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HILL E\ .\M> (lyiy-lVHU.i played a major role in

the history of modem jazz. The New Jersey-bom

pianist's groundbreaking ideas were so widely
absorbed by his peers and subsequently by every
new generation of musicians that he can be

classed among the most influential figures in

f)ost-war jazz, ranking alongside Thelonious

Monk. Charles Mingus, Miles Davis, John Coltrane,

Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie.

E\ans first came to wide aiiumioii dunng Ins six-

month .stay with the Miles Davis Sextet in 1958

and liis return the following year to help record

Davis's classic album Kind Of Blue. That same

year saw Evans form tlie remarkable first version

of his trio featuring bassist Scott LaFaro and

dnimmer Paul Motian. Evans continued until 1962

as a hard-working freelancer, appearing in concert

and on record with a variety of leaders including

Chet Baker, Cannonball Adderley, John Lewis,

Tony .Scott, Oliver Nelson and George Russell.

Evans achieved near-iconic jazz status worldwide

when he worked with Creed Taylor at the Verve

record company, from 1962 also tackling major

projects and performing with a number of

different easembles - though the working trio

remained his home ba.se. But Evans's popular

success coincided with a fresh tide of avant-garde

creativity in jazz that would overtake him. His later

masical explorations ran contrary to the jazz

trends of the day, but as this book reveals it is in

these ventures - just as much as hus late trio work,

both live and in the .studio - tlial the full musical

harvest of Evans's early promise is to be found.

BUI Ei>ans: Eiferything Happens To Me is a detailed

examination of an imponant jazz musician.

Divided into 16 chapters, it begias by placing

Evans in the context of jazz piano in tlie mid

1950s. A full examination of his career follows,
with all the key trios, as well as acclaimed festival

and conceit appearances, famous recording

sessioas, and his relationships with various record

labels - including Riverside, Verve, Fantasy, and

VXamer Bros. The book ends with Evans's

tragically eariy death in September 1980.

 Bill Evans
Everything Happens To Me - a musical biography

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 Bill Evans
Everything Happens To Me - a musical biography

KEITH SHADWICK

Backbeat

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 Bill Evans
Everything Happens To Me- a musical biography

Keith Shadwick

A BACKBEAT BOOK
First edition 2002

Published by Backbeat Books

600 Harrison Street,

San Francisco, CA 94107

wuTv.backbeatbooks.com

An imprint of The Music Player Network

Uruted Entertainment Media. Inc.

Produced for Backbeat Books by Outline Press Ltd,

11 5J Cleveland Street,

London WIT 6PU. England.

www.backbeatuk.com

Copyright © 2002 Outline Press. All rights reserved.

No part of this book covered by the copyrights hereon may be

reproduced or copied in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or

reviews where the source should be made clear. For more

information contact the publishers.

ISBN 087930-708-0

Art Director: Nigel Osborne

Design: Sally Stockwell

Picture Research: Peter Symes

Editor: Tony Bacon

Origination by Global Colour (Malaysia)

Printed in Singapore by Tien Wah Press Pte Ltd

02 03 04 05 06 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
Introduction 6

1 : Jazz Piano Before Evans (1945-1955) 8

2 : Childhood, Youth, The Army And After (1929-1955) 48

3 : A Professional in New York City (1955-1958) 54

4 : Meeting Miles (1958) 62

5 : Finding the First Trio (1959) 70

6 : The First Trio (1959-1961) 80

7 : A Second Trio Struggles to Emerge (1961-1963) 92

8 : Conversations With Myself (1963) 102

9 : Everything Happens TO Me (1963-1965) 112

10 : Both Sides of the Atlantic (1965-1966) 120

11 : Further Conversations (1966-1970) 132

12 : Great Expectations (1970-1972) 146

13 : Rebuilding From The Rubble (1973-1976) 156

14 : The End Of The Gomez Trio (1976-1977) 168

15 : New Hope, Last Hope: The Final Trio (1978-1979) 176

16 : Suicide is Painless (1979-1980) 184

Footnotes 200

Selected Discography 202

Index 206

Acknowledgements 208
 Introduction:
Bill Evans
\ (1929-1980)

is virtually impossible to imagine the past 45 years of modern jazz

Itwithout Bill Evans. The New Jersey-born pianist and composer's
groundbreaking ideas were so widely absorbed by his peers and
subsequently by every new generation of musicians that he ranks alongside
the most influential figures in post-war jazz - Thelonious Monk, Charles
Mingus, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie.
Within that group, Evans (1929-1980) is often seen as someone whose initial

contributions to jazz - around the late 1950s and early 1960s — were all that

mattered. His style, runs the argument, hardly evolved over the following 20
years. Certainly it was during Evans's brief tenure with Miles Davis in 1958
that these early and enormously influential innovations were unveiled,
followed by his work on Davis's Kind Of Blue album and the first version of
Evans's working trio in I960 and 1961. But the true picture is wider and
much more interesting, as readers of this book will discover.

Until 1962 Evans was also a hard-working freelancer with a number of

leaders, including Tony Scott, Oliver Nelson and George Russell. After he
achieved wider jazz popularity through producer Creed Taylor's efforts at

Verve, Evans continued to tackle large projects and to experiment

occasionally with ensembles of various sizes. His increased popularity
coincided with an explosion of avant-garde creativity in jazz tied closely to
new social, cultural and political freedoms. But Evans was quickly left far

behind the vanguard of the music. Most of his later experiments ran contrary
to the musical trends of the day, making his efforts deeply unfashionable -
but that hardly qualifies them for the neglect they have suffered. As we shall

see, it is in these latter-day ventures as much as in his late trio work that the

full musical harvest of Evans's early promise is to be found. It may not often
seem commensurate with early expectations, but it is hardly Evans's fault if

the fans and jazz critics who hailed him as a new jazz messiah later decided
that he'd been no such thing.

Evans was a dedicated musician, very serious about his music and faithful to

its continued evolution. It was never his ambition to keep up with jazz
fashions and stylistic developments. This recalls the occasion when Charles
Mingus badgered Duke Ellington to record "something really avant-garde"
during a studio session, and the Duke replied: "Oh no, Charles, let's not go
that far back." This book will deal with the merits and flaws in the music
that Bill Evans actually produced rather than anything his critics felt he
should have been playing, presenting a story that we hope will help readers
to reinvestigate Evans's work for themselves and follow their own paths
through it.
 Before Evans
(1945-55)
"BUD POWELL LLAD THE MOST COMPREHENSTVE COMPOSLTLON
TALENT OF ANYJAZZ PLAYER L HAVE EVER HEARD PRESENTED ON
THE JAZZ SCENE."

BILL EVANS TALKING ABOUT ONE OF HIS FAVOURITE PIANO PLAYERS

Considering the ubiquity of Bill Evans's stylistic influence in the past

40 years of jazz, it is worth pausing here to consider the state of

contemporary jazz piano in the mid 1950s. This will give us a

clearer idea of Evans's initial impact when he unveiled his mature style,

and a means to uncover his own musical roots.

By 1955 the wave of bop pianists - Bud Powell, Al Haig, Dodo
first

Marmarosa, Thelonious Monk, Lennie Tristano and George Wallington -

had been and more or less gone, for one reason or another. Bud Powell
was experiencing a devastating sequence of personal events, including
electric shock treatment, which would eventually drain him of most of his

'Ihe picino awciils ... Ik-ll Scjiiiit/ .i/iit/io in ,\'eiv York City

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Bill Evans
cre;Ui\it\'. Dodo Murmarosn had literally disappeared (he'd returned to his native city, Pittsburgh); Al Haig
hati faded; Thelonious Monk was in eclipse, unable for legal reasons even to appear live in New York City.
George Wallington, tliough running an efficient bop group, was a waning force and would soon drop out of
full-time musical employment.
Lennie Tristano. having been closely a.s.sociated with New York's 52nd Street bop revolution in the mid
19-iOs. progressively isolated himself from the ideas of Parker, Gillespie, Powell and Monk, preferring to

concentrate on his own theories. Tristano was for the most part brought in front of the public by saidents
and acolytes such as Lee Konitz and 'Warne Marsh. By the early 1950s, disgusted at what he saw as the "anti-

music" policy of most nightclub owners, Tristano was actively withdrawing from public engagements and
concentrating on teaching. His ascetic style and influence can be traced in few pianists of the time - though
Bill E\'ans would be one - and his theories seemed more readily to appeal to saxophonists. The hugely
influential Nat "King" Cole, a swing-era player who presaged many later jazz piano developments, was at the
peak of his popular singing and entertainment career, and now rarely appeared professionally behind a
piano. George Shearing, who had first made his presence felt internationally in the late 1940s, was still very
active and had consolidated a popular musical formula which became progressively more effete as the 1950s
progressed. Of the major stars from the 1940s, only mavericks such as Errol Garner and Oscar Peterson were
still developing their music uncompromisingly in styles close to their original conceptions.

Milt Buckner, a player more truly allied to the pre-bop piano traditions, never gained widespread fame
or praise, his style becoming passe before the advent of the 1950s, but his method of playing extended
melodic passages using a "locked hands" technique would prove to be hugely influential on younger players.

"Locked hands" means playing entirely chordally, with both hands in unison. It was a technique that Buckner
had brought over from playing the organ, and one which organist 'Wild Bill Davis also helped to popularise.
The style filtered through to a wider public and professional audience when pianists such as George Shearing,
Erroll Garner and a young Philadelphian, Ahmad Jamal, expanded and adapted the idea. Jamal's emergence
in the 1950s was an important part of the new ideas that were superseding the standard bebop arrangements,
group interplay, harmony and form.
It has been pointed out by many commentators that Bud Powell was not the first pianist to abandon
swing conventions. Players such as Al Haig, Clyde Hart, Argonne Thornton, Dodo Marmarosa and (for one
memorable Savoy session) Dizzy Gillespie had developed the rhythmic punctuations, from either hand or in

unison, which rode over the rhythm of bass and drums and, during accompaniment of other soloists,

provided harmonic fodder for the improviser. In addition to these players, Elmo Hope, a friend of Powell's
since their youth, persistently claimed later in his career to have been playing bop contemporaneously with
Powell, while Thelonious Monk has often been quoted as saying that all other pianists learned bop harmony
from his own example at Minton's and Monroe's clubs in the early 1940s. While this may be true. Monk's
recordings from 1943/44 betray a strong reliance on swing phraseology and a stride left hand: stylistic traits

to which he would regularly resort when playing solo or trio dates in his years of triumph. From the mid
1950s onwards. Monk's mischievous sense of humour, as well as a rare irony, would have kept any
accusations of anachronism at bay.
At medium and slow tempos, these pianists were also comfortable with a single-line melodic style of

improvising largely taken from Parker and Gillespie and which avoided regular left-hand rhythmic
accompaniment. Only at speed did their swing roots become evident, where stride variants and other
perpetuum mobile techniques came to the fore in order to sustain momentum, both in solos and
accompaniments. (Perpetuimi mobile means repetitive note patterns throughout a fast piece.) They made
plain the formulaic chord substittitions made to the "standard" underlying changes of most bop tunes. Even
Dodo Marmarosa - on 'Dodo's Dance' in 1946, a 'Cherokee' variant taken at a Parker-like ultra-fast tempo -
reverts to stride figures in his left hand for both the theme statement and improvisation. Marmarosa had not
yet grasped the fact that, at such a tempo in bop, the degree of invention displayed in the right-hand passages
was paramount; the bass and drums could keep everything else underpinned. None of the first-generation
 JAZZ PIANO BEFORE BILL EVANS 1944-1955

pianists witli swing in tiieir veins had been able to take all these elements and create a new and distinct

musical personality which spoke for the younger generation of musicians. This was Bud Powell's
achievement in the mid to late 1940s. Powell is habitually described as the pianistic equivalent of Charlie

Parker, and to a certain extent this is a reasonable parallel. His harmonic language, rhythmic drive and
complex, long-phrased melodies - as well as his complete mastery of the blues - are facilities all shared with
Parker. Powell had a phenomenal technique tlirough which he communicated a white-hot emotional
landscape. He could gambol through conventional popular-song changes, as well as the bop generation's
Parker-inspired inversions and substitutions on those changes, at any tempo and in a style guaranteed to
terrify any other yoimg turk. Indeed, at his best and most fluent, Powell was only surpassed technically at

the keyboard by Art Tatum, tlie unrivalled pre-war giant. However, Powell's roots lay witli the pianistic
approximation of melodic instruments and their improvisatory lines, as developed in tlie 1930s by Earl Hines
in particular. Hines's personal repertoire of long, asymmetrical and often dramatic melodic arabesques,
combined with a spare and frequently explosive use of the left hand (picked up and developed by Teddy
Wilson and Nat Cole), was taken to a very different level of expression by Powell during his eariy successes.

Powell, like Marmarosa and few other jazz pianists of the time, had formal piano training which allowed
him to use his harmonic and rhytlimic imagination in fresh ways. Using the low-register left-hand
punctuations first heard in Al Haig's playing, Powell heightened their importance by employing them to more
dramatic effect in his solos and accompaniments. He used them almost as a ninning commentary on his right-

hand flourishes, rather than, like most other players, simply as a root-position chordal signpost, usually

delivered on the first beat of a bar, through whatever set of chord changes were being negotiated.
As his style matured and he reached his late-1940s peak, Powell introduced other elements into his left-

hand repertory, including ostinato patterns, rhythmic devices taken from Latin American and Caribbean
music, and an occasional but strong blues flavour. He would also use left-hand chordal accompaniment only
when he felt that it would add another element to the overall fabric of the performance. In his 1949 trio

recording for Norman Granz of 'Tea For Two' he lovingly caresses the out-of-tempo introduction before
launching into the theme itself It is only ever picked out by the lower register notes of the piano, in an
obsessive reiterative pattern, while his right hand rips through three minutes of searing chord-based single-
line improvisation. The ensuing contrast and tension is part of the success of this classic recording.

Perhaps Powell's greatest improvisational legacy was his evolution of a piano style which could
comfortably fit witli the small-group solo excursions of the new bop generation as well as the freshly evolved
role for drums perfected by Kenny Clarke, Max Roach and others. This type of playing mesmerised other
pianists, few of whom could hope to compete with Powell either technically or temperamentally, but who
were determined to emulate their idol.He remained the dominant influence among younger players well into
tlie 1950s: as is so often the case when confronted with overwhelming genius, most younger pianists took
parts of Powell's style and developed them into a sub-style of their own. Horace Silver, for example, took the
darkly driving first and second-position triad figures of Powell's left hand and added a more unabashedly
blues-drenched and rhythmically ebullient character, closer to his own musical personality. His right-hand
melodicism initially echoed the long-limbed, unpredictable manner of which Powell was a master, but Silver,

a highly gifted melodist, gradually evolved an improvising style which relied more on repetition of shorter

phrases and motifs, and on rhytlimic playfulness. Together these became cornerstones of the 1950s hard bop
style. Ironically, Powell in his later years resorted to this shorter-phrased style of playing when his impaired
inventiveness could no longer sustain the long-phrased patterns of his youth.
Powell was an original and anesting composer with a much wider stylistic palette than Charlie Parker.
As such he exerted an influence on the next generation in jazz, through his own records and the recordings
of his works made by others. A compositional experimenter in strange harmonic waters, Powell was
influenced both by his friend Tlielonious Monk and by his classical smdies, as well as the long, sinuous
melodies of Parker's bop works and the exotic Afro-Cuban rhythms brought to jazz by, among others, Dizzy

Gillespie. Powell was also adept at working up memorable phrases into complete tunes, as ballads and mid-
Bill Evans
tempo swingers. Celia', for example, exhibits pleasantly crisp melodic contours and a peppy rhythm, while
111 Keep Lo\ing ^bu' demonslrates not only Powell's deep reverence for Tatum both harmonically and
rh)thmically but also his penchant for overtly romantic melodic lines.
An older man than Powell, Nat Cole was no revolutionary, but he knew few ri\als in his own field. His
style was more overtl>' an extension of certain rhythmic and melodic elements of Tatuni's playing, especially
the forceful left hand and tlie richly melodic right-hand variations. Cole rarely used the stride, which was a

fimdamental part of Tatum's style and technique, preferring to kick his rhythm along with adroit off-beat left-

hand accents in the lower registers. This proved a boon when he was accompanying or soloing, and was a
major factor in the mid-1940s evolution of bop piano. Cole being one of the first to use and dramatise space.
His improvisatory phraseology remained at its core swing-based, both harmonically and rhythmically - he
rarel>- venaired past 8th-notes, in duple or triple time, in his extemporisations. But his liberal use of
harmonised right-liand passages presages much 1950s piano work.
The otlier aspect of Cole's approach which proved immensely influential during the 1940s and early
1950s was the idea of a piano-guitar-bass trio, of which his was the first; even Tatum had followed him in

this development. Cole was not a significant composer, but his simplification of Tatum's formidably ornate
approach and his application of that reduction showed the way ahead for many pianists, both pre and post-
Parker. Oscar Peterson and Alimad Jamal are perhaps the most famous and influential beneficiaries. They
botli made use of drummerless trios for a number of years, but drew on different aspects of Cole's techniques:

Peterson the rhythmic drive and the trio's collective improvisation; Jamal the clear, well-structured
arrangements and effective use of space.
A second wave of pianists came to prominence in the early 1950s, for the most part offering refinements
and extensions of Powell and his contemporaries (especially Parker) and emphasising one or more aspects
of Powell's creativity, in a way tliat suited the musical personality of each. Young players such as Hank Jones,
Red Garland and John Lewis refined their touch and harmonically reworked standard changes on well-known
songs and classic blues patterns, reflecting the progressive elements in the music of the time.
Hank Jones was a pianist in the Teddy 'Wilson tradition, widely admired by 1955 for his harmonic
resourcefulness within .standard repertoire and his lightness of touch. He did not extend modern jazz piano's

repertoire, but found ways of bringing subtle and ingenious inversions and harmonic substitutions to well-

known chord changes and musical forms, thereby freshening the impact of any group in which he appeared.
His near-contemporary Red Garland combined the uncluttered rhythmic dynamism of Nat Cole with bop
harmonies. A sideman during the 1940s and early 1950s with Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young and Chariie
Parker among others. Garland made a considerable impact during his years with Miles Davis's quintet,
immediately prior to Bill Evans joining that band.

John Lewis, who had spent time with the Dizzy Gillespie band in the late 1940s and with Lester Young
at the opening of the 1950s, was a pianist whose main interests lay outside the area of piano-led trio invention
on common themes. A supreme accompanist with a special gift for concision and telling understatement,
Lewis was also a brilliant arranger and composer Throughout the 1950s he used The Modern Jazz Quartet
as an ideal vehicle for his musical expression. His piano style is more deeply rooted in pre-Powell players
such as Tatum, Jess Stacey and Teddy Wilson, both in the way he would conceive a treatment of a particular
tune and in his harmonic and rhythmic variety.

As Lewis's style matured these roots became less easy to distinguish. He became notably adept at
producing the maximum effect through tlie fewest notes - mtire effectively even than Count Basic or
Thelonious Monk becau.se he shimned musical routines that, with Basic and Monk, eventually became so
predictable that anticipating them became part of the pleasure of listening. Lewis attempted always to make
his musical thinking and tlie development of his .solos a rigorous process that took him and his audience to
fresh musical fields. That he did this throtigh subtlety rather than bombast is an even more remarkable
measLire of his athievemenl. Lewis had a particular love of European cttlture and music and was constant in

his efffjrts to bring European mtisic's sense of form and proportion to jazz performances. He went so far as
 JAZZ PIANO BEFORE BILL EVANS 1944-1955

to overtly import devices including fugues, simple counterpoint, and the suite form. Lewis had a deep
appreciation for and love of the blues, but the models for many of his cross-culairal venaires were the great
baroque and classical period composers, Vivaldi, Bach, Mozart, Haydn and tlie like. His grand and often
highly successful experiments with the MJQ and larger, more disparate groups, including symphony
orchestras, were lauded at the time but remained curiously isolated as a phenomenon within the jazz world.
There were precious few independent contemporary attempts to develop his lines of thought.

Dave Bmbeck was another pianist with a thorough knowledge of and interest in European music. He
too touched few other pianists of the time - although curiously the young and avant-garde Cecil Taylor,
usually caustic about his contemporaries, would later gaidgingly admit to an early appreciation of Brubeck's
methods. Arguably, Bill Evans was another isolated example: he was especially drawn to Brubeck's refreshing
and comprehensive use of harmony and his often overlooked gift for melody.
Brubeck showed little direct affinity with the New York bop phraseology which in the 1950s
metamorphosed into hard-bop routines. His jazz roots more typically spread through such self-professed
influences as Nat Cole and George Shearing to Tatum, Fats Waller and blues and boogie players such as
Jimmy Yancey, Albert Ammons and James P. Johnson. This seemed to fit naturally with the jazz roots of

Brubeck's greatest single non-jazz influence, Darius Milhaud, whose early and most famous works show a
love of the ragtime and classic jazz forms that arrived in Europe in the immediate aftermath of World War I
rather than the styles of the 1930s and 1940s.

Brubeck's interest in form, time signatures and the application of advanced harmony found few kindred
souls at the keyboard in the 1950s. But the methods he displayed in the 1956 solo recording of his own music,
Bmbeck Plays Bmbeck, reveal a close link with what emerged as Bill Evans's main compositional and
improvisational thinking and practice. Brubeck's feat in moving through all 12 keys in the opening theme
statement of 'The Duke', for example, would have entliralled few contemporary' jazz musicians, though such
complex but effortless modulations and tlie musical reasoning behind them would be a source of fascination
in Evans's art for the following 25 years.

The Philadelphia-born pianist Ahmad Jamal only began to emerge as an important national figure during
the late 1950s. Initially he had combined the "cushioned chords" concept as perfected by Shearing witli the

daimmerless trio used by players like Art Tatum and Nat Cole. By the late 1940s he'd taken this hybrid fuitlier

with his drummerless trio The Three Strings, and then applied the techmiques to an ortliodox piano-bass-
drums trio. His own pared-down, uncluttered style was judicious and hard-won, forging together elements of
Cole and Powell, with a Shearing-like gift for organisation. Jamal's clearly articulated and evenly-weighted
technique was closer to Tatum's than most, though rarely in a full set did he use his undeniable technical
facility for more than a few moments of mind-popping display. He was much more interested in using the

piano as the lead voice in his group's interplay, directing tlie audience's imagination through their careful
articulation of light and shade. He used space in preference to bu.stle, and melodic and harmonic lucidity

rather tlian jumble: these would prove valuable artistic pointers for Evans when he came to formulate ideas

for his own trio.

Jamal's disinclination to follow Bud Powell in florid artistic display was also important. Like Evans, Jamal

has often been accused of being an emotional lightweight. But as with Evans, Jamal certainly did bring
emotional depth to his music - revealed, however, dirough restraint and implication. Jamal rarely dealt witli

the Dionysian artistic and emotional demons which drove Powell; his primary concerns were with peace and
joy. Jamal's exquisite and often provocative trio arrangements of familiar songs, using bassist Israel Crosby
and drummer Vernell Fournier, made a tremendous asset of the dramatic use of space, unexpected musical
punctuation, ostinatos, and substantially slowed-down harmonic movement. All these devices quickly became
models for many other leaders, including Miles Davis, who hired Red Garland in 1954 largely for his ability

to imitate Jamal's spare but strongly rhythmic playing.

It may be argued that Thelonious Monk, the wellspring of many of the compositional and harmonic
practices of early bop, remained a considerable influence during the early 1950s before his wider public
Bill Evans
acceptance in the second half of the decade. But between 1950 and 1956 his playing and his compositions
were largely unappreciated by otlier jazzmen: there are virtually no recordings of his music outside his own
work for Prestige, a session with Gigi Gryce where he played his own material, and the occasional treatment
of his music by Powell. Then in 1956 Miles Davis helped bring attention to Monk by recording 'Round
.Midnight' on his debut LP for Columbia. Monk influenced few other pianists in terms of technique - though,
curiously enough, Powell's latter-day recordings often show unmistakeable homage to Monk. Little of Monk's
written music was investigated by other musicians, on record, before his own much-publicised
either live or

classic late- 1950s recordings for the Riverside label which established him in the international spoflight.
During this period jazz did not exist in isolation from other musical genres. Many yoimg pianists
combined the complexities of Powell-driven bop styles with a simpler rhythmic and harmonic approach
adopted from tlie more sophisticated end of the fast-fading R&B genre. Horace Silver and Hampton Hawes
were bodi prominent and influential by the mid 1950s, driven on by tlie popular success of R&B-derived
white acts spearheaded by Elvis Presley and the wide audience acclaim for the marrying of church and the
vernacular in the playing of Ray Charles. Silver and Hawes became adept at expanding and amplifying the
rooLs-based side of Powell and Parker's innovations, bringing more of the rough-hewn blues and gospel-
tinged rhythms and harmonies into their playing than had hitherto been seen as acceptable in modern jazz.

SiK'er also brought a genuine compositional talent to his own groups, forging a style of earthy melodicism
widely admired and imitated during the decade from the mid 1950s to the mid 1960s.
During his period in tandem with drummer Art Blakey, Silver also began to explore musical devices more
identifiably African, heard in his accompaniment to tmmpeter Clark Terry on 'Swahili' from Terry's self-named
1954 LP for EmArcy. That track also features a stark ostinato from Oscar Pettiford's cello and almost primeval
drumming from Blakey himself, some years prior to Blakey's Blue Note recordings featuring combinations of
jazz and African dmmmers. But this type of playing, while often artistically successful, remained something
of an exoticism - and was certainly not the methodical saidy of related musics that became fashionable in

the 1980s and 1990s. Indeed, saxophonist Yusef LateeFs adoption of a great many reed and woodwind
instruments from around the world - and between 1956 and 1961 his mild but intelligently eclectic
incorporation into jazz of timbres, rhytfuns and melody from other cultures - was largely condemned by
critics as "weird" and irrelevant to jazz as it was then construed.
Despite these extensions to the boundaries of bop, cool and what became known by the mid 1950s as
progressive jazz, the essence of all these players - even Lateef, whose improvisation was never particularly

harmonically adventurous - was a commitment to improvising (and composing) through the harmonic
changes and shifts of each pre-existing structure on offer. The popularity of these players and the praise from
colleagues was usually based on their technical facility and creative negotiation of the harmonic and rhythmic
parameters, using a musical language for the most part adopted (and adapted) from Powell, Cole, Tatum and,
to a lesser extent, Tristano. Given the need to articulate each passing chord, substitution and inversion, their

playing was invariably dominated by the intricacy of their right-hand elaborations, most of which followed
well-worn melodic paths and had hardened into convention. The left hand, meanwhile, would provide an
occasional rhythmic and harmonic reference point. Apart from Tristano, who by the mid 1950s was virtually

never heard in public, only Jamal, Brubeck and Lewis had deviated to any significant degree from the
predominant bop guidelines established a decade earlier by Powell, Parker, Gillespie and their peers.

Bill Evans had deep roots in this particular jazz tradition, but he also added other cmcial elements. His
musical training included a relatively comprehensive study of the classical piano repertoire, then a standard
component of advanced-level study of grade piano and theory. In addition, Evans was strongly attracted to
the theories behind Tristano's distinctive musical practices, where the stibtleties of melodic invention and
rhythmic inflection were allied to harmonic thinking tliat broke free of bop conventions. Tristano was simply
not interested in the standard harmonic substitutions and extensions of the bop pianists' stock imderlying
strLictures, such as 'I Got Rhythm', 'All The Things You Are', 'How High The Moon' or 'Cherokee'. Tristano's
fa.scination with 'All The Things 'Vbu Are', Jerome Kern's masterpiece which moves through all 12 key
 JAZZ PIANO BEFORE BILL EVANS 1944-1955

signatures, resulted in music that bore little resemblance to that which, say, Charlie Parker produced from the
same harmonic steeplechase. Perhaps most decisive, however, was the study and work that Evans undertook
in the mid 1950s with theorist George Russell. It was Russell who pointed the young pianist toward the study
of scales and modes as an alternative to the obsessive negotiation of standard or expanded chord changes
that drove most bop players.
This interest in using related scales to provide musical building-blocks and to redefine jazz form provided
Evans's route into his distinctive modern jazz playing. He also benefited from an apparendy straighforward
fact: like ErroU Garner, Evans was left-handed. This gave hrm an unusually even natural balance in touch and
weight between both hands. Regardless of die repertoire Evans could, through the medium of his unique
touch and phrasing, apply his theories of harmonic reduction and the role of the leading harmonic voice to
evoke his own distinctive sound and approach. In subsequent chapters we will investigate the progressive

changes that Evans made to his initial style and to jazz in general as his conception grew to maturity at the

close of the 1950s and into tlie early 1960s.

15
Bill Evans

The young man as jazz pianist:

a contemplative Bill Evans (1)
at the start of the 1960s. New
Jazz Conceptions (2) was his
debut LP as leader, recorded in
1956. A few years later
Everybody Digs Bill Evans (7)
proved pivotal and widely
influential, and Evans would
frequently revisit the material.
His popularity as a sideman in
late-1950s New York is evident
from the diverse leadership of
the other sleeves pictured.
 MODERN JAZZ CONCERT
PORTRAIT OF

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Miles Davis's Kind Of Blue LP

of 1959 (1) paved the way for
many advances in modern jazz
over the subsequent decades,
and it remains influential to
this day. Evans and Davis (2)
were instrumental in
organising the material. These
shots taken in April at the
second of Kind Of Blue's two
studio sessions show (3) John
Coltrane, Cannonball
Adderley, Davis and Evans, and
(4) Adderley, Davis, Paul
Chambers and Evans.
ir, t'j-'fj'.'' iKrjUjar.voiirfaa jffa-

PAki'ju^;
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Evans with the Tony Scott
quartet (1) m New York in Jn
1959: Scott on clarinet, Jimmy
Garrison (2) on bass. Gunther
Schuller (3) and the MJQ's
John Lewis used Evans on Jazz
Abstractions (9) and a number
of live events. Schuller was an
influential presence in
progressive music in the late
1950s. The LPs here represent
18 productive months for
Evans the sideman in 1959/60.

THE
BLUES
AND THE
ABSTRACT
TRUTH
LL EVANS
OY HAYNES
'
ERIC DOLPHY
t OLIVER NELSON
PAUL CHAMBERS
FREDDIE HUBBARD
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essions

Cannonball Adderley and

Evans were in the Miles Davis
making
Sextet in 1958, later
two LPs together under
Adderley's leadership. On
196l's Know What I Mean?,
the second of the two,
Adderley gave Evans a central
role, making it a creative
partnership between equals.
These photos from the
sessions show (4) producer
Orrin Kecpnews (left), with
Adderley (seated) and Evans
behind liim, and (1,2) bassist
Percy Heath.
 W W w <»
w w w w «
Bill E

More photos from the LP

made by Adderley and Evans
(2) at Bell Sound in New York
in early 1961 (see also
previous pages). Completing
the line-up on drums is

Connie Kaye (4). The Identity

of the strategically placed pair
of legs on the resulting
album's original sleeve (5)
remains a mystery to this day.
 m^^sB9^^

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 herble mann & the bill evans trio

\IIRVANA

Four seminal albums (1-4) by

the first Bill Evans Trio were

released by Riverside in I960

and 1961. The trio's bassist
Scott LaFaro (5) is pictured at
New York's Village Vanguard
club during a summer '61
residency where Sunday At
The Village Vanguard (3) and
Waltz For Debby (4) were
recorded. LaFaro died
tragically just weeks later. The
Dave Pike (6) and Tadd
Dameron (7) LPs were the last
on which Evans w^ould appear
as a sideman. The first three
albums from Evans's new trio
(8,11,12) had Chuck Israels on
bass, with Paul Motian
continuing as drummer.
^^^^^^U^^!^
Drummer Shelly Mamie (5)
ran Shelly's Manne-Hole club
in LA, Tvhere Evans recorded a
live album (6) in I963. Evans's
groundbreaking multi-tracked
1963 solo LP, Conversations
With Myself (3), won him his
first Grammy. Bassist Gary
Peacock (2) and drummer
Paul Motian - picmred (1) in
Boston in 1964 - together
with Evans made Trio 64 (4)
during a tense and difficult
session. These and almost all
Evans's recordings owned by
Verve were collected on to 18
CDs in the late 1990s,
accompanied by a lavish book
and encased in a
(8-12)
progressively rusting metal
box (7).
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Evans and Eddie Gomez
(1,2), along -with drummer
Alex appeared on TV in
Kiel,
Denmark in I966 with the
Swedish jazz singer Monica
Zetterlund. Two years earlier
Evans had appeared on an
album with Zetterlund, the
second LP to be titled Waltz
For Debby.

^
 liikTnioddl.iiion
Bill Evans

Mid/late 1960s Evans LPs: with

drummer SheDy Manne (1);
live at New York Town Hall (2)
including a solo suite for
Evans's late father; second duet
with guitarist Jun Hall (3); and
second multi-tracked solo
record (5). This 1967 Trio (4)
in LA lias Elliot Zigmund
(drums) and Eddie Gomez
(bass). One of Evans's favourite
drum partners, Philly Joe Jones
(6), returned to play with him
in New York in 1967.
flit
 :.jm

Bill \: \ a n s

Montreux ^^

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BOX EVANS
Ai The Montreux
Jazz Fe5r!''3,!

> ^
Evans's appearance at the
second Montreux Jazz Festival
in Switzerland in 1968 with
drummer Jack Dejohnette and
bassist Eddie Gomez (3,4) was
a career highlight, fortunately
recorded and released by Verve
(1). Dejohnette (2), who had
risen to fame with Charles
Uoyd, would soon be playing
with Miles Davis. Evans's
album titled Alone (5) was his
third solo record, made in
1968 and this time truly solo,
without the multi-tracking of
earlier projects.
ontreux
\
 Into the 1970s for the BUI
Evans Trio, as the changing
feshions of these photos
demonstrate, 'with Eddie
Gomez (2) in leather jacket at
Montreux and drununer Marty
Morrell moving from a
snappy suit (1) to a Star Trek
look in Detmiark in 1970 (5).
Fewer evident changes for
Evans at Montreux that year
(4), with a live record of the
date (3) appearing on Creed
Taylor's label, CTI.

--air

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1970 Evans s^
Cohimbia Records, and was
pictured at that time (1) with
manager/producer Helen
Keane and Columbia staff
producer Teo Macero. Just two
records resulted: The Bill

Evans Album (2) and Living

Time (3). Seventies fashion
had now crept up on Evans,
pictured in 1972 (6) at one of
his favourite clubs, Ronnie
Scott's. After a period when
he was not signed exclusively
to any company, Evans and
Keane opted for the Milestone
label in 1974 (4,5,7-9).
Evans's appearance at the
Monterey festival in 1975 took
three forms: a duet with Eddie
Gomez (6); a piano workshop
with Patrice Rushen, John
Lew^is or Marian McPartland,
and a set with the Oakland
Youth Symphony Orchestra.
In the mid 1970s he recorded
small-group and solo LPs for
Milestone - aU but (9) here.
Evans left in '77 to record for
Warner; the first album was
You Must Believe In Spring (9)-
The last Trio, formed in 1979, had
Joe LaBarbera (drums) and Marc
Johnson Obass), pictured at Molde,
Norway, in August 1980. Johnson
yi^as present on all post-'77
Warner LPs except the solo New
Conversations (1). The recently
released Last Waltz (10) caught the
trio atKeystone Korner, San
Francisco, in August and September
1980, just days before Evans's death.
 the Army
& After (1929-1955)
"THE IDEA OF DOING SOMETHING IN MUSIC THAT SOMEBODY
HADN'T THOUGHT OF OPENED A WHOLE NEW WORLD TO ME."

BILL EVANS ON AN IMPORTANT EARLY DISCOVERY

William John Evans was born in Plainfield, New Jersey, on August

l6th 1929, the second son of a Welsh father and Russian mother.
He grew up in a solidly middle-class family and in pleasant

suburban surroundings, and later described his childhood as "very happy and
secure".' His education too was untroubled, and when he moved from the
family home in 1946 at the age of 17 to Southeastern Louisiana College in
New Orleans it marked the start of the first sustained period he spent on his

own. By the time this born-and-raised Northerner reached New Orleans, he

had already been studying piano and music theory for a decade. Evans had
been attracted to the piano as an infant after hearing his older brother, Hariy,

Cuininuiiiiif> with ihu keys in Boston

 ^r

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 )

Bill Evans
taking elementar)' lessons: two years of Harry's efforts bouncing around the house finally led Bill to explore the
instrument that so absorbed his brother. His parents decided tliat six-year-old Bill was sufficiently mature to begin
piano lessons, and for the next five years he shared his brother's teacher, learning basic keyboard and reading
teclmiqiies through the classical pieces and exercises popular in pre-war America. He worked on Bach,
Ha>-dn, Beetlnoven, Dvorak and Mozart, for "tliree hours a day"- according to his later testimony.

E\'ans's initial exposure to music was thus tlirough classical music, reinforced by his parents' concern to
give their child a rounded education; by his second year of keyboard studies he was introduced to the violin.

During these early years he remained firmly in the shadow of his older brother, at least in his own eyes, and
constantly attempted to match Harry's feats. This family competition gave Bill a relish for hard work and
musical discipline that would remain with him for life. In combination with his natural intellectual curiosity

and wide reading habits, it would eventually make Evans a more fully equipped musician than the vast

majority of jazzmen of his generation.

He soon became a fast reader and highly proficient at the mechanical aspects of the keyboard. When
he was 10, he recalled later, "I got medals for playing Mozart and Schubert, but I couldn't even play 'My
Country Tis Of Thee' without the music. "^ He also learned the rudiments of good violin tone and fingering,
although by the time he was 13, in 1942, he preferred the flute as a second instalment. By then he had
discovered jazz through the excitement of boogie-woogie, and was quickly moved to emulate his new piano
heroes. He later quipped to pianist Marian McPartland: "I used to be the fastest boogie-woogie player in

central [New] Jersey. I made when I was 12, playing boogie-woogie."

have a cardboard disc someplace [that] I

Even a year before his death, when that interview took place, Evans was respectful of his first love in jazz.
"I started playing boogie-woogie, which is good it's the blues, and what better way to start playing jazz?'"*
. . .

Not only was Evans immersed in classical music and literature, he was evidently becoming quickly
proficient as a player increasingly familiar with popular music - enough to have depped at short notice for

his unwell brother in a local dance band at the age of 12. He would make further appearances with this outfit,

which dealt solely with stock arrangements of popular dance numbers and attempted no improvisation. (In
the early 19'iOs dance bands and jazz bands were perceived as very different entities in terms of musical worth
and entertainment potential; the jazz magazine Down Beat, for example, had two such distinct voting

categories for many years in its annual popularity polls.

During his gigs with the band Evans discovered the delights of harmonic substitution. In an oft-quoted
anecdote which he told on a number of occasions much later in life, he recalled an unplanned moment of
inspiration where he "put in a little blues thing". 'Tuxedo Junction', he would explain, is in B-flat. "I put in a
little D-flat, D, F thing, bang!, in the right hand. It was such a thrill . . . The idea of doing something in music
that somebody hadn't thought of opened a whole new world for me."' It was highly unusual in the 1940s
for someone brought up with the idea of music as an interpretative art for the player and a creative art for
the composer to find such delight in extemporisation. Few musicians of above-average calibre, black or
white, passed happily between the two artistic and musical di.sciplines. Of those who did, fewer still had
much to offer on either front.

Evans stayed on in Plainfield, New Jersey, until the completion of his high school education, developing
his music with hard work and exacting self-discipline. He believed he was only moderately gifted and that

he achieved what little he did through exhaustive training and the slow elimination of weaknesses or areas
of ignorance. He developed an exceptionally broad taste in classical music, focusing on particular favourite

composers who would forever have an effect on his feelings for harmony and form. Apart from more
modernist romantics, aesthetes and .symbolists such as Delius, Debussy, Satie and Ravel, Evans developed a
considerable appreciation of more unashamedly popular composers such as Grieg, Rachmaninov and
Chopin. All three were towering figures in American drawing-rooms, and Rachmaninov's US concerts were
highly acclaimed during the whole of Evans's youth. Parallel to this passion, Evans was a member of a

youthful semi-pro outfit nominally led by his brother. He also played with a band of professionals which
occasionally featured trumpeter/mellophone player Don Elliott, a man like Evans destined for wider success
 CHILDHOOD, YOUTH, THE ARMY AND AFTER 1929-1955

later in the following decade. It was also in this band that the teenage Evans met his first important musical
mentor in the jazz worid, bassist George Piatt. As Evans told interviewer Brian Hennessy, "George would call

out the changes for me without ever suggesting that I should have learned them for myself Finally, instead

of thinking of them as isolated changes, I worked out a system upon which traditional tlieory is based [and
I] gradually began to understand how the music was put together"''

In the fall of 1946 at the age of 17 Evans began the four-year undergraduate course at Southeastern
Louisiana College (SLC) on the outskirts of New Orleans, where he majored in music education and piano
saidies. He had gained his place there through the Music Department head, Dr Ralph R. Pottle, with whom
Evans would sustain a correspondence for years after his graduation (Pottle's son, Ralph Jr., was Evans's SLC
room-mate). In the southern climate and relaxed feel of New Orleans - tlie famous "Big Easy" - Evans
discovered a new approach to life. He found the town a perfect base for his musical and cultural excursions.

"I had just turned 17, and it was the first time I was on my own," he said later. "It's an age when everything
makes a big impression, and Louisiana impressed me big."'' In particular, Evans responded well to the relaxed
tempo of life in New Orleans and to the sheer amount of time he had to stvidy and pursue parallel interests
- and it was during this period that he began his lifelong interest in philosophy, botli Western and Eastern.
New Orleans provided a fine mix of musical stimulation, leisure and hard work. As well as becoming a
heavy-hitting "lefty" tennis player on campus, the young saident was gigging regularly witli a small-time

collegiate trio. The Casuals, occasionally depping on flute too. in New Orleans as well as the surrounding
areas. Evans revelled in the opportxmities, opening up to the world and absorbing a new culture that was so
unlike his own that it may as well have been in a foreign country. He came to love the locale and its special

ambience, recalling years later that "there was a kind of freedom there, different from anything in the Nortli.

The intercourse between the Negro and white was friendly, even intimate. There was no hypocrisy, and that's
important to me. I told this to Miles [Davis] when I was working with him and asked him if he understood
what I meant. He said he did."**

If Evans had been unwilling to step over the divide between "legitimate" music and jazz during his early

teens, preferring to gig occasionally around Plainfield but concentrate on classical repertoire and music
theory, then New Orleans and its environs pushed him toward jazz. As his interpretative ability at the

keyboard progressed and he studied composers who were to remain lifetime favourites - Delius, Ravel, Satie,

Debussy, Scriabin, Brahms - Evans realised that a career in music education was not his ideal. All through
his studies at SLC he had approached his work in a non-conformist fashion, often to the annoyance of his
teachers. "But they couldn't flunk me, because I played the instrument so well,"' he once told Gene Lees.
His enquiring mind and free spirit took him closer to jazz, as did his deepening determination to explore the
depths of hisown emotions and present them to his own public. He told Don Nelson in I960: "This trumpet

player in New Orleans used to put down his horn and comp at the piano. 'When he did, he
. . . got tliat deep,
moving feeling I've always wanted, and dragged me because I couldn't reach it."'" it

Even at this early stage, Evans was trying to combine all the musical traditions in which he was involved.
He wrote the first version of his sprightly waltz 'Very Early' while at SLC, though it had to wait until 1962 for

its first recording. By that time Evans would add considerable polish and sophistication to what is essentially

a study in modulations. It might have been considered unusual in the jazz of the late 1940s, even if the form
is a simple ABA. With its triple metre, the piece is a refreshing and innocent early work, not dissimilar in

character to the material Dave Baibeck was developing independently at the same time in the Bay area of
San Francisco.
Evans was by his own admission listening carefiiUy to the new lines of musical thought pursued at this

time by pianist Lennie Tristano and his acolytes. Many years later he specifically recalled admiring the
achievements of Tristano's 1949 recordings of Tautology' and 'Fishin' Around' with saxophonist Lee Konitz.
In particular, said Evans, he liked the way the group were "building their lines with a design and general
structure that was different from anything I'd ever heard in jazz".'' Pointedly, however, in the same I960
interview he said he had been more taken by Konitz and his tenor partner Warne Marsh than by Tristano
 Bill Evan
himself. Though Evans's 'Very Early' in iLs later guise showed no allegiance to bop, it does reveal itself to be
a not-so-distant cousin of Fats Waller's beautiful 'Jitterbug Waltz', written just half a decade eariier - although
the older man's harmonic firamework is simpler and perhaps more surefooted.
Yet it would be wrong to imply that Evans was under tlie excessive influence either of Waller or Tristano.
He said repeatedly through his mature career when questioned about his formative influences that "a guy is

influenced by hundreds of people and things, and they all show up in his work. To fasten on to any one is

ridiculous."'' It is also important to remember that at tliis time in his life Evans was still to embark upon a
full-time career in music, let alone jazz. That was another half-decade away. Yet the ambition was there. In
1979, revisiting the SLC campus, he was asked if he'd started out there with a jazz career in mind. "I have
probably precisely fulfilled what I had in mind, which was really to obtain a position in jazz which would
allow me to play where I liked and to have a trio and to record without any pressure, to have the freedom
to play the music I wanted to play. To that extent I did have it in my mind."'-''

Interestingly, his next tune that would survive to be recorded later was also a waltz - and perhaps his

most famous piece of all, 'Waltz For Debby'. He wrote soon afl;er his national service
it in the army, which
ran for three years from early 1951 to early 1954. He had graduated from SLC in April 1950 after enjoying
what he later claimed to be "certainly in the last two years here, the happiest years of my life".''* He came
away convinced that one of his College teachers in particular, Gretchen Magee, "gave me a good background
in musical theory and played a fundamental part in directing some of the inner workings of my music"." He
stayed in touch with Magee by letter for many years after his departure from Louisiana. In 1959 he wrote to
her: "I have always looked on your teaching as that rare and wonderful combination of exceptional
knowledge and the ability to bring it to life in the student's heart and mind. I believe you were the greatest

inspiration to me at college, and the seeds of insight and practical knowledge that you sowed have borne
fruit many times already.""^ The pieces that Evans played in order to graduate with honours included a
Prelude & Fugue from Bach's Well-Tempered Klavier, a Brahms Capriccio from Op. 116, a Scherzo from
Chopin, a Kabalevsky Prelude and, finally, a movement from Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.3 (in a two-
piano arrangement, witli a member of tlie teaching staff playing the orchestral reduction).
He gained his first professional experience after settling back in the New Jersey/New York State area.
Guitarist Mundell Lowe had seen Evans play in Missouri and told him to lookhim up in New York, but a
short-lived trio with Lowe and bassist Red Mitchell foundered on a lack of gigs. Evans supplemented the trio
work with a number of other jobs, many falling outside jazz altogether - weddings, bar mitzvahs and the like.
But he did play a memorable evening with the Buddy 'Valentino big band at the Renaissance Ballroom in

Harlem, opposite Nat King Cole, an early hero of Evans. He later recalled: "I sat at the same piano and played
the same keys that Nat Cole played! It was reverential."'^

His most important job of this period was playing piano in the semi-R&B band of saxophonist Herbie
Fields, a popular performer who had left Lionel Hampton's rip-roaring outfit in the post-war period in order

to lead a band of similar inclinations. Working with Fields, Evans experienced much the same ambivalence
toward R&B as many jazz musicians of the time. The swing big-bands were grinding to a commercial impasse
while the small-group jump bands and R&B units took over the "race" charts. Musicians who before would
have made a living touring constantly with the big-bands were having to move to the more commercially
viable R&B outfits and swallow hard on their jazz convictions. Evans, like any open-minded serious musician,
learned much from his tenure with Fields, who was, he said, "very patient with me".'^ Evans was pleased to
discover the dynamics required for accompanying soloists and singers, but the technique most often required
was to play loudly and with attack. He later commented that, with the Fields band, "I would come off the

stand with .split fingernails and .sore arms."" So much for the fabled Evans touch!
Evans left Fields not because he was dissatisfied with the music or his role within it, but because he was
called up for army service. "It looks as if I better brush up on piccolo," he wrote to Dr Potde in October 1950,
"because I received my selective-service physical examination notice last week, and it looks like I will leave

Herbie IFieldsj and go with Uncle Sam for a while."-" His experiences in the military were similar to those of

52
 CHILDHOOD, YOUTH, THE ARMY AND AFTER 1929-1955

many musicians of the period, and while he managed to avoid the more baitally prejudiced service camps
and NCOS, he would later recall no pleasurable memories of the army. And he had no time for organised
violence. When his musical ability and expertise were made known to the autliorities he was allowed to play

flute in his company's marching band, stationed near Chicago. He spent his off-duty hours listening to groups
on the Chicago scene. These jaunts, and his friendships with musicians Earl Zindars and Bill Scott, were the

only positive things to come from the period.

Evans had bitter feelings to express six years later. He told Don Nelson: "I took everything personally,
because I thought I was wrong. I was attacked by some guys for what I believed in, and by musicians who
claimed I should play like this pianist or that. Pretty soon I lost the confidence I had as a kid. I began to think

that everything I did was wrong."-' He also felt that he'd been left behind. "There was [the] tfiree-year

interruption of the Army. I used that as constructively as I could, but ... I was just out there, on the road after
school with a pretty good jazz band - Herbie Fields - and was just sopping it up and learning and learning
and, you know: the army ... So consequently I didn't really hit the scene in New York until I was 25."'-

At tlie end of his three years in the military Evans returned home - now Florida, where his parents had
moved upon his father's retirement. He still didn't know what he wanted to do, so spent a year working on
his piano technique and reading widely. After tlie destructive army experience he wanted to rebuild his

approach to music. He told Brian Hennessey years later, "It did not come easy. I did not have that natural
fluidity, and was not the type of person who just looks at the scene and, through some intuitive process,

immediately produces a finished product. I had to build my music very consciously, from the bottom up."-'
It was during this year that ''Waltz For Debby' was first conceived, as revealed many years later by Evans
during a radio interview and musical demonstration witli Marian McPartland. This sparkling solo piano waltz,
a portrait of a young niece, has an underlying sense of calm joy. It shows a decided affinity with the rhythmic

and stylistic flourishes of Chopin, in particular, and has very little of what may be termed jazz content.

A man of naairal scholarly bent and witli the necessary discipline to teach himself, Evans spent time at

the family home reading a good deal of philosophy, as well as keeping up his interest in literature from all

periods. His fondness for Eastern philosophy and especially Zen was often commented upon during his life

by reviewers and inter\'iewers, especially after tlie sleevenote to Kind Of Blue where he famously described
the Japanese calligrapher's art as similar in spontaneity to Miles Davis's contemporary group. However, he
regarded Zen ideas and lessons as only part of a larger philosophical firmament. Unlike contemporaries such
as Beat writers Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, Evans had not launched into Eastern philosophy before
taking any coherent interest in the Western variety. He had already read Plato, Kant, Wittgenstein, Voltaire
and many others before being introduced to Zen by a friend (who had himself been steered to it by the great

British intellectual and latter-day mystic Aldous Huxley). In 1954, however, Zen was a good five years or so

from being part of everyday American college culture, so Evans had to search widely for books on the subject,
at last finding what he wanted in the Philosophical Library in Manhattan. Having digested the message, Evans
moved on. In I960 he allowed that he was "not interested in Zen that much as a philosophy ... I don't
pretend to understand it. I just find it comforting. And veiy similar to jazz. Like jazz, you can't explain it to

anyone without losing the experience. It's got to be experienced, because it's a feeling, not words."-''

After the leisurely, low-key, broad-based preparation of this "research" year at home, it was logical for

Evans to move to New York and, once settled there, to round off his formal music education. He began a
stint at the Mannes School of Music in 1955, in particular exploring composition more fully. He also began
looking for work playing jazz around the clubs, bars and other venues. His obvious competence and his
rounded, flexible approach attracted the attention of musicians who heard him, although he remained a
complete unknown to tlie jazz public. For some years to come Evans would, in his own words, play "all the
jobs and the weddings . . . When I had started to record already, had won the New Jazz Critics' Poll, New
Talent, or whatever it was ... I still had my tuxedo regularly cleaned and pressed. And was playing the
Friendship Club in Brooklyn three nights a week, in Roseland and all that kind of - y'know - 'society' gigs."^'

New York, as Evans would later note in an anagrammatic song title of his own, was no lark.
 C HA P TE R 3

in New York City

(1955-1958)
"IHAPPEN TO FEEL VERY STRONGLY ABOUT BELNG EQULPPED,
MUSLCALLY, TO SPEAK EOR YOURSELF."

BILL EVANS, ALREADY IN SELF-RELIANT MODE

Evans settled into his tiny New York apartment and began his studies at

Mannes, additionally chasing worthwhile jazz work, hooking up with

any of his old contacts who might lead him to better things. So it was
that he renewed his acquaintance with Don Elliott, the multi-instrumentalist
he'd met when both men were New Jersey teenagers. Elliott now had a high-
profile jazz career. Evans also got in touch again with Mundell Lowe, now the
guitarist in clarinettist Tony Scott's group, and began sitting in, but his first

regular work came from another clarinettist, Jerry Wald. Evans worked on an
LP, The Singing Reed, late that same summer, under the leadership of double-
bassist and singer Lucy Reed. Evans's friend of some years' standing. Reed was

Evans (opposite) finds his place among the instniinents

54
 "A-

mi
^IM

,.„,^,/iyituini:Ti'V3lt;'"V^Tirtfi"'^Jtn'\
 Bill Evans
originally from St Pmil, Minnesota, unci had worked with bandleaders Woody Herman and Charlie Ventura
before settling down to long runs as a solo in Chicago and New York. For more tlian a year Reed had sung
witliout management or profile in New York clubs, but was now making her way in the city and impressing
fellow musicians, if not the general public. During tlie course of preparing for the LP date she also
orchestrated a significant meeting between her two friends. Bill Evans and composer-theoretician George
Russell. .Mthough the record was not of great moment - was subsequently reviewed by Down Beat
artistic it

in tlieir "Popular" section - underlined Reed's own musical integrity. In a 1957 Down Beat intei-view she
it

said. "I find songs that mean so much to me because I've had experience, more than many of the younger
. . .

chicks singing today. I'm 35. The tunes are meaningful to me because I've lived them."' Of the small circle
of singers with whom Evans recorded, Reed is far from tlie least memorable. She invited Evans, George
Russell and a few otliers to contribute arrangements for the LP, while Evans's piano accompaniment was
greatly appreciated by the singer Asked in that Down Beat interview about her current favourite groups, she
replied unambiguously: "I'd love to have The Modern Jazz Quartet backing me ... I dig Tony Scott's group,
too. Bill Evans has never played better."'

Evans had become a regular with Tony Scott's group in the time between the completion of Reed's
album and its release, and the job would be a mainstay in Evans's increasingly busy professional life. Scott

had re-convened his small group earlier in 1955 after spending nine months as musical director to singer
Harry Belafonte, then one of the hottest live acts around. Scott had already worked with such big names as
Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday and Claude Thornhill. The formation of a new group was the start of a
concerted effort on Scott's part to become a leader with a large public following, an effort rewarded by his

success throughout the rest of the 1950s, when he won popularity polls over the likes of Benny Goodman,
Jimmy Giuffre and Buddy DePranco and regularly toured internationally. In January 1956 Scott landed a

contract with RCA Victor, then a major company with a considerable investment in the "cool" end of modern
jazz. 'While Evans was not present on Scott's initial RCA date, he worked regularly with the clarinettist
throughout 1956 and '57, also fitting in a great deal of pick-up work with other leaders.

Meanwhile, Evans's summer-1955 introduction to George Russell through Lucy Reed soon proved pivotal

in his early career. Russell had been sufficiently impressed by his grasp of theory, pianistics and jazz feel to

offer him a recording date for the LP that Russell had been asked to make in a special series planned by RCA
Victorand overseen by Hal McKusick. The series was intended to showcase the art of the modern jazz
arranger/composer - others involved included John Carisi, Gil Evans and McKusick himself Evans said later,
"It was a wonderftil thing for me, because there were many pianists around New York who could have done
the job, but George gave me the opportxmity."'' Considering their backgrounds and aesthetic inclinations, the

match was a natural one. Russell was (and still is) a rigorous and original music theorist. His father had been
a professor of music at Oberlin University. Attracted to jazz as a teenager in the 1930s, Russell must have
feared that his career was over before it started when he contracted TB in 1942. But his long recuperation at

a sanatorium allowed for his first concerted music studies, at this time mastering the basics of orchestration.
His healtli remained variable throughout the 1940s, with a relapse in 1945/46 providing time for him to begin

work on the thesis which was to govern both his subsequent career and his long-term reputation in music.

The book that evolved from this work, Tloe Lydian Concept Of Tonal Organization, was published in its

original form in 1953. Russell's was a highly individual approach to the organisation of musical harmony and
form. He has often described it as his "life-work" and has continued to expand Lipon and deepen the theory.

In the early 1950s, however, he was respected among modern jazz musicians as a composer and arranger,
regardless of his indifferent showing as a pianist or drummer for various groups. His compositions first

became widely known through 'Cubana Be' and 'Ctibana Bop' which he wrote for Dizzy Gillespie in the
1940s. Russell was accepted as an outstanding talent even by stich hard taskmasters as the group of musicians

ba.sed around Lennie Tristano. They were the first to record his 'Ezz-thetic', a wonderfully disguised reworking
of the harmfjnic underpinning of Cole Porter's 'Love For Sale'. Asked in 1986 about his role in the evolution
of jazz, Russell said, "I think Ithe Lydian Concept] made contemporary music - and I don't just mean jazz -

56
 A PROFESSIONAL IN NEW YORK CITY 1955-1958

conscious of modes. It introduced modal consciousness in terms that no one was thinking about, certainly
not jazz musicians nor, as far as I know, symphonic musicians. The Concept simply codified the modes and
introduced chord-scale unity. In other words, for every chord there's a scale of unity, and this gives the jazz
musician greater resources ... Miles [Davis] picked up on the idea first, and he popularised it.'"' Russell's

elegant and far-reaching ideas brought untold riches to jazz and other contemporary musics, yet he would
exist in precarious financial circumstances until moving to Europe in the 1960s to assume a parallel career in

music education. Evans freely acknowledged Russell's impact on his musical thinking and his career. "I

respect George to the utmost," he said many years later. "[He's] a pure musician with complete integrity."

Evans would demonstrate that respect by commissioning a large-scale work from Russell on more than one
occasion. Back in 1956, however, it was Russell who gave Evans the breaks.
Evans was invited to a March 1956 session for Russell's Jazz Workshop album in the RCA Workshop
Series. The pianist proves himself an admirable accompanist on four tracks for the likes of tmmpeter Ait

Farmer, guitarist Barry Galbraith and reedsman McKusick, and on Russell's 'Ezz-thetic' takes a solo which
reveals a huge delight in the piece's unexpected harmonic resolutions and double-feints. He plays with a
forceful touch reminiscent of Bud Powell, while his extreme melodic economy, spun out in unusually long
cadences, indicates the ghost of Lennie Tristano. It is a cogent and arresting statement that more than justifies

Russell's faith in using him on the date. Gerry Mulligan, hearing the performance in one of Down Beats
Blindfold Tests in 1957, commented: "I don't know who it is but the tune is 'Ezz-Thetic', It's a George Russell
tune ... The piano solo was good - good constaiction and nice momentum."'
Evans completed tlie Russell album during two further sessions in October and late December 1956. By

then he had made his debut on record as a leader and completed two LPs with Tony Scott. His first recording
with Scott was in July 1956 as part of a big-band showcase for the clarinettist, eventually titled We Touch Of
Tony Scott. Evans managed a strong feature on 'Round Midnight', one of four quartet tracks made to round
out the album. On 'Aeolian Drinking Song', where the relatively bare harmonic plan based on the Aeolian
mode allowed him great melodic freedom, Evans used the single-note style he would extend on record for

the rest of the year.

By this time Mundell Lowe was in the process of leaving Scott's group, which remained a quartet for live

work. This line-up underpimied the big-band arrangements that dominated December's We Complete Tony
Scott (also on RCA) to which Evans contributed piano accompaniment and an arrangement of his own, a

resourceful reworking of Richard Caipenter's 'Walkin'. It sat rather uneasily with the rest of Scott's album,
openly dedicated "to 'William Basic of Redbank, New Jersey" and which used virtually tlie entire Count Basic
band (down to Freddie Green on guitar) as sessionmen.

In conception and method, Evans's work on ''Walkin' is strongly reminiscent of George Russell's thematic
dissections and linear writing. Initially stressing die blues clement of the melody's intervals, he quickly begins
weaving counterpoint lines between band sections and intensifying the mood of the music by modulations
and such typically Russell methods as contrary movement and imitation, even as accompaniment to the brief

solos. A busy three minutes of music!

The Evans arrangement of "'Walkin' was played to pianist Teddy 'Wilson by Leonard Featlier in another

Down Beat Blindfold Test in 1957, 'Wilson unsurprisingly finding the arrangement of the simple riff-like tune
the most attractive part of the performance. He said: "I found this arrangement interesting - the untying of
the different sections and the things the instraments had to do that were written. Some of the figures I thought
were a little too cute, but the arranger is definitely on the right track. He's trying to get a nice, flowing swing
in the band and [is] making things happen that are intelligible to the listener."^ Evans's only solo of note on
tlie album is on medium-tempo blues which was its last
the long track. Time To Go'. Sounding nothing like

Basic in a setting which was an open imitation of the Basic blues style, Evans sticks to single-note right-hand

lines that still retain rhythmic and harmonic interest in their own right.

Evans's first album as leader. New Jazz Conceptions, was recorded for Riverside in two sessions in

September 1956 and released early the following year. It received good reviews, Down Beat caWma, Evans "a
Bill Eva n s

man Hi dig". Ri\erside A.S:R man Orrin Ki;epnews recalled many years later. "By the end of 1957, a full year
after it was issued, total sales had barely reached 800 copies."^ Considering the nature of the music and
E\ans's non-existent public profile, this is no surprise. Perhaps the surprise is that the album was made at all,

given that Exans himself was at first diffident about the idea. Keepnews has told the story of Evans joining
number of differing details, but is accepted that Evans's old colleague Mundell
Ri\'erside man\' times, with a it

Lowe made the initial connection. Keepnews claimed in his liner notes to the original release that "it took
some time for us to convince him that he was ready to record"** and that, once Evans had accepted the
rationale for making the date, he prepared carefully, choosing his own musicians; drummer Paul Motian from
the Tony Scott group, plus the able Teddy Kotick, also previously with Scott, on bass. This care and
preparation would prove to be consistent with Evans's approach for the rest of his professional career.

The original LP release contained 11 carefully sequenced tracks displaying a concern for pacing and an
attractively wide taste in standards, and no fewer than four Evans originals. (CD reissues have preserved this

and include a first take of the Evans blues, 'No Cover, No Minimum', while the Complete Riverside hoxed set
disturbs the amning order to group the tracks in trio, duo and solo sequence. ) In his liner notes Keepnews
quoted Evans discussing his feelings about originality and influences, as relevant today as they were then.

"Too many young musicians, [Evans] feels, merely try to find the man they want to follow and then proceed
to try to be exactly like him - not just musically, but even by seeking to 'live the same life'. But, not having

really developed as themselves, such men are apt to be severely handicapped: having little or no 'musical
vocabulary for expressing their own personality', they are forced to rely on 'someone else's vocabulary',

making them much more likely to become imitators than creators. 'I don't mean to be lecturing on this

subject,' Bill notes. 'It's a problem I'm certainly still wrestling with to an extent. But I happen to feel very

strongly about this matter of being equipped, musically, to speak for yourself.'"'
From the first track of New Jazz Conceptions, a typically well-organised Evans arrangement of Cole
Porter's '1 Love You', the freshness of his conception is evident. He presages the melody with a vamp over a
series of pedal tones anticipating Porter's changes, then delivers the melody using the locked-hands technique
he admired so much in Nat Cole and George Shearing. "When it comes to improvisation, his concentration

on long, Powell-like horn lines is complete, though the constant shifting of emphasis in the 8th-notes reveals
what became a central concern for Evans: the creation of tension, unity and interest through rhythmic
displacement within a relatively narrow range of notes.
This displacement is equally evident in the following track, the Evans original 'Five' (which he would
record again the following year under Tony Scott's leadership). The theme itself is a careful study in staggered

time in the manner of Monk, though Evans's own piano technique does not allow him to deliver it in quite

the staccato fashion that a player such as Monk would have used. Yet Evans manages to convey a definite

personality of his own, with the kind of jauntiness found in a similar figure used by Stan Kenton's band on
'Blues In Burlesque' around the same time. The harmonic underpinning strongly suggests 'I Got Rhythm', a
Gershwin tune that has supplied the framework for more than its fair share of jazz "originals". In his solo,
Evans uses right-hand flourishes closely identified with Powell and Horace Silver; in the next track, a brief
unaccompanied am through 'I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)', Evans adopts the approach used by Tatiim,
Powell and Erroll Garner, using block-chord theme statements liberally embellished by long right-hand
arabesques and ornate fills.

His unaccompanied, out-of-tempo opening for George Shearing's 'Conception' falso recorded in the

1950s by Powell) once again finds Evans attempting to shape the performance through a device favoured on
occasion by Powell as well as Tatum and Shearing him.self. The forward momentum generated during his

accompanied solo, played at a bright but not fast tempo, comes from the rare pauses in his long melodic
lines and a heavy use of syncopated 8th-notes struck with considerable force. None of this playing is far

removed from what was being attempted by others of his generation, from Wynton Kelly to Sonny Clark, and
only in the overtly romantic playing on the ballad 'Easy Living' do we get a clearer glimp.se of the emerging
Evans personality. Again, his touch is heavy in the improvisations, but there are hints of what is to come in
 A PROFESSIONAL IN NEW YORK CITY 1955-1958

the use of chord inversions unusual in jazz at the time, in progressions based on minor sevenths, and in a

willingness to let the melody breathe.

With Evans's own 'Displacement' closing the first side of New Jazz Conceptions we find him in one of
his favourite musical areas: using rhythmic displacement to generate interest, excitement and - eventually -
improvisatory form. At a relatively fast canter he delivers a block-chord theme not far removed from the
contemporary efforts of Dave Bmbeck (and with similar absence of subtlety), while his solo is almost entirely
dependent on Powell-like devices, including right-hand pauses as the left hand plays a little rhythmic octave
vamp. At ju.st over two minutes' duration the track is remarkably short compared to the long blowing sessions
favoured by a number of New York record companies at this time.

'Speak Low' is littered with references to other players, from Cole (in the left hand) to Powell (the harshly
dissonant re-voicing of the verse) and Shearing (the smoothness of the overall harmonic re-working). ''Waltz

For Debby', another solo performance, brings us into a veiy different musical world, one which would
become familiar to Evans lovers the world over witliin a few years. Again, the performance is short - not
much more than a minute - and consists of a tlieme statement only. Here Evans seems to borrow stylistically

from Brubeck, using ritardando and accelerando to accenMate the theme's winsome grace, and employing
widely-spread chord voicings to achieve a "splashy", rather grand sound. The tune's classical roots seem
submerged, the song sounding closer to a Disney confection - 'Someday My Prince Will Come', perhaps -
with the waltz seeming pretty rather than sublime. Evans would do much more with tliis theme within a short

space of time, but here, in the midst of a programme of conventional piano-trio modern jazz, it seived to
point the listener in new and enticing directions.
Tadd Dameron's 'Our Delight' brings out perhaps the most wholly bop-oriented performance on the
record. 'My Romance', the third short solo piece, is given the out-of-tempo treatment bon'owed from Powell,
Tatum and Garner, but at least in its intense reworking of Richard Rogers's chords shows how passionately
Evans was involved in tlie song's inner workings. He would remrn to this piece on more than one occasion.
For now, he finishes up his debut LP with 'No Cover, No Minimum', a blues which at over seven minutes is
a good two minutes longer than any other track. His immediate double-tempoing on this slow duple-time
performance suggests a level of discomfort with the form, as do the echoes of Tristano and tlie number of
stock pianistic blues phrases hammered out with no particular regard for the solo's shape or continuity.
New Jazz Conceptions conclusively demonstrated Evans to be a highly competent and sophisticated
modern jazz pianist widi a definite compositional gift, but also showed him to be considerably short of a

unified musical personality. It would be no coincidence that he would not make another album as leader for

close on rwo-and-a-half years. As he said to his producer, who was waiting rather bemusedly for the follow-
up album: "[I] didn't have anything particularly different to say."'" That may well have been tlie case for him
as a leader, but as a sideman he would continue to grow and shape his style, and in the next 12 months
made decisive moves towards maturity. The first steps had been taken in the two remaining recording
sessions for George Russell's /azzr Workshop 2.\hum for RCA, in October and December 1956. Some six months
or so after the ininal recordings, Russell's admiration for Evans's playing had grown to tlie point where Russell

constmcted a piece, 'Concerto For Billy The Kid', as a vehicle for Evans - much in the way tliat Ellington

created cameo settings for his great soloists. Using counterpoint and a swirling rhythm, Russell initially sets

up a dense and dissonant texaire using a minor scale on top of a pedal point. This resolves into a fast-moving

set of major-minor modulations over which Evans solos, to a stop-time rhythm from drums and bass, at a

considerable rate and with the right hand only. Thus half the solo is given added drama while Evans spins
out a series of long lines using phrases which would soon become characteristic. Tightly-revolving patterns

and repetitions propel the solo into its second half, where a normal common-time pulse is once more
established behind him. The performance is lean, dynamic and concentrated, a virtuosic display witli

immediate impact. It demonstrates Evans's ability to swing hard across unusual harmonic constnacts and
contrasting rhythmic conditions. Along with the amiospheric Ravel-like inversions of the slow and mysterious
'The Ballad Of Hix Blewett', it hints at a newly emerging artistic maairity. At tlris stage of his musical career,
 Bill Evans
while slill woikinj; as a sideman, E\ans had neither the budget nor scope to go much further. But the
advances he would make over the next 12 months, up to the point where he joined the iVIiies Davis band,
would prove to be especially significant for his personal anistic growth.

As E\ans entered 1957 he had completed the Russell project, recorded his first LP as a leader, and
rounded off the work on Tony Scott's project for RCA, ne Complete Tony Scott. Within a short while Scott
left to go overseas, working as a .solo, and Evans had to cast around for work while keeping up his practice

schedule. In the back pages of Down Beat in January he was quoted - apropos of nothing at all - as saying

that a critic is "a man who makes money telling musicians how not to"."
The connection witli George Russell bore faiit again in the late spring of '57. Gunther Schuller's Music
For Brass project for Columbia in 1956 had, along with SchuUer and John Lewis's Jazz & Classical Music
Society, brought Schuller's "Third Stream" of music to a listening audience. SchuUer saw classical music as the
First Stream and jazz as the Second, and wanted to create in the 1950s a hybrid Third Stream that combined
the best and most characteristic creative energies and disciplines of both. Now a follow-up concert to Music
For Brass was planned, with Evans invited to take part. It had been commissioned in April 1957 by Brandeis
University, tlie performance taking place in late June, with SchuUer and Russell sharing the conducting. For
technical reasons the event was recreated for recording a few days later at Columbia's 30th Street studio in

Nev\' York City, and released as Modern Jazz Concert. It called upon George Russell, Charies Mingus and
Jimmy Giuffre from jazz, plus Milton Babbitt, Harold Shapero and SchuUer from modern "legitimate" music.

For the new performance and album, Evans played on both the Mingus and Russell compositions,
sticking to a written ensemble role in the Mingus piece, 'Revelations (First Movement)'. In the Russell work,

however, he had a key ensemble position plus the solo spotlight in the third movement. 'All About Rosie'

was based on a children's song, each section being a facet of a child's character as perceived by Russell. The
piece alerted influential musicians and observers to the fact that Evans was emerging as a pianist of superior
skills and capabilities. SchuUer, in his notes to the original LP release, comments on the third section of 'Rosie'.

"The fast, relentless pace of the opening is resumed, with the element of improvisation added. Outstanding
in this respect is Bill Evans's remarkable piano solo. The ideas are imaginative and well related, but - more
than that - Bill's muscular, blues-based playing here fits dramatically into the composition as a whole."''
What Evans achieves in this hard-driving and for the most part single-line, densely argued solo is not far
removed from his efforts for Russell in the studio the previous December. But there is an added confidence
underlining that, if nothing else, his absorption of the Tristano legacy was now complete. Dom Cenilli,

reviewing the Modern Jazz Concert LP release for Down Beat, considered 'Rosie' as the record's most gripping
and exciting composition. "In it, as noted by SchuUer, pianist Evans contributes a remarkable piano solo,

pulsing with life, and driving with stated and implied rhytlims and accents. Evans's work, at the very least

the most demanding of the entire set, should serve to establish him as a significant pianist on today's scene. "'^
For many musicians, this was as important a musical statement as any that Evans would make prior to

establishing his own trio. Gerry Mulligan, for example, said when his Concert Big Band made its own
recording of Russell's chart in 1961, "I asked George to write something for the band, and when he turned
in 'All About Rosie' I the recording he made of the piece with that fantastic
almost died. I was haunted by
piano solo by Jimmy Knepper and Charles Mingus, two of the musicians closely involved in the
Bill Evans."'''

Brandeis performance and Modern Jazz Concert LP, would make some significant music on record with Evans
before the year was out. But the pianist's next major job - leaving aside a routine studio date as a sideman
in guitarist Joe Puma's quartet - was at the Newport Jazz Fe.stival in July 1957,
Evans, as a member of the Don Elliott Quartet which played an afternoon session on July 6th, appeared
on one of the 'Verve LPs of that year's festival that combined Elliott's set with performances by the Eddie Costa
and Mat Mathews groups. Evans appeared on three numbers, including a trio version of 'I Love You' that

reprised more or less unchanged the 1956 version he'd recorded for Riverside. His playing, in the gregarious

and relaxed atmosphere generated by Elliott, is apposite and competent without seeking attention. His touch
remains heavier than it became in his first maturity, and his attention to Bud Powell in paiticular is quite plain,

60
 A PROFESSIONAL IN NEW YORK CITY 1955-1958

One critic who noticed his talent was Down Becil reviewer Don Gold. Given all 14 Veive albums released
from the 1957 festival to review in one sitting, he said about the Elliott set: "Evans is the standout performer
on the three ames - 'Dancing In The Dark', 'I Love You' and 'S 'Wonderful' - contributing a quality

performance on the second tune. Apart from Evans's contribution, however, the set is not memorable."'^
In the month following the festival Evans got a call from bassist and composer Charles Mingus who
wanted him to participate in a recording session for the Bethlehem label. Mingus had heard Evans to good
advantage on the Schuller session, while his trombonist of the time, Jimmy Knepper, was working regularly
on dates with Evans outside Mingus's band. Mingus was using up pianists in quick succession during the

summer of 1957, recording with Hampton Hawes and Bill Triglia in July. According to an anecdote that Evans
himself told,"^ in early August he received a telegram from Mingus requesting his presence at a recording
session at 10am the following day. A seasoned professional by now, Evans made the session and added
idiomatically correct music to the Mingus hot-pot. On "West Coast Ghost' (its bridge presaging harmonically
Mingus's 1964 composition 'Meditations On Integration') he uses the simple, prodding minor triads in the left

hand much favoured by Mingus himself for accompaniment when the leader sat at the piano.

