Even though I had a lot of rhythmic reading to do — notated responsibility — I was free to improvise during vast portions of the piece. The improvisations would usually take place within a repeating “box” while the saxophone and/or orchestra carried on. It took some careful concentration to keep pace with the score. At one point I walked over to a second drumset that was facing the brass section, where I acted as a second conductor. If this seems like a lot to put together in one 90-minute rehearsal, you’re right. Lesson? DO YOUR HOMEWORK. Studying the part and score ahead of time saved me from a lot of panic during rehearsal.
The concert was a success. Our piece was paired with the percussion concerto “Veni, Veni, Emmanuel,” composed by James MacMillan and performed brilliantly by Colin Currie; it was inspiring to hear him play. I hope Sir Harrison enjoyed my drumming on “Panic.” It was a bit more bop-oriented in performance than I had originally intended, but that was due to receiving the sad news that day of Max Roach’s passing. I did my best to honor the music, and to honor the father of jazz drumming on the stage of Royal Albert Hall. I was lucky enough to meet up with legendary bassist Jack Bruce following the Proms gig, and we enjoyed a couple of get-togethers before I left England. He had played the Royal Albert Hall two years earlier when Cream made their historic and triumphant return there. In any event, I am grateful for Mark-Anthony Turnage returning me to my classical roots. As of this writing, he is composing “Erskine — Concerto for Drumset and Orchestra.” It will be premiered by me with maestro Stefan Blunier and the Beethoven Orchester Bonn. Yes, Beethoven!
48. Flying to Japan Again
Typing this 38,000 feet in the air above the Pacific Ocean, I am seated inside of a Boeing 747 jet that is flying me, along with my musical colleagues Alan Pasqua (pianist) and Dave Carpenter (bassist), to Tokyo. More specifically, we are flying to Narita Airport. After passport and customs clearance there, we will have a one-and-a-half hour bus ride before we reach the hotel. One week ago I was on a jet, too, flying from Frankfurt, Germany to my home in Santa Monica. That trip began at 5:00 a.m. when I checked in at the Bremen airport for my first of two flights. At least today’s trip is only one flight — one long flight.
Sometimes I like to nap when I fly. I like to read, do crossword puzzles, and listen to music. I will usually drink plenty of water, and I’ll use my computer to watch DVDs or do some work — like typing this chapter. In Japan right now it’s 1 p.m. tomorrow. The body clock tells me it’s 9 p.m. tonight. By the time I get to the hotel in Tokyo, I should be in some kind of shape. Crossing the International Dateline is “all in a day-and-a-half’s work.” And what is the occasion for this formidable journey? A gig. More specifically, a two-week engagement with Japanese jazz star and saxophonist Sadao Watanabe. “Have sticks, will travel.” Still doing this after 40-plus years of touring.
Why?
Well, it’s good to work. I feel very fortunate to be able to make a living and make my way through life by making music. It puts bread on the table and pays the rent. It also affords me the best chance to learn and to grow; there’s always something new to learn.
Nearly two weeks into the trip now, and I have had a ball playing bebop with the group, meeting many Japanese friends and fans, and sampling some delicious Japanese food. But the best part of the trip has been the learning experience. A sampling of that is as follows: On the second night of the gig, the band was having some difficulties with the sound onstage. As much as I preach being a proactive player — and that is certainly important in the creative department — I am a reactive player by virtue of being a drummer who perceives the role of drummer as accompanist and enabler. Concentrating so much on a seemingly endless array of adjustments to try to make things the best they could be, Sadao could easily see that I did not appear to be having too much fun. I’ve never been a good poker player, especially on the bandstand, and so my guise was not as genuinely endearing to the audience as it might otherwise have been.
