[Dixielandjazz] Roswell Rudd

[Steve Barbone]

Before 1960 when trombonist Roswell Rudd went off into the world of avant
garde jazz with Archie Shepp and Ornette Coleman (and one avant garde gig
with Kenny Davern), he was an extraordinary Dixieland trombonist. At both
the Hotchkiss School, and then at Yale in Eli's Chosen Six. I was lucky
enough to meet and play Dixieland with him at the Cinderella Club in NYC in
the 1950s along with Davern, Windhurst, Sudhalter and others.

Part of his extraordinary journey through the musical world is below. He is
a fine, inquisitive musician and not really OKOM these days, even though his
avant garde music is infused with tailgate smears learned 55 years ago.

Cheers,
Steve Barbone   

Where the Music Surrounds Him

NY TIMES - By LISA A. PHILLIPS

IT had been a whirlwind couple of weeks for the trombonist Roswell Rudd: a
performance in Berlin, a recording session in Brussels and, just hours after
he got off the plane in New York, a master class and concert in western
Massachusetts. At the end of it all last month, he retreated to his second
home in Kerhonkson, N.Y., at the southern edge of the Catskills.

³This is where I feel sheltered, protected,² he said. ³It was so good to
come inside, have a hot bowl of soup, get in bed. I can hear the birds, the
wind in the trees. The stars are easily visible. It feels safe.²

Mr. Rudd was a central figure in the avant-garde jazz scene of the 1960s and
70s. After a long career slump, he has re-emerged in recent years with a
series of critically acclaimed collaborations with musicians from around the
world. The driving forces behind his comeback, he says, have been his
partner, Verna Gillis, an ethnomusicologist and music manager, and the
creative energy he gets from their Kerhonkson home and the 21 acres of
forest that surround it.

³This place has given me a new start,² he said. ³It¹s been one of the
biggest gifts of my life.²

On a chilly fall afternoon, Mr. Rudd, who is 72, wrapped a scarf around his
neck and carried his trombone into the woods. A crow cawed, and he played a
piercing, staccato sound in reply. Then he pointed his trombone at the
brilliant yellow and red leaves falling from a stand of trees and made a
gentle fluttering sound.

³I just consider all this some kind of cosmic musical notation,² he said,
gesturing around him. ³I¹m playing what I feel and what I see.²

Musical synergy also happens inside the modest wood-sided house and in Mr.
Rudd¹s studio. One December night a few years ago, Mr. Rudd got word that
two Mongolian throat singers were giving demonstrations at local schools. He
tracked them down, and two days later Odsuren, a master throat singer, and
his student, Battuvshin Baldantseren, were settled in his living room for a
jam session. Both trombone playing and throat singing rely on combining
strong bass notes with high harmonic overtones, Mr. Rudd said, so the result
was ³an acoustician¹s dream.²

That collaboration led Mr. Baldantseren to return two years later with his
group, the Mongolian Buryat Band, to record an album, ³Blue Mongol²
(Sunnyside), with Mr. Rudd in 2005. Last summer, he toured with them in
Mongolia and Siberia.

The house¹s spacious living room is the usual musical gathering spot. A
grand piano sits in its center, beside a tall, colorful drum from Nigeria.
The room also serves as Ms. Gillis¹s office, so the music-making sometimes
moves out to Mr. Rudd¹s studio.

Ms. Gillis, 65, has been coming to Kerhonkson since 1978, when she and her
late husband, Bradford Graves, a sculptor, bought a cabin and a Civil
War-era barn on 50 acres for $50,000 with her brother, David Gillis, and his
wife. Ms. Gillis, who does not have children, wanted to spend more time with
her brother¹s three children. ³Anywhere they were,² she said, ³I would have
gone.² 

After her brother and his wife divorced and moved away, Ms. Gillis kept 21
acres. She and Mr. Graves built the house in 1988, using his cottage design.
At first, it was only 800 square feet: a bedroom, bathroom, dining room and
kitchen. The living room nearly doubled the size of the house when they
added it in 1995. 

