothes here than in my Western clothes, although I didn’t really make a serious attempt to fully grasp the language, I’m embarrassed to admit. Something to save for next time, perhaps…All in all, a trip that I will remember for the rest of my life, and which will no doubt impact me in ways not yet even discovered (knock on wood) :-)....

"Effusion"

The debut, in New York at the Knitting Factory, of my new group Effusion (a dangerous title, I know, because of the ill-association with the word "fusion" from the seventies, but in this day of so much exposure to so many great world musics, I think the word has taken on a broader and more acceptable connotation. Besides, I liked the implication of the group being "effusive" as well, which certainly describes the vibe) [NB. this group was the first "trial run" of what eventually became "The D.D. Jackson Group", with some of the material eventually making its way to my RCA Victor disc Anthem]. At any rate, the gig was definitely not a serious money-making proposition for me, but I took it as the only opportunity to try and get some new music together in preparation for a new recording which will hopefully take place within the next few months. Because it was also Halloween, attendance was spotty – perhaps 80 people, several of them personal friends and supporters, but I succeeded in achieving the "stepping stone" goal of plodding through the new stuff, and seeing what worked, and what didn’t…..

Hamiet Bluiett's Strange Second Set

Rather surreal performance on this day at Dominican Community College in Columbus, Ohio with my collective group Bluiett/Jackson/Thiam. We had a comfortable turnout of a few hundred people, and the first half went so well that we already received a standing ovation. Primed for an even stronger 2nd set, Bluiett announced to Mor and me "I’ve got it" and went out to open the set with one of his characteristically crazy and adventurous, yet earthy solos. Unfortunately, he didn’t get beyond the first note before some mechanism on his baritone saxophone broke down – and amazingly, he was forced to play the remainder of the concert, an entire hour or so of music, without the use of his main axe. I’ve never had so much respect for Bluiett as I had that day, watching him blow the hell out of his ethnic flute, and his contra alto bass clarinet; at one point he even invited the audience to clap their hands; he talked to them; he rapped (anything but playing the baritone). So it was quite a memorable affair.

Strange Duos with Kurt Elling

A week after getting back from Japan I did a couple of gigs with Blue Note vocalist Kurt Elling. I've been doing less and less sideman work of late but Kurt's stuff is so different from my "immediate world" that it never seems to interfere with my other projects, so I though "what the heck". It turned out that our first gig was at Macy's (!) - a "jazz fashion show" sponsored by Jazziz and Vogue, in which various major label jazz artists performed and alternated with models showing their "wares". One artist in particular attracted my attention (and who shall remain nameless :-). Perhaps normally the procedings would not have left any particular imprint on my mind, but as I was discussing with Kurt, I am currently weighing whether to sign with a major label myself, and so I was I guess feeling particularly sensitive about the whole major label "machine". This particular artist's appearance was actually preceded by the distribution of postcards advertising the impending release of her new CD, which featured, among other cuts, a rendition of a song from an extremely successful pop album and in which she was pictured posing provocatively in an almost "sex kitten" style. This song choice struck me as a rather cynical and obvious choice of material (of course I have to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she chose the tune because she sincerely likes the tune, period :-)).The artist first brought out what appeared to be a DAT tape machine to provide an accompaniment designed, I guess, to mirror as closely as possible how her music sounds on the "smooth jazz" radio stations it probably is mostly played on. She was also accompanied by an attractive female bass player (with whom I think I actually went to school), performing in a vaguely see-thru white blouse. When it came time for her to play, the DAT machine actually was I suppose set in the wrong place, so we were treated to little snippets of the wrong rhythm tracks for presumably other cuts from her album. Finally, she found what she was looking for and proceded to "play along", literally, with the recording. I know this sounds overly-purist of me (perhaps at age 31 I'm just getting "old" and stuck in my ways :-)) but it struck me as striking that she felt the need to play with the aid of a tape for such a small, intimate event.

