Musical Time Travel

I’ve stated before that my performing repertoire and listening habits can hardly be considered current or up to date. My role as Jazz Archive Director at Hamilton has strengthened my enjoyment of jazz music and personalities from the past — the swing era and the soloists from the 30’s and 40’s. My “songs for gigs” list reflects this obsession and my “current tunes” are now mostly from the 50’s and 60’s.

My passion for this music was reinforced and well-satisfied during the last three weekends. The annual Fallcoming concert at Hamilton for the last five years has featured a group led by pianist Dick Hyman. This year’s members included guitarist Bucky Pizzarelli, trumpeter Randy Sandke, drummer Jackie Williams, and bassist Jay Leonhart. Jazz fans will raise their eyebrows at such an impressive cast of characters.

For Fallcoming Jazz ‘13 we tried something different than the normal organized jam session format. A number of years ago, a Dick Hyman CD entitled “From the Age of Swing” came to my attention. I fell in love with the creative arrangements for a four-piece rhythm section and four horns, consisting of alto and baritone saxes, trumpet and trombone. Mr. Hyman’s charts captured the feel of the early big band era, and his imaginative writing was a joy to hear and play. The quintet was augmented by Syracuse trombonist Greg McCrea, Hamilton student Deanna Nappi on baritone sax, and myself on alto sax. Here’s a YouTube link of the first tune we played on this concert.

We played the Hyman charts on September 27, and I found myself immersed in musical heaven. Randy on trumpet faithfully reproduced the approach and sound of Joe Wilder, the trumpeter on the original recording. The rhythm section provided an indescribable bed of swing, demonstrating the power of organized simplicity, and it wouldn’t have happened without the 4/4 chordal strumming of Bucky Pizzarelli, who also was on the 1999 recording. Guitarists describe this as “Freddie Green,” the style of strumming that Mr. Green provided for the Count Basie Orchestra for nearly 50 years.

Here’s a description of that style from Bucky, taken from his 2003 interview:

Bucky Pizzarelli

MR:    Is there some distinguishing thing about what Freddie Green did that’s possible to verbalize?

BP:    It’s very hard to describe what he did but he played a 4/4 beat with an accent on two and four, and he just kept chunking away. And if you study the music of Count Basie, the rhythm section never played figures with the band. When they played eighth-quarter-eighth, you know, they just kept chunking away through the whole thing. And it works better that way. The minute everybody’s doing the same thing it doesn’t work. It’s like a drummer hitting figures with the brass section. It’s terrible.

Jay Leonhart, Bucky’s rhythm section-mate at Fallcoming, described the specifics that make it work:

Jay Leonhart

JL:    I’ve heard Bucky, and who else, James Chirillo … the two of them, they’ll take the third and the seventh, right in the middle of the strings, right in that nice middle range around middle C, which on the piano would be — and they’ll just sit and play the third and the seventh. It’s either a minor third or a major seventh. Or maybe a sixth if they want to get adventurous. And they can just sit there and play like that. And the only notes coming out of the guitar are the relevant ones. And they’re not doubling the third, like making Bach turn over in his grave ... It’s so defined and clear. And as a result their chops are good because they’re not making a lot of moves and they’re not trying to play six notes with every … they can concentrate on the time, and they do. And that’s the way Bucky plays. Yet he’s a grand soloist when he plays songs by himself, he can really play the guitar. He’s not just a two, three and seven guy. He can really play the guitar.

This steady pulse allows everyone in the band to play less, and we know less equals more. It was a memorable moment, transporting me back to the time when this style was the popular music of the day. Mr. Hyman skillfully led the 8-piece ensemble, which had only engaged in a run through of the charts. As an added bonus, Deanna, one of my students, acquitted herself with great skill on the baritone saxophone. The biggest difference from actually performing this music during its original lifespan was the setting. If we had been performing in 1937 in a dance hall, the success of the band would have been determined by the number of dancers on the dance floor. This music has now been elevated to an art form worthy of a seated audience in a concert hall setting.

The next weekend I traveled to SUNY Fredonia, for another round of nostalgia. The annual Fredonia Jazz Ensemble reunion concert took place on Friday evening. In similar fashion, an all-too-brief rehearsal preceded a concert by members of the original members of the Fredonia Jazz Ensemble from the classes of the 1970’s. This weekend is always a mix of music and camaraderie, reconnecting with musicians from those brief college years who shared a love for big band music. At the time, we took pride in the fact that we were operating outside the conventions of the music program. In the mid-70’s jazz had not been embraced by the majority of music schools, and the jazz ensemble was a student-directed affair. Our repertoire this night consisted of familiar big band fare, but from the bands that thrived after the swing era. Material from Buddy Rich, Stan Kenton and the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis bands provided plenty of challenge. Most of us playing that night had harbored fantasies of getting a call to join one of these groups and abruptly leaving our studies in avid response.

