Pianist Danilo Pérez spent his early years working hard to earn the knowledge that would create the foundation for a successful career as a leader. Pérez was introduced to the life of a professional musician by his father, a singer whose deep love of music became a central part of his son's life. Pérez began playing music at young age and eventually he made his way to the National Conservatory and the professional music scene. He earned a technical degree in electronics, but his love for music lead him to dedicate his life fully to performance. With the help of a Fullbright Scholarship and saved money, he moved to the United States and began collegiate studies at Indiana University in Pennsylvania. Looking to advance his musical knowledge, Pérez applied to the Berklee School Of Music and was awarded the Quincy Jones Scholarship. He started classes at Berklee, but soon had to leave school after landing a steady gig with legendary vocalist Jon Hendricks. Pérez moved to New York and continued to earn work with both traditional jazz and Latin Jazz artists such as Terrence Blanchard, Paquito D'Rivera, and Tom Harrell. Things kicked into high gear when Pérez received a call from bebop icon Dizzy Gillespie, who requested Pérez for the piano chair in his United Nations Orchestra. With each new connection, musicians encouraged Pérez to record his own music as a leader. The self-titled Danilo Perezbegan his work as a solo artist in 1992, introducing his broad concept that brought together jazz and Caribbean roots. Pérez furthered his pursuit of this idea in The Journey, wrapping his whole artistic concept around the music's African roots. A tour with Wynton Marsalis shed new light upon the music of Thelonious Monk for Pérez, leading to the highly original album Panamonk. Pérez stretched even further with Central Avenue, blending jazz and Panamanian folk music on a multi-movement suite that displayed his connection to classical music. As his career seemed destined to move into the upper stratosphere of the jazz world, another legend called upon Pérez's piano skills, opening a path that would become a major part of his future.
With each experience during his early career, Pérez built skills that ensured a strong presence as a leader. His eventual recorded output showed his artistry, technical skills, and mature concept in full force, overflowing with potential for future works. In Part One of our interview with Pérez, we discussed the influence of his father, his work on Panama's music scene, and his decision to focus upon music. Part Two highlights Pérez's early days in the United States, his first gigs with Jon Hendricks and Paquito D'Rivera, and his time with Dizzy Gillespie. Today, we focus upon the beginning of Pérez's career as a leader, going through his first four albums and his entrance into saxophonist Wayne Shorter's band.
LATIN JAZZ CORNER: In 1992, you released your first album as a leader—Danilo Perez. What inspired you to step out and record your own music?
DANILO PÉREZ: At that moment, Dizzy started getting sick; I remember talking to him one time and he said, “You know, some day you've got to get on and continue the path. You're young now, but you have to think of the future too." Paquito and all the musicians themselves started telling me, “You need to put something out."
I started playing in New York a lot. I was playing with all these people—even people like Junior Cook and Clifford Jordan. I met David Sanchez and he introduced me to Charlie Sepulveda; through them I met Alan Cruz. There was a whole scene going on at the Village Gate, where young people like Larry Grenadier, Leon Parker, and Brad Mehldau were playing. Record producers and people were coming by. I had a visit from a very visionary man by the name of Steve Backer; he was the president of A & R at BMG at that time. When I was working at the Village Gate, Steve Backer came in, he loved it, and the next thing I know, I had a record deal.
I already knew that I wanted to go into the studio with what I knew and what I naturally represented. I didn't really represent Cuba or Colombia; I represented the bridge, a place where there is no borders. I had the opportunity to work with the most straight-ahead jazz musicians and the most accomplished Latin Jazz players, all amazing musicians. I worked with one of the key bebop figures. All of that needed to be represented—that melting pot, that diversity, and that globality had to be represented. I knew that early on. So I did the record with a very global idea in mind—it had Jack DeJohnette, Joe Lovano, and Ruben Baldes playing everything from “Body And Soul" all the way to “Alfonsina y el Mar."
LJC: You moved ahead with The Journey, where it seemed like a much more personal side to your writing came out. It was a real evolution. How did that all come together?
