Cadenzas - Edition XXXII
Waiting For SupermanMy wife and I recently saw Waiting for Superman, a powerful and moving documentary film about education in the U.S. If you have yet to see this movie, I urge you to do so. It graphically illustrates the problems with our education system and offers glimmers of hope for ways out of this horrible mess. I won’t go into details of the film; it is better left for you to see. All I can say is that this should be a required film for every administrator, superintendent, principal, bureaucrat, and teacher involved in or associated with our education system.
Those of you who have read Cadenzas throughout the years know how often I write about the problems in education. I have never been able to offer any solutions other than the granting of more teacher autonomy in the classroom, higher expectations of students along with greater student responsibility for accepting those expectations and, of course, the support of the administrations and principals of their school districts.
Waiting for Superman offers solutions, but it will take public outrage to change the entrenched political infrastructure that holds the system prisoner. Please see the film. Don’t let the term “documentary” put you off; this is one of the best, most interesting, and most important films you will ever see. It speaks to all of us on a subject that is vital to our nation and our way of life.
Evaluation and Reaffirmation It’s good to be occasionally jolted out of one’s comfort zone, particularly for an artist who has been around for a while and through experience has formed a few rather hidebound beliefs. Experiences that provoke people to reexamine and possibly reevaluate their feelings about specific issues are a good thing. Two recent experiences did that for me.
The first one occurred when my friend Bob Morgan brought me an unexpected gift—four recordings—CDs of a symposium held in 1976 at the University of North Texas (UNT) organized by my trumpet teacher John Haynie. The two featured artists in this symposium were me and Gerard Schwartz, then the principal trumpet of the New York Philharmonic. Three of the discs recorded the individual question-and-answer sessions we held with symposium attendees. The fourth disc featured our performances, and this was the one that kicked my butt!
Gerard beautifully executed several classic pieces on the orchestra portion of the concert. I also performed a suite for trumpet and chamber orchestra by resident composer William Latham, who I knew would be in the audience that evening. Listening to this 1976 recording, I was very pleased with my performance and happy that Mr. Latham was in attendance. Although I am classically trained and enjoy working on classical literature, I am a jazz musician and am to some extent concerned when asked to perform in a classical setting, as it is not my usual “bag.”
But it was my performance with the North Texas One O’clock Lab Band that surprised me. Remember, I had never before heard these recordings and at this point had no idea what to expect. It was definitely NOT what I wanted to hear! Each of my pieces exhibited a performance of hundreds of notes and little else—no seeming relevance to lyricism or musical lines, no development of ideas, no use of dynamic or textural changes of sound—and no space! I was shocked at my playing.
Fast forward more than thirty years.
I was recently invited to perform in concert with four of the most sought-after musicians on today’s jazz scene—all twenty to thirty years my junior, and all veterans playing at major worldwide festivals and clubs. This was an unusual opportunity, one that I enthusiastically anticipated for several reasons. First, I knew that these players have both a technical mastery of their instruments and an impressive command of the jazz language. Equally important, I wanted to test myself to see if I could fit into their concept of playing and engage in a satisfying musical dialogue with them. As anticipated, these players’ attitude to the music was quite different from the groups with which I am usually accustomed to working, and our concert gave me much to think about and consider.
I found several things in their approach to be quite diverse from that of the musicians with whom I usually perform. Throughout the concert the pianist and the drummer paid little attention to the soloist. They seemed immersed in “doing their thing,” that is, playing with each other but unaware of what the rest of us might be trying to contribute. On up tempo tunes, they appeared to be more interested in breaking up the time with polyrhythms and heavy complex rhythmic feels that produced great intensity but had nothing to do with what the soloist was playing at that time. Possibly their concept was meant to create a rhythmic stew that the soloist would play over; or perhaps the soloist was expected to join in with the rhythmic complexity of the music they were producing. The soloists, never able to bring the rest of the band into the expression of their own individual music, were forced to react to what the rhythm section was giving out rather than the other way around.
