Jazz Professional               

 

TERRY GIBBS

On the success of his partnership with Buddy De Franco


Buddy De Franco and Terry Gibbs
Leading a big band
A vibes virtuoso
Jazz - Rock and me
To speak of technique
Success of the partnership with Buddy De Franco
My approach to the vibes
The return of straight-ahead jazz
Speaking to Les Tomkins in 1982

Would it be true to say that the Buddy De Franco–Terry Gibbs partnership is going from strength to strength?

It would—and it happened right here in London. Now we're back at Ronnie's, working as a group. As you know, in June 1980 we were booked into the club at the same time; the original idea was for Buddy to do his halfhour, then I did my halfhour, and we played a tune together. From there it developed, and we have a good act—we've been travelling all over the world. The reaction has been great; in fact we've played to a lot of standing ovations. We're so happy about it, that we try our best to work together all the time. For the first time in my life, I've given up work with Steve Allen, in order to do things with Buddy; I sent Paul Smith in to sub for me, conducting with Steve. This thing with Buddy. . . we have so much fun playing together. Somebody showed me a review in the Financial Times; I forget the man's name, but he hit it on the head when he said there is no jealousy between the both of us—no competition, of, trying to grab the mike. He put it pretty well—we're up there to have fun.

It's as if . . . it was inevitable, somehow, that the two of you should get together.

That's what everybody says: "Why didn't you do it thirty years ago?" Well, to start with, we were both very successful on our own—we still are. I think maybe it didn't happen because the clarinet and vibes are so closely associated with Benny and Lionel that no two people wanted to start a group with those two instruments—they'd think you were copying them. Now we don't sound like Benny and Lionel at all; in fact, one of the tunes in our new album is actually done as a tribute to them. We did "Air Mail Special," and that's our big tune, that we get more requests for, and that's getting more airplay in America than any other tune in the album. Buddy's playing so good—there's no comparison with Benny. None of us sound like each other.

Well, I think you've both reached a certain peak in your playing now.

We enjoy playing together, because we find something new every time. You know, we've never had what you'd call a rehearsal yet—where you sit down and say: "Let's do this." We've never done that; we haven't had the chance to—Buddy lives in Florida and I live in California. That's three thousand miles apart; so when we get done with the jobs, we go two separate ways. Then, when we get called again to work, we meet wherever it is, get on the stage with a rhythm section, and it's "Away you go"—that style. But we find new things; like, on maybe one tune a set we have the rhythm section lay out, and he and I play a whole bunch of choruses on our own. And we've found how to interweave—it's almost become little fugues. It started out with just blowing together; now we're listening more, and we're finding little question–and–answer things—like, split–second hearing and jumping in.

You find you've developed a kind of intuition about each other?

Yes—well, we know each other now. We've played together enough to know what direction we're liable to shoot in. It's great when you get teams like that working together.

The new album is the first under your joint names. Right at the start, I was advocating to both of you that you put something on to record. It seems to have taken a little while for you to manage it.

Actually, we didn't look for a new label for a while. I think what made us really want to do it: we did something in the United States that's. . . not impossible, but it's not done. Las Vegas has never been a jazz town at all; it's always a lot of girls, and rock 'n' roll bands—they have people gambling all day and night, and they want all that junk going on. Anyhow, we went into the lounge of the Sahara Hotel for three weeks, and we did so well that they put us immediately into the show in the main room, as an act, playing twenty minutes of jazz—nothing but jazz. We had the use of their big band also; so we played some with our little band and some with the big band. We played "Air Mail Special," "Body And Soul," "Jumpin' At The Woodside" and to standing ovations some nights. Which was really beautiful. We were there four–and–a–half weeks; they wanted us to stay but we couldn't, because we had another job to go to. We're heroes to all the jazz people in that town now, because jazz has never been big there.

I must tell you a funny story. Although Becky, my wife, likes what I do, jazz is not her big thing. Now, in the lounge we wore suits, but when we went to the main room we had to wear tuxedos, being part of the show. One particular show, we really got a great ovation, and I asked her: "Well, what did you think?" She said: "Oh—you looked so cute in that tuxedo." That was the most perfect thing she could have said! It's also great that our wives get on so well—and neither my wife nor Buddy's wife, Joyce, feels any resentment about our work. In fact, they travel with us most of the time.

So it was on a live club date that you made your initial recordings.

In California, at a place called Carmelo's. When we left Ronnie Scott's that first time, we went back and did a television show in Los Angeles; the rhythm section was Frank Collett on piano, Andy Simpkins on bass and Jimmie Smith on drums. The same guys did the album with us—it was just great. We appeared at the club for just two nights, and we recorded four sets. But, you know, it was wild. . . you don't get a chance to hear what you do, like in a studio; there's a big truck outside, and they record it—but we knew after the first set that we had some takes.

