Search Results for: Dave Brubeck

On Yahoo’s Dave Brubeck listserve, John Bolger called attention to an unsual version of Brubeck’s “Blue Rondo ala Turk.” It is by the Dutch ensemble Fuse—five string players and a percussionist. According to the group’s website, like many young bands today they play in a variety of genres including pop, rock, classical and jazz. Among composers whose works they have recently performed are Brubeck, Bartok and Britney Spears. Here’s the Brubeck piece.

Fuse is Mascha Van Nieuwkerk, cello; Adriaan Breunis, viola; Emma van der Shale and Julia Philippens, violin; and Tobias Nijboer, bass. Ms. Philippens soloed on “Blue Rondo.” For more information, see their website.

Have a good weekend.

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Dan Brubeck, Live From The Cellar: Celebrating The Music And Lyrics Of Dave & Iola Brubeck (Blue Forest Records)

On the eve of his 60th birthday, Dave and Iola Brubeck’s drummer son releases his first album as a leader. A tribute to his parents, it is also a revelation of the quality of musicians in his adopted hometown, Vancouver, British Columbia.

With his work in his father’s quartet, Two Generations of Brubecks, the Brubeck Brothers Quartet, Larry Coryell and the Dolphins, Dan Brubeck established decades ago that he was an extraordinary drummer. Barely into his twenties, he substituted for Joe Morello when Morello’s worsening eyesight forced him to leave the Dave Brubeck Quartet’s 25th anniversary reunion tour. Young Brubeck’s firm time and light touch made him a favorite of DBQ saxophonist Paul Desmond, who was exacting in the qualities he expected in drummers.

In Vancouver, Brubeck recorded with his quartet at The Cellar four months before the club closed in late 2013. All of the 14 pieces they performed were by Dave Brubeck, many of the songs with words by Iola. Dan Brubeck writes in his liner notes that bassist Adam Thomas sings, “…completely in tune, phrasing beautifully, with a soulful sweetness, all while swinging his ass off on bass.” That’s an accurate evaluation of Thomas’s bass work. In an instance or two, demanding melodic intervals put a bit of strain on his voice, but he sings “Summer Song” “Ode to a Cowboy,” “Strange Meadowlark,” even the metric challenges in “It’s A Raggy Waltz,” with élan and a subtle jazz-wise edge. He conveys the implications of tragedy and hope in the lyric Dave wrote to “Weep No More” following his World War Two Army service in Europe.

To one not familiar with the current Vancouver jazz scene, Thomas comes as a surprise, as do saxophonist Steve Kaldestad and pianist Tony Foster, who avoid attempts to emulate Desmond and Dave Brubeck. A hint of John Coltrane surfaces in Kaldestad’s tenor playing but does not dominate it. His low register on the horn has remarkable resonance. On alto, his individuality is tempered with evidence that he may be familiar with Sonny Stitt. Foster’s piano touch is light and he has impressive speed. He permeates with blues feeling his solo on “Lord, Lord” from Dave Brubeck’s cantata The Gates of Justice.

At a Brubeck Brothers concert a few seasons ago, Chris Brubeck introduced his little brother with affection as “an animal on the drums.” It is true that Dan has strength, intensity and power in his playing, and he displays all of it on this album, notably in his solo on “Take Five,” the longest track in the two-CD set. He balances his aggressive side with the sensitive support of his brushes on the exquisite “Autumn In Our Town” and the album’s other ballads.

The booklet accompanying the CD set includes lyrics to nine of the songs that Thomas sings. In addition to Dan Brubeck’s essay, it has track-by-track commentary on the tunes; Iola wrote it shortly before her death in the spring of 2014. The booklet also has a selection of Brubeck family photographs.

A video made at The Cellar during the recording sessions that produced the album shows the quartet at work. It’s a montage of pieces on the CD, with the exception of the opening drum solo and part of a Kaldestad tenor solo on Dave Brubeck’s “Jazzanians.”

