Nat KIng Cole

I think my mom’s favorite singer was Nat King Cole. Even though music was constant in our house - all  kinds of magical sounds flowed - Jazz, country, blues, show tunes, pop - We had so many of his records. When his smooth silky voice permeated our home, my mom, who also possessed a lovely croon, would sing along. But it wasn’t just the melancholy verses of "Mona Lisa". I think there was a sort of teenage girl crush lurking somewhere under the appreciation of the music.

When I was little, she used to dress me similarly to the way he looked on his album covers and even straighten my hair with a hot comb which made it resemble Mr. Cole’s coif (It was the 1970's, so you can imagine how well THAT worked ay my local junior high, especially since Afros were the rage).

Of course now I can appreciate the man's talent - Particularly his innovative piano records before he was pigeonholed as a pop singer. But hearing his music always gives me a nostalgic jolt.

Sonny the Samurai

Once saw a great photo of Sonny Rollins accompanying an interview that was shot (I think) in his old Tribeca apartment. Remember seeing a really cool poster behind him that depicted the musician in a traditional Japanese wood block style. Never could find a print of that poster, but always loved the idea of Mr. Rollins as a jazz samurai, wreaking havoc with his trusty sax. So did this for fun from memory (sure the original was much better).

Bitter.

The Leopard just had one of those long nights where you suddenly feel a little hopeless. You know - those evenings that morph into the darkest hours, where you’re lying in bed staring at the ceiling and you think about all those bad decisions you’ve made in life, loves that you lost and those heart crushing regrets, regrets, regrets.

I think this was all spurred on by listening to MeShell N’degeocello’s album, Bitter. It’s one of those records where one lover is pleading to the another in that starkly naked, almost unbearably vulnerable way. On songs like “Fool Of Me” and the title song, It’s almost like we’re listening in on a very intimate, private conversation between two lovers - literally sung in whispers. What makes Bitter especially penetrating is that N'degeocello takes on both sides, and looks at relationships without judgment from all angles.

In the way, it’s what keeps the music from feeling completely tragic. It’s saying that things are rarely what they seem. You begin to realize that yes, you made mistakes and sometimes you royally screwed up, but hopefully, your basic intentions were honest, if not thoughtful.

But still you still have wake up and go to work.

Steely Dan

Click image to enlarge

Despite all the diversity in 70’s pop radio, Steely Dan always stood out. In the hands of founders Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, there was something about the seamless mixture of jazz, rock and R&B. First, there was Fagen’s wildly distinctive voice, which always seemed on the edge of disappearing off key. And of course, there was the flawless musicianship and state of the art production. This is music created by intellectual college geeks, but what really drew a in a listener as the melodicism and the underlying soulfulness. The duo wrote of mysterious tales of misfits: gamblers, junkies, burnouts, and losers. It’s far-reaching, dramatic music.

With tunes like “Peg”, ‘Rikki Don’t Lose That Number, ‘Aja”, and so many other undisputed classics, and the band's sound was totally beyond category. It’s just Steely Dan.
      

Al Jarreau

The Leopard's fondest memory of Al Jarreau is his album Look To The Rainbow, a double LP live concert from 1977.
A pal of mine and I used to listen to it constantly in the early 80’s. It got so we had played it so many times we knew every sound, every note, ever whoop and cry.

When I think of him I think of one of my favorite lines in his song, ”Could You Believe” - “Could you believe in a dream / when I tell you that it's true?” I miss Al and will listen to his music the rest of my life.

Matthew Rybicki - Happy Accident

Working on this album cover for the superb jazz bassist Matthew Rybicki a few years ago, The Leopard was struggling a little bit coming up with a strong visual. Did an ink drawing of Matthew, but it felt a bit static and just wasn’t “moving”. I scanned it into the computer and brought it into Illustrator and used the tool “Live Trace”, to clean up my ink lines a little and make my drawing a vector file and editable. At one point, I accidentally grabbed the figure and inadvertently “stretched” it. I was about to hit “undo” because it looked like a mistake to me

at first, but I noticed it created an interesting effect. All of the sudden the title “Driven” and the art made sense. I framed the top like a vintage album cover with a little scribble where the record logo might be. Matthew seemed to love it. It was just one of those things. Jazz, man.

Leroy Neiman

Back the days when The Leopard worked at a certain well-known non profit jazz institution in New York, I had limited authority to hire illustrators and designers I always dreamed of working with. One was the great caricaturist Al Hirshfeld, whom I’ve written about before. The other was Leroy Neiman. Neiman is a polarizing character, straddling the line between illustrator and fine artist.

In the museum world, he was barely taken seriously because of his illustration background and his association with the iconic pub Playboy Magazine (he created the little nymphet on the Party Jokes pages) and his desire to live the Playboy lifestyle.

Also his hyper-colored painting struck some as garish and unsophisticated although his draftsmanship and the immediacy of his brushwork was loved by many - his paintings sold routinely for $100,000 and up.

