It will be an ongoing, and very somber, progression, watching so many old-school jazz musicians (many of whom recorded on the epic Blue Note label during the glory years of the mid-’50s to late-’60s) pass away as the 21st Century soldiers on.
I am sad to read about the passing of Pete La Roca (Peter Sims). HERE is a link to a nice tribute from the Ottawa Citizen (including some kind words from Dave Liebman). In case you are click-through impaired, here is Liebman’s parting shot:
Pete was one of a kind … a stubborn, brilliant guy who insisted on perfection. I will never forget the lessons he taught me, which I recite almost daily in my teaching. For me, Pete’s passing is in a sense like the passing of a father or uncle, meaning of all my mentors he was the last to survive.
La Roca managed to be a typical and unique jazz player of this period. He was sought after, respected and made some special music. At the same time, he resented the hustle and sham of the music industry and left the scene altogether to practice law. Like Michael Corleone, just as he thought he was out, he was drawn back in. A man this talented and tenacious could not remain outside of music forever, and it’s good for everyone that he returned to what he was put here to do.
Speaking of what he did and how he did it, I’ll happily refer to one of my favorite drum tracks (and favorite tracks, period), the opening, title track from Booker Little’s masterful swan song Victory and Sorrow. (More on Little, HERE.) A taste, below:
What Keats was able to convey so succinctly, and enduringly, with words, Little achieves without needing a single syllable. His voice, of course, is his instrument, and his trumpet tells the story of his life: not for nothing was his final work entitled Victory and Sorrow. It’s not possible to listen to this music without hearing the history of illness, injustice and ultimately the transcendent human ability to, at least temporarily, overcome anything.
Although I’m talking about Little and the inimitable (almost unbearable) melancholy and yearning he was able to conjure, he was aided immeasurably by the top-tier bands he managed to assemble. On “Victory and Sorrow” La Roca holds the lantern as Little shows us some of what he was already seeing. The way the drummer mixes moods and times at the beginning (.47-1.02) and end (5.20-5.32) of the song manage to move and excite me, even having heard them too many times to count. He takes a song that is already perfect and elevates it to that special, “other” place that can’t, and shouldn’t be articulated, only appreciated. That is the mark of genius, plainly put. It is a marvel, a humbling gesture of greatness, to behold.
Like Little, La Roca did not leave us with a lot (well, depending on how greedy one wants to be), but what he did leave with us can –and should– be cherished.
Here he is on his first outing as a leader (on Blue Note, natch), “Candu” from Basra:
Here he is, gracing the proceedings with his calm, sensitive cool on the title cut from Freddie Hubbard’s Blue Spirits:
Here he is with another gentle giant, Joe Henderson, on a delightful tune entitled “Recorda Me” from Page One:
And a note to leave us on, one more from Victory and Sorrow, “Calling Softly”:
