Louie Bellson, Roy Haynes, Elvin Jones and Max Roach: Once in a Lifetine by Ed Enright

 © Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Since around 1960, Down Beat has been running an annual drum edition which is generally filled with profiles, interviews and reviews of select drummers and their music.

The late Roy Harte [1924-2003] who owned an operated Drum City on Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, CA for many years was fond of saying that: “ Drummers are like hockey goalies; you gotta know how to talk with them.”

Unlike brass, reed, woodwind, string and keyboard players with their common language in melody and harmony, Jazz drummers, for the most part, speak in rhythm. They are focused on the way the music MOVES.

In this regard, I’ve oftentimes thought that Jazz drummers have more in common with dancers than with melody and harmony instruments.

While poised precariously on the tip of a drum stool, all four of a drummer's limbs are in motion at the same time, each doing separate and distinct things on various drums and cymbals to generate the rhythmic flow and metronomic pulse that is a singular characteristic of Jazz.

Some of my happiest memories involve hanging out at Drum City on Santa Monica Blvd. or around the corner at the Professional Drum Shop on Vine Street in Hollywood and talking “shop” with other drummers.

You’ve never seen such animated conversations with everyone talking with their hands and feet while describing some aspect of drumming.

Who knew they were all Italian?

The following appeared in the November, 1998 Down Beat and was conducted by Ed Enright, the former and now retired director of the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ.

“Louie Bellson, Roy Haynes, Elvin Jones and Max Roach are like four giant planets.

Fellow musicians gravitate like meteors, and hangers-on constantly orbit like satellites. Getting them together is like orchestrating the Harmonic Convergence — a once-in-a-lifetime celestial phenomenon.

Avedis Zildjian Co., the 375-year-old cymbal-maker, made it happen this September [1998] when they paid tribute to these four jazz drumming heavies, septuagenarians all. Billing it the American Drummers Achievement Awards, Zildjian called on a younger generation of drummers — Steve Gadd, Terri Lyne Carrington, Peter Erskine and Marvin "Smitty" Smith — to perform in honor of Bellson (74), Haynes (73), Jones (71) and Roach (74), respectively. Proceeds from the bash, held at Berklee College of Music in Boston went toward scholarships in each of the honored names.

The day before the big event, Down Beat held a roundtable discussion with the foursome in the privacy of the Friends Lounge, upstairs from the Berklee Performance Center. (We also heard from the honorees during a brief press conference the afternoon of the show; a few of those comments have been integrated into the following interview.)

After posing for a quick photo session, Bellson, Haynes, Jones and Roach drank a toast of red Italian wine, sat down and were ready to roll.

Ed Enright: Have the four of you ever been together before?

Roy Haynes: I know we've all been together separately, but not all four of us.

Elvin Jones: Not at the same moment. This is the first time for that.

Enright; What does it mean to receive this honor? How does it make you feel to be together for this?

Haynes: I'm glad to be here with these guys. Somebody said I was in good company to be with Max, Elvin and Louie. I'm looking forward to it. But I would like to hear these guys play! That would really knock me out. I'd sit back and just check 'em out! We've got some youngsters playing tomorrow, so it'll be cool.

Max Roach: It brings back a lot of memories. For example, I remember the time that Louie Bellson and Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa ganged up on me because I had won this DownBeat poll. I was the first black musician to win a poll for the magazine. So they went to California with Clark Terry and me, and here I was on the stage with these three killers. What a night that was! When I first heard Elvin, the band with Brownie [Clifford Brown] and them came to Detroit, and I got sick and I had to stay home a couple nights. Every night when the gig was over, I'd hear them coming down the hall happy. Laughing. This is Elvin, now, so I thought, I'd better get well and get myself back to work. Quick! Elvin Jones, he was a baby at that time. Roy Haynes, every time we came to Boston, Roy was the killer in Boston. When Roy finally got to New York City, Bird (Charlie Parker| hired him. I left and went on the road with Benny Carter, and Roy took my gig and kept it! [Laughs.]

Louie Bellson: It's a very special honor for me because I consider myself a student of these three teachers. I started with Big Sid Catlett, "Papa" Jo Jones, Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones. These are truly my teachers. Anything I do today is a reflection of what they showed me. Max, I recall in the '40s when we did two drum-set clinics in Brooklyn for Henry Ader. Saul Goodman was there for tympani and Burt Morales did the Latin thing. After I played, Max came to me and said, "Louie, you play so wonderful, can I add a comment?" I said, "Yeah, of course." He said, "Why don't you learn how to play melodically?" I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "For instance, if you're playing 'Cherokee,' build your solo around that tune of 'Cherokee.' I never forgot that. It put me on a new avenue. Of course, many times I've listened to this gentleman here, Roy, and also Elvin. I'm especially honored to be one of the four honorees. And I think it's marvelous that this is happening, because what we've done so far can be a reflection on some of the students coming up: to love your craft and do the best you can and add something to this wonderful history of drumming.