I also found most solos to be either a plethora of notes rarely followed by a period of development or ones possessing developmental sections, but going on for such extended lengths that I found them tedious. Textural changes, dynamic shadings, and most important, space, were all missing. It was more “hell-bent for leather” playing with even the medium tempo tunes reaching an almost chaotic level. Dynamic contrast was lacking. There were short moments—maybe at the beginning or very end of a piece—where the volume would come down but, generally, the music sustained a single volume level. This was certainly a different approach from my own.
Almost thirty-six years separates my North Texas recording from this more recent experience with these four professionals. Yet some of their approaches to solo expression seemed remarkably similar to my earlier recording.
Although the audience on the UNT CD seemed to love what I was doing, I, in retrospect, believe this kind of playing, at least in my case, to be self-indulgent, terribly boring, and even musically insulting. Bob Morgan, while listening with me to the CD, reminded me that I was quite young in 1976. What was my musical thinking at that time? Was I just looking for something different? I remember listening to lots of John Coltrane’s music—his “sheets of sound”—and wondering if I could develop and apply the same approach to my trumpet playing. Regardless, it showed my lack of musical maturity at the time and my inability (or insensitivity) to make use of musical elements I have come to feel are so critical to my music now. I believe this illustrates that as one matures through the years, the true importance of time and development in any musician’s growth becomes obvious.
Regarding the more recent concert, I ask: How did we sound and how did the music come together? I did feel good about my ability to fit into their musical environment and about the solos I contributed. I also believe that each of the others played brilliantly on an individual level. Having said this, I thought there were five excellent individual efforts, but the music did not come together in a cohesive way. How can this happen—when you have five people playing at the top of their game, yet the music doesn’t jell? Although there were great solos from everyone and individually an impressive use of language and vocabulary, I’m left with one simple question: Did we make good music together?
This question calls for a subjective answer, of course, and each person hearing or playing music judges its value independently. The answer is relevant ONLY to each one according to that person’s unique taste and individuality. My opinion isn’t important to anyone except me. What may be correct for one player may produce an opposite reaction in another. It is all in the ear of the beholder. Regardless of what stage any player might be in his development, he has, to that extent, developed his own concepts.
So what’s my point? I know that I can be quite judgmental when listening to other players, especially those younger players who exhibit the qualities that I heard and disliked in my own playing on that 1976 recording. It is also true that most professionals with years of experience in their creative field tend to cast a critical eye to define what he or she believes to be the essence or essential elements of that art form—an introspection that certainly pertains to me. So maybe I should try to be less critical; maybe I need to remember my own immature performance from the One O’clock Lab recording and try to become more patient and understanding about the playing of others, especially younger artists.
Rather than being critical of other player’s concepts, stating my own views might be more revealing.
I have survived the musical minefield for more than forty-five years—a long journey over many kinds of roads. The trip has been a most enjoyable one that has provided a comfortable and fulfilling life doing nothing other than playing my trumpet. Anything and everything I have accomplished is the result of hard work, a good education, superb teachers and mentors, and raw, pure luck. Although I admit to “slipping up” at various times over my playing career as evidenced by that 1976 Lab Band recording, still I have always worked to try to incorporate all the elements I consider important into my music—lyricism and creativity, thoughtful musical ideas and development of those ideas, dynamic shadings with textural changes of sound and timbre—and use of space! We all get caught up at times falling prey to various musical traps, but most of us learn to recognize the pitfalls and try not to let it happen.
Any musician who sticks with the business long enough learns many lessons. Critical for me, simply put, is this: Music is a “we” thing, never a “me” thing. Remembering this basic premise always leads me to try to be aware and sensitive to everything that is going on around me, even when I am soloing. I listen intently to the rhythm section players, checking out what each of them is doing, always allowing them to be an essential part of my own solo. Every ensemble player, from duo to symphonic orchestra, should strive always to show sensitivity to the other players in the group, weaving their efforts with that of the others into a tapestry of sounds. They, too, must incorporate the many musical ingredients of sound, touch, color, harmony, and rhythmic intensity into their playing as a whole. No matter what the style, tempo, or emotional plane, the music is always a “we” thing. This approach is, to me, the most fulfilling.
