Preston Reed

Listening to Jaco Pastorius

A few weeks ago, when I was on tour in the south of England, Paul Reynolds gave me a cd to listen to on my drive back up the country. It was Word Of Mouth Revisited  by the Jaco Pastorius Big Band. I absolutely loved it. 

I went out and bought everything I could find with Jaco on it...his epynomous debut recording Jaco Pastorius, his second album Word of Mouth, all the Weather Report cds he is on, an anthology cd set (Punk Jazz) with music he has done with Pat Metheny, Mike Stern, Joni Mitchell and a slew of others, and several live concert cds.

I am now a Jaco fanatic. Why didn't this happen a long time ago?

Ironically, I think it was about listening to the wrong word of mouth.

He had a reputation for being difficult.

He used to tell everyone that he was the greatest bass player in the world. Maybe that didn't come across well.

The thing is, he was. 

And as far as I'm concerned, still is.

As Pat Metheny wrote in the revised liner notes to Jaco's debut album, he changed forever the way the bass is played by all bass players.

He had a short career and a terribly tragic end.

Maybe this has made people wary of checking out his amazing music.

If you have never listened to Jaco, it is time to start.

If you liked what he did with Weather Report, you need to hear him playing his own compositions and arrangements with his own bands.

I never knew until I listened to all the music he has played on that in addition to being a mesmerizingly-talented bass player with impeccable rhythm and phrasing, he was a brilliant composer (check out the lush, tango-inspired, hauntingly romantic and simply exquisite "Three Views Of A Secret" on Word Of Mouth), arranger, producer (he co-produced all the Weather Report cds he was on) and band leader.

I was repeatedly surprised listening to these cds at how tasteful, supportive, and appropriate-to-the-tune Jaco's playing consistently comes across. He posesses the rarest of qualities in a musician: he makes everything he plays on his own, yet he neither gets in the way of the music nor draws (inappropriate) attention to himself. His spectacular virtuosity never interrupts his utterly precise, fluid rhythm. Every tune he plays on is enhanced and energized by his presence, and every musician he plays with is beautifully supported.

I have not read his authorized biography yet (Jaco: The Incredible And Tragic Life Of Jaco Pastorius by Bill Milkowski). I am not in a hurry to.

The bottom line is, when it comes to music, I am not interested in whether someone pissed a lot of people off, had an oversized ego, drug and alcohol problems, mental health problems, or anything else.

Jaco's music says everything I need to know about him. It is inventive, soulful, funky, emotionally complex, and just plain thrilling. He was supremely generous in sharing a brilliant, totally new way of hearing music and rhythm. It is a gift to anyone lucky enough to come aross it.

Listening to his music makes me feel like I know him.  I have the greatest respect for him.

My music used in an Andrew Wyeth slideshow

A little while ago I received an e-mail from a photographer who works for the Philadelphia Inquirer. His name was Chip Fox and he was asking permission to use one of my tunes for two online slideshows of photographs "visually exploring the two sites where Andrew Wyeth did the majority of his paintings"

The project is meant to accompany a retrospective exhibit of Wyeth's work now happening at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Andrew Wyeth is one of  America's all-time greatest painters. I have always admired his work. I said yes immediately.

The tune he was interested in using was "Franzl's Saw". There are two versions of "Franzl's Saw" available, an electric version from my latest album History of Now, and an acoustic version, performed on a National steel guitar. He wanted to use the acoustic version, from my album Metal.

The results are stupendous.

Chip is a talented photographer who has obviously thought carefully about his music.

Each show runs the length of "Franzl's Saw" (around six minutes) and includes photos, text, and quotes from Wyeth about his life and work.

Each show is beautifully and tastefully produced, echoing the stark simplicity and desolate realism of Wyeth's paintings.

Eerie, atmospheric, emotionally moving, they transport you instantly into another world.

I got chills more than once.

Thank you Chip. I am honored.

Multimedia Slideshow

Take twelve minutes to visit the world of Andrew Wyeth. You won't regret it.

You can e-mail Chip Fox at [email protected]

The wrong trousers: a travel story

I decided it was time to wear those moleskin trousers I'd been avoiding. I had paid a lot for them at a trendy shop several months earlier. Slightly dressier than jeans, but still not "dressy", they might be just the thing for the trip I was about to take.

