Remembering Dr. Billy Taylor

The Marlowsphere (#20)

My friend and mentor Dr. Billy Taylor passed on December 28, 2010 of heart failure at age 89. Tomorrow, July 24, 2012 would have been his 91st birthday. Dr. Taylor played a prominent role in my evolution as a composer and educator. Below is my commentary on our relationship as it appeared in my January-February 2011 Take Note e-newsletter.

Jazz Father Dr. Billy Taylor

Dr. Billy Taylor’s influence on my professional life cannot be under-estimated. Billy was my “jazz father”: mentor, a friend, and, most definitely, a role model. In many ways paralleling Leonard Bernstein’s eclectic “my work is in music” statement, Billy, seemingly without much effort, evolved as a jazz musician, a composer, arranger, band leader, radio producer, record producer, concert producer, author, journalist, and, perhaps most importantly, an educator.

He was a world-class statesman for jazz. Billy’s contribution to the elevation of jazz as America’s classical music is enormous. His personal presentation and performance demeanor gave jazz a much needed classier and distinguished image. He was always well-dressed. He was an articulate, yet gentle man who in a quiet but determined way advanced jazz as an important contribution to world culture. His importance in this context must be recognized. For a long while jazz musicians were perceived as loose living, drug addicted, hard-drinking people. To a degree this perception was well deserved. Billy, on the other hand, was a class act who demonstrated that jazz was a music and ethos to be respected.

The ASCAP Jazz Songwriting Workshop

In 1980, in response to the urging of a vocalist friend at the time, I applied to an ASCAP-sponsored jazz songwriting workshop to be led by Dr. Billy Taylor. I was already familiar with his playing, so the prospect of being chosen for this workshop was compelling. At the time, though, presuming mostly much younger composers would be selected, I was quite modest about my chances. I was in my mid-thirties at the time and had composed perhaps a few dozen jazz pieces. Much to my surprise I was chosen to be among 32 participants for the six-week workshop. I later learned Billy had personally auditioned all the applicants’ audiotapes. I was both excited and petrified.

The weekly seminar was held at ASCAP’s offices in the Lincoln Center area of Manhattan in the evening. When I arrived and began to scan the room to see who else was there I was in for a big surprise. This was an eclectic, almost ecumenical group of participants. The age range went from late teens to over 60. There were just as many men as women. The ethnicity was also broad. I felt privileged to be in the room.

When Billy entered the conference room the high level of respect was palpable. When he sat down to play on the fairly in tune upright piano I felt the same kind of swoon that I did when I listened to Bill Evans or Oscar Peterson, especially in live performance. Incidentally, for a while in the early 1970s I lived next door to jazz pianist legend Bill Evans in Riverdale, New York (the same area where Billy lived). When I discovered my neighbor was the Bill Evans, I was so intimidated I literally stopped playing for about five years. The ASCAP jazz songwriting workshop was therefore pivotal in my coming back to the music I have loved since I was eight or nine years old.

Not only did I admire Billy for his playing and composing, and all the other things he did in his very full life, I learned some important qualities about teaching. I’m a professor in the Department of Journalism and The Writing Professions at Baruch College in New York City. I’m also the senior co-chair of the Milt Hinton Jazz Perspectives Concert Series there. Several of the teaching
characteristics I have infused in my own pedagogy I learned from observing Billy in this workshop.

What impressed me most about Billy’s interaction with the workshop participants was how he was able to relate to each person on their own level. Certainly, there were ranges of talent and experience in the room, but it didn’t matter to Billy. He was always patient and sought to bring out the best of each person in the room. His attitude–one that he expressed to me later–was that each person has potential and that potential should be nurtured. It was an astonishing teaching experience I have never forgotten.

The experience of that 1980 workshop resonates with me to this day. In addition to Billy’s extraordinary presence and commentary, he also brought in guest speakers, among them Harold Danko, who at the time was a rising star in his own right as a composer, pianist, and author. Harold became my first formal jazz composition teacher with whom I studied for almost two years. I sought him out at the workshop because of my own struggle to get beyond myself. Even though I had composed several dozen short pieces, I didn’t have a clue as to how to write them down. My goal was to learn how to write it out so that others could effectively and efficiently play my music. Harold became head of the jazz program at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. I’m still in touch with him.

Another guest speaker was jazz singer and educator Janet Lawson. I attended a few of her performances shortly after the workshop ended. Fast forward a couple of decades. About a year ago I ran into her at the New School where she teaches jazz singing. Janet and I have collaborated on creating a couple of tracks for a vocal album I’m producing titled “In Their Own Voice.”

The JazzMasters Series

After the workshop ended I made it a point of listening to Billy play live as often as possible, especially when he performed at Knickerbocker’s in downtown Manhattan, close to where I was living at the time. As always, he was generous with his time and person. He would sit with me and chat. I don’t remember what we talked about, but I was always impressed by his accessibility, warmth, and constant encouragement. So much so that I asked him to serve as co-producer of a television series on the history of jazz, based partly on his book Jazz Piano, with him as on-camera narrator. The series’ working title was JazzMasters. He readily agreed. He even sat for an hour while we shot video of him talking about the series. I should mention here that for almost a quarter century my professional life revolved around the television production business. Combining my television experience with my love of jazz seemed a natural for me.

My budding relationship with Billy also seemed like a natural next step in terms of his involvement. Billy’s name, of course, opened many doors in terms of people wanting to participate. And shaping the series was also a no-brainer. The major stumbling block was raising the money. It’s always the money. I spent almost two years of my life working on the project to no avail. And as everyone knows, Ken Burns got to the money. I heard almost 15 million dollars worth.

