written by Bobby Broom for Jazz Voicings, his bimonthly Chicago Jazz Magazine column

Hiram Bullock probably became best known as the barefoot guitarist in Paul Schaefer’s band for the Late Night with David Letterman show during the early eighties. But he amassed a massive resumé playing alongside many of contemporary music’s brightest stars including James Brown, Miles Davis, The Brecker Bros., Paul Simon, David Sanborn, Kenny Loggins, Billy Joel, Barbra Streisand, Burt Bacharach, Roberta Flack, Steely Dan, Spyro Gyra, Eric Clapton, Al Green and James Taylor. Hiram’s hybrid style was an unabashed, organic blend of rock, blues, funk and jazz that has and will continue to influence like-minded guitarists for generations to come.

I first heard Hiram live when I was still a teenager in New York City. He was playing at a club called Mikell’s, located in my upper west side neighborhood, with a band comprised of veteran and future all-stars that included Lenny White on drums and Marcus Miller on bass. I remember that I recorded the gig on my big, hulking cassette player/recorder and recall enjoying reliving the band’s funkier version of George Benson’s hit Breezin, which featured the alternatively spaced-out, echo-laden, blues-rock from Hiram’s guitar replacing George’s classic part. As huge a Benson fan as I was, I wasn’t so blindly faithful that I’d miss the beauty of what took place on that tune that night. Confidently using his personal style like a singing voice, Hiram’s reading of the melody and his solo stood apart from the Benson recording and moved me just the same. It was probably 1977 and Hiram was just 22 years old.

I’d hear about him often as the years passed and his reputation and associations grew. I’d also see him around New York from time to time – sometimes at that most popular – hang – for us musicians at that time, 55 Grand Street. This was he jazz club/after hours spot in the village where a who’s who of musicians would gather to play music, recreate, or both. For example, I remember being on stage there one night jamming with Benson and Mike Stern. Anyway, for whatever reason, Hiram and I never really hit it off as friends, but I hope there was an inherent feeling of respect toward him coming from me, because if I had had the burning desire to pursue that style, Bullock’s playing definitely would have been one interpretation of jazz-rock guitar that I would have tried to follow.

At the time we were all still in our twenties and most likely trying to figure out just who we were or wanted to be, musically and otherwise. For me there weren’t many young, up and coming hollow body jazz guitar superstars to chase after, so I was kind of on my own in my passion and pursuit of the clean tone. And really, this style of classic, jazz guitar was not very popular at all in 1982, so to remain a viable candidate as a modern jazz guitarist for hire I was experimenting with my sound and style a bit, trying to take and incorporate some of the essence of what John Scofield was doing. It was clear that Mike Stern and John Scofield ruled the roost as far as what modern jazz guitar was supposed to sound like back then. But Sco was playing closest to my sound – not fully distorted – as opposed to Stern who would stomp on that ‘purple haze’ pedal as the highlight of his three-tiered improvisational process (clean-toned blues and bebop, then distorted everything).

I can’t say unequivocally, but it seemed that during that period in the early eighties Hiram may have been looking to Mike Stern for musical inspiration in a similar way as I looked to Scofield. Stern had more of a command of the bebop language and I remember getting the impression from seeing their interaction that Hiram wanted a little more of that for himself. Funny stuff if you add the fact that Hiram was already a ‘first-call’ session guitarist having played on hundreds of record dates and jingles with some of music’s biggest names. He also had the David Letterman Show job. His particular guitar style was already highly sought after.

By 1992 I had moved to Chicago and was pursuing my own sound and style. This was the year that Hiram released his third record as a leader, Way Kool. This record immediately became one of my favorites and is still to this day. The searing fusion of blues, rock, funk and jazz that makes up Hiram’s sound is a perfect blend of styles that becomes unique unto itself in his hands. His guitar playing is impeccable and incredibly soulful. The songwriting and production leave nothing to be desired. Even his better-than-adequate vocal work and the placement of those vocal songs in the sequence are just right. I can’t remember the last time that I listened to a record from start to finish, repeatedly, before I did with Way Kool a couple of weeks ago. I imagine that this record has got to be a perfect representation of Hiram Bullock’s lifework. I know I will enjoy it forever – Thank you Hiram!

Here’s an excerpt of Hiram’s tune, Never Give Up from the Way Kool CD

Way Kool

written by Bobby Broom for Jazz Voicings, his bimonthly Chicago Jazz Magazine column

People often ask me what it’s like to work with Sonny Rollins: what he’s like, what he practices, if he hangs out with the band, et cetera. Well, forget all that. My relationship with Mr. Rollins has been so important to me on so many levels that to approach it so trivially in writing would be disrespectful. He has been mentor (musical and otherwise), colleague and friend to me and I have always treasured this relationship and my good fortune of being able to work with this jazz master. Here are some thoughts, memories and observations that I’ve taken away.