But is my approach to music the only one, the correct one? No, because there is no “correct” approach. Each musician expresses his music as he feels NOW, at that moment, and that is correct for him at that time. Other players--and listeners, too--must decide whether the music is “happening” at that same moment and whether it reaches or touches them. Each individual defines his unique approach to music. The two experiences shared here have helped me to reevaluate and reaffirm mine. And that is not a bad thing, not bad at all.
The following interview was done in mid-2008 with Ludwig van Trikt for Cadence Magazine and was published in the October-December 2009 issue. I want to thank Robert D. Rusch for giving me permission to reprint this interview. Because the interview was done two years ago, I have updated any information that is out of date. This changes none of the facts, only the issue of time-frame, and, in some cases, change of circumstance. My reasons for reprinting the interview are 1.) Few of my readers subscribe to Cadence; 2.) Mr. van Trikt asked some rather blunt questions that I have rarely encountered in interviews previously. I thought you all might enjoy reading them. Because of its length, I am posting this interview over two editions of Cadenzas.© Cadence Magazine 2010. Published by CADNOR Ltd. All rights reserved. Reproduction or use of contents prohibited without written permission from the publisher. credit Cadence: www.cadencebuilding.com info@cadencebuilding.com ph: 315-287-2852).
Cadence: One of the things that separates you from a lot of upcoming musicians is the wealth of big band experiences that mark your career. Please tell us about some of the many personalities and music of people like Oliver Nelson, Duke Pearson, Thad Jones & Mel Lewis? Along with John Lewis, Bob Mintzer, and George Gruntz?
MS: I guess the first thing I have to say about the people you named is that I had excellent relationships with all of them. But with the exception of George Gruntz (with whom I still tour and perform), Bob Mintzer, and Mel Lewis, my relationships were for the most part more musical than social. Explaining this statement might be a bit difficult, but I’ll try.
When I arrived in New York I was twenty-six years old, carrying with me all that I had experienced in a relatively short period of time - my “road” years with Stan Kenton, Woody Herman, Buddy Morrow, almost two years in Reno playing in Nevada show bands, years working with musicians in Memphis, Dallas and Houston, and, of course, at the University of North Texas. Most of the people mentioned in your question were ten to fifteen years older than I was and had experienced that much more of life, Jazz, and history than had I. They, like me, had formed many strong friendships from among their colleagues from their younger years of development, their later years on the “road,” and throughout their years among NYC’s top musicians. I was the newcomer to life in NYC; they were “old hands.”
The years I was involved with most of these musicians you ask about were very busy recording years. It seemed we were always working. And because our work was also our play - our passion - we usually socialized in our working environment. We were musically close both on the gig and also later when having a drink or something to eat before calling it a night. That is, we enjoyed our social time mostly during work and/or the related “relaxation” time afterwards. And the focus of our socializing always revolved around music and musicians - both past and present. So, even though I might have been accepted in their musical circles at the time, our differences in age and experiences - and in family life (I was single, between marriages at the time) caused us to have different social environments outside of our music world. Like these musicians, I formed my own social circle of younger players, among them arranger Jack Cortner, trumpeter Bob Weber, pianist/arranger Kenny Ascher, drummer Ronnie Zito, and others - and also a few of the older more established “sidemen,” with whom I became close, like lead trumpeters Bernie Glow and Ernie Royal, and bass trombonist Paul Faulise.
With that in mind, I’ll give you my thoughts.
Oliver Nelson: I had the pleasure of recording three albums with Oliver Nelson, and all three were gems: Jazzhattan Suite (1967), The Kennedy Dream (1968), and Three Shades of Blue (1970). My arrival in New York in late 1966 and Oliver’s departure for California in the early 1970s didn’t leave me a great deal of time to enjoy working with him, though on a couple of my visits to California he did hire me for a few things out there.
