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“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

CADENCE MAGAZINE - in print
Interviews, Jazz Features, Book and DVD Reviews, International Jazz News; and CD reviews.

Issued Weekly on Fridays

In this issue -

Joe Fielder; Carmen Bradford; Joshua Breakstone; Rob Dixon; Ana Daniela Pérez Davis

Audio Interview -

Conversation with Joe Fiedler - Trombone

Two New Album Reviews -

Joshua Breakstone; Rob Dixon

Jazz Stories -

From Panama to NYC - The Turning Point That Led Me to Musical Theatre

by Ana Daniela Pérez Davis

Feature Interview -

Carmen Bradford - vocalist

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview - CMR Podcast 014 - Conversation with Joe Fiedler - Trombone

Two New Album Reviews

(a) THE JOSHUA BREAKSTONE QUARTET,

WONDERFUL !

CAPRI RECORDS 71006.

S’WONDERFUL / SOUL TRAIN /SEVENS UP / THIS IS IT! / TIME ON MY HANDS /

TWO NOT ONE / DJANGO’S CASTLE. 44:00.

Breakstone, g; Barry Harris, p; Earl Sauls, b; Leroy Williams, d. 5/24/1983. NYC,NY.

(b) ROB DIXON,

NAPTOWN SOUL,

STRIKEZONE RECORDS 8829

SLY VIBE / BUMPIN’ ON SUNSET / WALKIN’ IN RHYTHM / NAPTOWN BLUES /I WANT YOU / THE EARTH, THE SKY / FIELDS AND VALLEYS / FOUR ONE.45:04.

Dixon, ts, ss; Sam Fribush, org; Dave Stryker, g; Richard “Sleepy” Floyd, d.1/29-30/2026. Indianpolis, IN.

As one begins to enter the second half of the current Dark Ages there’s actually not a whole helava lot to be positive about in general. But then there’s always the music. Never a fair weather friend, it’s constantly there to soothe with sound when called upon.

Breakstone belongs to that select group of modern mainstream pickers like Bob Devos, Tony Purrone,Yves Brouqui, Ed Cherry who never get the press but constantly surprise with their acumen. He’s cut tribute works for Grant Green, Wes Montgomery and stretched out with a cello quartet. In his late twenties he’s backed by a stellar trio of veteran players led by the iconic Barry Harris over a pair of srandards,and originals. There are numbers from Lennie Tristano, Tadd Dameron and Django Reinhardt. This is the second reissue after a 1984 release on the small Sonara label. It is good to have it available once again.

From the Big Apple we travel to the Hoosier state for some good ole Soul Jazz. If, like me, one is unaware of Indianopolis stalwart Dixon they need to read the accompanying booklet (b) annotation from Kyle Long who gives a rundown his extensive hometown background. Like other tenorist of his ilk (Jug,Houston Person, etc.) his buttery tone has graced many a stage/bandstand but only one studio date (with Mel Rhyne) could be located. On a handful of his own charts and two titles from Wes Montgomery plus R&B covers from the Blackbyrds and Marvin Gaye on the fishhorn he steers his comrades down the alley with assured aplomb. It would be easy to list six-stringer Stryker as co-leader since he co-produced, put the album on his own label is definitely MVP solowise. Check out his solo over heavy drum on “Fields and Valleys”. Organist Sam Fribush gets his licks in elsewhere combining McGriff-like bluesy articulation over a funky timbre that reminds of Don Patterson. On some tracks the leader flirts with the altissimo register. Maybe this fine example of sizzling grease will lift his profile some. Let’s hope so. Larry Hollis

Jazz Stories

From Panama to NYC - The Turning Point That Led Me to Musical Theatre

by Ana Daniela Pérez Davis

I grew up in Panamá knowing that I wanted to perform, but I never imagined that performing would eventually take me to New York City. My biggest inspiration came when I was 10 years old. During a family trip to New York City, I saw Aladdin on Broadway. Watching the performers on that stage, I remember thinking, “I have to be on that stage one day.” From that moment on, I knew that becoming a professional performer was something I genuinely wanted to pursue. Back in Panamá, I continued training in dance, studying ballet, contemporary, jazz, and tap, and eventually discovered musical theatre. Growing up in Panamá, the opportunities were not always the same as those available in larger performing arts communities, but that never made the dream feel smaller. If anything, it made me want to work harder to see how far I could take it. One of the biggest turning points in my life came when I decided to move to New York City to study musical theatre at AMDA. Leaving Panamá and building a life in a completely new country was both exciting and intimidating. Suddenly, I was surrounded by incredibly talented performers, and I had to learn not only how to become a better artist, but also how to believe that I belonged in the room. At AMDA, I grew tremendously as a performer and as a person. I learned that being an artist is about much more than talent. It is about discipline, resilience, preparation, and being willing to keep going even when you hear “no.” After graduating, I began turning my training into professional experience, performing in New York and beyond. One of the most meaningful moments in that journey was becoming part of Aguardiente El Musical, performing at GALA Hispanic Theatre in Washington, D.C. Being part of a production that celebrates Latin American culture felt especially meaningful to me as a Panamanian artist. It reminded me that my background is an important part of my artistry and something I can bring with me into the rooms I enter. My journey has continued with projects such as Brooklyn’s Bridge, where I am part of the ensemble and serve as dance captain. Every production has given me another opportunity to grow, but also another reminder of why I started performing in the first place. I am still at the beginning of my career, but I no longer wonder whether I can make it as a performer. I am building it one rehearsal, audition, performance, and opportunity at a time. And perhaps the most important thing I have learned is that I don’t have to choose between where I come from and where I am going. I am learning to combine my experiences in Panamá and New York City, allowing both places to shape who I am as an artist. Everything I have experienced in each place has become part of my perspective, my work, and the performer I am becoming.

Feature Article

Carmen Bradford - vocalist

Taken and Transcribed by Alwyn and Laurie Lewis, Melbourne, Australia

October 10 2012

from the Annual 2013 edition of Cadence Magazine

CADENCE: Your birthdate was July 19 1960 in Austin, Texas.

CARMEN BRADFORD: That’s right and it’s also my father’s birthday, my mother said she planned it.

CAD: And your father is Bobby Bradford of course, has always been thought of as avant garde, now that’s totally different from you, although you have worked with David Murray, who can also be pretty far out.

CB: Yeah, I just do what I do and they did what they did.

CAD: And your mother is Melba Joyce who was on Broadway with the show Black and Blue?

CB: Yeah, that’s right.

CAD: And your grandfather was a singer as well, Melvin Moore?

CB: That’s right again.

CAD: So it’s all there, music in the family from the time you emerged, right?

CB: Yeah my grandfather recorded with Dizzy’s Big Band in the forties and earlier than that he was the singer with Lucky Millinder, he recorded a song called Love Me Pretty Baby, a great recording. You know Billy Eckstine and Joe Williams both told me that my grandfather should have been a huge star, right place at the wrong time kind of thing.

CAD: You were actually raised in Altadena CA, when did you move there?

CB: Well you know, my parents are from Dallas Texas, my Dad is from Mississippi originally, but both my parents went to school in Dallas. Oh my Dad first went to school in Austin, Texas, then Dallas, where they settled and started a family. Then we all moved to New York and that’s when he started working with Ornette Coleman, my Dad was the trumpet player before Don Cherry, and he left the band because he had three babies and Ornette didn’t have a lot of gigs. With a wife and three kids he couldn’t make it, so that’s when we moved back to Texas, and then to California.

Louis Armstrong with Carmen Bradford

CAD: How old would you have been then?

CB: Oh that was about 1963/64 so very young – you’ve seen that publicity photo with me sitting on Louis Armstrong’s lap? That was in 1964 and my mother was his opening act, she was working with him then. Even meeting him backstage and watching that show, I still remember that, I even remember him picking me up and putting me on his lap, and his hands were very soft and very thick, thick fingers and I remember putting my hand on top of his. You know, that photo has my twin brothers standing on either side of me, and because that photo has been used for promotional purposes, my mother still gives me a hard time about that until this day.

CAD: So you have two brothers?

CB: Yes, Keith and Carl and both are singers, actually. They’re not identical – one is an accountant who sings at weddings, and the other also plays bass and he’s in the security business. They didn’t find our lifestyle as exciting as I did. My Dad was an elementary school teacher, then High School and at University level, but I think the idea of my mother flying off to do USO shows in Vietnam with Georgie Jessel, you know, that up and down career thing, the boys didn’t see that as very exciting, they preferred security whereas for me it was, “let’s go – where are we going now?”

CAD: So these were your school years in California? Did you ever play an instrument?

CB: Well sort of….I sort of played clarinet, but I didn’t get any further than Jingle Bells.

CAD: You were studying music?

CB: Oh absolutely, I was a music major at Huston-Tillotson College in Austin Texas, studied a lot of classical music actually. I thought I’d be an opera singer. For a minute! But I left school as a junior, and that’s when I met Mr Basie.

CAD: You had an interesting singing tutor?

CB: Yes I did. I studied with Sonny Stitt’s stepdad, whose name was Edward Boatner, a very famous opera coach. I was still living in Altadena, and had just turned seventeen. My birthday present was a trip to New York to visit my grandfather, and I got my first set of acrylic nails! Exciting, huh? And through my grandfather I got to study with Edward Boatner, who told my grandfather that I could be a great opera singer, but I just wasn’t in to that, I grew up listening to Aretha Franklin and Gladys Knight and I was in love with R ‘n’ B, Diana Ross and the Supremes, that’s where my head was. Even though I lived in a jazz house, you know, even though your mother sings like that on a regular basis, it’s still not a big deal. Nobody else among my friends had a mother who put on eyelashes and makeup and had her hair done to go to work looking fabulous, but what she was singing and what I was listening to were totally different.

CAD: Are you glad you spent that time studying classical music?

CB: Well I really enjoyed it, I was in the Chamber Singers, the top choir, madrigals etc. and I think it was great training for me vocally, breathwise, vocal control-wise. I did a couple of musicals in school, but I never felt to aim for Broadway, and still don’t have any desire to do that. The idea of all that strict sameness, night after night, always the same, is just not appealing to me.

CAD: So how did the changeover to the Basie Band happen?

CB: Well, I was singing in an R ‘n’ B band called Minor Miracle, and I was dating a pianist in another band called Passenger and they got the job of opening the show for the Count Basie Orchestra when they came to Austin, so they asked me if I wanted to sing a couple of tunes with them to open the show, and of course I agreed. But at that time about the only standard that I knew all the way through was A Foggy Day, oh, and I also knew Lost In the Stars, because I had a record of it by Patti Austin, so those were the two tunes I’d intended to sing. Now at that time Mr Basie was already riding on a motorised cart, now he could walk, but he was just moving slow, but once he got on stage and off that cart and moved to the piano bench, he just came to life and his body became the body of a teenager. Offstage it was tough for him but he was not an invalid by any means, although his health was not great. So I approached him and introduced myself, told him that I was part of the group that was opening his show, and I said “I just think you’d make millions of dollars if you’d hire me”.

CAD: You didn’t!

CB: I did! Well at twentytwo – everyone’s stupid at twentytwo. Well you know I was very spoiled, my parents spoiled me a lot, but they also said “No” a lot. So I thought “Go ahead, all he can say is no – so I’m gonna ask..” So when I said that, he said “Really, millions?” And I said “Oh yes, now I know you have a male vocalist, but there’s nothing like having a young lady on stage with you with a lovely dress on” and he’s looking at me like he was thinking “Who is this child?” So I said “Will you listen to me sing when I go out?” And he said “Sure honey, I’ll listen to you.” So I went out and did my two numbers and I came offstage and I said “Well what do you think?” And he said “I think I’m gonna hire you” and I said “Really? When?” (Laughter). And he said “Well, don’t worry me now,” you know, like that. “Somebody will call you”. I said “Well I’ll write down my information, and I want you to have this cassette so you won’t forget me, but they’re all rock ‘n roll songs.” He said “that’s okay”. So I gave him the cassette, then stared at him for the rest of the night and that was it. So at least eight or nine months passed, and during that time his wife passed away so I didn’t really expect anything. All my friends kept saying I wouldn’t hear anything, but I held on and then later I gave myself a surprise party. When I was blowing out my candles I made a wish “Oh God, please let Count Basie call me tomorrow” and then I kind of forgot about it. So the next day, I had a gig in Santa Fe New Mexico with the group, so I was just getting in to the band’s car and my roommate came outside and called “Hey, there’s some old man on the phone,” and I thought it must be my granddaddy Melvin, there must be an emergency so I went back in and could not believe it was Mr Basie. As a matter of fact I thought it was my cousin Otis playing a trick and hung up, but fortunately Mr Basie called me back and said “don’t hang up now ‘cause this is really Count Basie. Now do you want to work with me or not? This is not Otis,” and he offered me the job. That was a Monday and on Wednesday Sonny Cohn called me and introduced himself and said he had a ticket for me to be in Boston on Friday and to bring all my big band arrangements (which I didn’t have) and your little beaded gowns (which I also didn’t have). So then my mother Fed-exed me one beaded gown, it was old, but it was lovely and a perfect fit. So Friday rolls around and I checked in to the Boston Park Plaza and soon met Mr Basie when he and the band arrived by bus, and I said “Well what happens now?” And he said “Well we have a concert tonight and we leave at 6.30 so you come join us on the bus. Tonight we’re working with Tony Bennett, so you come on the bus and you’ll meet everyone,” and that’s what happened. I watched the gig through, watched Tony Bennett, then two nights later we went to Atlantic City and the guest we were working with for a week was Sarah Vaughan and that was the start of it all.

CAD: So from Boston did you start touring with the band?

CB: I stayed on the road with them of course, but my arrangements weren’t ready and I’d just watch the show. I’d been told that the regular male vocalist would sing on the first half of the show so to watch and learn how the show works, and it was wonderful, I learned so much right up close to it. Mr Basie was so nice to me and from that time on I felt like I was travelling with my Grandpa, he was always looking out for me, even on stage. You know, he must have seen or heard something because I was still singing like a rock ‘n roll singer, hollerin’ like Chaka Kahn or something, but he treated me just like family.

CAD: It must have been rough for the whole band when Basie passed?

CB: Oh, it was devastating. You know it was so abrupt. We were on our way to Europe the day of his funeral, which was in the morning and we were all there. The church was packed and there were thousands outside, it was very emotional. Joe Williams sang, and I sang.

CAD: You sang? That must have been hard?

CB: I cried through it, got to the last couple of notes but didn’t quite make it, it was devastating. But we left the church, all had lunch and went to the airport and went to Europe that evening, we had gigs.

CAD: That’s the best compliment you could have paid him. But someone had to assume leadership?

CB: Well yes, it was decided that Eric Dixon would introduce the band and announce the tunes, then he’d sit down and play, which he did. Then they thought that Freddie Greene should do it, as he’d been so long associated with the band and they needed someone who was a Basie legend, but that didn’t happen.

CAD: So who did take the job? They would have needed a piano player right away?

CB: I think they called Tee Carson who used to be Ella’s piano player, so then we had jobs with Cab Calloway but that didn’t work out, and I guess Thad Jones was the first one.

CAD: Of course Thad was in the band?

CB: Right, he was first, then Frank Foster after that and then Grover Mitchell, then Bill Hughes and now Dennis Mackrel.

CADl That fixes the pronunciation of Denis’s name. We heard someone put the emphasis on the first syllable, but it’s the second?

CB: Yes it’s Mac-krel. It’s a common mistake but he says it’s easy to read the other way so he just lets it go.

CAD: Now during these changes of leadership through the years, was the band’s repertoire fairly rigid? Did they change the actual program much?

CB: Well the band’s book was huge because you know they were still doing a lot of dances too, a lot of private affairs, and they recorded a zillion things, those were all in the book. Of course they always had to play their hits, but Basie used the entire book and those charts just got sweeter and sweeter each time.

CAD: You never got a chance to record with Basie?

CB: Not with Basie, no, but with the band yes. I did two CDs with the band.

CAD: You stayed with the band through several leader changes?

CB: Well I left the band when Frank Foster was the leader but after I left they continued to hire me. There was a singer after me named Chris Morell but if he as unable to make a gig, and even after he left, they continued to call me. And also my mother was the singer for the band too,.

CAD: How often did she work with the band?

CB: She’s been with them on and off about six years now.

CAD: She still works with them?

CB: Yes! They either call my Mom or me.

CAD: Just going back again, did you notice any big differences when Frank Foster took over the leadership, because he seemed to be a strong personality.

CB: Frank Foster was a wonderfully happy personality. I wouldn’t necessarily say he was a strong personality, just a man with a beautiful youthful spirit. When he’d get on the bus he always had an armful of music, arrangements that he was writing, and he was the type of person who could sit down and have a conversation and he would still be writing, while laughing and talking along with you, most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. But he was a sweetheart, who never paid too much attention to the clock (laughter). He was a brilliant man and I always say that Count Basie taught me to fly and Frank Foster gave me my wings. The arrangements that he did for me were wonderful, it was so obvious he paid close attention to how I breathe, how I phrased, and he just wrote around that, it was a magical feeling you know?

CAD: How about when Thad was leading the band, was that very different?

CB: No, not really. He just adapted his new charts to the Basie style, in fact we’ll be playing some tonight.

CAD: So you formally left the band when Frank was leading?

CB: Yes, but after that they kept calling, so I sang with the bands under Grover and Bill Hughes too, tours and everything.

CAD: You’ve been involved with Grammy-winning records?

CB: Well people often say “Grammy award-winner Carmen Bradford”, but it’s not true. Sure I’ve been on Grammy winning records, but I wasn’t the winner.

CAD: You mean like the George Benson award?

CB: Right, it was a big band record and I was on it, but the award was not for the duet we did, although it should have been (laughter).

CAD: Do you have any one favourite singer?

CB: Well yes. I would say my mother (Melba Joyce). She just has it all covered and we even work comfortably together. She’s been so supportive right through my career and still is!

CAD: You’ve been developing a show in tribute to Ella and Louis for some time now?

CB: Well Byron Stripling and I have been doing this show called The Cotton Club Revue and there’s a tap dancer Tad Levy on the show, and I do several numbers but Byron does his Louis Armstrong thing and he’s really the star of that show, and it uses symphony orchestra accompaniment, and what we are working on now is a real Ella and Louis Tribute Show, a big one, and it’s in full preparation now and we already have a major Canadian booking for 2014, and we’re really working on this. The concept just developed out of some duets Byron and I do in the Cotton Club Revue and the solid reaction to those segments that spurred us on, and I so want this to happen. I’m just terrified about it, but I’m ready!

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

Upgrade today and receive a free pdf copy of The Jazz Stories Project, complete with stories about your favorite jazz artists

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In this issue -

Lorraine Gordon; Ron Carter; Eva Kess; Miki Yamanaka; Buster Williams

Audio Interview - Conversation with Lorraine Gordon - Club Owner

Jazz Stories - Where Are We - Ron Carter - on choosing the bass.

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious; Episode Six - Bern, Switzerland with Eva Kess

Feature Interview - Buster Williams; Bassist

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview - CMR Podcast 013 - Conversation with Lorraine Gordon - Club Owner

Jazz Stories - Where Are We?

Ron Carter - on choosing the bass

The Jazz Stories Project

When I was a cellist at Cass Tech High School, I was one of many cellists. Often, local clubs, PTAs. etc would call on the students to play at their events. I was displeased that I wasn’t getting calls. As I was going into my Senior year, I noticed that there was only one bass player and he was graduating, which meant that in January 1955 they had no bass player, which opened up the role for me, and they would have to call me! I told my parents I wanted to switch from cello to bass. I spent half a semester taking bass lessons and was the bassist in the school that year. College recruiters came to Cass Tech and a cellist with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra (a wonderful man and musician named George Duvivier,) thought I had enough talent as a bassist and he offered me a scholarship to Eastman. And the rest is history!

Where We Are Stories

1. Don’t be afraid of your neighbor - They may be different than you, not liking the same music, not believing everything you believe, but nevertheless they are a neighbor. BE a neighbor yourself...

2. Americans should understand the history of where we are. What changes are being made now in our society, and what our history can teach us about that.
   3. Don’t get discouraged . Everyone has a bad night, bad week, etc. If I find I’m not playing at my best level at any point I don’t get bent out of shape about it. If my performance is not up to the level I expect of myself, I have another night to fix it.

Miki Yamanaka: Breathe

This review will also appear in the October issue of Cadence Magazine.

Published by Abe Goldstien on August 10, 2026 from the website, papatamusredux.com

CELLAR MUSIC (RELEASED AUGUST 14, 2026)

The kimono Miki Yamanaka wears on the cover of Breathe is not a traditional design. Instead, it combines contemporary fashion with Japanese-inspired motifs. The same could be said of Yamanaka’s music. Rooted firmly in the jazz tradition, Breathe draws on hard bop, soul jazz and post-bop while approaching those traditions with a distinctly contemporary sensibility. For Breathe, Yamanaka expands her trio of bassist Tyrone Allen II and drummer Jimmy Macbride with the expressive sound of saxophonist Nicole Glover.. The bouncy, shifting rhythms of “Indigo,” with its modern aesthetic, provide strong showcases for Glover, Yamanaka and Macbride. On the contrafact “Wolfe,” named for bassist Ben Wolfe, Glover’s husky tenor sound and Yamanaka’s angular, percussive comping evoke the spirit of Thelonious Monk’s classic quartet with Charlie Rouse. Glover switches to soprano for “James Williams,” a bright and lively jazz waltz. Everyone in the quartet settles comfortably into the soul-jazz groove of “Dancing Cats,” the only composition on the recording not written by Yamanaka. The tune comes from organist Akiko Tsuruga, who, as Yamanaka explains, was always encouraging her “to do my thing.” Another important source of encouragement was Yamanaka’s father, who died in 2025. He reminded his daughter that “we all need to slow down sometimes to take a breath and breathe.” Written for him, “Breathe” is the album’s emotional centerpiece. Glover’s breathy tone luxuriates over each note while Yamanaka provides a tender harmonic underscoring to the melody. The intricate rhythmic and harmonic changes of “Tucson” and “Pre School” demonstrate Yamanaka’s abilities as a composer, while the trio performance of “Dandelion Puff,” a tune she wrote in 2012, offers a refreshing change of texture. “Delayed Flight,” complete with whistling and the recorded voice of an airport gate agent, is a playful romp through the experience of a delayed flight. It provides an amusing diversion, although musically it adds less to the album than the other compositions. Much like did on her two previous recordings (Shades of Rainbow in 2024 and Chance in 2024), Allen and Macbride add energy to Yamanaka’s compositions and playing. Like the kimono on its cover, Breathe is colorful and contemporary while maintaining a deep respect for tradition.

BOTTOM LINE: The combination of a kimono with sunglasses on the cover says it all.
The music of Breathe blends a sense of tradition with modernity. Yamanaka and her quartet, featuring saxophonist Nicole Glover, navigate their way through eight originals and a tune by organist Akiki Tsuruga in a recording that shows respect for the past while looking toward the future of contemporary jazz.

Streaming Series - SOUNDS DELICIOUS Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

Episode Six - Bern, Switzerland with Eva Kess

Feature Article Buster Williams; bassist

Conducted and

transcribed by Alan Simon

from the Annual 2013 edition of Cadence Magazine

Alan Simon: At what point did people start calling you “Buster,” instead of your given name?

Buster Williams: I was never called “Charles’ around the house or with my friends. It was always “Buster,” the first name I remember was Buster.

AS: Can you tell us what it was like growing up as a child?

BW: Well, I was born into a household; actually, it was four girls and me. I’m next to the oldest, I have one older sister and three younger sisters, and when I was about 17 or 18 my mother and father had another child, and that was a girl. So she was my youngest sister, and she died, I think it was 2006.

AS: What was her name?

BW: Her name was Denice. And then my father died in 1966, and my mother sort of remarried, she had another child and it was a boy so I have a younger brother now.

AS: A stepbrother

BW: A stepbrother, Yeah. Let me see, Patsy, Joycy, Tony, Lollie, Joseph—so there’s six of us. And my father died like I said, in 1966, and my mother just passed away in 2010. I think she made it to 88.

AS: What was your dad’s occupation?

BW: He was a musician, he was my teacher. That was my whole influence. That’s why I became a musician, that’s solely why I became a musician. He played bass, and he played drums and he played piano, but his main instrument was bass.

AS: So you knew gut strings as a little kid.

BW: Oh, sure, exactly, I was brought up on gut strings —I never really did like steel strings, In fact in those days, the steel string was not popular. The gut string was what everybody used—I didn’t come across steel strings until the ‘60’s. We didn’t have amplifiers or nothing in those days. So your sound came from the place it was supposed to come from: from your sweat (laughing), and your paying attention, and the sound you heard in your head, and it came from you—it came from anything but, anything superficial. It wasn’t based on the amp you had, or the pickup you had, you know? [It came from] the calluses on your fingers, the coordination between your left hand and your right hand.

And also in those days you weren’t considered anybody to be considered unless you had a sound, and that sound was your sound.

AS: Most of the people I heard in the jazz clubs in New York City, when I was a teenager, yourself included, each musician had a very specific tonal language, harmonic language, and a personality that was unique to that musician. It seems to me, and this is just an observation, that as time went on jazz musicians started imitating, sounding more like clones of each other, and not being able to find an individualistic approach. I find less and less of that as you get into the late 70’s, 80’s and 90’s.

BW: Well, I call it…..at some point we begin the age of mediocrity. You know, it’s advanced to the point now, where you have shows on television…everything has got to be immediate….you know, star search and all this stuff. The whole idea of “mentored disciple” has sort of been lost. The whole idea of effort, of putting in time, and creating a foundation of a future, and a foundation of a career—It’s sort of been lost—it’s all instantaneous. It’s all about buying the right equipment, pushing the right buttons. As we talk about these generalities as far as where the music has gone and the whole societal way of doing things now; there are those little bonfires where you see this real development of creativity happening. For example, in 2009 my wife and I decided to leave New York and come back down to South Jersey where we’re both from. And this was encouraged by the fact that my wife’s mother was ill, my mother was ill, and we wanted to come down here to take care of them. Fortunately we did, because within six months after we were here they both passed away. But being here I found a pocket of creativity going on which was sort of reminiscent of what was going on when I was coming up in the 50’s. There’s a school down here called the Creative Arts School, and it’s really honing and nurturing young talent, that it’s really like bright stars in a dull sky.

It’s prompted me to do what many people have been asking me to do for the last few years, and that was start a school. I decided to do a prototype this past summer, and so I did it in August. I had a two week Jazz Camp, and 22 of these students from this Creative Arts School came to my camp. I had a student that came from Germany, one from New York; I had students that came from all over the place. It was so well received—I wanted to see two things. Whether or not it was something anyone had cared about it, and then how much did I care about it. And I found out that there was exuberance on both ends, so I decided to go on ahead with really developing this school. I’m going to do another Jazz Camp in the summer of 2013, and I’m working towards having the school up and running on a year-round basis.

I’m saying all of this because there is hope!! There is hope, I mean, you know. And these students are being nurtured under the concept of “mentor-disciple.” They’re not about expedient means, and they’re not about looking for instant gratification.

When we finished the two-week camp we had a concert, and these students, they created little groups among themselves we had about four or five bands created out of the student population. People were amazed-it was incredible. One of the trumpet players went off to Berklee, another, a piano player went on to Oberlin. A few others are graduating from the Creative Arts School this semester. I want to be able to take students at all levels—intermediate and advanced—they can be under 17 too. These students that are in the Creative Arts School—it’s elementary to high school, and they are from the urban sector, and they have no money, so I had to charge something—I did this thing for $400.00 for eight days. It was a giveaway but it allowed me to hire my instructors and then to have all of these other students come in for free. I had just a handful of paying students, and instructors who did this as a burden of love. But going forward, I’m getting my 501-C3, and we’re gonna’ be getting grants, and I’m putting together my board, and I have people that have money that are interested in working with me on this.

I got a lot of work to do in preparing this for the summer, because I have to have housing—I had a student that came down from New York everyday. Hopefully I can have some housing for out of town students this time.

AS: I heard you at Sweet Basil’s in the Village, with Ron Carter’s group. Was Carter inspired by Oscar Pettiford’s cello playing?

BW: Well, we were all inspired by Oscar Pettiford. But, he [Carter] wasn’t playing cello. He was playing a piccolo bass. It’s tuned sort of like an upside down cello—it’s tuned C-G-D-A, the low string is A. Where the high string on the double bass would be G, on the piccolo bass it’s C—so it’s tuned like a fourth above the bass. Size-wise it’s sort of like half the size of a 3/4 bass—so it’s bigger than a cello. The length of the fingerboard is still basically the size of a bass, which is 40-41.

AS: That was a very unusual sounding band娳id you have to sometimes stay away from the upper register of your bass to keep the clarity between the piccolo bass melody and your bass accompaniment?

BW: Definitely—it was very challenging. I remember [laughs] I got a phone call one day from Ron, and Ron asked me could I come to his house, say Monday at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I said: “Sure.” He says: “and bring your bass.” I said: “OK.” So, Ron, you know likes to create a little mystery sometimes, so I didn’t ask him too many questions, I just accepted what he said. He and I had been friends since 1968 when I first met him. So, I went to his house and I got there, and there was Kenny Barron, and there was Ben Riley, so I don’t know what where gonna’ do maybe we’re going to play a trio and maybe Ron’s gonna’ sing! [cracks up] In fact I looked at him and I said: “Ron, are you going to sing?” He laughed. So, you know when guys get together we’re laughing and talking, and then Ron brings out this piccolo bass. Kenny sits down at the piano, Ben sits down at the drums and I had taken my bass out of the cover, and Ron brings out the piccolo bass, so now we’re set up like a quartet—and Ron is the horn—it’s quite interesting! And we proceeded to have a rehearsal. Ron had some gigs set up, and that was the beginning, and we stayed together for five years.

We had sort of like a home base at Sweet Basil.

AS: I know, you were there all the time, and the audience覲like you could hear a pin drop尃t was like a recital at Carnegie Hall. The four of you were so focused.

