Everything was fine. I went to work for Lew Malin, playing casuals, and going out to colleges all over the country for Buffet, doing clinics. The clinics started really rolling in, and I liked them. The kids looked up to me. They called me "sir" and "Mr. Pepper." The highschool and college bands, instead of playing all rock and roll, were getting into jazz, learning about swing and bebop. I collected big band arrangements from writers I knew-Don Piestrup, Don Menza, and from the Kenton organization, and I built up a library. When I'd get called for a clinic, Laurie would send three or four arrangements to the college, so the kids could learn their parts, and then, when I got there, I'd rehearse them, polish them up, and we'd give a concert. I'd play the solo part. I'd talk to them and tell them how they were doing as section players, as soloists, and I told them how I'd learned to play jazz, learned chords. It was very gratifying. I gave them a long talk, each time. It was beneficial to them, and even more so to me, because it made me feel that my life was worthwhile.
The kids were usually awestruck, especially after I showed them what I could do. If they hadn't really heard of me, before I even started talking, I'd take out my horn and play and beat them down with my playing. Once I had shown off, techniquewise and chord-wise and soul-wise, they had to look up to me. I talked about dope sometimes, what they'd be headed for. And usually I'd stay a couple of days, and I'd talk to the kids in the hallways or over breakfast, they'd ask me questions. For that I got the horns, my airfare, expenses, and a fee for doing the clinic. That did a lot for my self esteem.
Moving in with Laurie was a great help to me too. I still wasn't completely honest with her, and we had some hassles, but I was doing the best I could except for drinking. That really became a problem. Finally, one day, Laurie moved out. She said she wouldn't come back until I stopped. I realized what the drinking was doing to my health. I consented to take antabuse. If you drink while you're taking antabuse, you get terribly sick. It looked like all I'd be able to do was take methadone and smoke-cigarettes. I don't like marijuana anymore. It makes me nervous. I was buying extra methadone from Ann and John twice a week. I stopped drinking to excess. Every now and then, I'd stop taking the antabuse and goof. I always felt awful afterwards.
(Ann Christos) Art was working at the bakery in Venice. Someone told us he was there so John and I drove out to see him. A few days later he called and asked us if we could score for him. He came to Hollywood in that little tiny car. John and I were both on the state methadone program, but we did score for him-and for ourselves. That was the only time, and the stuff had no effect on us; we thought we'd been burned. But Art fell out. The methadone was just blocking the heroin; it was doing its job. Not long after that we drove out to the bakery again to give Art some methadone. Laurie was there. That's the first time we met her and she was very cold. I told John I understood why. She thought we were leading Art astray, but actually we thought that meth would be good for him. John was trying to convince him to get on the program. We thought it would be his salvation.
Art was quiet-like I've always known him to be when he's not working in music and hasn't anything in sight. Lethargic. No goals. No pleasure in anything. We would talk to him at times, though, and get laughs out of him. When you get Art goin', you know, he's funny. Even after he got on the program he'd come to buy meth a couple of times a week, and we used to look forward to his coming down. It was time to talk and crack up. We saw a lot of him, and our relationship with Laurie grew. We saw the way she was handling him. He was stagnating, playing those Jewish weddings. Actually I think Laurie's the one that pulled him to the fore. I think it was all her energy that got it together. Laurie's very feminine. She's very petite, pretty, with china doll features. She has a bright, bright smile and a keen mind. She wouldn't cater to Art or indulge his depressive attitude. She just soared right on ahead, kept on cookin'. She sort of turned it around and laughed at all his little woe-isms.
LAURIE pushed me, in music, and she took care of a lot of things I couldn't deal with-arranging the clinics, writing to the colleges, answering the phone. When the phone rings I get terrified. I never know what it's going to be. She shielded me from a lot of people from my past. . . so that I wouldn't get involved with them.
We had lived in Venice, which we loved very much, but the place was tiny, and our rent kept going up, and I was getting so much work. We decided to move to the valley. That's where all the musicians are stationed. The valley is a great point of departure. We found a little frame house, very reasonable rent, and we've been there ever since.
