I was at a neighbor’s house Sunday night for a light get-together and a hearty barbecue — the same neighbor, Richard, who was the first to toss some jazz classics in my direction. Throughout the night, several names were thrown about and excitedly discussed — Toots Thielemans, George Benson, and Rod Piazza, to name a few. But for some strange reason, every jazz-related discussion that Richard and I have always finds its way back to Bill Evans.

That night, Richard posed a simple but deep question: why do I like Bill Evans?

Although I’d like to say that I had some heavy monologue about my love for Evans ready on the spot, I’m going to admit that this question definitely took me by surprise. I’m pretty sure I babbled some unintelligible nonsense about the softness and vulnerability of his playing, about how anyone could connect his sensitive playing to his struggle of a life. It probably didn’t make much sense.

Richard probably doesn’t know this, but that question has been on my mind ever since I went to sleep that night. And finally, close to midnight, I’ve come to a conclusion:

Bill Evans and his playing represent one of my most treasured values: to be taken seriously. Evans’s playing is sensitive, subtle, beautiful, unique — but there’s one thing that it’s not: cute. However raw and personal Evans playing can get, it always invokes the same overwhelming feeling of respect from me (and other listeners, I’m sure) — it demands to be taken seriously. Despite the stories that I’ve read about Evans, and despite the fact that some of them are immensely tragic, one listen to Alice in Wonderland makes me forget it all. The fact that his playing allows me only to think of his playing — not his long, bony fingers or his solemn face or his grey life– is the reason why I enjoy listening to Bill Evans.

There’s only one other thing that’s on my mind while I listen to this: I want to get to the point where my playing — and every other aspect of my life — can be taken just as seriously as this.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Milestones/Bill Evans/Waltz for Debby

I recently sent in a self-recording for an All-California Jazz Band audition (check it out at CBDA.org) — it was the first time I’d ever done a recording for anything to do with jazz. Like any good musician, I waited until the weekend before the audition tapes were due to begin recording — because recording three short pieces is no biggie, right?

After nearly fourteen repetitions of the audition requirement’s “Samba” piece, I finally think I’ve got it. I turn around to press the stop button on the recorder and…yup, it’s out of battery.

And then when I finally get (what I think is) a good take of “Samba,” I go to listen to it on my computer. But there’s someone running the tap water in the background.

Yes, I was completely proven wrong. Recording these pieces took a good entire afternoon-plus-most-of-the-night — and after an examination from my jazz director — another frustrating evening with the piano and the recorder. I think the biggest thing I learned was the painful difference between a CD audition and a live audition — in a live audition, it’s a lot more holistic; the judge can physically see you in person, watch you move, watch you play; a couple mistakes here and there can be made up for by some (hopefully) fantastic improvisation later in the audition. But while you’re recording, not only are you haunted by the image of a few completely disgusted judges listening to your feedback-y CD, you realize that every time you see that red recording button light up, your fingers turn to mush. (I tried hiding the recorder; it didn’t help too much.)

I did end up finishing the CD after countless hours of this — next time, I’m definitely doing it much earlier. This coming February I’ll be auditioning for the All-Southern-California Jazz band, which’ll be a live audition in Westlake; wish me luck!

Speaking of which, have you guys ever practiced with Aebersolds? I never really used them until I started working with the CalArts CAP program this year — one of my instructors, drummer Tina Raymond, seems to have collected nearly all of his albums; thanks to her, I’ve got a lot more access to his books. They’re definitely just as frustrating as recording a CD — when you’re playing with this pre-recorded rhythm section, you’ve got no wiggle room, no chance to slow down or speed up, and very little room to make even small mistakes — initially, the chords seem to rapidly fly by. But hey, it’s a good thing — after you get a feel of a B-flat Blues or a Lady Bird rhythm track, it really helps you out in regards to keeping time and developing your ideas in a restricted amount of time. So when it comes to actually playing with a live rhythm section, you’ve got a way better understanding of the chord changes — it’s helped me get over the fear of hearing the chord changes fly by unacknowledged, putting my focus on developing a melodic solo instead.

Plus, the Aebersold books have really sweet vintage-y looking covers.

Anyways, one of the SCSBOA Honor Jazz band requirements is to be able to play along with the standard, “What Is This Thing Called Love?” (from the book pictured here).  Since I’m not too familiar with it, I’ve been collecting several recordings of it so I can get to know it a little better. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

1. What Is This Thing Called Love/Art Pepper/Modern Art: The Complete Art Pepper Recordings V2
2. What Is This Thing Called Love/Keith Jarrett, Gary Peacock, Jack DeJohnette/Whisper Not (Live in Paris 1999)
3. What Is This Thing Called Love/Wynton Marsalis/Standard Time, V2 — Intimacy Calling

I found this when I was buying a track from the Whisper Not album — did you know Jarrett had a ‘fro back in the day?