These jobs are especially important to Sadao, now that he is in the autumn of his musical career years (Sadao is 70). And since many of his friends were coming, he wanted the concerts to be as enjoyable as possible for all concerned. And so he sat down with me after the show, and we discussed a bit of life philosophy over a couple of beers. He taught me a lovely Japanese expression, “Ichi go, ichi ye (ee-chee go, ee-chee yay),” which translates roughly to, “Today is the first time we meet, and today might be the last time we meet.” It is, perhaps, a uniquely Japanese sentiment, but it has application to all who might be open to its meaning. An encounter with another being, whether on a musical or personal level, is a fleeting moment in time. Its beauty lies in the transient nature of its passage in time. And yet, we all know that such fleeting moments leave a taste in the memory that can be quite evocative. And so, reasoning would have it, why not make the very most out of every chance we have to interact with another, musically or otherwise? Put another way: life is too short not to have fun.
photo: Peter Erskine
I might be prejudiced, as my wife is from Japan and I have had a love for the country and its people for many years, but I will say with certainty that the Japanese people are, as a whole, some of the most polite and aware people in the world. Their awareness is specifically centered around harmony, or “wa.” What could be more musical than that? Walking throughout the city of Tokyo, one will encounter gestures of humility and care that is, quite frankly, refreshing and inspiring. People pay attention to what they’re doing, and since the “what” that they’re doing involves other people, one will experience a sense of generosity that the rest of the world could sorely use. Sure, there are impolite and brusque Japanese people; there are some jerks anywhere in the world. But “wa,” a vital part of the Japanese psyche, pervades and prevails in the Land of the Rising Sun.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: LOS ANGELES, March 28, 2011
Vitello’s Jazz Club Hosts Jazz Relief for Japan/Concerts & Fundraiser Event With Support From Local Jazz Community
Vitello’s Jazz Club in Studio City in association with the Los Angeles Jazz Society asks the Los Angeles jazz-loving community to come out and support the victims of the recent earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Musicians and fans will be coming together on Saturday, April 9 for an all day/all night concert event that will raise funds for the Japanese Red Cross.
Music will be provided by Los Angeles’ finest, including the Yellowjackets featuring Russ Ferrante, Jimmy Haslip, Bob Mintzer and Will Kennedy; the Grammy-nominated trio of Alan Pasqua and Peter Erskine with Darek Oles; the Wayne Bergeron Big Band; the POEM Quartet comprised of Alan Pasqua, Darek Oles, Peter Erskine and Bob Mintzer.
Grammy-nominated vocalist Denise Donatelli will also be performing, as will the Vitello’s All Stars featuring Bob Sheppard, Larry Koonse, Tom Warrington and Joe La Barbara. Attendees will also be treated to “Jazzcomedian” Franklyn Ajaye; Japanese vocalist Takako Uemura; THE TRIO with pianist Terry Trotter and bassist Chuck Berghofer; cajon master and percussionist Alex Acuña; pianist David Arnay; guitarist Mitchell Long; bassists Larry Steen and Kevin Axt, drummers Aaron Serfaty and Ray Brinker; plus the top combo and big band from USC’s Thornton School of Music. Noted jazz radio personality Dick McGarvin will serve as host and emcee for the event.
Performances will begin at 11:30 a.m. and continue until 11:00 p.m., and those attending will enjoy the delicious Italian cuisine of Vitello’s. There will also be a silent auction featuring an array of items donated by music celebrities as well as by various musical instrument and electronics manufacturers, with all proceeds going to the Japanese Red Cross.
While the earthquake and tsunami disasters have left us all speechless, the gift and power of music has inspired these talented artists to donate their time, their talent and their voices to this relief effort.
