|
Oscar Peterson, maharajah of the keyboard |
|
|
By Jerry D’Souza » Jazz, for me, has always been a way of life. As a music critic in the India of the ’80s, the living was slim. One had to depend on what the record companies chose to release and the bi-annual Jazz Yatra music festival. The former were dismissed for their lack of understanding of the genre, the latter often offered a heady line-up of top performers from around the world.
But there was still that hunger to listen to musicians who had gained a reputation.
One heard of them through word of mouth and that was enough to make one yearn all the more.
 Among them was Oscar Peterson, whose music continued to be elusive until one day, a friend gave me a copy of his recording Jousts. It was not one of his best, but that LP went right to the top of my favourites.
Oscar Emmanuel Peterson was born in Montréal on August 15, 1925. His father Daniel was a railway porter who gave his children the invaluable gift of music, playing with his family in church and community halls. Young Oscar started on the trumpet but switched to the piano when he was eight because of a bout with tuberculosis.
Peterson won a talent competition when he was 15, and went on to host the show Fifteen Minutes Piano Rambling in Montréal. His big break came when he joined Johnny Holmes’ orchestra, staying there from 1944-1947.
A change was about to come, but it wasn’t as smooth and as quick as many make it out to be. But then isn’t a feel-good story better than anything else?
This is about the day jazz impresario Norman Granz was on his way to the airport in Montréal. He heard Peterson on the radio and, intrigued by the pianist, directed the cab driver to take him to the club from which Peterson was broadcasting. Granz and Peterson met, and voila, Peterson was playing at Carnegie Hall. Not so. Granz had already heard of Peterson from Coleman Hawkins (who single-handedly brought the saxophone to prominence in jazz) and legend Duke Ellington. The radio in the taxi sealed his expectation.
It wasn’t easy to convince Peterson to perform in New York. Granz flew into Toronto a few days before the concert and prevailed upon Peterson to play. The element of presenting Peterson as a “surprise” was the consequence of circumventing union and immigration problems. But the concert, if anything, was the defining moment in the acknowledgment of Peterson as an exemplary pianist.
Peterson was not one to let fame cloud his perspective. He kept developing as a pianist. His ideas became fuller and richer. He could drink deep from a melody and then spiral out of it with a host of stimulating ideas. And while in the early days, he was called “‘The Brown Bomber of Boogie-Woogie”, he was later dubbed “The Maharajah of the Keyboard” by Ellington.
Peterson went on to make several recordings with some of the best musicians and to play concerts across the world. To my regret, he never came to India. But fate plays its hand in unexpected ways and our family decided to emigrate to Canada in 1993.
The same year, Peterson suffered a stroke while playing in New York. His left side was affected and at the time it was not certain if he would play again. But Peterson has prevailed through trial and circumstance, and he was once again at the piano though he had lost some of the dexterity of his left hand. His live appearances were rare. Would I ever get the opportunity of listening to him?
Chance again played a part. A couple of years later, Oliver Jones, Peterson’s protégé, was releasing a CD at the Montréal Bistro. Time did not move fast enough, but when the day came, there was Peterson in a wheelchair, looking slightly emaciated. Making my way through the crowd, I stood in front of him and said softly, “Hi.” He nodded and smiled wanly. No words, but I didn’t care. I had met Oscar Peterson!
The best was yet to come. Peterson was slated to play at Massey Hall on June 16, 2001. With him were guitarist Ulf Wakenius, bassist Niels-Henning Orsted Pedersen and drummer Martin Drew. The memory of him walking slowly across the stage to the piano is etched in the mind, so is the scintillating performance of the band. The quartet was in tight cleave, but at least for one, Peterson was the centrifugal force. He spun web upon web of lyrical magic, eloquence singing in the ripe flow of his inventions.
Peterson has left an indelible legacy. He was a true giant who enriched jazz with his insight and his daring. In that trove of treasure are classic recordings like Night Train, Trail of Dreams – A Canadian Suite, The Very Tall Band Live at the Blue Note and My Favourite Instrument. But for me, Jousts will always have a special place in my heart.
• Jerry D’Souza is a senior jazz journalist, who has written for leading industry music magazines including Billboard, Coda, Jazz Forum and the website allaboutjazz.com. He is also the membership secretary of Canada’s Jazz Journalists Association. |
|
|
|
