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October 26, 2000

ONE ON ONE: Nathan Davis

Nathan Davis seemed fated to be a jazzman. Born into a musical family in the jazz hotbed of Kansas City, Kan., in 1937, he grew up two blocks from where legendary alto saxophonist Charlie Parker lived; the two families knew each other.

Davis's mother urged him to take up the clarinet, a relatively inexpensive instrument, but young Nathan wanted to play the saxophone. His parents promised to help buy him a sax if he earned enough money for the down payment. Nathan got a job answering the phone for a jitney service and soon began payments on a Sears and Roebuck Silvertone tenor sax. "It was one of the cheapest but it was shiny, and I didn't give a damn," he says.

Two years later, Davis and a piano-playing friend won $50 at a local music contest. Davis, then 16, announced: "Momma, I'm going to Chicago" to play professionally in clubs. "What? You haven't finished high school!" his mother protested. But Nathan was on fire with musical ambition. "My mother wiped the tears from her eyes," he recalls, "and the next day I was in the back seat of a Greyhound bus to Chicago." He landed a gig there. "The older musicians called me 'Little K.C.' because I was from Kansas City," says Davis, whose brawny build and soaring sax solos make it difficult to think of him today as "little" anything.

Davis arranged to continue his high school studies in Chicago and later won a scholarship to the University of Kansas, where he earned a bachelor's degree in music education. In 1960, he was drafted and sent to Germany, where he served as a musician in a U.S. Army band in Berlin. After completing his hitch in the Army, he stayed in Europe for another 10 years. Davis's big break came when Pittsburgh-born drummer Kenny Clarke invited him to play at Paris's famous St. Germain des Pr?s jazz club. Davis went on to perform with Art Blakey, Donald Byrd, Erroll Garner and Dizzy Gillespie, among others. He also composed and arranged for French radio and films, and founded the jazz studies program at the Paris American Academy.

In 1969, after doing graduate work in ethnomusicology at the Sorbonne, Davis accepted an offer to direct Pitt's new jazz studies program. He subsequently earned a Ph.D. in ethnomusicology from Wesleyan University in Connecticut. In 1970, Davis founded Pitt's Jazz Seminar and Concert.

The annual event will celebrate its 30th anniversary Oct. 30-Nov. 4 with a line-up of internationally renowned jazz greats, free lectures and seminars, an outreach program, a display of African and Caribbean art, and the climactic concert at Carnegie Music Hall in Oakland on Nov. 4 at 8:30 p.m.

This year's event is dedicated to the late Grover Washington Jr. The famous saxophonist died last December, weeks after playing in his 10th Pitt jazz concert. At intermission, Christine Washington will accept posthumous honors for her husband. Two new members of the International Academy of Jazz Hall of Fame (founded here by Davis in 1977) will be inducted, and special guest Donald Byrd also will be honored.

Performers at this year's concert are scheduled to include: trumpeters Byrd, Wallace Roney and Oscar Brashear; saxophonists Davis, Hank Crawford and Benny Golson; trombonist Curtis Fuller; guitarist Larry Coryell; pianist Geri Allen; bassist John Patitucci, and drummer Winard Harper.

Tickets are $17 for the general public and are available at the William Pitt Union box office or through TicketMaster at 323-1919 or www.ticketmaster.com. Tickets are $8 for students with a valid Pitt I.D.

This fall, Davis is serving as a musical ambassador for Pitt. He led a group of professionals billed as "The University of Pittsburgh Jazz Seminar All-Stars" to Jordan, Sept. 15-19, for a pair of concerts (one for Jordan's royal family, one for the general public) sponsored by that country's Queen Noor Foundation and several U.S. corporate foundations. "The idea was to put together an event similar to the annual concert we play in Pittsburgh," he explains. In December, Davis and his Pitt Jazz Seminar All-Stars will perform in Ghana.

University Times Assistant Editor Bruce Steele recently interviewed Davis.

University Times: If somebody had told you in 1970: "This Jazz Seminar and Concert of yours will be around 30 years from now," what would you have said?

Davis: I would have said, "That's not possible." Because the original intention was just to help build a viable jazz program at Pitt by bringing in some professional musicians to lecture to our students and do one concert. I never thought the whole thing would become as big and as popular as it is today.

I just heard from a bassist with the Sarasota Symphony Orchestra — he plays some jazz — who's driving up from Florida just for the [concert] weekend, then he's going back. People call from Maryland, New Jersey, California, all over, reserving tickets. That we would develop such a loyal following never would have crossed my mind 30 years ago.

How did it all begin?

I'd been a faculty member here for a few months when I heard, in 1970, that Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers were playing at the Crawford Grill in the Hill District. I had toured Europe as a member of the Jazz Messengers in 1965. Art found out I was in Pittsburgh and phoned me. "Bring your horn down and play with us," he said.