The pieces in the Montage were “Jazzanians,” “Ode to a Cowboy,” “Autumn in Our Town,” “Blue Rondo ala Turk,” Strange Meadowlark” and “Take Five.” The album was released on April 28th. Amazon has it as an MP3 album. CD Baby offers it as both MP3 and CD.

(Oops. A typographical error in the initial posting misidentified the release date. April 28th is correct.)

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Alexander Eydelman, who founded the Moscow Jazz Art Club in 1993 and has been its only president, writes stories under the name Aleksander Antoshin. Through the help of Rifftides Moscow correspondent Svetlana Ilicheva, Mr. Eydelman has agreed to our publishing one of his stories.  The tale set in the 1960s helps put in perspective some of the ways in which Russian jazz fans bucked the Soviet system’s suppression of their efforts to hear American music.

The alarm clock rang at eight sharp. I cursed this damned punctual tin can and then, forcing my eyes open, stared lifelessly into the empty whiteness of the ceiling. I knew I had to make myself get up, I definitely had to—since I had promised Valery, Val, my best friend, to help him with the repairs on his can, an ancient “Moskvitch.” I raised my hands, palms gripping an imaginary gymnastic bar, a habitual exercise, and then—writhing and groaning—struggled to pull myself up, but every time, after each painful effort, my hands—with this imaginary bar—ended by falling back heavily on my chest. To anyone watching, it would all have looked funny and even idiotic. But there was no one to disturb my romping around as I fought against this stubborn ghostly bar. Another series of jerks—hands, legs, body almost in a knot—and a mighty spring inside me threw my body and soul out of the bed.

The outside door shut, leaving behind me the wet darkness of the entrance hall, and I was immediately immersed in the warmth and bright light of the summer morning that had enveloped the city. Val lived in an apartment block not far away, on the bank of the Yauza river, a tributary of the Moskva. I set off beside the cast-iron parapet of the embankment. The river ran by, its murky waters patterned with oily stains rushing towards its estuary. In the courtyard, by his father’s old crate, a Moskvitch, stood young Val. His early bald patch made him look much older than I, though we were the same age.

‘Well, Val, let’s get started, we haven’t much time. Got a date at four,’ I said.

I lifted the car with a jack, spread a mat under it and crawled on my back to take off the gear-box. Everything in this jalopy was greasy, dirty, everything leaked and dripped. Moreover, it appeared that the clutch was broken, too. Curses and groans accompanied my superhuman efforts to undo the rusted bolts and nuts as I gradually managed to make some progress. Then, at last, the gear-box was free.
It was at this moment, that I suddenly heard the music – mysterious and unfamiliar. It was jazz, I knew, jazz I loved so much, as I used to spend nights listening to it on my short-wave radio (1). The music I was hearing now sounded, however, absolutely new to me.

(1)In the early Sixties, when these events took place, as well as in the earlier period, the Soviet regime did not favour this kind of music, so young jazz lovers usually listened to the nightly jazz programmes on the BBC or the Voice of America.

The pianist played an ornate, lacy melody evoking associations with Bach’s themes. Absolutely precise phrases, each in its proper place, lined up in a polyphonic series, mutually complementing and merging into one intriguing and enchanting tune. A saxophone entered with a beautiful mellow shave joining the current of piano tones, and followed them with improvisation full of trilling drive and then, solo, building up an airy crystal-clear edifice of sounds.

I crept out from under the car. Val gazed at me inquiringly.

‘What ‘s the matter? Need something?’

‘No. Yes. I need to know, where that music’s coming from.’

‘From Zhorka’s flat. See that window on the second floor? He must be drinking now, I reckon, is Zhorka. When he’s had a couple he usually puts his tape-recorder on to max.’

Dirty and messy as I was I set off in the direction which Val had shown me and, stopping under the window, looked up. The alto sax went on weaving its intricate and, at the same time, simple and melodious pattern. It seemed as though this music was spiralling high up, I could visualise it clearly – winding higher and higher, into the skies. Heavenly music. But who was playing it?

