LAURIE INTERVIEW

JazzWax: When and where did you and Bill Evans meet?
Laurie Verchomin: We met on April 13, 1979, in Edmonton, Alberta. It was Friday the 13th. We
met in a Ukrainian church [pictured] on 97th Ave. that had been converted into a Chinese
restaurant. I was the cocktail waitress for the whole room. I also was a member of the local jazz
society that had invited Bill to perform at the restaurant. Ironically, the church space now is a soup
kitchen.
JW: Did you have eyes for Evans?
LV: Actually, Bill chose me. I had just turned 22 years old. He pursued me when we met and that
night asked me to go up to his room. I didnt really understand that at the time. He was 50 years old
older than my father, and I had a boyfriend. But I thought it was sweet. So I invited him to my
place with a bunch of his fans and served him tea. He gave me his business card. The night before
he left Edmonton, he wrote me a letter from his hotel. His letter was immediately full of love.
JW: What kind of love?
LV: He was very upfront with how he felt about me, and he felt it was important that we get
together. I wrote back about the effect of his music on me and sent him one of my favorite quotes
from Sartre: When you tear your neighbor to pieces, all your neighbors will laugh. But if you beat
on your own soul, all souls cry out."
JW: Did Evans indicate that it was a painful time for him?
LV: Yes. Bill wrote me in his second letter that he had received my letter just days after his brother
Harry [pictured] had committed suicide. Harry was a schizophrenic. In the letter, Bill described his
relationship with his brother and how his brother was a hero to him. Bill saw his brother as his
equal, not as an inferior musician or anything like that. In fact, if anything, he put Harry a little
above himself. He had such deep respect for him.
JW: What do you think Evans saw in you initially?
LV: Im a really creative person and a really good person. I think he saw someone he could be
himself with and possibly draw some energy from. He was quite ill when I met him, and I could tell
that he didnt have long to live. It was obvious to both of us that he was near the end of his life. He
didnt hide that. I think he was looking for someone with energy to sustain him for the last 18
months. I also didnt have many responsibilities in Edmonton, and he knew that, too.
JW: Whose idea was it for you to visit Evans in New York?
LV: After I received Bills letter about his brothers suicide, I was quite moved. In that letter, Bill
urged me to come visit him in New York. Thats when I started to consider having a relationship
with him. I felt his need, that he was in trouble and needed someone to talk to.
JW: When did you leave for New York?
LV: I left Edmonton at the end of May 1979. Bill met me at the airport in New York and couldnt
have been sweeter and more caring. I felt a connection right away. I had wanted to return to New
York anyway. I had been there the year before studying acting at the HB Studios in Greenwich
Village.

JW: How would you describe your relationship with Evans in New York from the outset?
LV: At first I didnt think Bill was going to be my lover. I was just going to see how things went
when I got to New York. We made a sexual connection immediately. It was really beautiful. I began
to imagine a future for us. I thought at first that I could restore him to health.
JW: Was that a challenge?
LV: It was pretty shocking. Bill lived in Fort Lee, N.J., at the time, on Center Ave. in a high rise
called the Whiteman House [pictured]. He lived on the 9th Floor. His place was absolutely serene,
very orderly. But his physical state was disastrous. After all of those years of heroin abuse, he barely
had a body left. His spirit was moving his body around. I realized that restoring him to health would
be a seemingly impossible task.
JW: What was so shocking?
LV: Bills body.
JW: How so?
LV: When I met him, Bill was an intravenous cocaine user. This created a chronic level of infection,
which was adding to the general stress of his health. Tracks from his earlier heroin addiction had
healed over, and his skin was in a kind of petrified state. He apparently only had an eighth of a liver.
JW: What did you think?
LV: You have to remember, I was 22 years old. All the people I knew were young and had firm,
youthful bodies. Bills body took me aback. He looked like hed come out of a war. He was really
scarred up. He had vigor though. He was incredibly lively. It was amazing and shocking that he
could survive what he had put his body through.
JW: How did Evans view himself physically?
LV: He was accepting about his condition, which also was kind of shocking. I just went with that.
He wasnt in pain. His physical body had been like that for years, and he wasnt embarrassed about
it. When youre young, youre self-conscious about everything. Youre new and beautiful. I was
self-conscious about my hairstupid stuff. But people who arent in that youthful state of
perfection lose some of that vanity. Their consciousness takes on a different focus.
JW: How did Evans treat you?
LV: He was deeply respectful. He treated me as his equal. I had never met a man who treated me
that way. I had grown up in a very redneck town with cowboys everywhere. Bill was the opposite of
the guys I had known. He was the kindest and most generous man I had ever met. He offered me
everything he had. He was a fully present human being from the moment I stepped off the escalator
at the airport. He paid attention to me, and there were no pretenses. I could be myself.
JW: How did Evans view you?
LV: He was in love with me. He saw me as a source of inspiration. He also didnt want to be alone
while he was dying.
JW: Did that scare you?
LV: I had to go to that level to be there. Bill had invited me to share his space while he was in his
final creative process. I was ready to have that experience. I really wanted someone to see me as a
whole person. He saw me that way and allowed me to share his experience.
JazzWax: Bill Evans Laurie was composed for you. How did the song evolve?

Laurie Verchomin: Bill wrote it on May 31, 1979, at the end of my first visit to New York. He sent
me several versions of the song in his letters that followed. There were five letters in all with five
versions of the song. The final version is dated July 29, 1979.
JW: Could you read music at the time?
LV: Yes, so I could figure out what the song Bill wrote sounded like. Both my parents were
musicians. My father is Ukrainian Orthodox, so we grew up in the church with melancholy music.
Bill had that background, too. His mother belonged to the Russian Orthodox Church. So we shared
that heritage. Thats where much of the mood in Bills music comes from: the Russian Orthodox
Church.
JW: Did you enjoy what you heard in the music Evans sent along?
LV: Very much. In fact, [jazz educator and pianist] Andy Laverne is looking at all five versions. He
wants to write a harmonic analysis of Bills songwriting.
JW: What is Evans saying to you in Laurie?
LV: Its an ascension thing. He modulates up, up, up. As he said to me, You have to work really
hard and make something out of your life. My life became that ascending song after his death.
Everything evolved from that experience, from the trauma of his death.
JW: How was Evans as a companion?
LV: He was perfect. He left me a lot of space. You could have your own thoughts. Discussions
would arise. When youre young, you want to know everything. I was so open to everything. He
was very keen to that.
JW: Did you ever fight?
LV: Never. Actually, I take that back. We had one moment when he was very upset with me.
JW: What happened?
LV: He asked me to do something for him that I refused to do.
JW: What?
LV: Bill asked me to go buy him cocaine. I refused. I told him I wasnt going to do it. So he raised
his voice and got really angry. A couple of hours later, though, he brought me a Hallmark card with
a stock message written by Leonard Nimoy [pictured]. Bill wrote an apology on it [below]. He had
a great deal of control over his emotional state.
JW: How did Evans manage that?
LV: He always thought out in advance how he was going to express his feelings. Its a thing
ofLaurie creating observations. If you can get to a place where you can observe how youre feeling
before you express those feelings, you create a space, a buffer zone, where you can objectively
consider your feelings. It becomes like an art form. [To read Evans' note, click once on the image to
enlarge]

JW: Was it frustrating not being able to extract Evans from his drug habit?
LV: Given our age difference, I wasnt trying to influence or control his life. I knew that the only
thing I could do for him was to be there emotionally, to observe and help if something was beyond
his control. I was there to cover for him.
JW: That seems a little distant and detached.
LV: Look, when you meet someone who has terminal cancer and is dying, your energies arent
spent trying to save them. You spend your time doing what you can to help comfort that person.
JW: Did Evans ever indicate that he would make an effort to quit his cocaine habit for you?
LV: Bill would make overtures that he wanted to quit. But it was clear that he wasnt going to. And I
wasnt there to fight that force. It would have destroyed me. My task was to be accepting. All I
could do was to make the daily struggle as easy as possible for him.
JW: Why was someone as gifted and as in control as Evans so hopelessly addicted to something so
obviously destructive?
LV: I never did figure that out. That part of him was a really deep place. I dont know why someone
like Bill would be so persistently self-destructive. Its such a conundrum. Its such a riddle. For me
its still a mystery. The only way to understand Bill was to realize that
Bill destruction and creativity exist simultaneously. Because Bill was so intensely creative, he had
an intensely destructive side. He told me he never could do anything halfway. It all had to be to the
extreme. He felt the same way about his addictions.
JW: Did Evans know how you felt?
LV: No. I never had a discussion about his addiction. Its not something he wanted to discuss with
me. It seemed obvious to me that the issue was not going to be discussed seriously or ever fully
resolved.
JW: Was traveling with Evans during his performance tours in 1979 and 1980 exciting?
LV: They were nerve-wracking trips. It was always a tension-producing experience. It was
physically stressful to travel and perform. He was traveling with large amounts of drugs going
through airports. We were in a new city every few days, making [drug] connections, getting to the
clubs, playing the gig and getting back to the hotel to rest up. Then it was on to the next city.
JW: Did you go with him to Paris in November 1979?
LV: No. I joined him in London at Ronnie Scotts Club for two weeks. I wasnt invited on that Paris
trip. But soon after he left he called to tell me that things werent going so well with his health. He
was quite ill. The music is what carried him. Whatever I added certainly wasnt as powerful as the
energy he received from the music.
JW: Did Evans get any rest on the road during his last 18 months?

LV: Bill rarely slept the entire time I knew him. When youre consuming cocaine the way Bill was,
he would be in different states of exhaustion and never truly rested. He never slept.

