Going with the bass-ics
by Anil Prasad
Copyright © 1998 Anil Prasad. All rights reserved.
Many musicians can lay claim to a brilliant tune, a remarkable riff or a memorable album. But few can say they’ve attained all of that and changed the course of popular music in the process. Stanley Clarke is one of those people.
The legendary bassist is widely recognized for making the world acknowledge the electric bass as a versatile and vital force—one capable of a kaleidoscope of colors, textures and percussive elements previously ascribed to more conventional "lead" instruments.
Clarke’s groundbreaking work on albums such as 1974’s Stanley Clarke and 1976’s School Days played a paramount role in establishing slapping, popping and strumming in the bass guitar lexicon. And while hundreds, if not thousands of bassists followed suit, few have infused these techniques with anything remotely resembling Clarke’s inimitable gift for bridging melody and rhythm in a single motion.
Clarke has seen his fair share of controversy and vitriol as his career progressed. His bass approach has been called unmusical, blasphemous and gimmicky by narrow-minded critics and musicians. Such is the bane of the revolutionary. Those residing in the pseudo-intellectual squalor of the heckle shack usually forget those words were also used to describe once-radical introductions such as electric guitar, sax and synthesizers. But people who really mattered got it—people like Chick Corea, Miles Davis, Bill Evans, Gil Evans, Aretha Franklin, Stan Getz, Dexter Gordon, Paul McCartney, Charles Mingus and Pharoah Sanders. They're just a few of the greats who have marveled at Clarke’s talents and approached him to collaborate.
Time heals and validates. It’s been more than 25 years since Clarke made his initial waves in the jazz waters with his first solo album Children of Forever and as a member of the seminal fusion outfit Return to Forever. He’s now revered as one of the catalysts of the hyphenated amalgam that is jazz-rock. But he’s evolved significantly since. Unbeknownst to some, he’s become a virtuoso acoustic player. His recent concerts included impressive solo acoustic portions in which he explores complex African rhythms by adapting his electric techniques to its unplugged relative.
Clarke is no stranger to pop, funk and R&B either. Several of his solo albums, as well as those he’s recorded with the Clarke/Duke Project and Animal Logic testify to his love for simple and direct melodies. But for the last decade, Clarke’s placed the greatest emphasis on his career as an acclaimed film composer. Some of the more notable scores he’s been involved with include Boyz N The Hood, Passenger 57, Poetic Justice and Higher Learning.
Innerviews caught up with Clarke during his last visit to the San Francisco Bay area. He’s a tall, imposing figure with a handshake capable of crushing buildings. But he’s soft-spoken and expresses himself the same way he does on his instrument: with diversity, spontaneity and honesty. We began our conversation by discussing Bass-ic Collection, his most recent release.
Bass-ic Collection focuses on your heavier rock and funk-oriented material. Why revisit that era on a new compilation?
When you really think about it, it’s rare for an artist to wake up one day and go to a company like Sony and say "Hey guys! I’d like to take 15 of my songs from various albums and make a new album out of it, blah, blah, blah!" [laughs] They do this stuff when they feel like it. I haven’t put out a Stanley Clarke album in a long time. The last thing was called At The Movies [1995] which is a record with my film stuff on it. So, now they wanted to put this out. I’m in the middle of making a new album and I think they wanted to put something out to warm things up a bit. Who knows? [laughs] I have all these records on Epic/Sony and they wanted to reactivate the catalog and try to make some more profits or whatever. [laughs] They didn’t do a bad job. But it’s kind of like one phase of my career. It’s a nice collection. Basically, they sent me a list of 20 tunes they were thinking about and I picked some others out and they put something together. They came over and took some pictures of one of my basses and that was it.
What thoughts go through your mind when listening to the older material on Bass-ic Collection?
When I listen to certain things from the past, I remember the experiences of recording some of the musicians. That sticks out a lot on this thing. I remember Jeff Beck a lot. He was a very interesting kind of guy. We met when I was living in Long Island in the early '70s. My attorney called me and said "This guy Jeff Beck is playing one of your songs in his live show and wants to meet you." At that point, I had put out a solo album called Stanley Clarke and he was playing "Power" from it. I remember a big, long limousine pulling up in front of the house I was living in and this guy gets out with one of these rooster haircuts and it was Jeff. He’s a very English guy and it was one of those uncomfortable meetings. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me, but the music sort of brought us together. He played me an album he was putting together or had finished—I think it might have been the Blow By Blow album. It was really good. Once we started talking about music, we became friends, did some tours in Europe and Japan and then recorded together. He played on some of my records and it was fun. He’s a great guy and a true stylist. It’s very rare for me to meet a musician that really has their own distinctive style.