My legs carried me to the front door drawn by the sound, which was getting stronger as I approached. Poor neighbours, they must hate this Zhorka, and his jazz. Second floor. Volume at full. White button of the doorbell. I looked at my hands, covered in grease, then at the shining whiteness of the button, and cautiously pressed it with my nail. The recorder, at top volume, seemed about to explode, and hardly anybody could hear my short, shy ringing over the music. Then I resolutely pressed my dirty finger on this virgin white button again. At last, the door opened. On the threshold, in the twilight of the hallway, stood a lad in a white T-shirt. His round face gleamed red – with booze and with the joy of life reigning over these premises. His small round eyes beamed tipsy good humour and his lips sported an amicable smile.

‘Who’s this, Snow-white?!‘ he said. ‘Snouu-wahy-tie, Snouu-wahy-tie!’ he kept repeating, choking with laughter and rejoicing at his own joke. Exhausted with laughing, he stared at me again, and asked:

‘Who are you? And why are you so dirty? What do you want?’

‘I want to know what music that is, and who’s playing?’

‘Ah, that’s it. C’min then, Snow-whitie,’ he said again collapsing with laughter.

I stepped forward into the room with the roaring recorder, I saw sheets of music paper and copies of American magazines scattered over the piano, an exquisite candlestick , a big decanter and glasses on a coffee table, and a Himalayan mass of empty bottles in the corner.

‘My name’s Zhorka. Want a drink?’

I introduced myself and agreed to the treat. Zhorka took two tumblers and poured some liquor from a decanter.

‘Straight?’ he asked.

‘Straight,’ I said promptly – not thinking about the consequences. I took the glass and tossed down its contents. Fiery fluid – it was pure alcohol – caught my throat, my mouth was burning, tears spurted from my eyes. I groped for water – and at once found a glass in my hand: Zhora who had been observing me in silence, and with interest, had thoughtfully prepared it beforehand. Then he drank his own glass and we began a dialogue which has continued for many years now.

‘Stunning music! This concert was recorded in 1957, it’s called “Jazz Impressions of Eurasia”. Know who’s playing?’ he asked. ‘It’s the Dave Brubeck Quartet. Know Brubeck? No? Fantastic pianist, yes, he is. Top-level! There is also Paul Desmond with alto, then, too, Joe Morello on drums, Jo Benjamin on bass. All the compositions are Brubeck’s. Now they’re playing his dedication to Chopin, named “Dziękuję!” – meaning “Thank you!” in Polish. Now, listen, listen!’

A drunken tear appeared in his eye.

I listened to Brubeck’s solo, enjoying every sound, every harmony, every passage of this miraculously subtle, delicate melody bridging times – bringing together the 19th and the 20th centuries.

Then the composition ended. Zhora switched the tape-recorder off and with undisguised curiosity launched into questioning me on my modest person, my background, then asking where I got my infatuation with jazz, what I had read on the subject and what I read in general, and what I usually did in my leisure time. I answered all his questions in detail appreciating the fact that he was listening attentively to my spontaneous revelations, not once interrupting me.

‘And what was the first tune, the one I heard in the courtyard?’ I asked switching from answers to questions.
Zhora said nothing but went to the recorder and put it on “Rewind”, then started the tape from the beginning, and, as the first sounds filled the room, he asked :

‘This one, you mean? Oh, that’s a real masterpiece! It’s called Brandenburg Gate, but it’s not by Bach, it’s Brubeck’s own piece!’

We gave in to the music, for a long while uttering not a single word and wholly absorbed by the fascinating tunes. I saw, however, that now and then Zhora glanced at me – to see how attentive I was and how receptive to the music. I could understand his curiosity, I realised that this exquisite concert was a kind of litmus paper to test me.
Keeping silent and once in a while draining our glasses we went on listening up to the end of the tape. From the start, Zhora had been sitting at the piano and, as the music progressed and the liquor in the decanter accordingly regressed, a sentimental mood more and more crept over him, leaving wet traces on his red cheeks. Suddenly he started playing a tune in the same mood as the dedication to Chopin which we had just heard, it was also beautiful and unknown to me. Zhora finished the core theme and, driving it with his right hand into series of variations, while his left hand added even more ornate chords.

