Written on December 7, 2012

Dave Brubeck just died, a day shy of 92. When I read the obituary, it hit me more personally than I would have expected.

When I was in eighth grade, Bill Garbett, my drummer friend and tympani player in the junior high orchestra asked me if I wanted to be in a jazz combo he was starting. I did, though I knew nothing about jazz. The first time we played together in Bill’s basement, terrible as we were, on the very first tune, “Tiger Rag,” something inside me snapped. I loved it. I wanted to keep playing forever, and I wanted to listen to jazz forever, which I have done, well until now at least.

A year later, when I was in ninth grade, I went to my first live jazz concert, at Kingsbury Hall at the University of Utah. I heard the Dave Brubeck Quartet, which I had never heard of until then. At that time, they were playing a lot of concerts on college campuses and were the in-group, reifying the titles of two of Brubeck’s early albums: “Jazz, Red, Hot, and Cool” and “Jazz goes to College.” That night they played most of the songs from a new album they had just recorded: “Gone with the Wind.” I was hypnotized; I was taken away into a flow state in which I forgot about time and my surroundings, everything except the music. And afterwards, for the first time in my life I gathered with other jazz musicians who talked about the music, even bass players, such as myself, who discussed Gene Wright’s playing and various bass techniques. The experience is vivid for me to this day.

Since then, I have heard Dave Brubeck live many times, and I never tired of the experience. One time I was able to take my son, Christopher, a sax player. The last time was at a concert at Sanders Theater on the Harvard University campus. Brubeck was then well into his 80s and, though he hobbled onto the stage, as the night wore on, the years seem to melt away, and there he was playing the intricate rhythms and beautiful chords he always had. And his alto sax player—Bobby Militello—was phenomenal, and I had thought nobody would ever sound as good with Brubeck as Paul Desmond had.

Some musicians thought Brubeck wasn’t cool—he was white and played with mostly other white musicians. However, I learned that Brubeck worked hard during his time in the army in World War II to integrate the military bands. Later as he traveled around with his famous quartet, he refused to play at some places in the South that would not allow his bassist, who was black, to stay in the same hotel as the rest of the band. He had strong views against segregation and acted accordingly.

Some musicians and critics said that Brubeck was a heavy-handed pianist, too clunky or too simple. He did play a lot of block chords, but clunky? His chording was so rich. Too simple? He was often a minimalist, but a rich and deep minimalist. When Brubeck played, especially with Desmond, I would wince with pleasure. My best analogy is what it feels like when you eat a spicy sauce or pepper that makes you wince, and afterwards, you say “Wow, that tasted so good.“ (Of course, that is my analogy for all good jazz.) I have never comprehended how he could be thought of as clunky or simple.

Here are a few Brubeck CDs that can tell the story. Back in the late ‘50s, Brubeck recorded an album called, “Dave Digs Disney.” To my knowledge, it was the first time a jazz group had used songs from Disney movies for their basis of improvisation. Later, Bill Evans did a most beautiful rendition of “Alice in Wonderland,” but Brubeck did it first. Later, “Someday my Prince will Come” became a jazz standard, especially after Miles Davis played it on an album by the same name, but Brubeck started it. Listen to Brubeck’s “Someday my Prince will Come” not only for Desmond’s beautiful solo but for the many nuances and ideas in Brubeck’s improvisation. This song is in ¾ time, but Brubeck pushes against that meter, perhaps a forerunner of the various experiments in time signatures that he later recorded. He always needed a strong rhythm section of bass and drums because he flirted with different, complex rhythms to such an extent that the band needed an especially firm foundation. Brubeck used time signatures as counterpoint.

A short time later, in 1959, he recorded “Gone with the Wind,” the music that became an epiphany for me. The song, “Georgia on my Mind” contains as beautiful of improvised solos by Desmond and Brubeck as one is likely to hear anywhere. Desmond and Brubeck seemed to be joined at the head (the mind that is), as they listened so carefully to each other and inter-meshed with each other. The counterpoint between them (downright fugues) on “Basin Street Blues” and “Gone with the Wind” is exquisite and would make Bach smile. And that same beautiful counterpoint can be heard on “Give a Little Whistle” from the previous album, “Dave Digs Disney” and reaches a peak on “Brandenburg Gate” from the album, "Jazz Impressions of Eurasia" in which Brubeck and Despond channel Bach himself.

Joe Morello was half blind and seemed to have trouble negotiating the stage, but according to my long-time drummer friend, Darrell Moench, he was one of the best drummers ever. Yes, that is probably true. Gene Wright on bass was often not recorded well and was sometimes hard to hear, but he had such good time, and he played all the right notes. Again, on the song, “Gone with the Wind,” Brubeck at one point launches into triplets that float above the underlying 4/4 meter in such a way that one thinks of the music as in 4/4 and ¾ at the same time, again a portent of things to come.

Then, of course, along came Brubeck’s most famous album, “Time Out,” which demonstrated how to swing in 5/4, 9/8 and other time signatures. “Blue Rondo a la Turk” in 9/8 interspersed with a 4/4 meter, was fantastic, but it is also worth listening to that same tune as Brubeck played it years later on several occasions. On these later dates, it was taken at such a speed and with such polish and familiarity that the musicians could wander off and try new and varied ideas.

Later in his career, after he lost Paul Desmond, Brubeck performed for a time with Gerry Mulligan, the baritone saxophonist. They recorded some beautiful sets live at the Berlin Philharmonic that are worth listening to. And then late in his career, Brubeck came out with a double CD entitled, “Double Live from the USA and UK.” In these concerts he played with the fantastic alto saxophonist, Bobby Militello. I especially like the way Brubeck begins the song “Margie” as a simple, old-time, stride piano solo and then lets it build into a hot and swinging number when Militello comes in. Something similar happens on their rendition of “Take the A Train," the signature piece of Duke Ellington. It starts simple enough, but you feel like you have been wiped emotionally by the time it is finished. When the composer of "A Train," Billy Strayhorn died, at his funeral, Duke Ellington thought the words to the song should be not "You take the A Train, That's the only way to get to Harlem" but "That's the only way to get to heaven." Maybe that is what happens on Brubeck's rendition.

And so, in his memory, I will listen to Brubeck all week. I am glad he lived among us.