For David Sanborn’s 73rd Birthday, An Unedited Blindfold Test From 2012

A day late for master alto saxophonist and iconic bandleader David Sanborn’s 73rd birthday, here’s an uncut Blindfold Test that we did over the amazing speakers in the listening room of his townhouse in 2012.

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Next Collective, “Twice” (from COVER ART, Concord, 2013) (Logan Richardson, alto saxophone, Walter Smith, tenor saxophone; Matthew Stevens, guitar; Gerald Clayton, piano; Ben Williams, bass; Jamire Williams, drums)

I like the way the tune unfolded. It started out…I thought it was going to go a whole different direction, and then it went into this really kind of nice, almost folk-like melody. I also liked the way the alto solo…it’s like they took their time to kind of just…in a very unhurried, unforced, very natural way, the way the saxophone solo unfolded. Nobody was showing off. It was just this really beautiful piece of music. It’s so hard to play over those odd meters that to do it in a way that sounds natural, where you just kind of flow over, you’re not being a slave to the meter, is really hard to do, and when somebody does it well, like whoever this was, it’s noticeable. I liked the way saxophone solo unfolded, very unforced; it felt natural, like singing. Whatever he was playing, it just felt like it was what it was supposed to be, integrated into the rhythm section, but still… He took it someplace else. And I love the melody. The melody was beautiful. Excellent track. I really enjoyed it. 4 stars. [AFTER] I’ve heard Logan Richardson’s name. As a matter of fact, I just saw his name associated with somebody. There’s a collective, right? I liked the way it went kind of effortlessly from the odd meter stuff to the more straight meter stuff. It felt very natural to me.

Miguel Zenón, “JOS Nigeria” (from Miguel Zenón AND THE RHYTHM COLLECTIVE, Miel Music, 2013 (Zenón, alto saxophone; Aldemar Valentin, electric bass; Tony Escapa, drums; Reynaldo De Jesús, percussion)

Like a little island thing. My little suede flip-flops! A really nice, hip little meter change in the bridge there. Beautiful sound. The saxophone player has a beautiful sound. I like the drummer a lot. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s an older player. I don’t mean Old-old, like my age, but a player who has some maturity and a lot of playing under his belt. The way that the solo felt so self-assured, especially playing mostly an eighth-note feel. Somebody who has a lot of confidence. And the great time. And once again, a beautiful sound. I liked the drummer a lot, too. The bass player, too. But just the interplay and the fact that it felt very natural. 5 stars. [AFTER] That makes a lot of sense. It’s his feel. I liked the way the time turned around on the bridge, just spun out. But it just flowed very naturally. Beautiful sound. Great intonation, too.

TARBABY and Oliver Lake, “Unity” (from THE END OF FEAR, Posi-Tone, 2010) (Lake, alto saxophone; Nicholas Payton, trumpet; Orrin Evans, piano; Eric Revis, bass; Nasheet Waits, drums)

That took me a minute to get into it. It’s a kind of angularity that doesn’t pull me in right away. Once I got into it, I started to dig it. What I liked about the way everybody was playing was they move very easily between playing kind of more inside and more out. I always like it when guys can blur the line between playing in and playing out. But it did have a bit of a relentless feel to it. That made it at times just a little overbearing to me. But I certainly can’t fault the playing, and I like the saxophone player a lot. Great sound. I like the way he used honks and high registered stuff, and the way he used accents and the way he rhythmically placed things I thought was really interesting. I have no idea who it was. 4 stars. [AFTER] Oliver Lake? Was it? That was a Sam Rivers tune? It’s not one of my favorites. But I think they handled it really well. I really like the way Oliver plays, and particularly played on this? That was Nick on trumpet? Everybody sounded great. Like I said, the way they went from in and out… I mean, that’s kind of Oliver’s thing. He has a unique sound. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize him. What I find really interesting about Oliver’s playing is that his sound can go to so many different places. He can play with so many different kinds of sounds, it’s like a character actor almost. It’s not like he assumes other identities. They’re all facets of his personality and his playing. But there’s a real variety of approaches, the way he plays, that I find interesting.

