Nick Brignola: Between A Rock And The Jazz Place, Part 2

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This interview was originally published in 1969 in an Albany, New York area arts publication called Transition. It documents a time when saxophonist Nick Brignola was in the process of trying to break out of the confines of bebop and incorporate some of the elements of fusion that was beginning to dominate the jazz market.

There are many references to a recording he was in the process of making. It was never formally released, although it has been available as a bootleg on line.

Brignola did experiment with fusion, both with his group that he had at the time of this interview and with a group called Petrus, which included Phil Markowitz, Gordon Johnson and Ted Moore a few years later. But his career took a sharp upward turn when he was re-discovered by Bee Hive Records, that placed him in the company of Pepper Adams and Cecil Payne, focusing on his baritone sax. That lead to a variety of highly regarded bebop albums on other labels, often with great jazz veterans like Roy Haynes and Kenny Barron.

Brignola died prematurely in 2002 at the age of 66 and is known primarily for his baritone saxophone playing. However, he was also accomplished on alto, soprano and clarinet, which he included on most of his later recordings.

Below is the text of the original interview:

Nick Brignola is probably the most familiar local musical name in the Albany, New York area. He has achieved this by virtue of his ability to pour out music that is always quite good and occasionally reaches prodigious heights.

Brignola has toured the world, as well as most of the U.S. with the big band of Woody Herman and a small group with trumpeter Ted Curson. As a result of this trip and an album called this Is It! his name jumped to the top of the Down Beat critic poll. Unfortunately, and through no musical fault of his own, Nick has never been very well known outside the capital district. Now that he has formed a jazz unit with many rock over tones and now that he has a record due out in a couple of months, it seems inevitable that his group will become one of the most highly respected in the country. Meanwhile, he continues to pack them in anywhere he goes and adding to a near fanatical following that have been sprouting from the seeds of Nick's genius.

Rob Rosenblum: Isn't someone going to say you sold out?

Nick Brignola: People who are saying that are probably driving a milk truck or some other non-musical job. They just don't understand the music business.

RR: Just because it's good business doesn't mean it's good music. Take someone like Cannonball Adderley who, in the last few years on records and at concerts, hasn't played anything worthwhile. It has made him a lot of money however. Wouldn't you, as a critic, criticize his commercial type of music despite its financial success?

NB: You have to know the musician. You can't generalize. Cannonball is a happy-go-lucky guy who plays the hell out of the alto. But when he was with Miles he was so out of context. Miles would play his style, Coltrane would play in a related fashion and Cannonball is playing with a rhythm and blues group—he's up there jiving. His heart wasn't in it. Cannonball is doing now exactly what he likes to do. He just happened to come on the scene as a jazz alto player and he's great—but only in one aspect of jazz. His music represents his personality. He's a happy cat who would like nothing better than to sit down and tell jokes and eat chicken. I know, because when I first met Cannonball in 1958 that's what we did. We went to breakfast and I watched him put away a dozen eggs.

RR: That's why they call him Cannonball.

NB: That's right. And he's huge. This is when he first hit town in New York. And he was a funny cat, and still is. So you can't say Cannonball sold out. Name someone else who sold out.

RR: Roland Kirk.

NB: Now we're in another bag. Roland Kirk sold out to a fad. Musically, maybe sometimes he sells out. Roland's into this idea that nobody can play jazz, but Black people. That's fine for Black people. Musically I don't think he's done anything new in the last 10 years. When he just came on the scene he came on with such impact that it was unbelievable. He came on like an artist. But I think he's jiving mainly because he's exhausted his capabilities.

RR: Isn't that where the money is too? Coltrane did his best, financially, when he got into a philosophical bag.

NB: It's a matter of timing too. If Trane did that in 1928 he wouldn't sell peanuts in a circus. But musically he kept growing, and that's what counts. What I object to is people who stand still.

RR: Almost any musician eventually stands still.

NB: Most do, but great musicians don't stand still. Just like great artists. Picasso's 81 years old and he's still painting his ass off.

RR: But most of even the greats stopped progressing after the age of 40.

NB: Don't forget jazz is only about 50 years old. People that you're talking about didn't keep up because through most of their life jazz was basically the same—improvising on chords. From 1960 on music has gone outside. Miles is almost 50 and he's right in there pitching. Now look at Dizzy, who's only a few years older, and he's dying the death of a dog. And they're both great musicians. But Miles now is setting the pace and that's why he's always going to be here. Now I have a feeling that for the last year Miles has been bullshitting. But Miles is still Miles. From talking to people who were in his band I know that what Miles wants is a rock background for his thing. Now there's nothing wrong with that as long as he remains himself. Like if you take away my rhythm section and just hear my playing you'll see that I'm still me, I'm not going to be a rock saxophonist—I couldn't do it. I'm a jazz player.