I mention the above not to be overly critical (too late! :-) but because it underscored some of the fears I have about the "major label" experience - the focus on quick business/market decisions instead of musically truthful ones, the over-emphasis on image and style over content, etc., etc. I was almost ready to "throw in the towel" with respect to majors right there, after her performance. Thankfully, however, when Kurt and I performed, the audience seemed to sincerely like what we were doing, and I guess this reminded me that whatever one's approach, if one is honest and truthful, one hopefully can't help but connect. So I guess I concluded that as long as I could maintain that sensibility in whatever context my music is destined to appear in, I should be ok (knocking vigorously on wood :-)...)
The next day Kurt and I performed for a "day time morning show" in Connecticut. I won't say much about this, except two things: 1) one of the other guests on the performance was a man whose name currently excapes me, but he's the Nobel-prize-winning guy who discovered the modern method of doing DNA analysis - just seemed interest to be even remotely in a context where I could run into and talk "shop" with a guy like this and 2) the comment the show's producer made to Kurt and I right before our 3 minute promo performance, after we told her we were jazz musicians, which was "Are you going to improvise? Most people are afraid to when they go on live tv." All we could say was something to the effect of "uh, well, that's what we do, but don't worry, we're trained professionals and everything should go all right", etc., etc...

Perilous Journey From Japan

At the end of August, I got back from my return trip to Japan as pianist with David Murray's quartet. It was as satisfying as always, but I must admit that I enjoyed even more the subsequent gig in Willisau, Switzerland, with the collective group I'm a part of called Bluiett/Jackson/Thiam, most likely because of the increasing pleasure I derive from performing my own music. What was perhaps even more interesting than the actual tour (as often seems the case, for some reason with me?) was my "routing" to get where I needed to go: my first round-the-world itinerary, from NY-Portland-Tokyo-Zurich (Willisau)- NY, heading west, west, west. The Tokyo-Zurich portion was particularly perilous - in order to make the Willisau gig, I needed to cut short David's tour, and I, in fact, left, right in the middle of the 2nd set of the tour's 3rd last night. I basically played my tune "Peace-Song" with the group, and, after a particularly long solo, got up, waved, and headed straight for the bus station. Because we were actually in Osaka, I was originally scheduled to take an overnight train to get to Tokyo airport the next morning. But there was a huge typhoon right in the path of the train route I was supposed to take. Instead, I boarded an overnight Japanese bus (much more "high-tech" and organized than your average Greyhound), and arrived at the Tokyo bus station on schedule the next morning. After avoiding a typhoon, while trying to check in my bags (I eventually gave up since they were going to charge me literally $900 overweight!) I felt the entire terminal rumble ominously - it turns out that Tokyo had just been hit with a 5.4 Richter scale earthquake - not a major one, of course, but enough to unnerve me since it was my first such experience. At any rate, I subway'd to Tokyo airport, flew 12 hours to Zurich, was picked up and driven the 90 minutes to Willisau, and then performed with Bluiett/Jackson/Thiam a couple of hours later. So quite the adventure, but thankfully culminated with some enjoyable music-making which was well received...

"Blood on the Keys"

Just finished performing this evening with my trio at the Knitting Factory fest in New York, in a performance which capped off a very hectic week of rushing around the globe. Just this morning I left Ismir, Turkey to make the 12 hour journey home with only a couple of hours to spare before the Knitting Factory hit. I played the festival in Ismir with David Murray's big band, which was preceded by a date in Moers, Germany the day before, and in Verona, Italy the day before that. And I began this hectic week with a performance with my group Rhythm-Dance at Birdland here in NY, on May 28th. The concert was recorded for RCA Victor, and two tracks will be used for a compilation disc to be titled "Live at Birdland" to be released in the fall. 

This first gig of the week at Birdland I think might be particularly memorable not for the performances, although I was quite pleased with everyone's contribution (the group included Kenny Davis on bass, Billy Kilson on drums, Kahlil Kwame Bell on percussion, Hugh Ragin on trumpet and Christian Howes on violin) but for a severe cut to my thumb I seemed to have incurred during the first piece. Now I've cut my hand before while playing, and it's in fact always been a source of "battle scar pride" among the more "physical" players of the past, including one of my mentors, Don Pullen - the more "flying keys" and "broken strings", the better, etc., etc... :-). But never before had I managed to somehow open a gash which was so perfectly positioned as to make it seemingly impossible to stop the blood from freely flowing. My predicament was that I didn't want to destroy the flow of the music, and so I hesitated to stop, take a break, wipe the keys, fetch a bandaid, etc., etc. So unfortunately I chose to continue until the entire keyboard was covered with blood, and my hand still refused to stop bleeding, even after someone finally got me a bandaid and a towel. To make a long story short, I ended up cutting the set short, fixing myself (and the keyboard) up, and hitting hard in set #2, though ironically set #1 seemed to go ok, as well; something about the adrenaline of the moment, I suppose....Of course, now for those who were aware of what was going on, the gig may very well be remembered more for the mess I made than for the music :-)....