Greg Osby, “Whirlwind Soldier” (from ST. LOUIS SHOES, Blue Note, 2003) (Osby, alto saxophone; harold O’Neal, piano; Robert Hurst, bass; Rodney Green, drums)

It’s really nice the way the melody was all in that mid-low range of the alto. It’s such a beautiful range of the horn. To kind of stay down there as long as he did was really nice. Once again, it sounds like a more mature player. There were points when it reminded me of Kenny Garrett. That would be my guess. Once again, with that kind of assurance that comes with maturity. Beautiful. Very well-recorded, too. It’s always nice when you can hear the full range of piano and all the instruments. But it was nice, how the alto player stayed in the mid-low register for a lot of it. Once again, nobody was showing off, and it sounded really beautiful. I like the tune. I like the drama of it. It felt very touching. Emotional, too. 5 stars. [after] It’s funny. I have that album. But that tune doesn’t sound familiar to me. It makes sense that it’s Greg.

Kenny Garrett, “Du-Wo-Mo” (from SEEDS FROM THE UNDERGROUND, Mack Avenue, 2012) (Garrett, alto saxophone; Benito Gonzalez, piano; Nat Reeves, bass; Ronald Bruner, drums)

That really sounds like Kenny! Yeah. The SOUND. There wasn’t a single uninteresting moment in that whole tune. Kenny just kills me, man. Nothing was wasted in that solo. He played a long solo, and it was consistently engaging from the beginning to the end. He’s got such a unique way of phrasing. I love his tone. The way he spits notes out, it reminds me of the way Cannonball did it. He’s got that Woody Shaw harmonic concept that he’s taken and made it evolve into his own language. I find him the most interesting alto player around. He’s my favorite alto player, bar none. So if I can give it more than 5 stars, I would. That’s off the charts good to me.

I want to go back to the Oliver Lake track. The 4 stars was more for the tune. I’d give the playing 5 stars. The playing was great. Just the tune didn’t engage me that much. But this Kenny thing, man, that just made my day. Kenny always puts me away, man.

Tim Berne, “Scanners” (from SNAKEOIL, ECM, 2012) (Berne, alto saxophone; Oscar Noriega, clarinet; Matt Mitchell, piano; Ches Smith, percussion.

When it started out, I really didn’t like it. Then as it unfolded, I really got into it. I ended up really loving it. I think what turned me off initially is the recording felt very distant. Like, everything was really far away. I didn’t get much of a sense of presence on the recording. It sounded like it was recorded in a big hall with just a couple of mikes. I like recordings that have a little more presence. But man, the clarinet player was KILLIN’ me. Amazing control. Unbelievable control. Got to me somebody who has a lot of experience under their belt, because that was amazing. The clarinet playing was spectacular. I have to give that 5 stars. As I said, at the beginning, I didn’t particularly like the composition. It felt like it wasn’t going to go anywhere. Some of the dynamics seemed a little flat to me. But I think a lot of that had to do with the way it was recorded. But as it developed and I got pulled in more, I kind of heard past some of the sonic limitations that I was hearing, and got to what was there, and it felt great. I’d have to go back and listen to the top again to get a sense of where it was from the top, but as it went on, I kind of acclimated to the sound and ended up really loving it. [AFTER] I love Tim and I love his playing. The recording felt a little distant to me. I don’t think it did the music as much service as it should have. Once it got into it, I really liked it, and then at the end, I liked the composition. That’s why I said I’d like to go back to the top and hear it again. It’s very intricate, just the way things are structure, and it felt very assured, everything from beginning to end, and it felt like there were a lot of dynamics that weren’t immediately apparent to me. 5 stars. Tim’s stuff is always great. I wish I would have heard more of him. But man, Oscar Noriega played unbelievable. It sounded great. It felt very natural. It didn’t feel stiff. It’s just that I found myself straining at the beginning to hear what was going on.

