ONE OF THE MOST INTRIGUING CAREERS IN JAZZ HAS TO BE THE ONE BELONGING TO BENNY GOLSON. HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY WHISPER NOT IS AN EXCELLENT INSIGHT INTO THE MIND AND SOUL OF THE OCTOGENARIAN, WHO SPINS INTRIGUING YARNS OF HIS DAYS GROWING UP IN PHILADELPHIA WITH A YOUNG JOHN COLTRANE, PERFORMING IN DIZZY GILLESPIE’S BAND WITH QUINCY JONES, AND THEN BECOMING PART OF THE FRONT LINE (ALONG WITH LEE MORGAN) FOR ART BLAKEY’S JAZZ MESSENGERS. DURING THOSE YEARS, HE PENNED JAZZ CLASSICS LIKE “BLUES MARCH,” “ALONG CAME BETTER” AS WELL AS ICONIC THEMES SUCH AS “WHISPER NOT,” “KILLER JOE” AND “STABLEMATES.”
DURING HIS PEAK PLAYING YEARS, HE TOOK TIME OFF TO WRITE SCORES FOR MOVIES AND TV SHOWS SUCH AS M.A.S.H., PUTTING HIS TENOR SAX AWAY IN PLACE OF THE PEN.
MISSING THE PERFORMING SIDE OF MUSIC, HE DUSTED OFF HIS TENOR AND RETURNED TO RECORDING AND GIVING CONCERTS, EVEN BEIND CAPTURED PERFORMING AND ACTING OUT HIS OWN ROLE IN STEVEN SPEILBURG’S FILM THE TERMINAL. HIS MOST RECENT ALBUM, HORIZON AHEAD, IS NOT ONLY FILLED WITH GREAT SOUNDS, BUT IT CONCLUDES WITH AN ENCOURAGING TALK BY GOLSON HIMSELF.
WE HAD A CHANCE TO CHAT WITH BENNY GOLSON BEFORE PERFORMING IN SANTA MONICA, REUINITING WITH OLD FRIEND QUINCY JONES. THE MUSIC, AS WELL AS SPUN YARNS BETWEEN THE SONGS, WAS A REFLECTION OF A MAN WHO GREW UP DURING AN ERA WHERE THE GOAL OF AN ARTIST WAS TO HAVE HIS OWN SOUND, STYLE AND STORY TO TELL.
BENNY WAS KIND ENOUGH TO SHARE ABOUT HIS CAREER, FRIENDS AND THE GRACE OF GOD.
YOU GREW UP IN PHILADELPHIA, A HOME TO MANY GREAT JAZZ MUSICIANS. WAS THERE SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT THAT CITY THAT GAVE BIRTH TO THE LIKES OF YOU, STAN GETZ, MCCOY TYNER, THE HEATH BROTHERS, LEE MORGAN AND OTHERS?
It actually wasn’t special while we were a part of it. It was just ordinary. It became years later in retrospect that we realized that it was special. It was just an ongoing thing that we were privileged to be a part of.
We didn’t realize that so many great musicians came from there. It was just something that was taking place. But, years later it was special; we just didn’t know it at the time.
YOU WROTE A GREAT AUTOBIOGRAPHY WHISPER NOT. WHAT WAS YOUR MOTIVATION?
First of all, I’m an old guy now, and old guys have traveled a lot through time, so I’ve collected a lot of information. So, I thought it would be nice to share this information. The book that you see before you is less than 300 pages; I had written over 1,000! The rest is gone the way of “whatever”.
WHY?
Who’s going to put out a 1,000 page book? Are you kidding me? (laughs) I could have had “Are You Kidding Me, Volumes 1 and 2” (laughs)
WHAT IS THE BIGGEST TAKEAWAY YOU WANT READERS TO GET FROM THE BOOK?
I love the music. It is a part of me. Of course I could have survived being a cook or someone who parks cars. But, it was my life. I was a piano student at first, at nine years old and had to find out where the stuff was on the saxophone at fourteen years of age. I fell in love with it.
I thought I was going to be a classical pianist. I went into it really hard. I was playing recitals; my teacher used to send me out to play at Sunday afternoon teas for these ladies and things like that. My mother always thought that when the church organist Mrs. Conley died that I would become the church organist.
I came to her one day and told her “Mom, I don’t think I’m going to play the piano anymore. I think I want to be a saxophone player, playing jazz.
Her response was “Oh my God! You’re going to be a dope addict!” (laughs)
I had to convince her, and she became one of my biggest champions.
WEREN’T YOUR FIRST GIGS WITH R&B BANDS LIKE EARL BOSTIC AND “BULL MOOSE” JOHNSON?