Thomas Chapin

 I was really deeply saddened to learn of saxophone/flutist/composer Thomas Chapin's death, even as I expected in recent months that it might come to this. I only knew Thomas personally for a brief time, but will always remember the concert I did with him in June/97 at the Knitting Factory fest with his group (also in the band was Santi Debriano on bass, Matt Wilson on drums, and Steve Nelson on vibes). It was one of those rare concerts where everything seemed to click, and despite being burdened at the time with having recently completed a round of chemo, Thomas was in inspired form. I really appreciated Thomas' giving nature, both in his music which was so open-minded in it's approach, and as a person; from the little I knew him personally, I could sense a truly gentle, generous person who it seems would have been hard-pressed to ever offend anyone. You'll be missed, Thomas.

Duets with James Carter

 Just came back from Montreal where I performed duo at the Sal Gesu with multi-reedist sensation James Carter. A very surreal gig because we really didn't even know until the last minute whether the gig would be on. Montreal and my hometown of Ottawa had been engulfed in the worst freezing rain disaster in history; literally hundreds of thousands of people were without power, with thousands of utility poles knocked out, literally millions of trees permanently demaged, the army called in to help, and even several deaths, including a woman who lived down from one of my first homes in Ottawa. My first piano teacher and my family had made it a habit to come up from Ottawa (only 2 hours away) for any gigs I did in Montreal, but even they had to re-consider as they pondered the difficulties. As it turned out, the concert went on as scheduled, and my father and brother even managed to show up, despite the conditions. The audience, perhaps happy for a break from all of the calamity, came out in large numbers, and so we played to a near-capacity, very enthusiastic crowd. I've "reported" about James before, and my feelings haven't changed - he really has a facility on all of the horns he plays (for this gig he "only" brought a flute, bass clarinet, tenor sax and soprano sax) which is chilling. And it's an enjoyable challenge I think for both of us to play in a pared down context in which interaction is at a maximum - I would say the vast majority of the concert was completely improvised, and a result of us musically fueling and playing off of each other, and I think we ended up playing 4 pieces in about 90 minutes of playing. And while James' solos tend towards the long side, I see this really as a positive; in an age where so many musicians his (and my) age rely on re-hashed cliches and rarely break a sweat, James is literally bursting with musical ideas, on not one but ALL the horns. So a very enjoyable experience which I'm already looking into repeating sometime soon....

"Ultimate" big band

Just came back from Paris where I performed as sideman in what I can't help but characterize as one of the greatest bands I could imagine - an incarnation of the David Murray big band which featured my favorite instrumentalists on numerous instruments. It was a concert at La Cite de la Musique dealing with the "Obscure Side of Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn", featuring new arrangements of their music by David and flutist James Newton, and the members of this stellar band included: drummer Andrew Cyrille, bassist Art Davis, a sax section consisting of the entire World Saxophone Quartet (David Murray, Oliver Lake, John Purcell and Hamiet Bluiett) plus Ricky Ford and Charles Owens, a trombone section consisting of all of the members of the group Slideride (Ray Anderson, Gary Valente, George Lewis and Craig Harris), my favorite trumpeter Hugh Ragin along with Bobby Bradford, Rasul Saddik and Ravi Best, plus vocalist Carmen Bradford and violinist Regina Carter, AND a 38 piece string section. Just walking into the rehearsal (actually the day of the gig; the others had been there the whole week but I showed up at the last minute so that I could make a showcase gig with my trio at the JazzTimes Convention the night before) was awe-inspiring - one great, individual player after another, approaching me to say "hi". And while I have worked with many of them before, I suppose it was just seeing that much creativity and originality under one roof which was breath-taking - truly my own "Great Day in Harlem" :-). 

I couldn't also help feel a twinge of sadness as I considered how relatively underappreciated these artists have become in their own country; for the most part, they belong to a conceptual and generational group that was pushed aside in favor of the supposedly more marketable "young lions", and while some of the players there have danced with the major record companies from time to time, for the most part these players have maintained great musical integrity, putting out some of the greatest albums in jazz in the last 25 years largely on various independent labels, slowing building and maintaining a following, and playing disproportionately to more appreciative European and Japanese audiences. The thing is, if one really examines the sheer scope and output of this band, their really is no comparison in terms of open-mindedness, moving the music forward while building on tradition (which is what I thought jazz was supposed to be about), and even accessibility; in other words, while relatively overlooked, these guys are still the most innovative and greatest players out there, and it was an honor to be in their company...

