Pioneering jazz drummer dies at 83
By K. Curtis Lyle For the St. Louis American
Max Roach reminded me of an accountant, a very hip accountant.
He began his percussive life in the early- through mid-1940’s by keeping the musical books for Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Miles Davis. Later his entries in the ledger of sound would be made on behalf of the boy genius, trumpeter Clifford Brown, and the saxophone Colossus, Sonny Rollins.
In fact, Roach’s death last week leaves Rollins alone, in a dimming spotlight, as the last surviving figure from the most romantic and tragic era of 20th century jazz.
Max Roach came along at a time when jazz had no social, economic or cultural credibility – no good, fixed place – in the mainstream of American life. Despite the recent and constant drumbeat from the likes of filmmaker Ken Burns, master musician and entrepreneur Wynton Marsalis, and cultural critic Stanley Crouch about the inherent democratic nature of the music, there was not much of the spirit of democracy or the hand of fair play extended to the creators of what is now conveniently labeled “American classical music.”
In Max’s youth and young maturity, jazz represented risk, darkness, celebration at unknown velocities, visionary and dangerous psychic – even spiritual – explorations. Those patrons and supporters of the music, the literati, the masters of radical chic looked to the music, jazz music, and its technically advanced old souls for nightly prophecies.
And prophesy they did.
Max Roach was a young prophet. Under the influence of pioneer be bop drummer Kenny Clarke, he helped to change the music at its core; because the beat is the core of this music. He stepped elegantly away from the quadruple thump of the bass drum that had driven the swing bands and began to ride that cymbal, so to speak.
The ride cymbal gave the music a lighter, quicker feel, and as Parker and the other be bop luminaries began to move the nature of their songs from the quarter to the eighth note, the lighter touch and more flexible feel gave the soloists room to move at faster speeds. It was like going from a two-lane country road to a superhighway.
The drive of his drum kit would later mirror his adult personality.
The real trajectory of his life came to fruition in 1958 with the release of his seminal protest album, We Insist! Max Roach’s Freedom Now Suite. Created with Oscar Brown Jr. and accompanied by such seminal jazz figures as Coleman Hawkins, Abbey Lincoln (his wife from 1962-1970) and legendary trumpeter Booker Little, Roach ruminated on the freedom struggles of Africans and African Americans with such clarity and uncompromising ferocity that it nearly destroyed his performing career.
He had broken the unwritten rule among black male performers in popular American music. He had shown his ass to America and told her to kiss it. “Driva Man,” “Freedom Day,” “All Africa” and “Tears For Johannesburg” were titles with obvious direction, powerful focus and black intent. But, it was the composition written for Abbey Lincoln called “Triptych” and her chilling delivery that took the music to another level.
There are no words to this song. In real terms, it’s not a song but a pure sound composition. The three parts of “Triptych” are Prayer/Protest/Peace. Abbey’s voice is a field holler and at the same time a screaming denunciation of a brutal history of violence and denial. It ends in the low moan of resignation and peace. It’s the trajectory of Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” swallowed whole and spit back into the faces of murderers. There is nothing quite like it in the history of jazz.
Max virtually disappeared from the recording world through the sixties and early seventies, but his performing life continued to blossom with outstanding and innovative ensembles M’Boom (a 10-piece percussion ensemble) and his double quartet (consisting of a classic jazz quartet plus an improvising string quartet). In the late 1970’s he returned to recording with giants like himself, Cecil Taylor, Anthony Braxton, Archie Shepp and Abdullah Ibrahim.
His professorship at The University of Massachusetts and his receipt of the MacArthur Foundation “Genius” grant were fitting tributes to a graciously lived life. A jazz life.
Max Roach died of complications of dementia/Alzheimer’s disease last Thursday, August 16, 2007, in New York at the age of 83. He is expected to be buried at Woodlawn Cemetery after a viewing at Riverside Church on Friday.
Born on Jan. 10, 1924, in Newland, N.C., Roach is survived by his five children: Daryl Roach, Maxine Roach, Raoul Roach, Ayo Roach and Dara Roach.
“We are deeply saddened by his passing, yet heartened and thankful for the many blessings and condolences we have received as we grieve,” his family said in a statement.
“As a musician, educator and social activist, we are fortunate to share his life and his legacy with the world.”