One of the earliest lessons I learned from Sonny, and the one that most influenced me, is that jazz is an honorable and estimable life journey. What I mean by that is, those of us who choose (and are fortunate enough!) to play jazz music for a living, must recognize it as a very respectable kind of work (if you can get it). Granted, until the 1980s, there were good reasons to have reservations about “the jazz life” and the sordid reputations of jazz musicians and the nightlife in which the music lived. Because for its first fifty years jazz existed and flourished in that environment, it remains difficult for some to imagine how it could possibly be a serious art form and profession. In the past, this attitude often resulted in second-class treatment of jazz musicians in every way imaginable. And although at times jazz and its musicians are still not treated optimally or equitably, the stature of jazz music and the conditions under which it operates are, on the whole, better than before. And more than ever, jazz music is viewed by the general public and its institutions as a creative and intellectual art deserving of credit and celebration as a cultural treasure. The varied environments it occupies and endowments that jazz receives reflect this evolved mindset. We musicians have our predecessors’ (like Sonny Rollins’) hard work, tolerance, strength and perseverance to thank for these advances.

By the time I began working with Sonny he was a jazz figure who by choice no longer played nightclubs. In my early years with him (the 1980s), we would occasionally play large supper-club or showcase-type venues like New York City’s Bottom Line (a venue akin to Martyrs or the Park West in Chicago), but mainly we played theaters, concert halls and open-air, festival stages. At that time, most often the ‘nightlife’ for us musicians consisted of transporting the band back to the hotel to rest for an early lobby-call the following day to go to the airport and off to the next city. During those years, I watched as we traveled the world in this respectable style that befitted how diligently Sonny had prepared and continued to practice his craft, and how seriously he took his art and his work. As a young jazz musician observing these things, I was inspired and emboldened.

Growing up in New York City, Sonny had access to musical icons and personalities that he could look to for inspiration and aspiration. I recall his stories about being a kid listening to Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker and Louis Jordan records; and sitting on the front steps of Hawkins’ Harlem apartment building waiting for the jazz star to come home so he could get his autograph and talk to him. Of course at that time Sonny probably didn’t suspect that he would one day play with his tenor saxophone idols and had no idea of the impact that he would ultimately have on jazz music and on the art of jazz saxophone playing. He just had a burning desire to play. Sonny was very fortunate to have been prepared to emerge in a place and time when, as before the swing era, the climate was right for musical contributions by him and his peers—a group of talented and creative young men, bursting with enthusiasm to musically express themselves. Their music was a reflection of the environment and the social conditions from which they came. These young men were ready to play active roles as virtuoso musicians as jazz music shifted away from the Swing Era and toward newer sensibilities.

By the time I became enamored with jazz it was 1975 and, according to some jazz purists, the greatest moments in the music had ended with the advent of jazz-rock-fusion and electric instruments. At the time, I had no knowledge of this sentiment, but while listening to records from the 1940s to sixties and pining and dreaming about being involved with jazz music and connecting with some of the great musicians that I was hearing on these records, I did feel that maybe I’d been born in the wrong era. I wondered if, due to bad timing, I’d simply missed out.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the practice room. I learned that there were other forces at work directing the flow of my life. There was no logical reason why at sixteen years old, three or four years after picking up the guitar, I should be learning tunes and about playing jazz from Al Haig, one of Charlie Parker’s favorite pianists, especially not on his bandstand during performances! Playing Carnegie Hall with Sonny Rollins at sixteen was even more nuts. These and other moments served my intuition with subtle messages, and moved me further toward the direction of my dreams, showing me a different look at the relationship between possibility and reality. All I had then was talent, desire, an intense love of music, and a good work ethic and attitude. Apparently, the other details of who, what, when, where, how and why were not totally under my control. My hands were full with practicing anyway, so it was not hard for me to accept just pushing the pedal but not steering.

Now thirty years later, after having reconnected with my mentor and friend, I am at times almost more amazed than the first time around at the mystery of life. I continued along my musical path trying to keep the pilot light lit even through some extremely cold and windy Chicago winters. I met and played with many more great people in jazz, recorded, composed, educated (myself and others) and made a career for myself. When the opportunity came for us to play again I suspect that Sonny felt good about his earlier investment of time in me and about the chance to get further returns.

It has been real interesting for me to be able to reconnect with Sonny Rollins so intimately through music after so many years away. Now, after forming my own ideas, methodologies and opinions, I’ve had the opportunity to compare notes with him so to speak, both directly and indirectly, and to affirm some ideas at which I’ve arrived over the years, which has often been particularly gratifying.

