| Act I— | The 1968 Chicago Music Show: Max Roach presents an Italian electronic drum; Horace Silver's drummer Billy Cobham is fascinated by the drum, but will Horace accept it?
The Plugged Nickel Jazz Club: We meet and become good friends; he will come to the Music Show the next day to listen to this drum. |
| Act II— | Chicago 1968: Horace accepts the drum for Billy, then takes me to the South Side radio station, where I meet Muhammad Ali. He then takes me to dinner on certain conditions: before ordering any meat, I must first eat the vegetarian dishes Horace will order for us. |
| Act III— | New York 1968: Horace takes me to his favorite Italian restaurant.
Our Phoenician Roots? We discuss the ancient history of the Mediterranean. |
| Act IV— | We tape an interview-conversation regarding his successful career. We part. |
| Act V— | Italy 1987: We are together again after nineteen years! In Bassano del Grappa we tape a last “conversation” on all aspects essential to his life. |
| Act VI— | Italy 1987: He discusses his music, his business, his Religious Quest. |
| Act VII— | A Final Magic Concert |
ACT I—THE 1968 CHICAGO MUSIC SHOW AND THE PLUGGED NICKEL JAZZ CLUB
Remembering Horace Silver, the first thing that comes to mind is Chicago in June 1968, when I had been invited—in the role of interpreter by Meazzi, Italy's leading percussion firm—to the Chicago Music Show, where Max Roach was endorsing and promoting their Hollywood Tronic Drum.
One day a pleasant young man had entered the drum room while Max was absent. His name was Billy Cobham, drummer with the Horace Silver quintet performing in town at the Plugged Nickel. He had heard of this Italian drum, so could he…? By all means, Horace Silver's drummer was most welcome to sit and experiment! He sat and he was off, drumming with all the might that Billy Cobham showed his fans throughout the years.
Signor Meazzi and Max returned to a room full of people excited by the performance of this young percussionist, and, upon learning that the Horace Silver quintet was to play at the Newport Festival the following month, Billy was asked if he would like to play their drums at that Festival.
“Wow, yes!” was the answer, “but first I'd have to ask Horace, because this drum is something else! I would need to learn more about it. But I'd love to play it.”
Max was immediately agreeable that Billy should come in and rehearse with him, any time. There remained only the problem of convincing “the boss” to accept to play with this unknown Italian rhythmic entity backing him, but Billy smiled at me:
“I know what…you come to the Plugged Nickel tonight, and I'm sure Horace will listen to you.”
Why not? And that was the beginning of my special relationship with a delightful human being by the name of Horace Silver.
The Plugged Nickel was THE Chicago jazz club that year and obviously packed with Silver fans. Billy led me backstage to meet Horace, who had been advised of my visit.
“Here she is! This is Lilian Terry, a jazz singer friend of Max Roach. She lives in Rome but she's from Egypt. She has a very interesting…suggestion.”
A humorous expression in his eyes, a half-moon smile, evidently amused by Billy's agitation, Horace greeted me with curiosity as we shook hands. Just then his trumpeter, young Randy Brecker, spied me and came over exclaiming:
“Mama! How are you? What are you doing in Chicago? You look great!” He then turned to Horace and Billy, explaining: “Lilian practically adopted me the time I was stranded in Vienna and we drove down all the way to Rome in Cicci Foresti's car. She is my Italian mother!”
At this point Horace was really curious and amused, so he turned to Billy: “So, what's this suggestion?”
Eagerly, Billy gave him detailed information about this great Italian drum set that Max Roach was presenting at the Chicago Music Show. He had tested it, and the Meazzi owner was willing to let him use it when they would play at the Newport Festival—if Horace were agreeable, of course! Horace turned to me.
“I see. And you represent this Italian firm? It's Lilian, isn't it?”
“It is. But I don't represent the firm; I'm here tonight just as a friend, as well as a fan of yours, of course…”
This time he grinned openly as I exaggerated my “fan” attitude.
“Yes, of course. Tell you what, Lilian; tomorrow afternoon I'll come to the show with Billy to examine this ‘extraordinary’ instrument. Then I'll take you to dinner and you'll tell me all about Egypt. OK?”
The next afternoon at the show Max greeted Horace while Billy sat at the drum set and showed off with enthusiasm. Horace, taken aback by the strange, modified sounds of the instrument, asked if it could also play in the normal non-electronic way. By all means, it could be turned on and off by a simple button. Well then…long silence while Billy sat in motionless pleading…then the half-moon smile signified that Horace would humor his young drummer, but on two conditions: that Meazzi should deliver the drum set directly on the Newport Festival stage and that Billy should play the normal way during the performance of the quintet. At a given moment, he would have the stage all to himself to show off his “electronic mastery” to the surprised festival public.