As an incentive for my own writing, I always compose a new work for this weekend, and I can be confident that it will be played well and with great spirit. My new piece, “Angelica,” was received a good deal of praise, making it worth the time and effort.

The last step on my time travel took me back even further. I got a call to play a dinner dance entitled “A 1920’s Jazz Gala.” While my musical tastes have traveled backwards, the 1920’s was pushing it even for me. A fair amount of research was required for this Great Gatsby-era gig. It was an authentic recreation of a 1920’s speakeasy with period clothing encouraged for all attendees; a non-alcohol event in the spirit of prohibition. This time the songs included tunes you would find in dusty sheet music archives: “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” “The Charleston,” and “3 O’clock in the Morning.” My current quartet rose to the occasion. The drummer brought vintage drums and the required whistles, woodblocks and cowbells that were so much a part of this upbeat small-band jazz. I was happy to see a number of college and high school students among the attendees, illustrating the fact that some eras carry a magical aura all their own. Here’s a photo of our group from this nostalgic evening.

(L-R) Monk Rowe, Tom McGrath,
John Hutson, and Sean Peters

The three consecutive weekends provided a welcomed musical challenge and a personal sentimental journey.

Good Vibes

Peter Appleyard, 1929-2013

Last October’s Fallcoming jazz concert at Hamilton College consisted of an all-star line-up of Dick Hyman, Bucky Pizzarelli, Jackie Williams, Nicky Parrott, Randy Sandke, and vibraphonist Peter Appleyard. As organizer of the concert I was especially pleased to be able to bring Peter back together with Bucky and Dick, two musicians with which he had enjoyed musical associations throughout his career. Peter passed away on July 17 at his home near Toronto at the age of 84.

Booking Peter for our Fallcoming concert was one more opportunity for me to learn about the music business. As I now know, engaging a Canadian musician involves cross-country trade and work regulations. Peter had to pay a fee of over $600 simply to cross the border to play the gig. Apparently our countries’ are attempting to protect jobs, including gigs for musicians. I knew Peter would not be transporting his own vibraphone and I was curious if he had ever told the border security personnel that he was only visiting friends in the US. He related a story of a violinist who tried the same thing. Upon seeing the violin in the musician’s car, they inspected every bit of his luggage, found his contract, and fined him more than he could ever have possibly made on the engagement. This story resonated throughout Canada as a warning to others who might try a similar evasion of the required tax. So Peter paid the “toll,” — or rather, we added it to his fee.

It was my privilege to conduct an interview with him before the concert last October. Like the majority of musicians from his generation, his entrance into the music profession was based both on serendipity and being prepared when opportunities arose.

Peter was born in Grimsby, England and was a teenager during World War II. Like most vibraphonists, he started on the drums, and talked about what could be called his first break in the music business:

PA:    I left school when I was 13, public school, and in those days in Britain you had to pay for a child’s secondary education, high school. But my parents were victims of the recession and didn’t have much money. They couldn’t afford to do that. And so they applied me for an apprenticeship for a compass adjuster and nautical instrument-maker. We would take a ship out into the River Humber, which was about three miles wide, and we’d take a bearing, and say that was true north, and adjust accordingly to bring it truthfully into line, true north. I was doing that for about two years, and on one occasion I had to go and pick up some Admiralty Charts — not music charts — Admiralty Charts for the British Navy. They used to have corvettes and this type of vessel, to circumvent the British minefields, to get out into the North Sea. Well this 30-minute errand used to be an hour’s adventure for me, because on the way to the Admiralty there’s a record shop. And I always used to stop in there and audition some records, which you could do in those days. You could take three or four records and go and listen to them and come back and say “I’d like to have this one” you know, so-and-so. So this day, here I am in this record shop listening to probably a Benny Goodman Sextet record, and I was tapping away with some drum sticks. Meantime the Royal Navy is waiting to go to sea, and the Admiral is saying “where the hell are those charts, we’re losing the tide.” And anyway this door opens and this fellow with a big moustache, and it was an ex-REF type as a matter of fact, and he says “say, old chap, do you play the drums?” I said, “yeah.” “Well,” he said, “our drummer got caught in bed with another woman last night by his wife, and she promptly took the fire axe off the wall and chopped up his drums.” I say he was pretty lucky. “And if you’d like to come down to the Palace Theater on Saturday morning and audition for ‘Felix Mendelsohn’s Hawaiian Serenaders,’” (it was an Alvino Ray type band, you know) “come down.” So I went down with my drum set, because I was playing drums then. And I got the job. As a compass adjuster’s apprentice I was earning 7 schillings and 6 pence a week, which in those days was like, oh maybe, it was like one dollar. Mr. Mendelsohn offered me 17 pounds a week. So guess what I did? It was rather a difficult decision because I was in love with a beautiful girl and it meant leaving her, and I thought oh, shall I do this? I thought about it and I spoke to my parents of course, and they said, “well you should try it and see how it works.” Those were the days when vaudeville theatres had big bands as their attraction. Ours was the number one band in Britain. We were the first band on British television.