BW: Right, uh-hum.

AS: Did Ron take the band over to Europe?

BW: Oh yeh, we went to Europe, we went to Japan, we went everywhere. We had a wonderful time, man, I guess we started Sphere after that, when the band broke up we stayed together as a trio, and Charlie Rouse joined. One New Year’s Eve we had a gig, some club on Broadway, and they wanted us to bring our horn player with us, so we brought Charlie Rouse, and, oh we had so much fun—so that began Sphere. Back to your point about making the bass work with Ron’s piccolo bass. Oh yeh, that was always a challenge, because we had to make music out of this, so we had to be empathetic, we had to be sympathetic, we had to be aware and in the moment at all times, because it was a given without being stated, that what we were doing here was virtuosic. I enjoyed Ron, and I think Ron enjoyed me—we had a wonderful time creating challenges for ourselves and finding solutions.

AS: And the thing is, this had never been done before.

BW: That’s true—It had never been done before.

AS: Not your typical quartet with a tenor sax or trumpet, people hear a little differently尃t could have been not received all that well. You didn’t know, none of you knew, right?

BW: Right, right, exactly. But it was received extremely well. The only complaint we heard, and I say this with all modesty, people would say: “Wow, we got two of the greatest bass players in the world on the bandstand together.” There’s two bands at least that are suffering.

AS: You’re Mr. freelance弳ou played with everybody all the time, but isn’t it sometimes really magical to have the same cats every night, and know that you’re fine tuning something that is unique to that band, that nobody else is doing.

BW: Although you’re correct in that I have a reputation as a freelance musician that has played with a lot of people, but you see I came up in the time when you had a job, when bands stayed together. You see, when I first left Philadelphia, I left Philadelphia with Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt. My first gig with Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt was at the Showboat in Philadelphia. Nelson Boyd, the great bassist that had been with Dizzy Gillespie, was working with Stitt and Ammons, and the Showboat started on Monday, and he couldn’t make Friday and Saturday, ‘cause in those days gigs went from Monday to Saturday. He [Boyd] called my father to make the gig Friday night and Saturday, and my father was working, so my father sent me. So, after the first set Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt took me upstairs and they said: “JR” – they called me Junior, this was the first time anyone ever called me “JR.” They totally ignored what my name was—“Junior, who the hell are you? How do you know how to play like that?” And man, these guys, they made me feel so good, and they said: “Look, when we finish here Sunday night we’re going on to Chicago and we’re goin’ on tour, and you want to stay with us?” I said: “SURE!!” I had never been away from school from Camden—I was 17 years old. So, four o’clock in the morning, Sunday morning we packed up the cars and drove off and—I ain’t been home since!!” (Buster breaks out in laughter.)

AS: What was your dad’s first name?

BW: Cholly, they called him Cholly. His name was Charles Anthony Williams, Sr., and I’m Charles Anthony Williams, Jr. They called him not “Charlie”, they called him Cholly-C-H-O-L-L-Y.”

AS: That’s almost like “Cholly” Mingus.

BW: Yes

AS: Wait a second弳ou stole the gig from your dad.

BW: Yeh, Right!

AS: How did Cholly react?

BW: He was happy.

AS: He was proud of you.

BW: Oh, yeh.

BW: I have to write a book, man. There’s all kinds of insides in these stories. I have had people say: “Buster, can I just travel with you?” People who are journalists, and that’s what I need, ‘cause I’m not going to sit down and write. I had one guy in New York, this guy took me into the studio and tried to set up a series where I went into the studio and talked—we did a few of these things, and I know this guy has this stuff. If he puts it out, I’m going to make sure, I hope I see it on Youtube so I can demand to be paid. (laughs) I actually did a few hours of sittin’ there telling stories.

AS: Ben Sidran苖he piano player, he put out a bunch of interviews six years ago, in a big CD boxed set, and he interviewed Dizzy, McCoy. Miles, and Sonny Rollins. He spends about 1/2 hour with each musician, and it’s a fascinating oral history of this music. Some people brought their horn and played and talked帩ort of like a master class.

BW: I think I saw some of his stuff on Youtube.

AS: My wife got me the set for my birthday, it’s 24 CD’s-60 interviews done for NPR. When he interviews Miles Davis he says something like: “my last name S-i-d-r-a-n backwards, is the name of your tune “Nardis.” How did you meet Herbie Hancock when you moved to New York in 1969, and how did your tune “Firewater” get recorded (on The Prisoner) and Mwandishi afterwards?

BW: Now this goes back to 1960. In 1960, I graduated from high school, and that summer I played the showboat with Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt and went out on the road. Now, our first gig, we left Philadelphia, and we drove to St. Louis—there was a club in St. Louis called Georgie’s. It was in what they called Gaslight Square—a little hip area in St. Louis. We went straight to the club and closing that night was Donald Byrd and Pepper Adams. We got there just as the band was finishing up, and I met Donald Byrd and I met Pepper Adams and they told me about their new piano player who had left to go back to the hotel—and it was Herbie Hancock. That’s when I first heard Herbie Hancock’s name. That was the beginning of a fantastic relationship that I had with Pepper Adams.

Now in 1963, Miles puts together a new band, with Ron, and Herbie, and Tony Williams and George Coleman. I hear the band at a club called the Minor Key in Detroit, I’m there with Betty Carter or somebody, and all of us had to see this young drummer, this young skinny guy—Tony Williams, who was just upsetting the world with the way he was playing. Anyway, I briefly met Herbie then, [later the same year-1963] I’m on the French Riviera with Sarah Vaughan—my first time in Europe. I joined Sarah Vaughan and she took us to Juan-les-Pins, right down the coast from Nice and Antibes.

So, we’re doing an outdoor concert and Miles is on the bill and Sarah Vaughan. It just so happens that Miles’s band is staying at the same hotel as we are. During the day when I go down to the pool, and there’s Herbie, and Tony and Ron, and George, and Miles. Everybody is sittin’ around the pool. This is where I meet all of these guys, and we’re there for about 7 days, and we all start hanging out together. We’d play our concert and then there was a place where we’d all go and play jam sessions, so I got to know Herbie and Tony and we became very good friends. Then, in 1967, I’m with Nancy Wilson (actually I had joined Nancy Wilson in April of 1965) and Nancy had moved her operation out to California, and she was the maid of honor at my wedding for my wife, and as a wedding gift she moved us out to California. So, I get a call one day from Herbie, and he says: “Miles wants to know if you can come up to San Francisco and join up at the Beaux Anne” (sp?), so I go up to the Beaux Anne and join Miles Davis. It so happens that Nancy is taking off for two months, and Miles has a tour for about two months, so I go on tour with Miles, and Nancy has got me on salary. So, I’m working with Miles, you know, traveling all around the west coast—Seattle and all that, and Nancy is still paying me.

AS: Not a bad arrangement.

BW: Not bad at all (laughing). Now, this is a dream come true, with Miles Davis, and man, let me tell you, we’re at the Beaux Anne in the dressing room and Miles on every intermission he sort of takes me and we sit down at a table, he ignores all of the people that are trying to get his attention, and he’s talkin’ to me and telling me all these stories. He asks me, “Man, I want you to stay with the band, come back to New York with me.” Now, I’m with Miles, I’m still being paid by Nancy, I got a yellow Stingray Corvette, I’m living in the San Fernando Valley, got a nice ranch home with Italian cypress trees, and white bricks lining my driveway, and a years itinerary with Nancy, at the beginning of every year we get our itinerary—and I’m on retainer!! And I said: “Miles, I can’t give up all of this.” (laughing)

AS: You’re living like Miles Davis弳ou’re practically living like him at this point. You’re in that league.

BW: Yeah!, Yeah!, and all of my suits are tailor-made, I got a tailor that comes to my house at least two or three times a month to fit me for my new suits and my new walking suits. And my wife, she’s getting a new mink coat every Christmas. God, what a dilemma, why didn’t you get me earlier. I tell you man if there’s any regrets that I could have, which I don’t have, that would be one—that I didn’t stay with Miles.

AS: That must have been a really tough decision. We should all have such a tough decision to make. (Buster cracks up) Whether to be in paradise or be in heaven! I can’t decide.

BW: Exactly!

AS: What’s all this I read about jazz musicians suffering, not being able to get any gigs?

BW: As far as my relationship with Herbie—So, we do this, and Herbie leaves Miles in late ’68 or ’69.

AS: Now, of course, Wayne Shorter was with the band during that whole 1964 to 1968 period.

BW: When I was with the band Wayne was in the band—the band was the band that eventually made history with Miles, Wayne, Tony, Ron, and Herbie, and in this case me. I decided to leave Nancy in ’68, we go back to play the Copacabana in New York, and my wife and I, we hire Mayflower and we bring all of our stuff back to New York with us, and I’m not going back to California, I’m gonna’ stay in New York. So, I get back to N.Y. and the door’s open wide for me—immediately I’m working with Herbie Mann, I’m working with Art Blakey, and I’m in Slugs every week, and I’m with 2 or 3 bands all at the same time, and these were in the days when bands worked. While I’m at the Copa Ron is on Broadway doing a Broadway show, Herbie is opening up at the Vanguard with his new band, which includes Garnett Brown, Joe Henderson, Johnny Coles, and Pete LaRoca, who just recently passed away. In the band with Nancy is me and Mickey Roker, we got a trio.

So, Ron can’t make the Vanguard for the first set every night so he asks me, could I cover his first set. It just so happens that Nancy’s first set at the Copa is 8 o’clock and is finished at 9 o’clock, so I shoot right over to the Vanguard, and play the 9 o’clock set for Ron. I did this every night and then when the Sunday night comes and the band is finished, by this time Herbie and I have really created a musical rapport, and he’s got some other gigs coming up and we’re talkin’ and I just think I say: “Look, Herbie, (laughing sort of embarrassed) Ron’s too busy, man. You need me in this band!” Anyway, that’s how it started, and that went on from the end of ’68 ‘till about 1973.

AS: What about the Mwandishi band?

BW: The first recording was Mwandishi, then we did The Prisoner, we did Crossings—we did four or five albums. On The Prisoner, Herbie was preparing for it, and he was really listening to Gil Evans, and he was writing all of this stuff, and it really had the influx of Gil Evans the kind of writing and harmony and stuff that Evans does—it was just amazing. We had been playing in the band “Firewater.” Herbie always did play my songs, you know when we got back together as a trio, in the ‘80’s with Al Foster, there were some tours that we did where 90% of the music was mine. We played “Air Dancing,” “Christina,” we played my arrangement of “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was,” we played “Firewater,” which had become “Dual Force.”

AS: “Dual Force” was a new name for the tune?

BW: Yeah, now, I first wrote “Firewater” when I was with the Jazz Crusaders.

AS: So that was quite a bit earlier.

BW: Yeah, and that was around ’67, and I didn’t have my own publishing company, I put it in the Jazz Crusaders publishing company. And then when I formed my own company they sold it back to me for a dollar! Except by this time Pacific Jazz was sort of who we were recording for. Pacific Jazz had sort of like, bought out the Jazz Crusader’s Four Nights music, so my tune was involved in Pacific Jazz, so I really couldn’t get my tune back, that’s what happened. It was my tune called “Native Dancer” that I got back from the Crusader’s for a dollar. But I couldn’t get “Firewater” back because it was now in Pacific Jazz recording company, so I re-titled it—my publisher always tells me, she says: “Don’t tell that story!”

AS: When you and Herbie recorded “Firewater” on The Prisoner, and that was his last Blue Note record; the way it was arranged, it must have been in a very different guise, the counterpoint between the horns and all that kind of thing.

BW: Oh yeah, well that was Herbie’s brilliance. He did a great arrangement on it. This was in the sextet, I brought it in one day, we were having a rehearsal, one of the few rehearsals we ever had, and Herbie liked it. With the quintet, we had a totally different arrangement of it, but it was always the same song. Herbie wanted to do something different with it for The Prisoner so that’s what he did.

Do you know that there is a new book [You’ll Know When You Get There—Herbie Hancock and the Mwandishi Band] written by Bob Gluck, and it’s very good.

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

Order a Single Copy of the annual print edition of Cadence The Independent Journal of Improvised Music 2025

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In this issue -

Emil Mangelsdorf; Frank Perowski; Adriana Camacho; Zazil Collins; Mike Clark; Eddie Henderson; Craig Handy; Patrice Rushen; Essiet Okon Essiet

Audio Interview - Conversation with Frank Perowski- Multi​-​instrumentalist

Feature Album Review - Mike Clark: Time Without Beginning

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious; Episode Five - Mexico City with Adriana Camacho and Zazil Collins

Feature Article - Emil Mangelsdorf

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview - CMR Podcast 012 - Conversation with Frank Perowski - Multi​-​instrumentalist

Feature Album Review

Mike Clark: Time Without Beginning

Published by Abe Goldstien on August 4, 2026 from the website, papatamusredux.com

This review will also appear in the October issue of Cadence Magazine.

WIDE HIVE 0393 (RELEASED AUGUST 7, 2026)

Although he only takes one extended drum solo on his new release, Time Without Beginning can best be described as a drummer-forward session. Leader Mike Clark’s rhythmic accentuations, backbeats, paradiddles and crisp cymbal hits drive the veteran ensemble of trumpeter Eddie Henderson, saxophonist Craig Handy, pianist Patrice Rushen and bassist Essiet Okon Essiet through nine diverse tunes. As evidenced by the selections on Time Without Beginning, Clark has come a long way since his early days in the Bay Area’s R&B and funk scene and his rise to fame as a member of Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters. Today, at age 80, he embraces works by Sonny Rollins (“East Broadway Down”), Thelonious Monk (“Monk’s Dream,”) Wayne Shorter (“Beauty and the Beast,”) a pre- Headhunter’s Hancock tune (“Toys”) and a classic from the pen of Sigmund Romberg (“Softly as in a Morning Sunrise”). These are all delivered with solid arrangements and concise and strong solos from all. The hard bop swagger of Towner Galaher’s “Austin City Shuffle” is a perfect vehicle for soulful solos and a rousing piano/horns interchange. The mysterious sounding “Eddy and Hyde,” written by Gregory Howe and Erik Jekabson, could easily be the soundtrack for a 1960s detective movie. Jan Hammer’s “Lungs,” allows the band to explore the angular/modal sound of post-bop jazz, complete with some pianoless trio sections and strong bass and drum solos. The band gets to experiment with free jazz on the open form of Clark’s “Kuon Ganjo.” Powered by the front and center drumming of Clark, this group of veterans, with an average age of 75, bring a youthful zest to Time Without Beginnings.

BOTTOM LINE: Time Without Beginnings is definitely a drummer’s record. The performance bristles with Mike Clark’s energy. The tunes provide an array of rhythms for Clark as well as his band members. Horn, piano and bass solos are consistently propelled by percussive punctuation marks. Unfortunately there is one more telltale sign it is a drummer’s record — no ballads!

Streaming Series - SOUNDS DELICIOUS Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

Episode Five - Mexico City with Adriana Camacho and Zazil Collins

Feature Article

from the Annual 2015 edition of Cadence Magazine

Emil Mangelsdorf

Interview and photos by Patrick Hinely

It’s hard to imagine this compact, gentle man of 90, a senior statesman in German jazz, as a juvenile delinquent, much less an enemy of the state, but Emil Mangelsdorff was once considered both by the Nazi government. His teenage crime was playing decadent music of non-aryan races and other rootless cosmopolitans, music we know as jazz.

He was made to pay: after being smacked around in a cell for 3 weeks by the Gestapo, he was conscripted into Hitler’s army and sent to the Russian front. By war’s end, he was a Soviet prisoner, spending the next 5 years in Latvia, mostly scraping rust off of old ships, a task he says was far more pleasant in summer than winter. He did both. Though their barracks was within sight and easy walking distance of the Baltic, only once in those 5 years were the POWs allowed to go to the beach. Not for nothing was it called hard labor.

After being repatriated in 1949, he came home to a nascently-burgeoning musical scene in Frankfurt am Main, jumped right in, and has played a pivotal role in its ongoing development ever since. In the postwar years, Frankfurt was the hub of the wheel for German jazz, which was a phenomenon unto itself, given that in so many ways, it had to start with less than nothing, in times of deprivation and devastation, yet evolved not only into something, but something of unique worth, strength and durability. As part of this, Mangelsdorff is a testament not only to survival, but to the triumph of the human spirit over adversity.

He turned 90 in April, and L+R Records issued a compilation of Mangelsdorff’s work on that label, spanning from Jutta Hipp’s quartet in 1954 up to his most recent album, recorded in late 2013 and early 2014. He’s not made all that many albums under his own name, but he has recorded a lot, mostly for Hessian Radio (HR), where he, along with his younger brother Albert and their long-time colleague Joki Freund, were among the co-founders of the Frankfurt-based network’s Jazz Ensemble, in 1958.

HR’s Jazz Ensemble (HRJE) may not be unique in all the world, but it’s close to it, and is an unusual arrangement which at least qualifies as nice work if you can get it. Members are guaranteed 3 recording days per month, royalties from which don’t quite constitute enough to make a decent living, but do provide enough work to form the basis of a freelance career. Originally, this was to keep good musicians available in Frankfurt, the alternative available at the time being to join big bands which were constantly touring. The rubric of the HRJE eliminated the necessity of frequent touring, and made it possible for members to create and bring their own music to the group, which would then present it to the listening audience, as well as offering the opportunity to work with all sorts of guest artists.

Those jazz artists of note who have passed through Frankfurt in the past 57 (and counting) years and not played with HRJE would be a shorter list than those who have. Mangelsdorff has flourished alongside this wide range of guests in the company of his own estimable colleagues. He’s not traveled much – one could say Emil is to Frankfurt as Tony Coe is to London, a world-class player who remains primarily local by choice. Coe simply doesn’t care to travel by air. In Emil’s case, he may have been so glad to finally get home from the war that he’s been willing, ever since, to let the world come to him. It has.

His younger brother Albert, the innovative trombonist (1928-2005) was more of a traveler, and his international peregrinations did much to raise the profile of German and European jazz in general. As adults, their sibling relationship may not have always been smooth, but their mutual musical efforts always clicked – Emil’s proclivity for swing and Albert’s open-ended take on cool jazz made for a combination that suited a resurgent nation and made them among Germany’s most in-demand players.

Their work alongside one another in the HRJE was consistently top-drawer, and seldom more creatively steered, from early on, than by tenor saxophonist and arranger Joki Freund. The 4 movements in Freund’s 1956 “Vier Temperamente” gave each brother a solo section (the others going to trumpeter Dusko Goykovic and Freund himself) and within that context, all evinced their likes and inclinations as described above, as well as hinting at what they had in mind beyond absorbing the then-prevalent American styles, much of which would come to pass in the fullness of time.

Steve Swallow tells of a youthful summer abroad with his bass around 1960, playing his ass off in Frankfurt’s Jazzkeller “under the benign nightly tutelage of the Mangelsdorff brothers,” whose teaching classroom was the bandstand. Swallow says he always felt respected as a musician and a human being by these frighteningly talented brothers, one tall and one not. German musicians of Swallow’s age group have similar tales, some less reverential.

Both brothers play on Freund’s seminal 1963 album YOGI JAZZ (along with Eberhard Weber and Wolfgang Dauner, among others), and Emil’s flute solo on Ellington & Tizol’s “Caravan” is a force of nature. Not that this was the first time Emil had righteously shredded at a recording session: as a member of the Hot Club of Frankfurt, he takes a wild accordion (yes, accordion) solo on “Stomp,” recorded in 1941, when Emil was all of 16 years old. Not necessarily a pretty sight, but a spirited statement from a young man beginning to feel his oats in strange times of much bad weirdness.

That collaborations by the Mangelsdorff brothers were less numerous with time is attributed by many to bickering between their wives, but there is more to it than that. After I first met Emil 5 years ago and began my preliminary research, I couldn’t help but notice that many of my German colleagues in the critical community were reluctant to talk about him. At first I thought this might be a stylistic-partisan thing: Albert was the avant brother, while Emil was the trad, and, in the jazz press, avant will trump trad 9 times out of 10. Albert was no longer there to speak for himself, and there seemed to be a hesitation about speaking in favor of Emil, lest one appear to be speaking against Albert.

That was part of it, but not all: it gets worse, and it’s the critical community which comes out looking bad, not either of the Mangelsdorff brothers. It was a classic set-up, in the supposed service of contriving an ongoing journalistic story line, no matter how bogus, which too many writers seemed perfectly willing to buy into, perhaps to garner more ink (which could translate as job security back in those days when space was so preciously limited in print publications) and it pitted the brothers against one another, based solely on their preferences for different styles of jazz. This whole approach ignored the facts, but that didn’t stop anyone from fanning the flames.

Nor was theirs the only case of such misguided media machinations: I distinctly recall their fellow German, pianist and composer Alex Von Schlippenbach, longtime leader of the Globe Unity Orchestra, telling me, some 10 years ago, about being involuntarily cast, in the mid-60s, by the press as the rebellious, anti-jazz bad boy, who was said to have created his groundbreaking new work in order to thumb his nose at the jazz establishment. I could practically hear his teeth gnashing – still, 40 years after the fact - as he explained that he and his friends had simply wanted to try something new. They weren’t against much of anything in particular beyond nuclear weapons and US involvement in Viet Nam.

This insistence on ‘either/or’ distinctions rather than embracing the ‘and/also’ possibility that, for instance, both Emil and Albert Mangelsdorff were making valuable contributions to the music seems ludicrous now, and such behavior is, alas, hardly unique to the German press. What is most sad in this is that such invented divisions – along with quarreling wives - kept them from working together in Albert’s later years. The trombonist made a duet album with alto saxophonist Lee Konitz (ART OF THE DUO, on ENJA), but he never made one with his alto saxophonist brother Emil. I have to sigh wistfully when I think about what a beautiful conversation that could have been.

Emil’s stature in the Frankfurt scene is well-illustrated by the cover the a 2-LP set on Telefunken (yet to be reissued on CD) from the mid-70s by the Frankfurt All Stars, CITY JAZZ: FRANKFURT-MAIN STREAMS. In the predominant photo, he stands front and center among the 9 players in what is called the Frankfurt Jazz Ensemble, with colleagues including his brother on one end and Freund on the other, and pianist Bob Degen, bassist Guenter Lenz, saxophonists Guenther Kronberg and Heinz Sauer, and drummer Ralf Huebner. Three other bands are seen in smaller photos on that same front cover, and Emil is a member of every one: his own quartet, Freund’s Jazztett and last – but least – a fusion aggregation called From. Incidentally, in one of the HRJE’s earliest publicity photos, from 1961, a performance shot with those same 5 horn players gathered around a radio mike, Emil is also the central figure.

He’s had the respect and affection of his colleagues and peers all along, and, in the past few years, he has also received major local, state and national recognition as a cultural icon. He has as much work as he wants, and, not surprisingly, at his age, has become a lot more particular about what he chooses to do with his time. He gives presentations at schools, showing children a copy of his letter from the Gestapo, warning that his antisocial tendencies could put his entire family in a concentration camp. The question he poses to the kids is somewhat simpler: “Can you imagine a government that arrests people for the kind of music they play?” He knows whereof he speaks, and continues to do his share to assure that it will never happen again. He also introduces the kids to jazz. Everyone wins.

While neither of his most recent albums, 2007’s BLUES FOREVER or 2014’s STOLEN MOMENTS, could be characterized as groundbreaking, both are solid efforts with world-class playing, assaying a repertoire that includes the swing era, but also bebop and more modern composers whose oeuvres evolved from those traditions. More on those and some of his earlier efforts below.

Though I’d never seen Emil before, when I heard him with his quartet on opening night at JazzFest Berlin in 2010, it felt like a warm gathering among friends – not just the musical conversation with his fellow players, but also their rapport with the audience. The repertoire encompassed Gillespie, Parker, Silver, Kern, and, to close, Emil’s own “Blues Forever. ” The versatile pianist Thilo Wagner shone throughout, as did bassist Vitold Rek and drummer Janusz Stefanski, knowing when to pour it on and when to hold back. And while alto may be my least favorite member of the saxophone family, I was won over: had Emil played all night long, I would have gladly stayed and savored every note...

Selected discography (limited to albums available on CD) -

Under his own name:

SWINGING OIL DROPS (recorded 1966) – L+R. His first solo album appeared when the Beatles were at their height, but the closest he came to making any concession to rock was adding Volker Kriegel on guitar. It is an unapologetic celebration of the swing music Emil had loved since first hearing it on Radio Luxembourg in the 1930s. He plays alto, clarinet and flute, while Joki Freund hits both soprano and tenor saxes – and piano!

MEDITATION (recorded 1986 and 1994) – L+R. He plays duets with American-born pianist Bob Degen and Hungarian-born guitarist Attila Zoller as well as quartet numbers with his band of the day.

This is his most ‘out’ project under his own name, yet it never sounds overextended. The players pull iteresting responses out of one another.

THIS SIDE UP (recorded 1992) – L+R. Save for bassist Gerhard Bitter, Emil’s present quartet is on board, and they play all original material, primarily Emil’s, and cook. This is sweet stuff, polished but not so polished as to not also be lively.

BLUES FOREVER (recorded 2007) – L+R. His current band plus guest trombonist Clemens Greve on 3 tunes, the repertoire all from the jazz swing and bop canons, plus Emil’s own title tune. The renderings are faithful to the composers’ intentions, assuming their intention was for those who play the music to put their own personal touches on it.

STOLEN MOMENTS (recorded 2013 – 2014) – L+R. Joining his current quartet are Manfred Schoof on trumpet, Joe Gallardo and trombone and Wilson de Oliveira on tenor sax. The repertoire is wider and the playing is wider open. If I was going to get only one of his albums, this would be the one. It’s just downright fun.

TUNE IN! (recorded 1954 – 2014)- L+R. This compilation from all of the above-listed albums and then some appeared earlier this year, covering the waterfront from Jutta Hipp to the present day. It’s a good assortment but more of a sampler than a summation. It skims the surface of a deep well.

With the Jazz Ensemble of Hessian Radio:

THE OPA HIRCHLEITNER STORY (recorded 1958) – Bear Family. Based on a rather clever and hilarious tale, worthy of Grimmelshausen or Guenter Grass, concocted by his brother Albert to lay out the history of jazz, there is much to savor here as the band structures itself around the music and vice-versa. It is a delight to hear them discovering their own independence as they negotiate the story line.

ATMOSPHERIC CONDITIONS PERMITTING (recorded 1967 – 1993) – ECM. Emil plays on 20 of the 31 selections with guests of several generations and nationalities. Few will like everything they hear here, but fewer will like none. Once can almost hear the organization stretching – successfully - to encompass a musical scene no one could have foreseen only a few years earlier.

PERPETUAL QUESTIONS (recorded 1999 – 2004) – HR Music. Further explorations by the ensemble in new formations and permutations, keeping up with the changing times without forgetting their origins.

UNAUFFAELLIGE FESTANSAGE (recorded 1999 – 2008) – Jazzwerkstatt. The cast of characters changes and the quest evolves but the beat goes on. They’ll try most anything, and it usually works. After more than 50 years, the group remains viable and flexible.

With Jutta Hipp:

Emil’s 1954 recordings with the German pianist have been sliced, diced and repackaged many times over, and differing assortments, all worthy, are available via:

THE LEGENDARY JUTTA HIPP QUINTET – Fresh Sounds.

COOL DOGS AND TWO ORANGES – L+R.

NEW SOUNDS FROM THE OLD CONTINENT: EUROPEAN JAZZ – Membran (disc #8 from this 10-CD nice-price box set).

Hers is a sad story, but these recordings are gloriously cool and hot at the same time. Hipp’s own playing was deemed worthy of recording by no less than the Blue Note label, and Emil and Joki Freund weren’t just along for the ride. They earn their keep and make clear they’ve got places to go.

with others:

YOGI JAZZ – Joki Freund Sextet (recorded 1963) – Sawano. This is a kind of touchstone for German jazz, presaging what would come later in the decade from MPS and subsequently from ECM. This is as ‘out’ as Emil ever got – Freund too, for that matter – but they always brought it all back home by tune’s end, somewhat in the manner of the late Kenny Wheeler: listening to their process takes you somewhere, somewhere scenic, somewhere good, then returns you, changed for the better.

EASY STREET – Inge Brandenburg with the HRJE (recorded 1959 – 1961) – Bear Family. Brandenburg’s story is even sadder than Hipp’s, but she had climbed high on her ascendant when she recorded these 20 tunes with the HRJE. She combined elements of Billie Holiday, Judy Garland and even Frank Sinatra, and the band does more than merely back her up. At the time she still didn’t speak English, making her phonetic pronunciations even more uncannily on the money.

the very beginning:

SWING TANZEN VERBOTEN! (recorded 1933 – 1945) – Proper. It’s a 4-CD set of primarily historical interest (the Nazi-sanctioned groups proving time and again, painfully beyond any doubt that they couldn’t even, as the saying goes, swing at the end of a rope), but disc #1 includes the aforementioned Hot Club of Frankfurt’s “Stomp” with Emil’s accordion solo. An auspicious beginning...

afterword:

My hope is that this overview of Emil Mangelsdorff will prove to be only my first run over the target, though into what form it shall evolve can only be known with time, which is a roundabout way of saying this isn’t the whole story...yet...

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Subscribe now

In this issue -

Cindy Blackman Santana, Reut Regev, Billy Cobham, Phil Minton

Audio Interview - Conversation with Cindy Blackman Santana - Drums

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious; Episode Four - Brooklyn with Reut Regev, Trombone

Feature Concert/Book Review - Six Days At Ronnie Scott’s: Billy Cobham on Jazz Fusion and The Act of Creation

Feature Interview - Phil Minton Feeling Music in Light

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview

Audio Interview - Conversation with Cindy Blackman Santana - Drums

Streaming Series

SOUNDS DELICIOUS - Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

Episode Four - Brooklyn with Reut Regev, Trombone

Feature Concert/Book Review

Six Days At Ronnie Scott’s:

Billy Cobham on Jazz Fusion and The Act of Creation

Brian K. Gruber and Creative Multimedia Concepts, Inc

Review by Tee Watts

Author Brian K. Gruber’s prior literary offering is a tome that details his sometimes dangerous globetrotting forays to countries that have experienced the effects of American military intervention and how the people fared as a result. Cerebral stuff.