Tomorrow, Laurie talks about Bill Evans and Miles Davis, how Evans felt about Davis, what Bill
told her about Davis' cruelty toward him, and how Evans' manager Helen Keane coped with his
self-destructive streak.
Photos of Laurie in 1979 (top) and the Hallmark card courtesy of Laurie Verchomin. Laurie is
working on a book about her relationship and experiences with Bill Evans. For more, visit Laurie's
site here.
JazzWax tracks: Bill recorded Laurie 12 times between August 1979 and September 1980. One of
my favorite versions is Evans' last known performance of the song, recorded without his knowledge
at Keystone Korner in San Francisco on September 6thjust 11 days before his death. The track is
available on The Brilliance, which can be downloaded at iTunes and Amazon. Now that you know
the composition's back-story the song sounds like a musical letter of desperation and relief to
Laurie, who was in the club that night.
JazzWax: During the period you knew Bill Evans, was his music coming from a place of pain?
Laurie Verchomin: There might have been some emotional pain, but not physical pain. He wasnt
really experiencing physical pain. He chose not to experience physical pain thanks to the drugs he
was taking. He was using those drugs to keep himself going.
JW: Why?
LV: Bill didnt need a doctor to tell him he had only so many months to live. It was clear to him.
Any rational person would have known that. He was very much in a state of ecstasy. Given the
drugs and knowing that youre going to be leaving this world soon, youre in an ecstatic state
because youre trying to get everything you can out of every moment.
JW: Did it ever strike you that in Evans, you had extreme beauty and sensitivity and ugliness and
self-loathing all at the same time?
LV: The contrasts were very extreme. Thats what was so shocking. There were really ugly parts of
the relationship and really beautiful parts. Its like New York City. What has always attracted me
about New York is the enormous amount of high culture set in a filthy grimy tension-producing
place. But thats what makes it special. The contrasts. The puzzle.
JW: Was Evans two different people or one?
LV: With Bill, it wasnt as though he was divided between two different personalities. He showed
me that it was all one thing: creativity and destruction. You couldnt separate out the beauty of his
art and the ugliness of his addiction and physical state. They were one in the same, feeding off each
other.
JW: What was Evans' biggest fear?
LV: Bill wasnt afraid of performing. He was a professional. I got the sense that when he looked
into my eyes, whatever fears he had he was offering them up to me. It was a strange experience.
JW: Did Evans talk much about his period with Miles Davis?
LV: Miles and Bill were still in touch when I was with Bill. One day Bill asked me if I wanted to
meet Miles. But from what he had told me about him, it was all too much for me. Miles was in a

crazy place back then. He was living in seclusion and had a wacky life going on. He was hanging
out with transvestites and had an entourage of kinky people coming and going from his place. He
had created quite an out-there life. He was even farther out than Bill. Given what I had going with
Bill, going over to Miles place would have been too much for me. It would have been too surreal
and overwhelming.
JW: What did Evans think of Davis?
LV: I got the feeling that Miles wasnt a nice person. Bill said Miles would go out of his way to
tease him in different ways, to take him out, throw him off his game. I dont know why Miles did
that to him, but it did seem cruel. Bill said theyd go out on the road [in 1958], and Miles would say
things to Bill to put him on. Bill was innocent and vulnerable. He didnt expect those kinds of
things. Bill said Miles [in 1958] came on to him sexually as a joke. Miles said something like, If
youre going to be in the band, youre going to have to have sex with me. Bill took Miles words
seriously, and Miles' constantly played with Bill's head, which was upsetting to Bill.
JW: Why?
LV: Bill at heart was a really nice person. He liked to have really nice people around him. When
youre a nice person and you have nice people around you, you dont say things like that. Miles
wasnt very respectful in those kinds of ways. I don't think Miles was as spiritually evolved as Bill.
JW: Was Bill egocentric?
LV: No, not at all. He had looked at his ego when he was young. He drew this diagram for me. It
was a diagram of his Jungian perspective of super ego and rebuilt ego. When you see your ego this
way, you can step back and look at it and analyze the conditioning of your early childhood
experiences and understand what is needed to rebuild the ego so youre operating from a proactive
place. Thats what made Bill such a great person to be with. He did a lot of reading of Eastern
philosophy and of [psychiatrist Carl] Jung's works. Bill was highly developed in a spiritual way.
JW: Did Evans get hooked on heroin in Miles Davis' group, as some books claim?
LV: Bill didnt talk about it. But he did say his addiction had started before joining Miles' sextet.
Bill said he came to heroin on his own. It was around the time he joined Miles but it wasnt through
Miles. It happened in New York, with a group of musicians he was close with. It may have been a
very acceptable form of behavior for musicians at that time. Bill had other friends who were
musicians. Some were experimenting. He joined in on it.
JW: Who were the musicians?
LV: I dont want to say. I heard who it was from someone other than Bill, so repeating names
wouldnt be fair.
JW: What did Helen Keane, Evans' manager and producer, think about his destructive side?
LV: Helen was white-knuckling it over the last few years. The whole situation was out of control.
She made me the road manager, meaning I was supposed to collect the cash from the clubs. She had
handed over the responsibility of paying Bill's rent and other bills to an accountant. There were
problems with the IRS. It was all surreal. [Pictured: Helen Keane and Bill Evans]
JW: Was Helen unable to cope?
LV: I think Helen was doing the best she could given her abilities. She had had a long relationship
with Bill and had brought him through a lot. But near the end, it was unbearable for the two of them
to communicate.

JW: How so?

LV: Helen couldnt handle the stress of where he was headed. Bill didnt need or want the extra
financial stress either. Toward the end, she didnt want to be in close personal contact with him any
more. [Pictured: Keane and Evans]
Tomorrow, Laurie talks about how Evans composed in their New Jersey apartment, grappling with
Evans' cocaine habit, what it was like taking piano lessons from Evans, and why Evans enjoyed
socializing at the racetrack.
Photo of Laurie in early 1980 (top of page) courtesy of Laurie Verchomin. Laurie is working on a
book about her relationship and experiences with Bill Evans. For more, visit Laurie's site here.
JazzWax tracks: Bill Evans' first album after starting his relationship with Laurie is the much
overlooked and somewhat prophetic We Will Meet Again (Warner Brothers) recorded in August
1979 and dedicated to his late brother Harry. This was his last studio recording. Going forward,
Evans would be recorded live through early-September 1980.
Rather than record with just his trio (Marc Johnson on bass and Joe LaBarbera on drums), Evans
was joined on different tracks by trumpeter Tom Harrell and saxophonist Larry Schneider. He also
recorded two tracks solo. We Will Meet Again won a Grammy in 1981 for Best Instrumental Jazz
Performance.
JazzWax: Given everything Bill was going through, did he remain focused on his music?
Laurie Verchomin: Bill engaged with music every single waking moment of each day. He took all
of his resources and put them into being creative. That was his highest priority, to keep creating. He
put everything he had into music. Most people cant even consider what its like to put everything
into something to a point where theres nothing left for yourself.
JW: Did Evans listen to his own music?
LV: Bill was into listening to whatever he was producing at the time. He was doing a lot of
composing. He had a beautiful Chickering and Sons baby grand piano in the living room. His first
wife Ellaine gave it to him. He would get up in the middle of the night and play really softly
because we were in an apartment building. At the piano, he would be in a state of ecstasy. Every
time he sat down, he would be working on different themes.
JW: Was there a lot of reworking?
LV: No. Bill would just start playing and things would come out. It was like watching a potter at his
wheel. Hed start to shape what he was playing, and soon it was formed. When it came to music,
nothing was tortuous for him.
JW: Did he consume cocaine before composing?
LV: Bill was always on drugs. That was just part of who he was. He never got up because he never
went to sleep the entire time I knew him. Hed lay down resting. Hed nod out. But he was never
really asleep. You have no idea how much cocaine he was doing.
JW: How much?
LV: A couple of ounces a week.
JW: Is that a lot?
LV: Most people back in the late '70s then said they had a gram for the weekend. Think about how
many grams are in an ounce28 . Thats where he spent all his money.

JW: Did that bother you, that the money he earned wasnt spent on romantic things with you, like
dinners out?
LV: [Laughs] Sometimes wed go out to dinner. You have to understand, I didnt really have those
expectations.
JW: Did you ever tell him to stop taking the cocaine?
LV: Why would I tell him what to do? He was having his life, and I was just there to witness it. I
was just enjoying his company. He wasn't questioning me about the things I was doing. When
youre a young person and carrying all the conditioning of your parents, you feel so guilty about
everything you do. I felt guilty I wasnt a famous musician like he was. But I wasnt going to
attempt the impossible. I had to come to the realization early on that for me to survive in that
relationship, I had to just enjoy the short time I likely had with him and be in the moment.
JW: Did Bill give you piano lessons?
LV: We had a few lessons. It was interesting. He showed me how to play a blues line and how to
play a blues scale. Then he made it really clear that there was no real point in continuing.
JW: That sounds cruel, no?
LV: Not really. Bill knew I wasnt going to become a serious piano player. Thats how he was with
music. It was only for those who threw themselves into it completely. So continuing beyond a point
didn't make much sense.
JW: What did Evans do during his downtime that would come as a surprise to most people?
LV: He owned a racehorse with Jack Rollins, the producer of Woody Allens films.
JW: What was the horses name?
LV: Annie Hall. It was a trotterone of those harness-racing horses that pull a two-wheeled cart.
JW: That seems so strange.
LV: Most people arent aware of how much of a regular guy Bill was. He liked to go to the
racetrack. He liked to bet on the horses.
JW: Was it a gambling thing?
LV: Not really. He just liked it there because no one knew who he was. Hed have a Pepsi and Id
have a club sandwich. He had regular friends there who didnt know who he was. Everyone got to
wear their polyester outfits [laughs]. Bill really valued his own time and his privacy. He had such a
strong focus on the creative process that the only way he could decompress was to be in an absurdly
non-creative environment, like the track. He was just like the guy next door. And he was kind and
good to everyone he met.
JW: So Bill was pretty average socially.
LV: Bill developed a pattern early on. From age 14 to 28, he just focused on music, not girlfriends
or having a family. Then he started doing heroin. Once he started, he could focus on music even
deeper. He didnt need a social life. He kind of streamlined his life around music and never left that
zone. There were just a few people who got into his inner world. That was as much of an intimate
relationship he would have with others. He had his first wife for 11 years and his second wife for 5
years. Family life was too much for him. He had to make a big space to be alone.
JazzWax: Tell me what happened the day Bill died.
Laurie Verchomin: It was September 15, 1980, a Monday. Joe LaBarbera, Bills drummer, was
staying at our place in Fort Lee, N.J. Joe lived in Woodstock, N.Y., but he often stayed over when

