Charles Lloyd: New Journey

Interview by Rob Crocker
Down Beat, Jan 18, 1973, p. 13 & 38

Charles Lloyd appeared on the New York scene for the first time in quite a while in late August, holding forth at the Village Vanguard. After much footwork and many phone calls, I managed to sit Charles in front of my tape recorder at the home of Danny Johnson, a New York artist and lifelong friend of Charles Lloyd.

Crocker: What have you been doing since you last worked in New York?

Lloyd: I've been doing some work that has to do with my evolution, largely contracting. You know, it seems like the universe is expanding at such a frantic rate, and so much stress is being accumulated, I decided to draw the arrow back and check it out ...

R.C.: I remember you saying earlier that you've been on the road ten years now, and you've come to the conclusion that it's time for you to stop.

Photo: Veryl Oakland

C.L.: Not stop .... but as you were saying driving over .... since 1960, when I joined Chico Hamilton - I was with him to 1964, then I joined Cannonball Adderley. Prior to that I worked around New York with friends like Ron Carter and Tony Williams. They were working with Miles and I was working with Chico, and when we were off we'd work together. I moved here in the early '60s when I was working with Chico, because I knew - like Danny knew - that we had to come to New York to do it.

To tell the truth, we came up touched by the music of the great masters like Billie Holiday, Bird, Sonny Rollins, and Trane. And these people were in New York. And so this was the Mecca, the place to come to. All the energy is here, there's an energy source here that's ... I don't know, the west coast association that you give to me sometimes probably is: Born in Memphis, went to college on the west coast, dug it was in New York where the music was, because there is just not the energy there in California. However, there were lots of us out there who weren't asleep. Ornette was out there and Dolphy was out there, and we all came east because .... Well, Coleman Hawkins once made a statement. He said, "No matter how good a man sounds in his home town, he don't sound the same in New York City!" I was always touched by this.

California was a good place to grow, I guess: in another way I probably would have done more by coming to New York after finishing high school. But now I know I wouldn't have been ready, I might not have been mature enough or mellow enough to deal with the energy here.

R.C.: You mentioned before that music transcends politics - and also let me say this: I've always felt that your music, from the era of Jack De Johnette, Cecil McBee, Ron McClure and Keith Jarrett, was the vanguard of the Age of Aquarius, the age of love and understanding and human awareness. How do you feel now? Have you been writing music about the total escalation of the war, politics, and the awful effect the times are having on people, not only here, but throughout the world?

C.L.: In terms of the music, of course I continue to grow and to write: the music comes through, let's say, in terms of the world and what's going on: in terms of lives being exterminated, well, obviously that's lame, and everybody knows that it's lame. However, it seems that man has been doing that for thousands of years .... The best way I can do something about it is to make music. Politics is very lame now. We don't need political leaders. We need people with morals. The thing that has to happen is, on an individual level each of us has to evolve and then there will be less stress in the world. But just as I have done in the past being in New York, you just blow fuses by being irate about how insane the dude is and how he continues to rip off culture.

Now, fortunately, I've gotten into a situation where I can play colleges, because that's where there's a large interest in my music. That's what I have been doing recently: I travel the country playing college concerts. I've got a fantastic group and my people want to come east and play for the people in New York City. We were not invited to play in Central Park for the Schaefer Festival; how- ever, a bunch of promoted, hyped-up groups did play, some good and some bad. But the music is rarely given a chance to play out there. There are some clubs that have really been on the case: you can make music in there and they try to do it on a higher vibe. Anyway, I came back and played at the Village Vanguard because I wanted to get the music to the people. And some of the people will get to the music there. Hey, fortunately, I'm not locked into playing the Vanguard; I'm doing it by choice.

R.C.: I don't know if you care about this or not. Some artists choose not to care and say 'later,' and others feel very strongly about it. As I said to you before, I've spoken to a lot of people about your coming to New York, from Black Nationalists to Rock D.J.s, and they were very happy to hear you're coming home and very interested in what you are going to do. Some people said about your latest album, Moon Man, well, that they didn't understand and feel related to the music. And they thought you were going in the direction of an all-white group.