In the liner essay accompanying the original release of the LP, East Coasting, Nat Hentoff noted "the
emotional accuracy with which young pianist Bill Evans, who sight-read most of the parts on this record date,
fitted into Mingus's demands".'^ His solos, more restrained and clear than his work for other employers, show
a deepening regard for pacing and colour, while his voicings for the quiedy yearning ballad 'Celia' tease out

a slighdy different, more airy romanticism than Mingus usually allows. Evans's sensitivity and imagination
allowed him to be a fine creative foil for Mingus's larger musical ambitions. The eventtial Doum Beat review
was aware of this. "Evans is an excitingly fresh pianist," wrote Don Gold, "constantly in command of himself
and his instrument. 'What impresses me here is his devotion to the material at hand . . . Knepper and Evans
are perfect companions for Mingus in the venture."'^

Soon after this Evans made V^'O records he made with Mingus band members. First was trombonist
Jimmy Knepper's September 1957 album for Bethlehem, A Swinging Introduction, and then a few months
later an all-star date with altoist Sahib Shihab for the Savoy label with Knepper, Shihab, bassist Henry Grimes
and drummer Paul Motian. Shihab and Knepper also joined Evans on a series of tracks released under the
title The Modern Art OfJazz and made under Tony Scott's aegis for the Seeco group of companies. The two
sides of Evans's development were aptly illustrated on The Modern Art OfJazz: Evans's own 'Five' was given
a brisk and disciplined workout by Scott's group; while a long, discursive look at 'Lullaby Of The Leaves'
(minus Scott, who drops out on this track) would not have seemed out of place on a Mingus album of the
period, such is the spare, brooding but lyrical aura that Knepper, Shihab and Evans evoke. The uneven but
interesting Modern Art OfJazz received a lukewarm welcome from Doivn Beats Martin Williams on release

in 1958. "There is a praiseworthy variety in the programming of this LP," he commented, "but there is also

what seems to me an air of pressure on many of the tracks which only a few men escape ... At any rate, I

think that Tony Scott's problem is one of relaxation . . . The comparative ease of Shihab, Evans and Motian
(although all, except Motian who is very good, have played better on records) seems undeniable. "''
Evans remained busy in and around New York during the fall and winter of 1957. In November, Doum
Beat reported a three-night appearance by the Bill Evans quartet opposite Anita O'Day at the Cork & Bib
club, immediately after the singer had wowed the 'Village Vanguard audience and set new attendance records
there. As 1958 began, Evans saw more action as a sideman, including a quartet date with vibes player and
pianist Eddie Costa (who had recendy won a New Star Pianist award from Down Beat critics), a full studio

album with his friend Don Elliott in February, and an appearance on half a Helen Merrill session for EmArcy.
A session with Hal McKusick in April 1958 returned him to the repertoire and arrangements of George Russell
(along with material from Ernie 'Wilkins, Jimmy Giuffre and others) and to most of the band that had made
Russell's date for RCA in 1956. Evans responded in much the same way as he had before, showing
unmistakeable masteiy of his material and the arrangers' styles on standards and originals. But April 1958
would be most important to Evans as the month he was ushered into the Miles Davis Sextet.
 C HA P T E R 4

Meeting
Miles (1958)

"THE SOUND GOT WAS LLICE CRYSTAL NOTES OR SPARKLING

BILL
WATER CASCADING DOWN FROM SOME CLEAR WATERFALL"

MILES DAVIS ON EVANS

Miles Davis was experiencing

growth and audience
a period of unprecedented musical
appreciation. His big-band collaboration
with arranger Gil Evans, Miles Ahead, had gathered critical and
popular approval around the world, while his original quintet - with
saxophonist John Coltrane, pianist Red Garland, bassist Paul Chambers and
drummer Philly Joe Jones - had made a string of classic records and many
between 1955 and 1957.
revelatory personal appearances
Davis was hardly an innocent when it came to drug abuse, yet had
disbanded this group in the late spring of 1957 because of his increasing
exasperation with the erratic behaviour and unreliability of the heavy drug

With Miles Dai'is in New York for a Kind Of Blue session, 1959

62
 ^; -^
s^-
 Bill Evans
Lisers in ihe bund, especially Coltnine. The saxophonist had been the first to go, right at the end of 1956,
temporarily replaced by Sonny Rollins. During the summer and autumn of '57 Davis began to reconsider the
musical requirements for his small group and his general artistic development. By the end of the year he had
assembled a sextet which included his old rhythm section, a newly heroin-free Coltrane back from his famous
stint at tlie Five Spot with Thelonioiis Monk, and the urbanely fiery, soulful alto of Cannonball Adderley. But

there Vi-ould be further musical changes as Miles sought out what he wanted to hear. In the meantime, the
Sextet made Milestones, revealing the first results of Davis's new fascination with the application of modes to

jazz. Until now, modern jazz had been based on "running the changes", in other words resolving harmonies
and chord changes. Modal jazz replaced this with harmonies that were static, or moved very rarely, and was
based on the use of scales.

By mid spring 1958 Garland and Jones were gone from Davis's group. Jones was replaced by Jimmy
Cobb, while the 28-year-old Bill Evans came in for Garland. Evans's friend George Russell helped him get

hired - by giving him a lift to the gig where he was to audition for Davis. In a later radio interview, Russell

remembered going to a club at Bedford and Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. "After the intermission [Davis] asked Bill

to come up and play," said Russell, "and that night he hired him on the spot. He said 'You're going to
Philadelphia with us next Saturday.'"'
Evans himself said later, "I thought that Miles was the king of modern jazz at this time, but until his call

I had never spoken to him ... I made this date and he asked me to stay with the band."' In his autobiography

Davis explained that "Red's playing had carried the rhythm, but Bill underplayed it and for what I was doing
now with the modal thing, I liked what Bill was doing better. I still liked Red and brought him back on a

few occasions, but I mostly liked him when we were going through that Ahmad [Jamal] thing. Bill could play
a little like that Ahmad thing too, although when he did, he sounded a little wild."'
Evans did not introduce Davis to the notion of modal playing in jazz, but the pianist already knew about
it, having responded brilliantly to George Russell's highly individual application of Lydian modality in jazz

composition and arrangement. Davis claimed to have been impelled to modality by watching an African ballet
troupe perform in New York, but perhaps he too got his initial jolt from Russell. Davis wrote later, "George
Russell used to say that in modal music, C is where F should be. He says that the whole piano starts at F.
What I had learned about the modal form is that when you play this way [and] go in this direction, you can

go on forever.'"*

Evans's pianistic and musical attributes - unique at the time in jazz - made him uncannily receptive and
responsive to Davis's ideas. He could also bring in his own musical imagination and develop these ideas past
Davis's own starting points, even if at first he felt somewhat overawed by the idea of playing with a group
full of what he considered "giants". Davis's greatness came from his capacity to inspire these imaginative leaps

in others, at the same time becoming so excited by them himself that he would outreach what he had already
achieved. Evans's rich harmonic knowledge, plus his ability to apply it to jazz improvisation and
accompaniment, provided the band with the light and shade necessary to refresh the ear of a soloist working
with scales rather than chords.
The inspiration was reciprocated, for there is no doubt that Davis's ideas provided the perfect context
for Evans's harmonic sense. Years of practice and study had given Evans what he described as "a complete
understanding of everything I was doing",' equipping the pianist with the knowledge to respond in fresh and
exciting ways to the limitless substitutions, partial inversions, harmonic methods of form constmction, and
expanded inner voicings that Davis's new approach invited. Evans's intellect and his own artistic imagination
ccjLild make connections between the harmonic practices of earlier 20th-century composers - from Debussy,
Satie and Ravel thrfjugh Scriabin tf) Bartok and Milhaud - and their application to improvised music.
Particularly adept in his manipulation of minor-seventh progressions and in moving between tonalities, Evans
learned from the ambiguities of tonality perfected by Debussy and Ravel. He also revelled in the implications
of the wider chord intervals .systematically employed by Bartok, who sometimes abandoned conventional
tonality, and Milhaud, who consciously embraced bitonality. Evans would repeatedly shift implied tonality

64
 MEETING MILES 1958

through chords where the resolving note, or tonic, is deliberately abandoned. This also allowed Evans to

quickly and elegantly refashion the harmonic structures of conventional jazz and standards to create a more
personalised, subjective approach to well-known repertoire - an approach that would come to its peak in

tlie trio years still in front of him. He began systematically to employ what is known as quartal harmony. This

means the articulating of a chord on the piano in a way that allows each interval in the chord to be a

minimum of four steps apart on the given scale. This wider intervallic spread added greatly to the richness

of the music's texture and led Evans to explore the beauty of a chord's upper parts. This is nowhere more
dramatically illustrated tlian in his famous introduction to the Miles Davis Sextet's 1958 recording of 'On Green
Dolphin Street'. At that recording session Davis had asked Evans for simple but vital harmonic shifts in the

introductory passage. Evans later remembered this was "[on] the original changes of the chorus . . . the vamp
changes being a major seventh, up a minor third, down half a tone. That was . . . when [Miles] leaned over
and said 'I want this here.'"*

Davis's request for simplification led to a distillation of the song's essence by sideman Evans, equal to

tliat which Davis would extract from John McLaughlin on Joe Zawinul's In A Silent Way' a decade later.

Evans's harmonic substitutions on the newly simplified structure of the intro to 'Dolphin Street' bring a
completely new emotional and intellectual dimension to the standard. Davis himself accurately described the
effect of those progressions, so new and influential to modem jazz. "Bill brought a great knowledge of
classical music," wrote Davis, "people like Rachmaninov and Ravel. He was the one who told me to listen to

. . . Ajturo Michelangeli . . . Bill had this quiet fire that I loved on piano. The way he approached it, the sound
he got was like crystal notes or sparkling water cascading down from some clear waterfall."^

In his short tenure with Davis, Evims continued to develop a dual approach. His unobtrusive but ever-
apposite harmonisations on standard Davis repertoire such as ''Walkin', 'Bye Bye Blackbird' and 'AlvLeu-Cha'
do not move far from what Garland would have supplied, although Evans's touch and use of space and tlie

choice of rhytlimic emphasis were very different to his predecessor Meanwhile, on the fresh material Davis
and Evans were developing for the studio, his spare style and unique system of chord substitutions had a
profound effect. The first surviving recorded evidence of his work with Davis is a bootlegged radio broadcast
of May 17th 1958 from New York's Cafe Bohemia, where only Coltrane of the two saxophonists is present.

The repertoire is completely standard Davis fare for the time: 'Four', 'Bye Bye Blackbird', ''Walkin' and 'Two
Bass Hit'. Evans's accompaniment is so close to what Garland gave Davis's soloists as to be easily mistaken
for the eariier pianist. He solos on just two times, 'Blackbird' and ''Walkin'. The piano is cripplingy out of tune,
and he concentrates on single-note lines with the emphasis on simplicity and economy, as if echoing his

leader's attitude to improvisation, such is his desire to fit in.

On the material the Sextet was playing at tlie time that was more naturally suited to Evans's musical
thinking - 'On Green Dolphin Street', 'Milestones' and 'Stella By Stadight', as well as tlie few Monk ames
Davis still called - Evans would deliver his freshest, most hiUy-formed playing and register the most telling

evidence yet of his personal musical identity. In doing so he re-defined Davis's own music and provided a
tremendous spur for the two saxophone soloists, Adderley and Coltrane. For Adderley, it was an unlooked-
for but wholly welcome introduction to a more vertical, harmonically-based method of improvising. For
Coltrane, the combination of Davis and Evans provided his first access to the ever-expanding scalar universe
he would inhabit for the rest of his tragically short, career. And for Evans himself, the material made such an
impression that it stayed in his repertoire for years.
Adderley's appreciation of Evans was demonstrated immediately by tlie pianist's appearance on two
albums that Adderley made in 1958. First was Portrait Of Caimonball, a fine early-July quintet date for
Riverside and his debut for the label. Then in August came an odd if ambitious last date for Mercury, Jump
For Joy. employing a chamber string section and jazz small-group in unidiomatic arrangements of Duke
Ellington's score for the eponymous 1940s musical. Evans's contribution to this latter date is hardly worth
noting; he is way down in the mix. On Portrait Of CannonbaU, however, he deploys his modified bop style
- soon in itself to be a part of Evans's past - in a driving, sensitive and entirely successful manner, even
 Bill Evans
choui^h his solo space is limited. Similar to his live work with the Davis group, Evans sticks to doing the

simple tilings well, including an effective short three-chord pedal-point vamp at the beginning of Gigi Gryce's
'Minority' and a beautiful locked-hands one-chorus solo on the Adderley ballad 'Straight Life',

More significantly, Evans and his colleagues were introduced by Miles Davis to a new composition
written especially for Adderley's session. (Davis was close musically and personally to Adderley, and had
pla>'ed trumpet on the saxophonist's previous session, Sometbin Else, for Blue Note. ' ) The new piece was
'Nardis', a tune with an tmusual series of augmented chords in its verse that gave it a Near-East flavour; Davis
was present at tlie session to oversee its recording. Taken at a leisurely clip, it would have been a fine vehicle

for the Davis group of the time, but they never recorded it. On the Adderley recording Evans is the
outstanding player, finding magic in the progression and a special elegance in his smooth transitions from
section to section. "You could see that the otlier guys were struggling with it," Evans said later. "After the date

[Miles] said I was the only one to play it the way he wanted.'* Evans would later in his career make it a staple
of his live sets, usually playing it at a considerably faster tempo.
Prior to his second album as a leader, Evans's most significant playing was with Davis (apart from an
appealing record. made later
Modern Art, in the year as a sideman for Art Farmer, his old George Russell
colleague). Davis took his new line-up - with Evans, Coltrane, Adderley, Cobb and Chambers - into the

Columbia studios for the first time in May 1958, recording four songs. The aforementioned Green Dolphin
Street', plus 'Stella By Starlight' and 'Fran Dance', a Davis original based on an old standard, were carefully

arranged prior to recording. The last song, 'Love For Sale', was an afterthought designed to give the band a

more upbeat and spirited end to the session.

Evans comps superbly throughout, his sparse, probing substitutions fitting each soloist like a glove. He
solos to good effect on 'Green Dolphin Street', ending in a long passage of gently ringing, rhythmic block
chords, while his brief 'Stella' solo consciously echoes Red Garland's block-chord offbeats. Perhaps the
group's approach to this song dated from Garland's time with Davis, and Evans was following his leader's
instructions. Drummer Jimmy Cobb's observation bears this out: "[When piano players] first got with die band
they were always confused, because [Davis) would tell them when to play and when not to play."'

Somewhat surprisingly for a man who preferred to be well rehearsed, Evans plays his most rewarding
improvisation on 'Love For Sale', the track that Davis counted in widi finger-snaps as a spontaneous gesture
to a rhythm section that had been concentrating hard all session. Evans stretches out in a manner not heard
on record since 'All About Rosie' almost a year earlier. In a solo not far short of three minutes, he begins with
the single-line melodic style inherited from Tristano, Powell and others, but before the first verse concludes,
the pianist is breaking up the rhythm, leaving pauses, using two and three-part chords, and generally keeping
the listener guessing as to what he will do next. His motifs are complex and there are constant subtle changes

of pace. Evans also employs an almost obsessive degree of rhythmic displacement set against an equally
imaginative altering of the harmonic base across which he is playing. It's a completely absorbing solo, shaped
beautifully by his gradual reduction of its elements to chords and space before Davis re-enters witli the theme.
The Sextet that day failed to make quite enough music to fill a single LP. One more track would have
been needed and it is probable that Davis considered 'Love For Sale' inappropriate anyway, for it did not
appear on record until a 1980 compilation of out-takes. Thus a remarkable eariy Evans solo was left unlieard
for over 20 years. The other three pieces appeared in the US and Europe on Jazz Track, in Europe sharing
half an LP with Art Blakey's efforts for the French film Des Femnies Disparaissenl.
Another French connection, made a month later in June 1958, was the untypical participation by Davis
and his entire group (minus Jimmy Cobb) with players such as flautist Herbie Mann, vibraphonist Eddie Costa
and saxophf)nist Phil Woods in Michel Legrand's prestigious big-band prtjject Lcgrandjazz. Of the fotir tunes
recorded tinder Legrand's direction, Evans is strongly featured on 'Jitterbug Waltz', including a short solo,

while his comping role for Davis on 'Django' combines elements of MJQ piani.sl John Lewis's own sparse
.style and Evans's more romantic approach. On 'Round Midnight' and 'Wild Man Blues' he is wholly given
over to playing scored passages, and in the former piece is required to play in the Shearing manner: not

66
 MEETING MILES 1958

exactly a high-profile opportunity for Miles Davis's new pianist. Still, Evans was being heard live nightly with
tlie Sextet, as demonstrated by a number of radio airshots from nightclubs in New York and Washington DC
that have appeared on pirate CDs. They follow a similar repertoire and routine to the concerts detailed below.

Evans's new approach was helping to bring further kudos to Davis, with his new "light rhythm section, as
"

well as much-needed appreciation of Evans by a public which until now had been largely unaware of his
existence. Apart from their usual rounds of the jazz clubs, the group appeared at two major festivals in

summer 1958, at Newport in July and Randall's Island in August. The Newport set fell on the first evening of
the event as part of the 4th-of-July celebrations, and also as part of what seemed to be a Columbia Records
day: Dave Brubeck and Duke Ellington, also Columbia artists then, appeared directly after Davis. In addition

to being recorded for LP releases, all three groups were filmed by a crew directed by Bert Stern for what
would eventually become the famous Jazz On A Summer's Day movie. But this first day's filming was junked.
The feature's music director, George Avakian, commented: "The first night's filming turned out to be a fiasco.

No one seemed to know what to do. Bert had never made a film before, and my brother [film editor Aram
Avakian, also on the crew] got so upset that he ended up getting violently ill during the filming."'"
Equally problematic was the dedication of the evening to Duke Ellington. The festival's MC Willis

Conover introduced the Davis band, desperately attempting to tie them in with Ellington's music, but to no
avail. Alone of the groups playing that night, Davis's played no Ellington material, sticking to its own routine
and, for the most part, digging hard and deep into Davis's repertoire from the 1955 quintet. The recently-

recorded 'Fran-Dance' and 'Stiaight No Chaser', from Milestones, were die only exceptions. Evans is low in

the recorded mix and not heard to particular advantage in a number of short solos. This was also the case

over the festival loudspeakers: the Doum Beat reviewer complained of band members being "drowned often
by [drummer Jimmy] Cobb's oppressive support". '^ Davis's feelings about the night's performance might be
gauged by the fact that the recording of it only appeared more than six years later in truncated form as half
an LP (along with portions of a 1963 Thelonious Monk set).

Evans would not be back to play at Newport for a decade. He had better luck at tlie Randall's Island
festival the following month, August 1958. The group's Newport repertoire was repeated, but with little of
tlie tension and imbalance which had marred that outing. Evans's sensitive accompaniment was particularly

appreciated on 'Fran Dance', announced that night as 'Put Your Little Foot Right In'. Evans, Adderley and
Coltrane also appeared later the same evening with the festival orchestra alongside such luminaries as Lee
Morgan and Ray Copeland (trumpets), Bob Brookmeyer and Curtis Fuller (trombones), Jimmy Giuffre and
Chariie Rouse (saxophones), Chico Hamilton (drams) and Gunther Schuller (French horn). Ernie Wilkins led
and contributed arrangements, but according to Doum Beat reviewer Dom CeaiUi the under-rehearsed band
"was highly touted as the world's greatest collection of jazz soloists [and] proved to be just that . . . but not
much as an orchestra". Cerulli was even less enthusiastic by 2am, fighting off boredom when "every member
of the band got to solo (except Schuller) on a long, long blues. Bill Evans almost had something interesting
when the parade of soloists started."'^
September found the Sextet at another unusual live recording, this time in a plush New York hotel as
part of a Columbia Records jazz promotion, along with the Duke Ellington orchestra and a number of
distinguished guests including Billie Holiday and Jimmy Rushing. The Davis set came first and suffered from
terminal recording imbalances, with Davis often off-mike and Evans virtually inaudible for large periods of

the performance, even during his solos. Clearly dismayed by what they heard on playback, Columbia shelved
the efforts of both leaders until 1973 when two separate LPs were released as Jazz At We Plaza, volumes 1

and 2. Uncritical and unhelpful notes by long-time Columbia producer Irving Townsend included a mistaken
identification of Monk's tune 'Straight No Chaser' as Jazz At The Plaza' on the sleeve, even though the record
label itself had the correct title.

The later Ellington set, though hardly perfect, had better recording balances. Davis consistently claimed
in later years that he and his group were unaware that their efforts were even being recorded. Once again
an attempt to record the classic Davis Sextet had yielded poor results, this time through Columbia's sloppy
 Bill Evans
preparation. Yet Evans himself, despite annoyance at Columbia's unilateral decision in 1973 to release these
below-par takes, had fond memories of the afternoon. "We had no idea that it was being recorded," he
commented years later. "But I'm happy about it simply because it's the only Miles recording with me and
Philly Joe. See, we had a particular tiling going with Paul and PhiUy and me together as the rhythm section.

I pla)' differently' with Philly. You can hear the rhythmic thing that liappened, the laidback feeling and all,

that I didn't get ^ith Jimmy Cobb because he's a different kind of drummer."'-'' (The identity of the drummer
on that date has in fact been the subject of years of confused speculation, but research carried out by
Columbia for their boxed set of complete Miles Davis recordings in 1999 came down decisively on the side
of Cobb, w ho insists he was behind tlie kit that afternoon. It remains to be seen if this is the last word on
the subject.)
When Davis and band played an August club date in Washington DC, probably at the Spotlite, they were
again unaware of being captured in action. The surviving music has been taken from a radio broadcast, this
time in decidedly inferior sound. But although the recording quality is dim, the balance is better than the

Columbia hotel date, with Evans audible throughout. He solos again on 'Walkin', and also on 'All Of You',
but this time reveals much more of his personal style. He sounds relaxed in his phrasing and much more

readily identifiable, rather than attempting an uneasy copy of Garland. His career-long affinity with Cole
Porter's music shows through in his solo on 'All Of You', at the close of which the group pauses as on the
original Davis quintet recording, and Davis re-enters. Evans copies the Garland off-beat comping for a few
bars, then allows a subtly altered chord to hang through four beats. Davis is on to this in a flash, moulding
new. beautifully extended phrasing to match. Evans may have occasionally felt unsure of himself in the Davis
group, but his musical communication with the leader is total, and most definitely a two-way street.

By this time the pianist was being noticed wherever the group performed, underlined by his New Star

award in the Down Beat Critics' Poll published in August 1958. He also registered for the first time in the
December issue's Readers' Poll, just scraping in at number 20. Yet Evans had left Davis prior to this poll's

appearance and before the recording of his second album as a leader. Everybody Digs Bill Evans.

Why did Evans leave Davis after so short a stay? A number of opinions have been offered by those
involved, as weU as by many onlookers, but perhaps the most straightforward explanation came from the
pianist himself He recalled later that it was down to the punishing schedule of being on the road every night,
which "drained me in every respect".'* Yet this is disingenuous, for Davis was always careful to pace his

appearances, often scheduling rests between jobs and usually opting for week-long or fortnight-long
residencies at clubs rather than strings of one-nighters. An observation by Adderley shifts the perspective.
"Although he loves Bill's work, Miles felt that Bill didn't swing enough on things that weren't subdued. 'When
Bill left, [Miles] later found Wynton Kelly, who does both the subdued things and the swingers very well.""
Other band members mentioned that for a good part of his eight-month tenure Evans was insecure and
unconfident of his own worth among such established jazz giants. Adderley's assertions are borne out by the
recorded evidence. Davis's working repertoire and his recordings were for the most part quite separate. While
Evans was ideal for the trumpeter's newer ideas, as tried out for Columbia in their New York studio, when it

came to live dates, in a set still bop-and-standards heavy, Evans was often overpowered aurally by the others
and given less room to display his special strengths. Evans may well have been "drained in every respect" -
perhaps most cnicially because of his use of heroin.
Since joining the Davis group (and through no fault of the leader) Evans had picked up a heroin habit.

Perhaps he was using the drug because he felt professionally inadequate, or simply to join in with at least

one other member of the rhythm section. Maybe he was searching for new experiences, or had a deeper,
more personal need to escape private demons, but this is a matter for conjecture rather than conviction.

Perhaps all or .some of these elements combined during that inten.se period. After all, a great deal of mental

strength was required to swim against the very swift-running flow of a working group for at least part of

every night. The effect on Evans's self-confidence was profound, bringing him to question on his departure
from the group whether he even wanted to continue playing professionally. One thing was clear: by

68
 MEETING MILES 1958

November 1958 Evans was a regular heroin user who'd contracted the habiaial junkies' ailment, hepatitis, and
needed a break from his career to decide how to tackle a spiralling list of personal and professional problems.
That Davis was sympathetic to the decision to leave is borne out by his help in finding Evans work in early

1959 and in the pianist's close involvement in the creation that spring of the Kind Of Blue LP. Evans and Davis
had enjoyed a good working relationship from the outset, Evans soon becoming used to Davis's caustic

nature and put-ons. But Davis was well aware that, as he put it later, 'Bill was a very sensitive person and it

didn't take much to set him off."'*'

Another smmbling block concerned race. Evans had witnessed Davis's own sardonic assessment of racial
prejudice at the 1958 Newport Festival. As noted by onlooker Burt Goldblatt, Evans's old employer Tony Scott

used the microphone repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) during his own set to complain to the crowd about
having film-crews on stage. 'When Scott came off into the wings in a foul temper at the set's end, Davis
commented to him in a stage whisper: '"What's tlie matter, Tony? They call you a nigger?" Davis was
convinced, both at the time and in hindsight, that Evans had left his band due to the resentment shown him
by blacks outside the group. "Some of the things that caused Bill to leave the band hurt me, like that shit

some black people put on him about being a white boy in our band," wrote Davis. "Many blacks felt that
since I had tlie top small group in jazz and was paying tlie most money that I should have a black piano
player. Now, I don't go for that kind of shit ... as long as they can play what I want, that's it."'^ Late in his

career Evans recalled specifically that there was no racial tension in that band. "It was more of an issue with

the fans," he said. "The guys in the band defended me staunchly."'*'

Contrary to some reports, Evans seems to have experienced little personal tension with other Davis
group members (some of whom were reformed addicts themselves). This is underlined by Evans's work with
Adderley in the studio, at the time and later, his use of Paul Chambers and Philly Joe Jones on his own
recordings, and his discussions on Eastern philosophy with John Coltrane (it was Evans who recommended
to Coltrane Krishnamurti's influential book Commentaries On Living). Evans and Coltrane also swapped

stories about tlieir common backgrounds in R&B bands back in the early 1950s. Coltrane joked about a

guitarist in one such undistinguished band - Dorothy Mae & The Hepcats - who had discovered the lost
chord: "It sounded as if he'd foimd the one chord that fitted everything: a chromatic crunch.""
Evans was confronting a personal and professional cainch of his own. He returned once again to his

parents' house in Florida, where his father was also in bad healtli. According to Davis, Evans also stayed with
his brother in Baton Rouge. Taking close to a month off from New York and his professional life, Evans
contemplated his future path, determining tliat he had reached the point where he had to njn his own group
in order to fully express his musical ideas. His return to New York in December 1958 saw him not only
appearing as a sideman on high-profile dates for others, but ready with material for his second Riverside
album as a leader. related years later, "I'd had hepatitis, and I went to stay with my parents in Florida
As he
to get over it. 'When came back, I felt exceptionally rested and well. I made [Ever^hody Digs Bill Evmis] at
I

that time. And I knew I was communicating the way I'd like to communicate ... I find that when I'm feeling
my best, spiritually and physically, I project."-"
 CHA P TE R 5

First Trio (1959)

"ALLGROUP MEMBERS NEED TO BEND FOR THE COMMON LIESULT

AS THE PALNTER NEEDS HLS FRAMEWORK OF PARCHMENT, SO THE
IMPROVISING MUSICAL GROUP NEEDS ITS FRAMEWORK IN TIME."

BILL EVANS IN HIS LINER NOTES TO THE KIND OF BLUE ALBUM

This book private

is

life
primarily concerned with music, delving into Evans's
only where it had a direct effect on his career, but it is

impossible to examine Evans's work at this stage without some

discussion of his heroin habit. His use of heroin had an immediate and
profound effect on
and working habits. Hard drugs have a marked
his life

physical impact on the body - and if they shape how one looks on the
outside, think what they are doing to the inside. Of course, this dependency
takes a high financial and emotional toll as well. It also dictates the mode
and rhythm of everyday life, as the need to score for the longed-for fix and
the need for the money to pay for it become overriding imperatives. In the

At the Sbowplace club in New York in July 1959

70
l'-*
V-.- »sj^'jr..K

c^!MiTUKagnttajta«ier:aiui.K^-j^fi^A5»'?jy^j«~^^
Bill Evans
year after leaving Miles, Evans slid further into an addiction which would tyrannise his life for over a decade.
For some time, in a protracted flirtation with the drug, he avoided using needles, but by the end of that year
he was injecting. Peri Cousins, with whom he had been living throughout this period, watched him slide
down. "He knew what he was doing, and part of him felt that was something he had to do - and tliat when
he was finished he'd stop. I suppose lots of people felt chat way ... He knew it was destructive, but it was
almost as if he didn't want to stop."' The effect was to set back the development of his career tlirough

circumstantial complications and the continual short-term need for more money to pay for increasing amounts
of heroin. This alone made it hard for the fledgling trio he was trying to establish to pay its own way, and
he became a less than attractive proposition for first-rate managers and agents. It would take years to resolve
tliese matters satisfactorily and for Evans's career to flourish internationally in the way it should have done
much earlier.

Still, drug dependencies have rarely kept jazz musicians from making records. Back in New York City in

late November 1958, Evans immediately became part of the all-star orchestra re-convened by George Russell

in order to advance an ambitious recording project started for Decca three months earlier. New York, NY.

Evans had given beautifully weighted support to a John Coltrane solo on the one track, 'Manhattan', to stem
from the September session. Now at the November 24th date he accompanied adroitly throughout and solo'd
on all but two compositions, playing with grace and imagination - including an assured outing on tlie Latin-

beat 'Manhattan-Rico'. A final session, in March 1959, would complete this album; on it, Evans's arresting
accompaniment to vocalist Jon Hendricks's lyrics on 'Big City Blues' and his subsequent solo, plus Russell's

shaping of virtually all of 'East Side Medley' as a sparkling feature for his pianist friend, showed the poise

and presence he could now bring to any recording session.

Within two weeks of that November studio date for Russell, Evans started on his second studio album.
Everybody Digs Bill Evans. It was made in one session at Plaza Sound studio in New York, with Sam Jones
on bass and Philly Joe Jones on drums. The album would give Evans a loyal record-buying audience of his

own for the first time. Riverside's clever marketing campaign was important: after all, there was no doubting
the implications of the record-cover art and the album's tide, a literal reproduction of the high opinions
expressed about Evans's playing by Miles Davis, George Shearing, Ahmad Jamal and Cannonball Adderley.
(Evans, using Davis's sardonic wit, asked producer Orrin Keepnews when he saw the cover, "'Why didn't you
get [a quote] from my mother?"^) But even the cleverest marketing campaign cannot sell rubbish for more
titan an initial period, especially in the often cynical world of jazz. Fans heard in this music an important new
statement from an artist who had evolved his own unique identity. The record sold on recommendations as

much as smart campaigns.

Feeling ready to make his own mark, Evans had gone into the studio with renewed confidence about
the maturity of his methods. Looking back in an interview two years after his departure from Davis, Evans
remembered it as a very good period. "I think the time I worked with Miles was probably the most beneficial
I've spent in years," he said, "not only musically but personally. It did me a lot of good."' This was curious,

given what he would later say to interviewers about his all-peivading "exhaustion" on leaving Davis's band.
As with the first record, Evans planned a clear programme for this new project. He arrived at the studio
with just one piece of original music. Epilogue'. It was Debussy-like in style and harmonic content, running
diatonic fourths over a background of lower-register fifths. But he would underline the title of the piece by
positioning it at the conclusion of each side of the LP. With just two exceptions, the rest of the tunes were
standards played by the trio, from driving mid-tempo pieces such as 'Oleo' to lush, tender romanticism during
Vernon Duke's 'What Is There To Say'. One of the two exceptions was a ravishing unaccompanied treatment
of the Green-Bernstein ballad 'Lucky To Be Me'. The other started out as a solo-piano attempt at another

Bernstein tune, 'Some Other Time', but evolved spontaneously into 'Peace Piece'. This was an inspired

improvised investigation of the opening pedal-tone vamp of the Bernstein original, and called on Evans's
detailed knowletlge of the music of composers stich as Satie, Ravel and - in paits - Scriabin. The trio

performances stand in contrast to the exotic touches brought to the album by the solo piano pieces. Far from
 FINDING THE FIRST TRIO 1959

any hint of Evans asserting his independence from ex-boss Davis, they in fact make plain that link - from

the choice of drummer Philly Joe Jones to the febrile drive of the medium-tempo numbers and tlie overt
romanticism of the ballads. Thus on the opening track, Gigi Gryce's 'Minority', we hear Evans still using the
firm touch and rhythmic urgency typical of his career to date. But here he paces himself more consciously,
employing Davis's keen use of pauses and dramatic re-entries, carefully forming his phrases rather than
amning them on through harmonic change after harmonic change. All this contributes successfully to the way
in which the group builds an improvising intensity and gives Evans a more fully focused musical persona,
out at the front of his trio.

His most daring trio playing occurs on the triple-metre piece Tenderly' where he employs unusual
rhythmic freedom to scatter l6th-note runs in unusual positions across bar-lines and through natural musical
cadences. His ballad playing has also benefited from his work with Davis: his pacing is more deliberate, his

touch lighter and more precise, especially in the more heavily scored sections where he is using chords in
both hands, and he no longer lacks the confidence to let the music breathe. He allows notes to decay
naturally as he relates his tale, ably demonstrated on his masterly statement of the theme to 'Young And
Foolish'. It is on the ballads that we most nearly approach Evans's fully mature style and attitude to his

material. His more up-tempo playing at this point retains enough of its bop-led drive and staicaire to leave
the listener with the feeling that Evans is still attempting to propel the performance along, rather than to glide
in, around and along with it, as he would do later. Evans himself remained pleased with Eveiybody Digs
throughout his life, often specifically citing it when asked by interviewers or fans to name a record of his
which he felt had been successful. Yet its most memorable moments come with Evans alone at the piano.
Even tliough jazz had been represented on long-playing records since the onset of the 1950s, very few
albums attempted to use the physical properties of the vinyl record to help form the listening experience.

Evans clearly signalled the end of one side's "recital" widi his brief, enigmatic 'Epilogue' (same performance,
by the way), in much the same way as a group's theme might end a set in a club or at a concert. A brief but

ravishing moment also occurs at the end of the solo-piano rendition of Leonard Bernstein's 'Lucky To Be Me'
(from the musical On The Town). Playing in the key of B, Evans uses a left-hand vamp alternating between
seventh chords of the tonic and dominant, evoking not only tine musical world of Erik Satie's Gymnopedies
but that of Samuel Barber's Knoxville, Summer Of 1915. This would also appear as Evans's basic arrangement
of the scales that would
constitute 'Flamenco Sketches' on Kind Of Blue in three months' time. But this brief

moment on To Be Me' would have an immediate effect on Evans's attempt at another Bernstein piece.
'Lucky
There was one track that Evans admirers would wear out long before tlie rest of the LP. 'Peace Piece',
an on-the-spot improvisation on a portion of Bernstein's 'Some Otlier Time' (again from On Tlie Town),
employed rhythmic, harmonic and melodic devices long familiar to practitioners of this cenaiiy's classical

music but at the time virtually unknown to jazz. Indeed, many observers in 1959 would have been wary of
allowing this as jazz at all. Using a simple 2/4 left-hand rhythm outlining variations on a C major 7th chord,
Evans draws on his detailed knowledge of related harmonies to create narrative and emotional drama as his

right-hand melody and chordal passages move progressively further away from the tonal "home" indicated
by his left hand. Evans is drawing on much more than a single musical source here, approaching the mood
suggested by his original vamp from a variety of different improvisatory angles rather than a single model.
Many years later Orrin Keepnews confirmed that Evans had originally intended to play 'Some Other
Time' itself - and a previously unreleased solo piano version from the session did subsequently appear. But
this is immaterial. Evans's inspired performance would be the starting-point for a generation of younger
pianists in tlieir own time, including Chick Corea, Keith Jarrett and Herbie Hancock. Their solo recitals would
often reflect similar musical and philosophical concerns to those expressed here by Evans. To conclude our
view of this remarkable piece, it is also worth noting a parallel witli Evans's ballad 'Blue In Green', assembled
with Davis for the upcoming sessions in spring 1959 for Kind Of Blue.
Everybody Digs was released in summer 1959 to a rapturous critical response. In the meantime, Evans
had continued to look for suitable candidates with whom he could form a working trio of his own. He
 Bill Evans
applied hiniselt assiduously lo llie business of making a living, working at a furitjiis rate as a sideman on
stage as well as in the recording studio. Within a fortnight of completing Eveij'bocly Digs, Evans was a sideman
on Chet, a Chet Baker date for Riverside featuring the trumpeter with a front line of baritone saxophonist
Pepper Adams and flautist Herbie Mann. Had it been the Davis Sextet in tlie studio, the dominant mood
would have been termed contemplative; for Baker it seems closer to somnolent. Even a flagwaver such as

How High The Moon' checks in at little more than a fimereal pace. The time is coolly measured out by
drummer Connie Kay, bassist Paul Chambers and Evans, in sleepy anticipation of the minimalist but
be^^itchingly simple tatitness that the same pianist and bassist would achieve for Davis just a few months later

(with Jimmy Cobb on drums). The liner notes to the original issue of Chet, written by producer Orrin
Keepnews, today read almost as an apologia for the general lassitude. "For Chet, home is clearly the world
of ballads," wrote Keepnews, "of good, sound ballads that lend themselves to a leisurely tempo and to rich,

melodic and often moody interpretation ... 'How High The Moon', for example, even though it is included
here to demonstrate that it can recapture its status as a romantic ballad despite years of high-speed workouts,
is not taken too mournfully."''
Evans's beautifully-voiced unaccompanied intro to 'Alone Together' is terse, but thriliingly anticipates his
introduction and coda to 'Blue In Green' for Davis. Baker's reading is so strung out on long, vibrato-less

melodic lines as to touch on pathos. (The dead-slow treatment, which demands that each section of the
melody stands on its own in virtual silence, might even have suggested the approach that Eric Dolphy and
Richard Da\'is made to the same tune four years later in their justly famous duet for FM records - although
their improvisations were of a very different character and construction. Other songs on Chet receive
) further

strung-out treatments: Kurt 'Weill's 'September Song' lasts for three minutes and is so slow that it is afforded
only a simple melody statement, with Baker accompanied solely by Paul Chambers and, on this track, guitarist

Kenny Burrell.

There was an unexpected bonus to Chet. On a mid January 1959 session booked to complete the allotted

tracks, Evans and Chambers, plus Philly Joe Jones stayed on after Baker left, cutting five tracks together. These
remained unissued until the 1970s, but they showed that it was the trumpeter and not his supporting band
who had dictated the sluggish tempo of the earlier work. The trio came up with bright and spontaneously
integrated performances of standards, such as 'Woody 'n' You' and 'You And The Night And The Music' (done
just hours earlier with Baker at a much slower tempo). 'On Green Dolphin Street' receives a treatment already
familiar to those who had heard the Davis Sextet version, with Evans's playing alert and imaginative. But there
is little counterpoint between the players, giving the set a rather conventional sound compared with that
which would soon evolve. It was this, plus the insurmountable fact that five relatively short songs do not an
album make, that kept these transitional performances from being issued at the time.
A day or two before the Chet session, Evans had made another appearance as a sideman in a recording
studio, this time as part of a big-band playing Bill Potts's arrangements of Gershwin's Porg}> And Bess music.
Called The Jazz Soul Of Porgy And Bess and cut for United Artists, it must have seemed something of a

foolhardy venture so soon after the critically acclaimed Miles Davis/Gil Evans version for Columbia. But on
release the record picked up a shortlived burst of praise, earning a top rating in Down Beat as an imaginative
reworking of familiar material. Today it sounds like a competent cross between Gerry Mulligan and Quincy
Jones. The big-band is stuffed with stars - its five-strong tiximpet section includes Art Farmer, Harry Edison,
Bernie Glow and Charlie Shavers - and the horns get most of the soloing, especially saxophonists Zoot Sims,
Al Cohn, Phil Woods and Gene Quill. Evans is almost entirely buried in the arrangements, the occasional
tinkle reminding the alert listener that he's on the job. But there is one significant event. He is given the theme

statement on Loves You Porgy' and plays

'I single-note, with extreme eloc|Lience and economy, his note-
it,

placement at iLs subtlest, exacting maximum feeling. Time .stops while he plays and the listener enters another
world. It is way he would treat the melody when he recorded the song
only marginally different from the
with his UtFaro/Motian tricj at the Village Vanguard in summer 1961. The other Gershwin tune from this opera
that he would play at the Vanguard date, 'My Man's Gone Now', is .scored minus piano by Potts. While is it

74
 FINDING THE FIRST TRIO 1959

unlikely to have been Evans's first brush with this music, it seems that the Poi-g)> And Bess session helped him
define an approach to the tunes that would bear spectacular fruit in the context of his trio.

By early spring 1959 Evans was scouting for musicians for his own group. His heavy workload suggests
that he was not simply accepting work that came in, but actively seeking it too. At the start of the year he
had held down a regular supporting role for a few weeks at the Basin Street East club in New York Cit)',

ainning a trio that, thanks to the clubs poor treatment of non-star musicians, had a constantly changing
personnel. "They treated us as the intermission group, really rotten," Evans remembered many years later.

"We couldn't even get a Coke without paying a buck and was during this squalid time that
a quarter.""" It

Evans first brought together Paul Motian and Scott LaFaro. He knew drummer Motian from early days in New
York; bassist LaFaro, fresh in from the West Coast and eager to play, dropped in at Basin Street regularly. But
lack of opporainity to perform as a trio ensured that the group remained a dream for all tliree musicians.
A February gig at the Half Note with Evans substituting for an indisposed Lennie Tristano in a Lee
Konitz/Warne Marsh quintet must have provided a considerable thrill, although his presence is not notable
(recordings made of the gig by Ver\'e were first released on CD in the early 1990s). Evans also recorded an
odd record in mid-March 1959 with his old friend, trombonist-keyboardist Bob Brookmeyer, for the fledgling

United Artists label which had used Evans on the Art Farmer and Bill Potts dates the previous winter. This
session probably resulted from UA's extensive recording activity at the Half Note that spring. At that time
Evans played the club with Konitz, while an Evans-Brookmeyer Quartet supported headline acts for part of

March and April 1959 (as reported in Down Beafi). UA eventually announced two albums from the Half Note
recording sessions - by Zoot Sims/Al Cohn and Phil Woods/Gene Quill, altliough the latter never appeared.
The Evans/Brookmeyer record, on which both men played piano, was called The Ivory Hunters, the self-
deprecating irony of the title indicating its main sti'ength as well as its weakness. Brookmeyer's credentials as
a pianist had been established in person and on records for a number of years prior to this date, but the
decision to drop trombone from the entire session still seems strange, given the match that his rounded souulI
and melodic approach would have made witli Evans's lush, enticing harmonies. Still, tlie results are musicalh-

interesting and historically fascinating. With its Modern Jazz Quartet rhythm section of Percy Heath (bass) and
Connie Kay (dnims), the LP brings together many of the strands of progressive-jazz thinking as it stood in

1959. The musicians address the formal and interpretative challenges of a clutch of venerable standards -
The Man Love', 'The Way You Look Tonight', 'Honeysuckle Rose" and even Got Rhythm' - in what would
I 'I

now be described as a post-modern manner, dissecting the harmonic implications of tlie pieces and looking
for opportunities to establish interesting musical dialogues within the quartet.

The other significance of The Ivory Hunters was that by working in tandem witli another pianist Evans
foresaw his multi-tracked piano efforts of some four years later Altliough Brookmeyer displays a more spare
and less pianistic style than that of Evans, he deploys similar harmonic awareness, uses right-hand mns with
economy and flair, and emphasises the mminative nature of ballads and the playfulness of faster-tempo
pieces. His ability to listen to Evans and for both pianists to keep out of each other's way is remarkable. Some
of liie theme arrangements are heavy-handed: 'The Way You Look Tonight' sounds particularly stilted as
Evans's standard block-chord mid-tempo tlieme statement is decorated on the second verse by twinkling
Brookmeyer arpeggios worthy of Liberace, or Garner at his most twee. But both players cross-fertilise to good
effect during improvisation. Nonetheless, they are so close in their conceptions that for much of the time it

feels as if the listener is intruding into a convivial conversation. The session does not sound like one greatly

committed to the need to communicate to the outside world. Witnessed live, it would have been a lot of ftin.

On record it comes across as an only partially successftil curio.

The other recording session involving Evans in March 1959 was anything but a partial success. It was
the first of two dates - the other would take place in April - set aside to make what would become Miles
Davis's Kind Of Blue LP. On the session of March 2nd three ti^acks were recorded: Treddie Freeloader', 'So
What' and 'Blue In Green'. This was effectively the first side of the resulting album, save for 'Freeloader' and
'So "What' having their order reversed. Evans appeared on two of these pieces. The second session, on April
 Bill Evans
22nd, wmild provide the second side of tlie LP: 'Flamenco Sketches' and 'All Blues', with Evans on both.
Whole forests have been used up in retrospective homage to this record, so the comments here will be
relati\el>' brief, but there are some points that still need to be emphasised. First, there is the paradox of
simplicin,' arising from sophistication. Davis had arrived at this stage in his development through a desire to
reduce his music to its essentials and to rekindle his creative fire by playing to his own considerable strengtlis.
He had spent much of 1958 re-investigating his own
newer enthusiasms, early musical inspirations as well as

some of which were introduced to him by another man named Evans. Gil Evans was the arranger and
composer with whom Davis made a string of late-1950s big-band-plus-soloist masterpieces. Davis was
determined to apply the lessons learned from all these sources to his working band. He voiced his thoughts
on the subject in a 1958 interview, naming some of those who had helped push him in this direction.

Commenting on the Porgy And Bess sessions just concluded in tandem with Gil Evans, he alluded to the

arranger's use in one piece "of a scale for me to play. No chords . . . Ithere is] a long space where we don't
change tlie chord at all. It doesn't have to be all cluttered up." He went on to add this prediction: "I think a

movement is beginning in jazz away from the conventional string of chords . . . There will be fewer chords
but infinite possibilities as to what to do with them."^
That spring, one part of Miles's new creativity was far removed from Bill Evans's natural musical world.
"I added," claimed Davis in his autobiography, "some other kind of sound I remembered from being back in

Arkansas, when we were walking home from church and they were playing those bad gospels . . . That feeling
is what I was trying to get close to . . . that feeling I had when I was six years old, walking with my cousin
along that dark Arkansas road."* Davis had determined some way in advance that Bill Evans was the ideal
collaborator to bring to fruition these ideas for his small-group performances. He said he had planned the
album "around the piano playing of commented in his autobiography: "Some people
Bill Evans".' Davis also
went around saying that Bill was co-composer of the music in Kind Of Blue. That isn't true; it's all mine and
the concept was mine. 'What he did was turn me on to some classical composers and they influenced me.
But the first time Bill saw any of that music was when gave him a sketch to look at just like everyone else I

. Bill was the kind of player that when you played with him, if he started something, he would end
. . but it,

he would take it that little bit further. You subconsciously knew this, but it always put a little tension up in
everyone's playing, which was good."'"
Evans did not see the gestation of Kind Of Blue in quite the same way, though he freely acknowledged
Davis as the catalyst. "He said he had some things sketched out and I should call round to his apartment on
the morning of the date, " Evans later told an interviewer. "I took a tune of mine called 'Blue In Green'. 'We
talked over various tunes and I wrote out some parts for the other guys in the band ... In a sense, we co-
composed 'Flamenco Sketches', but 'Blue In Green' was entirely mine."" Evans has also said that 'Blue In

Green" came from Davis's musical challenge to him to compose a tune using a series of scales which were
difficult to integrate compositionally.
Each man's recollection natvirally placed his own role in high relief, which is what most people do when
they recall significant past events. Ju.st as naturally, no one could foresee the impact the music would have.
Evans said: "'When we did the album we had no idea it would become that important. I have wondered for
years just what was that special quality, but it is difficult for me as a contributor to be objective." However,
in attempting to sum up his feelings about the date in the same interview he identified a caicial element in

the record's artistic success: "It was one of the most comfortable times I had with that rhythm section."'-

When he had been a regular member of the Davis Sextet the previous year, 1958, Evans experienced
consistent difficulty trying to mesh perfectly with the bass and drums. Jimmy Cobb's dynamic playing was a

particular problem, as had been demonstrated by his sometimes overpowering daimming at Newport that

summer. Cobb had his own reasons for playing this way, not least his desire to show himself equally as
capable of driving the band as his predece.ssor, Philly Joe Jones. During the Kind Of Blue sessions, however,
Davis had given Ccjbb a very different role. Indeed, for much of the date he approximates the minimalism of
the MJQ's Connie Kay, with barely more than ride and hi-hat cymbals deployed. The only time Cobb

76
 FINDING THE FIRST TRIO 1959

significantly departs from this approach is on the first tvine recorded in March, 'Freddie Freeloader', where
the pianist is Wynton Kelly. Listening to the tracks in the order that they were recorded draws attention to
the fact that 'Freeloader', in essence a minor blues, is not far in style and conception from the point Davis
had reached with Milestones 12 months earlier. The main indication of the track's later date is its further

reduction of elements and a more measured, restrained rhythmic pulse. Kelly happily supplies minimalist
funk lines with rhythmic panache; heard in isolation, the recording has a happy radiance at odds with the
rest of the date and even the album's title, though the form sits perfectly with the record's overall aims.

When Evans takes over the piano chair, the mood shifts perceptibly. His intensity and intellect are
immediately apparent from the evocative and enigmatic chords he uses to accompany Paul Chambers's
graceful opening lines before the main theme of 'So "What'. (There is a growing consensus that Gil Evans
sketched out this mysterious, gripping introduction to the ame, underlined by the 1961 Carnegie Hall concert
recording of this piece with Davis and Evans's orchestra, where this section is the only part fully scored for
the assembled forces.) Once the Sextet is fully engaged, Cobb's timekeeping is the epitome of quiet
discretion, while Chambers keeps the pulse beautifully alive and supple and Evans uses his piano in a spar.se

but highly dramatic and colourful way to feed the soloists. Evans's occasional contributions are powerfully

effective within such a subdued context. Perfectly at home in the modal environment Davis was using, he
could use his chordal and scalar knowledge with great imagination and to maximum effect, stimulating each
soloist in succession and providing aural delights for the listener who simply wants to enjoy the fresh and
almost sensual pleasures of his chord voicings. "What Evans is doing here is not particularly complex, but
comes as the result of a great deal of hard work and sophisticated musical thinking. It also has to do with
such neglected musical attributes as taste and sensitivity, qualities Evans had in abundance. He knew just

where and how to deploy his most telling touches.

Evans always insisted, to the astonishment of his admirers, that he was not in possession of a particulariy
good "ear", and that his comprehensive harmonic capabilities were the result of endless hard work and
application. Martin Williams explained succinctly just where all that hard work was expended. "It was Evans's
chord voicings that had the widest effect. They are not too difficult to explain: Bill voiced certain chords -
tliat is, he chose the notes to go in those chords - leaving out the root notes that tie down the chord and its

sound. "Witliout them, a given chord can sometimes have several identities; it can lead easily and consonantly
to a wider choice of other chords, and it can accommodate a wider choice of melody notes and phrases for

the player on top of the chords."'^ Given that description, it is no wonder that Davis, concerned with opening
up new avenues for melodic improvisation, built Kind Of Blue around Bill Evans. Listening to the almost
miraculous beauties discovered by the group on 'Flamenco Sketches' during the April session, where each
soloist seems to delve more deeply into a treasure-trove of eloquence and controlled passion, one can only
be glad that Davis had such prescience. In pursuit of this theme, it is also wortli noting just how appropriate
for each player is Evans's accompaniment. He shifts his approach to provide the ideal cushion for Davis,
Coltrane and Adderley in aim, in particular giving Coltrane as much room as he desires to explore the scalar

possibilities opening up in front of him.

Another aspect of Kind Of Blue that had a more lasting effect on Evans, as well as on jazz in general,

was the attempt to capture the freshness and excitement of a newly emerging musical idea or form. Evans
had been out of the Davis group for a whole season or more when Blue was made, and although he was
involved in the development of its concepts, he stressed in his liner notes for the original album's release that
spontaneity was of the essence. "There is a Japanese visual art in which the artist is forced to be spontaneous,"
Evans wrote. "He must paint with a special brush and black water paint in such a way that an unnatural or
interrtipted stroke will destroy the line or break through the parchment. Erasures or changes are impossible.
These artists must practice a certain discipline, that of allowing the idea to express itself in communication
with their hands in such a direct way that deliberation cannot interfere. The resulting picaires lack the

complex composition and textures of ordinary painting, but it is said that those who see will find something
captured that escapes explanation."''' Everything was new, and each player had to make a complete mental
 .

Bill E V ci n s

prepanition in order to confront Mich Linanticipiitccl niLisicnl challenges. It made for exciting results witli

musicians of thiis calibre. Evans in particular revelled in tliis type of balancing act, and in tlie trio tfiat he would
shortly assemble he found a dynamism tliat allowed him to bring fresh concepts to the recording studio and
create exciting new dialogues with his colleagues. As he wrote in thie Kind Of Blue liner notes: "Group
improvisation is a further challenge. Aside from tfie weighty technical problem of collective coherent tliinking,

there is the very human, even social need for sympatliy from all members to bend for the common result . .

As the painter needs his framework of parchment, the improvising musical group needs its framework in time.

Miles Davis presents here frameworks which are exquisite in their simplicity and yet contain all that is

necessaiy to stimulate performance with a sure reference to the primary conception. Miles conceived these
settings only hours before tlie recording date and arrived with sketches which indicated to tlie group what was
to be played. Therefore, you will hear sometliing like pure spontaneity in these performances."'''
It is worth pointing out that this was the first LP on which Davis had jettisoned the usual sleeve blurb
by a well-known critic or the album's producer, and that the notes by Evans were important to the idea -
novel for jazz at the time - that the music could be considered intellectually. No one prior to this had publicly
written on LP sleeves about jazz's legitimate connections to the artistic disciplines of other cultures. The short,

formal interpretations of each piece by Evans were also rarities in jazz commentary at this time. Evans may
have been keeping pace widi George Russell and John Lewis, who were pursuing sophisticated and
challenging musical paths of their own, but Davis's choice to highlight the intellectual approach in this way
marked a new self-confidence in jazz as a significant contemporary musical force.
Y'ears later, talking to Brian Hennessy, Evans would recall the spontaneity of the Kind Of Blue
experience. "The first complete performance of each thing is what you're hearing . . . there are no complete
outtakes," he said. "First-take feelings, if they're anywhere near right, [are] generally the best.""' Four years
later, John Coltrane would re-learn the same lesson first-hand from Duke Ellington on their small-group date
togedier, according to producer Bob Thiele. Yet Evans, unlike Coltrane, would not make modality the central

object of his musical investigations for the next few Kind Of Blue would remain one of many diverse
years.

projects in which he successfully participated and to which he made vital contributions.

The following month. May 1959, Lee Konitz and Jimmy Giuffre neglected to allow Evans the space to
make any vital contribution to their date as twin leaders for Verve, Lee Konitz Meets Jimmy Giuffre, where tlie

musical ideas of Lennie Tristano meet the orchestration of Woody Herman's Second Herd. The resulting
improvisation sounds curiously pale, the players seemingly happy to stick to the ideas they had been
exploring for some time. Konitz does manage to inject urgency and passion into his lines, and his oblique

solos are by far the most rewarding music made on

comps with taste and discretion, but seeks
the date. Evans
- and receives - no special highlighting of his talents. During the summer Euetyhody Digs was released and
caused a flurry of publicity for a pianist still unable to get regular work for his putative trio. Evans continued
to record for a variety of leaders and labels, including a return to Riverside's smdios for another Chet Baker
allium, this time themed as Plays We Best of Leriier & Loewe, once again using Herbie Mann and Ait Pepper
but adding Zoot Sims to the mix. Mann supplied the arrangements while Evans appeared on just half of the
tracks after making it to only one of the two July sessions. The degree to which he could affect a record date

is pointed up here by comparing the tracks on which he appears with those where the competent but
conventional pianisms of Bob Corwin provide Baker and the other horns with their harmonic fodder. Around
the same time, in as a member of the large orchestra used by John Lewis to supply the
Evans was drafted
soundtrack for a Hollywood movie. Odds Against Tomorrow, starring Hariy Belafonte and Frank Sinatra. The
music calls for The Modern Jazz Quartet to be showcased within a larger ensemble and allows little room for
Evans to do mcjre than just a professional se.ssion job. (It was Lmdotibtedly this exposure to Lewis's themes
for the movie that would lead Evans to put forward 'Skating In Central Park' for Undercuirent, the 1962 duet
albLiiii he made \\ illi Jim 1 kill for Mnited Artists.)

Private tapes owned and subset|LientIy issued by Tony Scott as Golden Moments revealed that in the first

week of August 1959 Evans appeared with Scott's Quartet, alongside bassist Jimmy Garrison and drummer

78
 FINDING THE FIRST TRIO 1959

Pete LaRoca, at tlie Showplace club in New York City. Tliis was a return to old times for Evans as well as a
continuation of his flourishing freelance career. On many tunes he managed to bring into his accompaniment
and his solos some arresting ideas, working them up as he went along. Jazz critic Harvey Pekar was especially
taken with 'Melancholy Baby' from this date. "Part of the way through his solo Evans does a highly unusual
thing," wrote Pekar, "playing a counter line in octaves along with Tony and then continuing on to play his
entire solo octave-unison style. What a display of freshness and continuity!"'^ But Evans was not breaking
any new ground personally, despite the presence of so many high-quality players in the group.
He was, however, required to produce something a good deal beyond the status quo during his

attendance at that August's School Of Jazz at Berkshire Music Inn in Lenox, Massachusetts. Organised by John
Lewis and some close colleagues, the School had been started two years earlier as a nurturing ground for

progressive ideas in jazz and new musical educational concepts with a particular relevance to jazz. Previous
years had witnessed a number of successful workshops and concerts, especially those featuring John Lewis
and The Modern Jazz Quartet, with guest stars such as Jimmy Giuffre and Sonny Rollins. The 1959 School
was planned to fall v/ithin this general pattern but also to contain a number of lectures and workshops on
widely differing subjects within what was then perceived as "contemporary" music. To this end, Gimther
Schuller was present for the first time in a professional capacity, as were Tanglewood classicist Jack Duffy,
bandleader Herb Pomeroy, and BUI Evans.
Schuller taught a course on The Analytical History OfJazz and also led a group of students that included

latter-day educator David Baker and clarinettist Perry Robinson (who would become a major player in the
New York avant-garde scene in tlie 1960s). The School's regular faculty members. Bill Russo and George
Russell, along with Schuller, took saidents for a composition class. Evans was one of a number of jazz

professionals coaching student small-groups (others included trumpeter Kenny Dorham, Jimmy Giuffre,

dnimnier Max Roach and John Lewis, Connie Kay and Jim Hall). Evans's group, a septet, featured such soon-
to-be-notables as guitarist Attila Zoller and vibraphonist Gaiy McFarland. Two of McFarland's compositions
were among those rehearsed and tlien performed at the final concert. Evans oversaw their activities and made
the announcements for the band, according to Down Beat}^
But tlie most significant event at that summer's School was the debut of saxophonist Ornette Coleman
and multi-instrumentalist Don Cherry as part of tlie student body (and on a scholarship from Atlantic Records,
according to eyewitness Martin Williams). They were among tlie group overseen and sponsored by Roach
and Lewis which also included pianist Steve Kulin and bassist Larry Ridley. Coleman's playing at the group's
concert - which performed three of his early compositions - caused a sensation among the musicians and
observers present. Even within the confines of the big-band overseen by Herb Pomeroy, Coleman made an
impression both with his ability to learn an ensemble style and with the sheer force and beauty of his music.

He affected all who heard his playing, and was described in Dowit Beats unsigned report as having "a
Had Evans but known
driving, exciting, highly individual style".'' he was witnessing the first moments of
it,

the eclipse of the progressive jazzmovement witli which he had been so closely involved for the past four
years. As well as many of the teachers and professionals at that year's School, the movement included players

such as Lee Konitz, Lennie Tristano, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins and Dave Brubeck. Some of
these musicians would have to reinvent tliemselves or adjust their style to accommodate tlie ideas and
freedoms that Coleman and his followers would introduce into jazz during the next handful of years. Evans
had just months earlier been a force behind one of jazz's greatest records, yet he would never regain the
musical initiative member of the front-line innovators of jazz, even tliough one of the members of his
or be a
first trio, would play and record with Coleman. From this time on - even before his first great
Scott LaFaro,

trio had recorded its debut LP together - Evans would be treading his own patli and working increasingly

further away from any new trends in jazz. This had its advantages, but also posed problems - and was

another factor in the gradual ossification of Evans's maaire style. It meant that he would no longer be willing
to expand his musical horizons, but instead would consolidate and more fully explore musical territory tliat

he had already marked out.

C HA P TER 6

The irst irio

(1959-1961)

"WE REACHED SUCH A PEAK WITH SCOTT LAFARO, SUCH FREEDOM.

IT SEEMED THAT EVERYTHING WAS BECOMING POSSIBIE."

DRUMMER PAUL MOTIAN ON THE POTENTIAL OF THE FIRST EVANS TRIO

Evans had spent much of 1959 attempting to find sufficient work for
a trio so that he could launch his career as a leader. As usual, he had
put plenty of thought into the type of music he wanted to create
within the confines of a trio, and was keen to put a firm emphasis on the
three-way dialogue that he felt could be achieved between piano, bass and
drums. In direct contrast to Lennie Tristano's method - and to that of most
bop practitioners - Evans wanted the bass and drums to play an equal role
in a three-way conversation. They were not, he contended, to be regarded
purely as time-keeping machines which, in the case of the bass, also marked
the passing of the harmonic signposts. As he told Brian Hennessey much

Scoll Ixil-'cira, Hill Urdus mul I'liiil Moliciii clini)ifi a hnrik al Ihe \Vlclf>c' Vmiiiiianl, New York, 1961
^
Bill Evans
lalcr, "I wanted to make room for the bass and try to leave some fundamental roles empty so that the bass

could pick diem up. If I am going to be sitting there playing roots, fifths and full voicings, the bass is relegated
to a time machine . . . Contrast is [also] important to me. I even thought that drums would be a problem and
v.e might be better without diem. It was remarkable that Paul Motian came along and identified with the
concept so completely diat drums were never a problem."'

As for the bassist, there is a sense of inevitability about the arrival of Scott LaFaro in the band. "I was
astounded by his creauvity, [he was] a virtuoso," said Evans. "There was so much music in him, he had a
problem controlling it . . . He certainly stimulated me to other areas, and perhaps I helped him contain some
of his endiusiasm. It was a wonderful thing and worth all the effort that we made later to suppress the ego
and work for a common result."^

Drummer Paul Motian's arrival in the trio was a logical one, given the amount of time that he and Evans
had spent together as sidemen in a variety of settings, both live and in the studio, over the previous three
years. Motian felt at ease with Evans's reserve and attenuon to detail, with his balance between careful
rehearsal and spontaneity. Motian was rare among dmmmers of the day in his ability to concentrate for long
periods of a performance on what the others were playing. Most drummers at that time tended to rely on a
supply of licks and rhythmic gestures that would be deployed for the most part in a stereotypical way. It was
as if the bop and hard-bop style of playing had reached a formula where each bar of theme statement or
improvisadon had its own rules and set patterns. Motian's ability to avoid these automatic responses and react
instead to what he actually heard coming from the other two musicians added in no small degree to the

unique quality of Evans's first working trio. Not the attention-grabbing type, he also had a light touch, a large

range of dynamics, and a crisp, propulsive drive at medium and faster tempos.
Bassist Scott LaFaro was young, energetic, confidently outgoing and very ambitious. He was also
extremely talented, as Charlie Haden - among many others - has consistendy stressed. "I think one of the
greatest losses to music - not just to jazz - was the loss of Scott LaFaro," Haden said in 1966, five years after

LaFaro was killed in a car accident at the age of just 25. "He was one of my closest friends, and I'm not
recovered from his death. He would have gone on to become one of the greatest musicians, greatest human
beings, in the world ... It was my pleasure to record an album with Scotty, which I'll never forget - the double
quartet album with Omette [Coleman]."-'

Born in Newark, New Jersey, in 1936, LaFaro studied a range of instruments as a child, moving on to

bass after high school. By the mid 1950s he'd travelled to Los Angeles where he became active in the jazz

scene, and was tutored by Red Mitchell. By 1959 LaFaro had come back to the East Coast and setded in New
York City, quickly becoming a regular player in a range of groups from Benny Goodman to Stan Getz and,
of course. Bill Evans. LaFaro had roomed with Charlie Haden for a while in LA. "'We met and became very
close," said Haden. "We shared an apartment for a while, and he went to New York about the time Ornette's
group did." ' During his time with the Evans trio, LaFaro would revolutionise modern-jazz bass playing, largely
through what he played with Evans but also through a number of other appearances live and on records with
various leaders, and most especially the two albums he made in the winter of 1960/61 widi Ornette Coleman,
Free Jazz and Omette!. A regular freelancer with all manner of bands, LaFaro also ran his own occasional trio

throughout his time with Evans.

Tlie Evans trio worked where it could during the summer and autumn of 1959, often as support for
better-known artists, and sometimes with other players depping where one member had previous
commitments. By December, Evans felt ready to take his now setded group into the studio for the first dme.
"I found these two musicians were not only compatible, but would be willing to dedicate themselves to a
musical goal, a trio goal," he said. "We made an agreement to put [aside] other work [in favour of! anything
which might come up for the trio ... We could make records - not enough to live on, but enough to get a

trio experienced and moving."'

The resulting album, recorded three days after Christmas 1959, delivers the blueprint for every
subsequent working iricj that Evans would run. Poiirail lu Jazz finds the pianist often using the more
 THE FIRST TRIO 1959-1961

percussive keyboard attack associated with most of his previous playing, his ideas crowding in, his urgency
all too apparent. His tlieme statement on the opening track, 'Come Rain Or Come Shine', is anything but
reflective of the message carried by the song's lyrics. The pianistic asides and arabesques, the harmonic
reworkings, all give his performance considerable edge and brittleness, with his rhythm choppy and
uncharacteristically over-busy. LaFaro and Motian, in contrast, stroll tlirough the song, the bassist in particular

almost laconic in his easy lines, casual double-stops and occasional rhythmic pauses.
A more characteristic sound and approach is discernible after the hectic, George Russell-like intro to

'Autumn Leaves', the performance showing signs of being well rehearsed in every detail. Here Evans is busy
and silent by turns; Motian constantly breaks up his timekeeping role, engaging in intelligent dialogue with
his partners; and from the first verse LaFaro is creating the types of note cycles and little rhythmic motifs with
which he would soon become closely identified and which would prove so influential tliroughout jazz. It is

worth noting that it is LaFaro who takes the opening solo here. Only halfway through the performance do
all three break out into a swinging medium tempo, all the more refreshing for its long-delayed entry.
Other standards have less stimulating arrangements. "Witchcraft', for example, is pure George Shearing
in its initial statement, but its musical focus comes unequivocally from tlie trio, with LaFaro's melodic gift and
astonishing facility of phrasing constantly stealing the listener's ear from the lines or chords tliat Evans is

delivering. This feature of LaFaro's playing would survive alongside such a strong improvisatory force as

Omette Coleman, and indeed it is possible to listen rewardingly to both Coleman's records featuring LaFaro
by focusing entirely on the bass playerts). LaFaro is especially effective within the confines of the Evans trio,

whose leader constantly stressed that tlie sharing of tlie music's spotlight was fundamental to what his band
should be doing, so long as the musicians concerned were happy to share musical goals. As for Evans
himself "As a leader, it's my role to give direction to the group, and Paul and Scott have indicated that they

are more comfortable in the trio than anywhere else. Does a group get stale? It all depends on whether there
is continuing stimulation, whether all the musicians concerned want to share each other's progress."'^

Just two Evans originals appeared on Portrait In Jazz, one being a new version of 'Blue In Green', the
piece Evans had recorded earlier in 1959 with Davis. It now appeared on his Riverside LP co-credited to Davis

and Evans. The second original was named after Evans's girlfriend
a sprightly mid-tempo tune, 'Peri's Scope',
of the time, Peri Cousins. It's delivered in the locked-hands approach which he was gradually inflecting with
enough of his own musical personality to make it a signature sound. The performance on fliis track finds
Evans at his most playful, toying with phrases and emphasising the major tonality of the piece in a way that
gives no room for doubt about his feelings for the song's subject. Even the feeble pun of tlie title has a naive
charm of its own.
By contrast, some of Evans's most explorative, chance-taking playing of the date occurs on an old
favourite, "NXTiat Is This Thing Called Love', where crisp up-tempo stop-time passages allow him plenty of
opportunity to display his talent for rhythmic displacement. LaFaro's solo on the same track is one of his most
technically impressive of the session. Blue In Green', taken at a pace very similar to the version on Knid Of
Blue, allows Evans to adopt the combined roles of that session's trumpeter and pianist. It also points tlie way
to the more rarefied trio performances of tlie future. These would use gradations of touch and a "cushioning
of accents by all fliree players to create the trio's own special ballad language, communicating surprising
levels of emotional depth though a music notable for its restraint and economy. These qualities are also

evident on the version of tlie Disney song, 'Someday My Prince 'Will Come', brought to jazz by Dave Brubeck
some three years earlier and, after Evans's version here, adopted by Miles Davis using a very similar
arrangement. This language was now being recognised by other musicians as originating from Evans, In a
Blindfold Test in Down Beat in January I960 Ornette Coleman was played 'All Blues' from Kind Of Blue. "I

believe BUI Evans was the most dominant figure on that side," said Coleman, "but Cannonball and Coltrane
sound very wonderfiji . . . But Miles Davis seems to have had the closest execution and emotion to blend with
the way Bill Evans was playing his chords for the instruments to play on."'' Evans was thrilled and stimulated
by the music his trio was making and looked forward to the promise of even better things to come as I960
Bill Evans
commenced. He cut down on the amount of freelancing he was doing, concentrating instead on rehearsing
the group and finding regular work, aiming to make the trio financially self-sustaining. They managed a brief

cross-country tour in January and February which took them as far as San Francisco's Jazz Workshop before
returning to New York. Back home they appeared on the bill at a Town Hall concert that was headlined by
The Modern Jazz Quartet and including groups led by Ornette Coleman, Art Blakey, Philly Joe Jones and
Carmen McRae.
In late March Down Beat's In Person column listed the trio as appearing "indefinitely" at New York's
Hickory House restaurant and club, taking over from an extended "indefinite" stay by the Mitchell-Ruff duo.
B\' mid March they were debuting at Birdland on Broadway. During this spring of I960 Evans appeared as
a sideman again, on three tracks contributed to a Warwick album, The Soul OfJazz Percussion (later reissued,

equally inaccurately, as We Third World).

The session quintet, co-led by tmmpeter Donald Byrd and baritone
saxophonist Pepper Adams, would evolve - minus Evans and the rest of the rhythm section - into a working
band under Byrd's leadership. The music contains an ersatz Eastern flavour and apes the contemporary work
of Yusef Lateef, using vamps and scales which, in the case of 'Prophecy', sound more like the Hollywood
version than the real thing, with occasional overtones of so-called "Red Indian" film-score identification music.
Quiet Temple', a simple pseudo-Eastern ballad, is transformed by the harmonic interest that Evans provides
widi his trademark reworking of the simple minor progression's inner voicings. For the straightforward
swinger 'Ping Pong Beer' Evans reverts to his pre-trio single-note style.

This single-note approach was also used, fittingly in a more avant-garde guise, on Evans's latest recording
session witli George Russell, Jazz In 7he Space Age, made in May I960 (the sleeve describing Evans as
"perhaps the most significant jazz pianist to come along in the past decade"**). Here he was paired on many
tracks witln pianist Paul Bley, newly arrived in New York from a long period in Los Angeles where he had,
among other things, led a quintet briefly with the entire first Ornette Coleman Quartet.
The group writing on Space Age is typical of Russell's style of the time: dissonant, rhythmically ebullient

and always ready to stress the contrapuntal in ways that were new and fresh to jazz. His use of Evans and
Bley is equally arresting, calling on them to improvise spontaneous duets on the first number, 'Chromatic
Universe Part 1'. Russell said in the sleevenote interview; "Bill and Paul were free to come close to the tonality
- [the] sum total of the bass notes - [and) relate to the 5/2 gravitational pull or not. Tonally and rhythmically
out in space, they are not victim to the tyranny of the chord or a particular metre. In essence, this is musical
relativism. Everything can be right ... This is panchromatic improvisation."'^ Evans and Bley were called upon
to deliver comparable responses to various incarnations of similar musical ideas and frameworks during the
rest of the record, including 'The Lydiot', a piece to which Russell would return frequently in his later career
Russell was applying ever more sophisticated versions of his musical theories to his latest efforts. Quoted
extensively in the album's liner notes, at one point he talked perceptively about the forms that the jazz of the

future might take. "Specifically, it's going to be a pan-rhythmic, pan-tonal age," he said. "I think that jazz will

bypass atonality, because jazz actually has roots in folk music, and folk music is scale-based music, and
atonality negates the scale . . . The answer seems to lie in pantonality. The basic folk nature of the scales is

preserved, and yet, because you can be in any number of tonalities at once and/or sequentially, it also creates

a very chromatic kind of feeling, so that it's sort of like being atonal with a Big Bill Broonzy sound. You can
retain the funk."'"
For Evans, this was a very different type of freedom to that which he was finding in tlie New York clubs
with his trio. As he spelled it out to Dan Morgenstern four years later: "The only way I can work is to have
some kind of restraint involved - the challenge of a certain craft or form - and then find the freedom in that

... 1 have allowed my.self the other kind of freedom occasionally. Paul Bley and I did a two-piano
improvisation cm a George Russell record which was completely impremeditated. It was fim to do, but there

was no direction involved. To do something that hadn't been rehearsed successfully, just like that, almost

.shows the lack of challenge involved in thai type of freedom."" Evans was not entirely fair with that
as.se.ssment. He and Bley had brought their formidable training, experience, knowledge and musical
 THE FIRST TRIO 1959-1961

sensitivity to the two-piano session, ensuring the event had a good chance of success. As Russell revealed in

those liner notes, he was conducting a controlled experiment, not a formJess, open-ended free-for-all.

Namechecks in jazz magazines were increasing during the spring and summer of I960 and the Evans
trio, regularly appearing at Birdland, were announced as appearing at that summer's Newport Jazz Festival.

Evans himself was publicly confirmed to repeat his consultancy at August's Music Inn Summer School in

Lenox, Massachusetts, while his group gained an effusive entry in Down Beat's nine-page Jazz Combo
Directory of June I960, organised "to help club operators and other buyers select groups to hire". It noted
that "Evans has a fine sense of melodic and harmonic invention. LaFaro is one of the newer talents on bass
'-
and is receiving more and more attention from jazz listeners".

