Finding Carla Bley
“ I thought, 'Wow, I'm an American composer!' It sounded so much better than being a jazz musician so I thought I'd do an American thing. ”
Bley adores touring. "It's just fun. To me it's like a vacation," she says. But her latest big band album, Looking For America concentrates on the country where she lives. There's a gregarious arrangement of "The National Anthem", festive rhythms from the Mexican culture she remembers from a California childhood, and an imaginative orchestration of "Old MacDonald Had A Farm". Recorded on her own label, WATT, and distributed by ECM, the finished tapes landed on the record exec's desk the day the United States declared war on Iraq. "The timing was horrible. You have to laugh at how awful the timing was," she said. "I think ECM was a bit hesitant about releasing it, but I wasn't. It's not about politics. It's about music. People think of American music as a totally original thing. Jazz was created right here. Latin music was created right here - all in America. It's amazing that two continents could come up with totally original music."
Some inspiring words came from a professor at a college Bley visited a couple years ago. He said she wasn't really a jazz musician, but more of an American composer. She liked the sound of that. "I thought, 'Wow, I'm an American composer!' It sounded so much better than being a jazz musician so I thought I'd do an American thing." When a hint of the "Star Spangled Banner" crept into her writing one day she didn't ignore it.
"I didn't know yet how bad that was going to turn out to be," she said. "Although, of course I did! We're always thought of as big dumb people, walking around eating funny food and talking real loud. If you're in a plane with Americans they're all talking loud, and if you go to Japan, you feel like you're too tall, or you don't know how to eat, or you're not polite. Americans get used to being a drag. So, it's not that I'm bragging about being an American. I'm accepting the label."
Bley had hoped to do a big band tour of America with her new album. She told her agent three years ago to start booking a U.S. tour for the summer of 2003. But she only got two gigs - one week-long residency this month at the Iridium, her first time playing in New York with her big band, and one at the University of Minnesota. "I want to go back to Europe. Forget about America," she lamented. "Uh-oh. My album is called Looking For America. Yeah, looking for America. Where is it? It's not there for me."
In October Bley plans to tour Europe with her new quartet The Lost Chords, made up of Swallow, saxophonist Andy Sheppard, and drummer Billy Drummond. Fed up with the hassles of organizing a big band, including managing everyone's schedules and replacing musicians that can't make a gig, Bley welcomed writing for a smaller group again.
"Oh, it's so funny this piece I'm working on now called "The Lost Chords", I actually lost the piece. For two weeks I couldn't find it, it just seemed so appropriate I just had to laugh," she exclaimed. "We're starting our tour in Poland. I like that because that's weird, and we'll probably eat wild boar or something. I want some wild boar. I like going to places that are unusual."
Unusual means different from the peaceful sanctuary of Bley's home in the midst of Catskill forests. An antique grand piano resides in her basement studio, on loan for the last 25 years from her benefactor Timothy Marquand. The composer Howard Hanson wrote his first symphony on it in the ‘20s, but Bley prefers to write and practice at her spinet in a bright room at the top of the house. In the last three months she's learned to read text and play music simultaneously. Brahms' 51 Piano Exercises rests against the back of her piano, hidden by gardening books, Brooklyn Botanical Garden newsletters, essays on clave theory, things like that.
Playing the piano is far from fun for Bley. She forces herself to do it every day. She even dislikes playing live. The best time she had on stage was in Cologne, Germany during a performance of Escalator Over The Hill, the opera she wrote with the late poet Paul Haines. "I only had to play one piece, 'Holiday In Risk'," she recalled. "The rest of the time I just stood up in the front and waved my arms, and said you play, now you play. [Conducting] is just like a dream, you're making music but you're not touching an instrument. Paul Haines was sitting right next to me with his glass of wine, and saying the lines, and I'd just point to him. I felt so powerful."