He may be the most important
jazz guitarist of the last quarter of the 20th century, but a listen
to most of Bill Frisell's recent recordings could leave an uninitiated
listener thinking, "This is jazz?" Ever since the release of
the acclaimed Nashville in 1997 (Jazz Album of the Year in Downbeat's
critics' poll), Frisell has primarily been playing and composing a kind
of heartland instrumental music that explores the places where jazz
intersects with other American roots music, including blues, bluegrass,
and old-time country music. As if to answer those who wonder whether
his music can still be called jazz, Frisell released a trio recording
last fall with two modern jazz legends, drummer Elvin Jones and bassist
Dave Holland. Jones is one of the most powerful rhythmatists ever to
smack a skin, best known for his membership in the groundbreaking, early-'60s
John Coltrane Quartet, and Holland has been one of the premier acoustic
bassists on the scene since his tenure with Miles Davis in the late
'60s.
Bill Frisell with Dave
Holland and Elvin Jones continues to frustrate those who would put
Frisell's music in a box. Instead of a burning jazz trio session with
large dollops of searing, ambient electric guitar, which might have
been expected from such a lineup, Frisell used Holland and Jones to
further expand the borders of his melodic, roots-oriented music, creating
a recording that nonetheless virtually defines where jazz guitar is
at the beginning of the new millennium. He chose to record a batch of
originals he's previously recorded, as if simply to see what Jones and
Holland might do with them, along with a pair of standards from Henry
Mancini and Stephen Foster. From first cut to last, Frisell's acoustic
and electric guitars rock, whisper, slither, moan, chortle, and sing,
accompanied by cohorts who eagerly follow him like shadows from twin
suns, no matter what odd path he wanders down.
Since the dissolution of
his longtime band with bassist Kermit Driscoll and drummer Joey Baron,
Frisell has taken the opportunity to record, perform, and jam with musicians
of every conceivable stripe. A performance at the San Francisco Jazz
Festival last November with slide guitar master Greg Leisz and new-bossa
singer and guitarist Vinicius Cantuária saw Frisell ranging over
a bewildering array of music. The bluesy original "Big Shoe" slipped
easily into a repetitive minor-key line written by Malian guitarist
Boubacar Traoré (who had originally been scheduled to play with
Frisell that night), followed by a foray into the country with "Your
Cheating Heart" and "John Hardy," a side trip to Hawaii with the slack-keyish
original "Good Dog, Happy Man," and a return to Frisell's New York jazz
roots with the melodic/dissonant original "Strange Meeting," which took
on a Brazilian flavor courtesy of Cantuária's fingerstyle comping.
After all that, the encore of Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On?" was not
a bit surprising. For those wondering about Frisell's intent in combining
such disparate music, the impish smile that emanated from his face as
he interacted with Leisz and Cantuária explained it clearly:
he simply loves all the music he has learned and is learning to play.
To Frisell, each melody is like a freshly unwrapped gift.
The morning after Frisell's
performance at the San Francisco Jazz Festival, I met with him over
breakfast at his hotel. In his shy, unassuming way ("Is it OK if I eat?")
he told me about his new records and about the paths his music has taken
over the past few years.
Your new record with
Elvin Jones and Dave Holland finds you returning to a jazz format after
a number of roots-oriented records.
Frisell
Yeah, I'm curious about how people are going to perceive it. I didn't
feel like I stepped way off the path I'd been on; it felt like the next
thing. But we literally had just a few hours to do it, so I used a lot
of older tunes. I wanted to make sure that I was comfortable with the
music.
How did it come about?
Frisell
It was this friend of mine Michael Shrieve's idea. He's a drummer
who was in Santana. He's known Elvin since he was a young kid. He snuck
in to see John Coltrane's band when he was too young to get into clubs.
He climbed into a bathroom window or vent or something, and the whole
band—Coltrane and Elvin Jones and McCoy Tyner—were standing there getting
ready to play, and they invited him in. That's when he met Elvin, and
he's stayed close to him all this time. Michael got it in his head that
I should play with Elvin. And I said, "Yeah, right. Like that's ever
going to happen." I'd met Elvin once—I'd shook his hand 20 years ago
or something—but never dreamed I'd be able to play with him.
How did it become a trio
record with Dave Holland?
