I get a taxi to Avatar Studios in midtown, and arrive early. Cameron Brody is already there, pacing in front of the building, drinking coffee from a paper cup. “You sure this is okay?” he asks, as I come up. “I mean I don’t want to get in the way or anything.”
I smile and pat him on the shoulder. “If it wasn’t, they would have told me. Come on.”
We go inside and check in with a security guard, who consults a clipboard. “Evan Horne and guest?”
“Yes.”
He has Brody sign in and sends us upstairs to Studio B. Inside, it’s all wood paneling, wood floors, and two isolation booths with sliding glass doors. In the center of the room a drum set is centered on a red rectangular carpet, the cymbals gleaming in the overhead light. Cameron Brody stops and walks all around the drum set like a little kid. “Far out,” he says. “This is so fucking cool.”
I glance up at the glassed in control booth that overlooks the studio. A young guy in a dark sweatshirt and longish hair is seated at the board, scanning dials, while another older man in a suit is talking, gesturing, pacing. Has to be Larry Klein.
One of the booths is dark but I can see the grand piano inside. A handwritten note is taped to the glass that says: Do Not Touch. In the other booth, I see who’s going to play bass.
Tall, slim, studious looking in a tweed coat, pale blue shirt and yellow floral bow tie, just as I’ve seen him dressed in many photos, Ron Carter sits on a high stool. The bass is cradled against him as he gazes at some music on a stand in front of him. How many times have I heard him with Miles, that great quintet of the sixties, and now, here he is, waiting for me.
I walk in the booth. “Ron? Evan Horne.”
“Hey,” he says with a friendly smile. He stands up and holds out his hand. “Just looking over your tunes,” he says. “I’m doing a television show later,” as if to explain his coat and tie. He points to the music. “Anything I should know about this?”
“No, I use the original changes on ‘Porkpie’ and ‘Foolish Heart.’ We’ve all played that. I’ll just play maybe four bars in front before the melody.”
He looks up. “Yeah. Roy gave me a cassette of yours. Some very nice playing.”
Before I can say anything, the man in the suit comes in. “Evan, Larry Klein.” He’s all smiles and enthusiasm and frenetic energy. He nods to Ron Carter, who just glances up from the music and begins working on his bass lines. “Come on, let’s check out the piano,” Klein says.
I follow him over to the other booth. He flips on the lights and I sit down at the grand piano. And it is grand. The sound is gorgeous and the action feels very comfortable under my fingers as I run through some chords.
Klein beams, listens for a moment, then turns as we both see Roy Haynes come in with a woman and another man. Haynes waves and comes over. Always known for his dapper attire, he’s dressed casually but expensively in a sweater and slacks and soft looking tan loafers.
“Hey,” he says, smiling at me. “You ready to make some music?” We shake hands. “I’m sure glad you could make this.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
And I am. A kind of calm had descended on me the minute I walked in the studio. I felt relaxed, confident, and I know even then it’s going to go well.
“Okay, let me see if they set my drums right.” He walks out of the booth, over to his drums, and unzips a small black bag that holds sticks and brushes and mallets and sits down at the set. He taps on the snare drum, moving the stick around the edge, listens and makes some adjustments with a drum key, then turns and waves to the control booth.
The engineer’s voice comes over the playback speakers. “Okay, guys, put on the phones, let me get some levels. You first, Evan.”
I nod and put on the headphones and begin to play the opening to “Goodbye Porkpie Hat,” looking toward the booth. The woman that came in with Haynes is talking to him now. She has a notebook in her hand. I see her glance over at me and write, but I see Haynes look up and smile as I start to play.
“Okay, that’s fine.” The engineer’s voice comes through the headphones. “Ron, you next.”
I listen as Carter plays some deep long tones, then walks for a few moments. “You going to bow any?” the engineers asks.
Carter looks over at me and I shrug. “Maybe on the ending?”
Carter nods and tries the bow. “Got it,” the engineer says. “Roy?”
Haynes nods to the woman as she walks away and sits down near the wall with Brody and the other man. Haynes taps on all the drums, plays a little time on the cymbals and hits the bass drum a few times. “Thanks,” the engineer says.
The first time I recorded like this it was weird, hearing everybody only through headphones, but I got used to it. We can all see each other through the glass and the isolation booths make doing the final mix more precise. I’d read once that Benny Goodman’s band had been recorded with one microphone and a reel to reel tape recorder at Carnegie Hall. Things have changed.