DP: That was very key for me. The Journeywas for me, on a personal level, about really researching the connections. I was still struggling between doing what they called a jazz gig at that moment and doing a Latin Jazz gig. It had me thinking for days—"What is the difference?" I started the quest to go a little farther into the African rooted music. One record that made a big impact on me was Herbie Hancock's Inventions And Dimensions. That's what really made things click for me, as far as what jazz meant to me, and what I wanted to continue doing at that moment. One of the things that I learned was that this music has a very strong African influence and whatever I did, I had to go on the quest of knowing about the traditions in our countries. It became a little deeper for me, because then I got into the human aspect of that. I bought a bunch of books and started reading about the struggle that the slaves went through. All of this created scenery for me, almost like a movie script. I went with it; I just started writing music to that. The capture, the arrival . . . this was all music. It took a while, but it was coming from a desire to express a series of dreams that I had from all this inspiration that I got.
LJC: After that, you released one of my favorite albums that you've done, Panamonk, which I think is a brilliant perspective on Monk's work. It seems like you connected with Monk and it made a lot of sense. How did Monk affect you and how did it shape that album?
DP: Well, it's interesting. Once again, an emotional experience had to happen for me. I was called to sub for Eric Reed with Wynton Marsalis' Septet. They did a tour in Poland. In that tour, they played a lot of Monk. The way that they played Monk, it finally clicked for me. The way that they played Monk, I was hearing other things; I was hearing Caribbean music. So I said, “I really want to do a project about this." Wynton was very encouraging; he said, “Yea, man, if anyone can do it, it's you." That's how the Monk project really developed.
It was interesting, because when I was with Jon Hendricks, he would have me listening to Monk and we would play some Monk tunes. But I didn't really connect it back then. It was definitely my background in classical at that point and the type of pianist that I was favoring. I couldn't really hear it back then, but already in the late eighties, I was very much exposed to Monk. It wasn't until the Wynton experience that it clicked for me. I found another answer to the quest of what I already started in The Journey—a connection in the Caribbean that was the influence in jazz that they call The Latin Tinge. Jazz from the beginning already had The Latin Tinge. That was for me something.
This record was done without any preconceptions. We played a week at Sweet Basil and then went in the studio and just played. I didn't have a concept or anything. Panamonkwas for me was something very natural that I didn't even think about a concept or anything. It was just something that I was already in The Journeytouching upon, then the tour with Wynton happened, and there were gigs that I did on the side—some of these things were really resonating with me. I heard Monk in a way that connected with me very deeply—with Panamanian folklore, with the danzon, I started hearing all the subtleties of the rhythms to make the connection.
LJC: On Central Avenue, you did something interesting that you've done a bit since then- you have a multi-movement suite, “The Rhythm and Blues Suite." How did that evolve?
DP: Very interesting, that's exactly when I got commissioned to write a whole symphony in Italy. It's a big work that hasn't been premiered here in the States, but I premiered it there in 1995. I had the piece that I had to write, so I went and I played with this symphony in Italy. It was a concert that I did as a duo—this piece that I wrote had a duo with Gary Burton; we did it together. A composer in Italy wrote something for me too. When I was picking up the material, one of the pieces kept coming to me.
Then I was shaving in the bathroom—I used to wake up every morning with Panamanian traditional singers. I heard blues in their singing; I was like, “It's the blues!" I was already messing with a little song from our country and had been expanding on it. So I thought, “What if I take a traditional folk singer and put him in with jazz rhythm section! I heard the blues today, I really did—I've got to work on it." That for me was the most significant thing on that record—how jazz, touching upon the folk elements, really becomes alive again. It was always for me folk music in a way, but that's what that record does for me.
LJC: Not too long after that, you got the gig with Wayne Shorter, something that you still do today. How did you get that gig and what did working with Wayne mean to you?
DP: Wayne was in the process of recording Alegria. He had different people, different pianists, he had been trying different musicians—he was looking for something. At that moment, I had recorded Motherland—that was the first time that I played with Brian Blade and John Patitucci. I guess it had a really good impact in the jazz world. When I met Wayne, Terry Lynn Carrington was key in the recommendation. She said, “This is the guy that you should hire. You're really going to dig this pianist." Next thing that I knew, I got a call from Wayne, saying, “Hey piano keys, come audition!"