It’s interesting to learn that the big bands played a role in England in providing work for musicians, much like they did during the swing era in the United States. The size of the band and their versatility in backing up various acts provided fertile ground for young musicians.

Peter found his way to the vibraphone in an equally interesting story.

PA:    Actually I’ll tell you this very brief story about the vibraphone and how I got attached to it. During the war I used to go out and entertain the troops at various stations. I played several USO’s over there at the time. I remember once I went in and there was a brand new set of Slingerland drums with big cymbals. I couldn’t believe it. I thought jeez, I’ve really got to get to America. Anyway, this night we were playing this very large aerodrome. And this guy came up, and I was playing drums in this accordion band, and this guy came up with a little tiny vibraphone and he starts to tap with one hand and he had a flatbed guitar and he’d put an electric motor in it with plectrums on a wheel, hitting one string going brrrrrr, and he’d slide his steel up and down there and he’s play arpeggiated chords with the vibraphone. So anyway, I went up to him after and I said, “Mr. Blakey, that’s quite an instrument.” I said, “now can I try it?” He said, “yeah, sure, go ahead.” So there was a cute girl standing there and she said, “you sound good on that.” I thought aha, I should be playing this. Anyway, I said, “would you sell them to me?” And he said, “no I can’t do that.” I said, “well all right, if you ever want to sell it let me know.” So the war ended and a knock came at my door, Mr. Blakey. He said, “you still want to buy the vibraphone?” I said, “yeah.” He said, “15 pounds.” Now I was still working as a compass adjuster’s assistant. So 15 pounds was a king’s ransom. I knew a guitarist who played in a big band with me and I asked him to loan me the money. I borrowed the money and I bought it. My father was furious. You didn’t do that in those days, you know, don’t buy anything on time. If you can’t afford it don’t buy it. So I bought it. About 15 years ago we went back and I went to look this man up, Mr. Blakey, he was still alive. He said, “I’m going to tell you something now I couldn’t tell you before.” He said, “do you remember when we played those aerodromes, I never came home with you?” I said, “Mr. Blakey, it was 60 years ago, but now that you mention it” — because we used to go on bikes. “No, you didn’t as a matter of fact.” He said, “well I’ll tell you, I am telling you now, I was a British spy. And the vibraphone was a cover for me to get on the aerodrome without being suspected by a possible German spy or sympathizers with Germany, on the airport.” I mean you couldn’t say anything to him, there were sounds everywhere, it would “be like dad, keep mum.” And I said, “what did you do.” Well he said, “after the concert they put me in a single engine aircraft with a pilot and fly me behind the German lines in France,” he says, “just prior to the invasion.” And they’d shut the engine off about a mile before a predetermined field, and the Maquis would guide us down with flashlights, and we’d glide in and I’d exchange information with the Maquis, the French resistance, pertaining to what I’d seen, what are the Germans doing” blah blah blah. I said, “Mr. Blakey, how many times did you do that?” “Well” he said, “at least twelve times.” And you know if you get caught it’s fatal, you get shot — spying.

MR:    And the vibes were his cover, huh?

MR:   That’s a really great story. How big were the vibes? Two octaves?

PA:    Two octaves. Yes.

MR:   And you would ride your bike home from the gig?

PA:    And my father made a wooden trailer for me, to put the drums in. And then when I bought the vibes, now we used to have — we used to deliver groceries and they had a basket, and they had a little box on the front. And I started out playing waltzes on them, with the big band.

Peter’s early career led him on a circuitous route, from England, to the Bahamas, with a brief stop in New York City and then on to Canada. He settled in Toronto and enjoyed a long career that included jazz gigs, studio recordings, and acting as music director for radio and television shows. Along the way he had fruitful musical associations with the aforementioned Dick Hyman, Bucky Pizzarelli, and clarinetist Benny Goodman. His own favorite memory involves “Mr. Blue Eyes” [Frank Sinatra], and once again his presence on stage came about from stars aligning in a most unexpected fashion.