Roach: Let me just say something about Louie and what an inspiration you were to me. As a composer and an arranger, you stood out in the crowd. Louie Bellson was a craftsman, one of the few people whose music Duke Ellington played. Mercer [Ellington] always complained that his father never would play his music. When we did a record dedicated to Charlie Mingus, Duke invited us all to participate and asked us all to bring compositions, and we played your music as well. We got to the studio, and Duke was at the piano — Louie, you're probably familiar with this sight— he was already writing stuff, putting stuff down. When we finished the date, we didn't play anything of Mingus', we didn't play anything of mine! [Laughs.] But we recorded Louie's. Louie to me was as much a drummer as he was a composer and an arranger. I especially remember the tune "Skin Deep."

Bellson: That was actually written in 1947. Of course in those days, Tommy Dorsey or Benny [Goodman] had their own arrangers. I just wrote to keep my hand in composition. Then when Juan Tizol and Willie Smith and I joined Duke, Tizol said, "Bring those arrangements into Duke." I said, "Juan, are you crazy? Me bringing in arrangements to Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn? No way!" So finally, Duke came to me and said, "Bring the music in." So, reluctantly, I brought in "The Hawk Talks" and "Skin Deep." I was just flabbergasted that he wanted to hear some of my music. Even if he just heard it during rehearsal, that was good enough for me.

Roach: That was a great piece, "The Hawk Talks." I forgot about that one. But that was an inspiration to the few drummers who did do a lot of writing. It got me really on it. I was always trying to do something in that area. The drums are a hell of an instrument, and people don't always recognize that.

One of the things about Elvin that has always mesmerized and fascinated me was the way his mind worked on that instrument. He uses all four limbs, not just contrapuntally — not left, right and against each other — but as a composer. No matter how much you watched and listened, there was something else. And there were a few people like that: [To Bellson.] You mentioned "Papa'' Jo was one of the great masters, and of course Big Sid. The track Jones set is an innovation that came out of the United States, where you charge with all four limbs, you charge. And Roy Haynes was another one who came to New York with all that stuff. Stuff was happening from every other direction. Then when I learned that Elvin played guitar, that really fascinated me. It was very musical. I had no idea about Elvin until he came to New York. He just shattered the vernacular, as did Roy.

Jones: This is the first time a manufacturer has recognized their endorsees as contributors to the musical art form. I think it benefits not just the four of us, or the next four artists, whoever they may be; but it provides a kind of inspiration for the students. It gives them a motivation. This isn't something that just gets printed in the paper. It's something that recognizes what you have done, what you have accomplished with your life as a musician. I think that's what is most important about the whole event, I think, that in the future it will even be more significant because now a precedent has been established. And I think it will be followed up in greater numbers, with more manufacturers setting up Scholarships for other universities and music schools across the country.

Enright: The four of you share what seems to be an instant rapport. Would you say that's true of drummers in general, more so than other instrumentalists? Drummers of all styles seem to learn from each other and feed off each other.

Jones: You say "drummers" as if we're a different breed from anyone else. I don't think that's true. Drummers are certainly musicians, and they may even be more musical than other instrumentalists. But when you imply that drummers are more of a fraternity, I don't think that's true. It's just that when we're together, we know that we share something, something in common, something very essential in our life... which is a drum set. We use it for musical expression. But all musicians do that, I think: piano player, the woodwinds, the reeds. So I can't say it's anything exclusive in that way, but I think it may appear that way sometimes.

Haynes: I agree.  Every time I go somewhere and we have a discussion with musicians, I always learn something. That's one of the things I've been doing with the music: I try to keep my ears open because I'm learning from what he's saying. But I've often heard people — even  years ago — say that drummers were closer. I mean, I heard people say that in the '40s and the '50s, so there is something to it. First of all, the drummer is the heartbeat, I   and there's something about drummers. I don't know what it is, but I've felt it in a lot of the older players. But I like what Elvin's saying  about us all   being musicians. There's a joke that I heard once, I think when I was with Ludwig. They were having a meeting, and they said all the musicians should be there at a certain time, and you drummers can come, too, if you want to!|Laughs.| That's an old one.

Roach: We had a little abuse that we had to deal with, we were discriminated against, and we had to band together, I guess, so we defend and protect each other. 