So I went to the audition. It was pretty scary for me. I did my homework though—I checked out Juju, and I checked out all this stuff with Wayne on it. I never even thought that I could dream of playing with him, especially in his band. A part of me also saw it as totally unreachable—it was like, “O.K., that's another level of galactic that I don't understand." But I guess when I went there and started playing with him, I started hinting into things that McCoy did on the records, and he'd say, “Oh man, Blue Note record!" I didn't understand what he meant. Then Terry Lynn said, “Danilo, just play what you want, just open yourself up and take chances. Do the stuff that you know how to do." We had already done Panamonk, so she knew my playing. She said, “Just do that, just be yourself." So I was even more nervous!
So the next day we went to record and it was an amazing session. We were doing this one side—the other side was with Charles Lloyd with Brad Mehldau and Larry Grenadier. It was an amazing day. We were sitting there recording and all of sudden, there's a vamp over one chord—it was on the song “Vendiendo Alegria." So here we are doing this, and all of a sudden, I hear a voice—"Danilo, Danilo, Danilo—you have to put water in those chords!" And I was like, “What?!?" Wayne said, “Yea man, put some water in those chords." I was like, “Oh my god, what is he doing?" So I got really confused. But we left it, he didn't want to try that tune anymore.
I go to the room and I'm freaking out. One thing that I've learned from the other guys—when they tell you something, they're not going to lead you, they're going to continue. So I started looking around, “Water chords, water chords, water chords . . ." Then I did something that maybe was meant to be. I got the first lesson, looking into music trying to find the answer to water chords. I put the T.V. on and a soap commercial came on. The music in the background had a lot of fifths and it sounded like water, because it was like water coming up. I was like, “Oh, yes, let me go into the fifth world, maybe that's it." I started writing a bunch of voicings.
The next day I came in and of course, I knew that he was going to do that already. He said, “O.K., Vendiendo Alegria." I was like, “All right, here we are." That part came in and I played the voicing." He was like, “Oh yea Danilo, yea! Now we're talking! But the water has to be totally crystalline and clean. There's a little mud in there—can you take that mud out?" I didn't know what he meant, so I just played another voicing. He said, “That's it!" At that moment, I didn't really know what he meant by the mud. It took me years later to find out that yes, it was a fifth chord, but between those fifths, there was a major second. That was what he was hearing as mud.
It was a little detail that brought me back years before to Dizzy Gillespie. I asked Dizzy the question, “How did you come up with those voicings?" He said, “Put all your fingers on the piano and play an Eb7 chord—play all the notes that you can." So I played all of them. He said, “Now every time you raise one finger, listen to the sound." That's it! He said, “Keep raising your fingers, experiment and research." That's basically what he said and that lesson came back with Wayne—experiment, research, think about thing that no other musician has before.
With each experience during his early career, Pérez built skills that ensured a strong presence as a leader. His eventual recorded output showed his artistry, technical skills, and mature concept in full force, overflowing with potential for future works. In Part One of our interview with Pérez, we discussed the influence of his father, his work on Panama's music scene, and his decision to focus upon music. Part Two highlights Pérez's early days in the United States, his first gigs with Jon Hendricks and Paquito D'Rivera, and his time with Dizzy Gillespie. Today, we focus upon the beginning of Pérez's career as a leader, going through his first four albums and his entrance into saxophonist Wayne Shorter's band.
LATIN JAZZ CORNER: In 1992, you released your first album as a leader—Danilo Perez. What inspired you to step out and record your own music?
DANILO PÉREZ: At that moment, Dizzy started getting sick; I remember talking to him one time and he said, “You know, some day you've got to get on and continue the path. You're young now, but you have to think of the future too." Paquito and all the musicians themselves started telling me, “You need to put something out."