RR: Most of the work that you've done in a rock/jazz bag has been done with a musician with a classical background—Don York. How did you meet Don?

NB: I met him when he was sitting in for Joe Borland. I heard him playing and he seemed to be on the right track, but he wasn't really a jazz musician. However, he did like jazz, and there was nobody else in the area, so I figured he was worth working with. So we got together and I laid my whole history of bebop on him and he absorbed everything. Now he's a damned good player. Don and I both ventured into the rock bag together, although neither of us had been in it. Don, right now, is more interested in writing. He's starting to write tunes for the band, and helping the group tremendously.

RR: Would you be playing rock/jazz if straight jazz was in vogue?

NB: My heart is definitely with jazz, but after that tour of Europe, I felt exhausted musically. I mean what can you do after a while? You can play fast, you can play slow, you can play the changes and then what? I got bugged. I feel a lot of people are like that. If you go to New York City you can listen to Zoot Sims playing, you'll hear them doing the same thing they've done for the last 20 years, and they're bugged. So I'm into the rock/jazz field because firstly I'll reach a wider audience, I can still play Jazz, and I still won't be bugged. If I get tired of jazz I go more heavily into rock and vice versa.

RR: What are some of the funny experiences you had in your musical past?

NB: Most of the funny things happened on road trips with Woody Herman's big band. We used to call those buses iron lungs. We each had two seats and we kept our luggage in the back. We had different personalities on the bus and there was always someone in a bad mood, and of course the travelling didn't help. We'd stop and do a concert and then do another 300 miles. That kind of a thing is really rough, And we're expected to crawl out of the bus and put on a great concert. These aren't ideal conditions. There are some guys that really dug it. We called them road rats. I can see why they liked it. Some of them don't really have responsibilities and they float around like gypsies.

I can remember at 4:30 one morning in Nebraska when we had been on the road for two hours and Nat Pierce and Bill Chase (now leader of Chase) decided to see how many people we could stuff in the bathroom in the back of the bus. We got something like 12 cats in that little bathroom. Another story that comes to mind is when we were in Boston where most of the band came from. We were playing Lennie's-on-the-Turnpike, and that's fish territory. Now I'm a great clam lover, and I ordered a dozen. Nat Pierce, who was a big guy, ordered a dozen also. The rest of the guys, who were sitting around the table, began wagering who could eat the most clams. I said I could out-eat Nat Pierce. So the deal was that the band would pay for all I could eat. Meanwhile the band was making side bets, At the end of the night I ate 18 dozen clams, which must be some sort of record. Nat Pierce ate about 15 dozen. There were a lot of bad things that would happen like a club owner telling you he couldn't pay you because he's bankrupt, and that happened a couple times when I was two thousand miles from home and really depended on the money.

RR: They say in Europe they are more demonstrative. Did you find that so?

NB: The most emotional audience I ever played for was the Italians, at a jazz festival. There was a German group before us and they were playing some far out music, and the Italians wanted some of that Horace Silver cooking type of thing. So they threw tomatoes at them. Because our repertoire had some of the same type of thing the promoter said he feared for our life if we did the same thing. So we played "Cantaloupe Island," and they loved us. Most of the European audiences are good and also polite.

RR: If you were to produce a record regardless of financial possibilities, what musicians would you choose?

NB: It depends on what material we do. I'd love to do a four disc album which would allow me to do all the things I'm capable of and haven't had the chance to do. I'd do some Dixieland and choose those kind of musicians. I used to play some of that with Rex Stewart when he used to play around here. Then I would come right up through the year. I'd play bebop and get cats like Philly Joe Jones, Ron Carter and Tommy Flanagan. Then I'd like to have Gil Evans do an album for me using a large orchestra. One of my greatest ambitions is to do a ballad album with a large orchestra. I'd love to do that more than what I'm doing right now!

RR: What would you consider a dream quintet?

NB: That's hard. I would really like to play with the guys I have now, but when they have all reached their prime. I'd like to play with George Leary (Brignola's drummer) when he reaches the point that he will reach in 10 years. I'd like to play with Don York when he achieves a little more maturity. Right now I don't feel the group is on one level. I'd also like to play with the greatest rock musicians. I'd also dig playing with Tony Williams because he can reach the scope-he can play time or go outside or play rock things. George is going to be there some day too. It's got to happen if he stays straight and get's himself together more musically and is willing to listen and absorb.

