NEA Jazz Masters 2011: Behind The Scenes

I volunteered once again at this year’s National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Masters Awards & Ceremony, and, as excited as I was to write about it, it’s taken me quite a long time to do so; the inspiration just hadn’t yet struck me in quite the right way. Yet.
But this past Tuesday, while skimming across different jazz sites, I came across this article: NEA Jazz Master Award To Disappear Under New Federal Budget Plan
For some reason, as I processed this shocking and devastating information, what passed through my mind was quick flashes of pictures, people, and smiles –all NEA Jazz Masters- from both the 2010 & 2011 NEA Awards & Ceremonies. I saw James Moody hugging Gerald Wilson, laughing hysterically as they reminisced about their days in Dizzy Gillespie’s band together. I saw Ahmad Jamal laughing with Phil Woods. I saw, just over my right shoulder, one night at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola (the night before the 2011 Awards Ceremony), the biggest smile I’ve ever seen – on Gerald Wilson’s face – as he listened to, and danced in his seat, to the music on stage. I saw, in the same frame, Jimmy Heath, yelling something to Wilson, waving his hands in the air, smiling, dancing, and then, when the piano player on stage took a slight stride piano break, everyone yell “Oh!,” and then Heath yell, “Some James P. in the house!”

I saw, above all, a family; a community of smiles among people so happy to see each other, all who have given their lives to this music, all who have contributed so much to this music, all who rarely get to see each other all in one place during the year – except at the NEA Jazz Masters Awards & Ceremony.

Amidst all of these extremely happy moments, another memory flashed before my eyes. I saw the serious, solemn, grateful and almost shocked look on Yusef Lateef’s face, just moments before he walked out on the Jazz At Lincoln Center stage to receive his 2010 NEA Jazz Master Awards. It gave me the chills. He was finally being given what he deserved, proper acknowledgement in America which was long overdue. This wasn’t just an award; this was so much more than that. This National Endowment for the Arts award represented the acceptance of these special people and their very special music into America, finally. (Watching these Jazz Masters just before being given the award reminded me of what Moody once told me about his own career. “I felt totally worthless for my whole life until I went over to Europe, where they treated us like we deserved to be treated…” To me, this award seemed to represent an end to that attitude.)

Reading the announcement via the NPR article brought me back to day one of this year’s Awards, and I replayed the whole day in my head, realizing in disbelief that such a wonderful bringing together of these people may never happen again.

I replayed my first memory of the day: Greeting the jazz masters as they arrived at Jazz At Lincoln Center for a panel discussion. I said hello to jazz great Gerald Wilson as he got off the elevator. “Hey!”, he yelled, and approached me with his hand out. He couldn’t get his gloves off in time for our handshake and said to me, “Pardon my glove.” I remember being taken aback by this statement; I’ve never heard something so kind like that before, and via that one statement, I felt welcomed into a long bygone era.

The two-day event this year was another wonderful experience. There were a few moments that I’ll never forget, that I’d like to share with you.

I remember, on the first day, going to get lunch in a backstage room at Lincoln Center, just before the dress rehearsal for the following evenings’ concert was to take place. I walked into the room and, sitting at the table was Cedar Walton, Kenny Barron, and Ellis Marsalis. A few minutes later, Benny Golson walked in. Everyone said hello and hugged each other, but when Golson got to Marsalis, he introduced himself. Marsalis replied, “Nice to meet you.” They both couldn’t remember if they had met before; if they had met before, they said, it had been quite a long time ago.

Later that night, the NEA had a sort of party at the 2nd set at Dizzy’s Club that night. Many of the jazz masters came out with their families and had a great time hanging with one another and eating some food. The band that night was saxophonist Walter Blanding’s group –which was great!- and, it seemed to me that many of the songs were progressive/modern type melodies over very conventional, traditional, almost Dixieland type chord progressions. Seated next to me was Gerald Wilson, master composer, arranger, theorist; basically THE man in terms of knowing tunes, chord progressions, and reharmonizations. I tapped Mr. Wilson on the shoulder and asked him if the tune being played was the Cole Porter song, “It’s Delovely.” He smiled. It was, he said, and seemed a bit excited at the mention of that tune. For the rest of the set Mr. Wilson and I had an amazing time throwing song suggestions at one another. He’d tap me when a tune would excite him, and I’d do the same. At one point, he asked me if I knew the tune called “I May Be Wrong.” “I don’t,” I said. He thought for a second and then laughed: “That was the theme song for the Apollo Theater in the early ‘40’s. I guess you wouldn’t know that one.” It was a thrill suggesting different tunes to him. “Oh!”, he’d say, then close his eyes, place his hands on the table as if he were playing the piano, and then he’d hit a few chords. After a few seconds of doing so, he’d confirm the tune for me and then tell me four or five other tunes it also reminded him of.

