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Billy Hart in conversation with Ethan Iverson "I so believe in tradition that I believe there is a logical solution for even the most 'out' music—that there is always something to find to make the avant-garde presentable." January 2006
Billy Higgins. Well, obviously Higgins has that island element, too [see part 2], but I haven’t really been able to trace where he comes from. Every time I asked him, over and over again, he gave the same response: “How many times do I have to tell you, Billy? I studied with Ed Blackwell.” A year later I would have heard some other record with Higgins. I’d see him and say: “C’mon, Higgins—where did you get that?” “I practiced with Ed Blackwell.” It’s really deep what that is…and Higgins has that from Blackwell the way Elvin got it from Haynes. Elvin and Higgins both have some correct shit that doesn’t come from--where they come from. Higgins called it “The Lift,” but basically it’s a use of upbeats. An upbeat is not the “and of one” or the “and of two”…it’s a part of a triplet. It just sounds like an upbeat, since it’s so close. Elvin often played the last two of the triplet, and Higgins just the last. Where it gets deep is how Higgins ride cymbal is like the cascara—almost an even eighth-note—and his left hand is playing the triplet. Elvin has something similar, except for him it’s harder to define. And when you go back to see how Art Blakey or Philly Joe did it, you realize that this element is crucial to what we call swing. And some cats, like Roker or whoever [see part 2 for a discussion of Mickey Roker] have this so naturally—and they talk about it that way, too: “Man, how are you going to explain that? That is some natural shit.” You can’t explain that academically. There certainly isn’t the right language in place to talk about it. Well, their way of looking at it was that it was impossible! It was so “from osmosis”, so “culturally ingrained.” These days a hip-hop producer puts it on his computer screen and controls it very precisely, of course. What do you mean? Well, to maximize a groove, they make sure that the different parts of the drums are in just the right place of disunity or de-synchronization, just like between the hands of Elvin or Higgins—or yourself! Of course they would do that, huh? I recall that you once told me that you thought the backbeat was a commercial simplification of the clavé. What! Did I tell you that? Do I really mean that? [Pause.] Let me put that another way: I hear the second-line, which is clavé, in all jazz…the backbeat seems pretty simple compared to something as vast as God! The clavé (and all the great Latin rhythms associated with the clavé) is always four and six at the same time—or rather, triplet and binary at the same time. Just like you were saying about Elvin and Higgins just now. Exactly! I told Higgins that I had seen it: “Goddamn, Higgins! You and Elvin are playing the same thing!” Higgins said: “You gotta remember, I was with Coltrane first. Elvin took my place.” That's right! There's not much recorded, but there is a great photo of both Elvin and Higgins playing with Coltrane at the same time. Now we got Ben Street in the band, and of course Ben is playing with the modern historian of the clavé, Danilo Perez. Have you heard the record Panamonk? That record is where it started. Somehow Danilo, without being murdered—and I’m still not sure that he’s safe—he’s been able to transfer the clavé into odd groupings like five and seven. I mean, the clavé police don’t allow that! That means Danilo had to be very articulate about it. Danilo is so heavy, man. The first recording is Panamonk, with Jeff Watts on drums. People don’t remember that Watts played with Danilo (and The Fort Apache Band). He’s of course also associated with New Orleans musicians…so if anyone could put together the relationship between the second-line and the Afro-Cuban, it would be Watts. [Terri Lyne Carrington is on Panamonk also.] For the seven, Danilo took the 2-3 of the son clavé and made the last beat of that the first beat of the rumba clavé 3-2. That’s going around now—it’s a hell of a thing. Maybe it’s just the times, but I’m still surprised that the clavé police allowed that. They don’t allow much—they are like playing with Lou Donaldson, George Coleman, and Sonny Stitt all at the same time. What did Lou Donaldson say about Herbie Hancock? Yeah: that Herbie Hancock could maybe play some classical piano, but he certainly couldn’t play jazz. And really, the clavé people are even tougher than Lou. Danilo asked me to play with him a few times but I always felt that I didn’t know enough about Latin drumming to do it. Now he’s got Adam Cruz, who’s father was also a Latin drummer, so Adam really understands all of that. That trio is rough. [Perez, Street, and Cruz.] ------------------------ Well, Billy we have been talking for over three hours. I don’t want to wear you out. Has it been three already? Well, I’m loquacious—that’s a Sagittarius trait. One thing I would love to get on tape is a story you told me on tour. The story of the day Lee Morgan died. Uh-huh. It’s an epic tragedy. Do mind telling it again for the tape? Well, I don’t mind telling you what I know… [Rather than transcribe the next segment, here is an Mp3 file of this remarkable piece of urban folklore. It's a little over 11 minutes.]
