Once at the Blue Note I heard Billy Eckstine sing a ballad that was so slow I think there isn't a metronome marking for it. Then he started singing so far back on the beat he was 2 beats behind! Then, of course, he tied it all up with a ribbon on the downbeat of the piano solo.
You give us a voice, Bret. Jazz musicians are a minority clan with deep inter connections. You've described the dialogue and the environs and the sheer difficulty of playing this bottomless music and getting it as right as your abilities allow. It is a true meritocracy. You can't fake it in jazz.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, one after-hours session at Bop City, in San Fran., a young white bass player got up sit in. The band leader called Cherokee at a breakneck tempo. The bass player was struggling from the start and after half-a-chorus, Eddie Kahn, fresh off the road with Max Roach, walked onto the stand, took the bass from the kid and played the rest of the song. I suppose the young man went back to where he was from and spent a long time in the shed. I never saw him again.
I was sixteen. 1965. I had come to NYC to find Ornette Coleman. I succeeded. At the time I was carrying a trumpet as I couldn't travel with drums. One day in his flat Ornette pointed at the trumpet and said, "Play something, okay? Just play." Gulp. I didn't have anything like the chops I thought I had. Ornette was sweet. He said, "You're too young to know that you're too young." He was right.
A great ending to this saga!
Once at the Blue Note I heard Billy Eckstine sing a ballad that was so slow I think there isn't a metronome marking for it. Then he started singing so far back on the beat he was 2 beats behind! Then, of course, he tied it all up with a ribbon on the downbeat of the piano solo.
Mr. B!
You give us a voice, Bret. Jazz musicians are a minority clan with deep inter connections. You've described the dialogue and the environs and the sheer difficulty of playing this bottomless music and getting it as right as your abilities allow. It is a true meritocracy. You can't fake it in jazz.
No fakers in this music, that's for damn sure!
At the opposite end of the spectrum, one after-hours session at Bop City, in San Fran., a young white bass player got up sit in. The band leader called Cherokee at a breakneck tempo. The bass player was struggling from the start and after half-a-chorus, Eddie Kahn, fresh off the road with Max Roach, walked onto the stand, took the bass from the kid and played the rest of the song. I suppose the young man went back to where he was from and spent a long time in the shed. I never saw him again.
It’s not a good idea to sit in, unless you’re ready.
People that want to sit in think that they are ready. Sometimes they are and sometimes they're not.
When the time comes to play, they find out rather quickly.
I was sixteen. 1965. I had come to NYC to find Ornette Coleman. I succeeded. At the time I was carrying a trumpet as I couldn't travel with drums. One day in his flat Ornette pointed at the trumpet and said, "Play something, okay? Just play." Gulp. I didn't have anything like the chops I thought I had. Ornette was sweet. He said, "You're too young to know that you're too young." He was right.
Ballads leave no place to hide.
"The Gig From Hell" excerpt my novel of the jazz life: https://medium.com/@artsdigiphoto/the-jazz-gig-from-hell-9c56316ed579