A Tenor's Life-Risking Play
There once was an American tenor saxophonist named Booker Ervin (October 31, 1930 – August 31, 1970). He passed away at the age of 39 due to kidney disease.
There are not many documents left that describe what kind of person Ervin was. While I do not necessarily believe that a person's character and their sound are one and the same, I am curious about how he communicated with someone like Mingus, a real eccentric in the jazz world.
Fortunately, a fair number of his recordings, including his solos, can still be heard today.
With a powerful, tough sound and unique blues and gospel phrasing, any fan of his (like me) would find his melodic turns irresistible, no matter what they listen to.
"Lament For Booker Ervin" was released as a record in 1975 after Ervin's death by Horst Weber of the Enja label, who was actually present at the scene.
October 29, 1965. At the Berliner Philharmonie, along with Ervin, there were Don Byas (October 21, 1913 – August 24, 1972), Brew Moore (March 26, 1924 – August 19, 1973), Sonny Rollins (born September 7, 1930), and a completely drunk Ben Webster (March 27, 1909 – September 20, 1973). The plan was for all five tenormen to perform together, then take the stage one by one to blow for a 10-minute set each.
Ervin was the fourth to go.
The closer was undoubtedly Rollins, and the majority of the German audience must have had their eyes on the master.
His backing was provided by the European group: Alan Dawson on drums, Kenny Drew on piano, and Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen on bass.
One wouldn't imagine such an unusual development, but from the opening piano by Drew, a certain desperate tension hangs in the air. They couldn't have rehearsed what followed, but perhaps there was a shared intensity that was conveyed.
Ervin's tenor began with the introduction of the song, "Blues For You..."
Wow! It's so cool. It's perfect for headbanging or shaking your body to the loud volume.
The problem (though it's not really a problem at all) is that even after 10 minutes, there's no sign of it ending, and it turns into a storm of ad-libs that just keeps blasting away.
Before long, the audience split into two camps: the enthusiastic ones shouting "Give us more!" and the dissenters shouting "Get Rollins out here already!", eventually leading to a physical brawl.
In the second half, you can even hear the audio of a festival staff member rushing onto the stage and shouting loudly, "Stop it! Stop it!"
What happened, Booker Ervin? In the end, he played for nearly 30 minutes straight, and toward the end, even the piano and bass seem confused, as if wondering, "What do we do now?"
Later, Ervin gave the rule-breaking reason that he had just moved to Europe with his family and wanted to leave a good impression on the audience.
Yeah, right.
This stage must have been the moment when something that had been lurking deep inside his heart for his whole life finally manifested itself. He couldn't end it until he had poured it all out. Perhaps this rare recording was preserved as a record because someone recognized that impulse.
I cherish this album as the pinnacle of one musician's expression.
On top of that, there is Horace Parlan's (January 19, 1931 – February 23, 2017) "Lament For Booker" in the remaining space.
This piano solo is just heartbreaking.
It's bitter, smells a bit like cigarette smoke, and is sad, yet it conveys the warmth of a Black pianist—a masterpiece overflowing with Parlan's love.
It's really good, this one.
Illustration by hanami🛸|ω･)و