No Beethoven: An Autobiography & Chronicle of Weather Report

by Peter Erskine

  One memorable but not purely musical experience occurred in Salerno when a video cameraman got carried away with his handheld camera and began walking all over the stage during our first tune of the concert, ostentatiously positioning the camera in full view of the audience, or worse, getting extremely tight with the camera lens right in Rita’s face as the poor woman is trying to concentrate. I see this guy but decide to wait until the end of the song — “Be professional, Peter; wait until the song is finished” — but this guy has already ruined it for everyone. Still, I manage to hold off getting up from the drums until song’s end, whereupon I set upon him with a “Turn that fucking thing off and get the fuck off the stage NOW… Turn off the fucking camera… HEY, GET THIS MOTHERFUCKER OFF THE STAGE,” and I realize two things: one, his camera’s red light is on, indicating that he is recording everything I’m saying, and two, the audience can hear all of this very clearly. While he is hustled off stage, I turn to the audience and raise my arms in “mea culpa” with a hearty “Excusi,” which is greeted by appreciative applause. Rita, Palle, and I finish the concert. I then look for and find the promoter as soon as we leave the stage and ask for a private word with her, to know what in the world was going on with that cameraman, and THERE HE IS backstage in this promoter’s office, leaning against the doorframe and vibing me big-time. I walk right over to him and fashion my two hands into a make-believe camera lens and get right in his face with a Joe Pesci-inspired “Do you like that? Do you like that, huh? Hey, do you LIKE that? Hey, well guess what, genius: THAT’S why they invented the ZOOM LENS!” I walk several feet away, turn quickly and add, “If I ever see any of this on YouTube, I will personally come back here and kick your ass.”

  Tough guy. I watch too many movies. Like Rita would say: “Ees terrible!”

  Sadao Watanabe

  On the other end of the behavioral spectrum is Japanese saxophonist and media star Sadao Watanabe. Suffice to say that Sadao is one lovely human being, with the closest sound to Charlie Mariano’s Boston-days alto sax I ever heard. People the world over love Sadao. His message, whether musical or personal, is always the same, and that’s one of harmony and love. Domo arigato, Sadao-san, for all of the enjoyable opportunities to work with you.

  Scott Goodman

  The man who introduced me to Zoom digital recording devices while head of Samson Technologies, Scott and I met when he hired me to put a band together for a NAMM party. Terrific guy, he saw how uptight I was getting by one of the musicians being late for the gig. He told me that his uncle Benny (Goodman) once remarked about Buddy Rich: “That guy could make a cup of coffee nervous.” Scott knows how to enjoy life and I appreciate his frequent reminders for me to smell the flowers (if not the coffee!).

  Seth MacFarlane

  If I didn't know anything else about the man, I'd say that Seth MacFarlane is a great singer. On top of that, of course, he’s a hilarious writer and voice actor, director, and incredibly successful film and TV producer, plus an amazingly well-read fellow on physics. Probably one of the coolest people I've had the pleasure to know. His Music Is Better Than Words album, arranged and produced by Joel McNeely, is one of the better recordings I've been on. I recently worked with him at Ronnie Scott's jazz club in London, where he announced between tunes, “And we have Peter Erskine playing the drums. How fucking cool is THAT?” We followed that by recording his Christmas album in Abbey Road studio #2 (aka the Beatles room), and then flew back to L.A. on his private jet. How fucking cool is THAT?

  Steve Gadd

  On a rare night off while on tour, Zawinul, Jaco, and I decide to go to Ronnie Scott’s in London to catch Louie Bellson’s band, and as we’re walking towards the club we see Steve Gadd and some bandmates from the Paul Simon tour he’s doing approach the club from the other direction. Hey, it’s a party! Somehow we’re all seated together in the crowded club, except Jaco, who is standing in the aisle but not minding apparently, telling a long joke to Gadd. The rest of us are seated there when the Bellson band begins its second show. Jaco is blocking the view of a gentleman seated behind us who impatiently (and with good reason) tells Jaco to sit down and get out of the way. Jaco barely glances back at the guy, ignoring him so he can continue with his joke. This goes on for a while, with the elderly patron becoming more and more agitated. I forget what transpires next, but we listen to the band and are drinking beers and yapping away. I finally decide I’ve had enough, and so I grab my room key and stand up from the table, probably teetering a bit at this point, and I’m on my way.

