James Williams 7-26-04

by Jonathan Sanoff

The past few years -- somber at best for everyone in New York" -- have been particularly cruel to jazz pianists. Tommy Flanagan died in 2001, Sir Roland Hanna in 2002. Both were entering their 70's with renewed vitality and artistry. The loss of these irreplaceable geniuses of American music is still deeply felt. This February, Gil Coggins died at 79, after a career spent out of the spotlight, although his talent was enjoying renewed appreciation from his weekly gigs at the C-Note in the East Village. Barry Harris remembered him six nights running from the Village Vanguard bandstand with "Polka Dots and Moonbeams." The necrology rolled on this week, with the early death of James Williams. Cancer silenced his joyous swing at 53.

James Williams was born in 1951 in Memphis, Tennessee. As a teenager, he was organist for a local Baptist church. At 21, he taught at Berklee College of Music. In 1977, he entered drummer and carouser Art Blakey's famed jazz finishing school, the Jazz Messengers. Among his fellow Messengers was a young Crescent City trumpeter, Wynton Marsalis. Over the years, Williams performed and recorded with a host of the most cherished names in jazz. He was especially proud of his time with Milt Jackson, as he reverently mentioned before playing Jackson's bop anthem "Bags' Groove," a favorite set closer. Williams also was a leading jazz educator; he recently was made director of jazz studies at William Patterson University in New Jersey. He was a composer, record producer and organizer of unique ensembles. And, he was one of the kindliest personalities on the jazz scene. As emcee of Hank Jones' 85th Birthday celebration at the Blue Note early this year, Williams gently herded mighty jazz pachyderms on and off the stage with grace and humor. He has a distinguished discography. My favorite is "The James Williams Magical Trio" (2000 DIW Records). With Ray Brown on bass and Elvin Jones playing drums, Williams' piano sparkles with melody, especially on the traditional "Go Tell It on the Mountain."

My best memories of James Williams are from the Knickerbocker Bar & Grill in Greenwich Village near Washington Square Park. He was one of the brilliant piano roster that used to be headed by Roland Hanna, and recently has included Junior Mance, Hilton Ruiz, Williams' Memphis contemporary Mulgrew Miller, the stride specialist Judy Carmichael, the house favorite Valery Capers (the first blind woman to graduate from Julliard and former head of Bronx Community College's music department), fellow Milt Jackson alum Mike LeDonne and Arturo O'Farill. Williams often appeared in a trio with Ron Carter on bass and Williams' nephew Tony Reedus playing brushes on snare and high hat. The Knickerbocker is one of the last of the late night piano bars. There is chatter from the bar; many are more interested in their T-bone than the music; but, this fanciest of pubs empties after midnight, and then you can sit within a few feet of a great musician, as one of maybe a dozen remaining late nighters, and get rid of your blues listening to the blues. It is an adult pleasure that should be an inalienable right.

At the Knickerbocker, James Williams' chord striking was reminiscent of Oscar Peterson's old records (say, "Cole Porter Songbook"), hard thrusts of total clarity, producing not just part of a song, but sounds to admire as individual, fleeting, objects of beauty in themselves. This was especially true of his playing "Put on a Happy Face" -- although it's not easy to follow that advice now, without James Williams around to help.