In 1975, Les and I got together again, and we made a new album, Living Legend. I was very proud of that. In 1976, Don Ellis, the trumpeter and bandleader, called me and asked me if I'd like to join his band. It was an extremely modern band with a lot of amplified and electronic instruments. And instead of just four beats to the bar, like all jazz music, except for 3/4 waltz time, his arrangements would be in 5/4, 7/4, 9/8. It was difficult to read the parts; it was very hard to feel the beat and to play jazz solos. I figured it would be good for my name, to get that experience. People would look up to me because a lot of the real good players in my age group were afraid to go with that band, afraid they might not be able to cut it and word would get around. I wanted to be thought of ... I could do any thing. There was a guy in the saxophone section, we'll call him Phil, a very nice guy, he gave me a lot of help. I had to play piccolo, flute, clarinet, alto. We played at a big place on the strip, a rock and roll place, and we played an arrangement I was featured on, all the way through, "Invincible." It opened up with just myself and an amplified cello. I went through all the changes and time patterns. I got a standing ovation. I stayed with Don as long as I could, but the band was going to Europe and the money was nothing to what I could get on my own, so I left. I had a lot of great moments with Don Ellis.
ART PEPPER
"I'M HERE To STAY!" by Charles Marra
When jazz enthusiasts, musicians, critics and historians hear the name Art Pepper, the universal reaction is that here is a musician who has done much with his alto saxophone, a champion of the cause of inventiveness, lyricism, and vigorous emotional warmth.
Arthur Edward Pepper, then, is recognized as a brilliant musician, yet little has been heard of-or from-him in recent years. His career has not exactly been a bed of roses.
But here is some welcome and happy news: Art Pepper is alive and well, living in California and a participant in what he terms "a lifesaving methadone program administered by the Veterans Association. The program has been the biggest factor in my re-awakened interest in life and in music.
"I feel absolutely certain that the past that-past! I have no fear whatsoever of any future hangups. I'm here to stay ...." down beat, March 1, 1973. Copyright 1973 by down beat. Reprinted by special permission.
ART PEPPER LIVING LEGEND by Doug Ramsey
... He has overcome the monster and emerged from the struggle a strengthened person and deeper artist.
... Aside from the free aspects of Pepper's playing today, the listener will hear an emotional concentration, a cry, sometimes a sob and sometimes a joyous shout- that come from the wisdom of ex perience. In that sense, this is autobiographical music, a testatment of the artist's life.
... On the blues called Mr. Yohe, the section builds such a powerful swing, that by the 13th of his 15 choruses, Pepper has been propelled to an intensity that for a few bars becomes nearly unbearable. It is a cathartic listening experience .... He is a virtuoso but not an exhibitionist.
... Art Pepper was never really away in the minds of serious listeners, but it is satisfying to know he is well, happy, and again creating important music. Radio Free Jazz, September, 1976.
I'D ONLY tried cocaine a couple of times in my life, when I'd shot it; it made me very nervous. One night we were playing some club with Don Ellis' band, and this guy, Phil, said there was an old friend of mine from San Quentin in the audience. I hadn't seen the guy in years. Phil says, "Come on , we'll meet him." This guy was Phil's coke connection. He asked me, "Would you like to have a little toot?" I enjoyed it, sniffing it. The guy came around again and again. I found myself really liking it, not realizing how expensive it was. That was my start into coke. I liked it better and better, and, of course, I started paying for it-more and more. But I felt I deserved it. Ann and John had moved away. I'd fallen into the habit of buying a "treat" from them, extra methadone, once or twice a week. They wouldn't let me overdo it. It gave me a little buzz. It was something to look forward to. It kept me out of trouble. Now they were gone. I started using cocaine the same way.
Coke is sort of an upper. But it gives you a feeling that's very hard to describe. You're animated, interested in things, and, as withdrawn a person as I am, it made me very gregarious. And it made me really love music again, as I had when I was a kid. But it was just the pattern of my past, using heroin, using Cosanyl, using codeine, using alcohol. Coke was the most insidious of all. It wreaks such havoc on your body and your mind. You stay up day and night. You don't eat. And the more you use it, the more you like it. I got to the point where, when I didn't have it, I had no energy at all and I'd become very depressed. I felt I couldn't play without it. I couldn't live without it. It was con trolling me. Maybe it isn't addictive as a physical thing, but it really gets you messed up. And it's against the law.