the trio had a gig. At around 10:30 a.m., we got into Bills maroon 1976 four-door Monte Carlo. Bill
was too weak to drive. He had been in bed for quite a few days. He barely could rise out of bed to
get into the car. [Photo of Joe LaBarbera by Tom Marcello]
JW: Where were you going?
LV: We were going to a new methadone clinic on the Upper East Side. Fort Lee, where we lived, is
right across the George Washington Bridge from Manhattan, so the drive was to last about 20
minutes. Bill had been on methadone since he was 42 years oldin addition to the cocaine he had
been consuming.
JW: How did his methadone use begin?
LV: He started methadone treatment after he was busted in the early 1970s at the airport in New
York.
JW: What happened?
LV: He was heading out on a tour to Russia with a suitcase filled with heroin. He was arrested
going through security at Kennedy Airport. The police put him in jail, but he was there for only one
night. His first wife Ellaine, who also was a junkie, had some connections with politicians and got
him off the hook. In exchange, they put both Bill and Ellaine on the methadone program.
JW: So you and Joe LaBarbera were taking him to a new clinic?
LV: Yes. The old one was cutting back his dosage for some reason. Joe was driving, I was in the
passenger seat and Bill was in the back.
JW: What happened next?
LV: We were near Central Park when Bill started to expurgate [cough up] blood. The sight of the
blood was a shock to him and to us. But he coolly started to direct Joe on how to get to Mount Sinai
Hospitals emergency room in the 90s on Fifth Ave. It was so strange. Bill was bleeding but calmly
directing us through traffic, telling Joe how to go.
JW: When you arrived, what condition was Evans in?
LV: When we pulled up at the hospital, Bill was slumped in the rear seat, almost lying down. We
got him up and walked him into the emergency room. When they saw his condition, they let us
bring him into one of the patient rooms in the back.
JW: Did he say anything to you?
LV: As he lay down, his last words to me were, I think Im going to drown. He had a burst vein in
his body, and it was filling his lungs with blood.
JW: This was around noon?
LV: Yes. As I sat in the waiting room, I wondered whether Bill was doing the rope trick again. I
thought, Can someone lose that much blood and come back?" I was in there for about a half hour,
wondering whether he was dead or alive. Then a doctor came out to tell me Bill was dead.
JW: How did you feel?
LV: I felt that finally he had been released and that his suffering was over. It was the end of his
journey. He had finally made it to the place he was trying to reach for so long.
JW: That day must have been horrible for you.
LV: It was a very shocking experience to have Bill leave. Once he was gone, I realized, Now I

have to live my life again and recreate it, and reintegrate this experience. The biggest gift was to
witness his death and see it at a young age. It was a positive experience for me on a spiritual level.
JW: That sounds terrible.
LV: Youre looking at it from a physical level. If you consider it spiritually, it was the end of a
journey I chose to take with him. When we met, it was as though it was the beginning of a song.
When Bill died, it was like a big orchestral crescendo. I remember the clouds in the sky that day, the
bright red color of his bloodthe entire day was like a Michelangelo painting.
JW: What happened afterward?
LV: The reality of Bill's death set in. It was very shocking for everyone. I wanted to have a
celebration, with music. No one was getting that. But then nobody was as inside of the experience
as I was.
JW: When you look back, how does your experience with Evans seem?
LV: Bill is with me every day. Hes helping me finish my book, like he said he would. Hes
encouraging me to take my time with it and make it the way I want to do it. Once Ive finished the
book and my dialogue with him, that will be another shift in my consciousness. When this project is
finished, I may have a different relationship with him.
JW: How do you think youre different as a result of your experience with Evans?
LV: He did penetrate me with his philosophy and his consciousness. He altered my life in a way
that allowed me to grow as a person and discover a lot of things I probably wouldnt have
discovered.
JW: Was he always lost in his own worldor was he conscious of others?
LV: He always was fully present. He wasnt a chit-chatter. He was fine if he was having a
discussion with some weight. But he didnt have to say anything for people to be with him. When a
person is fully present, conversation is superficial. Bill was a very private person but open to those
who had the ability to listen to him. I was one of those people. [Photo by Jaap van de Klomp]
JW: What is one misconception about Bill you want to clear up?
LV: People always think that Bill was really humble. And he was. But he also knew exactly how
extraordinary he was.
JW: Give me an example.
LV: One time we were on 14th Street in New York waiting for a cab. I was dressed up, wearing a
-length pleated skirt and suit jacket. We were on the curb when a group of kids drove by in a car
and threw eggs at us. It wasnt even Halloween. It was just New York in the late 1970s [laughs].
Well, the eggs bounced off of him onto the street but the ones that hit me broke and splattered all
over my jacket. I was so dismayed. Bill noted the irony and quietly said in jest, Just goes to show
our places in the universe.

MARTY MORELL INTERVIEW

JazzWax: Where did you grow up?
Marty Morell: I was born in Manhattan, but I grew up in the Astoria section of Queens. When I
was 15 years old, my family moved to Queens Village, which is farther away from the city toward
Long Island. [Pictured above: Astoria, Queens, 1955]
JW: What is your background?
MM: Im Puerto Rican and Cuban.
JW: How did you wind up a drummer?
MM: I just fell into it. I started out playing the piano and then moved to clarinet. In 7th grade I
played clarinet in Junior High School 126s orchestra. But when I wanted to join the school dance
band, all the other instruments were taken. So I chose the drums.

JW: Did you actually want to play the drums?

MM: Oh, yes. In January 1958, when I was 14 years old, I went to a big rock and roll concert at the
Paramount Theater on 43rd St. in Manhattan. It was one of those Alan Freed shows. I was
mesmerized by one of the drummers. Little by little, though, my friends got me into jazz. That
summer I landed a gig in the Catskill Mountains a few hours north of New York. Thats where I
learned to read music and drum charts. I also had been taking drum lessons and reading every drum
book I could find.
JW: How did you wind up playing jazz professionally?
MM: I could play virtually anything, but the guys I played with were always telling me that I had
nice time and feel. Id just use my ears for jazz. After graduating from high school, I studied at the
Manhattan School of Music. In 1964, when I was 20, I landed a gig with singer Robert Goulet and
toured with him. A few months later I found myself in a Los Angeles studio with arranger Don
Costa conducting. It was a Robert Goulet session for Columbia. [Photo above of Robert Goulet by
Don Hunstein]

JW: How did you come to the attention of Bill Evans?

MM: In the early 1960s I was living in Manhattan and was on the scene. I had recorded with Steve
Kuhn, Gary McFarland, Gabor Szabo, Charlie Haden, Pee Wee Russell and Henry "Red" Allen. I
already had some notoriety. The first time Bill heard my name was through Chuck Israels.
JW: How so?
MM: Chuck told him about me the first time I was up for the trio gig in 1965. But that didnt work
out.

JW: Why not?

MM: Drummer Arnie Wise was playing with Bill then and decided to stay. Then in 1968, Bills new
bassist Eddie Gomez called me for the gig. He said it was between Jack DeJohnette [pictured] and
me. At that time, Jack had much more notoriety than I did, so Bill went with Jack. But Jack stayed
only six months. He had different ideas about what he wanted to do.
JW: What happened next?
MM: After Jack left, I called Bill and told him I wanted to play in his trio. He was living on
Riverside Drive at the time. Later, Bill told me that he didnt dig people calling him that way but
said he had heard something in my voice that made him want to check me out.

JW: What did you tell him on the phone?

MM: I told him I had been listening to his trio for years on records and that I thought I had
something to offer. At the time I called, he hadnt 100% decided who he would use to replace Jack.
He was very nice about it and invited me to come down to the Village Vanguard.

JW: When was your first gig with Evans?

MM: Toward the end of September, at the Vanguard. When I sat down behind the drums, I felt like
I was home. I had lived with Bills music for so many years. When I heard Bill touch the piano that
night, it was electrifying. I was listening to Bill and I was part of it. What an amazing feeling. We
exchanged a lot of fours and solos during those first sets.
JW: What did Evans like most about your playing?
MM: After the gig he said he liked that I played with brushes. He also said it sounded as though I
had been playing with him and Eddie forever. He said, Youre perfect. My manager will call you in
a couple of days to work out the details. But there was a small problem.

JW: What was that?

MM: Bill said, I have four weeks coming up at the Top of the Gate. I promised two weeks to John
Dentz. So I did the first two weeks at the Gate, and Dentz did the second two. Bill said to me,
Dont worry, youve got the gig. Thats how Bill was. He had promised Dentz two weeks, and he
made good on it. [Photo above by Roberto Polillo/CTSIMAGES]
JW: Did Evans have any critical feedback after your first gig?
MM: No. He said everything was perfect. Bill let you find your own way. He did tell me months
later, You may want to add a third cymbal to offset behind the bass. So I did. I added a bigger
one, whats called a China splash cymbal. It has a sizzling sound.

JW: When you were playing behind Evans, what are you hearing?
MM: I was just trying to get with the groove. I was trying to free-up and follow my instincts. Thats
when jazz is at its best. Its control without control.
JW: What was the experience like, playing with Evans?
MM: The way were talking now. Two people listening hard to each other and communicating.
Thats different from people at a dinner party spending the time thinking about what they want to
say next instead of listening to what the person who is talking is saying.

JW: Whats going on in your head when a set begins?

MM: Our eyes would be closed, and Im trying to put everything out and be in the moment and
trust my instincts and trust my ability to hear in relation to whats coming at me from Bill. At that
point, your unconscious reacts to the stimulus.
JW: What else are you hearing?
MM: Im listening for enjoyment. Its a thrill to hear that kind of music coming at you, and youre
in the middle of it. Thats high on the listsheer joy and pleasure. We were at our best when we
were in touch with each other and enjoying the discourse.

JW: Were there nights when the trio wasnt in touch?