Oliver was a multi-talented saxophonist, composer, and arranger - and a nice man. He strived for the highest standards on each project and trusted the people who played for him always to give their best. Of course, in his orchestra, besides me, were players such Ernie Royal, Bernie Glow, Snooky Young, Joe Newman, Freddie Hubbard, Randy Brecker, and Joe Wilder, just to name some of the trumpets. The rest of the orchestra was also a “Who’s Who” of the Jazz/studio world of the 1960s and 1970s. And they all had great respect for this wonderful man, Oliver Nelson.
Oliver’s projects always seemed to have some theme exemplifying the meaning and depth of his work. The Jazzhattan Suite was, of course, a musical portrait of New York; The Kennedy Dream expressed Oliver’s deep feeling for all the hopes and dreams that were part of the Kennedy years - the civil rights movement, the exploration of space, our hope for the future, and the other passions that were raised in Americans during that period; Three Shades of Blue was Johnny Hodges’ final album, and I was so honored to be a part of this album. I was thrilled to be playing with Oliver, Johnny Hodges, singer Leon Thomas, and that orchestra filled with my long-time heroes. And the many other projects such as these that I was privileged to take part in embodied my most exciting years in the studio scene. All I can say about Oliver is - listen to his music! That’s the man he was, the person he was.
Duke Pearson: Duke Pearson was a joy to work with. He displayed a true sense of humor, most times with a cunning gleam in his eye. Duke was a consummate pianist, a fine soloist who also comped beautifully behind his fellow artists. He displayed great taste in both his playing AND his writing. For a number of years Duke, bassist Bob Cranshaw, and drummer Mickey Roker were the house rhythm section at Blue Note Records. They also became the rhythm section for Duke’s big band.
When Duke decided to start his band, it was originally to be done in partnership with Donald Byrd. I don’t know what happened, but Donald bowed out shortly after rehearsals began, maybe due to performance scheduling conflicts. In any case, Duke wrote for and organized the band in 1967, and I believe we stayed together four or five years. It was a sensational band, filled with great New York players. Jerry Dodgion, Frank Foster, Lew Tabakin, Joe Henderson, Pepper Adams were in the saxophone section; Burt Collins, Randy Brecker, Joe Shepley and I played trumpet; Garnett Brown, Julian Priester, Benny Powell, and Kenny Rupp were the trombonists; and that rhythm section! Duke, Cranshaw, and Roker. The band just romped! We had a ball playing around some of New York’s great clubs - the Half Note, the Dom, and others; and we traveled a bit too.
Duke wrote like he played – good orchestrations, exciting charts that displayed the soloists in their best light, and all done beautifully. Duke was fun to work with. He could be demanding, but it was all for the music. We “tore the roof off” many of the places we played, and Duke enjoyed and took pride in it all. Both Duke Pearson and Oliver Nelson were taken away from us much too young. They still had so much to say in this music.
Thad Jones and Mel Lewis: My six-and-a-half-year sojourn with the band started one week to the day of my arrival in NYC, when I got a call to substitute that evening for Jimmy Nottingham, the band’s split-lead trumpet player. Thad and Mel liked my playing and asked me to be the “swing man” in the trumpet section. The band playing at the Village Vanguard at that time was still essentially a “kicks” band, and most everyone was busy either as members of network TV staff orchestras, doing free-lance recording work, on the road with various singers or Jazz groups, or involved in other endeavors. Someone in the trumpet section had a conflict almost every Monday night, so my job was to cover for anybody who needed the night off. I joined the band as a full-time member about a year or so later when Bill Berry moved to LA with the Merv Griffin TV Show.
My steady playing with the band started a month or so before the first anniversary of the band’s tenure in the Vanguard, so the personnel established by that time consisted of: Snooky Young, Jimmy Nottingham, Bill Berry (whom I replaced), Richard Williams, trumpets; Bob Brookmeyer, Garnett Brown, Tom MacIntosh, Cliff Heather, trombones; Jerome Richardson, Jerry Dodgion, Joe Farrell, Eddie Daniels, Pepper Adams, saxes; Roland Hanna, piano; Richard Davis, bass; Mel Lewis, drums. I stayed with the band till February or March, 1973, when Thad and Mel told me they wanted to do more touring. I had become quite busy in the recording studios and had also just married, so I didn’t want to travel much and decided to step down.