Dr. Lonnie Smith, “Sweet Dreams” (from RISE UP!, Palmetto, 2008) (Donald Harrison, alto saxophone; Dr. Lonnie Smith, Hammond B-3; Peter Bernstein, guitar; Herlin Riley, drums)

It sounds like the organ player’s date. Sounds like the Eurrhythmics. Is that the cover of a pop tune. “Sweet dreams are made of this…” I have no idea who that is. It’s not Joey, right? Is it Lonnie Smith? Who’s playing alto? It sounded good, sounded like an older player, but I have no idea. I was going to say Lou Donaldson, but it’s not Lou. I liked what he played. The tune kind of stayed in one place, so it was kind of hard. I sympathize with trying to play over something that kind of keeps a very insistent thing. It’s kind of hard to really stretch on that. But within the parameters of what the saxophone player was given, he played very well. 4 stars. [AFTER} the nature of the song and the approach was such that it didn’t really allow him to go a lot of different places. Within the confines of what the song was, it was great, and Donald is a great player. I’d prefer hearing him on his own stuff. I love his tunes. They’re great.

Steve Coleman, “Hormone Trig” (from FUNCTIONAL ARRHTHMIAS, Pi, 2013) (Coleman, alto saxophone; Jonathan Finlayson, trumpet; Anthony Tidd, bass; Sean Rickman, drums)

Is this Steve Coleman? Steve is great, man. He has so much flexibility and control over time signatures, and he makes that shit swing. That’s what’s great about Steve. He has it all. Originality. Control. And he swings; swings his ass off. He can manage to make the most potentially uninviting kinds of circumstances…he can imbue them with an emotional content and a spirit of originality that is just amazing to me. He’s one of the true originals that’s come along in the last 20-30 years. He’s in a class by himself, really. I give this 5+ stars. It’s funny. There are times when he and Kenny Garrett remind me of each other. I think it’s the fact that they both have this innate sense of swing. Maybe it’s their connection to the tradition. I’m not sure. I don’t know what it is. But Steve is brilliant, and the music is amazing. Every time I listen to him, it’s completely engaging to me. On this one, it’s based on the rhythms of the body. Who’s playing trumpet? Jonathan Finlayson? Sorcerer’s apprentice. But the difference with Steve is that he has such a great sound, and he plays with such assurance. It’s so definitive.

Clayton Brothers, “Souvenir” (from AND FRIENDS, Artist Share, 2012) (Jeff Clayton, alto saxophone; John Clayton, bass; Gerald Clayton, piano; Obed Calvaire, drums)

Very Strayhornesque piece. Again, very well-recorded. A lot of presence. A lot of warmth in that track. It sounded a little bit like Wess Anderson, but it had that kind of warmth to it. Warm-sounding and a nice Johnny Hodges kind of bending of the notes. Just beautiful. Very simple, straightforward. 4 stars. Absolutely beautiful. It was extremely sensitive, and the alto player, Jeff, took his time. The reason I gave it 4 stars is I wanted to hear him play more. It would have been nice to hear him stretch out a little bit. But I understand he wanted to state the tune in a very straightforward way. But absolutely beautiful. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

John Zorn, “Hath-Arob” (from ELECTRIC MASADA AT THE MOUNTAIN OF MADNESS, Tzadik, 2005) (Zorn, alto saxophone; Marc Ribot, guitar; Jamie Saft, keyboards; Ikue Mori, electronics; Trevor Dunn, electric bass; Joey Baron, Kenny Wolleson, drums; Cyro Baptista, percussion)