The trio did not in fact appear at Newport because the festival closed prematurely after street riots by
drunken teenagers. Evans did manage an appearance in May with Gunther Schuller's band in a concert in
the Jazz Profiles series at New York's Circle In The Square. Dan Morgenstern described what he saw. "SchuUer
employed as the basic units of his ensemble a classical string quartet and a jazz trio (... Bill Evans, piano;
Scott LaFaro, bass; and 'Sticks' Evans or Paul Cohen, dmms). The two groups performed in all the seven

compositions heard. Additional musicians joined them from time to time: Ornette Coleman, alto saxophone;
Eric Dolphy, alto, clarinet, bass clarinet and flute; ... Eddie Costa, vibes; Barry Galbraith, guitar; and Buell
Neidlinger on bass."'^

Morgenstern, not entirely enamoured with Schuller's efforts to meld jazz and classical, did not mention
Evans again in the course of his two-page review. Instead he singled out just two musicians for praise: Ornette

Coleman and Scott LaFaro. "The main event of 'Variations (On Django)' was a bass solo by Scott LaFaro,
wrote Morgenstern, "a young bassist who here demonstrated that his ample and beautiful instrumental
technique is matched by a musical imagination of the first order. But he could have, and has, played as well

in a purely jazz environment."''' Morgenstern concluded his review by commenting, "At the Circle In The
Square, jazz, representing Dionysius, met a somewhat anaemic Apollo in the guise of Gunther SchuUer. It

wasn't even a close contest."'' 'Whatever else, the concert did at least provide an important musical meeting
between Coleman and LaFaro.
Portrait In Jazz was released by Riverside at this time and there were rave reviews from all directions.

By the end of the summer Evans, already involved with a booking agency, signed a management deal with
Monte Kay, proprietor of Birdland and husband to actress and singer Diahann Carroll. In the Doivn Beat
International Critics' Poll announced in August I960, Evans came third on piano (just two votes behind Oscar
Peterson) while his group, still very much an emerging force, were placed equal fourth in the New Star

section alongside Slide Hampton and Paul Horn (although, to keep things in perspective, Humphrey
Lyttelton's group came fifth).

Everything seemed to be set for a quick take-off in his career, but then Evans suffered his latest bout of
hepatitis, probably brought about through shared heroin needles and lax hygiene. It forced him to spend
much of August and September recuperating and the trio's progress came to a complete, if temporary, halt.

Bassist LaFaro took the opportunity afforded by this unwanted break to join Ornette Coleman's Quartet as a
replacement for his friend Chariie Haden, anotlier addict who, in order to rid himself of his habit, had
checked into a sanatorium. LaFaro toured with tlie Quartet until the beginning of November, which took him
to San Francisco and back via the Monterey Jazz Festival where they appeared as a trio.

Evans, meanwhile, had slipped back into New York by early October and taken a number of jobs as a

sideman while re-establishing his health. He had his first dealings with the fledgling Impulse! label and its

A&R man Creed Taylor, contributing neat, apposite and professional accompaniment to a date that involved

trombonists Kai 'Winding and J J. Johnson in tandem, Voe Great Kai &JJ. He also appeared in December on
a Kai Winding Septet date for Impulse!, Tloe Incredible Kai Winding Trombones, but his most important
recording activity in October I960 came on the 20th for Gunther SchuUer. Evans reprised his role on some
SchuUer concert pieces from earlier that year, ''Variations On A Theme By Thelonious Monk (Criss Cross)' and
'Variations On A Theme By John Lewis (Django)'. Both would appear on a 1961 Atlantic record, Jazz
Bill Evans
Ahstmclioiis. UiFaro was also present on this albiun, as were Eric Dolphy and Ornette Coleman, and all three
would participate the very next day in recording Coleman's masterpiece, Free Jazz, for the same label. Dolphy
too made a classic album on the 21st, cutting Far Cr\i for Prestige with Booker Little.

The Evans trio had still not resumed playing residencies together. In fact, LaFaro stayed with Coleman
into 1961. recording his second (and last) album with the altoist on the last day of January. Two days later

he would be back with Evans making tlie trio's second date for Riverside. Three days prior to tliat Evans had
been in the Riverside studios with Cannonball Adderley for the first of three sessions that would spread across
Januan,-. February and March to fit in with the saxophonist's hectic performing schedule with his own group.
The session would result in Know What I Mean?, released under Adderley 's name with Evans as feaaired
guest, Percy Heath and Connie Kay completing the rhythm team. In contrast to the previous Adderley date
featuring Evans - Portrait Of, from 1958 - this record was largely given over to Evans arrangements of original
material ('Waltz For Debby', 'Know What I Mean?') and standards ('Goodbye' and 'Nancy With The Laughing
Face'). It presented Adderley in an unusually lush and reserved but sympathefic setting that brings out most
positively his deep appreciation of Benny Carter's playing, especially on the ballads. Evans's own playing
across the three dates is relaxed and expansive.
Ironically, given the conftised state of their own ambitions, Evans and his trio had featured prominently
in the December 8th I960 edition of Down Beat. Evans appeared on the cover and was interviewed in depth
by Don Nelsen, while in the December 22nd issue Evans was listed fifth on piano in the Readers' Poll, one
place up from the previous year, and LaFaro came 12th on bass.

The conditions under which the trio's Explorations LP was recorded on Febmary 2nd I96I were not
ideal. Tension from the separations of the previous months still simmered, particularly between Evans and
the abrasive LaFaro, who made no secret of his disgust at Evans's addiction. LaFaro played on a borrowed
instrument, while the pianist was quickly complaining of a headache, probably brought on by the strain in

the studio. There are moments on the album where the connections between the three men, and especially
between pianist and bassist, seem momentarily to go dead. LaFaro, who has a darker, less focused tone than

usual, is quite often to be heard playing lone whole notes as a tune's arrangement is dispensed with, or
moving harmonically with Evans in minims on the tonic and dominant (for example on the Gordon-Warren
ballad 'I Wish I Knew'). Meanwhile, Paul Motian holds down the time with the minimum of bmshstrokes to
cymbal and drum-head.
On other, more fully integrated pieces LaFaro is in top gear and playing all over the range of his
instrument, as his solo on 'Nardis' demonstrates. His is the first, taking priority over Evans's - in itself a

considerable departure from the jazz conventions of 1961. The piece exhibits a similar harmonic constniction
to the uncredited 'Quiet Temple' from the Donald Byrd/Pepper Adams Soul OfJazz Percussion session of
spring i960, suggesting that Evans, a 'Nardis' fan, had dressed it up in new clothes for that quintet date.
During 'Sweet And Lovely' the wonderful co-ordination of mind and effort between all three is perfectly

judged, an indication perhaps that this tune, at least, had been thoroughly rehearsed in the recent past. Evans
commented in retrospect about this set: "Scott was just an incredible guy about knowing where your next
thought was going to be. wondered, 'How did he know I was going there?' And he was probably feeling
I

the same way.""'

For an album that was to be so influential and remain the only studio recording of this trio at its mattire
peak. Explorations is singulariy bare of Evans originals, relying for its effect on his perfected approach to
familiar material and the unique interplay between the three musicians. This interplay can be most readily
appreciated by comparing this music with that recorded the same month by Evans and Cannonball Adderley
for Know What I Mean? On the latter, each member of the rhythm section sticks strictly to the conventions
of his instrument's role. By contrast, the effort to listen to everything being played and to simultaneously react
to it is almost palpable on the Explorations sides. Yet it is fair to say that this record represents the trio at a

relatively early phase of its evolution, even given LaFaro's vastly increased role. The piano leads from the

front and is much more the dominant voice in the dialogue than it would be by the time the trio made its
 THE FIRST TRIO 1959-1961

midsummer recordings at the Village Vanguard. Evans's piano is also a significant voice in an important record
he made as a sideman soon after the Explorations date. This was a carefully considered programme of
variations on the blues recorded in February 1961 and put together by the saxophonist, composer and
arranger Oliver Nelson under the aegis of A&R man Creed Taylor at the fledgling Impulse! label. Called Tlx
Blues And ne Abstract Truth, it is a justly famous and popular collection that brings together a stellar set of

musicians, including Eric Dolphy, Freddie Hubbard and Evans, as well as Nelson himself on tenor. Evans
plays impeccably, showing great sensitivity as an accompanist and with flashes of flair and inspiration as a

soloist. The opening theme is 'Stolen Moments', which has long since become a modern jazz standard,
performed and recorded by thousands of jazz musicians and even set to lyrics. Here it finds Nelson conjuring
a brooding, pensive mood at medium tempo that, once the improvisations commence, carries distinct echoes
of Kind Of Blue. Evans's position as accompanist is no small part of this perhaps unintentional evocation.

Nelson's composition 'Cascades' uses a quickly moving set of chords beneath a cascade of arpeggios
articulated by Nelson. It is set up as a solo vehicle for Hubbard and Evans, the pianist proving comfortable
and highly inventive at a bright tempo with this particular variation of blues changes. A passage where Evans
displays extreme rhythmic flexibility and unusually extended lines contrasts superbly with others where he
trails minor-third triads in asymmetric patterns through the changes. This album alone dispels the notion tliat

Evans was an undistinguished practitioner of the blues form.

Nelson's self-penned liner notes for the record are singularly insightful and informative. He knew this

was a personal watershed: "It was not until this LP was recorded, on Thursday the 23rd of February 1961,
that I finally had broken through and realised that I would have to be tnje to myself, to play and write what
I think is vital and, most of all, to find my own personality and identity."'^ The result of this breakthrough
was that rarest of events, a jazz classic that was also a bestseller. The line-up's solo power rivals Kind Of Blue.
Dolphy and Hubbard are in brilliant form and Nelson is a revelation. T/je Blues And We Abstract Truth also
brought Evans once more into significant direct contact with Creed Taylor, soon to move on from Impulse!
and take over the reins at Verve. Within a year he would sign Evans to Verve and begin the star-making
treatment with the pianist that had already benefited Nelson. During the 1960s Taylor would make 'Wes
Montgomery, Jimmy Smith and Stan Getz into major "crossover" stars in contemporary popular music.
Meanwhile during the spring, work for the trio continued as a hit-and-miss affair. There was a week
during February 1961 at the Cork & Bib club in 'Westbury, New York state; a March residency that extended
to three weeks at the Sutherland Lounge in Chicago (sandwiched between a week of Jofin Coitrane and a
fortnight of Shirley Scott); and a week in April at The Showboat in Philadelphia - but still very little in the

way of steady work in New York City. There were a number of interniptions, including Evans's participation
in the Nelson record; the most significant was the regular absence of the in-demand Scott LaFaro.
The bassist's ex-boss, tenorist Stan Getz, had recently returned from an extended stay in Stockholm, and
LaFaro was announced in Down Beat as part of Getz's "promising new group [which includes] Pete LaRoca,
drums, Steve Kuhn, piano, Scott LaFaro, bass".'** This group had preceded the John Coitrane Quartet into
Chicago's Sutherland Lounge in Febmary. The same report went on to give details of Getz's recording activity.

"The first recording session for Getz since his return to this country two months ago was held in New York
City with Bob Brookmeyer, trombone. Bill Evans, piano, Percy Heath, bass, Connie Kay, drums."'' This
recording seems not to have happened, although Getz did record two numbers (so far unissued) with
Brookmeyer and a very similar group in New York in February, using Dick Katz on piano instead of Evans.
Getz also made an album's worth of material in Chicago on February 21st with his new quartet, including

LaFaro on bass. Just one track, 'Airegin', has been released to date, on a latter-day Getz CD compilation. By
the time Getz hit The Showboat in April 1961 he had an ad-hoc rhythm team of Steve Kuhn on piano, Jimmy
Garrison on bass and Roy Haynes on dmms. LaFaro was back witli Evans and Motian.
This sort of movement between bands and personnel may hardly seem ideal for pulling together the
various threads of a group's musical development, but it is utterly typical of the life of the post-war working
jazz musician. Still, it illustrates the distance Evans had to go to become a sufficiently big name with the public
Bill Evans
and iiiLiintain his band in tlie manner of leaders like Miles Davis and John Coltrane. Nonetheless, his group
had de\eloped an audience for itself at tlie Village Vanguard in Greenwich Village, New York City, during
infrequent appearances over the past sLx months. When the trio was booked for a two-week stay tliere in

mid lime 1961 opposite Lambert, Hendricks & Ross, Riverside producer Onin Keepnews decided that it

would be the ideal venue for what had recently become a craze among jazz A&R men: an "on-the-spot"
recording in a cosy jazz club.
The Evans group was more than ready for the challenge of recording in front of an audience, having
rehearsed regularly over the months to build a large repertoire of carefully arranged tunes. As Evans observed
later, "Scott, Paul and I would play the same tune over and over again. Rarely did everytliing fall into place,

but when it did, we tliought it was sensational."-" They also welcomed the test of an audience's reaction to
refine tlieir interplay and approach. "The music developed as we performed and what you heard came
through actual performance," Evans continued. "The objective was to achieve the result in a responsible

way."-' The new live recordings were to do that in full measure.

Tlie trio was taped by Riverside during the last ftill day of their week at the Vanguard, on Sunday June
25&i 1961. The extra time allowed by the Sunday matinee at the club was used to record multiple versions
of the same repertoire, offering more chances to capture flawless, complete versions of each piece under
consideration. Years later, producer Orrin Keepnews recalled a chance factor that added to the success of the

recording. "Our staff engineer, Roy Fowler, was not on hand, perhaps on vacation. His replacement was Dave
Jones, one of the best at 'live' location recordings in that two-track era. The sound of these selections remains

as crisp and undated as the music... "^^ In fact, Jones's brilliant realisation of the group's sound is one of the
major factors that makes this set of recordings so highly valued among Evans's overall output. It also helps
that for once the piano is in tune. In a recording career spanning seven years, Evans had rarely been taped
on a properly tuned instrument. Even on Kind Of Blue there are registers on his studio piano that betray the
need of a professional amer.
Clearly the group itself had no reason to think that this recording session would be any more special

than others they had done together. The usual planning took place and the tunes were considered and
selected. The playbacks heard later were a pleasant surprise. Evans: "I was ver)' happy when after the
Vanguard date we were listening through stereo headphones, and [LaFaro] said, 'You know, we didn't think
too much of it while we were doing but these two weeks were exceptional.' He said something to the
it,

effect that, 'I've finally made a record that I'm happy with.'"-^ That contentment is understandable, given the
peak of creativity the trio had attained unawares. Many years later, Keepnews wrote about the initial

selections that he made with Evans for the two original LPs released from the material, Sunday At The Village

Vanguard and Waltz For Debby. He claimed that "the necessary choices were quite arbitrary; it is clear that

nothing played this day was without considerable merit".'"' This may well be a record-company man justifying

a later issue of all the extant material; after all, he and Evans cleared just those two albums' worth for release
in 1961/62, and the recording of multiple versions of the same piece had been based on the premise of
choice. The group's drummer, Paul Motian, had his own thoughts on this, saying recently, "There's a record
called More From The Village Vanguard which is an album of outtakes that we hated . . . and Orrin Keepnews
put that out. Bill would have been freaking, man. Those are all the takes that were dismissed, and they put
that out as a record. He would never have approved that."^'

Approved or not, all but two takes - one technically marred beyond the point where it could have been
coherently issued, the other irretrievably lost - have now been made publicly available. Thirteen different
tunes were recorded. Apart from the felicities of the individual improvisations themselves, the differing takes
of the six songs attempted more than once reveal a remarkably consistent conception in basic matters such
as tempo, dynamics and playing order. Only details shift, as well as the take-to-take levels of precision and
cohesion from the performers. It is this matter of cohesion - of making sense of the music and its challenges
- which is most striking about the first-issued recordings. The dynamics that the group employed (especially
on ballads such as 'My Foolish heart' or 'My Man's Gone Now') were extraordinary for the time, allowing
 THE FIRST TRIO 1959-1961

levels of nuance and inflection rare then in jazz and found most often in jazz vocals such as those by BiUie
Holiday, Lee Wiley, Louis Armstrong or Ella Fitzgerald.
In the eyes of many contemporary observers, the major musical reason for this extraordinary level of

group intercommunication and creativity was the ability of LaFaro to match and, certainly in rhytlimic areas,
outpace Evans in terms of the ideas fed in for counterpoint. Critic Harvey Pekar observed once that "even
when accompanying, LaFaro didn't limit himself to one particular pattern: he might play two quarter-notes in
one bar and superimpose a rhytlimic figure containing l6th, dotted-8th, and quarter notes over the beat in

the next one".^*^ LaFaro also contributed significantly to the emotional content of the trio's music. Evans, a
contemplative and often inward-looking player, found a counterfoil in LaFaro as perfect as diat between
himself and the other soloists in Miles Davis's group. As Pekar observed, "[LaFaro's] improvising is reminiscent
of John Coltrane's because he was seemingly more concerned with harmonic and rhythmic exploration than
with overall constniction ... At times his playing suggests the human voice, and the passion with which he
played is almost overpowering."-^
Not everyone shared this laudatoiy view of LaFaro's contribution to jazz bass. Pianist and composer Cecil
Taylor, in a swingeing attack in 1965 on Evans's music, talent and musical philosophy, commented: "The
weaker musicians have always benefited from the technical things engineers do. On the odier hand, if you're
powerful, the engineer usually feels he has to cut you down . . . Recording gives Evans's piano a scope of
highs and lows that his original touch cannot achieve. This is particularly clear with bass players. Take . .

Scott LaFaro. He was thought to have a fantastic technique, but my definition of technique is not only the
ability to play fast but the ability to be heard. To have a fat sound. LaFaro, however, had a minute sound. By
contrast, Charlie Haden really had something going. But engineers made LaFaro sound big."^**

It is trtie that LaFaro had lowered the bridge on his bass to give him a lower "action" between strings
and fingerboard, and that this had altered the sound he was getting compared to that of conventional bass
players - certainly different from Haden, Wilbur Ware and Paul Chambers of his contemporaries. But nobody
else ever complained openly about LaFaro's tone and volume, not even other bass players. Taylor seems to

be airing some of his own problems concerning the outside world in the guise of an attack on Evans,
stretching the point about what may or may not be an acceptable sound or volume from any instrument in

an ensemble. When Evans commented on LaFaro's tone, he said his instrument "had a marvelous sustaining
and resonating quality",-' while other musicians who played with LaFaro, including Ornette Coleman, Stan
Getz and Charlie Haden, all paid tribute to his unique qualities. Coleman even named an outtake from the

January 1961 Ornette! date on Atlantic as 'The Alchemy Of Scott LaFaro' when it appeared for the first time
during the 1970s.
An engineer, no matter how brilliant, can only capture what is being produced by the musicians with as
much fidelity and presence as possible. No engineer in the world can create a gradation of touch or any other
inflection if it has not first been articulated by the musician. It is not the fault of Evans's group that they were
so sympathetically recorded in the "Village Vanguard in June 1961: they just got lucky. Cecil Taylor, by contrast,

would have to wait until his 1966 records for Blue Note to be recorded to a high degree of technical fidelity.

It is no accident that his music, too, benefited enormously from the clarity, full tone and careful mixing
brought to bear on his albums Unit Stntctiires and Conquistador.
The September 1961 release of Sunday At The Village Vanguard, the first selection of material from those
June sessions, emphasised LaFaro's playing and composing: it even leads medium-tempo LaFaro
off with a

line called 'Gloria's Step'. The tune swings contentedly through a major-minor verse and bridge pattern and
finds the bassist in mind-bogglingly creative mood during Evans's opening solo, constantly dragging the ear
away from the piano which for the most part improvises chordally rather than with a single line. Gershwin's

'My Man's Gone Now', played as a slow waltz but by no means a dirge, is one of the trio's greatest

spontaneous masterpieces, from Motian's swirling brtish-stroked cymbal beats, through Evans's passionate
improvised melodies, to LaFaro's separate but intimately connected musical commentary on both. The
intensity, all the more potent for the restraint exercised by Evans and his trio, is overpowering by the end of
Bill Evans
the tune's recapitulation. 'Solar', by contrast, receives an adequate interpretation Isut only the bassist really
shines, with some rhylhniic prolilems occurring during the course of a long (nearly nine-minute) performance
at a bright medium tempo.
'Alice In Wonderland' invokes the utter delight a child finds in fantasy, Evans's arrangement of the Disney
song revealing a happy touch of innocent humour as the simple and appealing melody is allowed to dance
across a light ^altz beat - always a favourite Evans device. His first solo here is his best on the record and
one of his best ever. It has a sense of form and dynamics and a seemingly artless (but highly subtle)
de\elopment, effortlessly invoking a range of emotions associated with the song. A perfect cadential
resolution into fresh whole-note chord voicings ushers in LaFaro's bass solo: a perfect exit. The pianist's

second solo, after LaFaro, is less consequential and less well organised than the first, but the team still ends
perfectly together on a pleasant modulation.
Cole Porter's 'All Of You' inspires a similar level of cohesion, but its common time seems to inspire Evans
less. The original LP ended with another LaFaro composition, the contemplative 'Jade 'Visions', recorded
according to Keepnews "almost as an afterthought"* but in two versions, both marred by a noisy crowd. Its

deceptive simplicity hides considerable musical sophistication, and the piece harks back harmonically and
rhythmically to the Debussy of the second book of Images, its pensive Oriental atmosphere having few
precedents in jazz. This short piece has a minimum of improvisation, the bridge completely chorded with no
leading voice, and is given interest by falling into 9/8 time diroughout and by LaFaro's triple stops over a low
bass pedal note. On the original LP it ends with no applause, but rings in the mind for a long time afterward,

and helps give the trio's music a suggested dimension shared by no other piano trio in jazz at that time. 'Jade

Visions', like 'Blue In Green' and 'Peace Piece', was to prove powerfully influential on pianists such as Herbie
Hancock, Keith Jarrett and Chick Corea.
The second LP release from the live sessions. Waltz For Debby, followed in the spring of 1962. The new
version of the title track is full of joy, lightness of rhythm and vitality of line, and alone would mark out this

trio as a very special group. On this performance, as on 'Detour Ahead', on a heartbreakingly beautiful
reading of 'My Foolish Heart', indeed on the whole collection, there are simply no stretches of playing where
the musicians are vamping in wait for something to happen, never a feeling that one member of the trio is

off on a musical quest of his own. Everything is integrated and has meaning as part of a greater whole.

LaFaro's bass anchors Evans's chords beautifully in theme statements, Motian provides impetus and rhythmic
colour, and Evans makes his instrument sing more often than not, avoiding his own improvisatory cliches
much of the time due to the inspired level at which he is working.
Other standout renderings on this second disc include a sensitive and idiomatic investigation of
Bernstein's 'Some Other Time' that avoids the sentimental through a combination of a relatively bright ballad
tempo and an unembellLshed interpretation. 'Milestones' is less of a success: its alternative viewpoint on a

Miles Davis exercise in scalar improvisation has little forward momentum and is no match for the trumpeter's

approach, with Evans incapable of the staccato thrust given the theme by Davis, Coltrane and Adderley on
their 1958 recording. Only LaFaro comes out of this well, his brilliantly conceived and executed rhythm
patterns and variations - in and out of tempo - consistently captivating in their daring.

The only significant selection from all the "additional" material later made available from this session by
Riverside is a warmly observed and perfectly controlled version of another Gershwin piece, 'I Loves You
Porgy'. This initially appeared on a mid-1970s LP compilation of Vanguard material otherwise entirely made
up of previously issued selections: possibly, then, Evans approved its appearance at the time. Presumably the
intaisive level of audience chatter and glass clattering led to its initial rejection in 1962. The music itself,

however, is as seamlessly integrated and perfectly realised as the other ballads from this date.

After the gig was finished and the playback tapes had been listened to, the three men went their separate

ways, having no immediate work together. Evans was never to see LaFaro alive again. Just ten days later, after

appearing at that year's jazz festival at Newport with Stan Getz, LaFaro and two companions were killed when
the car the ba.ssist was driving in upstate New York left the road and hit a tree. The news of this tragic event
 THE FIRST TRIO 1959-1961

during the early hours of July 5th 1961 made a deep impact on the jazz world. Bassist Ray Brown told Down
Beat: "This was one of the most talented youngsters I've seen come up in a long time. For his age, he really
had it covered. He wasn't really a power bassist. He had something different going, something of his own. I

got a chance to hear him at Newport only a few days before, and I was really amazed by his facility, his

intonation, and his ideas ... It's a shame, really a shame. It's going to set the instrument back ten years. It

will be that long before anyone catches up with what he was doing."''

Gunther Schuller, who had used the bassist on various projects, dedicated \he Jazz Abstractions album
to LaFaro, who appears with Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy on the record. Schuller wrote in the liner

notes to Ornette!, the Coleman quartet album featuring LaFaro and released after his death, that "LaFaro, had
he lived, would certainly have become one of the great bass players (jazz and classical) in our century".'- For
Evans the loss was devastating, both personally and musically. LaFaro was, he said, "one of the most, if not
the most outstanding talents in jazz".'' All of v.'hich would, of course, make it especially hard for Evans to
replace him.
As Paul Motian later confessed, '"We didn't know what to do. We didn't know if we'd still have a trio.

We'd reached such a peak with Scott, such freedom. It seemed that everything was becoming possible."'*

Part of the possible may have been a date with Miles Davis. Motian recalled in 1996: "'We were supposed to

make a record date with Miles; the trio. Bill, myself and Scott . . . 'We were talking to Miles about it, it was all

set up, and then Scott got killed and the whole thing got forgotten."" Now, Evans and Motian had to decide

how to move forward - and if it was worth the effort of starting again from scratch to create a new trio.
 C HA P TER 7

A Second Trio
Struggles to
Emerge (1961-1963)
"IT'S A MELANCHOLY THING TO SAY, BUT IF SCOTT LAFARO HADN'T
DIED, I'D BE STRUGGLING STILL TO FLND A SITUATION WHERE I

COUID PLAY WHAT I WANT TO PLAY"

THE TRIO'S NEW BASSIST CHUCK ISRAELS

The death of Scott LaFaro had a debilitating effect on

personally and professionally. For a while his grieving
Bill Evans, both
was so
intense that he even lost all interest in playing the piano. Evans later

told his friend Gene Lees that he felt "vaguely guilty" about it. Lees said,
"He felt that, because of his heroin habit, he had made insufficient use of
the time he and Scott had had together. LaFaro was always trying to talk
him into quitting. After LaFaro's death, Bill was like a man with a lost love,

always looking to find its replacement."'

It would take Evans six months to work again with his own trio, when he

brought in bassist Chuck Israels alongside Paul Motian to fulfil a commitment

At work ill the studio diiiiiig 1961

92
%.,
Bill E vans
in Syracuse, New York. With Israels on board, tlie music would grow in a different way to the previous trio,

bringing Evans more to the fore. This would have advantages and disadvantages. LaFaro's deatli produced
an effect that often occurs as a result of an early and tragic death: the departed bassist - and Evans - became
larger figures in the jazz world. The romance of tragedy lingered around the demise of his old trio, brought
to a piquancy by the release of their best recordings that had been made less than two weeks prior to LaFaro's
deatli. It spurred people's interest in what Evans would do next, lending him a new aura beyond the musical.
Evans played a handful of recording dates in the autumn and early winter of 1961, also appearing as a

solo act on a limited range of club gigs. His playing on a Dave Pike Quartet recording for Columbia, Pike's
Peak, in November 1961 suggests that he was falling back on the practices and approaches that he'd

cr>'stallised during his stay with Davis. The lead track, 'Why Not?', credited to Pike, is in fact Coltrane's

Impressions', itself inspired by Kind Of Blue's 'So What' and by a Debussy piano piece, 'L'Isle Joyeuse' (hence
Coltrane's title). Evans is entirely at home with tlie dual scales of the piece, but his approach is linear and
loosely swinging, with no attempt to make dialogues with the entirely conventional 1961 rhythm section that

follows the stylistic lead of the old Miles Davis Sextet. This is Evans the professional fulfilling his duty to an
exemplary standard. The other interesting performance on a date otherwise made up of standards is an
interpretation of Davis's 'Vierd Blues' which, with Pike's Milt Jackson-inspired vibes, could have been an
outtake from a Prestige Davis session of the mid 1950s.
Soon after this date, in early December 1961, Evans began recording Niwana with Pike's erstwhile

employer, flautist Herbie Mann. The disc would be finished off by three extra selections from the same
personnel in May 1962, and would lie unissued for over two years. The probable reason for its delay was the
huge success Mann was about to experience with his live album Herbie Mann At The 'Village Gate, recorded
just three montlis earlier and on the point of being released. It carried what was to be Mann's greatest hit,

'Comin' Home Baby', and defined what the public came to consider to be "the Mann sound" for the 1960s.

When Niivaiia did finally appear in 1964 it sounded rather anachronistic. Had it been issued at the time, it

would have been a valuable pointer to where Mann and Evans were headed. It would also have introduced

the new version of the Bill Evans trio, for the rhythm team here is Paul Motian and bassist Chuck Israels.

The title track, with its two alternating chords, is credited to Mann and sounds like a pared-down version
of 'Blue In Green'. Evans's playing comes directly from the harmonic palette he had been employing with
his own trio earlier in the year. The group's version of Erik Satie's 'Gymnopedie No.2' once again gives a

strong pointer to an array of Evans's own musical interests and pursuits. It is the earliest jazz version of the
piece that this author is aware of, and is unusual because it is 'Gymnopedie No.3' that has become the most
popular over the years. This was some years before Satie was generally perceived as a charmingly eccentric
precursor to many of the fashionable musical ideas of the post-World War I period - a view as partially
accurate as the previously orthodox opinion that he was of limited worth.

The Nirvana album is only a qualified success, in part because Mann finds it difficult, without vibrato,
to retain the listener's interest in his melodic line at slow tempos - and much of this album is veiy slow. Also,
Evans's partners are so tentative in their contribution as to beg the question as to why the pianist chose to
chance it with them in the first place. A decidedly anaemic recording quality doesn't help in this respect. It

is no accident that the sprightly 'I Love You', a Cole Porter tune that Evans had already recorded on more
than one occasion, is the most steadily cohesive and accomplished performance by the four men, Israels and
Motian at times achieving the sort of inspired drive that the old trio had so effortlessly attained, especially

behind Evans's own playful solo.

Whatever the album's drawbacks, at least the pianist was testing the water again, however tentatively.

His life was at the beginning of a large and long-lasting change. Now married and looking as ever for
increased financial security, Evans had opened negofiations with Creed Taylor, new A&R boss at Vei-ve

Records, to join his label. Taylor had known Evans casually for a number of years and had been reminded
of the pianist's abilities while using him as a sideman during Taylor's short stay at Impulse! Records. Taylor
was attempting to re-cast Verve in a new image different to that set by its founder, Norman Granz, who had
 A SECOND TRIO STRUGGLES TO EMERGE 1961-1963

recently sold the label to MGM. Taylor was convinced that Evans would be an artist capable of considerable
musical and commercial development - and witli similar aims in mind he would sign Wes Montgomery, also

from Riverside, Cal Tjader, from Fantasy, and Jimmy Smith, lirought over from Blue Note.
Like Miles Davis moving from Prestige to Columbia in 1955, Evans would not be free of his recording

commitments to his existing label. Riverside, for some time (in fact it would not be until eariy 1963, although
the first Verve session took place in August 1962). But the new deal was arranged in late 1961, as reported
by Down Beat dated December 7th that year In the following issue the Readers Poll results declared Evans

in third place on piano, behind Oscar Peterson and Thelonious Monk and ahead of Dave Brubeck and
Horace Silver. Evans's reputation was growing at a time when his own life was in disarray. Apart from being
unable to pull together a regular working trio, he also suffered from another attack of hepatitis. According to

Brian Hennessey, who met him for the first time in New York in early 1962 while the pianist was in the midst
of this illness, the result was "permanent and serious liver damage".
Desperate for money to keep his addiction going - his wife was now also a user - as well as to pay the
rent, Evans began working in early 1962 with his new trio, retaining Paul Motian on drums and permanently
hiring Chuck Israels on bass. Despite the pianist's poor health and low spirits, the group found work
sporadically around the New York area at clubs such as Birdland and tlie Village Vanguard. Evans also

appeared on a Tadd Dameron big-band album. The Magic Touch, for Riverside in Febmary.
The new group began to gel, but work remained occasional as Evans attempted to pick himself up. His

prevailing mood can be heard in the four selections recorded in April 1962 as tlie first part of a projected

solo album. It was never completed and the performances set aside, not to be heard until issued in the 1970s.
On a 'Danny Boy' which lasts for over ten minutes, Evans is by turns ruminative, disconnected, intense, faux-

jovial and content to swing things along at mid-tempo. The music is intensely personal and private, sounding
less like a shaped performance than time spent privately at the keyboard which happened to be overheard.
Other pieces from the date are treated in a more formal manner, but tliere are still strange moments,
such as the unnerving pause at the end of the first full statement of 'Like Someone In Love' where Evans
seems simply unsure whetlier to continue playing. 'In Your Own Sweet Way', a tender and sweetly
affectionate medium-tempo Dave Bnibeck portrait, finds Evans curiously unable to bring to bear his vaunted
gradations of touch and dynamics, and his left-hand accompaniment to his own improvisations is unusually
lumpen. He hardly bothers to give tlie performance a coherent ending. "Easy To Love' comes off best in terms

of shape. He supplies one of his trademark out-of-tempo introductions before falling into an easy mid-tempo
improvisation where tlie melodic line often achieves a cantilena (a long, flowing instrumental passage) not

apparent elsewhere that day. Even then, there are passages which sound like filler, where the hand rather

than the brain is making tlie note choices. It is understandable that Evans stopped tlie session after this track.
Clearly spring 1962 was a bleak time for him, yet it was also the period when the seeds of his pre-

eminence in the later 1960s were planted. The trio he was now rehearsing for a series of booked gigs was
to stay together for close on four years and would tour the world together. Evans was also introduced to
Helen Keane, the woman who would fashion his subsequent career, by close mutual friend Gene Lees, who
was only too aware of the calamitous state of Evans's private and professional life in that period. According
to Lees, Evans had even allowed himself to be signed to two booking and management agencies at the same
time - neither of which were doing much for him. Keane was then striking out on her own in management
after a highly successful career as a talent agent for TV and live shows. By the summer of 1962 she had
offered to become Evans's manager after Lees had extricated him from his two previous agreements by
involving the American Federation of Musicians.
Evans took his new trio into the Riverside saidios in May and June and recorded enough material for

two albums. Moonbeams and How My Heart Sings. This was unusual: until now, Evans would never have
entered the studio as a leader without clear artistic reasons. He had also been winding down his sessions as

a sideman in order to concentrate on his own band. Suddenly he went into a period of frantic studio activity.

There were a number of reasons for this, but two of the most pressing were his curtailed earnings from live
Bill Evans
work in the wake of LaFaro's death and his remorselessly voracious heroin addiction, a habit that could be
fuelled by money alone. His desire to fulfil his contractual commitments to Riverside quickly so that he could
move on to his new career at Verve coincided with tliis need for extra income. Apart from tlie session money
he could make as a sideman on dates for otliers, Evans could ask for advances against future sales from his
record company for sessions he led, irrespective of their anticipated release dates.

Keane remembered clearly this transitional time. "Bill was struggling, and I was able to struggle with

him." his new manager said later. Her income was considerable from two of her key clients, actor-

choreographer Geoffrey Holder and dancer Carmen DeLavallade. "I was very active in dance, and I was able
to give the dedication and commimient to Bill and build him without starving to death, "-^ said Keane.

Much of tlie material recorded that summer would remain unissued for decades, but the trio date

Moonbeams was issued within months of its studio completion. It starts with the anagrammatically titled 'Re:

Person I Knew' (= Orrin Keepnews), an unaccompanied piano statement of an original theme - yet again on
an out-of-tune studio piano. (Evans used a blues-based chord sequence for this tune which he would re-

fashion as 'Story Line' for his 1966 Town Hall Concert.) After the theme, the bass and drums enter for a mid-

tempo but ruminative minor-key statement, dominated by the piano's melodic eloquence. Israel's bass style
and sound is completely different from that of LaFaro's, more traditional in every respect. The melodic,
rhythmic and harmonic choices he makes for solos and accompaniment are similar to those heard from many
other top bassists at the time, from Oscar Pettiford to Paul Chambers. As might be expected, Israels had a
difficult time in the spring and summer of 1962 settling into the trio's structure. Evans himself noted, "He was
in a very sensitive position ... [It] was all happening when we played eariier this year at the Hickory House

... I had a slight apprehension about whether his self-consciousness would prevail for a long period,

obstmcting or misdirecting the natural way the group could develop. Abovit the time we left the Hickory
House, Chuck had a big overhauling job done on his bass . . . During the month-long lay-off, many of the
problems, musical and otherwise, must have settled or resolved themselves for Chuck.'"*
Those resolutions gave Israels the confidence to concentrate on simple melodic patterns, to leave space
where appropriate, and to explore extensively the deeper registers on the instalment, often driving Evans
along on faster repertoire in a way not heard since the pianist had left Miles Davis. Evans happily admitted
that the trio with Israels was "different", while Israels pointed out that "only with Bill have I begun to realise

my conception of music. It's a melancholy thing to say, but ... if Scotty hadn't died, I'd be struggling still to

find a siaiation in which I could play what I want to play. I like to make the bass sound good. If playing
time in a deep and firm and flowing way .sounds good, then that's the way 1 like to play. If playing more
delicate counterlines and filling [patterns] sounds right ... then I want the bass to sound light and clear."'

The working practice established on Moonbeams would remain in place while Israels was in the group,
giving it a very tight, disciplined character and style. The inessentials were all but eliminated, the spotlight
trained firmly on the pianist. Unfortunately, on Moonbeams this tends to lead to too much of a good thing,

for although the repertoire is of high quality - all but the first track and 'Very Early' are well-known standards
- and the playing largely flawless, the group has not yet developed its musical interaction to sustain such a
programme of essentially similar material. The album remains one best approached in samples, where
specific highlights become easier to appreciate and the similarities do not overwhelm the listener. Worthy of
note is the interplay between Israels and Evans on the theme statement of 'Polka Dots And Moonbeams', and
the wonderfully concfse and precisely played but wholly romantic conception of Tadd Dameron's 'If You
Could See Me Now' which had been reintroduced into Evans's working repertoire by the recording session
with Dameron a month or so prior to this date. It was also surely somewhat self-defeating to record a whole
programme of ballads where the pianist is often reliant on sustain and overtones when the upper registers

of the supplied piano are so evidently in need of proper tuning.

Of course the tuning problem is also present on How My Heart Sings, btit the i.ssue of pacing is less

pronounced becatj.se a swinging groove can be interpreted in a variety of ways. The presence of two waltzes
also helps create different moods and expectations - and this is tangible when a clearly delighted Evans
 A SECOND TRIO STRUGGLES TO EMERGE I96I-I963

tackles the melody statement of the title track, using pauses, sudden emphases and elisions to create aesthetic

tension and release in much the same way that Miles Davis was currently doing - for example on the waltz
'Someday My Prince Will Come', which Davis had recorded the year before. Evans's trio version of 'In Your
Own Sweet Way' is utterly different in mood and conception to the hesitant solo performance made just one
month ago. The trio swing lightly, much in the manner of Bmbeck's original rh>'tlini team, Joe Dodge and
Bob Bates, while Evans retains the light and affectionate atmosphere indicated by the song's bright harmonies
and spare, skipping melody. Only a poorly recorded and rather dull, unvaried bass solo from Israels spoils

the continuity of an otherwise superior performance.

The other notable event on this album was the appearance of three Evans originals. 'Walking Up' is an
exercise in fourths across a descending progression of related keys in the verse, while tlie bridge uses two
scales and the chords rise in major sevenths across them, much in the manner of Evans's version of
'Milestones' or his playing on 'So What'. Not a classic composition, it is at least harmonically stimulating and
suits Evans's approach. '34 Skidoo', another waltz, points up his fondness for verbal humour, the title being
a variation on an old pre-war saying. Tlie tune is Shearing-like, the construction artful, hiding shifting metre

through skilful rhythmic displacement of the same melodic kernels. The theme is not memorable, however,
and Evans seems to be trying a little too hard to make things work during an unusually busy and decorative
solo. 'Show-Type Tune' finishes up the record but has the misfortune to follow the beautiful Cole Porter song
'Everything I Love', which is given a relaxed and assured performance by the three men. Evans's tune, by
contrast, sounds happy but superficial, his improvisation ftill of what by now could be identified as personal
cliches, both rhythmic and melodic. Still, the overall level of inspiration and cohesion of this album, though
recorded at the same time as Moonbeams, is a good way ahead of that all-ballad programme.
While Riverside was pressing ahead with a busy recording schedule for Evans, during that summer his

new company, 'Verve, began to show its hand. An announcement in Down Beat in June 1962 claimed that
"GU Evans has signed a contract with 'Verve. His first record will be with pianist Bill Evans". ^^
The great

arranger and composer did in fact sign to Creed Taylor's Verve that summer, but he and his pianist namesake
never made a record together. It is entirely possible that the 'Verve project for piano and orchestra was kept
alive by drafting in for the arranging and composing duties another recent Taylor signing to the label, Gary
McFarland; an Evans/McFarland album was indeed made the following January. On a less ambitious scale,

BiU Evans was lined up with drummer Shelly Manne and bassist Monty Budwig to cut an all-star trio session
for 'Verve in August 1962. Meanwhile, the pianist did not allow Riverside's Orrin Keepnews to relax: he had
already proposed a quintet date to the surprised producer, who readily agreed. On July l6th Evans went into

the studio with Freddie Hubbard (taimpet), Jim Hall (guitar), Percy Heath (bass) and Philly Joe Jones (drums).
Riverside was clearly pleased tliat one of its more prominent artists wanted to abandon his parsimonious
strategy to recording, but had few illusions as to his motives. In his liner notes to an early-1980s vinyl release
that reissued the Hubbard sides (alongside an unissued Zoot Sims/Jim Hall session from the same summer)
Keepnews refers to Evans's "severe dependency on narcotics" at this stage of his life. He goes on: "This
dependency uses up a lot of cash; the most feasible way for a musician who had not been working much in

the past year to get money was from his record company."^ The junkie in Evans had realised that as he was
in the process of winding up his recording contract witli Riverside - and beginning another with Verve - he
couldmake extra money to feed his habit by proposing Riverside sessions one after anotlier during the
summer and fall of '62 - while simultaneously asking for advances from Creed Taylor at Verve.
The quintet sessions that became the Inteiplay album were released within a year, suggesting that all

concerned were relatively happy with the results. All but the title tune - an Evans blues - were standards
that needed little in the way of preparation. ''When You Wish Upon A Star', 'Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams',
'I'll Never Smile Again' and 'You Go To My Head' all have strong melodies with a calculated impact and
nothing particularly hazardous in their chord changes. The presence of Philly Joe Jones alone guaranteed a
harder drive than normal for Evans, while the other band members made only mdimentary contributions to
what are clearly head arrangements. The open, swinging approach brings out the best in Freddie Hubbard,
Bill Evan
with wlmm H\ans had profitably appeared on Oliver Nelson's The Blues And We Abstnict I'nilh a year or so
before. Hubbard's playing, bodi on open horn and mute, are unusually melodic, unfailingly swinging and
unerringly tastefi.il. Brimming witli ideas but avoiding the flash and inelegant, he displays a full and beautiful
tone and an eagerness to shape his solos, alongside a varied rhythmic conception that gives his playing drama
and freshness, even on ballads. Of the others, Jim Hall comes off less well, his imderstatement an insufficient

contrast to Evans's own when used as a foil for the incisive solos of Jones and Hubbard. At times Hall simply

lays out in an effort to keep clear of Evans's accompaniments (their justly praised duet albums avoid the
problem of passages where both men are simply being accompanists). Evans plays with such restraint and
sensitivity that it is hard to believe on aural evidence alone that he is the date's leader. His solos are no longer
tlian any others, he rarely solos first, and at no time does he wrench the listener's attention away from what
else is happening by demanding to be heard. The overall impression is of a swinging, happy date with a
gifted young trumpeter in partictilarly good form on a bunch of well-worn standards.

August 1962 saw Evans placed first in the Down Sea/ International Critics Poll piano section (Monk was
second, Peterson third - although Peterson would, witli just one exception, maintain an iron grip on the
Readers' Poll results for some years to come). Evans's success in the poll confirmed the worldwide impact of
his first trio now that its final recordings were emerging. The same month saw Evans in the studio on
consecutive days: on the 20th with a trio for his initial Verve recording date, and on the 21st and 22nd for
Riverside for another quintet session, this time with Zoot Sims and Ron Carter subbing for Freddie Hubbard
and Percy Heath. Both sessions were more ambitious than Intetplay, with markedly different results.

For the trio session, Creed Taylor at Veive had daimmer Shelly Manne specially tlown in from Los

Angeles. Manne brought along own group's bassist, Monty Budwig, guaranteeing a working approach
his

markedly different from Evans's own band. The record bears similar signs of organisation and close
collaboration between peers that Manne had brought to 23,4- a small-group session for Impulse! earlier in
the same year featuring Eddie Costa and Coleman Hawkins, among others. Manne's record with Evans,
Empathy, covers a variety of moods within a session of standards. There is a tongue-in-cheek, off-centre
arrangement of Irving Berlin's little-heard 'The Washington Twist' - a musical trinket from a failed 1962
Broadway show Mr President, and little more than a blatant re-working of the traditional song 'Frankie &
Johnny' - and here Evans exhibits his funk credentials. This contrasts witli an affecting, intense, concise

exploration of 'Danny Boy', a number that Evans had already recorded at length that year. Tlu^oughout the
saidio date, Manne's patented and stimulating conversational style adds dimensions and angles to die music
which continually pull Evans away from his normal melodic and rhythmic patterns, providing a welcome
freshness of approach and inspiration. The music is concentrated and thought-through. Simple touches bring
more distinction to tlie performances, for example on another Berlin piece, 'Let's Go Back To The 'Waltz',
where the move from waltz to quicker common time and back again serves to highlight Evans's own solo.
The longest tune on the session, '"With A Song In My Heart', lasts for over nine minutes and contains an
unexpected coda between Evans and Manne which may well have occurred spontaneously after the usual

trio performance had ended. Reflecting the give-and-take of a piano-dnims duet from that February session
featuring Coleman Hawkins and Manne, this tempo-less section finds Evans light-heartedly imitating a number
of pianists, from Powell to Tatum and Ellington, while Manne paces his ideas superbly. Their rapid and sure
respoases to each other make for a satisfying unity in each tune, whatever the overall shape may eventually
be, as the depth and simplicity of Gordon Jenkins's ballad 'Goodbye' makes equally clear. Just how strongly

Evans and Manne felt about the rare quality of their intercommunication can be gauged by the fact that, not
long after, they appeared opposite one another with their own groups at New York's Village Vanguard.
This initial Verve date may well have been partially driven by marketing, pairing Evans with a jazz

heavyweight who was at the top of his profession and highly visible in a series of performances for hit TV
shows, as well as being well-known for his new club, Shelly's Manne-FIole, in Los Angeles. Certainly the

advertising campaign that Verve launched suggests a carefully considered effort to bring Evans to wider
attention and to project him as distinctive and artistically important. In September 1962 the Evans/Manne
 A SECOND TRIO STRUGGLES TO EMERGE 1961-1963

session was released and promoted extensively in specialist magazines. "This is Empathy," ran one of the ads.
"The subtle interplay and projection of the emotions of three major jazz personalities on each other. A one-
time-only meeting that resulted in such sensitive improvisation the album could be titled only Empathy."^ A
further set of ads in November placed the LP alongside new records from Ella Fitzgerald, Stan Getz, Jimmy
Smith, Oscar Peterson and Johnny Hodges, proclaiming: "The giants of jazz in new and provocative settings."'-'

Verve was determined to raise Evans's public profile, placing him in the company of these proven jazz icons
and best-sellers, and surrounding him with such portentous copy. Yet, as Gene Lees recalled'" many years
later, Evans's life was in such personal disarray at the time that the electricity had been cut off in his apartment

and he was constantly having to deal with loan-sharks following desperate attempts to finance his and his

wife's daig habits. Not that his addiction was allowed to impair his professionalism. He always
conscientiously fulfilled his responsibilities - even if his need to make a dmg connection occasionally
determined that he would miss a gig or arrive uncomfortably late.

Riverside too was in the business of promotion, and in the same month as Verve's Empathy they released
Moonbeams, the Evan,s/Israels/Motian trio session from June, advertised in Doicn Beat along with new albums
from Bobby Timmons and Milt Jackson. Riverside's copywriter claimed the album to be "a rare and hauntingly
beautiful experience"." Meanwhile, in the same November 1962 issue of Down Beat, an entirely different and
previously unheralded Evans project surfaced for review. Uiidercnirent was a duet album with guitarist Jim
Hall recorded for United Artists in the auaimn of 1962 as a sort of afterglow from a summer that had seen
them working together in the studios on Evans's quintet dates for Riverside, This pairing, to recycle Riverside's
marketing words, was indeed rare and haunting, for the two men combined in a way that the more crowded
environment of the quintet sessions had made largely impossible.
Evidently UA were well aware of the quality these two men brought to the project, for the album was
packaged in a high-quality gatefold sleeve with special art-paper finish to offset a stunning black-and-white
photograph of a woman drifting company overcooked the recipe with the
underwater. Unfortunately the
fatuously arty liner notes by Barry J. whose stream-of-consciousness attempt to portray the musical
Tiais,

alchemy of Evans and Hall through stretched syntax and hyperbolic imageiy makes for painful reading. To
quote the concluding sentences: "'Naked day?' puffed sound slices blush. Tongue stuck inside teeth. Torso
immobile inflame face cheeks ticket counter leaned hat veined hat pulled hat swivel, 'I don't know what to

say.' Jagged leaning brown limbed face. His eyes crumbled smiles smoke dust wound warm bricks."'^

The music itself is much more successful. The similarity of texture and the typically reduced dynamic
range favoured by both men melds their ideas and interplay in an intimate fashion. Undercurrent's rather

short programme - just six numbers that barely make a half-hour's worth of music - covers a wide canvas,
from originals (Hall's 'Romain') to standards ('My Funny Valentine', 'I Hear A Rhapsody', 'Darn That Dream')
and the recent John Lewis composition 'Skating In Central Park' that Evans had first come across during the
Odds Against Tomorrow film-soundtrack session with Lewis's studio band.
Each musician's special skills at improvisatory counterpoint and sensitive accompaniment are prominent
throughout this mostly ruminative date. Their equal but differing abilities in caressing a melodic line through
gradations of touch and tiny rh^-thmic displacements keep the listener fascinated at each new unfolding of a
song's deeper levels of meaning. It is no great surprise to find a number of pieces in 3/4 time, 'Dream Gypsy'
being one of the most poignant and evocative of the set. Both musicians sound remarkably at ease in tlie

presence of the other, and the musical conversations tliat arise are seemingly organic in their naairal
evolution. One wonders whether this date nudged Evans further along the path to his three-piano excursions
on Conversations With Myself, now just six or so months away. The one overall drawback to Undercnirent
is its poor recording quality that renders the upper ranges of botli instrnments curiously subdued and dull.

In an otherwise slow-tempo programme, 'My Funny Valentine', normally performed by jazz musicians

as a moody ballad, is the single up-tempo romp on the album (it was the last-recorded piece on the date,
though the record company programmed it to open side one on the original LP release). Both men employ

a harder and more incisive touch and attack, bringing added drama to their conversations as they shape a
 Bill Evans
perfectly conceived and unified joint improvisation, Evans in particular enjoying liis spinning-out of long
single-note walking bass lines to support Hall's efforts. The relationship between Evans and Hall tliat had
blossomed for this auaimn 1962 duet recording had only been fleetingly heard when they had appeared on
the Riverside quintet album recorded on August 21st and 22nd. The quintet session was important to Evans,

regardless of any financial spur tliat may have come from his chemical requirements. For a start, he brought
to the date no less tlian seven previously unrecorded originals; secondly, with the exception of the late

replacement of bassist Percy Heath by a young Ron Carter (whose playing on the date is exemplary), Evans
had long admired all the musicians involved - in addition to Hall and Carter, there was tenorist Zoot Sims
and dmmmer Philly Joe Jones. He trusted them under studio conditions to deliver on a set of tricky tunes

that were not the sort to be knocked off routinely in a couple of hours. However, the ambitions of Evans and
his Riverside producer Orrin Keepnews were largely unrealised, thanks in part to the typical shortcomings of
an early-1960s recording session: limited studio time, a minuscule budget and no prior rehearsals.
This led to what Keepnews later remembered as an uncomfortable date. He admitted to feeling "pretty
edgy going into the studio, which surely didn't help"." Problems with sound balances and other technical
matters added to tlie difficulties, including some poor tuning which dogged Hall in particular on day two.
On the first day the group recorded 'Loose Blues', 'Fudgesickle Built For Four', 'Time Remembered' and a

tune dating from the mid 1950s, 'Funkarello'. Of these, only 'Time Remembered', an intense and lyrical ballad,

posed major interpretative problems. Even the detailed part-writing of 'Fudgesickle Built For Four' resolved

into a chord sequence which sits comfortably for the soloist (the title's puns refer not merely to 'Bicycle Built
For Two' and an American popsicle or ice-lolly, but also to the John Lewis-like Baroque-style four-part canon
which forms the theme). 'Time Remembered', however, moves unexpectedly in its harmony and has an
unusually long verse staicture, forcing the soloist to concentrate hard on his shifting position within the maze.
Coming cold to this in the studio seems to have fazed Zoot Sims, who plays very tentatively, though with
occasional flashes of lyric beauty. The edit between the solos from Sims and Evans - presumably jumping
between takes - is particularly evident. Yet the piano solo is very fine, being concise, emotional and full of
colour Jim Hall carries the recapitulation of the melody with more assurance than Sims could muster at the
theme's onset. The other two pieces have Evans tinkering with established forms. 'Loose Blues' is a relaxed

investigation into using certain harmonic intervals in a descending pattern through a I-'V-VI-I cyclic structure,

while 'Funkarello' inverts the harmonic basis used by Bud Powell, among others, for 'Un Poco Loco'.

The second day proved more troublesome. Three songs were completed: 'My Bells', 'There Came You'
and 'Fun Ride', with 'My Bells' needing no fewer than 25 takes, many of them breaking down or incomplete,
before all concerned were convinced that there was sufficient of quality to edit together into a passable

performance. 'There Came You' is a pretty ballad, taken here at medium tempo with Jones on brushes, and
featuring an interesting set of modulations in the B section of the song, while the recapitulation of the A
section is given added twists to lengthen it and make its harmonic movement that bit more intriguing to
soloist and listener Hall in particular shines in his solo here, bringing poise and eloquence as well as abrupt

shifts of pace to his chorus. Evans relishes the challenges he has set himself, taking one of his longest solos
of the date and avoiding many of his personal cliches until his final verse, where he introduces Ron Carter

for some exchanges and falls back on over-familiar block-chord patterns. Sims does not solo.

'Fun Ride' is a straightforward blowing vehicle of the type Evans played many times with Miles Davis;
his own sparkling, inventive solo shows a playftilness not often evident in his improvising. 'My Bells', though,
is by far the most ambitious of the pieces here, asking for a quasi-orchestral interpretation which the small-
group setting simply cannot provide. Moving between a number of tempo shifts and rhythm patterns,

including a semi-mambo opening figure on the daims, the song's different parts reftise to combine properly.
Evans's piano counterpoint to Sims's melody statement sounds leaden and ckmtsy - his parts would have
been better handled by other reed instruments - while Hall doesn't even play until the recapitulation of the
theme, where he is painfully flat. The second time through this heavily-edited recording Evans takes the
theme himself and makes more sense of it, finding continuity and proper weight to each voice, but the song

100
 A SECOND TRIO STRUGGLES TO EMERGE I96I-I963

still refuses to settle properly. Its contradictions and inadequacies would be resolved three years later when
Evans and Claus Ogerman recorded it for Verve accompanied by a fully-scored string orchestra. Given the
many difficulties and the manifest unevenness of the two days' playing, it is no surprise to find that Riverside

and Evans only managed to edit one track, 'Loose Blues', to the pianist's satisfaction before his final move to

Verve, the project then being shelved. Riverside entered a period of financial instability soon afterward which
led eventually to its temporary demise within a year It would be 1982 before this music was given its first

release, as part of an LP, The Interplay Sessions - two years after Evans's death. Considering the ingenuity of
the compositions that Evans brought to the session, and the fact that only three were subsequently prepared
for another attempt in a recording studio, these events must have been especially frustrating for him. It may
well have been the case that he had over-estimated Riverside's enthusiasm for ambitious projects at this late
stage in their relationship. At the very least, material of this type demanded a significant amount of rehearsal

time, especially if the group was not a regular working unit. he encountered made
Perhaps the difficulfies

Evans realise tliat he had to severely curb his expectations about what Riverside would - or could - do for
him in order to fulfil his outstanding contractual commitments.
Whatever the case, it is evident by the time of the pianist's next session for Riverside that he wanted out.
His mind was on the future, and for him that evidently lay elsewhere. Orrin Keepnews wrote later: "Bill had
left Riverside. The terms of his departure included provision for two final projects, to be recorded rather
promptly. It seemed to me that a solo session . . . and an in-person performance trio set would present fewest
problems."''* may have seemed that way, but
It the second attempt by Keepnews inside a year to get Evans

to make a solo album was in many ways even less convincing than the first. During the January 1963 solo
session Evans simply sounds like he's alone in his apartment, playing for his own gratification. Often he
doesn't even bother to pause between songs - something Keepnews had specifically requested that he do.
"He managed to ignore this caution a number of times," wrote the producer, "most spectacularly when the
last note of the 'Spartacus Love Theme' was identical with the first note of 'Nardis' ... [As I was] trying to
obtain an album that met normal requirements, I found it highly aggravating."'""
No fewer than 14 performances were recorded. One was discarded as being sub-standard, and three
proved to be medleys of sorts. "While there are beautiful and unusual things to be found, including the
abstractions of 'All The Things You Are' or the sombre tone of 'My Favorite Things', this is deeply private
music that does not seek to commimicate or to reach an audience. Even tlie early treamient of 'Spartacus

Love Theme' reveals an almost naive opening sequence where Evans's inspiration, Satie's 'Gymnopedie No. 3',
is noodled over before he wanders into the theme. At other points he capriciously abandons a stream of
musical thought for a few bars before remrning to it, oblivious to how this may affect the overall performance.
Evans is not looking for shape or form here, and consequently this set of recordings is fascinating to fellow

pianists or saidents anxious to penetrate the Evans process of creation. On his version of 'How High The
Moon'/'Ornithology' he is deliberately and consciously evoking the improvisafional methods of both Tristano
and Powell in what amounts to a brilliant, good-humoured pastiche that says much for Evans's own pianistic

roots as well as his affection for these pianists. A similar spirit is evident on 'Love Is Here To Stay'. It is as if

Evans is unaware of the recording studio and unconcerned for posterity in any form: he is revealing much of
his working methods in a way he would not normally allow. He is also taking many more technical and
creafive chances than usual, especially evident in right-hand flourishes, severely disruptive rhythmic
displacements, and jagged patterns. His abandon is clear from the unusually high level of mistakes and
technical imperfections he allows. The recital, eventually released in 1984, is much prized by Evans completists
as an insight into his creative muse at unguarded moments, but has little to offer the uncommitted listener The
reasons for it not being issued at the time are obvious at every turn. Perhaps Evans had meant it to be that

way. But he still make to ftilfil his Riverside contmitments. It would be agreed and cut
had the live album to

on the last two days of May 1963, some time after Keepnews had left the label, and would not appear until
Riverside had changed ownership and was briefly revived in late 1964. But Evans's musical ambitions now lay
elsewhere, as the next two sessions for his new company. Verve, would amply demonstrate.

101
 "

C HA P TER 8

Conversations
With Myself (1963)

"BILL'S LLANDS WERE THRUST IN THE SLASH POCKETS OF HIS

WINDBREAKER, AND HE WAS ALL HUNCHED UP WLTH THE BITTER
COLD. I THOUGHT: SO THAT'S WHAT GENIUS LOOKS LIKE.

WRITER GENE LEES, IN AWE OF HIS GOOD FRIEND

Evans personally, 1962 had been a harrowing year, but he'd also
Forhad ample evidence that his professional star was on the rise. He had
won his first poll as an established artist when in August the Down
Beat critics named him above all others as their pianist of the year; four
months later in the same category the magazine's readers placed him
second only to the perennially popular Oscar Peterson. He was also
working more regularly with his own trio, although in the autumn bassist
Chuck Israels was often absent from the group for long periods. At one
point Israels got as far away as Italy, where he purchased an antique bass
that gave him an impressively rich, enhanced sound upon his return. The trio

In Europe- thinking, smoking, playing - in the early 1960s

&^'
Bill Evans
was still not working every week, but Evans was busy with plans He was
for his new record label, Verve.
talking through ideas with a group of associates including Gene Lees and
his manager Helen Keane, writer
Ver\e boss Creed Taylor. Meanwhile, his popularity was buoyed by the release of recordings he'd made over
the previous few years. Down Beat, for example, reviewed Moonbeams and Know Wliat I Mean? together in

their January 31st 1963 issue, and a few pages fiirther on evaluated Dave Pike's Epic-label album. Pike's Peak,

witli E\ans. Also in that issue, Verve repeated their ad for Empathy, Evans's trio LP made with Shelly Manne.

The same week as that Down Beat hit tlie streets, Evans was in the studio contributing his part to the
next large-scale Creed Taylor venture for Verve. This one featured recent signing Gary McFarland, who had
met Evans through John Lewis, an early admirer of McFarland's arranging and compositional abilities (Lewis
had organised McFarland's attendance at a Lenox Music Inn summer school and recorded his music for
Atlantic in various settings). The hard-working McFarland's first outing as a leader for Verve had been the
well received and commercially successful jazz version of the tunes from How To Succeed In Show Business
(Without Really Trying...), a current Broadway hit. He had also collaborated with Stan Getz on Big Band
Bossa Nova in August 1962 - though Getz was its undisputed star - and that album became both critically

acclaimed and commercially successful. As we've seen, there had been talk at Verve of getting Gil Evans and
Bill E\'ans together on a project, but as with so many ideas involving Gil this never materialised. McFarland's

success, as well as his undoubted fresliness and imagination, made him a natural alternative.

Like the Getz album, the Evans record was certainly conceived as McFarland's project, but this time

McFarland's picture was on the cover and his name was out front instead of the star soloist's. This makes its

own statement about McFarland's growing success as well as the differing artistic egos of Getz and Evans.
The music itself reflects the most absorbing and deeply-felt aspects of McFarland's composing and arranging
at that time, his instrumentation alone suggesting something very different from the more conventional jazz
practices of the day. The pieces are scored for clarinet, tlute (or alto flute), two violas, two cellos, guitar, bass
and drums, with McFarland's vibraphone used as an alternative solo instrument or, occasionally, in duet with

Evans's piano. In his engaging liner commentary, McFarland claims: "I built this album around Bill - around
everything he is, his melodic gift and harmonic conception, his magic . . . On one track you will hear examples
of the blues feeling that Bill is capable of. Many pianists have limited resources, but not Bill, he has such
broad resources ... He does not sit back with cotton wool in his ears. He listens. For my taste, he is the
perfect pianist: he does everything perfectly."*

The music ranges from quasi-classical ('Night Images', 'Tree Patterns', 'Reflections In The Park') to open-
ended constructions of the sort often employed by Duke Ellington, where intriguing ensemble passages are
contrasted against and defined by the consequent solos. 'Misplaced Cowpoke' in particular exemplifies that
combination of easy swing and conversational improvisation with tart, evocative group figures and
counterpoint. The loping bassline under the theme explains the title, while the improvisational sections recall
the more adventurous MJQ dates. 'A Moment Alone' prominently features McFarland's vibes with a sustained
sound very close to Milt Jackson's, beginning as a romantic ballad before moving into swinging common-
time solos. These two pieces made up side two of the original LP release. On side one the music ranges
further and Evans's own role is more fully integrated with the ensemble. Indeed, on 'Peachtree' Evans states
the ballad theme unaccompanied at the beginning, leaving McFarland to re-state the theme in waltz time

against strings and rhythm before returning for a solo: again, a procedure strongly reminiscent of the MJQ.
Side one starts with the skittish, involving rhythmic piece, 'Reflections In The Park', in which Richard
Davis's astounding facility and musical imagination is brought to bear on the bassline assigned him by
McFarland, to the benefit of the unfolding piece of music. The second piece is 'Night Images', a reflective

item of near-chinoiserie, where McFarland starts by stating the simple unaccompanied theme in thirds,

accompanied by spare piano from Evans. They use harmonies more associated with the French grotip of
composers 'Les Six' and Darius Milhauc! than with jazz, along with the occasional John Lewis touch. Evans's
echoing of McFarland's delicate, touching tracery reveals completely different musical, imaginative and
emotitjnal contexts as the statement unfolds. At one point McFarland uses a semitone interval struck between
 CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 1963

two mallets in a percussive way, almost as if he were chuckling at what was evolving between the two men:
Evans responds with awe-inspiring spirals of echo-like arpeggios taken from ever more remote inversions of
the original harmonic underpinning. It is a defining moment and one of the most imaginative pieces of
intuitive piano accompaniment in jazz - and all in free time.

With the introduction of a metre and the rest of the ensemble, the form crystallises and reveals an ABA
structure built around variations on a two-chord harmonic core. Evans then solos on a jazz-based slow-
medium tempo, re-using many of the ideas he employed during the opening dialogue as well as some of his

more typical patterns, including a three-against-four triplet displacement all the more welcome for its use in

a completely novel context. A woodwind re-statement of the A section punctuates his solo and gives it two
clear halves, tlie second consisting of a closer reading of the melody as the piece fades to a finish with Evans
accompanied by hushed strings. The whole piece is an extraordinary demonstration of McFarland's talent

with voicings, timbres and composition as well as Evans's full-blooded intellecaial and emotional response
to a challenging musical environment.

If the album as a whole can be taken as a triumph for both the composer/arranger and tlie featured
soloist, then it is also a pointer to what is missing from much of what was to come in Evans's music: only
rarely would he reairn to such a stimulating and unusual musical environment. Nonetheless, the project that

he started recording almost immediately after this involvement with McFarland was one of the most
imaginative and groundbreaking he would ever devise for himself It remains, next to the 1961 live-at-the-
Vanguard recordings, his most revered. These were tlie three sessions from Febaiary 1963 that resulted in the
Grammy-winning album Conversatioiis With Myself.
To understand the fiill impact of this record, one has to reconstruct the then-normal recording methods
used not only by the jazz industry but by studios in general. In tlie early 1960s most jazz fans - and I would
include the average critic in this description - believed that the best jazz recordings were those that more or
less "just happened". A group of musicians were playing and a microphone happened to record what they
did. Even though the editing of performances had been common practice since the widespread adoption of
magnetic-tape recording in the early 1950s, virtually no one noticed such things. Solo piano recitals using this
"documentaiy" approach had been part of recorded jazz since Jelly Roll Morton and beyond. It was rare that

such sessions would be treated as raw material from which to make an edited "constaiction".
"Bouncing" between two recording machines to build up a number of individual performances into one
recording had been undertaken by Sidney Bechet with RCA as eady as 1941 and had been extensively
explored by guitarist Les Paul in the late 1940s and eariy 1950s, but was still widely regarded as at best a

gimmick, at worst a way of bolstering the performance of a below-par musician or singer. 'With most studios
of the early 1960s operating on two or three-track tape recorders, often with a direct mixdown to a mono
master, engineers could do little in terms of bouncing before a build-up of tape hiss and a loss of recording
quality became all too evident.
Everyone involved in Evans's Conuersatioiis With Myse^ album - and most of tlie initial reviews from

critics - obsessively discussed the gimmickry of the technology before any consideration of tlie music. They
finally decided that Evans's artistiy somehow made the use of multi-track recording "all right", as if there were
something sinful in such a technical process, or some sort of cheating was involved. Evans himself was
sufficiendy worried (as well as excited) that he wrote a justification in the liner notes of the gatefold LP

release, explaining his reasoning. To be so defensive is entirely understandable in a world of such musical
orthodoxy as jazz. After all, tliis writer can remember a well known jazz critic using the fact that the singer's

voice was overdubbed at another session as a valid reason for describing Blue Rose as an artistic failure. This
mid-1950s collaboration between Rosemaiy Clooney, Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington is now rated by
many as one of the most successful of all Ellington's meetings with a vocalist, Sinatra included. The date of
this Luddite criticism? 1995.
Yet by 1963 a slim but artistically convincing catalogue of multi-track recordings had built up in jazz. The
aforementioned Sidney Bechet's 'Sheik Of Araby' for RCA 'Victor in 1941, Lennie Tristano's solo piano
B i Evans
experiments of 19^^, later released on Atlantic, ErroU Garner's 1956 and '57 piano-and-orchestra outing. Other
Voices, for Columbia, and Sing A Song Of Basie hy Lambert, Hendricks & Ross for ABC in 1957 (with Creed
Ta>'lor as a producer) were all seen by jazz fans as worthwhile projects. Even musical hipster-comedian Slim
Gaillard had experimented in 1951 witli the teclinique when he recorded 'Genius' for Norman Granz. Like
Bechet, Gaillard played e\'er>' instalment, including organ, ba.ss and drums, but tlie recording was left
unissued until the mid 1990s. Given tlie genuine interest in the idea - and Creed Taylor's success with Stan
Getz's 1961 LP Focus, where Getz played at least some of the programme on a different date to the Beaux
.\rts group - it is understandable that E\ans found the concept intriguing and that his record company would
be willing to try it out. The author of the album's liner notes. Gene Lees, was careful to acknowledge the
willing co-operation of artist, manager and record company personnel. "One thing I remember vividly is the
atmosphere of permissiveness tliat Creed Taylor established," wrote Lees. "He didn't make this LP happen,
"'
he let it happen.
The most fascinating aspect of Conversations is the series of challenges and dilemmas that Evans poses
for himself in the allocation of piano roles. Tfiree individual piano parts were recorded on to the two-track
stereo master tape: the basic part (always heard in the right-hand speaker) we shall call "piano one", and
then two further parts, "piano two" (left speaker) and "piano three" (heard in the middle). Evans's most
obvious musical demarcation was to accord each recorded piano part a rhythmic, harmonic and melodic role
in direct parallel to his own trio's work, emphasising the interaction that would take place between piano,
bass and drums during a normal Evans trio performance. At times this is readily identifiable, as in 'How About
You?', but for the most part he is forced into supplying subtly different commentaries against the underlying
musical fabric of piano one. This is especially notable on the three Thelonious Monk pieces and the Evans
original, 'N^'C's No Lark'.

During these performances, Evans is sufficiently stimulated by his material to continually break free of
a preconceived role on any given piano part, leading to some of his freshest and most daring playing. Such
inspired bending of his normal rules of practise reaches its apotheosis on 'Spartacus Love Theme', a piece
that we will consider in more detail below. Paradoxically, but perhaps also predictably, this shifting of roles
and abandoning of strict demarcation is liberating for Evans. As he no longer has to provide all tlie elements
of a piano performance in one take, he can allow himself the luxury of single-note arabesques, staccato chord
patterns in unusual rhythmic shapes, and a host of other imaginative interjections which stretch and redefme
his pianistic and musical vocabulary. This sense of creative excitement which we share with Evans is a key
element in the album's artistic impact.
Conversations is also remarkable for Evans's choice of repertoire, often far removed from what he had
been happy to record before. Apart from the three Monk compositions - 'Round Midnight', 'Blue Monk' and
Bemsha Swing', the latter not issued until some years later - there is also 'Just You, Just Me', the structure of
which Monk had re-cast as 'Evidence'. More typical of Evans are the standards 'How About You?', 'Stella By
Stariight' (from the suspense film The Uninvited and a tune that he'd already re-cast once for Miles Davis), 'A
Sleepin' Bee' (again held over at the time and first issued decades later) and 'Hey There'. Both 'Bee' and
'Stella' would remain part of his working repertoire for many years. The other film soundtrack tune, 'Spartacus
Love Theme', is unusual in that it was current at the time of Evans's recording and, in its original context, is

not an obvious choice for jazz treatment. One wonders if the choice was influenced by the astonishingly
successful transformation of Richard Rogers's 'My Favorite Things' by John Coltrane two years previously,
though it seems to have been Evans's choice and was not suggested by his manager or record company.
The album was completed in just three sessions. 'NYC's No Lark', the first and only piece to be recorded
on February 6th, is a brooding, quasi-funereal piece in A minor (hints of Chopin), its theme arising from an
ostinato pattern of fourths over a tonic and dominant bass. It is a tribute to the recently deceased pianist
Sonny Clark, Evans's friend and a fellow heroin addict. Evans was very clearly aware of the original contexts
of his sources, for one of the musical models for this composition, especially its B section, is Stravinsky's ballet

'/he I'irehird, which tells a story of deatli and transfiguration. In a typical play on words, Evans had
 CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 1963

constmcted a telling title from the letters of Clark's name. He had also put much thought into the strvicture

of this piece, which runs for close to six minutes and at first listening sounds almost completely spontaneous.
Piano one, which carries the repeating chordal and rh>thniic patterns as well as the frequent modulations,
registers the form. There is an initial ABA pattern, and then roughly halfway through, when the piece has
arrived back at the tonic, piano one signals a cessation of metre and a remarkable unaccompanied right-hand
chordal passage tliat recalls nothing so much as the keening, passionate trumpet playing of MUes Davis on
'Solea' from Sketches Of Spain. Then Evans picks up the initial rhythmic and scalar pattern, albeit in tamcated
form and with a gradually disintegrating rhythmic base, before a short finale in suspended time, saturated in

upward-swirling right-hand passages from two of the parallel piano parts. It is like cold, driving snow in

wintertime New York City.

Evans's playing on 'NYC's No Lark' is very forceful. The rather dull recorded sound may rob his piano
of some of its impact, but his left-hand passages in the finale are tripleforte stabs at the keys - reminding us
that, like Garner, he was a natural left-hander - while a blues-drenched, bitterly angry right-hand octave figure

from piano three (central) during the B section of the recapitulation carries such force as to be comparable
with Bud Powell's attack, or even Cecil Taylor's during this period. It is Evans's misfortune - and the listener's
- that this tune was the first recorded, for some technical problems allied to the nature of the recording mean
that piano three is a quarter-tone flat compared to the other two. This certainly increases the bleakness of the

performance, but the sourness wasn't something Evans was actively looking for, and it is significant that no
other songs were attempted that day.
The other problem with 'NYC's No Lark' is the tentative nature of Evans's own pianistic commentary on
the musical base of piano one. Although the music he makes is fascinating, the second and thurd piano parts
are often very untidily played in relation to what is going on around them, with late or early entries,
occasional racing in front of the (implied) beat, and other distractions. In the liner notes Gene Lees wrote
about Evans's mood during this session: 'At the first date, Bill began to feel that what he was trying to

accomplish was, perhaps, ultimately impossible."' There are also notable imbalances in sound levels,

especially between piano one and piano three, as well as a degree of tape hiss due to the mechanical process
of recording three pianos on to a two-track master. All tliis must have led to a general agreement to suspend
operations after just one number in order to consider these problems.
Three days later, Febaiary 9th 1963, Evans, his manager Helen Keane and Creed Taylor were back in
the 'Webster Hall studio in New York City that 'Verve preferred for their recording projects. The six selections

completed tliat day for Convenations show that the technical and musical challenges had been met and
overcome, although one or two keys on the piano were now out of tune. In all of these recordings, the
unusual power and elan in Evans's attack, in the absence of bass and drums, is especially evident. On the

first tune of the day, 'How About You?', Evans keeps up a bright tempo on his original piano-one "guide"
part, moving from syncopated chordal accompaniment, where he uses his carefully worked substitutions, to

a full-on single-note solo, before returning to his opening chordal treatment. The performance concludes with
a brief unaccompanied resolution. Both additional parts share the theme-stating responsibilities at the front

and end of the song and add arpeggio swirls at the finish, while also increasing the rhythmic heat during

piano one's brief solo, when piano two lays down a chorus of romping walking-bass notes. All exits and
entrances are neat and unfussy and the playing is confident and full of fresh ideas (including a host of
paraphrases and quotations from other songs with relevant titles).

