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 BOB BROOKMEYER JAM talks with the venerable -- and outspoken -- valve trombonist about his early days in KC, associations with jazz greats, and new challenges in the 21st century. JAM: How did growing up in Kansas City contribute to your foundation as a jazz musician? BB: I think that Kansas City's major influence on me was the rhythm, and the smoothness and flow that I heard and tried to emulate. I was lucky, in a very perverse way, that I grew up in a segregated city. Consequently, I had a "black life" and a "white life." And from my black life I gained a sense of comfort and ease that was missing from my white life. JAM: What were some of your most positive associations in those days? BB: Drummer Edward Phillips. Bass player Roy Johnson. Trumpet player Orville Minor. Jessie Price. Jimmy Keith, in whose band I was the only white boy. And Frank Smith, who I met and played with in Jimmy's band. I also remember, now that I am remembering, seeing Oliver Todd's band rehearsing at Garrett Hall. I also had the chance to write a great deal of music for many very different groups -- an experience that I wish more young writers had today. JAM: You also attended the Kansas City Conservatory of Music. What was that time like? "I was lucky, in a very perverse way, that I grew up in a segregated city. Consequently, I had a 'black life' and a 'white life.' And from my black life I gained a sense of comfort and ease that was missing from my white life." BB: My attendance at the Conservatory was rather free wheeling in that, by my second year I was teaching and taking graduate courses. Catherine Farley, my Gregorian counterpoint teacher, and John Elliott, my almost too talented peer, remain as positive influences. JAM: The Jazz District at 18th & Vine is in the process of being restored and revitalized. We'll assume that you remember the original. How do you feel about such an attempt to resurrect that part of town?
JAM: After leaving Kansas City in the early '50s, you went on to collaborate with some of the biggest names in jazz. Let's do some name association. What immediately comes to mind when you think of Gerry Mulligan? BB: A brilliant musician in every sense of the word. A big influence on my writing and probably on my playing. I once told an interviewer early on that it felt like playing with Bach. Gerry and I had a very close but undefined relationship all of our lives. I think I finally grew up more than Gerry did. I told him in the summer of 1995, when we both had cancer, that it was "safe to be yourself." The ensuing pause led me to believe that I heard a small bell ring. My personal pride and joy was the Concert Jazz Band, which, without my efforts would not have gotten off the ground. JAM: Stan Getz. BB: He was my first official steady jazz band and a first big break for me. And, as with Gerry, early on I established that we WOULD get along, with no fecal matter flying in my direction, regardless of the source. Stan was very glad to have me with the band, and it turned into sort of a life-long association, although we didn't work that much together after 1953. Now that I look back, I realize what a great performer he was. A lousy human being, but that ain't what we're talking about. JAM: Chet Baker. BB: My feelings about Chet are mainly sadness at the miserable path that he chose. When we knew each other in California during the summer of 1953 we played at jam sessions often at his house, and occasionally with Gerry, Stan and he and I. The latter (group) was called by both Gerry and Stan the best band they ever heard, but they couldn't decide who was going to be the leader. Chet loved to fish all day and smoke dope and play all night. Somehow he got talked into the quartet and I helped babysit his New York debut opposite Miles and Dizzy at Birdland. From there on it was Europe and dope. Like Stan, he was a beautiful player, but a boring man. JAM: Al Cohn. BB: He was my absolute hero as a player, a writer and a man. I loved him dearly all of my life and held him in the highest regard. JAM: Jimmy Giuffre. "I recall one Monday night session for Phil Specter, a mutual enemy, where I played a low 'E' for three hours. On valve trombone yet. And they asked me why I drank." BB: From our first meeting in 1953, Jimmy turned out to be one of the most gifted and stubborn men I have every known. He talked me into joining his band in late 1957 in spite of my continued refusal. That same stubborn streak motivated him into always doing what he thought should be done regardless of the world's opinion. Consequently, when the trio with Bley and Swallow began, causing irritation in New York in 1961, I was a devoted follower. He is a quiet genius in his way, and a great man. JAM: Clark Terry. BB: As you can see by the names you're giving me, I have been blessed with some lovely partners. Clark and I became close after he joined the Concert Jazz Band in December of 1960. His arrival lifted both the band and me about 15,000 feet off the ground. We were invited by the Half Note to form a band and our quintet lasted seven years, four CDs, lots of benefits (which Clark booked) and lots of work, which I usually took care of. It's very depressing to work every night with someone who is near perfect. And I was depressed for seven years! We remain brothers and love each other severely. JAM: Thad Jones. BB: When Thad and I began working freelance together in the early 1960s, probably neither one of us would have believed that he would become, along with Mel, a famous band leader. He was one of the great unsung innovators as an improviser, and as a composer and band leader you know the story as well as me. His departure from Mel's band remained a mystery, and I believe it was one of his big mistakes. Thad was a brilliant man with some troubles he could not solve. JAM: Mel Lewis. BB: I knew Mel from 1948 at a jam session in Chicago. He later aced me on Tex Benecke's band playing piano and we went to New York where I stayed and Mel didn't. He was always a steady, capable and highly musical drummer. When he came to New York with Stan Kenton in 1955 I heard a whole new Mel, bashing and crashing like Elvin and in general carrying on the tradition of Shadow Wilson and the loose, active swing from Kansas City via Buffalo. In fact, Basie hired him when Mel was 16 but he couldn't take a white Jewish boy down South. Still might have trouble. Mel and I were permanently engaged in a mutual support organization. He was one of the great drummers in the history of music, and is, and was, one of the most underrated and downright ignored drummers in history. To play with Mel was heaven. JAM: Jim Hall. BB: Speaking of heaven... My year of playing duo with Jim in 1979 was also nearly other-worldly. We were with Jimmy Giuffre and remained close musical and personal friends. I often say that Jim could play with dead people. Maybe Zoot, too. Jim is a real artist. We don't play together anymore, for we have taken different paths. JAM: You are also an accomplished pianist, and once even made a two-piano record with Bill Evans. What was that experience like? BB: YOU may think I'm an accomplished pianist, but I fear my own opinion is much more modest. (I have, however, made a piano trio CD, which comes out next year. I have no shame anymore.) I had a quartet date called with Bill, Percy Heath and Connie Kay. Jack Lewis was my producer and Jack was a wild man, lending every project a sense of freedom and excitement. In this case, he may have overstepped his bounds, but our arrival in studio hailed into view interlocking grand pianos. Bill said, "OK." I said "OK," and we did it. It was a wonderful experience. At that time Bill was my favorite pianist, and nearly my favorite musician. JAM: Can playing the piano make someone a better horn player? BB: Being able to get around on the piano with some ease is a big asset. Much of your experimentation can take place there. Harmony and melody become available together in a manner that is not possible on a horn alone. JAM: In a diverse career now spanning 50 years, you've spent some time in the studios, a line of work that can be pretty limited in a creative sense. Do you have good or bad memories of those days? BB: In my early life -- and I divide my life into pre-sober and sober eras -- studio work was part of what we all did. The quality was high, both in the writing and the playing, and it was not such a nightmare as it became by 1965 when rock and roll came in. I recall one Monday night session for Phil Specter, a mutual enemy, where I played a low "E" for three hours. On valve trombone yet. And they asked me why I drank. JAM: In other interviews you've been pretty open about your past problems with the bottle. Care to talk about it here? "Wynton (Marsalis) is a good trumpet player, a lousy writer and appears to be an arrogant little shit. I, however, am a good writer and probably could be on the band stand playing jazz with Wynton and my band would certainly bury his alive." BB: By 1967 I was pretty well enmeshed in trying to make sense of a life that didn't make sense with large quantities of alcohol. I, in effect, I drank myself out of New York and into a house in Van Nuys, California where they fed me, took good care of me, and within a couple of months I was -- voila -- a FUNCTIONING alcoholic, even though I didn't dare say that word. It was a strange time because almost everybody knew me and I didn't know almost everybody. Functioning meant being able to drive the old Mercedes to Disney or Columbia, work all day, and then spend five hours trying to get back home through a city which grew stranger every week. I lasted for about four years, making a good living, and finding out that it's really tough to be a sneaky drunk in the studios. (It's easier in New York.) I am notably open about all of this because it's stupid to be anything else. I had a disease that nearly killed me, and since December 1976 I do not. That began my "sober" period, although I hate that word, since I am a bigger lunatic now than I ever was drunk. JAM: What -- or who -- was it that inspired you to get on the wagon? BB: The woman who, by this time, was keeping me and who finally dragged me into the hospital. There is nothing noble or courageous about ceasing to drink; you just discover that you have a choice. I had great teachers and wonderful support, and without those loving people I don't know what would have happened. Not drinking is easy, everything else is hard. JAM: Any regrets about those "lost years"? BB: No. Because, oddly enough, without those "lost years" I wouldn't have found the years I have now. In short, I had to die to live. JAM: Let's jump to the present. Which aspect of your career now do you find the most challenging? BB: My new occupation is listed as composer, conductor, teacher and trombone soloist. They are all part of who I am and what I do. Playing is the easiest and I think I'm doing that my best right now. Conducting was once the hardest because I was scared to death standing in front of a band with people watching. But now I am easy as can be on stage. And I regard that as one of my biggest achievements. The writing of music is the hardest thing I don't know how to do, but my life for some reason is not complete unless I'm scribbling, swearing and erasing... all the while lying to the copyist and the producer. JAM: Speaking of "challenging," you've enjoyed a good relationship with Challenge Records in recent years. How did that association come about? BB: Anne de Jong and Hein van de Geyn of Challenge Records have made it possible for me to look you in the eye and show you what my life is like now. Without them, you'd be dealing with