That souinded like John Zorn. Had to be. Nobody plays with that kind of insanity and humor. Just the composition was so great. Just the way all the elements grew out of each other, and came out and went back in. There’s so much texture there. Was there another saxophone player? That was all him? It’s an amazing piece of music. 5 stars. I loved it. I love John. John always makes me laugh, makes me smile. [Can you recall for these purposes what it was like to have him on your show?] I enjoyed meeting him. Marcus Miller and Omar Hakim were on it. But I find his music really interesting. He put out a series of records during that time with that group Naked City. Who were the two drummers? Oh, Joey. When you hear something like that, you really hear what a sense of composition John has. There’s this shape to it that’s got…the interior feels very natural, and the way things unfold feels very natural. So much energy, and such a unique way of playing the saxophone. He reminds me a little of Marshall Allen, one of the few other people I know who plays, in a way, similar to John—and I know John was very familiar with Marshall’s playing. But he’s so unique, you have to judge him on his own terms. I enjoy his music, and I enjoy his playing. I enjoy his approach. It’s fresh. It’s an original voice to me. I just like it.

Tim Green, “Pinocchio” (from SONGS FROM THIS SEASON, True Melody, 2012) (Green, alto saxophone; Kris Funn, bass; Rodney Green, drums)

Almost sounds like a soprano. A very kind of pure sound from the saxophone player. Amazing articulation, and flexibility and facility, especially up in the upper register. He managed to get around that Wayne Shorter tune with a lot of dexterity and ease. The sound to me was a little bit not what I kind of… I don’t really respond as well to that kind of sound as one that’s a little more resonant, a fuller sound, but I appreciate it. It was very pure. The articulation was flawless. It certainly was swinging. The playing is 5 stars. Overall, I give it 4 stars.

Lou Donaldson, “Sweet And Lovely” (from LUSH LIFE, Blue Note, 1967/2007) (Donaldson, alto saxophone; McCoy Tyner, piano; Freddie Hubbard, trumpet; Wayne Shorter, tenor saxophone; Pepper Adams, baritone saxophone; Jerry Dodgion, alto saxophone; Ron Carter, bass; Al Harewood, drums; Duke Pearson, arranger)

You think that trumpet player was influenced by Freddie Hubbard? [LAUGHS} The alto player sounds like someobdy who is definitely using the language of bebop. Either they’re doing it as a tribute, or that’s who they are—like James Spaulding or someone like that. But I don’t think it’s James. I don’t know who it is. I liked it. It’s extremely well-recorded, and beautiful playing on the part of the saxophone player. A lot of quotes from Bird. 4 stars. It was nice. It didn’t push the limits that much, but within the confines of what it was, it was beautiful. Wayne Shorter was in the horn section? McCoy. Wow, that’s how old THAT was. That’s definitely New York.

For Steve Gadd’s 70th Birthday, a Jazziz Profile From 2013

A day late for master drummer Steve Gadd’s birthday, here’s a “director’s cut” of a feature that I had the opportunity to write last year for Jazziz magazine, framed around the release of Gadditude.

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The only drum solo on Gadditude [BFM], Steve Gadd’s first studio leader date in a quarter-century, occurs at the six-minute mark of the album-opener, “Africa,” a smoky modal number. Actually, Gadd doesn’t so much solo as emerge from the ensemble in dialogue with Larry Goldings’ percussive vamp on Hammond B-3, intensifying, but barely embellishing, the crisp, swirling 7/4 groove that has heretofore propelled the flow. For the remainder of the session, Gadd draws from his exhaustive lexicon of bespoke beats—New Orleans march figures, tangos, shuffles, waltzes, straight-eighth feels, and a soupçon of 4/4 swing—to personalize nine songs either composed or selected by Goldings, trumpeter Walt Fowler, bassist Jimmy Johnson, and guitarist Michael Landau, his bandmates over the past decade behind singer-songwriter James Taylor.

“I didn’t do it intentionally or think about it beforehand,” Gadd said of animating of own session by assuming a supportive role, as has famously been his default basis of operations since he became a fixture in the New York City studios in 1972. “I think a drummer’s goal is to allow other people to sound their best, to have space to shine and create. Some situations favor an energetic approach, interacting more with the solos. Other times, people are playing over the groove, and it’s better to stay out of the way—use those notes when it’s your chance to solo, rather than behind them. For me, the better solos happen when the groove gets strong and the intensity is where it should be. Then it feels natural. In the studio, it would have felt forced. I thought it was better to let it just be what it was.”

