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Interviews

Alvin Fielder: It's About Time

By Published: July 16, 2007
Drummer Alvin Fielder grew up in Mississippi, but the fruition of his musical career in Chicago came in the 1960s, when he worked with Sun Ra and appeared on Roscoe Mitchell's legendary Sound (Delmark, 1966) LP, one of the first AACM recordings to be released. After returning to a pharmacy career in Mississippi in the late 1960s, Fielder began working regularly with New Orleans saxophonist Kidd Jordan in the Improvisational Arts Ensemble.



A relationship that spans over thirty years, Fielder and Jordan have collaborated frequently with bassist William Parker, pianist/saxophonist Joel Futterman, and tenor man Fred Anderson among others. Steeped in the music's history, and especially that of the drummers, Fielder took time out from his schedule to speak with writer Clifford Allen in late 2005. Unpublished until now, the writer feels that—on the heels of a tour with Jordan and the release of Fielder's Clean Feed Records debut (featuring another longtime collaborator, Dallas-based trumpeter Dennis Gonzalez), A Measure of Vision—now is most definitely the time.

Chapter Index

  1. Beginnings
  2. Give the Drummers Some
  3. Chicago and Playing Free
  4. Last Trane to Jackson
  5. Selected Discography



Beginnings



Alvin Fielder: I was born November 23, 1935 in Mississippi to Alvin and Carrie Sue Fielder. I have one brother, William, who is a jazz and classical trumpeter. He's had a lot of good students, people like Wynton Marsalis, Terence Blanchard, Terrell Stafford, as well as numerous symphonic trumpeters. A bit of statistical information about Meridian, Mississippi: it's about fifteen or sixteen miles from Alabama, about in the middle of the state. I first studied piano, and that was maybe a year-and-a-half, two years, and I became pretty bored with it and so we stopped that. I played baseball and football until about 1946-1947.

In the meantime, I was listening to a lot of the pop bands like Roy Milton, Louis Jordan and the Tympani Five, as most kids would. There was a musician in town that had been in the Korean War in about 1948. He was a trumpeter that had been in service and we used to call him "Jabbo Jones." He came back and he had a lot of records—Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell—and he would just walk around the street with these records, go around peoples' houses and play the records.

Somehow I got my hands on a Savoy record; "Koko" was on one side with Charlie Parker, and the other side was Don Byas. I heard Max Roach play "Koko" and I've been a believer ever since. That really turned me on to modern jazz, and I heard the way Max played drums. I didn't know what Max was playing, of course, I jut knew it was a beautiful sound. It sounded differently than, say, the drummers that Louis Jordan had, or Roy Milton, a drummer who was the head of a very good rhythm and blues band.

I learned the tunes and I joined the school band. I was about thirteen, and there was another drummer we called Pat and a bass drummer named Charles Sparrow. It was a fifteen-large band, not a whole lot of guys of course, and I took lessons from Duke Otis. We played the marches and stuff, but we didn't really learn the rudiments. It's just what I had to play during the football games.

I graduated in 1951, and I went to Xavier down in New Orleans. I went as a pharmacy major, but in '52, I ran into a drummer by the name of Earl Palmer. He was a good jazz drummer, and he was making all these record dates and working every night and day. I asked to study with him. He told me that he was very busy, and he recommended Ed Blackwell. I didn't know Blackwell, but I went to him and said "I'm Alvin Fielder; I'm going to Xavier and you were recommended by Earl Palmer. I'd like to study with you." Blackwell said "come on in."

All About Jazz: Well before his move to Los Angeles?

AF: Yes, this was in '53. He was probably working with the Johnson Brothers then. Plas Johnson—do you know about him?

AAJ: I've heard the name, yes.

AF: He was a tenor player and played the "Pink Panther." It was a good band, and Blackwell practiced all day. There was also a trumpet player named Billy White and a tenor player by the name of Bootsy. He lives up in New York now and plays with Idris Muhammad, but they would practice all the Charlie Parker, Miles Davis and Max Roach tunes, all day. class="f-right s-img">Return to Index...


Give the Drummers Some



AAJ: And Blackwell got into something entirely different from Max.

AF: Not at that time. Blackwell was about seven or eight years older than I and he was Max Roach. He used to sit down and play Max licks, Billy White would play Miles, and—no, it was strictly that. They weren't experimenting then as they would later on, and I never thought of Blackwell as a New Orleans drummer. I always thought he played very differently from the other drummers. He was a bebop drummer. There were other drummers like Tom Moore. But I'm talking about Max, and you didn't hear much of Blakey, Roy Haynes, or Kenny Clarke. Everything was Max Roach let me tell you, even though all these other drummers were playing at the time.

AF: Alan was known for that. There was a trombonist in Houston who was at that concert the other night; do you know Jimmy Harrison? Tall guy, with a cane—he was the baddest trombone player I have ever heard in person. He and Alan Dawson were in the service together and Jimmy had told me about Alan when I was in Texas from '54 to '56. Alan was known for the way he played drums. He was melodic, very clean, and he could swing his butt off. I always used to think of him as a super-clean Philly Joe Jones, because Philly Joe had all kinds of technique too. He was more streetwise with it, though.

AAJ: I'll have to think on that and put it together, but it makes sense to me.

AF: Alan was a very great teacher; he's probably one of the best drum set teachers ever. Philly Joe, Max, Kenny Clarke actually came out of Cozy Cole, and they all worked out of that Charlie Wilcoxon book—Rollin' in Rhythm, Swingin' the Rudiments—and I got the chance to spend a night with Kenny Clarke and Cozy Cole much later. I was like "whew!" [chuckles], best time I ever had! I sat there and just listened to all their stories.