Compare the heavy fusion direction of Bass-ic Collection to your current leanings as a composer.
The fusion thing was a direct result of all of the music I was listening to, especially as a kid growing up. I was pretty much affected by music in the ‘60s and very early ‘70s. That stuff was jazz—as we knew it then—and rock and roll, R&B, Motown and all the other stuff that was on the radio. I wasn’t much of a puritan in those days and I’m still not. I turned on the radio and if something felt or sounded good, I liked it. When I was young, it affected me in a certain way that would make me want to make music like that. I don’t want to sound like I’m defending what I did because I’m not at all. I’m just comparing that to some of the younger jazz musicians today who have figured out how to be real purists—especially the guys following in the footsteps of Wynton Marsalis. I mean, it’s amazing! I see some of those guys and they have these suits and ties on. I actually sometimes have my own little interviews with those guys and say "Don’t you get hot playing in those things? A suit and a tie? Imagine if you had some jeans on!" [laughs] Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, I liked a lot of different things and it came out in the music. There were a lot of people like me—Lenny White, a great friend of mine, is one of them. When I first came to New York, we hung out with many other people and played in different bands before meeting Chick Corea and Return To Forever.
On your last couple of solo records and in your movie soundtracks, you take a sparser, more R&B-influenced approach.
I think a lot of that has to do with my affinity for melodies. When I started writing music for film—especially feature film—it tends to draw out whatever ability you have in the area of melody. When you’re doing film music—if you plan to become any good at it—you have to go with the basics in your musical psyche. There needs to be a very strong melodic concept or it’s going to be difficult for you to write. Aside from rhythm, melody is what can drive a great score and bring life to a picture. In doing that, it kind of opened me up as a composer and a lot of my stuff in later years became much more melodic—even smoother I would say. My own personal playing as a bass player has reflected that too.
How did your film scoring career begin?
I started writing music for television about 10-11 years ago. I did that whenever I came off the road and whenever I was home. Somehow, someone would call me to do some music and eventually, I got into feature films. I guess that’s when people started to notice me as a film composer—stuff like Boyz N The Hood and the John Singleton string of films that I’ve done. I had done six years of television music. I’m not tooting my own horn—it was just something I did. It was just a job. Some of it was nice, some of it wasn’t too good. I did a couple of series for Disney. One was called Hall High and I did another one for Warner Bros. called A Man Called Hawk starring Avery Brooks. Every time I see Avery on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, I crack up. He’s an amazing guy and nothing like that personality he plays. [laughs] That’s the beauty of Hollywood—you can create these illusions. Another series I did was Night Watch—a show about guardian angels. I also did a few episodes of Pee Wee’s Playhouse which was the first thing I did. I got nominated for an Emmy for one of the episodes which made me think this is something I could really get into. That really inspired me.
I got another Emmy for the main title theme of Night Watch which Howard Hewitt sung—not with words, but hummed the way he does. At the time, it was pretty innovative and a lot of people started doing that afterwards. So, things kinda built up and I did a lot of movies of the week and pilot episodes for television—shows they wanted to become series. I must have done 30-40 of those things. It was just endless. I also did a Tales From The Crypt episode and that was a lot of fun because I got to do some strange music. I’ve done a lot of stuff with Cicely Tyson for television too. Whenever she came on television for a movie of the week, I always did the music for some reason. There’s a Christmas show I did that they show every year—at least in Los Angeles—called The Kid Who Loves Christmas. Eddie Murphy produced it. I think that was the last thing Sammy Davis Jr. was in too.
Does film and television work provide a more consistent income than releasing regular studio albums?
Yeah, but it creates more bills too. [laughs] You always want to get a bigger studio to do this and that. Yeah, it pays the bills. The royalties are definitely great. One of the nice things about television is every time something re-airs, they have to pay you. Same with the movies when they air on television. I guess that’s the meat and potatoes of film composers. Once, it gets to television, the royalties are pretty good. I especially love it when they play Passenger 57 on television. [laughs] I’ve been very fortunate that a lot of movies I’ve done get aired quite a bit every year.