It was noted that, as producer, Gadd made an executive decision not to position the drums prominently in the final mix.

“I want the mixes to sound dynamic and balanced, so you can feel our intent, not to get everything so in your face that it highlights what I’m doing,” he responded. “If I’m playing soft, I’d rather you hear it soft and place everything around it. Then the music is speaking, not just one instrument.”

Gadd has actualized these aesthetic principles with extraordinary consistency on the 750 sessions—some 230 of them during the ‘70s—listed on his web discography. During that decade, His ingenious figures stamped hits by such pop icons as Paul Simon (“50 Ways To Leave Your Lover” from Still Crazy After All These Years) and Steely Dan (Aja). His inexorable pocket was integral to the feel of Stuff, the funk super-group with keyboardist Richard Tee and guitarists Cornell Dupree or Eric Gale, who contributed to the soundtrack of the Jimmy Carter-Ronald Reagan era with Stuff It and dozens of backup dates, not to mention Simon’s quasi-autobiographical film One Trick Pony, in which all play consequential roles. His explosive straight-ahead skills came through with a succession of high-profile jazz and fusion groups—Steps with Michael Brecker and Mike Mainieri, Chick Corea (The Leprechaun and My Spanish Heart), the Brecker Brothers (Don’t Stop The Music), and several dozen CTI dates.

During the ‘80s, Gadd, already a key influence for a generation of aspirants, performed on over 150 recordings. He toured extensively, both as a high-profile sideman and as leader of the Gadd Gang, with Dupree, Tee, and acoustic bassist Eddie Gomez. During the ‘90s, he developed new relationships with James Taylor and Eric Clapton, and spent consequential bandstand time in a short-lived, gloriously creative trio with the French pianist Michel Petrucciani and bassist Anthony Jackson.

“I admire musicians who constantly try to raise the bar for themselves,” Gadd states, in a piece of self-description that is manifested by his production of and participation in If You Believe, his second eclectic, erudite collaboration with marimbist Mika Stoltzman; an as-yet untitled encounter with conguero Pedrito Martinez that is scheduled for a late 2013 release; and the third recording in three years by the Gaddabouts, a Gadd-directed backup band for singer-songwriter Edie Brickell. Less omnipresent in the studios than before, he recently augmented his c.v. on dates with Eric Clapton (Old Sock), Italian pop singer Pino Daniele (La Grande Madre), and Kate Bush (50 Words For Snow). As we spoke, Gadd was preparing for shows in Japan and California with Quartette Humaine, titled for an acoustic Bob James-David Sanborn CD that the protagonists had supported on the road for much of June and July, and by the Steve Gadd Band, booked for post-Gadditude appearances in Korea, Japan, and California.

“I don’t think of it as my band,” Gadd said of his latest leader endeavor. “Of course I put it together, and I’m in a position to make suggestions and some final decisions. But it’s always a group. People brought in tunes, and I picked the ones that I liked best and thought we could have fun playing. Then we worked them out by trial-and-error.”

Gadd’s assertion to the contrary, he has, as Goldings notes, “a very convincing way of putting his own spin on something.” As an example, Goldings mentioned the leader’s treatment of Keith Jarrett’s “Country,” a ballad first recorded by Jarrett’s “European Quartet” in 1978. “Steve likes to experiment with time signatures and feels, and after a day of playing sort of as-is, in 4/4, he suggested we try it in three,” Goldings said. “He didn’t know the song, wasn’t tied down to it, and wanted to do something different.” Goldings described another Gaddian volte face, at a 2008 recording date for James Taylor’s Covers. “One song we’d played for years had an iconic drumbeat, a heavy tom-tom thing, and we listened back to the live version. But when we started going for takes, Steve immediately went for his brushes, almost the opposite thing, done beautifully, in this understated way. Nobody said a thing. It just worked.