PA:    Whilst I was with Benny, in New York, Mr. Sinatra was going to have a show for two weeks at the Eros Theater with Ella Fitzgerald and the Basie Band, and a huge string section. And I went down to buy tickets and I couldn’t get any, they were sold out. So I went over to Manny’s Music Shop and I ran into Irv Cottler. [He was] a very good drummer, he was with Frank all those great years. And he said, “Peter, how are you?” I said, “Fine, Irv, how are you?” He said, “we were talking about you last night.” I said, “who, me?” He said, “Bill Miller,” pianist, “and Frank and me.” I said, “what are you talking about me for?” He said, “well Frank wants to use vibes at the Eros, and Bill Miller said, “‘well why don’t we get Peter Appleyard?’” So Frank said, “Peter Appleyard?” He said, “yeah, he works with Benny.” He said, “if he works with Benny, get him.” I got the job without an audition. On the second day [Frank] came up to me and he said, “Peter, I owe you an apology.” I said, “what for?” He said, “there’s not enough here [for you] to play, but sweetheart if you feel like playing behind me or Ella do it.” At the end of the run he gives a party like it wouldn’t quit on stage with him, the most beautiful wine and Italian food. He gave me a sterling silver jewelry box, engraved, “Peter, thanks F.S.” He was a great guy. Generous, generous man. And people have asked me “if you wanted to re-live two weeks of your life, or a week in music, which week will you choose?” And I think it would be those two weeks with him. I used to sit on the stage, Monk — they’d do “The Lady is a Tramp” to finish, you know, he and Ella with the Basie band. You’re Basie, and I’m this close to you. And there’s reams of music, and Basie’s looking going clink, you know. Frank goes “I get too hungry” and Basie goes bonk bonk, bonk bonk. All this music. So finally one night Frank sang “I get too hungry/for dinner at eight.” And Basie goes [scats a complicated piano run] and Sinatra turns around and said, “Bill [Basie], be careful, you might get a hernia.” But oh, he was so great. And out of all the people I’ve  ever spoken to — and I’ve played for and met the Queen Mother twice — no one gave me the sensation that I experienced with Frank Sinatra.

Peter was a man who could function as an accompanist, and knew his role in any ensemble. At the same time he had the flair of a showman and could wow the audience with his flashy mallet technique.

It’s the rare concert that comes off without a glitch and moment of intense anxiety. In this case it was the college vibraphones that provided the angst. Even though I had checked out the instrument, my limited knowledge was not sufficient. When Mr. Appleyard went to play the vibes at sound check, it was discovered that something was awry. I can’t tell you what it was except that it had to do with the tension on the bars, and it was fortunate that my bandmate and dear friend, drummer Tom McGrath, was on hand to fashion a repair with a bungee cord that he used to keep one of his drum sets tightly closed. Thank you, Tom.

Fallcoming Jazz '12 (L-R) Bucky Pizzarelli,
Randy Sandke, Monk Rowe, Peter Appleyard

The concert was a huge success and I got to play a couple of tunes standing next to Peter, thus racking up one more entry into my list of memorable associations.

A CD worth pursuing is Peter’s The Lost 1974 Sessions, an all-star line-up recorded back in 1974 and released in 2012. It recently saw the light of day thanks to Peter’s efforts.

Jazz Etiquette: The Art of Sitting In

My favorite sitting in moment, Fall 2012 at Hamilton (L-R)
Bucky Pizzarelli, Randy Sandke, Monk Rowe, Peter Appleyard.

A musician’s definition of “sitting in” is to participate in a working group, as a guest, usually to play a couple of songs. This usually occurs at the invitation of someone in the band. I have done my share of sitting in over the years, and more recently have been the inviter. The experience can be a valuable learning tool, requiring a player to demonstrate adaptability as well as performance skills.

We should make a distinction between sitting in and a jam session. Jam sessions are loose gatherings of musicians, probably without a set list, often with no defined leader, basically a group sit in. The situation we are discussing here is when an individual temporarily joins an established musical group. Sitting in should not be a complicated affair, but there are definitely some things to do, and not do, when it comes to functioning as a guest with a working band. I’ve listed some below.

DO listen to a group play a few tunes before you decide that you could make a decent contribution. This listening includes observing the chemistry of the group, their volume, the intensity, and the length of the individual solos the members play. This will serve you well if you end up playing with them, as you can become as close to a member as possible. DON’T assume that any particular group will adjust their performance to your style of playing.

Secondly, find a way to introduce yourself and perhaps facilitate an invitation. For instance, if there’s a fellow saxophone player in the group, you might introduce yourself by saying “I really enjoyed your chorus on [insert relevant name] song,” or “your tone on that ballad was really enjoyable.” You may introduce yourself as a saxophonist and see what transpires from there. Don’t take offense if you broach the subject about sitting in first and receive a “no thanks.” There’s more than one reason that a band would not have people sitting in, and it may not be personal.

DO listen for cues from the person who invites you to come up and play. For instance the leader of the group may say, “we’ll call you up during the next set to play a song” or “to play one or two songs.” This wording is chosen on purpose because it leaves them the option — if they don’t particularly like the way you play — to have it end fairly soon. A band leader or band member will rarely say, “come up and play the whole next set with us.” If they don’t know who you are or how you play that is too large a gamble. Your responsibility in this regard is to not overstay your welcome. If a band leader says “come up and play a tune,” and you do so, at the end of that song you should make the motions of exiting, saying “thanks, that was a real pleasure.” At that point you may be invited to play another. If not, everybody’s comfortable with the situation. DON’T stand there expecting to play more when you were invited to play one song.