  At about 7 a.m. the next morning, Saturday November 8, 1980, the phone in my darkened hotel room rings. “Hello?” I barely mumble. “Hey Pete! It’s Steve! Steve Gadd!” Wow. “Uh, hey Steve!” I say, sitting up in bed and fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp. “How’re ya doin’?” “I’m FINE,” Steve says, “the question is: how are YOU doing?” Huh? “Well,” I reply, “aside from a hangover, not too bad. Um… WHY?” “Somebody said that you pulled a knife on some guy last night, so I just wanted to check in on you,” Steve says. “A knife? Me? Waittaminute…,” and I wonder what possibly could have started this rumor. Then I realize and start to laugh: “Steve, the room key for this hotel is brass and kind of long, and I did grab that and stagger away from the table when I left. Somebody must have mistaken the room key for a knife —maybe that guy that got into the scene with Jaco.” Steve realizes the case of mistaken circumstance, we share a laugh, sort of, I thank him for checking in on me, and he signs off. Nice guy.

  When I tell Zawinul the knife story later in the day, his reaction is, “Don’t deny it; it’ll be good for your image.”

  Steve Khan

  I talk about Steve quite a bit in the book, but thought the following would prove of interest. As the first edition of the book became available for iPad, I received this bit of an email (apparently sent in error) from Steve responding to a guitarist from the Netherlands regarding his being “in the book” or not:

  Steve wrote: “Honestly, I don't know, whether or not I'm mentioned in Peter's book. If it's a recollection of his entire life, it's possible that I might be in there. But, it's hard to say. If it's just a remembrance of the "Weather Report" years, then it's possible that I might not have been mentioned at all. I believe that Peter moved to New York after Weather Report. I first met him when we recorded together with Maynard Ferguson in 1977, for an album entitled "NEW VINTAGE." Then, we spent some great time together during the rehearsals and performances for CBS Records’ "MONTREUX SUMMIT," and there's a great story of how I helped, emotionally speaking, Peter recover from a terrible encounter/rejection with/by Dexter Gordon and Woody Shaw. But, I don't know that he would want to tell that particular story. During a part of the early '80s, Peter had sublet Warren Bernhardt's apartment, which was directly adjacent to mine, and so, Peter and I were neighbors for a number of years. We saw one another almost every day, and spoke about virtually everything. Then, he moved to Los Angeles, and we saw one another much less. So, it's hard to say if I appear in his book!!! Eventually, someone will tell me if I'm there or not. I'm going to write to Pete and congratulate him on the publication!!!” ...

  Steve then wrote the following to me: “Dear Peter: I never meant to send that e-mail to you!!! Oh fuck!!! Well, it's full of love for you pal!!! Pierre Larroque wrote me from the Netherlands about your book, and asked if I was in it!!! You saw my response.....It's probably good that the Montreux story isn't in there - but, I remember the two of us sitting in a bar some hours later, and I told you - "One day, you will have the last laugh, the best laugh at those two assholes!!!" And look what happened - not too long afterwards, you had become one of the most important drummers in Jazz!!! So, the best revenge is living well!!! Love you man. Wishing you every possible success with the book!!! You are, as always, ahead of the technological curve!!! Love to the family!!! S “ Steve enjoys using exclamation points as much as I do. Oh well...now the Montreux story is in the book. Thanks, Steve!!!

  Steve Smith

>   I first met Steve at one of the Kenton summer camps that I was teaching at, and we hooked up as friends right away due to our similar age and appearance (we both had long hair back in 1973). Steve graciously acknowledges some of the information and influence I was able to pass along, in much the same way I was fortunate enough to receive summer drumming counsel from Alan Dawson and Ed Soph, et al. Steve has gone on to become one of the most authentically versatile drummers, having played with big bands, fusion groups, the rock band Journey, and my old band Steps Ahead. We taught together at a drum fantasy camp, and I really enjoyed the two-drummer jams with him: The guy has a beat that’s easy and fun to play with. Drummers reading this, listen up! Maybe that’s why he stays so busy…

  Taichi Erskine

  I am the proud father of Taichi, son and best friend, Final Cut Pro and all-things-video and Mac expert. Taichi was a much-loved teacher on the campus of the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts. He founded the school’s annual Moondance Film Festival, and exhibited the same patience and talent for tutoring that his grandfather Fred showed him when they first met back in 1986. When the best of a previous generation is passed along and made manifest in the following generation, one like me in that middle generation can only say “thanks” to the gods. Taichi is now working as a free-lance editor, and shares a production company named Olde Payphone with his two friends and colleagues Miles Grey and Hunter Mossman. Be on the lookout for some funny stuff from these guys.