Some critics are still pretty harsh when discussing your recent projects and performances. For instance, JazzTimes wrote "Still resting on his ‘70s laurels, considerable laurels at the time, but a 1996 concert set revealed that he’s been coasting on those laurels for an awfully long time. Stanley Clarke is an example of someone with a cartload of chops who contributes little more than sheer acumen on his instrument." What’s your response to criticism like that?
I’ve had worse things said about me. It’s very understandable that a guy could write something like that. It’s very difficult for a writer who really isn’t in any close proximity to an artist to really know what is happening to that artist. If I was a writer or jazz critic, I have to write something. And if you don’t really know what the artist is expanding into and what he’s getting better at, you have to go for the superficial. They see a concert and that’s it—that’s Stanley Clarke to them. He also may hear one concert where an artist maybe didn’t sound that good. Maybe it wasn’t a good night for him. The [JazzTimes] writer hasn’t seen or checked out my film composing. That’s something that’s taken me a long time and I’m very serious about it. I’m kinda proud of what I’ve done. It’s not easy to write for an orchestra. It has become easy. Standing in front of an orchestra, understanding the nomenclature and thousands and thousands of details it takes to write a score and implementing it and breaking it down for 80 musicians is a challenge. It takes a serious amount of ability to do that. I wish I was the musician I am now back in the ‘70s or whatever period this guy is hung up on. I’m a much better bass player now than I was then. I’m also a better person. I read more now and I take care of my family better than I did when I was younger. But one person’s cup of tea is another person’s whatever.
It’s so funny. I read these things and say "That guy is talking about me?" But when I understand what his job is and he’s looking at one little peon of information and writing about it, it’s cool. He has to make a living and he’s gotta say something—that’s the phrase that still rings in my head from Miles Davis. [imitates Miles’ rasp] "Man, that motherfucker’s gotta say something." And Miles was really right. Miles told me these writers used to piss him off. He used the word ignorant and mentioned Leonard Feather too. Miles really took a lot of flack. I remember the later records he did, he even had guys like Wynton Marsalis and Stanley Crouch talking about him. Stanley should be ashamed of himself. He’s just so lucky that he’s read a lot of books and has a great grip on the English language, but strip that away and get behind all of that and you have a guy who has some bitterness there that has nothing to do with music in my opinion. But he just schpiels it out.
I remember at the Miles Davis funeral, Stanley walked in at this church in Manhattan. People didn’t boo, but there was this feeling of "What is this guy doing here?" And he came in late. It was terrible. If these guys only knew what the musicians thought about them. This stuff doesn’t affect everyone. I remember one time, me and Chick Corea nearly fell down laughing in Europe when we saw a review Leonard Feather did about us. It was so funny, I nearly fell off laughing and broke my ass man. See, the thing with a lot of these writers is that they sort of have a pretty good grip on the English language. They can write something and sound intelligent. These kinds of scathing, really ridiculous things come off much better if they’re written like normal guys talk. I actually respect that stuff better—someone who says "That shit from this motherfucker? He’s a sad son of a bitch!" [laughs] I’d get into that more and take it more seriously.
Your recent acoustic bass explorations are indicative of an artist that isn’t resting on his laurels.
Yeah, a lot of guys don’t even know I can play acoustic bass anymore. It’s just something else I’ve been doing that critics don’t know nothing about. [laughs] That’s something that I’m really trying to develop some different things on. My next album will have some different things—other things for those writers to criticize and wonder about. [laughs] I really have a tremendous affinity for music from various parts of Africa, but I could never really figure out how to put it in the electric arena because it comes out sounding like those rock and roll guys who say "Oh, now I’m into African music." In the United States, Paul Simon is seen as this great savior bringing African music to pop music. But he ran out of stuff and decided to go over to another continent and pull something out of there. Some of the guys in his band were pretty pissed off because they didn’t really get the acknowledgement for really putting that stuff together. Anyway, I have a lot of affinity for West African stuff and the only instrument I feel good about trying to do something with that on is the acoustic bass. We acoustic bass players pretty much play it within its European tradition as far as how we technically play it. We use pizzicato, but I’m trying to figure out how to get more rhythmic without losing the melody concept I have for the instrument. I’ve been experimenting with things and it’s been pretty nice. People have been pretty receptive.
