Music Lessons

OUT PLAYING: "You can be the best player in the world, but if you're sitting at home, you're the best guy sitting at home. And I don't turn down nothing but my collar." Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Self-taught on an unpopular instrument, Chestnut Hill jazz flutist Walter Bell doesn't mind doing things the hard way.

by Shaun Brady

Wrapping up a recent gig, Walter Bell introduced his bassist, his drummer, his keyboardist, and then, gesturing into the audience, a trio of children. Then their parents. Followed by his own aunt, the woman who runs his Web site, and, eventually, every single member of the audience (including yours truly).

Gregarious showman, generous entertainer, glad-handing salesman — it's a combination that seems to work for the Chestnut Hill flutist. That show at the World Café Live was the release party for Live in Sedona, his ninth independently released CD. Bell's music is decidedly accessible, family-friendly jazz. His ever-changing backing band is inevitably tagged the Latin Jazz Unit, regardless of the particular sidemen's styles. While much of his music is influenced by Afro-Cuban rhythms, he just as often swings straight-ahead jazz, ballads or blues. Bell's playing is fluid and soulful, easy to listen to if never quite descending to easy listening. And it is also, as Bell continually stresses, his livelihood. "The music business — that's just what it is, a business. You can be the best player in the world, but if you're sitting at home, you're the best guy sitting at home. And I don't turn down nothing but my collar."

But for all his focus on cashing in, Bell is obviously sincere about his music, avoiding the compromising payoff that would come with switching to smooth jazz or schlock. "The musicians that I admire are the ones that, when they put out a new piece, you know it's going to be something different, not just — let's see, my sales are down, and I'm Dave Sanborn, let me do a James Taylor tune, get a young rapper to sing it, and then I got a new hit. Or let me be Chris Botti, have these movie star looks, and even if I can't play, I can pose real cool and the girls will come see me, bring their boyfriends, and that's two tickets."

Bell grew up in West Philadelphia at a time when a piano was a standard piece of furniture and everyone in the family could at least play hymns. His father owned a nightclub at 40th and Market, attracting audiences who couldn't afford higher-priced Center City spots. But Walter himself was barred from the club — his parents disapproved of jazz because of the prevalence of drugs on the scene. "I used to wash dishes on Saturday and I would see the residue from Friday night, the cigarette butts in glasses and the smell of cheap perfume. [I'd] look in the back and there's the stage, with the drums and the sax and everything set up for the gig, and I just thought it was fascinating. So if they got ready to pay me, I would ask to do something else or fake forget so I could come back that night and pick up my money, and I could hear the band play."

Bell was introduced to the flute by a neighborhood friend whose father had played in the Navy band. Bell's own father offered to buy him a flute if Walter would take lessons. He agreed and got his flute. However, after a single trip to Bell's less-than-savory West Philly neighborhood, his teacher had no desire to return. So the young student retired to his bedroom every night and played along with the radio.

But his lack of training hurt when it came to finding work. "I could probably outplay a lot of the guys that did read music, but because I didn't, I wasn't getting those calls. So a lot of doors started closing." In the early '70s, Bell played in a band that would perform Earth Wind & Fire and Mandrill covers for proms and parties. By this time, he was a single father with a young daughter to support, so when record deals and adulation failed to materialize, Bell lost interest and put down his flute, not to pick it up again for nearly 20 years.

In the early '90s, he moved to Richmond, Va., and out of sheer boredom began to play again. When he got the call for a last-minute New Year's Eve gig at a local country club, he rushed to put together a makeshift band. "I had a Vietnamese guitarist who was a real serious music student, an Italian radiologist who played conga drums, a bass player that could only play in one key and a weight lifter playing the drums. We had these old folks doing the Charleston to [Miles Davis'] "So What.'"

Since returning to Philly and to music, Bell has steadily released CDs on his Reika label, named for his daughter, which he distributes and promotes out of his Chestnut Hill home. He performs regularly, and his Sunday Jazz Brunch at Hibachi on Pier 19 is in its sixth year. "That's a place where people can take their family, stand up and say, "See, Johnny, that's a flute.' I feel blessed that I'm able to do this after not doing it for so long and make a living playing an instrument that is neglected and really not thought of as a lead instrument. A lot of guys would say, "Hey, man, what you're playing isn't that challenging,' but I didn't want it to be challenging. I didn't want to get into the crab basket with all the other crabs and be a gladiator and see who's left standing. I want to go back and just wait till all the smoke clears, step over the bodies, and get my paycheck."

Walter Bell and The Latin Jazz Unit
Live in Sedona (Reika)
Bell's sunny, mellifluous soloing is showcased in this 77-minute set, exuberantly supported by a tight, swinging incarnation of the L.J.U. Philly vibist Randy Sutin adds unusual flair on two cuts, though flute/vibes interaction is regrettably lacking. Aside from a couple of too-obvious edits, the extended track lengths give the flutist a chance to work out in various styles, from Latin to bop, ballads to blues. —Shaun Brady