Communicating sensitivity
by Anil Prasad
Copyright © 2000 Anil Prasad. All rights reserved.
Age truly is a state of mind. One need look no further than legendary jazz pianist McCoy Tyner for definitive proof. At 62, Tyner possesses a drive to explore and innovate within his art form that few even a third his age embrace. He’s released dozens of expansive albums that stretch the boundaries of his instrument without bowing to the fickle winds of fad and fashion. His new disc McCoy Tyner with Stanley Clarke and Al Foster offers further recorded evidence of his resolve.
The straightforward title relates to Tyner’s mindset about his craft. It highlights the fact that the disc is simply about creating and collaborating in the moment—and in this case, with a spectacularly accomplished rhythm section. Clarke is best known for his pioneering work in redefining the electric bass as an instrument equally at home in the fore as it is in the background. But he’s a world-class upright player too—something showcased all over Tyner’s new CD. And Foster is a renowned veteran drummer that’s performed with everyone from Miles Davis to Sonny Rollins to Horace Silver.
Comprised largely of Tyner’s own compositions, the new record offers a kinetic take on the jazz lexicon infused with blues, funk and Latin influences. There’s no shortage of fiery moments and impressive interplay here. It’s inspirational stuff that’s well-tempered by Tyner’s proclivity for the elegant and tasteful. It’s not unlike a conversation with the man himself.
On this overcast San Francisco winter’s day, Tyner chats with Innerviews in the atrium lounge of the Park Hyatt. He’s nattily-attired in a brown suit and black shirt as he sits sipping coffee between his very thoughtful responses. Tyner often pauses to reflect on his words before offering them for consumption with his signature low rumble. And his eyes and gentle hand gestures move in concert to emphasize the most salient points.
Using a philosophical springboard for discussion, Tyner spoke to Innerviews about his new record, as well as the process of navigating the intersections between life and music. He was also kind enough to relay some thoughts about his tenure in the John Coltrane Quartet from 1960-1965, one of the single most influential groups in the history of 20th century music.
What made you want to work with Clarke and Foster on the new record?
Stanley’s from Philadelphia. I’m like Bill Cosby about Philadelphia sometimes. [laughs] But we have a very close-knit kind of thing. Most musicians from the city have that. It’s not that alone though. If someone is musically compatible with you, it doesn’t matter if they’re from Chicago or a different country. Stanley worked on another project called Looking Out that I did when I was with Columbia for a very short time. I did two records for them. The other was called Legend of the Hour. Looking Out also had Phyllis Hyman and Carlos Santana on it. It was really different. And I’ve known Al for years—since when I was signed to Milestone records with Sonny Rollins. I knew him even going back beyond that. Occasionally, he’s played with me as part of my trio when Aaron [Scott] wasn’t available. And when he does, it’s like we’ve played together on a regular basis because he’s so compatible with me. The dynamic level is amazing.
Describe the approach you took on the record from a conceptual perspective.
I like to go on an adventure when I play. I like to have the freedom to do that not just for the sake of doing something out there or different. I like to experiment and take people along the way and bring them back. It’s like a voyage. I want them to understand what I’m doing as opposed to trying to baffle them. I want them to see that’s what music is about. It’s about enjoyment and going on a trip. I think the combination of people on this record was perfect at this time. We gave it some thought. We didn’t randomly throw people together. We first wanted to see if it would work and if we have a connection. That’s why the decision was made. And it proved to be a great one.
Clarke told Innerviews that he doesn’t feel people have a good understanding of what he’s capable of on acoustic bass. I imagine he looked at this record as a unique opportunity to showcase those skills.
Yeah. I knew he could do it because we also did a thing about eight years ago for some TV production. It was a program with Roger Kellaway and had Stanley playing bass, Peter Erskine on drums and Randy Brecker—there were a lot of people. That was nice. It wasn’t that long ago. Stanley’s acoustic playing is very good. He’s a virtuoso on the acoustic bass.
What are the key philosophies you adhere to as a bandleader?
I like people to be comfortable. That’s the first thing I think about. Will people playing with me be comfortable and compatible? That’s very important. It’s a good place to start. I also like to provide enough room so the person is comfortable to do what they do. I don’t like to handcuff people. But at the same time, he’s got to understand that when he’s playing with me that he has to listen. Listening and responding are very important.
From a larger perspective, what are the qualities of a good bandleader?