In his latest work he has taken on the task of examining the life work of Jazz and Fusion drummer Billy Cobham, culminating in and juxtaposed against Cobham’s work being performed by a 17-piece orchestra at Ronnie Scott’s London Jazz venue during a six day run that began on June 12th, 2017. Bandleader/gifted trumpeter Guy Barker calls the gig a celebration of Bill’s life and work in music. The book is a massive undertaking that includes distilled transcriptions of interviews with Bill Cobham himself, musicians, crew, club management, fans, super fans and the Jazz police. The musicians interviewed include former Mahavishnu Orchestra bandmate, Jan Hammer, Ron Carter, the aforementioned Guy Barker, Randy Brecker and a host of others.

The book’s preface introduces a snapshot of Gruber family living in Brooklyn in 1970 as the war in Vietnam winds down. This is just about the time Billy Cobham was laying tracks with Miles Davis for the Bitches Brew sessions. Coincidentally, Gruber was taken to his first concert ever in early March of that year. It was at Fillmore East and featured Neil Young and Crazy Horse, the Steve Miller Blues Band and the Miles Davis Quinter, not necessarily in that order.

Despite being raised a generation and culture apart from Bed-Sty raised Panamanian born William Emanuel Cobham, Jr., Gruber manages to pull off a remarkable feat of music journalism. After meeting Cobham in France 2010, Gruber bonds with the drummer and asks him to be on the board of directors of Gruber’s Jazz streaming startup company. As a result, they spent a fair amount of time riding around together. As Cobham regaled Gruber with stories about Jimi Hendrix, Muhammed Ali and a bevy of others, Gruber realized that the oral stories, histories and anecdotes that Cobham effortlessly spouts are certainly worth notating and convinced Cobham of the viability of the project. The interviews with Cobham cover a galaxy of subjects; from the cruel realities of the New York public school system, to the rhythmic complexity of a woman sashaying when walking or the sonic intricacies of live performance. Whew! That’s just a few of many. Gruber has also seen Cobham perform in excess of twenty times, not only at Ronnie Scott’s, but also at the Blue Note in Milano, Italy, Jazz Alley in Seattle, B.B. King’s in New York, The Mint in L.A., the Rio Das Ostras Brazilian Jazz Festival and several more settings both public and private.

Apparent from hanging out with Cobham, according to Gruber, is the solid work ethic of the artist. It is a trait he inherited from his dad, William Cobham, Sr. whose straight gig was a statistician for Bronx General Hospital. By night though, he was a gifted pianist who took requests at the local bar, making more money in six or seven hours than his monthly salary at the hospital. Young Billy started sitting in with his dad when he was all of eight years old. In one segment, Cobham tells the author that despite a relationship with his dad that grew strained and tenuous over time, the resulting ability to make people happy with music, ultimately passed from father to son, is the foundation of how Cobham performs to this day.

So much pride is infused into Billy Cobham the musician, that even at 74 on a gig in which he will play 2 sets, he is hands on at load in, personally schlepping and directing the setup of his drum hardware. He is part Sumo, part ninja, 100/% Panamanian-American.

The author faithfully transcribes exactly what he saw and heard at rehearsals for Cobham’s big band performance run. The musicians patter, what they wore, what they ate, equipment they utilized and so on. Not much is edited out. Not even the throat clearings or false starts. If you really want to be there you are.

From opening night, to a packed house, Managing Directing Simon Cooke speaks to the crowd:

A wonderful week ahead of us. It’s completely sold out. Featuring a great collaboration between Guy Barker up there on trumpet (applause) and this wonderful big band, who are all resplendent before you, and with one of the great jazz drummers, a real figure in history at Ronnie Scott’s, and a massive figure in the history and the ongoing story of jazz, ladies and gentleman please welcome to the stage the Guy Barker Big Band with…MISTER BILLY COBHAM!!!

On day two of the Billy Cobham/Guy Barker Big Band run, the venue dropped a press release.

On June 13, 2017, the Ronnie Scott’s Charitable Foundation invited legendary drummer Billy Cobham to take part in a workshop involving a local primary school, the Soho Parish Primary School. Pete Letanka, a jazz pianist/educator worked closely with the foundation to give children the chance to perform and compose in the style of internationally renowned drummer Billy Cobham. Billy himself worked with the kids and joined them in performance at Ronnie’s.

Four pages are devoted to Cobham’s total devotion to music education for children. He realizes it is the wellspring of his own upbringing and gladly gives of his time and knowledge, passing it forward.

The largest chapter of the book is chapter 3 entitled Miles, Mahavishnu, Montreux. Obviously it covers a lot of ground. Miles work from ’67 forward laying the groundwork for Fusion. Cobham meeting Miles, John McLaughlin and the development of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. Its peak earning period of $50,000 nightly. The awkwardness of leaving the band in the early ‘70s yet returning for recording dates later in the decade. Cobham’s thoughts on playing with McLaughlin again at Montreux in 2010.

In the latter chapters of the book, the author returns to Ronnie Scott’s for additional vignettes on the Cobham/Barker Big Band run at Ronnie Scott’s. Through the use of flashback recollections in various interviews Gruber weaves a fantastic historical record.

There is a chapter entitled, The Art Of The Rhythm Section, which maybe not so coincidentally, is the title of Cobham’s Annual Music Retreat (coming up this year 7/22-28/18 in Mesa, AZ – www.billycobhamretreat.com ) for advanced players seeking to up their performance ante. In Gruber’s book though, the focus is more about how the musicians at the Ronnie Scott’s gig prepare for and interact with each other in such a challenging musical presentation.

Chapter 6 is the setting for the final conversations with Cobham and Barker with all the sentiments and compliments thereof. There is so much information in this book that any serious student of Jazz, Fusion or music history will reap a bountiful harvest.

Conversations with band members, club management, fans, reviewers and crew took place during the six day run as indicated. They were conducted just prior to or shortly after performances.

A nice touch is the Spotify Soundtrack for each chapter of the book that contains some very unexpected musical gems. Hats off to Brian Gruber who accomplished what few could have written with such elaborate authority.

Feature Interview -

from the July 2018 edition of Cadence Magazine

Phil Minton Feeling Music in Light

Interview and photos by Ken Weiss

Phil Minton, the wonderful experimental vocalist, was on a rare American tour with Berlin-based fellow extreme vocalist Audrey Chen when Cadence caught up with him at the tour’s starting point in Philadelphia on January 19, 2018 at The Rotunda [presented by Bowerbird]. They’ve performed in duet together off and on since meeting up at the 2006 High Zero Festival in Baltimore. This impromptu interview came about after Minton’s duet with Chen, as he sat resting with a few avid fans. I have included my questions along with the other listeners’ questions.I will list your Philadelphia performance in Cadence as one of the top ten this yr :)

Cadence: How has your investigation of the trumpet advanced your vocalization skills?

Phil Minton: It’s the reverse. I’m relearning the trumpet and trying to forget it is a brass tube with valves that open and shut different lengths of tubing so that you can play different pitches in a certain order. I’m using a lot more half-valving, which is less measured and more like singing.

Cadence: When did you first realize that you could perform and be accepted as an experimental vocalist?

Minton: It was gradual. Since the late ‘50s, I had the idea of playing my voice as an instrument for abstract expression. Jackson Pollock was an inspiration, but playing about with “your voice” was not a respectable thing to do. You were perceived as dishonest – like, “Oh, dear, you sound like a different person!” I suppose I thought playing the trumpet was perceived as respectable. I was in my late twenties before I recorded anything that could be called voice improvising [Phil Minton Quartet with Lars Göran Ulander - Up Umeå, Blue Tower, recorded 1969]. And what I do now is accepted all over the world but only by very small audiences, as is improvised music.

Cadence: How often are you able to find new voice sounds?

Minton: All the time, but I forget most. I did have a little recorder that I carried, but the business of finding it and switching it on wipes the idea.

Cadence: How do you keep from damaging your voice?

Minton: You have to be careful how you force the air out. I think a lot of it’s to do with the fact that I’m using different placings of the voice all the time and it’s not like I’m rubbing one bit in the same place. [Demonstrates his ability to continuously vocalize using different areas of voice]

Cadence: You can get repetitive stress injury from a conversation that you wouldn’t get on the stage.

Minton: Yes, on stage I’m moving around the pitch and voice placings, whereas conversations usually stay in one place and I can hear the blisters forming.

Cadence: It’s really remarkable to hear the range of techniques you have in your bag of tricks.

Minton: [Laughs] Bag of tricks! I like that!

Cadence: Is there ever any kind of a snippet of story going on in your head when you’re improvising?

Minton: Yes, sometimes I’m remembering [what made me angry] and sometimes I’m thinking of very beautiful things as well. Lots of stuff, but I try to be objective and not put too much emotional weight on the sounds. The voice has such a mass of emotional baggage attached. I did say to some young composers just a few weeks ago at a talk I gave at the RCMusic [The Royal Conservatory of Music in London], that I’m interested in counterpoint - an idea that is followed by an opposite, or at the same time if I’m able.

Cadence: How do you practice together with Audrey Chen for your performances?

Minton: We don’t, it’s completely improvised. The only thing we’ll discuss, the only preconceived idea, or whatever, is how long should we play? We’re improvising all the time.

Cadence: When you’re at home, how do you keep your voice in shape? How much do you have to practice?

Minton: I’m doing it every day. I do it when I wake up in the morning [Demonstrates vocal exercises] while I’m going about my day. Usually, when I’m at home and nobody else is in. I do a performance while I’m in the kitchen, yeah, and try stuff out before the family gets in.

Cadence: When I first heard you on things like the Solid Gold Cadillac stuff with the Mike Westbrook band, you were still a relatively conventional musician. When did the change happen?

Minton: I was “playing my voice” on those recordings, check out “Technology” and then “Cadillac” I’ve always been involved in free improvisation, there just wasn’t much of a scene for it in the early days.

Cadence: Was it really seamless or was there a lightbulb moment when you decided to stand on stage and make experimental vocalizations?

Minton: Seeing Jackson Pollock’s paintings and hearing John Coltrane in the ‘50s was when I knew what I wanted to do. But then I didn’t do my first solo improvisation concert until I was 40. I was using a lot of sound and noise, a similar repertoire that I would be using now, as I’ve gotten into less pitches. And I’m hearing music in quite random sounds. I can feel music in light. [Vocalizes a sound of wind rushing from his throat] And I think an aesthetic like that was never used or thought of as music in the West. White noise, almost, you could call it. But as a physicist friend said, “There’s no such thing as white noise,” everything’s got pitches and all sorts of stuff is going on. Like now with electronic music, people are listening to sound and noise, that isn’t in the temperate scale and they are hearing it as music. But as we know, long before Michael Faraday, music was bending and sliding all over the place, except in the concert halls of Christian Europe.

Cadence: Are there sounds that irritate you when you hear them?

Minton: People being angry, I don’t like the sound of anger. The great sound is babies laughing, that’s it for me.

Cadence: How often do you come to perform in America and how well are you known here?

Minton: I have no idea how well known. I don’t come very often, I know that. I played in Philadelphia first in 1981 with Fred Frith, and with David Moss another time in the mid-‘80s, it was a squat sort of loft-type situation above a sex shop in the middle of town. You had to walk up the steps past the shop.

Cadence: It’s good to know you’re moving up in the world.

Minton: [Laughs] I still play places like that all the time. It’s still basically a very small group of people that come out to listen to us.

Cadence: Where do you perform the most?

Minton: In mainland Europe, but I do get all over the world.

Cadence: Are you still doing the Feral Choir projects? [A series of vocal workshops with non-professionals that leads to a performance involving experimental vocalizations]

Minton: Yes.

Cadence: How does that project work? How do people come to it?

Minton: It’s usually an organization that presents it and they advertise for people to participate in the choir. They come for three days of workshops and then a performance. The workshops last for three hours.

Cadence: Are you teaching people how to let go of their inhibitions?

Minton: I don’t teach anything. [Laughs]

Cadence: There’s no teaching, there’s just doing?

Minton: It’s just doing, yeah, yeah. I do a few exercises as warmups first so people don’t fuck their voices up because some people get very excited. [Makes guttural vocalization]

Cadence: The people who participate in the choir, what do they get out of it? What do they tell you?

Minton: They seem to love it. It’s some sort of release to a lot of people, and we know that all together we make interesting and exciting music like “nothing else.”

Cadence: Are there traditional jazz vocalists that you enjoy listening to?

Minton: Yes many - Louis Armstrong, Ella, Sarah Vaughan, Dizzy, loads.

Cadence: What listening music entertains you?

Minton: I listen to hard bop from the ‘50s.

Cadence: What are your non-musical interests?

Minton: Birds.

Cadence: What instrument do you like to duet with the most besides voice?

Minton: I’m happy with most instruments, it’s the person playing that matters.

Cadence: What strikes you as most unusual about American culture?

Minton: I was going to say a lack of historical knowledge about Jazz - the music that has now influenced most of the so-called Christian world’s popular music - but that ignorance is everywhere. So it’s got to be guns and the object Trump.

Cadence: What is your fascination with doughnuts? You have four recordings out featuring doughnuts in the title - A Doughnut in Both Hands [Emanem, 1982] and A Doughnut in One Hand [FMP, 1998], No Doughnuts In Hand [Emanem, 2007] and A Doughnut’s End, [Fataka, 2015].

Minton: That’s best answered by the liner notes from A Doughnut’s

Cadence: Would you share a memorable moment?

Minton: I was standing in my garden in North London a few years ago, it was late springtime. Earlier that day I’d been talking over the telephone with my friend, the composer Mike Westbrook, about the song of the European male robin bird. I’d said to him that I found it hard to hear the melody lines that the robin made because they were so fast and high. Mike, a birder for many years, said, “Think European blackbird speeded up and an octave higher.” I do sometimes have short whistling jams with blackbirds. I never do it for long periods, and I stop defeated after about a half minute because I don’t want to upset the little fellows. Anyhow, on this springtime day, a robin perched on a fence pole about five feet from me and started to sing. I pursed my lips very tight, took a deep breath and produced a note around double high C, up in Cat Anderson territory, and I flicked my tongue to get Bill Dixon-like free Jazz flourishes. The robin almost immediately stopped, took off and flew directly towards me at the level of my genitals, stopping in midair only inches away, and then disappeared into some bushes. I was really shocked and a little shaken and thought to myself, ‘Don’t mess with this man when he’s blowing!’

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

Order a Single Copy of the annual print edition of Cadence The Independent Journal of Improvised Music 2025

In this issue -

Audio Interview - Conversation with John Abercrombie - Guitar

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious; Boston Area with Joan Watson-Jones

Photo Gallery - Day One of the Vision Festival by Ken Weiss

Feature Interview - Justin Chart

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview

CMR Podcast 010 - Conversation with John Abercrombie - Guitar

Streaming Series

SOUNDS DELICIOUS - Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

EPISODE THREE - Boston Area with Joan Watson-Jones

Photo Gallery

2026 Vision Festival, New York by Ken Weiss

Photos from day one of the 2026 Vision Festival June 23 at Abrons Art Center NY, NY

From the upcoming feature article in the October issue of Cadence Magazine -

Day one was a celebration of guitarist/bassist Joe Morris

By Ken Weiss

Matthew Shipp -Joe Morris - Willam Parker

Matthew Shipp

Joe Morris and event organizer/dancer Patricia Nicholson

Hidemi Akaiwa

Hidemi Akaiwa - Joe Morris - Matt Rousseau - Rob Brown - Hery Paz

Feature Interview

Interview with Justin Chart

by Charles Mobley

Hello everyone! I’m Charles Mobley, a West Coast jazz writer. Today I am sitting down with a true powerhouse of modern jazz—a visionary alto saxophonist, composer, and a key figure in modern hard-bop and West Coast jazz. He’s widely known in jazz circles as “The Blizzard” for his explosive tone, soaring velocity, and sheer harmonic ingenuity. Jazz Europe rates him as one of the top modern-day hard-bop saxophone masters in the world. Signed to Universal Music Group, his catalog spans brilliant releases like Colorstorm, Avenue, Prosper, Night Heat, and Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries. Hello Mr. Justin Chart.

Justin: Hi Charles, I’m so glad that we’re going to do this. I want to thank David at Cadence Jazz World as well. It’s great to be here to connect with the readers.

Charles: Justin, let’s jump right into that nickname—”The Blizzard”. When people hear you play live or listen to your recordings through Universal Music Group, or your early work with Decca, there’s an undeniable rush of kinetic energy. How did that moniker come about, and what does it represent for your approach to the horn?

Justin: It really came out of the West Coast jazz scene early on. When I take a solo, I’m not just thinking about playing a string of notes; I’m aiming for an avalanche of emotion, dynamic energy, and spontaneous creation. A blizzard is fierce, it’s unpredictable, but it has this incredible, sweeping structure to it. That’s what I want the listener to feel—that feeling of being swept up in the eye of a musical storm. I am honored to be among the few jazz players with a nickname.

​Charles: I must say it is a very elite club. Most that are in it are true icons, and you certainly deliver that. But what strikes me is that alongside that high-octane velocity, you have this incredibly seductive, familiar harmonic edge. It’s hard-bop at its core, but it’s completely modern in color. I have listened to your extensive discography and you write some of the most beautiful ballads, with magnificent melodies, how do you strike that balance?

​Justin: It comes down to respecting the lineage while refusing to be a museum piece. I grew up immersed in the heavyweights—Charlie Parker, Cannonball Adderley, Jackie McLean, Lou Donaldson and Art Pepper. You have to have that vocabulary in your bones. But when I pick up the alto, I’m bringing today’s energy, modern colors, and my own life experience to the table.

​Charles: Let’s talk about your improvisational philosophy, because critics frequently point out that you are a master of “elegant and enticing extemporization”. You often capture entire albums live or in a single take without heavy studio safety nets. What goes through your mind when you step up to the mic with no safety wire?

​Justin: Absolute presence, Charles. To me, pure improvisation is the highest form of trust. When you step into the studio or onto a stage, if you’re thinking about what you’re going to play two measures ahead, you’re already in the past. All of my albums are live, even the studio records. It’s just one take. The only difference is the studio albums don’t have an audience. ​I treat improvisation as real-time composition. I’m writing new melodies, modulating harmonies, and changing rhythm structures right there in the moment. When we recorded albums like PROSPER, Night Heat, or Today’s Tomorrow, the goal was to capture that raw, unbridled lightning in a bottle. Once you start over-dubbing or editing every single phrase, you lose the soul, the dangerous edge that makes hard-bop so thrilling. I feel the blessing of the magical moment of the music.

Charles: That “dangerous edge” really shines on your recent work. When you look at projects like Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries, featuring legendary bass master Putter Smith, tracks like “Curious Changes” or “Thrivin’ in Five” have this incredible conversational flow. How do you cultivate that level of dynamic trust with your band?

​Justin: It starts with choosing players who aren’t afraid to jump off the cliff with you. Putter Smith is a titan—his time, his tone, his instinct. When you have a rhythm section that locked in, it gives me complete freedom to push the limits of the horn. We don’t just back each other up; we’re having an active, high-stakes dialogue.​

​Charles: I want to turn our focus to Europe, where your footprint is massive. You’ve played iconic festivals across the continent—Lugano Jazz Festival in Switzerland, Sildajazz in Norway, Jazz in Marciac in France, Ribe Jazz Festival in Denmark, Varna Jazz Days in Bulgaria, and La Villette in Paris, just to name a few. What is it about the European audience that connects so deeply with your music?

​Justin: European jazz listeners have an astonishing reverence for the history of the art form, but they also have a tremendous appetite for bold, uncompromising expression. When you play a festival like Lugano or Sildajazz, the audience is listening with every fiber of their being. They catch every subtle re-harmonization, every dynamic shift, every nod to hard-bop heritage.

Charles: Justin, I see you have known some heavy hitters in the jazz world! Can you tell a how “Sweet Papa” Lou Donaldson was a part of your jazz world

Justin: I would be happy to Charles, I have been listening to Lou since I was a kid. From the record New Faces New Sounds to Swing n Soul, to Blues Walk and Gravy Train, Alligator Bogaloo, and the list goes on! It is a wonderful story and yet a bittersweet one. I met Lou back in 2021, he was a true gentleman and I had been on a gig in Florida where he was at the time. He was 95 at the time, he was retired yet he was still very vital. I had a copy of my CD COLORSTORM VI on me and I gave it to him, we had a wonderful conversation. I could have spoke with him for days, I was so interested in everything about him, yet I wanted to respect his time. I gave him my CD and my number.

A week or so later he did call me to tell me he really liked my music and if I may quote him,

“Justin, you have a deep respect for the tradition of jazz while forging your own path.” I am so honored that this Man, a legendary musician took the time to listen and reach out to me. He was and is a true jazz treasure.

Charles: Is it true your touring days as a sideman are over? You have toured with some of my favorite acts, The Grass Roots, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Nancy Sinatra, and Coolio, it must have been incredible to play with Nancy!

Justin: Those days were great and I had a blast, for sure. Nancy is a classy elegant lady, with a golden voice, a true Sinatra. These days I prefer to have artists play for me on my albums. I have some incredible cats playing on my sessions these days!

I am recording these days, both live and in the studio.

Charles: Tell me a story, a night you remember, one that hits you where you live.

Justin: The basement door at the back of the alley was completely unmarked, except for a subtle brass knocker. If you didn’t know the rhythm of the knock—three quick taps, a beat, then two slow ones—you were just standing in a damp alley smelling of rain and roasted coffee beans. But if you knew the beat, the heavy oak door would creak open, revealing a huge Man, who’s good side you wanted to be on, then a stairwell lined with weathered velvet curtains.

​At two in the morning, the rest of the city was turning down its lights, but downstairs, the night was just beginning.

​The air was thick with the rich aroma of aged bourbon, and the warm, electric buzz of tube amplifiers. It was an after-hours haven, a sacred space off the books where touring legends, local virtuosos, and night-owl purists gathered without setlists or schedules. No contracts, no cameras, there were phones, but they weren’t smart yet, —just pure, unfiltered music.

​In the corner, sitting behind a battered Steinway grand piano, a veteran pianist with a beard that ment business and fingers like velvet, hammered out a moody, chromatic stride pattern in G minor. Beside him, a bassist leaned over his upright, plucking deep, resonant walking lines that throbbed right through the floorboards.

​Sitting at a small round table near the edge of the stage, I was sittin at the bar with my alto, I popped a reed in my mouth and casually set up my horn. The polished lacquer reflecting the amber glow of the Edison bulbs overhead. I just breathed in the atmosphere—the quiet chatter of the room, the clink of ice in rocks glasses, and the hypnotic cadence of the rhythm section pulling everyone into their orbit.

​A subtle nod crossed the room from the drummer, who transitioned into a crisp, driving bebop swing on the ride cymbal. The energy in the room shifted instantly; the musicians knew it was time.

​I stood up, stepping onto the low wooden platform. I usually close my eyes when I play, I took a deep breath, and let out a single, lingering blue note that cut through the haze like a beam of light.

​The speakeasy went dead silent, except for the rhythm section.

​What came out of me, a language of pure emotion. I started slow, leaning into warm, lyrical melodies that painted pictures of late-night city streets, and old memories. Then, with a sudden surge of whatever was inside of me, my fingers began to fly over the keys.

​Twisting bebop runs, unexpected harmonic shifts, and fiery blues bends that had the old-timers at the bar shaking their heads in utter admiration. I was swingin hard!

​”Yeah, man! Tell ‘em about it, Justin!” shouted a voice sitting by the bar, raising a glass of rye.

​The piano player caught the spark, responding to my phrases with sharp, punchy chord voicings, I was pushing the horn to its absolute limits, and the force took me—from deep, buttery low tones to screaming, soul-drenched high notes that thrilled every life force in the room.

​When I brought the solo down to a soft, lingering cadenza—a solitary, golden phrase that faded gently into the air—the room erupted. Snapping fingers, cheers, and the heavy applause of musicians who didn’t impress easily, and that is sayin a lot, filled the speakeasy.

​Then I smiled and stepped back to let the trumpet player take the next section. I took a sip of my drink at the bar, listening as the jam session rolled on into the quiet hours before dawn, where the music never really stopped, and the spirit of jazz lived forever.

I miss that place, it was a true anachronism. I’m not going to mention the name,I want to protect it’s innocence and it’s non-innocence, if ya get my drift. I’m sure many of you know it.

Charles: OMG! That was somethin else!! So vivid. I was feeling like I was right there with you. Joining the Universal Music Group roster was a huge milestone in your career. How has having the global backing of UMG impacted your ability to share your vision with a worldwide audience?

​Justin: It’s been transformative. As an independent artist, you spend so much energy on the mechanics of distribution. Partnering with Universal Music Group allows the music to reach every corner of the globe simultaneously—from Europe to Asia to right here at home. It gives a platform to pure hard-bop and acoustic jazz on a scale that truly honors the art form. The perks of a record deal don’t hurt either. At this stage of the game I find it truly rewarding experiencing a major label having my back.

​Charles: Looking back across your prolific discography—from early recordings like The February Feeling and COLORSTORM, to The Scarlet Jazz Room, Avenue, INTUITION, and Born of the Horn and I thoroughly enjoyed your album “Soul Scene” with Bill Cunliffe—what keeps driving your creative motor?

​Justin: The horn is an infinite universe. I feel like I’m still discovering new shades, new harmonic pathways, and new ways to communicate raw human emotion. As long as I have breath in my lungs and stories to tell, I’m going to keep pushing, keep playing, and keep bringing “The Blizzard” energy to the stage.

​Charles: Twenty-six albums is a massive milestone. When you look back at album number one compared to your latest release, what do you hear in your tone and approach that’s evolved the most?

​Justin: You know, on those early records, I was firing on all cylinders—just raw energy, trying to play every note I knew as fast as I could. The hard bop spirit was there, but it was aggressive. Over twenty-five records, you learn the art of space. The tone got deeper, the blues roots settled in a bit more, and I stopped trying to prove what I could play and started focusing on what the music actually needed.

​Charles: That restraint definitely shows, but you’ve never lost that signature fire. Critics constantly point out that despite the huge catalog, no two records sound recycled. How do you keep the hard bop idiom feeling fresh without straying from its core roots?

​Justin: Hard bop isn’t a museum piece—it’s a living, breathing pulse. It’s rhythm, heart, grit, and harmonic sophistication. As long as you bring your real, current life experience into the studio, the music stays fresh. Different bandmates, new cities, different heartbreaks and triumphs—they all filter through the horn.

​Charles: Critics often praise your studio albums for having the raw, explosive energy of a live gig. How do you capture that “live lighting in a bottle” inside a controlled studio setup?

​Justin: We avoid overthinking it. We set up in the same room, minimal isolation, so we can hear and feel each other naturally—just like on stage. The moment you start over-analyzing a solo in the studio, you lose the soul of hard bop. You need that edge of danger.

​Charles: That “edge of danger” is exactly why your discography stands out as one of the finest in modern jazz. Well, record twenty-six “Solitude in Sound” is a masterpiece, my friend. Here’s to the next 100. Does that crowd energy change how you improvise in the moment?

​Justin: 100%. Improvisation is a conversation—not just between me and the rhythm section, but between the stage and the room. If the room is cooking, I’m going to stretch those blues lines a little further, push the tempo, hit those high-register accents. You feed off that collective atmosphere.

​Charles: You’ve built a fiercely loyal worldwide fanbase over the years. What’s the most gratifying thing a fan has said to you after a show?

​Justin: Oh, Man, there have been so many wonderful and meaningful exchanges, once a young player came up to me after a set recently and said, “I didn’t know music could feel that honest.” That hit me right in the chest. That’s what hard bop is all about—unfiltered honesty. If people leave the hall feeling connected to something real, then I’ve done my job. I love making people happy! Over the years thousands of people, fans and listeners have told me of the joy I have brought into their live. That is truly why I do it. I can feel the energy,be it from the crowd or from the musicians in the moment.

Charles: Do you have any advice for young jazz musicians trying to make their way as artists in the jazz world?

Justin: I see and hear many young cats out of all of the prestigious music schools. Yes, they have chops, and they know their theory and they can play Miles and Coltrane note for note. They spend years learning how to copy the masters; however, they will never become one because they never develop their own sound, or their own style. There are a few tenor players saturating social media showing off how fast they can play. They have forgotten how important a great melody is, and taking time to work on your tone is so important for everyone.

​Charles: Powerful words from one of the best to ever touch the horn.

​Justin Chart—master improviser, Universal Music Group artist, and one of the finest alto saxophonists of our era. Thank you so much for sitting down with us today, Justin.

​Justin: Thank you, Charles. It’s been an absolute blast!

Charles Mobley - Jazz Historian - July 2026

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

Order a Single Copy of the annual print edition of Cadence The Independent Journal of Improvised Music 2025

In this issue -

Audio Interview - Conversation with Bob Dorough - Vocals/Piano

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious; New York - Cheryl Pyle

New Album Review - Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries (feat.) Putter Smith

Feature Interview - Jamie Baum, flutes, composer, bandleader

________________________________________________________

Audio Interview

CMR Podcast 009 - Conversation with Bob Dorough - Vocals/Piano

Streaming Series

SOUNDS DELICIOUS - Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

EPISODE TWO - New York with Cheryl Pyle

New Album Review

Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries (feat.) Putter Smith

Universal Music Group 2026

​There is a profound, almost conversational intimacy to Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries (feat. Putter Smith) that feels increasingly rare in modern recording sessions. Alto saxophonist Justin Chart, a prolific bandleader deeply entrenched in the Los Angeles and west-coast scene, brings a structural clarity to these compositions that acts as the perfect canvas for Putter Smith. Smith, a veteran bassist whose storied career includes time with Thelonious Monk, Art Pepper, Duke Ellington and many more provides a grounding force that is both historically aware and refreshingly understated.

