Category: This ‘n’ That

Epiphany! You never known from where or when one might arise…if ever.

Yes, Christmas is around the corner, but I am not talking about the coming the Magi. Nor am I talking about a brilliant discovery of import to the world – think Einstein or Ben Franklin or Madame Curie.

For most of us, an epiphany is more likely just an A-HA! moment of small or large magnitude often triggered by a simple event. My epiphany was a sudden insight into the essential nature of something monumentally important to no one other than me, and last night I had a major 7-point-oh-my-god-why-didn’t-I-think-of-that-before mind-quake.

For months now, I have been actively writing and re-writing, structuring and re-structuring, a book about Luther Henderson. If you known me for a long time, you may remember that I first embarked on this project 20-some-odd years ago and it has ebbed and flowed in my life ever since. I started off with five or six solid chapters of a standard academic biography when a very good friend (and exceptional writer) told me the truth. He was clear that I would have only tiny audience, if that. Not only is Luther an unknown, but I had no story, no narrative arc. He was born…and he died does not qualify; where are the desires and the obstacles to be overcome…or not. What is at stake? My friend was spot on.

Periodically I would berate myself for my inability to bring the book to fruition, particularly as it would have made Luther’s widow happy to see his story finally told. I started to reframe it as a man facing death and wondering if he had a legacy. That is a more universal question that many might identify with, but not much at stake if you are about to die anyway, and again, the story still focused on a man who was unknown.

I felt like I was living Alan and Marilyn Bergman’s lyrics to “The Windmill’s Of Your Mind:”

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of it own

Down a hollow to a cavern where the un has never shone

Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream

Or the ripples from a pebble someone tossed in a stream

Like a clock whose hand are sweeping past the minutes of its face

And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space

Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

Some things unfold only when they are ready…and I think that Luther had a strong hand in this.

Now I realize what Luther always knew – “his story” lies not in the facts of his accomplishments but in the trials Luther endured to achieve, and the impact it all had on his life, the lives others, and the music itself. His ability to transform and extend music in ways that became his unique speciality, influenced his jazz, classical, and Broadway colleagues, but he paid a price.

My epiphany is NOT YET fully formed. It was triggered by the simple event of reading Susan Orlean’s memoir, in which she reminded me that she always writes about unknown people, but finding the key into the story is the hard part. I’m not there yet, but I think I am on a path forward.

If you are not hip to this already, you must discover Ron Carter: The Smithsonian Interview .

This fascinating book is described on Maestro’s web site as a “Coffee table art book based on the full transcript of the historic 2011 interview for the Smithsonian Oral History Project.” If you’ll allow me a moment of self-promotion, this historic 2011 interview was conducted by yours truly and I was astounded to learn (and more than a little pleased) that the interview was used in its entirety without any editing. 

But what makes this book so great are the alternating pages. He enlisted the help of Simone Banos and Penny Kjellberg (he calls them his Necessary Others) to create an immersive experience that include full page photos, QR codes to music and video examples, and a timeline that provides context for the what was happening at the time. I am so proud to have been a catalyst for this amazing project.

Today would have been John’s 113th birthday. I miss him fiercely each and every day, so he is still with me.

Five years ago today I wrote a post the second paragraph of which is oh so similar…. I can barely imagine what he would make of today’s world. Before he died he predicted people would take to the streets in protest — just didn’t think it would take this long.

21st-Century Photos and Writings” by members of the Jazz Journalist Association is aptly titled. Omnibus is a word I usually associate with politics, as in the omnibus bill. That would be an adjective signifying the inclusion of many items. While that does apply, here it is a noun. Merriam-Webster defines it as a book containing reprints of a number of works (as of a single author or on a single subject); yes, Jazz, the modifier of the noun.

I’m glad those who chose the title did not call it a compendium, that would sound heavy and dour. Now at 572 pages, this book is physically heavy, showcasing the work of 19 photographers and 67 writers (full disclosure, I am one of them and very proud to be included).

It being an omnibus allows me to play with the second definition; a public vehicle designed to carry a large number of passengers; a bus. (Writers love to play with words.) Whether the bus is carrying the writers and photographers themselves, or their actual works, I like the image of traveling to share these stories and images with the public. Or I might imagine the riders of the bus to be our collective readers — if I were a graphic artist I’d have great fun depicting a bus filled with all sorts of people each with the book in hand, sharing their favorite chapters with one another. Reading this book is a trip; whatever your preferred method of travel (I’d be prone to a magic easy chair with a snifter of brandy in hand), the destination is a world of elucidation and enjoyment for those who already love jazz music and musicians, along with those who would like to learn about it.

Kudos to those who worked tirelessly on curating and editing this extraordinary collection…The Jazz Omnibus.

At 10:47 PM, Pacific Time, ten years ago today, John took his last breath. His passing was peaceful and I was grateful that he was able to depart on his own terms, at home, comfortably in bed, and in my arms. When he left the house a few hours later, it also seemed to be on his own terms. The folks who came to get him had placed him on a gurney, wrapped in a very lovely quilt. When they got him to the font door and had to go down a few steps, they chose to up-end the gurney such at he appeared to be standing as it rolled down the walkway. Watching from behind, I imagined him walking tall as if heading off on another road trip. He is still out there on the road, and I continue to talk to him every day….

Today my darling would be 108 years young. It has been 8 years since he died and I continue to miss him, and to talk to him, each and every day. This picture was taken one day before John’s 97th birthday. I sure hope I will look as good when I reach my 90s.