It’s also an inspiration to see him, at seventy-seven years old, still practicing. I’ll call him sometimes and have to hold while he puts his horn down. He’s still, as he says, “a work in progress”, as are his ideas and desires about his musical presentation. He is mindful about not getting stuck in jazz’s past methodically and continues to reach toward what he is hearing for himself and his band to play. It’s pretty cool to be able to hear him now and to observe his playing – the changes he’s made, what’s remained, been added, deleted. It would have been so easy for him to have simply stopped at 1962, settling for what some fans still feel is his greatest period. He could still be playing the same things, the same way, and some would be happy, but not Sonny. While, because of his pedigree, he is a traditionalist in many ways, he knows like all of the music’s greats before him that jazz, like life, continues to change and move in one direction or another. Sonny Rollins has remained open to embracing the mystery and opting for forward motion in life and music.

written by Bobby Broom for Jazz Voicings, his bimonthly Chicago Jazz Magazine column

I sometimes wonder if jazz needs a competition akin to the Olympics in order to move towards meritocracy in the field. The competition categories might be: harmonic inventiveness, time feel, solo structure – One thing I’d bet all jazz musicians would agree on is that audiences could use a handbook, especially those at casual venues.

It is seriously not easy for musicians to come to terms with the fact that many audience members at casual jazz engagements are not there to enjoy the music. In the Chicagoland area there are a fair number of establishments that are primarily bars or restaurants but that also offer music. According to a recent study done by the Chicago Music Commission on the economic impact of Chicago music, our city ranks fourth in the nation in its number of small venues and clubs, two percent of which are jazz venues. Before you get all negative, that percentage is comparable to New York (2.6) and surprisingly, Chicago beats out New York three-to-two in small venues per thousand people. (Incidentally, not surprisingly, New Orleans doubles Chicago in number of jazz clubs, as does Atlanta.)

Being a transplanted New Yorker, I’m still amazed when live jazz is offered for no cover charge. I’ve also been struck by some customers’ hesitancy in paying even the most nominal cover charges. Could it be that the lack of cover charge has conditioned patrons in certain ways? Does not charging customers lessen the credibility of musicians and their music? No doubt, there’s an ignorance and lack of awareness and understanding in the general public (through no real fault of their own) of just what jazz music is – that it’s an art form with a uniquely American cultural history; and that it is also a commodity that can provide entertainment for listening, dancing or general mood setting. But as it stands, most people probably don’t think of any of these things when they think of jazz. I’d love to know what some of them are thinking when they walk into a place and there’s a jazz band playing.

Last night at the Green Mill (one of Chicago’s most popular and well-known jazz clubs) three young ladies in their twenties walked in. It was late and we were playing our last ten-or-so minutes. The girls decided to sit right up front next to the stage, where I could hear their conversation and they could hear my grunting and groaning. Of course, they had to shout to hear each other over the music, so the question is: if you know you’re going to talk… a lot… then why choose to sit in that spot? The girls did come around after a few minutes, quieting down during a guitar solo (maybe it was the groaning or facial contortions!). Then the band hooked them with Michael Jackson’s old hit, “The Way You Make Me Feel.” One of them wanted to sing, but fortunately wasn’t so lubricated that she would press the issue or try to come up on stage.

I believe that it is a customer’s responsibility to assess an entertainment situation and behave accordingly. It is a common courtesy to fellow customers as well as to the musicians to not be a disturbance, especially if there are individuals (even if there are only two or three) who seem to be intently focused on the musicians on the stage.

One pet peeve I have is when folks approach the bandstand with questions or requests during the middle of a tune. Believe it or not, I’ve had people come up and try to talk to me during a guitar solo! Sometimes in these casual social settings customers feel entitled to certain “services” that they feel the musicians- “the band” -should provide for them. They want to hear their favorite tune, or the birthday song for their friend, or their “sister’s a singer, can she sing a tune?”. It’s a bandleader’s responsibility to gauge when to acquiesce and when to decline in these situations; and sometimes we’ll make mistakes in these situations too.

If there were such a thing as an audience/customer manual, a general rule would be: don’t treat the musicians like you own them unless you do. If you’ve hired them to play your wedding or social function, then have at it! Sure, your aunt can sing as many tunes as she’d like and the hired music should be whatever you want it to be. But in a club, or even a bar or restaurant, where you are fortunate enough to have the gift of music provided gratis, please don’t be demanding or condescending to the musicians. Realize that these are performers who have most likely worked really hard to prepare for this presentation. If you aren’t aware or don’t care who they are, or what they are playing be mindful that perhaps someone else does care about them and/or their music.

Musicians, like everyone else, want to feel appreciated. It is a precarious position that we are placing ourselves in when we occupy the stage in order to make an offering to an audience. We know that we are risking the possibility of rejection, but we hope that we will be able to connect with you–that you will like and even appreciate what we do. Because I’ve been fortunate to play such a wide range of venue types and for such a long time, I’ve become somewhat conditioned, learning that various stages will yield different responses. When I’m playing in a bar or restaurant I don’t expect much attention, especially compared to a club or concert hall. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want it – But I’ve found that this low expectation serves me well, and the fact that the intention behind my performance remains constant no matter the setting works for me as well.

Finally, this is obvious stuff, but it bears repeating: The most rewarding thing that musicians can receive is your applause. If for whatever reason that is not doable, respect will do.