By Don Williamson
ALLABOUTJAZZ: How long has your first CD been on the market?
JULIAN CORYELL: It came out about a year ago. ItÃÂs distributed by Universal, and so it has had decent distribution. The problem is that, as with most major labels, Universal is a singles-driven, radio-driven company. Without much support from radio, theyÃÂre not going to go out of their way to get CDÃÂs in every store. Universal has honored its obligation to distribute the CD all over the country, but they havenÃÂt been aggressive about it.
AAJ: Has the CD gotten much airplay?
JC: One or two of the songs have gotten a fair amount of airplay on specialty stations like NPRÃÂs. We didnÃÂt really crack into any commercial markets. The songs I play on the Mojo album are alternative pop music. But the thing thatÃÂs special about my background--and what my father gave to my brother and me--was a real healthy love for an eclectic approach to music. The purest thing my father has given to Murali and me is a lack of prejudice musically.
AAJ: Your father said heÃÂll sing on a future album and that Murali picked up his interest in singing from him.
JC: Pop sang on all of his early records. Murali and I loved his singing; a lot of other people did. But he decided to concentrate solely on the guitar. That was fine [laughs] because in the process, he made a tremendous contribution. ItÃÂs not a question of whether he made the wrong move by not singing. At this point in his life, I think he sees that both of his sons are singing. Maybe heÃÂll try to sing a little again.
AAJ: Who else performs on Bitter To Sweet?
JC: There are no ÃÂcatsÃÂ on it. It includes a drummer, Tom Curiano, I was working with in Manhattan for about six years. The bass player is Will McGregor. I play most of the other instruments. We have a string section too. The Fowler brothers play the horns on the album. Bruce Fowler used to play with Frank Zappa. But generally, the CD involves mostly my own vision. After it was released, we toured for a good seven months. We went to Idaho, New York, Boston, Colorado, Philly, Arizona, and obviously Los Angeles. We played just about anywhere someone would have us, mostly in clubs.
AAJ: Did you open for other acts?
JC: Yes, and we ÃÂheadlined,ÃÂ if you want to call it that. I donÃÂt want to say that the tour was unsuccessful because we succeeded in the goal, which was to get out there and play. But we didnÃÂt reach as many people as I wanted. The reaction was mixed because my record has progressive rock leanings and there are pop songs in 5/4. It was an ambitious record and one thatÃÂs not easy to swallow on the first listen because it doesnÃÂt fit into a particular category. Some people have really responded to the music, and at other times they didnÃÂt. I canÃÂt say I blame them because I was throwing a lot of information at them. ItÃÂs almost as if we would have gotten a better response if we had played at jazz festivals. The people there are predisposed to be more open-minded. Medeski Martin & Wood have helped to bring in the younger demographic.
AAJ: Do you make your living as a musician?
JC: I do.
AAJ: But you had struggled until you met Jay Rifkin.
JC: JayÃÂs the president of Mojo. I was doing a lot of jazz gigs and nurturing my pop music for about five years in Manhattan. I came to Los Angeles to do some session work. In the process, I met Jay, who really liked my stuff and wanted to record it properly.
AAJ: What kind of session work were you doing?
JC: I came to Los Angeles to play, oddly enough, to play with the son of Leonard Cohen. HeÃÂs a good friend. I had worked with him in New York for quite some time and produced some music for him. He was signed to Columbia Records, and he asked me to play on some of his tracks.
AAJ: Do you have plans for another CD?
JC: Yes, IÃÂm making the next record right now. It will be much different. I wanted Bitter To Sweet to be a document of all of the time I put in in New York. It consists of a live band, and we did some overdubs later. All of the vocals and drums are live on that record. Most of it was first-take stuff. I was really excited to get that down. But I have different goals for the new record. I want to reach more people, basically. Bitter to Sweet is a very introspective, personal record. It wasnÃÂt made for hundreds of thousands of people. It was made for me. [Laughs]
AAJ: How will you broaden the appeal?
JC: IÃÂll keep things simpler in general. I was influenced by people like Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Jimmy Webb, who wrote lyrics that were right out on the table. I was always attracted to that kind of lyric writing.