This is a really important DO: have five to ten songs ready that you have done your homework on, that you know you can successfully pull off. These songs should be appropriate for the genre, whether they be classic jazz, bebop, or blues, depending on the group you are hoping to join. Upon invitation, DON’T get up to the bandstand and, upon being asked the question “what would you like to play” answer “whatever you want,” or even worse, “I don’t know.” If a bandleader is polite enough to offer you the choice and you turn it down you are missing an opportunity. If the leader then calls a tune you don’t know, you will be in the unenviable position of saying, “I don’t really know that.” This is definitely the wrong way to start the experience of sitting in. With blues groups this is somewhat different. Most blues are based on the twelve-bar form, and sitting in can be an easier process. I have played with blues bands where they call a tune that I don’t know, and the guitar player will simply say “it’s a shuffle in G.” A musician familiar with the genre can usually function pretty well in this circumstance. But jazz gigs are different. There’s a standard group of songs that you should choose from and be able to play without a “Real Book” in front of you.

Watch for cues on the bandstand when you start playing. The members of the group will usually give visual or physical cues about who’s going to take a solo, when it gets passed on, if there’ll be trading four-bar solos with the drums, and all those things that go into the etiquette of a jazz performance. If the band has a singer, make sure you DO NOT COMPETE WITH THEM. Vocalists abhor this. Adding unwanted background licks may terminate your welcome. The only exception is in the blues; in those two-measure spots where blues lyrics end and comments are made by horn players or guitarists.

If you’ve been invited to sit in sometime during the set, especially if you’re a horn player, have your instrument out and ready to go. I recall occasions where I have invited someone to sit in and when I called them up they said, “okay, I’ll go out to my car and get my horn.” There goes the momentum. Conversely, don’t stand next to the stage waiting for your cue. Allow the leader to bring you up when appropriate, but be ready.

After you leave the stage, DON’T immediately depart the club. This is rude. Hang out and speak to the members on their break and try to cement your relationship. At this time, it’s fine to offer your business card to someone in the band. You might preface this with “if you ever need a sub or care to make a referral for a gig you can’t do, I’d be happy to give you my card.” Above all, DON’T take this moment to approach the club owner to suggest that your band be booked at this venue. This is a classic attempt at gig-stealing; a surefire assurance you won’t be welcomed into the circle of local musicians.

Lastly, don’t think of sitting in as a competition. The gunslinger mentality that we read about in jazz history books, such as those heady days of all-night jazz jams in Kansas City is mostly gone. In that era, young players would blow into town and set up a confrontation, trying to make their reputation overnight. The object of sitting in now is to introduce yourself to fellow musicians or gain a bit of onstage experience if you are just starting out. If you are prepared and handle it well, it might lead to a gig. Think of it as being a visitor in someone’s home or a guest at a meeting. Make your contribution. Don’t overdo it. Don’t overstay. And lastly, don’t overplay.

The Right Notes

In the last blog entry the subject of “wrong notes” was addressed by quotes from players from what is best described as the hard bop school. This post-bop style places them squarely in the modern jazz era and helps us understand their comments and opinions more clearly.

An annual duty of mine at Hamilton College deals with an earlier style of jazz. Once a year at Fallcoming we host a group of hand-picked musicians who perform an evening concert of traditional and mainstream jazz. This year our group proved wildly successful. It was comprised of a sextet covering several generations, but one that was able to perform as if they were a seasoned road band. The sextet was: Bucky Pizzarelli (guitar), Nicki Parrott (bass), Evan Christopher (clarinet), Randy Sandke (trumpet), Jackie Williams (drums) and leader Dick Hyman (piano).

Thanks to John Herr for providing the excellent photographs of the Fallcoming event.

Above, Dick Hyman and this writer after the concert.

I know for a fact that the last time these six artists performed as a band was one year ago during Fallcoming 2009. They were so well received that we invited them back as a unit. This group of musicians can function as a working ensemble because they know the repertoire that Dick Hyman is likely to call, a mix of standards from the golden era of songwriting (the 30’s and 40’s), and jazz classics that predate those decades, what we can call New Orleans/Dixieland music.

These musicians would address the question of wrong notes from a different viewpoint. There is much less of the “anything works” approach. The musicians create improvisation in a well-defined playing field where wrong notes sound less like hip choices and more like mistakes. Nonetheless, their playing is highly inventive, and arguably harder. Their note choices may be more constrained by the theory behind the music, but if you had heard this concert you’d have been astounded by the inventiveness of the improvised melodies and rhythms.