Thad Jones: What can one say about Thad Jones? A big bear of a man with an infectious laugh and crushing hug, Thad was, in my opinion, a true genius, both as a player and as a writer. He may be the most imaginative musician I have known.
Thad was a wonderful arranger and composer. His original writing was special; and when he reworked a “standard,” he made it his own. All his music was fun to play, reflecting his great wit and acute sense of humor on the medium or up tempos or, in the case of ballads like “A Child Is Born,” the sensitivity of becoming a parent. It was so very enjoyable! And Thad could sit on a bus or on an airplane and write without a score - just orchestrating and writing out the parts from his head, not having to see them lined up on a score page. He was amazing.
Thad was a great band leader, and one of the most fun persons to watch in front of an ensemble. He was a big man, and when he conducted, there was no doubt who was in control. Everyone took great joy in working under or even merely watching him. He could lift the band right off the stage; sometimes we just levitated. At least that’s what it felt like.Frank Wess told me the story of his first meeting Thad when Thad joined the Basie Band. Frank said the band was playing several nights in, I believe, Atlantic City, and he went to the ballroom early, either to practice or get to the piano to work on an arrangement. As he entered the ballroom, he heard this trumpet player somewhere off in the back, playing alone, and taking some tune like “Cherokee” at a ridiculously fast tempo and “tearin’ it up!” Frank followed the sounds to find the newcomer to the band. He said he never forgot that incident, hearing Thad back there just “workin’ out.” Scary! But that’s what Thad did to all of us.
At the Vanguard, Thad gave extended solos to all the players on the band; everyone had full opportunity to express himself. Then when Thad picked up his horn, we all gave him our rapt attention as he proceeded to completely “wipe us out!” There was no competition; it was just that the most startling and imaginative ideas came out of that horn, mesmerizing us all! It seemed that he never repeated himself. We were hearing something new every time. Amazing - even to this day!
Mel Lewis: Mel was one of the people I got to know really well. When I came to NYC, I lived my first year in the Forrest Hotel on 49th Street between Broadway and Eighth Avenue - right in the heart of midtown Manhattan. Whenever I subbed on the band, and later when I became a member, Mel would come by the hotel to pick me up and most times drop me off after the gig. During these trips downtown and back we talked about many things, so I really got to know Mel personally. He told me about his growing up in Buffalo, N.Y., his family, his road days, his years in Los Angeles, and all the musical things in which he was involved in NYC. I had seen Mel with Stan Kenton’s Contemporary Concepts Band in 1955, and had a lot of albums on which he played. I was a real admirer and loved his work with Gerry Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band and other groups like the Clark Terry/Bob Brookmeyer Quintet.
Mel was - and still is - the drummer’s drummer. Everyone who knew or heard him play greatly admires Mel. He had the musical touch of a composer or arranger and knew intuitively what to play that matched whatever ensemble grouping was musically prominent at any moment in every piece. He had fantastic “ears,” and his musical sense of coloration, dynamics, and intensity were always perfect. It was incredible to be in the band standing next to him, watching everything he did. It was so relaxed, and he made it look so easy. If Thad was fronting the band, leading on the “outside,” there was no doubt who was the leader “inside” the band. There has never been any question about Mel Lewis’s music and musicality. He was a true master.
Mel was completely honest and forthright in his feelings about everything and was quite assertive when expressing those feelings. This trait caused certain people to view him as being difficult to deal with. These people were mostly contractors and leaders who hired Mel to play music that he found intolerable. To understand the situation, let me clarify. A musician called to perform on a recording session never knows what he will be asked to play until arriving at the session. When Mel found himself having to play what he considered “dumb” or bad music, he never hesitated to voice his feelings - and these people didn’t care to hear this. They were about the business, and Mel didn’t care about the business. It was either music or it was “BS.” I never had problems with Mel; I loved his straightforwardness and honesty about his feelings. I appreciate that quality in anyone, something I find rare these days. You always knew where Mel stood, and if he believed in you he stood with you and backed you up when it counted. He was very loyal and always open about how he felt.