An event like the recent earthquake and tsunami in Japan is one of those “thousand year” occurrences, something of unimaginable horror and magnitude that’s not supposed to take place duri
ng our lifetime. And, yet, it has happened. But the response of the Japanese people has inspired the world beyond measure. The extended jazz community, in particular, has found a resonance in all of this and a calling to help as best it can. Most all of us share a deep connection with Japan in one way or another: as a place of repeated visits, a land of inspiring grace and beauty; a people who love the music we're hearing today; our best friends in art, industry, commerce and even, in some cases, love; a source of poetic calm in a world that’s carpool-laning to madness. The secret for this especially deep connection or sense of recognition may lie in the Japanese concept or word “wa.” Wa, in Japan, means “harmony,” and the prevalence and importance of wa throughout Japanese society provides an easy explanation for the stoic and selfless response we have seen from the people there these past few weeks. It makes sense that jazz society “gets” this in its gut, heart and soul, and so the response from everyone associated with the presentation of the music, the raising of funds and the giving of gifts has been beyond expectation, hope and belief. You all know who you are. To every artist, volunteer and gift-giver, we offer our profound thanks.
Here's to a brighter tomorrow in the Land of the Rising Sun.
D.S., Coda, etc. Sometimes, life is like a drum chart.
April Williams: thank you for Vitello’s and for making this event possible. We raised $17,000 in one day, in a relatively small jazz club. I like to think that this helped in some small way in Japan. I know that it helped all of us who were there.
photo: Peter Erskine
49. Me and Japan
The most casual of readers will have noticed that Japan figures prominently in my life. I first visited in 1974 with the Stan Kenton Orchestra, but have been drawn to the country and its people for much longer. Was it the book of Haiku that I received from my older sister when I was young that triggered my interest? The beauty of our Eurasian-looking “cousin” Evelyn who was actually German but seemed Japanese to me when I was a child and infatuated with her? The girl in high school I had a crush on?
Whatever the reason, I’ve found myself drawn to Japanese women most all of my life, and I wound up marrying the most beautiful one in the world as far as I’m concerned. Japanese art. Japanese esthetics. Japanese manners. Japanese attention to quality and excellence. I admire most all things Japanese to the point of extreme prejudice.
My father noticed this early in my marriage to Mutsy and was disturbed enough by it to write me a letter that, in essence, served to remind me that the Japanese had, after all, bombed Pearl Harbor and that I shouldn’t forget that.
“Dad, hi, it’s Peter. I just got your letter. Are you putting me on?”
“Peter, the Yellow Peril…”
“Dad! LISTEN TO YOURSELF!”
Unlike other dogmatists who have just uttered something really dogmatic, he stopped and said “Whoa…waitaminute, er…wow…far out, you’re right….” And he looked back into his childhood and the prejudices his mother laid onto him re: the Orient, etc. Even though December 7, 1941 was a date that would live in infamy and was traumatic to all Americans of my father’s generation, he realized that he was not thinking big, not thinking right. My father adored Mutsy and Taichi and now Maya, but he had this old bee in his bonnet.
And so we visited Japan together, first opportunity. I took him with me on a John Abercrombie Trio tour of Japan. AND HE FELL IN LOVE WITH THE PEOPLE AND THE PLACE. We had a ball during that tour. He learned to speak Japanese, and he even braved some sushi — without ketchup, I might add.
The next thing we know, Dad is constructing torii gates around his property and buying antique Japanese this-and-thats for decoration and for just, I imagine, some feel-good presence. His embrace of Japan was not only an expression of the love he had for my family, but the greater love he wanted to find, and did find, in humanity. In Japan, he found himself.
photo: Peter Erskine
Maybe that’s why I like it so much here. It feels like home.
50. Life 2
While presenting a jazz drumming class at an East Coast university recently, I was asked, “How has your drumming changed from when you were a younger player?” Hmmm. How best to answer? Should I provide some sort of specific assessment of my musical evolution? Perhaps a comparative analysis of my stylistic growth would suffice. Highlight the changes in my influences as my listening and perceptual horizons became broader? Or maybe I could simply discuss what I do now as compared to what I didn’t do when I was a young professional (or vice-versa).
My answer surprised me as it spontaneously formulated itself in my thoughts, and it was spoken aloud after only a moment’s hesitation. “When I was younger, I played as though my life depended on it. Now, I play as though someone else’s life depends on it.”