2 surreal gigs in Canada

 Just performed a couple of surreal solo piano gigs up in Canada. The first was in London, Ontario, at a converted church/concert hall I've played at before called Aeolian Hall. Of course, little did I know that the Queen of England was visiting London that day; all of London must have been lining the streets to greet her arrival, and consequently the 10 people in London who weren't big fans of Her Royal Highness made it to my gig. So a small, enthusiastic audience, but a little disappointing. Then the next day I appeared as the opening act for fusion guitarist John McLaughlin at a large outdoor venue as part of the DuMaurier Downtown Jazz Festival in Toronto, Ontario. Opening for an act which has really very little to do with what you're trying to do musically is fraught with perils; as expected, the audience, though largely positive and enthusiastic, really didn't come to hear solo piano, and so at one point some drunken guy yelled out something like "We want John McLaughlin!" Had never been "heckled" before, so I must say I found the experience very disabling. Thankfully, the other audience members chastised the guy severely, and, as I say, they were overall very warm and encouraging. 

But it really raised some issues in terms of who I'm trying to reach with my music. I've always had a concern about the potential elitist nature of jazz, about the tendency for it to be embraced by a severely minute minority who consider it "hip" to be fans of the genre. Part of me firmly believes that what I'm trying to do has the potential to actually touch many people, and not only just those already "in the know". But I suppose at moments like at the McLauglin double bill, one is reminded of the difficulties in sometimes reaching out to new audiences. Still, I can't help but maintain the notion that if I am honest and sincere in my expression, people will respond, perhaps sometimes even people who originally came to hear someone else; this has certainly been my experience for the most part thus far....

First tour of Japan

 Just got back from a two-week tour of Japan as pianist with the David Murray Quartet (in a group which also featured Mark Johnson on drums and Wilbur Morris on bass). And what an eye-opening experience it was. It was already inspiring enough to see the enthusiasm for our music among the audiences at the small, personal jazz clubs we performed. But I was perhaps equally impressed by other, non-musical matters: the sleek, modern, even futuristic cities and fascination with technology (an enthusiasm I certainly share); the politeness and general well-ordered nature of the society (which reminded me alot more of my upbringing in Canada) which was at the same time very frenetic and fast-paced (like my current home of New York City); and numerous random aspects of the culture including the Sumo wrestling which was on t.v. every day we were there and the food, which reminded me alot of the food I ate growing up. Finally, most unexpectedly striking to me was the moving experience of being surrounded constantly by a sea of Asian faces, faces so similar to my own...

Thoughts on James Carter

Just returned from a two-day brief gig as sideman with the James Carter Quartet - I was a last minute sub for regular group pianist Craig Taborn, who was called away to work on a Roscoe Mitchell album. I've worked with James before, first at the summer, '96 Montreal International Jazz Festival where I opened for him and then later sat in with his band in a concert taped for Bravo television, and secondly when I invited him to appear on Paired Down, Vol. I (he plays on two tracks). But this was the first extended time I had to "hang" with him and really see him "in action". I had until this time certainly been captivated by his sheer technical mastery of the many reeds which he plays; he has a breathtaking facility that has no parallel. But I was curious to see how this gelled into the "conceptual whole". What I saw was a deeply motivated man, wildly wide-open in his listening, with huge musical ears and an almost cosmic command of his instruments. There was a point towards the end of our second set in Buffalo where this all came together in my mind - I believe it was when he ended an already highly varied and, in fact, "rip-roaring" ballad solo with some ascending, three-note chords, with each chord stated clearly and precisely, using some multiphonic technique that probably didn't even exist until he played it. And he "brushed this off" with an effortless that was truly chilling. It was then that I began to see that far from being a simple "audience-engagement technique", these sax explorations and extended cadenzas and introductions seemed to come out of an honest desire to push boundaries; to certainly use more accessible, often swing-oriented tunes as the basis for his explorations, but to treat them with an almost Coltrane-like, "free jazz blowing" intensity. To "sum up": I definitely "dig" this James Carter, and look forward to working with him again soon....