years of reissues of music that probably, in large part, did not need to be recorded in the first place. I have been roundly ignored by all of the major record companies, and all of the minor record companies, and this is a fact that I have never been able to understand. It has made me hurt and angry and frustrated, because I hear a lot of the trash they're turning out while I stay untapped. So, Challenge and I enjoy a mutually respectful and beneficial relationship. ...And you can help this by personally purchasing records. Don't just read about me, buy me! JAM: How do you feel, in general, about the current state of the jazz record business? BB: My opinion on the current state of the jazz record business can be summed up by a quote from Morton Feldman, the great composer. Morton was once asked what would be the best thing for music. He replied, "Have 95% of the people stop writing music." We are drowning, literally, in a sea of CDs that don't need to be made, that don't need to be heard, and that are clogging up the market that I deal with like a stopped toilet. JAM: Do you, like many others, see the day when retail record stores as we know them will be rendered obsolete by the Internet? BB: There may be a day when the Internet or some alternate means of reaching people will make good music available. My own research has shown that thousands and thousands of people would listen to and buy music that we call jazz. Ask my wife's tennis partners. JAM: Speaking of the 'net... Another part of your musical life these days is a rather provocative web site (www.bobbrookmeyer.com) that features your views on a variety of subjects. We want to have you elaborate on some pretty meaty quotes found on that site, but first, why are you so fearless when it comes to revealing -- as Terry Teachout put it last year in his New York Times profile -- your "sharp tongue"? BB: My web site has been a chance for me to say what I think, like it or not. JAM: OK, here's something you said about Wynton Marsalis that turned a few heads. "...It's very, very tough out there without a record company, a publicist, Lincoln Center and a few million bucks a year to allow one to stay in reverse with the foot on the pedal. The arrogance is biting and I, as a long-time associate of 'historical figures,' am finding fraudulent activity... irritating AND destructive, because -- regardless of what the opinions are -- the 'bar is being lowered' for what is an acceptable standard for 'greatness.'" First, how do you REALLY feel about Wynton Marsalis! And second, what jazz artists out there right now do you feel are actually worthy of being called "great"? BB: Since opinions on almost everything are shaped by corporations, if Lincoln Center tells you Wynton is good, Wynton is good. Wynton is a good trumpet player, a lousy writer and appears to be an arrogant little shit. I, however, am a good writer and probably could be on the band stand playing jazz with Wynton and my band would certainly bury his alive. There are several other major frauds, not nearly as well endowed, but equally up my nose. I grew up when there were great musicians. Most of them died. Thank God we still have Lee Konitz. JAM: You are also very involved in education, and are now on the staff of the New England Conservatory in Boston. Any thoughts on teaching? BB: I became a fulltime teacher in 1985 in New York, moved to Holland to start a radical new school (that failed), had composition workshops in Cologne and Copenhagen, and now, as you mentioned, am on the faculty at New England Conservatory. I do a lot of remedial education, which feels like deprogramming religious converts. My invocation is: "You learn more from Palestrina than Coltrane about line making." And that seems to run counter to much accepted wisdom. Teaching is a strange word; I like "helping" better. You learn by doing, and by doing only. No failure, no gain. JAM: Also according to the New York Times piece, it looks like you are embracing the arrival of the 21st century with open arms when it comes to experimenting with electronics and synthesizers, with both the valve trombone and keyboards. You know, for some reason it's a little surprising that someone from such a traditional "old school" jazz background would have an open mind about that whole arena. Care to explain? BB: I have been using synthesizers since 1985 and find them a useful adjunct to acoustic music. It may seem to some a little strange that a nearly 71 year old geezer is seeking to still raise the electric bill and hurt your ears, but somebody's got to do it. JAM: With 2001 now upon us -- a year closely associated with futuristic themes -- what do you think it will take to keep jazz alive in the new century, now that The Future has finally arrived? BB: In the old days, when asked where jazz was going, my usual answer was: over to 48th street and Jim and Andy's bar (our "church") and then home. My feeling about the cutting edge is that it will come to mean good work and adequate skill to enable this work to speak, and sufficient imagination, vision and daring to do what you need to do. My future fills me with optimism, but then I'm told that people in the later stages of life often suffer hallucinations, so make up your own mind. Normally, on my web page, I say "go out and vote." Now, with a moron like Bush in public view, I'm not so sure. Ah well, we survived -- at one toss -- Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Helmut Kohl and Boris Yeltsin. So, I guess we can avert our eyes for another four years. And hope they give us some fresh meat next time. JAM: Many thanks, Bob, for doing this interview! BB: It has been my pleasure. I'm glad you asked. © 2000 Mike Metheny RETURN TO DECEMBER/JANUARY 2001 MAIN INDEX © Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved. |
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