So everyone was satisfied, the delivery details were given, and finally Horace turned to me: time for dinner. However, once outside the Hilton, he mentioned that he would first like to take me to meet some interesting friends of his at a radio station on the South Side.
ACT II—CHICAGO 1968
Ever curious, I was immediately interested when I noticed that the crowd in the studio was all black. I recognized some excellent singers and actors and was again amused by the magic worked by the mention that I came from “Cairo, Egypt,” which earned me an armchair and friendly conversation.
Suddenly, there was movement by the door, and someone said, “He's here! He's coming in!” and I saw a tall, powerful, and attractive young man enter the room among welcoming calls and hugs from the ladies. He greeted each one warmly, and when he reached my side, I saw him hesitate until Egypt and Rome were mentioned. He held my hand in both his own and sat beside me, telling me he had been in Rome in 1960. Yes, of course! I remembered the occasion, the Olympics! I then added that in Italy we admired him not only as boxing champion but for his strength of character in his stand against the Vietnam War and all the unpleasantness that had followed. He listened, smiling, but was soon whisked away to another side of the room, where other fans waited to meet him. I watched this young giant, both in shape and fame, as he moved about with that friendly smile on his young face. Yes, I was pleased that my hand had been held by Muhammad Ali's own, and I thanked Horace Silver when he finally took me to the restaurant.
Once on the street he asked: Any particular place I favored? Ah, well, in Chicago any of the famous steakhouses would be perfect! Horace agreed and proposed his favorite place, but on condition that he should choose the menu. And that's when I discovered the teasing sense of humor of our pianist. It turned out that he was a firm vegetarian at the time. He took me to the famous Chop House, where I could see interesting meat plates passing by, but as soon as we sat down he lectured me against the dangers of eating meat. At the doubting expression on my face he proposed that if—after the menu he chose for me—I still felt the need for a Chicago steak…well, I would have one.
Horace then ordered various tasty vegetable and corn dishes. When he saw I could eat no more, he gave me his Cheshire cat smile and offered the Meat Menu. I declared him the winner, and as a consolation prize he promised that, once back in New York, after the Newport Festival, he would take me to his favorite Italian restaurant, where I would eat whatever my heart desired.
I accepted, hoping I would change his mind and be taken to the Boondocks instead. But that was not considering Horace Silver's charming firmness, and, once back in New York, the Italian restaurant it was.
ACT III—NEW YORK 1968
Seated at the table I informed Horace that, in Italy, his name would be translated into “Orazio Argento.” He was amused and repeated it slowly, nodding. Through lunch we talked, and while he told me about his family's Portuguese origins in the Cape Verde islands, I told him about mine in the Maltese islands.
“Ah, then you are an Arab!” he declared, grinning.
“Not really. The Maltese are essentially Phoenicians.”
He was curious, so I continued my story.
“The ancient Phoenicians were great shipbuilders, sailors, explorers, and traders who built cities all along the Mediterranean coastline, from Sicily to Greece, then around North Africa and across to Spain.”
“When was this?”
“About one thousand years B.C. They built special boats that allowed them to sail and discover large parts of the world. They crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and navigated up the Atlantic to the British Isles and down along the African coast. In fact, you too could be of Phoenician Atlantic origin.”
“Then what happened to them?”
“They merged with the local populations, building cities like Phoenicia, Byblos, Canaan, in places now called Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, and so on. And they developed the first modern alphabet that was then adopted and became Greek, Latin, also Arabic, Hebrew, and Indian. They wrote from right to left, as do the Arabs today.”
“So we go back to the fact that you are an Arab.” He teased me.
“Undoubtedly a Phoenician Mediterranean islander, as you are an Atlantic one.”
“Well now…I'll have to ask my father about this, maybe the Phoenicians did come over long before the Portuguese?”
“Why not? My dear Orazio Argento, we could be related to each other from one thousand years ago.”
After lunch we went to his apartment to tape an interview for my Italian radio program. While I struggled with my tape recorder I asked him to play the piano for me, though he confessed that his instrument was “a little off key.” It was, very much so, but he played even as we joked about it.
Finally, we taped a very friendly, lighthearted, conversation.
ACT IV—HIS CAREER
“First question, Orazio: How old are you?”
“Do I have to tell?”
“Yes!” We both laughed.
“I'm thirty-nine.”
“When did you start playing?”
“When I was about twelve years old”
“Did you start with the piano?”
“Yes.”