I think we got most of the things from one set. We're really happy with the album—you make live albums, and if you're a professional it'll never come out bad, but sometimes you say: "Ah—could have been a little better." But we were really hot on these things. I got a chance to mix it also at the end; we had guys who recorded us, but I went in the studio later with Herb Wong and we mixed everything together. I knew what I was looking for; I know what Buddy and I sound like when we play together.

Because a lot of people have a tendency to make the clarinet much louder than the vibes—that's how Benny Goodman recorded. With Buddy and myself—we play all these lines together and they have to be on the same level; otherwise it would sound like one is accompanying the other.

We were fortunate to work with Buddy Rich for a few days recently; and we have a great one–nighter coming up with Buddy in August—it's going to be Buddy Rich's big band, Mel Torme, Jackie and Roy, and Buddy and myself. A great show—I'm looking forward to that too. We did three days in New Jersey with Buddy Rich, Buddy Greco, Buddy De Franco and myself. Three Buddies and me—it was fun.

Who've been working with you in Ronnie's?

We have Tony Kinsey on drums, Kenny Baldock on bass and Alan Branscombe on piano. Yes, Alan told me he plays vibes; in fact, I understand he was sick for a long time, and he's just coming back into his own now. He plays tenor also; he told me he's just getting to where he knows he's a tenor player again. Certainly, they're all giving us tremendous support.

Do you feel, with the passing of the years, that both you and Buddy have somehow mellowed down? I mean, inasmuch as you were both exciting innovators on your instruments when you came on the scene.

I think it was Dizzy who put it right I once, when he said: "It's not what you put in—it's what you leave out that counts." And I think we both have learned what to leave out. Both of us are good technicians, and when you're young and you have a lot of technique, you can tend to want to rip through everything, only because of that. You're not thinking—you're just playing. It's almost like: when I'm talking to you now, I can take my time, to know what to say that'll make some sense, because we're putting this on a piece of tape. Otherwise you can say the wrong things sometimes—and you can play the wrong things. It's from experience that discretion comes—you can't beat that.

As for Buddy and I working as a group—that took something, believe it or not. To learn how to play together, even though we're both from the same school—it meant two people sharing something. Specially when we're jamming, and we play lines together—sometimes it means for me to give up one of my lines when I hear him going somewhere, to just try and underplay him. He has to listen to what I'm doing too and underplay where necessary. That's the thing we can do well now.

The fact is, of course, that bebop, the idiom in which you were revolutionaries, has been assimilated into the jazz mainstream. No doubt, in the early days, you had some dissension with the old–timers from the Swing era, who were playing what you probably regarded then as corny licks.

But, you know, it's a fascinating thing that the young kids are now discovering Charlie Parker. That kind of dissension, though, will always be there, I think. I have a son who is a drummer and we argue a lot because he likes other things in music. McCoy Tyner, Jack De Johnette, Elvin Jones—he’s in that kind of bag; I like them too—they're some of my favourite people, but that's where his head is at. And he mentions some people to me I've never heard of. Sure, he likes a lot of free form.

He happens to be a very talented kid. I used him on a job with me, for the first time ever; I had Lou Levy on piano, Andy Simpkins on bass, and they were knocked out by him. He's got some time—he's scary. He's eighteen now; his name is Gerry, by the way.

Well, it's obviously another case of talent being passed on to the next generation.

There's a few of 'em now. Al Cohn has a son who's very talented—Joe Cohn; in fact, he worked with Buddy De Franco for a while. Victor Feldman has sons that play.

Yeah, it's good to see somebody to take over our thing. But they all play different instruments from the ones that we play—which is nice. They have to do it their way.

Though Gerry would be a good vibe player if he ever got into it; because he's got very big ears. He's going to go to college now, and if he studies arranging, I think he has the gift for it—he hears sounds, but he doesn't know how to put it on paper. In fact, he's only taken drum lessons about three months in his whole life, believe it or not.

He's just a natural talent—and it's very hard to tell a young person they should study. See, I can relate to him very well, because I was just the same. I was a child prodigy and I remember my teacher would give me a whole gang of music, which I wouldn't look at until maybe the day before, and then I'd memorise the whole thing. And I'd go then and I'd play if perfect for him; after about fifteen weeks, I was too good—he couldn't understand it. Then he caught me; he said: "Take it from here," and he pointed to where I should play from—I didn't know what it was at all, because I wasn't that good a reader. I'd memorised it. That's what my son is going through right now. I can read very well now, because I'm ready to do that. He got it all on his own, and he's ready now to study some, I believe. You have to be ready.

Copyright © 1982, Les Tomkins. All Rights Reserved.