The Day I Met Moody

Fate smiled upon me

It was sometime in the mid-1980s I think that I received a call from one of my early mentors, bassist Rufus Reid. He had been working on and off with saxophonist James Moody. Rufus was in great demand and informed Moody that since he might not be able to make many of his future engagements, it might be a good idea to find another bassist to fill in the gaps. Soon after, Rufus called me and said that Moody (who said that the only person who could call him James was his mother) might give me a call as I was on a list of names he had provided. He also gave me some insider tips that would be good to know in advance, for which I am grateful. I remember thanking him and thinking, “If only….”

Moody waiting on the next bullet train, somewhere in Japan ca. late 1990s

As luck with have it, a few days later my phone rang, and it was Moody calling. He asked if I was doing anything now. I said that I was at home, mostly just practicing. His response was, “I’ll be right over” and he hung up. I wondered how he might know where I lived and if he was coming, when he might arrive. Within about 15 minutes, my doorbell rang and there was the man himself, carrying his tenor and alto saxophones, and his flute. It turns out he lived in a neighboring town in New Jersey, not ten miles from my home. It was early Spring, and he was dressed in a jogging outfit with colorful running shoes and a stocking cap, the kind often worn by longshoremen. Hardly the image of the musical giant I knew him to be.

I offered him coffee, tea, etc., and he politely declined and proceeded to get his tenor saxophone out of its case. So, there we were, the two of us with our instruments in my living room. It seemed surreal. He asked if I could play a blues with him and before I could reply, we were off and running, improvising together, just saxophone and bass. As I recall, he played quite a while and then let me play a solo alone for a couple choruses and then we ended that tune together. He nodded his head and called a couple more tunes that luckily, I knew, and we continued to play. It was over in o more than 20 minutes. Once our duets were over, he asked if I could make a gig the following Saturday in Indianapolis. As it happened, I was available and eagerly told him I’d love to do it. He then reached into his other case and handed me a plane ticket that had Rufus Reid’s name on it and said, “Get to the airport early if you can.” In those days, before TSA and all the rest, one could board with a ticket with anyone’s name on it, if they just had a ticket…no inspection, to Xray, no anything. Ah, those were the days.

The following Saturday we arrived in Indianapolis and were scheduled to play an early evening concert for the Indianapolis Jazz Society. I was surprised to discover that there would be no rehearsal. In fact, I didn’t really know who else would be in the band. In all my amazement, I had forgotten to even ask. Next thing I knew, there I was onstage with Moody, Harold Mabern (piano) and Billy Hart (drums). Those three individuals were highly seasoned professionals of the first rank, at least a couple decades older than me, and there I was a 30-year-old apprentice. I knew I was in deep water, but fortunately for me, I was too ignorant to know just how deep it was. If I had really known the reality of the situation, I might have died of a seizure on the spot.

Frankly, I don’t recall much about the concert itself. It seemed to last about 90 seconds and then it was over. One gig, one night, one experience. What I do recall is how kind and supportive the other musicians were all along, and they made me feel as if I belonged. The latter point is highly debatable, but they managed to play in such a way as to make my job as easy as could be.

I could not have imagined or even had in my wildest dream that I would be a member of the James Moody Quartet for the next 25 years. Apparently, that initial gig worked out after all.

Photo: https://johnabbottphoto.com

So, what is my takeaway? That would require a separate essay that would be several pages long. What I can say is that jazz musicians of the first rank are dedicated to being in service to the music as seriously, if not more seriously, than anyone in any endeavor. Through our musical and personal association of a quarter century, Moody taught me how to try to be loving, egoless, and dedicated to something greater than myself. I cannot claim to have absorbed and implemented those precious qualities immediately, but with Moody’s spirit always by my side, I strive to be the best musician and person I can be every day. Moody taught me by example, but never judged me nor told me what to do or not do, how to act, or anything. He led in his own quiet way and let me find my own path. What an indescribable gift.

TC