“Ever played any other instrument?”
“I played the tenor and the baritone saxophones during my high school days and for a few years after.”
“But you also played the piano?”
“Oh, I played the piano all the time, yes. But with the school band and orchestras, I always played the saxophone.”
“Did you decide from the very beginning that you wanted to be a musician?”
“Yes. I always loved music. I knew from a very small child that I wanted to be a musician.”
“And is there a tradition of musicians in your family?”
“Well, I have an uncle who used to play trombone for the vaudeville shows in the pit band, reading parts and whatnot…and my oldest brother used to play drums in his youth, and I have a couple of nephews that…one plays drums and bass; the other plays alto saxophone.”
“And they play jazz?”
“Well, more of a rock kind of jazz.”
“Ah, this is one point I wanted to ask you. Your music is jazz but…like in “Psychedelic Sally” it has a definite rock feeling to it, wouldn't you say so?”
“Umhuh.” He nodded. “Yes.”
“So will rock be merging with some part of jazz?”
“Well, we've always done that with our music because…going back to ‘Sister Sadie’ and ‘Filthy McNasty,’ they were sort of borderline numbers with a bit of the rock flavor and the jazz flavor too.”
“But isn't jazz music essentially to be listened to?”
“Of course. Jazz is a listening music, but dance music too. Some jazz music you sit down and listen to; and if it's not too far out you can also get up and dance, and enjoy it that way.”
“Talking of too far out: that first tune you played at Newport, the…”
“‘The Kindred Spirits’”
“What would you call it? What kind of jazz?”
“I don't know!” We both laughed. “That was a new tune recorded in our album…”
“Yes, but it's not ‘just a new tune,’ it has a special thing about it, a special flavor…”
“Well, it has an eerie kind of quality about the melodic line. I dedicated it to my brothers. Because, you know, brothers are kindred spirits. The melodic line of the composition has sort of…a distant eerie feeling and yet a closeness. We are far apart yet we are close together. And that's the way that melody line is written too.”
“Tell me…you're not married are you?”
“No!” He laughs.
“Yet you have a very strong family feeling. You composed ‘Kindred Spirits’ for your brothers and ‘Song for My Father’ obviously for your father…”
“Well, I love my family, you know?” Another burst of laughter. “I love my father, my brothers, my mother…I dedicated the ‘Serenade to a Soul Sister’ to her. It's my way of telling them that I love them.”
“It's beautiful, actually. That's why it's funny that you haven't formed a family of your own.”
“Well, I have plenty of time for that. I have no idea whether I will marry and, if I do, how many children I'll have. I let things take their course. Que sera, sera.”
He shrugs, grinning.
“Yes, but wouldn't you like a son to whom you would teach what you know?”
“Oh, yes! I love children. I have five godchildren, they're all girls…. I get a great deal of enjoyment out of visiting them and bringing them presents on holidays and whatnot…”
“And do they call you Uncle Horace?”
“Yes!”
“Now tell me, Uncle Horace, if a little boy asked you for advice because he wanted to become a pianist…what would you tell him?”
“I'd tell him to study hard, to practice every day, and to be very serious about what he is doing.”
“At what age should someone start?”
“The earlier the better, if they are really sincere about it.”
“I see. You've composed many songs; which are the ones that are most played by other musicians?”
“Eh, let's see…‘Doodlin” has been recorded quite a bit—both vocally and instrumentally. ‘The Preacher’ is another one. ‘Senior Blues,’ ‘Sister Sadie,’ ‘Filthy McNasty,’ and ‘Song for My Father’ are very popular, have been recorded quite a few times…”
“‘Nica's Dream’ is yours too. That's been played a lot.”
“Yes, yes.”
“And your latest recording was ‘Serenade to a Soul Sister’?”
“Yes, and it looks like one of the tunes from that album might become as popular as some of those tunes I mentioned. ‘Psychedelic Sally’ seems to be well received…”
“Of course! I think it will be well received, not only in the jazz world…but among the kids too.”
“Well, I hope so, because I've found that those tunes that we record in the rock vein appeal to the youngsters who, listening to that tune, come in contact with the other tunes on the LP. And before you know it they like those tunes too, and after a time they become jazz fans.”
“Exactly! I try to do the same with my radio program, so your type of record is most welcome—and please do more! Are you preparing anything new? Have you written any film scores? Or any shows?”
“No, I hope to do both of those things sometime in the future. But we travel all the time, all over this country and sometimes abroad…it's hard to find the time to sit down and write.”
“Especially if you have a piano that is off-key like the one you have here!”
Laughing, he shook his finger at me.
