The soul of the city

As a performer and author, performing at a jazz festival is, in terms of intensity, equal to performing at any concert. Because the amount of emotional charge and energy must be the same, or approximately the same. Jazz can hardly be played routinely. The routine is used only sometimes, and in those moments when a solo section is coming up, and at the same time there are thousands of ways and ways to realize it, which way to go... Then the routine can only serve until the moment of choosing one of the thousands of possibilities.

I don't know any real jazz musicians who play pre-prepared and written solos. If someone sometimes does that, they get revenge on him very quickly, so that one written solo looks for another, another for a third... In this way, the creative charge is lost, and the real creation is absent. The interaction between musicians, so important for jazz, is also lost.

Festivals for jazz musicians have one very important dimension. It is a meeting with colleagues, where listening to their performance is less important. Some even avoid doing it, especially before their own performance. Personal contact, jam session and conversation are the most important. Sometimes from those conversations, and especially from playing at a jam session, you can get extremely interesting insights. It can be an anecdote, a conversation about the instrument... Among saxophonists, for example, there is always a conversation about which mouthpiece to use and which reeds. For trumpeters and trombonists - which mouthpiece and which instrument. It's the same among drummers, guitarists - which cymbals sound better, which guitar strings are best for a certain type of guitar... I don't have a record of how many festivals I've played. Maybe thirty, maybe more. The stories were always almost identical.

I had the good fortune and pleasure to play with many musicians from different countries and different styles. Some of them remained in my special memory. Trumpeter Clark Terry is one of those special memories. The concert we held in Kolarac back in 1982 was unique in many ways. At that time, the Marković-Gut sextet already had several significant performances, but it was the first time we played with a legend. The concert was almost not held. Clark announced his arrival with his Dutch wife. I was waiting at the airport with a bouquet of flowers for her. Time passed and Clark did not appear. I knew for a fact that he was on the plane. After more than half an hour after the departure of the last passengers, a lady came up to me and asked if anyone was waiting for Clark. She introduced herself as his wife. For the continuation of the story, it is necessary to emphasize that she was a white woman. She told us that Clark did not want to appear in Belgrade and was looking for the first plane to return. I was totally amazed! I somehow managed to pull myself together and ask what it was all about. It turns out that the reason is almost unbelievable. As a citizen of the Netherlands, she did not need a visa, while this was not the case for American citizens, who received a visa upon arrival at the airport. It turns out that Clark was unknowingly offended, thinking that he was being asked for a visa because he was black. I explained to her our ridiculous regulations. She returned to the international section of the airport and relayed this to Clark. Everything ended in the best possible way. If by any chance there was a flight to any destination, and if I had not given an adequate explanation, Clark would have returned, and Belgrade would have been deprived of a fantastic concert. Fortunately, it was recorded for radio and television, and an LP was also released; by the way, while poking around the internet these days, I found that LP selling on e-bay for quite a bit of money.

Recording the record with the great arranger and saxophonist Ernie Wilkins was a special pleasure. During the recording, it occurred to me to suggest that he sing the blues. He barely agreed, saying that he had never done that in his life. I persisted in my persuasion, presenting, as an argument, that for him to sing the blues is like singing a nursery rhyme for someone else.

We started recording without knowing what the text will be about. Ernie sang a text in which he says, among other things: "Here I am in Belgrade, where I'm playing with these great musicians and I'm having a great time."

That recording is on the record Erni Wilkins in Belgrade sa Sextet good-Markovic called Belgrade Blues published by PGP RTB. I recommend jazz lovers to listen to this recording if they have the opportunity. It is the only recording in existence of the late Ernie singing.

How much Ernie Wilkins was sincerely satisfied with his performance in Belgrade is best shown by the fact that many years later he told sextet member Mimi Mitrović whom he met in Sweden: "I prefer to play with musicians from southern Europe." Nordic musicians are fantastic instrumentalists, but they're running up and down fucking Lydian scales, and there's almost no emotion."

Pianist Kenny Drew, who was also a guest at the concert, asked me to walk around the city before the concert, because he had never been to Belgrade. Kenny was silent for a long time without saying a word. After about half an hour he stopped and said: "Man, I have to tell you something." At first I thought that he was not happy with something and that we messed something up in the organization or in the rehearsal. He said, “Man, this town has soul. I feel it. Fantastic!”

Musicians are very sensitive people. Kenny only needed half an hour of walking around Belgrade to feel what we who live in this city feel, although sometimes we are not aware of it, or it seems quite normal that it is so.

And finally, another event with Clark. When he is in Belgrade, and he has been three times already, he always has lunch at our home. He is not a picky guest, but he is sure to serve himself. During his last stay, he asked my wife to pack the rest for him. After the concert, a reception was organized in his honor at the Sava Center. Clark asked the waiter for a spoon. When he got it, he unpacked it and finished it off with great pleasure, ignoring all the diaconia offered.