Now, where was I?

AAJ: We were getting around to a philosophy of percussion through all these folks. We were at Alan Dawson, though.

AF: He turned out a lot of great students, and I'm not familiar with his method but whatever it was, most everybody that actually came from him wound up very good.

AAJ: I think they're teaching a way of life, and this comes back to the Valerie Wilmer book [As Serious as Your Life (Serpent's Tail, 1980)], being around somebody like Blackwell or Denis Charles, if not assimilating the exact musical patterns, that their way of living translated to music.

AF: That's another thing, you are your environment. After '52, I wasn't around Blackwell very much, but we kept in touch and he'd send me letters. I'd see him from time to time at festivals and such, and what we'd do is go over stuff. I have his letters, and I go through them still and I play a lot of his things, but not like him. Actually, Blackwell was a school unto himself. I love him, but I never tried to pattern myself after him. I guess I patterned myself—well, I listened to Max Roach more than Blackwell. I listened to Billy Higgins more than Blackwell. The early Art Blakey—now, all these drummers had various stages. There was a Tony Williams part, a Max thing, and I pick out certain phases of their playing because we all change.

AAJ: One can glean a lot from certain aspects of somebody's teaching and put it into their own canon, without necessarily having the rest of it be helpful.

AF: You know, Tony Williams, I heard a lot of Jimmy Cobb in his cymbal work early on. I heard a little bit of Kenny Clarke, I heard some of Max Roach, and I heard a lot of Roy Haynes.

AAJ: Yeah, definitely, that was my first estimation. Could you explain "digging coal?" I've heard this bandied about with drummers before.

AF: Those were the drummers back in the '20s who played just a snare drum or a variation of the cymbal pattern on the snare—ssshh-bop, ssshh-bop—on the snare drum. Kenny Clarke always referred to it by that, "digging coal." In talking to Kenny, he mentioned a drummer that's very seldom talked about, by the name of Cuba Austin. He was with the McKinney Cotton-Pickers, a territory band of the Midwest. He was their drummer at one time, and Kenny Clarke mentioned that he had heard him play the cymbals throughout a song. He hadn't heard other drummers do that at the time, and that stuck with him.

Of course, Cuba—I talked to some drummers who had heard his stuff—he was a good drummer, but he just never made that breakthrough. I don't know that much about him family-wise, but he worked in that band, which was very popular at the time. However, it wasn't like being in the Basie band or the Bennie Moten band, or Duke's band.

AAJ: It was more like a proving ground for people who would go on to do other things.

AF: It was one of the better territory bands at that time, but I don't know if they played New York. They usually played the Midwest, so you didn't get the chance to hear them on the radio. I don't have any records by them (somebody like Kenny Washington probably does), but I really would like to hear it.

AAJ: I know I've seen collections of those recordings around—whether or not the drummer is Cuba, I don't know.

AF: That actually stuck in Kenny Clarke's mind, because when you think about it, Papa Jo Jones, Kenny Clarke, you gather they're about the same age. Kenny Clarke spent some time in Kansas City, and I've heard things written about Papa Jo where his cymbal patterns bounce pretty much like Kenny Clarke's. Kenny Clarke had a beautiful cymbal pattern—my God!

AAJ: And he was getting it from these interesting sources, it sounds like.

AF: Well, you know, it's not just the sound, but the conception of playing. Of course, the cymbal was a timekeeper instead of the bass drum. That was what he got from it. I'm sure that Kenny Clarke had some other influences there, but he mentioned Cuba and that left something for me to find out about. He must've been a little older than Klook. He was probably born in the 1890s or something about that, maybe 1900.

But it's a conception thing, and I'm finding that drummers like Roy Haynes—I was watching him last night, whew! This was BET on Jazz, and he was in the Chick Corea band with Joshua Redman and Terence Blanchard and Christian McBride. They were playing all these Bud Powell things, you know, and oh he sounded good!

Alvin Fielder
Alvin at Willowridge High School - 2005 workshop organized by Nameless Sound



AAJ: There was that trio with Danilo Perez and John Pattitucci a few years ago that was also something else. This would've been 2000-2001 or so.

AF: The thing with Miroslav Vitous and Chick Corea, Now He Sings Now He Sobs (Solid State, 1968), that was fine. There was another one Roy did with Phineas Newborn, called We Three (1958), on Prestige. Roy is a good all-around drummer, and the way he uses his bass drums, cymbals, snares, he's dancing around the snare drum and off of the cymbals, and then he hits the bass drum—whew!

AAJ: It's interesting too, because he can step away slightly and play nearly free-time, with Andrew Hill in the early '60s, he was...

AF: I can go further back than that on you! Miles Davis did a thing called "Morpheus" on Prestige. He had Bennie Green, John Lewis and Percy Heath on it, and you should hear it—Roy's playing all across the bar lines, the first really free drumming I'd heard. If you get a chance to hear it, Sonny Rollins was playing as well, and Miles was loose, loose, loose! It's by John Lewis, a beautiful thing, just free and loose. If you heard it right now, I think you would say "when was that made?" It was done probably in the early 50s. It's beautiful!

So, Roy—out of Max, Kenny Clarke and Blakey—was always the loosest. Another drummer that was really nice and loose is Jack DeJohnette. Also Al Foster, you know—whew!

AAJ: As far as the post-Max, post-Philly Joe drummers, I've always been fond of J.C. Moses, even though he's a little later.