  Thomas Moss

  Another life-long friend, also from my freshman year at Interlochen Arts Academy (like Jack Fletcher and Anne Hills). A tremendous supporter as well as confidante, Tom and I have shared everything from illicit midnight walks after curfew at Interlochen to hiking adventures in the Rockies and emails in cyberspace. He is a golf pro and instructor now, but played the French horn in school. He writes about this book: “Ultimately, with each chapter, this reader will be looking for the answer to the question: What was it, exactly, that I heard from those first 32 bars of your drumming at age 14 with the IAA studio orchestra at its first rehearsal that caused me to be awestruck?” Methinks you heard some distilled Mel Lewis, but thanks as always for the support, Tom.

  Tommy Igoe

  Insanely accomplished drummer, son of the late Sonny Igoe, Tommy held the musical director chair for The Lion King on Broadway for many years. Recently relocated to San Francisco, he continues to lead his Birdland Big Band in New York while fronting a big band on the West Coast as well. Tommy and the band played host to a Buddy Rich tribute in New York a few years back, and I was asked at the last moment to sit in for one tune. While everyone else had their own kits and drum techs, I simply sat down at Tommy’s drumset for the one-pass rehearsal, and when I declined his kind offers to adjust this or change that, he turned to a student of his in attendance and said, “You see that? THAT’S a fucking professional!” As sardonic as he is talented, Tommy inspires all of us to play better.

  Toots Thielemans

  One happy memory from Jaco’s Word of Mouth Big Band Japan tour debacle was the moment when Toots Thielemans gave an impromptu improvisation class during a short flight between cities there. One of the musicians in the band had asked Toots a question about blowing, and Toots responded by playing and demonstrating with great enthusiasm — non-stop enthusiasm that attracted a crowd of nearly all the band members standing around Toots’ seat. After an announcement was made for everyone to fasten their seatbelts for landing, Toots kept right on playing and laughing and talking, and everyone stayed where they were, transfixed by his magic. It took a bevy of JAL stewardesses to corral all of them back into their seats, just in time for the plane to touch down. Toots was still playing his harmonica when the wheels hit the runway.

  Vardan Ovsepian

  The newest member of my trio, now called the New Trio, he lived and worked in Boston before moving to L.A. Armenian-born, talented and unique, harmonically gifted, and a lovely person.

  Vic Firth

  Vic is an artist and a successful businessman, probably the only person I can think of who has excelled in both realms so completely. For years he was the timpanist of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Founder of Vic Firth, Inc., the finest and most successful stick, mallet, and brush making company in the world, he is also an incredibly important teacher, innovator, composer, and industry guiding light. A multiple-hat wearing gentleman examplar. Also one of the funniest men I know. And smartest.

  I was once asked to give Vic a ride from the Anaheim trade show to a hotel located at Los Angeles International Airport so he could catch his early flight back to Boston in the morning without too much trouble. “No problem,” I replied. So my wife and I meet Vic and get him and his bag loaded into the car. Vic sits in the front passenger seat and my wife sits in the back seat, and all of a sudden Vic is on his really good behavior because my wife is in the car, and I’m on my really good behavior because he is on his really good behavior, and besides he’s starting to remind me of my being with my professor. We’re not music industry buddies gossiping or cursing the night away in some restaurant or bar, and it’s like the most awkward one-hour drive ever. Sorry, Vic. I got kind of awed in your presence all of a sudden.

  Note to Vic: You have always been incredibly kind to me, ever since we first met at Henry Adler’s drum shop in New York when you showed up to show him some of your timpani mallets, and I was in high school visiting Manhattan and my dad and I dropped into Henry Adler’s shop — all of us there unannounced and enjoying Henry’s full attention, which is more than I can say for the poor kid who was stuck on the practice pad in the back room for what seemed to be the longest time. THANK YOU, VIC.