I always say the idea for the Pitt Jazz Seminar and Concert was born on the Crawford Grill stage. Art was kind of a father figure for me. After practically every song we played, he would tell the audience, "That's my tenor sax player, Nathan Davis. I trained him, and now he's teaching up there at Pitt. I want you all in Pittsburgh to get behind Nathan 'cause he's one of us and we're so proud of him."

Off the cuff, I said to Art, "Hey, if you really want to help me out, how about coming up to the school?" He said, "Okay, man," and turned to the other cats and said, "Tomorrow, we're going up to Pitt to help Nathan." No mention of money. They were doing it for free. It's not like that today, I can tell you! [laughing] Anyway, the next morning I went to see then-Vice Provost Donald Henderson and said, "I got Art Blakey and his band coming here to talk to our students." Donald said, "Are you kidding me?" I said, "No, they're really coming. But I feel bad that we can't pay them. Can't we at least buy them dinner or something?" Donald went to [then-College of Arts and Sciences Dean] Jerry Schneewind and [then-Faculty of Arts and Sciences Dean] Jerry Rosenberg, who got some money to let me take Art and the guys to dinner.

The first concert was at the Stephen Foster Memorial Theatre. It was packed. We'd passed some flyers out, and within a few hours it was standing room only. Afterwards, Donald Henderson and I agreed: We ought to keep this going. We formed a Jazz Seminar and Concert Committee, which has been a great help in putting together this event every year. Donald had said, "Let's create a committee representing different areas of the University — Student Affairs, the public relations office and so forth — so it's not just a music department thing," and that's what we did.

In 1970, the idea of a professional jazz musician lecturing at a university…

Was brand new. The philosophy behind the seminar was to bring jazz masters to the classroom, so students could hear from the creators themselves rather than from somebody with a Ph.D. who studied jazz and read about it in the library but never experienced it.

I should point out that the jazz seminar is more than just a series of lectures and concerts. There's the International Jazz Hall of Fame, part of which you see in the William Pitt Union. The Hall of Fame voters come from 20 countries around the world.

There are the Pitt jazz archives. We have one of the world's most impressive libraries here of jazz masters lecturing. National Public Radio has come to us for tapes of famous musicians who have only taught here at Pitt, like [the late] Kenny Clarke.

Since 1993, we've produced the International Jazz Archives Journal, which is considered to be the No. 1 academic journal on jazz in the country. And we've got the William Robinson Digital Recording Studio [in Bellefield Hall]. All of that comes under the jazz seminar.

When you were coming up, it was unusual for a professional jazz musician to earn a Ph.D., as you did.

Very unusual.

How did you get into the academic world?

When I was playing in Paris in the late 1960s, I was approached one night by a guy named Joe Maka, who was from Guinea. Joe was a saxophone player and a student. He said, "I love the way you play. Would you teach me?" He was a student and didn't have any money. But I had learned from Kenny Clarke that, as jazz musicians, we ought to be thankful because we make money every night. Not like painters and writers, who have to wait until they sell a painting or a book. So I said to Joe, "Okay, I'll teach you for free. But you'll have to wait until noon or 1 p.m., when I wake up." I was playing from 10 o'clock at night to 4 in the morning back then.

I'd give this kid a lesson once a week. After a few months, he said, "You've never asked me where or what I'm studying." He told me he was a student at the Sorbonne, studying with one of the leading French ethnomusicologists. He said, "We are now studying music from northern Brazil and southern India, and it sounds like the music John Coltrane is doing." I said, "No stuff? Hey, I think I'll go out there with you." It was that informal. I got up one morning and went to class at the Sorbonne with him.

When I got there, the professor and students asked if I would talk to them about jazz. I said, "Yeah. Okay." I'm told that the Sorbonne still has, in their archives, tapes of me delivering, in very bad French, four lectures about American jazz.

That experience was odd for me. When I had been working on my bachelor's degree in music education at the University of Kansas, they had prohibited you from even practicing jazz.

One student in Paris told me he was getting a Ph.D. in "the schools of the blues." I said, "Whatchu talkin' about, boy? I'm from Kansas City. We know about the blues. What do you mean you're getting a Ph.D. in it?" He explained how he was doing his research. I thought: If I ever get the chance, I'm going to make that kind of study possible in America — if I ever go back. At that point, I wasn't planning to return to the United States. I was in Europe, living and making money as a jazz musician. Why leave? I stayed another year working toward the equivalent of a master's degree at the Sorbonne.

But in 1969, I talked with Dr. Robert Snow, who was then the chairman of the music department at Pitt. Snow was looking for someone to teach jazz. Back then, with all of the social unrest, the riots and so on, things were changing and curriculums were being overhauled. A professor at Indiana had recommended to Snow that he contact me.

At the same time, Donald Byrd and Dizzy Gillespie were telling me I should come back to the United States because there was now a chance for jazz musicians with degrees to teach. I was one of the few who had a degree. So, I ended up accepting the job offer from Pitt.

