I once met the late jazz musician Walter Theodore “Sonny” Rollins (1930 to 2026). It was in the mid 90s on Manhattan’s 48th street at Rod Baltimore’s New York Woodwind and Brass Center. The shop had the best repair department so there were always some serious players around.
Consequently, as I was sitting on a step checking out my newly-repaired flute, no doubt playing through some “hip” patterns or something, I spotted some long, well-suited, legs passing me by. Then an instantly recognisable voice somewhere above said: “Sounds good man.” This was the same voice I had heard making effortlessly cool introductions on the live album A Night at the Village Vanguard (1957), (Sonny was no recalcitrant jazz microphone mumbler).
Six feet above me was the man, carrying a saxophone case, giving me a small seal of approval that ranks as one of my most treasured musical moments. Because, like the record title, he was The Saxophone Colossus. Rollins’s generosity of spirit and kindness are well known.
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The poignancy of Rollins dying the day after Miles Davis’s 100th anniversary is amplified by the realisation he was the last living musician from the famous Great Day in Harlem photo from 1958. This picture brought together jazz’s leading lights for Esquire’s 1959 Golden Age of Jazz edition, including Dizzy Gillespie, Art Blakey, Thelonius Monk, Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, Charles Mingus, Mary Lou Williams and Count Basie.
Without any hyperbole, Rollins’ death marks the end of an era. The obituaries will be itemising his greatness: his joyful and often humorous playing and ability to create endless newness out of every moment (improvising). And the self-discipline and rigorous hours of practice, despite which he always felt he could do better – no matter how many accolades he received.
Consequently in 1959, despite growing success and opportunities to make money, he took a two-year sabbatical, during which he famously practised on the walkway of The Williamsburg Bridge. He did this partly to avoid disturbing his neighbours – but also because this communion with the outdoors at all times of year fuelled a growing spirituality (he was to take second break in 1969 to study zen buddhism).
Rollins is the (jazz) musician’s musician and it was always about the music and his playing within it. Like Miles Davis, he was continuously developing through his own spiritual growth and ability to musically absorb what was happening in music. But, unlike Davis, this growth was largely expressed through the classic jazz combo.
True he made a few electric albums with funk grooves and he occasionally played soprano saxophone. But in general, Rollins’s music was about his tenor saxophone, sometimes with a trumpet player, a jazz drummer, an upright bassist (occasionally electric) and, when he chose to use one, a pianist. And, while he wrote some Jazz standards, such as Oleo (1954), improvisation was his primary creative process – the fleeting moment and sense of flow were his “compositional” impulses.
It’s hard to add much to what will already have been written, so with my last few words I’ll suggest some listening, beyond the album Saxophone Colossus.
1. Worktime (1955)
A 25-year-old Rollins is heard to great effect on Worktime (1955). He often made tongue-in-cheek song choices, and here Berlin’s There’s no business like show business showcases his incredible relaxation at blistering tempo (310 beats-per-minute) with all the confidence and joyous control that were making him a rising star.
2. 1958’s Freedom Suite
This album dispensed with the harmonic support of a piano, using only bass and drums (Oscar Pettiford and Max Roach respectively). This afforded greater musical freedom certainly, but is also more challenging without the option of coasting on lush chords supplied by a pianist. Rollins’s melodic and rhythmic invention are bursting out of the seams here, and with reference to the title he penned a carefully worded civil rights statement for the liner notes.
3. East Broadway Rundown (1966)
Finally East Broadway Rundown (1966) has Rollins with two-thirds of John Coltrane’s classic rhythm section, (Elvin Jones, again, and Jimmy Garrison on bass). Blessing in disguise is a monster blues riff. While the title track shows him absorbing free jazz, but with dynamic contrast and plenty of groove – he even plays the mouthpiece alone for several minutes. But don’t let that put you off.
Finally, I’ll borrow the words of saxophonist Charles Lloyd: “He lifted the music and inspired those of us who followed in his footsteps to reach for something higher.”