AF: I knew him. He was a bit out of the Blakey thing, too. He was from Pittsburgh, and I don't know what they put in the water there, but God they turn out drummers like mad! I'd like to meet a drummer there by the name of Joe Harris; are you familiar with him?

AAJ: No, not really.

AF: He took Max's place with Bird, and Kenny Clarke's place with Dizzy Gillespie. He did a record date with Teddy Charles, Art Farmer, and Gigi Gryce—and those arrangements, man!

AAJ: Oh, was that the Teddy Charles Tentet (Atlantic, 1956)? Then I do know him. I just forgot.

AF: Well you need to go back and listen to him. I'm jumping around, but there's a way of listening that I always try to tell my students. When you get into any record album, I usually listen to each part first, listening to the album about four or five times. Then I put it all together after I've got the form of the tune and everything. You have to listen to the whole thing after that. CD's are not meant to be listened to and put on the shelf. You really haven't heard it—not until you've got it. You don't have to be a musician to do that.

AAJ: I tend to start with the whole and then take it apart, but...

AF: I pick one thing out first. The first thing I listen to is the drummer, of course, once the melody plays. Then I listen to the piano and bass play it, then the horn players, and then I'll listen to the whole thing. Now, I'm sure trumpet players would say they listen to the trumpet first, and it's left up to the person, I guess, how they choose.

I think about Billy Higgins; we're about the same age and—man, people had told me about him. Teddy Edwards, the tenor player, he told me about Billy from one of his first jobs, along with Leroy Vinnegar and a pianist, Joe Castro or Arthur Hillary, who lived out in Los Angeles. Hillary was a great player and taught school in Dallas for a while, actually. Billy Higgins was the young guy in the band, and that might have been his first recording date, I don't know. It would've been for Contemporary.

Every time Teddy came back here, he'd bring his book and I'd often play with him. Eddie Harris, Clifford Jordan—I'd play with all of them, and they had a lot of music and would always bring it with them. I got a chance to hear Billy early on, and I loved his playing! But you know, Billy Higgins went through various schools. His inspiration was really Kenny Clarke. You remember the first album that was done by the Modern Jazz Quartet? "All the Things You Are," "La Ronde," which was really "Two Bass Hit," Billy always told me that was the thing that inspired him. When I heard that, I knew my sound was going to come from that. It's a beautiful thing, man, and Kenny Clarke plays so beautifully!

Everybody is asleep on Kenny Clarke, and I read Modern Drummer every month and they have a calendar of birthdays. They didn't mention Baby Dodds, they didn't mention Kenny Clarke, they mentioned Roy Haynes, Jimmy Cobb, and Max Roach but not Philly Joe. They didn't even mention Big Sid Catlett, so I called them up and they wouldn't let me speak to anybody. I called several times and they don't know shit about drummers, let me tell you. They don't even know about drumming! It really pisses me off—I mean really!

AAJ: Baby Dodds' birthday is this month, right?

AF: Yes, I believe he's a Sagittarius—well, December 24, 1898, so he's a Capricorn.

Listen to this: Big Sid Catlett, Art Blakey, Jo Jones, Philly Joe Jones, they mentioned Elvin, didn't mention Tony Williams, Jack DeJohnette, Blackwell, Billy Higgins, Shelly Manne, Baby Dodds, Sunny Murray or Andrew Cyrille.

AAJ: [laughing] So who did they mention? There aren't many people left!

AF: Well, Elvin and they didn't mention but about four jazz drummers, if I'm thinking right.

AAJ: And a lot of rock drummers were listening to the jazz drummers anyway, so it would make sense to mention more than a couple.

AF: You know, they listed Ricky Morales and Tre Cool and Alex Acuña, Sheila Escovedo and Dave Clark, Idris Muhammad. They also mentioned Billy Hart and Adam Nussbaum because they were born November 29. None of the people listed here—I don't know who put this list together, and that was the reason I called them. It's Modern Drummer, The World's #1 Drum Magazine, and I have every issue. I read it, even though it's one of the worst publications I do read, among Jazz Times, Down Beat, Cadence, The Wire, All About Jazz New York, and a few others. Man, I'm going to cancel my subscription—whoever does the writing, they don't need to be drummers but more than likely they aren't anyway.

AAJ: It's funny, I was just listening to the Baby Dodds solo record on Folkways the other day [Talking and Drum Solos (1959)], where he plays all those nerve beats.

AF: Did you hear him play "Tea for Two?" Shades of Max Roach! He hadn't heard Max, but the way he played it— whew! The funny thing is, older drummers—older musicians, I should say—it may sound antiquated, but in the time it was done... That's the thing, you've got to put yourself back there mentally.

AAJ: ...which is hard to do sometimes.

AF: Yes it is, unless you are a student of the history of the music. It's not a very old music— jazz is a little over a hundred years old.

AAJ: There are still a lot of people in the world who are older than jazz, if you think about it.

AF: Yeah, right, so it's a young music, America's contribution to the world of fine art, and everybody's trying to play the music all over the world. It's creative, and it couldn't have happened anyplace else. It couldn't have happened in Africa, Europe, Iceland, it couldn't have happened anyplace else except America. As Art Blakey said, "no America, no jazz." When you think about it, the only instrument that's actually been created in this country is the drum set. Drummers prior to 1893-1895 had to just play the drums with their hands and not with their feet. Cymbals from Turkey, tom-toms from Africa, snare from Europe, and somebody had the zeal and imagination to put them all together, even if they didn't play anything except quarter-notes everyplace.