The engineer comes on again. “Okay, let’s do something together so I can get a mix.”
“How about a blues,” Haynes says. I can see his lips move and hear his voice in my ear. “Go ahead, Evan, pick something, you start. But remember not too fast. I’m old.” He laughs.
I nod and play four bars in a medium tempo and go into “Israel,” a Bill Evans tune. Carter is in on the fifth bar as Haynes plays some little crackle thing on the snare, his right hand is on the ride cymbal. I’d already seen it was one he favored. A flat one, with no bell, the definition so precise you could hear every tick of the wooden tip stick distinctly.
We play a couple of choruses and the rush is so strong I want to keep playing, but Haynes stops. “Whoa, listen to this cat,” he says. “Let’s save some of that. You got enough, Buzz?” he says to the engineer.
There’s a pause then, “Yeah, we’re fine.”
Haynes nods. “Let’s do ‘Porkpie’ first, okay?” And to me, “Right on it?”
I nod in agreement and wait for the cue from the engineer.
“Okay, we’re rolling. Roy Haynes, take 1, ‘Goodbye Porkpie Hat.’”
I count…1..2..slow ballad tempo and play the first chord of the melody. Carter’s bass pulses in my ear and Haynes, brushes in hand, swirls in circles on the snare, implying the tempo. It feels so relaxed it’s like playing at home, or that day I was at Cal’s house, only now I have one of the best drummers and bass players in jazz. I play two choruses, glance up at both of them to signal I’m going out and we end with Haynes rolling with mallets on the cymbal and Carter drawing out a long bowed line on the last note.
We all freeze for a few seconds, allowing time, then hear a click and the engineer’s voice. “Fuck, we gotta keep that one,” Buzz says.
Haynes says, “Definitely. You okay with that one, Evan.”
“Yeah, unless Ron wants to solo one.”
Carter shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
Haynes says, “Let’s hear it back, Buzz.”
I get up and walk out to the drums to listen with Haynes, knowing I’ll never play it any better. As the playback fills the room, Haynes nods, smiling, shaking his head. “Beautiful, man. Just beautiful.”
When the playback finishes, Buzz, the engineer, comes in the studio and moves one of the microphones on Haynes’ drums slightly. “The up tune now, right?”
“Yeah,” Haynes says. Ron Carter joins us and we talk over tunes and how we’ll do it, but Haynes has another idea. “You know ‘I Hear a Rhapsody,’ right?”
“Yes, play it a lot.”
“And ‘All Blues’?” He looks at Carter. “I know I don’t have to ask you,” he says. Some six years with Miles, Ron Carter must have played it hundreds of times, and of course I know it too.
“Cool, I got an idea. You’ll see what I mean. Come on.”
We go back into the booth with the piano. Haynes explains, snaps his fingers for the tempo he wants, and has me play the “All Blues” intro which is a repeated vamp in 6/8. “There,” he says. “That last note of the ‘All Blues’ vamp is the first note of ‘Rhapsody.’ See what I mean? Then after each section, we go back to that as a kind of interlude.”
I play it down a few times and marvel at how easy it fits. “You see?” Haynes says. “It sounds like we’re going to play ‘All Blues’ then we go right into ‘Rhapsody.’ It can mess with cats trying to sit in.” He laughs heartily.
“Mr. Haynes, you are so clever,” Carter says, with a grin.
“Why thank you, Mr. Carter.” Haynes bows slightly
Not at all what I’d planned to play, but sometimes, even in recording, it happens this way. The leader will pull a new tune out of the hat to raise the level of spontaneity, create something we didn’t know we would do.
Haynes and Carter go back to their places and we run through it together with no problem, then decide on a format for solos. “Evan, you do a couple or three choruses, Ron, you take a couple, then we’ll do some eights and take it out, ending with the ‘All Blues’ interlude, okay? And at the beginning, we’ll just vamp on that interlude till you’re ready, Evan.”
He turns and looks up toward the booth. “Okay, Buzz, let’s get one.”
There’s silence for a few moments, then Buzz: “We’re rolling. Roy Haynes, ‘I Hear a Rhapsody,’ take 1.”