When I decided it was time for me to move on, I think Mel was hurt, a reaction not uncommon when musicians leave a group in which they have been long-time members. Because my main thrust was studio work and his was the band, I didn’t see much of him for a number of years. It wasn’t until he joined John Lewis’s American Jazz Orchestra as the “regular” drummer that we rekindled our relationship. I was again playing “lead” trumpet with one of my favorite drummers. Playing with Mel again was joyous. And our being close again was even more so.
John Lewis: Like so many of my generation, I had been listening to John Lewis’s music since my early playing days. My brother Gordon had records from the BeBop period when John was in the company of Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, J. J. Johnson, Charlie Parker, and other progenitors of that music. Gordon also had several of the Modern Jazz Quartet’s LPs. I met John briefly in the late seventies when performing in one of Dizzy’s all-star bands for two concerts at Lincoln Center. Later, when John called to tell me he was forming a new band, the American Jazz Orchestra, and asked me to join as his lead trumpet player, I was honored and jumped at the chance to do so.
Working in the orchestra with John was very interesting, and he engaged terrific personnel. Bob Millikan, Virgil Jones, and John Eckert were my section mates. Benny Powell and Kenny Rupp, old friends from Duke Pearson’s band, were in the trombone section along with bass trombonist Jack Jeffers. Saxophonist Jerry Dodgion, another old friend from both the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra and Duke Pearson’s band, was also in the group. It was an excellent ensemble overall, especially when Mel Lewis settled into the drum chair. Dick Katz was the pianist in the band, sometimes giving the seat to John Lewis for John’s “original” music.
We played a lot of repertory music, but also performed new works, such as compositions by Richard Muhal Abrams and others. The music, whether new or old, was always challenging, and we most times delighted in playing it. We also on occasion had guest conductors who made an impact upon the orchestra - both good and bad. The several times Benny Carter came to lead the band in concert were among my most memorable in the best of ways. Benny was the consummate musician and the most beautiful of human beings - a special person to anyone who knew him. He was confident in all that he did, never needing to prove anything to anyone. He was a great composer/arranger, and a beautiful saxophonist AND trumpet player. He treated everyone with respect, and the orchestra loved him.
We had a couple of other guest conductors completely opposite to Benny in every way. Although they were generally known to be experts in other musicians’ works that they had adopted as their own purview, I believe they were “self-appointed” in that capacity. They always played the role of the expert, taking every opportunity to demean anyone in the band (even those with greater performing experience) who might dare to question their authority. Sometimes, the disagreements erupted into screaming matches. The orchestra immensely disliked playing for these two people and, fortunately, we only had to do this a few times. Needless to say, these people shall remain nameless.
John Lewis was, of course, a very talented man. But even though we worked together during the whole of the orchestra’s life, as I did with many others over the years, I didn’t get to know him on a deep personal level. Our relationship, though always a good one, was a working one. Again, John was a good deal older than most of us and had many close friends from his own group of compatriots. He was always the gentleman and always led the band with respect. While he, like all of us, had his idiosyncrasies, the band enjoyed its relationship with John, and I know the feeling was mutual. I loved playing in that band and count myself fortunate to have been invited to do so.