A big part of the success of this event has to be attributed to Mr. Hyman, who has had an amazing career as a pianist, composer, arranger, film scorer, and concert organizer. Aside from my admiration for his playing, I am jealous of his experiences throughout his career, including the years of steady work in New York City’s studios. His day-to-day schedule included everything from jazz to semi-classical music. He also was called upon to provide incidental music for soap operas and game shows, and he played keyboards on many pop hits during the emergence of Rock & Roll.

I asked Dick Hyman about this time in his life during his first interview, in March of 1995:

MR: What kind of people did you play behind?

DH: Ivory Joe Hunter, Ruth Brown, whom I’m working with now, Laverne Baker, The Coasters, The Drifters. I remember that terrible record “White Christmas” that was so popular.

MR: Did you play on that?

DH: I did. But we did all that stuff. And if you asked me what we thought of it, we always —we said to each other can you imagine we said to each other, in twenty years, this was in 1955 or so, in twenty years people will be saying to each other, “listen darling, they’re playing our song.” And you know that’s exactly what happened. All of that funny music that we laughed at became classic in Rock. And go figure it out.

MR: Well people, even musicians who’ve never done studio work, may not realize that you don’t have to like everything you play on in a studio. It’s not possible.

DH: No, no. What you have to like is being able to play it well.

That last statement ought to be written inside the instrument cases of young musicians. Dick was also called upon to do things which he might never have anticipated. He played mallet percussion, he whistled on a number of hit records, and was one of the first musicians to employ the Moog synthesizer.

Mr. Hyman is a pianist who seemingly can play anything that he can think of, in any style. He once recorded an LP with twelve different versions of the song “A Child is Born” as if played by twelve different and contrasting piano players. It’s interesting to watch him spin out his melodic and improvised phrases. His facial expression may not change at all, but the thought process behind his creations is magical.

I asked him about that thought process in our second interview, from March of 2001.

MR: I had a question also about trying to define hard things — and that is the concept of what you choose to play when you’re improvising.

DH: Oh. You mean what piece or what ideas?

MR: No. Where does improvising come from?

DH: It comes from your background and from the ideas of whomever you may be playing with, and also your technical capability. The ideas of — I’ve used this analogy before — the ideas are rather like a kaleidoscope which you shake up so that it produces different images each time but they’re made up of the same colored jewels and bits of paper. They are liable to be the same ideas in a different form every time you shake it up unless you keep adding to the kaleidoscope and put in different jewels, different colored pieces of paper, and then when you shake it up the next time it’s going to be a bit different. But there is very little, I think, of improvisation that hasn’t been thought of before or that you haven’t somehow used. The point is to keep replenishing the supply and keep on mixing it up differently. And a way that you can — certainly the tool that you use is just technique. If I’m in good shape technically I will try things that I wouldn’t otherwise. If I’m not in shape technically I won’t try to do certain things, I’ll stay where it’s safe and I know that I’ve been before. But if I feel very loose and in good shape and I’ve played a lot then I really can stretch out and try things that maybe I’ve heard other people do and see if I can get my version of, try things, just let the fingers go where they may, and pose certain problems for myself and see how I can get out of them, and just sometimes there are, too, moments where you don’t quite know where an idea comes from. Those are precious and they’re rare. If you’re lucky you’re recording them or you can write them down and they become compositions. But you watch for those. Sometimes you can chase them. If you have to compose something on a deadline of course, you really go out and you try to grab the muse and bring her back. Sometimes you can be successful. Some people use drugs and liquor to get to that stage. I’m not sure that works. I do think that, in my case, in the first part of the day might be the most creative part, and that possibly is because I’ve been thinking about the things through the night that I want to get to the next day.

It was a thrill to watch Dick Hyman in action as well as hear him. At times on this jazz concert he would employ the Basie technique, a simple raise of the eyebrow or the point of a finger indicating where the music should be sent. On a number of occasions he got up from the piano and walked over to the horn players while the drummer or bassist was soloing, had a slight word with them about something he wanted them to do, then walked back to the piano to hear the results.

I was invited to sit in on a tune at this latest Fallcoming event, and I wished I had the adjectives to describe the feeling. Let's just say being surrounded by that assemblage of talent makes it much easier to find the right notes.

Dick Hyman has recently put all of his skills into a huge project entitled Dick Hyman: A Century of Jazz Piano released on the Arbors jazz label in 2009. This is a serious collection of piano music performed by Dick Hyman, spanning the era from pre-Ragtime all the way to free improvisation. It includes five CD’s and a DVD, and Dick is currently working on an accompanying method book. It is well worth checking out.