At the end of the set he asked me what I played. I told him piano, and then he said, “I know you play something because I can tell you’ve got ears.” That meant a whole lot to me. He asked me if I loved it. ‘I do,” I said. Then he looked and me and said something I’ll never forget. “Stay with it. Jazz music will keep you honest.”

He meant, of course, and went on to explain, that it’s impossible to really play anything but yourself if you’re really playing the music. “You never meet any jazz musicians who are murderers, do you?” he asked.

A few friends came over and Mr. Wilson began to tell us some wild stories from his past. He told us that Roy Eldridge could play better trumpet (and higher notes on the instrument) than Louis Armstrong could, and he also told us about his crazy days being Redd Foxx’s musical director. He told us about the many times Duke Ellington would call him, in the middle of the night, and ask him to arrange a piece by the following afternoon. He said that he’d stay up all night writing the piece and that his wife would copy the parts (by hand) for the rest of the band. He said that Duke did play Gerald Wilson original songs, but that Wilson felt especially honored when Duke would call him to arrange some of Duke’s famous songs.

Mr. Wilson then turned his attention to the show we just saw. The band had played a version of the famous waltz “My Favorite Things” that was very similar to the Coltrane version. “You know,” he said. “People always say that Fats Waller wrote the first jazz waltz [he was referring to “Jitterbug Waltz”], but I wrote the first swinging jazz waltz. It was a blues based off of a classical piece [he named the classical piece but I’ve regrettably forgotten it].” I remember being in awe thinking to myself that I am having a conversation with someone who was actually once in competition with Fats Waller!

After we left Dizzy’s Club and helped those Jazz Masters who needed help to the elevators, I had a very sad moment with the great record producer George Avarkian, who is now extremely frail. His wife had misplaced her cell phone and I helped Mr. Avakian take a seat – he was using a walker and was having trouble sitting down -. He thanked me for the help and then asked me to sit down beside him. After asking me about what I did and so forth, I asked him if he was looking forward to tomorrow -the luncheon, the picture with all the masters, and the concert. “Yes,” he said. He wasn’t feeling too well but “I can’t miss being in that picture. That picture is history.” And then after taking a deep breath, he said, “I think I’m going to be history pretty soon too.”

The following day was the big day. Highlights included sitting next to Jimmy Heath backstage. Mr. Heath was clowning around, telling jokes, and cracking everyone up. There was the threat of snow storm later that night and when the speeches kept going and going, Mr. Heath whispered to me, “They better get the show on the road before Frosty the Snowman comes out to take a peak.” He was laughing, dancing when there was music, listening intently, and poking fun at the speeches made on stage. (When someone onstage said, “Jazz is a uniquely American voice,” Heath said, “No kidding!”) He then pulled out his new digital camera, which he was having trouble figuring out, and took a bunch of pictures of everyone.

What really struck me was watching Mr. Heath when the NEA launched into the memorial part of the program where they honored the Jazz Masters who had passed away this past year. Those included Abbey Lincon, Hank Jones, Dr. Billy Taylor, and James Moody. I know that Mr. Heath was close with them, especially with Moody. As the memorial video said each Masters’ name, I watched Mr. Heath shake his head very sadly. With all these losses, Mr. Heath has surely had a sad year; his son also passed away earlier in the year too. Looking at his demeanor as the memorial was being introduced, I really realized what a remarkable person Jimmy Heath is. Here he lost his son and best friend in the same year, and he’s still here, so happy to be here, and telling his jokes and making everyone excited and happy too; he’s got such a positive and optimistic energy about him. Here’s someone who’s really grateful to be alive, I remember thinking. His musical is legendary, but Mr. Heath and his attitude are truly remarkable. It was very inspiring to see something like that.

