Charles Lloyd: A Wild, Blatant Truth
A book on Charles Lloydone of the most celebrated and enigmatic jazz musicians of the past fifty yearshas been a long time coming. It's been a while in the making too, for author Josef Woodard spent twenty five years doing the groundwork, repeatedly interviewing Lloyd, following his career for Downbeat/JazzTimes and other publications and even traveling on tour with the saxophonist. Few writers have enjoyed such sustained access to Lloyd or earned his trust to such an extent, and the result is a fascinating portrait of a singular figure.
Part biography, large part first person testimony, the picture that emerges of Lloyd is a complex mosaic: a musician nurtured by the love of music yet ill at ease with the business surrounding it; a man whose love of nature/meditative reclusion seems at odds with the demands of constantly touring the world; a man guided by spiritual concerns yet with an abiding interest in real estate.
Of course, no personality can be captured by such facile reductions, least of all Lloyd, who was that rarest of beasts while still in his twenties -a million-selling jazz artist. At the height of his 1960s success, Lloyd was seen by many as some kind of shamanistic guru, yet with the world at his feet Lloyd famously turned his back on jazz and the music industry for over a decade. His return to the stage in the 1980s has been well documented on record, in film and in the jazz media, but not until now has Lloyd's personal storyhis inner cogsbeen so thoroughly subjected to analysis within such a career-spanning narrative.
Raised in the racially conflictive Memphis of the 1930s in a family of mixed races, and with a mother largely absent from his life, Lloyd's early emotional topography seems to have sculpted his choices ever since. This part of the book is particularly revealing, for despite his challenging surroundings and personal circumstances, Lloyd was, by his own account, destined for a career in music. Enchanted by the music he heard on the radio as a kid, Lloyd wanted a saxophone from a very early age. "It took me until I was nine years old to convince my parents to get me one," he tells Woodard.
Remarkably, Lloyd was playing clubs across Memphis nightly from nine pm to four am, before he was ten years old, in a world, as he puts it, of gambling, gunshots and cotton warehouses by the Mississippi docks. "I was pretty much playing every night of my life and shedding every day."
Lloyd's grounding in the blues, R&B and rock 'n' roll of the day, playing in the bands of Johnny Ace
, B.B. King
, Bobby Blue Bland
and Rosco Gordon
has been well documented in most interviews Lloyd has ever granted, but that's hardly surprising as so much of Lloyd's sound emanates from those formative years. On playing with Howlin' Wolf
Lloyd states: "I have never had an experience where a musician could shake the building to its foundation like Wolf used to do." A Wild Blatant Truth
is also about Lloyd's sound; the tenderness, the keening spirituality and the wilder flights are just the songs of his soul: "I wanted to be a singer but I didn't have the voice. That's why I had to get a horn. That's what I'm trying to do on the horntrying to sing."
Often compared by critics to John Coltrane
an influence among many others, for surethe bebop of Charlie Parker
and Dizzy Gillespie
arguably had a more profound effect on Lloyd as a young man growing up in Memphis: "They were putting out all this beautiful wisdom that let us know that this kind of apartheid down there was not to be an all-time feature in our life, and we weren't going for the okeydoke."
Lloyd's love of classical music led him to study at USC, California in 1956, though jazz was his calling and an early band included Bobby Hutcherson
, Scott LaFaro
, and Billy Higgins
, with Don Cherry
stepping in at times. Lloyd jammed with Eric Dolphy
, Ornette Coleman
and Ellis Marsalis
and he also played in Gerald Wilson
's big band: "Gerald's band was like this messianic thing he had. He had beautiful arrangements. It was a Holy Grail," enthuses Lloyd.
When Dolphy left Chico Hamilton
's group, Buddy Collette
sent Lloyd an air ticket to travel east and fill the position in the band. "I owe everything to him," says Lloyd of Collette. After three and a half years with Hamilton and a number of classic recordings, Lloyd left to join Julian "Cannonball" Adderley
's group, where he was musical director.
From early on, however, Lloyd fronted his own groups. Several years before his classic, mid/late 1960s quartet, Lloyd's New York bands contained the likes of Herbie Hancock
, Pete La Roca
, Ron Carter
, Henry Grimes
, Steve Kuhn
and Joe Chambers
. Lloyd suggests on a couple of occasions that Miles Davis
was always trying to lure him to join his banda claim not corroborated elsewhere, [nor in Davis' autobiography], but Lloyd likely wouldn't have worked with a musican he refers to as "an interesting bunch of guys."
Lloyd sheds most light on his important quartets. Of the classic 1960s line-up of Keith Jarrett
, Jack DeJohnette
, Cecil McBee
, Lloyd recalls the chemistry of the band and its triumphs, notably the huge commercial success of Forest Flower: Charles Lloyd at Monterey
(Atlantic, 1966), which would sell over a million copies. The saxophonist's claim that the band wasn't making any real money may well be true, given the rapacious nature of record companies in those days, but it's a statement that doesn't quite tally with Lloyd's own description of putting a Ferrari on a plane so he could drive it up and down the coast.
Regardless, the success of Forest Flower...
meant that the corporate vultures were soon swarming overhead: ..."they were trying to take my music into arenas," recalls Lloyd, who also recoiled from clubs with their alcohol- fuelled patrons. But success came at a price: "I had lots of excess," Lloyd confides to Woodard. "Life on the road, life in the fast lane, had become unsavoury. I was suffering inside and out. The music was suffering."
Drugs, adulation, manipulation and money come across as the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that would drive Lloyd to all but abandon public performance and seek reclusion, although the emotional dislocation at the death of his mother and of his childhood friend Booker Little
may also have spurred the decision.