Tribute to Jaki Byard
Jaki Byard was my teacher. When he was shot to death in his house in early 1999, New England Conservatory, my esteemed alma mater, solicited reminiscences from those who knew him. The following was my contribution. I post it here so that I, in a small way, might help to keep Jaki's unjustly under-appreciated memory alive.
Memories of Jaki
Jaki Byard is the reason that I
became a jazz pianist. When I was around seventeen, a friend of my
folks gave me three records: an Art Tatum and a Miles Davis (pretty
safe bets), and, for some reason, a Phil Woods record on which there
was this pianist playing like some kind of maniac (I mean that as a
compliment). Reading the liner notes, I learned that he (Jaki)
taught at New England Conservatory, whereupon a voice in my head
said, "You mean you can actually STUDY with someone who plays like
THAT? I've got to check that out." And within two years I was doing
just that.
There are teachers who have strong methodologies,
although you might not care for them as artists, or even as people.
And there are teachers who may not have strong methodologies, yet ,
because of their incredible instrumental and musical prowess, you
cannot help but to absorb something positive. Then there are those
teachers who possess neither great pedagogy nor virtuosity, but who
are such wonderful souls that you learn about the attitude, the
philosopy, the approach to being a more complete musician; a more
complete person. To me, Jaki had all of those fore-mentioned
positive attributes. He was quite organized in getting you started
with his harmonic and technical concepts, and his critiques,
although fairly succinct, could be quite piquant. There is one that
lurks in the back of my mind like some sort of silent policeman each
time I poise my hands over the keys. He once asked me what I thought
I was doing wrong, and, after several futile guesses, he said "It's
your sound. Always try to get a good sound out of the piano." How
simple. Yet, up until then, I thought that if you played cool
voicings in your left hand (with some sharp 9ths or flat 13ths), and
played lots of diminished and pentatonic licks in your right hand,
you were pretty much set. Sound production? That was for horn
players and string players. Now, if I catch myself getting an ugly
sound, I pull in the reins until I can fix it. As a pianist, of
course he was awesome. My lessons featured a lot of two-piano duets,
and I remember trading choruses of 12-bar blues with him in every
key, thinking, "Here we go. Jaki will now kick Jeremy's butt in
Blues in B." But it was so much fun. Those of us with "conservatory
training" tend to overemphasize the more challenging aspects of
music while forgetting that music, at its core, should be enjoyable.
A joy to play and a joy to hear. With Jaki, I never saw the joy not
there.
Things written about Jaki usually refer to his
"encyclopedic knowledge" of jazz piano. I would agree with that.
But, to hear him play, it was never like, "I shall now play like
Erroll Garner. Next, I will demonstrate the style of McCoy Tyner.
And won't you be impressed as I reference Henry Cowell." There are
pianists who can leave you with that impression. But, with Jaki, it
was more like he was fluent in many languages, and, using himself as
a filter, he had a wider variety of ways to impart his ideas and
gestures. And always with his puckish sense of humor at the ready.
There is a record on which he is playing some seriously stomping
stride when he screeches to a halt in mid-phrase, pauses a few
seconds, then launches into about eight measuires of Chopin before
resuming his previous stride extravaganza. Pure genius. I am much
more likely to listen to what someone is saying if I am convinced
that they don't take themselves too seriously. I guess that is why
Jaki was such a great teacher for me.
Jaki Byard changed my
life.
And I know that I'm not the only one.
By Jeremy Kahn
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