“Now, now. We must be kind…”
“Tell me, how often do you change your sidemen?”
“That's a hard question to answer, you know. Things just take their course. Like you buy a pair of shoes and when they wear out, they wear out.”
“What is the longest period that you have had the same people playing with you?”
“Five-and-a-half years.”
“Who were the musicians?”
“Blue Mitchell, Junior Cooke, Gene Taylor, and Roy Brooks then replaced by Louis Hayes on drums.”
“However, you're very happy with the group you have now.”
“Very much so, yes! I have Randy Brecker on trumpet, Benny Maupin on saxophone, John Williams on bass, and Billy Cobham on drums; a very fine group of musicians.”
“Another question: Is there any new young pianist that you think will emerge in the future?”
“Hah, that's hard to say…McCoy Tyner now is a very fine pianist, and I think he is beginning to obtain more recognition today than he had in the past.”
“When he was playing with Coltrane?”
“Yes.”
“Although many people listened to those records and became very aware of the piano work going on.”
“Well, it's a very delicate matter, you know, because regardless of the quality, caliber, and musicianship in a musician, sometimes they just don't have a certain thing that appeals to the general public.”
“Who are your favorite musicians? I mean if you had to compose your ideal orchestra…. Let's start on drums?”
“Well, I'd have to name several people on drums. I like Art Blakey, Max Roach, Roy Haynes, Elvin Jones. I like Kenny Clarke. Tony Williams is a fine drummer.”
“On bass?”
“I like Ray Brown, Percy Heath, Ron Carter, Bob Cranshaw…there are many fine bass players. On piano I like Thelonius Monk, John Lewis, McCoy Tyner, Bill Evans…. Er…trumpet: Miles Davis, Freddie Hubbard, Kenny Dorham…trombone: J. J. Johnson. I also like Curtis Fuller. On alto saxophone I like Cannonball very much, Lou Donaldson, Jackie McLean. On baritone I like Cecil Payne, Pepper Adams, Harry Carney. Who else did we leave out…?”
“Well, how about the flute?”
“I like Roland Kirk on the flute. Herbie Mann, Frank Wess. Yussef Lateef is very fine on the flute. We didn't mention the tenor saxophone!” He was caught in the game. “I like Sonny Rollins, Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Coltrane…I could go on, you know…”
“Yes, I know. Tell me now, singers. Do you like singers as a rule?”
“Yes, as long as I don't have to play for them…”
Bursts of laughter from both of us, as he knew I was also a jazz singer.
“I don't care for playing behind singers. There are pianists who are exceptionally good at it. I never was. But I love to listen to singers. What I like about a singer or an instrumentalist is originality, inner depth, and feeling, of course. Soul, you know? I really go for creativity, on an instrument or voices themselves.”
“How about Antonio Carlos Jobim?”
“Well, I don't think he is much of a singer. He's a great composer…”
The Jobim fan in me was indignant—how dare he put down my idol!
“Have you heard him sing?”
“Yes, I heard him sing…”
“And you don't think he's much of a singer?!”
“No, I don't think he would say he's much of a singer. I know him. I hung out with him in Brasil.”
“Is he as beautiful a person as his music?”
“He's a very fine person, and he's a great composer.”
I was appeased as he went on: “But as a singer he is…adequate, you know? He sings better than I do, I'll put it that way!” We laughed as he went on: “…but I wouldn't classify him as a singer.”
“Speaking of Jobim, what do you think of bossa nova as a form of music?”
“‘Song for My Father’ is a bossa nova, while ‘Cape Verdean Blue’” is Brazilian too, in a sense. That's strict samba.”
“You're working on your next long-play, aren't you? Because you've already prepared ‘The Belly Dancer’ I believe?”
“Yes…that's the one you like, right?”
“Yes, then you promised to create ‘The Lazy Arab.’”
“Well…” He grinned at me. “We'll see about that…”
“OK. Now, you were in Italy in 1959, at the San Remo Jazz Festival. Was that your last time in Italy?”
“Yes. I've been in Europe several times since then. But not in Italy.”
“So I think it's high time you came back, don't you?”
“I think so too! Oh yeah!”
“OK. Then we'll just say ‘Arrivederci.’”
“Arrivederci.”
It was time to say goodbye. He saw me out to the street and hailed a cab. Just before I climbed into it, we embraced.
“Orazio Argento. You are a special human being, and I am very glad to have met you. You have my address; give me your news when you can.”
“I'm not much of a letter writer but I'll send you all my records. I promise. And keep being as lovely as you are.”
A light kiss and we let each other go.