'Just You Just Me' was recorded next. It follows a similar procedure to the first piece, except that Evans

uses piano one to state the melody more clearly through his voicings. He also solos confidently on this piano
track, offering involved, rhytlimically virile ideas with and a remarkably boppish tinge
good continuity
recalling Bud Powell's long, fluent lines. The other two pianos - two and three - restrict themselves on this
brisk number to commentary and embellishment, the most notable addition occurring at the end where piano
three delivers a delectable octave-unison middle-register flourish over quiet held notes from the other two
pianos. By the time he tackled the third piece of the session, 'A Sleepin' Bee', Evans was more ambitious in

107
Bill Evans
his arrangement, lieginning with a swirling eddy of tremolos and arpeggios from all three pianos that comes
directly from the Erroll Garner book of dramatic entries. After this his simple statement of the theme on piano
one echoes the arrangements of Art Tatum, who would pick out a medium-tempo melody between
elaborations to telling effect. The commentary from piano two alternates between ascending and descending
fourtlis, echoing tine melody's contours, and occasional octave ains. Once the theme is out of the way, a
moderate tempo is set and pushed along by left-hand proddings and off-beat chordal jabs from two pianos.
The recording is very busy, with all three pianos playing for most of the time, and though Evans succeeds in

keeping the lines relatively disentangled and the pianos hitting the beats together, the lack of contrast and
development over four minutes makes for a meretricious rather than musically impressive result. The closing
sequence with its modulations and repeated tremolos is uncomfortably close to what Evans would choose
for 'Stella By Starlight' and 'Hey There', which he recorded next. Considering the general superiority of form,

pacing and inspiration on 'Stella' and the greater variety and winning humour of 'Hey There', one can
understand why Evans and Taylor kept back 'A Sleepin' Bee' from appearing on the original album.
Stella By Starlight' is a superior performance, partly because Evans allows himself space at this slower
tempo to evolve a moving and dignified theme statement that is embellished beautifully by the other two

pianos, and partly because his collective improvisation after this - against the same perky, prodding left-hand
rhythm he uses throughout this day's work - is unusual, constantly varied, and rich in melodic and harmonic
nuance. The following piece, 'Hey There', is less well developed, with Evans blocking out the tune's chords
on piano one while piano two provides the melody, mostly in octaves and with rhythmic displacement. Piano
three is tentative in its variations until a brief solo well into the piece. Originally used to open side two of
the LP. "Hey There' has a jaunty humour and optimism appropriate to the words of the original song, but
apart from some concise and electrifying double-time right-hand runs during the collectively improvised solo
slot, there is a lack of variation in texture. There is also some over-busy playing at this point from the two
accompanying pianos, presumably because they were recorded prior to the double-time piano track. For all

these reasons, 'Hey There' is the least successful of the originally released pieces.
The final recording of the day, 'Round Midnight', was eventually slated to open side one of tlie original

LP. It is the first Monk covers recorded at these sessions and is a magnificent statement of a theme
of tfiree

tliat Evans, a self-professed Monk fan, knew well and played often. By this late stage in the session Evans

had worked out how to keep a slow ballad buoyant, avoiding the more obvious tricks to maintain the
listener's interest such as playing in double-time. He uses the Miles Davis arrangement of Monk's great ballad

which, by 1963, had been in circulation for over eight years and had become the standard. This undoubtedly

helps Evans to shape the overall performance, allowing him to build the atmosphere lovingly tfirough the
three layers of piano before launching into his improvisations in the "release" section. (Piano three employs
some touches of Ravel at the opening, most notably from 'Ondine', the first movement of Gaspard.) Piano
one takes the lead in the solos, with pianos two and three content to add colour and arabesque, and the title

of the record comes vividly to mind as the three pianos enter into a close and beautifully balanced dialogue.
This level of performance is maintained throughout the recapitulation of the theme, achieving a near-perfect
recording. At 6:33, 'Round Midnight' is by far the longest recording of the day.
Ten days passed before Evans returned to the studio to complete Conversations With Myself. The
February 20th session began with his fully developed treatment of the 'Love Theme From Spartacu^. He had
made a brief foray into the piece for Riverside just over a month earlier, but had only dallied with it then
before launching into the harmonically related 'Nardis'. Now he was ready for a completely rounded creation.
He had come across the theme while watching the movie at a Florida drive-in with pianist 'Warren Bernhardt.
Evans's reaction on hearing the movie theme was not remarkable; Bernhardt only remembers him saying,

"Oh, wow, li.sten to that theme, that's a beautiful theme,"' But it is instmctive to consider for a moment its

context. In the film the theme is first heard at the moment Kirk Douglas's Spartacus, locked in his prison cell,

is given Jean Simmons's (very) British slave-girl Marian to sleep with for the night, .so long as the guards and
the slave-owner are allowed to watch the proceedings. Ptit in this degrading position, Douglas, in the process
 CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 1963

of falling for Simmons, recoils from the intended debauchery and shouts to his tormentors, "I am not an
animal!" Simultaneously Simmons looks at him with love in her eyes, and the theme commences as Douglas
responds in a similar fashion. Perhaps it is not beyond credibility to suggest that Evans saw a parallel of a
kind: he was slowly emerging from a most distressed and degrading period in his life and recently settled in

a long-term relationship with Ellaine, a woman many presumed to be his wife (although they never married).
Certainly his treatment of the theme is overflowing with love and tenderness, as if his soul is speaking.
The minor theme is simple and direct, as is the static two-chord harmony which underpins it, and the
tune has no B section (presumably the film had no need of one). Evans overcomes this structural oddity by
ingeniously dressing up his melody-repeats and with judicious but sparing modulations as a means of
bringing proper cadences into the overall form. He also uses different tempos, as he did on other
Conversations performances, moving into his preferred 3/4 time during the central improvisational section.
But all this is mere depiction of the skeleton. The flesh of the performance is in the utterly inspired

combination of all tliree piano voices. It goes beyond what is done elsewhere on the album, where one piano
wiU often anhcipate or complete a phrase played by another, or where constantly shifting backgrounds give
sumptuously appropriate musical contexts to melodic invention. Here, the pacing, contrast and drama that occur
through the interchanges are a constant marvel. Evans takes enormous risks, such as tlie miraculous tracery of
the fast right-hand lines embroidering the final collective improvisation. For once, he largely ignores the project's
allocation of general registers to each recorded piano. It is also worth saying that this piece is perhaps tlie

furthest from conventional jazz piano of the day, and closest to Evans's classical inspiratioas - especially

Debussy, Gershwin, and Russians such as Borodin and Mussorgsky. But his spontaneous interplay and jazz
techniques anchor this firmly in the improvised music of its time. Considering the ultra-Romantic setting, some
of his playing retains a marked blues identity, precluding any mere quasi-classical pastiche. The sessions for tliis

milestone in Evans's career were concluded with spirited performances of two further Monk compositions. 'Blue

Monk' came first, and is the only piece on the LP where Evans lays down just two pianos instead of three. There
is no external musical necessity for this, as Monk's famous tlieme is no busier than otliers tackled during the
date. Evans must simply have wanted to keep tliis straightforward reworking of the blues as basic and
uncluttered as possible, to enliance its funky naaire. Again the ghost of Tatum hovers, especially in the two-
part harmonies and walking left hand which Evans uses to accompany the majority of the improvised section.

His solo, played on piano two, combines eartliy blues intervals and phraseology with more angular, challenging

double-time runs that stretch tlie harmonic and melodic basis of the piece.
'Bemsha Swing' was the last tune recorded. This piece was not released until the late 1960s when - oddly
considering that it was an out-take - it appeared on a Best OfBill Evans collection. Once again all three pianos
are present. The pianist retains his method of playing the supporting chords and rhythm on piano one at the
outset, using piano two for the melody and piano three to embellish this. The following improvised solo
passage stems from piano one - but the variation here is that Evans makes plenty of space for the anticipated
notes of the other two pianos in this section, allowing all three pianos a share of spotlight and
accompaniment. The piece is brought off very well, njns under three minutes, and is full of sparkle and wit.
One can only assume that it was held back originally to reduce the proportion of Monk pieces on the LP.

Conversations With Myself v^ou\d be released in the early autumn of 1963, to universal critical acclaim.

It has sensitive and lyrical liner notes by Evans's friend, ex-Doivn Beat editor Gene Lees, which were
important in their own way. Lees treats Evans and the album's particular creative process with a reverence
close to awe. This struck a new note in jazz writing, for although jazz from the 1920s onward has never been
short of enthusiasts espousing the cause of one artist or another, few pieces of jazz writing had ever made
assumptions like this. There are no apologies for Evans's methods, his stance or his choice of repertoire.
There is no uneasy sense of jazz's insignificance next to other, more mature musical forms. There is a basic

assumption that Evans, and the music he is making, is and will remain significant, and that the pianist is

intellectually equipped to deal with the aesthetic and creative consequences of his position. This is all at

distinct variance with, for example, the writers dealing with so-called "third stream" jazz-meets-classical music
Bill E vans
at tills time, vihere tlie attitudes to jazz are almost invariably patronising. It is also significantly distanced from

the fan-based writing in tlie 1940s and 1950s about such giants as Parker, Gillespie, Monk and Powell, or
even celebrated descriptive pieces such as Dan Morgenstern's famous description in a 1958 Metronome
magazine of Lester Young playing at a club late in his career. Even there, Morgenstern is assuming Young to

be a more or less unconscious and involuntary font of originality and beauty, firmly separating art and life.

The way Lees writes on Coiwersations is similar to die way in which LeRoi Jones would soon be
describing the music of John Coltrane. In both cases the assumptions are clear. Lees spells them out in the

last, most poetic lines of his essay: "Bill was walking ahead of us, close to the buildings, looking thin and
frail. He has a somewhat pigeon-toed walk. Those hands were tlirust in the slash pockets of the windbreaker,
and he was all hunched up with the bitter cold. I thought: so that's what genius looks like."^ From now on,
the stakes would be raised in terms of critical expectations of Evans, and this would in turn influence
perceptions of every other project in which he involved himself It would remain a double-edged sword for

tlie pianist. Evans's record with Gary McFarland was released in April 1963 and, like Conversations, scored
highly with reviewers, although Verve's advertising campaign concentrated exclusively on McFarland.
Meanwhile Evans had to earn a living, and during the spring he made the most untypical record of his career,

Voe neme From Tlje VIPs And Other Great Songs, and then went back on the road with his trio, reaching Los
Angeles in May, where at Shelly's Manne-Hole he was reunited with bassist Chuck Israels.

The neme From ne VIPs album, released on the MGM label (then Verve's parent-company), was a

piano-with-strings-and-voices affair with Glaus Ogerman supplying the charts. It was Creed Taylor's idea, and
it smacks of the producer trying to kill a few too many birds with one record. Evans later recalled that Taylor
had suggested an LP where he would play witli a larger group. "I thought fine," said Evans. "But as it turned
out . . . there was no room for me. So I just read the parts and it was really very pretty. In other words, I didn't

know until I got into the studio tliat it was going to be this kind of album, in the pop field ... I wanted to

use my Russian name on it, Gregorio Ivan Ivanoff That's William John Evans in Russian. Then I thought,
well, what the hell, I've played lots of lousy jobs, and lousy music; certainly this is nice, and pleasing, a lot

better tlian the things I'm referring to."''

Critic John S. Wilson did not mince his words in his Down Beat review of VIPs, commenting accurately:
"The fact that Evans is present is thoroughly incidental, no matter how you look at it."' Evans, fulfilling a very
limited commission, is unrecognisable. Indeed the record was considered so far outside his legitimate work
that it did not even merit a place in the vast 18-CD Complete Verve Bill Evans set released in 1997. Evans
remained refreshingly practical, saying soon after to Leonard Feather, "If this record could have done
something for widening my audience, getting better distribution for my other records, I am all for it, because
it's a cold, hard business."^ Creed Taylor concurred: "[Evans] was totally pragmatic inside the shell of the artist

that he was ... he had no hesitation whatsoever about doing something that might widen his base. As long
as we came back to the music he felt so deeply about."''
The recording at Shelly's Manne-Hole club, meanwhile, would fulfil Evans's last recording commitments
to his old company. Riverside, and conclude a harrowing but vitally important phase in his career. His trio

had been working only fitfully as winter gave way to spring 1963, and Evans arrived in California without a

bassist or drummer. Tlie bassist on the date was Evans's regular. Chuck Israels, who told the story of his

involvement in the original LP's liner notes. "I had been filling in a slow period with a few weeks of work
(elsewhere]," said Israels. "Bill, unsure of my whereabouts or availability, decided to work Shelly's as a
pianoless duo with some suitable Los Angeles bassist. However, a happy coincidence left me in Denver at

the end of [my] tour just at the time when Bill could fly me to Los Angeles to join him for the two weeks at

the Manne-Hole."'" The two men began the engagement as a duo, later adding dmmnier and vibes player
Larry Hunker, an ever-present audience member for their sets: he came recommended by composer and
arranger Clare Fischer. As Israels recalled, the three men blended from the outset: "Larry was hired on the

spot tf) finish out the job with us. The following week, Wally Heider came in to record the group for

Riverside."" Engineer Heider was supervised by Richard Bock, an LA-based producer and owner of tlie
 CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF I963

Pacific Jazz label, who had a keen ear for maintaining technical and performing standards. Portions of the
last two nights of the engagement were taped, witli the first evening contributing 11 of tlie 17 selections tliat

have survived. Israels noted tliat "this recording ... is one of those rare, candid accounts of how a jazz group
actually sounds in a club. The performances here are ones in which the feelings of the musicians, the

attention of the audience, and the atmosphere of the club inspired a creative range and joy of expression that

surpasses the usual perfunctory nature of nightclub jazz".'-

This is true enough in that there is a palpable sense of relaxation and enjoyment in the music, especially

from the first night. But during that first night there are few instances of Evans and his companions digging
much more than superficially for their inspiration. Bunker, discreet to a fault, keeps well out of the spotlight.

Israels, however accurate in pitch, strong in rhythm and telling in his choice of notes, rarely opens up any
really imaginative musical dialogues with Evans, who is for the most part content to skate along on his own
musical power In the beautiful Gershwin song 'Our Love Is Here To Stay', for example, Evans picks a tempo
for the trio's entry which is nothing less than jaunty, reflecting little of the tune's inner depths. Nothing is

badly played, but there is little to grab the attention. This contrasts strikingly with the previous trio: in Paul

Motian, Evans had a dmmnier who could make any tempo come alive through deft and unusual emphases
of the beat or interesting combinations of percussive texture. Even on the rare occasions when Evans and his

bassist would coast briefly, Motian more tlian held the attention. Nothing like that happens here.
On this evening, Evans is continually falling back on familiar improvisational devices in his solos,

indicating a lack of sustained concentration. There are rather too many bass and drum features - the
downside of having a group sound just like they really do in a jazz club. No fewer than three selections from
the recently completed Conveisations With Myself were played on the first night: 'How About You?', 'Stella
By Starlight' and 'Round Midnight'. Of these only 'Midnight' aspires to better than average nightclub music
and preserves a portion of the pianist's solo conception, again at a bright medium tempo. In fact, Evans gives
over the melody statement and initial solo on 'Stella' to Israels, who acquits himself well but cannot compete
with the bass greats, let alone Evans, in sustaining the listener's interest. The second night brings an

immediately appreciable difference, with Evans no longer eager to push tunes and tempos. The music
remains unambitious and small-scale, but Evans is several layers deeper into the meaning of his chosen
material. His partners respond accordingly, though tliere is no radical redefinition of styles and roles.

'Everytfiing Happens To Me' is a perfectly judged statement of bittersweet memory, while 'My Heait Stood
Still' carries some of the elation of discovery which the tune and its lyrics indicate. Evans, for once supported
by Bunker on sticks instead of brushes, takes off during his improvisation, finding new twists to his familiar

patterns and reinvestigating his debt to Bud Powell in particular 'In A Sentimental Mood' is blessed with a
poised opening, but does not really work, the treatment too knowing and elaborate to sustain the simple
eloquence of Ellington's line. This could be any number of clever piano trios rather tlian that of Bill Evans.
A different story emerges on Evans's own 'Time Remembered', inexplicably omitted from tlie original LP

release in 1964. (There was no competing released version: Evans's summer 1962 quintet recording of the
piece for Riverside would remain unissued for decades.) This is one of Evans's deeply-felt ballads, its strong
melody arising from a very busy harmonic pattern, recalling music by Rachmaninov and Chopin. The work
was later recorded in a number of settings by Evans, including a 1965 session where Claus Ogerman supplied
a string and woodwind anangement. Here it inspires Evans's most intense playing of the recorded portion of
the Manne-Hole engagement, his solo after the theme both reflective and dramatic. The form is spoiled by a
bass solo that provides very little in the way of an alternative viewpoint on the song - indeed, Evans's discreet
accompaniment continually teases the ear - but the power of the piece is still strongly communicated, and
Evans concludes with appropriate feeling. As a snapshot of a working group the recording has its value -
even if they did not survive beyond this May 1963 engagement. Their lack of ambition and tlie relative

conservatism of their interplay coupled to Evans's own evident lack of inspiration on the first evening makes
this a predictably patchy farewell from an artist to his old record company. Evans would go on to much better

work with Israels and Bunker, but with otlier record companies and in the pursuit of different goals.
 C HA P TER 9

Everything
Happens To Me
(1963-1965)
ABOUT MY FAVOULUTE PLANO PLAYER, SO ERESHAND
"BILL LS JUST

IMPECCABLE. HE CAN DO ANYTHING HE WANTS, AND HE HAS ALL

THE FACILITY HE NEEDS."

GEORGE SHEARING ON BILL EVANS

the spring and summer of 1963 Evans continued

During
experience the worst of heroin addiction. He was always short of
to

money and was unable to keep his group together for lack of

work. Evans and his partner Ellaine were constantly scuffling to pay for

their addiction and suffered from chronic ill-heakh. Gene Lees related that
Evans would play nightclubs at this time even when unable to use his right
hand after he'd damaged a nerve shooting-up.' During his tenure at Shelly's
Manne-Hole club in May 1963 Evans was thin and wan, but in relatively
good spirits. That summer the Newport Jazz Festival once more passed him
by, and he had no regular group right through to the autumn. At least his new

Evans in 1964 (opposite), ignoring jazz fashion and looking deep into the music

112
 7»> *

\
Bill Evans
record company stayed faitliful. advertising all three of his Verve albums regulariy in the wake of the August
release of Conversations With Myself.
Chronically fatigued, he took a break with his parents in Florida again, catching up with his brother, and
tliis allov\ed him to stabilise his heroin habit. His return to New York in the autumn coincided with the signing

of an agreement brokered by Helen Keane. This long-term contract to provide the house trio at the Village
Vanguard in New York City afforded him, as Down Beat put it, "the kind of security a jazzman rarely

receives".- Anotlier Down Beat report-^ confirmed Evans's long-term associate Paul Motian as drummer in the

trio, but by this time Chuck Israels had joined Stan Getz's group. Evans turned to Gary Peacock, a young
Californian bassist newly resident in New York who had impressed him.
The trio setded in at die Vanguard during autumn 1963. When Evans felt they were ready he had Verve
producer Creed Taylor drop in to see the group. Taylor quickly agreed to a sRidio recording, which took
place in December. On the resulting album. Trio '64, the group sounds ill-balanced, with Peacock's

remarkable bass playing often suggesting musical ideas tliat simply aren't echoed elsewhere. Motian is

particularly subdued. The choice of material doesn't help, with Evans attempting to demonstrate that he can
miraculously transform the most banal material such as 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' and 'Little Lulu'. The
listener's reaction is more often "why bother?" when there are so many good tunes that Evans never recorded.
Added to these handicaps are entirely avoidable ones, such as poor track sequencing on the original LP.

Side one consists of four tunes, all in major keys, all mid-tempo. Track one, in G, is the trite 'Little Lulu', a

joke tliat worked with ''Washington Twist' on Empathy but falls flat here. The second and third tracks, 'A

Sleepin' Bee' and 'Always', are both in A, while 'Santa Claus', which closes the side, is in C. The relentless

rhythm, major tonality and a succession of related if not identical keys makes it very difficult to maintain
interest, especially when coupled with so many problems between the players.

The listener is involved more completely on side two, where medium-tempo songs are mixed with
ballads and major keys alternated with minor. The beauty of Evans's more connected melodic ideas surfaces
occasionally on superior material such as 'Dancing In The Dark' and 'Everything Happens To Me', a particular
Evans favourite at the time. Bassist Peacock recalled many years later tliat the se.ssion was an unhappy one.
"Tlie circumstances of the date were unbelievable," he said. "Creed Taylor had come down to the Vanguard,

and he'd heard us playing, so he knew exactly what we were about, what we were doing. We got in the
studio, and we played a little bit to get a sound level. We were listening to it back in the booth, and I said,

'Wow, that sounds great, man, let's go.' Creed Taylor said, 'All, hmmm,' and I said, 'What's wrong?' And he
said, 'Well, you know, I don't really hear you playing the time.' I thought he was joking, I couldn't believe
he was serious." But Taylor was serious. Things got worse when he and the engineer removed Motian's tom-
tom, ostensibly because its resonance created microphone and balance problems. Peacock was enraged and
an argument began. The date was soured. Many years later, Motian could still remember the atmosphere as

"awful"; Peacock recalled in the same conversation that "it was the worst vibe I ever heard". Evans, ever the
professional, kept the trio on course until the end of the session, producing some coherent, occasionally
inspired music, especially on the ballads. But Peacock summed it up: "It was so far below what we had been
doing up to that point, in the clubs, just in terms of us playing togetlier.'"*

The trio did not get another chance to record, for Peacock went off in another direction soon after. The
Down Beat review of the album by Don DeMichael unknowingly echoed Taylor's concerns about time-
keeping. "Since Evans on this record is very much in his stop-and-start bag," wrote DeMichael, "when
Peacock begins starting and stopping at the same time - with Motian seemingly out of touch widi them both
- the result is like exaggerated Swiss cheese - too many holes The best non-ballad (music from] Evans on
. . .

the record is to be heard on 'Santa Claus' and 'Dancing In The Dark' when Peacock unclutters his section

playing and lays down the time in back of the pianist."'

Evans always regretted the shortlived nature of this trio. Talking of Peacock many years later, he said, "I

thought he was a rare talent with tremendous potential. Unfortimately he took a detour into diasthetic
spiritualism and his bass playing was left by the wayside. [Trio '64\ was prepared hurriedly and it did not
 EVERYTHING HAPPENS TO ME 1963-1965

really represent what we could have done together. "''

Peacock turned also to areas of jazz occupied by the
avant-garde, and later in 1964 toured Scandinavia and recorcied with saxophonist Albert Ayler's group.
The day after the trio cut their session, Doivn Beat published its Annual Readers' Poll results for 1963.

Evans charted for the first time in its Hall Of Fame list, at number 25, sharing that position with Sonny Rollins,
and came second in the Piano category with 1,444 votes, outdistancing the third-placed Thelonious Monk by
some 300 votes, and a similar nimiber again short of Oscar Peterson, who that year won for the eleventh

time. Evans's popularity and reputation were on curve. As 1964 arrived he was poised to
a steady upward
capitalise for the first time on company and manager carefully building his
this popularity. With his record

career, step by step, he had brought his personal problems under control and was busy planning the year's

activities. Included was his now regular break in the early spring to visit his family in Florida. While he was

there, Down Beat reported that he had "gained 25 pounds"'' and had re-formed his working trio. There was

much work in the offing, the report added, including a potential appearance at the Newport Jazz Festival that
summer and his first European tour in the autumn. Evans did not, however, continue the residency at the
Village 'Vanguard, which by now had decided (briefly) to host only folk and, a little later, ragtime gigs.
During Evans's absence in Florida, Conversations With Afyse/^continued to gain attention and admiration,
peaking in May 1964 when the album was awarded a Grammy for best instrumental jazz performance by
small group or soloist. It was Evans's first. That same May, he attempted for the second time to make a
successful record with Vei-ve stalilemate Stan Getz (an April '64 date using Gary Burton, Chuck Israels and
Joe Hunt from the two leaders' rhythm teams had been abandoned after three songs, and has since
disappeared from the tape archives). Evans and the notoriously mercurial Getz were joined on this occasion
by bassist Richard Davis and drummer Elvin Jones, two inspirational musicians capable of lifting any soloist.

Getz was in high spirits at the time, amply demonstrated by the first song tackled on May 5th, the Evans
favourite 'My Heart Stood Still'. Getz and Elvin Jones here enjoy a mutually uplifting relationship, with each
man stoking the creative fires through a succession of takes. Yet Evans is tentative and seems uncomfortable
on this piece and most of the rest of the date. He recalled many years later, "Both Stan and I had a muaial

desire to do a record together, but when it was over we both felt that we had not got to the level we wanted.
"**

Certainly at times Evans's mind seems to be elsewhere, as in 'My Heart Stood Still' where his disconnected

and rather aimless snatches of line and idea are uncharacterisfically listless and unformed. Davis and Jones
both pull back, waiting for sometliing to happen, but nothing much does. Evans stumbles messily through
the solo introduction to a Getz staple of the time, 'Grandfather's Waltz', on which Getz again shines as his

limpid tone caresses the melody. Even in his favoured 3/4 metre Evans manages only strings of personal
cliches in his solo spot. Getz and Evans's men play sensitively on the Lerner-Lane ballad 'Melinda', with Jones
(on brushes) and Davis accompanying the soloists with a wonderfully inventive musical dialogue. The
slapstick ftm of the 'Dark Eyes' fragment underlines the generally upbeat ataiosphere that day, Evans playing
Teddy Wilson-style stride and Getz imitating the sound of a smoochy swing-era tenor saxophone. But it was
a day when Evans failed to shine

The following afternoon the quartet re-convened with bassist Ron Carter replacing Davis, and opened
with a reworking of Evans's own 'Funkarello'. Evans solos first (tellingly, Getz had soloed first tliroughout the
previous day) and produces in a relatively short space his most coherent and flowing playing of tlie sessions
so far. Getz continues at a level of inspiration close to that of the day before but with less continuity of
phrasing, while Carter and Jones provide a light, smooth but intense rhythmic pulse. Getz gives Jimmy 'Van
Heusen's 'But Beautiful' a relaxed yet involved reading with attentive support from Evans, but the pianist's solo

is uninspired, providing few insights into the song. 'Tlie Theme From The Carpetbagger^, a superior Elmer
Bernstein melody previously recorded by Evans on his WPi session of 1963, is bnjshed aside in less than two
minutes. It was in all probability recorded as a sop to MGM, 'Verve's parent company, who were often pushing
their movie themes on 'Verve boss Creed Taylor. As Taylor later admitted, "Occasionally I gave in."'

Still lacking enough material for a full LP, die group tried two more times: tlie Cole Porter standard 'Night
And Day' using Elvin Jones's patented "caravanserai" rhytlim during the intro, and Larry Green's "WNEW,
Bill Evans
named after a New York radio station. On the Porter piece Evans again solos first. He uses stop-time breaks
confidently but without real fire, although he does manage to constnict a worthwhile improvisation. Getz
uses those breaks more effectively and builds a driving solo, with Jones matching him throughout. The short
final piece, 'WNEW, finds no one in outstanding form, and generally the players seem keen to finish the
session. This faistrating event for all concerned was left in the can until 1974, long after both artists and Taylor
had left Verve. Most of the frustrations seem to have stemmed from a clearly below-par Evans.
That the pianist was capable of quickly turning things around is demonstrated by his appearance at

Shelly 's Manne-Hole club later in May 1964 with Chuck Israels and Paul Motian. Evans was usually a magnet
for all self-respecting jazz pianists currently in town. George Shearing, a confirmed Evans fan, spoke with
huge enthusiasm to journalist Jack Hutton as they enjoyed an Evans set at the club. During 'I Should Care',

Hutton relates, "George whispered to me: 'If Art Taaim were alive, this is where he would be coming: to hear

Bill. His legato playing is incredible. The way he sustains notes and chords to the nth degree. The changes!
Gee! I reckon Bill is just about my favourite piano player. Peterson and Hank Jones are great for different

styles, but Bill is so fresh and impeccable. His thoughts flow so easily ... He can do anything he wants and
he has all the facility he needs for his approach.'"'" Shearing was unusually well qualified in the jazz circles

of the time to judge Evans, with a knowledge of classical music to match Evans's own. But this appreciation
from an important peer came as a prelude to the first series of public rebuffs aimed at Evans from a variety
of sources, most notably the jazz avant-garders, currently building their efforts to take jazz and improvising
to new areas of expression and theory.
Whether through the desire to compensate for the aborted session with Getz or for more mundane
reasons, Evans was recording again for Verve within two months, this time near San Francisco in Sausalito,
California, at a club called The Trident. A friend of Evans, the pianist and composer Denny Zeitlin, had
recently recorded there for Columbia to considerable acclaim, and this new 'West Coast venue was being
looked upon kindly by record producers at the time. The Evans trio had Chuck Israels and Larry Bunker, who
officially took over from Paul Motian with this engagement. Bunker told Down Beat that he was celebrating
his release from the Hollywood studios that had provided his musical life for the previous two or more years.

Evans, he felt, "kind of fulfilled all the ideal requirements for me. He says the most musically for me. Working
with him makes the most sense to me. Now I can play some music for a change"."
But the results of the Trident recordings with Israels and Bunker are no more inspired than the session
almost exactly a year earlier at Shelly's Manne-Hole. This time, however, Evans and Verve agreed to shelve
the recordings. Israels remembers this as yet another period when Evans was in poor physical shape and
battling against drug abuse. "There were a couple of nights where he was absolutely unable to play," said
Israels. "He may have [been] distracted by those problems and then didn't want to hear whatever [it was] in
the recordings that reminded him of that."'' Eventually in 1973 Verve released an album from these two July
1964 dates, years after Evans had left the label. More recently, over two hours' worth of previously unissued
music was made available on the Complete Verve Recordings package. The extra recordings add detail to the

picture of Evans and his trio at the time but provide no revelations.
July saw Verve placing ads that declared: "This Is The Year of Bill Evans - 1964 is the year of fulfilment
for Bill Evans." In some ways this became a self-ftilfilling prophecy. Not only was Evans winning Grammys
but he was also beginning to enjoy a firmly established reputation worldwide, demonstrated by the successful
European tour that he would start in August and by his position as top pianist in the Down Beat Critics' Poll

that same month. Evans may still have been suffering from a deeply chaotic personal life that centred on his

continuing drug dependency, but his professional life as a leader was at last in full swing.
The working trio of Evans, Israels and Bunker left for Europe in summer 1964, beginning their tour with

appearances at a festival in Comblain-la-Tour, Belgium, on August 8th and 9th, moving on to Copenhagen,
where he appeared on a television show on the 10th, and ending in Stockholm with a club date and radio
broadca.st. The tour was short and unambitious, with no dates in France, Britain or Germany, for example,
but it brought Evans in front of enthusiastic crowds and proved to him and his management tliat there was
 EVERYTHING HAPPENS TO ME 1963-1965

in Europe a most willing audience for his music. Evans's stay was capped by a recording for the Swedish arm
of the Dutch Philips label with the trio accompanying the talented Swedish singer/actress Monica Zetterlund.
The resulting album was titled Waltz For Debby - the second to be so named. By August 28th Evans, Israels

and Bunker were back in New York, where they followed tenorist Zoot Sims's group into the fashionable
Cafe Au Go Go.
In tlie autumn of 1964 Evans's contract with 'Verve came up for renegotiation. Considering the relative

failures of the December 1963 and May 1964 sessions and the undistinguished results at The Trident, both
parties must have been unsure about continuing. By late September Down Beat was reporting a "flurry of
jazz activity" at Capitol, which had signed Cannonball Adderley and Shelly Manne, while "at press time
[Capitol] was negotiating a contract with pianist Bill Evans, most recently with 'Verve".'' It is not clear whether
this was merely a clever manoeuvre on the part of Evans's manager, Helen Keane, or if tlie pianist really was
on the verge of leaving 'Verve. In an October Down Beat Creed Taylor talked of his continuing efforts to

balance commercialism with artistic integrity at 'Verve. Explaining that albums rarely sell unless "there is a

number on [them] which takes off, Taylor said: "I always try to get one single from each album and ... give
that one the full DJ exploitation." But he also claimed "I'm trying to be less deliberately commercial and more
musically logical. Some deliberately commercial efforts do attract attention to jazz artists, but if we can capaire
what an artist really wants to do - and this catches on - we find it does better than anything we can work
up."''' There was an all-out blitz of publicity in Doivn Beat in October and November, with Evans the front-

cover interview in the October 22nd number, along with tlie first part of his two-issue appearance in a

Blindfold Test. Tlie following issue canied part two, as well as a review by Nat Hentoff of the Evans trio's

appearance at the Cafe Au Go Go. Neither magazine carried Evans ads from 'Verve.
'Whatever the precise details of the stand-off the final result was a renewal of the 'Verve contract. Evans
was slated to return to the Van Gelder studios in early Februaiy 1965 to make a new trio album with his

working group. In the October '64 Down Beat interview with Dan Morgenstern, Evans had already hinted at

how he might feel about such a deal and a new studio booking for his trio. He pronounced himself
"extremely happy" with tlie group. "Lariy [Bunker] is a marvellous musician," said Evans. "He plays excellent
vibes as well as being an all-round percussionist, and being so musical he just does the right thing because
he's listening." Evans expressed his own good spirits when he noted "we probably make a stronger emotional
projection tlian at almost any time in the past".''
Elsewhere in that intei^view Evans allowed himself to be drawn into a contemporary public debate about
the so-called "new freedoms" being introduced into jazz by musicians such as John Coltrane, Eric Dolphy,
Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor. For the most part he was careful to emphasise that his own preferences
were just that - a personal choice. But Evans did make some wider comments in the interview: "The only
way I can work is to have some kind of restraint involved - the challenge of a certain craft or form - and
then find the freedom in that, which is one hell of a job. I think a lot of guys either want to circumvent that
kind of labour, or else they don't realise the rewards that exist in one single area if you use enough restraint

and do enough searching."'''

This was perfectly justifiable as a personal method of working, but in the highly charged atmosphere of
the mid 1960s it would have been generally interpreted as a previously innovative musician deliberately
aligning himself with the old guard of jazz rather than the new wave. Later in the interview he again
attempted to define his own position with regard to freedom, this time giving it a qualified embrace. Speaking

about his group's music-making, he said: "By giving ourselves a solid base on which to work If we have ...

the we can just about do anything. Then we are really free. But if we were not to have any framework
skill,

at all, we would be much more limited, because we would be accommodating ourselves so much to the

nothingness of each other's references that we would not have tlie room to breathe and to make music and
to feel. So that's the problem."'^
In these musings Evans had revealed not only his deep immersion in a particular style of and approach
to jazz music making, which was mostly based upon pre-existing forms such as the popular song, but also
Bill E vans
his o\\ n iniaginati\e failure to grasp the emerging forms new
in the music. This is no great suiprise: few
practicing musicians care about or need to look deeply into new and evolving musical forms in an attempt
to reinvent tliemselves. They prefer to build up an image and identity through a long initial process of trial

and error and then, by and large, to stick with that identity, expanding or contracting it depending on each
musical situation that they find themselves in. The few exceptions - in jazz, people like John Coltrane and
Miles Davis come to mind - seem only to prove the rule. Evans had no real need to embrace the ideas of
the newer generation: in fact tliey may have done more harm than good to his conceptions. But his reactions
to these e\'olving ideas would inevitably lead him to an increasingly narrow stylistic field which would slowly
detach him from tlie mainstream of jazz development for a number of years during his later career. It was a
course he felt he could do notliing to alter: he had to stay true to his own musical instincts.

"What many people mean when they say "atonal", I think, is more a weird kind of dissonance or strange
intervals and things like that," he continued in his Douni Beat interview. "I don't feel it. That isn't me. I can
listen to master musicians like Bartok and Berg when they do things that people would consider atonal -
although often they're not - and love and enjoy it. But here's someone just making an approximation of this

music. It really shows how little they appreciate the craft involved, because there's just so much to it. You
can't just go and play by what I call 'the inch system". You know, I could go up eight inches on the keyboard
and then play a sound down six inches, and then go up a foot-and-a-half and play a cluster and go down
nine-and-a-half and play something else. And that's atonality, the way some guys think of it. I don't know
why people need If could find something that satisfied me more there,
it. I I'd certainly be there, and I guess
that"s why there are people tliere. Tliey must find something in it."'**

Topicality and fashion have no real bearing on the evaluation of Evans's musical output. Quality can
never be identified with style alone, but it explains his curious position and subsequent neglect in an age
when some of his peers - Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, Cecil Taylor and Roland Kirk, for
example - continued to invent and reinvent the boundaries of jazz and improvised music. Evans admitted to

Down Beat. "I don't really feel that I have to be avant-garde or anything like that. It has no appeal for me,
other than the fact that I always want to do something that is better than what I've been doing ... If it stays

right where it is, and that's the best I can find, that's where it's going to have to be.""
Evans was played tracks by Coltrane, Davis and Taylor in the Blindfold Test in that same Down Beat.

He gave approval to Cecil Taylor's 'Trance', noting initially: "I really got with that - it was interesting ... I like

it a lot. I think that what they were going for they realised veiy well, and I would give it five stars, except
that I feel that with that wonderful beginning they could have realised a lot more with change of texture and
dynamic exploration. But I was moved by it in a particular way which was unique." On further reflection

about the form of the piece, he added: "For what it is, it's realised almost perfectly, but it just didn't explore
enough area of expression ... All dramatic effect is achieved by change: by setting up one thing and then
bringing in some sort of contrast. And that's the very thing that's lacking in this."^"
By expressing this opinion of a relatively early live recording by Taylor, Evans clearly identified his own
reference points and criteria in music, but it's interesting that he had no yardsticks beyond classical music
and jazz with which to measure what Taylor was attempting with his "tuned-percussion" approach to the

piano. Around the same time in New York, composer Steve Reich was watching marathon John Coltrane
sessions at Birdland and similar clubs, matching it to his interests in Far Eastern music, and coming up with
new ideas about form, pattern and contrast in modern music. "Within a couple of years Taylor would write
in the liner notes to his Unit Structures album, "Form is po.ssibility."'' Taylor would also soon have his
trenchant opinions about Bill Evans published in the pages of Down Beat.

In the meantime, while Evans practiced privately for long hours on a newly acquired harpsichord, he
and his group prepared for what was to become Trio '65, the follow-up to Trio '64 and the first Evans
recording project in a year to make it to general release. The preparation was underscored by the knowledge
that in December 1964 Evans had, for the first time, won the Down Beat Reader's Poll for pianist, at last out-

polling Oscar Peterson. Considering it was a working group that made Trio '65, there were a worrying
 EVERYTHING HAPPENS TO ME 1963-1965

number of re-treads from previous recording ventures, mostly done before witli Riverside (which at this time
was officially in the hands of the receivers). Included among them was a 'Round Midnight' that Evans takes
no ftirther than his previous arrangements of its formal splendour. The trio works very closely together and
shows all the attention to dynamics and overall coherence that one would expect from a group led by a man
who said all those things quoted above, but nothing remarkable happens. It is simply the now-familiar Evans
treatment of a bunch of well known tunes, plus one new "standard" - a convincingly-rendered ''Wlio Can I

Turn To?' (from the Broadway show Roar Of Tide Greasepaint, Smell Of The Crowd). A possible exception to
this well-worn air is Tadd Dameron's 'If You Could See Me Now', which receives a slow and rapturous

treatment packed fiiU of feeling. Away from the keyboard, Bill and EUaine were still battling to pull their lives

from the powerful grip of heroin. On this record, Evans generally soimds happy enough and reasonably
relaxed, but he does not linger where in the past he would have allowed dramatic pause, and the interplay
with Israels and Bunker is severely limited. Evans leads from the front and produces a well conceived and
finely executed set of performances, but this is a set with no particular depth. His friend and fellow pianist,

Denny Zeitlin, had some insightful comments about the album when played 'Israel' in a Down Beat Blindfold
Test later in 1965. "I just wonder whether Bill has had a chance to sit down and listen to what 'Verve has
done to his sound," said Zeitlin. "This is really a travesty, compared to tlie beauty that Riverside was able to

give what his trio produced in the past. Especially in listening to a tune like 'Israel', which I heard him do so
many times in person and on the Riverside version, I find this leaves everything to be desired."

Zeitlin went on to mourn the death of Scott LaFaro, claiming: "I don't think any bass player in the
immediate future is going to replace the role that Scotty filled. I don't think BUl's approach to music has
changed so much tliat one doesn't feel the lack of someone similar to Scotty." He was also critical of the

drumming. "I have never been happy with any of Bill's drummers. Paul Motian's approach seemed a little

stiff Larry Bunker's is, for me, far too cluttered: a busy, almost sophomoric kind of approach." Zeitlin
ultimately summed up his feelings: "Bill is one of the tme greats of our age. I wish I could hear him in a
context tliat would really do him justice, force him to get outside of himself and explore tlie new parts of

himself that I know from talking to him he wants to get into. This album should never have been released."--

Critic John S. Wilson caused waves when given Trio '65 lo review for Down Beat on its release in July

1965. Wilson's digs at Verve's marketing of Evans were intertwined with his low opinion of the pianist on this

occasion. "The more I hear of Evans," he wrote, "the more I become convinced that the propagation of the

Evans mystique must be one of the major con jobs of recent years. Evans' performances . . . are clean and
polished, but they neither seize nor hold the attention; not mine, anyhow . . . This is great jazz? It's more like

superior background music. "^^

Back in FebrLiary of the same year, Cecil Taylor had let fly at Evans in response to Evans's opinions on
jazz form and musical freedom. "Obviously, Evans has the right to go his own way," Taylor said, "but I do
not think his playing is a particularly powerRil argument for his thesis. I've heard him in clubs, and I know
at least ten pianists - without even thinking about it - who better deserve the amount of page space he gets.

I can't take what he says too seriously because what I hear when he plays is so uninteresting, so predictable
and so lacking in vitality. He's a competent cat. That's all."-''

This was a peculiar combination of artistic insight and professional bitterness, but it articulated many
previously unexpressed reservations about the extent of Evans's creativity, reservations that were being more
widely aired during the course of 1965 and led, eventually, to his being roundly dismissed by the majority of
so-called "progressive" critics and fans for the next 20 and more years. As such, Taylor's outburst set the tone
for what was to come. Evans had for some time been aware that he was no longer in the vanguard of the
music, and had also been at a low ebb personally much too long. He had allowed his professionalism to
for

pull him through too many crucial musical situations, when he really should have been outpacing his

previous achievements. But now

it was clear that the tide of jazz fashion, in America at least, was about to

drift away from around him. As one of the many who wrote letters to Down Beat in reaction to Wilson's
review put it: "Alas, everybody does not dig Bill Evans. "^^
C HA P TE R 10

Both Sides of
the Atlantic
(1965-1966)
"WHEN THINGS ARE GOING WELI - SAY ONE NIGHT IN TEN - Bill
AND I HAVE A DIAIOGUE GOING. BUT WHEN THINGS ARE GOING
REAIIYWEII - SAY ONE NIGHT IN 30 - IT'S JUST PERFECT "

BASSIST CHUCK ISRAELS ON THE MATHEMATICS OF PLAYING LIVE

making the Trio '65 album for Verve in February 1965 Evans
Soon
took
after

off once again for Europe, Down Beats announcement of the

tour noting that "Larry Bunker rejoined the pianist's group for the tour,
replacing Arnold Wise".' This was a strange statement, considering the ten
days or so which fell between the recording session (which included
Bunker) and the trio's departure for Europe. Perhaps Bunker was already
showing signs of the restlessness that would lead to his departure from the
regular group by mid-year, with Wise regularly depping for him at gigs.

This second tour of Europe was more extensive, taking in France and
Britain as well as the previous year's destinations, Sweden and Denmark. Evans

Behind ydii/ Eniiis in ti Danish T\' studio. 1966

 >*^i
^

ir
- -
'«n.A ^0&^^^^^.^

1
^X
4. -^

:;,',...lw^.
Bill Evans
met up once again with S\A'eclisli singer Monica Zetterlund, giving a concert with her at Uppsala University,

and was video-recorded for posterity in England by the BBC. The European audiences for Evans were far

less blase tlian tlie average nightclub crowd in America. They were not used to seeing the stars of modern
jazz from Evans's generation, let alone tliose of the emerging US avant-garde: the arrival of Evans's trio in any
European capital was a major jazz event that spread ripples to the wider musical and cultural communities.
The trio stuck to a relati\ely limited repertoire which they had been exploring since the previous summer's
Trident sessions, some tunes of which had turned up on Trio '65. Evans, Israels and Bunker had an enormous
impact on these new listeners, some of which can be gauged by the two television programmes made for

the BBC in London in March 1965, two weeks into the tour. They were BBC
part of TV's Jazz 625 series,

hosted by British jazz personality Humphrey Lyttelton, and have recently been made available by the BBC
on two videos. They feature Evans with Israels and Bunker on the trio's standard repertoire of the time, with
Lyttelton making all the announcements. Following contemporary jazz etiquette, Evans remains only dimly
aware of his audience and almost entirely absorbed in his playing, turning and nodding his thanks to the
audience like a mole surfacing to check the daylight from time to time.

The television recording gives us an opportimity to study Evans as he plays. His is not a classical posture
at the piano: he allows himself to bend fonvard, sometimes as if urgently seeking the first hearing of the
sounds he is making, at others as if propelling the rhythm he is laying down. His hands are held with the
palms mostly parallel to the keys rather than well above them, his fingers bent but not to the extent of most
classically-trained players: his years as a professional jazz musician had led him to evolve his own particular

finger "shape". But his fingers in no way approximate the remarkable straightness of, say, Thelonious Monk
in action. Evans occasionally pulls himself closer to the piano in order to hear more clearly the overtones,
bLit this is a rare and expansive gesaire in what is mostly an introverted presentation of his music.
One is quickly reminded that Evans is left-handed, as his lower-register work is strong and often locked
in motion with his right. Surprisingly for one so endowed with technique and the ability for melodic invention
across imaginative harmony, Evans on these performances often spends entire solos playing out finger
patterns in the right hand which scarcely require him to move his hand from one piano register. Much of
what record listeners get to hear as the Evans "style" can be observed in the video as a form of fingering
shorthand where he follows patterns that his hands know very well across a restricted inteivallic range. This
is in contrast to much of his playing of the 1950s, where long lines often alternated with chordal passages
and more broken, rhythmically jagged phrases. Back then, his hand was moving across considerable stretches

of the keyboard, his left hand often suspended for whole bars or more. But by 1965 the two hands more
often play in tandem, the lines rarely reaching the length and melodic elaboration of those earlier years.
This economy may begin to explain why much of Evans's recorded work from this time holds little

surprise, and why so much of it lacks tlie freshness of his work up to 1962 and eariy '63. He is not doing
anything wrong, and his playing never slips below supreme competence, but there is something automatic
about itOne might well use a word more often associated with Erroll Garner: formulaic. Tliis may be as
all.

unfair applied to a man of Evans's obvious talents as is when directed at Garner - after all. Garner when
it

inspired was an overwhelmingly exciting and original musician. But when inspirational energy is not dominant
in any creative effort, the bare bones of that effort are always painfully visible. Evans is no exception.
The reference to Garner is not arbitrary: around this time Evans publicly stated his admiration for the
self-formed genius. Additionally, his appreciation of Thelonious Monk during his 1964 Down Beat Blindfold
Test had been noted by someone at Monk's record company, and as a result Evans supplied the (brief) notes
for Monk's next Columbia album, simply titled Monk. Evans recapitulated his Down /?«(/ comments, asserting
tluit "Monk approaches the piano and, 1 should add right now, music as well, from an 'angle' that, although
unprecedented, is jtist the right 'angle' for him. Perhaps this is the major reason for my feeling the same
respect and admiration for his work that I do for Erroll Garner's ... Each seems to me as great as any man
can be great if he works true to his talents, neither over or underestimating them and, most important, [if he]

functions within his limitations." This could be an encapsulation of Evans's views on his own playing - though
 BOTH SIDES OF THE ATLANTIC 1965-1966

he would never be so bold as to claim parity with Monk or Garner. It is possible that Evans felt he was playing
in a different manner in the current trio to how he had played in the past. He did say repeatedly that he did
not expect to meet anotlier bassist who would offer the same level and style of interplay as Scott LaFaro. Chuck
Israels offered an interplay of sorts, but his counterpoint was couched in a musical language that articulated a
supportive role more firmly anchored in rhytlim. Israels preferred tlie lower registers of his insUTjment, and
was as much at home "walking" through arrangements as he was when suspending his beat and engaging
directly in musical dialogue witli Evans's right or left-hand figures.

Broadcast tapes from that European tour in the winter and spring of 1965 catch the trio on more inspired
evenings than the BBC programme, playing dates where diey excite themselves and their audiences. A
concert on February 13th at radio station ORTF's studio in Paris found Evans with quickened reactions to his
partners and a bevy of fresh melodic and harmonic ideas, with a sparkling performance of 'I Should Care'
closely presaging that of his New York Town Hall concert a year later. Evans was now happy to assume the
role of musical leader in the He would supply most of the musical material that the group fed off and
trio.

used to propel itself, but he had not yet worked out a way of consistently freeing himself to explore new
areas through the application of his own imagination upon familiar formats and material. On the same
evening, his approach to his ballad 'Time Remembered' is routine and rooted in Shearing-isms, despite
inspired playing from Israels, By early 1966 he would discover the required consistency, but before he got
there a number of important events, personal and professional, would intervene and leave their mark.
The first of these was depressingly familiar. Home from Europe and booked into a number of clubs,
Evans and his trio were back at The Trident in Sausalito, California, by late April 1965. The booking was
originally scheduled to last the entire month, but Evans suffered a physical collapse that stopped him
appearing professionally in public, and the group did not complete tlie engagement. He had been unhappy
and isolated while on tour in Europe, and his heroin addiction had deepened, as had Ellaine's back in the

US. Pianist Abe Battat and his group took over the vacant weeks at The Trident. Evans, announced Down
Beat, "has decided to rest in [California] rather than return to New York after his recent collapse, attributed

to malnutrition. [He] was booked by the Jazz Workshop for a two-week stay in July".-

Bunker, unsettled by the events of the past few months and back in his home state, took the oppoitimity
to pull out of the trio, and by the time Evans reMrned to New York he was looking for a permanent
replacement dmmmer. During his recuperation and subsequent search the group had no work, so Chuck
Israels filled in with other sessions, appearing, by odd chance, at the Monday-night jams at the Village
Vanguard organised by Evans's old boss, Tony Scott, recently returned from a six-year sojourn in the Far East.
Ironically, during this period of instability and confusion a long profile of the Bill Evans Trio, titled

Naairal Flow, appeared in Down Beat. In this highly sympathetic article by John Tynan, the trio - Evans,
bassist Israels and drummer Bunker - had been interviewed backstage at Shelly's Manne-Hole and given a

good deal of space to elaborate their playing philosophies and how these affected their music. "In this trio,"

Evans felt, "the fundamental musical principles are happening. There is a bass function, a melody function,

and a rhythm function. So, fundamentally, the trio can develop in this direction . . . Three things are happening
with each other all the time, yet there's no imbalance." Israels expanded on the idea. "My voice is left open,"
he said, "because Bill doesn't play the bass in his left hand. So I mold the contour of my bass line to fit the

character of the piece ... There are only a few other groups functioning like this: Gary Burton's, Gerry
Mulligan's and Stan Getz's."'

Israelswas honest about the hit-and-miss nature of this approach. '"When things are going really well -
say, one night in ten - Bill and I have a dialog going. When things are going really well - say one night in

30 - it's just perfect." He went on to expand this point; "In relation to this group, there are moments when
my role is secondary to Bill's ... It doesn't detract from my feelings of artistic expression in a secondary role.

Bill does what seems complementary to what I do and I to him. We try to complement each other. This, of

course, is on an ideal plane. This is aside from the burden of personal problems, feelings, considerations, and
so on." The interviewer said Israels had told him that particular evening that "he felt his morale had been

123
Bill Evans
sandbagged". Uirn' Bunker had no such problems with morale, enthusing to Tynan: "When [Bill] is really on,

he's staggering. He probably makes fewer mistakes than any person I've heard on the instrument. I liear just

about everytliing I want to hear in his playing. He's got everything - time, emotion, chops.'"'

Witliin weeks, tlie trio had disintegrated. That August, the furore over John S. 'Wilson's review of Trio
'65 m Down Beat broke out in the magazine's letters pages. This temporarily knocked Evans off-balance just

as he v\as beginning a set of projects that would revitalise his artistic life and public profile. The first of these
was an ambitious new recording for 'Verve tliat put his piano and trio with a large woodwind and string

ensemble, released in Febaiary 1966 as Bill Ei'aiis Trio With Symphony Orchestra. This time there were no
slick arrangements of film themes but imaginative jazz-tinged treatments of classical music and a handful of
Evans originals. Two points about the sessions are immediately noticeable. First is the presence of session
man Grady Tate on drums, indicating that Evans had still not replaced Bunker permanently, although Arnie
Wise was a regular dep. Second is the lack of any new material from Evans's own pen. Both his compositions
on this record are from some three or four years earlier.
The idea for tliis album seems initially to have involved discussion between Bill Evans and Gil Evans: the
second 'Verve attempt at a joint project for the two men. According to Bill, Gil was responsible for the presence
of a Chopin piece on With Symphony Orchestra. "We were supposed to do a record together," Bill .said. "In

fact tliey had already made the album cover. One of the ideas was to do the Chopin C-minor prelude. It lends
itself well to a blues kind of feeling."' But Gil moved out of the picture, and 'Verve eventually replaced him
with Claus Ogerman, with whom Bill had already worked on the forgettable film-themes record. Ogerman is

a thoroughly schooled composer, ananger and conductor who had come to the US from Germany in 1959
and was tlien in his mid-thirties. He moved easily between film and commercial commissions, freelance
arranging, and the writing of own music. He came to the Evans project fresh from orchestrating and
his

conducting a bossa nova album for RCA 'Victor with Joao Donato, having already proved his excellence in that
field not long before with a bossa nova masterpiece that had Antonio Carlos Jobim at the piano.

According to Evans's liner notes to the original Symphony Orchestra LP, "With the assistance of Creed
Taylor and Claus Ogerman, first meetings resulted in the selection of material and agreement of conception
on how it should be approached. From then on the load fell on Claus Ogerman's shoulders and my first

glimpses of his scores shortly before the dates quickly excited my anticipation."'' Evans saw his role as that of

an improvising soloist, whether unaccompanied or with his trio, playing against the backdrop of the ensemble.
Despite the album's title this was by no means a symphony orchestra, there being no brass, no percussion nor
even a complete woodwind section. Evans wrote, "The trio's function, and mine in particular, during tliese

performances is largely improvisational. Witli deep thanks to the sensitive, wide and accomplished talents of

Claus Ogerman, die pieces proved to be most satisfying vehicles for trio or solo improvisation."^
Evans's notes were in strong contrast to those of writer Lewis Freedman tliat accompanied his in tlie

original gatefold LP sleeve. Some of Freedman's claims made on Evans's behalf take the breath away. One
example: "If Ginsberg can write poetry with references to Baudelaire, then it is time for the jazz musician to
be allowed and encouraged to come out of die cultural ghetto. If these resources are to be allowed, then he
must experiment with its forms and its sound and its riches. On this record, there are five such experiments.
On the one hand are tlie inventions of such masters as Bach, Scriabin, Faure, Granados and Chopin. On tlie

other is the inventiveness of a totally contemporary master. Bill Evans. The results are as beautiftil and as

provocative and as stimulating as Robert Lowell's Imitations ov Picasso's Les/emmes d'Alger."^ The music that

resulted from this union of two cultures is stylish, accomplished and highly palatable. It is in no way
revolutionary, other than in the area of taste: few non-classical musicians had re-styled selections from the
classical repertoire while retaining the poi.se and dignity of the originals.
With Symphony Orchestra was made in two sessions with the "orchestra", two weeks apart in September
and October 1965, and a third session some two months later in December was reserved for drop-ins and
other trio overdubs. The first of the "orchestra" sessions was notably more conservative in nature than the
second. The first piece attempted, the Scriabin Prelude, is an early work of this most visionary of Romantic
 BOTH SIDES OF THE ATLANTIC 1965-1966

Russian composers, coming from his Op. 11 book of 24 Preludes, published in 1896 but written during the
previous decade. The most striking part of this interpretation is the opening woodwind fanfare, giving texairal

brilliance to Scriabin's original piano score. The device by which Evans and his men are introduced - a

rhythmic pattern which would not have been out of place in a film or TV score - is much less inspired,

though the modulation is pleasant. The whole-note string background to Evans's simple octaves underiines

the feeling that no one knew quite what to do to shape this piece of music into a satisfying structure. Perhaps
it was conceived as a single? It certainly had the inconsequential aimination and lack of development
necessary for AM radio play. A further modulation in the theme recapitulation at the end is workmanlike at

best. Intriguingly, there is evidence of second thoughts from Evans himself, for his piano obbligato suggests
the presence of a further piano track, perhaps added at the December session in an effort to reinforce the
rather lightweight interpretation.

The next track recorded at that first session in September 1965 would end up as the opening track on
the LP. It is an arrangement of the main (the maiden's) theme from 'Complaint, or the Maiden and the
Nightingale', No.4 of Goyescas, a piano suite by Enrique Granados published between 1912 and 1914. The
second theme (the nightingale's) is abandoned by Ogerman and a brisk jazz piano-trio section inserted
instead. Evans opens with an unaccompanied treatment of the recapitulation of the maiden's theme, bringing
his own discreet re-voicings to a pared-down setting, especially during the move from minor to major,

softening the aching heart of the original in the melody's second section. The orchestrated exposition which
follows introduces a mood closer to Granados 's original, while the repetitive note patterns behind the melody
suggest the hovering nightingale whose theme has vanished. This builds to a satisfactory climax before the
jazz trio is ushered in, witli Grady Tate's drumming a particular pleasure. Bassist Chuck Israels later recalled
"'^
the value of Tate's presence. "I thought Tate did a superb job with the trio," said Israels. "It locked in great.

The trio swings effortlessly and Evans comes up with fresh and complex melodic and rhythmic ideas. The
strings enter under the second chorus, leading Evans into a quick recapitulation of his own accompanied by
trio and orchestra. Here is a satisfactory marriage of the two musical styles, even though the grafting of a jazz

trio section into the piece makes no particular sense in terms of the music's form.

The musicians next turned to Ogerman's own piece, 'Elegia' from his Concerto For Orchestra And Jazz
Piano. This is one of the most successful items on the record, developed along classical lines with the solo
piano part entirely scored, and a short improvised trio section allowing it a naairal and fully integrated

environment in which to play. Judging from other concert works by Ogerman which have been recorded
more recently, such as his 'Violin Concerto, this is couched in his mature compositional language. It opens
with a melody statement from the strings alone, followed by an unaccompanied Evans covering the same
thematic material. Ogerman is in this way following a long tradition in piano concertos, reaching back at least
to Mozart, though more recent precedents included the Bartok 3rd Concerto, the chord sequence of which
is distinctly echoed as the piano enters. Evans plays with great feeling and the piece marks a highlight of his

recording career, the simple eloquence of his playing equal to his best with Davis some eight years earlier.

Unfortunately there is a poor tape edit leading into the following treatment of the theme where trio and
strings play together, and a momentary mismatch of pitches mars the mood. There is also some painfully

inadequate string-section playing in the concluding orchestral passages before Evans's final chords.
Presumably this unfamiliar some problems for the string players.
piece posed
The final track recorded in that first session was Faure's Pavane, originally scored by the composer for
orchestra and chorus. The Pavane form was a dance, a point which Faure certainly understood in his
essentially light treamient, and Ogerman allows plenty of space for the Evans trio to set a gentle medium

tempo ideal for elegant dancing. Israels sounds particularly happy and inventive, breaking the rhythm into
attractive new patterns behind Evans. The strings follow Evans's opening theme statement, but there is not a

great deal of orchestral writing here: Evans has the spotlight. This track is perhaps the closest in approach to
thatwhich the MJQ's John Lewis adopted with his similar piano-plus-ensemble projects. Even Evans's solo,

while using rhythmic asymmetry and displacement in cunning and inventive ways, is largely in a single-note

125
Bill Evans
srs'le in die Lewis traditit)n, and the bass and drums follow the MJQ's precedent of discreet counterpoint. This

was a successful translation, tlien, of a piece tliat Faure intended as a light diversion or entertainment.
The second session, held in mid October 1965, produced four more tracks (the piano and trio additions
diat would be made at the later December sessions are now impossible to separate from this earlier work).
First up was the Chopin piece that had prompted the whole project: the 'Prelude No. 20 In C minor', here

retided 'Blue Interlude'. The approach is disappointingly lightweight. The recording starts well enough with
a thoughtfully coloured woodwind scoring of the theme - sounding remarkably like Gil Evans's voicings -
followed by a mix of flutes and strings. But the orchestra exits entirely to give way to die Evans trio for one
chorus before entering, re-.stating die melody as a slow fugue behind the trio's jazzy embellishments but -
considering it is Chopin - in a rather ponderous manner. This is the closest that Evans and Ogerman come
to the st\le of Jacques Loussier and Michel Legrand - a style diat was taken up by distincdy lesser European
talents in search of a few more marks and francs. It was a mid-1960s fad, where pseudo-jazzy workings of
classics were often used in breezy European films and released as singles or soundtrack themes. Here, only
the opening scoring and the unaccompanied Evans ending are worthy of Chopin's original.

A good deal more weighty is the first Evans composition to be tackled by the assembled company, 'My
Bells'. This and the other Evans piece of the day, 'Time Remembered', were not new: both had been recorded
during his Riverside days, aldiough 'My Bells' with Zoot Sims and Jim Hall remained unreleased at this time.

Evans had clearly been attempting to solve the tune's problems, including its abrupt metre changes. The score
opens brighdy with sensitive but quite literal orchestrations of his original piano passage in an orchestral
introduction diat lasts ju.st under a minute. The trio then enters, unassisted by the larger ensemble, for a
relaxed mid-tempo common-time exploration of the chord changes before Evans is left to complete an
unaccompanied recapitulation of the entire theme. The orchestra plays the final tonic chord with Evans
adding a delicate arpeggio. Tliis is a sensible arrangement of the piece, allowing it to tell a story from three
different angles, aldiough there is virhially no interaction between pianist and orchestra. It is more a series

of contrasts. The group moved next to a piece listed simply as 'Yesterday'. It remains unissued and was
possibly never completed. Its identity is unknown, although the tide suggests it may have been a first attempt
at the next number, 'Time Remembered', which was certainly finished to everyone's satisfaction. It had been
part of the trio's working repertoire for at least two years and often began with the pianist, unaccompanied,
stating the full theme. Here the orchestra takes over that role before giving way to the trio once more, which
plays elegandy on Evans's minor progression. Interaction between trio and orchestra is again minimal, with
strings and flutes supplying a single whole-note chord for Evans to vamp over on a fade-out. It all works,
largely through Ogerman's arranging skill and the taste with which Evans solos, without flash or filigree and
with a lightness of texuire that remains delightful, even if these are not Evans's most deeply-felt improvisations.
The final piece is an arrangement of an arrangement: an excerpt from a Bach flute trio based on a theme
by 'Vivaldi - Bach greatly admired Vivaldi and used his work on a number of notable occasions to provide
raw material for his own inventions. Here, the piano trio and orchestra interact for closer to the full length

of the piece, and Evans himself excels as usual in the 3/4 metre, teasing out the grace and elegance of the
original melody. The performance is a somewhat literal interpretation, hardly profound, using only the colour

of the orchestration and the trio's innate good taste to steer clear of glibness, but Evans and bassist Israels
manage to conjure up some substantial contributions, with Israels again inspired to a complete dialogue with
Evans throughout the jazz-trio improvisation section. Happy enough with the results to end with a flourish,
Evans finishes with an octave arabesque over the orchestral coda that echoes similar passages on
Conversations With Myself.
The With Symphony Orchestra albimi is imquestionably of its time. It has often been written off as
something of a commercial aberration in the pianist's career, but this writer finds no reason to do so. It is a
sincere if somewhat conservative attempt to many together jazz and classical using material susceptible to
that kind of arrangement. It is also often rather beautiful, always ta.steful, and enjoyably relaxing. As Franz
Liszt would perhaps have said, it is a "Consolation" in a busy and fraught world. Certainly Evans and producer
 BOTH SIDES OF THE ATLANTIC 1965-1966

Creed Taylor remained proud of it. Reminiscing about his involvement with the pianist, Taylor later
commented on his favourite Evans albums: "I still go back to the Oliver Nelson [Blues And ne Abstract Truth]
LP and ... the Evans with symphony orchestra. I really like that."^" Evans himself was equally enthusiastic,
telling Mike Hennessy, "As I travel around, I find people have worn out copies of [With Symphony Orchestra].
I have worked hard over the years in developing the language of jazz, and sometimes I think that if I have
made any contribution at all it is in terms of motivic development. I really enjoyed making this album with
Claus and record my deepest respect and admiration for him.'"
Within a week of the October 1965 session for the album Evans was off to Europe for a month or so as
a solo act, picking up rhytlim sections and other players as he went. This led to impromptu appearances in

Berlin and Stockholm with saxophonist Lee Konitz's trio, with Niels-Henning 0rsted Pederson on bass and
Alan Dawson on drums, and as the leader of a trio at the Golden Circle rn Copenhagen. His playing on these
dates varies wildly, according to the evidence of various pirate recordings, though they consistently reveal
him playing more freely and with less concern for overall form and concision than he did with his own
groups of the time. He sounds more like the aspiring New York sessionman of the late 1950s. Reports of the
tour suggest he was once again using heroin heavily and suffering physically as a resuk.
Back in New York by December, Evans finished off his remaining work on the Ogerman album, picked
up some jobs around the city witli Israels and his newly permanent dmmmer, Arnie Wise, and noted the
relative fall in his US popularin- when the annual Down Beat Renders' Poll results placed him third on piano
(he'd been number one the previous year). His combo dropped out of the top 10 and his sole new record
for the year. Trio '65, scraped in at number 17.

Still, he had a major album completed and ready for release and his manager Helen Keane was busy
finalising the arrangements for his concert debut in New York, scheduled for Town Hall on Febmaiy 21st.

This was his second large project of recent times and an ambitious showcase, displaying Evans in trio, solo

and large-group settings. A January 1966 issue of Down Beat announced that "he will introduce several new
compositions at the event"''^ but this turned out not to be the case. The change of plan may have been directly

related to the sudden death of Evans's father, Harry, from a stroke just days before the concert. Bill returned

to Florida to be with his family, and it is quite possible that the suite played at the concert in tribute to his
fatlier took the place of a section meant to showcase newer material.
At the same time, the With Symphony Orchestra album was released by 'Verve. The company's advertising
trumpeted, "With This Album Jazz Moves Ahead A Giant Step,"'-' and this immodest statement would in itself
have been enough to feed the flames of controversy. But contrasted with tlie kind of chaos, confusion and
intemperate debate at large in the jazz community amid the rapid tlie second wave of avant-
emergence of
garde players - epitomised at the time by Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp and Pharoah Sanders - this claim by
'Verve for the new Evans album seemed distinctly out of touch and faintly ridiculous.
This was not the reaction, however, of audience or critics to the February 1966 concert at Town Hall.

Down Beat reviewer Dan Morgenstern gave a long and detailed account of the music played that evening,
noting that the trio section of tlie evening came first and absorbed the entire first half of the concert. Eight

pieces were played, only seven of which have been issued by 'Verve, who taped the entire evening's
proceedings. The missing track, a version of ''Very Early', remains unheard by all but the concertgoers. One
other Evans original was played, a tune Morgenstern identified as 'My Lover's Kiss' in his review and
described as "a beautiful ballad". '* This performance was finally issued in the mid 1980s on 'Verve's CD
version of the event. Its tide was then disclosed as 'One For Helen'; the tempo was bright, though tlie melody
was rhapsodic in typical Evans style, and the pianist plays with drive and urgency, his ideas tumbling out. A
clue to the track's original non-appearance comes with the hesitation between ideas midway through his solo.

Bassist Israels and dmnimer Wise swap fours with Evans at tlie close.

Other medium-tempo numbers receive similarly sparky attention from the trio. The opener, 'I Should
Care', benefits from 12 months of club appearances, making for an integrated and cohesive arrangement.
Evans is again in debt to Shearing for his reading of tlie melody, with octaves in both hands and a boppish,
Bill Evans
long-lined, intensely melodic first choms. 'Who Can I Turn To', its out-of-tempo exposition aside, is driven
along v\itli a poise only occasionally glimpsed on record since the Riverside days, the tone and touch of
E\'ans's playing amplified by tlie unusually rich sound of the concert-grand piano and by the engineer on this

location recording. After the often compressed and jangly sound of the piano on the Van Gelder studio
recordings - a pitfall for many jazz pianists throughout the 1960s across different record labels - it is a
pleasure to hear a proper balance and extended range of overtones from a more sympathetically recorded
instrument. In his review, Morgenstem felt that "Evans wrought a near-miracle" on 'Who Can I Turn To',

'a\oiding all bombast and sentimentality".'' This is in part achieved by his extensive use of fourths to perk
up tlie othersN'ise mawkish conventional harmony of the show tune, as well as his decision to pick up the
tempo for the solo.

A similar transformation takes place on another old show tune 'Make Someone Happy'. Following his

usual practice, Evans takes the theme-statement solo then moves into a bright allegro which has 'Wise moving
to sticks from brushes. The piano improvisation on this tune is perhaps the most closely shaped and well
paced of all the medium-tempo pieces that night, with the single-note opening building considerable tension
and excitement, released by some typical Evans block-chords in the second chorus. The piece ends once
more with an unaccompanied Evans pushing the theme hard. An unexpected flourishing arabesque, evoking

both Tatum and Powell in its speed and nakedness, brings the tune to a dramatic close. Toward the end
Evans misses a note, but thankfully it is not edited and we get to hear exactly what he played.
The final medium-tempo swinger, 'Victor Young's 'Beautiful Love', was also the last trio number of the
evening. The group sounds confident and relaxed. Evans seems less concentrated, as if he is already looking
ahead to the music to come following the interval, but Israels and "Wise shine in their features, with the
drummer taking his only solo of the night. Morgenstern noted, ""Wise is the best drummer Evans has had.
Working mostly with brushes, he was a model of good taste and comprehension of Evans's musical aims,
unintrusive but always there."'* This track and a ballad, 'My Foolish Heart', were left off the original LP of
the concert, appearing for the first time in the late 1960s on The Best Of Bill Evaijs, a "Verve compilation.

Presumably they were put aside originally because they featured extended workouts by bassist and drummer.
If the medium-tempo performances were the best Evans had managed for "Verve since the Shelly

Manne/Monty Budwig outing more than three years earlier, his ballads rank alongside his best on record. 'My
Foolish Heart' does not have the clear recording quality of the 1961 Village Vanguard sessions, but finds Evans
pacing his phrasing impeccably, bringing an a.stonishingly acute level of feeling and stretching his lines to a
tautness that only the masters can sustain without breaking - an ability that Evans's erstwhile employer Miles
Davis also had at his mercy. The pianist's conception of the piece had not changed in five years, but the
emotions were expressed with equal force and presence.
The other slow ballad was 'Spring Is Here', described by Morgenstern as 'a shimmering impressionistic
canvas".''' This is accurate, for the pianist starts with a progression of open sevenths whose dense dissonance
directly echoes such Debussy pieces of the 1890s as the two books of Images. The pace is very slow, the
group marvellously poised and interlocked. Evans puts aside long and elaborate improvisation, relying on
simple paraphra.se and alternative voicings and allowing the mood to build through each echo of the original
line. His recapitulation adds to the gentle resolution of the intensity, the dissonant harmonies of the opening
section returning to give logic and balance to the overall picture. It is a masterful performance.

After the interval, Evans returned alone to the stage to half of the concert and play what
open the second
theprogramme announced as 'In Memory Of His Father, Harry T. Evans, 1891-1966'. It was presented as a
new composition but was in fact a collation of some of his earlier pieces, one just months old, the others
from years ago. They were prefaced by an introduction that uses whole-tone harmonic devices similar to
those in 'Peace Piece' and 'N"\'C's No Lark' and with roots in Satie's Gymnopedies, the melody being almost
literally an inversion of No. 3. The form of Evans's suite is simple but effective, and this introduction gives
way to probing improvisation on two themes. The first theme was noted at the concert as 'Story Line' but
was in fact originally released in slighdy different form during his Riverside days as 'Re: Person I Knew'. The
 BOTH SIDES OF THE ATLANTIC 1965-1966

other theme was from a ballad composed in the fall of 1965, 'Turn Out The Stars', tlie original lyrics by Gene
Lees not required on this occasion. The symmetry' of the work was sustained by the use of Evans's brief and
cryptic 'Epilogue', originally used to conclude both LP sides of Everybody Digs Bill Evans and here enabling
a return to tlie mood and style of the suite's opening.
Such a bare description of the music's basic shape does little to suggest its impact and its beauty. Evans
plays with great intensity and almost infinite gradations of feeling, touch, tone, rhythmic adjustments and
emphases. The overall mood of the music is elegiac, the melancholy at its heart becoming progressively
darker and more intense until, touching despair, it is resolved by the enigmatic 'Epilogue', newly poignant in
its latest role. Evans moves from a carefully controlled and accurate exposition of the simple contours of tlie

scored introduction into the slight, fragile but very beautiful theme of 'Story Line' and its attendant
improvisations, with little effort to conceal the joins but with a strong artistic continuity. 'Story Line' starts as
if it were the second pan of a conversation already begun by the first section. It does indeed seem to be
telling a story, in the most intimate and confessional passages of music that Evans had recorded since
Conversations. There are conspicuously few personal cliches, with Evans's rhythmic variety and creativity

pulling the listener into the unfolding drama without resource to bombast or sentimentality.

