August 7-13, 2003

books

George Wein

by A.D. Amorosi

As a fixture in jazz for decades -- first as a pianist, then as creator and promoter of the Newport Jazz Festival, few have as good a reason to write an autobiography than George Wein. Stories about miserable Miles Davis and his need for greed? Wein has them. Friendly tales of a friendlier Duke Ellington? Wein has them. His interactions with Philly’s Mellon Bank? Wein has them. Rather than make Myself Among Others: A Life In Music (Da Capo) a critical essay or psychological discourse, Wein -- with help from CP jazz critic Nate Chinen -- approached the book conversationally and emotionally. Wein spoke about the book as well as the Philly debut of the Newport Jazz Festival next week -- a festival without corporate sponsorship!

City Paper: I ask this of everyone who chooses to go autobiographical. Why? And why that name?

George Wein: Why does anyone bother? It's an ego trip. Actually, though, when you're in the middle of one, it winds up being hard work. Three-years hard. The name? I have no idea. Probably because in the course of my life I've known so many beautiful people.

CP: Were there particular moments in your life, professionally, that you were happy to bring up? Pained to bring up?

GW: Dredging up memories was strange. My mind works in funny ways. Half the things people told me I'd been involved in I had no clue about. Yet the stories in the book are my most vividly remembered ones. Those things came out word for word as they are in the book. What I remember I remember clearly. What I don't? Nothing. I think the two things that were nicest to recall -- but that no one notices -- are the stories of my wife and those that show my involvement against any sort of prejudices, personally and professional[ly], from whites against blacks and blacks against whites.

CP: Despite the fact that it moved to Manhattan after the riots of 1971 that you mention in the book, the Newport festival was really about dignity. Is that prevalent now?

GW: Dignity is an interesting term. Not an easy thing to define. That [1971] festival was the first time I genuinely didn’t know what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I felt double-crossed by police, confused by youth. That feeling didn’t last long -- I realized the Newport idea had meaning, one whose appeal was geared toward all economic levels of society, all minorities and ethnicities and all ages with[in] that society. It wasn’t a unidirectional festival geared toward one star [who] white-collar college kids went toward like lemmings. It was about curiosity and pride. You could be proud that you came to absorb different sounds -- not just guys who sold 12 million albums -- amongst different people. The festival was never just about presenting my taste or that which guided my own life, but rather sounds and movements I had no right to ignore. Younger critics said I was ignoring the younger stuff. Older critics thought I was ignoring the classics. I wanted to create a series of festivals to show that there was a family with jazz, that jazz was a family, that when you got right down to it, [it] was still a bunch of guys playing the blues.

CP: The whole Lincoln Center-ization of jazz: "America's classical music." All that may be making jazz too precious. Is that good for jazz?

GW: The only thing good for jazz is when a player plays what’s in his heart -- not [being] influenced by what other people play, trends or what critics say. When you have a voice, you better play with that. Too many people know how to play but not what -- there’s no direction to their catalog. Art Blakey had a voice. Mingus had a voice. Nowadays, too many artists are worried about guest name players and new style songs. There’s no identity. Those thoughts are a big part of the book.

CP: Since you'll be here next week -- what has Philly meant to you or your festival ideals?

GW: Wow. We had some of our best shows here. I'll never forget the night Freddy Hubbard and Wynton Marsalis tangled at the Academy of Music about 18, 20 years ago. They got hooked up in a trumpet battle the likes of which I rarely heard. Through Mellon, we learned a lot about the Philadelphian community. We tried to honor many great Philadelphian players, to give them recognition in their own hometown. Then again, we had a lot of not very memorable concerts -- at least not to audiences. We did one at Connie Mack Stadium with Ornette Coleman in 1960. It was quite a festival. No one came. I was very sad.

Newport Jazz Festival in Philadelphia, with George Benson, India.Arie and Pieces of a Dream, Sun., Aug. 10, 7 p.m., $38-$58, Mann Center for the Performing Arts, 52nd St. and Parkside Ave., 215-893-1999.