If you think of a drum soloist like Max Roach, Max uses so much of the drums but he didn't get credit. People talk about the world's greatest drummer being Buddy Rich—a great drummer, sure, but when you look at the musicality of the drums, (and it's got to be a musical instrument—they do play music) Max Roach, even though I love Kenny Clarke and he fathered it, Max took it out there. I have video with Max Roach, Art Blakey and Elvin Jones on it. God—boy, mmh! He was Art Blakey's daddy and Elvin Jones' granddaddy! [laughs]

AAJ: The three of them playing together in a conference?

AF: Well, first they played separately, then they played together with their various groups. Then of course Art and Max played with Elvin's group, and Elvin and Max with the Messengers, and it was all mixed up. It was done in Germany I think.

AAJ: Max is not well right now, right?

AF: No, he's in a nursing home. He was at a thing for the New Orleans people, and he was in a wheelchair. I talked to various people in New York and I've written him cards, he hasn't written back of course. Max was very good to me; I got a chance to really know Max I guess maybe fifteen or seventeen years ago. Max always gave me a lot of respect and I always respected him. He was probably the dominant factor in my life after my father and grandfather. I used to write Max when I first started playing. I got Max's mother's address and what I'd do is ask him various things, how he practiced and what books he practiced out of, and he never answered of course.

Every drummer I've talked to has said the same thing: they listen to Max. A close second was Blakey, and I used to talk to Vernel Fournier all the time. I used to talk to Wilbur Campbell all the time.

AAJ: Vernel is someone I've only recently come to know about, but whenever I talk to drummers, his name seems to come up somewhere in the conversation.

AF: He was an amazing drummer! I met him in Chicago in the '50s, and he was with Ahmad Jamal. All the drummers would go down to The Pershing to watch him play—DeJohnette, Steve McCall—because he was so clean and polished, and he was just the perfect gentleman. He didn't have bad habits and he was very nice to people. After he had a stroke, he moved to Jackson [Mississippi] because he had a son and daughter there.

After I found out about it, I would go over to his house practically every day. I used to take him to dinner and go out to shows, bring him CDs and stuff, talk to him, and I was close to him for about two years. I was on my way to Finland to work the Tampere Jazz Happening with Kidd Jordan and Joel Futterman, and I was with him that Thursday night about ten o'clock (I was leaving that Friday morning) and he wanted me to carry his cymbals. "Aw, man, I'm already packed up and everything."

I got to Finland Friday, we closed the festival Saturday night, and I was talking to Jack DeJohnette (he was there with John Surman) backstage about little things, and of course Vernel came up. When I got back to New Orleans, the first thing I heard was that he had passed on Saturday night. The timeline was about fifteen or twenty minutes before we went on stage.

AAJ: So he'd wanted you to take his cymbals as in take them.

AF: Well, he wanted to know if I wanted to take them over so I could play them. I had packed up everything, and he took sick the next day after I had left. That Friday morning his daughter came and took him to the hospital about eleven o'clock and he went to sleep—he was in a coma. He never woke up and they pulled the plug on him.

He was a friend. If you noticed me playing brushes on Saturday night, a lot of those were his brush strokes that he told me about. He didn't show me how to play them, but he told me about them. If you noticed the first thing I played with mallets, I played part of Max's Drum Conversation (Enja, 1960). But, I try to play something in every concert that's dedicated to a drummer. I don't tell people, but sometimes it's Ed Blackwell, sometimes it's Billy Higgins, sometimes it's Max, Roy Haynes, you know.

I miss Vernel, I miss Blackwell, Billy Higgins—Billy and I would talk all the time, maybe once a month. We never talked about drums, but we talked about old drummers. Max and I, we'd do the same thing and talk about drummers like Shadow Wilson. Vernel and I talked about him too. Right now I'm talking to a drummer by the name of James Slaughter. I don't know if you know him but he was Andrew Hill's first drummer in Chicago. They worked together with Malachi Favors.

AAJ: They had that trio that recorded for Warwick (So In Love, 1958).

AF: Right. He's the one that taught me the rudiments, and then of course there was another drummer named Arthur Edgehill. He was full of history! The first time I went to New York in 1954, [other students were] going to drug manufacturing plants and I went to Birdland and he was the first New York drummer I saw in person. Let me tell you something, Art Edgehill was playing with Oscar Pettiford, Julius Watkins, Phil Urso (a tenor player with Woody Herman; he's still living). Art was on drums, and he always stuck in my mind and I started to look for him about ten years ago. He quit playing drums maybe 35-40 years ago.

AAJ: I know he played with Kenny Dorham a bit in the '50s.

AF: That's right, the Jazz Prophets with J.R. Monterose, Sam Jones and Bobby Timmons. He was with Shirley Scott; he was with Dinah Washington a long time also, and with Teddy Wilson's trio. He was in the original Horace Silver Quartet with Doug Watkins and Hank Mobley. They got Art Blakey for the recording date, but you know... a very beautiful guy, man, he's 79 now. I talk to him often—I found him through the saxophonist Charles Davis. Charles was down here and I took him to dinner, and Edgehill came up. Charles said "I used to play with him in Dinah Washington's band! If you're looking for him, I know a drummer named Jimmy Wormworth, and he talks to him all the time. I'll give you his number."

Alvin Fielder
Alvin at Willowridge High School - 2005 workshop organized by Nameless Sound

I called him and, man he's so full of history! He is that link because he knew Kenny Clarke, Max, Blakey, Philly Joe. He's a real nice cat, he lived in Brooklyn and he's one of the Brooklyn guys—he brought up cats I'd never heard of. There was a trumpet player he talked about who was just as bad as Kenny Dorham. I've only seen one record with him on it by Dexter Gordon—I don't know, maybe he died young—but full of history man! Somebody really needs to talk to him, because he's a whole book, really. He knew Oscar Pettiford and he knew Horace early on, Hank Mobley, Kenny Clarke. He lives in Deltona, Florida, which is a suburb of Daytona Beach.