During the Rite of Strings tour with Jean-Luc Ponty and Al Di Meola, you were slapping, popping and strumming on the acoustic—techniques more associated with your electric work. How difficult was it for you to adapt those techniques for the acoustic bass?
That was very, very difficult actually. [laughs] I don’t know what it looks like out there. Maybe it looks simple, but it took me awhile. I have a whole set of music that incorporates some of those techniques. It’ll be interesting to see how it comes across on record. I’ve been getting into that. I’ve been practicing the acoustic bass a lot.
How do you look back at the Rite of Strings experience?
That tour was a lot of fun. It was a really nice record too. Musically, it was a pretty good experience. All I played was acoustic bass and that was always nice because I hadn’t done that in a long time. I didn’t have the electric bass in the arsenal at all. We toured for two years. The first year we did about three months of touring and the second year we did close to six months. We went all over the whole planet and that was really something. My hands were so strong. God, I forgot what that amount of touring can do for your chops.
Are there any plans for the Rite of Strings trio to regroup?
I don’t think so. I think that was pretty much that project and that’s about it. But Jean-Luc Ponty, a piano player named Gonzalo Rubalcaba and I are going to hang out and see if we like each other. If we do, maybe something will come out of it. It’s kinda funny. I haven’t done that in a long time. It’s funny to have people get together to see if they like each other. That’s more of a Jean-Luc Ponty idea. He’s more of a European jazz musician and that’s the way he likes to do things. I don’t really factor in personalities until much later. I can surely play with both of those guys if someone called me and said "You’ve gotta gig next week and rehearsals today." Personality means something to me after I get the gig and it becomes a matter of "Do I want to do it again?" Jean-Luc is different. Before he steps onstage, he’s gotta like you, and that’s cool.
When Innerviews encounters bassists, a discussion about "the role of the bass" often develops. Much of that debate stems directly from your early solo work. In many ways, albums such as Stanley Clarke and School Days brought the controversial concept of "lead bass guitar" to the public’s attention. In your opinion, has the bass guitar officially transcended its perception as a second-class instrument?
I think the work has pretty been done on the bass in terms of bringing it to the fore. I hope there are gonna be other bass players who make records and become bass gods or whatever the hell they’re called. [laughs] I think there will be other guys who can stand on the edge of the stage and front a band like I do. I remember speaking to Charlie Mingus before he died. I hung out with him a bit and we were going to do a concert together at Carnegie Hall called Father and Son. Charlie really liked me. We would get together at this restaurant and man, watching him eat? That was an experience. I tell ya man, they used to bring platters to him—a platter of rice, a platter of meat. [laughs] He was amazing and I really liked him. I didn’t study him as a bass player or a composer, but he was an icon for me—a jazz bass revolutionary. He stood in front of his band and demanded that the guys listen to him. He used to get quite violent sometimes. I saw him punch out a saxophone player at the Village Vanguard once. Charlie was a serious guy and he used to talk about the role of the bass and how some of the guys that were soloists didn’t have as much intelligence about music as he did in his little fingernail. He said it was so ironic. Because of the instrument that idiot played, he [Mingus] had to assume a certain role to get certain gigs. He really instilled that into my thinking when I was very young. I haven’t got rid of that. He was really something.
Guys like Jaco also came through, and other players like Richard Davis. Rock players like Jack Bruce, Paul McCartney and Larry Graham as well. Whether or not we all knew what we were doing or if we were making a conscious effort, the bass is now a thing. That’s evident in how many records have been made by bass players. I can’t say all of them are good and I can’t say all of the guys deserve to be standing in the forefront. Then again, I could say that about a lot of guitar players and saxophone players. The most important thing is that it can be done and it’s not looked on as strange. "Wow, you’re a bass player" is what I use to get a lot. I remember playing for a promoter in Indiana one time after my Journey To Love album came out. The applause was big. People were really into it and it was exhilarating. This promoter couldn’t believe it. He said "Something is weird. You’re a bass player. I’m gonna have to see you again." I almost felt the guy thought we had done something to audience—gave ‘em drugs or something, like it was a big fake thing. It was really, really interesting. But anyway, the groundwork is now done in terms of making the bass like one of the other instruments.