I started playing in New York a lot. I was playing with all these people—even people like Junior Cook and Clifford Jordan. I met David Sanchez and he introduced me to Charlie Sepulveda; through them I met Alan Cruz. There was a whole scene going on at the Village Gate, where young people like Larry Grenadier, Leon Parker, and Brad Mehldau were playing. Record producers and people were coming by. I had a visit from a very visionary man by the name of Steve Backer; he was the president of A & R at BMG at that time. When I was working at the Village Gate, Steve Backer came in, he loved it, and the next thing I know, I had a record deal.
I already knew that I wanted to go into the studio with what I knew and what I naturally represented. I didn't really represent Cuba or Colombia; I represented the bridge, a place where there is no borders. I had the opportunity to work with the most straight-ahead jazz musicians and the most accomplished Latin Jazz players, all amazing musicians. I worked with one of the key bebop figures. All of that needed to be represented—that melting pot, that diversity, and that globality had to be represented. I knew that early on. So I did the record with a very global idea in mind—it had Jack DeJohnette, Joe Lovano, and Ruben Baldes playing everything from “Body And Soul" all the way to “Alfonsina y el Mar."
LJC: You moved ahead with The Journey, where it seemed like a much more personal side to your writing came out. It was a real evolution. How did that all come together?
DP: That was very key for me. The Journeywas for me, on a personal level, about really researching the connections. I was still struggling between doing what they called a jazz gig at that moment and doing a Latin Jazz gig. It had me thinking for days—"What is the difference?" I started the quest to go a little farther into the African rooted music. One record that made a big impact on me was Herbie Hancock's Inventions And Dimensions. That's what really made things click for me, as far as what jazz meant to me, and what I wanted to continue doing at that moment. One of the things that I learned was that this music has a very strong African influence and whatever I did, I had to go on the quest of knowing about the traditions in our countries. It became a little deeper for me, because then I got into the human aspect of that. I bought a bunch of books and started reading about the struggle that the slaves went through. All of this created scenery for me, almost like a movie script. I went with it; I just started writing music to that. The capture, the arrival . . . this was all music. It took a while, but it was coming from a desire to express a series of dreams that I had from all this inspiration that I got.
LJC: After that, you released one of my favorite albums that you've done, Panamonk, which I think is a brilliant perspective on Monk's work. It seems like you connected with Monk and it made a lot of sense. How did Monk affect you and how did it shape that album?
DP: Well, it's interesting. Once again, an emotional experience had to happen for me. I was called to sub for Eric Reed with Wynton Marsalis' Septet. They did a tour in Poland. In that tour, they played a lot of Monk. The way that they played Monk, it finally clicked for me. The way that they played Monk, I was hearing other things; I was hearing Caribbean music. So I said, “I really want to do a project about this." Wynton was very encouraging; he said, “Yea, man, if anyone can do it, it's you." That's how the Monk project really developed.
It was interesting, because when I was with Jon Hendricks, he would have me listening to Monk and we would play some Monk tunes. But I didn't really connect it back then. It was definitely my background in classical at that point and the type of pianist that I was favoring. I couldn't really hear it back then, but already in the late eighties, I was very much exposed to Monk. It wasn't until the Wynton experience that it clicked for me. I found another answer to the quest of what I already started in The Journey—a connection in the Caribbean that was the influence in jazz that they call The Latin Tinge. Jazz from the beginning already had The Latin Tinge. That was for me something.
This record was done without any preconceptions. We played a week at Sweet Basil and then went in the studio and just played. I didn't have a concept or anything. Panamonkwas for me was something very natural that I didn't even think about a concept or anything. It was just something that I was already in The Journeytouching upon, then the tour with Wynton happened, and there were gigs that I did on the side—some of these things were really resonating with me. I heard Monk in a way that connected with me very deeply—with Panamanian folklore, with the danzon, I started hearing all the subtleties of the rhythms to make the connection.
LJC: On Central Avenue, you did something interesting that you've done a bit since then- you have a multi-movement suite, “The Rhythm and Blues Suite." How did that evolve?
DP: Very interesting, that's exactly when I got commissioned to write a whole symphony in Italy. It's a big work that hasn't been premiered here in the States, but I premiered it there in 1995. I had the piece that I had to write, so I went and I played with this symphony in Italy. It was a concert that I did as a duo—this piece that I wrote had a duo with Gary Burton; we did it together. A composer in Italy wrote something for me too. When I was picking up the material, one of the pieces kept coming to me.