MM: Oh sure. Everyone has different kinds of days going on, and those moods would come across.
Remember, we were playing this music a lot. We were on the road, performing two sets a night,
week after week. Its difficult to maintain the same level of performance every night. But even on
nights when we werent in complete sync, it was still a good night for us and excellent for the
audience. [Photo above by Roberto Polillo/CTSIMAGES]
JW: Why was the Top of the Gate recording so lively and special?
MM: That gig was the birth of a new era for the Bill Evans Trio. Eddie had been with Bill but I was
new, so the trio was new. What you hear on the recording is our excitement about this new period
and that we were working quite well together.

JW: When people ask, "What was Bill Evans like?," what do you say?
MM: Bill was his music. All you need to know about Bill you can hear in his playing. By listening,
you knew everything about him. If youre hip to Bill and love his music, then you already know
him. Thats who he was. Whatever you hearsadness, intelligence, beauty, humor and
inventiveness. All kinds of things. Thats Bill. [Photo above by Jan Persson/CTSIMAGES]
JW: Would you find out insights about Bill after a set?
MM: After a set, wed make small talk, but our heaviest and most revealing conversations were
with our instruments on stage. Music was our primary language.
JW: Did Evans plan out sets?
MM: Yes, very carefully. Bill never went up on stage and winged it. He would never sit down and
play something we werent already aware he was going to play. Wed work out who was going to
solo first and so on. He would let us know the format.
JazzWax: The Bill Evans Trios sound changed dramatically between 1968 and 1975 yes?
Marty Morell: Oh sure, we evolved. We became a lot tighter. I think we got to the point where we
began thinking together, as though there was some kind of ESP going on.
JW: Evans' playing also became more agitated and edgier, if you will, yes?
MM: Let's say his playing became more energetic. Bill was always searching. He didnt want to be
complacent. He was always trying to find new ways to play the same tune. He wanted to introduce
new harmonic concepts. Bill was about harmonic movement.

JW: Didnt playing some of those songs repeatedly get on your nerves?
MM: How so?
JW: Evans seemed to play the same cycle of songs over and over again during this period.
MM: The beauty of Bill was that he was always trying to find new places in the same song
structures. They were all such beautiful songs, and yet there's always something a little different
about the results. He also was really coming out of himself during our time together.

JW: To the listener, Evans could at times feel a little heavy in the '70s and in a hurry.
MM: Bill did have a tendency to rush. Most pianists do. But on nights when Eddie and I could
harness that energy, and we were tight and could pull on the reigns and keep his energy from
rushing forward, we would burn.

JW: When you say rush, what do you mean?

MM: Bill, like all piano players, could wind up far on top of the beat, and he always wanted the
energy of his sound to be there. But when Eddie and I were tired, or we werent on our game, Bill's
tempo could get away from us.
JW: But what about playing so many of the same songs repeatedly?
MM: You have to understand that we played live often, and a lot of our fans wanted to hear certain
songs. I just recently finished five years with the Duke Ellington Orchestra. Our opening tune was
Take the A Train, followed by Rockin in Rhythm, Dont Get Around Much Anymore, In a
Sentimental Mood and so on. The audience wants to hear those.

JW: For example, did you enjoy playing extended versions of Nardis so often?
MM: [Laughs] Yeah, I did. Its a great tune. Theres a lot of texture and drama in there as well as
varied rhythms.
JW: Did you have a least-favorite song?
MM: There really wasnt anything I didnt enjoy. I loved playing My Foolish Heart and Glorias
Step. I loved the waltzes, and Elsa, Haunted Heart and Some Other Time. These tunes enraptured
me.

JW: This is a sensitive question: Some fans divide Evans into two periodsthe years in the '60s
when he was addicted to heroin and the '70s when he was using cocaine to kick his heroin habit. Is
this description of his two artistic periods fair?
MM: Thats a crock. What do they mean by it?

JW: These people say that during the 60s, when he was using heroin, theres a more patient and
introverted quality to his playing, and in the '70s, under the influence of cocaine, his playing was
more agitated and restless.
MM: People who say these things dont know anything about Bill. At that point in time, in the 70s,
Bill was on the methadone program. He was trying to clean up. The change in his sound had
nothing to do with drugs. In his early triowith Scott [LaFaro] and Paul [Motian]Bill was young
and introspective. He didnt mature as a person until later, in the '70s.
JW: How do you mean?
MM: Bill was very shy and introverted in the 60s. But as time progressed, he became more of an
adult. When I read
articles or books on Bill, I'm often shocked that what I'm reading is such a bunch of garbage. These
people do not know what theyre talking about. It didnt matter if Bill was on drugs or not. Too
much is made of that. You have to take the music at face value, out of respect for the art, and leave
his personal life and demons out of it. I can tell you that whatever he was on, it never affected the
music. I was there for seven years. Bill was the most consistent musician Ive ever played with.
Everyone has mood swings, and that's what you're hearing.
JW: But those mood swings were caused by something, yes?
MM: Look, heres my take on the whole thing: Bill's life was filled with a lot of tragedy and that's
built-in. The first blow was the car crash that killed Scott in 1961. Bill told me that after that
happened, he lost it.

JW: But his troubles with drugs began earlier.

MM: They did. He had been playing with the Miles [Davis] Sextet in 1958. Those cats were heavy,
and there was peer pressure. He was a skinny white kid from New Jersey, and he was hanging out
with Miles and those guys. Bill wanted to be one of the cats, and he went along for the ride. He was
a little curious, too. But it was mostly peer pressure. [Pictured above: Miles Davis and Bill Evans]
JW: Why was LaFaro's death such a big blow?
MM: Bill told me he fell apart emotionally. When he listened to recordings the trio made in 1959
and 1960, he said he had had a revelation. He told me he had said to himself, Wow, thats unique
and different. Bill was so proud of what they had done. It was a heavy breakthrough.
JW: What exactly did they do?
MM: They brought something to the jazz world that was different and completely new. Six months
later it was overand the result of Scott's [pictured] loss was devastating for him. Bill didnt play

for a year after that.

JW: What specifically did LaFaro contribute to that trio?
MM: Scott brought interplay, beauty, lines and rhythmic configurations. He also wrote some great
tunes. Before that, Bill had played with [bassist] Paul Chambers, who was four to the floor. Scott
introduced interplay between the bass and piano, and Bill understood how rare that was in jazz.
Scott's playing changed Bill's approach and what he wanted to do with a trio. And then Scott was
gone.
JW: So LaFaro transformed the bass into conversational participant rather than just the piano's
metronome?
MM: Thats a good way to put it. Those guys invented the whole concept of the rhythm section
engaging in interplay. Before that first Bill Evans Trio, the rhythm section was a whole different
concept. Scott [pictured above] was a big part of that inventionthe fluidity of the soloing lines,
the notes he used, the notes behind the piano in broken time but that still made sense.

JW: He had a voice in the trio, as did Motian on drums.

MM: Yes, that's right. They were the inventors of that. So its understandable that Bill would be
devastated by Scott's death. How do you replace Scott? He told me he blotted the whole thing out.
He was so distraught. It boils down to originality. Scott was the beginning. With Scotts death, it
was like losing a key part of an invention just as it begins to work. That kind of loss can shatter you,
especially if you're highly introspective and experience life deeply the way Bill did.

JazzWax: When you were playing with Bill Evans, did you ever sense he was under the influence
of drugs?
Marty Morell: No. Youd never know he was using. Bill had such a wig on him. Whatever he was
on, it brought him down to ground zero so he could function like the rest of us. It sometimes
seemed that he needed whatever he was taking just to be normalthe way we would take aspirin to
lower our blood pressure.

JW: What was he like personally?

MM: Like a quiet businessman. He was always in a sports jacket or suit, and always friendly. He
wasnt outgoing, but he was a wonderful conversationalist. If you struck up a conversation with
him, he was open to talk to anyone, provided you werent fawning all over him. He was opinionated
and funnybut not in a boisterous way. He was subtle and witty. He did a thing when we were
flying to Omaha, Neb., to play a concert. He doctored an ad, and the result was so funnybut
understated and clever. [Pictured above: An ad with type shaded in by Bill Evans during a flight to
Omaha and given to Marty Morell]
JW: You mentioned that Evans life was filled with tragedy. What else besides Scott LaFaros
sudden death in 1961?
MM: Ellaine, Bills partner at the time, was possessive. There was no life without Bill. She was so
much about him and everything he did. That kind of attention made him a little crazy. He was
feeling penned-in, and it was all too much. [Photo of Ellaine above by Brian Hennessey]
JW: What happened to Ellaine?
MM: After we came back from Japan in 1973, Bill met Nenette. So Bill broke it off with Ellaine.
She was devastated. She killed herself soon after by throwing herself in front of a subway train.
Then Bills mother died. In 1979, his brother Harry committed suicide. It was one traumatic
personal event after the next. Through it all, think about what he did musically and the contribution
he made.

JW: What do you think of your first studio album with EvansWhats Newwith flutist Jeremy
Steig?
MM: What do you think of it?
JW: It sounds fractured and a bit of a rough fit for Evans and the trio.
MM: I agree. That was another one of [producer-manager] Helen Keanes brainstorms. Jeremy was
kind of out of it on that date. We were up to take 26 on some of those tracks.
JW: What happened?
MM: Jeremy couldnt get himself together. He seemed out of it.

JW: Its hard to imagine Evans sitting through 26 takes of anything.

MM: Bill was definitely pissed. But he was always good about whatever Helen wanted him to do.
He didnt want to bother with that end of things. [Photo above of Helen Keane and Bill Evans by
Phil Bray]
JW: What about From Left to Right?
MM: What do you think of it?

JW: I like it. Its an unusual date for Evans, with the moody orchestration, but it has a heavy,
pensive mood.
MM: Thats true. I know that fans strongly feel one way or the other about that album. That also
was a Helen brainstorm, and Bill was open to itshifting from piano to Fender Rhodes with
strings. I think Bill was happy with it. If he had personal reservations about the setting, he put them
on the back burner.
JW: What I dont understand is how Evans was able to maintain his habit in Europe.
MM: Air travel wasnt the way it is now. You could take whatever you wanted right onto the plane.
Bill was on methadone at the time to come off of his heroin addiction and had a doctors
prescription with him.

