Billy Hart and Nasheet Waits: Just Friends
A listening party at the Jazz Gallery goes deep and long
On Monday night, at the Jazz Gallery in NYC, drummers Nasheet Waits and Billy Hart spoke and played records— actual vinyl— on a high-end sound system for a small audience. Mr. Hart chose most of the selections, while Mr. Waits was often the genial and welcoming moderator.
The space was sanctified by Waits’s and Hart’s deep affection, mutual respect, and kinship. Billy Hart, of course, was closely associated with drummer Freddie Waits, Nasheet’s late father. Their bond was familial, so Billy and Nasheet are essentially family. As Mr. Hart and Mr. Waits conversed, shared stories, and chose records to hear, the community was present; ancient lineages and long-passed men and women—the creators of the music— seemed to almost physically manifest.
The first thing Billy and Nasheet played was Charlie Parker’s “Just Friends”. This is the track that, as he tells it, set Mr. Hart on his life path.1 Billy related the story of how he came across "Just Friends", and the details— drumsticks in his back pocket, baseball glove on his hand, ringing the doorbell, the lady next door asking what he was doing— created a complete, immersive picture. When Hart finished the story by saying “I was enraptured with the sound; this music just mesmerized me. And the next thing I knew (turning to Nasheet) I was sitting here with you!”, I felt the rush of 70 years flashing past me, could almost feel the tailwind of time.
Time was truly elastic in the presence of these masters: the beat was wide, the message profound. As Billy sang along with “Just Friends”, we are with him in 1953 and 1954, enthralled and delighted; when he pointed out Paul Chambers’ bass lines in “Blue Train”, we are with Hart and his cohort, figuring it out, connecting the dots, as the elders look on.
Another high point was when Mr. Waits’ chose to hear Billy Harper’s tune “Capra Black”, from Lee Morgan’s final studio album, featuring Freddie Waits on drums. Nasheet spoke of his childhood— the family photo album, pictures of his father and Lee, his family’s slide collection. Grinning widely, Nasheet mentioned “wine and cheese parties to look at slides. I moved the slides, 1975!”, and I saw turtle neck sweaters and sport jackets, heard the laughter, could almost feel the presence of his family. This was an incredibly generous reminiscence.
Family and friends was the theme of the night; Hart and Waits opened up the sacred circle, and it grew to include everyone in the room. When Billy and Nasheet talked about their time with Max Roach, a hush fell, so powerful is Roach's presence still; they described Mr. Roach as an umbrella over the whole community. As Max did, Billy does, Nasheet does.
As I felt the awe and respect Nasheet and Billy felt for Max Roach, a fully-formed thought arrived: acknowledging everything, we are living in magical times to have Mr. Hart, Mr. Waits, and their cohort with us.
There was so much more; my friend Anwar Marshall, an important drummer currently playing with Marcus Miller was there, as was Kweku Sumbry, and other great drummers I only recently met. Max Roach, Frederick Waits, Kenny Dorham, Lee Morgan, Andrew Hill and others were all living presences at the Jazz Gallery on Monday.
Drummers are, typically, quite social: with all those spirits and all those people, this was a well-attended party indeed.
A quick historical detour:
In the 40’s and 50’s, it was rare (though not unheard of) to have a drummer and a percussionist, or two drumsets— if it did happen, it was usually Latin music or a drum battle. But in the late 60’s, the percussion palette had vastly expanded, in popular music and in jazz: suddenly, it was common for a band to have one or two drummers AND one, two, or more percussionists— this is the background from which M’Boom emerged. Drummers were now playing with other drummers.
Leading the charge, among others, was Billy Hart and Freddie Waits. They’re on some records together— Pharoah Sanders’ Karma (Impulse, 1969— more on this below), Bennie Maupin’s The Jewel In The Lotus (ECM, 1974), plus albums by Richard Davis, Dick Griffin, and Chico Freeman, and probably others. You can see their affinity in the above MD photo; I could see it between Nasheet and Mr. Hart on Monday night.
It goes further: drummer Horacee Arnold, a Max Roach protege who had been playing with two or three percussionists in his own groups, brought Waits and Hart together with himself to form a trio called Colloquium III, a band which was M’Boom-adjacent during its brief existence. Yes, it’s true— at one time, there were two jazz percussion ensembles in New York City!
In addition to MD, DownBeat did an article about them, so they must have been a presence on the scene. According to Hart and Nasheet, however, no official recording exists. But Horacee Arnold is still with us; is it too much to hope for a Nasheet Waits/Billy Hart/Horacee Arnold trio concert?
(I’m listening to Chick Corea’s “Jamala” as I type these words, featuring Jack DeJohnette and Horacee Arnold. If I can’t hear them, I’m determined to triangulate the sound of Colloquium III. More on this as the situation develops.)
I’ve attended a few public listening sessions hosted by leading musicians. At each one, I’ve heard things I knew, some I knew well. Every time, hearing a well-known track with a group of strangers, all listening, the music sounds different. Listening to a record can be so solitary, maybe because music is fundamentally and historically social: community-produced, group-experienced. Perhaps music is meant to be heard with other people. I'm starting to think so.2
At one point, Nasheet selected Pharoah Sanders’ Karma; we heard some of “The Creator Has A Master Plan”, with Mr. Hart on drums, and “Colors”, which featured Nasheet’s father. I had a flashback to the moment as a teenager when a friend showed me Karma and so many other important records, the first time I heard a lot of music I’m chasing to this day. Everyone has their version of this, it’s almost a rite of passage— it’s our own version of Billy Hart and “Just Friends”. It felt like a message: records are powerful, respect the music, engage the community.
After the tracks, Billy talked about meeting Mr. Sanders in 1969, and recording with him in 2018, and I felt “The Creator Has A Master Plan” subtly alter in my memory; it now sounds ever so slightly different to me because of Billy’s story. This is the community at work, deepening our connections to the sounds we love.
Music is just humans; culture is just people. Two minutes talking with Nasheet about Colloquium III told me more about the group than I’ll ever get from hours of internet research.
When Billy Hart sang along with Charlie Parker’s “Just Friends”, it was the greatest solo I’ve ever heard; in that moment, under Billy’s spell as he channeled Charlie Parker, everyone in the room was just friends. Here it is for you to enjoy.
As Billy raised Nasheet in the music, and Nasheet and Billy raise us all, so we also teach each other. Tonight I’ll be at the Jazz Gallery with Ethan Iverson and Michael Formanek; they’ll be raising me, and I’ll be supporting them. Thank you to Nasheet Waits, Billy Hart, Rio Sakairi and the staff of the Jazz Gallery, and the wonderful audience for an evening of simple magic.
Thank you all!
“Just Friends” was one side of a 78 given to him by tenor saxophonist Buck Hill, a neighbor of Billy’s grandmother. The other side might have been “Everything Happens To Me”; but I thought Billy said a different title on the B side the other night.
When Bill Frisell played Bob Dylan’s original recording of “Mr. Tambourine Man” at the National Jazz Museum, we applauded at the end; we had no choice, it was if we’d never heard the song before. When Billy played “Blue Train”, or “Soft Winds” from The Jazz Messengers at the Cafe Bohemia, these were suddenly new cuts on brand-new albums. And so on.
Listening with new ears, with fresh ears, keeps music alive throughout one's life! What a pleasure to take part in your experience even in this vicarious way!
Thank you Richard!