‘And what’s this? What terrific music!’

‘Like it? Very good, matey. This, my dear, is Mazurka in A minor by Chopin. Good music, as you’ll agree. And it may not be quite jazz, at least, not the kind we are used to… But only fatheads, narrow-minded fatheads, and there are plenty of those, stick to one single thing and refuse everything else. Savvy? And, now, look at Brubeck, a born American, a jazzman to the bone, he wrote marvellous music, but dedicated it to the great Europeans…’
Suddenly there was a whistle outside the window. And at last remembering Valery, I looked over the balcony.

There was my poor abandoned friend, helplessly waving his arms and appealing to my conscience. At this moment Zhora came to my rescue:

‘Val, stop being silly! Your mate won’t do anything useful for you, anyway, not after all he’s drunk. You guys better call it a day. Come on up now. There is some booze left for you!’

Val thought for a bit, shrugged his shoulders and ran for the entrance door.

We revelled late into the night. Zhora’s old Soviet-made recorder worked non-stop, the American jazzmen, one after another, testing its stamina. Never before had I heard so much wonderful jazz, I was brimming over with happiness, realising that something very important had happened in my life…

* * *

Years passed. In 1996, I found myself in Copenhagen at a concert of the great pianist Michel Petrucciani, an unhappy dwarf in life and a happy giant in music. The concert was in a circus building packed to the brim. Petrucciani played solo; there was absolute silence in the huge auditorium, but at the end of each piece the audience exploded with thunderous applause.

The programme came to an end, the audience stood applauding and shouting encores. The little man walked on his crutches back to the piano, sat down and thought. The audience froze. It was as though you could hear the musician’s heartbeat. And then he touched the keys. With the first chord I felt a lump in my throat and stinging in my eyes. And to prevent myself from crying, I took deep breaths. Michel was playing Chopin’s Mazurka in A minor.

During Brubeck’s last visit to Moscow, there was a reception in the Spaso-House, the residence of the US Ambassador, and the Maestro played there with Russian musicians. As the time for the last piece came, Dave said he was going to play his favourite piece. And sitting down at the piano, he played his magical dedication to Chopin – ‘Dzękuję!’.

#

©Alexander Eydelman

The author is the Founder (1993) and President of the Jazz Art Club in Moscow.
The story was translated by Rostislav V. Zolotarioff, a Moscow-based  freelance journalist .

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Iola Brubeck died today. She had been under treatment for cancer discovered several months ago during oral surgery. She was 90 years old. Her children made the announcement through the University of the Pacific, home of the Brubeck Institute. Mrs. Brubeck and her husband Dave were alumni of the university. They met there at a student dance in the early 1940s and decided that night they would marry, which they did a few months later. Mrs. Brubeck died peacefully at home in Wilton, Connecticut, with her family around her. To see the announcement, go here.

The photograph to the left shows Mrs. Brubeck with her husband and Duke Ellington in the 1970s. Long before then, she played an essential role in the early years of her husband’s career as pianist, composer and bandleader. This passage from Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond, describes the crucial part she played in 1953 in the development of the Dave Brubeck Quartet:

In her role as manager, booker and publicist in the lean days before Brubeck signed with Joe Glaser’s Associated Booking Corporation, Iola Brubeck acted on an idea that led not only to more work for the Quartet, but also to a major change in the relationship of jazz to its audience. As far back as the 1920s, jazz musicians played on college campuses, but almost always for restricted fraternity and sorority dances. The Brubecks’ pioneering opened the college market as a source of work for jazz artists and helped open society’s ears to wide acceptance of jazz as a mature cultural element.

