Straight Life (30 page)

I turned the radio up and drove. I took the cutoff on Brooklyn Avenue, and there I was. I drove to this broad's pad that I used to know, Rachel. She and her brother, Boy, still lived at the same place, and they were so happy to see me. It was really a homecoming. They said, "Wow, look at the car!" Hora le, Art!" They were talking Chicano to me, and I was talking Chicano back, and I asked them if they had any stuff. They said, "Yeah, what do you want?" I said, "Can you still get a quarter for fifty dollars?" I had a whole pocketful) of money. I reached in my wallet and gave them fifty dollars. Boy said, "I'll go. I'll be right back!" He came back with a condom with a quarter of an ounce of heroin. I said, "You got a 'fit, pistolo?" He got it out, and I said, "Let me go first, then you can go." I took a fix and I said, "Wow, this is it!" I was happy again. I stayed there bullshitting for a long time, and then I took the shit. I said, "You got an extra spike?"

I went home, and as I drove up the dog started barking. I parked the car and walked in, and Diane said, "Where've you been? I've been worried." I took the condom and threw it on the table. I threw the outfit out and I said, "Go ahead." And that was it. The beginning of the end. Six months later I was busted, on my way to San Quentin, and Diane was in the Orange County Hospital on her way to death.

ART PEPPER

Art Pepper Plus Eleven-Contemporary M 3568: Move; Groovin' High; Opus De Funk; 'Round Midnight; Four Brothers; Shawnuff; Bernie's Tune; Walkin' Shoes; Anthropology; Airegin; Walkin'; Donna Lee.

Personnel: Pepper, alto, tenor saxophones, clarinet; Pete Candoli or Al Porcino, Jack Sheldon, trumpets; Dick Nash, trombone; Bob Enevoldsen, tenor saxophone, valve trombone; Vince DeRosa, French horn; Herb Geller or Bud Shank or Charlie Kennedy, alto saxophone; Bill Perkins or Richie Kamuca, tenor saxophone; Med Flory, baritone saxophone; Russ Freeman, piano; Joe Mondragon, bass; Mel Lewis, drums.

Rating: * * * * *

This is a highly satisfactory album for which Marty Paich, who conducts and did the arranging, deserves a full measure of credit.

The tunes read like a jazz hit parade of the '40s and '50s, and Paich has treated them with the reverence and seriousness they deserve while still retaining wit and a freshness of view. Pepper, in the context of this group, turns out one of his best performances on record. As an altoist, he immediately assumes his place again in the front rank with the added virtue of successfully escaping the tyranny of Charlie Parker's spirit and still keeping that full-blown swing. He is surprisingly sensitive and moving on clarinet (Anthropology of all things!), and if he ever gets seriously down to work on that instrument as his major, there's room to believe he might be the one to bring it up to the point of development of the other solo horns.

On tenor he is a solidly swinging, toughminded soloist, but it is on alto, still, that he shines. The whole album is in excellent taste, the solos by Freeman here and there are a gas, too, and Lewis provides a fine, swinging foundation. (R.J.G.) down beat, February 16, 1960. Copyright 1960 by down beat. Reprinted by special permission.

(Marty Paich) In the fifties, when I first came across Art, shortly after World War II, when we had a quartet in town, it seemed like there wasn't that much anxiety as there is today. That is, people played, and they enjoyed themselves. Today there's such an emotional stress on performers; this total commitment to try to be number one has really destroyed a lot of artists, and record companies and agents and managers have sort of manipulated the artist, trying so hard to make him number one. It has become very difficult. With so much money in the music business today, so many people are pressing, and it has a definite effect on the artist.

When I first met Art he was the greatest saxophone player that I had heard. Far above anybody else. I couldn't believe how beautifully he played. And at that time there was the battle going on: a lot of writers were writing about East Coast Jazz and West Coast Jazz. Art to me was the sound of West Coast jazz, that melodic style he played, rather than the harddriving, New York style that a lot of players were playing. I just fell in love with him the first time I heard him. And then eventually we worked together.