RR: Do you listen to records often?

NB: No. Every once in a while I put on an Oscar Peterson album because I want to feel good. Lately I've been listening to a lot of rock records just to tune in to see if I'm missing something. Sometimes I listen to Trane and Miles. I also like to hear what new things are happening in jazz. Weather Report seems to be a good group. But I can't say I listen to records that much. I listen more to radio just to keep up on what's happening. There's a very good jazz show on WHAM in Rochester. Harry Abraham does it, and he seems to be able to keep up with what's happening. I never owned a phonograph until three years ago. When I was living at home my parents had one, but I rarely listened to it—my father did. I was always digging the guys live. If I wanted to hear Trane I used to go down and hear him.

RR: You were just in New York City making the album. Did you get a chance to sit in with any of the groups down there?

NB: Unfortunately, this album is draining us dry. We've devoted about 40 hours to it already and I don't even think we're half done. the album is not just five guys wailing and playing. We're over-dubbing, vocal tracks have to be added, and we're continually changing things. As a result when we get out of the studio it's 6 in the morning and so we have no chance to go out and dig jazz. I don't think there's that much happening down there. When I was down there a few months ago I went to some clubs and I wasn't impressed at all. There was just a lot of people wandering around searching. I'm doing that myself so why should I spend bread to hear them? Maybe in the lofts or in somebody's house there's some great things going on, but it's not available to the public.

RR: A lot of the new musicians in the midst of experimenting are saying that they are playing love. What do they mean by that?

NB: Music lately has gotten into this spiritual emotional thing and some people are really into that. I guess I'm really into it and don't realize it. There's a certain amount of musical love for the guys on the bandstand with you when you're really cooking. It's the same as having a hip conversation with somebody you're really tuned into. But a lot of musicians use that expression because they can cover up the fact that they are bad musicians. they say things like, "I'm playing air, man." If you analyze that you'll find the guy's coming off the wall. I've heard some cats who can't play at all get up and play and I dig it. There's a lot of energy—there's an emotional thing. If you asked them to play a C scale they couldn't do it. Ornette used to be like that, but now he's a good player.

RR: When you play music as loud as you do does it hurt your hearing at all?

NB: Despite what all the members in my band say, if all my amplifiers blew up tonight I would be very happy. I think they are a drag. I dig acoustical playing. Unfortunately, the buying public feels that it is necessary. Sometimes it is. Don York couldn't get a sound out of his instrument without an amplifier. I like playing into a mike, but there is a point where it gets out of hand. It has gotten so it is used for loudness sake and the true beauty of the instrument is lost. that's one reason you don't see my baritone set up. that's a very difficult instrument to play as it is. So when you have to worry about blowing over World War III, you can't do it. So I say Ok when the rest of you catch up with my acoustically I'll bring out my baritone. I used to play in so loud jazz groups when the loudest guy would be the drummer. Dig Coltrane's group of five years ago. He had a small sound—I used to hear him at the Half Note all the time. He had a big sound on records because you put in a $700 Telefunken mike in a recording studio and the recording engineer turns it all the way up. When you saw him in person you'd find that through Elvin Jones you couldn't hear anybody. I used to feel sorry for Jimmy Garrison because he would be laying down a fine bass line and nobody could hear him. I could only tell what he was doing by watching his fingers. But to reach an emotional peak you have to be loud —sometimes. But our group is occasionally guilty of loudness for its own sake.

I never used an amp until two years ago. I used to play in clubs where if I had a 16c mike and I could be heard above the noise, then great. Now suddenly we need a $200 mike, $3,000 amps and we can get big sound. In a club that' ridiculous.

RR: Doesn't it scare you that it might effect your hearing?

NB: No. When it gets that loud I mentally turn it off. Also, I won't be around amplifiers that much. The trend that is coming is acoustical, like James Taylor. Unfortunately, we're in the age of electronics and when you're bad you turn your amps up. those groups usually stink musically. And what good is it when you end up not hearing most of what they are doing anyway?

RR: What feelings do you want to leave the audience with when you finish a set?

NB: First of all I want them to be satisfied —like that whole set was an emotional experience for them. Secondly, I like to leave them with their mouths open, so they'll come back. If you can do that you've communicated. I'd also like to leave the band in that condition. When we get through doing something we like, we get a good feeling that we won a ball game. That's the reason we're there. If you're there just to make money you might be better off becoming a plumber or something.

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