My wife Catherine and I were going to Frankfurt to attend a huge music trade show called the Musikmesse. We would be taking an evening flight from Glasgow on Ryan Air.

If you've flown Ryan Air to Frankfurt before, you know that it doesn't take you to Frankfurt at all, but rather to a place in the middle of nowhere called Hahn, after which you get on a bus for a two-hour ride to Frankfurt. When the bus finally arrives in Frankfurt it stops on a side street at the back of the central train station. At 1:40am it doesn't feel like a terribly safe place to hang around.

The contact who was supposed to pick us up wasn't there. We tried calling him and his phone was switched off.

We tried the hotel he had booked us into but there was no answer.

We decided to get a taxi to the hotel.

A taxi pulled up driven by a young, Middle-Eastern-looking driver. His English was not good and he didn't know the hotel, but it came up when he punched it into his GPS.

It was several miles outside the city center in a residential neighborhood.

When we arrived the hotel sign was dark and the reception office was closed for the night. There was no one waiting for us, no night staff around, and no emergency number to call.

Our contact was still not answering his phone.

Catherine suggested we take the taxi back into town to the Marriott hotel -- a towering Frankfurt landmark. If our contact was out looking for us, this would be an easy place for him to find. There would also be night staff available to help us.

We got back into the taxi and I told the driver to take us to the Marriott.

When we pulled up to front of the hotel, I grabbed my wallet, paid the driver, got a reciept, and got out of the cab. We said goodbye and he drove off.

We stood beside the entrance of the hotel with our bags, feeling tired and shaken about the closed hotel and our no-show contact. A hotel room would be impossible to come by at this hour of the night, unless by some miracle the Marriott had a room available, which, if they did, would be exhorbitantly priced.

Still, it might be our only option.

We made a contingency plan: while continuing to try to reach our contact, we would see if they had any rooms.

I checked for my wallet before heading inside. It was gone.

Panicking, I checked all my pockets. No wallet anywhere.

It was not on the ground where I had exited the taxi.

I must have missed the slippery back pocket of my trousers while putting it back after paying the driver. It was now sitting on the back seat of the cab.

No wallet. No cash. No credit card to pay for a room. No contact to help us.

Fuck. I hate these trousers.

I went into the the hotel and asked the concierge for help. His name was  Gidde. He asked questions and made calls. He never asked me if I was a guest, which I appreciate.

Did I know the name of the cab company?

No.

Did I get a reciept with their name on it?

Yeah. It's in the wallet.

Was it a Mercedes? (This would determine whether it was one of the two main cab companies)

I think so.

Did I remember anything else?

I had noticed a metal plaque on the dashboard as I was leaving the cab. I thought it read "Munawar Anwar".

There was no driver named Munawar Anwar at either of the two main cab companies.

All that was left to do was to call the cab companies back in the morning and see if someone had turned in a wallet. And report it to the police if that didn't work.

I went back outside to give Catherine the update.

She had just gotten through to our contact. He had left his phone charging in his room while coming to pick us up at the train station. He had just gotten back to the hotel after driving all over town looking for us (without his phone).

He would be there shortly to pick us up.

There was a measured feeling of relief. I would deal with the missing wallet in the morning after getting some sleep.

I went back in and gave the concierge our mobile number in case the driver brought the wallet back to the Marriott. He took down the info. I went back outside.

Catherine was pointing and smiling.

"I think it's him."

It was our cab driver. He pulled to a stop at the front door. I rushed up to the him.

"Do you have my wallet?" I said.

He smiled, reached beside him, stepped out of the cab, and handed me my wallet.

I hugged him. He didn't seem to mind.

He said in broken English that he had noticed it on the back seat after dropping us off and kept it safe. He had brought it back as soon as he could.

I handed him a twenty euro note, which he did not refuse. We thanked him over and over and he drove off, smiling and waving.

A closer inspection revealed that everything was there. I pulled out the receipt I had gotten earlier.

His name was actually Munawar Ahmed. I had been close.

I went back in and told Gidde that the driver had returned the wallet. I shook his hand and thanked him for his help.

Our contact picked us up a minute later and took us to our hotel.

If you are ever in Frankfurt and need a cab with an honest driver, contact:

Munawar Ahmed Taxibetrieb, Breitenbachstrasse 1, 60487 Frankfurt am
Main, Germany, Tel. 01625089308.

I will be avoiding moleskin trousers in the future. They're not worth it.