Bob Mintzer: I’m not sure whether I was an original member of Bob’s band or not, but I believe so. I remember, in my recording studio days, Alan Rubin (Blues Brothers Band) and Lew Soloff telling me about this guy, Bob Mintzer, for whom they had done some recording. Though I can’t remember the context within which they had worked for him, they spoke very highly of his writing. So I was pleasantly surprised when Bob contacted me to play for him. I can’t recall how it all came about, but he asked me to do a weekend with his big band at Seventh Avenue South, a NY club co-owned by Randy and Michael Brecker, who were both players in Bob’s band. The band was filled with other excellent NY players. The sax section included Mintzer and Brecker along with David Sanborn, Pete Yellin, and Roger Rosenberg; Randy Brecker, Joe Shepley, and Lew Soloff were in the trumpet section with me; Keith O’Quinn, Bob Smith, and Dave Taylor were among the trombonists. The rhythm section consisted of pianist Don Grolnick, bassist Lincoln Goines, and drummer Peter Erskine. After a short period of time, Bob Millikan and Laurie Frink joined the trumpet section, replacing Shepley and Soloff, and an increasingly busy Mike Brecker was replaced with Bob Malach. But for the most part the personnel remained stable for a long period of time. I was with the band for about fifteen or sixteen years, having recorded thirteen albums with the band.
I love Bob’s writing and think he is one of the greatest tenor players of the last twenty years. In another time he would be as big as anybody in the business. Bob swings as hard, if not harder, than anyone, and he is consistent. In all the years I played with his band, as well as in the two albums he recorded with my own group plus a number of concerts we played together, I have never heard Bob take a mediocre solo. Every solo I have heard him play - and that’s a damned lot of them - has been a gem! I can’t speak highly enough of Bob’s playing, which mirrors the excellence of his writing. I have a fondness for his first two CDs on DMP Records, Incredible Journey and Camouflage because they - to me - are the most adventurous. But all of his albums and CDs are terrific! I have nothing but the greatest of respect for Bob.
As the leader of this band, Bob was exceptional. He knew what he wanted to hear, knew how to write it, and knew how to get the results he wanted from his musicians. Of course, he was working with a group of extraordinary players, so this, to some extent, facilitated his doing so, but negotiating some of the egos is not always so easy. Bob handles things beautifully without having to resort to heavy-handed tactics. This is due to the great esteem held for him by the players in his band.
On a personal level, Bob and I formed a strong working friendship. He often used me as a bit of a sounding board - maybe because I was one of the older band members. And maybe it was also because I was his lead trumpeter. But I got to know Bob and his wife, Carla, both of whom are just very nice people. What more can I say?
About seven or eight years ago, Bob decided to make some changes in his band. I was one of those changes, and at the time I said to him, “You are a fine musician, and I respect whatever you have to do to get the musical results you want. If you have to make changes to achieve those results, then that’s what you must do.”
Bob’s band always sounds great! I occasionally “sub” for him when a “regular” is not able to make the gig and I am available. This is a wonderful group. If you have the opportunity to hear them, don’t miss it! Bob and I are still very good friends, and we enjoy a mutual respect.
George Gruntz: Ah, my dear friend George Gruntz! George and I first met in New York in 1987. Trumpeter Lew Soloff introduced us. George had asked Lew to play lead trumpet with his Concert Jazz Band for an upcoming tour in the spring, but Lew was already booked with some other group, so he recommended that George ask me to do the tour. I had settled into a life in the New York studios, so it had been some time since I had been to Europe. Although I was ready to start playing outside the studios again, I accepted George’s invitation with a bit of trepidation because it would be quite a departure from the life I had been used to.
This move—accepting George’s challenge—would prove to be a life-changing decision for me. I had been dissatisfied for a while with the work I was doing – that is, studio work at that point in time consisted mostly of recording radio and TV jingles and Rock and Roll records. Though it provided a comfortable life for me and my family, it was not very fulfilling on an emotional level. The business had undergone enormous change since I had moved to New York in 1966. Much less Jazz was being recorded, most of it done by self-contained groups. Jazz WAS what had motivated my becoming a musician, and I really missed performing this music. Going on tour with George rekindled my strong desire to get back to my roots. The incredibly diverse styles of creativity among the musicians playing on George’s band opened me up to new and different viewpoints. This diversity was what George loved, and it made a great impact on me.