Thoughts on Don Pullen

 I read the following at the Don Pullen Memorial which took place in New York City at St. Peter's Church on June 11, 1995. It was an incredible celebration, with many people associated with Don performing, dancing, singing, speaking, and reciting:

I first met Don when he was conducting a master class in Oakland, in the summer of 1990. During the two-hour seminar, he basically proceeded to turn the entire audience, many of whom were distinguished jazz teachers and performers as well as students, completely on its head in terms of how they thought about music. Here was somebody, I found, who instead of, for example, focusing on which scale sounded good with which chord, and on the right way to approach a voicing, was dealing with *concept* on an almost cosmic level. He talked about the relationship between playing "outside" versus "in", and how you could combine the two, not just over time during a solo, but often at the same time, between the two hands. He told people to not be afraid to take chances; to always search for something new and to not be afraid of what you might end up with. And all in all he came across as a sincerely warm, caring, and totally dedicated and serious individual. After volunteering to play for him during that class, he accepted me as his student, and I began a two-year teacher-student relationship with him which was the most inspiring and important of my entire life.

Don became not only a teacher to me during that period but a mentor and role model as well. Almost as eye-opening as his comments on music conception were simply his comments on life; on the music business, its ups and downs, and how to deal with them psychologically and on a practical level. And when it came time for me to begin to play out in the "real world", Don was the first to recommend me to others; in fact, I first met both saxophonist David Murray and violinist Billy Bang, both of whom I now work with regularly, on a tour Don insisted I take when he was unable to do it himself.

In short, all I can say is that Don was one of those rare creative geniuses who could inspire others not only through his music, but through the example he set as a human being. He will be deeply missed."
- Mar/95

My liner notes for the David Murray-led Tribute to Don Pullen album:
This album was a special project for all of us because each of our lives was touched by Don in distinct and very important ways. I was a student of Don’s for the two most formative years of my musical development. When I first met him at a master class in the summer of 1990, I already knew the musical approach I was taking was "different" from those I heard around me. But since I was coming from a more rigid, formalized musical background, it was a revelation to meet someone whose approach to music was so radically open-minded. Don, essentially, courted and tamed chaos; at times teasing and cajoling it, at other times walking with it arm in arm, and on many occasions simultaneously pairing right-hand abandon with left-hand calm. But in whatever lessons Don taught, there were always a couple of recurring, fundamental themes: to not be afraid to take chances and, in fact, to seek out and embrace the unknown; and to always search for your own, sincere inner voice, expressed through both improvisation and original composition. These are important lessons, perhaps now more timely than ever in this "young lion" age. And while such pursuits are certainly lifelong affairs, hopefully we have done some justice to Don’s vision on this date by paying tribute not by directly imitating his style or approach to tunes but through an honest commenting on his life and music, with our own, personal voices. For this date I also brought in two of my own compositions, written back when I was a student of Don’s: "Easy Alice" (the title of which is a play on Don’s famous tune "Big Alice"); and "Out of a Storm". I hope you enjoy "The Long Goodbye".

"David Murray Week", Columbus, Ohio

Just got back from "David Murray Week" in Columbus, Ohio (as proclaimed by the Columbus City Council) - did a whole week of gigs with David in various formats, including a collaboration with the ProMusica Chamber Ensemble of Columbus, a duo concert with David, a performance as a member of David's quartet, and numerous "sittings-ins" thruout the city. Also had time to "hang" with David in concentrated fashion, and to discuss alot of things, including the state of jazz today. One of the things that appeared while we were there was a very pointed New York Times Magazine interview with Keith Jarrett, in which Jarrett directed some very critical remarks at Wynton Marsalis (see excerpt). The article really brought out into the open alot of things that were on David's mind, I think, and also made me think about my whole approach to the whole debate of neo-classicism vs. more cutting edge approaches to jazz. 

I think David sees me, in fact, as a potential spokesperson for his perspective on things (see his comments on me recently in the Village Voice); certainly there has been a great change in the New York scene since the years of when David first arrived here on the scene - he quite legitimately laments how what used to be considered an asset, namely having one's own voice, one's own approach - nows seems to be almost a liability, as the focus seems to be increasingly on not rocking the boat, on adhering to some carbon-copy form of what jazz supposedly should be. And though my feelings on the matter are very similar to David's in many regards, I suppose I'm beginning to realize that I'm really trying to forge my own approach to the matter, ie.it's very hard for me to maintain a warlike, negative mentality (especially after having dealt with much of the same close-minded, classical attitudes while a classical piano major at Indiana University); I guess at this stage of my life I'd rather demonstrate my attitudes through the choices I make as a musician. I'll certainly answer criticisms if provoked, and speak out if necessary (both of which I've already started to do), but overridingly my goal will be to be as positive in outlook and approach as possible....