He moved from New York to the Poconos to raise his family, and his daughter is an instructor at Delaware State. He's got a beautiful wife and for a little while he moved to Barbados where his parents are from. He might actually be from Barbados. His wife's brother is a pharmacist, so Arthur and he bought a drugstore in New York, and then later he moved to Florida.

Now, somebody needs to catch him—he's a great help, and he's got stories galore. Somebody could write a book—I talk to him all the time, and the stories about Charlie Parker, Miles and Max, there's just stories, man!

AAJ: It's funny to me, the people who haven't recorded a whole lot may transmit the history a little better than the ones who are hugely well-known.

AF: Let me tell you something. On his birthday, I sent him copies of all the things he was on with Shirley Scott and Lockjaw Davis, and the Kenny Dorham thing. I'm looking for another Kenny Dorham Jazz Prophets that he did on ABC-Paramount. He didn't have it; he didn't even have the Blue Note thing. I sent him my copy of that, and I sent him the Prestige things as well. So this Christmas I've got to think of something.

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Chicago and Playing Free



AAJ: How did you get to Chicago, exactly?

AF: I had finished pharmacy school, and I wanted to go to grad school. I was going to major in manufacturing pharmaceuticals at Illinois University. I went up there to go to school and ran into Sun Ra [laughs]! I ran into him when I was working with a tenor player named John Tinsley, and this would've been in early '59. We were working on the West Side, with a female bassist and Sun Ra found out I was listed on the gig. I knew nothing about him.

Most of the stuff we played was standards, but Sun Ra invited me back to one of his rehearsals. We went down to the South Side and went over his music; there were several players hanging around whom I didn't know. Bugs Cochran was there, some of the horn players too, but not on the bandstand. So we made another rehearsal and he started calling me for jobs, and he would use Bugs on drums and me, both of us, and I learned the music mostly from Bugs.

John Gilmore was there; he was like a brother, very nice, and Marshall Allen was also very nice. I was closer to James Spaulding at that time, and there was Pat Patrick who was like an angel. Ronnie Boykins was an angel, too, and he had his own trio. James Spaulding used me on his jobs, and [bassist] Bill Lee was in that band. We had piano, trumpet, alto, bass and drums. So I worked in Spaulding's quintet and continued to play with Sun Ra.

I went to New York and met Wilbur Ware, who was beautiful also, and Pat Patrick was there at the time because he'd made that Africa/Brass (Impulse!, 1961) thing with Coltrane. He met me at the train station and told me where to eat, found me a place to stay, and Wilbur and Pat were my guardian angels. I can always appreciate that—I love them to death. I got a chance there to play with Tommy Turrentine, people like that—it was a bebop thing, and that's what gave me my confidence. New York was my education—we weren't playing jobs, it was just rehearsals every day. I had some people from Meridian up there that also took care of me, and I was just playing all the time.

AAJ: How long was that time in New York?

AF: About seven or eight months. When I left, I went back to Mississippi, and I stayed there about two or three weeks, got good food and went back up to Chicago! [laughs] I was working around a lot with a tenor player named Cozy Eggleston—I don't know if you've heard about him—he had some things on Delmark. He was one of the tenor players from the old school, and he kept me working.

There was another alto player who played alto like Bird and tenor like Lester Young. I was in between these two groups making $20 a night traveling and in town, playing the bars. That's what kept me going because I wasn't practicing pharmacy. Later on I met Muhal [Richard Abrams] and Lester Lashley, Kalaparusha, all the fellas—I met Roscoe Mitchell at Muhal's house. We rehearsed with Lester Lashley on bass and Kalaparusha on tenor.

AAJ: This was the pre-AACM Experimental Band?

AF: This was Muhal's quartet, and Roscoe came by. He came over to me and said, "Can you play free music?" I said "yeah" [laughs] and he said, "come by our rehearsal Thursday." But, you see, I had run into Roscoe once before when I was working with a tenor player on the West Side, and we were playing a lot of bebop then, like "Cherokee." Roscoe walks in the place, undoes his horn case, takes out his alto and puts it together, walks on the stand and plays. The whole music thing just loosened up and I thought—"man!"—I had never played like that in my life! He played I don't know how long, but he finished and took his horn out of his mouth, took it apart and walked out. I didn't know who he was! But the music just elevated, right then and there, so I remembered that.

AAJ: It's kind of like the stories you hear of Ornette or Albert Ayler sitting in, that same aspect of changing things almost immediately.

AF: It loosened me up so much and I was playing fast, out of that Max Roach thing, but after I got with Muhal I didn't want to play like anybody else. Muhal was one of the greatest inspirations of my life, along with Max and the trombone player from Houston, Jimmy Harrison. Jimmy's an excellent musician, let me tell you. He's from Stamford, Connecticut, went to high school with Horace Silver and went to college with Frank Foster and we were playing all those Monk tunes back in '54.

Muhal—I never heard Muhal knock Sun Ra [Abrams and Ra were said by some to be at odds]. None of the great musicians would say anything bad about anybody. If you couldn't play, they would pick out your best parts and deal with that. They didn't feel intimidated by anybody; that was the beautiful part about it. It taught me a lesson. Billy Higgins always said, "I can make music with anybody." That can be done, and I work off of that too. When I play in back of Kidd it's one way, and when I play in back of William Parker I play another way, and with Joel Futterman another way. If I'm with Clyde Kerr, there's another way. Andrew Cyrille is like that, he's a very creative musician.