I’d been playing the saxophone about six months, and somebody knocked on my door. It was a saxophone player and he said “I heard you played tenor saxophone. Would you like to play with my band?”
This was an amateur band, but we had rehearsals. Our first gig was at a Youth Center, 22nd and Columbia in Philadelphia. And I got paid…four dollars! I kept those four dollars for years. It meant something to me; it was a beginning.
I thought that when I left Philadelphia if I got good enough I’d get in a jazz band. But no jazz group called me for my services.
I kept waiting, and a rhythm and blues band came through; “Bull Moose” and His Buffalo Bearcats, and I was ready to go. I joined and became one of his Buffalo Bearcats.
WHAT DID YOU LEARN IN THAT STINT?
I learned that even though I wanted to play jazz I learned the larger scope of music itself. The blues, rhythm and blues, the lyrics and the stories that they told as well as the lives of the other musicians. I had come out of my protective Philadelphia home, and I’m on my own travelling. Good things and bad things.
We got a job in Chicago and nobody got paid. Let me tell you how bad it was then; they had radios in the rooms but you had to feed it a quarter for an hour. Then it was TVs like that.
YOUR OWN PLAYING AND WRITING MAKES MORE SENSE KNOWING YOU HAVE AN R&B BACKGROUND, AS YOUR GENERATION HAS THAT BLUESY SWING PULSE TO IT, SOMETHING MISSING IN TODAY’S PLAYERS.
Yes, I had to learn about that thing that they call “soul,” which is all about feelings.
I don’t know if people think that way now; they used to think that only black people knew about “soul.” It wasn’t true, and I found that out. White people have soul, too! Color doesn’t make anything, it’s what you feel and what you have an affinity for.
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“I’d be playing with the windows open and all of the neighbors could hear me; they wanted to kill me. When John joined me they wanted to kill two people. (laughs) We eventually got better.”
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WHAT ARE YOUR REFLECTIONS BACK ON YOUR EARLY DAYS WITH LIONEL HAMPTON?
Let me tell you; what made me want to become a saxophone player is my going to hear Lionel Hampton, as I’d never heard a big band before.
That day, I didn’t go to school; I went to the Earl Theatre. When I got there it was Intermission and the curtains were closed.
Then a bright light came up on the closed curtain and the band started playing while the curtain was closed. When that curtain opened up it was like a new world. So many saxophones; there were five of them. Behind them were the trumpets and trombones, the drummer, the piano and bass player…I was awe-inspired.
And then right in the middle of this tune called “Flying Home” Arnett Cobb stepped out of the saxophone section to the edge of the stage. This microphone came up from the stage and he started his solo. The piano started to fade. It changed my life. And then years later I became a member of his band, and I couldn’t believe it.
That’s where I met Quincy Jones. When I got there you had Quincy, GiGi Gryce, Clifford Brown and Jimmy Cleveland. What an experience.
And with Hampton, he never wanted to stop. When the program was over they’d close the curtain figuring he’d stop playing but he didn’t. I told my wife years later when I was going to join The Golden Men of Jazz, a seven piece group that he had (in 2006) that “it was going to be easy; he’s older now.” It was worse! It was unreal; he just never wanted to stop. (laughs)
TWO THINGS SHINE IN THESE STORIES; SWING THE BLUES AND GIVE THE CROWD WHAT THEY WANT.
Give them what they want. I remember there was a club in Philadelphia called The Rich Point. It was where not two intersections, but three would cross like slices of a pie. Anyone who worked there had to “walk the bar” if they played the saxophone.
I walked the bar. John Coltrane walked the bar. Jimmy Heath walked the bar. I want you to know that I never tipped over a drink. (laughs)
YOU GREW UP WITH JOHN COLTRANE. WERE YOU SURPRISED BY HIS MUSICAL TRAJECTORY AND DIRECTION? DID IT INTIMIDAT OR INSPIRE YOU?
It didn’t intimidate me at all, because John was kind of a marathon man.
When I met him he was playing alto saxophone, and he sounded just like Johnny Hodges.
I happened to live in a three story house; he lived in an apartment so we had more room in my place. In the living room we had the record player where we could play records and try to analyze what they were doing. That was our “school”; there were no schools for jazz saxophone players or jazz anything!
The 78 rpm records were our teachers. When we bought 78 rpms, 3 minutes each side, and it was 37 cents for the record. When we first got the record, it was black and shiny. But, when we moved that tone arm back and forth, asking “what did he play in the bridge? What was the melody?” it was dull and gray by the time we were finished with it. That was our school.
We got better, but we weren’t professionals by any means. By the summertime I’d be playing with the windows open and all of the neighbors could hear me; they wanted to kill me. When John joined me they wanted to kill two people. (laughs) We eventually got better.