I didn't work with Art for a long time, until he went over to Contemporary and he wanted me to do some writing for him. I was with Shorty Rogers at the time, and Art used to come and sit in an awful lot, and I was starting to write a lot of arrangements in the early fifties. Art liked certain things I did, and that's when he asked me to the Art Pepper plus Eleven. We collaborated on that album. Incidentally, that album got five stars in down beat. It was an incredible album, and I got a lot of letters from people talking about that album, and they still are talking about that album.

I felt, and I feel to this day, that Art is the number-one saxophone player around for my particular taste. I liked him so much; well, we were doing a lot of commercial sessions. I started to get very busy arranging, and I had a lot of albums to do. At that time, I was working with a lot of singers so I'd bring Art just in by himself. On Jesse Belvin's album; I think he played on Lena Horne's album; he played on several albums that I did at RCA Victor when I brought him in just to hear him play. Then we became good friends. Of course, my direction at that time was going more and more into arranging, and Art still had his quartet, so we really didn't see each other too much except when he was in town. I'd try to get together with him and call him and have him come down and play.

Art was, he looked like a movie star to me. He was in good shape, pitch-black hair; he looked marvelous, you know, he looked like Tyrone Power; he was so handsome, and he had a lot of poise, very quiet, a lot of class. When he came on, people quieted down, and when he played he played with such authority. There was standing room only for Art when we played a lot of clubs or when I went into a lot of clubs to hear him. And people just loved to be associated with him. Everybody loved to be in his company. When Art was in the room there was a certain magic that was happening. If he was there, that's where the action was. When the word got around that we were going to do Art Pepper plus Eleven, I had innumerable calls from practically everybody in town, top players, wanting to be on the session because they had the feeling that ... It was just electrifying all the time Art was around. I can't say enough about him. And when he called me to do the Plus Eleven I was just elated that we were going to work together. We spent a lot of time together, and I really gave my all as far as writing is concerned. I felt I had to prove myself to Art. I wanted to try and come close to his stature, you know what I mean, and that's where we were at that particular time. There have been saxophone players that have come and gone, but Art's in a class by himself. There isn't even anybody close.

Art is just a simple human being. Simple, artistically, and very easy to understand, for me. He just wanted to play. His personality was just beautiful all the time. I didn't associate with him too much, I'm talking about socially, but when we worked together I found I never had any problem with Art Pepper, never one small disagreement. He said to me, "Just do what you think." And he did what he did, and I made suggestions, and Art would say, "Fine." Very soft-spoken, very laid back, never any problem. Whereby today, if Art and I were young kids working, there might be disagreements because of the way things are, the stress. A lot of players today are so concerned with the success factor. In our situation, we were striving for the artistic thing rather than trying to think of agents and managers and a lot of money, which is involved today. In those days, we didn't even think about the money aspect. We just wanted to play and to write. Today guys half play, and then the other half of it is money right away. And the minute money enters into it, it's a totally different ball game. Art and I just hit it off, and it has always been that way, and everybody I knew felt exactly the same way. And not too long ago, when we used him on Melanie's album, he just came in; fifteen years had gone by and he was exactly the same way.

I was never involved with drugs myself. Certain players striving for total excellence, trying to go as far as they could artistically-a lot of them felt they needed it, most of the players that I knew. Well, like I say, I didn't get involved in too many of their lives socially, you know. I could only stand by the side and hope it wouldn't happen because in the end it has a devastating effect. I never was around Art when I thought he was out of control. He always had that same composure and played beautifully, and I couldn't tell whether he had been on drugs or if he was straight. There were one or two times that Art showed up late on my sessions, but I understood what the situation was and it didn't bother me at all. I just loved him so much that I sort of bypassed it and worked around it because I knew when he got there, everything was going to be fine. And this came later. Not in the earlier times. It was later that the problems started to happen. But, you know, people in this town at that time: if you showed up late, it got to be a scene, and the word would get around, and things like that, but, listen, that is nothing compared to today. Today players show up two or three hours late with nothing said, so, you know, signs of the times.