Returning to the theme, first in chords only, tlien in octave depictions of quiet, spine-chilling beauty,
Evans slowly turns the mood of the music down through a series of minor chords until a pause introduces
the theme of Turn Out The Stars'. Once more the melody is of extreme simplicity, embedded within a
harmony that reveals a bleak, agonised beauty. As he extemporises on the chords, Evans uses Art Tatum's
device of extreme rubato, sometimes within a single phrase, to emphasise the dreamlike quality of his own
emotional isolation. He also falls into 3/4 metre for half a chorus, as if he is acting out a half-recalled scene,
and delivers some fiercely articulated, lightning-fast right-hand passages. He returns constantly to the theme,

as if emphasising the role of fate in a universal story that leads to inevitable death and dissolution. He ends
this section on a restatement of the theme in extreme diminuendo, leading to a pianissimo chord virtually

inaudible on the original vinyl release but brought out cleanly by the CD. The brief 'Epilogue' communicates
loss and simple human dignity in the face of pain - a set of emotions that Evans knew only too well.
Reviewer Dan Morgenstern noted tliat the audience had been asked to refrain from applause at the
conclusion of the suite, but long and rather muted applause follows on the original vinyl release, where it

was the last track on the record, and on all the CD reissues. The applause, superfluous from the beginning,
no longer signals tlie end of one side of an LP and should perhaps now be removed by a sympatlietic

producer. CD releases have also failed to reflect the concert's amning some later-released trio
order, placing

performances after tlie solo recital so as to preser\'e the original LP's sequencing. One would have thought
it possible for "Verve to have researched Evans's original concert order by now, especially for their Complete
Verve collection of 1997.
The big-band section of the concert which followed has never been made available on record, even

though in the liner notes to At Town Hall, Volume I, Helen Keane writes: "'Verve Records taped the concert
live and is releasing the proceedings on two separate LPs - Bill Evans At Town Hall- Volume I and 11."^^ The
non-issue of the big-band tracks may well have something to do with the way they were presented. Four
pieces were played: two standards - '"What Kind Of Fool Am I?' and 'Willow, "Weep For Me' - and two from
Evans's pen - ''Waltz For Debby' and 'Funkarello'. Morgenstern's review says these four "were performed
without interaiption, with brief transitions between tunes by either woodwinds or piano"." Perhaps tlie

challenges of editing this uninterrupted cycle were insurmountable; alternatively, there may simply not have
been enough of a spotlight on Evans himself. Morgenstern's review noted that although Evans was well
featured, "the anangements were not piano showcases".
Morgenstern found arranger Al Cohn's writing for the big-band segments of the Town Hall concert

outstanding and the section playing excellent, with lead trumpeter Ernie Royal earning special praise, and
admired solos from Clark Terry (trumpet), Eddie Daniels (tenor), Jerry Dodgion (alto) and Bob Brookmeyer
(valve trombone). Only on Funkarello' did the reviewer pick out Evans's contribution. 'Whatever the reasons.

129
 Bill Evans
the music has not been heard publicly since February 21st 1966 and remains part of Evans's legacy only by
reputation. In an oddly dislocated passage in the Complete Verve boxed set of 1997 someone is quoted talking
about the second, unreleased volume. It is uncredited, but seems to be Creed Taylor; "MGM, the producer,
and myself decided that the big-band segment wasn't what we had hoped for so we didn't put that part of

it out. They may some day. They have the right to do it." Elsewhere in the same booklet, critic Phil Bailey
claims: "An unissued big-band segment with arrangements by Al Cohn has never been in Verve's holdings."^"

Curiouser and curiouser.

After tliis concert triumph it would have been logical to consolidate with live appearances using Evans's
newly cohesive and inventive trio. In fact, faced with going out on the road, bassist Israels decided it was
time to make a break. Drummer Arnie Wise stayed on, allowing Evans to hire an old colleague, bassist Teddy
Kotick, in order to make a sold-out March booking at Boston's Jazz Workshop. The group's first work
together, however, came month at the 'Village 'Vanguard, part of which is preserved on The Secret
earlier that

Sessions, a boxed CDs of material recorded between 1966 and 1975 by amateur enthusiast Mike
set of eight

Harris and his wife Evelyn. Harris had become an Evans devotee during the early 1960s, rarely missing his
appearances at the 'Village Vanguard. By 1966 he was determined to do something about the fate of Evans's
live performances, aggrieved that they were gone forever as soon as they were played - a common feeling

among devotees of many performers. Harris acquired portable recording equipment and taped at least part

of every Evans set at the club that he could attend over those nine years. These recordings were private

though not especially furtive, as Harris cleared his activity with the Vanguard's owner. Max Gordon. The
recording quality of his tapes overall is decent, although the crowd noise is higher than a professional date,
given that the microphone was in the crowd rather than onstage. The first recordings date from the time of
this transitional trio and provide a clear indication of Evans's thinking at the time. Bassist Teddy Kotick plays
in a similar vein to Israels: muscular in his rhythm playing and inventive melodically, he spins a series of

involving conversations with Evans's piano.

By mid April 1966 when the group reached Chicago's famous London House, Kotick had departed to

be replaced by the young New York bassist Eddie Gomez. Gomez had first come to notice as a member of
Marshall Brown's Newport Youth Band, for whom he auditioned at the age of 13. "He was the youngest kid
ever to join the [musicians'] union," said Brown, "and when we went out on the road playing those ballrooms,
it was really illegal for him to be onstage, but I'd sneak him on to play one number . . . When I broke up the
band in I960, he was then technically one of the better bass players in town, and he was only 16. The only
thing was, nobody knew it knew was just a question of time before Bill Evans found him.
except me, but I it

He's like another Jimmy Blanton."^' While Gomez is inevitably compared regularly to Scott LaFaro, Blanton
does make a more suitable comparison. Gomez certainly learned from LaFaro, but his more forceful playing
and powerful rhythmic drive leads back more clearly by way of Ray Brown to Blanton's example, especially
his famous 1940s bass-and-piano duets with Duke Ellington.

By the time he joined Evans, Gomez was a widely experienced player, having worked with Marian
McPartland and Paul Bley, to name just two widely diverse leaders. McPartland often said aftei^ward how she
regretted seeing Gomez leave. She told interviewer Steve Voce, "I think he enjoyed playing with me, but he
never made a secret of the fact that he always wanted to go with Bill Evans. always felt tliat, for him, being I

with me was just like a little trip along the way. And it was. But naturally loved his playing and hated to I

see him go."'- In the months before joining Evans, Gomez was working alternately with Jim Hall and Geiry
Mulligan. Mulligan's group was for a time resident at the Village Vanguard, which is where Evans heard him.
Gomez had always idolised Evans, and when Helen Keane rang him on the pianist's instructions and offered
the job, Gomez was stunned. He said to Marian McPartland shortly afterward. "I'm ecstatic! can hardly I

believe it."-* Evans expres.sed similar feelings to McPartland around the .same time.
This line-up. with Gomez on bass and Arnie Wi.se on drums, remained .solid unlil the end of 1966, when
Wise mcjved on. Evans cho.se not to take them into the studio, despite their obvious cohesion and Evans's
fast-growing harmony with Gomez. In fact, at the start of April 1966, the same month that the group came

130
 BOTH SIDES OF THE ATLANTIC 1965-1966

together at the London House, Evans had paired up in the studio with guitarist Jim Hall to make their second
duet record. This and an early-May session would see the completion of what was released by Verve as
Mtermodulation, an apt title considering the harmonic approach of the two musicians and their abilities as

accompanists and duettists. Once again, the recording was made at the Van Gelder studio in New Jersey, and
while marginally better recorded than their initial foray for United Artists in 1962, the sound still lacks
presence and seems somehow blunted: perhaps this was the effect the players tliemselves wanted.

The two men respond to one other instinctively, interweaving ideas of great beauty. Their work on 'My
Man's Gone Now' is on a par with their earlier LP in unity of vision, while 'Turn Out The Stars' has not yet
evolved very far past its solo piano conception of a month or so earlier. 'Angel Face', from the May session,

suffers from a lifeless and blurred recording, and despite Hall proving a wonderful rhythmic accompanist to
Evans at a slow-medium tempo, there is not a great deal more to ponder. Claus Ogerman's 'Jazz Samba'
suffers from the lack of a drummer and a relatively undistinguished rhythmic and harmonic basis. Hall's one
original - brought along. Hall says, at Evans's insistence - is 'All Across The City', an elegant ballad and one
still in the guitarist's repertoire at the time of writing. Hall remembered the session as fun, in common with
all his professional associations with Evans. "He was so easy to work with," said Hall. "It was just like he read
your mind all the time."-'' Tlie feeling was mutual, for Evans later confessed: "I loved working with Jim Hall.
The wonderful thing about him is that he is like a whole rhythm section ... He just propels it along, and you
do not have to make any great effort with his support. "^^

Intermodulatioii was released later in 1966 to great acclaim. Once again Verve tried something new in

its presentation, asking the classical conductor Skitch Henderson to provide liner notes. These naturally
emphasise the connections between the endeavours of the two jazzmen and concert-hall music. "Pianists are

a strange group," Henderson wrote. "They live in a world of instruments which never satisfy them - they're

either out of tune or the action isn't comfortable . . . There is very little difference between the classical artist

and the popular artist in this field. They both develop a style and become complete individuals ... I have
listened to Bill play for many years, mostly on records, and have always been struck by the skill with which
he produces the sound or tone. In many ways he is reminiscent of the great classical composer,
Rachmaninoff"-'' Evans would have been gratified by the comparison.
While the Hall record was still being recorded, Evans's music was the subject of a harsher evaluation in

a rapidly changing jazz world. 'Time Remembered' from the Ogerman With Symphony Orchestra
collaboration was played to Archie Shepp in a particularly trenchant Blindfold Test for Doum Beat. After

admitting tliat he'd had to look at the cover to find out who it was, Shepp ignored the specific track and
instead launched into a set of pronouncements on Evans. He claimed, as did many of his generation at the
time, that he thought Evans's best work had been done with the Miles Davis Sextet.

Shepp then brought up the subject of Cecil Taylor's criticisms of Evans, clearly siding with his erstwhile

boss. "Bill is in many ways one of the most overrated pianists in the country," said Shepp. "I like him on
ballad material. He can do that type veiy well - Satie, Debussy, everyone knows that Bill can do those things.
But ... there's nothing particularly original about that, as far as I'm concerned." ^' This somewhat patronising
put-down was in line witli the accepted contemporary musical/political view, and in fact would fast become
a cliche itself But Evans suffered increasingly from this attiaide as rock took over American popular music;
and jazz, still reeling from the second wave of avant-garde musicians like Shepp and the Ayler brotliers,
would become polarised afresh as critics and musicians alike had to decide where they stood in relation to

jazz-rock fusion.

Just two weeks before Shepp's Blindfold Test, Evans's With Symphony Orchestra album had been
reviewed by Mike Zwerin in Doum Beat. Zwerin was something of a critical maverick at the time,
unpredictable in his reactions. He had distinct resen'ations about what the LP set out to do and how Verve
had packaged it, but ended with a perceptive comment on Evans's current direction. "I think," wrote Zwerin,
"that Evans's growth has been more qualitative than quantitative. He is playing what he has always played,
only better than ever, rather than playing much that is new. But that same old thing is so beautiful."-^

131
 C HA P TE R 11

Further
Conversations
(1966-1970)
"USUALLYHE WAS SOLEMN AND RETICENT, AS ALOOF IN HIS
DREAMS AND THOUGHTS AS HE WAS IN HIS MUSIC"
WRITER RANDI HULTIN ON EVANS IN 1966

The Evans
Village
trio's

Vanguard
"same old beautiful thing" was heard again
in early July 1966 with Eddie Gomez on
at

bass and
the

Arnold Wise on drvims - at a time when the cream of the

performing jazz world was concentrated in Newport, Rhode Island, at the

annual Festival. Evans had been absent from Newport since 1958 and had
never appeared there as a leader.
When it came to recording this new working trio, Evans hesitated. He
decided instead to revisit the formula of Empathy, the record he'd made with
drummer Shelly Manne and easily his most successful trio LP for Verve to
date. This time, however, Evans retained his new bassist, Eddie Gomez, tilting

Eddie Gomez, Bill Evans and Jack Dejuhiwlle at the Muiilreux Festival, Switzerland, 1968

132
 •l

^:;^*^sS*ft*
Bill Evan
the stylistic balance in his favour. Tlie recording session took place at the Van Gelder studios in New Jersey
in October 1966. It would be the last of Evans's Verve albums to be produced by Creed Taylor, who very
shortly afterward left the company to set up his own label, CTI Records, through A&M.
The new record with Manne, A Simple Matter Of Conviction, was curiously conservative, consciously
evoking past attitudes and impressions. The opening (title) track is a medium-fast minor key Evans original
using blues changes. It is characterised by a nervous dotted-note 3/4 metre that perhaps picks up on the
intensity of McCoy Tyner's piano playing (especially the prodding left hand) in the same metre with the John
Coltrane Quartet. The irony is that Tyner learned a great deal from Evans, but Evans does little with what he
has re-imported from the younger player The trio hangs together well and Manne is a study in tasteful

invention, but the fact that the track was faded suggests that the conviction was perhaps not quite 100 per
cent. On 'Stella By Starlight' Evans is at his most cliched, finding nothing new to add to the many approaches
he had made to this tune. Even his theme displacement seems clumsy rather than exciting. He gives the

opening solo to Gomez. Manne holds the listener's attention more successfully with the variety and surprise
he brings to his subsidiary role, and his beautiftilly natural rhythmic pulse is a joy in itself Another Evans
original, 'Orbit', brings out the Shearing style again, and features Gomez playing high and with no great
coherence compared to his later work with the pianist. Evans's single-line solo after Gomez is clear and
concise, specialising in some fantastically long melodic arcs, but it continues his tour of Shearing-like styles.

During 'Laura', the old film song, Gomez and Manne engage in a musical dialogue that is a high point on
the record, their wit and interaction suggesting an entirely different set of musical aims than those of Evans
here. Strangely for someone who understands the value of contrast, space and dynamics, Evans is quite

relendess in his playing on many of these tracks, especially the standards, as if he were attempting to play

right through all his personal licks to the other side and then break free into new ground. It is a problem faced
by every improvising artist, and was articulated most acutely around this time by John Coltrane who admitted
that it often took him more than 30 minutes in a given solo to work through all the ideas he had rehearsed
many times before in order to arrive at new configurations. Bandleader Stan Kenton understood this when in

a Down Beat Blindfold Test he listened to an Evans solo from Oliver Nelson's early-1960s Blues & The Abstract
Truth album, "I wasn't too impressed by the piano," Kenton said. "He's tasty, but suffers from the same fault
of a lot of modern pianists - they get into one idiom, and they keep it going, and there are so many possibilities
... He could have gotten a little more colour from away from just
the piano by broadening it out a bit, getting

the stabbing left hand and the single-finger right hand -

some thirds."' in spite of the fact that he did play
Evans must have been aware of the problems too. After all, his own appreciation of music was unusually
broad and well-informed. But perhaps the task of continuing to develop his own style from within was for
the moment proving a little too daunting. Although the new partnership with Eddie Gomez suggested fresh
ways to escape such paralysis, only time would allow for the development. A new composition on this disc,

'These Things Called Changes', shows Evans toying with a range of permutations of 'All The Things You Are',

but the harmonic relationships are so stretched and the rhythmic interest so low that the result is listlessness,

not unlike some of the more unfocused latter-day performances by Bud Powell.
Meanwhile, tunes like 'Star Eyes' with an obvious lineage stretching back to Parker and the bop era
suggest that the pianist was on artistic hold at the session. Evans was of course aware that he had to evolve,

as he demonstrated in his written tribute on Bud Powell's death that autumn. "His was the most
comprehensive composition talent of any jazz player I have ever heard presented on the jazz scene," Evans
wrote. "He had the potential of a true jazz player. He expanded much in a legitimate, organic way. Because
of his history, he never got to use that potential that much, though he did plenty. His insight and talent were
unmatched in hard-core, true jazz."- Evans later reinforced that opinion in a 1970 interview with Norwegian
journalist Randi Hultin, a friend to many musicians and especially close to Powell in the 1960s. "There are

some feelings which don't make you emotional," Evans told her. "They don't make you cry, they don't make
you laugh, they don't make you feel anything but profound, and that's the feeling I got from Bud. It's like

the feeling you get from Beethoven, maybe . . . When I think about Chariie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Bud,
 FURTHER CONVERSATIONS 1966-1970

I think that Bud is very underrated . . . Bud comes in there among those names, too, it's just that he has never
got tlie attention he deserves."^ Evans shared the early weeks of October 1966 at the Village Vanguard with
Ray Nance (backed by Walter Bishop Jr), Horace Silver's quintet and Sonny Rollins's quartet, and then took
Gomez to Denmark for a cjuick visit later that month, making radio and television appearances again with
Monica Zetterlund and playing in a trio using local dnimmer Alex Riel. They then moved on to Oslo in

Norway for a concert that was witnessed by Randi Hultin: "The concert had been taped for television, and
the audience, which consisted mainly of musicians and jazz aficionados, had been asked not to applaud after

each solo. But when Gomez had played, the house came down. 'We couldn't resist applauding him.'"* At
Oslo's Fornebu airport the next day Hultin saw Evans meet up with musicians from Charles Lloyd's quartet.

"Seldom was he so glib and full of laughter," she reported. "Usually he was solemn and reticent, as aloof in
his dreams and thoughts as he was in his music. "^ After this successful interlude Evans and Gomez headed
back to New York, in November resuming the regular stint at the 'Village 'Vanguard with Arnde 'Wise back
behind the daim set. At this stage of the group's development 'Wise had become a great deal more assertive

and varied in his playing, evidenced by a stirring November 10th Vanguard performance of Come Rain Or
Come Shine' (subsequently released on Secret Sessions) where his stick work is smooth, colourful and driving.
Yet 'Wise was not a happy traveller, remaining reluctant to stick with the group on out-of-town
engagements. This uncertainty troubled Evans, who in January 1967 invited dmmmer Joe Hunt to come into

tlie trio. Hunt, who'd had connections with Stan Getz, stayed just four months and never recorded officially

with the band, but does appear on three evenings from the Village Vanguard preserved in Tlje Secret Sessions.

Sensitive and swinging, Hunt fitted in well without stamping a wholly new personality on the music. Evans
very rarely recorded Duke Ellington compositions, but Tlje Secret Sessions preserves an 'In A Sentimental
IVIood' showing the group's arrangement of the theme to be light and swinging, avoiding the sentimentality
promised by the song's title. Evans's solo, however, is heavy-handed and careless of the ballad's wistful

character, an oversight uncharacteristic of the pianist. His playing now was harder, more brittle and less

meditative than at any other time in the 1960s. Perhaps it was the stimulating influence of the energetic and
brilliant Gomez - or maybe Evans just felt differently about his music.

The trio now played and toured regularly, including a successful stint at Shelly's Manne-Hole in LA in

mid April 1967 that confirmed his audience as loyal and numerous. During the spring months Hellas Music
Corp published "a must for the sophisticated musician", a set of transcriptions of the arrangements for the
Bill Evans With Symphony Orchestra LP. It confirmed the wide interest among professionals, piano students

and amateur players about the mechanics of the Evans method. Verve, meanwhile, on the release of A Simple
Matter Of Conviction, seemed to have run out of marketing ideas for their star pianist, preferring to trade on
past achievements by picturing Conversations With Myself and Intermodnlation alongside the new album
under the heading "Solo - Duo - Trio!" The copy is equally at a loss: "Bill Evans ... alone or in a crowd, this

quiet man comes through soft and clear"*

In the late spring of '67 Evans took part in a panel discussion on the future of jazz at the University of
California in Berkeley, along with John Handy, Leonard Feather and Ralph Gleason. As with most discussions
of this sort it produced a lot of hot air and few conclusions, but Evans made some succinct points, as reported

in Dou'n Beat. 'When faced witli the old chestnut "What is jazz?" he said, "Jazz is a mental attitude rather than

a style. It uses a certain process of the mind expressed spontaneously through some musical instrument. I'm
concerned with retaining that process." No one else even went this far over the formal aspects of the music.
Feather pointed out that other culaires used improvisation in their music, but this didn't qualify that music as
jazz. There had to be a cultural and stylistic dimension too, he said. Following this point at a later stage of
the discussion, Evans commented: "(Jazz] has to do with everybody. It can be traced to a variety of ethnic
backgrounds. The Negro was tiying to make music - not Negro music. He drew from his culture, just as I

did." Handy added that "racial pride is one of the things that has kept our heads above water", while Feather
thought that "jazz resulted from a segregated culture". Gleason, arguing as a newly-converted rock enthusiast,
had little patience with the views of Evans or Feather, clearly feeling they were too conservative. His parting
Bill Evan
sliot was: "A lot of things that go on now in rock are more interesting than in second-rate jazz. Some rock
bands and some rock musicians can knock you right out of your mind - like Miles."'
Handy were content during the discussion to be identified as reactionaries when it
Evans, Feather and
came to new On the same subject, Evans would later comment to Randi Hultin: "There is more
rock music.
music in jazz. I don't mean to be snobbish, but I know for instance wlnat cost me to learn a little bit about it

music. I also know how much shorter the trip is for a pop artist to reach the top, or to learn how to play his
instrument."'"* This reluctance to embrace new popular-music forms gradually forced Evans into an ever more
constricted musical and st\'listic corner, especially as the 1970s began and contemporaiy music moved even
further away from the areas he valued. It would leave him out of the limelight in the US until the final years
of his life late in the 1970s, when fusion and soul-jazz were no longer at the music's popular cutting edge.
.Meanwhile, Evans continued to tiy to improve matters for his workingtrio. In May 1967 he invited his

old friend and damiming favourite Philly Joe Jones to join the group. Jones accepted, and tlie difference he
made to the group - as well as to Evans's playing - can be heard from a May 19th tape from tlie 'Village
Vanguard. Tlie sole up-tempo number from tliat date, 'On Green Dolphin Street', positively steams along, Jones
laying down a beat as grooved as Shelly Marine's but with his own special brand of dynamism. The trio was
swinging in a way that no other Evans working group had done before. Jones was always sensitive to the

leader's intentions in any given song, but his primary concern and responsibility was always with the rhythm,
die pulse. These are inescapable when a group is being propelled by Jones, and it helped lighten the load on
Evans, who could dig in and swing witliout attempting to dominate the rhythm with an over-heavy left hand.
In July '67 this trio played the Los Angeles Festival, in concert with Gary McFarland's big band, and at

tlie Newport Jazz Festival - his first appearance there as a leader. Little notice was taken of them at Newport
among all the festivities and musical fireworks. Dan Morgenstern, in a long report, noted that the Evans trio

"played a strong set, egged on by Philly Joe Jones's drive and power",'' while Burt Goldblatt merely reported
that "Bill Evans, with drummer . . . Jones behind him, emphasised the contrapuntal".'" As the song goes, when
you're hot you're hot, when you're not you're not. Back to the 'Village 'Vanguard, then.
But this was not to be the only pattern of activity for Evans over the summer and autumn of 1967. In
August, a month after the Newport set, Evans went into the 'Webster Hall recording saidio in New York to

make his next album for 'Verve and his first under the guiding hand of Helen Keane. The result, Further
Conversations With Myself, seemed to be another exercise in retrospection, or even retrenchment - although
as far as Evans was concerned it was partly to correct what he saw as the deficiencies of Coiiveisatioiis With

Myself, the 1963 LP with three independently recorded piano parts from Evans. As he commented to Morgan
Ames, who wrote the new record's liner notes, "My main criticism, and the main problem in making the
original Conversations, was that of heavy texture. Since the third voice ftinctioned only as commentaiy and
wasn't basically significant, I preferred to tiy a two-voice conversation this time. Even so, I found that in many
cases one track would have sufficed ... I wouldn't be surprised if my next album were to turn out to be a
solo effort."" A solo album would be recorded in due course in the fall of 1968.
Listening to the music on Further Conversations one can sympathise with its creator. Although there are
some exquisite high points, such as the opening cut, 'Emily', with its swirling obligate and beautiful voicings,
there is the nearly unlistenable 'Yesterdays' where Evans's rhythm piano track is so insistent and aggressive
in its feeding of ideas, and his later overdubbing so close in concept to the first track, that the performance
sounds more like a garrulous windbag shouting down a more softly-spoken, thoughtful conversationalist. The
harsh sound of Evans's piano - including microphone distortion on loud notes - only adds to the ugliness
of the recording. Technical problems mar the whole album, though some of the less dense tracks are only
intermittently affected. From 'Yesterdays' Evans moves on to 'Santa Glaus Is C^oming To Town', a song that

caused puzzled expressions the first time he'd recorded it (on Trio '64). 'Why he should want to record it a

second time will remain a mystery: its essential flimsiness does not improve on further exposure. Evans
fini.shes .side one with a bni.sque treatment of his own new ballad, 'Funny Man'. Here he breaks into a walking
bass line, then plays at swapping eights with himself As with the previous two tracks there is scarcely room
 FURTHER COP«JVERSATIONS 1966-1970

to breathe, the pianist apparently forgetting one of his own basic mies, tiiat the use of space and contrast is

fundamental to creating a fully satisfactory improvised excursion.

The potential impact of such an approach is immediately felt on tlie long opening ti-ack on side two, 'The
Shadow Of Your Smile', where Evans allows his phrases to breathe naairally, to expand and fall away again,
rather tlian crowding out each piirase with a consequent one. This is such a controlled and shaped performance
that when Evans double-times midway through it seems a logical investigation of tlie tune's possibilities and a
successful part of tlie performance's form rather than a random desire to do sometliing different. This is the one
track from this .session that would have sat proudly on the first Coiivei'sations album. Tlie following tvine is

anotlier re-make, 'Little Lulu', and a revival even more questionable tlian 'Santa Claus'. Evans tries hard to inject

humour with countless silent-movie-style madcap endings, but it is too forced and does not work. There is also

the problem on records of repeatability. The tune gives him little musical sustenance: as a joke, it could have
stood maybe 30 seconds of album time as an end-piece. The disc ends witli Evans's first attempt at Denny
Zeitlin's 'Quiet Now', which quickly became a staple of his live sets. This first attempt at it is a fine and controlled

performance, sombre and full of feeling. Perhaps unexpectedly, Evans's playing here recalls the richly-coloured
harmony and measured dignity of Dave Brubeck, a San Franciscan like Zeitlin.

The year 1967 would turn out to be a terrible and aimultuous one for jazz: Billy Strayhorn, Rex Stewart.

Saiff Smith and John Coltrane died, while the music itself came under increased commercial and artistic

pressure from a newly mature rock industiy. A younger jazz generation, mixing elements of avant-garde and
more traditional methods, was meanwhile finding new audiences. By the end of 1967 Charles Lloyd and his
group would be the most popular in jazz, while the previous holders of that title, the Dave Brubeck Quartet,
would break up after more than 15 years together. Like Evans, Brubeck would continue to serve up
appetising musical feasts for his audiences, but he would never regain a popular ascendancy. That had moved
on to another generation. Only John Coltrane had pushed on remorselessly, keeping his ideas at the cutting

edge, but now suddenly he was gone, leaving a huge chasm at the centre of the avant-garde movement that

proved impossible to fill. Of that generation, it would be Davis who later rose to the challenge and reinvented
himself for the new rock generation. In the meantime, Evans's public profile continued to shrink, partly
perhaps due to his inability to arrive at a settled line-up for his tiio, and also perhaps because Evans, now in

his late thirties, was perceived as part of a relatively older generation of jazz musicians. For the average jazz
fan, and in particular for younger music lovers, Evans had become "predictable". No matter that his output
was not inferior to before - indeed, his next session, a welcome return to recording at the Village Vanguard,
was an outstanding addition to his discography - but it seemed like old news. The music that Evans played
with Gomez and Jones at the Village Vanguard that August indicated that he was not even attempting to
maintain his former position at the forefront of the music.
Their repertoire at the Vanguard in August '67 is a little wider than had been the leader's habit for a
while, with the aforementioned Ellington composition included alongside a 1940s hit. 'Happiness Is A Thing
Called Joe', while the old show tune 'California Here I Come', as well as Over You'
'I'm Getting Sentimental

and 'Gone With The 'Wind', all regularly sneak into the sets. Yet these songs were so old - almost veteran -
that it seemed as if Evans was consciously evoking musical scenes and styles from his youth. Only Burt
Bacharach's saccharine 'Alfie' was taken into his performing book from a wealth of contemporaiy popular
material. Other established jazz artists, including former Evans collaborators like Oliver Nelson and Gaiy
McFarland, were investigating tlie new pop repertoire, so it is curious that Evans never attempted a Lennon-
McCartney song, for example, at this time. Perhaps he saw no need. Perhaps he had no interest, or saw little

relevance to what he was attempting. The music that the Evans trio created during the nights of recording at

the Vanguard is consistently inspired. The trio worked for the most part as a cohesive team, though the pianist

is still figuring out how best to integrate bassist Gomez's obvious talent into his music. Gomez occasionally
sounds ill-directed in his forays across the octaves on his instalment, especially in his frequent solos. Although
he has immense speed and dexterity and a style not dissimilar to that of Scott LaFaro, the young bassist is

not at this stage of his time with Evans as nielodically interesting and rhytlimically surprising as LaFaro had
Bill Evans
been some six years earlier. This is especially noticeable in his solo spots, no doubt a legacy of the live

circumstances of the recording, where he is often all over his instRiment but less often sustains a clearly

shaped musical argument. An example to the contraiy is his very LaFaro-like solo on 'Gone With Tlie Wind'
from August 18th, the solo falling in a set which is markedly relaxed and swinging, with close communication
between all tliree players. It would be wrong, however, to suggest that Gomez is somehow inadequate in his
playing on these August evenings: his consistent flow of ideas, his spirit of adventure and his constant search
for variet)', as well as his ability to revert to swinging walking basslines when required, mark him out already
as the most impressive bassist Evans had used since LaFaro's death.
Evans plays tliroughout the recordings with considerable intensity as well as a noticeably more buoyant
emotional state: he swings impetuously, rarely allows reflection and introspection to dominate, and generally
gi\'es the listener the impression that he is in control and enjoying himself. But it is noticeable that he is not
especially well integrated with Gomez's playing, preferring at this point to follow the logic of his own ideas
and let the odiers follow. This does not preclude successful music-making: here is a working group that

conspicuously exudes contentment, with Jones's imperturbable pulse the creative wellspring of the entire
project. Had this trio survived for as long as the group with Israels and Bunker or Wise then it may well have
developed in newly revealing ways. As it was, for reasons unconnected with the music the group was
making, Jones had left the band by the close of the year and Arnie Wise was depping once more. A double
LP released in the early 1980s, California Here I Come, marked the first release of any of the music from the
Vanguard sessions; in 1998 around four hours of the material appeared on the Complete Bill Evans On Verve
CD boxed set. A poorly tuned piano may have been one of the reasons for its being held back at the time.
It was Wise who crossed the Adantic with Evans and Gomez for a brief European visit just before the
end of 1967, with concerts in Italy and Switzerland as well as an appearance at Ronnie Scott's club in London.
The sets at Ronnie's were witnessed by packed houses of fans as well as many local musicians in awe of
Evans's harmonic abilities and musical command. The trio also appeared at the London Jazz Expo '67 on the
same bill as groups led by Charles Lloyd, Max Roach, Roland Kirk, Gary Burton, The Newport All-Stars, Son
House, Bukka White, Miles Davis and Archie Shepp. The Evans trio were there as substitutes for a Teddy
Wilson/ Albert Nicholas band which failed to materialise, and with the audience primed for music of an
altogether different era of jazz their performance was not well received.
That same autumn Evans appeared on film, still a rare medium for jazz. He and his manager had an idea
that stemmed from an appearance on American television where Evans combined playing piano with talking

about his music. The interviewer was, according to Down Beat, his brother "Dr Harry Evans, supervisor of
music education in Baton Rouge, LA".'^ Harry Evans was not the only interpreter: veteran TV star and amateur
jazz pianist Steve Allen contributed "the introduction, and also [appeared as] transitional narrator later in the

film". Bill Evans, Jazz Pianist - On The Creative Process And Self-Teaching was a 45-minute attempt to look

seriously at the complexities of its subject, and as such was a first in jazz education.

Evans said, "We tried to go into the psychological things you have to go through to master this nebulous
craft, not put it in terms that were so theoretical."'-'' During the course of the frank and engaging film, Evans
asserted some of his principles, including his strong feeling that "in an absolute sense, jazz is more a certain

process - a spontaneity - than a style". This, he said, meant it was vital that people teaching jazz started from
musical principles rather than stylistic traits. Evans made his opinions clear: that he would uphold his own
areas of interest and concern in contemporary improvised music, and continue the methods and processes
that he had used throughout the 1960s. While all this made sense to Evans and his management, his record

company was becoming increasingly perplexed. How could they promote him in the face of the rising tide
of rock and its application to jazz by younger musicians, some of whom were now proving popular and
fashionable with rock listeners? Given rock's close identification at this time with social ferment, how could
Evans be fitted into this newly emerging consciousness? Verve's January 1968 advertisement for the Further

Conversations LP underlined the company's confusion. Under the title "Conversations ctintinued: additional
dialogue by Bill Evans" Verve made some embarrassingly inepl comments and inappropriate allusions,
 FURTHER CONVERSATIONS 1966-1970

apparently pining for tlie days when Evans was ahead of the game. "It was a private conversation," ran the
ad. "And highly personal. Bill Evans alone in aroom with three pianos; Conversations With Myself. Six years
have passed. The dangling conversation is resumed. And tlie pianist speaks with even more authority now.
The dialogue has been perfected as the artist within has grown. With fewer questions, more swinging
statements. Other voices, other tunes. The original Conveisations has remained Bill Evans's best-selling
album. And perhaps his best. Now overhear this."'''

With a company this confused about one of its major artists (how did a Paul Simon song about a declining
relationship get into a BUI Evans ad?), perhaps tlie non-appearance of the Vanguard music is easier to

understand. But Verve were not tlie only ones unsure about the pianist's future. Leonard Feather, in his intro to

a Blindfold Test in Down Beat, wrote; "Bill Evans, in the context of the 1968 musical scene, is something of an
anachronism. His music . . . relies on introversion and innate beauty, at a time when the trend is to detonation,

reverberation and exaggeration "

Of the music played to him during this Test, Evans was most enthusiastic about
a Herbie Hancock piece, 'Cantaloupe Island', which he guessed as by Horace Silver, but his most pertinent
comments came during a Don Ellis track from his award-winning LP, Electric Bath. Ellis, an early-1960s radical,

was now fronting a rewed-up big-band playing highly-charged original music fuU of eccentric time-signatures
and using a rock rhythm section. Questioning tlie record's staying power past the novelty of its unusual sounds,
Evans said: "I would give it about four stars for imaginative sound adventure in music, and perhaps one-and-
a-half stars for the actual musical content. To me, of course, the musical content is always primary, and although
this is something that can attract one's attention immediately, in 20 years' time it's not going to mean a thing as

far as novelty is concerned, and the musical content will be the only thing that matters."''
Whatever was going on at Verve and elsewhere, Evans continued to work his trio steadily, mostly in
New York clubs but occasionally beyond. He did more on film and TV, appearing in spring 1968 on CBS
Television's Dial M For Music series along with the Teddy Wilson Trio. By this time dmmmer Jack Dejohnette
had taken time out from Charles Lloyd's quartet and was freelancing assiduously in New York City. Persuaded
to come into the trio courtesy of Eddie Gomez, he appeared with Evans on this broadcast. Dejohnette stayed
with Evans through the summer and into tlie autumn, briefly rejoining Lloyd in November for that quartet's

final album, recorded live at New York's Town Hall. That same November 1968 Dejohnette would move on
to Miles Davis's groundbreaking electric group before going out as a leader in the early 1970s.

During the six or so months that Dejohnette was with the trio their work was fortunately preserved on
one of Evans's most famous late-1960s LPs, recorded at the second annual Montreux Festival in Switzerland,

in June 1968. Just sLx days before that auspicious occasion, however, Evans made his second televised
appearance of the year, but in veiy different circumstances to the spring's Dial M For Music session. He was
one of the featured jazz artists in a hastily assembled but immensely dignified WCBS-TV jazz tribute on June
9th to the assassinated US Senator Robert Kennedy. Kennedy's funeral had been televised nationally the day
before. Other artists appearing in A Contemporaiy Memorial included the MJQ, Joe Williams, the Thad
Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra, Woody Herman, Horace Silver and Duke Ellington (in a trio with Johnny Hodges).
Father Norman O'Connor, a priest with lifelong connections to jazz, introduced the artists and gave readings
from a wide variety of writers, ancient and modern, between the musical tributes.

Evans's portion carried strong echoes of his February 1966 Town Hall concert. Ira Gitler reported in his

review that Evans appeared witli the CBS Orchestra on Claus Ogerman's 'Elegia', with the trio on 'Time
Remembered', and unaccompanied for "the very affecting threnody 'In Memory Of His Father'". Evans's music
for the occasion was entirely appropriate, Gitler noted. "The program was already underway when I mned
in but I was almost immediately locked in by the feeling emanating from all the participants. It was neither

saccharine nor maudlin but a heartfelt tribute. The occasion inspired the musicians to a uniformly high level
of performance." Gitler also made the telling point that "it is a shame that a tragedy of this magnitude had to

provide the reason for one of the best and longest programs of jazz ever presented on TV".'*
Within days Evans was in Switzerland, appearing thanks to the involvement of his friend Gene Lees in

the Montreux festival's organisation. Evans, according to Lees, arrived a few days early and became an
Bill Evans
enthusiastic siglitseer, alont; with his trio and Lees. Tlie festival that year was held, related Lees, "in tlie

nightclub (as big as a concert hall) of the Montreux Casino, an old-time pleasure-palace".'^ In his Down Beat
report on the entire festival. Lees wrote: Ever>'one agreed that the peak of the festival was the Evans
performance. Relaxed, tanned, and in a better frame of mind than at any time in the many years I've known
him, Evans played at the absolute peak of his form before an audience breathless with attention. The crowd
exploded witli applause and wouldn't let him get off the stand. Some of it may have had to do with drummer
Jack Dejohnette ... he played very free time, but without ever losing the pulse, and his taste was impeccable.
Tlie audience went mad over him.""*
The trio played for just a little less than an hour, and the result would later appear as At The Montreux
Fesliral. The repertoire was largely familiar to Evans fans, with only Earl Zindars's bluesy ballad 'Mother Of
Earl' di\erging from his regular performing set. Evans displays the same zest and intensity evident in the

pre\ ious summer's live recordings with Philly Joe Jones. His rhythmic thrust is heightened by the power and

drive of a drummer whose own concepts of time came to maturity in the wake of Elvin Jones and Tony
Williams, and whose understanding of Evans's art was strengthened by the fact that he was a fine pianist in
his own right. Altliough Dejohnette is a busy drummer, full of ideas, nuances and complex patterns, he is an
immensely sensitive musician fully capable of conceiving ideas and patterns that easily carry the length of a
bar or further. Few of Evans's previous regular drummers were capable of such far-sightedness; consequently,
the rhythm was often choppy and stop-start as the drummer tried to fit his fills and emphases in between
Evans's habitually jagged and insistent phrasings and asymmetries. With Dejohnette's sophisticated but
flowing style the music could breathe more naturally, giving Evans the freedom to develop his improvisations
unimpeded by a fear of clashes with the underlying patterns supplied by the drummer.
Bassist Eddie Gomez also benefited from this new arrangement and opened up his phrasing accordingly.
This happy combination within the trio, with Gomez correspondingly alert and resourceful, was reflected
both in the mood in which Evans arrived onstage at Montreux and the unfeigned adulation of an unusually
attenti\'e festival crowd. Each tune's arrangement was well conceived and absorbing in execution, with only
the rather overlong bass and drum solos on 'Nardis' - one at the front, one at the end - pushing a

performance out of shape. Yet this was, first and foremost, a live performance, and such attempts at re-

ordering a staple part of the set helped inspire the performers, to the increased delight of their audience.
As a way of pacing the hour onstage at Montreux in June '68 Evans played two unaccompanied ballads,
a new favourite, Denny Zeitlin's 'Quiet Now', making its European debut under his fingers, and 'I Loves You
Porgy', normally given a trio treatment by Evans (it had appeared thus on the 1961 'Village 'Vanguard
recordings with Motian and LaFaro). 'Quiet Now' was the only selection omitted from the original album
release of the concert, due to the time restrictions on vinyl LPs. Twenty minutes per side was a technical
optimum in those analogue days to achieve the best possible mastering results and the fullest frequency
response from a stylus in a groove - the original Montreux LP was closer to 25 minutes per side.

Evans keeps his reading of 'Quiet Now' dark and intense, spare and reflective, using modulations of key
to inject drama and shape into his evolution of the piece, while on 'Porgy' he delivers one of his most
perfectly conceived improvisations of the late 1960s, a beautifully judged and deeply felt series of variations

and extemporisations on theme and harmony. These two performances occurred at the mid-point of the
concert, the resulting applause indicating that all present were aware of his achievement. From there on the
trio were flying, finishing with a 'Someday My Prince Will Come' that moves easily and sinuously between
3/4 and 4/4 during Evans's involved extended-phrase solo. This concluded the set, but the audience's demand
for an encore led to a version of Evans's own Walkin' Up', taken at a bright clip and featuring sparklingly
integrated playing from all three men. It was a perfect thank-you to the festival crowd.

Detouring through Holland and London, where they once again appeared at Ronnie Scott's, Evans and
his trio returned from their Montreux success to another television date, again for Dial M For Music. Evans
this time appeared separately with both the trio and The CBS Orchestra which had accompanied him on the
Kennedy broadcast of a month or so earlier. On this occasion they stuck to less weighty music, opting for

*
 FURTHER CONVERSATIONS 1966-1970

the Claus Ogerman arrangement 'Granadas'. The otlier feaaired group on the show was The Modern Jazz
Quartet; during tlie course of tlie orchestral segment John Lewis joined Evans to perform on two pieces,
'Almost Blues' and 'Chazzer'. Reviewing the broadcast, Leonard Featlier felt it was the best show he had seen
to date in the series of programmes.''^ All this television exposure and increased touring during 1968 would
help Evans to regain some of his lost popularity before the year was out. In the meantime, as summer turned
to autumn, he reairned to regular trio appearances, including dates at the Top Of The Gate and the 'Village
Vanguard in New York. These were done without Dejohnette.
Simultaneously, Evans took the next logical step in his sequence of unaccompanied piano recordings for
'Verve by cutting Alone, a recital entirely devoid of extra piano tracks. Recorded in September and October
1968, this may be seen as a logical extension of his search for further clarity of line and texture, as he had
said in the liner notes to Further Conversations - but in his own notes for Alone he did not mention this.

Instead, he wrote about extending the "great tradition in jazz" of solo piano performances and of his wish
that his own performances might have "sufficient merit to carry the listener without distraction to the musical
feeling I have strived to accomplish". His other overriding concern, as he put it, was to explore a paradox:

"Despite the fact that I am a professional performer, it is true that I have always preferred playing without an
audience." Furthermore, he noted, "Perhaps the hours of greatest pleasure in my life have come about as a
result of the capacity of tlie piano to be in itself a complete expressive musical medium. In retrospect, I think
that these countless hours of aloneness witli music unified the directive energy of my life. " In a recording sttidio,

alone with his piano, Evans attempted to reconcile these apparently conti'adictory artistic and personal impulses.
"'What I desired to present in a solo piano recording, " he wrote, "was especially this unique feeling."-"

Certainly the music on Alone is much more unified and intense than that on Further Conversations from
the previous year. Here, Evans does not have to consider embellishment, accompaniment or any other aspect
of multiple piano tracks. He pares his playing to essentials and concentrates on his involvement with the
music. Because of the absence of all other accompaniment, Evans can be as flexible as he needs to be and
takes appropriate advantage. He adopts the simplest of approaches: exposition, improvisation, resolution. He
also allows himself complete freedom of invention harmonically, rhythmically and melodically. Apart from
his natural ability, the resulting power and logic is largely due to his certain vision and thorough preparation.
Talking to Marian McPartland just prior to the recording, Evans was in decisive mood. "You can hear that

I know exactly what I am doing," he said. "There's no doubt in my mind when I play. I know the reason for

everything I do." As if mminating on his upcoming solo sessions, he elaborated: "If you play too many things

at one time, your whole approach will be vague. You won't know what to leave in and what to take out. I

would say to a young musician: know very clearly what you're doing and why - play much less, but be veiy
clear about it . . .Take an idea - any idea - play it upside down, backwards, change the rhythm, and so on.
Take any combination of notes tliat might occur to you and try to find 18 different ways of doing it."-' 'With

a set of standard songs on Alone, he practiced what he preached.

As Evans attempts to penetrate the surface meaning of each tune he reaches different and deeper levels

of meaning and inspiration, involving himself not only in any "message" a song might have but also in the
beauties to be found in the study and redeployment of its components. Again in his album notes, Evans

observes: "As you can readily see from the length of the U'acks, I did get involved perhaps most successfully
in 'Never Let Me Go'. "--
Running for over 14 minutes, the song provides Evans with sufficient raw material
to play himself through most of his own personal licks and cliches into fresh and invigorating musical waters.
His inspiration is palpable. Other songs are given less magical transformations, but nothing from these
sessions is wholly without its own small successes and surprises, the album being a formidable achievement
at a time when Evans's relationship with Verve was winding down. Certainly Doug Ramsey in his Down Beat
review agreed, making one especially prescient point. "'When the dust subsides from the meaningless battles
for recognition waged by so many of his contemporaries," wrote Ramsey, "[Evans] will still be there, playing

his music as he hears it. And he hears it beautifully."-^ By the end of auaimn 1968 the uncertainty over
personnel caused by Dejohnette's departure had been resolved. After a short series of deputisations by
Bill Evans
dmmmer John Dentz at the Village Vanguard and elsewhere - preserved in part on tlie Secret Sessions - Evans
brought in on Eddie Gomez's advice a young drummer making an impact in New York jazz circles, Marty
Morell. During this period Evans was again on television screens, this time for NBC as part of a Camera Three

series. He appeared with his trioand, on two selections, with young flautist Jeremy Steig. Evans had long
admired Steigs pla\'ing and spirit, and four years eariier had declared: "I think a lot of his talent and ability

alread)'. I played flute myself for quite a few years and I know how difficult it is. He plays well and
naturally."'"' The two had met in the early 1960s when the flautist was in Paul Winter's band, Evans being
particularly struck by the intensity of his playing. Since that time Steig had struck out on his own, at first in
a modern jazz context, more recendy forming his own group, Jeremy & The Satyrs - a jazz-rock group before

tlie term had been coined. Steig had sat in with Evans a number of times since then at the pianist's invitation,

and Evans evidently felt entirely at home with the spirited attack that Steig brought to his instrument.
The success of the TV broadcast - which included new versions of Evans favourites such as 'Love Theme
From Spartaciis! and 'Nardis' plus a workout on 'So "What' - and the obvious rapport between the two men

led to recording sessions for Verve in February and March 1969. Prior to that, Evans had integrated Marty
Morell into the trio so successfully that they won an admiring letter in Down Beat after a December
performance at The Frog & Nightgown in Raleigh, North Carolina. The writer enthused that the Evans group
"seemed to communicate with the audience by a kind of musical osmosis".^' Meanwhile, the last month of
'68 had seen the release of the set from that summer at Montreux. This time Verve resolved the complications
of previous ads by simply quoting a string of reviews of the concert from distinguished journals such as The
Neiv York Times, Down Beat, Tlje Montreal Star, Melody Maker and papers from Italy and Germany.
Also in December 1968 the annual Down Beat Readers' Poll confirmed the benefits of Evans's higher
public profile during the previous 12 months, elevating him to second place in the piano poll, behind Herbie
Hancock (then on tlie point of leaving Miles DavisJ but in front of old rival Oscar Peterson. Confirming the
impact of the trio's live work, bassist Eddie Gomez placed eighth in the bass poll, a rise of some six places

on the previous year. This resurgence is the more notable for the absence of any Evans recordings in the

album-of-the-year section of the poll. In the other main categories, vibes player Gary Burton was voted
jazzman of the year, Don Ellis's Electric Bath was the top album, and Wes Montgomery, who had died
following a heart attack in the summer, was voted Into the Hall of Fame - all indicating the public's turn of
interest toward a newly confident rock genre. "With jazz entering a new phase of eclecticism and diversity in
its increasingly fraught attempts to survive the commercial and cultural impact of rock, Evans was being
appreciated for his musical consistency and a sustained return to form.
It's ironic, then, that the move to make a record with Steig in the winter and spring of 1969 must be seen
at least in part as an attempt by Evans, his management and his record label to re-position the pianist closer

to contemporary trends. The young Steig had a stylistic fluency in both jazz and rock, being a technically

gifted player with a personalised tone who had the imagination to combine elements of Eric Dolphy's
approach to the flute with the style of more mainstream flautists. Still in his twenties, he sported an of-the-

moment look, an ideal bonus to help Evans begin to move away from an image that had not progressed
since the death of Kennedy and the arrival of The Beades in the US. The sleeve and title of the Steig record,
What's New?, was part of this re-positioning. For tlie first time on a Verve cover, Evans is not dressed in a

dark suit and tie, instead choosing a red roll-neck under a sports coat. Beside him an impassioned Steig, his

long hair and flute prominent, is caught mid-phrase. The album's title, emblazoned in the latest trendy

typeface, direcdy reflected this new Evans departure. The music, however, is closer to Evans's taste than

Steig's: the repertoire is all drawn from songs that Evans had either been familiar with for some time or had
written himself What Steig brings to the record is fire, enthusiasm and constant risk-taking. He makes it into

more of a jam session than any record Evans had been involved with since his Riverside and freelancing days.
The presence of two blues numbers aids this impressitm of looseness. Monk's 'Straight No Chaser'
immediately sets the mtjod. at a brisk tempo, as Evans and Steig move each other to exciting and unusual
improvisational paths. The sections on this and other tracks on the album where Evans drops out altogether
 FURTHER CONVERSATIONS 1966-1970

leave Steig to push ahead in his solos, forcing Gomez and Morell to respond with some hard swinging -
something they were not normally called upon to do in this trio. The other blues, the Evans original 'Time
Out For Chris', is taken slowly, giving all the participants time to shape their phrases and build the late-night

atmosphere. At times here Evans sounds uncannily like Art Tatum on a slow blues, especially during his
accompaniment of Steig's heavily vocalised, expressionistic passages. Evans's accompaniment is unusually
dense, constantly supplying counteriines to Steig's angular, darting phrases. Steig responds in the way that

Benny Carter and other Tatum guest stars did, alternating between heightened and more starkly delineated

versions of his normal idiomatic playing, and tending to let Evans fill the cracks.
Other tunes tackled on these dates emphasise similar strengths as well as the basic compatibility of the
two men. Autumn Leaves' uses the patented Evans intro, but Steig is allowed to state the theme persuasively
before a convincingly dynamic improvisation, while Gomez solos not only with great dexterity but also with
increased continuity and coherence. Evans himself takes a single-note solo of considerable drive and authority.
'Lover Man' receives a slow, sultry treatment in ame with its character and the performers' own leanings, while

'So What' raises a considerable sweat from all four musicians, with levels of raw excitement seldom reached
elsewhere on Evans's recordings as a leader. But there are unresolved problems. The 'Spartacus Love Theme'
finds Steig expressive and tender in the theme statement, but Evans cannibalises his original 1963 recording
for the arrangement and even parts of his own solo and accompaniment, crowding Steig uncomfortably and
refusing to allow the performance to breathe. For once in his career he could be accused of not listening

closely enough to others. On ''What's New?' Steig handles the melody beautifully but seems at sea when he
tries to fashion a mid-tempo ballad statement of clear emotional deptli - something that comes easily to Evans.

Before What'sNew? was issued by Verve, the label released a compilation, possibly to capitalise on
Evans's second Grammy, awarded in the spring of 1969 for the Montreiix album. We Best Of Bill Evmts
collected some choice cuts from his previous 'Verve records and added two unreleased trio performances from
the 1966 Town Hall concert. Tlie Montreux album was given a half-page advertisement in the same Down
Beat issue that carried the news of its Grammy award, and noted that Evans had been nominated for nearly
a dozen more Grammys in as many years.^^ With the release too of Alone, which would eventually win its

own Grammy nomination and award, the Steig collaboration was largely overlooked. Still, that album could
be constRied an artistic success and a step forward for both men in different ways; it is perhaps unfortunate
that, although the partnership would later be occasionally renewed, nothing more concrete developed from
this promising collaboration. Appearing at the Newport festival in July 1969 for the second year running,
Evans's trio delivered an energetic closing set on the first evening of the event with Steig guesting on a rapt
version of the ballad tliey had recorded earlier that year, 'Lover Man'.
Evans continued to pursue his career in its familiar pattern for the rest of 1969, playing the best jazz clubs

in the US on both coasts and in between, appearing in Europe in the spring, summer and autumn, and
providing solid performances at some of the larger theatres that operated a music policy. Evans appeared on
the Steve Allen TV show in July, just days after his Newport set. His trio's appearance at tlie Pescara Festival
in Italy in the same month was recorded for Italian radio broadcasts, and later appeared on Italian records -
Italian copyright laws until quite recently being notoriously liberal. November performances in Scandinavia
and Holland also appeared on record, although many years later Helen Keane would put some of this activity

in order by issuing official, professional-quality recordings of one of the Dutch concerts. A special event

during that November visit to Europe was a trio performance with the Royal Danish Symphony Orchestra
and Danish Radio Big Band. It drew on parts of the repertoire recorded for Bill Evans AJid Symphony
Orchestra including 'Blue Interlude', 'Time Remembered' and 'My Bells', plus tunes such as 'Speak Low' and
'Waltz For Debby'. Orchestrations were by Palle Mikkelborg, who also conducted. Evans's performance was
taped by Danish radio but at the time of writing has still to appear on CD. The released recordings from Italy

and Amsterdam reveal the trio in excellent form and in expansive spirit, while the level of audience
appreciation shows conclusively that Evans was treated as something special by European jazz fans at this

time (the November 28th concert in Amsterdam has been issued and reissued many times on the Affinity
Bill Evans
label, boasting superior recording qLialiU' and with Ex'ans in particularly fine form). As well as Evans, other
major jazz stars such as Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins and Dave Brubeck were finding appreciation for their

work in Europe as tlieir options in the US polarised. The US situation was neatly summarised during 1969 by
the fate of New York's Village Gate, then one of jazz's most famous clubs. Owner Art D'Lugoff had opened

a smaller tipstairs room, Top Of The Gate, mainly for piano trios - Evans included - while downstairs he
experimented with different musical genres in the main club. He made this switch because across America
nightclubs were being deserted by young audiences, who were more likely to light up and go to a

"happening" than have a drink while listening to jazz in a glorified bar. D'Lugoff along with many other club
owners tried to bring back these high-spending clients by hiring rock-oriented acts, but generally the policy

did not work, and by tlie end of the year he closed his 'Village Gate "indefinitely".

D'Lugoff said at the time of the closure, "We [cannot] compete witli a 3,000-seat auditoriimi like the

FUlmore East ... The younger element doesn't drink as much as they used to. 'We like to keep the prices
down, but the artist or their managers won't go along with it."'^ His solution, and one that allowed him to
re-open the club, was to give the performers the admission receipts and keep the food and drink money for

himself. Other clubs, not so famous or flexible, failed to survive, leaving a much smaller circle of traditional
clubs in which jazz musicians could play. Ironically, in the same May '69 Down Beat that carried the news of
E\'ans's Grammy was an item headed "Fillmore Jazz Bites Dust; Attendances Low". The article identified a

number of causes for the famous rock venues failure with jazz acts: the Fillmore's neighbourhood was not
conducive to visits from older, middle-class people, apparently, and young Fillmore fans spent their dollars

on [lie big rock acts on Fridays and Saturdays rather than waiting until Sunday for jazz.

Aware of these tightened economics at home, Evans welcomed the newly expanding European market,
especially the emerging summer festival circuit. In conversation with Brian Hennessy years later he
emphasised that he was one of the lucky ones then, rarely going without work involuntarily. "The whole
rock scene pushed jazz into a corner in the 1960s," said Evans. "Work and recording opportunities were less
frequent ... I was fortimate because I had obtained some recognition prior to the rock explosion and I could
never complain that I had no work ... I play for myself first, not what I think people want to hear. Perhaps

1 am less flexible as get older There will always be those in the avant-garde as was at one time. They
I I

come along and contribute but do not think there are a great number of genuine avant-garde artists. There
1

are not that many people ahead of their time."-** This was not a new thought from Evans. In 1970 he told

Leonard Feather there was no such thing as the avant-garde. "You can identify it in quotes," said Evans, "but
there are some things that are successful musically and are musical; and there are some things that are just a
lot of hogwash and a lot of complaining and frustration and affectation. And think that all you must ask of 1

anything is that it's musical and it's saying something within the musical language, and that's all I want from
anything that purports to be music."
Asked by Feather whether he admired any pop music, Evans said: "I do relate to the authentic creations

within those idioms; they are, in their own way, little masterpieces. But there aren't many special things, and
to think that 100,000 groups can be producing very special music is to delude yourself. There just aren't that

many talented, creative people around. In the history of classical music there's never more than three or four
a generation in the world. And in jazz it's very limited ... So you just can't think that this entire rock
phenomenon has quality. A lot of it is just a lot of noise, nothing more." In the same unusually expansive
Blindfold Test spread over two issues of Down Beat, Evans offered more thoughts about worth and the idea
of progression in music. "I don't care about the era or anything," he said. "If it's good, it's good ... So many
of the so-called 'free' things, I think, are trying to be sophisticated in getting out into a weird or strange sound
area that was used to death at the turn of the century by classical composers, and certainly is nothing new.
The sound area of dissonance or polytonality is nothing that's going to surpri.se anybody who's .sophisticated.

The important thing is to make music wherever you're at ... the idiom is not important."'^
Whether Evans was consciously waving goodbye to all that as the decade came to an end or was simply
continuing to make his own way in an increasingly diffuse and turbulent music scene is open to conjecture.
 FURTHER CONVERSATIONS 1966-1970

But his next projects suggest that it was the latter. Certainly as 1969 ended and 1970 began there were more
pressing concerns than whether to hanker after a place within an avant-garde which, in jazz, showed
increasing signs of being stuck for a direction in which to be avant.

Evans's next LP project underlined some of those concerns. Recorded during the winter months of 1969
and 70 and completing his relationship with Verve and parent company MGM, From Left To Right was a
peculiar stab at so-called "easy listening". Evans used an electric piano, the then-fashionable Fender Rhodes.
It was the prefeixed electric instrument of many jazz pianists because, in contrast to cheaper and more
primitive models made by other companies, the Rhodes could approximate some of the gradations of tone
and touch of an acoustic piano. Its sound too had the volume and flexibility of an electric instrument without
being completely divorced from that of its acoustic antecedent. Given these qualities, it was the obvious
instrument for Evans when he wanted to try an electric piano. "The only danger, Evans told Leonard " Featlier,

"is that if a pianist plays on [the Fender Rliodes] exclusively, the touch is so light, he would, I think, find it a

problem to play piano again. Chick Corea has mentioned this problem to me. Then I mentioned it to Harold
Rhodes, tlie inventor, and he said the action could be regulated, and he's going to have my personal piano
regulated to my touch.
"^''

From Left To Right set simple popular themes and limited developments against an orchestral backdrop
supplied by composer and arranger Michael Leonard, and the record's liner notes consisted of glowing
endorsements from Leonard, Harold Rhodes, and Evans's manager Helen Keane. The whole session, though
pleasant to the ear, is as close to musical saccharine as Evans came in his entire recording career. Even on
the small-group take of 'The Dolphin - Before' the musicians are still never far from easy listening. Evans
disingenuously revealed the level of thinking behind the record when discussing a particular track with
Leonard Feather. "I had written a little ame called 'Children's Play Song' which I always felt was just a simple
little nothing," said Evans. "But Mickey [Leonard] fell in love with it and wrote what was a very austere, slow
version of it - because I'd shown him how you'd harmonise it if you wanted to play it in a slow way. The
way I conceived of it was the type of tune kids would whistle while out playing hopscotch or something."^'
By the end of spring 1970 Evans was out of contract and in the middle of a programme of heroin
withdrawal and substitution. It involved moving to the synthetic chemical methadone, and eventually proved
successful: audiences at concerts that year would notice a subtly different Evans walking out to the piano.
All this gave him an opportunity to take stock and to plan fresh moves as the new decade opened. He was
certainly aware of an increasing gap in appreciation between audiences in America and in Europe. "I think
one of the qualities that the European audiences have a little more," he said in that same Leonard Feather
interview, "is that they can enjoy a greater historical spectrum of jazz than the American audiences. We tend
to identify with one era - it's got to be the most modern, or else we like Dixieland and we don't like bop,
or we like swing . . . and it seems that European audiences do like the history' of jazz, as long as it's got that
quality. I find that some of the later-generation jazz players experience a much more welcoming audience in

Europe that in the US. People like Ben Webster, the great players, whom American audiences somewhat
ignored as they grew older. "^- Whether or not Evans was unconsciously putting himself in that role - or
anticipating it - he would find European critics and fans providing soinething of a safe haven during the first

half of the 1970s. Indeed, interviewed in summer 1970 by Randi Hultin in Norway, he took up this tlreme
again. "This is an excellent audience," he said of the local Kongsberg festival, "and it's weird to think that a
little place like [this] can hire musicians from all over the world just because they like jazz here. I admire the
enthusiasm of the organisers who do all of this without earning a penny for it. Every jazz musician should
appreciate this. At least I do ... Jazz can't exist without somebody working for it with love. These days here
... have really meant something to me. It's a beautiful place, and I've been able to relax. "-^-^

At the same time, Evans displayed fiis age-old ambivalence to appearing live. Continuing her line of
questions, Hultin felt that what bothered Evans most was constant moving, always under pressure to keep
the trio together and take responsibility for them. Evans concurred: "Can you imagine if somebody would
give me a scholarship award? I would really be happy to be able to just sit and write music for a year."''*

145
 C HA P TER 12

Great
Expectations
(1970-1972)
"BILL ALWAYS SAID THAT HE WAS VERY CAREFUL ABOUT WORKING
A TUNE OUT AT HOME AND GETTING IT TO HIS LIKING BEFORE HE
WOULD PLAY IT IN PUBIIC"
PIANIST AND INTERVIEWER MARIAN McPARTLAND

Following Evans's success at the 1968 Montreux festival, his appearance

there in 1970 was eagerly anticipated by European audiences,
musicians and media. It was to besame venue, the Casino, with
at the
Eddie Gomez along for a second time but with Marty Morell in the drum chair
in place of Jack Dejohnette. The trio played two sets on the evening of June
19th, part of which appeared on the subsequent LP, Montreux II, on CTI.
Creed Taylor's CTI label was his next step on from A&M, for whom Creed
Taylor Inc had made a string of highly successful albums by musicians such
as Wes Montgomery, George Benson and Paul Desmond. Gaining the rights
to the Evans concert was something of a coup for Taylor's fledgling company

Prepciriiigjor a couceil in 1970

146
•;-«

^^^^^^^^K.
Bill Evans
and underlined its umbition and intended scope. It seems that just one of tlie two Evans Montreux sets was
recorded, and only half of that set was released by CTI. The other eight selections - none duplicating
repertoire on tfie CTI release - were taped by Radio Suisse Romande and are apparently still in existence in
that corporation's archives.

Taylor was doubly fortunate in that the concert turned out to be an outstanding one. Evans was well
aware of the level of inspiration that night: "We had a good reception ... in 1968 but tliis evening surpassed
it. Enthusiasm is infectious, even though the artist never really believes that one specific performance to

which an audience responds is really that much better than a hundred others . . . Jazz will never be a mass-
appeal music, but there is nothing more that I can give an audience that I give myself . . . I'm the only one
who can tell if I'm reaching the objective. When an audience responds with applause, it can give real impetus,

but if I had a choice, I'd prefer no expression of enthusiasm as, to me, it can be a distraction."^

Listening to the released recordings of that June 1970 Montreux concert, the audience's overwhelming
reception and their complete quiet during the music helped to make it a special occasion. Whatever Evans's
qualms about audiences, the heightened responses of Gomez and Morell make for a highly-charged trio

performance. The repertoire contains nothing new: Evans had drafted in a couple of his earlier compositions
such as '34 Skidoo' and 'Peri's Scope', but they were well known to his fellow musicians and to Evans
aficionados. Evans himself seems to be offering nothing beyond his normal levels of thought and creativity.

His tendency to push rhythmically and pick tempos that were perhaps a little faster than he would have
chosen five years previously provides a hint that he is avoiding the deeper, more resonant emotional states
of his earlier career as a leader.
Pianist Warren Bernhardt noticed this in Evans's playing as the 1970s began. "Every time I'd go to hear
him when he was with Marty and Eddie, it seemed like he was painting himself into some kind of a corner,"
said Bernhardt. know if it was choice of material or chemical or what. He was rushing a lot and going
"I don't
through the motions.And I thought was odd for a guy who had so much - that's why I suspected might
it it

have been something else. Do you know what I mean, painting yourself into a corner? I mean he almost had
no escape from the material."^ Don Nelson gave Montreux II a warm welcome in Down Beat, but touched
on similar concerns. "If the set sounds a trifle familiar, think of it this way: hearing Evans is like visiting a

brilliant friend - you know pretty much what he's going to say, but he says it so well and with such sensibility
and clarity that you are charmed every time."'

Perhaps Evans felt cornered too by his responsibilities toward the group and its repertoire. Pianist Marian
McPartland shed light on the negative aspects of such a task. "Bill Evans used to hone his trio and shape the
personalities over a very long period, and he did think along very different lines from me," she said. "Whereas
I like to take a new tune and wing it, even if it's a tune I haven't ever played. Bill always said that he was
very careful about working a tune out at home and getting it to his liking before he would play it in public.

I don't always do that. Bill had some saying . . . 'I'd rather learn one tune in 24 hours than 24 tunes in an
hour.' But that's the kind of musician he was.""* With such a cautious attitude toward repertoire and taking
chances, Evans was likely to hit periods where he would stagnate and lack inspiration. The most direct way
out of this was to seek inspiration from the trio, but the chances for Gomez and Morell to catch him unawares,
to stretchhim unexpectedly, were directly lessened by such careful preparation.
From Switzerland the trio moved on to fulfil engagements in Norway and Germany in summer 1970. In
Norway Evans talked once more to Randi Hultin, expanding on his methods of practice. "I play a lot privately,
but the trio has never had rehearsals. Not since started. The cohesion happens on stage or in the studio. it

The music develops by itself at each concert. There are times when we might need to practice a little more,
though," he said. "Including recording [we play) about 40 weeks per year ... I want to write more music -
.something more serious, for example, or music for film. New melodies. But I'll probably play until I go to

the grave. I'm never happy if I can't play. After a period without a gig, I get depressed. Everything seems so
meaningless. A musician can't just stop playing."'' Evans's commitment to regular work had the trio returning

quickly to America and the clubs, mostly the Top Of The Gate in New York. Even though he'd left Verve,
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 1970-1972

they took a full-page ad in Down Beat in April 1970 to publicise the release of Alone, keeping Evans's name

in front of the public for the summer season. The magazine's review of the LP did not appear until September,
but it was unstinting in its praise. Although Newport was not on Evans's festival schedule this year, the trio

did appear at Monterey in September and at the Pacific Northwest Jazz Spectacular in Seattle toward the end
of 1970. The Monterey appearance was Evans's first there as a leader, but due to pressures on the festival's
schedule the trio's time onstage on the Sunday afternoon was limited. Two numbers by the trio alone were
followed by 'Elegia', 'Granadas' and 'Time Remembered', accompanied by the Oakland Youth Chamber
Orchestra; all three arrangements stemmed from the still-popular Ogerman collaboration album With
Symphony Orchestra. Critic Harvey Siders commented that the final piece "gave Evans the only real
opporamity to hold any conversations with himself'.^
At the Pacific Northwest event Evans had first appeared as part of an afternoon piano workshop along
with Joe Zawinul and Herbie Hancock, appearing for his segment with Eddie Gomez and interspersed by
unaccompanied renditions of familiar ames. The following day he returned with his trio for amore orthodox
set, sandwiched between tlie groups of Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock. The set was described by reviewer
Steven F. Brown as something of an anticlimax. "Evans indulged in several rather dead cocktail-lounge tunes,"
wrote Brown, "made worse by rude color changes in the lighting which would ruffle most musicians.
Repetition of the order of solos from one number to the next made things boring after tlie fourth or fifth

number, even (apparently) for Evans himself and Morell. Gomez never ceased to be inspiring or inspired."^
The group and Helen Keane did not neglect the television opportunities that came their way during 1970.
As part of tlie Homewood series of educational TV programmes, an hour-long special. Profile In Cool Jazz.
was made in early November: the Evans trio shared tlie hour with Gary Burton's quartet. The pianist's

segment consisted of superior workouts on Waltz For Debby', Someday My Prince Will Come', 'Like
Someone In Love' and 'So What'. Observer Leonard Feather commented: "Evans and his colleagues ... set a

gentle mood subtly underlined by the sympathetic camerawork and lighting."^ The show was syndicated to

almost 200 educational TV stations around the US, while the soundtrack appeared briefly on the small label
Red Bird (betterknown as the home of pop girl-group The Shangri-Las).
Also in November 1970 Evans signed a new recording contract, this time with the jazz wing of Columbia,
a section run at that time by Bruce Lundvall. Evans went into the studios for his new company and followed
the lead of Columbia supremo Clive Davis who was very keen for his jazz artists to play fashionable electric
jazz. In an interview the following spring, Davis elaborated on his expectations of the company's jazz signings
- which at that time included Ornette Coleman, Weather Report and John McLaughlin. "We're not interested
in signing artists still involved with traditional jazz," said Davis, "in the same way [that] I'm not interested in
signing people involved with rock & roll' ... I am really interested in communicating to new audiences, in
people using their skUls, using their ideas, to communicate to new audiences in terms that new audiences
can understand and accept." Davis used Evans as an example. "A Bill Evans - how do you get him out of
what he's been doing for the last few years and say use your genius and start communicating, get into
exciting areas, use other instrumentation, bring your musical ideas to new people'? If tlie artist is not interested
in doing that, then I'm not interested in having that artist record for us."^
The results of Evans's initial duo session for Columbia with Eddie Gomez were unsatisfactory for all

involved. As the bassist recalled, the idea was for "an acoustic/electric duo collaboration, containing some
new and somewhat experimental material ... We even flirted witli the idea of overdubbing the electric
instruments. By tlie way, 'Morning Glory' remains the only example of my bass guitar work to ever be issued
— with good reason! In the end, this project was mercifully abandoned - and I subsequently told Bill that we
had come dangerously close to a lifelong career in motel lounges all across tlie Midwest."'"
It is both strange and telling that Evans mixed acoustic and electric pianos for his last project with
Verve/MGM and his first with Columbia - and that neither amounted to much. Indeed, tliat initial Columbia
duo project was abandoned well before its completion, and it would wait until 1998 to be issued
commercially. As if tliat were not enough, tlie second attempt for Columbia also involved electricity in the
Bill Evans
form of E\ans's Fender Rliodes electric piano, set Lip alongside his normal acoustic grand. This was in effect

tlie first time tliat the jazz world would sit up and pay attention to Evans's use of the electric keyboard,

because From Left To Right, the final Verve/MGM project, also made with a Rhodes, had not been widely
promoted and had registered virtually zero impact.

The second Columbia session has Evans confining the Rliodes to a supportive role as a "colouring"
instniment, ratlier than boldK' claiming it as a new extension of his expression and musicality. Tentatively still

locating its most effective role in his existing set-up rather than tiying to find a fresh setting for the instn.iment,

he -sx'ould only use it sparingly in the years ahead. Later comments suggest that he never took the electric

piano seriously on its own terms, in contrast to younger jazz players then working with amplified music, such
as Joe Zawinul and Chick Corea. "Tve been happy to use tlie Fender Rhodes to add a little colour to certain
performances," said Evans, "but only as an adjunct. No electric instalment can begin to compare with the
qualit\- and resources of a good acoustic piano."" Within a few years Keith Jarrett would be saying similar

things as he permanently abandoned electric keyboards.

The resulting Columbia release. The Bill Evwts Album, would go on to win two Grammys, yet it remains
an odd experience for tlie listener more than 30 years after its recording. On paper it should have been a
major event: a number of new songs were prepared, and reworkings were made of pieces that Evans had
not often visited since originally recording them at the beginning of the 1960s. "As far as selecting the

material," he said, "I had to think in terms of the type of vehicle that the tliree of us could play together.

There were quite a few ballads and things that I had never done that I could have included, but I don't feel
that it would have offered much in the way of creative potential. Mostly, I just wanted to find tlie best things

that gave a little indication of what I might be into writing at this time."'-

Certainly Columbia's publicity department treated the album as a triumph, trumpeting it in ads as a
spectacular realisation of Evans's all-around abilities as a musician: the acoustic and electric pianist, the
composer and arranger. In copy that manages to be even more embarrassing tlian Verve's latter-day efforts

for the pianist, the Columbia ads read: "One day Bill Evans, who plays the Steinway, was discussing his next
album with Bill Evans, who plays the Fender Rhodes electric piano. During the discussion someone suggested
that Bill's next album contain only songs written by a writer occasionally used by Bill Evans. Lo and behold
the name suggested was Bill Evans. And naturally Bill Evans the arranger also got involved. So there you have
it: Bill Evans's first album for Columbia ... It's the first time these four guys did an album together. It sounds
so good we don't think they'll ever break up."'^ No - the only people who broke up were the readers trying
to work out what this ad's un-credited author was on at the time.
Any reasonably alert listener will notice Evans's unimaginative use of the Fender Rliodes on tliis record,

given its potential as a source of colour and texture in his arrangements. He is happy to feature the

instrument, and indeed the album kicks off with him playing it unaccompanied to introduce the theme for

Funkarello', a tune held over from the old Interplay sessions. He solos on the Rhodes and, as the album
progresses, switches regularly between acoustic and electric instruments. His first 'Funkarello' solo benefits

from a dirty, smudgy timbre, and the switch to acoustic for the second solo, after Gomez's brief bass outing,

provides an incisive contrast. To this extent the tune is arranged beyond the acoustic routine that Evans used
normally with his trio. A nice touch comes at the end where, as the bass and drums finish, Evans turns to
the Rhodes to execute a series of asymmetric embellishments on a fast blues-laden ascending mn.
What Evans plays in his electric improvisations during these sessions is identical in conception to what
he would normally play on acoustic piano. He makes no allowances for (and no moves to exploit) tlie unique
characteristics of the instrument for his own artistic benefit. This must surely be because at heart he didn't
believe in its intrinsic worth. There is also a conspicuous lack of double-tracking passages where the Rhodes
could fill out or add another dimension to the sound of the acoustic rendering of a tune - for example on
the pretty, bittersweet waltz 'The Two Lonely People'. This piece otherwise contains an exemplary Evans
iniprf)visatio)n that arises with perfect pacing and logic from the initial theme statement, developing the
ritardando and contrasts in dynamics that are inherent to the song's construction as it winds its way through
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 1970-1972

a rapid series of typical Evans modulations. At the performance's close, Evans's unbroken improvisation -
without bass or drum interludes - resolves seamlessly into a recapitulation of the theme, describing a perfect

and simple parabola in its ABA form. The electric piano is not used on this track.

A similar constmction is followed on the common-time 'Sugar Plum', with Evans moving from solo theme
statement on acoustic piano to extemporisation. This time, however, a Gomez bass solo occurs at mid-point,
and to accompany this Evans switches to Rliodes. Tlie pianist solos on electric and acoustic keyboards after

Gomez and then takes the piece out unaccompanied, once more on acoustic piano. The underlying harmonic
organisation of the tune, which allows the players to improvise through all 12 keys, is explained in the

album's liner notes. These reveal a typical Evans constniction designed to stimulate his harmonic imagination.
"The trio proceeds through the cycle of keys," wrote Fred Binkley in the liner note, "so that each time the
melody is played it goes up a fourth or down a fifth, going through the cycle of fifths. Never mind, it all

comes out where it should."'

