Peter Pullman, Wail: The Life of Bud Powell (Pullman)
Pullman’s research, detail and zeal override flaws of style in this indispensible study of the architect and spirit of modern jazz piano. The author is illuminating in his treatment of Powell’s early years as a child prodigy. He is chilling in his documentation of the mature pianist’s tribulations in the hands of police, mental institutions, lawyers, the courts, and some of his women companions. He paints a bleaker picture than the conventional wisdom that Powell’s European exile was a happy period. Concocted racial euphemisms like “afram” and “euram” are distractions, as is banishment of “the” in the names of things. Descriptions of Powell’s music making are likely to send the reader to the CD shelves or YouTube to hear the brilliance of the pianist’s inventions. Pullman delivers invaluable information about a great artist. Flaws, eccentricities and all, this is an essential book.
Thanks for putting the spotlight on this book. Many interested in bebop may be of the opinion that Bud Powell was a genius who was tragically derailed by the beating he received from the police in Philadelphia in 1945 and the subsequent “shock treatments” that he received while detained in various institutions.
While these events did occur, Pullman has done a great deal of original research on these and other events in Powell’s life, and a very complex picture with additional influences emerges. I think this would interest anyone wanting a deeper insight into not only bebop but also the nature of the artistic process.
I’d just like to add that Dance of the Infidels by Francis Paudras is one of my favorite biographies ever.
Hi Alan,
Thanks for reminding me of the Paudras book. I intend to read it soon.
I’ll be putting on my reading shoes for this one, also the Paudras book recommended by Alan Broadbent.
I spent a lot of time as a teenager, just sitting 3 feet from the keyboard and listening to this master of all masters. One time, late one night, I was at the Vanguard after everyone had left and I heard this gorgeous piano playing as I was leaving the club. I stopped dead in my tracks, went back in and sat down. I looked up to see Bud Powell playing. He was staring at the ceiling and smiling blissfully as he gave a rich full-toned rendition of an old standard (I can’t recall the name at the moment). I was in heaven.
As he finished he walked toward the stairs. If you know the Village Vanguard, its stairwell was pretty steep and long. I thought I had better follow Bud to be sure he made it to the top safely. I ran up and found him lying on the ground inside the entrance of the store next to the club. I helped him to his feet and inquired where he wanted to go. “Home to Brooklyn,” was his reply. I hailed a cab, placed him in the backseat and told the driver to take him to his home at this Brooklyn address. I gave the cabbie the cash and tip to pay for the ride.
As the cab pulled away I suddenly had the realization that I had been helping the genius Earl “Bud” Powell, the greatest of all pianists. I cried with joy and sadness in my heart at this momentous event in my life.
Why does this book cost so much?