
PHOTO BY JAY BLAKESBERG
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RALPJ
Memorial thoughts from Charlie Haden’s extended family of musicians, including Ralph Alessi, Geri Allen, Reid Anderson, Joey Baron, Django Bates, Tim Berne, Matt Brewer, Alan Broadbent, Chris Cheek, Greg Cohen, Stephen Crump, Benoit Delbecq, Mike Formanek, Bill Frisell, Larry Goldings, Jerome Harris, Billy Hart, Tootie Heath, John Hébert, Mark Helias, Fred Hersch, David King, Frank Kimbrough, Guillermo Klein, Joe Lovano, Tony Malaby, Branford Marsalis, Joe Martin, Brad Mehldau, Ben Monder, Jason Moran, Sam Newsome, Matt Penman, Chris Potter, Tom Rainey, Joshua Redman, Eric Revis, Jorge Rossy, Kenny Werner, Jeff Williams, Matt Wilson, and Ben Wolfe.)
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RALPH ALESSI:
I was deeply saddened at hearing about Charlie Haden’s passing. It’s actually a nice opportunity for me to write about him at this moment. In the mid-Eighties I attended California Institute of the Arts and played trumpet in Charlie’s ensemble. Most of those rehearsals started with Charlie walking in and making a beeline for the stereo to play some music for us that he couldn’t wait to share. One time he played “Lonely Woman” (the Horace Silver tune) and was directing every note and inflection of Horace’s piano solo, obviously knowing it like the back of his hand. After every phrase, he would let out a huge “woohoo!” sound, not able to contain his giddiness for the music. That enthusiasm for music was infectious and can’t be underestimated for its lasting effect on all of us who were fortunate enough to be there. Then we’d play music that mostly consisted of Charlie Parker and Ornette Coleman tunes. He would offer comments, oftentimes having to do with abstract concepts like “Play music as if you’ve never heard it before” and other things of this nature I know I wanted to grasp, but really couldn’t at the time. Invariably he would also play with us and that’s when the real lesson began. I heard him play on numerous occasions and every time there was a moment when my jaw would literally drop struggling to come to grips with how he was doing it: it seemed like magic to me. These simple melodies were being spun in an almost predictable way, yet they sounded like a symphony every time because of his impeccable voice leading, his rich sound, and amazing use of dynamics. He could shape dynamically at such a quiet volume and then could make a note “growl,” almost knocking you off balance.
I have two more fond memories of Charlie as a teacher.
One was a road trip that we all took to the Notre Dame jazz festival in which our group performed. We traveled the day before and spent a night in Chicago because Charlie wanted to meet our pianist David Ake’s parents. Then there was a concert with Charlie’s ensemble at Cal Arts in which Charlie was in the audience making sounds of approval that were at times drowning out the music. Charlie really loved teaching, and from what I heard he was still making it up to Valencia in recent months to teach despite being severely weakened by his illness.
He really loved his students.
But after years and year of reflection, my thoughts are that Charlie was all about music, which deeply emanated from every fiber of his body, mind, soul and most specifically his ears. His bass sound was literally channeling what he really was: a singer. Maybe the most powerful evidence of this is from his record Rambling Boy in which we hear a two-year-old Charlie yodeling with his family and then a seventy-year-old Charlie singing Shenandoah with his family. If you haven’t heard it, it’ll bring tears to your eyes. He truly was one of the most soulful musicians that I can think of and he is one of the main reasons I have embraced improvisation to the extent I have. He and his music will live on forever.
as recorded by ethan iverson ie EI, KOTFTT
night of the funky turntable



