  Warren Bernhardt

  One of my heroes from all of the work he did with Gary McFarland back in the 1960s, Warren was a Bill Evans disciple and friend (Bill left many of his personal manuscripts with Warren; I believe that they were Manhattan roommates at one point). I also loved the solo recordings he made in the late 1970s, and so I was very pleased to be able to make a number of albums with him beginning with the trio recording on dmp with Eddie Gomez in 1983. Warren’s rendering of Bill Evan’s “My Bells” still moves me every time I hear it. The man has a gorgeous touch and sensibility. He was also a terrific pianist for Steely Dan’s touring band(s), and I enjoyed working with him in that setting during 1993 and 1994. He continued to make audiophile recordings for Tom and Jean Jung’s dmp label into the millennial years. Warren is a legendary fixture on the New York recording scene and has been an essential part of many bands over the years.

  Will Lee

  Will is the bass player who makes everything sound and feel better, and his presence can light up a room more than a thousand-watt bulb. Plenty of times we’d record something and Will would quietly ask, “Let me do another pass, okay?” We’d all be watching him as he played, and there’d always be that moment when he would stand up from the folding chair in the studio and really begin to rock and totally take the track home. And he would, somehow, always remember where the drums might have pushed or laid back, and he would always play the right thing to make any bit of drumming feel good.

  As far as “live” tracking goes, when we were recording Motion Poet and were at the end of a long, long day with just enough time to get one and only one take on a complicated Vince Mendoza piece (“A New Regalia”), and we’re all counting silently during the count-off and tacet measures, which will eventually be festooned with a brass chorale overdub, and the tension builds before we make our entrance, Will jumps out of his chair and yells to the room, “AWRIGHT, LET’S EAT THIS PIECE OF SHIT!” just one second before I begin the drum fill to mark the rhythm section entrance. This loosened everyone up; I was smiling and laughing throughout most of the take, which we “got,” so everyone could go home by 1:00 in the morning. Will Lee just makes everyone and everything feel better.

  Appendix 2: Music

  From a discography of almost 600 albums, I’ve selected fifty or so that merit discussion
outside of the main body of the book’s text for one reason or another; many of the recordings I’ve done are discussed at length within the primary content of the book. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then an album must be worth at least one or two hundred. These are listed in order of appearance.

  1. Fire, Fury and Fun (Stan Kenton, 1974) — My fifth and final album with Stan, we recorded it as we had done the other studio albums: daytime sessions sandwiched between nightly gigs on the road, this time in Chicago without playing the music we’re recording until that night AFTER we’ve struggled with the new charts in the studio. In other words, Stan seemed to treat the album session as a rehearsal for the gig. Hank Levy penned a drum feature for me in 7/2 and 7/4 time titled “Pete is a Four Letter Word.” I remember being disappointed by my performance — not the first or last time that’s happened. When I listen to it now, it’s not that bad.

  2. Montreux Summit, Vol. 1 (CBS All Stars, 1977) — Having been brought to Montreux, Switzerland to accompany Maynard Ferguson on his hit feature “Gonna Fly Now” (the theme from Rocky; Maynard was popular enough to demand and get this accommodation from CBS), bass player Gordon Johnson and myself wound up playing on a couple of other tunes during the marathon concert, including Wayne Shorter’s “Infant Eyes.” Not particularly fun to play brushes on Billy Cobham’s gargantuan clear plastic Fibes drumset, but I do my best to play pretty. It’s a beautiful song, and Stan Getz and Bob James both play wonderfully on the tune. Afterwards, Stan sees me backstage with a young woman seated on my lap and he says, “You’re not fooling anyone; you’re a fag.” As my brother had just come out of the closet, I wasn’t sure whether to panic because I might be gay or because I played brushes for the entire tune and, damn it, I should have switched over to sticks! I confessed/ratted this story to Stan’s daughter, Beverly, when she was touring as a vocalist with Buddy Rich’s band, and we were conversing at some gig. Bev later told me she confronted her father with this, chastising him for saying that to me, and he replied, “Hey, tell him I only talk that way to people I like!”