Tommy Flanagan, WARP Studios, new York City, November 1972
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My first encounter with Tommy Flanagan was the result of Hank Jones being involved in an automobile accident on the George Washington Bridge. Hank was scheduled to be the pianist for a Buck Clayton jam session, set for June 5, 1975. He didn’t show up, but eventually called in and reported his troubles. He said he didn’t think he could make the second session either, scheduled for the next day. All this meant big trouble for the recording date. I passed the bad news to the roomful of musicians who were waiting nervously for Hank. We all huddled together, wondering what to do and who I could call when someone suggested he thought Tommy Flanagan was in town with Ella Fitzgerald, that he’d be perfect if he wasn’t doing something else, but nobody had a number. I knew enough to know Tommy was a Detroit guy. I called another one, Major Holley, hoping they might be in touch. It worked; Major had a number. I made the call and Tommy was on board for the next day, a day on which he not only made the date but saved it, not only with his exceptional playing but with his leadership qualities as well. I’ve often wondered what was going on in the photograph where he points away from Milt Hinton while he appears to be talking to him. No matter what, he was superlative that day and then, just as he suddenly entered my life, he vanished for a decade. The Floating Jazz Festival that set sail in October 1985 was the one that set the standard of excellence for those that followed. It lasted four full weeks on four different ships. Over two hundred musicians performed for sixteen different weekly segments. Tommy Flanagan was scheduled to be on the S/S Norway to wrap up the final week on that ship. His trio included George Mraz, who he worked with almost exclusively in those years and for many that followed, and the peerless Alan Dawson. A couple of years later, in 1987 he was back, but this time, just to prove his versatility, he performed with his trio one night, and then added Benny Carter to his group on two other evenings. This excited the passengers on board sufficiently that they were all trying to sneak in their portable recording devices and poor Diana Flanagan spent most of the evening crawling around the floor in Club Internationale, in search of would-be music thieves. I’m sure someone managed to sneak a recording of Tommy and Benny together, but I’ve never heard it, except for when it was happening, and Diana had nothing for her trouble except dirty knees. I’d have been almost as happy to have just heard the two men talk about music. Each was soft-spoken, even modest, but were among the most musical artists on their respective instruments. They didn’t say much about what they did or how they did it; they just went about their business. Tommy returned a few years later, this time leading a quartet with Benny Golson. Now the recording devices were smaller and better, easier to hide and didn’t require any obvious wires. Tommy never seemed to be aware of these pirates; he was absorbed in his music. I wish I’d been able to hear more of him that year, but in addition normal production duties, I was also producing three recordings that week. Since they didn’t involve Tommy, all I could do was make certain his piano was tuned, the engineering staff was prepared, the sound system was at correct levels and that proper announcements were made. Everything must have gone very well because the room was always full each time I passed by. The final time I worked with Tommy was in May 2001, and musically, it may well have been the most rewarding. He’d been ill and seemed very frail when he boarded Queen Elizabeth 2. It was just a six day crossing from New York City to Southampton and I’d promised him a very light schedule, three short sets in the theater, one of which would be in the afternoon. The afternoon session was a particular delight because Tommy showed up early to practice. There were no passengers in sight, just Tommy, a piano and an empty theater. I managed to take a number of photographs of his hands that are among my favorites. Peter Washington and Tootie Heath joined him for the concert. The next day was difficult; this was the crossing where we ran into a springtime storm, no rain, just incredible seas that bounced the ship around unmercifully. Captain Warwick made an announcement that it would be best if all public rooms were cleared and all entertainment canceled. Bud Shank and his group, order viagra canada; named after the color of the member’s hair, was already performing in The Grand Lounge and the music drowned out the announcement. They and a few hundred brave passengers road out the storm with great music, but Tommy wisely retired to his stateroom. I never saw Tommy again until the final day of the crossing. He played a beautiful set in the theater; it was quite and introspective. He didn’t have a great deal of energy, but he didn’t need fireworks to be magnificent. In the final years of his life, he was one of the most honored pianists and many felt he was still the finest jazz pianist then active. He proved it once again with his last set on QE2, as he did in other venues for the better part of a year, before his health failed completely. This final set on the ship was also the last time I heard him and he was as wonderful that night as he’d been all those years earlier when he saved the day at Downtown Sound or in all the other combinations at the many festivals, from solo to trio to quartets or outings with Benny Carter. It didn’t matter. He never played anything that was less than perfect. |
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