Haynes: Max Roach, this guy, he was the first of the drummers, especially the black drummers, to get credit from where I was sitting, and I've been doing this since the '40s. I've watched him and Sid Catlett and Jo Jones—as great as he was, he didn't get enough credit from where I was sitting. Cozy Cole, to me, got a lot of credit. He played the drums with Cab Calloway. He did a movie, Stormy Weather or whatever movie it was, and he also had a drum school. But this guy [Roach") was the first person around my age to really get noted.

And this guy, Elvin... I was playing with Ella Fitzgerald in the '50s at Cafe Society, and Hank Jones was playing piano. This young guy comes in and Hank says, "This is my brother." That's when I first met him. That was in the '50s, before I went to Detroit.

Jones: I was just visiting! Haynes: That's the first time I met you. Hank said, "He plays drums," and I said, "OK!" So later on in the '50s, I think I heard him from playing with Mingus and Harry "Sweets" Edison. I used to go to Detroit a lot, and I would always go by the Bluebird, a club where Elvin was working. I would sit and hang out with this guy. That's how we met. There's something about each of these guys that I've connected with.

Roach: This is very special because Zildjian has opted to recognize the instrument itself. As Roy just told in that funny story about drummers—we're the outcasts. The drummer is not really considered a musician.

Haynes: You guys helped change that, though.

Roach: And when I think about composition, our instrument—and I know I'm being partial here—brings a special something to the world of composition. Maxine [Roach, Max's daughter], for example, who's a string player, did a piece off a drum solo which was mine. She made the bass drum the cello, the cymbals became violins, and so on. It was a magnificent piece. She took the drum solo and just orchestrated it for strings, it showed me something about that instrument. I told her, "Now, the next one you do, listen to Elvin and put something to what he did!" |Laughs.]

Haynes: I think it's really a strong bond that's here. We're all related in some way. I filled in with John Coltrane for Elvin several times. And I replaced Max Roach with Charlie Parker. And I think it was 1952 when Louie Bellson was leaving the band and Duke had called me up. Louie, you had just married Pearl Bailey, and you were going on a honeymoon. Duke did call me, but he just talked, he didn't say, "I'd like you to join," but that's what it was all about. I didn't go with the big band, because this new music was happening, so-called bebop. Max Roach, when he left Charlie Parker, he recommended me. He said I took his gig, but he offered me the gig, [laughs] and I went with the band and started on 52nd Street at the Three Deuces. And stayed there a long time. They always had two groups on 52nd Street; I think it was Erroll Garner and Charlie Parker. Then Bud Powell came with his trio, and Max Roach was going to be on drums, and I was still going to be there. And I didn't know if I was going to have to mess in my pants or what when I learned Max Roach was going to be playing opposite me with Bud Powell.

And I think one of those nights Charlie Parker played a tune that I had never played before, and I didn't know what the hell I was going to do. There was a little door on the side of the drums at Three Deuces, and Max came up to the door and told me everything I should do, if it's a break here or a solo or whatever, and he always helped me. I remember when I was playing in New York at the Royal Roost with Lester Young, and we were playing "Lover Come Back to Me," and Lester gave me the bridge. And at the end, Max said to me, "That was a hell of a 16 bars," and I said, "I wasn't countin' bars." I just played. I realized then, hmmm... 16 bars, this guy's pretty good. [Laughs.]

Jones: The first time I listened to Max was on a recording. I was in the Army at the time, and we were in the barracks practicing rudiments. And this fellow, Raymond Lancaster, I asked him, "What is |Max| playing?" And he immediately analyzed everything you were doing, put it into rhythmic context and said this is what YOU were doing. And it made me aware of how much further I needed to go to reach a point where I could feel even partially satisfied with what I was playing, the way I was getting myself educated. It was that distinct identity that Max Roach had in any context. The music would start, and everybody would say, "That's Max Roach playing the drums." I think Louie Bellson has the same kind of identity as a drummer. The first time I heard him was with Duke Ellington's band, also on record, and he played a solo, and the only other person I 'd ever heard at that time who could play a drum solo like that would have been Buddy Rich, but it wouldn't have been as distinctive. That was a signature of his artistry and ability as a drummer and percussionist. And I had the same experience with Roy Haynes. What fascinated me about him was that he played so many counter-rhythms and phrases, and that was his identity, to approach a rhythm from the back or from the bottom or from the side, and, to me, it was ingenious to hear that.

Bellson: I feel that drummers are the tone of life. We are rhythm, we are timing, we are pacing. Everything in life is based on rhythm: the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you express yourself on an instrument. And this group here—Max, Roy, Elvin and I—were very fortunate to come through a golden era. I'm talking about the likes of Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Oscar Peterson, Ellington, |Count] Basie, Lionel Hampton.