“I think he has a sound in his head, and he knows how to create it instantaneously. It’s one of the mysterious things about him.”

[BREAK]

The facts, anecdotes, and sounds of Gadd’s biography—documented in dozens of articles, some easily available on the Internet, and hundreds of Youtubed videos—are well-known. A native of Rochester, New York, he’s held drumsticks literally since he learned to speak. By age seven, the year he received his first drumset, he was tap-dancing publicly. While Gadd was still in grammar school, his father, a drug salesman, and uncle, a semi-professional drummer who taught him the rudiments, brought him to Sunday matinees at the Ridgecrest Inn, a small club that hosted such best-and-brightests as Dizzy Gillespie, Art Blakey, Max Roach, Oscar Peterson, Earl ‘Fatha’ Hines, Carmen McRae and Gene Krupa as they traversed the northeast circuit.

“You could sit next to the bandstand and watch them play,” he says, recalling the frequent presence of childhood friends Chuck and Gap Mangione. “Sometimes they’d let the kids sit in. When I was in high school, there were organ clubs that booked Jack McDuff, Groove Holmes, George Benson, and Hank Marr—you could sit in with them. I loved that music. All this time, I was taking lessons, doing drum corps, playing the high school concert band and stage band.”

In 1963, Gadd enrolled at Manhattan School of Music. After two years, he transferred to Rochester’s Eastman Conservatory. “Eastman had more orchestras and wind ensembles, so I had more playing opportunities,” he recalls. “In Rochester, I started working six nights a week with different bands, so I could support myself through college.” Upon graduation, Gadd, hoping to avoid combat duty in Vietnam, auditioned for and was accepted in the Army Field Band at Fort Meade, Maryland, where he spent the next three years, the final two of them propelling a Woody Herman-Buddy Rich styled big band. “There were great writers, who wrote new arrangements every week for us to sight-read,” he recalls. “I couldn’t have gotten that kind of education anywhere else.”

Understanding this blend of formal education and practical experience offers a window into the deeper levels of Gadd’s ability to elicit maximum results with a minimum of flash, to quickly comprehend the big picture of a track or a song and make it sound like he’s been doing it for years.

“I came to New York having fun with the ability to play different styles of music,” Gadd remarked. “I loved the kind of playing Tony Williams and Jack DeJohnette did, but in New York I heard Rick Marotta, who played simple but with a really deep groove. I didn’t understand that kind of simplicity, but it challenged me. So I worked just as hard at playing simple as playing complicated and playing fusion. Different people were typecast as funk drummers, Latin guys, jazz guys. But I didn’t like categories. As long as it was good music, I loved it.”

This was about as far as Gadd would go in the advertisements-for-myself department, but others were glad to comment, among them modern-day drum avatar Eric Harland. Now 35, Harland states that for his senior recital in high school he modeled himself after Elvin Jones and Gadd’s playing on Chick Corea’s extended jazz suite, Three Quartets.

“I feel Steve came a lot out of Elvin, and applied it to fusion,” Harland said. “It isn’t so much about chops but the feel of the drums—solid, like earth.” Harland referenced a video—as of this writing, three versions are on Youtube—of a “drum battle” between Gadd, Dave Weckl and Vinnie Colaiuta that concluded a 1989 Buddy Rich memorial concert. “Chops-wise, Steve couldn’t compete with Dave and Vinnie,” Harland says. “They get around the drums like water. But when Steve comes in, he lays down a groove that you swear you can hear people start screaming. It was so moving, he didn’t NEED to play anything else. That comes from within, like some samurai king-fu shit, where you break the laws, not with your body but your mind. In his minimalism, you get the same feeling as if you’re watching a drummer do everything humanly possible. That’s what I think amazes us. How did he make THAT feel like I’m listening to Trane playing all the baddest shit, or Tony playing the most incredible things, all over the drums?”