Do you have any interest in helping to further the evolution of the instrument?
No, not at all. Not at all. I just make my stuff. I’m actually more into me than I ever was before. [laughs] In terms of what I want to improve, it goes back to these ideas for the acoustic bass. If somebody really listens and notices, they’ll be wondering "What the hell is that?" I guess that’s the closest thing.
What I’d like to do now is toss out a bunch of names and words, and have you respond with the first thing that comes to mind.
Yeah, alright. [laughs]
Victor Wooten.
I remember meeting him when he was 14 years old. I always knew he was going to be a bass star. I’m really happy for him.
"Born In The USA."
"Born In The USA" was one of the best experiences I ever had in the studio. Doing the record was an idea all of us in the band [The Stanley Clarke Band] had. We pulled it off and it was really wild I tell ya. I had a good time.
Tupac Shakur.
He sampled a few of my things. Tragic. There was a lot more to him than was noticed. He was a very good actor. I think that’s what he did the best.
Accordions.
That was the very first instrument I ever played and that’s in my foundation. I looked very strange with it man. [laughs] I was tall and lanky. There was this guy from Russia down the street who had a little music school and I learned accordion and got pretty good at it. This guy would just look at me—I know I was his first black accordion player. [laughs] I just knew that from the way he looked at me.
Linda McCartney.
I got a chance to hang out with her and Paul and I played on a couple of things with him. She was such a nice lady. I was so hurt when I heard she had passed away. They did a great job keeping it secret just how bad she was doing. I didn’t know she was deteriorating at all. It was sad. That really hit me hard because she was so sweet.
Scott LaFaro.
One of my idols. I loved the way he played bass. His flow on the bass—there was nothing like that. Definitely a big influence on me.
Animal Logic.
Debbie Holland! I had a lot of fun with that band. I was doing a lot of film composing back then and so was Stewart Copeland. We were hanging out a lot together just as film composers. When you’re film composing, you sometimes need certain things other film composers have—things like [software] programs. I was borrowing something from Stewart and we decided to put this band together and go out and have some fun. The only thing about the band is that we didn’t have the proper time to spend playing music like that. We should have spent more time on the second record or made a third record. We were just getting there and then everybody went their own way. Debbie really wanted to keep the thing together because it was a good deal for her, but we had things we had to do. Boy, speaking of critics—woo! That was one of a few things I’ve done in my life where if the critics had guns they would have shot me. Another one was the New Barbarians with the guys from the Rolling Stones. Some of the jazz critics had written me off then too.
Art Blakey.
I played with Art for just under a year during my last year of college. We toured a lot between the end of ’71 and ’72. We made a record called Child’s Dance and I had a lot of fun playing with him. I felt connected to a time period that was much earlier—the ‘40s and ‘50s. He was the swinging-est drummer I had ever played with in my life. He didn’t know anything else but that. He was raw and a true jazz musician in every way—the way he talked and the way he was. I’m really glad I had that experience because there are things that I still use to this day that I got from him. He was a very proud individual. He was proud of the contributions that Black people made to music and the American art form that is jazz. He always talked about that and really taught us. He made me feel that I should respect myself as a musician, and moreso, as a jazz musician—a Black jazz musician. I’m not saying he was racist or anything, but he did make that distinction. He hit on something you can’t just pass up—Charlie Parker didn’t fly in from another planet and just happen to be great. Art was really serious. He saw this as a definite thing and said "You’re part of it and you have a major responsibility to keep that going." It was a great, great feeling. It was really something.
Miles asked you to join his band a couple of years later, right?
Yeah. I made a record with Chick Corea called Light As A Feather and right after that I got tons of calls from many different bands including rock bands. I got a call from whatever was left of The Doors. The piano player Ray Manzarek called me at four o’clock in the morning and that was weird. I was "No, I don’t think so." [laughs] A weird, weird call. Anyway, Miles used to come and see us [Return To Forever] at the Village Vanguard. In those days, it was still done the way they did it in the ‘50s. They would just come to the gig and say "Man, I want you to play in my band." I’ll never forget it. Miles came to the Vanguard in this weird, red leather outfit. It almost looked pre-Michael Jackson. I wonder if Michael checked out Miles. Miles looked like a spaceman coming through there and he said "I want you to play with me" in his Miles voice. He said [does an impression of Miles’ rasp] "You don’t want to play with him. Fuck Chick. You don’t need to play with him. Come and play with me." But I was very loyal to Chick and the movement we were trying to create.