Duo sessions

Just wrapped up a "marathon" 3-day session of duos with: Santi Debriano, Ray Anderson, Hamiett Bluiett, James Carter, Don Byron, Jane Bunnett, Hugh Ragin, Billy Bang and David Murray for my next album - well, actually, next TWO albums, since it'll be released probably as two volumes. Recorded some 22 tunes in 3 days, most of them my own, but also a couple by Hugh, the great trumpeter often heard in David Murray's Octet, and a couple of free improvs "jointly composed" with Ray Anderson. On the whole quite pleased; now the "hard part" of sifting through the takes, deciding on an order, and handling various post-production chores. First volume should be out in the spring, on Justin Time Records. Excited because it gives me a chance to make a statement about artists I consider truly at the cutting edge, with powerful, original voices...

Duo Sessions

Just wrapped up a "marathon" 3-day session of duos with: Santi Debriano, Ray Anderson, Hamiett Bluiett, James Carter, Don Byron, Jane Bunnett, Hugh Ragin, Billy Bang and David Murray for my next album - well, actually, next TWO albums, since it'll be released probably as two volumes. Recorded some 22 tunes in 3 days, most of them my own, but also a couple by Hugh, the great trumpeter often heard in David Murray's Octet, and a couple of free improvs "jointly composed" with Ray Anderson. On the whole quite pleased; now the "hard part" of sifting through the takes, deciding on an order, and handling various post-production chores. First volume should be out in the spring, on Justin Time Records. Excited because it gives me a chance to make a statement about artists I consider truly at the cutting edge, with powerful, original voices...

"Freedom" in East Germany

Just returned from Europe, where I performed in several German cities with a Turkish jazz vocalist named Ozay, and a German-based, Hungarian saxophonist named Tony Lakatos. Some interesting music, in general much more introspective than some of the things I've been doing lately. The only exception was a club in Halle, in the former East Germany. We were doing our set as usual, but noticed that each time we got a little more "out" in our playing, the crowd became much more enthusiastic. At the break we realized what was happening: the whole "free jazz" type of expression is historically very popular in east - perhaps it was an expression of the freedom that the people did not experience politically. Of course, once we were told this, we took it as an invitation to play more "wildly", and the crazier we played, the more the crowd loved it - perhaps the only place I've played where this has so clearly been the case...

Tribute to Don Pullen Session

Just wrapped up the "Tribute to Don Pullen" album with David Murray as the leader, and also Santi Dibriano on bass and J.T. Lewis on drums. Was a very special project because everyone involved had their own special connection with Don Pullen. J.T. Lewis was a drummer more in the pop/rock field (he had played with such artists as Sting and Prince) when Don first heard him and announced "you can play", ie. he had the potential to do some serious jazz/improvised music, and he subsequently hired J.T. for his last great band, the African-Brazilian Connection. J.T. often talks fondly of his days on the road with Don, and of the many experiences they shared together. Santi, along with drummer Cindy Blackman (who, ironically, has now gone on to do more rock-oriented gigs as the drummer with Lenny Kravitz), was one of the members of one of Don's last touring trios. And I was Don's student, having been recommended to David Murray several years ago (also see "Thoughts on Don"). My main worry with this session was that we'd end up duplicating alot of his tunes, etc., but after a collective version of Don's tune "Gratitude", my worries were erased, and we started understanding the mood of the album, which was one of reflection and inwardness. I also felt pleased to be able to contribute a couple of my own compositions, one I wrote when I was heavily under the Don Pullen influence called "Easy Alice" (named after his tune "Big Alice"), another latin number I call "Out of a Storm". The album was rounded out with a very fiery version of Butch Morris' tune "The Long Goodbye" (sort of a commenting on the struggle to live against tough odds), a quartet version of Don's "Common Ground", a duo, "loose" version of "El Matador" with myself and David, and quartet versions of Don's tunes "Richard's Tune" and "Resting on the Road". At the end of the two-day session, we were all drained not only physically, but emotionally, as well. Of course, I spent the last couple of days (while on a gig in Portugal with David's Octet), listening to the tapes, but David was already moving on to his next recording project, which begins tomorrow (!).....