This is totally different from my current mental picture of him. (On a side note, don’t you just love it when he hums along with his solos in every recording he releases? I do.):

So since I’ve only got a list of three What Is This Thing Called Love, what recordings of this standard do you recommend? Let me know in the comments or @thejazzpost. I’ll see if I can find anything in the January Downbeat I just got today in jazz class. :)

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Yesterdays/Act Your Age/Gordon Goodwin’s Big Phat Band

For Gordon Goodwin, it was probably just another solo. But for me, I couldn’t fully grasp it — I was sitting on the same bench as him, watching him improvise on the keys of the old upright Yamaha that I play every morning. I was balancing myself on the edge of the bench so I wouldn’t get in his way (Goodwin seems to like the upper register on the piano) — but at the same time, I was leaning in as close as I possibly could, hoping some of his musicality would rub off on me.

Great jazz piano solos are things that I only see on stage and hear in recordings. So being able to sit right next to a legend play the solo that I’d been working on for ages — let alone have him help me with it — was absolutely insane.

Another reason to be grateful for living in Los Angeles: we had a song written for us by Gordon Goodwin (commissioned by our principal, Bob Vincent — isn’t it fantastic to have a music major for a principal?) entitled Principal of the Thing. Since my jazz director, Bob Babko, knows Goodwin, we had a chance to work with him for about an hour and a half on playing his composition. (Even though we’re definitely not the Phat Band, it still secretly kind of felt like we were.)

Some of Goodwin’s advice:

1. Empty space in a solo is just as important as playing a melody.
2. Other ideas for soloing: blues, chromatic, holding notes, playing a melody, and of course, leaving space.
3. You’ll get a better understanding of harmony if you figure it out on the piano.
4. Don’t bring your personal issues into your playing — you can’t afford to think about extraneous things when you play.
5. There’s always a few places in a composition that show the full maturity of the band — bring those places out.
6. Be proud of being a band geek. :)

There were so many other great tips Goodwin gave us, but I’m still trying to get over the fact that I was sitting on the same piano bench as he was improvising. It’s incredible, isn’t it?

Principal of the Thing will most likely be part of the CD our band makes in our first professional recording session in the spring — I’m definitely looking forward to sharing it with you soon.

Check out Gordon Goodwin and the Big Phat Band at www.bigphatband.com.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Alice in Wonderland/Bill Evans/Sunday at the Village Vanguard

It’s pretty difficult to describe who Bill Evans is.

Yes, he’s a jazz pianist from the twentieth century; and yes, he’s arguably one of the most influential jazz pianists in the history of jazz itself. But his story is probably one of the most tragic ones despite his success in music.

As you can tell in any of his recordings, Evans was a highly trained classical musician; both of his parents were musicians, and at a young age, he was exposed to composers like Debussy, Milhaud, and Stravinsky. Although he had some experience playing in jazz bands in his adolescence (like filling for his brother in Buddy Valentino’s band), his biggest break came when he was hired by Miles Davis in 1958 to play with big names like Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane.

Miles Davis described Evans as having a “quiet fire” on the piano, playing “underneath the rhythm.” Check out the album 1958 Miles to get a better idea of what Davis was talking about.

Although he left the group after recording ten albums with Davis (Evans got a lot of pressure from the public being the only white guy in a group of black musicians), he played with Davis again in the popular album, Kind of Blue.

In comparison to other successful jazz pianists like Bud Powell and Count Basie, Evans has a smoother, muted, more experimental sound — a bit detached from the styles and ideas of hardcore bebop. He’s also responsible for “reforming” jazz chord voicings by almost abandoning the use of the root of the chord, a very complex idea that you’re probably better off reading about in a jazz theory book. Or listening to Bill Evans himself.

Despite his great success in jazz piano, Evans struggled with a heroin addiction that stretched into his late fifties. Although he managed to overcome this in the 1960s, his addiction to cocaine in the 1970s led to his death in 1980 — with a bleeding ulcer, cirrhosis in his liver, and pneumonia.

Even though Bill Evans led an unfortunate life, his influence on jazz — for jazz pianists and many other musicians — has carried on in jazz today.

Bill Evans’s standards: 1…Waltz for Debby. 2…Funkarello. 3…Very Early. 4…Turn Out the Stars.

Where to start? Check out these albums, and be sure not to miss the Bill Evans Trio. (My favorite recording by the Bill Evans trio is Someday My Prince Will Come.)