In my opinion, Billy got short-shrift in the Burn’s series. Billy spent almost 70 years, a significant portion of the 20th century, working in jazz in various capacities. He should have been given much more on-camera time. Billy’s 20-year stint at CBS Sunday Morning as a musical arts correspondent (they did a nice retrospective piece on him in their January 2, 2011 broadcast) notwithstanding, I have often wondered why the PBS American Masters series never did a program on him. A senior member of the now defunct International Association for Jazz Education once did a documentary on him. I watched some of it. It was awful. It did not do Billy justice. He deserved better. He still does.

The failure of the JazzMasters project (and several other music-oriented television projects, including one for children with Peter Schickele) taught me some huge lessons about raising funds. But, more importantly, it also pushed me in a healthier direction. Despite other non-musical activities in my professional life, I had yet to fully embrace the musical impulses constantly traversing my body and soul.

Taking the Plunge Into Music

I finally decided to take the plunge and go where I had feared to go. I had taken some continuing education music theory courses at the New School, but I quickly realized I needed more, much more. In 1995 I was accepted into a City University of New York BA program in classical music at Hunter College. I ultimately went on to pursue the MS in music composition, also at Hunter.

In between all this I was accepted into the BMI Jazz Composers Workshop. One outcome was a first album entitled “A Summer Afternoon With You” with Michael Abene–then associate director of the BMI Workshop–leading a quintet. The first cut on the album is an up tempo homage to Billy entitled “Taylored for Billy.” Virtuoso jazz bassist Chip Jackson, Billy’s long time bassist, was also on the “Summer” album. I eventually charted a big band version premiered by the George Gee Big Band at Swing 46 in New York.

A second album “Making the Music Our Own,” is also Taylor-influenced. This CD is a collection of Hebraic melodies I had arranged in various jazz, Afro-Cuban, and Brazilian styles. I got the title of the CD from a story Billy used to tell about an interaction he had with Duke Ellington. The story goes something like this:

Billy was playing with a small ensemble at the Hickory House in New York when in walks the Duke. During a break the two sit together and chat. At some point in the conversation Billy says to Ellington “How can I improve my playing, especially when I’m playing your music?” Ellington thought about this question for a while and finally responded, “Find a way to make the music your own.” Billy told this story at an IAJE conference concert right before he played his version of “A Train” in a sultry, slow moving style with a major tenth spread in the left hand.

I never forgot that moment and immediately thought of it when devising the title for the aforementioned album.

Staying in Touch With My “Jazz Father”

Over the years I stayed in touch with Billy by phone, at several IAJE conferences, and at talks he gave at Lincoln Center. Every time we met I was greeted with an enthusiastic smile. We sat several times together for lunch. One time he talked about his trip to China in the 1980s which greatly interested me because I am drafting a book on this same subject following my two visits to China in 2000 and 2006. Each time we interacted I felt the conveyance of respect from him for what I was doing. This only elevated my respect for him. Every moment I was with him was a special time. And there was no such thing as a short conversation. He gave of himself in a way I have not experienced with anyone else.

Billy was kind enough to provide a comment on the tray card of my fourth album, “Wonderful Discovery” an all-Latin tinged album with Grammy winner, piano virtuoso Arturo O’Farrill leading a group of some of the best Latin players in New York. All the compositions were original, except for my Latin-funk arrangement of “Summertime.”

He took the time to call me personally to convey his response to the music. He gave me permission to quote him. This is what he said of the album:

“I love what you did with ‘Wonderful Discovery.’ The solos are terrific, the songs are great. What I love is the feeling of the old Machito band–all those rhythms and the fact there is so much melody. And you got the right musicians to play the music.”

Billy had played with the Machito band in the 1940s.

I was able to return the favor, so to speak, for Billy’s generosity with me over the years by inviting him and his trio to perform at the Milt Hinton Jazz Perspectives Concert Series at Baruch College. In 1996 we were then in our fifth year. Billy and his trio, including bassist Chip Jackson and drummer Winard Harper, performed for a full house in our then 1,200 seat auditorium. Billy was his usual high-level performer and educator, always interacting with the audience before each piece, always talking about the music and what it means. History will be the ultimate judge, but at heart I think Billy was an educator (his doctorate in education, notwithstanding). He used every opportunity to talk about the music, not just in a pedagogical style, but to convey the cultural and social importance of the music. What a teacher!

The last time I had contact with Billy was for his 88th birthday. I called to sing “Happy Birthday” to him. I do this for all my close friends and relatives. And now he is gone. My biggest regret is that I did not have more contact with him in his last year. This was a great man, moreso for his humanity than for his numerous musical talents. To say that he influenced tens of thousands of people would be a gross understatement. This man did an enormous amount for jazz and American culture. I can envision numerous programs will be named in his honor in the future and deservedly so. He won’t be forgotten. His legacy and what he stood for will live on in all those whose lives he touched.

Billy once told me how proud he was of me for the work I was doing. I was in my early sixties when he conveyed this to me. I floated several inches above the floor for some time after hearing this from one of the great men of the 20th century. We all need a mentor and a role model, regardless of age and level of accomplishment and I am no exception.

When I introduced Billy and the Billy Taylor Trio at the Baruch College Milt Hinton Jazz Perspectives Concert Series 14 years ago I said to the audience then that if I had a chance for a second life, I would want to come back as Billy Taylor. I feel the same today. I miss my “jazz father” very much.

Please write to me at meiienterprises@aol.com if you have any comments on this or any other of my blogs.

Eugene Marlow, Ph.D.
July 23, 2012

© Eugene Marlow 2012

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