Then I was shaving in the bathroom—I used to wake up every morning with Panamanian traditional singers. I heard blues in their singing; I was like, “It's the blues!" I was already messing with a little song from our country and had been expanding on it. So I thought, “What if I take a traditional folk singer and put him in with jazz rhythm section! I heard the blues today, I really did—I've got to work on it." That for me was the most significant thing on that record—how jazz, touching upon the folk elements, really becomes alive again. It was always for me folk music in a way, but that's what that record does for me.
LJC: Not too long after that, you got the gig with Wayne Shorter, something that you still do today. How did you get that gig and what did working with Wayne mean to you?
DP: Wayne was in the process of recording Alegria. He had different people, different pianists, he had been trying different musicians—he was looking for something. At that moment, I had recorded Motherland—that was the first time that I played with Brian Blade and John Patitucci. I guess it had a really good impact in the jazz world. When I met Wayne, Terry Lynn Carrington was key in the recommendation. She said, “This is the guy that you should hire. You're really going to dig this pianist." Next thing that I knew, I got a call from Wayne, saying, “Hey piano keys, come audition!"
So I went to the audition. It was pretty scary for me. I did my homework though—I checked out Juju, and I checked out all this stuff with Wayne on it. I never even thought that I could dream of playing with him, especially in his band. A part of me also saw it as totally unreachable—it was like, “O.K., that's another level of galactic that I don't understand." But I guess when I went there and started playing with him, I started hinting into things that McCoy did on the records, and he'd say, “Oh man, Blue Note record!" I didn't understand what he meant. Then Terry Lynn said, “Danilo, just play what you want, just open yourself up and take chances. Do the stuff that you know how to do." We had already done Panamonk, so she knew my playing. She said, “Just do that, just be yourself." So I was even more nervous!
So the next day we went to record and it was an amazing session. We were doing this one side—the other side was with Charles Lloyd with Brad Mehldau and Larry Grenadier. It was an amazing day. We were sitting there recording and all of sudden, there's a vamp over one chord—it was on the song “Vendiendo Alegria." So here we are doing this, and all of a sudden, I hear a voice—"Danilo, Danilo, Danilo—you have to put water in those chords!" And I was like, “What?!?" Wayne said, “Yea man, put some water in those chords." I was like, “Oh my god, what is he doing?" So I got really confused. But we left it, he didn't want to try that tune anymore.
I go to the room and I'm freaking out. One thing that I've learned from the other guys—when they tell you something, they're not going to lead you, they're going to continue. So I started looking around, “Water chords, water chords, water chords . . ." Then I did something that maybe was meant to be. I got the first lesson, looking into music trying to find the answer to water chords. I put the T.V. on and a soap commercial came on. The music in the background had a lot of fifths and it sounded like water, because it was like water coming up. I was like, “Oh, yes, let me go into the fifth world, maybe that's it." I started writing a bunch of voicings.
The next day I came in and of course, I knew that he was going to do that already. He said, “O.K., Vendiendo Alegria." I was like, “All right, here we are." That part came in and I played the voicing." He was like, “Oh yea Danilo, yea! Now we're talking! But the water has to be totally crystalline and clean. There's a little mud in there—can you take that mud out?" I didn't know what he meant, so I just played another voicing. He said, “That's it!" At that moment, I didn't really know what he meant by the mud. It took me years later to find out that yes, it was a fifth chord, but between those fifths, there was a major second. That was what he was hearing as mud.
It was a little detail that brought me back years before to Dizzy Gillespie. I asked Dizzy the question, “How did you come up with those voicings?" He said, “Put all your fingers on the piano and play an Eb7 chord—play all the notes that you can." So I played all of them. He said, “Now every time you raise one finger, listen to the sound." That's it! He said, “Keep raising your fingers, experiment and research." That's basically what he said and that lesson came back with Wayne—experiment, research, think about thing that no other musician has before.