“Cleaning Up The World” is more than just an album opener; it feels like the heartbeat of the record-a swinging invitation to the listener to step into the timeless, night time feel that Chart creates. Smith doesn’t just keep time; he sculpts the space around Chart’s sophisticated and melodic lines, filling the pockets with a resonant, woody warmth that only decades of experience can provide. It is a symbiotic relationship where the avant-leaning tendencies of the ensemble are reigned in by Smith’s bop-honed sensibility, creating a tension that is consistently resolved with grace.

​One cannot ignore the thematic weight of this record, which seems to reflect the changing face of the city that birthed both musicians. Pieces like “Leanin’ to the Night” possess a noir-adjacent atmosphere, painting vivid mental images of flickering streetlights and midnight pavement. It is an evocative, cinematic listen that rewards deep immersion, demanding the listener sit with the silences as much as the solos provided by Chart, Smith and keyboardist Theo Saunders and Kendall Kay on drums.

​Ultimately, this is a record that bridges the gap between the legends of the past and the creative output of the present. It captures a specific chemistry—a meeting of minds where egos are checked at the door in favor of the collective pulse. For those tracking the evolution of the West Coast jazz sound, this collaboration is not just an essential addition to the catalog; it is a vital document of a masters at work. While Chart provides the melodic framework, it is the inclusion of Putter Smith that gives the album its gravitas, grounding the record in the rich, bebop-drenched legacy of the West Coast scene.

The brilliance of this album lies in the rhythm section’s restraint. Smith’s approach to the double bass remains, as ever, a marvel of melodic support. On the sprawling “Curious Changes,” he navigates complex chordal shifts with a light touch, refusing to overplay while consistently driving the harmonic narrative forward. He understands that in a jazz trio or quartet setting, the most powerful note is often the one you choose not to play, and he leverages this philosophy to great effect here. The tracks are well-paced, moving from the buoyant, rhythmic vitality of “Thrivin’ in Five” to the melancholic, stripped-back beauty of “Noctuary.” Each transition is intentional, creating a cohesive listening experience that flows like a long, well-told story rather than a disjointed collection of sessions.

​This is a record for the purist who finds joy in the nuances of a well-placed accent or the subtle interplay between piano and bass. It is an honest, unvarnished look at a group of musicians operating at the height of their mutual understanding. Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries is an understated triumph, proving that the most resonant music often comes from the quietest corners of the room.

​The album’s strength is its structural diversity. From the shuffling, hard-bop sensibilities of “Kickin’ it with Mr. Kidd” to the introspective, chordal landscapes found in “A Scar Becomes A Suit,” the ensemble displays a remarkable range. The Emissaries navigate these shifts with an intuitive fluidity, Chart-- ever the architect of atmospheric jazz responds to Smith’s bass lines as if they were reading from a shared, unspoken map. It is rare to hear a modern ensemble that sounds this cohesive, this lived-in, and this dedicated to the craft of the ensemble piece. Saunders comping sets the stage for Charts dangerous virtuosity, while Kendall Kay is an unassuming master of complications. As it turns out “Mr. Kidd” is the character Mr. Smith played in the James Bond film “Diamonds are Forever”.

​Putter Smith remains an enigma of the instrument; his tone is as dry and punchy as it was forty years ago, yet his phrasing remains contemporary and curious. He treats Chart’s original compositions with the same reverence he might bring to a Standard, elevating the melodies while simultaneously stripping away any unnecessary artifice. This is the hallmark of a true collaborator—the ability to enhance the leader’s vision while leaving a distinct, unmistakable thumbprint on the session.

​This album serves as a reminder of what happens when top-tier musicians stop to simply “play.” It is refreshing, sophisticated, and deeply human. Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries doesn’t aim to reinvent the wheel, but it does aim to remind us why the wheel turns so beautifully in the first place. It is a mandatory listen for anyone who appreciates the enduring power of the jazz quartet.

Charles Mobley

Feature Interview

Interview with Jamie Baum, flutes, composer, bandleader

by Ludwig vanTrikt

Cadence: I am interviewing you during a time that you have a new Septet+ recording on Sunnyside (“What Times Are These”) and recently came back from a mini tour with another series of concerts coming up. Is your sense that in terms of the jazz performance world things have bounced back post Covid?

J.B.: I would say some things have bounced back and some have not. Some clubs and music venues closed and other’s opened. And, in some ways life as we knew it has “come back,” though differently. While things never stay the same, we have all been affected by Covid in some way or another and I think that has shaped and influenced our lives going forward. From what I have seen, there seems to have been a tremendous number of artistic projects/recordings that were created during that time, which would make sense since most artist were staying home for unusually long periods. In the absence of performing, teaching and touring, many were developing new projects. I guess the “silver lining” would be the resulting amount of creativity and unusual amount of consecutive, concentrated “focus time.”

Cadence: “What Times Are These” is noteworthy on so many levels including your incorporating the Septet+ and guest vocalists along with the use of poetry by women poets. How do you get a massive project like this off the ground financially during a time when jazz cd sales are at best erratic?

J.B.: Certainly, having even just the Septet+ for so many years doing many performances, tours and recordings has been a huge financial commitment for me. Adding four vocalists and a percussionist to “What Times Are These,” made it even more costly. While it has been very challenging, with the increasing success and recognition the band achieved through performances and recordings, over time, we’ve been offered better and better paying gigs and some financial support. That said, my recent recording, “What Times Arte These” was made financially possible by a combination of grants, “crowdfunding,” Sunnyside Records support and having subsidized it with my personal finances. It is, of course, unfortunate (and often means less possibilities to record and develop projects by artists) that the music business is unable (or unwilling) to create more sustainable and equitable formats to help those musicians who are not subsidized by their labels (which is the vast majority), nor compensated for their work from most streaming, broadcasting and sales platforms. I don’t want to blame the independent record labels as I know things are more difficult for them as well. And I also want to mention that there are musicians who are trying very hard to make a difference and change the situation by speaking out to our “lawmakers” and through organizing…

Cadence: Were you able to do any recent touring using guest poets or vocalist with the complete Septet+?

J.B.: We did do several performances before recording the music in preparation for the recording dates, and also did a CD-release performance in NYC to celebrate its release. As you might imagine, in addition to the huge financial expense to present the entire group in concert, the fact that most of the musicians have either their own projects and/or are “in-demand” sidemen makes it very challenging to find dates where everyone is available. With this particular project where much of my composing was with these specific musicians in mind, I am reluctant to use subs when any of them cannot make it. We do though have some performances booked in 2025 that I’m excited about and looking forward to.

Cadence: Please give us a glimpse into the workings of your artistry; how do you compose (using the piano or the flute)? What kind of practice routine do you maintain for the flute?

J.B.: When I compose, especially for this size group, I usually start at the piano to come up with with my initial ideas, melodies and harmonies. I will often sing the melodies in my head, in the shower or when I’m doing other things, to get a sense if they work and/or to try to hear what might need to happen next. In my mind, I am often thinking about the concepts I want to work with and will get an idea and perhaps first try it on the piano. Once I have some ideas, I will put them into my Digital Performer sequencing program so I can hear them in “real time” since I’m not a good enough piano player to be able to execute that. Also DP offers me the possibility to hear many melodic and rhythmic lines at the same time to see if they work, something that would be difficult for me to do at the piano. The sequencing program also allows me to move sections around and try different version of things until I decide what I want and what works best.

For the flute, I practice every day and the number of hours I can spend at it is mostly determined by both my schedule and the availability of the practice room in my building. I generally try to do 2 to 4 hours a day at a minimum. I did a lot more for many, many years however between my schedule, composing and other recent family obligations, it’s been a challenge to find more time, though I do hope to again in the near future.

Cadence: Please elaborate upon the various themes on your new recording especially in light of the forthcoming American presidential election?

J.B.: Well, of course at this point we’ve already had the election and the results are clear. Needless to say it is a challenging time to be living in the US (though I know this will have far-reaching effects worldwide), especially for artists (among other marginalized groups). When I began my work on this recording, choosing poems, clarifying the themes and concept I wanted to focus on and composing the music, it was in 2020 just after Covid shut everything down. I had no idea what the political situation would become here or what things would transpire in other parts of the world. In some ways, one always hopes that by the time their work is finished and is released commercially, that the themes and the music will still be relevant. “For better or worse” as they say, the themes found on my recording are probably even more relevant now than when I began…

The title of the recording was inspired by Adrienne Rich’s 1995 poem “What Kinds of Times Are These” and refers to my experience of what was going on around me both with the outbreak of Covid-19 and what was happening socially and politically.

Soon after everything shut down in March, 2020 and I was confined to my mid-town NYC apartment, I discovered Bill Moyers’s website “A Poet A Day,” and while I’ve never been a huge poetry person, every day Moyers posted a poem that you could read, view a video of the poet reading it, and see Moyers interview the poet about it. This really drew me in.

From that, I got inspired to work on a new project for my large ensemble, deciding to do something I’d never done before - work with poetry as lyrics, composing music for it and writing for vocalists. I chose poems where I found something that “spoke to me” and I could express that feeling musically; I let each poem dictate what I would do, and who I would have sing it and solo on it. I knew the themes I wanted to work with although I didn’t yet know the order of those composition but allowed it to unfold as I went and as things became more clear.

While each composition’s meaning for me is discussed and elaborated in the liner notes that come with the recording and can best be interpreted individually by listening to the music and reading the poem, I offer here some examples:

On “In Those Years” by Adrienne Rich, the beginning passage reads, “people will say, we lost track of the meaning of we, of you. We found ourselves reduced to I.” I highlight this passage and in particular the word “I” by having the vocalist repeat it (with a piano ostinato accompaniment) while having the tempo speed up to give word more urgency and intensity.

Poet-novelist Marge Piercy’s “I Am Wrestling with Despair,” is a dystopian “cri de coeur” about the cruelty of the radical right towards the poor and women. The juxtaposition of the repeated yet displaced guitar/piano intro that continues through the first chorus gives an unsettled feeling.

The opening line of poet Naomi Shihab Nye’s “My Grandmother in the Stars,” (“It is possible that we will not meet again on earth, to think this fills my throat with dust”) was written about her grandmother in Palestine. At that time I’d been sharing in the caretaking of my mother, whose dementia/Alzheimer’s had progressed to a point where I couldn’t even play it for her. However, working with that poem and composing the music for it became a life-line for me, offering me a place to put my feelings about my mother and that experience.

In essence, it is difficult, shocking and depressing to see the direction of our politics and socio-economic climate that has taken shape, accelerating over the past 20 years (though many believe it is a natural outgrowth happing far longer). Music has always been a vehicle of expression for me as was this project.

Cadence: Since founding the Septet in 1999 would it be accurate to say that this lineup has been an artistic and financial success?

J.B.: Oh…success is such a subjective concept. Of course it would be wonderful to make lots of money and be known world-wide (and I would be happy for that), however, my main goals have always been to be able to work at my craft to improve, perform and record as much as possible. Recognition and success, while personally gratifying, usually translates to more visibility, more options and being able to work more…and if that happens, it’s a great thing and is more inline with my goals! Being able to keep the band together (with some personnel changes at different times) this long has been an incomparable opportunity for me as a composer. Knowing the musicians I am composing for in addition to having had this length of time to learn and understand how to orchestrate and arrange for this instrumentation has been a gift. Living in NYC, I have been very lucky to work with so many great musicians who both have the skill and mind-set to play the many unconventional ideas I’ve wanted to explore with this band.

Cadence: How do you balance being a busy artist with living your life in terms of dating or marriage, family responsibilities and the mundane parts of life?

J.B.: I think that is always a big challenge for everyone no matter what field, depending how demanding one’s vocation and aspirations are. For me personally it has always been, and continues to be, a difficult challenge trying to balance family obligations and a satisfying personal life with the demands of being a musician, and often times one area suffers. Sometimes I don’t get enough time to practice or compose, and sometimes I don’t give enough time or attention to friends… Luckily I have been married to another musician who understands the demands of the daily focus and practice I need on my instrument, who I also frequently play and tour with…so that helps. But life presents unplanned and unforeseen interruptions that force you to make choices about your priorities and sometimes I get them right and sometimes I don’t…but unless we can find more hours in the day, whichever choices we make, there is always “a price to pay.” For example, for three years I shared in the care-taking of my mother who lived in Connecticut and suffered from dementia/ Alzheimer’s (mentioned earlier) until she passed this past February. That took a significant amount of time away from every part of my life, but it was the right thing to do and I was glad to be able to be there for her. Now, I have been focused on getting back to a more regular practicing, teaching and performance routine.

Cadence: Do you think that it is necessary in order to release music that it’s helpful to have music with a theme? For instance in 2018 the record “Bridges” connected the musical dots a number of different cultural dots. Pease answer the first part of that question and kindly delve into “Bridges”?

J.B.: I don’t think that it is necessary in order to release music that it’s helpful to have music with a theme. I think that all approaches to creativity are valid and can be used and employed at different times. Personally, for me, I have found that I enjoy working with whatever is inspiring to me at that particular moment in time, that gives me a focus to explore ways to develop ideas and formats for myself (and my band) as both a composer and improviser. For example, because you have asked about “Bridges”…at the time I wrote the music for that recording, I had been doing quite a bit of touring in South Asia (including India, Nepal, Bangladesh, etc.), a lot of listening to the music from those cultures, in addition to doing performances with musicians from those countries, both in NYC and there. I love the music and cultures from that part of the world so became interested in trying to find ways I could take ideas from that music to enhance my own. Of course, I understand and have great respective for their musical traditions, its complexity and the number of years, time and devotion it takes to play and understand that music so I was not trying to write or play in those styles. I was just trying to take some elements to expand my palette and work with them in my own way. Working with Amir ElSaffar, who played in my band during that time, was also influential. We had some discussions about the similarities (and differences) between Maqam, Qawwali and sacred Jewish music that were illuminating and inspired some of the music I wrote and recorded on Bridges as well.

Cadence: Do you foresee to continue recording for Sunnyside Records? Are there any plans to release your music via vinyl?

J.B.: I hope to continue to record for Sunnyside. “What Times Are These” is my fourth recording for Sunnyside and I feel very fortunate to have their support. I have a very good relationship with them and live just a few blocks from their office so enjoy going to visit for a coffee from time to time. The label has a very long history for putting out great music and I am honored to be a part of that legacy.

Sunnyside does not release their music on vinyl, at this point, and I don’t think my earlier recordings have been reissued on vinyl either.

Cadence: Your recently completed a tour of parts of India and would love to get a glimpse into that experience both musically and non-musically? Was this your first time?

J.B.: I actually just returned from a 4 1/2 month tour with the first half being in Europe (Germany, Austria and Spain) and the second half in Kathmandu and Delhi. This was my fourth time performing at the Jazzmandu Jazz Festival in Kathmandu and my third time performing in Delhi. I love Nepal and each time I’ve gone to play at that festival has been special. Also, that festival lasts a little over one week so that amount of time offers the opportunity to get to know a little of the city, the music and some of the musicians and fans. It’s a wonderful, special place and the people are very warm and friendly. It has some similarities to India (though India is quite vast with several different dialects and cultures) however there are also influences from further East including Tibet, China and some of the other surrounding countries, in addition to the many visitors and tourists from Europe and Australia. This time when I went to India, I stayed only in Delhi for one week but was actually happy to have more time there to explore parts of the city and get to know some of the people. The other times I was there I didn’t have any free time since we were performing, rehearsing and giving workshops.

I love that part of the world, the music, the culture, the food, the world view…and so any chance I can get to go, I will gladly take it. It is very different and one really experience a paradox of the juxtaposition of the very old and very new.

Cadence; Going from talking about one of humanity’s most ancient civilizations to AI. What are your views on this burgeoning technology and its potential use and misuse in Jazz?

J.B.: To be honest, I don’t know much about AI and in particular it’s impact on music except what I have heard and read…mostly I’ve heard about it in context of it’s use in music in the film and television industries. Of course, I would be opposed to it’s misuse in any form, however while this might sound naive, I believe there will always be a need and place for live and creative music because musicians need to create, perform and connect with others, and most people need to experience that emotion and connection that can only be had in a live and/or recorded activity. It reminds me of when people talk about whether the CD is obsolete and/or unnecessary…all I can say is that many musicians I know like to compose, perform and/or record thinking and conceiving of their music as a group of pieces that relate, perhaps that has an arch and order to them to communicate a vision, statement or concept they are working with. Many musicians, including myself still find the idea of liner notes, telling a story, a concept and a feeling in addition to having something tactile and finite, to be essential…albeit I know I’m a bit of a dinosaur!

Cadence: I am interviewing you during some extensive touring by you and your band; thus, please address a statement that Esperanza Spalding made about how she noticed that even for someone like herself (a higher profile artist) performance opportunities across the world have dramatically decreased?

J.B.: Actually, the 4 1/2 week tour I just returned from that you are speaking of was not my own tour nor did I do any of the booking for it. I was a sidewoman in pianist/composer Monika Herzig’s group and we were on tour celebrating the release of our fourth CD and 10th year performing together. I do however have a tour coming up in January with my own quartet. To be honest, for me booking the quartet tour recently was much easier than I’m used to because I’ve been booking my large group, The Jamie Baum Septet+, for several years. Booking the Septet+, despite the success of our recent release (with a 5-star review in DownBeat) has become even more difficult because it has now become a 10-piece band (with vocalists and percussion) fitting the needs of the new material. Booking a band of that size (even when it was just a seven-piece band) was always a challenge because it requires a large stage, more backline, and of course more money, not only for artist fees but hotel rooms and flights! Like I said though, I did not book the recent tour I was on with Monika’s band so I can’t speak to the challenges she faced. She did a great job keeping us on the road for so long with many nice performance dates.

Without knowing the specific issues Esperanza Spalding was speaking about (i.e. fee, venue size, travel requirements, etc.) it is difficult to assume the context of the conversation, and so I wouldn’t want to make a comment or dispute her experience. While I have always found it challenging to book performance opportunities, we are finally coming back from the “covid period” where everything was halted! I think it took quite a while for performances to return to the pre-covid level (especially with many of the clubs having closed permanently), so to me it seems like this period is a busy time.

Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries (feat.) Putter Smith

Universal Music Group 2026

​There is a profound, almost conversational intimacy to Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries (feat. Putter Smith) that feels increasingly rare in modern recording sessions. Alto saxophonist Justin Chart, a prolific bandleader deeply entrenched in the Los Angeles and west-coast scene, brings a structural clarity to these compositions that acts as the perfect canvas for Putter Smith. Smith, a veteran bassist whose storied career includes time with Thelonious Monk, Art Pepper, Duke Ellington and many more provides a grounding force that is both historically aware and refreshingly understated.  

"Cleaning Up The World" is more than just an album opener; it feels like the heartbeat of the record-a swinging invitation to the listener to step into the timeless, night time feel that Chart creates. Smith doesn’t just keep time; he sculpts the space around Chart’s sophisticated and melodic lines, filling the pockets with a resonant, woody warmth that only decades of experience can provide. It is a symbiotic relationship where the avant-leaning tendencies of the ensemble are reigned in by Smith’s bop-honed sensibility, creating a tension that is consistently resolved with grace.

​One cannot ignore the thematic weight of this record, which seems to reflect the changing face of the city that birthed both musicians. Pieces like "Leanin' to the Night" possess a noir-adjacent atmosphere, painting vivid mental images of flickering streetlights and midnight pavement. It is an evocative, cinematic listen that rewards deep immersion, demanding the listener sit with the silences as much as the solos provided by Chart, Smith and keyboardist Theo Saunders and Kendall Kay on drums.

​Ultimately, this is a record that bridges the gap between the legends of the past and the creative output of the present. It captures a specific chemistry—a meeting of minds where egos are checked at the door in favor of the collective pulse. For those tracking the evolution of the West Coast jazz sound, this collaboration is not just an essential addition to the catalog; it is a vital document of a masters at work. While Chart provides the melodic framework, it is the inclusion of Putter Smith that gives the album its gravitas, grounding the record in the rich, bebop-drenched legacy of the West Coast scene.

The brilliance of this album lies in the rhythm section’s restraint. Smith’s approach to the double bass remains, as ever, a marvel of melodic support. On the sprawling "Curious Changes," he navigates complex chordal shifts with a light touch, refusing to overplay while consistently driving the harmonic narrative forward. He understands that in a jazz trio or quartet setting, the most powerful note is often the one you choose not to play, and he leverages this philosophy to great effect here. The tracks are well-paced, moving from the buoyant, rhythmic vitality of "Thrivin' in Five" to the melancholic, stripped-back beauty of "Noctuary." Each transition is intentional, creating a cohesive listening experience that flows like a long, well-told story rather than a disjointed collection of sessions.

​This is a record for the purist who finds joy in the nuances of a well-placed accent or the subtle interplay between piano and bass. It is an honest, unvarnished look at a group of musicians operating at the height of their mutual understanding. Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries is an understated triumph, proving that the most resonant music often comes from the quietest corners of the room.

​The album’s strength is its structural diversity. From the shuffling, hard-bop sensibilities of "Kickin' it with Mr. Kidd" to the introspective, chordal landscapes found in "A Scar Becomes A Suit," the ensemble displays a remarkable range. The Emissaries navigate these shifts with an intuitive fluidity, Chart-- ever the architect of atmospheric jazz responds to Smith’s bass lines as if they were reading from a shared, unspoken map. It is rare to hear a modern ensemble that sounds this cohesive, this lived-in, and this dedicated to the craft of the ensemble piece. Saunders comping sets the stage for Charts dangerous virtuosity, while Kendall Kay is an unassuming master of complications. As it turns out "Mr. Kidd" is the character Mr. Smith played in  the James Bond film "Diamonds are Forever".

​Putter Smith remains an enigma of the instrument; his tone is as dry and punchy as it was forty years ago, yet his phrasing remains contemporary and curious.  He treats Chart’s original compositions with the same reverence he might bring to a Standard, elevating the melodies while simultaneously stripping away any unnecessary artifice. This is the hallmark of a true collaborator—the ability to enhance the leader’s vision while leaving a distinct, unmistakable thumbprint on the session.

​This album serves as a reminder of what happens when top-tier musicians stop to simply "play." It is refreshing, sophisticated, and deeply human. Justin Chart & The Jazz Emissaries doesn't aim to reinvent the wheel, but it does aim to remind us why the wheel turns so beautifully in the first place. It is a mandatory listen for anyone who appreciates the enduring power of the jazz quartet.

Charles Mobley

Issued Weekly on Fridays

In this issue -

Audio Interview - Bruce Forman, on working with Clint Eastwood

Streaming Series - Sounds Delicious Monica Metzler, Dave Storrs

New Album Review - Love Unfold The Moon - Mustafa Stefan Dill

Jazz Story - Turning Points - Su Terry

Feature Interview - Victor Jones

Audio Interview

CMR Podcast 007 Conversation: Bruce Forman talks about working with Clint Eastwood.

Video Section

Streaming Series

SOUNDS DELICIOUS - Improvised Music and Vegan Cuisine

EPISODE ONE - Portland, Oregon, Monica Metzler, Dave Storrs

New Album Review

Mustafa Stefan Dill
Love Unfold The Moon
Norumba Records

Hidden Promises in Joint Terrains, Apex Emerging: Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3
Dill, g, Oud; Ash Mattia,vln; Ben Wright, bass; Thor Rodriguez, d. Jan 3, 2026 Santa Fe, NM

Guitarist and Oudist Mustafa Stefan Dill takes us on an extraordinary journey with his quartet. He presents “Love Unfold The Moon”, a piece in three parts with guitar, oud, violin, upright bass & drums. For those of you unfamiliar with the Oud, it’s a stringed instrument that looks similar to a mandolin, it’s fretless and consists of a single lower string followed by five higher strings that are doubled. Possible tuning from low to high might be F,A,D,G,C,F. The fact that it’s fretless allows for the use of microtones, for example: notes that are in between the traditional chromatic scale notes. This helps create the unique sound used in much of middle eastern music.
Dill and bassist Ben Wright are two players that have been around and done it all. They’re teamed with two younger musicians on violin and drums creating an interesting dynamic between bandmates.
We open with solo guitar. Dill’s playing is rich with a careful selection of dissonance that works well introducing what’s to come. The music thrives on each member listening to and then reacting to one another. Themes and unison lines are dispersed throughout. Dynamics, color and texture play a key role in the performance. The players are free to explore as they share the space so beautifully allowing for the conversational aspect that’s so much apart of this music to blossom. The musicianship of all the players is exceptional, the spontaneity and uncertainty of what comes next is captivating. If your new to music that’s contemporary, free, out or if this is what like “Love Unfold The Moon” offers a deep dive into a multicultural, ear opening experience that just may change the way you listen.
Frank Kohl

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Jazz Story - Turning Points

Turning Points Guest Artist - Su Terry

Photo Credit: Mark Thomas

Turning Points at the Deer Head and Beyond

When David from Cadence asked me to contribute a story about a turning point in my life as a musician, three different types of turning point came to mind, and they happen to all of us regardless of our profession.

The first occurs naturally (disaster, death, sudden inheritance, social changes, etc.) This type of turning point happened in 2012, when the end of the Mayan Long Count Calendar was approaching and lots of people said it would be the end of the world. That didn’t happen...but things did change...especially for me! More on this in a bit.

The second type is thrust upon us artificially (the economy, arbitrary rules created by bureaucrats, politics, racism/sexism, etc.)

The third type of turning point is what results from our executive decisions. This type is unique in that we are deliberately plunging ourselves into the unknown. Whatever happens, there’s no one and nothing else to blame. As Louis Jordan said, “ain’t nobody here but us chickens.”

I found myself in that third type of turning in 2012, when I decided to stop playing the alto saxophone. Little did I realize that I may have been influenced by the first type as well!

In 2012 the end of the 5,126-year-long cycle of the ancient Mayan calendar was upon us. Scholars rejected the idea that this event signified the end of the world. They said, rather, that it merely indicated the end of one cycle and the beginning of another, and that it could, in fact, engender a new and positive era of humanity!

For myself personally, there had already been recent significant changes in my life. But I thought that they were the result of my own thinking. Looking back on it, perhaps I was just falling in line with humanity’s destiny. As my husband is fond of saying: “Everything is under control. We just don’t know by who.”

I had stopped playing C flute a year or two prior to 2012. Keep in mind that my arsenal since arriving in New York in 1982 had been flute, clarinet, alto and soprano. For over 30 years I’d made a good living as a musician in the Big Apple. Living the dream, I was playing with many great jazz artists, the famous and the infamous, old masters and young lions, innovators and stylists, players and singers, big bands and small groups, big venues and school assemblies, record dates and club dates, the circus, Broadway and off-Broadway shows, American music and non-American music.

One steady source of income was backing up singers. From jazz stars like Irene Reid, Joe Lee Wilson, Teri Thornton, Marion Cowings & Kim Kalesti–even Tony Danza–to lesser-known-but-great talents on the cabaret and Broadway scenes.

The musical directors for the singers would present me with a lead sheet in concert key (key of C). I would make up my own parts on flute, clarinet and alto saxophone. (Of these, only flute is in concert key. Clarinet is in the key of Bb. Alto is in the key of Eb. That means that a clarinet’s C sounds like a Bb on the piano, and an alto sax’s C sounds like an Eb on the piano.)

After some years of this, my brain didn’t want to transpose music to different keys all the time. I thought, let me just play instruments in Bb now.

Giving up the alto was a radical step. Alto saxophone was the instrument on which I’d made my reputation. Toured worldwide. Recorded with leaders like Charli Persip, Clifford Jordan, Jaki Byard, Peggy Stern, Hilton Ruiz, was lead altoist for DIVA, and performed worldwide with countless other legends. Had my own groups too.

I was an alto player. Everyone knew me as that. I knew myself as that. To stop playing alto was, basically, sacrilege. But my heart was calling me away from E flat, and towards B flat. I had no choice but to follow the call, even though I LOST ALL MY SINGER CLIENTS AND MOST OF MY OTHER GIGS because they wanted me on alto, not soprano.

Was this the end of my career? Was I starting to feel my mortality? Thomas Chapin, my old friend, had died at 40 years old in 1998. That shook me. In 2006 Lew Soloff called to tell me that Hilton Ruiz had died in New Orleans, where he was promoting the album we had just made with him. Total shock. Nine years later, Lew died. Many others. My friends were dying, and they weren’t old.

My mentor Jackie McLean had been a father figure to me. But he had died the same year as Hilton.

I knew I was going to stop playing alto, but I needed to bounce that decision off of a trusted advisor. So I turned to my surrogate father figure: Phil Woods.

When I began spending more time in the Poconos starting in 2001, Phil had become a mentor and friend. Once I was giving a masterclass at the Deer Head, and it was pouring rain out, a real deluge. I thought no one would come. But guess who was the first player to walk in the door?

“Phil, you’re coming to my masterclass?” I said, incredulous.

“I never miss a chance to learn something,” he replied.

So in 2012, listening to a group at the Deer Head, contemplating my turning point and not thinking AT ALL about the end of the Mayan calendar, I saw Phil sitting at the bar. I went over and sat next to him.

It was time for confession.

“Phil, I have made a decision that I’d like to share with you,” I began.

He was attentive. I told him I was going to stop playing alto saxophone, in order to focus on soprano and clarinet. I don’t know what I thought he would say, but I probably expected a similar reaction to the rest of my friends and colleagues, which they didn’t say to my face, but I knew what they were thinking: I was an idiot, foolish, possibly insane.

Phil was blunt. He always was. “Do what you feel, baby,” he said.

That was it. No chastisement, no interrogation, no bewilderment. It was like getting a blessing...from the Pope.

Phil passed away just three years later.

Turning points arrive not only with individuals, but also with societies, and even with species–whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. It seems that wherever we turn now, there’s a turning point happening. From the stars and planets to the earth and its climates, from the existential threat of nuclear war to the policies of your local school board.