Mrs. Brubeck wrote more than one hundred colleges and universities, enclosing reviews of the Quartet’s recordings and live appearances. She suggested that The Dave Brubeck Quartet would be ideal for campus concerts and offered a deal that appealed to student associations—a low fee for the band and a split of profits . A few bookings developed. Early on, the band often played in lecture rooms or cafeterias doubling as concert halls, with students wandering in and out during the performances. By the time Joe Glaser’s office took over the Quartet’s management, the system was working. The young agent Larry Bennett, Iola said, “took the idea and ran with it.”

For their March, 1953, appearance at Oberlin College in Ohio, the Quartet found itself in the acoustically blessed chapel of an institution known for the quality of its music department. The audience knew what it was hearing and responded with enthusiastic appreciation. In a canny business move, exchanging broadcast rights for ownership of the master recording, Brubeck allowed the Oberlin campus radio station to tape and later air the concert. When Fantasy issued the performance as a long-playing record, a phenomenon was established: Jazz kept on going to college and Brubeck created an audience that has been loyal to him for decades.

Later, Mrs. Brubeck became her husband’s partner in songwriting, contributing memorable lyrics to many of his compositions, among them those for his musical The Real Ambassadors. She managed all of that professional involvement while raising six children during the years of Dave’s travel as leader of one of the world’s busiest musical organizations.

Through my early coverage of Brubeck and Desmond and, ultimately our friendship, I came to know Iola and the Brubeck family. The friendship continued over the years. When it came time for me to write the Desmond book, she and Dave were primary sources. We spent hours in interviews. They agreed to provide the biography’s foreword. Following Dave’s death in December of 2012, Iola and I stayed in touch, even toward the end as her own health problems became complicated. We exchanged messages until recently. Hers were unfailingly cheerful and upbeat, including the last one about deciding to discontinue therapy. We were together for a few moments at Dave’s memorial service last May. She had just spoken movingly about her husband and his music in a way that made me think of Paul Desmond’s description of her as “the incomparable, regal Iola.”

“For All We Know” was one of her favorite songs.

The two volumes of Dave Brubeck’s Jazz at the College of the Pacific on the Fantasy label have never received quite the degree of acclaim that met Jazz at Oberlin, recorded earlier in 1953. That’s a puzzle; The C.O.P. albums often equal the brilliance of Oberlin and of the phenomenally successful Jazz Goes to College, the quartet’s first LP for Columbia.

Having blazed the trail that opened college campuses to performances by major jazz groups, Brubeck’s C.O.P. concert was a triumphal return to his alma mater and a highlight of his band’s dozens of campus appearances in the early 1950s. In the week of the concert’s 50th anniversary and a year after Brubeck’s death at 91, we welcome Professor Keith Hatschek of what is now the University of the Pacific. Professor Hatschek writes for Rifftides about the event and the recording.

Jazz at the College of the Pacific—Celebrating a Landmark Recording

By Keith Hatschek

On December 14,1953, the Dave Brubeck Quartet played a concert at the College of the Pacific that was immortalized on the iconic album Jazz at the College of the Pacific (Fantasy OJCCD-047-2). The esteemed jazz critic Nat Hentoff gave the recording five stars at the time of its release and wrote that it, “. . . ranks with the Oberlin and Storyville sets as the best of Brubeck on record.”

Time has done little to diminish the impact of this classic live recording. The set showcases the Quartet’s ability to weave melodic, rhythmic and dynamic elements into a cohesive sound that is at once both easily accessible to the casual listener while offering a depth of contrapuntal and thematic invention that merits repeated listening by the jazz aficionado.

Since his 1942 graduation from College of Pacific, aka C.O.P., pianist Dave Brubeck had grown significantly as a musician and bandleader. Wartime service, leading the first integrated U.S. Army band, finding his own compositional voice while studying on the G.I. Bill with the storied French composer Darius Milhaud, marrying Iola Whitlock, eventually starting a family, leading his ground-breaking Jazz Workshop Octet, suffering a severe neck injury body surfing in Hawaii, founding the Dave Brubeck Trio and, eventually, the Dave Brubeck Quartet— life was never dull in the Brubeck family household!