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“It didn’t intimidate me at all, because John was kind of a marathon man.”
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WHAT WERE YOUR FIRST GIGS?
We both got hired in big band. Jimmy Johnson and His Ambassadors of Jazz. John was playing 3rd alto and I was playing 4th tenor.
The music was corny, but we were no longer just playing in my living room; we were playing in front of people. We were on our way!
I thought we were doing pretty well; I was 16 in high school and John had just got out of the navy, so he was 18. The gigs were on the weekend, which was great for me because I was still in school.
We didn’t have telephones in those days. Jimmy Johnson’s son was sent to my house to tell me that the Friday night gig that night was cancelled. He went and told John, so he came over and we played records, but we were a little sad because we couldn’t play that night.
My mother only went to school for a few grades, but she had a thing called “Mother Wit,” that inner intelligence. She could have gotten a job with the FBI; she was like that.
She asked us what was wrong and then asked “What time did he send his son over?” John said “he came by at 6:30.” The gig was at 8:30, so she thought about it and said “Nobody cancels a gig two hours before they play. I bet they’re playing without you.”
John in all of his naivete said, “Oh, no, Mrs. Golson. They wouldn’t do that.”
So she said, “If I were you I’d go and find out.”
We went up there about ½ a block from the place and John said “I hear a band playing our music!” We went to the door, but didn’t buy any tickets. But when someone opened the door, we fell on our stomachs and saw Jimmy Johnson and His Ambassadors, and someone was in our seats.
We went back home and John said “You were right Mrs. Golson” and we just stood there in the living room. We felt like our lives and careers were over. We both wanted to cry, but were too hip to cry in front of each other.
My mother saw us standing there in our pain, put her arms around us and said, “Don’t cry boys. One day you’re going to be so good that a band like that won’t be able to afford to hire you.”
We didn’t believe it, but years later John and I were playing at the Newport Jazz Festival. He’d put his band together, bought a soprano saxophone and was playing “My Favorite Things.” Art Farmer and I had put together the Jazztet and were playing “Killer Joe.”
John and I happened to be in the tent warming up. John suddenly took the reed out of his mouth and started laughing hilariously. He said “Remember what your mother told us? Those guys are still in Philadelphia, and we’re here in Newport!” We both laughed at my mom’s prophecy.
BEING WITH ART BLAKEY CHANGED YOUR PLAYING AND WRITING, WITH A BIG HIT “BLUES MARCH.”
It changed everything.
What happened was that Jackie McLean was the alto saxophone player. I just moved into New York, and got a call one day from Art Blakey asking if I could sub for Jackie for one night because he wasn’t feeling well.
I went down to the Café Bohemia in the Village and played that one night. I had heard Art Blakey on his records, but playing with him and his drums behind me was something else. it was like being soothed with oil. The Bible talks about the Balm of Gilead; yes indeed!
When I finished that night, I forget how much he paid me, but he asked me if I could come back the next night. It was great!
After the third night, he said to me, “I don’t think Jackie’s going to make this gig any longer; can you join the Jazz Messengers?”
I told him, “Art, I’m so sorry; I just came to New York and I want to establish myself as a saxophone player and as a writer, doing TV and radio commercials, writing for singers and dancers. If I leave with you now all of that will be put on hold and I don’t know when it will happen.”
He asked if I could finish the week, and I did. But what I didn’t know about Art Blakey was that he was not only a fantastic drummer, but also a pocket psychologist. When that weekend came to an end, I had 5-6 nights with Art, and I’m beginning to develop “Art Blakey-itis” without knowing it.
He then said, “We’ve got one week in Pittsburgh; it wouldn’t destroy you if you did that, would it?” So now I’ve got two weeks under my belt! I’m really feeling what he’s doing.
He then asked me “Didn’t you go to Howard University in Washington DC?” I said “yes.” “I bet you know a lot of people there, and they’d be glad to see you.” I said yes, went with the band there and became a Jazz Messenger by default. (laughs)
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” I had 5-6 nights with Art, and I’m beginning to develop “Art Blakey-itis” without knowing it.”
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YOU ENDED UP HONING YOUR WRITING SKILLS THERE.
He permitted me to write. He also let me take over everything that had to do with the band.
Here’s why:
During a break one night I said to him (because I knew how much money he was making), “Art, the way that you play you should be a millionaire by now.” When he heard the word “millionaire” his eyes widened.
He asked me “What should I do?”
I dared not say what I said, but I said it anyway, “Do everything that I tell you.” (laughs)
“What do I first do?
I told him “Get a new band. Tell everyone that they’re fired.”