JW: To me, Montreux II in 1970 is one of the trios finest albums. What do you think?
MM: I also like it very much. The audience was so excited that Bill was there. We were the closing
act after a week-long jazz festival. We had the audience on our side, Bills playing was wonderful
and everything was set up just right.
JW: Were there any problems?
MM: Only that when we started to play, there were photographers all over the place. And they
started to infiltrate the stage like ants going through the trash. And they kept coming, snapping
away. The audience was yelling at them in French to get down. You can hear that on the first track,
Very Early.
JW: What happened finally?
MM: The announcer came on and ordered them off. At the end of the tune, Bill was looking at me,
like, What the hell was that?

JW: The three of you sound so together and lyrical.

MM: It was early in the life of the trio. Bill was excited and the energy was just right. We flew in a
week early, and we had beautiful rooms in the hotel.
JW: Were you nervous?
MM: A little. It was my first European tour, and the Europeans dug Bill on a deep level. But once I
closed my eyes, the music just took over.
JW: Most people dont think of jazz musicians as nervous.
MM: [Laughs] We are. Whenever I was on-edge back then, I would think about the feeling and
desire to play, and those emotions swept me away. Those were positive things that prevented me
from freaking out. Everyone had something like that going on. You just couldnt see it on our faces.

JW: What about The Tokyo Concert in January 1973?

MM: Do you like it?
JW: It always felt a little rushed to me and not completely in sync.
MM: Its very special to me. It was my first time in Japan. Bills, too. I had always loved the
Japanese culture, so being there was a revelation. That was a wonderful tour and a great concert.
JW: How did Evans feel being there?
MM: He was very comfortable. Everyone on the management side took care of businessthe
promoter and the people backstage. When we arrived, there was a red carpet and a press conference
at the airport. We felt like stars. And on that tour, each piano was better than the last. It was a terrific
tour, and Bill was very pleased with the way everything was set up and run. Give the album another
listen and youll see what I mean.
JW: Did you take your drums with you?
MM: I did, the whole set. It wasnt a big deal to check them then. Eddie bought a ticket for his bass
and took it on the plane [laughs].

JW: What is your favorite trio album?

MM: Probably Re: Person I Knew, which we recorded at the Village Vanguard in January 1974.
The tracks were the outtakes from Since We Met, from the same gig. At the Vanguard, we recorded
many new tunes, with familiar tunes in between.
JW: You left the trio in 1975, yes?
MM: I told Bill when we were up in Canada in August 1974 that I had intended to leave.
JW: What did you tell him?
MM: I told him I thought it was time to move on.

JW: How did Evans take the news?

MM: He was a little upset. He said, Oh, man, Marty, I dont want to have to think about that now.
In the trio, Bill never had to worry. Eddie and I were always on time for gigs and we took care of
business. We had all grown together musically, and Bill was really happy.
JW: What was the reason you gave Evans for your decision?
MM: That I wanted to explore other things. I had other abilities, and I had been in the trio for seven
years. From a financial perspective, I was only going to earn so much staying. I wanted to do studio
work and get off the road.

JW: Between Canada and after Europe in early 1975, did Evans try to get you to change your
mind?
MM: He did. He called me a few times and asked me to stay. He offered me more money. But even
the raise wasnt enough. I had just gotten married, and we wanted to start a family. Bill wasnt able
to come up with enough.
JW: What were you paid when you started out?

MM: I was paid $175 a week, which today doesnt sound like much. But my rent was $135 a
month, so I was actually comfortable [laughs].

JW: Were you ever in a situation where Evans was very unhappy?
MM: Yes, when we were playing with Stan Getz in Holland in August 1974. The album from that
concert series was called But Beautiful. Bill and Stan were big-time clashing egos.
JW: What happened?
MM: Stan and Bill were feuding. Bill was highly organized and well-prepared and rehearsed. For
the Laren Jazz Festival, he prepared a song list, and the concert was billed as Bill Evans with
Special Guest Stan Getz. We did the trio portion first. Then Stan came out.
JW: What did he do?
MM: He said, Lets play the blues. That wasnt on the program that Bill had put together. The
blues? Bill didnt like to play the blues. And he definitely didnt want to be the house pianist for
Stan. He was very conscious about what he wanted to do. Stan didnt give Bill a chance to react. He
just started counting off. But when it came time for the piano to solo, Bill just sat there. He didnt
play. We just closed it out.
JW: How did the group feel after?
MM: I was pissed, Bill was pissed and Eddie was pissed. But once Stan settled down on the tour,
we fell into a groove. On August 16th, in Belgium, Stan played Happy Birthday on Bills birthday.
He tried to make amends for what he had done. But there was always some tension going on
between the two of them. Bill was being a bit of a stick in the mud. I mean, so whatgo on and
play the blues. But Bill was a little uptight like that.
JW: Looking back, are you sorry you left the trio when you did?
MM: No, not at all. The timing was good for me, and I was cool with that.

JW: How did you feel immediately after leaving?

MM: I was a little depressed for a few months. I had been Bill Evans drummer. That was my
identity in the world of music. When I moved to Toronto soon after, I was just another local
drummer. So I had an identity crisis until I realized I could do this and that. After a year I was
playing on a lot of sessions and started to feel good about who I was.
JW: Did you play with Evans again after you left the trio?
MM: A couple of times, and it was awesome. Id say to myself, Now I rememberthis is what a
jazz trio sounds like. Bill was great. We had him over for dinner, and hed always leave me notes
when I was playing somewhere and he was in town. Bill was like my father in many ways and my
mentor. He had this kind of father instinct with me. He always wanted to make sure I was cool,
which was sweet.

JW: Do you miss him?

MM: Hell yeah. I think about Bill every day. Listening to those albums brings tears to my eyes. I
listen to him all the timethe CDs are my car right now. Some of my favorite music is on those
albums. It just so happens Im on them. [Pictured above: Marty Morell]

Bill Evans: Early vs. Late

Like the Hatfields and McCoys, fans of pianist Bill Evans' early and late periods love to square off.
Musket muzzles emerge through the pickets on both sides whenever a writer or critic voices
disappointment with Evans' recordings after 1970. For reasons that escape me, many of those who
enjoy Evans' late period seem to take this criticism of Evans personally or are somehow unable to
discern between the different artistic phases in the pianist's career. As with any artist, Evans
produced works of enormous grace and power as well as less interesting, inferior works. Art over a
lifetime has different values, even when produced by a genius.
The latest volley of shots rang out when Jazz.com editor Ted Gioia posted at length about the
reissue of Turn Out the Stars: The Final Vanguard Recordings, June 1980, referring to the Evans
performances as "jittery and aloof." I added remarks two Sundays ago that were simpatico with
Ted's position, suggesting that Evans' artistic temperament on these CDs was cranky and frustrated.
Apparently, them's fightin' words. Jazz musician, writer and friend Bill Kirchner scurried into his
coveralls and came out of the Late Evans barn swinging his pitchfork in protest. Bill argued at
Jazz.com that Evans' late period is misunderstood and that "it's time to lighten up a bit about Bill
Evans." Bill Kirchner's arguments were well articulated, and his sentiments were echoed by several
others in the comments zone at Jazz.com in support of Evans' late period.
So now I guess it's my turn.
Let me re-state my position: Bill Evans between 1961 and 1966 was at his poetic peak, offering up
tender, perfectly constructed versions of original compositions, jazz standards and pop tunes. His
smoldering intensity, fine sense of space, and hypnotic swing remain breathtaking on these
recordings. If we're narrowing his recording high point, I'd have to say it's Explorations (1961) and
How My Heart Sings (1962), which neatly sandwich the still-stunning Live at the Village Vanguard
sessions recorded in June 1961. Other examples of Evans' genius between 1962 and 1966 include
the Solo Sessions (1963), Trio '64, Trio '65, Paris 1965 and At Town Hall Vol. 1 (1966). It's hard to
imagine anyone taking issue with this, but ya never know down here in Tug Fork.
Prior to 1961, the Evans fruit is a bit green. New Jazz Conceptions (1956), Everybody Digs Bill
Evans (1958) and, to some extent, Portrait in Jazz (1959) are a tad stiff and tentative. Strong
albums to be sure, but not nearly as ripe or as cohesive as Evans' heart-gripping recordings between
1961 and 1962. Evans' change had nothing to do with bassist Scott LaFaro or the position of the
moon. Evans simply had fully matured as an artist by 1961 and was more comfortable with what he
wanted to say and how he was going to say it. In effect, he had become Bill Evans.

The years after 1966 and up to 1973 are somewhat spotty. Evans' recordings range from the
brilliance of Further Conversations with Myself (1967), Montreux II (1970) and Live in Paris
(1972) to the rather mundane Intermodulation (1966), the hectic What's New (1969) and vastly
overrated The Bill Evans Album (1971). (Yes, I know the album won two Grammy Awards in 1972;
Godspell won one, too, that year.)
Between 1973 and 1980, Evans' playing grew increasingly dark, rushed and manically repetitive.
Perhaps the first of these maddeningly joyless albums was The Tokyo Concert (1973), on which
Evans chainsaws through every tune he takes on. Then there was the thoroughly unnecessary
Symbiosis (1974) with Claus Ogerman; the unfocused Intuition (1974); the frantic But Beautiful
with Stan Getz (1974); the morose I Will Say Goodbye (1977); the unlistenable Crosscurrents
(1977); the puzzling Getting Sentimental (1978) with Philly Joe Jones crashing and bashing his
cymbals throughout; the mawkish Affinity (1978) with Toots Thielemans; and the lumbering Turn
Out the Stars (1980), where Evans finally sounds bored by his own playing. On this last box, he's
artistically impatient, comfortable with repetition and moderately agitated, often captured pounding
away with a cement-heavy left hand. This isn't to say that there aren't bright moments on this set.
There are. But evaluated as a work, there's precious little of interest here.
Note to the Late-ites: I was there at the Vanguard, on Friday June 6, 1980, sitting right behind Evans
during the first set. I don't recall feeling at the time that Evans sounded dull or harried. Having seen
Evans several times in the 1970s, it was impossible to feel anything but shock and awe when you
heard him perform. But upon listening to the recordings years later, a critical ear hears things that
the eyes missed.
Of course, there were a few bright spots between 1973 and 1980: the relaxed Half Moon Bay
(1973), the vivid Blue in Green (1974), the misty You Must Believe in Spring (1977), and the firm
Paris Concert (1979), which Jan Stevens of the Bill Evans Web Pages convinced me to reconsider
during our last Bill Evans early/late slug fest.
So let's be honest. There's really no comparison between Bill Evans of the early and mid-1960s and
the late 1970s. As much as the Late-ites would love to argue that the late period offered up a
different Bill Evans, a more mature Bill Evans and a more intense Bill Evans, what we have is a
rather brooding Bill Evans in search of something he never found. Saying so really shouldn't be that
big a deal, since the evidence is there for the listening. Evans between 1961 and 1966 is remarkable
and the fact that any jazz artist was remarkable for five years is astonishing.

