by
Jan Stevens
Like
all creative geniuses, Bill Evans was a complex man. He was an extraordinary
musician whose early life's dogged perseverence and dedication to
learning his craft was rarely matched in the jazz world he came
up in. His playing could often mesmerize crowds all over the world,
yet he preferred playing alone without an audience. He was a true
intellectual, a brilliantly articulate spokesman on jazz history,
an avid reader on many subjects, and a fine classical pianist who
almost chose that music as his profession. He was a college-educated
musician who would sometimes work on permutations of the twelve-tone
row, or often compose an amazing new tune in his small staff book
-- all while riding the subways in New York. He was also quite athletic,
played high school football, and by many accounts, was a superb
golfer, quite adept at billiards and bowling and often a winner
at the racetrack. A world-class pianist, he often sight-read through
Bach's two and three-part inventions and Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Bartok, etc..
Bill was a soft-spoken man of great humility, yet one who greatly appreciated his fans, and who later in his life came to understand
his place in the jazz pantheon. In the times I was fortunate to
be hanging out with him at his NJ home, or talk with him on the
phone, he was always sweet and genial; a "regular guy"
in the best sense, and man of great, natural musicality, compassion,
insight and erudition.
Needless
to say, he changed the way we all hear jazz --whether we realize it oror not -- and of course, he changed the very foundations
of chord- voicing and improvisation forever. A very private and
reserved soul, who nevertheless reached out through his own naked
self-expression, Bill was able to somehow create a fresh and vibrant
soundscape that remains illuminating, if not downright spiritual
to all who can really get inside of it and hear it at the highest
levels. Though his "chops" were right up there with those
of Art Tatum, Oscar Peterson, Powell et al -- he was uninterested
in the cliches and jazz licks that were common to his generation
of jazz pianists, nor did he employ technique for its own sake (though he had plenty to spare) .
But he was able to enter into the very essence of melodic structure,
or show us the inner soul through his quintessential revolving harmonies
and unique rhythmic sense.
When
he was "on", he brought to his performances an engagingly
personal emoting of the human condition. I recall some nights when
I caught him at the Village Vanguard when he'd finish a tune, and
it was like the air left the room. Such was his unassuming, yet
vital power. Even on his few sub- par nights -- who knows whether
it was due to his health or personal problems and addiction-- he
was still fascinating to listen to; his creative consistency served
him well, like the true professional he was.
Like
the giants of the artistic spirit who came before him -- Picasso, Beethoven, Shakespeare, Chopin, or Ellington for just a
few examples -- whose truly timeless art transcends boundaries and
genres or categories or labels , the form he chose to work in (jazz)
can be said to be, in this particular sense, almost secondary, in
respect to the art that it trancends.
If one listens to some of
the 1979-80 versions of "Minha (All Mine)" or "I
Do it For Your Love", or his own composition "Laurie", do they not evoke
great new vistas of profound beauty? If one listens carefully to
his revolutionary-for-its-time "Peace Piece" from 1958,
does it not only un-selfconciously evoke strains of Chopin, Satie,
and Messian, while also foreshadowing some of the so-called "New
Age" piano music of twenty years later? If one is familiar
with some of his unique reharmonizations of standards, don't they
still remain in some cases (As Sintra did) become the definitive versions? If one compares the latter-day versions
of "Nardis", do they not weave intricate tapestries of
angular, yet approachable intricacy and emotion? If one plays through
any of his own tunes, like "Your Story" or "Turn
Out the Stars", or "Time Remembered" just for three
examples, don't they innately reveal a sublime sense of compositonal
logic, but also the almost limitless possibilities they allow for
improvisation-- and does it matter that these are "jazz"
compositions? I think not necessarily. Maybe the answer to that
lies partially in the fact that so many varied artists have done
tribute albums of his music -- and perhaps more significantly, renowned
classical pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet's whole album
of Evans solo piano transcriptions and compositions.
(Whether that project was successful or even wholly legitimate is
entirely debatable, but the point still stands. )
Make
no mistake: Bill Evans was, of course, firmly within the jazz tradition
and its ongoing aesthetic, and was proud of it. Besides his legendary
ballad playing, he could swing like crazy with his own trios, and
it's impossible to imagine certain albums by Miles or Mingus, Stan Getz, Chet Baker or Cannonball
Adderley or Kai and J.J. and many others without him.
Yet, aspects of some of his best work transcend jazz as we know
it --sometimes even confounding and delighting those who are not
amenable to jazz to begin with. (Try out an early "My Foolish
Heart" or almost anything from the "You Must Believe in
Spring" album on your uninitiated, musically-intelligent friends
and see what happens.)
Had
he lived, what might he have done? Speculation should be taken at
face value, yet this question is always postulated about various
well-known and often beloved individuals whose commonality is that
they died way too young, regardless of their life' work. They are as varied as Charlie Parker, John
F. Kennedy, John Lennon, Bix Beiderbeck, John Coltrane, Martin Luther King, and
others, but the exercise may be somewhat useful in recalling the
importance and vision of Evans the artist. Firstly, it's been said
that a duo album with pianist Oscar Peterson was already well into
the talking stages. Bill's manager Helen Keane alluded to a proposed
orchestral project that would reunite Bill with composer Michel
Legrand. (Evans recorded a number of his tunes, and did an album
with him and Miles Davis in June 1958). There was also talk of possibly
doing an album with Bill's old friend, the great altoist Phil Woods.
Evans the composer also left behind a few finished gems that he
never got the chance to record, and have yet to receive their proper
treatment, like "Bill's Belle", "Catch the Wind",
"What You Gave" and others. (Lead sheets of these tunes
are published in "The
Bill Evans Fakebook")
Nonetheless,
even though we can only wonder what might have been, and how an
older and even wiser Bill Evans may have surprised us with new riches,
the prolific catalog of recordings he left behind is practically
inexhaustible. "New" audio and DVD releases of his concerts
and club appearances have been released for the first time over
the last decades. More than twenty-five years after his passing,
his fan base remains enthused and involved, and ever-increasing,
as if he never left us. His work continues to provide new insights
and intensely valuable lessons for musicians, as well as food for
the souls of listeners, whether professionals or laymen. His compositions
and solos are steadily published, and are still a major part of
curriculums in jazz colleges worldwide. In short, his music is still
being discovered, and his persona is as highly revered as ever.
Bill
spoke of the "universal mind" that exists in
all people, if they can learn to think in the language that the
universal mind uses -- a musical language that remains alive and
well today, still scintillating, still expanding, still showing
those with intelligence who can hear in it the depths of ecstasy and pain and life and
love. That Bill Evans spoke so eloquently in this language in such
a trancendent fashion should surprise no one, especially those of
us who still make his music a part of our daily lives, and whose
very consciousness his great music continues to touch.
That
is the mark of great art.
Jan
Stevens is a pianist, teacher and the webmaster of
The Bill Evans Webpages.
©Jan
Stevens 2006. All rights reserved.