George’s concept from the beginning was to invite a big band filled with great soloists; but among this group would be an excellent lead trumpet - also a soloist - who would by his strength and musicality mold the band into a cohesive unit. The problem with this concept was that George’s compositions are complex orchestrations that demand musicians who can excel both as soloists AND ensemble players to bring out the best in his compositions and arrangements. Depending on the people George chose for the tours, his concept sometimes worked, but many times produced frustrating results for the music - and for me as the lead trumpet.
During the first half of my twenty-one-year tenure with the band, George and I discussed this issue a number of times. Over time and after producing several recordings, George realized that he, too, wanted the level of performance of the composed music to reach the same level as that of the soloists. I stressed to him that there were many fine creative soloists available who were also interested in making the written music sound as good as possible. His eventual awareness and acceptance of this fact certainly sat well with me. The result was that George began choosing excellent soloists, but now wanted those soloists to be good section players as well. The band over the past twelve or more years has been sounding wonderful. The soloists - as always - are great, but the composed music rises to that same level of excellence. You can hear this in both the live performances AND in the CDs.
During my years with George I have traveled and performed worldwide, to England and all of Western Europe, to Russia, Turkey, Egypt, China, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore and across the U.S. People everywhere love this band. The enthusiasm the music provokes always amazes me, especially in light of the difficulty George has had in the last ten years booking the group into major festivals and other venues. Of course, the world economy has had much to do with this reduced visibility, as has the drop in support of the Arts in Europe. It seems, as is the case in America, that corporate and government support finds its way more and more into sports and much less into music and the Arts. This situation is quite sad because, for many years following World War II, cultural development was one of the most important ventures these entities focused their efforts upon. But with the conservatism that has arisen over these past twenty years or so in Western Europe, much of this has changed. Yet, despite these obstacles, George perseveres and continues making a strong effort to book the band.
George is a prolific composer and arranger. And though he might have some difficulty in booking tours for the Concert Jazz Band, he is still much sought after for writing and playing engagements with many different groups, both smaller and larger ensembles. One of his recent commissions was a concerto for piano and chamber orchestra which he wrote for and performed with the Basel Chamber Orchestra. For our Concert Jazz Band tour last September, he was commissioned by the Essen Philharmonic to write a new concerto celebrating “Five Years of Jazz at Philharmonic Hall.”
The personnel within the Concert Jazz Band varies based upon the music George is writing and also the players who may be available for the tours. He now has a kind of repertory company of players from which he chooses, but he is also open to bringing in new people whose playing impresses him.
George and I share much more than a working relationship. We are very close friends, and our families - especially his wife Lilly and my wife Nancy - are close as well. George and I share a love of many things - wine, food, music, and life. We talk a great deal about everything going on in the world today, most often those things that have changed life as we know it, particularly the turbulent political arena and corporate world. But we also share the hope that Art and culture will one day lead the way out of these times, volatile times that exhibit much less caring for people while displaying a tremendous greed for money and power.
As I said, my relationship with George has impacted my life greatly by initiating this journey back into the Jazz world, one that returned me to the music that inspired me from the beginning. For that alone, I cherish this wonderful friendship with him.
In closing:
Reviewing my thoughts as expressed in this interview, I realize just how lucky I am to have grown up at the time I did. I had a great family who supported my musical efforts and provided me the opportunity to pursue music. I went to school at a time when Memphis provided excellent public schooling. And I had teachers and mentors all my life who were truly interested in seeing me succeed. I have known and played with so many people whom I greatly admired, beginning with my young years in Memphis, at school in Texas, and continuing through life today. What more can anyone ask?
And though I find many things that can and need to be changed in America for the betterment of everyone, I feel very positive about life. I also feel very good, very fortunate for having been able to follow my passion and realize my dream. Looking back, I am humbled by all I have experienced and am thankful to the many people who have contributed so much to my life. I hope, through the years, that I have done the same for others following this path. I look forward to many more years of continuing my dedication to Jazz, working as a productive Jazz artist. Today I find myself surrounded by family and friends, among whom my great musical colleagues are also some of my most wonderful and dearest friends. I am truly a most fortunate person!