As for the Turn Out the Stars box, I'm grateful it was brought to market originally and I'm glad it is
available again. I think everything recorded by great jazz artists should always be available for
anyone who wants to hear it. The blood-red box set is beautifully packaged and produced. But after
a re-listen, much of the music remains tedious. Bill's message here is simply too thick and rushed.
For jazz to ring my bell, there has to be power, pacing and excitement blended with passion and
miracles. Evans knew this only too well in the early and mid-1960s, when he enjoyed listening to
himself play. After 1973, playing piano became a job.
OK, I'm done. Just give me a chance to scamper back to the Early Evans barn before squeezing off
rounds.
JazzWax tracks: I've often been asked for my favorite Bill Evans recordings. And I've often
begged off, saying that to fully understand and know the artist, you have to explore all of his works
and find the places that connect with your soul.
But given the context of this post, here are my 10 favorite Bill Evans albums that touch me most, in
chronological order:

Explorations (1961)

Sunday at the Village Vanguard (1961)

Waltz For Debby (1961)

How My Heart Sings (1962)

The Solo Sessions, Vols. 1 and 2 (1963)

At Shelly's Manne-Hole (1963)

Trio '64

Trio '65

Live in Paris 1965

Bill Evans at Town Hall Vol. 1 (1966)

JazzWax note: Special thanks to the Bill Evans tribute site in the Netherlands for use of the photo
at the top of this post.
Bill Evans: Some Other Time

Today marks the release of Bill Evans: Some Other Time (Resonance), a much-anticipated two-CD
set that's easily the most important discovery of new Evans studio recordings since 2001 and the
issuing of recordings made in 1956 and '57 at Don Elliott's home studio. Over the years, there have
been plenty of remarkable discoveries of live Evans recordingsincluding Live at Art D'Lugoff's
Top of The Gate, Live at Lulu White's and The Secret Sessions. But none compare to a full-fledged
Evans studio recording session, where the quality of the piano, its tuning and studio miking and
acoustics are all controlled for maximum impact. This new Evans album is the historic jazz
recording to beat this year.

To be above board, I wrote the new album's main liner notes. But I don't make a dime on sales nor
do I have anything to gain by telling you how good this album is, other than to hip you to music that
is truly gorgeous. It also should be noted that I only write the liner notes to albums when I truly love
the music inside and I pass on the rest. It's a firm rule.

The music on Some Other Time was recorded on June 20, 1968five days after the same musicians
performed at the Montreux Jazz Festival. The results of that concert appearance appear on Bill
Evans At The Montreux Festival (Verve).

The material in the new set is vital for several key reasons: First, it features drummer Jack
DeJohnette, who previously had only been heard with Evans and bassist Eddie Gomez on a few
recordings, including Montreux and a Secret Sessions live date at New York's Village Vanguard in
August '68. Second, the album provides us with musical information that fleshes out Evans's
stylistic transition from his "swinging romantic" years to his "percussive poet" period. Third, Evans,
here, recorded at one of Europe's finest studiosMPS in Villingen, Germany. Fourth, we hear
Evans in three different configurations: solo, due and trio. And fifth, the sound and poetry are
amazing.

While it's unclear why Evans would have recorded alone and just with Gomez when DeJohnette
was present, we do know the reason MPS didn't release an album or albums from the tapes: Evans
was signed to Verve at the time. Since Evans was well aware of his contractual status and
obligation, one can only assume the recording was made exclusively for cash, to document the
group privately with the expressed understanding that the results wouldn't be released at the time.

On these 21 tracks, we hear Evans deliver one penetrating interpretation after the next. We also hear
Gomez functioning as Evans's pulsating shadow and DeJohnette playing a more distinct
conversational role with his shimmering cymbals and restless drums. Both influenced Evans's
approach on the keyboard. The song choices also are strong and unusual. We hear powerful versions
of Baubles, Bangles and Beads and What Kind of Fool Am I as well as rarities like These Foolish
Things, (the first time Evans recorded the song) and It Could Happen to You (which he recorded
only once before). [Photo above, from left, Eddie Gomez, Jack DeJohnette and Bill Evans in 1968,
courtesy of Resonance Records]

Most of all, there's a relaxed, almost liquid quality about Evans's playing. At MPS Studios in
Germany's Black Forest in 1968, we hear Evans performing without pressure for themselves and a
few sophisticated fans in the control room rather than employers. A final word in praise of set
producer Zev Feldman, who worked tirelessly to bring this project to market using his passion,
judgment and determination. We all should be grateful. Applause, as well, for executive producer
George Klabin, whose sound restoration with Fran Gala is impeccable. Same goes for John Koenig,
the album package editor, and all the others who made this release possible.
Imagine! A new high-end, previously unreleased Bill Evans studio album. Inconceivable, but true.

Bill Evans and Tony Bennett

I'll be honest: I've never cared much for the two duet albums that Tony Bennett and Bill Evans
recorded in 1975 and 1976. I've always felt that Bennett's approach was way too operatic and that
Evans' playing in response was frustratingly meek. The results have constantly left me wishing
producer Helen Keane had played a more dominant role, imploring Bennett to lighten up while
goading Evans to step up.
I revisited both albums in 1999 when Rhino reissued the material on one remastered CD with a
handful of alternate takes. Back then I had much the same reaction to the material, that it was a
well-intentioned but overtly mismatched affair. So last week, when I opened the Complete Tony

Bennett/Bill Evans Recordings, a new double-CD set from Concord Records [pictured], I did so
with some trepidation.
The new CD set contains all of the original masters as well as 22 alternate takes. There also are a
bunch of surprises. For example, I didn't realize there was a third take of The Bad and the Beautiful,
a song Evans played alone to warm up for the Together Again date. I also didn't know there was
another acceptable alternate of Who Can I Turn To, a song recorded but then mysteriously not
released on the second LP.
After listening to the new set's first CD of master takes, many of my original feelings about the
lopsided execution surfaced again. Bennett goes full bore on songs that really needed a tamped
down delivery, which would have allowed Evans to shine through. Instead, Evans often sounds
crushed against the wall under Bennett's wide-open timbre. A Child Is Born perhaps best illustrates
the point. You listen and find you can't wait for Bennett to finish his chorus so Evans can solo.
I adore Tony Bennett, especially in the 1960s. Back then, his hip, knowing voice was the sound of a
new male sensitivity. Bennett could swing, but he also understood tenderness and passion. Which is
why I've never quite understood why Bennett wasn't able to properly gauge where his voice would
be best positioned up against Evans' tip-toe delicacy.
The other problem for me is the song choices. The sessions cried out for a producer with a much
stronger hand. I think most listeners would have preferred a few upbeat Broadway or BacharachDavid songs mixed in than the steady diet of double-thick jazz ballads chosen. It's almost as if the
two artists were trying to out-depress each other.
Yet despite all of this, I was blown away by the Complete Tony Bennett/Bill Evans Recordings. The
magic, it turns out, is on the second CD. It's here, on these so-called "flawed" alternate takes, where
the art of this merger exists. The uneven tracks are the real soul-squeezers. For example, on Young
and Foolish (alternate take, 4), listen as Bennett unevenly and beautifully runs through the song.
And catch Evans' rolling build on the solo break. The imperfections are gorgeous! Or dig Make
Someone Happy (alternate, take 5), where Bennett is clipped, crisp and much lighter than on the
master take, allowing Evans to sparkle like rain on a wet, sunny tree.
The other wonderful element about the second disc is Evans' solo introductions to each song. He
never opens the same way twice, and each entrance ramp takes fascinating twists and turns before
you hear the melody and Bennett.
There also is much to be said for Will Friedwald's liner notes. Will interviewed all of the remaining
players and delivers a steamer trunk's worth of new information. All albums should use these liner
notes as a model. Among the many revelations:

Tony Bennett first met Bill Evans backstage at the White House in 1962. Both were
attending a special jazz party thrown by President Kennedy (those were the days!)

Annie Ross and Bill Evans dated in the mid-1950s, but according to Ross there was no
chemistry.

Bennett originally envisioned a two-piano date for the first album, with Bill Evans and John
Bunch at the keyboards. John bowed out, feeling he wasn't in Evans' league, a remark that
Bennett took umbrage with.

No preparation was made for the first album. Bennett or Evans would think of a song, and
the two would go over it.

Evans called Bennett in the remaining months of his life to tell him to "Forget about
everything else. Just concentrate on truth and beauty, that's it."

If this second CD has a high point (and there are many), it's You Must Believe in Spring (alternate,
take 4). On this track, Bennett is virtually whispering the lyrics. Bennett by this point clearly was
out of steam or just walking the song around the block. And what a precious version it is. Sadly, it's
not until Bennett hit a wall that these two artists wound up exactly in the same spacewhere they
should have been all along. This track will take your breath away.

All in all, the Complete Tony Bennett/Bill Evans Recordings is a highly worthwhile set for fans of
the Bennett-Evans collaborationeven if you've never cared for the original recordings or you
already own them. It's an important entry because it fully documents what has been up until now a
highly puzzling session. What's more, you finally get to hear the alternate takes. They demonstrate
just how good this pairing could have been with the right producer in the booth. To paraphrase
Evans, it's on these tracks where truth met beauty.