My records were really selling in Japan. I was considered the number one jazz alto player over there. I couldn't believe it. I was asked to go to Japan, but we weren't sure, because of my past, whether I could get into the country or whether I could take my methadone with me. It worked out, and I went with Cal Tjader and did three concerts. It was very hard, even for that short time, to do without coke. I took enough to last me on the plane trip. Just before we landed in Tokyo, I went to the bathroom and did the last of it. I couldn't take the chance. If they decided to shake me down it would have been suicide.
Friday, April 8, 1977
Dear John and Ann:
Our trip to Japan was beautiful. Both Laurie and I thought maybe the reported popularity and record sales I was supposed to have in Japan might be just another shuck; neither of us related that feeling to the other as we didn't want to rank the other's trip. Even Les Koenig, who owns my record company had his doubts about my getting into the country. So you can imagine the pressure we felt before my first appearance on stage. To make these feelings worse was the fact that the promoter didn't know I would even be admitted into the country until I actually got through customs and was waiting for the car to take us to the hotel. So no advertising was done on me. Everything, stories, tickets, programs, ads, marquees, etc., had only Cal Tjader Sextet on them. He's not very well known there, so the first concert in Tokyo had a very poor advance sale and it was in a gigantic theater with two balconies. As soon as the word was out that I was actually there, they added a one page flyer to the program and added my name, where possible, to the posters, but the time was just too short to reach the people in a city the size of Tokyo. It at least made a terribly small crowd a respectable one. Naturally, I wasn't aware of all this at the time, so I got angry, and my ego took a beating. I couldn't figure out why all the written material said THE CAL TJADER TOUR instead of the ART PEPPER-Cal Tjader TOUR. I wouldn't ask anyone because I was too hurt and angry. To add to my bad feelings, my contract stated that Cal's rhythm section would be required to learn all the arrangements. I had, given the arrangements to Jimmy Lyons a month before we left for Japan. I spent several days and nights writing out all the parts in ink, putting them in plastic sheets with complete beginnings and endings, solo orders, etc. in individual folders, one for each instrument-plus Laurie recorded on cassettes each tune, one cassette for each instrument. We gave all that to Jimmy Lyons, and we were promised he would give them to Cal who would give them to his rhythm section with the word that they must each learn all the charts so that when we arrived in Japan a short rehearsal would be all that would be required. We made sure this was in writing. Cal showed each guy his packet for a few minutes. They said there wouldn't be any problem, so he collected them, put them in his briefcase and carried them to Japan with him. I learned this while waiting for the Japan Airlines 747 in San Francisco. Before the first concert, my also-promised long rehearsal lasted about eight minutes. So you can see I was pretty drug when I was about to go on stage after the intermission, allowed only four tunes which had to be all standards. Laurie went out into the audience. The intermission ended. I was called to the wings and introduced by Cal Tjader. Then I started a slow walk to the microphone. The minute my body became visible, the audience started clapping and cheering. It continued, getting louder and louder, until I reached the mike. I stood there for at least 5 minutes, bowing and waiting for them to stop and feeling the most beautiful feeling I think I've ever felt in my life. Laurie later told me that the feelings of warmth and love were so strong that she just started crying like a baby. I knew then that it wasn't another shuck, another injustice, another disappointment. It was real. Retribution? Maybe-whatever it was, it justified my whole ex- istance, my whole past, my whole life!
In '76, I'd made another album for Contemporary. The Trip. The '75 album, Living Legend, was excellent, and I thought, after that, the next album couldn't possibly be as good. It was even better. It got a lot of praise. It's one of my favorite albums of all time, and it pushed me into the limelight a little bit. I got an offer to tour the east coast. I'd never toured before as an individual. Here I was in my fifties, and I'd finally made it. I was invited to perform at the Newport Festival. I was scared, so I didn't carry any coke with me. I played in Toronto for a week, then New York. On the last day of my appearance at the Village Vanguard, a friend, to my surprise, offered me a taste of coke. I had the money, so I decided I'd use a little bit during the tour.