1…Sunday at the Village Vanguard.

2…Waltz for Debby.

3…1958 Miles.

4…Compact Jazz.

My Bill Evans favorites: 1…Sleepin’ Bee. 2…Granados. 3…Waltz for Debby. 4…I Loves You, Porgy. 5…Solar. 6…Milestones.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: What is Hip?/Tower of Power/The Very Best of Tower of Power

I was flipping through Downbeat today (the 75th anniversary collector’s edition; seriously, I’m going to keep this thing forever) and I read this short blurb about Toshiko Akiyoshi, a female jazz pianist from Japan (Toshiko: Japan’s First Gift to U.S. Jazz). In a nutshell, Akiyoshi’s pretty amazing – in 1952, Oscar Peterson discovered her playing in a club during one of his tours and convinced his producer to record her playing with his rhythm section (this album was later called Toshiko’s Piano);  three years later, Akiyoshi wrote to the Berklee College of Music asking for a chance to study there – and she did, on a full scholarship. And not only that – she also became the first Japanese student to be enrolled at the Berklee College of Music.

First reaction: How did I not know about Akiyoshi for this long?

Second reaction: Hiromi Uehara!

It all fits together: the piano, the Japanese heritage, the Oscar Peterson influence, the enrollment in the Berklee College of Music. Uehara is totally a reincarnation of Akiyoshi.

Okay, not really. Their styles are totally different – Akiyoshi sounds a lot like Bud Powell while Uehara’s developed her own style that’s really quite difficult to describe; I’ll call it classical/jazz/rock/funk/fusion for now. And the fact that Akiyoshi’s still alive and playing the keys doesn’t really work out for reincarnation.

Uehara’s extremely influential in my own adventures in jazz, so I’m going to dedicate a separate post for her in the future. But for now, I’ll give you a playlist for each of these jazz pianists (note: some of these are their original compositions and others just include Akiyoshi/Uehara):

TOSHIKO AKIYOSHI:

1…The Subject is Jazz (Compilation). 2…The Village. 3…Strive for Jive. 4…Noutorious Tourist From East. 5…Salted Ginko Nuts. 6…Long Yellow Road.

HIROMI UEHARA:

1…The Tom and Jerry Show. 2…Kung Fu World Champion. 3…Spain (with Chick Corea!). 4…XYZ. 5…Time Out. 6…I’ve Got Rhythm.

You’ll notice as you listen to these that both of these pianists are extremely trained classical musicians, which really shows in their playing. Happy listening!

If I were stranded on a desert island and I could only take one jazz pianist with me, it’d be Thelonious Monk.

Why? It’s all in his sound. When you hear him on the radio, you know it’s him. Unlike Leonard Bernstein or Emanuel Ax, Monk had unusually small hands for a pianist (a problem that I struggle with every day) — so he was pushed to develop his own, distinct sound.

You’ll notice in his solos that he doesn’t play the piano like most classically trained pianists — instead, he hits it like a percussive instrument. The solos almost sound like an old, rundown car: he spurts out musical ideas, takes a completely random break, then lets out hiccups of more ideas. But this is what makes Monk different; it’s what makes Monk, well, Monk. In fact, for this reason, his unique way of soloing is dubbed Melodious Thunk.

The Monk standards: 1…Blue Monk. 2…Straight, No Chaser. 3…Epistrophy. 4…Well, You Needn’t. 5…Round Midnight.

My favorites: 1…Blue Monk (my absolute favorite). 2…Round Midnight.

But it’s not just his playing that’s got character. Thelonious Monk has always been known for cryptic and defensive when approached by the media. In 1958, when Monk was emerging as a prominent jazz pianist, an article in the Downbeat magazine explained that “one interview or ten [could not] shatter the protective wall Thelonious Monk [had] built around himself.” He consistently gave the media and his interviewers quizzical answers to their questions. For example:

Q: Where do you think modern jazz is going?

A: “I don’t know where it’s going. Maybe it’s going to hell. You can’t make anything go anywhere; it just happens.”

Q: On his association with musicians like Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane who suddenly became popular after playing with him…

A: “I have noticed that with a lot of musicians…(with a wry smile) I don’t know why that happens.”

Q: About playing with musicians like Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, and Milt Jackson…

A: “Just another session…They’re all just sessions.”

Q: What do you listen to?

A: “I listen to everything.”

*Downbeat magazine, 1958 article by Frank London Brown, 75th annual collector’s edition

If you’re new to Monk, start here. Happy listening!

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Going Out of My Head/Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington/Late Night Piano