Our friendship lasted through the years, underlined by the receipt of each new recording. Our conversations were filled with equivalent parts of laughter and very serious talks. He had an extremely thoughtful, meditating soul, and he often spoke of his religious beliefs and his search for spiritual answers.
At this point allow me a brief consideration regarding the religious quest of some jazz musicians I have known well. Dizzy Gillespie of course was dedicated to the Bahá’í philosophy and furnished me with various interesting publications on the subject, as did my friend Chick Corea with papers on the subject of Dianetics. Sonny Rollins surprised me with an annual subscription to the Rosicrucian magazine, and Ray Charles was fascinated by the Vatican and its history. Duke Ellington gave us those extraordinary Sacred Concerts, of course.
ACT V—ITALY 1987
Our last meeting took place in April 1987, when I was happy to invite Horace to play with his quintet at the annual concert season I produced in Bassano del Grappa, Italy.
It was a very warm reunion with the usual laughter. When I invited him to lunch, I chose an excellent restaurant renowned for its meat specialties, to tease him. To my astonishment, he ordered and gobbled down with gusto all sorts of meat hors d'oeuvres. At my raised eyebrows, he gave me his half-moon smile, saying, “Ah, forgot to tell you…I've changed my mind about meat. It's good for you.”
“Hah! So you still owe me a real meal at the Chicago Chop House!”
“Any time!” Hand on his heart.
Instead, we settled for another recorded conversation for my Italian radio program.
“Orazio. In the fifties and sixties you were one of the leading personalities, with Sonny Rollins and all that Hard Bop movement. You have no doubt influenced many other musicians, and not only pianists. So we may safely say that now, in the eighties, you are definitely part of jazz history. I know that for a person like you, almost shy and reserved…this might be embarrassing, but how do you feel about your place in jazz today? Can you tell me how the years have affected your music? Where do you place yourself today in the jazz picture?”
“Well, that's a pretty big question to answer, but I'll make a stab at it. It's evident to anybody who knows anything about jazz, that Horace Silver is part of the jazz history but, you know, I am still a relatively young man, and whatever I've contributed so far is just the beginning, I feel, with much more to come.”
“Yes. You were always in the avant-garde anyway, and yet you had deep roots in soul music—meant as black religious music—so you were with one foot in your roots and one foot going out beyond the Afro-American experience.”
“Well, I try to encompass a bit of it all. Going back from the beginning up to the present; then trying to see as far ahead as I can see, and adding that to what I'm doing. I believe in mingling all these various influences together.”
“And which are these influences, the ones you listen to most?”
“Well, the black gospel music has been a great influence on my music. And the blues is actually a derivative anyway; it comes out of black gospel music. So the blues has very much of an influence on me. And, as you well know, Latin music has an influence on me, particularly the rhythmic part of Latin music. It has always intrigued me. The Afro-Cuban rhythm, the Spanish and the Mexican, all of that type of rhythmic concept is very exciting to me.”
“You were one of the founders of the Jazz Messengers, together with Art Blakey, right?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. The Jazz Messengers just happened to evolve. I don't know if anybody in particular put them together. Art and I were mainly responsible but also all the other guys…Hank Mobley, Kenny Dorham, and Doug Watkins, all had a hand in it. It resulted out of a couple of record sessions for Blue Note years ago. They were just the Horace Silver Quintet. We did ‘The Preacher’ and ‘Doodlin” and all those tunes. We kind of liked the way we sounded together and enjoyed playing together, so we decided to stick together, if possible.”
“How did the name Jazz Messengers come up?”
“That stems from a name Art used with a big band in New York he called “The Messengers,” in the mid or late fifties. All the guys in the band were members of the Muslim faith. I happened to hear them play one Sunday afternoon when Kenny Dorham took me by; he was in the band. I enjoyed that band, and the name stuck with me. When we started to put our little group together…I thought of the Modern Jazz Quartet, I admired not only their music but also their business sense, the fact that they could stick together as a cooperative type of a group, you know…so I said to the guys why not try to put together a group like them, a cooperative thing? The name of The Messengers came to me, and we decided to put the word Jazz in front of it and call it The Jazz Messengers.”
“And the first group was the quintet you just mentioned?”
“Yeah.”
“How long was that group together?”
“Well, I was with the Messengers only about a year; but they stayed together longer than that.”
“So you founded the cooperative but you were the first to quit?”
“Yeah, I was the first to leave, and then, little by little, the other guys left after that.”
“However, there is one thing that you and Art have in common; it's this special knack of recognizing new musicians that are emerging…. You listen to a newcomer and you can tell that that young cat has something going for him. Now what do you look for in a youngster who auditions for you?”