What would John be feeling if he were here today? Like most of us, he would be grateful to those on the front lines, saddened by the massive loss of lives (of both friends and those unknown), and enraged by the ineptitude of national government that has made this crisis so much worse than it had to be.

What would we be doing? Probably “relaxin’ on the axis of the wheel of life” and listening to Nancy Wilson’s Lush Life recording or Joe Williams’ Here’s to Life. Maybe we’d have rice and beans or catfish for dinner. If we weren’t on lock-down, we’d go to the fish market and pick up a basket of Maryland crabs so John could cook seafood gumbo for tomorrow’s Easter Sunday dinner.

Darling, you were the light of my life and you are still my guiding light: yesterday, today, forever…

“Today’s solutions become tomorrow’s problems” said Sam Greengard last week at the American Society of Journalists and Authors conference. He was talking about how cool technological gadgets and ‘apps’ have left us drowning in gigabytes of data. Tagging is one of today’s solutions and applying tags to email messages and files not only allows you to categorize them without having to move them into various folders, but it also allows you to assign more than one tag to each item. Wondering if I really have time to re-read and tag tens of thousands of emails and files led me to more basic questions: Do I need to do it? What do I have to gain? Trying to harness, arrange and tame our data troves seems an illusive goal and takes way too much effort. And that, in turn, led me to an even more interesting consideration: What might I lose by doing it, besides the most obvious time suck?

Coincidentally, while thinking about this I was embroiled in the parallel endeavor of straightening up an office, arranging and taming the piles of envelopes, papers, bills, receipts, cards and letters, articles, books, stick-it notes, photos….

Whether the labeling and filing is physical or electronic, once done one can quickly and efficiently find what one is looking for and that is the ultimate pay-off, right? Time is money; waste not, want not. Hmmmm…..maybe not. By arriving so immediately at the destination, what is lost is the journey itself. It may take longer, possibly even create a detour, but if one has to sift through piles, or open multiple electronic documents to see what is inside, serendipity might strike, yielding an answer or solution not previously considered, or uncovering something about which you had forgotten. Even if what you find is not relevant to the impetus of the search, accidental rediscoveries might open up a whole new avenue of thought…or just make you smile.

Yesterday I had visit from prolific record producer Kiyoshi Itoh and his associate Takeo Suzuki. Because of their longtime business association with John, I have known both of these gentlemen for decades. During the 1980s-90s, when Kiyoshi produced many of Nancy Wilson’s recordings, we saw them often here in Los Angeles, in New York, and also in Tokyo. 

Even though we had not seen Kiyoshi in many years, he kept in occasional touch and he spoke to John by phone this past December. Kiyoshi’s travel plans had him coming to Los Angeles in April and he made a date with John to come and visit him then, right around his 100th birthday. I put it on our calendar, even though John didn’t expect to be here and said so, but John was very happy just to have spoken with Kiyoshi and to have felt his heart’s intent. That meant more to him than the possible visit. 

A few weeks ago Suzuki told me that Kiyoshi still had me on his calendar and wanted to come to the house, or perhaps the cemetery.  I had to explain that John gave his body to science and that there is no cemetery plot to visit. A drive to our house in Altadena from the west side of town near the airport would take at least an hour, and probably much more. Definitely would be worth any hassle to see John, but with him gone…. 

“Are you sure?”, I asked Suzuki. “It’s a long round-trip and I know Kiyoshi has just this one afternoon in town. Please make sure he knows that I would not be offended if he needs to change his plans.”

“We will be there at 3 PM.”

Knowing what the traffic would be like, I actually felt bad for them and considered refusing so they would not have to make the trip, but some part of me understood that for them this was an action of deep cultural import. Most cultures speak of paying respects, but here in America (maybe even more so in Hollywood) it can be more a matter of lip-service. This is why John was adamant about not having a funeral or memorial concert mounted in his name. He hated to see people show up at such events and speak of their love and admiration for the departed when they had not been there for the person while still alive. “If you are going to pay tribute or give thanks, do it while they can hear you,” John would say. But John also had great respect for other cultures, and I think he would have felt, as I do, that the Japanese desire to show their respect is deeply rooted and more honest, particularly regarding elders. 

To be sure, I consulted with my friend Chie Imaizumi and she confirmed that for me to refuse would have been rude. I was still a bit nervous so I invited her to be here as well. I wanted everything to be just right.  I was also thinking that she is a fabulous composer/arranger and I could hear John saying ‘it will be good for them to meet.’  With “I’ll Be A Song” ( Nancy Wilson produced by Kiyoshi, seated, and arranged by Masahiko Satoh, standing) playing softly in the background,  I prepared some green tea with green tea cookies, and awaited their arrival.

Through the window I watched Kiyoshi and Suzuki park and pull from the back seat a huge floral arrangement. I had just the spot for it on John’s desk next to his portrait. They entered and put the vase on the desk, then clasped their hands prayerfully and bowed to John. Then we exchanged hugs and sat down to chat for a bit. I told them about John’s last months and how peacefully he made his transition. 

In years past, following meetings on our offices or hours in the studio, we often went out with Kiyoshi to eat shabu-shabu in restaurants on one coast or the other. John was especially fond of this meal where you cook your own thinly sliced beef and vegetables in a pot of hot broth then dip in goma-dare (sesame) or ponzu sauces. When John and I found an authentic Japanese restaurant here in Pasadena specializing in it, we became regulars, going once a week for many years. With only one day in town, Kiyoshi and Suzuki were not free for dinner, but after they left, Chie and I went there and toasted John. 

Kampai, my darling.