After the show, I approached Ahmad Jamal – who I’d been helping get from place to place all day. “Hey man” he said. I said, “Mr. Jamal, I’ve got to tell you. I’ve been working here all day and had to act all professional, but now that it’s over I’ve got to tell you. You’re my hero. I’m a pianist and, for me, you’re ‘the guy.’”

It really meant a whole lot to me to be able to express my gratitude to Mr. Jamal, a man whose music I admire so much, and I think it meant something him. He got a big smile on his face and said, “That means a lot. That makes me feel that I’m still in the game.”

“Mr. Jamal,” I said. “You are the game!”

It was really a thrill to be around such humble people. These people are so much more than amazing musicians; they are truly remarkable people who radiate such kindness, warmth and knowledge when you are around them. It’s such an honor to be able to spend a little bit of time with them.

And for them, they rarely get to see one another. And when they do, it’s probably rarely in this type of environment. They’ve been paying their dues all their lives and now, not only are they being recognized as the Bachs and Beethovens of America, but they are also all together and can celebrate with one another.

It is a huge shame that this event and honor is being taken away because, not only is it a necessary and long overdue honor to bestow upon these deserving people, but the awards' being removed represents the idea that maybe America never really did catch up to the greatness of jazz and it’s creators like we had finally been led to believe. It brings me back to Mr. Moody’s statement and makes me wonder.

Interested In Your Thoughts

Recently rereading the interview with pianist Chick Corea in the June 2010 issue of Downbeat Magazine, I came across what may be my favorite interview question I've ever read. I wish that more interviewees would be asked this question, or asked to react to it's preceeding statement. While that is obviously impossible, I figure I'd ask it here, in hopes of hear from you - whoever that may be. Here is the question, asked by Downbeat's Marius Nordal.

"During your 1950s early roots period, Oscar Peterson, Ray Brown, Erroll Garner, Ahmad Jamal and Dave Brubeck won polls and critical acclaim, filled stadiums and generally seemed to "own" the piano or piano trio scene at the time. Recently I was astonished to see that some of the most prominent and influential college jazz history texts today have literally excised most of those names and replaced them with George Russell, Lennie Tristano and Cecil Taylor. That would seem similiar to banishing Elvis, Chuck Berry or the Beatles from pop music texts.
Do you think univiersities, to some extent, might be erasing the common street history of jazz and replacing it with an alternative, academic, fantasy universe?"

Favorite Quotes

‎"Just recently one of my friends passed away and I went out to the cemetery. On my way back the undertaker asked me how old I was. I told him and he said 'There ain't no sense in you going home!'"-Milt Hinton

"You may have holes in your shoes, but don't let the people out front know it. Shine the tops." -Earl Hines

"Wagner's music is better than it sounds." -Mark Twain

"I was unfashionable before anyone knew who I was." -Paul Desmond

"I have won several prizes as the world's slowest alto player, as well as a special award in 1961 for quietness." -Paul Desmond

"Nostalgia ain't what it used to be" -Stan Kenton

"In 1939 I met Mona - that's my bride-./ And nothing's been the same ever since./ We fell in love, she blew my mind./ Took the money/...Then she went shopping...and I've been broke ever since." -Milt Hinton

James Moody (1925-2010)

One of my heroes, jazz legend James Moody passed away earlier today. Besides being one of the warmest and kindest people I've ever met, he was also one of the wisest.

I wanted to share with you what he said to me when, as an intern at the Blue Note Jazz Club, I had the chance to interview Moody for a video we were making. We asked him if there was a moment in his life when he knew that he wanted to be a jazz musician.

"No," he said. "I was born that way. I always wanted to be a musician as far as I know. And, when I was coming up there weren’t that many [records]…there was one record like every six months or year. Now, there’s a record every five minutes or something, you know…

"My thing is listening to other musicians and trying to be better than I am tomorrow than I am today. And I would like to advise the younger musicians to stay with what they’re doing, to have good teachers, study, and don’t be in competition with anyone else except yourself. Because -like my goal in life is to play better tomorrow than I did today- if you put yourself in competition with everyone else, you’ll be in for trouble. Because I don’t care who you are, where you are, there’s always someone that’s a little more enlightened than you are. Always. And maybe not one, two, or three, but many…Just try to enlighten yourself. Don’t be [saying], ‘Well I want to be the top man,’ you know. Because you might be for a second, but there’s always someone climbing behind you.
Like Satchel Paige; you remember him? He said that he never did look back because you never know what’s gaining on you. So…

"And," in that classic Moody Donald Duck voice..."Pwatice, pwactice, pwactice!"