“Well, you never know if that particular musician will wind up being a very well-known, famous musician; but you can tell that the talent is there. You can help him, but it's up to him to develop it.”
“What is it you look for?”
“You look for the talent and hear in his playing possibilities of improvement. He's just starting, but he plays well, and something makes you think he's in a growing process; but of course it all depends on the musician himself…how well he progresses.”
“Have you ever been disappointed?”
“I've had some guys with that potential in them, yet after a year or so with the band I didn't feel that they were growing. That made me change to someone else.”
“What other musicians, apart from Randy Brecker and Billy Cobham, have you brought out?”
“Well, I'm very proud of Tom Harrell, great trumpeter. He has gone on to make quite a name for himself. I heard him with Woody Herman's band and admired his playing, and when Randy left, I hired Tom. Bob Berg joined me at the same time with Tom Harrell, and that was one hell of a team, commensurate with…say, Blue Mitchell and Junior Cooke.”
“What prompted you to move from New York to Los Angeles, considering they are two such different cities with respect to the life a musician leads? Some say New York has more going on for the growth of a musician. While Los Angeles is apt to relax too much a musician…”
“That's very true. There was, and there still is, much more going on jazz-wise in New York City than there is in Los Angeles. And I miss New York a bit for that activity, but I feel that New York is mandatory for the young jazz musician who is climbing the ladder and is growing…not that I'm not still growing…but once one reaches a certain degree of maturity, musically, and a certain degree of success…I feel they can live anywhere, you know?”
“And why did you choose Los Angeles?”
“Because I like the heat. San Francisco is a beautiful city and I love it, but it's a little too chilly up there for me. It's very warm all the year-round, in Los Angeles, and it's scenic, it's beautiful. I have a lovely home and a nice view of the ocean from my backyard, and a nice view of the mountains from the front yard.”
“Humm…where do you live?”
“I live out in Malibu, and I enjoy it, you know? It's very peaceful, very relaxing, and I do a lot of writing there because my mind is at ease and it's a good vibration, inspiring me to write. But you're right, as far as music activity, New York is the place, for a young man. I've been through all of that, but I prefer a more gracious style of living right now, at my age, you know?” We laughed.
“I see…. Now, you say that in L.A. you do a lot of writing, but do you still go regularly on tour, or just from time to time?”
“I've been going out, just during the summer, for about four months, and staying home for the rest of the year. I stay home because now I am also a businessman. I own a record company.”
“You do? Congratulations Orazio!”
“I have Silveto Productions and we have two labels: the Silveto label and the subsidiary label called Emerald Records.”
“What kind of music do you produce…?”
“It's always going to be jazz because I'm a jazz musician…”
“I mean, not like Quincy Jones, who is also producing Michael Jackson…?”
“No, not that type of producer…I mean, I am now a producer of all my own recordings, but I'm going to start recording other people on my label too.”
“How did it all come about?”
“Actually…I started it because in the latter part of my time with Blue Note Records I became very much interested in the power of music for healing and uplifting…I mean in the spiritual aspect of music, you know? While before everything was instrumental; I now started writing music with lyrics that had a spiritual connotation.”
“With Blue Note?”
“I did that on Blue Note, but I didn't go all the way with it because I felt that…maybe they wanted a strictly instrumental approach, so I did a little of each. When my Blue Note contract expired, I felt that I wanted to go all the way with this spiritual concept, and I knew that with any company I would have problems because they wouldn't understand it and I'd have a fight with them, you know?”
“That must have been quite a decision to make!” He nodded.
“So I decided I would put my money where my mouth was and go into my savings and invest my own money in a company and start my own record business. I wanted to express the spiritual thing through my music, and that's why I started the Silveto label. We've got four Horace Silver releases.”
“Who sings? You do?”
We laughed remembering a previous occasion discussing singers.
“No! A couple of albums have a vocal duet, man and wife team, while Andy Bey sings in my latest album…”
“So will he sing some of your songs at the concert tonight?”
“Yes, he'll sing some of the old ones and some new.”
He resumed his story.
“Then I decided to start a subsidiary label called Emerald Records—an instrumental label because I didn't want to lose those people who were not in tune with the singing. I have one record out called “Horace Silver Live 1964,” made from a tape recorded in a club. We had Joe Henderson on tenor and Carmel Jones on trumpet, Teddy Smith on bass, Roger Humphries on drums, and myself.”
“Quite a collection there!”
“Yeah, it is. It's selling pretty well, too. And I'm coming out in September with my first Emerald album featuring another bandleader. I haven't told anyone the name of the guy yet, but it's somebody famous, and I'm excited about it.”