I find, however, that weÃÂre living in the dark ages of artistic expression in a lot of ways. Since the major labels have merged, just a few people are running the show now. As a consequence of that, too few people have too much power. Of course, jazz is a different world unto itself. ItÃÂs almost like an exception to the rule. But in general, the music that is distributed is limited, redundant and lacking in vision. It involves lot of following and not enough leading.
AAJ: You think thatÃÂs true of all forms of music.
JC: Yes, in all forms and not just in jazz. I do believe that the Internet will change all of that because the technology will be available to everyone so we can make records properly and sell them over the Internet. With any luck, there will be some room for the independents to exercise their creative opinion. But in the meantime, I want to make the next CD simpler so that it will sell.
AAJ: You had mentioned your vision for the album.
JC: I wanted to make a really honest, uncompromising record, and I did that. IÃÂve gone through periods when I canÃÂt listen to that CD because itÃÂs a very emotional recording for me. But I know that IÃÂll listen to that record in twenty years, and IÃÂll be proud of it. I also know that a lot of people will come around to discover it.
AAJ: You said on your web site that ÃÂeveryone is damaged in one way or another.ÃÂ You think the CD helps people feel that they arenÃÂt outcasts. Also, your web site states that ÃÂmost relationships are doomed.ÃÂ
JC: The subject matter for the CD was written when I was in my late teens and early twenties. ThereÃÂs a self-righteousness to the record. I wouldnÃÂt change it because thatÃÂs who I was at that time. I do believe that everyone is damaged in one way or another. When I was growing up, music saved my life. If I hadnÃÂt discovered artists like Joni Mitchell and John Coltrane and Dylan--anyone who had the courage to be honest with their feelings and articulate that through music--I would be a different person today. I might not even be here.
AAJ: What do you mean by saying that the music saved your life?
JC: The whole nine yards. Things are so confusing when youÃÂre young. I donÃÂt know if things get any less confusing when you get older, but at least you have some lucidity when youÃÂre older. You can look at yourself as a victim, or you take control. When you are young, the world is a very confusing place. A lot of negative information is thrown at you. I donÃÂt think weÃÂre wired as humans to receive consolation or guidance directly. I think it has to permeate, or creep in peripherally. Music is a wonderful way to do that.
AAJ: Did you discover that music on your own?
JC: I discovered most of it on my own. My mother was a very powerful influence musically. My mother used to write songs for my father, such as songs on ÃÂSpaces.ÃÂ
AAJ: What instrument did she play?
JC: She kind of noodled. She played piano, she wrote a lot of lyrics, and she sang. She was always turning my brother and I on to music.
AAJ: That was Julie?
JC: Yes.
AAJ: And she encouraged you to study piano.
JC: Yes, she was responsible for nurturing ÃÂthe artist within.ÃÂ She wanted Murali and me to be privy to that kind of education. I think my father was very wary of it. He was protective. Especially when we were little children and he was in his thirties or late twenties, I think he knew how hard it is to make it as a musician. I think he was worried that his children would follow in his footsteps and struggle in the same way he struggled. But once Dad realized that music was something we were serious about, he became supportive.
AAJ: Did your father introduce you to the guitar?
JC: Undoubtedly. I think children always want to imitate their parents. Especially, boys want to imitate their fathers. He was my hero. Murali and I idolized our parents. I wanted to get in on that magic that happens when you pick up a guitar.
AAJ: And you started writing music at five.
JC: Yes, I was conscious of composition around that time. I was always writing after that.
AAJ: You traveled with your father when he toured?
JC: I started playing the electric bass when I was thirteen. At fourteen, I was good enough that I could go out and play with Dad on certain lower-profile gigs. Man, that was such a magical time for me! I was so green, and I had the opportunity to play with one of the greatest jazz musicians in the world. And he was my dad. He gave me advice and taught me things. It was spectacular.
AAJ: Who was in his group at that time?
JC: It was mostly solo gigs. The best gigs were those with just him and me. Then I could really learn about accompaniment and the necessary sensitivity when playing behind someone.
AAJ: Did you play acoustic or electric?
JC: It was everything. He pulled me in on whatever he thought I was able to do. Occasionally, we did a gig or two with Kenwood Dennard and Bill Evans, the sax player. I was way over my head, and Dad was really generous to let me walk all over the gig. Of course, that Coryell ego was telling me that I was supposed to be there.