The 1953 version of the Quartet was anchored by the smooth and swinging grooves established by drummer Joe Dodge and bassist Ron Crotty. Over their rhythmic bed, the free-ranging flights of alto saxophonist Paul Desmond and Brubeck’s own imaginative and singular improvisations would soar in the C.O.P. Music Conservatory’s packed concert hall. The original release featured only about half of the performance, six songs (due to the time limitations of 33 1/3 LPs). While none of them was a Brubeck original, the enthusiastic response of the audience shows just how much the Quartet’s interpretations connected with the student audience.

That night was the third time since his return from military service that Dave had performed in concert at his alma mater. All three of these early concerts were the result of Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia, the men’s music fraternity, raising the money to hire Dave’s various groups and bring them back to campus. In 1948, his experimental Jazz Workshop Octet, formed in 1946, performed on campus, presenting their new and imaginative take on jazz standards, as well as original pieces. Looking back on the Octet’s music today, it is clear that they helped to establish a totally new direction in West Coast jazz, one that would be developed along similar lines by Miles Davis soon after with his own New York-based Nonet in 1949-50. Some of the Octet’s earliest pieces can be heard on Dave Brubeck Octet, also available on Fantasy.

While the Octet provided inspiration to many, finding work that paid adequately for an eight-piece ensemble proved impossible, so Dave formed a trio and in 1950, they were invited back to perform at C.O.P., for another sold-out show. In 1951, as Dave was recovering from his Hawaiian misadventure (he had been there performing with his trio with drummer Cal Tjader and Jack Weeks subbing for Ron Crotty, who had been drafted), Brubeck wrote to Paul Desmond, a former member of the Octet, seeking to start a Quartet with Paul and a rhythm section. Tjader and Weeks had been asked by Fantasy to start a new group that would go on to success as the Cal Tjader Trio. With the prolonged convalescence that Dave’s neck injury required, he invited Desmond to share the solo spotlight and make his own return to performing less strenuous.

Thus, the earliest incarnation of one of the most celebrated jazz groups in history was formed out of necessity in the wake of Dave’s injury. With a few changes in the rhythm section, by 1953 they had hit their stride as can be heard on the seminal recording from March 1953, Jazz at Oberlin, and their various recordings spanning 1952-54 packaged as Jazz at Storyville.

Nick Phillips, Vice President of A&R and Jazz Catalog for Concord Music Group, which acquired Fantasy Records in the early 2000’s adds his own perspective:

Brubeck’s Jazz at the College of Pacific recording is both one of the most exciting and popular of his Fantasy Records-era albums — exciting for both the performances and the unbridled audience reaction to them. Along with Jazz at Oberlin, it was also pioneering: Presenting and recording jazz concerts at colleges simply wasn’t done before Brubeck did it. And it inspired a generation of college students to get into jazz.

Hearing the album today, the scintillating Brubeck-Desmond interplay at the end of “All the Things You Are” and the lyrical beauty suffused in the moving rendition of “Laura” demonstrate how these masters of invention could take any musical idea and make it uniquely original and captivating. There really was musical magic being made that night in the C.O.P. concert hall. Echoing the hearty applause heard on the LP, the then-student president of Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia, Wayne Morrill, contributed the erudite liner notes for the album, offering his appreciation from a musician’s perspective, of the group’s artistry. In closing, he wrote,

So ended another memorable concert by the Brubeck group at C.O.P. We of Phi Mu Alpha and the College of Pacific are proud to have Dave as an alumnus, and to know Dave as an old friend. Dave can be sure that he and his groups have a faithful and eager audience at Pacific.

