Remembering Oscar Peterson

When Oscar Peterson died just before Christmas, memories of my jazz-infused youth came flooding back.

Peterson became my musical destination. I’d venture into Chicago on nasty winter nights to listen to “The Trio,” as it was aptly called. No other jazz trio rivaled it. The Windy City venue was the up-scale London House along Michigan Avenue. As the snow gusted and swirled off the lake, pianist extraordinaire Peterson, guitarist Herb Ellis and bassist Ray Brown warmed the place with high-voltage jazz. The players would have all been in their thirties at the time — and feeling it.

A few years later, in the Bay Area, I’d make a similar pilgrimage, this time to San Francisco, The City, to hear Peterson, Ellis and Brown. Drummer Ed Thigpen and vibes player Milt Jackson became part of the mix. The smoke-filled jazz cloister was The Black Hawk in the Tenderloin. Those of us under drinking age sat in the back, segregated by chicken wire. We sipped over-priced Cokes, cheap at the price for the chance to feast on the sounds of Peterson and friends.

Peterson and company (in various configurations) defined trio jazz in the Fifties, Sixties and on into the Seventies. Among my many well-worn albums from the period was the trio’s on-the-mark tribute to Frank Sinatra. “Night Train” and “Affinity” were staples. I obliterated “Affinity,” wearing down its grooves until I had to buy a replacement.

The Canadian-born, classically-trained Peterson will be most remembered for his blazing technique. His runs and riffs bend the mind. Say what? How’s that? How could one musician squeeze off such a fusillade of notes?

At times, Peterson’s stunning mastery overwhelmed the music. His talent had a habit of overleaping bounds. He’d swerve out of a groove and into a rut. The good news was that the rut wasn’t a ditch; Oscar would always manage to wrestle himself back on track. Watching him do it was part of the exhilaration. Besides, even in a rut, the Peterson wheels kept spinning in wondrous ways.

I’ve found over the years that the Peterson performances I like best were collaborations with subtler, even understated, musicians, When you listen to the classic “Ella and Louis” album (and you must!), that’s Peterson backing them in an uncharacteristic, spare accompaniment. Peterson is also on the acclaimed Ella Fitzgerald “Songbook” albums. Listen carefully to the back-up chords and harmonies. Without Peterson’s filling in, “Ella and Louis” and the Verve “Songbooks” would not be the classics they have become.

Count Basie, a genius at keyboard understatement, had the same effect on Peterson in a series of “Satch and Josh” duet albums. All the sessions are excellent, but “Timekeepers” is my favorite of the lot. Oscar carefully, respectfully, embroiders Basie’s own spare solos. When it is Peterson’s turn to be front and center, he is clearly under the spell of Basie’s minimalism — and is a better musician for it.

Of course many of the musicians I’ve mentioned here are gone now: Basie, Milt, Ella, Louis, Ray. The music they left remains on CD and iTunes. It is a vibrant, resounding echo of my many musical pilgrimages.

The reverence remains.

Music video takes us back to the future

OK, so I’ve been on a toot about excessive screen time and video escapism.

Now I’m here to say that things are not all bad on the ubiquitous screens.

The other night my son, Evan, who has learned to graciously tolerate my rants about excessive screen time, had us over to his house to check out his latest video game.

He thought we might like it.

He introduced us to it by handing Diane and me toy guitars while Julie, his wife, settled in behind a set of small drums and he grasped a mike, at the ready to sing karaoke style.

We were about to be introduced to “Rock Band.” Or to be more exact, we were about to simulate a rock band with a major boost from the video game.

On the big flat screen attached to an X-Box, images of notes from a chosen tune paraded toward us. When they hit a kind of musical finish line, we “played” them by fingering a fret and thumbing a kind of strum lever on our guitars. In essence, we held guitar shaped musical controllers in our hands. If we hit the right fret and strummed on the beat, the advancing note bars would visually explode. Julie’s drumming and Evan’s singing were similarly directed and monitored on the screen. Meanwhile, the computer program kept score of our success rate, which would be revealed at the end of the song/game.

There are a lot of variables and settings (beginner, intermediate, expert etc.), in the manner of video games, but at its core, this was just flat-out, non-competitive, musical fun.

Sure, the music, most of it no more than 20 years old, wasn’t exactly what I would choose. If I have a guitar in my hand, I want the notes coming at me to be from a Herb Ellis or Joe Pass rendition of “Satin Doll” or “Straight No Chaser.”

But patience, jazz fans. “Rock Band” is certain to spin off a “Jazz Band.” This has the makings of a “cross-over” game — one that is about as far away from maiming and murdering as you can get.

We’re talking music here.

Not that performing to “Rock Band” is the same as actually playing an instrument. But it is simulated musicianship. Close enough on short notice. You start swaying and gyrating as you get into a stripped-down performance of even an unfamiliar tune.

Call it an amateur’s groove.

I predict great things for “Rock Band,” its rival, “Guitar Hero” and other musical video games no doubt in the works as you read this.

A piano sits in our living room, unplayed for the most part. It is an artifact from a time when friends and family gathered around and made music together. Way back then, the only music was the music you made. Then the phonograph came along, and we lost all of that.

It may not be quite the same, but “Rock Band” and other music video games may be taking us back to a time when music-making brought us together.

Here’s to that.