AAJ: Did you travel overseas with him?
JC: I did, as I got older. We did some shows in Argentina, Spain and Indonesia. We did the Jakarta Jazz Festival there in ÃÂ88.
AAJ: Did Murali go too?
JC: He didnÃÂt. He was always nurturing his own interests. Murali is actually a huge jazz fan, but he likes all kinds of music. He has such a vast record collection.
AAJ: How many years apart are you?
JC: Three. I was born in ÃÂ73, and Murali was born in 1969.
AAJ: Your father said that you started with Beatles and pop music, and then one day you asked him the changes to ÃÂJoy Spring.ÃÂ
JC: He played with Emily Remler for a few years, and they played that song often. At that time, I started to become cognizant of jazz and its inner workings. I think a lot of people just donÃÂt ÃÂget itÃÂ when they first hear jazz. If youÃÂre fortunate enough, something pivotal happens, and you start to recognize how amazing and sophisticated and special the music is. Something clicked for me around that time, and I suddenly became really interested in changes. ÃÂJoy SpringÃÂ was fascinating to me, and that was the beginning of my instruction.
AAJ: That must have been an important event for your father too, if he can remember it all of these years later.
JC: You know, obviously it is, and thatÃÂs a very astute comment. I didnÃÂt even realize that that event did stay with him.
AAJ: Ever since then, youÃÂve had the duality of jazz and pop.
JC: Yeah, itÃÂs one of these odd things that I canÃÂt seem to rectify. I had always thought, as my father did, that I would just carry on his work to take pop music and jazz and make a new form of music out of it. IÃÂve come to realize that weÃÂre living in a time where that kind of ambition isnÃÂt encouraged as it was when my father was my age. As a result, I find myself having a double identity instead of making new exciting music as I wanted to do.
AAJ: I would think that the duality would be a stimulus for creativity because eventually youÃÂll try to reconcile the conflict and find a creative solution.
JC: It should be a stimulus. But when it comes to art and commerce, thereÃÂs a lot of friction. All artists are limited by their need to put food on the table. That explains why we compromise sometimes.
AAJ: ThatÃÂs why I asked if you had another job.
JC: I make my living as a musician. ThatÃÂs great, but IÃÂm always mindful of the bottom line too.
AAJ: You went to a magnet high school in Los Angeles.
JC: It was hip, like the high school in the movie ÃÂFame,ÃÂ where inner-city kids go to a public art school.
AAJ: Had your parents moved to L.A. then?
JC: No, my folks split up in, like, ÃÂ85. After the divorce, my mother and I moved to Woodstock, New York for a few years. Then my mother and I moved to Los Angeles because my grandmother lives here.
AAJ: Did Murali come with you?
JC: No, Murali stayed with my father in Connecticut because he was closer to graduating from high school. He didnÃÂt want to uproot at that point, and I donÃÂt blame him. We kind of led different lives at that point.
AAJ: In your fatherÃÂs interview, he says that he struggled with alcohol and drugs for a long time until he came to a resolution. Did that have an effect on your outlook?
JC: My father has led a very colorful life. His reputation precedes him. But he has made amends in a lot of ways. We are who we are, though. The mistakes that we make and the successes we have define us. Dad wouldnÃÂt be who he is today if he hadnÃÂt had those struggles.
AAJ: The successes are that much more important when you can appreciate them after the struggle.
JC: Oh, totally. I know my father is just glad to be alive. He has found his peace, and thatÃÂs very important. He happens to be this amazing musician, and he has left a legacy that will live on.
AAJ: Was it your idea to attend Berklee?
JC: I think my pop wanted me to do that. I was really young when I went there, and I did it for him. I got a bachelorÃÂs degree in music after four years. I majored in performance and minored in composition. IÃÂm glad I went there because I learned a tremendous amount of things. I still have their binders full of information on my shelf, even though IÃÂve been out of school for ten years now.
AAJ: Did anyone else go to Berklee at that time whoÃÂs recording now?
JC: Oh, sure. Roy Hargrove, Lalah Hathaway, Paula Cole, Delfeayo Marsalis, and Abe Laboriel, Jr.
AAJ: Did you move to New York after graduation?
