By: Bill Gottlieb
NEW YORK—I have interviewed Thelonious Sphere Monk.
It’s not like having seen Pinetop spit blood or delivering the message to Garcia. But on the other hand, it’s at least equal to a scoop on the true identity of Benny Benzedrine or on who killed Cock Robin.
Thelonious, the George Washington of bebop, is one elusive gent. There’s been much talk about him—about his pioneering role at Minton’s, where bebop began, about his fantastic musical imagination, about his fine piano playing. But few have ever seen him. Except for people like Diz and Mary Lou, I didn’t know anyone else who had seen very much of him, either.
Come to think of it, I had seen him once, at the club where Dizzy’s band was working some time ago. Even without his music, which was wonderful, you could recognize his cult from his bebop uniform: goatee, beret and heavy shell glasses. His were done half in gold.
I listened in fascination until he got up from the keyboard. “And who,” I finally inquired, “was that bundle of bop?”
“Why, Thelonious Monk.”
But by that time the quarry had disappeared.
Meeting Is Arranged
Finally, through the good offices of Mary Lou Williams, a meeting with Thelonious was arranged. In order to take some pictures in the right setting, we went up to Minton’s Playhouse at 208 W. 118th St.
In the taxi, on the way up, Thelonious spoke with singular modesty. He wouldn’t go on record insisting he started bebop. But as the storybooks have long since related, he admitted he was at least one of the originators. Yes, he continued, verifying the oft told tale, it all began up at Minton’s in early 1941.
Teddy Hill had broken up his great orchestra because of problems brought on by the draft, poor transportation facilities and the like. He had bought into the tavern owned by Morris Milton (who had been the first colored delegate to the New York local of the musicians’ union). Teddy eventually took over active management and instituted a policy of good music.
Guys In Band
As a starter, Teddy called together some of the boys who had played in his last band, including trumpeters Gillespie and Joe Guy and drummer Kenny Clarke. There was also Nick Fenton on bass. Monday night was the big night at Minton’s. Bandleaders like Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey and Johnny Long would come in to visit. And practically every jazz man of merit in town sat in at one time or another. Charlie Parker, who had come to New York with the Jay McShann Orchestra, appeared often and became a regular.
“Bebop wasn’t developed in any deliberate way,” Thelonious said. “For my part, I’ll say it was just the style of music I happened to play. We all contributed ideas, the men you know, plus a fellow called Vic Couslen, who had been with Parker and Al Hibbler in the McShann band. Vic had a lot to do with our way of phrasing.”
Piano Focal Point
“If my own work had more importance than any others, it’s because the piano is the key instrument in music,” he continued. “I think all styles are built around piano developments. The piano lays the chord foundation and the rhythm foundation, too. Along with bass and piano, I was always at the spot, and could keep working on the music. The rest, like Diz and Charlie, came in only from time to time, at first.”
By the time we’d gotten that far, we had arrived at Minton’s, where Thelonious headed right for the piano. Roy Eldridge, Howard McGhee and Hill dropped around. McGhee, fascinated, got Thelonious to dream up some trumpet passages and then conned Thelonious into writing them down on some score sheets that happened to be in the club.
Hill Gives Credit
Hill began to talk. Looking at Thelonious, he said: “There, my good man, is the guy who deserves the most credit for starting bebop. Though he won’t admit it, I think he feels he got a bum break in not getting some of the glory that went to others. Rather than go out now and have people think he’s just an imitator, Thelonious is thinking up new things. I believe he hopes one day to come out with something as far ahead of bop as bop is ahead of the music that went before it.
“He’s so absorbed in his task, he’s become almost mysterious. Maybe he’s on the way to meet you. An idea comes to him. He begins to work on it. Mop! Two days go by and he’s still at it. He’s forgotten all about you and everything else but that idea.”
While he was at it, Teddy told me about Diz, who worked in his band following Eldridge. Right off, Gillespie showed up at rehearsal and began to play in an overcoat, hat and gloves. For a while, everyone was set against this wild maniac. Teddy nicknamed him Dizzy.
Dizzy Like a Fox
“But he was Dizzy like a fox. When I took my band to Europe, some of the guys threatened not to go if the frantic one went, too. But it developed that youthful Dizzy, with all his eccentricities and practical jokes, was the most stable man of the group. He had unusually clean habits and was able to save so much money that he encouraged the others to borrow from him, so that he’d have an income in case things got rough back in the states!” DB
This article was taken from DownBeat.com
