Mingus Speaks. John Goodman

Mingus Speaks

Michael P. Roth and Sukey Garcetti have endowed this imprint to honor the memory of their parents, Julia and Harry Roth, whose deep love of music they wish to share with others.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the generous support of the following:

The Music in America Endowment Fund of the University of California Press Foundation, which was established by a major gift from Sukey and Gil Garcetti, Michael P. Roth, and the Roth Family Foundation

The Constance and William Withey Endowment Fund for History and Music of the University of California Press Foundation

The Music Endowment Fund of the University of California Press Foundation

Mingus Speaks

JOHN F GOODMAN

With Photos by Sy Johnson

University of California Press

BERKELEYLOS ANGELESLONDON

University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more information, visit www.ucpress.edu.

University of California Press

Berkeley and Los Angeles, California

University of California Press, Ltd.

London, England

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Mingus, Charles, 1922–1979.

Mingus speaks / [interviews by] John F Goodman.

pagescm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-520-27523-2 (cloth : alk. paper)

eISBN 9780520954687

1. Mingus, Charles, 1922–1979—Interviews. 2. Jazz musicians—Interviews. I. Goodman, John F, 1934–. II. Title.

ML418.M45A52013

781.65092—dc232012044233

Manufactured in the United States of America

22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

In keeping with a commitment to support environmentally responsible and sustainable printing practices, UC Press has printed this book on Rolland Enviro100, a 100% post-consumer fiber paper that is FSC certified, deinked, processed chlorine-free, and manufactured with renewable biogas energy. It is acid-free and EcoLogo certified.

Contents

		List of Illustrations
		Preface
		Introduction
1.		Avant-Garde and Tradition
2.		Studying, Teaching, and Earning a Living
3.		Recordings: Children and Friends
4.		Authenticity: Whose Tribe Are You In?
5.		Musicians: Reminiscing in Tempo
6.		Debut Records, George Wein, and the Music Business
7.		The Clubs and the Mafia
8.		The Critics
9.		Survival: The Reason for the Blues
10.		Eviction and Laying Out
11.		Mingus Women
12.		Mingus on Sue
13.		The Real and the Fictional Mingus
		Chronology
		Acknowledgments
		Index

Illustrations

1.		Mingus with cigar, on his rooftop, 1974
2.		Mingus, Sue Graham, Alvin Ailey, and dancers, 1971
3.		Mingus and Teo Macero at Columbia’s Thirtieth Street studios, 1971
4.		Mingus and Bobby Jones during the big band’s booking at the Village Vanguard, 1972
5.		Mingus at the 1974 recording of Changes One and Changes Two
6.		Mingus and Dannie Richmond, recording Changes One and Changes Two, 1974
7.		Mingus intent on a score, recording Changes One and Changes Two, 1974
8.		Mingus in wheelchair playing air bass at the 1978 Atlantic recording of Something Like a Bird
9.		Sue Graham, Mingus, and Sonny Rollins at Norman Mailer’s fiftieth birthday party, 1973
10.		Mingus composing at Sue Graham’s Tenth Street apartment, 1974

Preface

This is not just another book on Mingus. This is the man speaking in his own voice. From the outset I did not want to write another critical study or an analysis of the music. It had to be basically a book of interviews, letting the man speak in his own headlong delivery, constructing his own verbal solos, punctuating with blasts fired off at musicians and critics who didn’t measure up, with ramblings into paranoia and real pain. But I wasn’t sure how to give it a form so that his voice would be heard—and heard accurately.

With all the stuff that’s been written about him, there is very little in the way of extended interviews—and somehow he and I connected to make these happen.

Let me first give you some sense of who I am and where I came from—the bona fides in other words. I grew up in Chicago and its suburbs, fortunate to have parents who passed on to me their great love of music. As a toddler, I could identify the music in my father’s big collection of 78-rpm records by the color and design of their labels: the Vocalions, Victors, and Columbias, the music of Duke and Lunceford, Paul Whiteman, Chick Webb and Ella (on blue-and-gold Decca), most of the major big bands, Glenn Miller, the Dorseys, a few small-group things, some show music, André Kostelanetz (yes), concert and symphonic music.

In high school, a group of us devoted ourselves to listening to and playing jazz, starting with Dixieland and small-group swing. We were early-’50s examples of what Norman Mailer later called white Negroes: we read Mezz Mezzrow (a Chicago guy);¹ aspired to be hip and cool; and made frequent weekend trips to the city to get drunk and hear some of the great old-timers—Baby Dodds, Henry “Red” Allen, Chicago veterans like George Brunis and Art Hodes, and of course the Ellington and Basie bands when they played the Blue Note. In 1954, a friend got us into the recording session for Louis Armstrong Plays W. C. Handy. We sang background on a tune or two.

My parents and another couple had given a celebrated party in 1950 featuring Armstrong’s then-all-star group (with Jack Teagarden, Barney Bigard, Earl Hines, Arvell Shaw, Cozy Cole, and Velma Middleton). That event was talked about for years and still provokes pungent, sharp memories: Louis and Hines noodling at the piano; Jack T’s famous trombone case with space for a clean shirt and a bottle of gin; my high-school friends sneaking by the cops and sitting on the lawn. There followed other musical functions—Oscar Peterson’s trio at the Ambassador Hotel in Chicago, pianist Barbara Carroll in our living room, and a few more.

My father, who should have been a George Wein, promoted a series of country-club dance parties which featured the great bands of Duke Ellington, Les Brown, and Count Basie—dancing on the terrace, the saxes right in your face, loud and swinging. My mother had regular season tickets to the Chicago Symphony throughout the Fritz Reiner era and earlier, when the orchestra was finally achieving greatness. I had heard and studied the “standard

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