JC: Actually, I moved to Branson, Missouri for about a year after I graduated to play country music. I played there with a once-famous group.
AAJ: Did you answer an ad to get that job?
JC: I had a manager at that time, and he thought it might be a good idea to work in Branson to make a little money. I had a great time. The musicians who played there mostly were guys who were fed up with Nashville. Man, those guys could play! I picked up a lot. I love good country music. I got to hear some good pickinÃÂ, I got to eat some great food, and I got to go fishing. [Laughs]
AAJ: Then you went to New York after that.
JC: Yes, Branson was just a transition. I finally got the courage to say, ÃÂAll right. ItÃÂs time to go to ManhattanÃÂ to try to make it happen. I went there on my own. One of my first gigs was playing in the house band at the Blue Note. I did that for about a year. That was an education too. Codaryl Moffett, Charnett MoffettÃÂs brother, was in the band too. People like Ravi Coltrane and Roy Hargrove would show up. Just about anybody would come and sit in. We played from one to four in the morning.
AAJ: Did you record at that time?
JC: My head wasnÃÂt really into accepting that kind of responsibility. I did make a couple of jazz records around that time for other people, including one with the Moffett family. IÃÂm not particularly proud of my playing on those records. I was very young then. After that, I started playing at McGovernÃÂs and tapping into what became Bitter To Sweet.
AAJ: So you struggled like most other musicians in New York.
JC: Oh, yes. At the Blue Note, I was making ten dollars a night for a year. The musiciansÃÂ union there has no clout. Unfortunately, performing music is like a drug, and musicians are junkies. For the most part, weÃÂll play for anyone, anywhere, any time for very little or no money. Getting better at jazz means that you have to play it constantly. So you will jump at any opportunity. I wasnÃÂt any different. ItÃÂs only when you get a little more skilled on your instrument that you can be choosier. Right now, I canÃÂt complain. IÃÂm very lucky. My favorite quote from my dad is that ÃÂyou never stop paying your dues.ÃÂ IÃÂve gotten past the struggling stage to a degree, but there are always new struggles.
AAJ: How did the gig with your father go at the Blue Note?
JC: Basically, I was the old Larry, and he was the new Larry. I had the distorted guitar, and he had the clean guitar.
AAJ: And you performed with your father and Murali at CatalinaÃÂs.
JC: Yes, that was the beginning of something very special. I hope it pans out so that we can do more records and reach more people. If Dad ever had a vision to bring different kinds of music together and make something new out of it, that was the end result.
AAJ: Will you be performing any more?
JC: WeÃÂll be doing some festivals in the summer. If Chesky hadnÃÂt paid us to record together, I would have just done it in my house because it was important for me to have that recording for posterity.
AAJ: Did your father say anything about the three of you coming together again after all of those years?
JC: Music is kind of a safety zone. The track record of humans isnÃÂt very good in honoring each other. Music allows those same people to kind of get clemency for the duration of the music-making. Whatever differences we have as a family--and theyÃÂre vast and many--all was forgiven when it was time to make the music. Instead, the focus was on creation.
AAJ: Without a vehicle like music, members of other families may suffer in silence.
JC: Exactly. No matter what the music industry does or doesnÃÂt do, the one thing the industry will never be able to change or kill or take away is the innate power of music to heal and to bring people together.
AAJ: A lot of the business people donÃÂt get that.
JC: ItÃÂs not for them to ÃÂget.ÃÂ Music will serve only the people who want to be served. If a personÃÂs mind isnÃÂt open to it, itÃÂs not for him or her to appreciate.
AAJ: Right. Music serves the musician and the audience. Everyone else is in the middle.
JC: Yes. But we live in a world where we need these people in the suits with their calculators to an extent. I keep telling all of my friends that we have to take the music back. WeÃÂve allowed the business people to have control. ItÃÂs gotten out of hand, and we need to remember why weÃÂre playing music.
AAJ: Some jazz artists, like Kenny Barron, own their own labels.
JC: Believe me, man, my goal in the next five to ten years is to have my own label and to sign whoever I think is great and to record the records cheaply but properly. If I donÃÂt end up selling any records, it wonÃÂt matter. What will matter is that we will have documented a great artist.