Frisell
I had done a couple of things with Dave, and we were talking about
playing some more, maybe a duo record. I knew that Dave had played with
Elvin so I asked him to do it—to have a link with Elvin.
You had only a few hours
to record?
Frisell
Yeah, there were two days to record, and Elvin got the schedule
mixed up—he thought the second day was the first day. So he finally
got there, we played a little bit, and then the next day we played a
little bit more. But it was really just this little moment—just this
little jam session.
After we did it, I went
back and did some overdubs—put on these harmony parts and stuff. That's
where I worry about people's expectations. I shouldn't, but if someone
is expecting a real straight-ahead jazz record, they might think that's
sacrilegious or something. But the core is three people playing live.
That's the most important thing, and then I just orchestrated it a little
bit.
Like everybody, I suppose,
I expected it to be this intense jazz trio session. But you play a lot
of acoustic guitar and also incorporate all the other "nonjazz" stuff
you've been doing.
Frisell
Well, I didn't want to go in and just play something that everyone
wants to play with Elvin: "My Favorite Things" or some song like that.
It was incredible the way he responded to the material. When we played
"Hard Times," he got so excited and said it reminded him of the music
he listened to as a kid. He played with Pete Seeger and he loves Big
Bill Broonzy, so he's into all this blues stuff. There's even a record
he made in the late '60s where he plays acoustic guitar on one song—"Elvin's
Guitar Blues."
Did you do some of the
live trio tracks with acoustic guitar? "Moon River" is just one guitar.
What did you play on that?
Frisell
That's one of Steve Andersen's archtops—an L-5 kind of guitar. "Hard
Times" was recorded on a Gibson J-45 that Lee Townsend [Frisell's producer]
has. I just love that guitar. "Coffaro's Tune" was recorded with that
J-45. And I used this Steve Klein guitar—one of his really big ones—on
"20 Years," but that was more of an overdub.
The acoustic guitar has
been a part of all your records since the beginning, but for a long
time you seemed to mostly use it as a different color in the arrangement.
Or like the version of "Rag" on Is That You?, where it's kind of a diversion
from the rest of the record.
Frisell
Yeah, I used to add just like one little overdub with the acoustic.
For as long as I've had an acoustic guitar, I've always played it at
home. But the electric is still really my voice, mainly. The acoustic
is still like another instrument for me. I'm trying to get the acoustic
happening, but . . . Maybe I just need to commit to it. I can't imagine
doing a whole gig by myself with just the acoustic and nothing else.
I'm not that comfortable playing alone anyway, but with the electric
guitar I can get through it somehow, with all the junk—the effects and
stuff. But just to play completely naked, with the acoustic, that's
something I hope someday I could do.
You've been playing with
a lot of different people lately, but for a while you primarily played
in a trio with Kermit Driscoll and Joey Baron. Do you like having the
feeling of every gig being a little different now?
Frisell
With Kermit and Joey, that was really my first band. And that went
on for a long time. They were so integrated into the music, I didn't
know that my music would function without them. I've known Kermit since
before I ever wrote a tune, and they were the ones that encouraged me
and gave me the confidence to do it. So when that came to an end, it
was kind of terrifying. But it was also liberating to try something
with other people. Nashville was one of the first things where I went
into this unknown situation with my own music and with people that I
didn't really know and didn't know how they would respond to it or play
it. And it was cool. And that gave me another shot of confidence to
try it with different people. But then at the same time, I do want to
have a band that really knows my stuff inside out. It's sort of a safety
net, and then I can go out from there and try stuff with other people.
I have a trio with [bassist]
Tony Scher and [drummer] Kenny Wollesen, and they just know everything
I've ever done. We don't have to figure out anything at all. We just
start playing and I can do whatever I want. That's the first band I've
had that can do that since the band with Joey and Kermit. We can really
play anything, any kind of old standard tune. Tony Scher also plays
slide guitar—he has this really cheap little Stella. We'll play electric
guitar, bass, and drums, and then we'll do this little miniature acoustic
trio thing—almost totally acoustic. We played at the Village Vanguard
a couple weeks ago, and in that club you don't even need a mic. I also
have a quartet with Kenny and Greg Leisz and David Pilch (a bass player
from L.A.) that's become that sort of thing, too.