Further complications include: is AI going to rule us? Are we living in a Simulation? Are humans evolving from homo sapiens into homo synthetica, or homo cyberneticus?

And where does all that leave music, and musicians? We’re already in the middle of a drastically changing marketplace paradigm. Lots of people are proposing lots of new ideas, but which ones should we follow? Who can we trust–certainly not the industry rulers who treat musicians like indentured servants!

Contemplation of death is a timeless practice of the sages. From one’s personal viewpoint, one’s own death is the biggest turning point of all. And death of humanity, or the planet, is almost unfathomable. Yet the sages tell us time and time again that death is not an ending, it’s a turning point. They tell us there is something beyond.

I’m recalling the tenor saxophonist Harold Vick, who was a close friend of mine. He told me that when he died on the operating table after his first heart attack, a road appeared to him, which he walked down until it came to a fork. He heard music coming from one direction. “I always followed the music my whole life Su,” he said, “so that’s the way I went.” Harold then woke up on the operating table, and lived to play many more years.

We have to follow the music, and that means we have to follow our heart. The heart has an electromagnetic field far greater than that of the brain. It knows things we can never know intellectually. Just like in the song by Benny Carter and Sammy Cahn, “Only Trust Your Heart.”

Music is a path with heart. When we follow that path, whether as a player, a singer, a composer or a listener, I believe we end up where we need to be. So if I were to offer any encouraging words to my fellow homo sapiens during the present turning point of humanity, I would say:

Follow the music.

And only trust your heart.

–Su Terry

Feature Interview

Victor Jones Interview

By Zim Tarro

Q: To start, please introduce yourself, your name, where you’re fromand what you do.

Jones: Okay. Well, my name is Victor Jones, my good friends call me Ya-Ya, those who have known me for a long time. I’m a drummer and I also play trumpet, write music and produce records and I’m a recording artist. I’ve done a number of projects as a teenager.

I started out on what I guess would be called the chitlin’ circuit with Lou Donaldson when I was a teenager, 17 or something – Jimmy McGriff and all those kind of guys, Jack McDuff and Dr. Lonnie Smith and that whole scene and a stint with George Benson. But this is just my drumming.

I came from “the Oranges” in New Jersey. I played in the high school wind ensemble and the marching band and the brass ensemble as a trumpet player. I studied that all through school; I never played drums at school. Then I got a scholarship to Berklee College as a trumpet player. And I was playing classical music on trumpet.

Anyway, fast-forward to Lou Donaldson as far as my drumming is concerned and the jazz thing is concerned. Before Lou Donaldson I was playing with a lot of R&B and rock bands around New Jersey Essex County area. And I was born in Norton, New Jersey but I was raised in the Oranges. But I played in that whole thing; we played in all the music of Ohio Players and Earth, Wind & Fire, of course, the music of the day and tons of James Brown. So these influences have entered my life and also rock influences, no doubt. I’m interested in contemporary music today and what’s going on in the popular world. So what else can I say about that?

Q: One of the questions I had was about your transition to drums. Have you played drums while you were playing trumpet?

Jones: My transition from trumpet to drums. I mean I played the trumpet about four times a week. I did sessions on trumpet. But anyway, how I got into playing drums is I purchased a snare drums when I was I don’t know how old. I started playing trumpet when I was 11 and I played a snare drum when I was 12. I used to just play it to accompany my cousin, my beautiful cousin Tracy, who would play flute and I would play the trumpet or the drums. She was in the 4th grade and I was in the 5th grade. So I was just using the drums as an accompanying instrument. And then when I entered high school we had one of the best drum lines in all of the state of New Jersey. The East Orange High School drummer line was so sharp and so good that I started learning all those cadences just by watching them and hanging out with them. And the head of the drum line, his name was Carl Guthrie. Carl Guthrie started teaching me rudiments and I learned all the drum parts and all the cadences that the drummers were playing. I wanted to switch to drums and my high school teaching would not let me do it. He said, “No, we don’t need drummers, we need trumpet players. So I just played drums at home basically.

Q: Yes.

Jones: I eventually got a drum set when I was probably 15 years old, which is probably late for must drummers. And I got my first drum set when I was 15. That was 1970 so that tells you how old I am. I started playing the drums with all these rock bands and it was like the drums took over and I could, you know, freely and open, and I knew ever song that came on the radio. And my family was a jazz family; they listened to jazz all around the house. It’s not like I discovered jazz one day, it’s the sound I was raised with.

Q: What did your dad do for a living?

Jones: My dad is kind of an artist himself. He worked at Clark Design. When you fly over an airport and it says “Norris Airport” and it’s written in flowers – a landscape artist. He worked with flowers and, you know, he was – he had a green thumb. But that’s what he did. He worked in the shop and he worked in the various parks, designing flowers. But he loved to listen to Dinah Washington and the music he listened to, you know, that was the age of the bebop cats. He was into all of that, from Benny Goodman to the Dorseys. So that was an influence for me without even me trying. It was just the sound that was around the house. My mother was also – she took care of the house and she loved Billie Holiday and Dinah and Ella and Louie and all that stuff, so it’s something that’s been in my family since I was born.

Q: That’s like growing up with classical music, you know? It’s not classical but it’s “classical.” It will be classical.

Jones: Yes, it’s like folk music to my family, just a certain music that we were listening to. You know, Black people were playing this type of music and they were favorites and they were stars. I’m talking about the `30s or `40s. I mean jazz music was like what, you know like Snoop Dog – I’m talking about popularity – back in the ‘30s it was Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Louie Armstrong, that was popular music.

Q: I wondered if you could, for the sake of our audience, just sort of explain what the Chitlin’ Circuit is and what it was and what your experience was working – it’s a broad question.

Jones: I got flunked out of Berklee College of Music. Well, I went for a short period and then Lou Donaldson called and he said, “We’re going on the road.” And we started going to Texas and just – basically the Chitlin’ Circuit was all of the Black clubs in the United States of America. That’s how the Motown people used to travel. They played all the Black clubs in the United States and wherever else they could be. So they were basically small clubs in Kansas and St. Louis and even in California.

We traveled by car with Lou Donaldson and Mark Elf was the guitar player. I’ll never forget, I was probably 17. I remember getting my driver’s license and Lou would never let me drive the car. He’d let me drive the car but he’d never fall asleep, like, “Okay, you’ve got it. You can drive the car now.”

Q: His eyes would be open.

Jones: His eyes wouldn’t be open but he would never go to sleep. But anyway, there was a lot of driving involved. I’m very honored and proud of being on that scene. And people like Jimmy McGriff were involved in that and guys like George Benson was on it. We were always running George Benson on the road in those days. And then he got that really big hit, This Masquerade and he got out of the Chitlin’ Circuit.

Q: I remember that hit.

Jones: He had that major hit and after that I didn’t see him on the road any more. It’s sort of like a springboard to go to the big works. And then I started playing with Stan Getz. That was a bigger world; there were major jazz festivals around the world, so…

Q: Flying everywhere.

Jones: Flying and then we’re, you know, we played in Europe, we played in Africa, we played the world. We didn’t play Asia too much but we played around the world. So that was a whole different scene. But everything that I’ve learned, I played the Chitlin’ Circuit and learned about jazz drumming is from that period. No matter how hip I got, the basics come from that.

Q: I guess there’s no replacing that, there’s no way you could synthesize that, put that in a book or relate it into…

Jones: No way! Pat Martino is perfect example of somebody who came out through the Chitlin’ Circuit. There’s a lot of great artists, like the ones I mentioned – Pat Martino, even Coltrane, even Miles Davis played on the Chitlin’ Circuit, come to think of it. He was playing in East St. Louis and the Midwest and down South and Detroit had a great music scene.

Q: I have a practical question here about the Chitlin’ Circuit. I know that – I remember Julian Priester telling me when he was with, I think it was Dinah Washington, that there were some times they didn’t have any place to stay in a town even though they played there. You know, it was like…

Jones: There were those days also but I’m probably a bit younger than that. I know there were times, like even the most down guys, even all those jazz guys, Cannonball Adderly, where they would play in certain places and they couldn’t stay in certain hotels. They’d had to stay in people’s houses and all that. But it wasn’t because of some racial thing, it was just because, you know. Or we stayed in these $6 a night motels on the side of the road. I’ll never forget, we were staying in motels and the motels were $6 a night. I’m probably one or two generations younger than those guys where they say, “No Blacks” and segregation was kind of – I’ve never been through that. I’m kind of in another world.

Q: We were talking about the Chitlin’ Circuit and I’m sure it provided a lot of real benefits as well as just the venue itself.

Jones: I think what I benefitted most was from the music itself, learning how the traditions as far as keeping time and, you know, if you’re not happening then you’re not playing. If it doesn’t feel good, if people aren’t partying and, you know, we used to play for dancers with Lou Donaldson, even with McGriff, we used to play in ballrooms. People would dance to jazz and blues and I loved it. And if your stuff wasn’t happening and nobody was dancing, you’re not going to be playing there much longer.

Q: Your body knows, if you have to dance to something, it can tell quicker than your mind can.

Jones: Absolutely. That’s why I like playing for dancers. I like playing for people – I like playing for an audience that loves to dance. If they can really feel it they will get up and dance to help you through it.

Q: I never though of that before but in the sense of – there’s an idea that we have an instinctual form of intelligence and it’s about eight times quicker than our rational, empirical form of intelligence. It’s the instinct. I never thought that that’s the best judge of music.

Jones: To me that’s the best. I go to a lot of clubs in New York and I hang out and I go to various nightclubs. I mean back in the day I used to go to Studio 54, speaking of dance places. I used to go to every dance place and certain references, certain songs would come on and the whole crowd would get up all at once and dence to that. And I would be so curious and think, “Why can’t I do that?” or “How do I do that?” But it all comes from – the whole place says “Yes!” I love that.

Q: It’s spiritual.

Jones: It’s a spiritual experience and it’s a great complement.

Q: Yes, that music can be that powerful, that it can get everybody up and on their feet whether they want to or not. It’s just inspired.

Jones: And I think – there are various kinds of jazz, there’s soul jazz and there’s smooth jazz and there’s electronic jazz and there’s acid jazz and Black. Whatever moves you, whatever makes people move, that’s what I’m interested in. I think that jazz could still have that. It became intellectualized and you sit down and you be quiet and don’t take any pictures and don’t eat and don’t swallow and check us out. That’s okay too, that’s like a classical approach to appreciating music. But I prefer, you play in front of a crowd and see exactly how they react to it and make them react the way they would naturally react. Like when you play for children they just start dancing or they start screaming. Children, to me, are a great audience. I know about children because I have five of them.

Q: You’re right. They haven’t put on all the filters yet to slow down their reaction.

Jones: That’s exactly right. I started recording with all sorts of jazz artists and R&B artists and, you know, I play with Michel Petrucciani, another genius virtuoso pianist. I played with him for years and played with Chaka Kahn. And people often asked, “Well, how do you play with Michel and then you play with Chaka Kahn?” And the answer is that Michel has the same beauty in his playing as Chaka has in her voice. Although they are different sounds, as a drummer I am drawn toward great rhythm and rhythms that make you move, whether it’s playing with the top cymbal or whether you’re playing a serious backbeat.

Q: Yes, I was going to say anything that moves, in the really good sense of the word “moves,” that really moves you. I keep getting reminded that as musicians we don’t really think of everything in terms of categorizing of “Oh, I’m going to hear that guy because he does that style.” You’re responding to people in their attempts to make music.

Jones: Because the spirit of great music, every music has a soul and has a spirit. I don’t care who would see James Brown, he would blow anybody’s mind, I don’t care who would go hear Lester Young, he would blow anybody’s mind. You know, he’s a great musician; I feel what he’s doing. That’s all that matter to me, do you feel what I’m dong? Can you feel what I’m doing?

Q: And you really have to witness that, don’t you? You can’t – you can hear it on a record but you sure can’t – it’s not the same. What are you up to now?

Jones: I’m starting a trio now. I’ve played with trios a lot and I love playing with piano trios. But I’m starting a new trio that’s going to sound like nobody else.

Q: What does this trio consist of?

Jones: Well actually it was technical a quartet but I’m calling it a trio because it’s me and I’ve been playing with Theo Hill, a great young pianist in his late 20s – Theo Hill and the bass player who played in the Blues Brothers band. His name is Eric Jukell. So between Eric and Curtis Lundy, either one of them I would use, but Eric seems to be more accessible. Eric is an electric bass player, he plays 5-string, he plays fretless bass and he plays upright bass. But he’s really an electric bass player and he was with the Blues Brothers. He’s the one that on all of those Blues Brother records. He basically plays changes, he plays odd meters, plays everything in perfect intonation, great solos and a heck of a nice guy. So I’m trying to – maybe I shouldn’t talk so much about it because somebody else may take my idea.

Q: I don’t know. It doesn’t really work that way.

Jones: It’s really cool. You know, I loved playing back in the old days in a trio with Joanne Brackeen then playing with Michael Petrucciani and trio is such a great way to express yourself.

Q: What is it about the trio that…

Jones: Well, it hardly ever gets cluttered. It’s just three individuals bouncing off – maybe it’s the triangle shape that makes it work, because piano is a percussion instrument and if I find a piano player – playing with Michele, Michele and I had the same sense of rhythm. You know, if you find somebody with your same sense of rhythm – there are some piano players who are just playing free, so you can go there too but every now and then you’ve got to latch onto something and play a groove. It’s just less clutter and it’s just beautiful, you know, if you have a piano player who is really capable, who knows modern music and playing and modern chord structures from Monk on to Chic on up to Herbie and then the free stuff like Andrew Hill. Theo is a capable piano player. He came with me through Seoul, Korea. We had a gig there for three months in a club.

Q: It seems like with a duo there’s a lot of dialogue, right? Like you’re responding – it’s very clear what you’re doing. And in a trio you have these options of responding to each other, parallel – you know, it’s just sort of…

Jones: Parallel and bouncing back and forth; it’s a triangular shape and if you stay within that – remember Circles? I used to love that band Circles with Chick Corea and Barry Altschul and Dave Holland and Anthony Jackson.

Q: That one escapes me.

Jones: Anthony Braxton. When that group played trio, oh my gosh, it was just so futuristic and there.

Q: Let’s go back to the Afro jazz a little bit and just talk about your experience with…

Jones: Okay, so what do you want to talk about?

Q: Incorporating of the classic experience that you’ve gathered with these tremendous artists and then starting to work with younger people and not just work with them but to look for direction.

Jones: Absolutely. The acid jazz theme, which was a great theme in New York and it was probably one of the only genres that got its origin in the UK, the only genre of jazz that had its origin in the UK. What acid jazz was, was DJs – with jazz musicians playing with DJs. DJs would spin and they’d find the grooves and saxophone players and trumpet players would improvise of the top of these grooves that the DJs were doing.

So how I got involved with it – with acid jazz – people call me one of the people at the beginning of acid jazz. I don’t know if that’s true or not but I was there at the start of it. You know, there weren’t any drummers drumming with the DJs so that’s what I started doing; I started playing drums with the DJs before it was saxophone players or guitar or trumpet players blowing on top of somebody’s spin.

Q: Yes, the spinning was by the drums, sort of, initially.

Jones: Yes, they were spinning and they were scratching. You know, that had two turntables and microphone so they were rocking with the two turntables and the microphone and the scratching. So I just started impersonating the scratching and doing the drum beats on the drum sets in events around New York City called Giant Steps which I was involved in and the Fugees [?] were involved in way back, you know, whenever the Fugees – Wycliffe and all that. They had Giant Steps, they had the Cool Earth [?]. There was this place called The Bank where these events took place. And I was thinking that this was like the next wave of where jazz could be because there were thousands of kids following this music. You go into a record shop – well, they don’t have record shops anymore but back in the old days in record shops kids were the only ones that bought records. Old people would just buy – you know, they’d buy old music. They’d buy classical music, they’d buy old jazz. They didn’t buy music by Groove Collective. There were kids buying all this music and I thought it was a breath of fresh air.

And so, I always hire and I always look to kids when I want to know about street culture, what’s going on in the street, because that’s where this music came from. I don’t care whether it’s Jazz music, R&B, Hip-hop, it all comes from street and it flickered up and made it sophisticated. He’d incorporate that into his symphonies.

Q:Yes! Herbie Nichols would draw people into a discussion and/or argument than then step back and play those Nichols notes for dialogues for his music.

Jones: Oh yes! Life we’re talking about, just life. Somebody curses at you on the subway, “What the fuck was that?” And you think about, “Boy, that guy was angry.” And you come home and you sit down at the piano and you think about that guy who just screamed at you in the subway and, “Oh, I can write a tune off of that!”

Q: It’s much more accurate communication of history, right? Like it’s not being filtered or gussied up or made to look nice. Do you want to know what happened? Well this is what happened. If we look at music as…

Jones: For some reason, someone – I mean I love bop music and any kind of music that’s creative and moving but it’s becoming so filtered and cleaned up. That’s why I like African music and Brazilian music. They still have that the purpose of playing music is we’re just presenting life to you. What happened today? I can go out in front of my store, my father’s store, and sing and play my guitar and sing and tell these walking by, “This is what happened today.” Not trying to gain any money, it’s just honest, true life I’m presenting to you.

Q: I had mentioned that I interviewed Gunter Haupel in Germany and he was saying that he was living part-time in New York for years and he’s got stories of going on his bicycle in the middle of the night to go to the river – I don’t know which river – I don’t know how many choices you have there of rivers, but...

Jones: There’s the East river and the Hudson river.

Q: He was talking about early Rap and he was saying that you couldn’t hear this innovate music in clubs, but you had to go to these little gatherings of people. He’d go to get fresh air on his bike because it was the only time he could get fresh air. And he noticed these groups of people and…

Jones: Oh yes, absolutely! Rap music was like – what do you call those guys? They were storytellers, they were great storytellers. And what I liked about it in the early days – I’m talking about the Rap music 30 years ago, it was healthier, it wasn’t gangster, it was like, “Okay, this is what happened and your mama did this and I saw your mama…” You know, it was fun, it was life. Nowadays it seems like the Rap they’re putting out, they’re just trying to jump on the bandwagon of Hip-hop and trying to make as much money as they can. I guess it’s a reflection of the times, let’s go and make some money and go to Dubai or whatever.

Q: Rap came from some lighter sort of expressions of just enjoying yourself, happy to be alive.

Jones: Enjoying yourself. And the break dancers were competing on the street and the rappers were competing with each other. I thought it was quite a healthy experience that they were presenting. They weren’t gangsters, they were just poor kids coming up in really harsh neighborhoods. And instead of being gangsters, instead of going around looking for trouble, that’s the kind of trouble they got in. It wasn’t trouble, it was just healthy competition.

Q: Yes, they were able to articulate the trouble.

Jones: I remember being on a train – this reminds me – on the TGV in France and this little French kid started dancing like, you know, a really cool little dance. He was probably four or five years old. And then his mother just grabbed him and said “this is no good” and hit him. This kid was doing something really cool. I wasn’t making noise or anything, he was just dancing. So I don’t know, some cultures, they like to suppress the feelings. He could become a dancer or might have become a dancer or whatever and his mother was slapping him. So, you know, I have kids and the way I was raised by my grandmother and my mother and father would put on some music and say, “Let me see you dance!” It was part of our culture. And of course hambone and all that stuff is just using your body as an instrument because maybe, perhaps these people couldn’t afford real drums or real instruments. And that’s how scratching a turntable happened, kids didn’t have any instruments and kids said, “We’re going to use your turntable, Mom!”

Q: Yes, we’re going to scratch it.

Jones: And your records too. That style has been around for about 30 years now and people don’t realize that the hip-hop style has been around for 30 years and it’s not going anywhere. Anyway, getting back to segregation, New Orleans is a Southern place and down South, although they came up with some great music but you go down there and try to buy some real estate and you’ll see how segregated it is.

Q: Yes, I couldn’t believe it. It was such a shock. Well that about wraps it up. what are up to now?

Jones: So I’m here in my house. I live in Maplewood, New Jersey with my wife and my five children. I have a son that’s 16 years old and a son that’s 14 and a son that’s 7 and 5-year-old twin girls, and a dog, my Danish wife and we still have a beautiful apartment in Manhattan. I’ve been playing with Michael Wolfe lately, with Melvin Davis and sessions around New York with Jake Hertzog – this is a kid and a name you should remember. His name is Jake Hartzog. Well that’s about it for now.

One of Scandinavia’s strongest improvisational and free Jazz performers, Lotte Anker [Lot-ah Ahnk-ah] is a triple threat on soprano, alto and tenor saxophone. Her interest lies not in cacophonous sessions but in spontaneous and expressive musical explorations that involve her bandmates. Anker works in many varied settings but her longtime trio with Americans Craig Taborn and Gerald Cleaver is especially adept at negotiating spectacularly colorful and breathless interaction. Born May 7, 1958 in Copenhagen, where she remains based, Anker studied classical piano as a child but grew bored with structured sound and sought the “weird” sounds found in the Scandinavian experimental Jazz scene in the ‘80s. She got a late start on sax, beginning at age 22, and studied music at Copenhagen University from 1980-84, participating in courses and workshops led by Joe Henderson, David Liebman, John Tchicai, Marilyn Mazur and David Murray. Although she considers herself mostly self-taught, Anker has a degree in composition from Copenhagen’s Rhythmic Music Conservatory and had training there under Bob Brookmeyer and contemporary music Danish composers. Over the past quarter decade, she’s collaborated with an exhaustive list of Jazz greats including Fred Frith, Tim Berne, Marilyn Crispell, Sylvie Courvoisier, Ikue Mori, Andrew Cyrille, Paul Lovens, Peter Brotzmann, Marilyn Mazur, Herb Robertson, , Phil Minton, Joelle Leandre, Craig Taborn, Gerald Cleaver and Marc Ducret, and also co-founded the Danish-based 12-piece Copenhagen Art Ensemble. This interview took place on February 19, 2015 in Philadelphia at Chris’ Jazz Café, prior to a performance with Taborn and Cleaver at the Philadelphia Art Alliance.

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Issued Weekly on Fridays

In this issue - Jack Walrath, Houston Person, Sonny Rollins, Jay Clayton, Ran Blake, Dominique Eade

Cadence Media Podcasts

CMR Podcast 006 Conversation: Jack Walrath, trumpet, talks to David Haney, March 2013

Video Section

CADENCE STREAMING SERIES

NEW YORK JAZZ STORIES - Episode Five, featuring Sonny Rollins, Jay Clayton, Bernard Purdie, Adam Lane, Kirk Knuffke, Nick Lyons, Sila Shaman, Dave Storrs

New Feature Album Review

Ran Blake & Dominique Eade: Roots & Byways

Published by Abe Goldstien on June 30, 2026 and the upcoming October issue of Cadence Magazine

SUNNYSIDE RECORDS (RELEASED JULY 3, 2026)

You’ve never heard “On Top of Old Smokey” performed like this. For that matter, you’ve never heard Max Roach’s “Mendacity,” Whitney Houston’s “Save Your Love For Me” or Charles Mingus’ “Portrait” performed this way either. What else would you expect from iconoclast pianist Ran Blake and the nimble vocalist Dominique Eade? Roots & Bywayscontinues a tradition they began in 2011 with Whirlpool and expanded on with their 2017 release Town and Country. Both recordings featured reinterpreted standards, pop tunes, film music and folk tunes delivered in a surprising (what jazz should be) manner. This unique approach to familiar material had its infancy in 1962 when Ran Blake and vocalist Jeanne Lee’s released their classic The Newest Sound Around session on RCA Records. Rather than simply replicating the tunes on that earlier and what some refer to as a cult recording, the duo approach the selection of 16 tunes on Roots & Byways, ranging in styles and genre, in much the same fashion. Blake and Eade, who first met in Boston in 1978, are equal contributors in the process of transforming tunes into minimal treasures. Blake’s modernist stride solo is perfect for George Gershwin’s “Who Cares.” Eade’s floating and ethereal vocalese fits Thelonious Monk’s “Pannonica” to a T. They deliver Henry Mancini’s “Dreamsville” in an appropriately dreamy manner. Mary Lou William’s “What’s Your Story Morning Glory” is given a bluesy yet abstract feel. Roots & Bywaysalso features two iconic solos from Blake — Edith Piaf’s classic “Les Grognards” and J. Fred Coots “You Go to My Head.” Some may describe the music of Blake and Eade as sparse, intuitive, cubist, whimsical, eccentric and intellectual. I have a much better word, and it’s the. same word I would use to describe the 1962 Newest Sound Around recording — fresh! The amazing thing is that recording which is now 64 years old is timeless, much like Roots & Byways is and will be. Simply stated, it is STILL the newest sound around!

BOTTOM LINE: Sixty-four years after its release on RCA Records, Ran Blake and Jeanne Lee’s classic Newest Sound Around sets the tone for Blake’s third collaboration with vocalist Dominique Eade. The duo reinterprets a selection of 16 tunes covering a range of styles and genres in a manner that is still “the newest sound around.”

Feature Interview

Houston Person Interview

Up and Down the Road

By Ken Weiss

Houston Person [b. November 10, 1934, Florence, South Carolina] is well recognized for his soulful, thick-toned tenor saxophone playing but he wants it known that he is more than a Soul Jazz player, he’s spent his career digging into many areas of music as a leader and with others such as Gene Ammons, Ron Carter, Cedar Walton, Charles Earland, Lena Horne, Lou Rawls, Horace Silver, Dakota Staton, Grant Green, Richard “Groove” Holmes, Charles Brown, Tiny Grimes, Johnny Lytle, Shirley Scott and Joey DeFrancesco. Dizzy Gillespie once said of Person, “He’s one of the best… He’s got bull chops!” Person learned from some of the best early on. While stationed in Germany with the Air Force, he got schooled at jam sessions by fellow American servicemen that included Cedar Walton, Eddie Harris, Don Ellis and Don Menza. After time with organist Johnny Hammond, where he first met vocalist Etta Jones, with whom he would go on to play with for the rest of her life, he branched out as a young bandleader in 1966 to record with Prestige Records, making a number of popular albums. His career never slowed down from that start. He remains a well-recorded leader and an in-demand sideman, especially for vocalists, with whom the estimated number has reached 100. This phone interview took place on November 14, 2020, just as the COVID-19 deadly winter surge was on the horizon.

Cadence: We’re doing this interview less than two weeks after the passing of your wife. On behalf of the readers and myself, our heartfelt condolences for your loss.

Houston Person: Thank you.

Cadence: Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, you were performing up to 7 – 8 months a year on the road and a few more months locally. You turned 86 four days ago, how difficult has it been physically to keep up that pace as an octogenarian?

Person: I’ve done pretty well with it, I’m feeling great. You know, taking care of yourself on the road is mainly it. Getting your proper rest, proper food, and playing the music that you enjoy playing. I enjoy the people. That’s what sustains me, the music and the people of different cultures.

Cadence: Why have you kept up that pace? Do you have to for financial reasons or perhaps you can’t imagine life without performing?

Person: I enjoy music. I’m lucky that I’m able to do something that I love and do it the way that I want to do it. Over the years, I’ve been lucky to play with the greatest musicians and I’m just having a wonderful time. That’s why I keep doing it.

Cadence: When we initially talked about setting up this interview, you told me, “My records keep me going.” Would you talk about that?

Person: I have so many things that I haven’t done yet that I want to do and accept those challenges and the joy of just doing music. It really centers around music, doing music that I enjoy doing. That’s what keeps me going, there’s always the next one.

Cadence: What kind of projects would you like to do that you haven’t already done?

Person: There are still some musicians that I would love to play with, and I haven’t done too many big, orchestral things. I’d like to do some of that in the future. I’ve just about done every format that I would like to do. I would like to try something with spoken word.

Cadence: Which musicians do you desire to play with?

Person: No, [Laughs] because I’m gonna leave somebody out and then there’s gonna be a … I’d rather not. Most of the musicians, I enjoy, so whoever comes along I would enjoy playing with. There’s some guys out there that I would still like to play with, and I hope they want to play with me! [Laughs] There’s so many different guys with different approaches to music and I would like to get involved with all that stuff. I would like to do a great R&B album, which is something I haven’t done in a longtime.

Cadence: You were born in South Carolina, why were you named Houston?

Person: My father and mother would have to answer that. I really don’t have the slightest idea, but I got that name, and I haven’t changed it. [Laughs] I thought it was kind of strange too. I’m actually Houston, Jr. My dad’s name is Houston, but I don’t know where he got it.

Cadence: How did you develop your deep, big sound? What’s the key to creating a big tone on the saxophone?

Person: I guess that’s what I heard. I practiced in the bathroom and the tile would bounce the sound back at me. I worked a lot on sound. And hearing Illinois Jacquet, Arnett Cobb, Gene Ammons, and all those R&B saxophonists like Tom Archia. I wanted a big, pretty sound and I developed it.

Cadence: Do you think anyone can develop a big sound on saxophone?

Person: I think they can get the sound that they hear if they work on it. We all hear different things; we all walk to our own beat. I got it by practicing whole tones – holding the tones and listening to it in the bathroom. Back in South Carolina, where I’m from, we had a farm and my brother, I’d put him as far away as I could and see if he could hear me. I’d blow into the horn and try to get it as loud and big as I could. He’d be on the other end and I’d ask him if he could hear me. That’s how I worked on my sound, and the marching band helped me.

Cadence: Your speaking voice is also so deep and rich. What’s the extent of your singing experience?

Person: I sang in the church choir, I sang in the glee club, and I sang in the high school choir. I was singing before I was playing, but I did have the experience of singing. People have asked me if I sing and I’ve told them that I don’t sing. [Laughs] When I started out in the music business, I always wanted a band as a traditional band that they used to have in the old Swing days with the big bands, where the band had a vocalist, dancers, and a comedian. It was more of a show. That’s what I wanted, so I had a singer – Etta Jones. I had what I wanted – a vocal/instrumental group – and it worked well for me. I like the approach of giving the audience a full spectrum of what I do.

Cadence: How has your playing evolved over the course of your career?