He said “I can’t do that,” but eventually I got the band together; Lee Morgan who played with Dizzy Gillespie when he was 18. Bobby Timmons on piano, who used to play with Kenny Dorham. He can play funky. Both from Philadelphia.
I have in mind for bass a guy named Jymie Merritt; we used to play together with Bull Moose Jackson. This guy can play. He’s also from Philadelphia.
Art says “What is this thing about Philadelphia?!?”
I said “Look, Art, we’re all from Pennsylvania; you’re from Pittsburgh.
“Golson, you’re a salesman.”
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“I feared that (drugs) would impair where I wanted to go and how I would get there. I was afraid I might like it, so I never touched anything.”
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HOW DID YOU DIRECT THE BAND?
I told Art, “With your talent, you’re doing what every ordinary drummer does. You’re playing your drum solo at the end of the tune when everyone’s tired and worn out.”
“You’ve got to play something with the drums at the beginning.”
We sat there and thought what he could do. I said “You’ve done everything that you could possibly do…except a march” and we both started laughing. I said, “Wait a minute! Let’s do it.”
“Are you kidding? Nobody plays a march in jazz!”
I told him “I’m not thinking of a typical army march. Have you ever heard of that college band in the south, Grambling? Their marches are funky, dirty and greasy!”
I was begging him. He finally let me because he knew it wasn’t going to work.
So, we’re in Small’s Paradise; I bought a used piano for $50 and I started to write this march. What was it going to be? A blues-“Blues March.”
I told Art I wanted the drummer to imitate the drums on bugle corps. When the bugles aren’t playing, what do you hear? You hear the bass drum, snare drum, cymbals and that’s it. Before we play the song, do something like that. The band will know when to come in when you play a roll off.
He asked “What’s a roll off?,
I couldn’t play the drums, so I did it with my mouth “Brrrum dum, Brrrum dum BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRump bum.”
We came that night, and I made the announcement “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re going to hear something you don’t expect to hear from a jazz group. It’s a march, but a different kind of a march.
Art started to play, just by himself. When the song started, the audience sat still, but when Lee and I came in, they started moving! When we got into it, Art added a Bobby Blue Bland backbeat to it.
The club was too small for dancing, but people got up, started to dance and knock over everyone’s drinks. Art looked at me and said, “Well all be ‘you know what.’” !!!
After that, everyone who came into the band had to play “Blues March” until the time he died.
Playing with him was my greatest experience ever.
YOU’RE A MAN OF FAITH. YOU’RE ONE OF THE FEW GUYS OF YOUR GENERATION OF JAZZ ARTISTS THAT AVOIDED DRUG ADDICTION. WAS THAT BECAUSE YOUR FAITH? YOUR MOTHER?
I didn’t have any faith back then. What really stopped me was that I was afraid that I might like it, and that I might go the route that some of my friends went. They overdosed. The music became subliminal and the drugs became their number one thing. I feared that it would impair where I wanted to go and how I would get there. I was afraid I might like it, so I never touched anything.
They would try all kinds of things to try to get me, but I never did it.
EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN’T HAVE FAITH BACK THEN, YOU CAN STILL SEE GOD’S GUIDING HAND.
That’s true, because you do things and things happen to you that enable yourself to get to that other thing.
LOOKING BACK ON YOUR LIFE, WHAT ARE YOU MOST SURPRISED ABOUT?
Steven Spielberg calling me to play in a movie that was about me!
I asked him why he selected me out of all of the other musicians, and he told me “When I was in college, I’d come to hear you.”
Tom Hanks came up to me and said, “Ben, you don’t know what an honor it is to be doing this with you.”
LIKE THE PROVERB SAYS, “YOU SEE A MAN GOOD IN HIS FIELD? HE WILL PLAY BEFORE KINGS.
Absolutely. I’m telling you. These guys Hanks and Spielberg are just ordinary people who happen to be famous.
LIKE THE PERFORMANCE THAT HE GAVE BEFORE THE PACKED CROWD AT THE MOSS THEATRE, BENNY GOLSON EXUDES CLASS, STYLE AND HUMILITY. HIS RECENT AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS AN INSPIRING PIECE OF LITERATURE, WHILE HIS COMPOSITIONS CONTAIN AS EVOCATIVE STORIES AS HIS BOOK.
IF YOU’VE ONLY HEARD OF BENNY GOLSON THROUGH PERFORMANCES BY OTHER ARTISTS, DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND CHECK OUT HIS OWN MATERIAL. IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE RE-ITERATED THAT IT’S ESSENTIAL TO SEE ONE OF THE LAST LINKS TO HARD BOP PERFORM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. GOLSON IS A REFLECTION OF AN ERA AND LIFESTYLE THAT WILL BE MISSED, BUT IT’S STILL NOT TO LATE TO LEARN FROM