Carter and Haynes poise for my cue and I begin the vamp. For a moment, I’m lost in the dream that Bill Evans played these exact same chords on
Kind of Blue
in 1959. I nod, feeling Haynes and Carter watching, and we go right into “Rhapsody.” I do three choruses, glance at Carter, who takes two, his beautiful tone singing through the headphones, then two choruses of eight bar exchanges with Haynes. He’s all over the drums but in such a melodic way, it’s always clear where he is in the tune, and more than demonstrating his nickname “snap crackle.” We take it home and play the “All Blues” interlude, vamping again until Buzz’s voice comes over. “I’ll just fade on the interlude, okay Roy?”
We all stop then. “Perfect,” Haynes says, “but let’s do one more since we got time. How about the thing we did for the level check, Evan. ‘Israel.’”
“Sure.”
We take it fairly up, like Bill Evans did with his later trios. Haynes pushing and prodding like we’re walking along a path in the woods with his hand on my back, guiding the direction, and Carter’s deep low tones anchoring everything. In a little over an hour, we’re done and everybody is happy with the playbacks.
“Damn,” Haynes says. “It’s going to be hard to choose between those two.” He hugs me and beams. “That ballad was beautiful, man.” He looks at me quizzically. “You got somebody important you just lost?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, surprised at his insight.
“Uh huh. I can always tell. You know Mingus was thinking about Lester Young when he wrote it.”
Carter already has his bass packed up and he’s heading out. He stops and shakes hands. “I enjoyed it much,” he says. “Later, Roy.”
Cameron Brody comes over then, standing back expectantly, waiting for an introduction. “Roy, like you to meet a friend of mine. He’s a drummer too. Cameron Brody.”
Haynes turns and smiles and shakes hands with Brody. “Well, all right then,” he says. “Want to check out my drums?” He winks at me, and Brody looks like he’s going to faint.
“Thanks again, man,” Haynes says to me. “I’ll let you know how the mix comes out.” He points to the woman he’d been talking to earlier. “She’s from
Downbeat
, going to give us a little nudge on this project.”
“My pleasure.” I watch Brody circle the drums and tentatively sit down.
“Go on,” Haynes says. “Let’s see what you got.”
I signal Brody I’ll wait downstairs. Outside on the street, I light a cigarette and lean against the building, letting the euphoria wash over me, savoring one of those rare moments when I’ve done just what I wanted. I watch the traffic rush by, but my mind is still on the session, the sound of Ron Carter’s bass buzzing in my ear, and Haynes’ crackling snare and precise cymbal play. It takes me awhile, but by the time Brody joins me I feel like my feet are on the ground again.
“That was fucking awesome,” Brody says. “Man, can he play or what!”
I smile and start walking, letting Brody have his moment. He stops then, touches my arm. “That ballad was fantastic, Evan. You were really on.”
“Thanks.” I nod and keep walking toward midtown.
“We gotta celebrate, and I’m buying. Let’s get a real expensive dinner tonight.” He checks his watch. “I got a few things to do so let’s meet later. I know a place or you can choose.”
“Just tell me where,” I say. “I’m going back to the hotel and make a couple of calls.”
“Okay. Why don’t you come to my place and we’ll go from there.” He writes down his address on a card and hands it to me. “See ya.” He makes me laugh as he suddenly whirls around and points, then goes on down the street.
I stroll slowly back toward the hotel. I pass a coffee place near Times Square, and bring a tall one to an outside table. I take out my phone and call Andie.
“Hi,” she says. “How did it go?”
“Couldn’t have been better. It’s easy to play with great musicians and I just recorded with two of the best.”
“Oh, I’m so happy for you. Congratulations, babe. Wish I could have been there.”
“So how are you doing?”
“Pretty good. I took another walk today. My leg feels fine and I’m having a check on Monday. What are you doing now?”
“I’m going up to Boston to see my folks for a couple of days. Probably come back Monday or Tuesday.”
“Did you figure out what was bothering you about your mother?”
“Not yet. Maybe when I see her.”
“It’s been awhile. Evan?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just let me know how it goes, okay.”
“I will. You take care.”
“You too. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up and once again feel something is off. First my mother, now Andie. Maybe I’m imagining things, but both nag at me and I can’t put my finger on either. I finish my coffee and make one more call.
“Dana? It’s Evan.”
“I was just thinking about you,” she says. “Did you do the recording already?”
“Yeah, just finished awhile ago. Everything went fine. Anything new with you.”
She sighs. “No, just trying to get this thesis done and I’m bored. Are you going to be coming through L.A. on the way back?”