Person: I’m doing what I want to do so it’s developed quite a bit if you look at it from that angle. Comparing me to other guys? I went another way. I have certain feelings about music and presentation that I wanted to develop.

Cadence: What, if anything, are you still working on today regarding your presentation of music?

Person: Just researching songs and keeping up with the musicians who are out there. I’m in contact with a lot of different guys and I’ve developed a lot of different friendships. I have an appreciation for all musicians and what they’re trying to do. I hear a lot from the other guys, and I get a lot from them. I take what I need. I’ve had the opportunity to play with a lot of different guys, of which I’m proud of. I’m proud to be associated with them.

Cadence: What have you learned not to do?

Person: I learned not to be late. [Laughs] I’ve learned not to ignore my audience and not to blame the audience for not responding to what I’m doing. That’s one of the biggest things. I feel that anything that happens on the bandstand is my responsibility. You’ve got to learn how to find your audience. The other thing is not to ignore my other musicians on the bandstand. Everybody should be appreciated and be allowed to showcase what they do best. Also, you’ve got to be ready for the performance and to be dressed for the occasion. Approach everything professionally but have fun.

Cadence: Articles about you have typically described you as the standard-bearer of Soul Jazz – the last of a dying breed. Is that a fair description of you?

Person: If they think so. [Laughs] I don’t think so. [Laughs] Titles are alright, but I think my output of albums would tell you something different. I’m just a guy in the crowd. It’s out there, what I do, so if some people feel that way then it’s alright with me. I generally don’t like pigeonholing people. I know you’ve seen my output and it explains it all. I play everything. [Person asks for a pause here to speak with Russell Malone who is on the other phone line]. Like Russell and I do albums together, so what do you call that? I have an album out right now with Dena DeRose and an album with La Lucha. What do you call that? I just love music – R&B, Pop? Whatever it is. If it’s a great melody, it’s alright with me. People get hung up on labels and they miss a lot of music that way. I don’t label anything. I grew up on Country & Western, and R&B and Gospel, so all those things have to be a part of what I do, if I’m gonna be honest. I put it out there and you make your decision. It’s funny how people have got to label everything before they can appreciate it or not appreciate it. You know, some people say I’m just a chitin circuit guy. What does that mean? That could be derogatory but to me, that’s praise. [Laughs] More of us need to come up through that. It used to be you got your experience that way.

Cadence: Do you feel the term “Soul Jazz” is derogatory?

Person: In some ways that people use it. That term is used laudatory and derogatory. I know what they are trying to say when they use that term and it’s just a glorified chitlin circuit, really. And a lot of people don’t consider it real Jazz, they just stick that soul on there. For some people, it’s a racial term, but I don’t want to get into that. And music has always had that – “race records” and R&B. It’s funny when they say Gospel music means that it’s Black and inspirational music means it’s white. [Laughs] It’s crazy. They use these terms, and over the years, it’s been ingrained in us.

Cadence: As you earlier pointed out, you’ve done a lot during your long career. I know you’re very humble but another NEA Jazz Masters class was just announced and at this point, you’re 86 and you’ve not been named a NEA Jazz Master. Any thoughts on that?

Person: No. Hey, that’s their domain, and I appreciate the artists that they have named. I think it’s a nice program and every musician that they have named has been deserving of it. It’s funny, a lot of people do ask me that. I’m enjoying playing music and, in my mind, I’ve been successful with what I’m doing. I’m enjoying it, and I’ll let that stand. I know people have written letters on my behalf, which I didn’t know until afterwards, and I enjoyed what they said. People know I’m there and I’ll accept that. I’m good with it.

Cadence: You’ve made a career out of playing Soul Jazz, or whatever it is to be called, which was popular in the ‘60s. Why did that genre fall out of popularity, and why aren’t more people playing it today?

Person: Maybe it is because of its name and people being [turned off] by the derogatory elements. Here’s the thing, somewhere along the way, and this isn’t Soul Jazz’s fault, musicians started forgetting the people. We forgot the basic elements of Jazz. All of a sudden, we forgot about people loving to dance to Jazz. Jazz is dance music, that’s what it is. And we cut that element out of the music. We took the Blues out of it. We just stripped it of the qualities that people liked, and that’s what you got. And people went to something else. People still want to dance, and they still want to hear the Bluesy music, they still want to hear the music swing. And most of all, we took the fun out of it. Everything now has to be so concertized. You can’t have fun the way you used to. Those elements, they count. You take other music, you can dance to it, it’s fun. We got away from all of that, the basic elements that made Jazz happy. From the Louis Armstrongs and the Dizzy Gillespies, the entertainment phase was taken out of it. That’s the real culprit, and guys have got to get back on track. That’s what I’m saying about being responsible. It’s not the people that went away from Jazz, we ran them away.

Cadence: The Blues and Jazz had always been intertwined. When you came up, everyone was playing the blues, but now that’s changed. What’s happened to the Blues in today’s music?

Person: We forgot our culture. We have a distinct culture and we got away from it, and you get away from it, and the people are gonna leave you. Somebody told me, “Black people don’t listen to Jazz anymore,” and I said, ‘Yes, they do,’ but it’s got to have those elements. I’m saying it’s your responsibility [as an artist] to find a way to that audience.

Cadence: You pointed out that jazz was dance music and your goal is to create that feeling of making people want to get up and dance. The irony is that you don’t dance, you never learned. Why is that?

Person: No, I don’t dance but I love to see people dance. Watching dancers will give you a feeling of how to approach tempo, how long to play a song, and other things. And the younger guys didn’t have the opportunity to play in big bands or play for dancers, play behind a vocalist, how to accompany. That’s not an indictment, it’s just we need to pay more attention to that and it’s the responsibility of the artist to do that. If you go back and look at Dizzy, Louis Armstrong, Illinois Jacquet, Lester Young, they all had an entertainment side too. Everything wasn’t so heavy all the time. I didn’t dance but I learned how to dance on the horn. I learned how to edit my solos. I learned a lot from dancers, dancers told me where the tempo was. Sometimes, if I started a tune off too fast, the dancers would sway a certain way and they’d give me the tempo if I didn’t have it right. They’d also let you know when to stop playing, which is very important. [Laughs] You’ve got to learn to edit your solos. Sometimes the listener can lose interest, especially if you’re not saying that much.

Cadence: You favor covering Jazz’s great standards. How much interest do you have in making something new out of those popular tunes?

Person: I love those songs, they’re a connection. For the listener, they’re a connection to their past memories. I love doing those songs, that’s the Great American Songbook. Now how can somebody call that Soul Jazz? It’s okay to change them as long as you don’t lose the meaning of the song. One thing I’ve tried to do is play the songs the way the composer meant for them to be played and then try to improvise a little, but you don’t want to do so much that you overwhelm the song and lose all the meaning of it. That’s where I’m at, and I know certain critics say Jazz isn’t supposed to be sentimental. They try to set us too far apart from the rest of the music industry but there is room for sentimentality in Jazz also. You don’t just want to strip it down so that it’s a bunch of notes, and that’s what we’ve managed to do a lot.

Cadence: I’m Just a Lucky So and So [HighNote, 2019], your most current recording, is full of golden chestnuts that haven’t been overperformed by others. Was that your intention?

Person: Yes, always you want to bring something new, something you’ve forgotten about. I approach that title song, which everybody remembers as a Duke song. It was a dancehall favorite. The words are nice to that song also. I try to bring a little of the old and a little of the new and try to put it all in one little package. I don’t mind being sentimental.

Cadence: As you said, I’m Just a Lucky So and So’s title comes from the Duke Ellington composition. Does that title also apply to how you think of yourself?

Person: Yep, that’s the reason I named it that. I’m just lucky to still be playing this music and happy.

Cadence: You’ve thoroughly researched the Great American Songbook. Who are some of your favorite neglected composers and ignored songs that you’ve identified?

Person: I have music anthologies, and I have found some good things. One tune I discovered from Raintree Country is “Never Till Now,” Mario Lanza sang it. That’s a beautiful song. That’s one, I gave you one, but there’s a whole lot of stuff out there that hasn’t been explored yet. I keep going back to Jule Styne and Johnny Green. I admire so many great composers including Cole Porter, Duke Ellington, Benny Golson, Benny Carter, Burton Lane and Rodgers and Hart.

Cadence: How many times would you consider recording the same standard tune?

Person: I can do it twice. When I was coming along, you had to learn to play the songs fast and also interpret them as ballads. If you look, a lot of songs we play are not the tempos the composers wanted them played in, so I’ve tried to approach tunes that way. One tune I did that way was “Too Late Now,” a tune by Burton Lane. I recorded it as a bounce - a little faster - and then on another album I recorded it as a ballad.

Cadence: From the outside looking in, it appears things came easily for you. You came to New York, found quick employment, developed a lasting relationship with a talented singer, you rarely went a year without releasing one or more records, and you’ve continued to frequently perform well into your eighties. What struggles have you had during your career?

Person: People have been good to me, [Laughs] I haven’t struggled. I’ve tried to do music that people can relate to. I haven’t been afraid to play the Blues or to be sentimental. I’ve tried to stick to the factors involved in producing good music.

Cadence: You’ve often said that it’s important to you to be uplifting, to bring joy to the listeners, but we’re all human, we all have our days of deep despair. How do you give a joyful, inspirational performance on those nights when you’re going through personal turmoil?

Person: I try not to give it to my audience, however, if I should hit a sad note that affects someone that way, and you always are, sometimes that brings joy. I know that people [in despair] have wanted to hear my music and I’m glad that I had something that made them feel better. I’m just happy that I can do that. I’ve found that it’s not hard for me to play my music [when times are difficult for me] as long as I stay away from that repertoire. I have a vast repertoire so I can draw from a lot of things and get myself through it.

Cadence: You’ve drawn inspiration from a number of the music’s greats and Illinois Jacquet remains your main influence. What about Jacquet so inspired you?

Person: He was a great instrumentalist, a great musician, and he was a great entertainer. I think put all that together and you got what I would consider my guy, and there were a bunch of them. He wasn’t the only one. All those tenor players from that era because each of them was an individual.

Cadence: Did you have a relationship with Illinois Jacquet?

Person: No, I had no relationship with him. We met later on in life and we played some double bills in Chicago. He was just a guy I liked. I was in the South so I didn’t get to see much, I just got to see Jazz at the Philharmonic, which was extremely popular, and from there I got all his albums because he was recording on RCA which was a huge label and I could get his records in the South. From him I went to other guys, but he was the guy to start with.

Cadence: Do you see yourself as an entertainer?

Person: I don’t see myself in the role of an entertainer. I wasn’t out there like Jacquet was, I’m more subdued than those guys back then. [Laughs] Like that walking the bar era, playing the horn.

Cadence: You never walked the bar?

Person: I did it one time in Atlantic City, New Jersey. [Laughs] I had a good time; I just never had another opportunity to do it often. But there are other forms of entertainment – talking with the audience, announcing the tunes - that’s more my thing. That and doing a little historic thing on them.

Cadence: You perform with the audience in mind but there are other musicians who take the stance that they are creating “art” and should not be influenced by the likes and wants of the public. Where does that sit with you?

Person: Well, ask them how it sits with them, they don’t work. [Laughs] Everybody has their own approach. Now you can do an approach and it becomes entertainment. Miles would turn his back to the audience, or he walked off the stage. When he did it, it was entertainment, it became entertainment. Everybody has a different thing; it’s just how your audience appreciates it. Thelonious Monk, he danced while the other guys played. Any little factor… I saw Monk at the Village Gate once, but I wasn’t quite getting into the music, and then he got up and danced to the music and he brought me into the music. Through his appreciation of it, through his enjoyment of it, he allowed me in. I thought, ‘Wait a minute, if he’s enjoying it, I got to listen a little harder, I’m listening to the wrong thing.’ You know, showmanship doesn’t have to be jumping up and down. It’s just your way on the bandstand.

Cadence: You were active in New York City during the heyday of the ‘60s to ‘70s Free-Jazz and Loft era music. What’s been your relationship with and feelings on Jazz’s Avant-Garde music?

Person: As long as it swings it was alright with me. I knew Ed Blackwell, Ornette Coleman, I knew all those guys, and to me, they were swingin’. That’s all that matters. I’d listen to that music – Mingus and the Slug’s crowd. I listen to everybody.

Cadence: Did you ever play in a Free music setting?

Person: No, I never did. Ran Blake and I did an album together, and I did some things with Ethan Iverson. I’ve done a variety of stuff. I keep myself involved in all of it.

Cadence: What’s your relationship with the other great living tenor saxophonists of your generation such as Benny Golson, George Coleman and Wayne Shorter?

Person: Love ‘em all. I just heard from Benny and George. We’re all just working musicians, and if we get a few minutes, we call each other, checking with each other to make sure we’re still kickin’. They are great guys, just wonderful. I have a nice relationship with Benny and George.

Cadence: A fascinating thing I found when researching you is that you compose pieces but prefer to cover other people’s music and let others play your compositions. Is that true?

Person: That’s true. I don’t write that much, and I like other people’s music. I get great tunes from guys and that’s fun for me. I generally just do research and stay out there looking for material, and I come up with some good stuff.

Cadence: But why don’t you want to play your own compositions?

Person: I don’t think they’re adequate, to be honest. They’re sitting on the stand over there and I need to work on them a little more. And I’m starting to do that now because there’s nothing else to do. Before I was working so much, I didn’t have that much time to put in it. I haven’t pushed my own music that much.

Cadence: You are well-known for backing up numerous vocalists. What attracts you to performing in that setting?

Person: I just like it. I’ve recorded with a ridiculous number of vocalists and they like me, and I like them. I like that [setting] because when I went to the movies, that’s what I saw – musicians and a vocalist. I became attracted to that, and then I really got into it by learning the lyric and realizing that the vocalist and I were both supporting the lyric. We were partners. That’s how I approach it and each vocalist requires something different. I have fun with that.

Cadence: Etta Jones and you had a special musical relationship from the time you met in Johnny Hammond’s band in the early ‘60s, until her 2001 death. What made Etta Jones such a special artist?

Person: She was a great singer. When I met her, she didn’t have a band and I didn’t have a vocalist, so I said, ‘Let’s go for it.’ She went for it and then I took that band all over the world.

Cadence: What would we be most surprised to hear about Etta Jones?

Person: She was unusual because she was totally accessible. No attitude, no nothin’. She’d give time to everybody. Me, I was just the opposite. [Laughs] I called her “The Ambassador.” I didn’t spend that much time with people, I was busy running a business. I did all the booking, I did it all myself with no agent. We had a nice thing.

Cadence: Let’s talk about your early days. It’s well documented that you grew up in a household that valued a wide range of music. What was your musical experience in the church?

Person: I sang in the choir, sang hymns and gospel music. I got the experience of singing both.

Cadence: You came to the saxophone late. You didn’t switch from piano to tenor until your parents gave you one for Christmas at age 17. Why did you change instruments?

Person: Oh, I never was a piano player, I was ducking it every time. They just wanted us to have some musical training, so I did [piano] but there was really no interest until I got the saxophone.

Cadence: When did you know that you wanted to seriously play the saxophone?

Person: When I got it and I started playing in the high school band. It was when I went to my Junior-Senior Prom and I saw a college band, the South Carolina State College Collegians. I saw that band and that’s when I decided I wanted to be a musician.

Cadence: How did it feel to hold your own saxophone for the first time?

Person: Awkward. [Laughs]

Cadence: After high school, you joined the Air Force and were stationed in Heidelberg, Germany, where you participated in weekly jam sessions at a club with musicians from the 7th Army Jazz Band including Don Ellis, Eddie Harris, Cedar Walton, Leo Wright and Don Menza. What were those jam sessions like?

Person: Those guys were so great; they were ready for prime time when they came. I had just started. I was, oh man, every night I was gettin’ beat up. [Laughs] It was fun, really fun, and a very important part of my development was playing with those guys, and Eddie Harris making me practice. I never felt discouraged and they never gave me reason to feel that way.

Cadence: Eddie Harris was especially important to you, you often practiced together. How did he help you?

Person: Just practicing and knowing that he would do it by getting up early in the morning and started playing.

Cadence: After college in 1962, you had the opportunity to sit in with Coleman Hawkins at a New Haven club. Talk about that night, playing duets with Hawkins.

Person: It was fun and an experience for me, a great experience. In fact, someone told me he had mentioned that session in his book. We had two or three sessions in New Haven. He was a great guy and gave me all the encouragement in the world.

Cadence: You must have been nervous to play with him.

Person: Surprisingly, I wasn’t. Those guys, they make you feel welcome. I remember I went to Birdland one night and I said, ‘I’m gonna play tonight.’ It was Johnny Griffin and Mingus on the bandstand, playing a jam session. And they saw my horn and Johnny Griffin said, “Come on up. You wanna’ play one?” I went up and played with them. I shouldn’t have, [Laughs] but it was fun.

Cadence: What did Hawkins have to say about your playing?

Person: Naturally, he wasn’t gonna put me down, he wasn’t that kind of guy. He offered some encouraging things, and we played a few nights together. He said, “You’re on the right path. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” That was great.

Cadence: Working with organist Johnny Hammond [’63-‘66] was your big break. How did he come to hire you?

Person: we both lived in the same town, Hartford, Connecticut. I was going to Hartt College of Music at the time and I’d go to his jam sessions. Back then, there were jam sessions everywhere. Bands were playing and music was everywhere, it was great. Eventually, we hooked up and he formed a group with me and Virgil Jones.

Cadence: You left Hammond and went out on your own as a leader at age 21. Was it unusual at that time for such a young artist to get a record deal without having done a more extensive apprenticeship in other known bands?

Person: Yep, but I did it. I just did it, I just started. I had a little organ trio, playing around Boston, and it developed what it developed into. You know, it’s funny, I did two albums with Johnny, one on Riverside, one on Prestige, and then one day I was sittin’ around not doing anything wondering what I was gonna’ do and I just called Prestige. I heard them talking in the background saying, “Are you ready for him?” And they said, “yes.” I couldn’t believe it! All I did was call. That’s why I say I had no rough times.

Cadence: Did you have to negotiate how much they were to pay you?

Person: No, I knew not to be crazy now. I got in the door and now I had to work to prove to them that I belonged there. I tried to use sound business principles, not music principles. I gave up a lot. I owe Bob Weinstock [founder of Prestige Records] a lot for sticking with me. He really got me started in my career, so I thank him very much for that.

Cadence: Your relationship with Prestige Records [’66 - ‘73] led to a steady stream of releases under your name. What type of restrictions were placed on you? How much say did you have in the choice of musicians and song choices?

Person: I have had no restrictions my whole career, never. I’m a lucky so and so.

Cadence: Which Prestige release are you most proud of?

Person: Every album I’ve made, I stand by. I stand by everything I’ve done, and if you want to hit me, I’ll take the hit for it. None of us are one hundred percent, and I did so many different things, so there might be certain periods that you might not accept what I was doing. I was with a label called Westbound doing mostly disco stuff, but I enjoyed that. Hey, it’s music and I stand by that. I did three albums with Cedar Walton, all of them are great. It was with Cedar, Curtis Fuller, Vernel Fournier. Now, that’s some good stuff, if that’s what you like. There are some other things I did which were more popish and big bandish. Hey, it’s all out there. [Laughs] If you’re asking me to pick one Prestige recording out for myself, I’d say on certain days the Cedar Walton stuff, on other days… My biggest selling album was Goodness! and that was with organist Sonny Phillips.

Cadence: Do you listen to your old recordings?

Person: Yeah, I listened to some last night.

Cadence: Are you able to listen to them and not be overly critical?

Person: Yeah. I listen to a lot of stuff. I listen to music from an entertainment standpoint. I don’t pick it apart; try to see what they’re doing. If it makes me feel good, you’re alright with me.

Cadence: What current music do you listen to?

Person: Everything. Last night I was listening to Eileen Farrell with Robert Farnon.

Cadence: Some of your early music found a new home in the acid jazz genre that popped up in the ‘80s. Fantasy even released two of your Prestige sessions as part of its Legends of Acid Jazz series. Talk about your music getting appropriated into that scene.

Person: Hey, it’s alright. Acid Jazz, Soul Jazz, whatever. [Laughs] Seriously, I’m glad about being included in all the stuff. I don’t want to give you the false feeling that I’m a snob. No, I appreciate it. I feel good that people can appreciate it and still remember it. It keeps it out there so I’m alright with it and I’m happy.

Cadence: You’ve made six duet recordings with Ron Carter. Would you say something about that pairing?

Person: We just having fun and playing great music. We get a chance to express ourselves and play the way we feel. And Ron is great. I don’t have to tell you about Ron, he’s the band.

Cadence: Would you share a few stories that you have from past experiences?

Person: I have no stories. I’m telling you the truth. I have no stories and maybe that’s why I’m here so long. [Laughs] No memories, just music, and then I come home and relax. I just go up and down the road, having a lot of fun. I’m uninteresting. [Laughs]

Cadence: Readers may not realize that you’re not only a successful musician, but you’ve been a very successful producer of, not only your own records, but of many other artists including Etta Jones, Ernie Andrews, Joey DeFrancesco, Charles Earland, Red Holloway, David Fathead Newman, Lorez Alexandria, Dakota Staton, Barbara Morrison and Freddy Cole. How did you learn that craft?

Person: By producing my own records, that was it. When I went to Westbound, I started producing my own records and I have produced every one of my albums since then.

Cadence: Why would you do that?

Person: To amplify my presentation, my thoughts, on how I should be presented. Not because the other guys didn’t do well, everybody did well by me – Bob Porter, Cal Lampley, Ozzie Cadena- they all did well by me and did their best for me. But I noticed that when record companies want to fire somebody, they always fire the artist, not the producer, so I said, ‘I better be the producer too and produce my own stuff.’ And then other artists started coming to me, asking me to do theirs. I also became a [talent] scout for artists too. I’ve had a good run.

Cadence: Did labels pay you to produce since they didn’t have to hire someone else to do it?

Person: That could have been some of it too, which was great for me. I got more and I really got inside the inner workings of the record companies.

Cadence: How about your experience working with Rudy Van Gelder?

Person: The best. I always called him my producer regardless. [Laughs] He helped me a lot. I can’t even measure how much he helped me, and a wonderful guy. Rudy was not difficult, just don’t touch his equipment, it’s not your equipment. When you’re in his house, behave like you’d like someone to behave in your house. That’s all I’ll say on that, and when the album comes out sounding great, that’s why it sounds great, because the equipment was right and you didn’t touch it. We always got along, and I think we were together for forty years. I let everybody do their job, and if everybody does their job, you’re gonna be successful. He did some great albums for me. Every one of them, because he knew what to do to get the sound. I wouldn’t put too much stock in what the guys said about him, except what I’m telling you. [Laughs]

Cadence: Another extraordinary thing about you is that you work your own gigs, you don’t have outside help. You book your own tours, find new clubs to play, maintain relationships with concert promoters worldwide, and schedule your own recording sessions. How and why do you do all that?

Person: Because I know it’s done. It takes a lot of time so that’s why I go home afterwards, get my rest.

Cadence: Do you also provide all those services for other artists?

Person: Yes. I work putting their budgets together and all of that, whatever. The music is their job, putting it together administratively, is my job. I like doing that.

Cadence: What are your interests outside of music including guilty pleasures?

Person: I don’t know if you’re surprised or not, I don’t care, but I play Scrabble. That’s it. Just relaxin’, looking at TV and Scrabble. I’m getting back into Canasta now. I watch light stuff on TV and the news. I watch comedy, quiz shows, anything that doesn’t require a lot of thinking. I save that for the news channels.

Cadence: What does the post-pandemic future hold for Houston Person?

Person: I’m just gonna keep making music and that’s it. I’ve had things lined up, but I’ve had to cancel them and now we’re headed into another dark period.

Cadence: The final questions have been given to me by other artists to ask you:

Ron Carter (bass) asked: “Why are verses of songs so important to you?”

Person: Which Ron Carter?

Cadence: The Ron Carter.

Person: Okay. I interpret the song with the lyrics. Some of the verses are beautiful if you explore the lyrics. I can only express the lyrics through oral means without you hearing the words. So, I’m trying to set up the main song, which usually people are familiar with, but they haven’t heard the tune set up in its full capacity. I like to give the listener a little surprise. I like to set the tune up in a different way than the usual 4 bar or 8 bar piano introduction and sometimes I don’t even play it. I like the verses to set up the tune and bring a little element of surprise. The other important thing that we don’t do enough of is to look in the left-hand corner and see the way the composer intended the song to be performed. I try to do that with every song. And then the composer and I, we compromise on tempo, but I make sure that the tempo is more in keeping leaning towards his feeling of the song, and then I get more out of it. I’ve found out too that a lot of songs we are playing, that we’ve upped the tempo on, were ballads, and I’ve tried to compromise on tempo, but not to destroy the meaning of the lyrics. If you read the lyrics and really get the meaning of them, it’s kind of hard to play that song a different way. Once it’s in your unconscious mind, you know that it’s a sad ballad and if you play it at a breakneck tempo, it’s not gonna make sense. That’s where you lose the interpretation of songs and we’ve got to pay attention to that more. Just talking about me in general, I like to investigate the lyrics, the left-hand corner, get what the composer meant for it to be, and then I take it over and try to keep within the composer’s and my feelings.

Cadence: Knowing the words to a song helps you to emotionally interpret it. How do you approach an instrumental piece that doesn’t have words? Does that present a hurdle for you?

Person: No, it’s happy times then, but tempo is really important.

Ron Carter also asked: “Do you have a favorite key?”

Person: I’d say, for range – F, E-flat, A-flat and C. When I choose a key, I want to put it right in the meaty part of the horn for range. It’s like a vocalist choosing a key that’s maybe one key too high or one key too low. With my current repertoire, those are the keys I use. Of course, all tenor players play things in B-flat. In the early days, usually the composers were writing the tunes in keys that were easy for the piano players because it was just piano music then.

Melissa Aldana (tenor sax) asked: “I am always curious about the process and how our mind changes as we get older and more mature. How has your relationship with music improvisation changed as you’ve gotten older?”

Person: Editing the solos. That’s it. I mean, playing the notes that are important and really respecting the melody and the lyrics. As you get older, you learn that.

Melissa Aldana also asked: “How has your relationship with practicing the horn changed throughout the years?”

Person: I’ve moved from one thing to the other but the thing that has stayed steady for me is scales. Really just always re-practicing scales and different scales from different cultures. I don’t practice as much as I used to, but my attitude is to keep working. If you’re practicing, you’re working, you’re playing your instrument. That’s the main thing you want to do, you want to keep playing the instrument.

Cadence: What is the history behind the horn you favor?

Person: It’s a 1964 Selmer. I bought it from a great tenor player here in New York. I don’t want to mention his name because when I bought it, I was sworn to secrecy.

Grant Stewart (tenor sax) asked “Of all the greats you’ve played with or heard - Gene Ammons, Hawk, etc. - whose sound was the most impressive when you heard them live, and what especially about it struck you?”

Person: I didn’t get a chance to hear any of these guys much except on record. Man, both of those guys. I’d say Gene Ammons, Illinois Jacquet, Percy France and a taste of Lester Young, everybody had a taste of Lester Young. All those guys came from uniqueness. They all were unique; they all had their own thing, so I wouldn’t venture to say that they weren’t successful in the sound that they wanted. I’d say that Hawk was comfortable with his sound and Jug was comfortable with his sound, and then you get to a guy like Lockjaw Davis and you say, ‘Wait a minute!’ [Laughs] Arnett Cobb, all those guys. I saw Gene Ammons once. I didn’t get a chance to see those guys because I was living in New Haven and after that, I was on the road myself. But on recordings, they all had great sounds and a unique way of playing.

Grant Stewart also asked: “What was your most memorable/life changing gig? What was the worst or scariest gig you ever played?”

Person: Oooh, oh man, there’s a lot of things that were memorable. It could be a record date I had with Horace Silver, or a record date I had with Lena Horne, or a record date I had with the guy I wanted to play with all my life – Ray Brown. There were a lot of milestones along the way but those were three of them. As far as the scariest gig? I’d like to relabel the question as what was my most nervous gig and say that they all were nervous gigs at the beginning of my career. I’ve been pretty lucky but I do have to say that I’ve always prepared for what I was doing.

Cadence: How was it to finally play with Ray Brown?

Person: That was it, yeah. It was a great feeling, everything was there. And he was so fun to play with. He was always happy on the bandstand.

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

The celebration of heritage we need to have would be far more inclusive than the history we were taught in school, which was, at best, a bowdlerized bill of goods, cusping on propaganda. The present moment could present an opportunity to restart and deepen the national dialogue, which is in desperate need of resuscitation and redirection away from the shouting matches it has devolved into since Newt Gingrich was Speaker of the House and so-called Fox News went on the air. 

Our perspective on American history needs to be enlarged, evidently beyond the willingness - or, of some, the capacity to expand their viewpoint. Any additions or alterations to the public-school-textbook-UDC-approved version of history, which contains elements of lore, myth, and some outright fabrications, has been vilified as revisionism, the tool of DEI, wokeness, Hollywood, communists, LGBTQ, or whatever, promoted only by people of low I.Q. Ray Charles had the most succinct rejoinder I’ve heard to such juvenile bloviation: Fuck That Noise.

It is as though the entire country is on a bad acid trip, one from which we have yet to come down, much less recover. Maybe because I myself am a boomer, I think the past decade has hit my generation the hardest, as we enter our golden years though lately it’s felt more like golden showers. We grew up - especially of those of us who were white males - in an ever-expanding universe with seemingly unlimited potential, our optimism sometimes furthered by the luxury of recreational mind-altering substances. In my own youth, I enjoyed some elements of such a life, as a college student and hipping trippie. 

Yet, no matter how rose-colored such recollections might be, there were also always things we would have preferred to not have to deal with. We all had bummers, hassles or whatever you want to call the adversities visited upon us, some of which, as it turns out, in some capacity, we actually visited upon ourselves, and realizing that was, well… a bummer! 

