By the time the Quintet had taken the stage, most of the crowd had left, not willing to endure the weather. I stood amongst a small group of die hards at the front of the stage. It was a torrential downpour at this point. Herbie Hancock had drops of water dripping from his sleeves and onto the piano. I seem to remember it was during Pinnochio when Tony started dropping bombs on the bass drum that the crackle through the PA became more pronounced with each bomb. Eventually the PA went completely out! The band kept on cooking as though nothing had happened. We were listening to them acoustically.
Read moreRecollections: Buddy Rich - Chapter Five
Buddy. One word says it all. Icon, household name, a celebrity with a comics wit, a virtuoso unequaled. He was a force of nature to behold. He commanded the best out of his musicians because every time he sat down behind the kit he was the best in the world. Quite simply, no one drove a big band like he did. Beyond his soul shattering technique, it was just the time feel—the drive that he had that was like nobody else. His time felt like a cigarette boat with the front end hiked up in the air cruising on the water at a ferocious speed. At the same time utmost musically always prevailed and he could be just as sensitive too. His astonishing brush playing clearly demonstrated this.
Read more