Joining The Jazztet

The opportunity of a lifetime.

I received a call from Benny Golson asking if I could perform with the Jazztet for a one-night performance in Buffalo, New York. I believe the venue was called The Tralfamadore. I almost dropped the phone, realizing I had a chance to play with one of the most incredible jazz combos in history. Fortunately, I was free on the date in question. I asked Benny if he might have the bass book of arrangements that I could look over before the gig. He had a copy, and I went over and picked it up the next day, beginning my research and homework.

I don’t remember the exact year, but it was in the middle of winter. Winter in Buffalo is unusually harsh, and that year was no exception. It happened that the Northeast was amid a nor’easter, the name given to an especially hazardous weather system that occurs from time to time.

I left my home in New Jersey early the morning of the engagement, knowing that with all the snow and high winds that were forecast, I would need a lot of extra time to drive slowly and steadily. The rest of the band was coming in from all different directions. Benny and the pianist Mickey Tucker were coming up from New York City. They might have elected to take the train. Art Farmer may have been coming from his home in Vienna, Austria. I believe Curtis Fuller was coming from the Boston area, where he lived at the time, and the drummer, Billy Hart, was coming from Rhode Island, where he had performed the previous evening.

I arrived first, and none of the others had arrived as our performance approached. This was before the advent of cell phones, so all I could do was sit and wait. The weather on the East Coast was severe, and all transportation experienced significant delays due to weather-related issues. There was nothing anyone could do about it. We eventually took the stage, about an hour late.

It was obvious to me that the guys in the band were frazzled, having gone through various ordeals to get to the gig. Once they arrived, there was no time to warm up, soundcheck, or even get to a dressing room. We just needed to play immediately.

The original Jazztet looking dapper in their matching shark skin suits.

At the night's end, Benny approached me and said, “You saved us tonight. We were all so disheveled and distracted that we didn’t know which end was up. You were the most prepared and steady part of our band tonight. I’m so glad you made it.” Hearing that, whether actual or not, put me on cloud nine.

Since the band worked occasionally, the setup was that the front line, consisting of tenor saxophonist Benny Golson, Flugelhornist Art Farmer, trombonist Curtis Fuller, along with pianist Mickey Tucker, was the steady personnel. The bass and drum chairs worked rotationally since bassists and drummers were freelancing and were not always available. Since the music was highly arranged and involved a lot of sightreading, Benny thought it best to have a few bass players and drummers, “in the stable” so that if one were not available, it would be likely that one of the others would be. That arrangement worked well for all involved and provided musical stability to the ensemble. The bass chair rotated between Ray Drummond, Rufus Reid, and me. The drum chair rotated between Billy Hart, Smitty Smith, and possibly Kenny Washington or Carl Allen. Needless to say, it was a joy and privilege to find myself in such esteemed musical company.

The front line, left to right: Curtis Fuller, Benny Golson, and Art Farmer.

That arrangement lasted for two or three years, after which Benny decided to give that group a Sabbatical in favor of working with his quartet instead. It was when I worked with Benny in the quartet where he had a chance to stretch out as a soloist that I discovered just how inventive, creative, adventurous, and individual a voice he had. He inspired me in his playing every night as if it were his last on earth. He went for broke in each set. The great players always seemed to play as if their very lives depended on it.

I have probably mentioned this before, but I have been so fortunate to have been part of an era in jazz music that was at the tail end of a particular way of doing business and presenting music. Things are quite different today, much more temporary and fleeting. It is not that one is better or worse; it is just that the music business has had to adjust to different societal, economic, and social developments.

Today, I have also adjusted to the new reality. I am more accustomed to joining various groups that will play a night here, a couple of nights there, maybe go on the road a wee bit, but not nearly like the marathon tours we used to take. There is very little studio work as there was back in the day, and the opportunity to record has also lightened up for most musicians in my age bracket.

It might sound like I have lost some opportunities I had been accustomed to years ago, but I find the new reality suits me very well. The main criteria that determine my decision to accept offers today are 1) if the music is good and challenging, and 2) if the musicians are pleasant to be around and professional in their public demeanor. I am likely to accept such offers gladly. The financial aspect, which was so important to me at one time, is way down the list of criteria these days. I play mainly for the joy of music making, for the company of my valued colleagues, and to share my experience and seasoning with anyone in the audience who cares to listen.

TC