It’s about the respect you command without being demanding. There has to be something in the person that commands respect. He has to understand you enough that you feel comfortable in his presence, but at the same time gives you the props you deserve—if you justly deserve them. I haven’t had much problem with my big band that has 14 guys onstage. If they don’t want to be there, it’s difficult to get music out of them. [laughs] That’s why these ghost bands are very difficult to maintain. When Duke Ellington died and Mercer took over his band, he tried to do what the leader did and it’s very difficult. Duke had a lot to do with bringing the music out of people in that respect. I've been very, very fortunate in that way. Giving musicians what they need to be comfortable brings out their best.
You’re known as a soft-spoken, good-natured individual—a perfect gentleman in fact. However, I imagine there’s a more fiery side of your personality that emerges when dealing with a musician that’s not up to par.
[laughs] Oh yeah! If necessary, yeah. Fortunately, I haven’t been challenged that way too many times, but occasionally I have. [laughs] The human element is ever-present when dealing with people. But I’ve had lots of people work for me and they never say "Wow, that was an experience I won’t repeat." I have the opposite response. It’s all about listening for me. I once watched a video on Duke Ellington about dealing with a big band. And I’ve talked to Woody Herman, Maynard Ferguson and others. I’ve learned so much about the big band situation and the same things apply in general to small groups too. You learn not only to give respect but how to have that respect come back to you. It’s a reciprocal thing. It’s mutual. And I think that’s a very important lesson for a guy who gets up on stage. If it’s all about him, that’s not playing music. If he’s not listening and responding and having respect for the other people on that stage, how can you make music? Just by thinking about yourself? It doesn’t go that way. And if you have your own band, you’ve got to be able to communicate with people on a human level. That enhances the musical side.
You once said music can enhance a listener’s life because it serves to educate. How does it do that?
It’s sort of an automatic thing. See, I think some people forget that there’s a public out there that needs to be exposed to this music that may not be familiar with it. And even if they are, the whole idea is there because they’re there. Even if you are very into what you want to do, why not carry them along with you? They paid their money to come hear you play. You don’t have to diminish the quality of what you do, but it’s good to be aware that the public is there to receive your gift. The person doesn’t have to be a musician to appreciate music. I think just exposing the person to the music is very important. Children that are really exposed to this music at a young age and really hear it can love jazz. It makes a difference. Child or adult, they will not only be educated, but it will stimulate their intellect. It’s very beneficial.
How firmly is jazz being instilled in the American public’s collective mindset as a classical art form these days?
It’s not like it was in the past because of the fact that radio and various other media seem to focus on the very mediocre. It’s not that we don’t have the music or that it isn’t being played on our level. But what’s being played on the radio represents choices that are very, very limited. You have choices, but there is so much going on. It’s an onslaught of stuff and sometimes someone might not know what jazz is. Some people will say it’s this or that. Jazz is a very deep-rooted music. You can’t fluff it off like it just happened yesterday.
Joe Zawinul offered some very harsh words on this topic when speaking to Innerviews.
[laughs] Joe’s very opinionated and I like him for that. He’s a very strong person. He knows what he wants to do. Of course, in Europe, they consider jazz an art form. A lot of people do here too, but in Europe they go out to concerts a lot. They’re more TV-oriented than they used to be, but their form of entertainment is listening to live music.
Zawinul believes America is in a state of cultural decline because it no longer gives its artists the freedom required to create music free of business intervention. What’s your take?
The bottom line is sales. And you’re competing with pop artists or you’re not being marketed. Jazz has never been properly marketed because it’s a classical form of music—it really is. So, that limits it to a category and they don’t want to pay attention. When I first started recording, you worked with ex-musicians or people that worked in show business. At Impulse, I met the head of the company and he was very involved in jazz prior to accepting that position. He said "We’re very proud to have you on the label." It was about having something unique on the label compared to an Elvis or someone in the pop world. How can you compare sales for an art form like jazz to something like that? But I do think that jazz could be marketed to be bigger. It’s kind of neglected in that way. And I think that affects the consciousness of people. So, Joe’s right. Things are a little culturally decadent in some ways. But there are people who appreciate this music. But I’d like to see more of the general public—the people who don’t get the opportunity—to hear this music.
What are some possible solutions?
