(2004)

Freddie Hubbard was on Chet Hanley’s show once for an amazing three hours.   All these wonderful stories about just about everyone you could name.  He talked about Lee Morgan and all the great times he had playing with him.  Chet mentioned something about “Sidewinder” or something, or maybe Freddie’s “Red Clay”—you know, one of the classic tunes.  Freddie was dismissive.  They didn’t want to play any of that stuff, he said.  None of the popular stuff.  They played the bebop.  The real music.  He wasn’t been pompous or a jerk at all.  It’s just that among the great cats the only thing that really matters is the serious bop.  It was like asking a physicist about statistics or a Shakespearian actor about television.  We may love popular culture, but to them, it’s basically a waste of time.  Something to pay the bills.  BeBop, I suppose, is the ultimate intellectual art form. It has to be accepted entirely on its own terms.  Med Fory was arguing with my brother and a drummer once at Dean’s place about jazz and popular music.  The very hip jazz drummer was arguing that you sometimes have to give in a bit to popular tastes so that people can understand what is being done.  He wasn’t talking Kenny G., he was talking “Sidewinder”.  Otherwise, they said, you’ll never be able to expand the audience.  If you want to get people, the young people to listen to jazz, you have to make it a little easier for them to listen to, otherwise they’ll be scared off.  There won’t be an audience.  “Then the hell with ‘em,” Med replied, “Fuck ‘em.”