Original image by There Stands the Glass.
Falling inextricably down the jazz rabbit hole is often caused by the realization that an individual musician often appears on dozens, if not hundreds, of sessions. Jack DeJohnette was one such artist for me. DeJohnette died yesterday.
As impressionable kids in the early 1970s, my friend Rob and I were sold on the era’s simultaneous prog-rock and jazz-fusion booms. Bright Size Life, the 1976 debut album of hometown hero Pat Metheny, further blurred the boundary between the forms.
Taking the small step from Kansas’ Song for America and King Crimson’s Lark’s Tongues in Aspic to investigating records like DeJohnette’s gonzo 1974 release Sorcery and his delectably "fantastic" 1976 album Untitled opened the floodgates. By the time Metheny featured DeJohnette on the live recording 80/81, I was already all-in.
After tracing the drummer’s discography backwards hipped me to releases by giants including Miles Davis, Freddie Hubbard and Wayne Shorter. I relished a string of DeJohnette’s strong solo albums as new releases in the early 1980s. (In memory of Rob and Jack, I’m revisiting the 1979 collaboration of DeJohnette with Miroslav Vitous and Terje Rypdal today.)
Just as significantly for me, DeJohnette flaunted jazz convention. His frequent forays into new music, rock, folk, and classical forms- often as a keyboardist- allowed me to understand that the majority of jazz’s prominent gatekeepers are hidebound ninnies.
Buying a ticket to see DeJohnette’s touring band in 1983 made me giddy. I was shocked to discover that my hero looked and acted like a normal guy. DeJohnette may not have walked on water, but he was a superhero to me.
