Memories of Michael Brecker: Town Hall Tribute
Eventually, I saw him play with Tyner at the Iridium nightclub in NYC and sheepishly got him to sign my copy of Infinity. A gracious and unassuming a person, I couldn't help but feel connected to this humble artisan. We had grown up together, and he was still growing, his star showing more brightly with each appearance or project. His persona on and off-stage was never showy or self- centered, but when he played, his prominence could not be denied. The last time I saw him play was with his Quindectet for the promotion of his then latest album Wide Angles.
His wife Susan was there as were his two children Jessica and Sam. For me, that night he became more than a great musician: he was demonstrably a loving father and husband as well a "palpably-human," human being. I found myself unable to avoid going up to him between sets. Somehow I needed to tell him how I had seen him many times over the years, but that I felt he was now on top of his game and playing at a whole new level. He graciously and modestly thanked me with one of his patented wide grins. It was shortly thereafter that I found out he was ill and that the disease was possibly life threatening. I was in shock, well before he succumbed to his illness on February 13, 2007.
The gathering for Michael Brecker brought together a generous cross-section of people from all walks of life. His son Sam, his daughter Jessica and his wife Susan all spoke poignantly about his lifea life undoubtedly well lived, well remembered and much loved. His brother Randy spoke fondly of times past and of sibling competition. His moving trumpet work on a song memorialized in one of his younger brother's many brilliant recordings was an open display of affection. The beloved saxophonist's fellow musicians honored his music and the memory of his many contributions. The singer, James Taylor, sent a recorded message of thanks, crediting Michael's intercession in his own addictions with saving his life. Dave Liebman, a saxophonist contemporary, shared his personal grief at Michael's passing, concluding his eulogy with a tender piece played on a simple wooden flute. Pat Metheny, Herbie Hancock, Paul Simon and numerous others celebrated their friendship along with their admiration for his life and music. His wife Susan had appropriately requested that no saxophones be played on this night and, despite the presence of such contemporary luminaries as Wayne Shorter, Dave Liebman, and Joe Lovano, the request was honored.
As I sat through this tribute, my eyes scanned the audience to get a better look at the packed crowd of well-wishers and grievers in the venerable Town Hall auditorium. In spite of the various hats, beards, pony tails and attire, this was an audience of a different breed, largely comprised of musicians who had come to pay homage to a fallen comrade. At the start of the evening, while we were waiting in the line outside to get into the hall, we had occasion to meet and talk with one of them, Pat Rebillot, a noted keyboard player who had once played with Michael Brecker on an Arif Mardin album called Journey. Rebillot and his wife had come from upstate New York, some two and one-half hours' away, to pay their respects. He was just one of manyprofessional musicians who have undoubtedly been heard numerous times but seldom recognizedstanding in line with the rest of us. A giant's passing had brought us all togetherfamily, fellow musicians, friends and fans.
The experience brought to mind the scene from the Spielberg movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind where Richard Dreyfuss is irresistibly and mysteriously drawn by a mental image he can't shake to a place where something special is supposed to happen. So too we were all drawn to this setting for a memorial just as we had previously been drawn to Michael Brecker's music because it corresponded to a special place in our souls. He was the communicator, the inexplicable magnet, exerting its forceful pull on all of us with like sensibilities. Michael Brecker's music allowed us to see that we are all connected in some strange but magically flowing way. Like the music, the artist touched our hearts and stirred our souls because through his brilliant playing and exemplary life he was able to show us a better wayone that transcends the day-to-day little crises we all face and the major one he surely faced toward the end of his life. He also taught us how to deal with misfortune and adversity and come out no less triumphant.
A brief but poignant Buddhist ceremony at the end of the memorial expressed this solidarity of feeling. I left knowing that I will listen to his music again and again, each time remembering with deeper fondness and gratitude all the energy he generated and the light he radiated on his quest, a journey that I and many others will continue to share through his recorded legacy.