True Story–Playing with Red Garland

by Lightning Rod

Posted to Utterances on 2003-10-26 08:26:00

Playing with Red Garland

It was mid-seventies
everybody was wearing polyester
and there were disco balls everywhere

Red Garland had played all over the world
with everybody in the world, Coltrane, Miles
Charlie Parker.

comes time to settle down
he goes back to his hometown
takes up shop as the houseband in
a little dive jazz club in South Dallas

called the Arandas
corner of Oakland and Hatcher
almost one hundred percent black clientele
pale little white boys from North Dallas
didn’t venture there much.

but one night I went

me and my manager, Kazaam

we walked into the club and
Red was playing and also on the stage
the great James Clay on alto sax and flute
James had played with James Brown, Ramsey Lewis etc.

Kazaam was not versed in cool jazz etiquette
so as we walked in he placed my horn-case
on Red’s piano.

Red finished the set
and walked over and introduced himself
and asked me if I would like to play.
like the dumb punk I was, I said ‘sure’

Red walked off to get a drink or a smoke
and we were sitting there at the table
the only two lonely honkies in the place

“psssst. pssssssssst” from two tables over
it was an older black woman who I later learned
was Red’s old lady. She motioned us over.

“Say, I don’t know who you are, but let me ask you something.
Would you go down to the Venetian room in the Fairmont and
walk up and put your horn on Count Basie’s piano?”

Kazaam looked mortified.

he finished his drink and went to sit in the car.

but I just had to stay because Red Garland had asked me to play

with him.

I had listened to him play for years on some of my favorite jazz albums
I had seen him play in town a couple of times and it was a true thrill
to see this seventy year old man own the tunes of his era. All the jazz standards
he knew inside out and upside down. He could come at a tune from any direction, get into it or
get out of it, any way he wanted. He owned this music.

toward the middle of the next set, Red said, “We have a guest artist
in the house tonight—Mr. Lightning Rod.”

I was a punk. I had barely been playing the flute for two years. I had no business
taking the stage with these masters. But like I said, I was a punk, and I didn’t know any better. I’ve learned many things in my life this way.

I was on the microphone next to James Clay. It came time for my solo and I began playing. A few bars in I hear James whispering in my ear while I’m playing, “you ain’t doin’ the changes, man. Why don’t you go play in a rock-n-roll band. You ain’t doin’ the changes.”
It took me a few flustered bars to remember that there weren’t any changes to what we were playling. Red had been considerate (or cautious) enough to just play a moderate blues shuffle in C so that I could get my feet on the ground. He was nodding and bobbing his head and saying, “yeah, yeah” as I played. It took me a while to figure out that James Clay was just fucking with me to see if I could get my stuff out with him heckling.

Red and I got to play several more times together before he died, and James Clay and I became good friends and played together (and also engaged in various other nefarius activities) over the years until his death three years ago.

This is how the legacy of jazz works. It is passed from one to another. I will always cherish the opportunity to be in this chain and to have felt the personal touch of some of those responsible for my musical heritage.

lrod 10/26/03