“That's very good. I'm very happy for you.”
ACT VI—ITALY 1987
“Now, another matter, Orazio…. You mention this music for healing. I agree that music is a power, and we should know how to use it and be worthy of the opportunity given us through music; so I am very interested in what you said. So, is your music being used for healing, actually?”
He considered his answer. “Well, I feel it is; in the general-public sense. You see, along with our Silveto Record Company and our feelings about music for healing, we also have a prayer group in which we pray for healing sick people.”
“Who do you mean by prayer group?”
“Anybody can sign up and join our prayer group and take a portion of their ‘prayer time’ each day and ask the good Lord for help for whoever is on our healing list. People who are sick either call us or write and ask to be put on our list to be prayed for. We have two chiropractic doctors who are part of our prayer group and they use our records.”
“You have produced more than one?”
“Yes. Our very first record was called “Guides to Growing Up”; the music is straight jazz but with lyrics, and the recitation on the album is by Bill Cosby, and it's directed to small kids. A lot of schoolteachers told me they've used this record in the early grades and it's been very useful. So that makes me very happy.”
“I can see why. But what is the music like?”
“The music…I call it self-help holistic metaphysical music. First of all, it's music for entertainment, but it's also music for enlightenment and healing. It goes to the general public, but if they listen carefully to it, they can do some meditation and get some spiritual insight.”
“People who are mentally disturbed can be very affected by music. Either overexcited or soothed. Ever looked into that part of music for healing?”
“Oh yes, definitely. I mean we are only scratching the surface so far, but I'm very aware of what you're talking about, and we'll be getting into that too. Basically, now we are putting in music the type of lyrics that will help people to think positive and uplift their emotions into a positive train of thought. The music does its part, but it's the philosophy and the psychology in the lyrics that help to heal the mind and in turn…the body.”
“Tell me, this ‘healing,’ which seems to be a philosophy but also a sort of religion—how did you come by it?”
I thought about Kant and his view on metaphysics.
“Well, somewhere in the sixties I started to read about the civilization of Atlantis. I read that they used music for healing, very effectively, and that kind of excited me. I've always felt that there's some concept behind those notes that goes far deeper than what mankind knows about, so far, and I am still searching to get those answers.”
“In what religion were you brought up? You have a very personal concept that might not be linked to the main religions?”
“Well, I have respect for every religion, for there is some truth in every religious concept, some way that will help some person at a certain point of his life. I was born and christened a Catholic, and it was good for me when I was a child. When I got into my twenties there were questions that I would ask myself about myself in relation to God and religion that Catholicism could not answer for me. After that, I kind of dabbled around a bit.”
“And now?”
“What I follow now is a study of metaphysics that encompasses all the other religions and goes beyond. I've read many books on the life of that great psychic and healer Edgar Cayce…”
“Ah, yes! With Gina Germinara…”
“Yes, I've read many of his books and he's a fascinating man…. He was a channel of healing to so many people…”
“He was indeed fascinating.”
“Then I read a lot about this Self-Realization Fellowship founded by Yogananda from India; I've dabbled in their philosophy and I'm in tune with them. I don't belong to any particular group, but the Church of Religious Science, founded by Ernest Holmes, is very much akin to metaphysics. And so are the Unity Churches. Their philosophy is very much in tune with metaphysics, as are the spiritualist churches. Are you familiar with spiritualist churches?”
“Do they have anything to do with the Brazilian ‘religion’ called Kardecismo, inspired by a Frenchman called Allan Kardec? He's the father of Spiritism. Are you familiar with him…?”
“No. I'm not familiar with that particular person but the ministers of spiritualist churches are psychics and mediums.”
“Allan Kardec was the penname of Hyppolite Rivail. In the nineteenth century he was an educator, had degrees in science and medicine and studied psychic phenomena such as clairvoyance and telepathy. In Brazil they linked the teachings of his books to beliefs from African religions. But let's go on with your beliefs. Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“Very definitely.”
“And how do you feel about your evolution in this life?”
“Well, I feel good about it. I have evolved to get to the point where I am now, with my music as well as spiritually. Of course, who is to say if I have to be reincarnated again? I will not know until I pass out of the body. But I feel happy where I am now, because I firmly believe that what I'm doing is very valid and important.”
“I could envy your faith!”
We smiled at each other and he patted my hand.
“I mention in one of my records: ‘We all have a part to play in God's plan for mankind.’ Everybody has a part in it, and once you start to pursue it, you get a sense of fulfillment. You think life has a greater purpose now than it ever had before because this part of the plan He's put in your charge is important. And you feel that life has taken on a different meaning.”
