Ron McClure

My in-sider's tip.

I first met Ron McClure sometime in the early 1980s when we were both recruited to teach at the Jamey Aebersold Summer Jazz Workshops. Of course, I already knew of Ron. In jazz circles, his reputation had long since entered the room before he did — always a dangerous sign. I had already purchased more than a few records featuring his bass playing alongside what can only be described as an alarming number of jazz royalty.

When you looked at the personnel on those albums, it almost became easier to ask who Ron hadn’t played with.

Over the years we spent time together at those workshops — not only in the United States but also in Germany, Australia, and possibly England, though my memory now resembles an old fake book held together with duct tape — we got to know one another a bit.

What struck me most about Ron was his modesty. Here was a musician with a résumé the size of a phone book (for younger readers: ask your grandparents), yet he never carried himself with even a trace of arrogance. And believe me, jazz musicians are not always famous for underestimating themselves.

He also possessed something exceedingly rare in our profession: a complete absence of competitiveness. He treated me not as some lesser musician climbing the ladder behind him, but simply as a colleague. We laughed a lot. We traded stories. We survived airports, workshops, questionable hotel coffee, and the occasional rhythm section “adventure.”

In those days, I’d also run into Ron around New York at various clubs, especially at Bradley’s, which was one of the great after-hours gathering spots for jazz musicians. Bradley’s wasn’t merely a club — it was part confessional booth, part conservatory, part psychiatric ward, and part diner counter at 3:30 in the morning.

That world has changed enormously now. The New York jazz scene isn’t quite the same ecosystem it once was, and neither Ron nor I seem to haunt the clubs the way we did back then. These days, many of us older jazz musicians disappear after the gig like aging superheroes whose powers no longer include staying awake past 1:00 a.m.

But I wanted to bring something to your attention that I think many of you — especially readers of this Substack — will genuinely love.

Ron has written a remarkable book called Bass In Time. And when I say “book,” I don’t mean one of those slim little memoirs musicians sometimes produce between brunch gigs. This thing weighs in at over 700 pages. If it were actually formatted as a physical book and dropped from a reasonable height, it could stun a medium-sized burglar.

Its subtitle — Playing with “Everyone Who’s Anyone” — is only a mild exaggeration.

The moment I heard about it, I got myself a copy and began reading immediately. I found it absolutely captivating. Ron is a wonderful storyteller: vivid, observant, funny, honest, and deeply human. One of the smartest things he ever did was to carefully document his life as it unfolded — through notes, journals, photographs, and records of his travels and experiences. Unlike some of us, who relied primarily on memory and caffeine.

Ron McClure, bassist, master musician, and now, author.

As a result, the book possesses an extraordinary richness of detail. You don’t merely read about the jazz life — you feel as though you’re sitting in the passenger seat while it’s happening.

And what a life it has been.

The triumphs. The disappointments. The absurdities. The musical ecstasies. The terrible travel arrangements. The moments of inspiration that make all the nonsense worthwhile. Ron captures it all beautifully, and once you start reading, it becomes very difficult to stop. Each story opens another door into a world that many jazz fans sense exists but rarely get to see from the inside.

For those of you who read my own A Jazz Musician’s Diary because you’re curious about the real lives musicians lead — not the glamorous fantasy version, but the actual day-to-day reality of trying to survive, create, travel, improvise, age, and remain sane inside this strange business — I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

Ron is also a serious composer and, incidentally, a terrific piano player. In fact, as I recall, he could probably sit down and play a piano gig convincingly enough that no one would suspect the bassist had hijacked the instrument.

You can obtain a copy directly from Ron by emailing him at:

rondixmcclure@gmail.com I believe that is the sole distribution method at present.

At the moment, I believe the book is only available as a downloadable PDF. Don’t let that deter you. It reads beautifully on a Kindle, tablet, phone, or computer. Besides, jazz musicians have spent decades reading music under worse conditions than this — including outdoor weddings in the wind.

In closing, I want to thank all of you for continuing to read my own stories here. The difference between Ron’s chronicle and mine is that Ron carefully documented his experiences as they unfolded, whereas I’ve often reconstructed mine from memory — a process that occasionally resembles archeology.

Still, I think both of us are trying to do the same thing: to illuminate what this life in jazz really feels like from the inside.

And Ron McClure has done that magnificently. Thanks, bass buddy.

TC