Everybody Digs Bill Evans; Two of Us Talk About Him (Part 1 of 2)

A shorter edit of this conversation appeared previously in The Tonearm.

Bill Evans is one of the most important figures in jazz. While he had more than his share of personal difficulties, Evans nonetheless managed to create some of the most lasting music in the canon. And that doesn’t even touch on his formidable with as a sideman (though even use of that term does him a disservice) for band leaders such as Miles Davis, and his collaborations with artists including Tony Bennett.

Yet even against the backdrop of his acclaimed body of work, Evans’ albums leading the Bill Evans Trio stand as a kind of pinnacle. The fourth lineup of that threesome – Evans on piano plus drummer Paul Motian and upright bassist Scott LaFaro – released a comparatively slim body of work: a couple of studio sets and some live recordings – before LaFaro’s tragic and untimely death in a vehicle accident (he was 25).

So a new set – Haunted Heart: The Legendary Riverside Studio Recordings – brings together two of the Trio’s albums (Portrait in Jazz from 1961 and 1962’s Explorations) plus all extant outtakes and alternate recordings from those sessions. It is a gift to modern-day listeners. The beautifully-packaged 3CD collection (also available on vinyl which was unavailable for review) features “Bill Evans: The Origin of an Original,” a liner note essay by jazz authority and journalist Eugene Holley Jr. I spoke with Holley about the new release and the significance of that trio with LaFaro.

Note: While I love a lot of jazz – and cover a fair bit of it in reviews and features – it’s a somewhat rare occasion in which I find myself in freewheeling conversation with a true jazz scholar, someone who knows and understands far more about the idiom than I could ever hope to. As such, the following is an edited transcript of a mere portion of our conversation.

Bill Kopp: How and when did you first encounter the music of Bill Evans?

Eugene Holley Jr.: It was circa 1984. I was working in a record store in Washington, D.C. The jazz buyer at the time put on the [1959 Miles Davis] album Kind of Blue. It was my first time hearing it. I was in my mid-20s, and I had heard jazz all my life; I appreciated it, but I was coming more from [listening to] the contemporary soul adaptations of jazz fusion: Grover Washington, The Crusaders, Donald Byrd. Being born in the ‘60s and listening to pop music, I didn’t have the ears to appreciate acoustic music that was recorded. Because when you’re listening to popular music of that day, that sound is mixed, compressed, flanged and reverbed; by the time you hear it on the record, you’re not really hearing what an acoustic instrument sounds like. And when you do hear an acoustic instrument, it can sound kind of flat.

So, of course, I was blown away by the beauty of Kind of Blue. But what really blew me away was when I heard Bill Evans for the first time. I heard piano music before, but I never heard chords and harmonies that stayed with me after the music had stopped playing. Evans’ harmonies had a way of haunting me long after the needle was off of the record. I never heard anything like that before. And that record started my exploration of jazz. I [decided], “Let me get every album by everybody on this record.” My first Bill Evans album was Explorations. And when I heard that studio album with Paul Motian and Scott LaFaro, that was it for me. I’ve been listening to him ever since.

How do you think that Bill Evans’ deep immersion in classical music informed his own style of composition and playing?

I think it was a substantial component of his musicianship. I think his absorption of Ravel and Debussy really informed his music’s haunting quality.

The trio with LaFaro was together for a brief time, but it left quite an impression. How did the addition of Scott LaFaro change the trio’s musical dynamic?

I think Scott LaFaro was the final component, the final ingredient to making that trio what it was. LaFaro was a great student of the bass. People forget that he and Charlie Haden were roommates in L.A. when Haden was playing with Ornette Coleman. Scott LaFaro knew the tradition of the bass in jazz music. Traditionally in jazz, the bass is anchor instrument, melodically and harmonically. What he introduced into the bass idiom was almost a wind instrument facility in playing it.

This is not to say that Scott LaFaro was the only person capable of that improvisational facility on the bass, but he took it to an art form in itself. His facility on the bass was Coltrane-like, the way he’d run up and down the board. It was almost “sheets of sound” for the bass, [like] Coltrane [with the] saxophone. I think that younger musicians [can be] so overwhelmed by LaFaro’s facility that they focus on that virtuosity without focusing on Scott LaFaro’s great knowledge of the instrument.

Scott was the final spark that really illuminated the trio. He lit a fire under Bill Evans like nobody else could.

I’ve read that LaFaro and Paul Motian didn’t always get along. Assuming that there’s something to that, how did that energy manifest itself in the studio?

It wouldn’t be the first time that a great group had individuals who didn’t get along. What makes a group like that special is how they manage that tension: Do they manage it in a way that makes music or makes something else?

I think that the friction between members of the Bill Evans Trio was worked out in such a way that friction became something else. You know, it takes friction to make a diamond. I can quote the great Wayne Shorter, he said, “A plane can’t fly without resistance.” From what I’ve read, LaFaro was a fiery kind of cat. And if he was anything like his playing, I could see how that could ruffle feathers.

But I think whatever friction there was in the band, it was negated by the beauty and the sublimity of the music.

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