Today, along with folks from all generations, we still experience bummers, often in the form of people who bring us down just by being reminded of their existence, or, worse, their actual  physical presence. It might be an ex, an abusive boss, a relative, or a former friend, whoever:  it’s somebody who’s turned out to be an asshole. God help you if it’s one - or more - of your own children. Whoever it is, simply by appearing, they suck the air out of the room, replacing it with their own fetid stench. 

As a country, the USA now has its own national bummer, namely, our present President. He projects, promotes and enables evil far beyond his personal capacity to create it, or much of anything else, except narcissistic greed, aided and abetted by slithering sycophant minions, for whom Dante will need to add another circle beneath Hell. They have nothing to offer but hate and divisiveness. Knowing their time is likely limited (let us pray), they are doing their best to dismantle the institutions which have surely had the potential for far more good than has yet been delivered, but without which we cannot, as a nation, move forward.

Though it’s too late for a restoration of the National Mall to its former dignified grace by August 28, I still hope for such. That day will mark the 63rd anniversary of a historic assembly there, featuring a much larger crowd than any since President Obama’s inaugurations. During that March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered, after a loving verbal poke from Mahalia Jackson, his “I Have a Dream” speech, which is more eloquent - and uplifting - than anything the present incumbent in the White House could ever utter. 

In its own way, King’s speech echoes and updates that document signed on July 4, 1776 which we so revere, though too many of us are content to ignore its shortcomings, as we do also those of the Constitution, much to our collective loss, as we whitewash our history rather than embracing and studying it in all its complexities, good, bad, and ugly, settling for, for whatever reason (or lack thereof, or just sheer laziness), an unexamined life, which, as we’ve known since Socrates said so, is not worth living, though his saying that contributed to his being found guilty of corrupting youth and failing to worship the officially prevailing gods, for which he was sentenced to death, constituting a truly classic example of killing the messenger…

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The Cadence Magazine Crew

When my wife and I packed up our lives and moved from Buffalo to New Orleans in 2013, we knew we were trading winters for a completely different kind of warmth. What we didn’t fully anticipate was how completely the city’s music scene would claim our hearts. We quickly became enamored by local jazz sanctuaries, captivated by the living history echoing through the streets. Chief among those spellbinding forces was Ronell Johnson. As a cornerstone of the iconic Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Johnson wasn’t just a phenomenal trombone player; he was a global cultural institution wrapped in infectious joy. His heartbreaking passing this week left a profound void in the city, but it also sent me playing through his legacy. So many songs. So many albums he is featured on. His music has been such a beautiful part of our life here in New Orleans. What cannot be ignored however is his 2003 independent album, On My Way. I am a history teacher, not a professional music reviewer, but looking through the lens of a fan, this record is a masterclass in brass-led storytelling. It is a brilliant, urgent celebration of life that captures the exact moment an artist steps fully into his genius. It is the music of an artist who helped us fall in love with one of the most amazing cities in the world and the birthplace of Jazz- New Orleans. What elevates the record is its historical consciousness, particularly the rich Afro-Cuban and Latin rhythms weaving through tracks like “Roo’s Latin Groove.” Johnson expertly honors the historic musical pipeline between New Orleans and Cuba—what Jelly Roll Morton called the “Spanish tinge.” Ronell and the rest of Preservation Hall were deeply inspired by trips to Cuba and made multiple Cuba-New Orleans fusion records ( So It Is and Tuba to Cuba). Yet, the album is equally compelling in how it shifts from the hard-working, gritty blue-collar grooves of “Funk Factory” to the quiet, romantic gratitude of “So Beautiful.” It balances the irresistible, inescapable calling of a musician’s life on the road with the peaceful, windows-down serenity of simply cruising through the Crescent City. On My Way is a beautiful reminder that while he is not physically with us anymore, Ronell Johnson’s groove remains immortal. A piece of art that so many music fans around the world can appreciate. John Guzda

Something happened this week that I have to share: we just crossed 1,000 subscribers. A thousand people choosing to let this newsletter into their inbox — I genuinely don’t take that for granted, and thank you for joining.

When I started this, I had no idea that so many readers would support. You proved me wrong, and I want to say thank you.

We ask that you support our efforts and writers with a $30 paid upgrade.

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Cadence Media Podcasts

CMR Podcast 005 Conversation: John McLaughlin talks to David Haney, March 2013

Video Section

CADENCE STREAMING SERIES

NEW YORK JAZZ STORIES - Episode Five, featuring Gunter Hampel, Michael Moore, Misha Mengelberg, Ernst Glerum.

New Feature Album Review

Lisa Rich: I Still Rise

Published by Abe Goldstien on June 23, 2026 from Papatamusredux.com and the upcoming July issue of Cadence Magazine

TRITONE RECORDS (RELEASED JUNE 26, 2026)

When you see the word “pure” on food items you know they are unadulterated and free from artificial additives, fillers or contaminants. If that is the case, they need to put a “pure” sticker on vocalist Lisa Rich’s I Still Rise. Accompanied by pianist Marc Copland, bassist Drew Gress and trumpeter Dave Ballou (all three accompanied Rich on her 2024 Long as You’re Livin’ release), Rich delivers a program of ten tunes that are devoid of musical tricks, histrionics and cliché-ridden effects. In other words, I Still Rise is pure in every sense of the word. Rich picked every tune on the session to reflect where she is at this time in her life. As she explains, “The music is happy and it’s sad, it’s angry and joyful, just like I am.” Happiness is navigating Mike Farris’ intricate lyrics of Thelonious Monk’s “Well You Needn’t” (retitled as “It’s Over Now”) accompanied by the muted trumpet of Ballou; harmonizing with Ballou on Kitty Margolis’ lyrics to Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints” (retitled ”Ancient Footprints;”) and scatting on an up-tempo version of Jimmy Van Heusen’s “Like Someone in Love,” A touch of sadness is evident in Rich’s heartfelt approach to Bruno Martino’s “Estate;” Bill Evans’ “Two Lonely People;” Jay Livingston and Ray Evans’ “Never Let Me Go;” and Denny Zeitlin’s “Quiet Now”. Rich’s original “How Can We Sing About Freedom,” which is bookended with two brief versions of Jay Clayton’s wordless “Beginner,” expresses Rich’s anger and frustration with today’s turmoil. (It should be noted that Clayton was not only a major influence on Rich but produced her 2024 release.) Joyful is the fun of an unrehearsed vocal-bass duo on “No Moon at All;” or finding a fresh way to approach Dave Brubbeck’s “Take Five.” Granted, most of the tunes have been performed by other singers, but the arrangements on I Still Rise are fresh, Gress, Copland and Ballou are inspired and meticulous at the same time and Rich is simply pure in every note, every lyric and every wordless phrase. In addition to applying the “pure” sticker to this release, I suggest they also need to put a “Best Vocal Album of 2026” sticker on I Still Rise!

BOTTOM LINE: I’ll admit that I was totally unfamiliar with vocalist Lisa Rich before hearing I Still Rise. Now I am enamored by her — by her choice of tunes, by her arrangements, by the sensitive support of the musicians she selected for this date (bassist Drew Gress, pianist Marc Copland and trumpeter Dave Ballou) and most all by the pure warmth, agility and beauty of her voice. If you are a fan of vocalists such as the late Jay Clayton, Sheila Jordan and Shirley Horn you will be a fan of Lisa Rich!

Feature Interview

RICKY FORD - MY BADGE OF HONOR - Part Three

Cadence: As a young saxophonist you purposely resisted the standard trend of absorbing the teachings of John Coltrane, choosing instead to focus on Sonny Rollins and Dexter Gordon’s work. Why did you make that choice?

RF: Because a lot of guys were already playing like Coltrane. I worked with Sonny Rollins for one week and that might have had something to do with it. I knew his music, I studied his records. When Dexter came back to America, that was an influence. Being a stylist, you do things to pay homage to your elders. You can do a quote while you’re playing that maybe somebody else wouldn’t waste their time doing, as opposed to just playing yourself, but you’re never really going to sound like someone else, you’re always gonna sound like yourself. But again, cats are gonna write about it – “Oh, he sounds like Dexter,” and it’s really not true. I don’t sound like these guys. For some reason, it’s written about so it’s a good question. The reality is somewhere else.

Cadence: Sonny Rollins continued to help guide you throughout your career. You’ve said in the past that, “Every time I do something big in my life, I call Sonny Rollins,” and that has included getting married and moving to France.

RF: It’s true. I told him I was gonna go with Mingus and one day after I had been playing with him, out of the blue, Charles Mingus blurts out in the dressing room – “Ah, Sonny told me that you called him!” Everybody laughed and I couldn’t say anything. Sonny had called him, and I don’t know what they talked about, but he knew that I had asked Sonny about him.

Cadence: Would you say something about the camaraderie you’ve had with the older musicians?

RF: Before I moved to France, Stan Getz used to come hear me play when I was in New York. He loved my playing. That really impressed me. We were friends. I went to hear him play with Kenny Barron on one of his last tours in France and Stan looked at me and said, “Hey Rocky, I heard you moved to France!” I thought, ‘How does he know I moved to France?’ At those times, the older musicians were always talking about what the young guys were doing.

Cadence: Stan Getz called you Rocky? Is that your nickname?

RF: He called me Rocky because my marriage was on the rocks. [Laughs] “Hey Rocky!” That cat was really fucking funny.

Cadence: Your second album Manhattan Plaza [1979, Muse] is named after the still existing New York City high-rise complex that you lived in during the late ‘70s which housed dancers, writers, visual artists and musicians such as Muhal Richard Abrams, Amina Claudine Myers, George Lewis, Anthony Davis, Walter Bishop, Jr. and Frank Lowe. What kind of activities were going on inside the complex and how did that influence your growth?

RF: We used to all get together especially if somebody had a gig, we’d go and rehearse together. I used to rehearse with all of them. I told Mingus about the plaza. I told Jack Walrath and Dexter Gordon, and they all moved there too. I remember swimming together with Dexter and Walter Bishop, Jr. and then going into the sauna with them and Dexter sweating so much in the sauna with the rest of us. We were a big happy family. Russell Procope [alto sax, clarinet] and Laurence Lucy [guitar] both used to play with Fletcher Henderson and they were my neighbors. They used to hang out on the corner all the time. It was a great place to live. I still have family living there and one of my grandsons is playing alto saxophone now. He sounds like Lester Young on the alto. Every time I go back, I go and see everyone from time to time and I go to visit Jack and see Amina.

Cadence: As a youth, you saw Duke Ellington’s Orchestra perform many times. You joined the band in 1974, just a few months after the passing of Duke Ellington and Paul Gonsalves. Did you have any trepidation over accepting Mercer Ellington’s offer to take over Paul Gonsalves’ seat in the orchestra upon graduating New England Conservatory?

RF: There was not one ounce of trepidation there. I was so happy to be offered to play in that band. I had listened to so many Duke Ellington records and had done so much research about this orchestra, to be asked to go there upon the horrible situation of Duke Ellington passing away and Paul Gonsalves, it was like a call to arms. You have to go and apply yourself, as best as you can. Have you heard of this guy [Karl] Wallenda [the famous tightrope walker]? He didn’t have any trepidation. If you’re working on top of the Empire State Building, you can’t have any trepidation! You’re a professional.

Cadence: Did you have to earn the respect of the veterans in that high profile orchestra? How did they respond to a young hotshot taking over Gonsalves’ spot?

RF: Oh, they loved it, it was total family. There was no proving. If you go into that band trying to prove something, it’s not gonna happen at all. You already proved something, if you didn’t prove something you wouldn’t be there. [Laughs] When I joined Mercer Ellington, they knew I was from Boston and they knew Harry Carney was from Boston and Paul Gonsalves was from New Bedford. Johnny Hodges grew up with my father and was from Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was like I was a perfect fit for the band because I was from Boston, and playing the tenor saxophone everything came together, plus I had met Duke Ellington the year before he passed away at [Boston’s] Elma Lewis Playhouses in the Park.

Cadence: As an insider in the orchestra, did you hear stories about Duke Ellington that surprised you?

RF: [Exhales] If I were to tell you all of those stories I don’t know if it would be too cool. [Laughs] It was all positive. I was a young guy back then. I was 21-years-old, on the road. Sometimes things would happen, just use your imagination! [Laughs] No, nobody talked about Duke that way except for once in a while and you’d be surprised.

Cadence: Would you share a memory of Harry Carney from your time with him in the Ellington Orchestra?

RF: I sat in his seat when I got on the bus and nobody said anything. He got on the bus and said, “Young man, your seat is over here.” I said, ‘How come nobody told me I was sitting in Harry’s seat?’ Everybody looked down. If you messed up, it was like that, nobody would say anything about it. He had been in the band for 48 years and at one point he told me, “Young man, if you ever think you’re going to get in trouble, keep that horn in your mouth,” which is something very beautiful to say. Harry ended up passing away. He lost a lot of weight but nobody knew he was sick. God bless his soul. Because of him I joined the band and he passed away. They put Percy Marion into his seat and I took Paul’s. Percy went to Berkely and used to sit in on my gigs and we’d do jam sessions together. He got to Duke before me. After I left the band for Mingus, they found Percy drowned in a pool. He was a giant athlete, he knew how to swim. I don’t know what happened to him. I dedicated my first CD to him, poor guy. That’s some of the drama of being in big bands, sometimes shit happens.

Cadence: Charles Mingus “stole” you out of the Duke Ellington Orchestra and you spent two years as a member of his last working band. What most surprised you about Mingus after spending time with him?

RF: RF: Me and Mingus, we loved each other. I knew him even before I joined his band. We used to hang out in Boston, we were old buddies. [Laughs] Nobody could understand that – “Where did Ricky Ford come from? What is up with these two guys?” When I got to his band, we already had a big past and I knew how to deal with his music. That was sort of a funny situation sometimes. He used to play this tune “Cherokee” a lot and one time we were in Montmartre and we had to play that song which dealt with the whole thing about the genocide that happened with the native Indians in America. I thought, ‘Why is he playing “Cherokee?”’ I could never get it, we had to think about this every night. It was part of a break tune called “Ko Ko” which Charles Parker composed in 1945, just around the time of the partition of Korea.

Hence, the “Cherokee” changes were incorporated into the solo section and Mingus chose to intensify the song by adding the actual melody. One night, Dexter was out there, a lot of people were in the club, and we get to “Cherokee” and I asserted myself. I played the melody three times faster than it was supposed to be played and real loud. And the only thing they could do was follow me. So Jack Walrath went, “Ahhh.” These cats had to catch up to me. Mingus told me, “You’re fired motherfucker!” He was pissed because he had to play it real fucking fast and I didn’t give a shit. That was funny, I was just tired of that break tune. Of course, we still played it some nights but not as much. It wasn’t wrong to play it like that – Mercer Ellington used to say, “If you’re gonna play something wrong, play it loud and wrong. That way it’s not gonna sound like a mistake.”

Cadence: Mingus fired you a number of times. How did he go about rehiring you?

RF: Oh, the next morning he’d… You know I made my first album Loxodonta Africana with Dannie Richmond and I remember I had the cassette and I played it on the bus for the band to hear while Mingus was sitting next to me across the aisle. We should have played some of my music in the band, I don’t know why we didn’t. I never had the nerve to ask Mingus to play these songs when I was in the band. Once in Italy, we went to a restaurant and I was so happy about my new album that I got drunk and I started to talk too much. And the more I talked, the less Mingus talked. I don’t know what I was talking about and the restaurant kept serving us chianti and calamari, which we kept eating and drinking. We ate and drank for over three hours. The chef’s wife was there and very pregnant, she looked like she was gonna have a baby the very next day. And I took a glass with chianti in it and said, ‘Here’s to your son!’ And the chef was so flattered that I made a toast to his baby but Mingus was so pissed. “Oh, now you’re gonna predict that they’re going to have a son? Fuck you! Man, you pay for your own lunch!” [Laughs] Dannie whispered to me, “Ricky, shut the fuck up!” That was so funny. He was upset only because he couldn’t think to say it. Two or three days later, Mingus and I bought some chianti together and he said, “Ricky, you’ve got your bottle, I’ve got my bottle of chianti, when we get back to New York we’re gonna drink these bottles together.” I said that was a good idea and I put my bottle in my suitcase very badly and it broke, so we drank his bottle when we got back to New York. It was like that for us.

Cadence: You were close with Mingus so it had to be difficult to watch him dwindle and die in January of 1979 due to ALS.

RF: All of this stuff happened and we didn’t realize it was happening. I played with him at the Great American Music Hall [in San Francisco], I believe the day before he went to Arizona. I was playing a solo and Mingus yelled, “Don’t play that shit again!” And two thousand people busted out laughing because he said it so loud. I was playing something I had played the night before to make people clap. Mingus didn’t like the whole concept of playing learned solos over and over again, going back to the days of Coleman Hawkins, Lionel Hampton, Chu Berry and Illinois Jacquet. He thought this was the great demise of Jazz because many people don’t know that these solos were preplanned. That was a big issue for him – “Always be creative. Never try to figure out your solos.” Of course, he said that and then he’d play “Meditations On Integration” and he’d play [a written out part]. [Laughs] He was kind of guilty when playing the melody because he could have done something else but I’m mostly kidding here. No, he never played the same thing although, because he was getting sick, there were some things that were a little too hard for him to do and then one day, he got to Arizona and said he couldn’t play and nobody knew why. Nobody knew why he couldn’t play anymore, he just said he was tired, and then all of a sudden he couldn’t play any of the songs in the book. Everything just closed down with communication. He canceled the Arizona gig. And sadly, at the very end of his life, he requested for us to go see him. Dannie Richmond, who was living with me at the time, we went along with Jack Walrath to see him in his room while his helper was taking care of him in his hospital bed. He had no clothes on and he was skinny. She was changing his diaper and he told us goodbye. We all told him we loved him and he told us he loved us. That was the last time we saw him. It was a hard thing to take but… Even at that point, we still had hope that he was going to survive. The day we got the news that he had passed away was devastating. Dannie cried like a baby, I don’t think you ever get over that. We tried to put his old band together. I did the best I could for Dannie. I let him stay at my house and he was my roommate for several months. I was single back then and I didn’t have a family so I was able to do that for him. That’s a sad story, Dannie didn’t survive that much longer after that.

Cadence: Would you share another Mingus memory?

RF: We were in Argentina and I was writing music for my upcoming first record date and I bought this hard cover music book. We were in the plane and Mingus was sitting next to me and I was writing some music in the book – “Blues Peru” and “Aerolinos.” “Blues Peru” had these half note triplets and Mingus used half note triplets a lot in his music. I’m writing music but he thinks that I’m drawing his profile and he starts posing for a few minutes. Finally, he’s so curious about what I’m doing that he gets up and sees that I’m writing music, and he sees the half note triplets. “Hey motherfucker, why you stealing my half note triplets?” [Laughs] [Later on] when we were going to Italy, and he heard my record and he heard those half note triplets, he was burning. [Laughs] He made me put all of the music in his publishing company. He said, “Yeah man, when you become famous I’m gonna make some money.” [Laughs] The sad part about it is that the Mingus Dynasty never played these songs, and they should have, they’re great tunes. It’s a classic story, man. Your master is sitting next to you and you appoint yourself to write music next to him, and you know these half note triplets… It’s the silliest thing, it was beautiful. It’s like you sitting next to Beethoven and you write a sonata and he looks at it and says, “Hey man, you just stole all my shit!” What’s so funny about it is that I recorded this stuff and he knew that I wrote it on the airplane with no piano, no nothing, just poof! All of this has to do with studying composition – Schoenberg and all of the harmony lessons and Jaki Byard. This was only five years after I got out of school. Mingus said, “You’re doing this but you only have this record date because you’re working with me.” Gunther Schuller wanted me to go to the studio and improvise but I wasn’t going to do that, I was going to write some music.

Cadence: It’s significant that your career started in the bands of two of America’s greatest composers – Ellington and Mingus. How did their work enrich your approach to composition?

RF: Well, you try not to copy anybody. You’re taught to be your own man. Basically, I was too young to go into all of that [with the Ellington band]. I was more observing and listening, but of course, by the time I got to Mingus, it was a different story. I was able to appreciate the things he was doing with his music with the half note triplets and incorporate these things. Like what happened with George Russell, thirty to forty years later. The influences weren’t clear cut and dry so I can’t tell you how they influenced me. Somebody else might be able to say that [about my music] but I can’t because there was too much going on. With Mingus, I could say I stole his half note triplets, true, he realized this and he made me put my music in his publishing company. That was clear business stuff. Lionel Hampton was a little bit different. I wrote “Interpretations” and Lionel Hampton wanted me to call it “Hamp’s Stamp” and to have him take credit for this song. I told him that it was already recorded as “Interpretations” and that I couldn’t do that. So he just let it go, but he asked. With Stan Getz, you record a song with Stan Getz, he takes your royalties and publishes your song. So this is known business stuff.

Cadence: You’ve retained an interest in big bands. You’ve been involved with a number of them including the Ze Big Band. What attracts you to large ensemble play?

RF: I had experience in academia doing large ensembles for many years so it’s just a natural gravitation to want to continue this type of thing. In France I did two CDs, 7095 and the Sacred Concert. In 1999 I composed the Sacred Concert. Dr. James Roland Braithwaite was a very well-known musicologist and organist at St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church in Central Square, Cambridge, Massachusetts, who grew up with my father in Cambridge. He gave all of the reference material for me to write my Sacred Concert and I’m very grateful to him. When I recorded that, I was one of the first musicians to ever play inside the rectory of the church with a big band. It’s a very important record. The Ze Big Band has since been disbanded.

Cadence: Following Mingus, who refused to compromise his integrity by grandstanding, you spent a few years with Lionel Hampton, a master entertainer who received criticism in the press for playing to the audience. Was it challenging to acclimate to Hampton’s audience friendly style after Mingus’ no-nonsense approach?

RF: The thing about Hamp was that I really wanted to see first hand how a musician like him, especially as a soloist, was soloing, and I took the gig only for that. Plus, he was working and he wanted me in the band. He said, “Oh, Ricky, you’re so strong, you could front a band like mine. I need you in the band.” I wrote some charts for the band, I did some observation, I traveled a lot, and Lionel Hampton was a great guy to work for. We would do a 3-hour soundcheck and do a 4-hour gig every day. I mean it wasn’t no bullshit. And when I wrote “Interpretations” for him, he would practice the bridge every day. He said my music was the bebop of the ‘80s. Who could really say that but him, he was really there with Coleman Hawkins and everybody. We had a good time together.

Cadence: There’s plenty of reports that Hampton’s wife, who controlled the finances, wasn’t always fair with paying the band.

RF: I was a big star back then, I was in demand and people couldn’t push me around. How many people can say that they want to join a band just to observe? Sonny Rollins was surprised I went with Lionel Hampton. “Oh, you’re gonna go with Lionel Hampton? [Cries]” I said to myself, ‘I guess I fucked up this time, shit!’

Cadence: Your recording debut as a leader came in 1977 with the release of Loxodonta Africana. Loxodonta refers to the genus of African elephants. Why did you choose that title?

RF: It was kind of like a time capsule title, an artifact title. What’s gonna happen to the elephants in forty years? They’re almost extinct now. I did a similar album with the whales called Balaena. Also, the Rockefeller Foundation funded the record so there was the Republican [angle] but that was totally subconscious. [Laughs] The real thing was the African elephants. I had a Romare Bearden collage on the cover. I love his work and I wanted to have some really quality art work on my album. I was disappointed when they put out a new CD of Loxodonta Africana and they don’t have the Romare Bearden on the cover anymore.

Cadence: In 1994 you recorded Tenors of Yusef Lateef and Ricky Ford [YAL]. Talk about creating music with Yusef Lateef?

RF: That was kind of funny because he and Archie Shepp came to hear me play with my octet with Pete LaRoca at UMass. I don’t know what happened but I didn’t feel too comfortable, maybe my horn needed repair. I don’t remember but I couldn’t really feel very well about my playing. Afterwards, Yusef came backstage and asked me if I wanted to make a record with him. I said yes and I was very surprised. He picked me up a few weeks later and he wrote out four or five notes for each song – “Brother Moody,” “Brother Henderson,” “Brother Rollins.” He said, “Yeah Ricky, you’re like a sponge, you absorb a lot of information so I’m not writing too much music, we’re just gonna play off each other.” And that’s how the record went because he had already rehearsed the rhythm section.

Cadence: Teaching has played an important role for you. You taught at Istanbul Bilgi University from 2000 -2006. What was the level of interest in Jazz music and the quality of jazz musicianship in Turkey at the time you began teaching there?

RF: Turkey has a tremendous patrimony in music. It’s one of the few countries on Earth that has the most diverse amount of musical instruments made by luthiers. Ahmet Ertegun was Turkish, he founded Atlantic Records, so the students already had a giant appreciation for the heritage of the music because they knew that somebody from Turkey was very much responsible for a lot of the music that was produced in Jazz. They had a great appreciation for music in general and were very highly motivated to make their lives in music. Ninety-nine percent of all of our students are still musicians today and they’re very happy to play music. Maybe seven of them have had Fulbright Fellowships to study in America. I formed a big band there and afterward I formed a five saxophone group with a rhythm section. We did a lot of great things there. I used to rehearse with my students almost every day. This started because I used to go to the school and practice for three hours before my classes, so I would always get there at seven o’clock and practice in my office until ten o’clock. Everybody would come to school and hear me practicing and students started coming to school early, and all of a sudden they said, “Hey man, why don’t we just start rehearsing at eight o’clock? That’s when I started my saxophone group and everyday we’d rehearse for two hours before class. The other professors said, “How did Ricky do this? How did he get all the students to come in early to practice?” I remember having tea in the morning and then we’d practice for two hours. It was beautiful, after we practiced, everybody was cool to do their class – no stress, totally motivated. We did that for three years. One thing that I regret is that I wasn’t able to keep teaching in America, and even the teaching I did there was outside of the mainstream because I was just directing a big band. Sometimes I would have students but it wasn’t really concentrated in a big music department where I had access to students that were very serious about studying music. I’ve always understood the value of music education from what I learned as a musician from Joe Allard, George Russell and Jaki Byard. And it’s not just technical, living in New York as a professional, if you’re open enough, you’re going to learn things from your experiences. When I was with Mercer Ellington, Cootie Williams used to always give me a ton of advice. Harry Carney too. He told me, “Young man, if you ever think you’re going to get in trouble, just keep that horn in your mouth.” That’s giant knowledge right there! How to keep focused on music. You need to direct yourself into your music. From Cootie Williams, I learned about placing your solos, plus his whole life experience, what he went through as a musician. If you understand these things, it’s not bad to take a back seat and to concentrate on your music. It’s not just all seats in the club. There’re so many other things that a musician can do to be a total musician and to be happy with his music and not worry about being on the cover of magazines. I’ve played all over the world. I did 48 weeks on the Ellington bus.

Cadence: While living in Turkey you had the opportunity to explore their unique musical concepts and the works of Turkish poet and musician Neyzen Tevfik. What strikes you about his work?

RF: It’s very free, he had the reputation of being the consummate improvisor. He had a lot of problems in his life, he was very political. He wrote a lot of poetry, he was exiled from Turkey a couple of times and he was exiled from Egypt. His life wasn’t easy but he was one of the first ney [end-blown flute] players to record for RCA in the 1900s, 1910. I did a big study about his music, I invested myself a lot, not only into his music, but studying the ney and Turkish music.

Cadence: Do you still play the ney?

RF: Yes, sometimes, but after all of that, I couldn’t play the ney too much because I invested so much into playing the saxophone that I couldn’t do both. It changed the embouchure too much. I realized that I had invested so much into playing the saxophone that it didn’t make sense to play something else, so I had to make a choice. I studied the ney’s music but I had to even not bother with that too much because you have to be very careful with repetitive movement with your fingers. Repetitive movement is very dangerous, especially on the saxophone. If you spend most of your career not doing it, it’s not advisable to start to do it late career. So, I did it very limitedly. There’s one tune on my new CD called “Fer” that addresses a lot of what I understood from these studies.

Cadence: How’s your Turkish and how many languages do you speak with some degree of fluency?

RF: I only speak a few words. It was an English speaking university so I didn’t get a chance to study Turkish too much. I speak French, English and baby talk. [Laughs]

Cadence: After your tenure at Istanbul Bilgi University, you lived in (to see) Toucy, a town in the Bourgogne region of France, south of Paris, where you very actively built a creative arts scene and founded the Toucy Jazz Festival in 2008. What was your vision for the festival? Did it differ from others across France and Europe?

RF: Some people say that it was a very nice festival. It was a small festival and we had quality artists there. It was a very challenging period to produce festivals. We did it for a few years and then we stopped in 2018 for various issues. It’s always a thing with public funding. You have help for a certain amount of years and then after that they think that you’re established and that you don’t need funding anymore. So when the funding became less and less, it became more difficult to do quality productions. I just decided not to do it anymore and that was that. I closed down my art gallery too and got out of the business of doing art work and just concentrated on playing the saxophone and taking care of my family.

Cadence: You mentioned the art gallery [Galerie 14] you opened while living in Toucy to sell your paintings as well as others. How did you come to start painting and running an art gallery?

RF: It’s something I always wanted to do and after living in Turkey I decided to do it because I had some artist friends there in Toucy that let me have their artwork to do my first exhibition and I just went from there.

Cadence: So you’re no longer painting?

RF: No, but I should start to do it again. When I had the gallery, I made an objective for myself to do an exhibition every year. That was the really big motivation for doing it because I already had the space and only had to produce the work.

Cadence: Have you found music or art work to be more satisfying for you to create?

RF: [Pauses] I think creating music is more satisfying than creating art. But [there were issues], there was always a jealousy. The saxophone would be jealous because I was painting, and when I wasn’t painting, the paintings would be jealous because I was playing saxophone. These things were happening too

Cadence: What did you find to be more profitable – art or music?

RF: I’m not gonna answer that question. [Laughs]

Cadence: You were involved in the filming and photo shoot of “A Great Day in Paris” that took place in Montmartre in 2008 and featured 100 musicians. That was inspired by Art Kane’s famous Harlem photo from 1958. Why did you do the shoot and how did you decide which musicians to include?