New Year's Advice

While I didn’t go into the jazz archive interviews with a pre-prepared list of questions, I occasionally asked interviewees if they had advice for aspiring musicians. They often did, and here are eight gems:

From saxophonist Phil Woods:

Advice for young jazzmen? No. I figure that if they’re going to do it, no matter what I say they’re going to do it. It’s for those ones in between, those ones that aren’t really sure, those are the ones I worry about. I mean I think jazz is only for those that have no choice. I think if you’re a young man and you’re entertaining thoughts of becoming a brain surgeon or a jazz tenor man, I’d go with the brain surgery, you know what I mean? If you have a choice. If you’ve got two burning desires, don’t pick jazz. I mean keep playing it. Sometimes I envy the amateur, like all those dentists and doctors who play for kicks. They don’t have to worry about making bread at it. They really enjoy making music. And that’s really what it’s about. Never forget that joy, that first time you made a note and it made you feel good. Musicians kind of forget that stuff, you know, they’re sitting in the pit and reading “The Wall Street Journal” and grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. They forgot that feeling, that burn of the belly the first time they sounded decent. And it’s easy to get kind of trapped into just making some bread and trying to exist when the bloom is off the rose. But a young man should consider — you only have one life. When you make a choice, a career decision, it should be well thought out. Not too carefully structured mind you, but I wouldn’t rush into anything. I wouldn’t rush to go to a jazz school or any university. I always recommend take a year off man. Hitchhike around the world. Take your horn and see if you can play for your supper around the world. See what life is about while you can, before you have a family, before you need bread. Get a couple of thou and just do it. Just do it, man. Take a chance. Because you might never have a chance to do it, and that’s when you can really kind of get inside your head. It’s hard to do it when you’re surrounded by your peers or family or the pressures of society that you know — go somewhere where it’s all fresh and pursue your — find out who you are. And then when you decide, you’re going to be a much better player for this experience.

From guitarist Bucky Pizzarelli:

Utilize the education you got, which we never got. We learned hard knocks you know. Somebody’d say you’re playing the wrong chord or do this or do that. Sometimes it’s costly. You’re on a job and you don’t get the job back. But you have to learn the repertoire. The repertoire is Jerome Kern, Johnny Mercer, Duke Ellington, Richard Rogers, Cole Porter, Walter Donaldson, people like that, Harry Warren. And it takes about this much space on your shelf. And for about five bucks a piece, or seven dollars maybe now, you can buy everybody’s book. That’s where it’s all at, right in there. All the changes. Learn the song the way the guy wrote it first. And then apply all that slick stuff you learned in school and sometime you’re going to end up playing exactly the way it’s written.

From vocalist Dianne Reeves:

A lot of everything came through experience. I remember when I had a band with Billy Childs and our music was just way out there. We would try to go as far out harmonically, we would perform on stage in a place where they didn’t care about the music that we performed. It was a place for artists. So we were very, very fortunate to have that. And we would experiment every night. And I remember things got more and more complicated, more chance taking, and then I ended up with Harry Belafonte. And when I got with him I thought to myself, wow, I can’t sing this music. It has like three chords and the melodies are real simple and you know I thought what is this? And at the time I was working with the great vocal coach Phil Moore. And he said “I think that you should definitely do this, have this experience with him.” And he was going to feature me. And what I found in performing with Harry Belafonte was that I had all of these songs that came from all over the world that had all of these dual meetings, you know some social, political meanings. And I found that there was a way that you had to sing them to communicate the message in the song. And that the harmonies were very rich and beautiful but simple. The rhythms were interesting and it was just different. And I found from that point on less is more. And so where in my early years when I would sing it was really about my instrument. I really didn’t care that much about lyrics. I wanted to use my instrument. But later on, I think after my experience with Harry, it changed, and I wanted to be able to tell stories and use the colors that I gathered from the very beginning of my career to really color the words and to really make my point very clear with the lyrics and the stories that I was trying to tell.

From trumpeter Lew Soloff:

First of all you have to decide what you want to do, whether you want to be an instrumentalist, a trumpet player per se or whether or not you have a love of jazz to the point where you want to be a stylist. You have to decide what you want to do. If you want to be an in-demand cat, and I include women in that, to play any kind of job for anybody, the key is versatility and very fast sight reading ability. There are people that learn to read lines ahead of where they’re playing. Very few people have this ability but some people do, culminating in maybe a whole page ahead, almost like photographing the page with your mind. But most people that can do that learn it when they were very small. But it’s a good thing to learn to read, if possible, a bar or two ahead, or even more if possible, than where you’re playing. It’s a skill that’s hard to develop, I don’t have it, I read maybe a couple of beats ahead of where I’m playing or something. But if you can do that, if you can become a superb sight reader, if you want to become a horn for hire or a musician for hire, that’s one of the prime things you need to do. And there’s another kind of musician who could be a for-hire musician as a side man, and I think this combines with being a stylist, where you may not have to read as well but you still have to be a good reader if you’re going to play in somebody else’s band. Because somebody else wants to do new material, and if the whole band can learn the material in two hours and you need to spend four days learning it because you can’t read, if there’s another person plays as well as you they’re going to get the job you know? And then, if you’re hooked on music and you want to really express yourself playing your music you should start getting bands together, ensembles together, whatever it is you like to play and you should start assuming the role of leadership at a young age and learn how to play your own music, in your own group, and how to get a whole concept of what you like. Don’t have any doubts about it. And the final piece of advice is that it’s a very competitive field, everybody would like to have a good time rather than go to work and do a job they don’t like from nine to five, so if you love it enough and you really want to do it, work really, really hard at it. And if you don’t have the ability to do that, if you don’t have the ability to work hard at it, it’s going to be a very dangerous field for you to make a living. There’s no guarantee of making a good living anyway in it, because it fluctuates. But in other words the passion has to overcome all the possible problems. It’s very possible to make a great living at it also. But the passion has to overcome all these problems. It has to become more important than a comfortable, meaning rich, lifestyle. It has to be more important to you than that, and then you might get the rich lifestyle from it.

From trumpeter Randy Sandke:

I think the most creative part of the whole thing is getting your career going. And it’s going to be different for everyone. And the people that do it are the ones that are — it’s like they don’t have any choice, this is what they have to do and they do it and they find a way and they meet the other guys that feel the same way and then somehow they start forming groups and you go through that period in your twenties where you’re willing to sleep on floors and crash at people’s places and do whatever it takes, and trust that hopefully you’ll come out on the other side. I mean I think on the positive side it is — maybe some opportunities are opening up. It’s kind of a double edged sword, this bit about the little bit more media. Jazz is kind of getting into the mainstream of American culture more then it has been, and with it comes all the other parts of mainstream culture, like just the kind of media focus on personalities, focus on looks, focus on this and that. But at the same time it’s creating some kind of economic base, some money is coming in, it means opportunities, it means more people are talking about it and curious. So it’s tough, but it can be done, to turn it into a career, to do it. And I see young guys breaking in every year. I feel sorry for people moving to New York and having to deal with the expense and you’ve got to be prepared for having this double life of doing something else to make money or having some money saved up, until you get things rolling. And that can take some years. But people still do it. They still do it.

From saxophonist Jane Ira Bloom:

Play as much as you can. Whatever opportunity you have to perform, take it. The whole idea is you can’t learn how to improvise without doing it, and hopefully every day. That’s how you learn how to do it and do it well. So take every opportunity you can to play and play with musicians who might be better than you are, to learn from them, and take any opportunity you can, even when it’s scary.

From trumpeter Warren Vache:

From the point of view of practicing as a trumpet player, we’re all concerned with endurance. Because it hurts to play the instrument. What I did was when it started to hurt I put the horn down. So instead of practicing an hour and a half at a clip, I may do thirty minutes three times a day, or fifteen minutes six times a day. But if it starts to hurt, stop, because you’re practicing at feeling bad. You might as well practice while it feels good. If your lip isn’t working, don’t struggle. Put it back down. The other one is an amazing amount of practice for me happens all day long. I’m always thinking about music. At this point in my life, every time I hear a tone I’ve got fingers going down, because that’s what I’ve done naturally, you know? So there’s a larger sort of practicing if you’re really committed to music, every time you hear a piece of music there’s a certain amount of analysis that gets done. If something moves you on something you’ve heard on the radio, can you analyze what the voicing was that moved you? Can you analyze, do you know what the chord was? If you don’t have perfect pitch, do you sit there and try to figure out well that’s an A minor seven and the seventh is in the bass and that’s why it’s that movement that I like. And you remember that and use it somewhere else. And that’s, I mean this is the great vast wonderful thing about music is the more you know the more you know you don’t know and the more there is to find and hear. So in that sense the practicing never stops. Because just learning to play and make a sound on an instrument is not enough. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about making music, and that involves thought, a lot of which is compulsive in me. I’ve always said that anybody that goes into music or into jazz for a living does it because they’re diseased. It’s a compulsion, you know. It’s a disease. There’s a voice in my head that keeps playing melodies. I can’t stop it, much as I’d like to sometimes.

From drummer Roy McCurdy:

What the guys used to tell me is just to listen to everything that you can get your hands on. Listen to all different types of music. And play as much as you can. And for me, I’m a gym guy so I like to be in the gym a lot. So I think that’s really helped me over the years, for being strong and for playing and for being on the road and keeping healthy. You know I don’t drink or smoke or anything like that, so that’s, the physical thing in the gym has really been a big part of helping me survive.

And here’s, my two cents for young musicians: for every mode and pattern you learn, memorize an actual song. And finally, the bandstand is not the place to tell stories to fellow bandmates, check text messages or practice licks between songs. Don’t play everything you know in one pass, there will be more chances.