'"Waltz For Debby' closes side one of the original LP and is the first selection with electric and acoustic
instruments played simultaneously. The rich acoustic piano sound achieved in the Columbia studios provides
a pleasant contrast to so many of his albums for previous companies, and there is an agreeable combination
of electric and acoustic timbres and texaires. The performance is a relaxed one after another introductoiy
solo piano excursion, with the arrangement once again asking for a Gomez solo to separate Evans's electric
and acoustic solos. This time, however, the bass solo only seives to slacken the tension-and-release set in

place by the rest of the arrangement, clouding the staicture and diluting the piece's impact. Gomez cannot
be blamed for tliis: the solo was simply allocated an inappropriate position.

'T.TT. (Twelve Tone Tune)' starts as an out-of-tempo statement by Evans, completed in metre by the
trio, and then moves into a medium-tempo duet between acoustic piano and bass. It then picks up
momentum with the introduction of drums halfway through the chordal cycle. Evans devised the cycle by
using a 12-tone scale. The 12-tone technique for composing had been developed in the early 1920s when
composer Arnold Schoenberg codified the most widely-adopted 12-tone theories and practices. Conventional
tonality is replaced with a system where all 12 notes of the chromatic scale are given equal importance. The
notes are arranged by the composer in a particular order - the "note row" - on which the composition is

then based. Evans was not the first to look into the idea of 12-tone jazz tunes - Leonard Feather had
published one in the 1960s. But he was one of a small jazz minority equipped to develop his own personal
take on the tlieoiy. Evans decided not to adhere too closely to the principles of 12-tone organisation, which
included such rtiles as no note repetition before the ftill note row is used, no accidentals, and no attempt to

reconfigure the tone row into a progression using conventional tonality. In this he was following the practice
of many composers who "personalised " their use of the system in this way.
Bassist Gomez later pointed out tliat 'T.TT' was derived from a 12-tone row that Evans "harmonized so
that it sounded tonal. We even considered tiying to improvise using only the 12 tones of the row, but it was
too difficult".'' All three musicians play witli conviction on the track, and it is exceedingly well organised -
but the music does not communicate a great deal beyond a feeling of complexity and intellectual stimulation
for the players involved and for people interested in unusual musical configurations. Evans's comment in the
record's liner note suggests that he recognised the limited objectives of such a composition. "I think
somediing about the row has some validity in music," he wrote, "but I wouldn't want to base a composition
on it except as a challenge."'* On this piece, the electric keyboard is used under Gomez's solo and for a
series of exchanges with the drums before the acoustic piano's return.

'Re: Person I Knew' had been in the trio's performing repertoire for some time and was first recorded in
Evans's Riverside days. He briefly states its initial theme here, unaccompanied on the Fender Rhodes, before
bass and drums arrive. The underlying blues staicture allows Evans to introduce occasional blues inflections

and allusions, the subdued, "smoky" tone of the Rhodes being very effective in this idiom. During the Gomez
solo midway through - apparently an inescapable feature of this Evans album - the pianos are switched again
and the piece is completed with the acoustic. The last track on ne Bill Evans Album, 'Conuade Conrad', is
Bill Evans
another Evans 3/4 ballad, originally instigated by a commission for a toothpaste commercial but developed
more fully when it became a dedication to Conrad Mendenhall, a close friend who had died in a car crash.
Once again the listener and the musicians are taken through all 12 keys in the course of the piece's harmonic
journey, this device clearly stimulating the pianist's musical imagination and providing a defence against

monotony and lack of contrast. The mood alternates between elegy and contentment. It is one of the briefer
performances on tlie album, containing no bass solo, and it finishes witli a perfectly executed, eloquent re-

statement of the theme - initially unaccompanied, then with bass and drums for the hushed concluding bars.

.Another older Evans composition, 'Fun Ride', was recorded at the album sessions in May and June 1971 but
left off the LP. It recently surfaced on the same Columbia compilaticm of Evans rarities that included the
unissued piano-and-bass duets from 1970. A further adventure through the key signatures, it was perhaps
thought too similar to others on an album already running over the usual playing length. Containing no
electric piano work, it was an obvious candidate for omission, despite the cute unaccompanied piano ending.
The Bill Evaiis Album was clearly considered by Columbia as a major part of the campaign to reassert
Evans's relevance and potency in contemporary music, but it was not welcomed without reservation on its

release. In Down Beat Michael Levin praised Evans's unparalleled harmonic and melodic richness, but
repeatedly expressed unease with his use of rhythm. "For some reason," wrote Levin, "when he starts to cook
these days, Evans also starts to push - and in a trio above all other groups, that can be death to the beat. As
a pianist, Evans is so far ahead of most others that it is bothersome to encounter this feeling of unease about
time. On 'T.T.T.', for example, his inventions around the tonal row are interesting and pianistic but wobbly,
even at times rushing."'^
But during the summer of 1971 the sessions were successfully concluded and such tepid reactions were
still in the future. Evans's health had improved and with it came a revival in his energies, so he enjoyed an
active and diverse live career throughout 1971. As well as the usual clubs, he appeared in some unusual
settings, including the early-summer American College Jazz Festival, held in the Kennedy Centre in
Washington DC, and the July 24th "piano party" held at New York's Town Hall. His involvement in the

College festival lasted two days as guest soloist with the University of Illinois Band, and he finished the first

evening with a series of delicate and well-appreciated solos. The second evening he was billed alongside
Clark Terry and Evans's old friend Mundell Lowe to perform with a bassist and drummer borrowed from the
big-band; one observer thought this group was "the most musical of the festival"."* The piano party was part

of a series of Saturday night "Connoisseur Conceits" produced by Willis Conover, a 'Voice Of America
broadcaster and long-standing promoter of jazz causes. The event occurred in the middle of a group of club
bookings which included a return to the Top of the Gate. According to Down Beat Evans hosted a memorable
event, where "Bob Greene played Jelly Roll Morton, Teddy Wilson (with Milt Hinton and Oliver Jackson) and
Billy Taylor (with Bob Cranshaw and Bob Thomas) and Evans (Eddie Gomez, Marty MorelO played
themselves, and Cecil Taylor, on solo piano, made some fantastic sounds".''
These unusual events, coupled with the increased promotion and better distribution available to a major

company like Columbia, gave Evans greater sustained prominence - and this in turn led to improved record
sales confirmed by higher positions in the year-end popularity polls. The trio finished up 1971 once more at

the 'Village Vanguard before travelling to Europe for what proved to be an extensive tour in January and
February of 1972 through Britain, France, Holland, Germany and Italy. Evans's partner Ellaine accompanied
him for much of the trip. To judge from the collection of broadcasts which have subsequently been released
on record, Evans was only intermittently inspired on the tour, and would sometimes spin out one idea over
many bars with little effort at development. Most concerts followed the standard form, although a residency
at Ronnie Scott's in Londcjn gave Evans an opportunity to unpack his travel bag and settle, if only briefly,

into a daily routine. The pirate release from the Paris concert of Febaiary 6th, taken from an ORTF broadcast,

concentrates for the most part on the minor-key section of the concert, with considered versions of 'Time
Remembered' and 'Two Lonely People', although no startling conclusions are reached on the up-tempo
'T.T.T.'. But the trio combines beautifully on 'Re: Person I Knew', starting from an almost imperceptible
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 1970-1972

whisper and moving into a medium-tempo trio exercise, Evans playing with tliat incredible, distilled depth

of feeling unique to him. The piece's unity is disturbed by a somewhat frenetic solo from the otherwise
impeccable Gomez, but there is still much to marvel at. The concert shows no signs of the Fender Rhodes,
although other players of his generation, such as Ahmad Jamal, were appearing at festivals around this time
with both acoustic and electric keyboards.
By mid March 1972 the trio were back in New York, in time for Evans to pick up his two Grammys for
Tloe Bill Evmis Album and to perform 'T.T.T.' on the TV broadcast of the event. During April he was at the
Village Vanguard for a series of dates, but by then was already deep into rehearsals and preparations for the

recording of a major piece he'd commissioned some months earlier from George Russell. The composer and
theorist had recently reairned to the US to teach at the New England Conservatory after an extended stay in

Europe tliat had lasted for most of the 1960s. With his old friend and colleague back in America, Evans aimed
to Russell when planning the follow-up to his Grammy-winning debut album for Columbia. Commissioning
a work for big-band and soloist from another musician would not only put the resulting record in significant

contrast to his first for the label, but would demonstrate to Clive Davis and others in the Columbia hierarchy
that Evans had a keen ambition and was serious about expanding his music. After all, the With Symphony
Orchestra album on Verve had proved to be durably popular and influential around the world, with Evans
often being asked to perform some of its arrangements live.

Russell had most recently attracted wide attention following critical acclaim for his Othello ballet music

of 1967 and Electronic Sonata For Souls Loved By Nature, premiered in Europe in 1969. The eight-part

composition for big-band and piano trio tliat emerged for Evans was called Living Time and fits logically into

the evolution of Russell's compositions and theories. Russell had at first hesitated about the commission, but
decided that he could accommodate Evans's musical demands alongside his own. "Bill and I are both
involved with modal music," Russell said at the time, "but we have sort of gone off at right angles from each
other over the years. Bill is into more tonal playing. I haven't stayed there; I've been working in extensions,
the outer reaches of modal things. But I love and respect Bill's playing so much that I really couldn't resist

tlie saw it, tlie task would be to create a mode tliat enhanced
challenge. As I his work without inhibiting my
own."-" This meant two tilings. First, Evans may have had his name first on the album's cover, but as with
other such projects he functioned more as an improvising soloist playing against a musical backdrop that he
is not normally associated with. Second, tlie dialogue between orchestra and soloist was set within a musical
language devised by Russell. In this sense the project had distinct echoes of the relationship that Russell and
Evans had enjoyed at the close of the 1950s. It also followed on directly from those recent works of Russell's.

Living Time is a continuous suite in eight sections, and preoccupation with rhythm is immediately
evident. A top-notch orchesti-a was used for this daring and absorbing work, the producers taking advantage
of many musicians' desires to work on a Russell project. Among tlie large cast of notables, apart from the
Evans trio, are Snooky Young, Ernie Royal and Richard Williams (trumpets), Jimmy Giuffre, Sam Rivers and
Joe Henderson (saxophones), Sam Brown (guitar), Ron Carter and Stanley Clarke (basses), Tony Williams

(drums), Garnett Brown (trombone) and Howard Johnson (flute, tuba, bass clarinet). Evans plays both
acoustic and electric pianos. Considering the forces at Russell's disposal and the composer's generally
uncompromising stance in the presentation of his music, Evans was taking a high risk in producing such an

album for a record company so geared to success. If the record was to fail with tlie critics and sell poorly,
Evans and his management would risk being frozen out by Columbia.
Listening to die record again three decades or so after its creation, it's clear that Russell and Evans largely

gave Clive Davis at Columbia what he wanted: Living Time is an extended work tliat employs sound and
rhytlim in thoroughly contemporary ways. At this time iVliles Davis's electric Bitches' Brew album was in the

shops and influencing people, as were records from Tony Williams's LifeTime group with guitarist John
McLaughlin and the initial Weather Report album. The music on Living Time has an ovei-whelming sonic
punch in several of its movements, and builds up to fantastic swirling climaxes of sound, usually augmented
by electric instruments. As such it has few rivals in jazz outside Coltrane's Ascension and tlie dense forests of
Bill Evans
sound erected by Alexander Von Schlippenbacli's Globe Unity group in GerniLiny. There is a wild energy in

this music that is immensely exliilarating, almost anarchic: listen, for example, to the driving backbeat of
'E\'ent 6' being cut across by typically oblique Russell counterpoint and a half-valve trumpet solo from Snooky
^'oung. There are long passages of lyrical and rhytlimic continuity - 'Event 5', opening witli an arpeggio that
recalls Cecil Taylor's 1961 composition, 'MLxed', is particulariy lucid against a strong rock backbeat and riff

patterns from a Fender electric bass. We also arrive at sections which highlight Evans's reflective piano at its

most beguiling, as on the closing measures of 'Event 5' and the opening of 'Event 6'. Other parts seem to

have grown organically from Miles Davis's contemporary ideas and are then taken a few degrees further, such
as the first minute or so of 'Event 2' that reflects the specific soundscapes of Davis's Filles de Kilimanjaro.
The almost Moorish piano soliloquies in 'Event 4' are surrounded by driving rock passages and other more
chaotic sections where soimd dominate, echoing Gil Evans and, more distantly, Duke
great splashes of
Ellington at his most strident. Yet as much as there are echoes of existing music in Living Time, there are also
anticipations of things to come. Much of the record has the specific electric/acoustic sound that would
fascinate Gil Evans for most of the last two decades of his life as well as the heavy rock rhythms he came to
prefer. Russell was also innovative in the way he used ostinato and otlier simple rock devices on which to
hang so much of his music, especially in its most extreme sections.

Where does Bill Evans fit into all of this? To his credit he goes against his own readily identifiable style,

adapting and moulding his strong musical personality to fit the score in front of him. He plays with concision
and force, often using phrases that are found nowhere elsewhere in his recorded output. He assimilates

Russell's musical language and moulds it to create a new type of keyboard eloquence, especially with the
more astringent intervals and instrumental combinations that Russell prefers. This is nowhere more in

evidence than the opening minutes of Event 8', the concluding section, where the score calls for dissonances
closer to the extremes of Cecil Taylor, or Aaron Copland's 'Piano Variations' and 'Sonata For Piano', than the

lush, romantic modality Evans normally employed.

This is a terse and extreme harmonic idiom, especially in the jazz world - and perhaps this was the
biggest reason for the piece's general failure to make a popular mark. It is difficult music to absorb and listen

to. Its length and musical architecture test the listener's staying power and provide few natural aural

landmarks - there are no vocals and few easily-grasped melody lines; the motifs instead reside mostly in the
various rhythm sections. But the greatest hurdle for the listener is probably the poor recording. There are
simply too many problems evident in the balance of the various instrumental forces to list usefully here. If

any major jazz album of the past 30 years or so needs a sympathetic remix, then this is a leading candidate.

All its difficulties aside, this large-scale work was a major achievement for Russell and Evans, and one that is

unjustly neglected both in the history of the pianist's overall career and the development of contemporary
jazz in the eariy 1970s.

With its deep complexities and swirling textures, its deployment of many different rhythms including
rock grooves, and its use of acoustic and electric instruments, as well as Evans playing concert grand and
Fender Rhodes, Living Time left many observers of the time confused. Record-buyers simply stayed away in

droves. With jazz increasingly polarised between purist acoustic styles and the rapidly-evolving jazz-rock or
fusion factions, such a determinedly hybrid venture had no sure contemporary platform. It lacked the irony
and textural clarity of contemporary works by Caria Bley, let alone the more orthodox use of rock elements
as heard in her Iiscalator Over The Hill. The music was too difficult for quick assimilation by the average jazz-

rock fan of the time, who was probably still reeling from the effects of the first Iron Butterfly album and the
more subtly presented complexities of Davis's Bitches' Brew. Living Time was also too far away from Evans's
normal ambit to appeal strongly to his regular fan-base. Nevertheless, both pianist and composer remained
proud of the work. Evans would be happy to appear as soloist in Russell's presentation of Living Time at

Carnegie Hall in 1974, while the composer would later name his own ensemble The Living Time Orchestra.
More immediately, however, Columbia did virtually nothing to promote the relea.se or Evans him.self in

the winter of 1972-73- Kussell, heavily committed to his teaching studies and increasingly taken up by further
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 1970-1972

development of his Lydian theories, withdrew from composing for almost five years. Columbia left Evans to
his own devices for a while before deciding not to renew his contract. The feeling by tliis time was clearly

mutual, for Evans and Helen Keane were less than impressed by Columbia's lack of sympathy for an artist

of his stature.
Evans worked hard through the summer and auMmn of 1972. He made more TV and radio appearances

in the US, including an appearance at Carnegie Hall in July as part of the newly revamped Newport In New
York festival, broadcast by Voice Of America. He flew to Europe in June for a brief visit, with British dnimmer
Tony Oxley appearing on daims as deputy for an unavailable Marty Morell. Evans and his manager began
to look for their next recording deal. Notliing was resolved by US in December 1972
the time Evans left the
for a tour that would take him first to France, in tandem with Phil Woods's European Rhythm Machine, then

in January 1973 to Japan. Late in that month a concert at Tokyo's Yubinchokin Hall was taped and broadcast

by a local FM jazz station. The technical and musical quality was high enough for Evans and Keane to
sanction a release of selected tracks on Sony in Japan and CBS/Columbia in Europe, while North American
rights eventually went to the Fantasy group of labels. So it was tliat in a single live date the past and future

of Evans's recording associations were briefly combined.

C HA P TE R 13

from the Rubble

(1973-1976)
"/ WHEN STAN GETZ WARMLY
THINK BILL WAS VERY TOUCHED
WISHED HIM A HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND PLAYED AN IMPROMPTU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY' BEFORE AN AUDIENCE OF 7,000 PEOPLE."
MANAGER HELEN KEANE ON EVANS IN HOLLAND ON HIS 45th BIRTHDAY

The Tokyo concert of January 1973 found the Evans/Gomez/Morell trio

playing an adjusted and expanded repertoire, even when compared to
the concerts they played just a month earlier in France. There were
many welcome arrivals: 'Up With The Lark' by Jerome Kern, T.T.T.T.', the

second of Evans's 12-tone compositions, 'Mornin' Glory' by Bobbie Gentry,

Clare Fischer's When Autumn Comes', 'Yesterday I Heard The Rain', and
'Hullo Bolinas' by Steve Swallow. There were old friends too: 'On Green
Dolphin Street' and 'Gloria's Step' were once more regulars in the set. Not
included on the released album but also played that night were 'Emily', 'Who
Can I Turn To?' and 'Waltz For Debby', making for a fine balance between old

Evans and his new bearded look of the early 1970s

 *^
U 1;
Bill Evans
mid new. The Tnkyo concert rexeals the trio functioning at a high level, with each member by this time able
to anticipate whatever direction tlie music might take. Evans plays witli restraint and controlled power, his

touch superbly caught by the recording engineers, his mood buoyant. Gomez is at a peak. His extravagance
of earlier years is more contained and his ideas more flilly maaired and developed, while his technique is no
less forcefully deployed, but now more closely complementing Evans's. His ability to create and carry through
a more vocalised approach to the instrument, even at speed, is much improved, and suits Evans better tlian

his approach of the late 1960s.

There is also a new rhythmic ease from Gomez that comes close to that of Scott LaFaro: space and
simplicity live meaningfully alongside complexity and drama. This allows a tiiie counterpoint to exist, as is

most excellently demonstrated during Evans's solo on the 3/4-time 'Up With The Lark'. Here each player toys
v.ith tlie metre in simple but delightful ways, moving phrases and notes between each other or setting up
counterlines tliat effectively highlight the otlier's playing. Gomez is a more assured, much less frantic soloist,

prepared to build a statement rather than rush in with a bag of pyrotechnics to knock the listener flat. In the

midst of this relaxed, improved dialogue between piano and bass, dRimmer MaiTy Morell keeps the beat
ali\e. remaining sensitive not only to dynamics but to the very nature of the basic pulse and avoiding the feel

of a mere metronome.
Of tlie older material, 'Gloria's Step' comes off particularly well. Evans's ease with its augmented
progression suggests that he may well have had fim had he ever tackled some of Eric Dolphy's compositions,
the dense harmonic language and unresolved patterns of which would have brought him a different stimulus

than the more familiar patterns of the popular song form. Of the new material played, the most technically

challenging and musically intriguing is 'T.T.T.T.', the second Evans 12-tone composition, taking him a few
steps further into this discipline and calling for all three musicians to dig even deeper into their artistic and
technical resources. But the most subtly arresting is the beautiful Steve Swallow melody, 'Hullo Bolinas',
played with consummate restraint and tenderness by Evans alone. Opening with an almost wistful theme
statement, and its slow waltz time carrying echoes of works by 'Villa Lobos and Milhaud, the piece rises to

an eloquent but muted climax before falling to a fragile, dignified pianissimo resolution. In the catalogue of
Evans's later live recordings, this Tokyo concert occupies a definite high point. But with the uncertainty after

the expiry of his Columbia contract, it had to wait until July 1974 for its official release in tlie US.
Evans and his trio were in high spirits and generally relaxed at this concert, partly explained by the
improvement in Evans's personal life. He had met a young woman, Nenette Zazzata; at first he became
infatuated with her, and later fell in love. This personal upturn was shattered by the reaction of his partner

Ellaine after Evans told her the position when he was back in New York early that spring. 'Waiting until Evans
left the city to play on the 'West Coast, she committed suicide by throwing herself under a subway train. This
shocking and desperate act by someone who had been through so much with Evans since tlie beginning of
the 1960s devastated him and all who were close to the couple. Gene Lees wrote, "I can barely listen to

[Evans's] performance of 'Hi Lili Hi Lo' [from the albimi Intuition], [Ellaine's] favourite song. And I can only
guess what Helen [Keanel went tlirough at the time: Bill was out of town, and she had to identify the body."'

It was several weeks before Evans was able to honour his professional commitments once more.
An appearance by the trio in spring 1973 at the Jazz Showcase in Chicago found the group in striking

form but sticking to familiar grooves. Reviewer Jon Balleras observed: "Evans has devoted his musical life to

finding ways of moving easily within the confines of the 32-bar song form. Appropriately, his group began
their first set ... with an up-tempo version of Evans's ''Very Eariy' ... If I had had a camera with me this

evening, the one shot that I'd have taken would have been of Evans not playing. While the uninitiated may
think Bill is catching short naps as he bows his head over the keyboard during his sidemen's solos, he, of
course, is actually listening intently to his cohorts." Balleras detected a difference in the playing. "Whatever
happened to the imashamedly lyrical Bill Evans?" he asked. "Is it that Evans once took Miles Davis's remark
that he df)esn't swing hard enough too .seriously?"' Before 1973 was over, Evans appeared across the cxumtiy
from Boston to Los Angeles (in the new Shelly s Manne-HoleJ and made his first trip to South America, where
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUBBLE 1973-1976

in June he performed to an ecstatic audience in Buenos Aires. He also gave some broadcast recitals, including
one at Alice Tully Hall for Newport In New York, and in July at Carnegie Hall as part of a special solo piano
evening dedicated to Art Taaim. This event included the unaccompanied talents of Eubie Blake, Earl Hines,

Art Hodes, Brooks Kerr, Ellis Larkins, Dave McKenna, Jimmy Rowles, George Shearing and Billy Taylor, with
Evans playing 'I Loves You Porgy', 'Hullo Bolinas' and 'But Beautiful'.

By mid November, still criss-crossing continents, Evans was once again on tour in Europe, appearing in

Denmark, Belgium and Holland among other November he was guest

countries. Back in the States by late

soloist at Alice Tully Hall in New York, playing his own compositions witli the National Jazz Ensemble whose

director. Chuck Israels, was an expert on Evans's requirements thanks to his own stint with the pianist. The

performance was a highlight in a topsy-turvj' year that also saw Evans marry Nenette Zazzata in late summer.
Evans and manager Helen Keane had by the end of tlie year come closer to a decision about which
record company to sign with, but they intended to continue to make their own recordings for now and sell
the edited masters to the eventual partner. They were talking about this constantly with Fantasy, the company
that finally agreed to a US release of the live Tokyo recording (already released in Japan and Europe on

Columbia). A recent deal had combined the back-catalogues of Fantasy, Riverside, Prestige and Milestone,
and effectively took Milestone, Fantasy and other labels such as Galaxy into the 1970s. It quickly established
the Fantasy group as the most active US specialist jazz company still concentrating on mainly acoustic
"mainstream-modern" jazz.

The output of jazz from Columbia, Impulse!, Blue Note and Veive withered from 1972 to 1975, leaving

jazz musicians confronted with stark decisions, mostly between recording for small labels in Europe and
Japan or turning to relatively healthy independents (such as the Fantasy group, Lester Koenig's West-Coast
based Contemporary label, Joe Fields's Muse label in New York, and Norman Granz's new label, Pablo).

Evans's move to Fantasy was a sensible one, although for the first time in over a decade it placed him with
a label that lacked the distribution and publicity muscle of a corporate-backed major such as Verve or
Columbia. In the eyes of the music business, it put Evans back in the specialist field of "jazz pianist" with
little crossover appeal. This may have been no bad thing for an artist burned by his recent experience with
a major, but it further confirmed his relatively declining status in his own country. New generations of acoustic
and electric pianists - Jan Hammer, Chick Corea and the like - had become the latest standard-bearers. The
irony was that most of them were deeply indebted to Evans and happy to acknowledge that fact publicly.

Another significant factor with independent labels is tliat tliey have more limited recording budgets. Thus
it is noticeable that none of Evans's sessions with Fantasy between 1973 and 1977 feature an ensemble larger

than a quintet. Wliile this is not a comment on tlie quality of the music he produced for the label, it is put
in perspective when one considers Evans's album Symbiosis, made in February 1974. This had Keane
producing, Claus Ogerman composing, arranging and conducting, and feaaired an orchestra of 35 jazz
musicians plus a full string section. Recorded in Columbia's New York studios, it was commissioned and
released by the German label, MPS-Saba.
In the montlis immediately before this major recording event, Evans and Keane had attempted two new
records, both of them location recordings and both in anticipation of the Fantasy deal. Perhaps the coldness
of a studio was more than Evans could face at this time. Perhaps he had no new material to offer at the

conclusion of such a busy year: after all, he had spent most of it on the road in one way or anotlier. Live

recordings offered tlie least disruption to normal professional life. The first date, in November 1973 at tlie

relocated Shelly's Manne-Hole in Los Angeles, had Orrin Keepnews as producer and used the forces of the
well-established Evans/Gomez/Morell trio. They played a repertoire similar to the Tokyo concert of the
previous February (at that point still unreleased in the US): here again is 'Hullo Bolinas' and 'T.T.T.T.' along
with 'My Romance' and 'Mornin' Glory', but the fire is noticeably lacking in Evans's own playing, with even
his ballads pushed along in a way that seems intent on avoiding any emotional depth. Quiet Now' is a case

in point, where Evans aishes through the evocative melody and its accompanying harmony in an ill-

conceived excursion in bright-medium tempo.

 .

Bill Eva n s

Keune and E\'ans shelved this session, leaving it iinreleased during the pianist's lifetime. More recently,

the E\ans estate cleared for release on Milestone another early-November location recording of the trio. Half
Moo)i Bay, made just days prior to tlie Shelly's Manne-Hole engagement, at a small Californian beach club
called The Bach Dancing & Dynamite Society. An appreciative audience and good recorded sound deliver a
warm and generally ^-ell-integrated set from tlie trio, but it contains few surprises. The repertoire, apart from
Earl Zindars's two originals "Sareen Juror' and 'Elsa', consists of Evans staples, including a dusting-down of
his 1966 arrangement of ''Who Can I Turn To'. The pianist's flame continued to burn low.
The second official live date, this time at the 'Village 'Vanguard in January 1974 and produced by Keane
herself along with Keepnews, suffered anotlier delayed release, eventually appearing as Since We Met some
two years later (in Februaiy 1976). A further collection from the same sessions. Re: Person I Knew, was issued
posthumously in May 1981. Helen Keane explained in notes for the Fantasy boxed set that "extra takes from
[tlnis] date were originally put aside for later consideration, but because there were so many projects in the
planning stages we never got to them".-^ Those takes eventually made up the posthumous issue.

The D'io performs admirably and the crowd is sympathetic in its attention and applause, but the
repertoire had not moved on appreciably from the superior Tokyo concert of almost a year earlier, and it is

understandable tliat this session was sidelined at the time to make way for other projects. The most
impressive aspect of these Vanguard sessions was tlie now effortless cohesion and unity of the trio. Gomez
was able to play alongside Evans without having to stop and think about anticipating him. They had an
entirely natural mesh. Morell, meanwhile, produced the precise rhythmic backdrop expected of him,
remaining acutely attuned to the colours that daims could add to the trio's sound. Evans and his men may
have been skating the surface until he was ready to re-engage on a deeper emotional and artistic level, but
at least they were doing it in unison.

A month later, in February 1974, Evans made Symbiosis, the German-label recording in New York with
Claus Ogerman and the large ensemble. Ogerman and Evans had a history of collaborative efforts stretching
back to the pianist's very first 'Verve recordings and including the With Symphony Orchestra release of 1965.
This new session is as fascinating for the logical development in Ogerman's writing as for the superb response
from Evans and his trio. Ogerman composed all the music for the record, and explained the form of the work
in detail in the liner notes for the original MPS release. "The composition is divided [into] two movements,"
said Ogerman, "[two] entirely opposed night pieces. The tranquillo of the second movement (largo) releases

the inner tension of the first. However, both movements share one joint foundation: the second movement
is almost inits entirety a (slowed-down) repeat of a fast 41 -bar l6th-note woodwind/saxophone passage of

the movement
first This transfiguration is preceded by two new largo themes for piano and accompanying
. . .

orchestra. The piano concludes the piece by establishing the D-major theme of the first largo.'"" Such an

analysis was unknown in liner notes for American-recorded jazz releases, and is valuable as a succinct guide

to the general outline of the 40-minute work. Ogerman gave further valuable pointers: "This metamorphosis

of material serves as a hint that, at times, another value may be hidden in places where one would expect it
the least (as in first judgements of people). The piece is composed within the major-minor principles. Twelve-
tone rows are used merely for coloration ... My only desire was to somehow 'reach the listener'. Therefore
the choice of technique in composition is a second-rate problem." Ogerman singles out Evans for deserved
praise, commenting: "Symbiosis stands here for Bill's free playing and the binding, severe text of the score . .

We might not have succeeded without Bill's ease at situations that call for accommodation. He is - as no other
player - able to create within any degree of musical tension."'
This last point is memorably borne out in the third section of the first movement of Symbiosis. 'While he
also uses acoustic piano, here Evans is on Fender Rhodes, for five minutes improvising a freely-conceived
and fast-moving right-hand arabesque over sustained, slow-moving string harmonies and a walking daim-
and-bass jazz beat. Enormous tension is generated, Evans sustaining his invention to the natural resolution of
the .section in a series of unaccompanied descending phrases. Elsewhere, Evans works like a concert soloist
with orchestra, articulating Ogerman themes and passages that reflect the classical repertoire of the first

160
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUBBLE 1973-1976

decades of the 20th century. Evans brings to the work the consummate artistry and sensitivity that occurs

when he is stretched and stimulated. His aibato playing in the opening of the second movement - sometimes
alone, sometimes in perfect unison with the strings - is both moving and immensely accomplished in a way
that few otlier jazz or classical pianists could have countenanced. This is entirely due to Evans's training, his

technical standards, and, as Ogerman pointed out, his ability to imply his own musical response rather than
resort to exaggeration.

Additionally, Evans brings to the interpretation of his written part here a freedom and licence that is quite
simply beyond concert pianists working in the classical tradition. He is thus the perfect man for the project

and plays wonderfully throughout, whether with just his trio or tlie complete ensemble. It is one of his finest

achievements within the confines of a recording studio. The composition itself is expressive, expertly
conceived and avoids bombast and ostentation, so Ogerman too must take a proper share of the credit for
the artistic success of the album. Evans noted: "With Symbiosis, I only wish to say that this recording is one
of those events which happens rather infrequently but in which I'm most proud to have participated.'"^ A
record loved by hard-core Evans fans, it was barely noted on its release in the US and generally shunned by
a record-buying public still trying to recover from the Evans-Russell Living Time LP of 1972.
During what was for Evans a quiet spring and early summer of 1974, an agreement was fiinally reached
with Fantasy and Tloe Tokyo Concert was prepared for US release. some 18 months It appeared in July 1974,

after had been recorded, Evans performed with his trio at the Newport In New York festival on July 4th at
it

Avery Fisher Hall as part of an evening dubbed A Cool One by festival organiser George Wein and featuring
the groups of Stan Getz, Geriy Mulligan, The Crusaders and Elvin Jones, among others (although the
connection of the latter rwo to cool jazz seems tenuous to say the least). The Evans trio went through a typical
concert set for the time, the only surprise coming with an unscheduled appearance by Stan Getz who sat in

for a blues at set's end.

The success of that informal blues must have stuck in die minds of both musicians, for when they found
themselves on the same bill a month later for festivals in Holland and Belgium they agreed to appear together
for the concluding part of the Evans trio's set, rehearsing extensively before the first concert for a co-ordinated
effort. Both concerts were taped by local broadcasters and not long after pirated - inevitably, in poor sound
- by small European record companies. Years later, Helen Keane cleared some of the better moments to

appear on a Milestone album. But Beautiful, in predictably better sound.

Not all went smoothly during the first concert. Getz had a mercurial temperament - he was once
famously described by Zoot Sims as "a nice bunch of guys" - and could be unpredictable onstage, thriving
in particular on the thrill of the unexpected, and thus the absolute opposite of Evans. Helen Keane later
described an incident during the Dutch concert, held in Laren: "After the trio finished their set, Stan was
announced. As he entered the stage, he called a time they hadn't rehearsed. I was watching the performance
on a television monitor in the audio truck and saw the angry expression on Bill's face as Stan began to play

the unrehearsed 'Stan's Blues'. Bill played a little on the melody chorus, then took his hands off the keyboard
and didn't play for the rest of the tune . . . Bill was a gentle person, but was very strong. Although he always
worked well with other musicians, obviously Stan's behaviour really affected him."^
The later Milestone release preserves the take of 'Stan's Blues' that followed Getz's public faux-pas - and
Evans's subsequent silence - along with just one other quartet title from the Laren concert, a fine but subdued
version of an old Getz favourite, 'Grandfather's Waltz'. Ironically, Getz plays with confidence and verve on
the offending blues. His sinuous lines and rhythmic ease underline his ability as the outstanding blues player

his fans know him to be, although this is not so well known to the general jazz lover. There are also two trio

tunes from Laren on But Beautiful - 'See-Saw', an Earl Zindars composition first recorded at the Village

Vanguard six months earlier, and Evans's 'Tlie Two Lonely People'. These are well integrated and swing
happily, though they set no new standards for the trio.

The Antwerp concert with Getz in Belgium took place five days later, on August l6th 1974 -
coincidentally Evans's 45th birthday. It finds all four players in good form and a more relaxed frame of mind.
Bill Evans
An attractive version of 'But Beautiful' is perhaps the highlight, as well as an indication of what might have
been achie\'ecl by Getz and Evans had they ever managed to sustain an equal musical partnership for more
than such fleeting hours as these. Elsewhere, Getz finds it difficult to penetrate Evans's by now hermetically
sealed treatment of 'Emily', but manages a warm and masterful version of 'Lover Man', his paraphrases and
variations of the theme an object lesson in linear improvisation. Cleariy inspired, he takes an opening solo
which swallows over five minutes of a performance that lasted less than eight. Evans, stimulated by the
saxophonist, takes a short, biting, highly blues-inflected solo. Both men cook on 'Funkarello', particularly

Getz who positively swaggers, while Jimmy Rowles's ballad 'The Peacocks', then a Getz favourite, receives a
reverential treatment from all four players. After this, Helen Keane related, "Stan warmly wished Bill a happy
birthday and played an impromptu 'Happy Birthday' together with a few bars of 'I'll Be Loving You Always'
as a segue into 'You And The Night And The Music' ... I think Bill was very touched by Stan's birthday wish
before an audience of 7,000 people."* Those melodies were played alone by Getz, and even heard now on
the CD are moving performances. This up-beat concert was a memorably happy 45th birthday for the pianist,

who was also enjoying a sustained period of greatly improved health. He had put on weight as a result, and
his fuller face was now partly hidden by a copious beard that he'd grown during the course of the year.
On the group's return to America in summer 1974 they played a concert at Camp Fortune, Hull, near
Ottowa in Canada, which was taped by the Canadian government radio network CBC. A semi-official release

later revealed a group of tracks including 'Midnight Mood', 'A Sleepin' Bee' and 'Time Remembered', the last

being the highlight. After Evans's death, Helen Keane acquired control of the tapes and authorised the release
of a completely different selection. Blue In Green, on Milestone, part of Fantasy. That summer the trio was
on the point of breaking up, and the concert found them in generally rakish and occasionally inspired form.
Evans's own playing is more energised than on many of the previous year's live recordings, with an incisive

touch and a poised rather than rushed rhythm. In fact it is Gomez who is most guilty of pushing the beat
here; this is doubly unfortunate as drummer Morell articulates right on top of the beat, so there is often
rhythmic daylight between bass and drums, leaving Evans exposed. This is notable on the medium swingers,
such as the opener, 'One For Helen', and the classic that Evans had helped to create back in 1959 for Kind
Of Blue, 'So What', but a tune he rarely revisited.

There is from Evans an air of subdued joy about these performances: he clearly enjoyed tlie group's
internal rapport and its unusually attentive audience that evening, though he complained to the concert's
organiser after the event of being too cold to completely free up his fingers. "My brain knew what it wanted
to do," he said, "but my fingers refused to co-operate."'' The standout that evening was the tenderly handled
Tadd Dameron ballad 'If You Could See Me Now', a tune Evans knew well and cared for deeply. During its

almost four-minute length the trio once more intertwine seamlessly and plays to its true unified potential.

Again reaching back to Kind of Blue, Evans gives an uncluttered, concentrated rendition of 'Blue In Green'
as an inspired Gomez delivers his best playing of the evening.

Shortly after the group's return to America drummer Marty Morell gave notice to quit, wishing to return
to Canada and settle there once more. Evans, now so far out of fashionable critical favour that he was not
even listed in the August 1974 Down Beat International Critics' Poll, began the task of finding a replacement.

On a more positive note, Morell's departure created the opportunity to make a duet album with Eddie Gomez.
I)ituitio)i, as it would be titled, was made at Fantasy's studio in Berkeley, California. Helen Keane felt that "it

was the perfect time for this beautiful record to be made" because the seven-year relationship between Evans
and Gomez "had reached a pinnacle musically"."^ It was Evans's second release on his new label and would
appear in March 1975.
There are limited precedents for a piano-and-bass duet record. The first was the famous Duke Ellington-

Jimmy Blanton collaboration of 1940, followed by Duke's follow-up album of 1972 with Ray Brown, This

One's For Blanton. Herbie Hancock and Ron Carter had cut some duets in the mid 1960s. Pianist Kenny Drew
made a duet album with Niels Henning 0rsted Pedersen in 1973, as did Paul Bley. Looking ahead just two
years, bassist Charlie Haden was about to begin a series of duets with various pianists, including Keith Jarrett,
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUBBLE 1973-1976

Alice Coltrane and Hampton Hawes. But Evans's use of a slightly modified Fender Rhodes on two tracks of
the Gomez album most strongly brings to mind a different but nearly contemporary session by Bley with his

trio, Scorpio, featuring Dave Holland on bass. Evans is considerably more conservative in his application of

amplification to the music, but the parallel in lyricism is notable. By contrast, Bley's acoustic duet LP with
Pedersen fully explores the timbres, textures and sonorities of the respective instiximenLs in a way tliat Evans
never even considered, although Gomez had recorded and played with Bley in die mid 1960s and so was
aware of the potential in this freer yet still tightly controlled and highly idiosyncratic approach to improvisation.
Evans and Gomez had long before resolved the problems of sequence and balance, each being well
accustomed to the other's characteristic musical patterns. As with Evans's earlier dialogues with guitarist Jim
Hall, there is an intimacy between the two musicians on tlieir duet album that becomes spellbinding once
the listener too is absorbed by the mood. Gomez perhaps even more than Evans finds constant points of
inspiration and plays with a combination of force and lyricism new even to him. It helps that, for once, he
has no need to balance his sound and note-placement between piano and daims. For much of the time Evans
seems to be playing by memory and enjoying what Gomez is doing, letting him stretch as far as he dare.
Only in the gentler, slower numbers does his romanticism take over and a more unified conception prevail,
imparting to them a new identity in the process.

This is most evident on their treatment of the standard 'Hi Lili, Hi Lo', subtitled by Evans 'For Ellaine'

and made into an elegy for his partner's tragically ended life. There is a degree of tenderness mixed with
regret here that is unusual even by Evans's standards. The halting, haunting arrangement has every verse
ending in a pause, after which the key is raised by a fifth and the intensity heightened a notch. Gomez is

well aware of what is unfolding before him and sticks to the most elementary accompaniment so as not to
detract from the completeness of the performance that Evans is constructing. While this singularly affecting

recital is perhaps the highlight of the Intuition album, the subsequent number, 'Gone With The Wind',
suggests an oblique commentary on what has just concluded. The long solo introduction from Evans works
as a bittersweet summation before he moves into a more assured, comfortable, medium-tempo improvisation,
with Gomez accompanying in classic LaFaro style. Further use here of Fender Rliodes electric piano against
stabbing acoustic chords and a strong walking bassline underiines Evans's determination to put the past firmly
in the past. Meanwhile, the Christmas season and tlie new year of 1975 brought nothing novel to his career
The slip in fashionable popularity in the US was confirmed by a placing in Down Beats Readers' Poll below
McCoy Tyner, Keith Jarrett, Chick Corea and Oscar Peterson. Perhaps this reflected his lack of record releases
for such a long period of time rather than any waning in the appeal of his live appearances. His regular winter
jaunt to Europe, once again beginning in February, proved as popular and as successful for his audiences as

previous years. Fans in Switzerland, France, Belgium, Holland, Britain, Denmark, Sweden and Norway had
the chance to see the new line-up of the trio, with young New Yorker Eliot Zigmund replacing Morell.
The group had not had a great deal of time to prepare for the tour. They had played a club in Atlanta,
Georgia, in mid January 1975 and then spent a week at the close of the month at the Village Vanguard (a
fraction of which can be heard on The Secret Sessions, from January 26th, with entirely familiar repertoire:
'Turn Out The Stars', 'Quiet Now', 'Waltz For Debby' and 'Sugar Plum'). Zigmund's youthful zest took the trio

further in the direction they'd been heading with Morell and he swimg more assertively as the gigs went on.
During that tour of winter '75 he explored the dialogue between Evans and Gomez and, following his own
instincts, cut more than most Evans drummers. Bootleg and broadcast recordings from the
loose a little tour
show a renewed alchemy - even if the repertoire remained where it had been for close on two years.
A major event occurred in Hilversum, Holland's main television and radio broadcasting centre, on
February 13th 1975 when the Evans trio combined with The Metropole Symphony Orchestra conducted by
Dolf van der Linden for a broadcast performance of Claus Ogerman's Symbiosis. The other unusual musical
event on this particular tour was a further meeting with Evans's old friend, singer Monica Zetterlund, at the

Konsthallen in Lund, Sweden. A bootleg reveals the trio segment following the normal curve of an Evans
performance and finds him in good spirits, playing with commendable imagination on 'Sareen Jurer' even
 Bill E vans
tliough he is battling a piano painfully in need of a tuning session. Then Monica Zetterlund is introduced,
witli 'Come Rain Or Come Shine", accompanied for the first verse by piano alone. After that, she is supported
by tlie trio. Her intonation is generally flat, but she has an attractive timbre which had deepened during the
years since she had last recorded with Evans. Her expressive warmth seems to stimulate the group to
sympatlietic and consistently creative accompaniment. This was a pleasant night for all concerned, but it is

questionable whether tlie bootleg of the concert reveals anything of musical import.
Coincidentally tlie ne.xt studio recording project, which took place in Berkeley in June 1975, featured
Evans in duets with another singer, but this time a male singer: Tony Bennett. Evans explained later, "We had
been friendly for many years and Tony was a big fan of mine. I must confess 1 didn't like his voice when I

first heard him . . . However, he kept saying that we would make an album together one day, and finally we
met up in London and agreed the date and the oudine of the music. Now, I like Tony's singing.""
It was Helen Keane's idea to make the album, and it was heartening for her when both men "agreed
immediately", as she put it. "The four or five days we spent in San Francisco were wonderful," she said. ""We

worked hard, we had dinner together every evening after recording, [and we) laughed a lot."'- Evans
evidently enjoyed the experience but, characteristically, he felt that his own playing left much to be desired.
"I wasn't too happy with my contribution to the album," he said later. "I should have spent a little more time
and taken more care."'^ Although it is often prudent to take Evans's public assessments of his own work with
a pinch of salt, there is something in what he says here. Keane recalled that Evans quite correctly regarded

the accompaniment of singing as a highly specialised art, and one where very few pianists achieve greatness,

whether jazz or classical.

By these standards Evans fails on this album, for while generally he is entirely sympathetic and never
plays incorrect or inappropriate chords and phrases, he is constantly trying to turn the duet into a dialogue
- the most difficult thing to do between singer and accompanist in any musical genre. Such understanding
usually takes years, and it is arguable that Bennett wasn't the most obvious choice of singer with whom Evans
might achieve it. Only fleetingly is that level of musical telepathy reached on this June 1975 recording. As is

to be expected, Evans excels on introductions and codas and his voicings are crystal clear. But his rhythm
and phrasing are rarely more than approximate to Bennett, while his fills between and under Bennett's
melody are too often those of a soloist rather than a player keen to blend into the broader sweep of the
singer's meaning and line. "Working over a long period with a singer leads a sympathetic pianist to shorter
fills, closer phrasing and a better match of dynamics: precisely the aspects that one finds largely absent here.

But there are some occasionally questionable choices of key that leave Bennett straining in a rather ungainly
fashion for his upper register, or pushing notes and phrases when the lyrics suggest pianissimo or some other
form of restraint. This is emphasised by the natural technical decision to give the vocalist a slight prominence
in the mix, making any imperfection or strain immediately apparent, especially as the recording is also given

a rather "dry" sound with a low level of reverb (artificial ambient echo), leaving it in sharp and close focus.
'The Touch Of Your Lips' encapsulates many of these problems in its final verse where Bennett is straining

to give proper control to his high notes and Evans is pounding away with both hands in an off-beat rhythmic
pattern, its unvarying dynamic and shape leaving the vocalist with nowhere to go. Generally the slower
material is better handled, with Bennett's diction as ever a dream and his gritty timbre usually a real bonus
and Evans's accompaniment open to the small changes in dynamics and tempo which make such a duet gel.

'Some Other Time' is a good example.

Clearly both men enjoyed recording together, for almost exacdy a year later tliey appeared at Carnegie
Hall as part of Newport In New York '76, and that September repeated the studio experience in San Francisco
for a second duet album. Together Again, this time for Bennett's own Improv label. The Newport gig,

although immensely enjoyable for the artists, was not without its critics. Arnold Jay Smith, reviewing tlie

concert in Down Beat, found the format perplexing and, finally, infuriating. Billed as an evening with Evans

and Bennett, the two in fact only appeared together on two bookended songs, the rest consisting of the Evans
trio alone followed by Bennett with his own orchestra. The Down Bea/man considered 'In Your Own Sweet

164
I
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUBBLE 1973 1976

Way', the final waltz of the night, as Evans and Gomez at their finest. "Eddie double-bowed his arco solo to
perfection," wrote Smith, "while Zigmund pushed Evans through some fine exchanges . . . [but] Bennett's set
was Las Vegas from opening to close."''*

In July 1975 Evans crossed the Atlantic for the second occasion that year, this time with Gomez only.

Their bass-piano duet album had been released in the US in March and distributed in Europe soon after;

manager Keane felt it appropriate for the duo to play live and that a recording at Montreux again made sense.
The duo appeared at the Swiss festival in July to a tremendous reception, as in Paris the same month. The
Montreux concert was recorded by Fantasy and would appear as Montreux III. The two French concerts on
July 21st at tlie Antibes Festival were also recorded for broadcast by French radio and television. The sets on
all three occasions were very similar, the only new addition being the Brazilian piece 'Minha' ('All Mine'),

although John Lewis's 'Django' had not been played for some time and his 'Milano' was a relative rarity.
At Montreux Evans sounds at ease with an audience he knew had come specifically to revel in his own
special qualities. Despite an out-of tune upper register on the acoustic piano - he also uses electric on a
couple of tracks - Evans plays with none of the indifference that often clouded his concert performances
during the 1970s. On the waltz 'Elsa' his tempo is not rushed, his touch not too driven, his phrasing
beguilingly long-breathed and connected, with each cadential moment often addressed as a point in the
music where both the player and the listener reflect on the phrase just shaped and on the one now appearing.
In all tills Gomez is a perfect and settled partner, not pushing too hard when Evans is in full flight but offering
enough musical substance to continually influence the direction that the performance might take at any
moment. 'Milano', on the otlier hand, brings out tlie consei-vative in Evans. His embellishments and
parapfirases oddly echo the sparse style of the tune's composer and he sticks closely to a conventional ballad

performance. Witli the continual modulations of the triple-time 'Venutian Rhythm Dance', Evans plays in his
more distracted, chopped-up fashion, the ideas not mnning smoothly or freely, and he seems more
concerned with the harmonic movement than a unified performance. Evans uses the Fender Rliodes to

accompany Gomez's brief bass solo and to close the song, bringing a needed contrast to the performance.

The duo's version of 'Django' doesn't make a great deal of sense, the theme stated in a rather

grandiloquent way with a raft of chord alterations that stamp Evans's personality on the piece but bring no
special insight. After tliis, a ratlier aished tempo is set and Gomez settles in for a long solo, dissipating any
mood that might have built up from tlie opening. The following piano solo is Evans at his most peiplexing,
his fingers dancing through the changes with facile ease, his playing stuffed full of his own pet phrases - and
none of it bearing much relationship to John Lewis's composition. Only the short, near-funereal ending brings
a sense of what Evans and Gomez could have achieved here.

'But Beautiftil' is pretty but has little new to offer, while 'Minha', written by Francis Hime, is an affecting

ballad with a typically Brazilian lilt. Evans and Gomez interpret it in an almost recitative fashion, stretching

bar-lines and tempos past breaking point, fashioning a statement which is both touching and dangerously
close to lugubrious. 'Driftin', a loosely swinging tune by Dan Hearle, proves much more suitable than 'Django'

for Evans to hand over to Gomez straight after the theme statement, the bassist playing a coherent and
swinging solo ftill of technical wonders and real melody. Evans's Fender Rhodes improvisation is similar in

its light-hearted jauntiness to that which he had played in 'Django' but this time it is much better suited, his

agility and poise transformed into grace and eloquence, swapping between right-hand Rhodes and left-hand

acoustic comping.
Michel Legrand's 'The Summer Knows' gets an appropriately bittersweet rendering, including some spot-

on bowed playing from Gomez, while the final number, 'In A Sentimental Mood', a tune appearing for the
first time on an Evans record, is played at a tempo suited to its wistftil personality. Evans's solo is full of well-
sustained ideas and sound construction, including some typical modulations to catch the listener by suiprise,
and is a fine way to end an uneven but intriguing concert. The MonZreitx ffl" album, issued in October 1976,
received extensive critical coverage. Down Beats reviewer Chuck Berg noted: "Throughout, the special
Evans-Gomez chemistry is at work. Their intertwined exchanges, their ability to elaborate on and extend each

165
 .

Bill Evans
others' ideas, and their overall musically supportive empathy form one of the most productive feedback loops
in improvised music."'^
In September of 1975 - a year in jazz marred by the premature deaths of two of Evans's old colleagues,
Cannonball Adderley and Oliver Nelson - his wife Nenette gave birth to a son, Evan. This was a happy and

important event for the father, who for some years had longed for a family. Mike Hennessey wrote later that
Evans "was certainly convinced that a more normal family life in a new home would bring more contentment
and happiness".'* Not that Evans was at home much, what with tours and his other commitments. That same
month saw Fantasy release the Tony Bennett/Bill Evans duet album, advertising it widely with pictures of
Evans that emphasised the weight he'd gained in the past two years. Indeed his bearded face and figure were
for the first time in his adult life filled to a point not far short of obesity.

That busy September also saw Evans's second appearance at the Monterey Jazz Festival (the first had
been in 1970). In a Down Beat report on the festival, Len Lyons wrote: "The Piano Playhouse featured an
interesting combination of players, though none of them were on long enough to be fully appreciated. Marian
McPanland opened unaccompanied with her own ballad, 'Afterglow', and a lively 'Close Your Eyes'. Bill

Evans said she sounded so good that it started him thinking about a similar format for himself. Evans himself
played next in duo with bassist Eddie Gomez. His new daimmer, Eliot Zigmund, was supposed to have been
on the set, but he claimed that lack of time and stage co-operation kept him from setting up. By Sunday he
appeared rather piqued at having spent the weekend 'hanging out and overeating'. Bill, whose first child . .

was born days before the Festival, played well-defined, energetic lines. Unfortunately, a beautiful ballad

recently added to Evans's repertoire. All Mine', was too delicate to survive the enormity of the Fairgrounds
Arena, but his own 'T.T.T.T.', sort of a 12-tone bop tune, was strong enough to knock everyone out.""
Patrice Rushen, who had progressed through Monterey's high school competitions of previous years,
played a duet with Evans on 'Autumn Leaves'. She was evidently overawed and nervous, although both
pianists played well, Evans in particular rising to the occasion. Not content with these pianistic complexities,

the Monterey organisers next presented John Lewis and Marian McPartland in duet on 'How High The Moon',
followed by all four pianists for an eight-handed finale on 'Billie's Bounce' that, according to Lyons, "was
gimmicky but fun".''* The performance was recorded and broadcast by the local radio station KJAZ, while the
finale was filmed for television. Evans spent a good deal of time soaking up the atmosphere at the various
concerts, staying backstage on Saturday specifically to hear Chuck Mangione's group. He appeared on the
Sunday afternoon as guest soloist with the Oakland Youth Symphony Orchestra, as on his first appearance
at the Festival, this time playing another performance of Ogerman's Symbiosis, conducted by the orchestra's

director Denis de Coteau. It nestled between a reading of John Lewis's InMemoriam (with Lewis conducting)
and Benny Golson leading the AJl-Star High School Band through an expanded arrangement of his 'Killer

Joe'. Unfortunately this afternoon's programme was the mo.st poorly attended event of the Festival, confirming

the usual suspicions that, even with stellar guests on board, people will rarely pay to watch promising young
players unless the youths in question are their own children.

That encounter with Marian McPartland's solo performance at Monterey stayed with Evans. While he
fulfilled his normal quota of appearances in the autumn of 1975 - appearing again with Tony Bennett, this

time on the Johnny Carson Show - and spent what time he could with his wife and newborn son in New
York, he allowed Helen Keane to persuade him to make his next recording project a solo album. He had
long been reluctant to do .so, despite the public acclaim for Alone, released on 'Verve five years earlier. Keane
felt that it was "probably the only area he felt insecure about musically, and the fact that he got a Grammy
for Alone didn't help. Convincing him to do a second solo record was no easy task . . . There were no takes
slated and the tape rolled until Bill wanted to stop"."

The resulting album. Alone (AgainJ, would be released by Fantasy in November 1977, two years after

the sessions. It is a curiously intimate recital; curious because on many of the interpretations Evans's playing
suggests that is he unaware not only that he is in a studio but that there might be any kind of audience at

all to communicate with. While this was not the first time such a feeling had been generated by an Evans

166
 REBUILDING FROM THE RUBBLE 1973-1976

solo recording date, it still comes as a surprise to the unsuspecting listener. For the most part the artist

communes with himself, trying out ideas and combinations to see how tliey sound to his ear. Keane and Don
Cody, her regular engineer for Evans sessions, had painstakingly created an atmosphere in the studio that
succeeded in freeing the pianist from temporal concerns - though perhaps in ways they had not entirely

anticipated. For example, with Of You', an item in his repertoire since the 1961 Vanguard days and beyond,
'All

there is a torrent of improvisation, much of it familiar Evans licks, turns of phrase and harmonic ingenuities.
But when it comes to wrapping up the performance, Evans rushes through the recapitulation as if he no longer
has the time or interest in presenting a fully-rounded portrait of the song. It is doubtful that he would have
been so cavalier in concert. 'In Your Own Sweet Way' loses virtually all of its insouciant charm, the loping
melody flattened out while Evans concentrates on some mannerisms. 'What Kind of Fool Am I' receives a no-
nonsense beginning that bears little relation to the mood of the lyrics until tlie theme recapitulation. At this

late stage Evans apparently recalls the song's meaning, pauses, and moves into a lush, romantic treatment
which, with a little mid-tempo embellishment thrown in, is maintained to its end. The sparkling filigree runs
at the close are perfectly judged. Elsewhere, Evans seems to be paying some sort of private homage to personal

heroes: 'Isn't It Romantic', part of a medley, is close to the treatment Art Taaim might have given it, while
'Make Someone Happy' has hints of a range of pianists who were at their peak in Evans's youth.

Judged by Evans's own criterion from tlie liner notes of Alone, where he suggested that the length of a

performance tended to suggest how deeply he had got into a particular solo piece, the most successful
performance on Alone (Again) is the Bacharach-David song, 'People'. Yet this strange 13 or so minutes
consists for the most part of a continual re-stating of the tlieme in a loosely non-metric way. For the first five

minutes Evans seems to be giving an impression of how the song might have sounded played by Brahms,
with endless left-hand arpeggios dressing the chordal theme statements of the right hand. At this point he
seems about to conclude the performance, but instead modulates. For the next few minutes he intersperses
rather Tatum-like daintiness with a more torrid style that intensifies the Brahmsian, windswept mood into a

darker melancholy more reminiscent of Rachmaninov. Three minutes later the piece once more comes to a
stop, yet Evans refuses to conclude and modulates again. He modulates a further time at the ten-minute mark,

only now allowing the turbulence to largely subside in order to pick out the ame witli tender simplicity while
his rich harmonic substitutions cloak the theme in brilliance. As in the (rather longer) Piano Fantasyhy Aaron
Copland, it is almost as if Evans has had to work through the storms in order to arrive at a settled and
balanced conception of the composition's message.
In all this tliere is no sense tliat Evans cares whether anyone else might ever hear tliis music. He could be
at home playing in his lounge for his own pleasure and interest, with tlie listener being the intruder. It's an off-

centre performance in both its content and emotional attitude, but of interest because it is so untypical of Evans's
output. A review did not appear in Doum Beat until April 1978, written by Mikal Gilmore. It praised Evans's
integrity and depth, but found the record ultimately wanting. "He plays like a man caught up in personal
epiphany," wrote Gilmore, "almost a conduit for forces and emotions that pure intellect would be helpless to

transcribe. But to sustain such an acute level over a generation of performing and recording is an extraordinary
task, and Evans - always a meticulous stnicturalist - has grown more interested of late in tlie complexities of
edifice than in the laurels of introspection . . . Alone (Again) is impressive for its dextrous constructions. But like

tlie best devices of artifice, it reveals little about the burden - or secret joy - of its maker"-"
Despite the release of two new albums in 1975 and a good showing at live performances, Evans
continued his poor run when the end-of-year polls were published, slipping behind Cecil Taylor in the acoustic

piano section of the Down Beat Readers' Poll, while in sixth place on electric piano in the same poll he sat
between Bob James and Jan Hammer. Yet the work continued to pour in. Evans remained in demand, able to
work as hard as he wished or needed to. By the end of January 1976 he had toured Japan and made a well-

received appearance in Los Angeles at the Concerts By The Sea series. He also agreed to a further Down Beat
Blindfold Test, to be done at Leonard Feather's Los Angeles home, this time in tandem with the great swing-
era pianist, Teddy Wilson. It was a highly agreeable way for Evans to start another year of change.
C HA P TE R 14

the Gomez Trio

(1976-1977)
"HE PLAYED SOME ABSOLUTELY CLASSLC SOLOS IT DIDN'T HAVE
TO BE BASS FIDDLE, IT COULD HAVE BEEN ANYTHING - JUST
SOMEBODY EXPRESSING THEMSELVES LN A BEAUTLFUL WAY."
BILL EVANS ON EDDIE GOMEZ

The pattern of Evans's professional

previous year. He made two
life in 1976 deviated
separate trips to Europe, in the spring
little from the

and autumn, played a variety of jazz clubs from Boston to New York
to the West Coast, appeared a number of times during the summer festival

season in New York, and squeezed in another trip to South America during
late spring. By May 1976 it was also time to make another record for Fantasy.
On this occasion Evans and Keane felt that it was important to get away

from the trio format. He had already tried duets and solos, and the last solo
album had not yet even been given a scheduled release date. Evans liked the
idea of an expanded group but it was Keane who made the main suggestions

Eddie Gomez in ihe 1960s at tbc slarl of bis time iu the Evans trio, with Joe Hunt on drums
 j^ ^>' i^^.
J-v-4.»4

il

^^^
iifii
Bill Evans
of personnel for what became Qui)itessei>ce (a title typical of Evans's penchant for wordplay). "Quintessence
developed from an evening I spent at Donte's in LA," said Keane, "where [tenor saxophonist] Harold Land
was playing. I spoke to Bill about doing a date witli Harold and [guitarist] Kenny Burrell. Bill suggested
adding Philly Joe [lones on drums] and [bassist] Ray Brown."'
They had in effect arrived at a mirror of the quintet instnmientation for the second bUerplay session of
1962, and it is higlily unlikely that tliis was by chance. Indeed, a blues such as Kenny Burrell's 'Bass Face'

on Quintessence draws close parallels with tlie loose, relaxed feeling of the first Interplay date of 1962
featuring Freddie Hubbard, as Evans indulges in some of the most down-home blues playing of his career,
sounding completely at ease. Equally, the group's evident poise in their rendition of Kenny Wheeler's waltz-
time 'Sweet Dulcinea' can be traced back to die arrangements for that long-ago second Interplay session with
Zoot Sims and Jim Hall.

Liind was an inspired choice and credit for that must go to Keane. His style of playing had shifted since

his early days as a national figure in jazz during the late 1950s. The saxophonist's long tenure in groups with
vibes player Bobby Hutcherson and his continuing fascination with the music of John Coltrane had given him
a broad view as a player and developed his harmonic sense so that he was comfortable with any material
put before him. His tone gave his playing a imiquely expressive edge: keening, vulnerable and winsome on
ballads but strong and incisive on faster numbers. Ideally for Evans, he preferred to be a group player rather
than someone rallying the troops for battle. The presence of Burrell allowed the pianist to arrange the music
so that guitar and piano alternate as accompanists on some numbers; elsewhere there are passages where
both lay out, leaving just Brown and Jones to supply the forward momentum and harmonic signposts.
All this variety is welcome in a recorded programme which, in Evans's small-group incarnation, had
become dangerously monotonous and formulaic over the past few years. Evans's own playing on the date is

apposite and happy but not especially inspired. He seems mostly concerned with being a pianist within a
group rather than leading it by example, and the resulting album sounds very much a co-operative effort.

Evans said later to Mike Hennessey, "When I do an album with a couple of horns, or any front line, I try to

put out of my head how we approach the music in the trio. I tell myself that we are doing a straight-ahead
date which has to be more physical and outgoing. Things take on a different character and different

disciplines are involved."^ Evans is relaxed and communicative when he solos on Jimmy Van Heusen's
'Second Time Around', with Brown and Jones swinging mightily behind him, but nothing he plays is

particularly fresh or arresting, however much fun it might be. Perhaps his best and most concentrated playing
comes on Thad Jones's ballad 'A Child Is Born' where he presents the first three minutes of the performance
as a piano-trio arrangement, including a piano solo, before Kenny Burrell's entry for a subdued solo. It's

followed by Land, whose tender playing here is a highlight. The time ends at the theme again, presented as

a hushed trio statement.

Quintessence hardly redefined the boundaries of jazz or set out to make a Significant Statement, but it

was a relaxed and rewarding quintet session and one of the highlights in Evans's later recording career,
proving something of a breath of fresh air. It was released in May 1977, twelve months after its recording,
and made scant popular impact in America at the time, thoLigh it subsequently proved to be one of the
pianist's own favourites from this period.

In June 1976 Evans appeared at Carnegie Hall on the opening night of the Newport In New York festival

alongside Tony Bennett. The two had greeted the audience at a noon launch of the festival at the Rockefeller

Center featuring the Joe Newman Jazz Interactions Orchestra. At Carnegie Hall, where tlie programme was
titled Schlitz Salutes An Evening With Tony Bennett, there were two performances. According to an observer,
"Piani.st Bill Evans accompanied Tony on 'My Foolish Heart'. Then, surrounding himself with a 32-piece
orchestra that inckided everything from strings to a harp and tympanist, Bennett belted out over a dozen
•Standards with some medleys . . . Included. It upset someone in the centre of the orchestra seats, who stood
up .shouting, 'This is suppo.sed to be a jazz festival; bring back Bill Evans!' Evans, slumped over his keyboard,
head buried in his chest, played well, but seemed quite out of place in the role of accompanist on that large
 THE END OF THE GOMEZ TRIO 1976-1977

stage."' The trio also delivered a set of their own that evening, playing such staple Evans repertoire as
'Someday My Prince Will Come', 'Sugar Plum' and 'T.T.T.'. 'Someday' reappeared in the set when Evans
played again during the festival, this time at Radio City Music Hall in a broadcast concert that united his
trio with the horns of ex-Tristano sidemen Lee Konitz and 'Warne Marsh. It was perhaps the success of this

unusual yet logical musical pairing that led to a studio quintet recording with the two horn men the
following spring.
The slow decline in Evans's critical and popular standing was finally arrested in 1976, aided no doubt
by the accelerated release schedule of his Fantasy albums and his close association with Tony Bennett over
the year's course. The Down Beat Critics' Poll in August awarded him fifth place on acoustic piano and even
placed him sixth on electric piano. Meanwhile he kept up his busy schedule, crossing the Atlantic twice and
fitting in the second duet album with Tony Bennett in San Francisco that September
On the second trip to Europe, as part of George Wein's "Newport a Paris" package, the trio appeared
for a broadcast concert and the recording quality proved to be exceptionally good. The tapes remained
unreleased (and unbootlegged) until the 1989 issue of the Fantasy boxed set and Tlje Paris Concert. The extra

drive and power brought to the group by dmmmer Eliot Zigmund - a player who had listened closely to

Elvin Jones and Roy Haynes in developing his style - is very evident on the medium-tempo swingers such
as '34 Skidoo' and, after its free-time start, 'T.T.T.T', where a considerable head of steam is raised. The
delighted audience response seems to make the trio determined to sustain this kind of pace for the duration;

indeed some of the tunes suffer from a creeping acceleration. Even 'Turn Out The Stars' becomes something
of a gambol during the pianist's solo. It is also noticeable during this particular rendition of 'Stars' that Evans

is altering the chords to change their emotional impact, turning from the minor and from dissonance and
letting in lighter colours and clearer feelings. This happy concert in front of an appreciative crowd effectively
marked Eliot Zigmund's recording debut with the band.
Evans continued to work hard as 1977 arrived. He appeared at the Village Gate just after Christmas,
opposite the Kenny Burrell Quartet, at the Jazz Showcase in Chicago in late winter, and once more joined
up witli Stan Getz, this Macky Auditorium in Denver in late spring. By then his next recording
time at the
project was in the bag, made on
number of dates in late Febniary and early March 1977. This was a quintet
a

date, later given the title Crosscurrents, featuring alto saxophonist Lee Konitz and tenor man Warne Marsh. It

was a problematic session in a number of ways. Helen Keane's recollection certainly had a note of regret:
"Bill was playing the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco the weekend after tlie record date and

Warne came by to sit in. I often wish we could have recorded that set."^ Listening to the missed opportunities
on Crosscurrents, one can only agree. The two saxophonists had come to fame in jazz circles at the end of
the 1950s when appearing and recording with pianist, theorist and teacher Lennie Tristano. After that there

was an occasional recorded meeting, including Jimmy Giuffre that had

a session for Verve in 1959 with

featured both Marsh and Evans as sidemen. This was followed by same year at the Half
a live session the

Note in New York City where Konitz and Marsh were supported by Evans with help from bassist Jimmy
Garrison and dnmimer Paul Motian (and that music remained unreleased until 1993). Afterward, both
saxophonists had largely gone their own ways, with Konitz spending time increasingly in Europe, Konitz and
Marsh had never been particulariy close on a personal level, but in former days their tones and musical
conceptions had combined memorably.
That was not the case on Crosscuirents, where Konitz - by 1977 a much more angular, multi-faceted
and unpredictable performer than 20 years before - seems a lot of the time to be matching Marsh for
wilfulness and oblique strategies. Their unison playing is studiedly vague, their intonation equally personal.
Both had long made a virtue of extreme variations of pitch on any given note, pushing it up or down from
the standard tempering of any accompanying pianist in order to get extra emotional or dramatic edge. Konitz

tends to favour playing sharp, where Marsh is happy to play both sharp and flat (as well as occasionally in

tune), depending on the musical or emotional needs of the moment. On this record both men sound
generally and determinedly oblivious of the other's pitch, asserting their own version of events at eveiy turn.
Bill Evans
Gi\en this rather intractalile problem, the best sax playing comes mostly during solos or solo horn statements
- for example Konitzs opening of Wlicn I Fall In Love' where his habitual sharpness seems part of his overall
st)ie and strategy, pro\'iding a winning wistfiilness. On the unaccompanied mid-tempo duet opening of 'Night

And Da\'' tlie old Tristano rules of counterpoint and melodic line hold good for the minute or so of its

presence. Although tlie Evans trio tlien enter at a different tempo for a piano-and-rhythm workout on the
changes before each horn in turn takes a solo, the arrangement works and good ideas are presented by all

three major soloists. The ending, however, demonstrates again that neither saxophonist will play the melody.
Both instead want to embellish a lead presented in the manner of a no-frills trumpeter. 'With the two merely
embellishing and nobody leading, tlie overall impression is of dissipation and wasted opportunities.
Konitz and Marsh individually are experts at studied inaccuracy, but together, with both playing the same
musical game, tine result is frustration. Nonetheless they do manage a unified and in-time rendering of the
opening melody to Steve Swallow's minor-key 'Eiderdown'. Konitz gets off a particularly well-wrought and
urgent solo here, as does bassist Gomez straight after him. Marsh's more oblique solo builds well to a
satisfactory conclusion, while the tenor player's feaaire ballad, Cole Porter's 'Every Time 'We Say Goodbye',
is played with evident passion, though it is not one of his best on record. The performance closes to diffident
pathos rather than tenderness and thus fails to reach out to the listener. Perhaps the low point of the record
comes on Clare Fischer's beguiling Latin-flavoured 'Pensativa', once part of the Jazz Messengers' repertoire,
where both saxophonists seem stylistically at sea and not especially interested in being rescued.
The Evans trio itself plays with flair, sensitivity and remarkable cohesion during the course of the date,

their consistency and deftness making it doubly unfortunate that the front line, offered assiduous support, is

so inconsistent in delivering the heavyweight quality of which it is capable. Evans seems to enjoy his role as

leader-cum-accompanist, his solos brief and effective, his arranging mostly bringing out new twists in a piece

or allowing cliched constructions to be avoided. A pity, then, that this opportunity for old colleagues to shine
together was not fully realised.

Evans missed Newport In New York for 1977 but was constantly working his group, appearing (among
many other places) at New York's The Bottom Line in June for a week. His manager was also negotiating the

end of the current record deal with Fantasy and a change to 'Warner Brothers. Under Tommy LiPuma, 'Warners
had reactivated a jazz programme that had last been in operation in the late 1950s and early 1960s when
Chico Hamilton and Patil Desmond were the label's hottest jazz acts. All jazz activity at Warners had stalled
by the time Frank Sinatra had set up his Reprise label under the aegis of Warners in the early 1960s, and a
number of noted jazz talents were nurtured there while Sinatra retained an active involvement in recording

policy. But since their link up with Adantic and Elektra at the close of the 1960s, Warners had left jazz and
related music to its sister labels in the 'WEA group. Thus when LiPuma was given the chance he went for jazz
players who had track records, active performance schedules and a worldwide following. Evans was a sure
example, as was Dexter Gordon.
As a major company, Warners could afford much more to secure its arti.sts and pay for their sessions than

an independent such as Fantasy. Even though Keane and Evans may have come to miss the friendliness and
intimacy of working with a small and integrated team, the move made financial sense. In fact, according to
Keane, it was not only sensible but "an offer we couldn't refuse".' Evans noted that "Fantasy was a nice,

congenial atmosphere and, of course, they had all my old Riverside catalog as well. I've known and loved
Orrin Keepnews for many years but, frankly, the production budget isn't there. If you want to do a larger

thing, it's hard to get it done. Basic money isn't there for recording and I just got a vastly better contract at
Warner Brothers. They wanted to start a jazz catalog and I was more or less the start."^' To finish the pianist's

commitments to the old label, a studio date for the trio was arranged for mid May 1977 - and remarkably
enough was their first such session for Fanta.sy. It yielded the / Will Say Goodbye album, which would be
held back from release until January 1980 - though not because of any doubts about its quality. Not only did
it win a Grammy that year, but it is also one of Evans's most consistently inventive and involving latter-day

trio albums. He was content to set easier tempos, not to push the rhythm so much, and generally avoid
 THE END OF THE GOMEZ TRIO 1976-1977

regular items from the trio's live set. DRinimer Eliot Zigmund was playing his first studio session with the trio,

despite having been with Evans for two years. He later offered an insight into how Evans chose pieces for
recording at this stage. "When we would do record dates," said Zigmund, "tlie tunes were always brand new.
And Helen would give Bill some sheet music, and he'd sit in the studio and just whip together one of these

arrangements. So within 15 or 20 minutes the tune went from being a standard to a Bill Evans arrangement
of the standard, which a lot of times became the definitive thing. It was really far out to hear it happening."^
Repertoire receiving the Bill Evans touch in May 1977 included songs by Burt Bacharach CA House Is

Not A Home' at last), Michel Legrand ('I Will Say Goodbye', which became the title track, and 'Orson's
Theme'), Herbie Hancock ('Dolphin Dance', a piece which itself seems to hark back to the Evans-LaFaro-

Motian trio) and Johnny Mandel (the romantic 'Seascape'). Evans's approach to this diverse and mostly
contemporary repertoire is less formulaic than in tlie recent past, his own playing paradoxically more
pianistic, in the sense that he is more prepared to tiy techniques and devices closely associated with other

pianists. In fact, the ghosts of Garner and Tatum both seem much closer on tliis record than anywhere else
(Garner had died in January 1977), especially in their guise as rhapsodic romantics and in the consummate
way they shaped the material of others. Zigmund again: "The compositional thing started to become part of
the technique, or part of his approach, to the trio playing. It became less became more
freewheeling, and it

refined. He always had an architectural sense of the shape of the tune, and from night to night you knew

where the improvisation was going. It wasn't as freewheeling as it might have been when he was younger,
playing with Paul [Motian] and Scott [LaFaro]."®
On Evans's last session for Fantasy the most freewheeling performance is of his own composition. The
Opener', which had previously appeared as part of a medley on Alone (Again). Here everyone stretches out
on the longest track of the session, sounding for all the world as if they are playing in front of a packed
concert hall in Paris, New York or some other major city, Zigmund's tradings with Evans after his own short
solo are a highlight and also a tlirowback to the excitement of the shortlived 1967 trio with Philly Joe Jones.