[pauses and laughs] Well, I’m just a musician. I’m not into marketing, but I know the music needs to be accessible. I’ll give you an example. My mother knew who Billy Holiday, Count Basie and Duke Ellington were. They knew who they were because they were part of the community and we were proud of these people. That kind of accessibility doesn’t seem to exist at that level anymore—the level where the average housewife or plumber or carpenter is aware of this music. I remember getting on a bus in Chicago one time and the bus driver said "Oh, you’re with Coltrane! You’re in town? I’m coming to see you!" That was the bus driver! The music was so accessible. It was on the air. We had our fair share of airtime. But now it’s so flooded with stuff that’s not on the same quality level, but it sells. So, that gives you a general idea of the state of mind of the public. I’m not putting it down. Commercial music had its place. It was gospel, jazz, blues, rock and pop. Jazz wasn’t promoted like the big pop people now, but there was more accessibility to the public and that has a lot to do with a lot of things.
I find it quite disturbing that many musicians of your caliber and stature are still at the mercy of A&R people.
Not me. [laughs] I know what you mean though. I think if you step in the door and do it based on what the label likes and only what they like, it can be a mess. Maybe they make wild promises—record companies do that sometimes. Then they don’t always comply with what they say. When I go in, I know what I want to do. I like artistic freedom. I don’t mind taking suggestions—I’m amicable to that. It’s not that it has to be my way only, but I think you can lose yourself in the situation if you’re not really careful. It’s not only about money. It’s about the conditions of the contract you need to allow you to do what you want to do—it’s what determines how much freedom you have to create. Otherwise, you can get yourself in a mess and be unhappy. That’s not the goal. The goal is to be happy and play music. When I first started playing music, I just did that—enjoyed it and wanted to keep creating. Sometimes it’s not a matter of sacrifice. You can sacrifice more trying to attain more material gain and it can be a mess.
Your output is spread across several labels these days. I imagine that’s a deliberate choice.
I’ve been playing the label game. I do things with this label and that label. I’m a little apprehensive about signing long-term contracts. I used to do that years ago and sign for three years with graduation clauses that make things better the next year than the year before. But I would step in there with an attorney. I had legal advice. [laughs] I was advised to do that and unlike some older musicians, I was very lucky. It’s a gradual learning process that happens over the years. You can also start anticipating what will happen judging from what’s happened to a lot of other people.
Going back to the idea of music and education, my assumption is that you are continually learning and evolving yourself.
That’s because I’m not a fatalist. I haven’t given up on what good music can do for people. That’s why I come here—to offer what I have to the general public and to people that love music. But I can’t control what’s outside of my realm. All I can do is keep evolving as an artist. That’s what I want to do. That’s what gives me the most joy and to share that experience is great.
What about as a pianist? Do those skills continue to evolve as well?
Yeah. I think being inspired by the right people makes a big difference. It’s a reciprocal thing. And being with the right people on stage who are compatible can let you go to unlimited heights and that’s evolving. Technically, I think I have what I need to do that. But I need to go on these journeys and I need someone to go with me. That enhances the whole thing and carries you to a different place. It’s lovely.
A word you often use to describe your approach is "sensitivity." What does the word mean to you?
Sensitivity is being in touch with yourself and being able to internalize and go deep within to hopefully come up with something of value. It’s hard to play music if you’re not sensitive. It’s self-defeating. If you’re not sensitive, well play by yourself! [laughs]
How important is the generational element when choosing players in order to evolve both as an individual and together?
I think it’s important in terms of reference and maturity. But then again, Brian Blade and Joshua Redman played with me and these guys were listening and sensitive. It doesn’t necessarily have to do with coming up with the same generation. But if they do, it’s nice to have the same references. That’s a good thing about it. With Al, we both have references we grew up with, but at the same time, he’s not afraid to expand and try different things and keep it fresh. I like Brian for that too. He’s very fiery like Al. There are some similarities. They’re very open to listening to others and aren’t wrapped up in their own expression. They see it as a total experience as opposed to my experience—it’s our experience. But we need leadership too. That’s very important. With Coltrane, it was the same thing. We looked to him for leadership, but at the same time we were given all of this freedom to do what we want to do. We were very fortunate that we had the right people in the band. It all came together and worked like clockwork.
Let’s look at the generational idea from another angle. As a jazz icon, do you feel obligated to fulfil a specific role for people?
The only thing I’m concerned with is the preservation of our music at the quality level. That’s my responsibility. So much has happened to qualify what we’re doing—the historical references and the people that have passed on who made the sacrifices to dedicate their lives to this art form. So, I do feel a responsibility. When I formed my big band, many members were in Thad Jones’, Mel Lewis’ and Gil Evans’ bands. When those friends passed on, I felt the responsibility of putting a band together. The jazz legacy is so rich, so I owe it to myself. I’ve spent a lot of my life playing this music. It’s something I love to do. It’s a wonderful art form embraced all over the world. It’s very important—very important.