I looked at Miles and I looked at Chick and the bigger picture. I felt I could do more with Chick than Miles, although it would have been nice for the resume to play with Miles and experience that. So, instead, I’d hang out with Miles and go see him a lot because we used to live close together. The other offer that really sticks out is Bill Evans. He wanted me to play with him and that was the only thing I actually regret. There is still regret there because for a bass player—the kind of acoustic bass player I am—the jazz trio format with someone like Bill Evans doesn’t get any better. I knew all the tunes and I listened to all the records and Scott LaFaro is a big influence in my life. Musically, it would have been just great. But again, with Chick, we were talking about bigger things than just music. We were really thinking about changing attitudes about jazz, instrumental music and saying that everything doesn’t have to be so pure and follow these rules. So, I decided to stay with Chick, but that was a hard one.
Corea once said he would like to get Return To Forever back together again, but the problem is that it would be a nightmare from a business perspective.
We tried a reunion in 1985. Business-wise and financially, it was staggering. The money that we made was like a rock band. We toured the States and the tour was sold out in a day when tickets went on sale. When we we hit L.A., everyone was in the crowd. There was Prince, Stevie Wonder, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Robert de Niro. It was so funny because I never pictured myself as that kind of musician with those kinds of people in the audience. But a lot of people bought those records. When we got back together it was really something. I really understood the power of the band. But what people didn’t realize is that it was very hard for us to do. I think one of the things that made that band was its chemistry, or if I could say in a strange way, its lack of chemistry. There was an edge in that band that was naturally there with the personalities. Chick was this personality that put the band together with me. I was there in all the different configurations of the band. Chick’s ten years older than me and all the guys were compatible in a lot of ways but not in basic life stuff.
Al Di Meola was a different kind of guy. Me and Lenny [White] were close, and me and Chick were close. It’s amazing it lasted as long as it did. The music we did was really something. It was a very strong band live. It was very difficult to come see that band and walk away saying "I hated it." It was hard even for guys like Leonard Feather. It was so funny when they would write bad reviews about us. They would comment about the mission and say things like "Oh, they are playing these instruments at this volume, but do they have to wear those clothes? Why is Chick talking like that? Who the hell is Stanley Clarke? But he’s a fine bass player. There’s Chick’s great piano playing." They would never put our playing down. It was very interesting. In a lot of ways, I miss that band. But it’s probably better that it took a rest. I couldn’t imagine it getting back together to be honest. It had a classic break-up with the money, business, egos and ingredients that are in all break-ups.
In 1997, Joe Zawinul told Innerviews he and Wayne Shorter tried to reunite Weather Report. But it fell apart because of the usual business nonsense too.
Wayne and Joe—it’s funny, their relationship kinda runs parallel to me and Chick. It’s the same thing. Some of the reasons are financial, and some are about trying to negotiate what position you’re going to take in a band. When a band becomes famous and—for lack of a better term—becomes "a classic," there are certain things these guys do that’s in the mindset of people. But as human beings, the band members have evolved into something else. It’s difficult to come back and try to assume those roles like they do in rock bands. The thing I love about rock bands is that they have these roles. You go see the Rolling Stones and Mick Jagger is the frontman. Even if Keith Richards graduates from Harvard or studies with the greatest musicians in the world and becomes this great musical mind, he’s still going to come onstage and be Keith Richards. Now in our case, when Return To Forever got back together, Al Di Meola wasn’t the 19-year-old kid from Jersey anymore who would say "Yeah, I’ll just stand over there." In the very first electric Return To Forever, Al Di Meola was just a kid and he hardly even moved onstage. We actually had to get him to move his shoulders! Man, he was afraid to turn his head to the right or left and look at anybody. He would turn his whole body with the guitar. He was so stiff. He was afraid. He was playing next to his idol Chick, and Lenny who he didn’t know, and me. He was kinda like "Who is this guy?"