AAJ: Who are some of the "avant-garde" drummers you admire the most—your contemporaries as you came up in the 1960s?

AF: Andrew, Sunny Murray... Milford Graves and that duo he did with David Murray—whew! That's a beautiful thing. It's like Sunny Murray with Albert Ayler and Gary Peacock, Spiritual Unity (ESP-Disk, 1964), if Sunny didn't play after that, it would have been enough. His latest thing on Eremite [Perles Noires I & II (2003)]—mmh, whew! I didn't play it right away. I waited about two or three weeks, and man I played that and thought this doesn't even sound like him. He's gone through another thing. That was a good recording, too.

AAJ: There seemed to be a conscious change in what Sunny was doing in the '70s, it seems like he got as far as he could get with that open wave of constant sound, and he reigned it in a bit.

AF: It depends on who he's playing with—if the musicians change, you have to change. That's just one of the phases; I've heard Sunny go through four different phases. I heard the Montmartre thing [Cecil Taylor, Nefertiti, the Beautiful One Has Come (Debut, 1962)], and that was fine, but Spiritual Unity is another thing—oh God!

AAJ: He'd discovered how to play by not playing.

AF: Well, there's perhaps a better way to express it, he sounds like Roy Haynes but totally free!

AAJ: Right, that's the way I put it to him when I spoke with him.

AF: I don't know what kind of drums he had—that adds some effect too. I heard Sunny play my drums and he sounded differently because my drums are different. I heard Beaver Harris and he changed my life, too, as far as the drums go. Sun Ra always told me to play "loose," because I was trying to play all the bebop coordination-things, and he said, "loosen up!" I didn't know what he meant. I hadn't heard Andrew then, or Sunny either, and Beaver Harris came to town with Archie Shepp, Roswell Rudd and Howard Johnson. I heard the shit that Beaver was playing with that group, and I went back the next night and that was what changed my way of thinking about the drums. Time/no-time, but the shit was swingin'! I heard that and I had to go home and think about it.

I heard Spiritual Unity after that, and then Conquistador and Unit Structures [both by Cecil Taylor with Andrew Cyrille, Blue Note, 1966], which came out around the time we were doing Sound. I heard Andrew and the way he played, and then I heard Milford Graves—those were the four cats I listened to for that particular thing.

AAJ: Beaver perfectly complemented Shepp and Rudd in doing that dirty, free swing.

AF: It was a street thing. Andrew's thing was cleaned up very precisely, and Sunny Murray was playing all across the spectrum. Milford Graves was out there—I thought of Milford as the Blakey of free drummers, Andrew is the Max of free music, Beaver Harris is the Kenny Clarke and Sunny Murray is the Roy Haynes.

AAJ: You pretty much hit the nail on the head with all those comparisons.

AF: Every time I listen to Andrew, I'm just thoroughly knocked over. Andrew, Jack DeJohnette, Billy Hart and Kenny Washington, Billy Drummond and Al Foster, Jeff Watts, and you just can't beat Roy— those are the people I probably listen to more now. Not that I take anything from them, but I enjoy them.

Alvin FielderAAJ: Back to Chicago, what ever happened to [former AEC drummer] Bob Crowder?

AF: I don't know; he went to New York and played with Gil Evans for a while, but I don't know. There was a drummer from New Orleans that went with Dizzy Gillespie and Sonny Rollins named David Lee Jr., very talented—Anthony Braxton told me about him. They were in the service together, and when I met Braxton, he always talked about David Lee. I finally got a chance to meet him in New Orleans, and he left shortly thereafter to play with Dizzy and Sonny Rollins. He came back home and the last time I talked to him we talked for two hours just about drums, very beautiful.

AAJ: I'd like to ask what your perception of "little instruments" was on account of playing with Roscoe and Muhal.

AF: If you listen to Sound, that is where it all began. Everybody's group did it a different way—there was Joseph Jarman's group with Thurman Barker, Fred Anderson and Billy Brimfield, Charles Clark and the pianist Christopher Gaddy. In Roscoe's group, we were dealing with all the little instruments and often we made them. We would do things like take juice cans and fill them with water, use little gongs, sticks and metal things to play them, and we used everything, man! That's the reason I play them now.

AAJ: I'm guessing that the Arkestra prepared you for that, but it seemed like such an about- face of the role of the percussionist as you'd experienced it up to that point.

AF: There's one thing I learned from Roscoe, and this was very, very important. Roscoe taught me how to play sound, how to use space and he taught me that a drum can sound different ways. If you noticed the other night, I was playing underneath the drums and so forth. With my personal drums, I have them tuned totally different. I touch them and they respond real fast, but that was what I learned from Roscoe—space. You haven't heard the early things that we didn't release with [trumpeter] Fred Barry. That was the first recording of Roscoe with Fred Berry, Malachi was on bass and I was on drums. Roscoe was talking through his horn, a cross between Ornette and Eric Dolphy. Freddy Berry was a clean, clean Don Cherry.

AAJ: Was he related to Robert Barry?

AF: No, no, he went to Southern Illinois University and got his doctorate in trumpet performance. He's over at the jazz program at Stanford. He's a very good trumpet player, good bebop player, good free player and all around.