Elsewhere, a more elegiac though hardly bittersweet approach is evident, as on Eari Zindars's ballad 'Quiet

Light', played here with delicate blue translucence and perfect control of form, A House Is Not A Home'
opens with a restrained but exquisite solo piano rendering of the Bacharach theme, its harmonies subtly
shifted and altered, the form of the piece being re-shuffled to introduce the short bridge later, finally

discarding it altogether in the short improvised passage where Gomez and Zigmund accompany.
The two Legrand themes demonstrate that writer's ability to conjure attractive melody from what amounts
to little more than a simple germ of an idea, as well as demonstrating his thorough mastery of the difficult

art of writing for films by producing musically successful material rather than mere screen fodder. 'I Will Say

Goodbye' is a melancholy fragment that Legrand winds tlirough a stimulating series of chord changes, in
places echoing 'My Foolish Heart'. Evans handles this beautifully, bringing the trio to a complete stardust-
scattered halt at the end of the first statement of the theme. 'Orson's Theme' is based on a falling-fifth interval

taken through a succession of harmonic twists to add colour and flavour, all at a slightly dizzy but entirely
poised fast waltz tempo. That interval may be the same as on 'Flamenco Sketches' but it is put to an entirely
different use here, the related majors being emphasised rather than the minors. Combined with a rhythm
reminiscent of a soft samba, this gives the tune a carefree feeling that Evans builds upon convincingly. It has
a fresh, youtfiful feeling, as if the players had found new inspiration through their ability to step aside from
their usual practises together. In fact tliis feeling pervades the whole session, underlining a relaxed and open
atmosphere. Such an upbeat feeling would remain for the first Warner Brothers session, held just three

months later and with the same trio - the last time these three would record together. It took place over three
days in late August 1977, just a week after Down Beat had given Evans some sort of critical rehabilitation by
placing him fourth in the acoustic piano section of their Critics' Poll - behind McCoy Tyner, Cecil Taylor and
Keith Jarrett. The fickle winds of jazz fashion were perhaps blowing in Evans's dii'ection once more.
The Warners trio album would be titled Y'oii Must Believe In Spring on its release in 1981, just a few
months after Evans's death, and in many ways it complements the last Fantasy session. It has the same
Bill Evan
musicians, the same approach and the same balance of repertoire, along with a similar feeling of elegy and
restrained ease. Beautifully recorded at Capitol studios in Hollywood, the LP documents a trio completely

at ease with each other and allowing tlie music to flow in the most natural but refined way. One may
wonder just what Warners' motives were for starting their new deal with Evans with such a project, but the
qualirs' of the music is not in doubt. The disbanding of the trio later in the same year resulted in the album
being quick!)' sheK'ed in favour of subsequent projects. This is not a criticism of the music's worth; Gomez
and Zigmund in particular shine at every opportunity. The bassist lavishes some of his most composed and
insightful playing upon the listener, while Zigmund stokes the fires at every opportunity. Gomez, long past
blitzing tlie listener into admiration for his playing, blends his solos and accompaniment beautifully into

each piece.
Evans's role is more equivocal. As with the previous Fantasy date, he takes a step forward by choosing
contemporary music - die title track is another Legrand theme - as well as supplying two new tunes from
his own pen. He also registers some of the most thoughtful and carefully constructed playing of his later
years. But his improvising, though emotionally charged, is neither rhythmically nor melodically fresh. It is

almost as if his attention is no longer on the horizontal movement of linear improvisation but has more to

do with the adaptation of tlie song's vertical patterns, both on a specific and a larger scale. Evans is now
more than ever obsessed with form over any mere details.

On You Must Believe In Spring the pianist is concentrating on looking back and reflecting. The opening
piece, his own 'B Minor Waltz', is subtitled 'For Ellaine', and is a contemplative ballad waltz full of muted
regret and tenderness. It is also tlie first of four triple-time compositions on tlie album, accounting for over
half the record's repertoire. With Evans's well-established penchant for 3/4 time to articulate the more tender
and Riminative side of his artistic character, such an imbalance here tells its own story. The choice of the late
Gary McFarland's minor-key 'Gary's Theme' suggests further glances into the past, for Evans had many
reasons to remember McFarland fondly, and this tenderly melancholy waltz neatly avoids the coarseness of
sentimentality'. The expertly transposed minor thirds of the melody's recapitulation are a particular treasure.
A similar outline can be sketched for the more fully explored piece 'The Peacocks', a memorable Jimmy
Rowles ballad that Evans first tackled while playing concerts with Stan Getz some three years earlier.
McFarland's 'Gary's Theme' has a similar air of soundtrack writing - of a scene being articulated, a landscape
of memory being recalled - to Legrand's 'You Must Believe In Spring', which comes immediately before it in

the record's sequencing. Sergio Mihanovich's 'Sometime Ago' deals in similar emotional and musical currency,
although during the improvising section Evans allows himself to push at the song's fabric a little less

respectfully than elsewhere before acceding to a flowing, lyrical bass solo from Gomez. This is part of the

shape of the record's programming, with the final two selections bringing the listener gently out of the

nostalgia and remission of earlier performances and into something more life-affirming - notwithstanding the
'Suicide Is Painless' subtide of the final piece, 'Theme From M.A.S.H.'.

That takes us back to what seems the album's central theme of death and rebirth - although if that had
been Evans's intention at the time, it was not self-referential. 'We Will Meet Again', one of the 3/4 pieces on
the record, was written by Evans for his much-loved and admired brother, Harry, and it carries a balance of

hope and quiet celebration within its complex emotional character It echoes the sometimes blithe, sometimes
no.stalgic feelings evoked by Legrand in the title song, similarly moving between major and minor. The song's
original title at that 1977 session is unknown, but two years later, before the album was given a firm release

date, Harry Evans committed suicide. The impact on his younger brother was immediate and deep. It was
during the interim that Evans gave it the title 'We Will Meet Again (For Harry)', before the piece was heard
by the world al large on the album's eventual release in 1981.

In the immediate aftermath of that first Warners session of August 1977, Eddie Gomez and then Eliot
Zigmund handed their resignations to Evans. For Gomez it was a matter of making a change after more than
a decade playing in the same group - just as Ray Brown had done .some dozen years earlier when he moved
out from under the giant presence of Oscar Peterson in that pianist's trio. It was simply time for a change.
 THE END OF THE GOMEZ TRIO 1976-1977

Evans was deeply appreciative of what he and Gomez had managed to do together, and of the bassist's
crucial role in his own A year or so later, during an interview in November
continuing musical development.
1978, Marian McPartland told Evans that Gomez, who had moved from her group to his, had as a young
player wanted nothing more in the world than to work with Evans, and was the happiest man in the word
when it happened. "So was I to find him," replied Evans, "and we had 11 wonderful years together. In fact
there are a couple of unreleased trio records which I think illustrate the maturity of his playing - and, perhaps,
our playing together - perhaps more than any other record. One is an unreleased trio record on Warner
Brothers, and the other an unreleased trio record on Fantasy. But especially the one on Warner Brothers . .

he takes a couple of solos that are to me just absolutely classic, beautiful solos. It doesn't have to be bass
fiddle, it could be anything - just somebody expressing themselves in a melodic and beautiful way."
McPartland pushed Evans to compare Gomez with Scott LaFaro, but the pianist resisted. "Some things
you think are maybe once in a lifetime," he said, "and there's no way to compare with Scotty - that was a

once in a lifetime thing. But I have had marvellous experiences with other bass players - with Eddie, certainly,

for 11 years."' It was a fitting epitaph to a long and consistently creative partnership - and to the trio tliat

had disintegrated in the autumn of 1977, leaving Evans in search of a new band.

175
CHA P TE R 15

New Hope^
Hope: The Final
Trio (1978-1979)
"/FOUND OUT LATER THAT BILL HAD NO PRECONCETVED IDEAS
OF WHAT YOU SHOULD DO, AND THAT HE WAS DEFINITELY NOT
LOOKING FOR PEOPLE TO EMULATE HIS EARLIER GROUPS."
THE EVANS TRIO'S LAST DRUMMER. JOE LABARBERA

his 1978 radio interview with Marian McPartland, Evans expressed

In delight with the eventual replacement for Eddie Gomez. "I've now found
a new young bass player," Evans told McPartland. "He's got it all going
and has a wonderful sound. His name is Marc Johnson. He was playing with
Woody [Herman], he's 24 years old and he's from Dallas, Texas, and he's just

gorgeous. Percy Heath . . . and Thad Jones were in the wings when we were
doing Tokyo recently and when we came off, Percy came over and said, 'You
keep pulling them out of the woodwork!', talking about Marc, because it is

remarkable. I looked very hard when Eddie left, because there's no way you
can replace him, but I needed a certain kind of musician and after about four

Evans at the piano in bis final years

Mi
^\:'€:^;
Bill Evans
or fixe months of searching, Marc did appear and he was absolLitely the one."' Johnson might have been "tlie

one" but he had not come easily to Evans, who spent the autunin and part of the winter of 1977/78 using
temporary personnel and auditioning in New York. For a time before drummer Eliot Zigmund left, Evans had
his old friend and colleague Chuck Israels once more on bass, moving his repertoire accordingly back into

the mid 1960s so that Israels had a firm basis on which to play and didn't have to struggle so much to catch

up witli tlie newer material introduced to the set over tlie course of the 1970s. At other times Evans had used
what he later recalled as "sLx different bass players. Some were very good, others were committed elsewhere
or didn't want to travel".' One of those was Michael Moore, who played with the Evans trio for a while but
ultimately found it uncongenial. According to a musician friend of Evans's, Bill Kirchner, "[Moorel told me
tliat he stayed for a couple of months but apparently Phillyjoe [Jones], he said, was rushing like mad."-^ There
are many stories about Jones's prodigious refuelling habits in his later career, prompting the thought that his

previously impeccable timekeeping had deteriorated at least in part because of a physical decline.
Evans had turned to Jones in the aftermath of Zigmund's departure at the end of 1977. Although still an
Evans favourite, Jones no longer had the metronomic time of old, which made his always assertive playing
hard to take now - especially for a new bassist with concerns of his own. Interviewed in Down Beat in late

1979, Evans mentioned the holding role the drummer had played. "Philly Joe Jones came in for a year," said

Evans, "and I must have had four or five different ba.ss players. [I was] more or less searching and also giving
tliese bass players a chance to try the music and decide whether they wanted to make a commitment ... I

feel like all that trauma of about a year looking for the trio that I finally ended up with was probably one of
tliose necessary transifional tilings that allows you to arrive at something which is special.'"*

Another of the bassists given the opportunity to "make a commitment" to the new trio while Jones was
there was George Mraz. Playing with Evans in New York ostensibly in a depping role, he was casually told

by Evans about the next string of club dates right across the US. Realising that he was being offered the
position, the in-demand bassist, who was committed to staying in New York City, gracefully declined. Given
such contingencies, Evans fulfilled engagements the best way he could. For an appearance at Boston's Jazz
Showcase club in late January 1978 the billing was "Bill Evans and Eddie Gomez", while in March he had a

trio adding Jones on dmms for a week at Chicago's Amazingrace nightspot in Evanston. After that the
Evans/Gomez/ Jones group moved west for a spot at Concerts By The Sea at Redondo Beach in Los Angeles
that took them into April 1978.
By this time Johnson and Evans had finally managed to arrange an audition after many phone calls while
Johnson was out on the road with Woody Herman. Appropriately enough the audition took place at the
Village Vanguard, and the bassist was quickly recommended Marc," said Evans, "and [he] sat
hired. "A friend

in. We only played one number but I felt he showed more potential than anybody else. I'm sure there are
ten other bass players who could do the job, but that's just the way it goes."' Johnson later commented, "I

was prepared for the Evans experience by Woody Herman. Being on his band was mar\'ellous; he's such a
great teacher And then Bill and [Philly] Joe spoiled me; they were so musical all the time. Bill could take you
places that previously were impossible to reach."'' Both men were clearly ready to work
togetlier. The

Jones/Johnson line-up would provide Evans's basic working unit until November 1978 when Jones dropped
out and the hunt for a permanent drummer began.
This period of uncertainty about personnel as new members settled in coincided with the commitment
to record a second album for Warner Brothers. Taking advantage of adversity, Evans, Keane and the record
company agreed to revisit the idea of parallel improvisation, as Evans had first done back in 1963 on
Conversations With Myself -and expanded in 1967 with Further Conversations With Myself. So while this was
not a new idea, the layered-piano approach was to be given a fresh twist. Evans added what the record sleeve
lists as "electronic keyboard" though it sounds like his normal Fender Rliodes fed through varying effects

treatments in an effort to spread the tonal and timbral palette. During his interview with fellow pianist Marian
McPartland later in 1978 Evans reaffirmed his preference for solo performance, but witli a qualification. "I

don't have the dimension to really be a solo pianist entirely," he said. "I just haven't expanded that part of
 NEW HOPE, LAST HOPE: THE FINAL TRIO 1978-1979

my playing that mtich. But the feeling of playing solo is a mai^vellous feeling, as you know. You have
complete control of tlie nuances and the aibatos and so forth, and it's a marvellous personal kind of

expressive feeling."^
Evans was well aware of the duties of a solo pianist, in that same interview noting the advantages of
playing in a trio format, especially when it came to "some of the functions that you must perform as a solo
pianist - keeping the time or the bass or ... playing voicings so full, [and] maintaining a fundamental
strucaire". That this concern with structure was central to Evans's music was demonstrated time and again on
these new multi-tracked recordings from January and February of 1978. "Keeping the structure going and
more or less just following your own feeling and tlie movement of tlie time ... playing rubato is one thing,"
Evans continued, "but playing in tempo is anotlier. What I think the student should keep in mind is having
a complete picaire of the stmcture ... as he wants to indicate it, [by] pre-planning a basic structure. I always
have, in anything that I play, an absolutely basic stmcture in mind. Now, I can work around that differently

or between the strong stmctural points differently, or whatever, but that must be. I find the most fundamental
structure and then I work from there. I'm talking about the abstract architectural thing, the theoretical thing."^
As a way of summing it up, for himself and other players, he concluded: 'Intuition has to lead knowledge
but it can't be out there on its own. If it's on its own you're gonna flounder sooner or later . . . Knowing the
problem is 90 per cent of solving it, and the problem is to be clear and get down to basic structure."'

The album, given the title Netv Conversations, opens with a new tune for his manager, 'Song For Helen',
in a manner very much in keeping with tlie sweeping multi-tracked arpeggios to be found on the 1963 efforts.

It then falls into a thematic statement on solo piano. As Evans observed to Nat Hentoff, who wrote the
record's liner notes, "This song is based on a very simple three-note figure, and its shape only changes
twice."'" The improvisational section is taken at a fast-medium tempo with a strong left-hand bass harmony
kicking the rhytlim along while there is a right-hand dialogue between acoustic and electric piano tracks. The
electric piano does not sit so cleanly as would a second acoustic line, being better suited on this piece to
supplying colour and additional harmony and melody to the concluding theme statement, which is played
rubato (in a rhythmically flexible and expansive manner).
A similar pattern is followed for 'Maxine', another Evans original in triple metre and intended as a portrait

of his 11-year-old step-daughter. Tlie middle section, once again fast-medium, has three separate piano lines,

one of them electric, but things fail to gel. Tlie electric instrument sounds like a gawky me-too cousin loping
along after two rather more elegant and surefooted twins. On die standard 'No One Else But Me' Evans plays
an entrancing and astonishingly fleet, butterfly-like obbligato line behind the opening theme, but again it is

on the electric instrument, its elegance hampered by tlie diffused tone of the instiximent. Later, in die mid-
tempo improvisation, flie walking bass from flie electjic keyboard sounds like someone filling in for a bassist

who failed to show up. Happier tilings occur when the interpretation turns bluesy and Evans uses the electric

piano in a funkier way, bringing gusto and a touch of soul to an otlierwise pedestrian outing, despite the
immense sophistication tliat Evans brings to his arrangement.
Completing a series of family portraits on the first side of this album is 'For Nenette', a dignified ballad

for his wife. Evans described it to Hentoff as "more of a gift than an attempt at a portrait"." The music is

curiously restrained, as if pulling back from a fully romantic expression of feeling, much in the manner of
Elgar's dedications and portraits. Evans was certainly aware of the desire for restraint on this number "There
was a danger," he said, "of the melody being too sweet, and so I worked on this witli a great deal of control
and thought. The result is, I hope, a delicate balance of romanticism and discipline."'- The performance
almost entirely consists of renderings of the theme with various amendments, interpolations and shifts in

accompanying rhyflims, styles and harmonies. The piece itself has a rather uneasy balance between sentiment
and caution, or reserve, and perhaps hints at the increasing complexity of Evans's feelings for his wife in a

relationship which at the time was under stress and going through changes. Only the final chords suggest
unalloyed beauty and love in what may be a final attempt to resolve the equivocation that riddles the whole
performance. As if aware of this, Evans throws himself into Cy Coleman's 'I Love My Wife' (tlie opener for
Bill Evan
side two of the original \inyl release) and relives the intense high spirits found on many of the 1963 multi-
tracks. Tliere is no doubting his mood here, nor his ample inspiration, but all this is disappointingly offset by
his inability to find a fresher musical framework into which to pour all this creativity. Even the dashing,
breathtakingly executed and tecfinically impressive obbligato running behind the melody is borrowed from
Theme From
his 'Love Sparlaciis. re-cast into this new mould. This robs the performance of the impact it

would have made had it been the first time - or even the second or third - that Evans had come up with i
these ideas, phrases and conceptions.
'Remembering The Rain', a final Evans original, uses his favourite vamps and a dignified, melancholy
melody over chord changes which at one point suggest that part at least of the underlying harmonic structure
originated long ago in Berkeley Square when nightingales sang there. Once again Evans sticks more or less
to theme and variations. Much more expansive is his treatment of a Cole Porter tune, 'After You'. Evans said
he had been introduced to its fascinations by pianist Pat Smythe: "The melody line is unique and unusually
graceful. Listen to the way the phrases end, each time climbing up farther It's masterful."'^ Evans takes the
exposition in the key of G, modulating up to C for the solos, and takes one of his most cogent single-line

flights over the charging two-handed rhythm of the first piano track. The central section is short (just one
verse) before heading back to a full treatment of the ame in Evans's most cod-Rachmaninov fashion. Then
comes tlie resolution through a sequence of diminished chords that is pure Bud Powell (though Powell
himself never recorded the piece). This is a pleasing tribute in passing to two of his early heroes.

Evans claimed that he rarely played anything in the key of D. He found the resonances and overtones
inherent to E and A somehow more appealing. However, he had fallen in love with Duke Ellington's

'Reflections In D', a composition inescapably in D. It had first appeared on Ellington's piano trio album made
for Capitol in 1952, The Duke Plays Ellington, though Evans discovered it on a Tony Bennett recording. His

comments to Nat Hentoff about the piece suggest that he was not aware of Ellington's own recording, but
his interpretation sticks closely to the original conception. "I can't imagine," said Evans, "something this

beautiful not being better known if it had been around for a long time."" This is another of those melodies
that Evans clearly loves so much that he sees little need to improve - or improvise - upon it. "I don't do a

lot to this song," he admitted, "because it stands so much on its own that I pretty much play the melody
throughout and interpolate some voicings and things like that ... There are some things you just don't
[change]."" The unadorned eloquence of the piece lends itself to the Evans touch and treatment, allowing
the pianist that special combination of passion and restraint that so often delivered him (and his listeners) the

greatest musical dividends.

Evans pronounced himself happy with New Conversations - a rarity, since he was hypercritical of his

own efforts once they were released on record. The album was impeccably produced and packaged, with a

special extra page inserted of the album notes by Hentoff. Evans mentioned later to Mike Hennessey that his

only disappointment with the record came when Warners failed to get behind promotion and distribution on
its release later in 1978. Considering it was the artist's first release on the label, if not his first recording for it,

he was entitled to be disappointed. After all, Warners was (and is) a huge presence in music and was moving
into jazz in an ambitious way. If it could not score a sales and marketing success with one of its major jazz
signings, then the immediate future of the company's jazz investment was surely in question.

The rest of Evans's professional life was continuing in good order. He worked steadily during 1978 with

hisnew trio, playing at Carnegie Hall in June accompanied by Johnson and Jones, then took off for the

summer festival circuit in Europe, appearing at Nice, Montreux, Nimes and Terni in Italy before finishing the

tour with an appearance at Middlesborough football ground in England in late July. For almost the whole of
this European season Evans had saxophonist Lee Konitz with him, while at Nice, Stan Getz and trombonist
Curtis Fuller sat in for a set on the fourth night of the festival, along with Christian Escoude on guitar. At

Montreux the guest was different again; this time it was Evans's old friend Kenny Burrell. Konitz came back
to the trifj's tour in Nimes and Terni. while in Middlesborough just the trio appeared. At the end of this

extensive jaunt around the major summer festivals Evans had successfully integrated his new bass player,
 NEW HOPE, LAST HOPE: THE FINAL TRIO 1978-1979

Marc Johnson, and was picking up plaudits from his ever-appreciative European audiences and
commentators. His loyal Japanese fans were also rewarded by a visit this year. Back in the US in August 1978
he found his critical rating had continued to rise, with his placing in this year's Down Beat International Critics'
Poll edging up to third, below Cecil Taylor and McCoy Tyner.
This critical rehabilitation fitted with the general course of jazz at this time. Jazz-rock ftision had begun
to run out of steam and the avant-garde players of the previous decade had generally dispersed to seek ever
more disparate goals. Some younger European musicians - for example Jan Garbarek and John Surman -
were making their presence felt internationally. Many of these, along with a fresh crop of acoustic players in
the US such as Richie Beirach and the phenomenally successful Keith Jarrett, were in part using Evans's

theoretical and stylistic innovations of a decade or more ago to help build their own approach to jazz and
improvised music. Others like Sun Ra, David Murray and The Art Ensemble of Chicago on tlie more avant
side of the music were finding new sources of inspiration, not by pushing forward into previously unimagined
sonic areas, as some of the Iate-1960s radicals had done, but by reinterpreting jazz's past and following the
various strands of a fascinating hybrid. This would later lead to a chain reaction of artistic reassessments
which continue to this day on both sides of the Atlantic.

For Evans the simple fact was that, like Sonny Rollins, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie and a select few
others, he had survived, physically and musically, where so many others had simply not made it. This group
of older innovators was entering a period when at least one generation of musicians who had grown up
under their spell had now moved into prominence - and had used that prominence to pronounce their debt
to and respect for their still-active heroes. Evans along with his surviving peers was ripe for rehabilitation,

and his enduring strategy of taking care of the music above all else had begun to bear fruit. Indeed, had he
lived longer, Evans would have enjoyed a long career at the peak of his profession as a recognised giant in
tlie music. But by the late 1970s he had already begun to push the personal self-destruct buttons that would
ensure his early death. His long dependency on heroin, as well as the attendant illnesses associated with such
addiction, had already seriously harmed his long-term health and inflicted irreparable damage. In the early
1970s Evans had switched to methadone, a cheaper synthetic dmg intended to "cure" heroin addicts. It had
limited the appalling long-term impact of heroin and airested the speed of his deterioration, allowing him to
eat and live more normally than he had done for many years.

But in tire last years of his life Evans discovered the kick of another expensive and damaging drug,
cocaine. At the time, coke was fast assuming the role of "fashionable" dnjg for America's monied classes and
their wannabe hangers-on. The effect on Evans's appearance gradually became more marked: the weight he
had gained slowly dropped away, his features again became gaunt. This self-destructive pursuit of drugs also
led to a crisis in his second marriage and to him living alone when not out on the road with his trio. 'Whatever
the tensions surfacing in his relationship with his wife Nenette, he must have found it hard to bear the
necessary distance this created between him and his son Evan, regardless of his behaviour or condition. There
aremany stories of Evans "out there" on cocaine on social occasions in his later years, none affording him
much in the way of dignity.
In public, Evans made light of tliis impossible balancing act, saying to interviewer Lee Jeske, "I tliink I'm
more satisfied to be myself now tlian ever before. You know, in the Bible says you change every seven it

years, and I've gone back and looked at that in my life and I can see, within a year on either side, where
major changes have taken place. I'm 50 now, so that's the beginning of a new period ... I have a family, a
young son and a 12-year-old stepdaughter, and that probably has something to do with it. Part of it is that

I'm at a certain period in my life where I'm coming into a good period of creativity and, I don't know, just

a freshness."'*^ This of course glossed over his private life, but then Evans had every right to do that. He had
a career that he was trying to control, a group to run, commitments to meet, and professional engagements
to fulfil. He picked up on the collaborative ideas that had dominated his recent European tour and, concerned
about recording with a trio that was by no means permanent, opted for another quintet album. This time,

however, he would include pieces arranged for different sized ensembles, from duet up to quintet. The guests
Bill E vans
in the front line were Belgian harmonica-player and guitarist Jean "Toots" Thielemans, composer of the
popular Bluesette', plus the young saxophonist Larry Schneider. Eliot Zigmund was asked to guest on drums.
The session took place in New York City on the last two days of October and the first two of November,
1978. Evans was excited because, as he explained later to Brian Hennessey, he had long been an admirer of
Thielemans. "Toots and I talked several times about doing this album, but Toots is always so busy," Evans
said. "He is the only harmonica player in jazz and I just love his whole feeling for music and melody. How
he does nobody will ever know. I have stopped trying to figure it oul."'^ Evans had heard Larry Schneider
it,

playing with the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Big Band in Tokyo. "I made a mental note that I'd like to do an album
with him and, fortunately, when the time came, he agreed."'"
The repertoire for the Affinity LP was drawn from wide sources, from Michel Legrand (The Other Side
Of Midnight') to Paul Simon (I Do It For Your Love') and Evans himself (another run at 'Blue In Green' with
Thielemans in soulful mood). Other material includes a Thielemans favourite The Days Of 'Wine And Roses'
and the standard, 'Body And Soul'. Generally, Thielemans's unabashedly emotional playing and his forthright
approach spurs Evans into some of his most assertive piano playing on record. Evans's natural inclination to
follow the lead on a quintet session gave him space to capitalise on Thielemans's confident projection. The
harmonica and (electric) piano duet together on 'The Other Side of Midnight' and 'Jesus' Last Ballad', the latter

track, according to drummer Eliot Zigmund. only being a duet by accident. After a number of takes, he said,
"I eventually just got up and went out and they ended up recording without drums. I just needed a break,
. . .

and they finally got a take that [Evans] was happy with."'' Thielemans is at his most persuasive on 'Body And
Soul', using his fiill, lush tone, and Evans is strikingly imaginative in his accompaniment. Saxophonist
Schneider plays warmly in his solo spots on 'Sno' Peas' and 'Days Of "Wine And Roses', while his doubled
tenor and flute work on 'Tomato Kiss' - where Evans is once more on electric piano - is a highlight on a
generally satisfying, committed session. Kept in the background throughout, Johnson and Zigmund loyally

do their duty and deliver an unerring musical base for the others.
Just four days later Evans recalled this session with warmth while being interviewed by Marian
McPartland for her radio show recorded in New York for the National Public Radio network. With a piano to

hand, Evans was asked to play 'This Is All I Ask' by Gordon Jenkins, and he mentioned that he'd never played
it before the Affinity session. His performance in duet with McPartland echoed the legato phrasing which is

a trademark of the Thielemans approach to melody. The interview - one of a great many McPartland has
made with a huge array of jazz talent over the years, from Alice Coltrane to Dizzy Gillespie and Jay McShann

to Roy Eldridge - is justly celebrated in jazz circles as one of the most intelligent and sympathetic discussions
on jazz and the business of creating jazz.-"

She persuaded Evans to disclose many of his theories, ideas and musical practises and demonstrate them
on piano, either solo or in duet with her. Some of his most revealing statements came in spontaneous
response to something she had just played. It is a fascinating portrait of a totally committed musician who
thinks unusually deeply about the art in which he is involved. It is also an unerring portrait of the complex
and vulnerable character behind that rigorous intelligence. McPartland later commented, "I think Bill was
surprised by my playing. I felt very proud of that show with him. I don't think he realised I was such a keen
student of his - I know all his tunes ... I learned all the ballads like 'Time Remembered' and 'B Minor "Waltz'.

Some of his things are quite hard, like 'Twelve Tone Tune' I'TTT'l. I love to play them, they're wonderful
tunes and so unusual in structure "-'
That Evans responded to such genuine warmth and interest is clearly

evident. The recording is now part of the Fantasy boxed set of Evans recordings.
In the opening month of 1979 Evans finally found a permanent replacement for Eliot Zigmund. Guitarist

Joe Puma, a friend with whom Evans had recorded many years ago, tipped him off about the young drummer
in his trio at the time, Joe LaBarbera, telling Evans he was unusually receptive and musical. LaBarbera came
from a family steeped in music, his father giving both him and his brother, saxophonist Pat, their first lessons.

Joe studied at Berklee College in Boston and first made an impact with Woody Herman before joining Chuck
Mangione's band in the mid 1970s. Evans would have heard him with Mangione at the 1975 Monterey

I
 NEW HOPE, LAST HOPE: THE FINAL TRIO 1978-1979

Festival. LaBarbera remembered, "Joe Puma and Bill had been pals for years, and used to go to tlie racetrack
together. I had been doing Monday nights at Jimmy Weston's with Joe and Bennie Leighton. When Bill and

Helen [Keane] finally caught up with me, I was at Hopper's playing with Toots Thielemans. The next day I

got a call to come down to the Vanguard and audition. Bill's audition process, like many bandleaders from
the 1960s, was to play the Vanguard for a week and invite different guys in on different nights . . . For me, it

fit like a glove immediately. Bill remarked, 'Have you been checking out the book? It just feels right.' I just

had a feel for what he wanted, and it seemed to work."-^

LaBarbera was quickly given the oppommity to join on a more permanent basis: he accepted and
found himself immediately out on the road with the trio. His hopes were high and ambitions unlimited. As
he explained, "My opinion was that the only stigma placed on a member of Bill's band was on the bass
player, because of Scott's legacy. Bill had great drummers over the years, but they never shaped what the
trio was doing the way Scott did. I wanted to be Scott LaFaro ... I wanted to have that thing going with
Bill in every possible way, to have some of that thing for me. I found out later that Bill had no
preconceived ideas of what you should do ... He was definitely not looking for people to emulate his

earlier groups. "^^ Daimmer LaBarbera and bassist Marc Johnson quickly began to make their mark together
on the music in their own enthusiastic and characteristic ways. The final luxuriant bloom of Evans's jazz-

trio creativity was about to appear.

 "

C HA P TE R 16

Suicide
is Painless
(1979-1980)
"SOMEBODY AT THE END OF THEIR CAREER MAKING SERIOUS
MUSICAL STRIDES IS ALMOST UNHEARD OE GUYS USUALLY ELAME
OUT, BUT ALL OE A SUDDEN HE WENT LNTO OVERDRIVE.
PIANIST MARC COUPLAND ON EVANS'S FINAL CREATIVE EFFORTS

January 1979 the new Evans/Johnston/LaBarbera group played a

Inconcert at The Maintenance Shop in Anies, Iowa, which was taped, filmed
and broadcast by the local Public Radio & TV station. The TV broadcast
was later transferred to video in US and the audio has been made
the
available privately as well. The video shows a very different Evans from the
one seen on BBC television back in 1964. Fifteen years later, Evans now talks

to the audience and even scolds a rather below-par piano. During the recital

the new group members are eased into a mixture of old favourites, such as
'Who Can I Turn To', 'Someday My Prince Will Come', 'Nardis' and 'My
Romance', and newer additions to the Evans repertoire like 'Gary's Theme',

In Norway in August 19S0, and ucry near the end

184
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Bill E vans
1 Do It For Your Love' and Theme From M.A.S.H.'. Evans slowly warms himself up and gives a professional
shov\' tliat brings togetlier group and audience. His evident excitability and occasional waspish comments to

those present may have been spurred as much by cocaine as by genuine ill-humour.
The Iowa gig was part of an extensive tour of North America planned for spring 1979, but it was
interrupted by the news of the suicide of Evans's brother Harry in April. As had been the case following the
deaths of bassist Scott LaFaro and Evans's partner Ellaine, Evans cancelled his immediate commitments and
grie\ed privately. He had always been close to his brother and so the loss would have been hard to bear

even without the added distress of suicide. He spent the rest of that spring away from the public.
By July 1979 Evans was ready to resume engagements, despite his now visibly deteriorating physical
condition. Paradoxically, he was playing with more inner forcefulness and purpose than at any time since his
earliest years on the jazz scene. He used the summer jazz programme in New York to ease himself and his

trio back into playing, providing the framework to begin preparing for the next album for Warners, We Will

Meet Again. This was a quintet date featuring a conventional front line with the brilliant and highly lyrical

trumpeter Tom Harrell and saxophonist Larry Schneider. Made on four consecutive days in early August, it

included a new (solo) version of tlie title piece, written and recorded two years earlier by the previous trio
for You Must Believe In Spring, which still languished unissued on the Warner shelves. The rear of the new

record's sleeve carried the line: "In loving dedication to my late brother, Harry L. Evans 1927-1979." The

photograph of Evans chosen to accompany this dedication shows him smiling warmly, but also makes
painfully clear his alarming physical decline.

Evans had first used saxophonist Schneider on Affinity alongside Toots Thielemans, having come across
him some years earlier. "Oh, he's just marvellous," Evans told interviewer Lee Jeske. "I had heard him with
the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Band ... in Tulsa and I was so impressed that . . . later I told Helen [Keane] to try

and locate him. It was a matter, again, of a musician impressing himself upon me."' While Schneider may
have impressed Evans with his abilities, his playing on We Will Meet Again is competent but undistinguished.
His light tone and legato phrasing on both soprano and tenor echo Wayne Shorter and John Coltrane in a

way that was fashionable at the time. He improvises tidily, but the ideas and their expression are not arresting.
This is a shame considering the thought that Evans had clearly put into the record and the natural lyrical

warmth of Harrell, the other front-line player

The two horns phrase well together on themes throughout We Will Meet Again, especially where
Schneider is on soprano, and this must have pleased Evans, who had written a good deal of the material.
Most of the pieces were there to fit the very personal nature of the album, which alluded to many of the
people who had been close to Evans in his life. Thus 'Comrade Conrad', from 1971 and dedicated to a friend
who had met a premature death, kicks off the album as a quintet piece. It is followed by a caressing but
oddly melancholy ballad, 'Laurie', written for Evans's new girlfriend, Laurie Verchomin; his own solo on this

ballad is short but deeply romantic. The other new tune, 'Only Child', is underpinned by a sadness that hints

at deeper and more fundamental emotions bordering on grief, so slowly does its rubato-dominated melodic
line unfurl. The combination of tender love and loss which threads through the record underlines the
dedication to his brother Harry, but here it is perhaps directed more toward his child, Evan, now at some
distance due to Evans's estrangement from Nenette.
Older Evans tunes are revisited. Five' was first recorded in 1956, while 'Peri's Scope' dates from 1959
and refers to his partner of that time, Peri Cousins. Both pieces are h.\\\ of hope and creative vigour, sounding
as if they are from another life - which in many ways they were. As with the 1977-recorded LP You Must
Believe In Spring, with its dedications to his long-time partner Ellaine and to Harry Evans, the pianist was here
making some candid public pronouncements upon some very personal feelings, old and new. 'We Will Meet
Again', performed as a trio outing on Spring, is reinterpreted on this new album by Evans alone, in very
different personal circumstances now, and its tender line is full of regret. Slotted as the final track on the
album, it is a heartbreaking way to end what is clearly a very personal record. The fir.st side of the original
vinyl relea.se of W't Will Meet Again was ended by another solo piano piece, 'For All We Know (We May
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

Never Meet Again)' by Sam Lewis and Fred Coots, the only non-Evans piece and an even more nat;ed
admission of defeat and emotional devastation. Everybody Digs Bill Evans hackin 1958 had offered the same

idea of bookended short solo piano pieces - but the circumstances then allowed them to be filled with hope
and spirit. They were songs of innocence and of experience, and Evans, a well-read man, would have been
aware of the parallel with William Blake's ideas.

The self-deprecatingly titled 'Bill's Hit Tune' (once more containing a play on words) on We Will Meet
Again was modelled on Michel Legrand's techniques of marrying harmonic and melodic development,
especially through cycles of repetition and variation. It is played unaccompanied by Evans on acoustic piano,
then by the quintet (where Evans switches to electric keyboard, a pattern he uses repeatedly on the record).
But it remains uneasy and rather leaden, for the melodic fragment that Evans takes for a harmonic tour is of
insufficient weight to sustain interest through what is a rather long-winded exposition. Despite the
imperfections and flat spots of We Will Meet Again, it amounts to a heavyweight emotional experience and
is virtually flawless in execution, so the Grammy it won in 1980 should have come as little surprise to Evans

and his record company.

These were not the only new pieces that Evans had come up with since the death of his brother. He
had also composed a dignified, moving, yet strangely elliptical ballad, 'Letter To Evan', dedicated to the

adored son with whom he no longer shared a home. It has a close musical relationship to parts of 'Only Son'.
The first surviving rendition of this bittersweet piece comes from a radio-broadcast recording of the trio's

September 27th 1979 concert in Buenos Aires, Argentina. LJnaccompanied, Evans plays it free from metre,
emphasising the intimacy of iLs emotional message and the deeply personal nature of iLs creation, managing
to combine the apparent contradictions of the bitter and the sweet, the public and the private. Its first phrases
recall Debussy-like classical composition techniques - whole-tone scales, parallel 4ths and 5ths - but it

develops into another of Evans's show-type tunes, full of sentiment, and could equally have been written by
Leonard Bernstein. As a musical document it carries the force of 'Turn Out TTie Stars' or 'Re: Person I Knew'
but addresses different emotions and impulses. Evans was well aware of the difficulties of playing solo. "I
would like some day to play more solo," he said at the time. "I don't feel I have a great scope or dimension
as a solo pianist because I've never really worked as a solo pianist. But I do like to play solo. It's kind of a
special feeling of communion and meditation you can't get any other way."'
Elsewhere in this remarkable Argentine concert Evans performs a chilling rendition of 'Turn Out The
Stars'. The trio combines for a medium-tempo investigation that renews the bleakness and despair at the heart
of the piece, with Evans's impatient rushed phrases forcing the trio into distracted and restless probing. For
some time Evans had taken to playing this tune as if oblivious to its deeper layers of meaning: that approach
has been completely overturned. In the aftermath of his brother's death there is no easy peace to be found
here, even in the awful, beautiful flourish of pianistic arabesque at the song's conclusion.
By this time Evans was guiding Johnson and LaBarbera very firmly indeed, their role as accompanists
more clearly defined than when Gomez and Zignumd had been with him. It was as if his need to express
had grown larger, his compulsion for statement and articulation having outstripped his earlier insistence on
continual dialogue and conversation with his peers. In this last trio the spotlight was unquestionably on his

artistry. Evans may have brought this about in an entirely unselfconscious way, but it was still true: tlie

urgency he was feeling could only be adequately expressed if he was given the perfect sympathetic platform
by his partners from which to do so. Johnson and LaBarbera were from a younger generation than Evans and
therefore not his natural peers in the way that LaFaro, Motian, Israels or even Gomez had been. But Evans
had chosen well: his new musicians were so inaiitive in their listening that they were with him in every
nuance and were prepared to follow, whether the tune was a hushed ballad or a pushy mid-tempo swinger.
There is no doubt that Evans revelled in the support he was getting. And he was acutely conscious of his
own trend toward concentrated effort and extroversion. "With Eddie Gomez I could reach back and pull
things out blind that he would know," Evans said, "but it's a little more limited when you change personnel
... I suppose we go through periods, and I feel that I'm more outgoing. The last year or so especially I feel
Bill Evans
like I'xe been coming into a period of greater expressivity - more outgoing with a little more emotional scope
and a little more projection."^

Its unfortunate tliat tlie recording quality of tlie Argentine concert tape, while acceptable - and far better

dian an>tliing on offer in The Secret Sessions - is not ideal. The piano is very much to the fore and the bass
and drums are at times engulfed by an often very busy Evans. There is also a distinct lack of upper
frequencies, so the cymbals and drums are muffled and the bass has a dullness not natural to Johnson's
playing. Similarly, tliere is a lessening of brilliance in the piano's overall sound. A more balanced recording
^ould have given us a rather different perspective on the music produced in Buenos Aires. As it is, one has
to make aural adjustments to "re-construct" the sound. But there is little doubt that it was a special night.

These sonic problems are largely absent where Evans is unaccompanied, as on 'I Loves You Porgy'. This is

an extraordinary performance that rushes from an agonisingly slow, pellucid and poignant statement to an
improvised section tliat is reckless in its haste and abandon. It is impossible to determine at diis distance

whether this was due to the drugs or his emotional imperatives. The improvisation is spectacular but rather
manic; it is certainly not at all appropriate to the overall meaning of the piece. It ends the way it began, with
one of Evans's more elaborate double-helix spirals into the instrument's upper register.

'Minha' is performed as a duet with Marc Johnson, the pair sounding more like a Paul Bley duo than at

any other time in Evans's career, with Johnson chasing the pianist's capricious musical shadow throughout.
'Someday My Prince 'Will Come' is the occasion for another carve-up of an old favourite, Evans pushing the
tempo from the outset, again almost manic in his pursuit of speed and excitement. Johnson's solo work on
this track demonstrates diat he had yet to reach the supreme eloquence of Eddie Gomez in his last years with
Evans, but his section work is completely at one with piano and drums. LaBarbera goes along with Evans's
determination to push and harass the piece to its end; by then it is in tatters, the audience in a state of

excitement, and the players exhilarated. Never intended as a hostage to posterity, it doesn't hold up too well
now on (unofficial) CD as a recorded performance, but the elation generated is almost tangible: it must have
been very exciting to witness.

In contrast to his approach two months later in Paris, Evans's treatment of Tadd Dameron's 'If You Could
See Me Now' is affectionate but not particularly respectful, almost as if he is frustrated by the constraints

imposed by the delicate balance inherent to the song's melodic and harmonic structure. No such constraints
apply to 'Nardis', which starts with a halting, mystical treatment using harmonic devices perhaps absorbed
from Debussy's second book of Preludes. It then develops into a long, wide-ranging solo-piano ramble
through the song's harmonic framework, Evans probing at will into alterations of the voicings which bring
out a considerably darker portrait than diat initially sketched all those years ago for Cannonball Adderiey.
This section is full of obsessive, reiterative music, occasionally disairbing in the manner of some Bud Powell
performances, seemingly too close to the limits of normal behaviour and making listeners uneasily aware that

they are witnessing some private musical ritual: an inner confrontation with personal demons rather than an

artist's outward gesture to the larger world.

This is fascinating in its own right and offers a radically different portrait of Evans the musician. This is

not the sensitive, reflective musical impressionist whose output might be most likened to a series of

watercolours. Here is someone painting in primary colours and with large, urgent, vibrant strokes upon the
musical canvas. The opening Evans solo on 'Nardis' lasts just under eight minutes and issome of die fiercest
playing of his entire career, with insistent, jabbing left-hand rhythms, reminiscent of McCoy Tyner, and
turbulent, frequendy jagged and rough-hewn right-hand patterns. Also like McCoy Tyner, he is using the
entire span of the keyboard, in contrast to his reliance earlier in his career a much narrower compass.
on
This in itself opens out his sound and his musical thinking, allowing .so many more places for his fingers to
go during the construction of a phrase or a pattern of plirases. 'What is conspicuously absent throughout this

assault on 'Nardis' is any resort to Evans's own pet musical devices and cliches: he is pushing into new ground
and the excitement is palpable. Sliding finally into a re-.statement of the theme, Evans pulls down the level
and reins in the torrent of sound. His entry into the tune is the cue for the trio to combine, though piano and
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

dnjms quickly fall out. Good but unremarkable bass and daim solos follow, bringing the performance to a
conclusion after 16 minutes. By then the extraordinary and unexpected unaccompanied piano introduction
is already a memory to be treasured in the overall performance.

Evans often said in the last year of his life that he thought his current trio, with lohnson and LaBarbera,
had the potential to be the best of his career, and that it was achieving different things to his previous groups.

He told Brian Hennessey, "This trio has the greatest potential of all, and I'm also feeling happier about my
own playing." He added: "I don't want to belittle any of the earlier trios but sometimes I don't think I was as
ready to lead the trio into better music. But now it's moving the same way as the original trio.'"* He may well
have felt that this group was following the path of his first, but the context was entirely different. Where the
first trio was much more a co-operative outfit, with Scott LaFaro often forceftilly influencing the directions

they would and would not take, this band was locked to the courses that Evans decided. LaFaro's role was

made explicit by pianists Andy LaVerne and Steve Kuhn in 1996 when they discussed a rehearsal tape of the
Evans/LaFaro unit. "It seems like Scotty is the one in charge," said LaVerne. "Oh, absolutely," replied Kuhn.
"Bill had the greatest respect for Scotty. And Bill being the kind of person he was ... with his personal

problems and all, if he really respected somebody he could let that person just go with it."'
The increased force and authority in Evans's own playing now and his dominance of his trio partners

allowed for a unity of purpose. This had been present before, but Evans was shrewd to allow it, given that
he was not always able to push forward into new musical areas - hence the becalmed nature of some of his
latter-day work. But there were clear new ingredients, uniformly tragic and unwanted, that impelled him to
these advances witli his final group: the suicide of his brother; his own awareness of his increasingly fragile

health; and his decision to allow himself to slide into full-blown cocaine addiction. The effects of cocaine are

well documented, and the incredible rush experienced by users can explain some of Evans's more driven,

hell-for-leather playing in his last year. He was finding new musical fields to explore and his group were
supporting him as never before - but it was all at a terrible personal price. Chick Corea, a long-time admirer

of the pianist, wrote about whose fine touch set a standard of silky, velvety
this. "Bill was the first jazz pianist

piano textures for me," said Corea. "Sunday At ne

Vanguard ... really opened me up to theVillage

possibilities of the piano trio playing other than the straight-ahead bebop approach I had tended toward . .

On a personal level. Bill's struggle witli dnjgs showed me up close how detrimental to one's physical health
and general nutrition taking drags can be."^

Back in Boston in October 1979, the Evans trio performed at Lulu White's club in preparation for another
jaunt to Europe prior to the end of the year. Before flying out of tlie country Evans had to take part in a

special concert given at his alma mater, the Southeastern Louisiana University, in early November, designed
to finally acknowledge in person his receipt in 1970 of the Distinguished Alumnus Award, the first of its kind
from the University. Evans, excited to be back at his alma mater, eagerly showed Johnson and LaBarbera
around the campus in the afternoon before the concert. A rather distant and unfocused recording later

released of the event provides a ready sense of the trio relaxing and enjoying themselves, with the darker
moods of other live performances of tlie time temporarily swept aside. Evans makes a short introductory
remark after die opener, 'Re: Person I Knew', saying: "I won't try to go into what kind of special night this is

for me. Suffice to say that at least two of the four years I spent here were two of the happiest years of my
life, and I owe a great deal to Southeastern and the faculty."' The most consistently enjoyable aspect of this
concert is the seamless interplay between the increasingly confident trio, an interplay that would further

blossom in tlie very near fuaire.

Later that November the trio demonstrated to European audiences its collective musical advances. In

addition to the usual visits to France, Britain, Germany and the Netherlands, the group went as far south-west
as Madrid in Spain where tliey appeared at the Balboa Jazz Club. Many of tlie appearances on tliat tour were
broadcast locally and have subsequently airned up on unofficial releases. They demonstrate that the cliche
about jazz as a music of the moment is no less applicable to the thoroughly integrated and professional Evans
trio of late 1979: the various sets and concerts range from the inspired to the mundane and the mediocre.
Bill Evans
FominateK', one of the inspired concerts, on November 26th at L'espace Pierre Cardin in Paris, was recorded
!:)> ORTF and later prepared for release by Elektra Musician, a newly-created jazz division of Warner-Elektra-
Atlantic. Helen Keane said, "In the course of Bill Evans's performing career, tliere were three places he
enjoyed playing most outside of the United States; Japan, Brazil and at ORTF in Paris. At the time of this Paris

concert. Bill, Marc and Joe had been togedier for about ten montlis, during which time Bill had become
increasingly entlnusiastic and excited about die potential of the group. 1 believe this inspired performance
reflects his entliusiasm and his feelings about the trio he described as 'very much connected to the first trio'.'*

The Paris Concert Edition One and Edition Two, as the LPs would be titled, came from a performance
not designed for recording and they were not released during Evans's lifetime (they appeared in 1983 and
1984). But Evans knew about the tapes, was happy for Keane to edit them and would have been satisfied

with the results. Tliere was nothing innovative about the repertoire, which was the usual admixture of new
and old favourites. 'Letter To Evan' slotted in alongside 'Nardis' and 'Quiet Now', and virtually every phase
of his career as a leader was represented. The three men achieved a rare degree of unity in ensemble,
accompaniment and solo settings. Marc Johnson's choice of notes is often closer to Chuck Israels than to Scott
LaFaro, and his own personality emerges as distinctly separate from those players and from Eddie Gomez.
Joe LaBarliera continues to develop the recent methods of Evans drummers toward more assertive and
dynamic playing, bringing a greater degree of contrast and pure excitement to a tiio which had, in the past,

sometimes erred on the side of caution to the point of preciousness.

Evans's own approach continued to develop, although he was still switching between earlier and late
incarnations of his very personal style. On Edition One's 'Quiet Now' his recent concern with expression
tlirough concentrated means comes to the fore, often through repetition of the theme and harmonies with
progressive minor modifications, emphases and displacements. The piece builds considerably through this

technique, even in tlie absence of any particularly propellant drumming. 'Noelle's Theme' is an
unaccompanied piano outing, rhapsodic in nature and execution, and cast in a style that Evans might have
used at any time in the past 15 or more years. 'My Romance', by contrast, introduces a note of stress which
is much more typical of these later performances. It starts, as it had in Buenos Aires, with a solo Evans
introduction, and slides into a brisk trio invention which is followed by a drum solo. The exit from this is at

double-tempo and flies in a way never documented by the first Evans trio or, indeed, any previous Evans
group. These extreme tempos had simply not been touched upon, and Evans gave the credit for tliis

development to LaBarbera. "In the first trio," he said, "we experimented with changes of pace - making a
new tempo out of a sub-division of the previous tempo. Now, in "My Romance', Joe is in charge of things
and, after his break, he can take it up or down in pace as he desires."'

'I Loves You Porgy', which opened the second side of the original vinyl release of Edition One, offers
an opportunity to examine Evans's development through his approach to a single song over a long period
of time. This and 'My Romance' had been staples of the original trio's nightclub sets, but here 'Porgy' becomes
a vehicle for a long and discursive solo investigation in which Evans continually prods and pulls at his

material as if impatient to make something new from it. He is unafraid to follow his own musical inclinations
and logic as he pursues ideas and motives through tlie changes, relentlessly re-addressing phrases over a
shifting harmonic base - much as Thelonious Monk had been doing for decades and McCoy Tyner was doing
at this time in his own high-octane style. "The thing about Bill that I've always felt is tliat he's one of the few
that have maintained a certain continuous line of integrity and performance over the past 20 to 30 years,"
.said piani.st Richie Beirach in mid 1980, while Evans was still alive. "He's never really deviated from what he
started to do, and he's received a lot of criticism for that. There are other people like that, like McCoy, who
just do what they do really well and keep doing it, and grow very slowly, instead of coming out with new
things every couple of years. And I really respect Bill for his incredible staying power [inl the long race."'"

"Up With The Lark' again returns us to the interplay, tlie broken, short phrasing and the circumscribed
ideas of mid-period Evans. 'While it is a competent performance it is not a memorable one, whereas 'Minha'
receives a wholly engaged (and engaging) rhapsodic caress from Evans and Johnson, working faultlessly in
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

tandem. Edition Two preserves this balance between old and new, primarily between pensive introspection
- as on 'Letter To Evan', a sombre solo piano interpretation in his most romantic manner — and more up-
tempo, spirited workouts such as '34 Skidoo' which closed side one of the original LP. The emphasis on
Edition Two is decidedly darker. Side two opens with 'Laurie', played with great intensity in classic jazz-ballad

style and stretching to just a few seconds short of eight minutes. The rest of the side is devoted to the "event"
that 'Nardis' had by then become, with Evans shifting the mood, if not the intensity, of his own solo spot.
The darkest moments of the version from Buenos Aires may be missing, but Evans still manages to create an
intense and substantially new extemporised performance from this old favourite.
In Paris he continued the imperious and authoritative form of the Argentine date, confirniing the anival

of his new trio to the outside world. Some six months later Evans would underline how excited he was about
the music he was making with his newly perfected group in an inter\'iew with Jim Aikin. "You can put three
musicians together that you predict will make it work, and it will fall flat on its face," said Evans. "It's very

difficult to find tlie right chemistry. It's almost karmic. And I feel tliat the trio I have now is karmic, in that
the whole thing had to evolve the way it did ... I believe in a steady group. I believe in a group where tlie

people are right for the group, where they believe in the music, and tliey're responsible, and you stay

together. That way, the music grows in ways that you don't even realize."" The trio remained in Europe until

the week before Christmas 1979, at one point joining up once more with Toots Thielemans, as half of a club

set at Laren in the Netherlands was taken up with an enjoyable combination of forces on such favourites as
'Bluesette', ''What Is This Thing Called Love?' and 'The Days Of 'Wine And Roses'.
Back in America as the year closed, Evans must have been aware of the contrast between his status at

home and in the countries he'd just visited. In Europe Evans was lauded as an important and special player
in the larger musical world; in the US he mostly functioned as a leading musician on the jazz-club circuit.

Published evidence speaks of an unsettled jazz scene in America and of Evans's muted role within it, at least

in the minds of tliose who voted in popularity polls. The Down Beat Readers' Poll for 1979 found him
managing 15th position - the last entry - in the Hall of Fame listing with just 48 votes, while he failed to
appear at all in tlie Jazz Musician of tlie Year list, in which Charles Mingus triumphed posthumously after his

much-publicised collaboration with Joni Mitchell. Nor did the trio rank anywhere in Jazz Group, which saw
Weather Report at the top and The Art Ensemble Of Chicago at number two. In the acoustic piano poll Evans
was placed sixth, after Cecil Taylor and just ahead of Monty Alexander, while he tied at tenth in the electric

piano list. Undaunted, Evans entered the new decade in typical style, playing club dates in and around New
York and planning special events with liis manager, though his energy was beginning to falter as the drugs
took a greater grip and he began skipping meals.
One of those special events occun'ed in April 1980, a duet meeting with Jolm Lewis at Harvard
University. This took place after a typically sprightly trio set with Johnson and LaBarbera where they tear

through 'Someday My Prince 'Will Come' and Evans displays almost manic intensity on medium-tempo pieces
and ballads alike. The set culminates in another compelling Nardis' as the pianist quite consciously evokes
the styles of Tristano and Powell in particular, using an almost savage energy and rhytlimic aggression that

few unaccustomed to his late music would credit him with. It is fitting, then, that at points in his improvisation

he also invokes the harmonic methods and rhythmic drive of Bela Bartok. This performance particularly
struck pianist Marc Coupland, who years later commented, "All of a sudden he's doing this serious harmonic
exploration, and all sorts of innovation seems to be happening. Although it was clearly stUl Bill - maybe
because he knew he didn't have a lot of time left - at that point he leapfrogged a lot of pianists and became
a vanguard force, musically, for the last couple of years of his life ... To have somebody at the end of his

career make some serious musical strides, that's almost unheard of Guys usually flame out . . . [but] all of a
sudden he went into overdrive."'-

After the interval at Harvard, Evans duetted with John Lewis (minus bass and drums) on 'Round
Midnight', 'But Not For Me' and Billie's Bounce'. Lewis's fertile, condensed but suggestive style proved an
effective foil for the more extravagant arabesques from Evans, typical of this last phase of his career. Round
Bill Evans
Midnight' in particular strikes a good balance, with Lewis's portentous simplicity meshing with Evans's urgent
baroque flourishes. Evans's solo on this time has tlie impact of a man who is desperate to play as much as
is possible in the time allotted, his intensity once again bordering on the manic. On 'But Not For Me' the
arrangement allows for a cleverly disguised theme statement from which Lewis emerges as a relaxed, playful
soloist. Under Evans's solo Lewis engages in stride passages reminiscent more of George Shearing's approach
to tlie left hand rather tlian say Teddy 'Wilson's or James P Johnson's: this performance is more pedestrian,
less inspired. Evans's comping for Lewis is curiously overplayed and busy, as if he is trying out the Art Tatum
method of accompaniment and simply overwhelming the soloist; his own solo comes at the listener like a

bolt out of a gun, so impatient is he to get started.

The final 'Billie's Bounce' is little more than an audience sop, for it is short and contains a bare minimum
of distracted improvisation over and above the arrangement. Evans also played on a composition performed
by the Harvard Jazz Orchestra that day, a curious and ultimately unsuccessful hybrid of Balinese scales, jazz-

tinged classical-orchestra writing and tepid improvisation through a set of variations that seem endless
because they are so mundane. The surviving tape shows Evans to be not over-familiar with or over-inspired
by the work, and he plays with little of the fire and drive found earlier with his trio and with Lewis.
Just over a month later Evans was once more at the 'Village 'Vanguard, moving in on May 27th and
finishing up on June 8th 1980. This was the occasion for his last Warner Brothers recording session, on the
final four nights of the residency. Evans has left eloquent testimony to his affection for Max Gordon's small
but legendary club in Greenwich Village, saying he felt "completely at home" at the 'Vanguard. "It's a good
club for listening," said Evans around this time. "It's a good club for feeling close to the people. Max Gordon
and I are old friends. [He] has created an atmosphere of relaxation. Musicians can drop in and out to say

hello. It's not a stiff policy where you have to get a pass to get in ... I hope the club goes on forever and
ever. They even have the same tables and chairs. I worked there first in '55 and nothing's changed. The only
thing that's changed is they put some stuff on the walls."'^

For Evans it was always a good idea to record at the 'Vanguard, so he was happy to assist with this

exhaustive recording of his current trio's The original idea was to release one or perhaps two single
output.
records from the stockpile of tapes. Evans and Keane together made a tentative identification of first-choice
tracks from the enormous amount of recorded music, but Evans's death would stall their release; in fact, they

would have to wait longer than anyone could have guessed at the time. The double-LP-length selection
agreed upon by Evans and Keane was issued for the first time over a decade later, and only after a six-CD
boxed set had been produced documenting almost a third of the selections recorded over the four nights.

Turn Out The Stars: The Artist's Choice was the "highlights" CD (never released on LP), and has its it

problems. Although the tracks were nominated by Evans, there was no final edit made nor sequence chosen
before his death, and neither was Helen Keane involved in its eventual production. The decisions fell to Jeff
Levenson and Bill Kirchner, with Matt Pierson acting as Executive Producer. What we have on the CD is an
approximation of Evans's wishes. LaBarbera remembered Evans's attitude to records and made it clear that

there would have been more changes had Evans lived long enough to see these recordings reach the market.

'He looked at his records as children," said LaBarbera, "and he always prepared mentally for a recording. He
had an idea of how he wanted to be represented, and he wanted the development of the trio to get across
... He believed in total preparation, rather than divine inspiration."^'' Marc Johnson's comments tlirow further

light on what may have emerged on the proposed double LP had it been issued at the time. "We played
'Nardis' at the end of every night," he recalled, "started with 'Re: Person I Knew' every night, [and] played
'My Romance' at the end of the first set. But some things, like 'Polka DoLs And Moonbeams' and 'But Not For
Me', he just threw in for the first time for the 'Vanguard date. He was also writing 'Laurie' and the new pieces
"'''
that we recorded at the 'Vanguard. In that last year, he was just motivated to create.
The single CD opens with 'Bill's Hit Tune'. It comes across more powerfully than did the studio version,

but still has a bothersome, repetitive theme which Evans tamcates here by inserting trio improvisation
between verses to improve the flow. It is an odd choice with which to begin the record. The set opener for
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

every night, 'Re: Person I Knew', is nowhere to be heard, a fate suffered by 'My Romance', as well as the two
"surprise" offerings mentioned by Johnson. 'Laurie' is here, as is 'Nardis', which rightly finishes the

programme, but it is difficult to believe that Evans, so proud of his new trio and its rapid development, would
have approved of his record company editing out two-thirds of the performance - the bass and drum solos.

They had made it on to the records of the award-winning Paris concert, so there is no artistic argument for
leaving them out here. Nor is there a problem with time restriction, with around 20 minutes of the resulting
CD unfilled: that would easily accommodate any version of 'Nardis' recorded at the Vanguard that summer
Still, the level of playing, and with it the level of concentration, is very high indeed. Every track contains
wonderful moments. 'My Foolish Heart' is tougher and more urgent than before, but does not shed its

vulnerability. There is also a beautiful aimbling set of arpeggios toward the end of Evans's solo that seems
destined never to end, and the listener hopes it never will, such is its sudden beauty. 'Turn Out The Stars'

carries a deal more of the Brahmsian clouds of romanticism in the unaccompanied opening verse before the
bass and drums arrive, and Evans continues his newly assertive, no-nonsense, harrying approach to this tune,

as if he can grieve no more and no deeper Like the old New Orleans front lines, they need to play "release"
music on the way back from the cemetery.
'Like Someone In Love' recalls many earlier gurus of the piano, including Powell and Rachmaninov, but
Evans's mood is predominantly up and pushing in a way that would have been beyond him in the early
1970s when his rhythm was suspect and he was trying to tease new things from old forms. Here he is busy,
leading from the front in every musical sense, but deep in the metre being set by bass and drums and
comfortable in the swing of the beat. It may well be the drugs talking, a brief high in bloodstream and brain,
but the overall effect is cathartic. As 'Two Lonely People' and 'Laurie' go past, one is struck by the fact that

Evans chose tunes for this release that are invariably positive. He was avoiding the dark corners and the
ruminative as if they had nothing to offer him any more. This was all adrenalin and flow and the future looked
good. Only he knew that there was no real fuaire, that his body was going too fast to hold to any tomorrow.
With a reasonable pause for 'I Do It For Your Love', we reach 'Nardis'. By this point the piece has become
a lengthy investigation, yet here the recording is absurdly truncated, fading out to end the disc. It makes a

nonsense for 'Nardis' to be represented this way given its now extended dramatic role in the live set.

It is perhaps instructive to listen to these tracks alongside the 1961 Village Vanguard recordings where
freshness and mutual inspiration were dominant. The original trio had then not been together very long;
neither had Evans been playing the repertoire into the ground. In the same way that playing with Miles Davis
had been pivotal in Evans's career, his first trio was the first full flowering of his own artistic vision, and it

happened to coincide with Scott LaFaro's extraordinary purpose and drive, constantly pushing and pulling
Evans into new and different impulses and directions. This last trio had a cohesion and mutual
interdependence equal to that of the first, even though it was utterly unlike it in character Now, Evans was
pushing everybody else. And while Johnson uses LaFaro as a model - as well as many contemporary bass
players - his rhythmic approach is different, and his tone and timbre mark out a bassist growing up in a

completely changed world for the jazz musician. A number of bassists had brought new levels of sustain and
drive to the double-bass: technical developments on the instrument, as well as their own musical
imaginations, meant they could now swap at will between staccato and sustained notes.
LaFaro lived during a time when jazz bassists were generally still using gut strings. This meant that there

was less opportunity to produce natural "sustain" for a note - a problem shared by the guitar until
amplification gave it a completely new lease of life in the 1940s. His technique was therefore built upon
assumptions about the physical nature of his instalment that no longer applied to bassists of Johnson's
generation. LaFaro sustained melodic ideas often by using techniques associated with classical acoustic

guitarists: rapid note repetition to sustain a melodic curve, especially in the upper registers; occasional
plunges into the instniment's lowest registers for dramatic effect; and long diatonic and scalar nms
interspersed with well-worked pauses and ostinato patterns, often on asyinmetric rhythms. LaFaro's timbre
was also much more biting, more conversational, than that produced by later bassists. Steel strings and the
Bill Evans
discreet use of amplification revokitionised the liassist's role in jazz witliin a decade of LaFaro's death, as the
work of Richard Da\'is, Eberliard Weber and Miroslav Vitous, among many otliers, demonstrated. In a sense,
and witlioiit diminishing Marc Johnson's talent or role, his impact on Evans's work was to make it sound
more like a well integrated but orthodox late-1970s piano trio. Dnjmmer Joe LaBarbera was even more
influential in this process. The LaFaro trio's damimer had been Paul Motian, a strong individualist who formed
his sts'le during the 1950s and based it on earlier models. His playing was imaginative, subtle and capable of
great sensitivity, but he could also drive the trio witli a spirit that suggested the sort of joyous rhythm
associated with Billy Higgins, even though their styles were quite separate.

LaBarlaera was a fine drummer and a perfect foil for Evans's late style, but like Johnson he'd grown up
in a different generation to Evans and brought a great deal of his admiration for people such as Elvln Jones,
Philly Joe Jones and even Tony 'Williams into tlie trio. His explosive musical character was right for Evans's

increasingly dramatic playing and it had a very marked effect on the trio's distinctive overall sound. Evans
was working in a context that was both post-Coltrane Quartet and post-Miles Quintet. Like his old boss Davis
he was. in a less pronounced way, playing his usual music but in a markedly different setting. Regardless of

tlie impact that cocaine and other substances may have had on him, he was delivering his message dressed
in new clothes, and it was revitalising his art, enabling him to loosen up and push as hard as he dare to fill

the stylistic spaces that naturally existed between himself and his younger colleagues. As he stretched in this

way Evans discovered a fulfilling new style for the trio as they aimed to meet at some ideal central musical

ground in each tune.

Immediate support for these ideas comes as one begins CDs of the boxed set
the trek through the sLx

of Turn Out The Stars. Derived from all four consecutive recorded nights at the 'Vanguard, they show the
trio breathing together on every piece, working hard to make them succeed, and moving through many
differentmoods and changes of pace - something notably absent from the single CD's highlights. Here is
a much more complete picture and one that captures the strange intimacy Evans routinely achieved when
recording at this club. There seems to be no track on these CDs where the listener is tempted to think that
Evans is simply going through the motions, as he clearly was on so many occasions up to the very end of
the 1970s. On CD 4, for example, he and the trio turn in sensitive but emotionally complex versions of 'If

You Could See Me Now' and 'Days Of Wine and Roses', but they also tear up 'Bill's Hit Tune', 'Nardis' and
'In Your Own Sweet Way', the latter once again becoming a celebration rather than a dismissal. Evans's

own excitement flames like petrol through these performances, his contributions full of adrenalin but
perfectly judged and beautifully executed.

CD 1 of the Turn Out The Stars box is largely taken up with music from the first night of recording, June
4th, and offers similar repertoire to most Evans live performances of the time - 'Bill's Hit Tune', 'Nardis', 'The
Two Lonely People', 'Laurie' and 'My Romance' - mixed with more recent arrivals like the pretty ballad

Tiffany', and 'Letter To Evan'. The ease and good humour suggest a trio on form and waiting for the spirit

to hit them. If the collection is a journey, then this marks the auspicious launch of the ship from tlie harbour,
with everyone expecting richer rewards as the vessel pushes toward its destination. For an example, compare
the two takes of 'If You Could See Me Now' on CDs 1 and 4. On 1 the piece is still settling uneasily between
a virtuosic Evans treatment and his standard trio-ballad interpretation; two days later, on CD 4, the two
approaches are ideally reconciled. Similarly 'Days of Wine and Roses' on CD 2, from June 5th, is lighter, less

intense and exuberant than on CD 4 from the following evening. The newer material - 'Tiffany', "Yet Ne'er
Broken' (another Evans anagram hiding a name) and 'Knit For Mary F' - tends to receive broadly similar

interpretations, with identifying characteristics developing during the days of recording. Other pieces such as
'Spring Is Here', a tune long in Evans's book, are given workouts diat include his originally arranged .structure

but with a mass of changed details. On such one-offs the other two memljers of the trio are noticeably less

assertive in their contributions, looking to Evans for the lead at all times.

On the last recorded night - Sunday June 8th (taking up CDs 5 and 6) - three sets were put down on
tape and the octane level was at a peak. "When the trio lit into its ensemble passages, the impact was not
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

unlike that of a roaring big-band," wrote pianist Harold Danko in his notes for the boxed set. "This exuberant,

extroverted and joyful approach extended to most of the material played, with Bill seeming, at times, to be
its most youthful member I can visualise how Bill dropped his hands onto the piano keys to get a full arm
weight into his sound. He sat much straighter on this gig, especially during the more demanding tempi, and
there was a wonderful, athletic sense to his performances."'''
This artistic energy is apparent on the very first selection from June 8th, an almost complete re-setting

of 'Polka Dots And Moonbeams' which so insidiously slides in the melody, camouflaged by Evans's consistent
harmonic reworkings, that it sneaks up on you before you realise it. There is a fecund richness of self-
accompaniment and arabesque that Evans works up from a lush harmonic basis. "His classical devices,"

Danko continued, "were as thoroughly absorbed as his jazz influences. (Rachmaninov comes to mind on
these recordings even more than do Chopin, Ravel, and Debussy; perhaps Bill was tapping his own Russian
soul.) The result was pure 'Bill Evans'; he had achieved a fully expressive and rhythmic ideal from all the
varied elements he had studied."'^
Ironically, Evans himself felt that the best night of the Vanguard run went unrecorded. He told Ted
O'Reilly of Coda magazine, "Friday night was quite a good night throughout and, you know, it was all decent,
but, sure enough, Saturday night was tlie night. That was the one we didn't record. That was the peak night.
But we got some good stuff on there."'** Listened to from that perspective, the final two CDs of the Turn Out
The Stars set do perhaps carry a sense of afterglow - but their very looseness is a highly attractive quality, it

being so rare in Evans's output. He is taking chances, pushing himself, thinking hard all the time about what
he's doing. It's a joy to be on the adventure with him and the rest of the trio.

Even the medium-fast tempo of 'Turn Out the Stars' after the forbidding opening seems a release
following the storm rather than a retreat from deeper responses. 'Quiet Now', by contrast, includes some
formidable pyrotechnics from Evans in the imaccompanied opening, leading to a stern reading of this familiar

piece. Even 'Emily', a pretty tune with a rather trite emotional message, is finally transformed by Evans into
something of real intellectual and emotional deptli, making for a portrait of a woman of complex personal
riches. The final 'Knit For Mary F' (written by Evans for a friend who often made hiin beautiftil sweaters)

harks back to Rachmaninov and Brahms, the music sounding increasingly like an intimate if at times cryptic
conversation with the listener. It is a similar story with 'Letter To Evan' before the liveliness of the set-closers;
'A Sleepin' Bee' and 'My Romance '/'Five'. A quick comparison of this 'My Romance' with that recorded by
the original trio in 1961 will tell any listener all they need to know about the changes Evans had now passed
through by this late stage in his life.

The Italian poet and novelist Cesare Pavese once wrote an essay in which he refers to the concept of
creation itself He says, "One fact must be observed: after a certain silence one proposes to write not a poem
but poems. One regards the future page as a dangerous exploration of something one will soon know how
to tackle ... If the adventure has a beginning and an end, means that the poems composed within it form
it

a bloc and constitute the body of lyric poems of which we have been afraid. It is not easy to realise when

such an advenaire ends, given the fact that the 'tired' poems, or conclusion poems, are perhaps the finest of

the group, and the tedium that accompanies their composition is not great, but different from that which
opens a new horizon."'"' Substitute "music" for "poetry" in Pavese's passage and it serves as a useful metaphor
not only for the concluding night of Vanguard recordings - and the all too familiar tedium for Evans of yet
another piano with out-of-tune notes in the upper registers - but for his whole career. By this stage Evans
knew he was amning out of time and that this was sometliing of a coda. He was putting such an unrivalled
level of effort and concentration into these last recordings that they stand as some of his most enduring music.
Once again, in July and August 1980, Evans crossed the Atlantic, and with his failing health clearly visible

to friends and colleagues, he probably guessed it would be his last visit. During this summer tour he appeared
in Belgium, Norway, Germany, Italy, Spain, France and, in Britain, at Ronnie Scott's in London. Tliere he was
taped unawares, and two CDs from the week's residency later appeared on the Dreyfus label. These two
discs are highly variable in quality, with the piano sounding as below par as Evans was physically. Virtually
Bill Evans
every other concert of the tour was preserved on tape with varying degrees of professionalism, although
subsequent releases of any of that material must be counted as bootlegs.
A semi-private appearance on August 15th in Bad Honningen, billed accurately as Evans's last concert

in Gemiany, is well preserved, the balance between the instruments and the fidelity of the recording itself

certainly the equal of the 1979 Paris tapes made by ORTF that would be released on Elektra Musician. The
German recording finds Evans coaxing a kaleidoscope of feelings from his 'Letter To Evan', from faltering

hesitancy to full-on soliloquy. Next is 'Yet Ne'er Broken' and although it fails to match the concentrated
energy of 'Evan' the performance gels well enough. The introduction to 'Laurie' is stiff and poorly articulated,

suggesting that Evans was stretching tired fingers further than they wanted to go now, and similar problems
plague 'Bill's Hit Tune' on which he is kept afloat by the effortless spring of Johnson and LaBarbera. "He was
affected by his physical condition now and then," Johnson later recalled of the tour, "but listening to some
of the bootlegs that have been released, I think he was only seriously affected the last month or so, after we
had done the Vanguard recordings. "^^
Better things arrive on 'Knit For Mary F' where Evans seems more able to will his hands to the precision
demanded by the piece. The mood shifts between grim determination and light swing, but not so violently
as to disrupt the overall effectiveness of the music. On 'Your Story' Evans uses a heavy touch worthy of Bud
Powell, his fingers seeming to require more from the piano keys than they can deliver It cannot be described
as pretty music. It is passionate and engrossing, with inarticulate struggles going on which listeners can only
glimpse and guess at through the insistence of the pianist's urgent message. There are few moments from
Evans's career where the music is uncomfortable to listen to, but this is certainly one of them. On 'If You
Could See Me Now' Evans offers some of his most clearly-considered, coherent playing of the evening,
though he still uses very forceful articulation, and Johnson is particular comes up with some stunning
counterpoint to underpin the pianist.
Back in the US at the end of August 1980, Evans and his trio went west, playing in Portland, Oregon,
and in Los Angeles, moving at the beginning of September for a week to San Francisco's premier jazz club

of the day. Keystone Korner ^X^^ile in LA Evans attracted the attention of many local musicians, one of whom
suggested to Gene Lees that they go to see Evans play. Lees was aware of Evans's cocaine addiction and its

disastrous physical effect on his friend, and later recalled the discussion about going to the gig. '"How is he
playing?' I said. 'Brilliantly.' 'How does he look?' 'Awful.' 'I don't want to see him ... I can't go through that

again. "'^' Lees was not the only one to react in this way; a number of friends felt that Evans was deliberately
avoiding hospital treatment for what was by now a critically advanced condition. Pianist Steve Kuhn, for

example, felt that Evans "didn't want [it known] what was really going on with the drugs". ^^ Marc Johnson
was naturally aware of Evans's addiction, but powerless to influence its course. He recalled, "The last week
before he died, I remember him telling me how insidious the substance was."^^

The week at Keystone Korner saw the trio play more than a hundred individual pieces, with many
multiple versions of the same tune, all of which were taped by the club's owner, Todd Barkan. Many
selections were later released on Consecration, an eight-CD boxed set on Alfa Records in Japan, and later

used by Timeless Records in Holland who subsequently derived three single CDs from this source. The music
across all three of the Timeless discs is consistent with the forceful, energised musician who had been leading
his trio around the world with burning conviction that yean His pianistic thinking was continuing to move
forward at the same rate as his apparent desire to reach back to the techniques and ideas that had surrounded
him when he was a young newcomer to New York. For example, on a version here of 'You And The Night
And The Music' there is a stop-time four-bar segment at the end where Evans would normally apply a free-
time right-hand flourish to arrest the metre before resolving onto the tonic with bass and drums. This time,
however, he powers through the four bars with a perfectly executed in-tempo eighth-note passage that has
amazing momentum, the ideas fresh and the excitement high.
This bru.squeness does not always work: his up-tempo spin through 'Emily' turns the piece into too much
of a throwaway, despite its cute, piani.ssimo ending. Newer material, such as 'Knit For Mary F' that had been
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

premiered at the Village Vanguard in June, receives more sensitive treatment. Evans begins in full rhapsodic
flow, although he is closer here to the abbreviated ritardando and rubato of Art Tatum's ballad approach
rather tlian his own earlier, much richer and more romantic exploitation of time, phrasing and pulse. His solo

on this piece is crammed full of ideas, as if he simply doesn't have the patience to wait for them all to present

themselves - he just spills them out: over bar lines, twice as fast as they should be, or as asides and
embellishments. Any approach seems to do, just so long as the phrase is articulated.