We all had feelings about each other, but Chick was the guy. He wrote most of the music and I wrote the next batch and Lenny and Al would each contribute a song. But when we got back together, everybody was different. Al became a guitar hero. He had written 50 songs, put out albums, had gold records. Lenny had a gold record and had played and matured. I did what I did, and Chick moved into what he moved into. It was difficult to reunite again because we were all different and it was kinda shocking to each person. It’s not that we were malicious towards each other or nasty. I think we just didn’t understand how to go about doing the reunion and we don’t understand that now. I’m sure it’s probably frightening for Chick. We weren’t ready. We had all grown up and didn’t understand what it took to make Return to Forever successful and continue on. The only thing I feel bad about is the fans. A lot of people didn’t get to see the band—people like yourself in your twenties. When we reunited there was music that we did that was better than the original stuff that maybe you didn’t get a chance to see. None of us are that old that we couldn’t do it again. The band should be playing every year to be honest. It’d be good for music too. But the whole Return To Forever thing I look back at as a university. We all learned from each other and we went around the world. It was a great, complete experience. It had a beginning, middle and an end.
You’re one of a select few jazz musicians acknowledged as a living legend. Is that a blessing or a burden?
I absolutely don’t feel it. I have no visceral attachment to it. It’s the weirdest thing too. I don’t know what that is. I understand what it means—what the words mean and the concept, but I have no sort of feeling for it. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t necessarily feel like a legend. I feel like I’ve made contributions. I know exactly what I’ve done for the bass and jazz music and what have you, but a living legend? It’s like, I dunno. Maybe that is what a living legend is supposed to experience. [laughs] It’s something you can’t go to school to learn how to be. No-one in their right mind picks up an instrument and goes "I want to be a living legend." I’m sure there are guys out there though who are crazy and fucked-up enough to try and do that.
Jaco Pastorious pretty much had that idea in his head, didn’t he?
Probably. Look what happened to him, you know? Jaco, man… we were really close. He was truly a crazy man I tell ya. But I really loved him. Jaco was very respectful of me and my family. He used to come to my house every September 16th because that’s my son’s birthday. For some reason, we always celebrated it together. My son has Jaco’s baseball gloves and one of his bats. That’s what he used to give my son for birthday presents—his childhood articles. It’s so funny, my son has people calling him up wanting the baseball glove. Jaco’s son came over to try and negotiate getting the glove back. But Chris [Clarke’s son] grew up and found out who Jaco Pastorious was and he’s holding on to his presents. Jaco was a funny guy. He just drank too much, did too many drugs and wasn’t ready, in my opinion, for fame and having that much energy thrown at him. Fame is a very interesting thing. You can actually feel the energy particles coming at you and you have to be ready for that. I don’t think Jaco was ready and it’s a shame.
How do you handle fame?
I guess I don’t have a choice but to deal with it. Sometimes there’s a nervousness when you get on the stage and people are out there expecting this and that. One of the things that used to bother me more than anything—but I’ve learned to live with—is that damn song "School Days." It was just a song to me—not any big deal to me. It’s just some song about when I went to school and how it felt. I came up with a bass line and I recorded it and that was that. Now, it’s a kind of bass anthem or something. Everywhere I go, every city I play, there is someone out there yelling "School Days." I tried one year not to play it and that was not a good idea.
I remember when I finally realized I better play this song is when I was in Detroit. I was playing this place called the Masonic Temple. We’re getting ready to play the last number and people are yelling out "School Days, School Days!" I picked up the acoustic bass and when I got to a quiet part, this dude got up and said "Man, you gonna play ‘School Days’ before you leave this motherfucker!" He was from deep in the ghetto and continued "You don’t even think you gonna get outta here without playing it." [laughs] That’s one of the few times I’ve ever played "School Days" on the acoustic bass. It’s hard as hell, but I played it man and people loved it. They just wanna hear the bass line. I’ve played the song so many times and it’s probably the most difficult thing that I do. It hurts me to play it because it’s not fresh. I would say out of every 10-15 times I play it, maybe 4-5 times I just won’t like it because I can’t find a new twist. I had a talk with Larry Carlton about this and he’s a nice guy. After he got shot, he really changed as a person. He became very spiritual. Anyway, he said "You’re lucky. Not everyone can say they have a career song." He named a bunch of artists, and you know, that’s kinda cool. So, I view it that way—a career song that I’ve done. It’s something I have to play because the people wanna hear it. It actually causes more harm not to play it. [laughs]