At that time, jazz was coming out of an era when a lot of musicians played freely — and, to some listeners' ears, discordantly, with no hint of traditional melody or harmony. You were quoted as calling some of these people "artistic charlatans."

I was referring to those people who did not have the proper training in how to play their instruments, nor the proper theoretical training to be first-rate players or composers.

Now, Coltrane played free. Art Blakey and Freddie Hubbard played free. I've played free. But we all had the musical nuts and bolts to be able to experiment. There were some other people who said, "To hell with the nuts and bolts. We're just going to play free." Those were the charlatans. When jazz started moving in another direction in the 1970s, those people got left behind because they didn't have the tools to go anywhere else.

Students occasionally tell me, "I don't like theory" or "I don't want to study harmony." I tell them, "Look, a C is a C is a C. A diminished chord is a diminished chord. I don't care what style you're playing. Learn theory, technique, how to play scales and read music. Learn the history of music."

When we look back at the 1960s and say the music sounded chaotic, it was a reflection of the period. The times themselves were chaotic. During the late 1970s and '80s, there was a strong return to traditional bebop. Today, there's an emphasis on modal and polyphonic playing — that's what most of our students want to learn about. Wynton Marsalis, to his credit, has incorporated Dixieland music in his playing. I have a lot of respect for him for doing that. We in America tend to overlook the older styles.

Does this year's event have a bittersweet quality for you, given that it memorializes a good friend, Grover Washington Jr.?

People would ask me earlier this year about the next jazz seminar and I would try to avoid the subject. Every time I thought about it, I would think of Grover. He was such a great person in addition to being a great musician. Eventually, we decided to dedicate this year's event to him.

He once called you his idol, and you've said the two of you were like brothers. How did you meet?

I'm a very private person. Some people may think I'm a little snobbish, but I'm not, really. I just don't like crowds, which sounds funny for a jazz musician. Mostly, I like to stay home, writing music and practicing. So, I wouldn't end up going to Grover's concerts when he'd play in Pittsburgh.

One day in the early '70s, a student came to me and said: "Grover Washington is playing at the Syria Mosque. He's with his band down at the Holiday Inn on the Boulevard of the Allies. I was getting his autograph and told him I was a jazz student at Pitt and he said, 'Nathan Davis — he never comes to hear me play.'" This kid told Grover that he would run up to Pitt and get me! So, I agreed to walk down to the Holiday Inn with the kid.

When Grover and I met, we hugged each other and Grover said: "Mr. Nathan Davis! I've always wanted to meet you." I said, "Oh, come on, man." He said, "No, no, it's true!" He went to his bag and got out one of my records and said he carried it with him wherever he went. I thought, "Wow, this cat's serious." After that, he said, "Whenever I can do one of your jazz seminars, I'd sure like to be a part of it." I remember when we first invited him, some of the other musicians didn't approve. They said, "This guy's more commercial than serious" because he'd sold a lot of records. I said, "No, you get rid of that prejudice and really listen, and you'll hear." Every one of those musicians, after that, came back and told me, "You're right. This cat can really play."

Your lineups are so strong, does anyone ever play a solo that amazes even you folks on stage?

It happens all the time. You've got some monsters up there, some giant musicians. That's why a lot of times we look so happy, because everybody is killing everybody else, in a nice way.

One of the dangers of a concert like this would be to think, "We've got all of these great musicians. Let 'em go." But it's not a jam session. Some people inaccurately call it that, but I write the charts and it's structured. It wouldn't be the same if you let the musicians play whatever they wanted to play. You'd have chaos, and egos out of check.

Do the musicians check their egos at the door?

I always tell them: "Look, everybody here is a star, including me." With the seminars, I tell the musicians: "If you don't want to deal with kids, don't come here. You're coming not just to play in a concert but to talk to students, too." I've had to straighten out a couple of guys who were like, "Don't ask me dumb questions like that" or "Don't take my picture." I told them, "Hey, wait a minute here. You're not at a nightclub now, you're at the University of Pittsburgh." But a couple of problems over 30 years is not bad.

Given how the event has grown, are you considering moving the concert to a bigger venue than Carnegie Music Hall? Or doing more than one concert?

No. People ask me that all of the time. I'm not interested in doing a series of concerts, say, or doing it for three weekends a year.

How much longer do you plan to continue organizing the Jazz Seminar and Concert? Considering that some musicians have agreed to play here only because they knew you personally, there's concern that the event couldn't carry on without you.

Yeah, I've heard that. I don't plan to retire any time soon. But I am 63 years old, and I need to watch my health and try to minimize the stress. I'm trying to phase back my involvement; 30 years is a long time. Next year, I'd like to start doing about half of what I've been doing.

Fortunately, I've got a great committee, which takes a lot of weight off my shoulders. Maybe when I decide to get out of the way altogether, the University can get a grant to keep the jazz seminar going. It would be a shame for it to die, since it's built up so much momentum.

Whether or not I play another note, my legacy has been written. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging. It's just a fact.

Filed under: Feature,Volume 33 Issue 5

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