In The New York Times “City Room” blog, Corey Kilgannon and Andy Newman have a strange, poignant followup to the news of Hank Jones’s death. No one who knew Hank will be surprised at the selflessness it portrays or be unmoved by its tale of loneliness.
He stayed active till the very end, collecting a Grammy last year and touring the world. But when he wasn’t on the road, he lived in near isolation in a 12-by-12-foot room at 108th Street and Broadway, ordering in three meals a day from the diner downstairs and practicing incessantly on an electric keyboard plugged into headphones.
“He was worried he would bother the neighbors,” said Mr. Jones’s roommate and landlord, Manny Ramirez. “The neighbors would ask, ‘Why don’t we hear Hank anymore?’ I said, ‘He locks himself in his room all the time.’”
To read the whole thing, go here.
The nonagenarian pianist presented de Barros with every biographer’s hope, unrestricted access to his subject’s personal papers and nearly unrestricted access to her private thoughts. He made the most of it, turning exhaustive research and hundreds of hours of interviews into a true story with the sweep of a novel. From the early discovery of McPartland’s musical gift through her wartime service, her ecstatic and stormy marriage to Jimmy McPartland, her growth as a pianist, her deep affair with Joe Morello, and the radio show that made her a national figure, she has had a fascinating life. It makes a splendid read.
Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band had three fewer musicians than most big jazz outfits. Its size permitted precision, flexibility and subtlety, yet the band had the power of sprung steel. In this concert from a half century ago, the CJB is as fresh as yesterday. Arrangements by Mulligan, Bob Brookmeyer, Al Cohn and Johnny Mandel set standards to which big band writers still aspire. Bassist Buddy Clark and drummer Mel Lewis inspired Mulligan, Brookmeyer, Conte Candoli, Gene Quill and Zoot Sims to some of the best soloing of their careers. This beautifully produced issue of the complete concert is a basic repertoire item.
The incessant practicing by Hank Jones isn’t surprising. when Eubie Blake appeared on Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz near the end of his life, he said he practiced two hours a day, with his wife keeping note of how long he had been at it. If he quit early, Ms. Blake would remind him, “Eubie…you’ve got 15 mintues left.”
I was struck by this article, too. I’ve since seen comments that have made me wonder more about it and what it really means, but my first reaction is captured here:
http://jasoncrane.org/2010/05/18/poem-91/
Thanks for posting this. Strange and poignant indeed. Jones as a great pianist but he seems to have been an even greater man.
Even that much activity is pretty good for a 91 year old man
Per reader comments, the Times piece on Hank’s lonely end elicited pathos, anger, puzzlement, minor corrections, and more–a lesson perhaps in how careful a writer must be when reporting any story. That Jones was a recluse, living in one room of a larger apartment, 91 and still practicing every night… those details are almost lost in the petty dust-up. I’ll say I loved Hank’s music, marveled at his longevity and (what I perceived as) dry wit. But he did often seem, not just serious, but sad. Missing all the boppers he had known and played with? Missing his brothers (later)? Troubled by the failing popularity of Jazz in the last quarter century? Aw hell, I’m just projecting and dithering like his other fans. I guess I’d rather remember him as Fats Waller in those stage performances of Ain’t Misbehavin’, grinning–wickedly maybe–and ticklin’ the ivories till they cried “Mercy!”
If you read the article, make sure you also read the comments from Charlie Haden, Hank’s manager, and Hank’s relatives.