Percy Heath is a gem of
a bass player. His multifaceted body of work includes holding the bottom
beat behind Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, and a number
of jazz luminaries for nearly 60 years. That doesn't even take into
account his 43 years with the Modern Jazz Quartet, the unique and popular
group that incorporated elements of classical and chamber music into
the jazz idiom.
But despite 300-plus recordings
with the greats of his other eras, and all he has accomplished in his
distinguished career, February saw the release of A Love Song
on the small Daddy Jazz label, the first recording under his own name.
It came about as a result
of a gig in Little Rock, Arkansas, by the Heath Brothers, the band comprising
the 81-year-old Percy, his two brothers, saxophonist Jimmy and drummer
Albert "Tootie," and pianist Jeb Patton. The concert was organized
by Andy Collins, who owns the record label. In talking it came up that
Percy had never made his own record. Collins wanted to change that.
So was born the CD, with
Percy, Tootie, Patton, and bassist Peter Washington. Percy also plays
cello on the disc, something he has enjoyed doing since the 1970s when
he received one as a gift from jazz-bass legend Ray Brown.
"He fired the sax player,"
quips brother Jimmy.
To Heath, a man with a big
heart and a demeanor as warm as his soulful bass notes, recording under
his name was never a big deal. His work speaks for itself, and he still
bides his time playing with the Heath Brothers and fishing near his
Montauk, Long Island, home. Heath is quite content with his recorded
legacy, which includes the MJQ, whose records "were not under anybody's
name. I wasn't a musical director. But it was not 'so-and-so and his
band'; those 45 or 50 recordings are under a partnership arrangement."
For his solo debut, he got
to pick the band and the compositions—the only real advantage of
leading the session, he jokes. Heath penned four of the numbers, including
the four-movement "Suite for Pop," which he wrote to honor
his father, Percy Sr. "My man," he says. "Nice guy, my
father." The title cut, "A Love Song" has a lyric that
wasn't recorded, but "maybe Norah [Jones] or somebody will do it;
get ol' Percy a bigger boat," he says with a hearty laugh.
But despite his impressive
debut, Heath dismisses his emergence as a composer.
"I ain't no composer,
man," he says. "I think up a line for a piece every now and
then. I wrote those few tunes on there and I composed, if you want to
use that word, but I'm not a composer. A tune writer? OK, I'll take
that."
His association with so
many greats leaves him both proud and humble, but he still laughs at
"mistakes" he hears on the records he's made over the years,
undetectable to the listener. "Miles [Davis] was responsible for
me really becoming known on recordings," he says, "those records
that we made in the '50s. Miles had left Charlie Parker and was creating
his style to get away from Dizzy and all the trumpet players trying
to play like Dizzy. Miles came up with his own concept within the range
he had on trumpet. It was beautiful.
"It was a very creative
period for Miles and I loved it and we had a good time."
All this from the kid who
came home from serving with the famous Tuskegee Airmen, the group of
African-American aviators who trained in strict segregation in Alabama
and performed so valiantly during World War II. "Lt. Heath decided
to be a bebopper. I wore sandals, grew a beard, bought a beret, and
hung out with the cats," he smiles, adding that he bought a bass
along the way and learned to play it.
He modestly says his sound
and beat got him by in the early years, because he didn't know enough
notes to mess up the chords. But Heath developed into a bass player
that others look up to.
A few years later he bought
a Ruggeri bass made in Cremona, Italy, that he's played ever since and
loves. It's more than 300 years old. "Kids ask me, 'Mr. Heath,
how many basses do you have?' I say, 'That's it.' I cannot get that
sound out of any other instrument. I've had that once since 1956. It's
quite an instrument. I'm just lucky to have that."
He jokes that he tells the
person who keeps the instrument in shape for him: "When I go, baby,
put this bass up for sale. There'll be enough for my family to live
on for a while."
Photo
by Carol Friedman