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Last Trane to Jackson



AF: Clyde Kerr is another great trumpet player. On No Compromise![Prescription/ Danjor, with Kidd Jordan, Fielder, Kent Jordan a.o.], Clyde is at the top of his game. Some of the music was recorded in 1977, and on the CD we've added four duo tracks. There's a trumpet and tenor duet, Kidd and I (with Kidd on alto), and there's a bass and cello duet that's a monster, with London Branch and Ramsey McLean. That was the only time Ramsey played with us. It's a beautiful recording that was done in Meridian. We've got more things with Muhal, Clifford Jordan, Joe Dennis from Atlanta, London Branch on bass, and we were playing what we called "From Fats to Cecil"—Fats Waller, Duke Ellington, Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor. This was in the 1970s.

Now, that was just before I met Kidd, because Clifford Jordan introduced us. I was working in his quartet at the time and he'd done a clinic with Billy Higgins, Stanley Cowell and Bill Lee down in New Orleans. He came back and told me, "there was this saxophonist down there getting ready to quit playing. We've got to go down there, talk to him, and get him to keep playing!" So he sent me down there and I took London Branch down, and London and I couldn't find him. We looked everywhere and as we were leaving town we saw a cat on the street. He didn't have his horn, but London said "I bet that's Kidd Jordan." We stopped the man, and it was him! Kidd went and got his horn and we went over to his school and played till nine or ten at night. We did that about every weekend after that and a group was formed.

I have an original tape of the first time we played, and every time we practice I record all of them. That was how it was, man, and we were brought together by Clifford Jordan.

AAJ: How did you meet Clifford Jordan? In Chicago?

AF: No, we had a nonprofit organization down here called Black Arts Music Design and it was started by John Rees, who had started it on the west coast, out in Berkeley. He wanted to put the music in schools and such, and he had this group where he'd use Smiley Winters and Ed Kelly and people like that. He moved back to Mississippi and kept the organization; I moved back in '69, he moved back in '70 and I probably met him in '71.

Somehow we met—somebody told me "there's this cat over in Jackson who really loves jazz"—and I probably didn't believe them and went over and met John, and right away he was so hip, Trane had stayed at his crib and he had all these beautiful stories. I was like "why don't we do something?" So we started bringing in guys, went to the National Endowment for the Arts and got a grant, and we were the only group in Mississippi doing that. We brought in Dexter Gordon, Benny Carter, Woody Shaw, Clifford Jordan, Donald Byrd and I was supposed to put together the rhythm section. Dexter brought his own group with Eddie Gladden and George Cables, so I put together a ten-piece group that comprised musicians from Jackson and New Orleans.

AAJ: It sounds like there's a strong connection between those two cities.

AF: You know, at the time I was the only Mississippian working down there. Now, there was a tenor player down here at one time named Ronnie Wesley, and he brought in Ronnie Mathews to play. We had a group called Mobitra, where we played Monk, Bird and Trane. Ronnie Mathews played down here a couple of times and said "I've got to bring this tenor player back to New York—he's bad!" But he was a schoolteacher and had a family, and he stayed. One day coming home from school, he fell asleep driving and ran into the back of a truck.

AAJ: What a shame.

AF: But I have several tapes of that group, and it was burning—man! That was one of the baddest groups ever to come out of this town. We were playing Sonny Rollins, Bird, Monk, everybody—and this was a trio of tenor, bass and drums. All the guys from New York would come through, "you want to come up on stage and play?" Ronnie would play and cats would pack their horns up! Beautiful tenor player...

There were so many combinations; we were using cats from Atlanta like Joe Dennis and Howard Nicholson, we were using people from Birmingham, Memphis... There's a tenor player there by the name of Herman Green. He played with Elvin, played with everybody, and he's still up there. Right now there's a pianist up there by the name of Chris Parker, he's relatively young but he can play, knows the bebop repertoire beautifully, all those Elmo Hope tunes and Monk. Then there's Joel Futterman and Kidd, and that particular group has been together about six years, and that's been a great group. I have a lot of respect for Joel and we love Kidd and Kidd loves him. It's the perfect group right there. We can just sit down and do nothing, and that group can swing.

AAJ: But it seems to me that there's quite a community of people in the South that just hasn't been documented correctly.

AF: Not really. There's Kidd and Clyde, and we talk a lot because we're all lonely. I don't have anybody to play with in Mississippi. Kidd has practically nobody to play with in Louisiana. Joel has nobody to play with up in Virginia. Chris Parker has nobody to play with, really, in Memphis. It's that way—you don't have people and it's lonely. How many creative musicians do you have in Houston, really?

AAJ: I don't know because I've only been here a week and a half. Minneapolis, where I came from, has a lot, which I wasn't expecting and which was a boon.

AF: But it's close to Chicago and Detroit. There's other cities around. I don't have anybody else around who is actually trying to play this music. There's a bassist on the west coast that I made a lot of records with, Henry Franklin, a beautiful player—that cat can play!

I did a double quartet thing with him and Dennis Gonzalez, Marlon Jordan, Charles Brackeen, Kidd, Malachi Favors was on it, and this cat can play! I did a gig with him and Frank Lowe and Dennis Gonzalez, and I had to really prepare! I wrote a couple of tunes, Frank wrote a couple of tunes, Dennis wrote some, and one that I wrote was dedicated to Max Roach and Blackwell, called "Maxwell." We were at the studio and had to take it down one. We hit the playback and I was like, "wait a minute, this cat sounds like the drummer and I sound like the bassist!" We had to do it again [laughs] and I had to rethink my own tunes, man, because he was playing all over that thing!

AAJ: And you have to travel to get those experiences.