“Doesn't it affect your private life? I mean, either you find a companion who believes totally, fully, in what you do, or your family will feel put in second place.”
“Well, I look first and foremost to the world family. Actually, I have a family, I'm a divorced man, and I have a son who is fifteen years old.”
“He lives with you?”
“No, with his mother. I live alone, but I'm very much aware of my family, of my son, my relatives, and I love them very much. But I look at humanity first, to serve them. Now, as far as finding a companion, it's extremely difficult to find one who would be able to live with me, under the same roof, doing what I'm doing and believing the way I believe, you know?”
“That's for certain!” We laughed.
“I'm not opposed to remarrying again, if I should find such a woman. But this work is very important, and I would rather live alone and be happy as I am now than be straddled with a woman who doesn't understand and is fighting me.”
He grinned then repeated:
“I would only remarry if I found somebody as dedicated to this work as I am, and that's improbable!”
We both nodded, smiling.
“OK, Orazio, one last question. You don't come very often to Europe. People here wonder, ‘Whatever happened to Horace Silver?’ Don't you feel you should give more time to your performing career?”
“Well, yes and no. I must pursue my work as a businessman, and it takes a lot of time. I cannot be on the road and run a record business.”
“Yes, but what about your career as a performer?”
“Well, as a performer I try to make myself available once a year for three or four months, whatever, on the road. Besides, I'm at a point in my career where I'm expanding and shifting gears, and I'm writing more music now than I've ever written before. I'm extremely prolific at this point.”
“Are you recording all of it?”
“No. I have a backlog of material that has to be put out. But I need the time to take my music into other areas—on stage with symphonies and motion pictures, and there are books that I want to write. A lot of projects are at the back of my head.”
“Tell us one of them?”
“I was very fortunate to have been commissioned by ASCAP to write some special music for Duke Ellington, a couple of years ago, and it was performed by a philharmonic orchestra, and it was a very big thrill for me to play with them.”
“I can imagine! Did you tape it?”
“No, but I recorded this music on my latest album on Silveto Records with the Los Angeles String Orchestra, and that whetted my appetite because I would like to do more things with a symphony orchestra. I don't want to do just that, but occasionally; and not only in the United States but around the world, with various symphonies. But I need the time to write the music for this type of thing. It's a big endeavor.”
“How wonderful for you! I heard that Tom McIntosh gave you a hand?”
“Yeah, he helped me get my start with it.”
“He's a wonderful man…. Now here is another question. Do you teach?”
“Yeah, at El Camino College; I have a course once a year, called ‘The Art of Small Combo Jazz: Playing, Composing, and Arranging.’”
“You mentioned writing. Do you have a book out?”
“I'm in the process of writing a book right now, actually, but I haven't finished it yet. If I keep getting out on the road, I'll never finish it!”
“Are you implying it's also my fault, for inviting you to play here?”
We both laughed as he shook his head.
“OK, Orazio. Well, I hope to be able to welcome you back to Italy and perhaps also organize a seminar. I mean on the ‘music’ part, not the ‘healing’ part, as yet. However, I'm very happy to have had this occasion to bring Horace Silver back again to Italy. I know that the public tonight is looking forward to the concert. We have people coming from various towns all over Italy. May I say, then, ‘Arrivederci Orazio,’ not only as an entertainer, but as a teacher…and especially as a good friend?”
“Thank you, Lilian. It's been a pleasure to see you, after all these years. You're looking lovely and your spirit is still very beautiful.”
“Why, thank you!”
ACT VII—A FINAL MAGIC CONCERT
I wish to close this story going back to that last concert in Bassano. Something quite extraordinary happened. The theater was totally full of people, even from faraway Sicily, as this was Horace Silver's first and only appearance in Italy after long years of absence. The quintet had begun the second number when there was a sudden, drastic blackout sinking the whole town and surrounding villages into total darkness. Followed a great distress: no juice for the loudspeakers or the instruments! The public was beginning to react when the stagehands appeared with hurricane lamps.
Horace rose from the piano and went to the edge of the stage and asked for silence. Then he told them briefly that if they would all sit very quietly, his quintet would play for them. In the amazed hush he went back to sit at the piano and began to play in the semi-darkness. It was an exceptional, totally acoustic concert that remained a conversation piece for all the people who had been fortunate enough to witness it.
We did not meet again in the years that followed, and he said goodbye to the world on June 18, 2014. With his warm friendship, his teasing sense of humor, and that half-moon smile, he will always be very present in our memories.