"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future. Concentrate the mind on the present moment, and do your work with mastery. Like the moon, come out from behind the clouds, and shine." ~Buddha "Happiness is not a memory but a reality. Reality is neither past nor future but only now. NOW is the greatest time there ever was." ~Nicholas Payton
"Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. So why not just be happy?" ~Snoopy
When I was at Berklee in the 80s, the Boston jazz community was teeming with talented trumpet players.
There was the brilliant INGRID JENSEN, who had the freshest sound in town, the legendary HERB POMEROY, a lyrical master of bebop, and the ultramodern TIM HAGANS, a harmonically adventurous improviser of the Woody Shaw school. DAVE BALLOU was known for his pitch-perfect intonation and musicality, JEFF STOUT for his uncanny way with a standard, and KEN CERVENKA for his inventive spontaneity. GREG HOPKINS could break your heart with a ballad, while the always soulful KENNY RAMPTON made the trumpet sing like no other. There was also the spirited ROY HARGROVE, a musical chameleon steeped in Blue Note tradition, the explosive ANDY GRAVISH, who channelled Freddie Hubbard at will, and TONY THEWET, a playful prankster with a gift for infectious island rhythm.
The scene was inspiring, to say the least, but it could also be quite intimidating. I was playing trumpet more than flugel in those days, and trumpet players tend to be a bit competitive by nature. Nevertheless, I tried to learn something from everyone and carve out a niche for myself.
Inevitably, whenever I grew confident about my place in the pecking order, I'd hear someone new who blew my mind.
In those moments, I felt like someone who had stumbled into the world of Highlander holding nothing but a pocket knife.
Like the time I worked on Brandt #6, a challenging etude for trumpet.
I had to sweat the thing for weeks before I could make its awkward intervals sound even remotely musical.
After I don't know how many hours in the practice room, I was finally ready to play the piece for my teacher. Sure enough, the hard work had paid off.
I was feeling pretty good about myself until the trumpet player in the adjacent studio began to mimic what I'd just played, only effortlessly, by ear, at a brighter tempo, and doodle tonguing it like Clark Terry.
But what really took the wind out of my sails was when he started cycling the melody through the keys.
I decided I'd better go over there, find out who it is, and pay my respects. Apparently no one had ever told this guy that playing the trumpet is difficult.
"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." ~Abraham Lincoln
"I'd been studying the microphone for a dozen years when I suddenly saw what I'd been doing wrong. I'd been singing too loud. One night I was listening to a record by Lester Young, the horn player, and it came to me. Relax, just relax. It's all going to be all right." ~Marvin Gaye
I'm studying Bach's two-part inventions, and am reminded of something John LaPorta pointed out to me years ago at Berklee.
J. S. Bach was reputedly a great improviser at the keyboard. Sadly, we'll never hear him. But the contrapuntal lines in his Inventions & Sinfonias, in terms of their structure and cantibile quality, are remarkably like those found in the Charlie Parker Omnibook.
That is, Bird and the architects of bebop (far from the bon sauvage stereotype) were such accomplished musicians that they could improvise at a blistering tempo with a melodic logic comparable to Bach's.
Compare, for example, this Bach invention, performed by Glenn Gould, to this performance of "Koko" by Bird & Diz.
In his book Jazz Modernism, Alfred Appel recounts the colorful, true story of a moment shared between Charlie Parker and Igor Stravinsky at New York's Birdland jazz club.
It's a Saturday night in the winter of 1951. The house is full, Charlie Parker's band is cookin' on the stage, and unbeknownst to the leader, Stravinsky is in the audience, listening attentively.
The author vividly describes how Bird, immediately upon recognizing the celebrity composer at one of the front tables, begins to pepper his solo with brilliant interpolations of "The Firebird Suite," causing Stravinsky to smile broadly, pound his cocktail glass on the table and "roar with delight."
I love this story!
As someone who appreciates music across many genres, I'm delighted but not surprised to learn that Stravinsky and Parker, both icons within their respective musical traditions, not only admired but actively listened to each other's work.
Such an attitude of openness and mutual respect is typical among master musicians. Explorers by nature, great artists rarely concern themselves with labels or limits. Instead they change history by transcending the very disciplines they master, becoming what Duke Ellington called "beyond category."
How wonderful, too, that both Stravinsky and Parker, though towering geniuses of modern music, shared a playful sense of humor! The lesson: creative maturity means a childlike enthusiasm for whatever comes next.
THIS is a terrific example of my mentor's beautiful flugel sound and brilliant approach to improvisation. From the Creed Taylor film Rhythmstick -- Art Farmer, Romero Lubambo and Airto perform "Softly as in a Morning Sunrise," with an introduction by Dizzy Gillespie. ~DM
James Moody's Grammy win tonight is a beautiful thing, but long overdue.
The last of the original generation of bebop masters, Moody died in December at age 85, just two months too early for him to appreciate the honor.
Nevertheless, the award decision is heartening.
It affirms that we in the jazz arena, unlike the rest of the youth-obsessed music industry, celebrate our pioneering elders above all.
And it proves -- believe it! -- that melody, warmth, swing and soul are still relevant.
In fact, they may just be what matters most.
~D.M.
Some of my favorite nuggets of James Moody wisdom...
Moody on Race:
"There's only one country. Mankind is one. All that stuff about different races—about your kind and my kind—that's bullshit."
Moody on Technique:
"It's a challenge constantly. I've had a saxophone for over 50 years and I still can't play it. Some days I wake up and say, 'Hello,' and the saxophone says, 'I don't know you.' But I keep at it."
Moody on Bandleading:
"A lot of times when you go somewhere to work, they put you with people who they think will work well together. That doesn't go. A band is like a marriage. Can't nobody pick a wife for you. You've gotta do it yourself. Only you know what you like, man."
Moody on Ego:
"Blessed are those who run around in circles, for they shall be called Big Wheels."
Moody on Music:
"Practice, work hard, but then let God take over. Jazz is a spiritual music. Remember, when you play music, you're praying. And most of all, learn to love yourself."
"You learned from those who knew, who went before you—the older guys—to tell a story. Whether you're reading a poem or singing a song, it's got to be your story."
~Allen Smith
My friend Allen Smith, the great trumpeter who passed away this week, will be remembered as a Bay Area treasure and a true gentleman of jazz.
Raised in Pittsburgh, Allen succeeded Clark Terry in the World War II Navy Band before touring with Johnny Otis and becoming one of San Francisco's most beloved musicians.
Allen recorded with Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington and Gil Evans, and performed with Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat "King" Cole, Quincy Jones, Joe Williams, Frank Sinatra, Gerald Wilson, Tony Bennett and others.
In recent years, Allen shared the stage with the Bay Area's leading vocalists. A swinging and soulful soloist in the style of Harry "Sweets" Edison, Allen appeared with Kim Nalley, Lavay Smith, Jackie Ryan, Paula West and many more.
I'm personally grateful for having the opportunity to know, perform with, listen to and learn from this brilliant musician.
On behalf of his many friends and in recognition of his lifetime of excellence in jazz, it was my privilege in 2004 to present Allen Smith with the San Francisco Jazz Festival's coveted Beacon Award.
Through his music and the memories of all who loved him, Allen Smith lives on.