The remaining eight songs captured during that night of the concert recording languished in the vault until 2002, when Fantasy Records released them as Jazz at C.O.P. Volume 2. They may have been held back because they include a few of the arrangements featured on the earlier Oberlin LP. Writing about the additional Volume 2 set, critic Dave Rickert of All About Jazz, noted,

 

Desmond gets plenty of solo time, really digging into the changes while showing a sense of humor by injecting quotes from “Santa Claus is Coming To Town” into “Love Walked In.” At this point in time Brubeck was playing as rhythmically and forcefully as he ever would, and his Tatum-meets-Rachmaninoff style shows the origins of the exploratory work he would pursue later on.

Jazz Times concurred, with David Franklin noting that on the second volume the Quartet was “in top form . . .Desmond’ s ideas seem inexhaustible . . . [and] Brubeck’s solos overflow with invention . . . this one’s a real find.” Concord Music Group’s Phillips offers one more reason for serious Brubeck fans to add Volume 2 to their collections.

The CD release of Volume 2 is also illuminating in that it features a significant bonus track, a rare recorded performance by Brubeck while he was a C.O.P. student. Recorded in 1942, Brubeck’s jazz solo piano rendition of “I Found a New Baby” is an incredible display of musicality and jaw-dropping virtuosity.

So to experience the whole night’s performance, albeit out of order from the actual fourteen-song set list that night, you’ll need to buy both albums, which are readily available. The bonus performance from 1942 is the cherry on top.

Meanwhile, Dave’s legacy is in good hands today. In 1999, Dave and his wife Iola, also a graduate of Pacific, selected what became University of the Pacific to be the home for the Brubeck Institute. The institute continues to support the Brubecks’ mission to foster jazz education and scholarship, a commitment to bettering the world around us and a celebration of mankind’s own interconnectedness, often using jazz and music as the point of connection and conversations.

It may have been a half century ago that this notable piece of jazz history was recorded here in Stockton, California, but the Quartet’s playing sounds as fresh and vibrant today as it did then. Here’s to celebrating a singular night of jazz well worth remembering fifty years on.

© Keith Hatschek, All rights reserved

Keith Hatschek directs the Music Management program at University of the Pacific and is an active Brubeck scholar. His article “The Impact of American Jazz Diplomacy in Poland During the Cold War Era” was published in Jazz Perspectives, Vol. 4., No. 3 in 2010. He is currently at work on a book about Dave and Iola Brubeck’s jazz musical, The Real Ambassadors. He has written two books on the music industry and is a contributing writer for the music blog, Echoes—Insights for Independent Artists.

Since his death on December 5, the tributes to Dave Brubeck keep appearing all over the world in print, on the air and through the internet. His oldest son Darius, who was with his father at the end, sent us a link to the article he wrote at the request of South Africa’s Mail and Guardian newspaper. This excerpt touches on the social consciousness that guided Brubeck from the earliest days of his career:

I lived in South Africa from 1983 to 2005, teaching jazz at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in Durban, and my wife, Cathy, is South African, so sometimes people assume Dave must have had a South African connection too. Actually there is no ancestral or other background connection, but through us, South Africa became important to him.

The New Brubeck Quartet (Dave, Chris, Dan and I) toured South Africa in 1976, of all years, albeit before the declaration of the UN cultural boycott. Dave had been an outspoken campaigner for civil rights in the American South in the 1960s and it didn’t take long for him to see that while coming to South Africa may have been a mistake, he could also make demands that might do some good.

He insisted on a local opening act, Malombo, and hired Victor Ntoni to play acoustic bass with us. Even though we were self-contained with my brother Chris playing electric bass, this was a way to ‘integrate’ our group.

To read all of Darius Brubeck’s remembrance, go here.

In this video from the tribute to Brubeck, Sr. at the Kennedy Center Honors ceremony, his sons—Darius, Chris, Danny and Matthew—surprised their dad as part of an all-star tribute. It was December 6, 2009, his 89th birthday.

Since Brubeck’s death, that clip has been seen on YouTube more than a quarter of a million times.