A drum avatar of the previous generation, Jeff Watts, checked out Gadd extensively during his ‘70s high school years, when he aspired to a career in the studios. “He became my favorite drummer for a period,” Watts says. “He struck me as really consistent, and as things unfolded, I got hip to his range, that he had his own way of playing different styles. He didn’t play textbook funk; he evoked Samba though it definitely wasn’t classic Samba. The first time I learned a mozambique, it was Steve Gadd’s interpretation of the mozambique.”

Last September at the Tokyo Jazz Festival, Watts heard Gadd play in Bob James-led band with bassist Will Lee, saxophonist David MacMurray and guitarist Perry Hughes. “On some tunes, he was playing really naked pulse, almost like something a baby would play. These days guys like Chris Dave try to imitate samples, embellishing the pulse a lot, so it was cool to hear him play just quarter-notes, but like it’s the last thing on earth.”

“Steve is all about the time,” says James Genus, fresh from playing bass alongside Gadd nightly while touring with Quartette Humaine. He describes Gadd’s feel as “in the middle or slightly behind the beat, depending what the music calls for. He can play with a click track and make it swing—precise, but not rigid, with a human, natural quality.” Sanborn adds: “At a turnaround or some other point in a tune, he’ll speed it up or slow it down a bit, just to make it breathe. But he never loses the pulse of where the click is.”

“Steve seems into understatement more than ever,” Goldings says, and Gadd agrees. “I probably played busier when I was younger,” he states. “My goal was to give whoever hired me what they wanted, so I’d get called back. I’d try busier fills—sometimes they’d like it, sometimes it was too much. But it wasn’t about ego. It was about trying to make the thing as good as it could be. It’s challenging and fun to not just go up there and play everything you know, but leave some room.”

Retrospecting on their 39-year professional relationship, which began with the 1974 CTI date One, James observes that Gadd “has stayed remarkably true to his approach.” “Steve is a virtuoso player, but he keeps his playing simple,” he says. “To me, the virtuosity comes across more in the fact that he plays every note just in the right place, the right pocket.”

For a present-day example, James cites “Follow Me” on Quartette Humaine, on which Gadd keeps “the freight train rolling through the different time signatures that appear in practically every measure, making the rest of us feel as comfortable as it would have felt in 4/4 time.” For another instance of Gadd’s derring-do, James hearkens back to One, where, confronted with a “fast, bombastic drum part that alternated between 7 and 4, with a lot of hits” on James’ arrangement of Mussorgsky’s “Night On Bald Mountain,” Gadd figured out a way “to keep the freight train intensity flowing” after a couple of hours.

Characteristically, Gadd—who feels that this recording helped cement his New York reputation—credits James for “being a great leader who knew what he wanted.” “An orchestra was overdubbing later, so we had to play with that in mind,” he says. “I had experience with odd time signatures from Eastman, and I tried to figure out a way to subdivide it, to make it feel comfortable.”

[BREAK]

James also recalls Gadd’s legerdemain on a “repetitive, modal, atmospheric” number called “The River Returns” on the 1997 record Playin’ Hooky. “He played one of his classic brush beats that seemed to make everybody play better,” James says. “It felt great, but I couldn’t figure it out until I listened to the drum track during post-production and looked at the console needle that shows volume levels. Slowly, imperceptibly, over five minutes, it became louder and more intense. You could have made an amazing graph of its crescendo.”

Gadd’s dynamic control in live performance fascinates Sanborn, who points to the peculiar bandstand sensation of “knowing that Steve is hitting hard, but never feeling that the drums are too loud—in fact, sometimes the opposite. He has an uncanny ability to blend the sound of his drums with the group. He always does that unexpected thing that you never saw coming, always knows where he is and what to do. You never feel he’s showboating.”

“I’m always aware of dynamics and space,” Gadd says. “It’s not fun for me to start out at level-10 and stay there. It affects my endurance. It affects the creativity. Without dynamics, you give up the element of surprise. Starting simply gives you someplace to go—you can explode, then get soft again. Using space can make the notes that you play more interesting.”