The last time I saw Moody was this past January, at the National Endowment For The Arts Jazz Masters Award Ceremony, where I was helping out.

Moody was talking with me and some friends when the legendary Gerald Wilson came over to join the conversation. After a minute of Moody and Wilson reminiscing, Moody asked us how old we all were. Then he asked me.
“21,” I said.
Then he looked at Gerald Wilson. “How old are you?”
“92,” Wilson replied.
Then Moody looked me in the eyes and said, “Boy, you may be 21 today but you’ll be 92 tomorrow. Make it count.”

I will never forget that moment for the rest of my life.

I've thought about it many times since and many, many times today since hearing of his passing. I was playing a gig earlier this afternoon when a friend called "I'm In The Mood For Love," Moody's signature song. It was the second tune in our set, a set which started promptly at 4PM. Therefore, we must have been into our second tune, "I'm In The Mood For Love," no later than 4:05. We played "I'm In The Mood For Love" for at least five minutes.

A few hours later, I came home and found out about Moody's death through an online article. The article said that he died at 1:07PM, west coast time. It took me a minute to put two and two together, but when I did, a chill ran up my spine...because, after all, 1:07 on the west coast is 4:07 on the east coast...We must have been mid-song.

To one of my favorite people, the ever-inspiring James Moody - you certainly made it count!

(A well-wisher on Moody's facebook page wrote something tonight that really struck me. He, working at the Blue Note many years ago, confessed to having smoked weed with Dizzy Gillespie on the roof of the club. While on the roof, the man asked Dizzy how much he missed his friend Charlie Parker. Dizzy responded simply that he'll miss his friend Moody even more. A video of the two has been posted on Moody's website. The caption above it says: "Moody and Dizzy - Together Again!")

Unforgettable Moment: Sonny Rollins & Ravi Coltrane

It was just after Sonny Rollins' fantastic 80th Birthday concert at New York City's Beacon Theater. I somehow found myself at the after party, which was being held in the concert halls' adjoining hotel - just a few floors up. The party was quite a scene itself -Sonny cut cake for everyone!

A friend and I were talking with Ravi Coltrane when, after a little while, it was our turn to say hey to Sonny and take a picture with him. After our picture was taken, my camera was used for Ravi's pictures with Sonny. After the pictures were finished being taken and the photographer handed me back my camera, I noticed that Ravi, in mid-conversation with Sonny, took off his glasses. As he did this, I noticed a surprised, almost shocked, expression come over Sonny's face.

After a couple of seconds passed, I heard Sonny say to Ravi, "Wow. You know, with your glasses off...I never realized how much you look like your father."

Memorable Meetings: Jim Hall

I was crossing 5th avenue at 12th street the other day when I noticed an old man walking his dog very slowly, hunched over quite a bit. As I got closer, I noticed that that man was jazz guitar great Jim Hall.

He was stopped for a moment, so I walked over and said hey. We ended up talking for quite a while and were having a nice conversation (he introduced my to his dog, Django), joking around a bit. He asked me if I'd like to see something funny.

We were standing very near to the New School University's Jazz Building and we saw a student with a bass coming towards us.

Jim looked at me and said, "I've had spine troubles recently - people don't really recognize me anymore."

He laughed, went up to the bass player and asked, "Excuse me - Is that a walking bass?"

The kid gave him a dirty look and continued on his way. Jim looked at me and we both started laughing. Through his laughter, he said, "I always do that. I think it's pretty funny. They just think I'm the dirty old man now, haha."

He was such a pleasant guy and it was such a joy to spend a few moments with him, one of my heroes.

Memorable Meetings: Paul Bley

I recently went to the Blue Note to hear jazz legends Paul Bley & Charlie Haden play duo. Walking out of the club's bathroom about ten minutes before the show, I saw Bley walking from his dressing room to the bathroom. He was walking very slowly and looked a bit frail, so I helped him to the bathroom, holding the door for him on his way in. We spoke briefly. Here's a little snippet of our conversation - the following bit being my first words to him.

Me, to Paul Bley: "You're one of my favorite musicians in the world."

Paul Bley, to me: "So there's some people you still haven't told me about?"