{"id":322,"date":"2010-06-24T23:35:42","date_gmt":"2010-06-25T03:35:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/jazzbeyondjazz\/wp\/2010\/06\/as_a_teenager_in_pursuit\/"},"modified":"2019-09-13T12:49:09","modified_gmt":"2019-09-13T16:49:09","slug":"as_a_teenager_in_pursuit","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/jazzbeyondjazz\/2010\/06\/as_a_teenager_in_pursuit.html","title":{"rendered":"Fred Anderson, Chicago jazz hero, appreciated"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"1000001295.1.jpg\"

Fred Anderson \u00c2\u00a9Jim Newberry, Chicago Tribune<\/p><\/div>\n

As a teenager in pursuit of the avant garde, I took tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson, who died <\/a>June 24 at age 81, as a hero upon first hearing him\u00c2\u00a0in 1966. It was\u00c2\u00a0at a Unitarian Church-run coffee house in downtown Evanston near Northwestern U., and attention clearly had to be paid to\u00c2\u00a0the long, fierce, unreeling, knotty improvisations Anderson delivered in an ever-more hunkered-down posture as the evening went on.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
There was an unremitting sense of urgency, sincerity and humility to what he was saying on his horn, spelled by startling outbursts from his pained-looking trumpeter, Billy Brimfield, and support from some rhythmically free-flowing bass and drummer (I forget who). \u00c2\u00a0There was nothing showy about Fred, though he was a large man who wore a skullcap. He was old to me then — 36 or 37. I bought Song For<\/a><\/i>, Joseph Jarman’s album brilliantly employing Anderson’s standing band as soon as Delmark released it that year, too. I heard him many times in the 15 years that followed, at various concerts produced by the AACM <\/a>(Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians) of which he was a co-founder along with another of my musical heroes, Muhal Richard Abrams<\/a>. Fred was never less than totally involved in what he was doing, which was forcing air through a bent tube to shake the earth we walked on and the culture we breathed. (Photo left by Jim Newberry, thanks to Thrill Jockey records.)<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n


\nI was told that Fred stooped that way because he had worked as a carpet-tacker; I imagined he swung a tack hammer like John Henry. He played all over town at clubs I could get into though I was underage, and he always<\/i> seemed to be playing — with musicians who had a lot of soulful chops but were given to fervid, far-out modal excursions, rather like John Coltrane<\/a>. Anderson didn’t sound like Trane — his phrases came in knotty nuggets rather than a liquid flow, though keeping his head down as if bucking the breeze he’d huff and puff ’til he blew out resistance, then he’d blow some more.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
Maybe more important than enthralling a few young listeners, Anderson served as an early bandleader, father figure or model nice guy to immediate and subsequent generations of Chicago musicians. I remember Amina Claudine Myers<\/a>, Ajaramu<\/a>, Douglas Ewart<\/a>, Chico Freeman<\/a>, George E. Lewis<\/a>,\u00c2\u00a0Steve and Iqua Colson<\/a>, Steve Berry<\/a>, Reggie Willis<\/a>\u00c2\u00a0and\u00c2\u00a0Hamid Drake<\/a>, among others, in his bands. If these musicians aren’t all familiar even to well-versed connoisseurs, no matter: their playing resonated throughout local and global creative music circles, always encouraging more serious improvisation.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Anderson took a chance and won when he took on my high school jam buddy pianist Jim Baker<\/a>, and he also featured brilliant flutist Nicole Mitchell<\/a>. He didn’t dictate style, he offered opportunities — and he always liked to run his own place, though it might be off the beaten track, like Birdhouse in a Swedish neighborhood which didn’t know what to make of a musical venue serving up brawny, roaring sounds but no liquor.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
As for Fred’s legacy — you can check it out on 21st Century Chase<\/a><\/i>, the dvd of his 80th birthday bash live at the Velvet Lounge, the last joint he ran. Now a quibble: the current Velvet, on a scrappy block between McCormick Place and Chinatown, is an important station on the world-wide map of ultra-expressive, spontaneous jazz. But for the romance of low-down jazz, it doesn’t touch his first Velvet Lounge, the kind of tavern that makes Chicago great. I really must amended that statement, and apply it to Fred Anderson himself — because he’s the kind of tenorist who’s made Chicago great, the kind of musician who has made sure generations of players and listeners alike follow in his giant steps. I am so grateful to have heard him.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

howardmandel.com<\/a>
\nSubscribe by Email <\/a> |
\nSubscribe by RSS<\/a> |
\nFollow on Twitter <\/a>
\n All JBJ posts <\/a> |
\n