It’s a sad time for the passing of great musicians.
Until his death on April 20, Andrew Hill was, in my not-as-humble-as-it-might-be opinion, the greatest living jazz pianist and one of a handful of great composers. Although he recorded regularly for about 45 years and attracted sidemen of the calibre of Eric Dolphy, Bobby Hutcheson, Richard Davis, Joe Henderson, Lee Konitz, Freddy Hubbard and John Gilmore, he was never well-known outside his circle of dedicated, sometimes fanatical, fans. I have been a fan for about 30 years and I didn’t know of his death until a week later. Speaking to other jazz musicians, insiders and fans in Sydney on thursday, none of us had found out at the time and through the mainstream media.
Hill takes his place alongside several other neglected but brilliantly quirky pianists and composers who arrived mainly between about 1955 and 1965: Thelonius Monk, Elmo Hope, Herbie Nichols, Randy Weston, Jackie Byard come to mind immediately. It would almost be a genre except that each was quirky in his own way—I know that’s what ‘quirky’ means but it still needs to be said. Only Monk, and to some extent Weston, achieved anything like mainstream success in their own lifetime. Bill Evans would also qualify as a member of this group but he achieved such widespread adulation, was so widely copied, and was the least interesting member that the term ‘unjustly neglected’ simply doesn’t apply. (Arguably, his relative dullness was what qualified him for mainstream success; he never scared the horses.)
Each of the quirky pianists I mentioned had great technique, was steeped in pre-bop jazz and folk forms and probed successfully beyond standard 50s cool and hard bop forms. They each produced a large number of difficult but highly rewarding performances and compositions and, for most, a distinctive approach to small group jazz. Hill simply has to be heard to be believed. His music is understated but deeply polyrhythmic. His piano lines are often simple but disturbingly oblique, until you grasp their logic. Unlike Monk, he was not outwardly eccentric nor ‘in your face’, his quirkiness was introspective although his finest group performances are amongst the most fiery small band performances around. Teamed with a fiery horn player or two and a driving rhythm section, his music has a combination of tension and balance that, for me, is truly mind-blowing.
To hear him to advantage with other great musicians, the acknowledged classic Point of Departure is a good place to start, but I can think of another dozen or so unacknowledged classics that are equally rewarding.
Andrew Hill was simply one of the musicians I loved.