AF: I was introduced to him by Dennis Gonzalez. He was coming to Dallas a lot, so Dennis said "we'll use him so we don't have to pay for Malachi's airfares." This cat, man—Henry Franklin and William Parker are probably my two favorite bass players. If Mal was still alive... with William, man, it's wide open. You can swing, you can play as free as you want, and you don't have to worry about a thing because he's bad no matter what. It's just his rhythm—you can play fast, then turn around and play real slow, but it still sounds fast! You can play slow and he plays fast. Joel Futterman has that thing, as does Kidd, and it's just a natural feeling. It's just a natural rhythm, and it allows me to open up. If I'm playing "Giant Steps" I have to play one way; if I play "Stable Mates," I have to play it another, but with Kidd I can turn it around.

I don't know if you noticed, but with Kidd I was playing little nursery rhymes behind him—"Mary Had a Little Lamb," "Merry Christmas," stuff like this—it just frees you up. One time I was playing an Elvin thing, and then I was playing a nine and a seven. I have all of these little rhythms and time signatures so they all sound like four and that don't mean nothin' to Kidd, William or Joel. If somebody else was up there, it would matter. There are all these little melodies I'm playing and Kidd has all these little tunes he was playing in rhythm and blues bands, Little Walter, Ray Charles and people like that.



AAJ: But he's taking it somewhere else and taking something else out of it, too.

AF: But you know, that's an American thing. You can take rhythm and blues, folk things, you know, like Albert Ayler's "Ghosts," that's a cowboy song.

AAJ: And he played with Scandinavian musicians and learned tunes from Sweden.

AF: Of course, it sounds like something from Texas to me, you know. When I played with Roscoe, we used a Latin thing. When I played with Kalaparusha, I played little nursery rhyme things. Everything's useful, it just depends on the person.

AAJ: It's interesting because in any other music, if it were not the three or four of you, neither piece would work on its own.

AF: The thing is, man, I try to set up something that's gonna swing even if it's not a swingin' thing. Everything I play is around that cymbal pattern; it may be broken up but that's what swing is about, believe it or not, it's that pattern. As much as I slow it down, I'm always using that particular thing, because that's like the jazz clave and the American clave.

AAJ: It's leaner and faster.

AF: That's American. People talk about Latin jazz or European jazz, but we play American music. I can play these other things, but it's not me—I wasn't raised around it, you know. There's too much in American music to be dealing with something else, I think.

AAJ: Well, some of those things that are quintessentially American are circumvented by other structures —

AF: When you think of what most of the music's creators have done, Charlie Parker wasn't known as a writer, but a player. Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins—these were players, improvisers. The swing is always there—like Monk—and they dealt with what they dealt with. Those changes in the music from Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman, it all had that swing. You could put a tinka-ting tinka- ting tinka-ting against it, and it would swing!

AAJ: Sunny Murray had his Acoustical Swing Unit in the late '60s, and it does swing as dense as it gets—you can tap your foot to it. You can tap both feet and in many different directions, but it's still a tap.

AF: Yeah, that's right. Max once said "all music is in 1/1 time," which is quarter-notes. You can think of three—one-two-three, one-two-three—and I think of ping-pong. Ping-pong, ping-pong—but when you're playing two beats in a three-beat phrase, it's a quarter-note thing. It loosens it up, though [gives audio example].

Alvin FielderAAJ: You can fit a lot of things into that space.

AF: In the space, that's it. You have more space to deal with. Elvin would play triplets, but he could do it in four or three or whatever. Most musicians prior to Elvin could only deal with quarter notes; Elvin just loosened it up. I think of creative music as an extension of bebop. When you think of bebop, that music revolutionized the whole world of TV music, movie music, Broadway music—all of that came out of bebop, the extension of chords and rhythms and so forth.

AAJ: But my attraction to it has a lot to do with these spaces—whether to fill them or not, and how to do it—there is a constant motion whether or not it's perceptible as being fast or slow. Like I said, there are so many directions that one can tap one's feet.

AF: Everybody has a different rhythm; everybody has a different body rhythm. In the symphony, you practice to get that. In jazz, you practice the music but still it comes from within you, it's a spiritual thing. And that's the thing about America. We tend to be a little more spiritual, I think, than most other people. The people of East India, for example, they talk about it and play their ragas, but it's not like this music. People are knocked out by certain other music, but I'm knocked out by Bird, Bud Powell, Cecil, William Parker, and Duke Ellington.

AAJ: It's often said that in Western art music, there's classical music and jazz. I've never had much attraction myself to through-composed music.

AF: Well, I listen to Mahler and Takemitsu, and I love classical music and European music, and I love the way the Japanese write music too. But it's different stuff. I listen to a lot of classical music, but jazz—American music makes me dance and I can't dance. Trane makes me move, and Elvin makes me move! They really do—and I never learned to dance (I never wanted to learn), but when I hear Monk tunes, I automatically jump up!

[Author's Note: Thanks to Alvin Fielder and Dave Dove of Nameless Sound for making this interview possible.]

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Selected Discography



Alvin Fielder Trio, A Measure of Vision (Clean Feed, 2007)
Futterman/Fielder/Levin, Live at the Blue Monk (Charles Lester Music, 2006)
M41 (Fielder/Parker/Lamb), The Orbit of Sirius (M41, 2005)
Jordan/Futterman/Fielder, Live at the Tampere Jazz Happening 2000 (Charles Lester Music, 2000)
Jordan/Futterman/Parker/Fielder, New Orleans Festival Suite (Silkheart, 1999)
Improvisational Arts Quintet, No Compromise! (Danjor/Prescription, 1977/1983/2003)

Roscoe Mitchell Sextet, Sound (Delmark, 1966)

Photo Credits
Workshop Photos Courtesy of Nameless Sound
Concert Photos: Frank Rubolino



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