RF: I made a basic list of who to call, it was mostly expatriate musicians from America. Word got around and a lot of musicians from France came too. I think a lot of it had to do with me having an art gallery and doing something entrepreneurial and curating something. Everything was stemming from my curatorial impulse.

Cadence: Now that you’re back to living in Paris, what’s an average day like for you in the City of Lights?

RF: Right now I’m doing a lot of research on the saxophone. I’m doing a tremendous amount of research about the evolution of the saxophone and why saxophones sound like they sound. It’s mostly a personal study, it might never be published, but I’ve come across some very interesting things. It’s really enlightening to be able to take the time to not think about music but to think about the mechanics of what has made the music and why the music is like it is, and I’m only talking about saxophone, not other music. This is a revolutionary study that is very fascinating to understand and ties in a lot of questions about why the saxophone sounds the way it sounds and what are the tendencies in an industry that sometimes doesn’t want to change what they do. Living in France, I have the time to think about these things. I’m not curating art anymore but I’m doing a new type of curation that has something clearly to do with the saxophone. At some point, I’ll be able to more clearly articulate this and when you listen to my new CD, you could hear something. A lot of it is addressed in this CD.

Cadence: What are your interests outside of music and painting? What are your guilty pleasures?

RF: Cooking and taking care of my house – although those two are not compatible. [Laughs] My guilty pleasure would be having a chocolate bar sometimes. I don’t watch too much TV, I used to but since I got more into research about the saxophone, it’s taken up my time. I stopped going to movies after Jaws came out. I just didn’t want to go anymore, I wait for them to come out on television.

Cadence: Why did you stop going to movies after Jaws? Was it too scary on the big screen?

RF: No, I was in the Edison Hotel and I saw a line going around the block of Broadway and I said, ‘I’m never going to a movie again.’ [Laughs] That was in 1975.

Cadence: The final questions have been given to me from other artists to ask you:

Ben Sidran (piano) asked: “How has your interest in art influenced the shape of your playing?”

RF: Every time you pick up the saxophone, it’s like starting from point one, and at point one, I wasn’t into art. But I did [significant] research about colors and notes. It’s like ear training, if you can ascribe a color to a sound – whenever you see this color, you imagine the sound, and the sound is correlating to the fingering on the saxophone. It’s sort of practicing just by looking at colors. I’ve been into this synthesis a lot for quite a few years now, especially since I started my art gallery, and it’s really helped me to think about music. Probably one of the most important things that I understood from painting is this whole concept of synthesis.

Cadence: Would you touch on your painting style and influences?

RF: My paintings are mostly based on Australian Aboriginal concepts. It’s from an impulse I had to go into this type of artwork and to do it on my own. I feel when you’re doing a painting you should always have you somewhere in the painting. Sometimes I do a painting after a little bit of meditation and it turns into an auto-construction type of painting. Those are some of the concepts I use along with synthesis and a lot of music paintings which are based on musical rhythms and codifications of musical patterns.

Jack Walrath (trumpet) said: “I’ve run into you in Europe at times. One time while I was playing with some gypsies while you were teaching in Istanbul and another time we met up in Portugal and a girl came in the dressing room and sang some Fado. I know you’ve been living in Europe and you’ve been to so many places, you’re pretty hard core, I want to know if hearing all the different music has influenced you in any way? I know when I go to different countries, I’ll come back and write some music using the new influence. I wonder how much of that different music has sunk in with you?”

RF: Quite a bit, it just takes time to do an exact take on the influence. I’m not gonna do something based on what I heard yesterday. I’ve been over here so long and most of my really good exposure to different types of music happened when I was teaching in Istanbul, it’s not like I’m gonna go out and listen to different types of music in Paris. The music in Istanbul was something new to me so I really absorbed more of it through my living there. That really helped me to understand it.

Jack Walrath also recalled: “We worked together with Mingus and I remember you actually wrote an arrangement or at least an introduction for “Farewell, Farewell” but Paul Jeffrey took it away from you and put his own name on it.”

RF: That’s not true because when Sue [Mingus] published “Farewell, Farewell”, there’s no eight bar intro, it’s not there. I still have the original copy. You know, you can’t even copyright eight bars. Listen, everybody knows that I wrote that. Charles Mingus was so happy to hear that. Larry Coryell was there and he loved it, Jack Walrath was there. Everybody knows that I wrote that intro. Paul, he arranged the octet pieces on Loxodonta Africana, he was a nice guy. I remember Paul saying that he wrote it but it’s not true, it’s not even published in the Mingus book. My intro was used on the record but it was never published.

Dave Liebman (saxophone) asked: “Hey Bro R - hope you are well. We both played with the great drummer Pete LaRoca. Can you describe what that experience was like?”

RF: I worked with Pete LaRoca with Mal Waldron, plus Pete played in my band with the group that Yusef Lateef heard me in. A couple of times at Sweet Basil I almost stepped on the rim of his bass drum and he was pissed. I loved playing with Pete and the record [Swing Time] that he and I did with Dave Liebman was a very memorable record. It was a privilege to play with Pete LaRoca, and of course, with Dave, too. Pete had a very good drive to his playing. I played a lot with him and Mal Waldron and Reggie Workman after Eddie Moore passed away. That was one of the great things about living in New York, you could always play with really great musicians.

Ran Blake (piano) said: “I’d like to mention that you had remarkable parents. I used to take your mother Ramona out for lunch in Hartford. I don’t believe that you actually studied with me, but I know that you could learn lots of stuff by ear. People really worshiped you in Boston, and I have to say that you and Houston Person are my two favorite living tenor saxophone players. I have a personal memory of you. We had a Horn & Hardart’s [automat restaurant] my first two years at the conservatory, right across from our building, and a friend brought you over [to the restaurant] and I flipped. And somehow we were able to get you a scholarship so you could study with Jaki Byard.”

RF: My best friend, David Johnson, was working at the Horn & Hardart’s and he knew Ran because while he was working there, Ran used to come for lunch, and he wanted me to meet Ran because he knew that I was into music. And everything started from there. Ran took me to the conservatory and introduced me to everybody. I’m so grateful to have studied with Ran. He knew my parents, he was close to my mother. He’s a very sacred individual. I love Ran, he’s a lifelong friend of mine and a mentor. He’s helped me so much in my music career, so, so much.

Ran Blake also asked: “I’d like to know what you would do if you could arrange a special dream recording in the future? What would be the repertoire? Would you do standards or all Ricky Ford originals? Who would appear on it with you?”

RF: My current CD! [Laughs] Barry Altschul, Jerome Harris and Mark Soskin.

Benny Golson (tenor saxophone) said: “Over the ineluctable passing of years, I’ve felt you have been grossly overlooked as one of our prominent musicians and a most significant part of the metaphoric fabric we lovingly call jazz. My question is what did you emotionally feel as a member of Charlie Mingus’ radical thinking?”

RF: I love Mingus and it was really hard to leave Mercer Ellington, but I did. Sadly, Mingus passed away very prematurely and I never did get back with the Ellington orchestra. But Mingus did write great music. He wrote Three or Four Shades of Blue and Cumbia & Jazz Fusion for us, and of course, I stole his half note triplets. There were a lot of things we went through together, and metaphorically, yea, there were some things there. For me to be able to, at that early stage, to think that I could borrow from Charles Mingus, and to do it convincingly, is a special memory. Sometimes with Mingus I was really happy and sometimes there was a little bit of trepidation. [Laughs] But you had to pull out all the stops with Mingus, especially because he was declining in health so we had to work harder for the presentation. We loved Charles Mingus and he loved us too. It was a big family. He would listen to us and he would do his best to do what we asked him to do sometimes. If we asked him to write some music, he would write the music and he would do it in a big way. He was always true to his word. He wasn’t the type of cat who would discount what you said and we never discounted what he said either. We were happy together.

Jimmy Cobb (drums) didn’t have a question but he had an observation. He said: “I made a couple records with Ricky Ford and I always liked him because he was a young man with a sound like an old man when he played the saxophone. Ricky had a lot of maturity about his playing and he was a funny guy to be around.” Would you share something about how it was to be accepted by “the cats” as a young player?

RF: I didn’t have any trouble because I was the only guy in New York at that time, there wasn’t a big group of younger musicians. I was really honored that Jimmy Cobb would take the time to play with me, along with Walter Booker and John Hicks. Those guys really wanted to work. I remember one time I had a gig and our road manager, Jimmy Cobb and Walter Booker were all sleeping in a van to make the gig. They were really dedicated to working, and at that time there were hard situations to travel to go to gigs. That really surprised me. I said, ‘Damn, these guys are sleeping in a van to come and make a gig with me.’ I really appreciated working with them. They sacrificed a lot during their whole careers to make music. I saw a little bit of it during the time when I was with them. Maybe that’s the one thing I miss in being away, that I didn’t get the chance to do more things with musicians like that, but we made some great records together.

“CADENCE MAGAZINE is a priceless archive of interviews, oral histories, book reviews...” The Penguin Encyclopedia of Popular Music

Philadelphia, PA- Photos and Text by Ken Weiss

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Pianist Lucian Ban returned to The Perch on 4/15 (Fire Museum Presents) for the fourth time in a duo setting. This time he had baritone saxophonist Alex Harding in tow in place of violist Matt Maneri. When asked about the uncommon pairing of bari sax and piano, Ban explained that he arrived in NYC from Romania to study at the New School in 1998 and soon heard Harding playing in the Sun Ra Arkestra. “It’s his sound that captured me. I later saw him again playing with his trio in 1999 and spoke with him and we’ve been playing together since that time. He’s responsible for introducing me into the NYC scene.” They’ve recorded together on several projects, and their 25-year connection is obvious in their playing. They opened with contemplative piano on “Dark Blue” but soon built to barnburner level with Ban attacking the keys and Harding making the unwieldy instrument succumb to his bluesy, church-steeped wishes. A ballad-esque tune followed and then “Rush” unleashed their most explorative longings – a wild ride with mercurially shifting beats leading to unexpected forays. “Something Holy” featured a short “Dindi” sax quote before getting into Harding’s tune written for his grandmother – “Spirit Take My Hand.” Harding gave the backstory on the piece – “I grew up in Detroit and Detroit has plenty of liquor stores and churches. My grandmother was a preacher, and we used to go watch her preach. I went because I knew a certain event was going to happen – the Holy Ghost. Without fail, someone in the congregation would jump up and start [screaming] -channeling the Holy Ghost. I was on the lookout for this. The ushers would have to take them to the back and settle them down. That made an impact on my life. I think it was like theater but as I became a man and a musician, I understood what was happening – it was Spirit. I understood it more once I started my Buddhist practice.” Covering the tune once again, Harding surely made his grandmother proud by dropping into his deep Soul/Gospel bag, especially on his powerful growling and grunting circular-breathing solo…Pianist Orrin Evans had his annual birthday celebration [he turned 51 on 3/28 at Chris’ Jazz Café. This year’s festivities went down on 4/17-18 with two different quintets centered around vibist Warren Wolf. The second night featured Evans and Wolf with Caleb Wheeler Curtis (stritch, tpt, as), Noah Garabedian (b) and Vinnie Sperazza (d). Evans chose original compositions drawn from the span of his career including “Big Jimmy” from his first recording. “Big Small” was inspired by a Patrice O’Neal routine that began with a resonating bass solo by Garabedian that ended with a tail that sounded like the “Pink Panther Theme.” The tune quickly evolved into a Bluesy shuffle that would have fit well into a burlesque house. Wolf took over with a muscular vibe solo. Evans continues to magnanimously give back to the local/global Jazz musician community. He founded a record label called Imani in 2001 as a vehicle for his recording projects but as his influence as a bandleader and producer has grown, he’s taken to represent a number of other artists on his label. It’s not uncommon for artists to produce other artists on their personal labels but Evans’ approach to artist representation seems rather unique. He not only offers freedom of expression during recording sessions, but he views his label as more of a collective — “We all work together to help each other.” He also excels at promoting each artist on his label by providing gigs for them. On this night of self-love and birthday celebration he also put the spotlight on one of the groups on Imani Records– Ember – the trio of Curtis, Garabedian and Sperazza who got the opportunity to perform one of their compositions. Another of Evans’ recent moves to enrich the local scene is the establishment of a practice/potential recording space in the Kensington section of town. This was the site of his after party that went late into the next day and was open to musicians to perform and fans and other musicians to hang out with free chips and drinks along with a plastic cup for donations. Some of the performers included [business partner] Luke Carlos O’Reilly (p), Elijah Cole (g), Madison Rast (b), Victor North (as), Kwame Hall (ts), and Elliot Bild (tpt). Congratulations to Evans for being named Artistic Director of the Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra beginning this November… Chris’ Jazz Café’s chef/owner Mark DeNinno reported that the club, founded in 1989, the longest continuously operating Jazz club in the history of Philadelphia, is doing quite well. Investments in sound and videography equipment have led to a bonanza in on-line streaming of many of their performances. DeNinno testified to over 30,000 YouTube subscribers to viewers in 73 different countries with over 40 million impressions to that date. One clip by Philly-native guitarist Kurt Rosenwinkel has been viewed more than 250,000 times…Brooklyn-based, German saxophonist Ingrid Laubrock has been collecting awards of late, including the prestigious 2025 German Jazz Prize. She appeared at Vox Populi as a member of bassist Shawn Lovato’s Biotic group, along with drummer Henry Mermer as part of a Fire Museum Presents night of 3 trios on 4/20. Lovato, who is also a member of one of Laubrock’s groups, booked a 4-gig tour to promote the band’s new release and this was the final installment. He said he chose the band’s name because biotic refers to, “An organism that is alive. I wanted the idea of having something living and breathing but not set in its ways. I wanted it to feel organic and human but be angular.” The trio often read off lengthy charts making it difficult to tell how much improvisation was used but each of the tunes had a different flavor. Quiet drumming opened “Scraps” before bass and tenor sax expertly matched notes. “Frequent Flyer” featured Lovato’s insistent, fibrous pizzicato work, along with Laubrock at her lyrical best. Lovato’s solo arco agitation on “Curious Stars Trio” bled into a group drone of evolving sound. As their set progressed, they maintained high energy playing and each piece offered a moving target of sound. Another of the trios this night included Killick Hinds with drummer Mark Ettingoff and Jeanne Lyons on electronics. The Georgia-based Hinds has played with an impressive list of people including Susan Alcorn, Lisle Ellis, Vinny Golia, Frank Gratkowski, Mary Halvorson, Henry Kaiser, Habib Koité, Peter Kowald and, Larry Ochs and makes quite the first impression with his heavily, apparently head-to-toe, tattooed body. He’s also quite the player of unusual instruments. On this night, he was playing a rare custom-made instrument called the H’arpeggione which is described on his Wikipedia page as “an instrument built by Fred Carlson for Killick Hinds.[1] It is an electric upright quartertone-fretted, six-string instrument tuned from a contrabass A♭ up to E♭ (half-step below the high E on the guitar). The H’arpeggione also has 12 resonating sympathetic strings which run through the neck and emerge over the body and run to a separate buzzing bridge. The body is larger than an acoustic guitar, with an arched fingerboard and a bridge for bowing or plucking, a spike for upright playing position, and a top made of (recycled) redwood.” The third trio of the night offered noted sound sculptor Bhob Rainey on sax with bassist John Moran and drummer Joey Sullivan exploring subconscious crevices… Swiss-born, New York-based tenor saxophonist María Grand last performed in town over 6 years ago with a solo gig. Her 4/22 performance at the Black Squirrel Club featured her quartet with bassist Gervis Myles, drummer Miguel Marcel Russell and percussionist Shakoor Sanders playing on a darkened stage as she requested in support of the release of her fourth album. At times, Grand was in the center of a percussive shower of sound from her hard-hitting bandmates but her brawny tone held up well at all times. She kept her eyes closed for most of the short set that began with “Jump Love Jump,” “T2” and then “Rocío y Río,” a tune written for her young child that she sang in Spanish. “I wrote it for my son,” she said. “I wrote it when I was away in October playing a lot. It means the dew and the river, and the words are ‘I miss you like the dew misses the river.’” Grand told me, “With this band I hope to achieve as much freedom of expression as possible. Our technique and our ears should be at the service of the spontaneous truth we are all, together and individually, trying to express.” In regard to her new album, the press notes quoted her to say, “I wanted to record something that showed where I’m at musically… I’ve long been interested in healing divides, whether political or personal. I’m especially fascinated with the line we constantly walk between individual autonomy and belonging to a group. So I tried to speak to both sides: the one that wants to be me, and the one that wants to be us. These sides are universal; every human being walks the line between fusion and individuation.” Grand also reported that she had recently finished studying Relationship Therapy at a school in Quebec and has started a practice of healing therapy by offering a Music and Self Knowledge course. “This is for serious, curious-minded students, who want to change nothing about themselves. Yes, I’m serious. You’re not here to change anything. You’re here to cultivate you like a garden, accept you as you are, and act from a place of curiosity.” Grand plans to start one-on-one music and consulting sessions soon. Asked about her training in relationship therapy and how it relates to her work as a musician, she commented that her vision is that her understanding of healing comes out in her music…Ars Nova Workshop presented two wildly immersive Sunday afternoon performances of radical playfulness entitled RECESS created by composers-performers Odean Pope and Immanuel Wilkins at Power Market – a North Philadelphia warehouse that was formerly a Pennsylvania electric and gas power station transformed into a sculptural play area for sound. The project was an experiment in form, sound, and gathering through the sculptural environment created by Immanuel and Rachael Elliott of Studio Senjeh with a mission statement of reminding “Us of something essential: the joy, curiosity, and possibility that emerge when we experience music together—not simply as listeners, but as participants. It reinforced our commitment to creating more opportunities for shared discovery: inviting new voices to the stage, welcoming broader audiences into the conversation, and finding deeper ways to engage with the artists whose work shapes our lives.” The inspiration for the industrial “playground” formation came from Wilkins playing his sax into a spectrogram, a device for depicting the frequencies of an audio signal to form a graph that led to the basis of the installation. It served as both the environment and graphic score for Wilkins’ improvised composition. He noted that he was aiming to remove the barrier between performers and the audience and to have more of a “playground” atmosphere. The stage was a cross between a jungle gym and a boxing arena with percussion sections outside the stage. The 5/3 event featured Pope and Wilkins along with Micah Thomas (p), Ryoma Takenaga (b), Kweku Sumbry (d) and Elliott Levin (ts) having a ball, interacting with each other or not. There was Wilkins wrapping a cord around Thomas who theatrically screamed at the affront. Wilkins later came up behind Thomas at the piano bench and screamed from behind. Pope donned a homemade jacket fashioned with tinfoil given to him by a dancer at the start of the performance and he spent much of the afternoon in its glittery grandeur. Each artist let their inner child out and Wilkins was especially active as a blur on and off stage – moving from station to station – playing saxophone, piano, drums, and the percussion stations. At one point, he did numerous laps around the outside of the stage, getting in some cardio while dodging audience members who stood around the outskirts. The cross-generational jazz collaboration between the 28-year-old Wilkins and the 87-year-old Pope was not their first time sharing a stage, but it was another emblematic magical passing of the torch from the reigning locally-based/reared saxophone titan to the next generation. The 5/10 second rendition featured Pope and Wilkins with a new cast of playmates – Diane Monroe (vin), Harold Smith (didgeridoo, d) Victor North (ss) Nimrod Speaks (el b) and Craig McIver (d) for an hour set that was less chaotic and rambunctious. There was a tower of complimentary cake available at both events. Major support for RECESS was provided by The Pew Center for Arts and Heritage and the National Endowment for the Arts and YoungArts…The US debut of Will Calhoun’s Mali Project at Solar Myth (Ars Nova Workshop) on 5/14, a genre-blending ensemble that fuses West African rhythms with Jazz and Rock, featured Grammy Award-winning artist, producer, and percussionist from Living Colour, Calhoun, with Malian star keyboardist, vocalist Cheick Tidiane Seck with fellow Malians - Dabadi Kouyaté (g, ngoni, talking drum) and Adama Bilorou (djembe, congas, balafon), along with American electric bassist Matthew Garrison, the son of Jimmy Garrison. The project is a byproduct of Calhoun’s deep immersion in Mali’s musical traditions. He’s lived part-time in Mali for over a decade and has spent years traveling, researching, and submerging himself in West African music. Calhoun made the right choice to show off Mali’s best with the addition of Seck, one of the founding members of the legendary Super Rail Band de Bamako and a musician Calhoun has been collaborating with for 15 years. Seck, surrounded by a piano and electronic keyboards, was instantaneously likeable with his huge, gap-toothed, perpetual smile, puffed cheeks and joy emission. Regally attired in a burnt orange embroidered tribal top, he offered captivating Malian vocals against a backdrop of infectious rhythms and invigorating beats. One of Seck’s especially aggressive electronic organ efforts drew shouts of confirmation from the audience. Calhoun was content to stay in the back corner, pounding his drum set, replicating exotic West African percussion with a Rock edge. Bilorou was a revelation on congas and a small balafon built by his cousin, noted balafon player Aly Keita. Some talk about the need to elevate spirituality and peace on our planet, along with the magnificent, uplifting music sent listeners home on a high level…Zach Brock (vln), Bob Lanzetti (g), and Keita Ogawa (d) of Snarky Puppy fame returned to the Black Squirrel Club on 5/19 for the second time since they formed their trio during the throes of the Covid-19 pandemic. After dining on some delightful Georgian dishes at a nearby restaurant – (I happened to eat next to them) – they delved into their eclectic mix of styles that includes elements of Jazz, Folk, Ambient, Groove, and World music. Each artist contributes original compositions, so the music varies quite a bit and their amiable looseness on stage is comforting – they routinely play to huge crowds with Snarky Puppy, so it’s got to be a fun ‘let your hair down’ evening when doing small venues like the Squirrel. Lanzetti’s piece “Orlok’s Arrival” from a film score he did for Nosferatu, the 1922 silent German Expressionist vampire film, got things off on an ominous note, soon followed by the first of Brock’s three sprightful tunes with “Happy” in the title – “Happy Song” which Lanzetti announced was to be done as, “Our Joy Division version.” Brock also added his somewhat dramatic, Spanish-esque “Los Caballeros “composition inspired by the comedic 1986 3 Amigos movie. The second set featured Ogawa’s “Moro Morocco,” a slithery-beat piece written after time spent with Snarky Puppy in Morocco…Fire Museum Presents was up to its old tricks in scheduling an incredible double feature on 5/27 at The Perch with a trio of Jason Stein/Damon Smith/Adam Shead and the quartet of Daniel Carter/Matt Lavelle/Julius Masri/Pete Dennis. The Chicago-rooted improvising trio of Jason Stein (b cl), Damon Smith (b) and Adam Shead (d) have been kicking up a storm since forming in late 2021. They were on a 14-gig tour that started in the Midwest and were admittedly a bit road weary – Smith was traveling with a stool to sit at times while he played his bass, something he doesn’t typically do. The trio stood on stage for pregnant moments before Smith asked, “Should we just play?” and then the blistering assault began. Stein channeled his inner Peter Brotzmann to good effect throughout their all too short 30-minute set. Smith commanded his booming bass, utilizing a bow along with a rope and bulky chain, while Shead churned on drums with his face hidden by branches of his hair tumbling down. Their set reached high plateaus for three soloists matching wits. Post set, Smith talked about his role in the band. “I’m able to play more rhythmically with this group. I’m concentrating more on and choosing to play the bass and rhythm section role more than the equal improvisor role that I normally take because Jason is so great.” Next came New York City “legend” Daniel Carter [“I don’t know why I’m being called a legend recently, I don’t like it. All the legends I know are dead.”] That’s typical talk from the talented and humble multi-instrumentalist. He’s never been one to have the attention drawn to him. This year’s Vision Festival is dedicating the last day of the event to Carter, and he said he couldn’t wait for the tribute to be over with! Prior to the start of their set, Matt Lavelle asked all to acknowledge the death of Sonny Rollins two days before at the age of 95. “We have to raise a glass to Sonny Rollins. The fact that Sonny left the planet is so huge. You can see him transitioning from Space.” The quartet’s set began with an extended space-filled duet between Carter on flute and Lavelle on clarinet before moving through their impressive cache of horns and reeds. Once Pete Dennis (b) and Julius Masri (d) joined in, the music continued in the highly textural, mid-tempo arena for the entire set. Lavelle, who left NYC for Philadelphia a few years ago, has a long history with Carter. I asked if his group’s conversational, textural approach was tendered in response to the “caveman” submissions of the first band and Lavelle said, “Contrast was important but the goal was to reach the dynamic DC and I have built in our 26-year ongoing friendship horn player brotherhood. We started talking and playing in 2000 and found we are both truth seekers who like dynamics…burning the house down when needed but also able to practice quiet dynamics and deep listening and space, aspects not associated with the stereotype of Free Jazz. Our only common horn is trumpet [Carter plays -flt, tpt, cl, as, ts/Lavelle plays-pic cl, a cl, b cl, tpt], and we play it very differently, so it’s literally over 20 possible combinations every time we play. We definitely have a multi-instrument connection. He had it with Sabir Mateen for decades. When we play, it’s an exchange that’s been going a long time that is unlike anything in Jazz, and I don’t play like I do with DC with anyone else. We’re both part of the singing horns group. Plus, we both love Miles and Ornette.” Carter and Lavelle rotated through their personal instrument arsenals, often facing each other and responding accordingly. Masri often plays experimental solo sets and in duos, so it was a treat to find him in a larger setting which he excelled at. His segment using brushes with arms and hands waving about, looking like a magician or a hyperkinetic matador while delivering buffered, propulsive churning, was a standout …The Lucy Wijnands quartet at Chris’ Jazz Café on 6/6 featured the vocalist, winner of the prestigious Ella Fitzgerald competition in 2021, with special guest Italian guitarist Pasquale Grasso, bassist Paul Gill and drummer Willie Bowman III. Wijnands, a native of Kansas City, Mo., and daughter of stride pianist Bram Wijnands, learned from attending gigs with her dad around town as a toddler and soon began appearing with him in performance. A lover of the American songbook and Jazz standards, she effortlessly rendered chestnuts such as “Witchcraft,” “I Can’t Escape From You,” “A Foggy Day in London Town,” “You Stepped Out of a Dream,” done as a duet with Grasso, and “Just One of Those Things.” Wijnands’ voice, smooth and pretty sans throatiness, added a sense of weightlessness to the music. She concluded the second set with an original tune she wrote with her father called “Always and Forever” that was a highlight. The tune had a “Killer Joe” feel to it and memories of her father stirred her emotive side…Bassist Max Johnson had been commuting from Brooklyn to the University Of Penn for his recently completed doctorate degree. He employed quite the cast of stars to fulfill his PhD dissertation – a new concert length work called “Without Fear” - with Anna Webber (ts, flt), Yuma Uesaka (ss, cl), Nate Wooley (tpt), Lester St. Louis (cel), and Jeff Davis (d, vib). Johnson presented that sextet at the MAAS Building on 6/7 (Fire Museum Presents). He said for his dissertation he wasn’t required to perform the whole composition, only portions recorded from the band’s rehearsal session a few months prior was needed. The group recorded the work the day before, so things were tight this night for the difficult piece - a sprawling, style-blurring composition that weaved together elements of Trad and Avant-Garde Jazz, Chamber music, Folk music, Free improvisation, and Prog Rock. Conceived as a musical ecosystem where diverse influences coexist and interact, it started, fittingly, with a bass intro, soon joined by subtle flute and trumpet, and then the six were off and running from section to section. One door after another was opened to reveal new realms of sound. At one point, it seemed as if raindrops were falling in the room. A waltz appeared as well as circus music and delicate Classical work. Some stellar moments included pizzicato bass and cello collaborating on a segment that sounded like bees buzzing, a portion where clarinet and tenor sax strikingly melded, and a late playful slice with soprano sax and Webber’s tenor sax circular breathing. Although the piece was composed, Johnson left plenty of room for each artist to express themselves. I loved the times when St. Louis, who sat next to Wooley, couldn’t hold back the smiles and approving giggles during Wooley’s extended technique solos. The night opened with a solo cello performance by Thomas Kraines performing another Johnson composition “The Green Door,” which spawned out of Johnson’s love of comic books and was based on The Hulk…Sardinia’s finest export, guitarist Paolo Angeli, also known as the Sardinian Sorcerer, returned to The Rotunda on 6/9 (Fire Museum Presents) with his magical, highly customized and extended, electrified, Sardinian folk guitar. Conceived by Angeli between 1993 and 1996 and perfected over 30 years through three prototypes, it’s a hybrid between a baritone guitar, a cello, and a drum set, currently features 25 strings, piano-like hammers, propellers for creating drone sounds, movable bridges, and various attachments—evoking the sounds of a harp, electric kalimbas, kora, and sitar. It is played using plucking, a bow, and percussive techniques. It’s really wild to look at. Pat Metheny liked it so much he got a version of it from Angeli years ago. Angeli told me he buys an extra airplane seat for his instrument so as to avoid damage to it. The day of his Philadelphia show he was able to spend a couple of hours walking around the city for the first time and came away impressed – “I think that will inspire me tonight when I play.” His 90-minute set found him in constant motion – matching supreme technique with his musical zoo of an instrument, allowing for quick changes in musical motifs while remaining highly musical. He played with wide-splayed legs and bare feet that crinkled foil material to create accompaniment sounds and maneuver cables. Early on it sounded like something from Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells. He mixed pizzicato and arco bass, he sang passionately in Northern and Southern Sardinian dialect and used large bows in both hands to violently agitate his strings. Fiddling with electronics, he sounded like Swiss harpist Andreas Vollenweider at times. A late beautiful melody popped up that was Bjork’s “Unravel” composition, harkening back to his 2007 release of compositions by Bjork and Fred Frith, his first experimental influencer. After a standing ovation, he announced, “I’m sorry, I like to play long sets. For some people, it might be too much…It makes me happy to play.”

Ken Weiss