This is something that is monumental, and also this group represents identification. You can put a record on and I know that's Max; that's Roy; that's Elvin, that's Louie, that's Jo Jones. That mark of identification proves respect for one another. So when I hear something by Max, Roy or Elvin, I respect their ability as gentlemen of high class who know their craft. They have their identification, and that adds a lot of respect from drummer to drummer. I learned from "Papa" Jo. He told me once, "You can walk into some funky little nightclub and hear some drummer nobody ever heard of. And if you listen to him play, you can pick up something that you can add to your repertoire.' Always a process of learning. Roy, you and I talked about that today. Every day is a new process.

Enright: Each of you has worked with some of the biggest names in jazz. Have you ever thought about how these artists have influenced your own playing—be it melodically, rhythmically, your soloing style or your accompaniment style?

Jones: The more exposure you have with other artists and other contacts in music, the greater the potential for you to develop. And it'll make you better. For me, when I was playing with Coltrane, I heard purity in his tone, in his discipline for study. That's what he was projecting. I think it affected me, as well as when I played with J.J. Johnson. They've got that purity. Here's a trombone player that could play with a slide that's faster than somebody could finger a trumpet, that distinct style and taste and articulation as if it were a valve. This is passed on to me. I'm already inspired, but that inspires me to be better, to make myself better so that I can be worthy of being in that kind of company. I think you can learn it from anybody. They don't have to be great, well-known artists. Like they say, you can walk into a room and here's a guy who's never made a record in his life, but he's there playing and swinging something. You'll absorb that because it's a part of you. That's what it is. It's a part of you.

Bellson: I was always taught to be an accompanist until it was time to solo. I learned that from Dizzy, too. To be able to hear a soloist, what they're playing, so that you can give them proper backing. Sometimes, in the rhythm section, if the piano and the bass and the drums are all comping at the same time, it's too busy and the soloist has to turn around and say. "Wait a minute, what's going on? Where are the fundamentals?" I feel that I go by the music. Like when I would back Johnny Hodges. If Johnny Hodges was playing one of those beautiful things of his. I'd take great delight in having my brushes and feeling that warmth from that poet. So I play according to what the music is. If it's bebop, if it's swing, whatever music, my ears are tuned in to the band, the soloist, and I gear myself that way. That's what I learned from Max and Roy and Elvin.

Roach: This music is a very democratic art form. The fact that Elvin worked with John Coltrane. I worked with Charlie Parker, Roy worked with Sarah Vaughan and Louie worked with Ellington—what we got from these great players affected us and influenced what we did. This is a collective; you learned from everybody. We had to coexist with dancers, a variety of things that influenced us; the atmosphere we came up in, the time, sociologically, politically, artistically. We were exposed to so much. And that individuality is reflected in everybody.

Enright: The last time Louie and I spoke, we talked about the importance of passing on what you learn from the musicians who come before you. Who are some of the players—drummers or otherwise—you feel you've passed your knowledge on to?

Bellson: I've been able to pass it on to anyone who comes along—students, side-men, you name it.

Jones: That's the thing. You never know exactly who. I think a lot of people learn just because they buy a record or they come by a club. When I walked into a club and saw Max Roach playing, I'd just stand there. Or Art Blakey. Or Kenny Clarke. Any of these guys. I'd just stand there and watch. Something would hit me. It would all be beautiful, but it would just be a matter of hearing something you feel you'd be able to do. You know you can't do it all, but there's something you can pick up that will help you with part of what you do all the time.

Roach: The thing that all of us have given to ourselves and the rest of the world is hard work. Everyone has given time to develop on that instrument. When I see Louie and hear Louie, when I see Elvin and hear Elvin, when I hear Roy, I know that work has been going on. And it still goes on. Louie's always been a perfectionist, Elvin's a perfectionist, Roy Haynes is a perfectionist. Lester Young was a perfectionist. As Louie put it earlier, we inherited something that we hope everybody listens to and passes it on.

Bellson: I don't know who coined this phrase, but at clinics I always say, "You have to know where you came from in order to know where you're going." You have to know about Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones, then you can go ahead further. If you don't know that history, you're going to miss an awful lot. Those students who really want to play, they dip into records by Roy, by Max. by Elvin and study that wonderful art. That history will help them get to this stage, and then further on. That's so important. If a drummer starts and plays for years and doesn't know "Papa'' Jo or Chick Webb and Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones, you'd better go back to the drawing board.

As the conversation winds down, we gradually make our way out of the Friends Lounge. A busy weekend awaits these four friends, as does our limo. On the elevator ride down, Roy Haynes looks around and takes a deep breath. "This is very serious," he says. "I never dreamed it would happen like this. We're all in our 70s, and I love you all."