C.L.:That was certainly not an all-white group. These are things of people just not understanding. I remember a statement of Richard Davis, the bassist, to Roy Eldridge: Once Trane was playing down at Birdland, and Trane really had the pots on. And Roy Eldridge walked in and said to Richard Davis, "You know, Richard, I know Trane is playing, but man, I just can't get with him." And Richard said. "You know, Roy, Trane ain't waiting!" So what I'm saying is that Moon Man came out of me, and the other music I've made has come out of me, and what will come in the future will come out of me. And one day my work as a whole, whatever I've made, will be made, and I make no apologies for it.

R.C.: Do you listen to other groups - do you listen to, say, the Rolling Stones?

C.L.: Do I listen to the Stones? Sure I listen to the Stones; the Stones listen to Chuck Berry. I live in this world, you know, I'm in it - sometimes I hestitate to say I'm of it. What's happening is the Stones peeked Chuck Berry or the black man in Mississippi doing it. They were sitting over there in England, and what they did was put a narrow rap on it, took it to London, put a silk dress on it, spun it around several times, and got outrageous and went around shaking their booty. The Stones are one of the groups I do like because they can almost get it on. One thing I like about them is they play Chuck Berry's shit straight. They've got it super revved up with charge and super amp. What happens is they play all Chuck Berry's lines straight or they'll reach back and grab one of the old Mississippi Delta songs. There is a thread that runs through their work, whereas the Beatles' stuff was kind of vamped and kind of frofty, the Stones will quite nastily jump into Mississippi. I mean, let's face it, they're not from Mississippi. They can't really deal with it. But since they collect Chippendales, I guess they figure they might as well collect some hamhocks. And they want to shake their booty, and I understand that manifestation.

R.C.: Do you think that music is valid if it's slick? Miles has a way of making his music slick, and I think I understand. But I wonder, since this deals with you - and you seem to be more spiritual, on a much higher level than I am - do you feel that music is valid if it's slick, unnaturalized?

C.L.: Music that is slick? If it touches me, yeah, I wouldn't bust it. I can't speak of Miles' music. I mean, you would have to talk to Miles about his slickness. As far as I'm concerned, with Miles, I like the early periods of his music. I don't know that he flows with the things that are happening now as they happen. He does surround himself with young guys: often guys that have played in some of the contexts that I have set up. While I do recognize many of his advancements, you'd have to speak to Miles about that.

What I'm doing now is seeing can I - it's kind of like an exercise, you know, it's all growing. What does it mean if it isn't fresh? That's where I'm coming from. In terms of making my music slick, I'm not coming from there, because I've got too much growing to do, and I don't have time to refine it to be slick like that. I do have time to cultivate and refine my nervous system though, and maybe one day my statement will touch on the level of issues. In other words, the beam will be strong and shiny enough so that issues will be present. And it will touch me as well as others. But first I've got to do it to myself.

Lloyd talked at great length about his current group, all men from the west coast. His bassist, Robert Moranda, who comes via Puerto Rico and New York from Venice, Cal., is a bass player who makes his solo on every tune seem as much a part of a solo lineup as a piano would. Tom Truillo, the guitarist, comes from California by way of New Mexico, a descendant, as Charles puts it, of an Aztec tribe that's probably been around here longer than most of us. Tom was introduced to Charles by his drummer. Charles prefers "percussionist", and I agree, because Woody Theus is much more than a drummer.

During the second night at the Vanguard, Charles did/played the primal piece Forest Flower, as always adding a different flavor. This time, after opening with the melody and Charles' solo, Theus (while still playing) recited a beautiful meaningful message - that we shall all survive, and that goodness and truth will triumph - that had me (if no one else) coming out of my seat as Charles straddled the climax and took the whole experience to another, higher plateau, as does a gentle breeze on a fine warm day in the mountains.

Not long after this interview, Charles told me of the release, at the end of October, of his new album, Waves (on A & M records), and his return to New York's Village Vanguard in November.