His rhythmic freedom in the opening statement of 'Someday My Prince 'Will Come' recalls the work of
'Wynton Kelly in its plasticity of phrasing, the supple ease of note placement, and the variety of note choices,
echoing the imagination and excitement that Kelly combined so effortlessly at his peak. The Evans solo on
this track is again driving; he takes the lead and pushes ahead with his ideas, enjoying every bar that he is

filling with his sound. Similarly on the cute Evans original 'Tiffany' he is relentless in testing and toying with
the trinket of a theme, worrying at it until other aspects of its character are revealed. This might seem to be
an extension of his displacement theory of 20 years earlier, but was a recent development in his playing (it

was heard also in June at the Vanguard and in July at Ronnie Scott's). Evans rarely went in for sustained bouts
of variation and paraphrase, where each small substitution or distortion of the original built a larger picture
and told a different story. Instead, his normal approach had been to use his comprehensive harmonic
knowledge to dress up a largely unconnected group of improvisatoiy phrases and ideas in as rich a musical
cloth as could be devised. Now, here was a potentially major re-evaluation of method by Evans that

perhaps only figures so modestly in the overall course of his career because he simply ran out of time to
develop it much further.

During these club performances he combines his old and new approaches to improvising on Turn
Out The Stars'. He uses his old style of broken-up, self-contained phraseology for a while, then suddenly
begins to run the phrases into each other, to speed them up and transform them into something completely
new. As with earlier renditions that year of a piece once so closely associated with loss, pain and renewal,
here 'Stars' is being used virtually as a jamming vehicle, a set of changes on which to get off. More notable
still is the unaccompanied introduction to an old Evans favourite, 'My Romance', where his connections
back to Tristano, Powell and beyond are spelled out extravagantly. There are yet more nods to Tatum's
bewildering technical dexterity when Evans is tossing the time and melody between hands at will, shortly

before the bass and drums are brought in for the theme proper, over three minutes into the performance.
It is exhilarating to hear him no longer constrained by what he perceives as his own imassailable stylistic

boundaries: he is consistently re-defining the areas of piano playing in which he is prepared to operate,

but with less control and clear direction than just two months previously. Later in 'My Romance' he hits a

groove with Johnson and LaBarbera, using long, multi-noted phrases that could almost be Oscar Peterson
if there wasn't such a general absence of blues inflections, though Evans is certainly swinging hard enough
for the comparison to stand.

Other moments which give pause for thought include tlie hasty manner in which he dispatches tlie

theme of 'Letter To Evan', once again impatient to get to the tumultuous soloing at the heart of the thing, the
very reason he's playing it that day. 'Gary's Theme' manages to escape such rough treatment, being caressed
into life by loving hands and an overflowing heart. Once again Evans is unafraid to try new shapes and
patterns in his solo, plunging into double-time right-hand shimmers which, repeated, gain an unearthly
beauty. The conclusion to this rendition of McFarland's waltz is almost unbearably poignant, all three
musicians moving together as one.
In 2001, after the death of Evans's long-time manager Helen Keane, Fantasy Records released Last
Waltz, their own eight-CD boxed set on their Milestone label of more music from this Keystone Korner
engagement. Comparisons with the Alfa and Timeless releases indicate that the Milestone takes are more
alternative performances from the same Keystone run rather than a reissue of the same material (and one
source suggests that the split roughly follows the first and second sets of each evening's performance).
There are certainly questions to be asked about the consistency and quality of the playing, and Evans
Bill Evan
'iNould not have approved their release. It is arguable that Keane too had held up their appearance during
her lifetime for the same reasons.
Marc Johnson's comments already quoted about Evans's sudden physical decline make it clear tliat those
closest to him day-by-day knew he was near to the edge of physical incapacity. Todd Barkan, die man who
recorded the Keystone performances and made them available to tlie companies that released them over the
subsequent years, said: "'Whether [Evans] knew death was as close as it was, have no way of knowing. I 1

doubt he knew it was that close. I don't think he knew he was going to die in ten days, but he knew he was
ill and that his liver wasn't functioning very well, and he definitely felt that there were severe limitations on
the time he had on Earth. He didn't really think his life had a next stage. "-'

An old friend and associate, Herb Wong, visited Evans backstage during the Keystone residency. "That
day was very emotional for me and him.
both " said 'Wong. "He had his eyes closed most of the time when
lie was speaking with me. I know he had been eating literally nothing but junk food, and it saddened me to

see him in that particular state. But he seemed to be saying, 'It doesn't matter what state I'm in,' and obviously
it didn't matter ... He was actually advised to perhaps go into the hospital, but he was very determined, as
he put it to me, to have the ultimate joy of playing with Joe and Marc'."-^
The music from Keystone in San Francisco in August 1980 is valedictory in tone when considered
alongside the 'Warners recordings from the 'Vanguard in June. The repertoire is almost identical, as are the
arrangements, but the fire that had illuminated the New York performances is here inverted, as if Evans had
to internalise his intensity to feed off his own pleasure in order to keep playing. 'Wong went on to describe

the set of music he heard after leaving Evans backstage to prepare for another Keystone set. "I remember
going up and finding a seat on stage right before the public had arrived," said 'Wong, "and I just sat there and
waited to see what was going to happen. I knew
come hell or high water,
that Bill relished doing this and,
he was going to do ... And when he played the set, the music was so charged
it was transcendental."-'' it

Given the circumstances for 'Wong, this may well be emotion as much as perception speaking. For while the
group is recorded beautifully and Evans's piano for the engagement is rich and in tune, adding to the trio's

sumptuous sound, it is nonetheless hard to escape the feeling that the inner vitality has been eaten away by
now, though the shell is intact. 'What remains is a fragile type of beauty, acutely poignant because of what
we know about the circumstances rather than the music's inherent qualities.

This is not to say Evans plays badly. He is not guilty of crass technical errors or misjudgements, but he
is not pushing the envelope the way he had done in midsummer. His most telling moments occur when he
lingers over chords or melodies, luxuriating in the sound he is creating in a most untypical way (it would
have been more in keeping with Erroll Garner), and there is a version of 'Nardis' where Evans's solo sounds
almost in the nature of a farewell (the bass and drum solos are silently edited out of this performance). Some
may feel this somehow re-conjures the original trio's ambience, but it seems more realistic to deduce that

Evans was playing at the very limits of his physical endurance and that this is all that he was capable of
delivering. The amount of time during his improvisations filled by his own pet moves and stock phrases had
reached high levels, similar to those of his most jaded days in the 1970s - and this surely says much about
his state of mind. These were the final glimmers in his career of what Cesare Pavese referred to in his essay
^^
on creativity as the "afterglow".

Evans had just days to live at the conclusion of his Keystone engagement. The group flew back to
New York and opened at Fat Tuesday's there on Wednesday September 10th. The trio completed their gig

that evening - in fact someone made a very poor-quality private cassette recording of some of the music
which inevitably appeared later, edited and sequenced by unknown hands, on various bootlegs. Evans was
due back in the following evening but, according to Gene Lees, "Bill was taken with severe stomach pains
in his apartment at Fort Lee. Joe iLaBarberal drove him to ... Mount Sinai Hospital and checked him in.

Bill died there."^" Andy LaVerne, hired to play Fat Tuesday's that week on the nights that the Evans trio

would take off, remembers the confusion when the pianist was taken ill. He'd planned to go and see Evans
playing at the club. "And [then] 1 got a call to go in on Thur.sday, and then it was day to day. Everybody
 SUICIDE IS PAINLESS 1979-1980

was thinking, well, he's just sick but he'll be back tomorrow, [but] he didn't make it, and actually on that
Monday he died."-'
The primary cause of Bill Evans's death, on Monday September 15th 1980, was an unattended bleeding
ulcer, but his body was so weakened, his liver in tatters, by years of the wrong drugs, that he had no strength

or stamina left with which to fight. People close to him were surprised that he held out as long as he did,

especially after his brotlier Harry's death. According to almost every observer, he was living only for music,
and was largely sustained by his involvement in it.

Since Evans's death there has been speculation about the great changes in his playing that so
distinguished his last trio and that might have allowed some larger step forward, had he lived another decade
or even another five years. Speculation in such circumstances is always futile, of course, but it is perhaps
worth remembering that Evans made few rapid spurts of development during his career. It is quite possible
that he was forcing the pace precisely because he knew he was running out of time. John Coltrane was faced
with a similar personal and musical mountain to climb in his final phase and found a similar solution. 'We
can only be grateful tliat, in both cases, these gifted artists brought such humility and dedication to their life's

work that they made such courageous and musically rewarding decisions. For tliis we are forever in their
debt, and should celebrate the fact.
Bill Evans
Pages 48-53 '^ Doint Beat October 2nd 1958 (Riverside 1984)
'-^
Dour Ramsey The Secret Sessions boxed set
-" Down Beat August 17th 1961
-" Liner notes 0/7ie«e,' (Atlantic 1961)
'
Doint Beat Decem|-)er 8lh 1960 (Fantasy 1996)
'
Booklet notes Tbe Fantasy Recoreihigs (P-dnUisy, " Jazz Journal International March 1985 " Down Beat August 17th 1961

1989)
^"^
Jazz Reiieu^ DGCtimhev 1958
^' Down Beat Novemlx;r 22nd 1962
^'^
^ Dotni Beat OctobcT 17th 1968 "' Miles DavLs & Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon ii Booklet notes Complete Verve Bill Eians tVerve
^ Marion McPartland radio intemcw, 1979 Schuster 1989) 1997)
"
Martin Williams, liner notes, BUI Ei<aits On Rhvrside '^
Miles Davis ii Quincy Troupe A/(7ts (Simon &
(Riverside 198^) Schuster 1989) 92-101
''
yazryofinw/ March 1985 '" Netv York ZimesSepi 25th 1977, interview by Paul
~ Booklet notes. Complete Fantasy Recordings
Down Beat December 8th I960 Wilner, quoted in Ashley Kalin Kind Of Blue (Granta '

'^
Dcnrn Beat Decemlier 8th I960 2000) (Fantasy 1989)
*
Booklet notes The Fantasy Recordings (Fantasy '''
Thomas Chasin' The TratieiEXra Tree
J.C. 1976) ^ Jazz Journal International March 1985
19891 ^" Down Beat November 22nd 1S)62 -^
Linda Dahl Stormy Weather (Qudnei 1984)
"^ Doini Beat December 8th I960 ^ Doum Beat November 22nd 1962
" Doufi Beat December 8th I960 70-79
"^
Down Beat November 22nd 1962
'- Down Beat December 8th I960 '•
L>oum Beat June 7th 1962
' Liner notes. The Interplay Sessions (Milestone 1982)
'-^
Radio inter\'iew by Rod Stams, Southeastern ' Letter From Evans Vol 4 No 3
UniverNit>' Radio. 1979 ^ Gene Lees Complete Fantasy Recordings (.Fanizsy
**
Down Beat November 8th 1962
''
Radio interview by Rod Stams, Southeastern 1998)
''
Down Beat December 6th 1962
"^ Booklet notes, Complete Fantasy Recordings
University Radio. 1979 ^
Dowii Beat December 8th I960
'''
Radio interview by Rod Slams, Southeastern *
Liner notes C/je/' (Riverside 1959) (Fantasy 1989)
University Radio. 1979 ^ Liner notes Spring leaies tMilestone 1975)
" Doum Beat November 22nd 1962
'^ Liner notes. Undercurrent (United Artists 1963)
"' CD insert Homecoming (iMilestone 1999) *'
Doivu Beat April 2nd 1959
'' ^ Jazz Reiiew December 1958 '^ Liner notes. The Interplay Sessiotis (Milestone 1982)
Radio interview by Marion McPartland. 1979
''
'**
Radio inten'iew by Marion McPartland, 1979 " Miles Davis & Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon & Booklet notes, Compbte Rii'erside Sessions
'^
Jazz Journal International March 1985 Schuster 1989) (Riverside 1984)
^ CD insert Homecoming (Milestone 1999) ^ Miles Davis ili Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon ii
''^
Booklet notes, Complete Riverside Sessions
-' Down Beat December 8th I960 Schuster 1989) (Riverside 1984)
^ Radio interview by Rod Stams, Southea.stem "*
Miles Davis & Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon &
University Radio, 1979 Schu.ster 1989) 102-111
-^ Jazz Journal International March 1985 " Jazz Jounud International M'dTch 1985
-*
Radio interview by Marion McPartland, 1979 ^^
Jazz Journal International March 1985 '
Liner notes Gary McFarland Orchestra (Verve 1963)
^'
Radio interview by Marion McPartland, 1979 '^ Booklet notes Complete Riverside Recordings ^ Liner notes Coni'ersations With Myself (Verve 1963)
^ Liner notes Coniersations With Myself (Verve 1963)
(Riverside 1984)
Pages 54-61 '*
Kind Of Blue (Co\Mwb\d 1959)
Liner notes
"*
Booklet notes Complete Verve Bill Eians (Verwe
•'^
Liner notes Kind Of Blue (Co\umbid 1959) 1997)
"' BBC Radio programme Along Came Bill 1990, ^ Liner notes Conversations With Myself (Vevje 1963)
'
Doufi Beat March 6th 1957
- Down Beat March 6tli 1957 interview by Brian Hennessey, quoted in Ashley ^ Doum Beat November 5th 1964
-^
Jazz Journal Inteniatiotuil March 1985 Kahn Kind Of Blue {Grmi^ 2000) ^ Down Bewrjanuary 2nd 19(S4
*
Jazz Journal International October 1987 ^^ Insert notes Tony Scott: At Last! (52
Jazz, 2000)
^ Doum Beat November 5th 1964
^ Booklet notes Compbte Vene Bill Eians (Verve 1997)
^
Down Beat November 14th 1957 '**
Doum Beat October 15th 1959
'° Liner notes At Shelly's Manne-Hole (Riverside 1963)
*''
Down Beat October 31st 1957 '*'
Doum Beat October 15th 1959
' Booklet notes Complete Rii'ersiiie Sessions (YiiversidG
" Liner notes At Shelly s Manne-Hole (Riverside 1963)
'^ Liner notes At Shelfy's Mantie-Hole (Riverside 1963)
1984) Pages 80-91
*^
Liner notes New Jazz Conceptions (Riverside 1956)
^ Liner notes A'(?u'yflZ2Co«cqD//oKS (Riverside 1956) '
Jazz Journal International M^LVch 1985 Pages 112-119
'*^
Booklet notes Complete Riverside Sessions ^ Jazz Journallntenuitiomd March 1985
(Riverside 1984) -^
Doum Beat]une 2nd 1966 ^
Liner notes Complete Fantasy Recordings (Fantasy
" DowH Befl/ January 23rd 1957 '
Doitm Beat March 9th 1967 1989)
'^ Liner notes Modem Jazz Concert (Columhia^ 1957)
^
Liner notes Spring Leaies (Milcsione 1975)
2 Doum Beat October 10th 1963
'^ Doum Beat Record Reinews Volume 3, 1958
*''
Doum Beat December 8tli 1960 ' Down Beat Septeml?er 12th 1963
''
Liner notes A Concert In Jazz CWqwq 1961) ''
Doum Bear January 7th I960
"^
Booklet notes Complete Vene Recordings (Verve
'"^
Down Beat Record Reiiews Volume 3. 1958 " Burt Korall, liner notes Jazzin TheSpaceAge 1997)
"' Brian Priestley ;Ui>;£i« (Quartet 1982) (Decca I960)
^ Down Beat August 27ih 1964
'"
Liner notes East Coasting (Bethlehem 1957) ''
Jazz In The Space Age (Deccd I960)
Liner noles
''
Jazz Journal International March 1985
'" Down Beat Record Reiiews Volume 3. 1958 '"Liner noies Jazz In The Space Age (Decc2^ I960)
^ Down Beat April 23rd 19(S4

'^ Doum Beat Record Reviews Volume 3. 1958 " Doum Beat October 22nd 1964 **
Jazz Journal International March 1985
^ Phil Bailey. Ixwklet essay. Complete Verve
'- Doum Beat June 23rd I960
62-69 ^^ Jazz Journal ]u\y I960 Recordings (Verve 1997)
'•
Jazz Journal iuiy I960
'"Melody Maker }une 20th 1964
'
WKR-FM radio interview 1979 by Bill Gold Ix-rg & ^'^
Jazz Journal }uiy I960 " Down Beat August 13ih 1964

Eddie Karp, quoted in Ashley Kahn Kind OJ Blue "^ Liner notes Spring Leaies (Milestone 1975)
'-
Booklet notes Complete Vene Recordings (Verve
(Granta 2000) " Liner notes The Blues And The Abstract Truth 1997)
^ Jazz Journal International March 1985 (Impulse! 1961)
'^
Down Beat Septemlier 24tli 1964
''
^ Miles Davis & Quincy Troupe Milts (Simon & '" Down Beat March 30th I96l Do»'»Bt'fl/Octolx-r8th 1964
Schuster 1989) '9 Down Beat March 30th 1961
''
Down Sra/Octolx-r 22nd 1964
"^^
'
Miles Davis & Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon & ^^ Jazz Journal Internatiottal March 1985 Douti Beat Octolxr 22nd 1964
Schuster 1989) ^'
Jazz Journal International March 1985
'^ Down Beat Octotx-r 22nd 1964
^ Dfm DeMicliael introductory essay in Bill Evans ^^ Booklet notes Complete Riterside Recordings
'" Down Beat Octolx-r 22nd 1964
Plays (Richmond Organization 1969) (Riverside 1984)
'''
Down Beat Octolx-r 22nd 1964
-" Doien Beat October 22nd 1964
''
BBC Radio prORramme Along Came Bill 1990. -^ Liner notes Spring U'aves (Milestone 1975)
''
interview by Brian Hennessey, quoted in Ashley
''
Booklet notes Complete Riivrside Recordings Liner notes, Cecil Taylor Unit Structures (iilue Note

Kahn Kind OJ Blue (GrdnU 20(X)) (Riverside 1984) 1966)

"
Miles Davis &. Quincy Troupe Miles (Simon ik
^''
Booklet notes Complete Riivrside Recordings
" Do(r;/ Bert/ OctolxT 21si 1965

Schuster 1989) (River>iide 1984)

^^ Down Beat }uly 16Eh 1965
^'
**
Jazz Journal International March 1985 -'Down /Jt'^r Octol>er lllh 1962 Dotrn Beat Febmary 25lh 1965
''
Ian Can- A/l/ra /JmiIv (Quartet 1982) Down
-^^
Beat OctoIxT lllh 1962
'^
Douv Beat August 12tli 1965
'" Bun Goldhlatt Neufxjrijazz Festival - The ^ Down Beat February 25th 1965
llliLstrated History ( Dial 1977) ^ Liner notes Spring U'aves (Mileslonc 1975)
'

' l)<jiit! Beat August 7lh 195H ^' Booklet notes Complete Riivrside Recordings

i
 FOOTNOTES
120-131 Pages 146-155 5 Btxjklet notes Vie Complete Bill Evans On Verve
(Verve 1997)
^
Down Beat February 25th 1965 '
Jazz Journal International October 1985 *
Down Beat October 1979
^ Down Beat August 12tli 1965 2 Booklet notes Til'e Complete Bill Evans On Verve 5 Jazz Journal International October 1985
5 Down Bear June 17th 1965 (Verve 1997) ^ Liner notes Paris Conceit Edition Two (Elektra
•
Down Bea( June 17th 1965 ' Doivn Beat March l6tli 1971 Musician 1984)
'
5
Ja22. Journal Inleniational March 1985 Jazz Journal International March 1987 ^ Radio interview by Marion McPartland, November
•^
Liner notes Bill Eimis Trio With Symphony ""
Randi Huitin Borr; Under The Sign OfJazz 1978
Orchestra (Verve 1966) (Sanctuary 2000) ^ Radio interview by Marion McPartland, November
^ Liner notes Bill Ei'ans Trio With Symphony ^ Down Beat November 12th 1970 1978
Orchestra (Verve 1966) 7 E)own Bear January 7tll 1971 ^ Radio interview by Marion McPartland, Novemloer
^ Liner notes Bill Evans Trio With Symphony " Doini Bear Febtiiary 4lh 1971 1978
Orchestra (Verve 1966) ' Dinrti Bear Seplemlx'r I6th 1971 '0 Liner notes New Conversations (Warner Bros 1978)
' Venx Complete Bill Evans Recordings (ystr/e 1997) '0 BcHjklet notes Bill Evans, Prafro/'/aj'er (Columbia " Liner notes New Conversations i'^ztnCLt Bros 1978)
'° Verve Complete Bill Evans Recordings {Verwe 1997) 1998) '2 Liner notes New Conversations (Warner Bros 1978)
^'
Jazz Journal IntertiatioiKtl March 1985 " Jazz Journal International Ociohet 1985 '5 Liner notes A^ew' Conversations (Warner Bros 1978)
'2 £)oty« Sea/ January 27th 1966 '2 Liner notes Vie Bill Eiiins Album (Columbia 1971) '^
Liner notes New Conversations (Warner Bros 1978)
'^ Dott'/; Beat Febnjary 24th 1966 '-^
Dou'rr Bear Seplemlx.-r Kilh 1971 '^ Radio interview by Marion McPartland, November
'•'
Down Beat April 7th 1966
'''
Liner notes Vie Bill Evaivi Album (Columbia 1971) 1978
'5 Down Beat April 7th 19(56
'5 Booklet notes Bill Evans. Piano Player (Co\\imh\a " Down Beat October 1979
^^ Z^ou-n 5ea/ April 7th 1966 1998) ^ ^
Jazz Journal International October 1985
" Dount Beat April 7th 1966 "" Liner notes The Bill Evans Album (Columbia 1971) '^
Jazz Journal International October 1985
'**
Liner notes At Town Hall (Verve 1966) " Doivn Beat March 16th 1972 '"^
Booklet notes Vie Complete Bill Evans On Vene
" Down Beat April 7tli 1966 '" [kiwn Bear July 22nd 1971 (Verve 1997)
2° l^TTB Complete Bill Evans Recordings (Verve 1997) '*'
Down Beat Septeml:)er l6th 1971 20 Radio inter^'iew by Marion McPartland, Novemlier
^' 20 Liner notes living Time (Columbia 1972)
£to«7r Sear June 2nd 19(56 1978
^^ 2'
Jazz Journal Match 1987 Jazz Journal International March 1987
^^ £tor/w Sear June 2nd 19(56 Pages 156-167 22 Insert notes 7irrir Out The Stars. Vie Artists Choice
^"'
V^en^ Complete Bill Evans Recordings (Verve 1997) (Warner Brotliers 1996)
^^ Jazz Journal International March 1985 '
Booklet notes. Complete Fantasy^ Recordings 2^ Insert notes Turn Out Vie Stars: The Aiiist's Choice
^^ Liner notes Intermodulation (Verve 1966) (Fanliisy 1989) (Warner Brothers 1996)
^ Down Beat May 5tli 19(56 2 Down Bear June 21st 1973
^ Z30U7! Bear April 21st 1966 -'
Booklet notes, Complete Fantasy Recordings Pages 184-199
(Fantasy 1989)
Pages 152-145 < Liner notes Symbiosis (MPS 1974) ' Down Beat October 1979
' Liner notes Symbiosis (MPS 1974) 2 Down Beat October 1979
' Lkjwn Beat September 22nd 1966 ^ Jazz Journal International October 1985 ' Doum Beat October 1979
^ Down Beat September 22nd 19(56 7 Booklet notes But Beautiful (Milestone 1996) ^
Jazz Journal International October 1985
^ Randi Huitin Bom Under Tlje Sign OfJazz ^ Booklet notes, Complete Fantasy Recordings 5 Booklet notes 77je Complete Bill Evans On Verve

(Sanctuary 2000) (Fantasy 1989) (Verve 1997)

"
Randi Huitin Bom Under The Sign OfJazz ''
Liner notes Blue In Green: Vie Concert In Canada ^ Booklet notes The Complete Bill Evans On Vene
(Sanctuary 2000) (Milestone 1991) (Verve 1997)
5 Randi Huitin Bom Under The Sign OfJazz ^0 Booklet notes. Complete Fantasy Recordings ^ Homecoming (Milestone 1999)
(Sanctuary 2000) (Fantasy 1989) '^
Liner notes The Paris Concert Edition One (Elektni
' Down Beat Febniary 9tli 1967 '
' Jazz Journal International October 1985 Musician 1983)
^ Down Bear June 15th 1967 '2 Booklet notes. Complete Fantasy Recordings ^ Contemporary Keyboard ]otvi 1980
^ Randi Huitin Bom Under The Sign OfJazz (Fantasy 1989) '0 Doum Bear June 1980
'5
(Sanctuary 2000) Jazz Journcd Intematioital October 1985 ^^ Contemporary Keyboard June 1980
' Douoi Bear August 10th 1967 " Doivn Beat September 9th 1976 ^2
Booklet notes The CompleteBill Evans On Vene
"*
Burt Goldblatt Neaport Jazz Festival - The " Down Beat Febniary 24th 1977 (Verve 1997)
'0
Illustrated History 'Oa\ 1977) Jazz Journal International October 1985 '-'
Domi Beat October 1979
" Liner notes Further Conversations With Myself " Doivn Beat November 20th 1975 '*"
Booklet notes, Turn Out The Stars boxed set
'" Down Beat November 20th 1975
(Verve 1967) (Warner Bros 1996)
'^ Down Beat December 14th 1967 '^ Booklet notes. Complete Fantasy Recordings '^
Booklet notes, Turn Out The Stars boxed set
^^ Down Beat December 14th 1967 (Fantasy 1989) (Warner Bros 1996)
^ Down Bear January 25th 1968 2" Down Beat Apnl 20th 1978 "^ Booklet notes, Turn Out Vie Stars boxed set
'5 Down Beat May 2nd 1968 (Warner Bros 1996)
'* Doum Bear July 25th 1968 Pages 168-175 ^^ Turn Out The Stars Ixixed set
Booklet notes.
^^ Liner notes Bill Evans At TJje Montreux Jazz (Warner Bros 1996)
Festival (Vene 1968) '
Btxjklet notes Vie Complete Fantasy Recordings '" Coda Febniary 1985
'" Doii'ii Bear August 8th 1968 (Fantasy 1989) '^ Cesare PaveseConceming Certain Poems Not I'er

" Down Beat September 19th 1968 2 Jazz Journal International October 1985 Whrreij (Giulio Einaudi/Peter Owen 1962/1969)
20 liner notes Alone (Verve 1968) -^
Burt Goldblatt Neaport Jazz Festival - Vie Illustrated 20 Booklet notes, Turn Out The Stars boxed set
2' Doiwi Beat 17 October 1968 History m\tl\ 19T!) (Warner Bros 1996)
22 Liner notes Alone (Verve 1968) Booklet notes 7^e Complete Fantasy Recordings Btxjklet notes Complete Fantasy Recordings
"'
2'

25 Doivn Beat September 3rd 1970 (Fantasy 1989) (Fantasy 1989)

2-*
Elown Beat November 9th 1964 5 Booklet notes Vie Complete Fantasy Recordings 22 Booklet notes 77:ie Complete Bill Evans On Vene
25 Down Bear January 23rd 1969 (Fantasy 1989) (Verve 1997)
2' Down Beat May 1st 1969 <'
Down Beat Octolx-r 1979 25 Booklet notes. Turn Out The Stais Ixixed set
2' Down Beat Febniary 8th 1970 ^ Booklet notes 77je Complete Bill Evans On Vene (Warner Bros 1996)
2^ Jazz Journal International March 1985 (Verve 1997) -^ Booklet notes Complete Fantasy Recordings

2' Down Beat May 2Sth and July 23rd 1970 ^ Booklet notes The Complete Bill Evans On Verve (Fantasy 1989)
* Down Beat May 28th 1970 (Veive 1997) 25 Booklet notes The Last Waltz (Milestone 2000)
5' Down May
Beat 28th 1970 Radio inter\'iew by Marion McPartland, November 2'>
Booklet notes 7ibe Last Waltz (Milestone 2000)
'2 Doivn Beat May 2"
28th 1970 1978 Cesare Pavese Concerning Certain Poems Not Yet
5^ Randi Huitin Bom Under Tlje Sign OfJazz Written (Giulio Einaudi/Peter Owen 1962/1969)
(Sanctuary 2000) Pages 176-183 2**
Booklet notes Complete Fantasy Recordings
*• Randi Hultiti Bom Under The Sign OfJazz (Fantasy 1989)
(Sanctuary 2000) '
Radio interview by Marion McPartland, November 2^ Booklet notes The Complete Bill Evans On Vene
1978 (Verve 1997)
2 Jazz Journal International October 1985
Bill Evan
V-iis selected discogniphy is split into tivo sectioit^. Records studio, New York City. Original release 1963, Riverside
that Eians made us a leader or co-leader are listed first, RLP 473.
with personnel in addition to Evans noted. Records he
made as a sideman are overleaf. Both sections are Interplay Quintet (+FHubbard/J.Hall/P.Heath/PJ Jones).
arranged in chronological order of recording. Anything Recorded July l6th/17th 1962, Nola's Penthouse studio,
bigger than a tentet is a "large group", nere have been New York City. Original relea.se 1963. Riverside RLP 445.
many bootleg records available at vatioits times, of
vatying quality, hut this discography concentrates on Empathy Trio (+M.Budwig/S.Manne). Recorded August
legitimate issues. Where livo original-release catalogue 20th 1962, unknown studio. New York City. Original
numljers are given, these are mono/stereo versions. release 1962, Verve V6 8497.

The Interplay Sessions Quintet (+Z.Sim,s/J.Hall/R.Carter/

BILL EVANS AS LEADER OR CO-LEADER PJJones). Recorded August 21st/22nd 1962, Nola's
Penthouse studio. New York City. Original release 1982,
New Jazz Conceptions Trio (+T.Kotickyp.Motian). combined with Interplay ]\i\y sessions, on Milestone
Recorded September llth/27th 1956, Reeves studio, New M 47066.
York City. Original release 1957, Riverside RLP 12 223.
The Gary McFarland Orchestra, Special Guest
Everybody Digs Bill Evans Trio (+S.Jones/P.J .Jones). Evans Septet f+P. Woods/S.Sinatra/
Soloist: Bill
Recorded December 15th 1958, Reeves studio. New York G.McFarland/J.Hall/ R.Davis/E.Shaughnessy) & strings.
City. Original release 1959, Riverside RLP 12 291. Recorded January 24th 1963 (possibly also December
1962), Webster Hall, New York City. Original release
Peace Piece And Other Pieces Trio {+P.Chambers/ 1963, Verve MGV 8518/V6 8518.
P.JIones). Recorded January- 19lh 1959, Reeves studio,
New York City. Original release 1975, Milestone M 47024. Conversations With Myself Solo. Recorded February
6th/9th/20th 1963, Webster Hall, New York City. Original
The Ivory Hunters (Bill Evans & Bob Brookmeyer) release 1963, Verve V6 8526.
Quartet (+B.Brookmeyer/P.Heath/C.Kay). Recorded March
12th 1959, imknown studio. New York City. Original Plays The Theme From The VIPs And Other Great
release 1959, United Artists UAL 4004/5004. Songs Large group & orchestra. Recorded May
6th/summer 1963, A&R studio/RCA studio/Webster Hall,
Portrait In Jazz Trio (+S.LaFaro/P,Motian). Recorded New York City. Original release 1963, MGM E/SE 4184.
December 28th 1959, Reeves studio. New York City.
Original release I960, Riverside RLP 12 315. Live At Shelly's Manne-Hole Trio (-t-C.Israels/L. Bunker).
Recorded May 30th/31st 1963, Shelly's Manne-Hole, Los
Know What I Mean? (Cannonball Adderley with Bill Angeles. Original release 1963, Riverside RM 487/RS 9487.
Evans) Quartet (+J.Adderley/P.Heath/C.Kay). Recorded
January 27th/February 21sl/March 13th 1961, Bell studio. Trio '64 Trio (+G.Peacock/P.Motian). Recorded December
New York City. Original release 1962, Riverside RLP 18th 1963, Webster Hall, New York City. Original release
433/9433. 1964, Verve V6 8578.

Explorations Trio (+S.LaFaro/P.Motian). Recorded Stan Getz And Bill Evans (Getz & Evans) Quartet
February 2nd 1961, Bell studio, New York City. Original (+S.Getz/EJones/R. Davis or R.Carter). Recorded May
release 1961, Riverside RLP 351. 5th/6th 1964, Van Gelder studio, Englewood Cliffs, NJ.
Original release 1974, Verve V6 8833.
Sunday At The Village Vanguard Tricj (+S.LaFaro/
P.Motian). Recorded June 25th 1961, Village Vanguard, Trio Live Trio (+C.Israels/L. Bunker). Recorded July
New York City. Original release 1961, Riverside RLP 376. 7th/9th 1964, The Trident Club, Sausalito, CA. Original
release 1973, Verve V6 8803.
Waltz For Debby Trio (+S,LaFaro/P.Motian). Recorded
June 25th 1961, Village Vanguard, New York City. Waltz For Debby (Bill Evans Trio with Monica
Original release 1962, Riverside RLP 399. Zetterlund) Quartet (+M.Zetterlund/C.Israels/L.Bunker).
Recorded August 29th 1964, AB Europa studio,
Nirvana (Herbie Mann & The Evans Trio) Quartet
Bill Stockholm, Sweden. Original release 1964, Philips
(+H,Mann/C.l.sraels/PMotian). Recorded December 8th 6378 508.
1961 & May 4th 1962, Atlantic studio. New York City.
Original relea.se 1964, Atlantic SD 1426. Trio '65 Trio (+C.Israels/L. Bunker). Recorded February
3rd 1965, Van Gelder studio, Englewood Cliffs, New
Conception .Solfj. Recorded April 4th 1962, Plaza Sound Jersey. Original release 1965, Verve V6 8613-
studio. New York City. Original release 1981, Mile.stone
M -(7063. With Symphony Orchestra Trio (+C.Lsraels/G.Tate) &
strings/woodwin(.l. Recorded September 29th/October
Undercurrent (Evans & Jim Hall) Duo (+J.Hall). Recorded 18th/December l6th 1965, Van Gelder studio, Englewood
April 24th ..^ May 14lh 1962, Sound Makers studio, New Cliffs, NJ. Original release 1966, Verve V6 8640.
York City. Original relea.se 1962, United Artists UAJ 14003.
At Town Hall Volume I Trio (+C. Israels/A. Wise).
Moonbeams Trio (+C.Israels/P.Motian). Recorded May Recorded Februai-y 21sl 1966, Town Hall, New York City.
17th/29th cS June 5th 1962, .Sound Makers studio. New Original release 1966, Verve V6 8683.
York City. Original relea.se 1962, Riverside RLP 428.
Intermodulation (Bill Evans & Jim Hall) Duo (+J.Hall).

How My Heart Sings Trio (+C.lsraels/P.Motian). Recorded April 7lh/May lOth 1966, Van Gelder studio,
Recorded May 17th/29th 6i June 5th 1962, Sound Makers Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Original release 19(36, Verve V6 8655.
 SELECTED DISCOGRAPHY

A Simple Matter Of Conviction Trio C+E. Gomez/ Eloquence Solo/duo (+E.Gomez)/trio (+E. Gomez/
S.Manne). Recorded October 11th 1966, Van Gelder M/Morell). Recorded various dates between November
studio, Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Original release 1967, Verve 1973 and December 1975: Shelly's Manne-Hole, Los
V6 8675- Angeles; Fantasy studio, Berkeley, CA; Casino de
Montreux, Montreux, Switzerland. Original release 1982,
Further Conversations With Myself Solo. Recorded Fantasy F 9618.
August 9th 1967, Webster Hall, New York City. Original
release 1967, Verve V6 8727. Half Moon Bay Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded
November 4th 1973, Bach Dancing & Dynamite Society,
CaUfomia Here I Come Trio (+E. Gomez/P.J.Jones). Half Moon Bay, CA. Original release 1998, Milestone
Recorded August 17tli/18th 1967, Village Vanguard, MCD 9282 2.

New York City. Original release 1984, Verve

VE2 2545. Since We Met Trio C+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded
January llth/12th 1974, Village Vanguard, New York
At The Montreuxjazz Festival Trio (+E. Gomez/ Ciry. Original release 1976, Fantasy F 9501.
J.DeJolinette). Recorded June 15th 1968, Casino de
Montreux, Montreux, Switzerland. Original release 1968, Re: Person L Knew Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded
Verve V6 8762. January llth/12th 1974, Village Vanguard, New York
City. Original release 1981, Fantasy F 9608.
Alone Solo. Recorded September/October 1968, Webster
Hall, New York City. Original release 1969, Verve Symbiosis Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell) & orchestra.
V6 8792. Recorded February llth/12th/14th 1974, Columbia
studio. New York City. Original release 1974, MPS 68052.
What's New Quartet (+J.Steig/E.Gomez/M.Morell).
Recorded January 30th/February 3rd-5th/March 3rd or Blue In Green: The Concert In Canada Trio (+E. Gomez/
11th 1969, Webster Hall, New York City. Original release M.Morell). Recorded summer 1974, Carleton University,
1969, Verve V6 8777. Ottawa, Canada; Camp Fortune, Hull, Canada. Original
release 1991, Milestone 9185. M
Jazzhouse Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded
November 24th I969, Jazzhus Montmartre, Copenhagen, Featuring Stan Getz: But Beautiful Trio (+E. Gomez/
Denmark. Original release 1987, Milestone M 9151. M.MorelD/quanet (+S.Getz/E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded
August 9tlVl6th 1974, Singer Conzertzaal, Laren,
You're Gonna Hear From Me
Trio (+E.Gomez/ Netherlands/ Middleheim, Antwerp, Belgium. Original
Recorded November 24th 1969, Jazzhus
M.IVIorell). release 1996, Milestone MCD 9249 2.
Montmartre, Copenhagen, Denmark. Original release
1987, Milestone M 9164. Intuition Duo (+E. Gomez). Recorded November 7th-10th
1974, Fantasy studio, Berkeley, CA. Original release 1975,
From Left To Right Quartet (+S.Brown/E.Gomez/ Fantasy F 9475.
M.Morell). Recorded between October 1969 and May
1970, various studios. New York City/San Francisco. The Tony Bennett/Bill Evans Album (Bennett/Evans)
Original release 1970, MGM SE 4723. Duo (+T.Bennett). Recorded June 10di/13th 1975, Fantasy
studio, Berkeley, CA. Original release 1975, Fantasy
Montreux U Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Moreir). Recorded June F 9489.
19th 1970, Casino de Montreux, Montreux, Switzerland.
Original release 1970, CTl 6004. Montreux III Duo (+E. Gomez). Recorded July 20th
1975, Casino de Montreux, Montreux, Switzerland.
BillEvans, Piano Player Duo (+E.Gomez)/Trio Original release 1976, Fantasy F 9510.
(+E.Gomez/M.Morell.) Recorded November 23rd-24th
(duets) 1970 and May 17th 1971, Columbia 30th Street Alone (Again) Solo. Recorded December l6th-18th 1975.
studio, New York Ciry. Original release 1998, Columbia Fantasy studio, Berkeley, CA. Original release 1977,
CK 65361. Fantasy F 9542.

The BiU Evans Album Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Quintessence Quintet (+H.Land/K.Burrell/R. Brown/
Recorded May lltli/12th/17th/19tlV20th & June 9th 1971, PJJones). Recorded May 1976, Fantasy studio, Berkeley,
Columbia 30th Street studio. New York City. Original CA. Original release 1977, Fantasy F 9529.
release 1971, Columbia C 30855.
Together Again (Bennett/Evans) Duo (+T.Bennett).
Living Time Trio (E.Gomez/M.Morell.) & large orchestra. Recorded September 27th-30th 1976, unknown studio,
Recorded May 1972, Columbia 30th Street studio, San Francisco. Original release 1977, Improv 7117.
New York City. Original release 1972, Columbia
KC 31490. The Paris Concert Trio (+E.Gomez/E.Zigmund).
Recorded November 5th 1976, Maison de I'ORTF, Paris,
The Tokyo Concert Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell). Recorded France. Original release 1989, Fantasy FCD 1012.
January 20th 1973, Yubinchokin Hall, Tokyo, Japan.
Original US release 1974, Fantasy F 9547. Crosscurrents Quintet C+L.Konitz/W.Marsh/E.Gomez/
E.Zigmund). Recorded February 28th & March lst/2nd
From The Seventies Trio (+E.Gomez/M.Morell)/quintet 1977, Fantasy studio, Berkeley, CA. Original release 1978,
(H.Land/K.Burrell/R.Brown/PJ.Jones). Recorded various Fantasy F 9568.
dates between November 1973 and May 1977: Shelly's
Manne-Hole, Los Angeles; Village Vanguard, New York Goodbye Trio (+E.Gomez/E.Zigmund).
/ Will Say
City; Fantasy studio, Berkeley, CA. Original release 1983, Recorded May llth-13th 1977, Fantasy studio, Berkeley,
Fantasy F 9630. CA. Original release 1980, on Fantasy F 9593.
 .

Bill Evans
You Must Beliei'e In Spring Trio (+E.Gomez/E.Zigmund). BELL EVANS AS SIDEMAN
Recorded August 23rd-25tli 1977, Capicol studio, Hollywood,
CA. Original release 1981, Warner Bros HS 3504 Y. Dick Garcia A Message From Dick Garcia Quartet
Recorded 1955, unknown studio. New York City. Original
/>ietv Conversations Solo. Recorded January 26th-28th/ release 1955, Dawn DLP 1106.
30th 6i Februars- 13tlvl6th 1978, Columbia 30th Street
studio, New York City. Original release 1978, Warner Bros Lucy Reed The Singin' Reed. Quintet. Recorded August
BSK 3177 Y. 13th-15th 1955, unknown studio. New York City. Original
release 1955, on Fantasy 3 212.
Affinity Quintet (+T.Thielemans/L.Schneider/M.johnson/
E.Zigmund), Recorded October 30th/31st &. November George Russell /ozz Workshop. Sextet ("Smalltet").
lsL'2nd 1978, Columbia 30th Street snidio. New York City. Recorded March 31st/October 17th/December 21st 1956,
Original release 1979, Warner Bros BSK 3293 Y. Webster Hall, New York City. Original release 1957, RCA
Victor LPM 1372.
We wm Meet Again Quintet (T.Han-ell/L.Schneider/
M.Johnson/ J.LaBarbera). Recorded August 6th-9th 1979, Tony Scott The Touch Of Tony Scott. Large group.
Columbia 30th Street studio. New York City. Original Recorded July 2nd/3rd/5th/6th 1956, Webster Hall, New
release 1980, Warner Bros HS 341 lY. York. Original release 1956, RCA Victor LPM 1353.

The Paris Concert: Edition One Trio (+M.Johnson/ Don Elliott/Bill Evans Tenderly. Duo. Rehearsals recorded
J.LaBarbera). RecordedNovember 26th 1979, Espace 1956-57, Elliott's house, Connecticut. Original release
Pierre Cardin, Paris, France. Original release 1983, Elektra 2001, Milestone MCD 93172.
Musician 1 60164 D.
Tony Scott The Complete Tony Scott. Large group.
The Paris Concert: Edition Two Trio f+M.Johnson/ Recorded December llth/13th/14th 1956 & February 6th
J.LaBarbera), Recorded November 26th 1979, L'espace 1957, Webster Hall, New York. Original release 1957, RCA
Pierre Cardin, Paris, France. Original release 1984, Elektra Victor LPM 1452.
Musician 1 60311 D.
Various Modem Jazz Concert. Large group. Recorded
Letter To Evan Trio (+Johnson/LaBarbera). Recorded July June 10th/18tlV20th 1957, Columbia 30th Street studio.
2Ist 1980, Ronnie Scott's club, London, England. Original New York City. Original release 1957, Columbia WL 127.
release 1993, Dreyfus 191 064 2.

JoePuma /azz. Quartet. Recorded summer 1957,

Turn Out The Stars: The Artist's Choice Trio unknown studio. New York City. Original release 1957,
(+MJohnson/J.LaBarbera). Recorded June 4th-8th 1980, Jubilee JLP 1070.
Village Vanguard, New York City. Original release 1996,
Warner Bros 946425 2. Charles Mingus East Coasting. Sextet. Recorded August
6th 1957, unknown studio, New York City. Original
Turn Out The Stars: The Final Village Vanguard release 1957, Bethlehem BTM 6814.
Recordings, June 1980 Trio (+MJohnson/J.LaBarbera).
Recorded June 4th-8th 1980, Village Vanguard, New York Jimmy Knepper.i4 Swinging Introduction. Quintet.
six-CD release 1996, Warner Bros 945925 2.
City. Original Recorded September 1957, unknown studio. New York
City. Original release 1958, Bethlehem BCP 77.
Turn Out The Stars Trio (+Johnson/LaBarbera). Recorded
August 2nd 1980, Ronnie Scott's, London, England. Sahib Smhah Jazz Sahib Sextet. Recorded November 7th
.

Original release 1993, Dreyfus 191 063 2. 1957, unknown studio, Hackensack, NJ. Original release
1958, Savoy MGM 12124.
Consecration Trio (+MJohnson/J.LaBarbera). Recorded
August 31st -September 7th 1980, Keystone Korner, San Tony ScottThe Modem Art OfJazz. Quartet/sextet/
Francisco. Original eight-CD release 1990, Alfa Jazz R26l68. septet. Recorded November l6th 1957, unknown studio,
New York City. Original release 1958, Seeco CELP 425.
The Last Waltz: The Final Recordings, Keystone
Korner, September 1980 Trio (+MJohnson/J.LaBarbera). Prestige All Stars Roots. Sextet. Recorded December 6th
Recorded August 31st -September 7th 1980, Keystone 1957, Rudy Van Gelder studio, Hackensack, NJ. Original
Korner, San Francisco. Original eight-CD release 2000, release 1958, Prestige 8202.
Milestone 4430 2.
Eddie Costa Guys And Dolls Like Vibes. Quartet.
Recorded January 15th-17th 1958, unknown studio, New
MAJOR COLLECTIONS York Ciry. Original release 1958, Coral CRL 57230.

The Complete Riverside Recordings Twelve CDs; 1956 Don The Mello Sound Of Don Elliott Septet &
Elliott
to 1963 Original relea.se 1984, Riverside R 018. choir. Recorded February lOth/llth 1958, unknown
studio. New York City. Original release 1958, Decca
The Complete Bill Evans On Verve Eighteen CDs; 1957 DL 9208.
to 1969. Original release 1996, Vei^e 527 953-2.
Helen Merrill with Babhy ]aspdT The Nearness Of You
The Complete Fantasy Recordings Nine CDs; 1973 to Sextet. Recorded Febmary 21st 1958, unknown studio.
1977. Original release 1989, Fantasy 9FCD 1012 2. New York City. Original relea.se 1958, EmArcy MG 36134.

The Secret Sessions Eight f;i)s; recordings made semi- Hal McKusick Cross Section Saxes Quintet. Recorded
ollicially from 1966 to 1975 at The Village Vanguard, New March 25th/28th .S April 7th 1958, imknown studio. New
York City. Original relea.se 1996, Milestone 8MCD 4421 2. York City. Original release 1958, Decca DL 9209.
1 I

i
 SELECTED DISCOGRAPHY

Miles Davis 1958 Miles. Quintet/sextet. Recorded iVIay Chet Baker Plays The Best OfLemer & Loewe. Septet.
26th 1958, Columbia 30th Street studios. New York City. Recorded July 21st/22nd 1959. Reeves .studio. New
York
Original release 1959, Columbia 467918 2. City. Original release 1959, Riverside RLP 12 307/1152.

Michel Legrand Legrandjazz. Large group. Recorded Tony Scott Golden Moments. Quartet. Recorded August
June 25th 1958, Columbia 30th Street studio, New York lst/9th 1959, The Showplace, New York City. Original
City. Original release 1959, Columbia CL 1250. release 1976, Muse MR 5230.

Cannonball Adderley Portrait OfCannonbaU. Quintet. Lee Konitz You And Lee Tentet. Recorded October 29th
Recorded July 1st 1958, Reeves studio. New York City. 1959, unknown studio. New York City. Original release
Original release 1958, Riverside 12 269. 1960, Verve MGV 8362/MGVS 6131.

Miles Davis MilesDavis & Thelonious Monk At Frank Minion The Soft Land Of Make Believe. Quartet.
Newport. Recorded (Davis) July 3rd 1958,
Sextet. Recorded January I960, unknown studio. New York City.
Freebody Park, Newport, RI. Original release 1964, Original release I960, Bethlehem BCP 6052.
Columbia CL 2178.
Donald Byrd & Pepper Adams The Soul OfJazz
Cannonball hddevley Jump For Joy Sextet & strings.
. Percussion. Sextet. Recorded spring I960, unknown
Recorded August 20th/21st 1958, Fine studio. New York studio, New York City. Original release I960, Warwick
City. Original release 1958, Mercury MG 20530. W 5003 ST.
Miles DzvisJazzAt The Plaza. Sextet. Recorded Kai Winding & JJ Johnson The Great Kai &JJ, Brand
September 9th 1958, Plaza Hotel, New York City. New, Swinging Together Again Quintet Recorded
Original release 1973, Columbia C 32470. October 3rd/November 2nd/4th/8th I960, unknown
studio. New York City. Original release 1961, Impulse!
Art Farmer Modem Art. Quintet. Recorded September A1/A(S)1.
10th/ nth/ 14th 1958, Nola's Penthouse studio. New
York City. Original release 1959, United Artists Kai Winding The Incredible Kai Winding Trombones
UAL 4007/5007. Septet. Recorded December 13th I960, unknown studio.
New York City. Original release 1961, Impulse! A3/A(S)3.
George Russell Neiv York, NY. Large group. Recorded
September 12th/November 24th 1958 & March 24th 1959, Gunther Schuller Orchestra Jazz Abstractions .

unknown studio, New York City. Original release 1959, Sextet/octet/nonet/tentet & strings. Recorded December
Decca DL 7 9216. 20th i960, unknown studio. New York City. Original
release 1961, Atlantic SD 1365.
Chet Baker C)bef. Sextet/quartet. Recorded December 30th
1958 & January 19th 1959, Reeves studio, New Oliver Nelson The Blues And The Abstract Truth
York City. Original release 1959, Riverside RLP Septet. Recorded February 23rd I96I, Van Gelder studio,
12 299/1135. Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Original release 1961, on Impulse!
A5/A(S)5.
Bill Potts/Porgy & Bess All-Stars The Jazz Soul OfPorgy
And Bess. Large group. Recorded January 13th-15th Mark Murphy & Ernie Wilkins Rah. Large group.
1959, Webster Hall, New York City. Original release I960, Recorded October l6th 1961, Plaza studio, New York
United Artists UAL4043/UAS 4032. City. Original release 1962, Riverside RLP 395/9395.

Lee Konitz Live At The Half Note. Quintet. Recorded Dave Pike Pike's Peak. Quartet. Recorded February 6th
February 24th/March 3rd 1959, Half Note Cafe, New York 1962, unknown studio. New York City. Original release
City. Original release 1995, Verve 521 659 2. 1962, Epic LA I6O25/SLA 17025.

Miles D^wisKind Of Blue Sextet/quintet. Recorded

. Tadd Dameron The Magic Touch. Large group. Recorded
March 2nd/April 22nd 1959, Columbia 30th Street studio, February 27th/March 9th/April l6th 1962, Plaza studio.
New York City. Original release 1959, Columbia CL New York City. Original release 1962. Riverside RLP
1355/CS 8163. 419/9419.

George Russell Jazz In The Space Age. Large group. Benny GolsonPop +Jazz = Swing. Sextet& orchestra.
Recorded May & August 1st I960, unknown studio, New Recorded April 1962, unknown studio. New York City.
York City. Original release I960, Decca DL 7 9219. Original release 1962, Audio Fidelity AFLP 1978.

Lee Konitz & Jimmy Giuffre Lee Konitz Meets Jimmy

Giuffre. Octet. Recorded May 12th/13th 1959, unknown
studio. New York City. Original release 1960, Verve MGV
8335/MGVS 6073.

Teo Macero Something New Something Borrowed

Octet. Recorded May 15th 1959, probably Columbia
studio, New York City. Original release 1959. Columbia
CL 1388/CS 8183.

John Lewis Odds Against Tomorrow. Large group.

Recorded July l6th/17th/20th 1959, unknown studio.
New York City. Original release 1959, United Artists UAL
4061/UAS 5061.
 .

Bill Evans
An italic item in die index aicMChet Baker) 20. 74, Eve/ybody Digs Bill Evans 1 7, I
indicates an Evans album 205 69, 72-73, 78, 202 "IGot It Bad (And That Ain"t
title, unless an gi\en
artist is Chc")pin, Frederic 126 'Everything Happens To Me" Good)" 58
(in brackets) or llie item is Cobb, Jimmy 64, 67, 68, 76 111 I Love You" 58. 60, 94
described as a soundtrack. Cohn, Al 129 Explorations 26. 86, 202 "ILoves You Porgy" 74, 90.
T\' show etc. An Untie page Cole, Nat "King" 10, 12, 52 Ezz-Thetic" 57 140. 188. 190
nLimber indicates an Coleman, Ornette 79, 82, 83, I Should Care" 123. 127
illustnllion. 86 I Will Say Goodbye" 173
Coltrane, John 18. 64, 65, 69 Fantasy Records group 159 / Will Say Goodbye 45, 172-
Columbia Records 42, 149, Farmer, Art 66 173, 203
153, 15-J Faure, Gabriel 125 "If You Could See Me Now"
A Child Is Born' HO 'Come Rain Or Come Shine' Fields, Herbie 52-53 96, 119, 162, 196
Adderley, Julian "Cannonbair 83 "Five" 58, 61 "In A Sentimental Mood' 165
18. 19. 23. 24, 64. 65, 69, Complete Bill Evans On Verve 'Flamenco Sketches' 73, 76, "In Memory Of His Father...'
86 28-9. 204 77 128. 128-129. 139
Aeolian Drinking Song' 57 Complete Fantasy Recordings •For All We Know...' 187 Incredible Kai Winding
AfflnilY 46. 182, 20-1 204 'Fran Dance' 67 Trombones (Winding) 85,
Alice in Wonderland' 90 Complete Riverside Recordings From Left to Right 145, 203 205
All About Rosie' 60 204 From The Seventies 203 Intermodulation (Evans/Jim
All Of You' 60, 68, 167 Complete Tony Scott (Scon) 'Funkarello' 100, 115, 129. Hall) 36. 131. 202
Alone 39. l4l. 203 17. 57, 60,' 204 150 Interplay 27. 97-98. 202
Alone (Again) 44, 166-167, "Comrade Conrad' 151-2 Further Conversations With Interplay
"
Sessions 100-101,
203 'Conception' 58 Myself 36. 136-137. 203 202
At The Monlreiix Festival 38. "Concerto For Billy The Kid' Intuition 43. 162-163, 203
140, 143, 203 59 Israels. Chuck 30. 33, 92. 94,
At Toivn Hall 36. 127-30, 202 Conception 202 Garcia. Dick 204 96, 110-111, 123, 130, 159,
'Autumn Leaves' 83, 143, 166 Consecration 196-7, 204 Gariand. Red 12, 13, 64 178
Conversations With Myself Garner, Errol 10. 122 Ivory Hunters (Evans/Bob
B 29, 105-110, 113, 202 Jimmy 20. 21.
Garrison, Brookmeyer) 75, 202
B Minor Waltz' 174 Corea, Chick 73. 159, 189 Gary McFarland Orchestra
Bach, J.S. 126 Costa. Eddie 61, 204 (Evans/McFarland) 104-
Baker, Chet 74, 78 Cross Section Saxes (Hal 105, 202 Jade Visions' 90
Bartok, Bela 64 McCusick) 204 'Gary's Theme' 174, 197 Jamal, Alimad 10, 12, 13
Basic,Count 57 Crosscurrents 44, 171, 203 Getz, Stan 87, 115, 161-162 Jarrett, Keith 73, 150
'Bemsha Swing' 109 Cn Records 146 Giuffre, Jimmy 78 fazz(}oe Puma) 204
Bennett, Tony 164. 170 'Gloria's Step' 158 fazz Abstractions Gunther (

Big City Blues' 72 Golden Moments (Tony Scott) Schuller) 21, 85, 205
Bill Evans Album 42. 150- Dameron, Tadd 95 205 fazz At The Plaza (Miles
152. 203 Danny Boy" 95. 98 Golson, Benny 205 Davis) ; 7, 205
67,
Bill Evans, Jazz Pianist. . Davis. Clive 149 Gomez. Eddie 34. 36. 38. fazz In Tl?e Space Age
film 138 Davis. Miles 13, 14, 18, 19, 39. 40. 45, 130, 133, (George Russell) 20, 84,
Bill Evans. Piano Player 203 51, 62-69, 72, 75-78. 91 137-138, 140, 142, 205
Bley, Paul 84 Davis. Richard 115 149, 158, 160, 162-163, fazz On A Sum trier's Day
Blue In Green' 73. 74, 76, Debussy. Claude 64 165, 169, 174-175, movie 67
83, 94 Dejohnette. Jack 38. 39. 133, 178 fazz Sahib (Sahib Shihab) 61,
Blue hi Green: The Concert 139, I4O Gone With The Wind' 163 204
In Canada l62, 203 Dial M For Music TV show Granados, Enrique 125 fazz Soul Of Porgy & Bess
Blue Monk' 109 139, 140 Great Kai &JJ (Winding/ (Bill Potts) 20, 74, 205
Blues And The Abstract Truth "Displacement" 59 Johnson) 21, 85, 205 fazz Workshop (George
(Oliver Nelson) 21. 87, Dolphy, Eric 86 Guys & Dolls Like Vibes (Eddie Russell) 1 7, 57, 59, 204
205 'Dream Gypsy' 99 Costa) 204 fazz 625 TV show 122
Body And Soul' 182 Driftin' 165 Gymnopedie No. 2' 94 fazzhouse 203
Brandeis University 60 Jesus' Last Ballad' 182
Brookmeyer. Bob 75 H Johnson, J.J. 85
Brown. Ray 170 East Coasting (Charles Haig, Al 10 Johnson. Marc 46, 176-178,
Brubeck. Dave 13, 51 Mingus) 17, 61, 204 Half Moon Bay 160, 203 182, 188, 190, 193
Buckner, Milt 10 'East Side Medley" 72 Hall, Jim 98, 99-101, 131 Jones, Dave 88
Budwig. Monty 98 'Easy Living' 58 Hammer, Jan 159 Jones, Elvin 115
Bunker. Larry 30. .'S3, 1 10- Easy To Love" 95 Hancock, Herbie 73, 149 Jones, Hank 12
111. 116, 117, 123 'Eiderdown' 172 Harrell, Tom 186 Jones, Phillyjoe 37, 64, 68,
Burrell, Kenny 170 electric piano l45, 150, 163. Hawes, Hampton I4 69, 72, 74, 97, 136, 138,
'But Beautiful' 162 178 Heath, Percy 22, 24, 170, 178
But Beautiful (Evdns/Sian 'Elegia' 125, 139 Hi Lili, Hi Lo' 163 Jones, Sam 72
Getzl 161, 203 Elliott, Don 50, 54, 60, 61, Mines, Ead 11 fuiup Forfoy (Cannonball
204 Hope, Elmo 10 Addedey) 65, 205
Eloqtieitce 44, 203 'House Is Not A Home, A' Just You Just Me' 107
California Here I Come 138, 'Elsa' 165 173
203 "Emily" 136, 195 •How About You" 107 K
Camera Three TV show 142 Empathy 27, 98, 202 How My Heart Sings 27, 95, Kay, Monte 85
'Cascades' 87 "Epilogue" 72, 73, 129 96-97, 202 Kaye, Connie 25.
Celia' 61 Evans, Gil 76, 77, 97, 124 Hubbard, Freddie 98 Keane, Helen 42. 95, 96, 164
Chambers. Paul 19. 69, 74 Evans. Harry (brother) 49-50. Hullo Bolinas" 158 Keepnews, Orrin 23. 58, 88
Cherry, Don 79 138, 174. 186 Hunt. Joe 135, 169 Kennedy. Robert 139
 INDEX

Kind Of Blue (Miles Davis) Modern An OfJazz (Tony Silver, Horace 11, 14

18, 18-19, 73, 75-78, 87, 204

Scott) 61, Pacific Northwest festival, US Simple Matter Of Conviction
205 Modern Jazz Concert 149 36 134, 203
Knepper, Jinimy 61 (various) 1 7, 60, 204 Paris Concert (1976) 171, 203 Since We Met 43, 160, 203
'Knit for Mary F' 196, 197 Modern Jazz Quartet 12 Pans Concert: Editions Singin Reed (Lucy Reed) 54,
'

•Know "What Mean' 86

I Moide festival, Norway 46-47 One/Two (1979) 46, 190- 204
Know What I Mean (Evans/ Monk, Thelonious 10, 13-14, 191, 204 Sleepin' Bee, A" 107-108
Cannonball Adderley) 22- 122 'Peace Piece' 72, 73 •So What' 77, 94, 143, 162
25, 25, 86, 202 Monterey festival, US 44-45, Peace Piece And Other Pieces Soft Land Of Make Believe
Konitz, Lee 51, 78, 171, 205 149, 166 (Frank Minion) 205
Koticli, Teddy 58, 130 Montreux festival, Peacock, Garj' 28, 114 'Some Other Time' 90, 164
Switzerland 38-39, 40, 139- People' 167 'Someday My Prince Will
140, 146-148, 165 'Peri's Scope' 83 Come' 83, 140, 197
LaBarbera, Joe 182-183, 190, Montreux U 40, 146, 203 Peterson, Oscar 10, 12 Something Neiv Something
194 Montreux in 44, 165, 203 Pike, Dave 94 Borrowed (Teo Macero) 205
LaFaro, Scott 26, 75, 79, 81, Moonbeams 27, 95, 96, 202 Pike's Peak (Xizve Pike) 27, 'Song For Helen' 179
82-83, 85, 86, 87, 89, 90-91, Moore, Michael 178 94, 205 Sold OfJazz Percussion
94, 175, 183, 189, 193-194 Morell, Marty 40, 41, 142, Piatt,George 51 (Byrd/ Adams) 84, 86, 205
Land, Harold 170 146, 158, 160, 162 Plays The Best OfLerner & 'Spring Is Here' 128
Last Waltz 47, 197, 204 Motian, Paul 28, 58, 75, Loewe (Chet Baker) 20, Stan Getz And Bill Evans
'Laura'134 81, 82, 91, 94, 114, 78, 205 (Evans/Getz) II6, 202
Lee Konitz Meets Jimmy 194 'Polka Dots And Moonbeams' •Stan's Blues' I6I

Giiiffre (Konitz/Giuffre) Mraz, George 178 195 Steig,Jeremy 142

78, 205 Mulligan, Gerry 60 Pop + Jazz = Swing (Benny 'StellaBy Starlight' 108, 134
Lees, Gene 109 Murphy, Mark 205 Golson) 205 'Stolen Moments' 87
Legrandjazz 1 7, 66, 205 My Bells' 100-101, 126 Portrait In Jazz 26, 82-83, 85 'Sugar Plum' 151
LeGrand, Michel 66 'My Foolish Heart' 128, 193 Ponrait Of Cannonball "Summer Knows, The' 165
'LetterTo Evan' 187, 196 'My Funny Valentine" 99 (Adderiey) 17, 65-66, 205 Sunday At The Village
Letter To Evan 195, 204 'My Heart Stood Still' 111, Potts, Bill 74 Vanguard 26, 88, 89-90,
Lewis, John 12-13, 21, 60, 79, 115 PoweU, Bud 8, 11, 134 202
141, 166, 191 'My Man's Gone Now' 74, 89, Prestige All Stars 204 'SweetAnd Lovely' 86
Live At Shelly's Manne-Hole 131 Profile In Cool Jazz TV show Swinging Introduction, A
29, 110-111, 202 My Romance' 59, 190, 195, 149 (Jimmy Knepper) 61, 204
Live At ne Half Note (Lee 197 Puma, Joe 204 Symbiosis 42, 159, I6O-I6I,
Konitz) 205 163, 166, 203
Living Time 42, 153-154, 203 N Q
'Love For Sale' 66 'Nardis' 66, 86, 188, 191, 193, Quiet Light' 173
'Love Theme From Spaftacu^ 198 Quiet Now' 137, 140, 190, Tate, Grady 124
108, 143 Nearness Of You (Helen 195 Tamm, Art 11, 159
'Lover Man' 143, l62 Merrill) 204 Quintessence 44, 170, 203 Taylor, Cecil 13, 89, 94-95,
Lowe, Mundeil 52, 58 Nelson, Oliver 87 118, 119, 146
'Lucky to Be Me' 73 'Never Let Me Go' l4l R Taylor, Creed 85, 87
'Lullaby Of The Leaves' 6l New Conversations 46, 178- Rah (Mark Murphy/Ernie 'Tenderly' 73
180, 204 Wilkins) 205 Tenderly 204
M New Jazz Conceptiotis 1 7, 57- Randall's Island festival, US Theme From Tlje VIPs... 110,
Macero, Teo 42, 205 59, 202 67 202
Magee, Gretchen 52 New York, NY (Ceoige Ravel, Maurice 64 There Came You' 100
Magic Touch (Tadd Russell) 1 7, 72, 205 Re: Person I Knew' 96, 128, Thielemans, Jean 'Toots" 182
Dameron) 27, 95, 205 Newport festival, US 60, 67, 151, 152 'Time Out For Chris' 143
'Make Someone Happy' 128 136, 143 Re: Person I Kneiv 43, I60, 'Time Remembered' 100, 111,
Mann, Herbie 94 'Night And Day' 172 203 126, 139, 152, 162
Manne, Shelly 29, 98, 134 'Night Images' 104 Reed, Lucy 54-56, 204 Third Stream music 60
Mannes School of Music 53 1958 Miles (Miles Davis) 17, Reflections In D' 180 •34 Skidoo' 97
Marmarosa, Dodo 10 205 Roots (prestige All Stars) 204 •This Is All I Ask' 182
Marsh, Warne 51, 171 Nirvana (Evans/Herbie Round Midnight' 108, 111, Together Again (Evans/Tony
McCusick, Hal 204 Mann) 27, 94, 202 192 Bennett) 164, 203
McFarland, Gary 104 'No Cover, No Minimum'
59 Rushen, Patrice 166 Tokyo Concert 42, 156-158,
McPartland, Marian 166, 182 No One Else But Me' 179 Russell, George 15, 56-57, 59, 161, 203
Mello Sound Of Don Elliott •NYC's No Lark' 106-107 60, 61, 64, 72, 79, 84, 153 'Tomato Kiss' 182
(Elliott) 204 Tony Bennett/Bill Evans
Merrill, Helen 61, 204 O S Album 44, 164, I66, 203
Message From Dick Garcia O'Day Anita 61 Satie, Erik 94 Touch Of Tony Scott (Scoa)
(Garcia) 204 Odds Against Tomorrow Schneider, Larry 182, 186 57, 204
Miles Davis & Tbelonioits soundtrack (John Lewis) SchuUer, Gunther 21, 60, 79, Trio Live 202
Monk At Newport (Davis) 78, 205 85, 85 Trio -64 29, 114, 202
67,205 Ogerman, Glaus 110, 124, Scott, Tony 20, 54, 56, 6I, 78 Trio "55118-119, 202
Milhaud, Darius 13, 64 125, 160 Scriabin, Alexander 124 Trios (various bass/drums:)
Mingus, Charles 60, 61 'On Green Dolphin Street' Secret Sessions 130, 205 Gomez/Dejohnette 139-141
'Minha' 190 65, 66, 74, 136 'Shadow Of Your Smile, The' Gomez/Jones 136, 137, 178
Minion, Frank 205 •Only Child' 186 137 Gomez/Morell 142, 146,
'Minority'73 'Opener, The' 173 Shearing, George 10, 13, 116 156-162
Modern Art (Art Farmer) 1 7, 'Orbit' 134 Shepp, Archie 131 Gomez/Wise 130, 132,
66, 205 'Orson's Theme' 173 Shihab, Sahib 61 135, 138
Bill Evans
Trios (continued...) 'Twelve Tone Tune' see 'T.T.T.' •We Will Meet Again (For
Gomez. Zigmund 163-164, 'Two Lonely People' 150, 152 Harry)' 174 Zawinul, Joe 149
171. 173-174 Tyner, McCoy 134 We Will Meet Again 46. 186- Zeitlin, Denny 137
Israels/Bunl<er 110-111, 187, 204 Zetterlund, Monica 34. 117,
116-117, 119, 122-123 U "What Is This Thing Called 122. 135, 163-164
Israels/Motian 92, 94, 95- Vncierctirrent (Evans/Jim Love' 83 Zigmund, Elliot 36, 163, 166,
97, 116 Hall) 27. 99, 202 What Kind Of Fool Am 1'
171, 173, 174, 182
Israels/Wise 127 'Up 'With The Lark' 158 167 Zindars, Earl 53
Johnson/Jones 178, 180 What s New 142-143, 203
John.son/LaBurbera 183, Who Can Turn To' 128
I

184-198 Verve Records 94-95, 97 Wilkins, Ernie 205

LaFaro/MoUan 75, 80-84, 'Very Early' 51, 52 Winding, Kai 85
85, 86, 87-91 Wise, Arnie 120, 124, 127,
Peacodv^'Motian 114 W 128, 135, 138
Tristano, Lennie 10, 14, 51, 75 Wald, Jerry 54 With Symphony Orchestra
T.T.T.' 151 Walkin' 57, 68 33, 124-127^ 135, 202
T.T.T.T.' 158 "Walking Up' 97, 140
•Turn Out The Stars' 129, Wallinglon, George 10
131, 171, 187, 193, 197 "Waltz For Debby' 52, 53, 59, You And Lee (Lee Konitz) 205
Turn Out The Stars (Ronnie 86, 90, 129, 151 'You And The Night And The
Scott's) 195, 204 Waltz For Dehhv 26. 88, 90, Music^ 196
Turn Out The Stars ("Vanguard: 202 You Must Believe In Spring
boxed set) 194-195, 204 Waltz For Debby (Evans/ 45, 173-174, 204
Turn Out The Stars (Vanguard: Monica Zenerlund) 117, 202 You 're Gonna Hear From Me
one disc) 47, 192-193, 204 Warner Brothers Records 172 203

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Picture Credits

Photographs were supplied by the following (number
Author's thanks indicates page; source in italics): Cover Jan Persson, 2
This project was started a number of years ago through Jan Persson, 9 Steve Schapiro; 16 Steve Schapiro. 18/19
the encouragement of three people. Steve Voce, Richarci all pictures by Don Hunstein/Sony. 20 Robert Parent; W
Palmer and Barry McRae in their very different ways 21 top Robert W
Parent; 21 centre right Ray Avery Jazz
guided me to tlie subject and helped me at various Archives; 22/23 all pictures Steve Schapiro; 24/25 all
problematic stages. They may be surprised to learn it, pictures Steve Schapiro; 26 main picture Steve Schapiro;
but I am grateful for their generosity, good humour and 28 picture centre left and main picture Lee Tanner; 29
resourcefulness. Bill Evans enthusiast Mike Sage also main picture Ray Avery Jazz Archives; 30/31 all pictures
helped with some knotty research problems. Jan Persson; 32/33 main picture and below right Jan
At the sharp end, a number of people were models of Persson; 34/35 all picti.iresy«H Persson; 36 main picture
courtesy, faith and resilience in pursuit of that elusive Ray Avery Jazz Archives; 37 Val Wtlmer; 38 top Lee
record, tape, book and magazine. Terri Hinte of Fantasy Tanner; 38/39 main picture Jan Persson; 39 top Jan
Records (US) deserves a major vote of thanks. Becky lesson; 40 all main picairesyafe Kilby; 41 both pictures
Stevenson and Julie Alison at Universal Jazz (UK) both Jan Persson; 42 top left Ray Avery Jazz Archives; 43
went to great lengths. Sharon Kelly and Adam Sieff at main picture ValWilmer; 44/45 main picture Ray Avery
Sony Jazz (UK) both helped me about the Columbia Jazz Archives; 46/47 all main picttires Jacques
years. Florence Halfon at Warner Bros (UK) tried hard to Hvistendahl; 49 Lee Tanner; 55 Lee Tanner; 63 Don
help with the latter-day Evans releases at a time when Hunstein/Sony; 71 Robert W
Parent; 81 Steve Schapiro;
little of it was current in the catalogue. Over and above 93 Steve Schapiro; 103 Jan lesson; 113 Ray Avery Jazz
this was the unfailing help provided by Peter Fincham Archives; 121 Jan Persson; 133 Jan Persson; 147 Jan
and his brilliant staff at Mole Jazz, London, across every Persson; 157 Ray Avery Jazz Archives; l69 Lee Tanner;
area of arcane research I could come up with. Xn Jacques Hvistendahl; 18$ Jacques Hvistendahl.
My grateftil thanks to my publisher and editor, Tony
Bacon, his partner Nigel Osborne, Sally Stockwell, and Other illustrated items including LP sleeves, CD inserts
all the team at Backbeat. Also thanks to Peter Symes for and magazines are from the collections of Stan Britt, Ted
invaluable picture research. Hatch, Per Husby, Jazz Journal International, Keith
Last, a note on chronology. The first dntft of this book Shadwick, Peter Symes, and The National Jazz
was completed at the same time as the publication of Foundation Archive.
Peter Pettinger'.s study of Bill Evans, How My Heart
Sings. Thus I was not able to avail my.self of its qualities The publishers would also like to thank: Brian
during my research and writing - but I used it as a Hennessy; David Nathan (National Jazz Foundation
valuable authenlicator and sounding-board when came
I Archive); Jim Roberts.
to the final editing of the text. So I only reinvented the
wheel once.
I dedicate this book to my family, whose presence "A day will come when a tranquil glance will bring order
constantly reminds me that the final thing to emerge and unity into the arduous chaos which starts tomorrow."
from Pandf)ra's Box was hope. Cesare Pave.se, Concerning Certain Poems Not Yet Written
 Bill Evans
l:ri'n'/hiii(> n(i/)/)ciis 'Jo
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BILL
IVIii.i:s
(I niiisical hi(><>rciphy

EVANS was
Davis's classic:
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ALBUM AND A KIV I K.I KL IN lili:

DF.VELOI'iVILN I OF MODI'KN

W IDl;-KAN<;iN(. AND AIJSOKHIN(. ( AKIKK,

FROM irffij\n<:f. work in riiF 1950s,

THROUGH ins GROllNDBRF.AKIN(. I RIOS

AND SOLO RF.C;ORDS, K) llll

INTENSE FINAL PHASE liEl OKI: HIS

DEATH IN 1980.

HIS MOST FAMOUS TRIO WIIH

Sc:oiT LaFaro and Paul Motian

THE MOST INFLUENTIAL MODERN

J;\ZZ PL\NIST

PIONEER OF MULTI-TRACK
JAZZ RECORDINGS

KEY PIAYER in THE RISE OF

MODAL JAZZ

MULTIPLE GRAMMY-AWARD WINNER

$19.95 ISBN 0-87930-708-0 '

51 995 Backbeat

www.backbeatbooks.com
AN IMPRINT OF
9 780879"307080' MUSIC PLAYER NETWORK