Ms. Gillis had known Mr. Rudd since she was a graduate student at Goddard
College in Plainfield, Vt., in the 1970s, studying with the musicologist
Alan Lomax. Mr. Rudd, then working as his assistant, supervised her master¹s
thesis. The two kept in touch over the years, as Ms. Gillis made a name for
herself as a music manager and producer of indigenous music recordings from
Asia, the Middle East and Latin America. He performed at Soundscape, a loft
performance space she ran in the 1980s on 52nd Street in Manhattan, and at a
performing arts center she founded at the former train station in Accord,
near Kerhonkson. 

³I always liked Roswell,² she said. ³He was one of those people you looked
forward to seeing.²

Meanwhile, Mr. Rudd¹s career had stalled. He moved upstate with his wife and
two children, living in and around Woodstock. After a couple of college
teaching gigs, he worked several odd jobs, including playing with a band
that accompanied comedians, fire-eaters and cabaret acts at the Granit
Hotel, a resort not far from Ms. Gillis¹s home.

Then, in 1998, Mr. Graves died. Less than a month later, Mr. Rudd¹s wife had
a stroke and moved into a nursing home. ³We both had big losses,² Ms. Gillis
said. ³We had more in common with each other than with anyone else we knew.
That was a real bond.²

Mr. Rudd, who was widowed in 2004, began spending more time with her in
Kerhonkson. He ³knew how to be in a house,² she said, at ease with cooking
and other domestic routines. And he didn¹t blink an eye at her penchant for
collecting, calling the salt-and-pepper shakers, vintage dresses, Nigerian
doors and other loot she¹d gathered ³marvelous things.²

He also felt at home among her late husband¹s abstract limestone sculptures,
which stand in the living room, his studio, a storage barn and an open-air
pavilion built to store them. Mr. Rudd, who was a close friend of Mr. Graves
and used to perform at his art openings, says the sculptures inspire his
music. ³All of these shapes talk to me,² he said.

As Mr. Rudd¹s relationship with Ms. Gillis grew, he realized she held the
key to fulfilling a longtime dream: collaborating with international
musicians. Ms. Gillis, who helped start the careers of Youssou N¹Dour and
Paquito D¹Rivera, among others, connected him to Toumani Diabate, the Malian
kora player. 

Mr. Rudd traveled to Mali in 2000 and 2001, and their partnership led to the
release of the album ³MALIcool² (Sunnyside) in 2003. A rash of similarly
ambitious collaborations followed. Mr. Rudd has performed with Li Xiaofeng,
a Peking Opera star, and recorded with the Latin music virtuoso Yomo Toro.
He has spent a lot of time in Africa and Asia in the last decade, but the
warmth of his Kerhonkson home has also brought many musicians to him.
Members of the Gangbé Brass Band of Benin once drove all night after a gig
in Detroit so they could start rehearsing in his living room first thing the
next morning. 

These days, Mr. Rudd and Ms. Gillis split their time between Kerhonkson and
their one-bedroom Manhattan apartment at Seventh Avenue and 25th street in
Chelsea. The couple added a small back porch this year and a second bedroom
and bathroom, with a Japanese-style soaking tub that includes a view Mr.
Rudd treasures of a weeping birch tree.

Mr. Rudd, who had been living full time upstate before their relationship
began, savors the interplay between city and country. Growing up in
Lakeville, Conn., he couldn¹t wait to live in New York, but after years in
the city, he craved the woods. Yet once he moved to the Catskills, he missed
New York and its jazz scene.

Now, he has both worlds. ³When I get down to the big morass of energy down
there, a lot goes out and never comes back,² he said. ³This is where I
recharge.² 

That the Granit Hotel (now the Hudson Valley Resort and Spa), the place he
made his living in the years when he was out of the jazz limelight, is just
a five-minute drive away does not haunt him, he said. ³Struggle is life,² he
said. ³I¹ve had plenty wherever I¹ve gone.²

There is far less struggle these days, and he gives credit for that to Ms.
Gillis and their Catskill refuge.

³This place is just an improviser¹s dream,² he said. ³When improvisers get
gifts like this when they¹re playing, when suddenly there¹s a flash and
something opens up, you just have to go with it. That¹s what this experience
is here with Verna. We¹re just going to take it to the stars.²