An introduction to jazz

Last night I walked up to Lincoln Center. A Taiwanese percussion group was performing in the main square, but I went to see Sonny Rollins.

Sonny Rollins was the first jazz musician I saw live, before I knew what jazz music (or who Sonny Rollins) was. I was working a summer job at Harkness Park as a groundsperson for Summer Music. During the day we set up chairs and concessions; at night we threw out the trash. The benefits were all the Haagen-Daaz bars we could eat and free access to the (mostly classical) concerts. Every year they would feature a special act. One year it was Harry Belafonte. My first year it was Sonny Rollins.

We had read the program and knew that Rollins was a legend. We brought blankets and set them up for our friends and for us to join as the concert drew near and our duties were suspended. I don't remember much about the show, but I remember loving it. I started checking out jazz records from the library, using Ken Lyons' The 101 Best Jazz Albums: A History of Jazz on Records as my Bible. I still haven't managed to hear all of them.

Last night the show was ok. The band was uninspiring, though Rollins himself, at 74(!), was.

During the intermission at the Harkness show, a friend of mine and I met the band. We were sent to bring drinks to the artist's tent, and the band members were welcoming. I don't remember who they were but we all got our programs signed. Searching the car afterwards I found I had lost it. At the time I was disappointed, but didn't pay it much mind. Now, I wish I had still had it. If only to look back at the exact date and the names of his sidemen. We didn't meet Sonny that night. But I feel that if we had, he would have been as warm and welcoming as the others.

Years later I ran into the jazz vocalist Jon Hendricks. I was studying in Pittsburgh; he was playing at the Balcony (which I just learned closed in 1998). We were in the men's room, and I told him how much I loved his work. He thanked me and then I asked him what his plans were for the season. He rattled off a list of cities starting in North America and then jumping to Europe before heading back late in the year. I expressed dismay at his exhausting schedule. He smiled and said, "I'm like a taxi-cab. Can't make a dime standing still." Posted by eku at August 11, 2004 11:16 PM