Your musical relationship
with Greg Leisz is quite unique. How did you meet him?
Frisell
After Nashville came out, I did a few gigs with [Dobro player] Jerry
Douglas and [bassist] Viktor Krauss, and Greg came to one. I didn't
know anything about him. After the concert we talked a bit, and I really
liked him. He's just the nicest guy in the world. And then I started
noticing that he was on what seemed like every record I had bought in
the last year. I asked him to play on Good Dog, Happy Man. That was
the first time we'd ever played together. Many times I can tell how
the music is going to go just by talking to somebody. What Greg is as
a person makes what he plays so open and interactive and supportive
all at the same time.
The way you two play
together is different from the way you play with almost anyone else.
There's not as much of a delineation between soloist and accompanist.
Frisell
Yeah, I love that. And I don't think we've ever once said, "You
solo here and I'll solo there." I don't know if it's because he's played
with so many singers. That's his thing—to back up singers. But he does
it in this unconventional way. He doesn't lay down some real strict
rhythm thing. He has a way of supporting a singer and orchestrating
what they do. It's unpredictable, but he's always listening to the whole
thing. And when I play in the jazz world, playing instrumental music,
I'm trying to make my guitar be the singer. A lot of the tunes I play,
I'm trying to almost mimic a singer. Like when I play a John Hiatt song,
I'll hear John Hiatt singing the song and try to play what his voice
was doing. So when I play with Greg, we are both able to be really free.
We automatically have these roles in place. But it's not like I'm the
singer and he's the orchestrator. It definitely goes back and forth
and crosses over.
That brings up one thing
about your playing that is different, to my ears, from most jazz musicians:
your adherence to the melody of a song. Most jazz musicians start by
playing the melody and then get rid of it and improvise on the chord
progression. When you improvise, I always hear the melody.
Frisell
That's really important for me. The worst-case scenario is where
you play the melody of a song and then it's just, "OK, that's out of
the way, now I can play all this stuff I've been practicing." That doesn't
interest me. Where things really happen for me is where you try to milk
as much out of whatever the song is: work with it, stay with it, turn
it inside-out, or whatever. That's also where you find your own voice.
If you really use the melody of the song, you're true to what the song
is, that gives you the framework to show your individuality.
It seems odd that playing
the melody allows you to make more of a personal statement than running
off a bunch of chords and scales and licks. That seems more like an
older approach to jazz than a postÐCharlie Parker thing. Who inspired
you to play that way?
Frisell
What I still think of as the modern guys, like Thelonious Monk or
Sonny Rollins or Miles Davis, whenever they would play they'd constantly
remind you of where the melody is. They'd definitely go away from it,
but it's somehow always back there. Even somebody like Coltrane, who
you think just blew everything apart and played so much stuff, I still
hear it in him, too, even if it's 10,000 notes.
You studied with Jim
Hall. Did he influence you that way?
Frisell
Oh boy, in a lot of ways. Talking about melody, he would get me
to play one idea—some little phrase or just a couple of notes—and try
to stick with that for awhile and see what I could make out of that,
instead of just running off all over the place. It's trying to develop
a theme off of what you improvise, which ties into the melody, too.
You're using fewer ideas but trying to get more out of them. Everybody
can learn what scale fits with what chord. Not that that's easy. You
gotta learn all that stuff, but if you just start running it off, it
doesn't mean anything.
And Jim talked a lot about
listening to other instruments besides the guitar. He would talk about
Bill Evans and Sonny Rollins. I don't know if I got that totally from
him, but that's been a big part of my music—not thinking about the guitar
so much, but using it to mimic all the sounds that I hear. With jazz,
it was about listening to horn players or piano players and trying to
do that on the guitar, things that you never heard other guitar players
do. But then I began trying that with any kind of music—listening to
an orchestra maybe and trying to make that sound on the guitar.
In addition to that,
you and Jim also take advantage of the things that are unique to the
guitar, like a simple open-string sound.
Frisell
That goes back to playing the acoustic guitar. There was this long
time where I didn't listen to any kind of guitar stuff—or not much.