Do you ever reflect on your own mortality?
I think we all do to an extent. I think we would all like to be immortal and be around as long as we can. But as Martin Luther King Junior said, "It’s not about how long you’re here, but the quality of what you do while you’re here that’s important." And that’s what I try to do. I have a lot of work to do, a lot of writing to do. There’s just so much to do.
Is there a spiritual basis that guides what you do?
I hope so. I think music should have some spiritual elements because it’s not material. It’s another kind of dimension and it should be there in order for you to touch people’s spirits and lives. You need to give them a unique experience and if you don’t, something’s lacking. It’s not about wanting to hoist yourself up on some sort of pedestal. I have no way to define it to tell you the truth.
You once faced a very low ebb in your career after you left the Coltrane Quartet in the late ‘60s. Describe the situation you encountered.
It was a very trying period. I was considering driving a cab, but I didn’t actually do it. At that time, the jazz that we played was being challenged by fusion and electronics. It was the invasion of the electronics. A lot of jazz radio stations changed their format to accommodate that sort of thing. But there are some people like Joe [Zawinul] and Herbie [Hancock] who are really able to create on synthesizers, so I don’t put it down. Jazz has a broad definition and people have the right to do what they want, but when you move something aside and say that’s not important and substitute it for something else and say "Well, okay, this is jazz," that’s very dangerous.
You completely avoided the fusion movement. Was there any temptation to explore it?
I’m in love with my instrument. I basically stayed away from it. I wasn’t drawn to it at all. My sound and self is definitely embodied in the acoustic piano.
How did you cope during that dark period?
It was difficult. I was raising my family and I went through about four years where I had to really tighten the belt. I wasn’t the only one. Dustin Hoffman was a waiter down in the Village Gate in New York. I think a lot of people in show business and music have to do some other things in order to sustain themselves through a certain period. I learned a lot from that experience.
What are were some of the lessons learned?
I learned we’re not here alone. There is a support system, but you have to be aware and conscious of it. We do have help even when we’re deprived of a lot of things that we need. And sometimes we realize we don’t need all those things. There are things we can focus on that can help us through the trials and tribulations. It’s a good lesson to learn.
You’re planning on putting together a blues project in the near future. Describe your passion for that form.
I grew up playing the blues. I had an R&B band in junior high school. I played the blues first and graduated into the modern concepts. I sure want to do it. Robert Cray agreed to take part. I’ve been on shows with B.B. King. We did one outside of Chicago where we played together. In Europe, I was on a show with Muddy Waters. It was an honor to be on a show with him.
Have you visited the John Coltrane African Orthodox Church here in San Francisco?
I haven’t, but I know what you’re talking about. The thing is, if people want to do that, it’s fine. Knowing John, I don’t know if he would want to be in that kind of position. If you look at his music, quite naturally there were religious elements. He was definitely a very spiritual person. His grandfather was a minister, so he grew up a part of the church. But I think John would be kind of uncomfortable. I don’t think he’d want to be a deity in that respect—even if he is in our eyesight. He was a very, very subtle, quiet and regal person. He was very nice—a very good man to work for. He was like a big brother. I was a kid when I first met and played for him. I was 17 years old. We were like family and that’s how I looked at it. I didn’t look at it as "I’m just working for him." I loved working with John. I loved him as a person. He’ll always have an influence on me. That was my university. He was very, very generous in terms of allowing us to have an opportunity to develop. That was very important. So, that influence is there. And I love the music we created a lot. But if people feel as if they want to deify him and make a saint of him or whatever, that’s up to them. I don’t necessarily want to be part of that because I knew him differently.
Is it a particularly American tendency to elevate artists beyond the realm of humanity?
And athletes. Yeah, we have a tendency to do that. Sometimes we’re very destructive too. We take a person and build them up and then we sometimes bring them down. To say "Well, okay, yeah. If you want me to be a God, fine. I accept that" can be a little risky.
Have you ever felt the burden of that proclivity?
People have said things to me about this and that. I take them for what they are. If they think that, that’s fine—as long as they appreciate what I’m doing. But I’m not looking for them to do that to me. I leave that up to the public. I’m just here to do what I’m meant to do.