Interesting, huh? I think back on gigs past when I put everything into the music, meaning literally everything, including energy, sweat, and notes. I used to be soaking wet by the end of most sets, and I saw this as a natural and necessary part of the musical curve. Obviously, whatever the music might have lacked in subtlety or finesse was more than made up for by enthusiasm and muscle. But this left a lot to be desired, most especially on my part. I began to sense that I was fighting the instrument as much as anything else, and so I looked towards a new technique and higher aesthetic to guide me to a better place musically. My playing life depended on it! But now, I would play more for the song. This all goes along with the teachings that “less is more” and “there’s power in surrender.” Zen and the inner game of paradiddles; less ego, more art. And so on.
I came up with that reply at a drum clinic on a Monday and played a concert that night (with the excellent big band at New Jersey City University); I received lots of positive comments from folks who were at the workshop and concert. I flew home from New York to Los Angeles on Tuesday, and found myself in Capitol Studios early Wednesday morning for a big band recording session with a young vocalist from Canada. The first track was a typical and enjoyable big band arrangement to play, written by the excellent Sammy Nestico of Count Basie fame. The next tune was more of a hybrid piece, half pop and half big band, and the song called for the drums to be hit hard. And I got into it. Meanwhile, I forgot the mantra of the last dozen years that has helped me through innumerable gigs and sessions: “Jim Keltner, Jim Keltner, let the mic do the work, Jim Keltner,” etc. And so I am physically pushing myself along with the music. I’m also receiving a bit more direction from the producer than I’m used to getting. The combination of these things plus the apparent demotion from being a guest star back east to being a studio drummer back home is all starting to add up. Coupling my intense concentration to “nail” the tune in as early a take as possible while keeping an eye on the clock (as we had three tunes to finish in as many hours), I exalt when the rhythm section crosses the finish line of a great take. Everyone could hear it, including the producer. Yet, he wants to do it again. By this point, I’m sweating and huffing and puffing, and I’m wondering why on earth he would want or need for us to do it again. And so I step out into the main room from the drum booth and simply announce that I am not going to play it again, at least not right away, but that I will be taking a break and that they all can do what they like. This is generally considered to be out-of-bounds behavior when working on a studio call. But I was entirely confident that the music was there, and that the take was what they wanted or what they WOULD want as soon as they heard it and realized it. By the way, I had also protested that I was “banging the fuck out of the drums” and that I needed that break. Fair enough, right?
Long story short, the session wound up being fine, the take in question was recognized to be “the one,” and everyone was happy. But I was disturbed by my actions. I certainly wasn’t hitting the drums THAT hard; why did I feel at wits and body’s end?
A possible answer came to me that very evening as I watched a film with my wife, an excellent movie titled Infamous. This is the second film released in as many years that concerns t
he penning of the book In Cold Blood. The movie is based on the book about the author Truman Capote by George Plimpton, was written for the screen and directed by Douglas McGrath, and stars Toby Jones and Sandra Bullock. Ms. Bullock speaks at the end of the film as longtime Capote friend (and author of To Kill a Mockingbird) Nelle Harper Lee: “I read in an interview with Frank Sinatra, in which he said about Judy Garland, ‘Every time she sings she dies a little.’ That’s how much she gave. It’s true for writers, too. You hope to create something lasting. They die a little bit when they write. And then the book comes out. And there’s a dinner. And maybe they give you a prize. And then comes the inevitable American question: ‘What’s next?’ But the next thing can be so hard, because now you know what it demands.”
I recognized something about art and myself in this speech. Whether smart or not, whether art or not, I most often find myself giving the proverbial 110 percent when I play. Contrary to my knowing that drumming is not brain surgery and that I need not perform as if my own life (or anyone else’s, for that matter) depended on it, this seems to be something that I can’t help but do. Perhaps the “someone else’s life” is the music after all.
No Beethoven: An Autobiography & Chronicle of Weather Report Page 17