But in the last few years I've definitely gone back and gotten more
into just the guitar itself. When I went to Nashville, that kind of
opened the floodgates. I thought, "Man, I better check out what's going
on." It led me to bluegrass stuff, but I'm really attracted to even
older old-timey kinds of stuff . . . and blues, Blind Willie Johnson
and Dock Boggs and Roscoe Holcomb.
A lot of musicians have
combined blues and jazz and rock into various kinds of music, but very
few have added old-time country music to that, as you have.
Frisell
I just love when you can find these connections between things.
I don't like the way things are categorized: country is that, blues
is this, and rock and jazz is that. If you look at any kind of music
and go back far enough, there's usually some point where it's the same
as the thing it's supposed to be the opposite of. For me, country music
and blues is the same. And that whole racial thing really bothers me,
the way it's black and white: country is white and blues is black. I
get excited when I hear like a really old Bill Monroe record and there's
some momentary thing in there where it sounds exactly like a Duke Ellington
record from the same time. Or like when I heard Dock Boggs and I didn't
know whether he was black or white. I just really like it when you can't
put your finger on it, and I guess I'm trying to get some of that mystery
into my own stuff—although it's still in this obvious stage where I'm
trying to figure it out. I can't really play those old-time tunes for
real. I'm just trying to learn them.
I got an advance copy
of the Bill Frisell and the Willies CD with Danny Barnes, and I particularly
like how you slowed "John Hardy" way down so it became hymn-like and
elegiac.
Frisell
Some of those old tunes that bluegrass guys play have become faster
and faster, and I just can't play that fast. Danny can, and I struggle
along and try. But it's cool to take some of those tunes and say, "I
wonder what it would sound like if I played it ten times slower." "Blackberry
Blossom" on that record was like that.
Does it feel odd to be
playing "Your Cheating Heart" or "John Hardy" at the San Francisco Jazz
Festival?
Frisell
A couple of weeks ago, we played at the Village Vanguard, which
is like
the ultimate jazz club.
The first day we were there, we set up and started play-
ing "Good Night, Irene,"
and Lorraine [Gordon], the owner of the club, comes running out with
tears in her eyes saying, "Oh man. 'Good Night, Irene.' I remember when
Leadbelly was here." She loves Leadbelly, and he used to play that song
in there. So I know you're not supposed to do that in the Village Vanguard,
but we played a bunch of those tunes and it made total sense.
How do you fit writing
into your performance schedule?
Frisell
Sometimes I can do a little bit when I'm away from home, but it's
better when I'm home and can get some kind of momentum and do a little
bit every day. Then one thing starts to lead into another. Sometimes
I'll write almost stream-of-consciousness melodies down on paper. Like
if you're walking down the street,
just whistling, not thinking
about it. Sometimes I'll just let it go off, however it goes, or sometimes
I'll try to write like a four-bar, real concise, question-and-
answer melody or something.
But just on paper. And then I'll take my guitar and mess with it and
see what it sounds like.
Some of your tunes have
simple repeating chord patterns with these long melodies that keep unfolding.
Is that where those tunes come from?
Frisell
No, those are probably written on the guitar. There'll be some kind
of little bit that I can keep going. Sometimes it's just four chords
over and over again, and having the underlying pattern generates the
melody somehow.
One of your trademarks
is ending a phrase with a big root note or triad, with no lead-in. It
seems kind of bizarre to have a signature thing be so simple.
Frisell
That's totally true. I never thought about that [laughs]. It's weird
to become aware of your own stuff. Now I'll be thinking, "Not that again."
When I'm writing, I'm trying to have my ear pull me one step at a time
further and further away from the obvious, and then maybe I want to
be reminded of where I started.
In your writing, you
use a lot of triads with just one dissonant note.
Frisell
I went to Berklee for arranging, and I took these Duke Ellington
classes with Herb Pomeroy. One thing he talked about was taking a triad
and sticking in one note a half-step away from any note—like if you
have a D-major triad and stick an F in there—just to see what it sounds
like. Vinicius did that when he was playing "Strange Meeting" last night;
he was playing a C-minor chord and then he played a major third—the
open E string. And I thought, "Oh wow, he's playing it wrong." But I
looked and I saw he was totally committed to it, and I thought, "Wow,
that sounds good—that sounds cool."
Excerpted from
Acoustic
Guitar magazine, May 2002, No. 113.
