[Dixielandjazz] Ron Cooper documentary reviewed

[Robert Ringwald]

I wonder if any of our Chicago members knew of this guy?


Ron Cooper documentary reviewed
Film Salvages Story of Homeless Jazzman
by Howard Reich
Chicago Tribune, February 25, 2011

If talent alone were the predictor of artistic success, Chicago singer Ron Cooper
would have been a star. Blessed with a plush baritone and a remarkable ability to
use it, Cooper in the 1970s seemed destined for great things.
Instead, he spent the last two decades of his life homeless, stumbling into gigs
wherever he could find them but little noticed by anyone who could rescue his career
-- or save his life. When he died in 2007, at age 62, he was utterly obscure, a great
musician whose art was savored by a few but unknown to a jazz public that surely
would have treasured it.
Fortunately, Chicago documentarian Dustin Grove has salvaged Cooper's story and --
more important -- his music, in a moving, melancholy documentary, "If I'm Not Home:
Ron Cooper, A Jazz Life."
Befriended by Cooper two years before the singer's death, Grove began interviewing
him and filming his performances voraciously. In effect, a neophyte documentarian
trained his lens on a musician no one else was vaguely interested in.
But Cooper proves a mesmerizing subject, singing exquisitely in ballads and bebop,
opining on his troubles with disarming candor.
>From a hospital bed he confesses: "The doctor told me... 'If you get out of here,
and you go back to drinking like you were drinking, you're going to have only two
more car rides in your life. One is to us, where we'll pronounce your silly ass dead,
and the next one is in a hearse.'"
Contemplating success that eluded him, Cooper observes: "If it was meant for me,
I'd have it. Obviously, this is not meant for me. So I'm not going to have it on
a grand scale. But during my lifetime, I've made a lot of people happy through my
music."
That's obvious whenever Cooper sings, listeners relishing every note, even when he's
crooning on the subway platform for his own pleasure, oblivious of everyone around
him. No sooner does he begin to sing than heads start to turn, unsuspecting commuters
dumbstruck at what they're hearing.
And therein lies much of the beauty of this film, which follows Cooper into his world:
the streets. The singer tells most of his story as he wanders the boulevards, night
falling, a satchel often thrown over his shoulder. He sleeps on the elevated train,
serenades diners eating al fresco, takes up residence in clubs that eventually throw
him out.
Yet not once does this film pity Cooper or exploit him. Instead, it simply allows
him to lament his fate, reflect on life and share his music. The conversation and
the music move seamlessly from one to the other, thanks to Grove, who served as editor,
director, cameraman, sound man, you name it.
That one-man-band style of filmmaking wouldn't work for all documentaries, but it
was ideal here, for Grove could simply grab his camera at a moment's notice and shoot
Cooper whenever the singer felt like sounding off. The herky-jerky, curbside cinematography
captures the nature and the rhythm of Cooper's life, which was constantly in motion,
the man always looking for the next meal, the next drink, the next gig.
Surprisingly, Grove includes a sentimental montage toward the end of the film that
contradicts the beautifully understated tone of everything that preceded it. And
the film unfortunately amplifies dated stereotypes about the vices of the jazz life,
though considering Cooper's history with booze, drugs and other excesses, that probably
was unavoidable.
But these are quibbles in a film that brings to light a jazz story well worth knowing.
In the process, it also gives a formidable artist the spotlight he so richly deserved
but never received -- until now.
______________________________________
by Albert Williams
Chicago Reader, February 24, 2011
With his remarkable talent for gritty yet sophisticated scat singing, Chicago vocalist
Ron Cooper could have been a star, or at least a steadily employed journeyman musician.
Instead he wound up on the street. A familiar figure along the byways of Uptown,
Wicker Park, and Rush Street, Cooper could be found delivering his smoky, rhythmically
subtle renditions of jazz standards in clubs like the Green Mill and the Gallery
Cabaret -- or in the Division Street station of the Blue Line subway, whose cars
he frequently rode all night so he wouldn't have to sleep in a shelter. Director-cinematographer
Dustin Grove shot this intimate 2010 documentary over a period of two years, leading
up to the subject's death in 2007 at age 53; the video celebrates Cooper's gifts
but also confronts his struggles with alcoholism, homelessness, and ill health. Commentary
by local jazz notables (including Von Freeman, Fareed Haque, and Joanie Palatto)
illuminate this enigmatic man who lived for music but had trouble functioning in
the "real" world.


--Bob Ringwald
www.ringwald.com
Fulton Street Jazz Band
530/ 642-9551 Office
916/ 806-9551 Cell
Amateur (Ham) Radio K6YBV

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.
She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds."
I bought her a bathroom scale.