BILL EVANS INTERVIEW from August 1980

Transcribed from the (MOLDE, NORWAY 1980) videotape by Jan Stevens
In the summer of 1980, the last trio (with Marc Johnson, Joe LaBarbera) was in the
midst of a European tour which had them for two weeks at the famed RONNIE SCOTT's
in London, as well as performances in Germany, Belgium, Norway and Italy. On August
9th, after a performance at the Molde Jazz Festival , the pianist granted a brief
interview after the concert, filmed for Norweiegan television. (the interviewer's name
is not known) The following is a verbatim transcript by Jan Stevens, taken directly from
a poor-quality videotape copy of the event. (Bill's comments are in bold font)

Bill Evans, you gave us a marvelous concert.

Thank you.
And I want to test you, and this is a blindfold test.
Oh, OK.
Are you ready?.
Yes. I'm ready.
[interviewer plays a few bars on a tape machine of an Evans recording ]
Oh sure, yeah, I remember that, I Love You from the first album.
Thats many years ago.
Yeah, many, many years ago but I still enjoy that record.
Do you always listen to your own records?
Well, I didn't for many, many years. But then last couple of years Ive been
listening to my own records more and going all the way back, trying to learn
something. Because I did things then that I don't do now and vice versa, and
I, uh, I can hear myself now more objectively, as another person would hear
me, as I listen to my early records. So I have been listening to myself more.
You did this record about 25 years ago?
That's right, thats right. Yes.
At the end of the fifties, you played with Miles Davis?
Yes.
And you did a record with him too.
Yes, a couple of records, right, yes.
What record did you enjoy best, playing with Miles Davis?

Well, I enjoyed both the ones with Green Dolphin Street, Stella By
Starlight and Love for Sale. Then there was also one they released
recently that we didnt even know was being recorded. They called it Jazz at
The Plaza -- it was a party. What I liked about that recorded was it has
Philly Joe Jones still in the band, whereas Jazz Track with Green Dolphin
Street and Kind of Blue was with Jimmy Cobb. So this was an indication
of how the band sounded with Philly Joe and how it sounded with Jimmy
Cobb. Of course, Kind of Blue was the most popular of the three albums.
But how was it -- I heard you made Kind of Blue in one day in studio.
Yes thats right, very quickly.
Was that a special experience for you?
Well yeah, of course, anytime you play with musicians like that, its a special
experience. But I think we all just do our professional best, and perhaps that
day the chemistry was, maybe, a little better than usual or something.
Because that you cant predict. What you can do is to be a good
professional; always do a good job -- and sometimes things come together,
so that its even a little better than professional.
Do you have contact with Miles Davis these days?
Some. I saw him, well, now, it must be a year ago now, because Id heard
these rumors. There are so many rumors around, you know, that Miles -somebody told me he was very sick, and that they thought he was dying,
and then, hey, you know, I saw him and he looked wonderful.
I heard one some days ago that he was going to studio next week.
You always hear those rumors too. And then he might go to the studio but he
doesnt record, or he might not go into the studio, I dont know. But all I
know is that when I last saw him, he didnt seem to have any intention of
coming out and playing in public. He might record, I dont know...
But you had a big trio with Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian
Yes.
And you always perform with trios.
Yes.
And why is that?
Well, for me its a very pure group. But primarily, Im more in control of the
music. I can shape the music and I state the theme, I keep the flow going -and the way we work for instance, theres no talking, its all done musically:
indications; an it becomes a totally musical experience for the group and
also the audience. If I just added a horn --now, I enjoy playing with horns; I
record with horns frequently -- but thats the main reason. Even if I use one
horn, it changes the whole concept, because then, the thematic statements
and all are out of my hands.

Yeah, um what do you think about the audience in Molde today?

Oh it was an excellent audience!
But I notice that the audience are young people today, more than some time ago.
Yes, everywhere its the same, its maybe 80% young people. Ya know, I think
theyre discriminating young people, or they wouldnt be here. Otherwise,
they would go with the masses and just, you know...
Why do you think young people listen more to jazz these days?
I think some young people want a deeper experience. Some people just
wanna be hit over the head and, you know, if then they [get] hit hard
enough maybe theyll feel something. You know? But some people want to
get inside of something and discover, maybe, more richness. And I think it
will always be the same; they're not going to be the great percentage of the
people. A great percentage of the people dont want a challenge. They want
something to be done to them -- they dont want to participate. But therell
always be, uh, maybe 15% maybe, 15%, that desire something more, and
theyll search it out -- and maybe thats where art is, I think.
Does the audience response mean very much to you when you play?
Well... [pause] its not primary. It means a lot to me, but primarily, I know
whats happening. And sometimes when I think its really happening, the
audience -- they do pick it up -- but they may not pick it up as strongly as I
feel it. And sometimes, I think nothings happening [chuckles] and they still
respond. And theyre right, because we are professional and we are
experienced, and therefore, were able to do a certain degree, always.
Youve got almost a new trio.
Yes, this is almost two years now with this trio. I love this trio; it's kind of a
live trio -- the musics alive with this trio. Its a wonderful trio, maybe the
best one I ever had...
Do you compare the trios youve had...
well, I..
Do you compare this trio to the one you had with Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian?
Yes, I don't compare them qualitatively so much, but in, uh ....
characteristically, I think this trio resembles the first trio more than any
other trio Ive had. Definitely. This trio is related to the first trio -- in some
ways, the music is evolving and growing of itself like the first trio. But all the
trios Ive had I love, and weve, ya know, Ive had a special experience... [Bill
looks at his watch, and pauses]
Gotta go!
Yes. Its been very nice talking to you.

Thank you.
Now youre laughing. On the covers of your records, youve -- its always the serious...
I know, I know, well, thats what they picture. They picture me that way. If
theres four pictures and three are smiling and one is serious, they take the
serious one. But we have to run to catch a plane, Im afraid.
Yes, you now have to go to Italy.
Right. [gets up from the piano]
And I want to thank you very much.
Thank you.
[a photographer:] So do you have two seconds?
No, I really have to go. Didnt you have a chance during all that?
Yes, but wed like to have you by the piano...
No, its too late, Im sorry.

Bill on Thelonius Monk

"Thelonious Monk is an example of an exceptionally uncorrupted creative
talent. He has accepted the challenges that one must accept to forge a music
utilizing the jazz process. Because he lacks, perhaps fortunately, exposure to
the Western classical music tradition or, for that matter, comprehensive
exposure to any music other than jazz and American popular music, his
reflections of formal superficialities and their replacement with fundamental
structure has resulted in a unique and astoundingly pure music.
Make no mistake. This man knows exactly what he is doing in a theoretical way
- organized, more than likely, in a personal terminology, but strongly organized
nevertheless. We can be further grateful to him for combining aptitude, insight,
drive, compassion, fantasy, and whatever else makes the "total" artist, and we
should also be grateful for such direct speech in an age of insurmountable
conformist pressures.
In a recent 'Down Beat' Blindfold Test, I was played a Thelonious Monk track. I
might repeat here part of my reaction: Monk approaches the piano and, I
should add right now, music as well, from an "angle" that, although
unprecedented, is just the right "angle" for him. Perhaps this is the major
reason for my feeling the same respect and admiration for his work that I do for
Erroll Garner's, though they might seem poles apart to the casual listener. Each
seems to me as great as any man can be great if he works true to his talents,
neither over nor underestimating them and, most important, functions within
his limitations.
You will experience an absolutely inimitable performance when you listen to
this recording and bless the beauty of the fact that there just ain't no other like
it. To exemplify this is a noble accomplishment and testimony to an
exceptional, worthwhile life."
-- BILL EVANS

Gary Peacock on Bill Evans

Gary Peacock has played bass with nearly everyone who is or was anyone in
jazz including Bill Evans, Miles Davis and Keith Jarrett, to name just a few.
He's covered a lot of territory, both musically and geographically. Peacock's
journey has taken him from Idaho to Los Angeles, Japan, New York City and now
upstate New York, where the 80-year-old master of the bass lives.
Pianist and longtime Peacock collaborator Marc Copland says the bassist's
influence has endured for years.
"In 1960 and '61, Gary Peacock was arguably one of the tiny handful of a
vanguard of innovators on his instrument," Copland says. "In 2015, you can
make the same argument ... This is a stretch of 55 years. There's not a whole
heck of a lot of musicians you can say that about."
Gary Peacock's journey goes back much further, to a moment when he realized
that playing jazz was his life's path.
"It was a realization that was so powerful and so strong that I didn't even
question it," Peacock says.
Peacock was a teenager at the time. He'd already migrated from his native
Idaho to Oregon, and from playing piano to playing drums.
"The actual incident that happened was performing for the graduating class of
1953, which is when I graduated from high school," he says. "I was playing the
drums, and had the experience of being played rather than playing.
"I realized that something transformative had happened ... and there was this
certainty. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, it was totally
clear: 'Oh, this is the direction to go.'"
So Peacock went to music school in Los Angeles, studying both drums and
piano. Then he got drafted and stationed in Germany, where he took up playing
piano with a trio. When the trio's bassist left, Peacock picked up the instrument,
which he'd never played before.

Back in New York not long afterward, the novice bassist found himself playing
with one of the greatest pianists of all time: Bill Evans.
"[Evans'] sense of harmony was exquisite," Peacock says. "The harmonies, and
the way that he would voice the harmonies, made a melody not only believable
but [so] you wanted to fall in love with it. And because he played low, whatever
the bass played, it could be heard; be an integral part of the music."
But by 1969, Peacock gave up the scene completely. Trying to figure out who
he was, he moved again, this time to Japan. There, he studied medicine,
philosophy, cooking and the Japanese language.
"There is a great lack of personal pronouns," he says of the language. "And the
effect that has ... is after a time, there is a sense of spaciousness that opens up
internally and externally."

Peacock retained that sense of space when he returned to the U.S. in the 1970s
and joined a trio with pianist Keith Jarrett and drummer Jack DeJohnette. That's
been a part of his life ever since, but now Peacock composes for his own trio,
as well.
Pianist Marc Copland says a tune called "Requiem," from the Gary Peacock
Trio's new album, Now This, is a good example of the bassist's approach to
composition.
"First of all, as a composition, it's like a little haiku," Copland says. "And to me
that's the best jazz tune of all, when it's not overwritten but it ... creates this
wide-open framework, which you can do anything with."
Peacock insists that he's a reluctant composer, in the same way that he's a
reluctant soloist.
"I would say the main activity that I've been concerned with all these years is,
'How do I get out of the way of myself?'" he says. "What do I need to do to get
out of the way, let it happen, let things be just the way they are?"

You could say that sounds very Zen which would be accurate, since Peacock
has been a Zen Buddhist for the past 15 years. He says he meditates daily, and
it shows in his music.
"My whole orientation was more of service, more of like wanting to contribute
to the welfare of whoever's playing the solo," he says. "In other words, what
can I play so that this person just plays the best he's ever played?"

"September 15, 1980"

Bill has been lying low (an understatement) for most of the past two weeks
keeping quiet in his green
on green on green room, on top of the pale green brocade king-sized bed,
spread out on top of the galaxy of cigarette burns from his two-year stint in
this, his bedroom on the ninth floor of the Whiteman House on Center Avenue
in Fort Lee, New Jersey.
This is Bills room. I share my side of the King. He is on my left; I am on his
right.
He is nodding, not sleeping. I havent seen him sleep yet. Ive been here for six
months, keeping a close eye on things.
Just being there.
I am conscious of death at all moments. Death is in the room like a shadow
waiting for the light to
come on, to intensify with the contrast. I have prepared grapefruit to cheer Bill
up. I am so far out on a limb
here. I try putting on some music -- Jim Hall and Bill playing duets. We are
willing Bill out of bed so he
can make an appointment in midtown to get set up at a new methadone clinic.
He is gravely concerned
about the fact that his doctor is cutting back his dosage without his permission.
So he is willing all of us
to bring him to this appointment in midtown NYC.
I am relying on Joe LaBarbera, Bills drummer, who has been staying with us
this past week while

Bill sat out on his gig at the NYC jazz club called Fat Tuesday's. Another piano
player, Andy Laverne,
took over the rest of the week -- because Bill came so close to a crash on the
Eastside Highway with me
in the passenger side as it swooped inches away from the side of the
underpass. I think someone
drove us home. Maybe it was Joe.
It was great to have Joe around that week because, as I said, I was really out on
a limb with this one.
We support Bill through the buildings lobby, and into his late-model maroon
Monte Carlo. Bill lies
down in the back seat, Joe and I are in the front. Joe drives us into midtown, Bill
directing us to the
address. We are watching the street in traffic, and Bill notices a beautiful
woman and makes the comment,
This really must be the end, because I dont feel a thing for that woman.
We laugh, the rope trick once again. I am always amazed at how far out he can
go (literally leaving
his body) and still snap back at just the right moment. Boom.

Bill Evans Death by Laurie

I took this moment to offer an inspiration I had about Bills financial woes. I
said, Hey Bill, what do
you think about having a memorial concert to raise money for you.
He said, You mean a tribute, my dear, as I am still alive. Well, Joe and Bill and
I laughed a little
harder about that one, and then Bill started to cough up blood, and soon there
was a steady stream of blood coming from his mouth as he directed us to the
Mt. Sinai Hospital . Lay on the horn, Joe.
Tell them its an emergency, he instructed.
I felt compelled to keep watch over him as he directed Joe. He gave me the fear
in his eyes. I wanted to tell him I needed more, that we werent quite done yet.
He told me, I think Im going to drown. I
wasnt sure a person could lose that much blood.
We pulled into the emergency driveway of Mt. Sinai hospital moments later. Joe
and I lifted Bill
from the car and walked him into the hospital. His blood was everywhere
leaving a trail through the waiting room. We laid him on a bed in the
emergency room and a flurry of doctors and nurses took over.

I was shuffled into the waiting room, where I sat and watched with great alarm
as the janitor came
out and mopped up Bills life force. A nurse appeared and in a soothing voice
described Bills condition
as something similar to a nose bleed that just needed cauterizing.
The woman sitting next to me added that her husband had a very similar
experience and went on to
describe it in great detail. But I couldnt take in what they were saying. I was
thinking about the blood
and Bills jacket, which was sitting in my lap.
A moment later a young male doctor came out and escorted me into a small
office. He said, We
couldnt save him. I looked at Joe and said, This is dj vu. I have been here
before.
From this point on I am in a heightened state of adrenaline shock. Joe starts
making calls. He calls Helen Keane, Bills manager. He calls Marc Johnson, Bills
bass player.
Nobody showed me the body.
For years afterward, I would dream that Bill wasnt actually dead, but had
planned some kind of escape.
Thats why its so easy for us to continue our relationship because he isnt
really dead to me.
Not really.
Not at all.
I never left and he is eternal.
-- Laurie Verchomin

Bill Evans: 'That Was Easy'

On Oct. 28, 1966, pianist Bill Evans was in Oslo, Norway, to play a concert with
his trio and to accompany jazz singer Monica Zetterlund. The Scandinavian tour
must have been a short one, since he had been at New York's Village Vanguard
a week earlier and was there again 13 days later. Joining Evans in Oslo was
bassist Eddie Gomez, who had been with him since the spring, and Danish
drummer Alex Riel, who was part of the house rhythm section at Copenhagen's
Jazzhus Montmartre. Riel had played a concert with Evans and Gomez a few
days earlier and with Evans and bassist Niels-Henning rsted Pedersen in '65 in
Holbaek, Denmark.

In the afternoon prior to the concert, Evans, Gomez and Riel were at a
Norwegian television studio being taped as they rehearsed for the concert.
Interestingly, the show's producer seemed to favor the same approach used by
Robert Herridge in 1957 when he produced The Sound of Jazz for CBS: Let

multiple cameras move freely about to capture the most interesting angles and
images, and then punch in the best camera shots on the board in the control
room.

The resulting video is one of the most amazing Bill Evans documents on film
that I've seena 45-minute documentary-performance complete with prerehearsal banter, Evans's instructions to the producer and musicians, and
multiple retakes of Five, his theme. The clip went up on YouTube March 6 and
apparently comes from Riel's personal archive.
First I'll show you the clip.Then I'll tell what I learned about Evans from
watching it. And finally, I'll show you part of the Zetterlund rehearsal and video
from the concert that evening. First, the rehearsal clip (the songs are Very
Early, Who Can I Turn To, If You Could See Me Now, Autumn Leaves and Five)...

Here what we learn about Bill Evans:

Evans wasn't a good geography student. This is what Evans says as he
enters the studio, seemingly trying to paper over some sort of faux pas.
Evans wasn't a fan of the music shelf. He asks to have it removed from the
piano, obviously so he can better hear the instrument.
Evans was forgetful. He brought along a large envelope, ostensibly filled
with music and notes. But after looking inside for what he wanted, Evans does
a 360 in confusion, as if he forgot something important behind at the hotel.
Most likely it was the list of songs he had intended the trio to play.
The drums were still a bit player. Prior to 1968, Evans viewed the drums
largely as ambient rhythm and not nearly as essential to the musical
conversation as the bass. He asks to have visual contact with Eddie Gomez but
is fine having the drums behind him, out of his line of sight.
Feel trumped rhythmic rigidity. Rather than flip out over forgetting his song
list, Evans is quite calm while solving the problem. He comes up with four

songs plus his theme and outlines how he plans to play them. At several points,
he urges drummer Riel to relax and just feel the music rather than think about
what he had to do with the brushes.
Evans was mellow in a crisis. After sitting down at the piano, Evans notices
that the soft pedal's rod was displaced, keeping the pedal from working. Rather
than curse the piano, he calmly asked to have it fixed.
Evans loved his own playing. Once he begins to play, Evans appears to fall
into a trance at the mere sound of his own beautiful phrasing.
Norwegian assistants had good judgment. When someone shows up with
a glass of water for Evans, he waits momentarily until it dawns on him that
both of Evans' hands are occupied. He turns and leaves promptly with the
glass.

Evans wanted to stay in the moment. Before they began, Riel seems to
want a break after each song, in case of a goof he'd have a chance at a redo.
Evans preferred to go straight through, with just a pause in between songs.
Evans clearly abhorred overthinking jazz or anything that compromised
emotion and feeling. Once they agree on Evans's approach, Gomez ribbed Riel
by saying, "If you goof up, you'll get fired, that's all, not a problem."

Gomez had a heart. Before they start, Riel doesn't quite grasp how to handle
Very Early. Gomez, who moments earlier shot Riel a zinger, offers to show him
the music, so he can read it. Evans, eager to get going, eyes Riel like a hawk,
trying to determine if he's on board. When Gomez and Riel return from their
huddle, Evans once again emphasizes that the feel is more important than
thinking about the time. [Photo above of Bill Evans and Eddie Gomez]
Gomez was an extraordinary partner. His solos throughout the rehearsal
are extraordinary, especially on Who Can I Turn To and Autumn Leaves.
Interestingly, by Autumn Leaves, Riel was feeling the music rather than
thinking about it.
Evans let a bad note slide. At the end of Autumn Leaves, instead of ending
on the final note of the upper-register run, the bass note rings last, seemingly
via the damper pedal. In fact, you can see him for a brief second wonder what
caused the note to stick and he even looks down at the pedals. In the recording
studio, that final sour note would have resulted in a retake. Here, Evans lets it
pass.

Evans took responsibility. On Five, Riel struggles on the odd theme to figure
out where the brushes should fit in. At the end of the first take, Evans blames
himself, noting he "sprung" the song on Riel. Evans tries to simplify what he
wants by explaining that it should have a straightforward I Got Rhythm twobeat feel. [Photo above, from left, Alex Riel, Eddie Gomez, Bill Evans and
Monica Zetterlund in Oslo by Jan Persson]
Evans was a teacher. Sensitive that Riel is still having trouble with the song
after the next take, Evans stops and urges Riel to just play straight time and
not to listen to him, because what he is playing is "so over the thing"a
priceless self-evaluation.
Evans solved problems. On the third take, Riel is still not playing behind
Evans correctly, so Evans asks Gomez to play straight two-beat feel on the
bridge, providing Riel with a guard rail of sorts.
Evans had a sense of humor. At the end, Evans stands, looks around and
says, "That was easy," likely referring to the relative ease of the rehearsal
taping.