I once visited him in the early 2000s to discuss the possible commission of a large jazz mural in his pristine studio on upper west side. He was incredibly gracious and friendly, happily displaying his latest work. I’ll never forget a wonderful piece of advice he gave me: I timidly showed him some of my work on some postcards I brought and asked him what he thought or if he had any suggestions. After a few seconds, he said, “No, you know what you’re doing.” Then he flipped the card over. “But don’t call yourself and illustrator. Call yourself an artist”. The extravagantly mustachioed Mr. Neiman passed away a virile 91. 

Sade Adu

I remember walking down the street with a friend in 1984 and seeing the cover of Diamond Life, Sade’s first album, in a record store window (remember those?). It resembled a  ‘50’S LP cover, with its blue tinted photograph a beautiful, sensuous woman. My companion remarked, “If she has a voice that matches that face, she’s got something there.”

Sure enough, weeks later we heard a lovely, burning tune on the radio - the first single off that album, “Smooth Operator”.  We could now match the face with music. And now, we had a name: Sade (pronounced, of course shar-day).

Being jazz heads, we weren’t fooling ourselves that this cool, suave pop star was an bondafide jazz singer, but she had a slick sound that suggested the sophisticated feeling of the music without the improvisational aspects that exemplify the music. She was probably one of the first truly successful smooth jazz artists.

Sade and her crack band weren’t a flash in the pan. The quietly innovative group expanded and worked with its signature sound expertly over the years until their last smash album, Soldier Of Love in 2010.

African British Helen Folasade Adu (her real name) is the very definition of diva, rarely retuning to the stage or recording studio until she sees fit, but always finds generations a eager fans who are always willing to hear more.    

Gil Scott - Heron: Nothing New

Stumbled on a recording from last year released only in the U.K. of stripped down performances of old songs by Gil Scott-Heron called Nothing New. I found myself playing it over and over again until as well as some of his 70’s LP’S until  late into the night.  I saw one of Gil’s last performances, a few months before he died in late Spring of 2011 at the Blue Note Jazz Club. I ran into him on the stairs on the way to the bathroom. "I love your music", I said. "Been listening to you all my life." He  just stared at me blankly, but not impolitely, and waited until I stepped aside.

When I was a teenager and Gil was a huge influence. He connected blackness and intellectual and political curiosity.  I think I might be a slightly different person if I had not discovered him and his music.

Big Joe Temperley

Years ago, from the day The leopard started work at Jazz At Lincoln Center, The great baritone saxophonist Joe Temperley, part of the seminal Jazz At Lincoln Center Orchestra led by Wynton Marsalis - was incredibly nice and friendly to me at all times - a real gentleman. This is the year of his 85th birthday.True story: one of the official sponsors at JALC was Brooks Brothers, who would provide the suits to the band members. Each year new outfits were provided and sometimes the musician's used outfits were offered to staff. Joe and I wore the same shoe size, so I would get these beautiful Brooks Brothers black dress shoes that Joe had worn the year before.Years later, every time I'd see Joe on the street, I'd have to say, "remember me, Joe? I'm the guy who walked in your shoes!"

Wynton, come blow your horn

 

Some years ago in The Leopard's past, I worked for a certain well known non profit jazz organization in New York helmed by world famous jazz trumpeter Wynton Marsalis. The job eventually became life forming and one the greatest experiences of  my life, but I will never forget that fateful first week. In my capacity as Art Director for the organization, I was assigned to design a huge banner to herald the venue's upcoming season. Mr. Marsalis had mentioned to me he had just had a brand new Monette trumpet made, and I got the  idea to use a photograph of the horn as the main art. This particular instrument was completely designed and created with Mr. Marsalis in mind and was worth at least $10,000. Over a year had been spent on custom design details and development.

I asked Wynton to borrow this gorgeous horn to take it to be photographed. He loved the idea (Wynton at the time didn't much like to be photographed himself, which would surely have been the next option) and cheerfully handed it over. I grabbed a subway downtown to a location that I wasn't entirely familiar with. Preoccupied with the task at hand, I suddenly realized I had arrived at my stop. Without thinking,  I jumped off the train with a shot. But once the train doors started to close, I had a sickly feeling I had forgotten something. The case holding Wynton's golden horn was still on the seat!  I grabbed for the doors and tried to pry them open with all my strength. A good Samaritan - a young woman who had been sitting next to me - picked up the case and tried to hand it to me through the closing doors. I felt utter horror as the train began to move forward. I yelled ,"Stop! Stop!" at the top of my lungs as the train started to speed up, leaving the station. 

Finally, the door opened again about two-thirds wide and with the woman's help, I was able to pull it towards me without a scratch on the case.

As the train disappeared back into the tunnel, I'll never forget the satisfied look on the woman's face. I hope I get to meet her again some day and buy her a beer.