Like Sonny

"I don't care what you believe in, just believe in it" - Shepherd Book, "Serenity"





Tom writes:

We snagged Sonny Rollins' "The Bridge" from the LP vendor at the Camden Merchants Co-op a few weeks back. The rekkid shop is run by a guy named Byron, who was the fella who bought the now defunct "Wild Rufus" rekkid store from my friend Mike, who plays trumpet in my band (more on this later, it just gets weirder). Sonny Rollins career, fairly or not, is often divided into pre and post "The Bridge". Regardless, it is an important recording for more than musical reasons. For me, like Sonny's playing (and for that matter, the playing of all the other giants whose shoulders we are privileged to stand on), it is a shining example to follow and something of an icon.


"The Bridge" was the first recording Sonny released after taking better than two years off from public performance. According to the album's liners "Sonny stopped appearing in public in order to study, try out ideas, and take the time to think about himself, his music, and the environment in which he played and lived" (George Avakian).

Listening to records before and after, you have to wonder what it was that was bothering him about the space he was in. The are certainly differences before and after, but nothing so striking that you could point to as the GRAND UNIFYING CHANGE. But then, why would you expect a big honking neon sign pointing it out? Musicians who play at this level hear and experience music very differently than the rest of us. What is obvious to them will slip past us unnoticed and unheard. What is so cool about Sonny is that he certainly could have kept going, knowing that this was the case, but chose not to. He instead chose the high road, to follow his conscience and his heart.

I am not Sonny Rollins, not even close, but this rekkid reminded me of a similar period from my own life. It was one of those times where I needed to remind myself that faith was not truly faith unless it was shaken to its core. It is here that you emerge again, or your faith dies, and a piece of you along with it. In either outcome this is what needs to happen to continue to grow. I'm not saying that this is what Sonny was going through, but it is what I was looking at and what this rekkid reminded me off.

In "The Bridge", you hear the quiet mastery of the musicians, and their unadorned confidence. This is not to say that they bragged, but far better, told stories, as only the best do. The conversational interplay between Sonny and Jim Hall is unmatched, except perhaps by Wayne Shorter and Miles and those great quintet rekkids. The rhythm section easily powers the music along(Ben Riley, always a favorite of mine for his work with Monk), and no one seems to have to try very hard. Its all relaxed and easy. Again, this is a different level of playing, a different level of art (unlike some schmucks who grunt and grimace their way through some nonsense to show HOW HARD THEY ARE WORKING thinking it makes up for the fact that they have nothing to say, or worse, that what they are saying is bullshit. Yes, I mean you John Popper) .

I was lucky enough to see Sonny a few years back in Boston. His playing was fluid, effortless, insightful, and mellifluous. He had with him Bob Cranshaw, who also played on "The Bridge". They both exuded quiet confidence, but also a certain humiltiy. There was the sense, as there is on "The Bridge", that their search is far from over. It is about living in the moment with the knowledge that the moment is not a place of abiding but a step forward (wherever that might be).  The big lesson from Sonny in this record is simply the question "Who are you and where are you going?"

The Record Connection, Waterville, Maine

Tom writes:

We decided to learn more about the state of vinyl in the state of Maine, and made a pilgrimage to the city of Waterville where we found The Record Connection.  The store is a used book and record shop, located a few miles off I95, and a good 50 miles or so from where we live, but, as we discovered, well worth the trip.  It does not hurt that there is a fine brew pub at about the midway point where Bethany loves getting her ass kicked in Rummy.

Digging through the stacks, we quickly uncovered 7 nice finds, at least half of which are not, and will not, be released on CD, which is one of the really great things about getting vinyl. There is a whole garden of music out there that would otherwise be inaccessible because some record company nimrod didn't think it would sell. He/she/it should probably talk to Bob, the owner of Record Connection, (in the photo to your left) for some insight into the market and possibly a good plastic surgeon to remove his/her/its head from his/her/its ass. But I digress......

Two rekkids in this recent haul were by pianist/composer Ahmad Jamal, one of the most overlooked and under-appreciated artists alive today(Ahmad is pushing 81 and still on the road).  Those who know him, or at least of him, associate the tune "Poinciana" with him. It is not one of his compositions, but it might as well be, since he is one of these musicians who can own a tune, regardless of the performance practices of other artists (even the composers) . Not to say that he is disrespectful, far from it. He brings the music into himself and breathes a piece of his life back out, like the way plants take in CO2 and give back oxygen (one other artist who is very, very good at this is Richie Havens) .

One rekkid that we got, "Poinciana", illustrates not only this highly original approach, but also Ahmad's equally impressive command of texture and shape. Listening to a performance of Ahmad Jamal is not like listening to a grand soliloquy like Charlie Parker, or like a revival sermon like Monk. It is more like listening to a great-Uncle tell you stories of his childhood, punctuated by belly laughs, sighs, groans, and overflowing with the joy of having just barely missed that homerun and not quite getting the homecoming queen.

Ahmad's phrases flow along, and occasionally burst into blossoms of sound and color, yet never overwhelming or overstating. In no tune is this more clear than in his performance of "Autumn Leaves", from the "Poinciana" album. He so carefully uses texture to create shapes within the structure of the tune, and is very conscious of meaning and context.  Ideas develop and return, as in the best "composed" music (I know a few composers, myself among them, who would give their eye-teeth to write with that kind of acuity, much less improvise).

For me, the blossoms that fly from Ahmad's hands are the same blossoms that we found in the stacks at Record Connection, which in turn is yet another blossom we found on a side street in Waterville.