One thing musically that I definitely have to stress, and that is the fact that in addition to Art playing such beautiful notes ... There were many players that did play a lot of nice notes, but they floated. They sort of moved around the swinging part of it. They were so engrossed in the technical aspect of what they were doing to get the notes, the swinging suffered. But Art had them both together. He had the notes, and he was swinging all the time. That's very important. I hope you mention that. Art always swung, and that's the thing that put him above everybody else. And he played all the instruments, and he played them all exactly the same. He put them in his mouth, and it was Art Pepper. I don't care if it was baritone, tenor, clarinet. He's the greatest. He always will be.

(Steve Kravitz) I think it was in the early part of 1960 that I met him. I was Art's student until probably a month or two before he got busted.

It was really weird. I had some class in high school and for one of the assignments you had to interview someone in the profession you wanted to go into. So all these people in the class were making appointments with accounting firms. I went to the Lighthouse because Art was playing there with Conte Candoli, and I asked Art if I could talk to him, and he said okay. I listened to the band, and then they took a break, and Art said wait a minute, and Conte sat down and started talking to me. I was so naive at the time. He was layin' all this stuff on me, like, "My family doesn't know I'm out here playin'. They think I'm back in New York sellin' dope." I said, "Really?" I was sixteen years old. As soon as he said that and I reacted to it honestly, I realized that he was puttin' me on. Art was still in the kitchen, and Conte wanted to know what I was doin', and I told him that I was here to interview Art for this project, and Conte said, "Why the hell don't you study with him?" I said, "Well, uh." It never occurred to me that somebody like that would teach. I didn't know anything about musicians. To me, Art, guys like that, were stars like Marlon Brando. It never occurred to me that I'd get as far as I'd actually gotten. I had his albums. I listened to them all the time.

Art came out of the kitchen, and Conte left, so I asked him the questions. They gave you a list. Then I asked him about studying with him. My heart was goin' like this. And he said, "Oh, yeah." I remember he had an incredible Lincoln car. I remember it being pink; maybe it was maroon. It had to be the biggest car ever made. I asked him, "How do you make it from the valley to the Lighthouse?" And he said, "Well, I spend most of my paycheck on gas."

He gave me his address and told me to call him and we would set up something. I was so stupid. I didn't even know about answering services. I called him and got the service, and in my mind ... They just said, "Art Pepper." I thought I'd got the maid. I figured if a cat was that famous, he had a lot of bread. And this was a period when he was really goin'. He'd made the Art Pepper plus Eleven album. He was really tight with Marty Paich, and he was doin' all that stuff.

We set up a time, and I went out there. He lived on Ventura Court. It's an alley. One little street north of Ventura Boulevard at Whitsett. It was three doors up, small living room, one bedroom, shower. It was right behind a bar that's now called the Queen's Arms. The first time I went out there I couldn't find Ventura Court to save my life. I drove around for half an hour. You know, Whitsett goes right up the hill, so I drove up the hill because I was still on this trip about the maid and the big house. It had to be in the hills. I finally stopped and called and it turned out I was right across the street. When I got there it was kind of a surprise.

I guess he had me play. I don't remember how we got started, but I do remember he writes out all his lessons. They're beautiful. He'd write out an exercise and a duet and a jazz etude, and for my assignment I had to write an exercise and a duet. It wasn't just playing. We played through some stuff, and he had me do some sight-reading to see how I did. He hated the mouthpiece I had. He was always handing me his. I had a metal mouthpiece, and his was rubber. I hated the way I sounded on his mouthpiece. Little did I know. When you switch from metal to rubber you get a darker sound at first, and that's what I was hearing. He didn't push it though. The lessons were around an hour and a half. I pulled out my wallet to pay him at the end of the first lesson and realized I'd left all my money at home. I almost went through the floor. He got really nervous. He was still playing at the Lighthouse, so I said, "I'll bring it out there tonight." He said, "I've really got to have the money." I was so embarrassed I could have crawled under anything. I went that night with a friend of mine to the Lighthouse, and I remember when I walked in Art waved to me, which was a big thrill. I just handed him the bread, right there in front of ... I was so excited. I had no idea what was going on. To me he was just Art Pepper, my idol. I had no idea what was going on at all.