What an incredible story. It’s like a Frankie and Johnny-type ballad. Yes, or like Robert Johnson or James Reese Europe… See, a story like this is real window into the reality of---whatever you want to call it—the jazz life, if not jazz music period. You know, I’m a white guy who grew up in the cornfields of Middle America. When I studied this music off of records as a kid, there was no way for me to learn about the cauldron that this music came out of. You might buy a Lee Morgan record on Blue Note, but the liner notes are not going to give you much of an idea about the reality! I mean, Leonard Feather? Right! Right! [Laughter.] I remember running into Morgan at The Showboat one time. The Showboat had two flights of stairs, kind of like Smalls—a few more steps down after the place where they take your money. Well, Morgan was there sitting on the stairs where the tickets were taken, nodding. I began talking to him about Mickey Bass, who I think was just playing with Art Blakey. Then I asked him about The Sidewinder, and he said, “Yeah, man, ain’t that a bitch? I played all this hip music, and we threw this other shit together just to finish out the record, and that becomes the hit. My first hit had to be some dumb shit like that.” Of course, then they started putting a tune like that on every Blue Note record. There are a thousand tunes that emulated “The Sidewinder”… Yeah. But that first tune is still the one, because there goes Higgins with that cascara again! Just like Roker—they used those guys like Higgins and Roker because they could still make hit records without having to subscribe fully to the rock and roll formula. See, as long as they could do that, they didn’t feel like they had fallen to playing rock and roll. It’s true-- the backbeat didn’t really appear on jazz records until the seventies. ------------------------ To conclude, do you want to say anything about this current group or about Ben Street or Mark Turner? Well, Ethan, when we did that record with Reid [The Minor Passions] I felt really compatible…much to my surprise. I mean, you are a weird player. [Laughter.] Do you know that many people have told me they heard that record, by the way? A lot of drummers have heard The Minor Passions. When you brought Ben in I was nervous, since I felt so comfortable before with Reid. Why did you do that, anyway? Well, Reid and I formed The Bad Plus with Dave King, where we all are leaders together. I’m on some old Reid Anderson records as a sideman and vice-versa, but those days are over, at least for now. In the beginning of The Bad Plus we had a terrible time getting the press to understand that it wasn’t my trio. It’s still an issue, actually—the last review of us in JazzTimes called me the leader. Well, you know, people don’t recognize “Ethan Iverson” that well yet. I tell people my piano player is Ethan Iverson, and they go “who”? Then I say, “The piano player in The Bad Plus,” and they say, “what?” Yeah. Well, The Bad Plus has its own way of doing things, Billy. I’ve noticed that. Well, you sure are doing something right. One way you can tell is how angry people get about you! Ouch! I mean, I was talking to X [famous straight-ahead jazz player], who thought that you didn’t know one thing about this music! Like that you didn’t know even one Bud Powell chord or something. [Laughter.] I told ‘em they needed to hear you with me…although I don’t think you play any different in The Bad Plus. But anyway, I really liked playing with Reid. But then Ben was great, too. Ben really knows something about rhythm. All the time, at every clinic, somebody asks me what I like in a bass player. And I always say this: I prefer the acoustic bass, no doubt. But I need an acoustic bass player that knows the workings of the electric bass, in terms of music. I guess that means that they are more sophisticated rhythmically—and more enthusiastic about being sophisticated rhythmically. One of the things that I feel about rhythm is that it can be played close together…but it can be really beautiful if you space it out and still can make it swing. In other words, if you did something June 1st, then did it again September 22nd, and than again February somethin’…if it was the right thing, it would be this amazing orgasmic rush. (This is a weird way of saying it, I know.) But lot of electric bass players, the good ones, that is part of their gig—they have to find out a way of doing that. Well, Ben has that, and when you add the sophistication of understanding the clavé the way he does…whew! I remember listening to a record of Coltrane with you (it was the live in Seattle gig with “Body and Soul”). I commented how beautifully strange Garrison’s playing was. You looked at me and said, “Yeah, and you always get those kind of bass players!” Reid and Ben are always declaring a point of view when they play. Garrison is a great example of doing that. Well, Philadelphia has a bass player legacy. Spanky DeBrest—Buster Williams—Reggie Workman—Christian McBride—Stanley Clarke—Jymie Merritt— Lee Morgan used to fuss with Merritt on the bandstand. He’d say, “C’mon, c’mon. C’mon, Merritt, please!” And Merritt would be in here, you know, doing double stops and everything, and would say back: “It’s too late, Lee! It’s too late now!” I think Garrison is underrated by the jazz world overall. Well, definitely that! I even feel like a lot of the cats playing jazz in the seventies and eighties loved Trane, McCoy, and Elvin, but not Garrison. But now, things are getting to be a little different. Like Larry Grenadier, who has all the hippest gigs: who plays more like Garrison than that? And he’ll tell you, straight out. If Peter Washington will tell you he is trying to play like Paul Chambers, than Larry will tell you—with no doubt in his mind—that he is trying to get to Garrison. When you were listening to the playback of “Confirmation” from the record, you looked at me and said that Ben and I sounded like Wilbur Ware and “The Legendary Hasaan,” which is about the highest compliment I think either of us ever expect to receive! On some tune when were recording, I went for something that was so ridiculous…it was bordering somewhere between egomania and fantasy. Afterwards, I apologized to Ben, but he said, “No, man, I apologize for not being able to find the right thing to go with it…” I really like that he looked at it that way, because I look at things that way. I look for…I so believe in tradition that I believe there is a logical solution for even the most “out” music—that there is always something to find to make the avant-garde presentable. And Ben clearly feels that way, too. As for Mark Turner…now, in some way, I think that you and Mark play alike—at least in the way you both make me play. Now that I’m playing with Mark regularly, I’m noticing how many other saxophonists are trying to play like him. Is that true? Yes, he is one of the most influential saxophonists of his generation. A lot of people told me that he had figured out a system. He knows what he’s doing, but he’s a real improviser, too. He is a genius and an innovator. When he used to come see us perform, you would tell me that he wanted to play with us. I thought, “Why would he want us, or really, me?” But I always played with you with more space—and soft. And I think Mark likes it when I play like that. Yeah, well, we also like it when you kick our asses! Somehow, this band covers that as well as the other. This band really is uniquely of me. And it is a unique challenge. We are four unrepentant individuals, for sure! I still don’t know how you knew to put the four of us together. Well, all I’ve ever really cared about is how the drummer sounded in the band. And that’s how Ben and Mark feel, too. As much saxophone as Turner plays, he never overplays. He always leaves space. In his playing, he asks the band to participate in an ensemble. That’s true. You are actually describing my ideal. Too often, the drummer is just asked to provide, to make everybody else feel comfortable. All three of us are just so happy to be in a band where Billy Hart gets to play the way he wants to play. I will keep trying to live up to that challenge!
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