When playing live, Gadd adds, he tries “to reach an agreement with the sound guys to keep a balance in the monitors so that other people on the bandstand can hear you when you’re playing soft.” He adds: “When you feel you’re not being heard, the tendency is to play loud, and the music goes right out the window. When guys who can PLAY can hear each other, the magic can take over. The more you trust the sound, the more chances you take, and it can evolve into something a little different every night. Of course, some music is meant to be played hard, at a louder volume, where you can get away with just a strong backbeat. It’s all about communicating, and understanding where you want to go with the music. You can’t give up on it. You’ve got to keep always trying.”

If a musician’s sound mirrors their personality, then Gadd’s results-oriented, team-first philosophy is of a piece with Goldings’ assessment that he is “very down to earth.” “Steve is one of the great joke-tellers, and he puts a fantastic amount of detail and personality into telling them,” Goldings says. “Perhaps that’s consistent with the amount of subtle detail in his playing. He’s also very warm, and sensitive to your moods. I had some personal things happen on the road, and every other day or so he’d ask me how things were going. I really appreciated that he wasn’t afraid of going there. He kind of cuts through the bullshit.”

Indeed, Gadd displayed these qualities with me, when I called him an hour before our scheduled time for a first conversation to ask we could push back the chat to allow me to rush my cat—who I had just come upon with the skin flayed open over his stomach—to the vet. He immediately assured me that he was available all day, and to take my time. “You’ve got to take care of your animals,” he said, noting that he himself “likes to hang out” with his five dogs—two English bulldogs, a 90-pound American bulldog-pitbull mix, a Yorkshire, and a Morky (part Maltese, part-Yorkshire). “Man, I love those guys,” he said.

Concluding our conversation five hours later, Gadd said, “I’d like you to call me and tell me how your cat is.” Is it a stretch to extrapolate this empathetic reflex to Gadd’s bandstand comportment? Perhaps. But it certainly doesn’t hurt.

[SIDEBAR]

In Paul Simon’s excellent film, One Trick Pony, which was released in 1980, Steve Gadd plays Danny Duggin, a hard-drinking, pot-smoking, blow-snorting, wisecracking, bad-ass drummer. He’s acting, and acting well, but the character reflects his lived experience.

“Those were the party years,” Gadd says of the ‘70s and ‘80s. “Before the shit hit the fan and everyone went over the top with it, we had a ball. We didn’t know you could get addicted to this stuff. When I first started getting high, it was like I was trying to stay awake so I could play with these different people I’d always wanted to play with. Then at some point, it got dark. I went from using so I could work with these people to working to use, and I didn’t even know when it changed. It got more about the drugs than it did about the music.”

Now “in recovery” for about two decades, Gadd opines that his sobriety is apparent in both his playing and his state of mind. “I did things then that I can’t even remember doing,” he says. “The things that I’m doing now are more a part of my life because I feel like I’m there for them. I’m not totally numbed-out.”

Part of the routine that Gadd adopted “after I was in my forties, after I got sober,” is regular exercise. At the beginning, he spent much time in the gym, doing half-resistance and half-cardio, but now, especially when on the road, he concentrates on cardio. “I prefer getting out of the room and jogging rather than going into another small room in the hotel and using machines,” he says. “It’s nice to be outside and get some air. The resistance is important, but I don’t do as much weights now as I used to—if I had time, I would.

“Playing big venues with loud bands is a workout. You have to be in shape. The only way to really be ready for a gig like that, endurance-wise, is to exercise. You can’t practice full-out for 2½ hours. But if you run for 30 or 45 minutes or an hour, it helps you stay fit for that situation. Walking my dogs is also good exercise.”

At 68, Gadd anticipates playing at a high level into his eighties. “You have to realize that your body isn’t made of steel, and you’ve got to eat for fuel, not necessarily just things that taste good,” he says. “That can lengthen your quality of life. It could affect how you play, too. We get old, but the body is pretty resilient. It responds when you take care of it. How you treat people, how you enjoy yourself, how you play music—how you do everything—is all connected.”