Thursday afternoon I received a call from
photographer Paul Hoeffler inviting me to assist on a cover-shoot for Japanese
publication Swing Journal. Pianist
Makato Ozone was flying up from Manhattan along with Hiroshi Itsuno, senior
manager of Universal’s classical division in Japan to interview Oscar Peterson
and capture the two on the cover. I immediately accepted the invite and warned
Paul I would be bringing my small Konica along in case opportunity permit.
Peterson lives in a music suburb of southern
Ontario; Mississauga in a ranch style suburban manor. A block from the famous
landmark resides a mall with three choices of dining; the Sub Shop, Pizza Pot and Chinese
Wok. Needless to say, the Wok made for suitable
snacking before invading the “master Peterson's” private enclave.
Ozone has made a career playing the music
of Oscar. As a child he played Hammond B-3 organ appearing on national
television with Jimmy Smith bearing his young soul on the Smith classic, “The
Cat.” At the age of eleven he was introduced to the music of Peterson. From
that day he soaked up every phrase and nuance in Peterson’s playing. Eventually,
it was suggested he attend Julliard. Rudimentary sight-reading skills persuaded
him to stick with that which he had a passion for; jazz. Off to the Berkeley School
of Music and four years with “young lions” his own age. Ozone played in
Branford Marsalis’s final graduation performance band. After Boston, he signed
with Columbia records.
These days it’s Verve. His latest session “Dear
Oscar,” is a splendid tribute to his beloved idol. The playing is first rate.
Ozone studies privately; classical piano styling’s - performing everything from
Gershwin to Mozart.
Japanese always arrive with a cordial gift.
In this case it was a carefully chosen bouquet of flowers to be presented to
Oscar’s wife, Kelly.
Paul and I arrived with tripods, strobes, a
ladder, and case carrying two Nikons and lenses. Set-up was basic. The low
basement ceiling made bouncing flash mandatory. Another strobe encased in a
soft-box awaited. The shoot was to take place around Peterson’s
9 foot Bosendorfer concert grand. We didn’t remove the cover until cued. This
was a piano without spots, scars, dust or rust. The ebony finish reflected
perfection, the kind you would expect from a man of Peterson’s stature. Being a
pianist in a situation as such can lead to temptation and a few depressed notes.
Not on your life! I imagined the tone from a afar. Ozone never ventured close
to the keyboard until Oscar asked him to try it. I may have been curious, but
not that forward.
As we set up, Oscar made his way towards
the piano coaxing Ozone to play more. Ozone is the ultimate fan. Not only had
he memorized every significant phrase, he knew Oscar originals. One after
another the tunes followed just as Oscar had harmonized them. At one point,
Oscar planted himself side of the piano facing the hammers and Ozone.
Admiration flowed between both mentor and disciple. Eventually, Peterson
shifted onto the soft leather stool. Ozone had given us everything from Oscar
he could recall, a bit of Strayhorn and classical. It was now Oscar’s turn.
Peterson played more originals suggesting the young player might explore for
future consideration. While the music flowed, Hoeffler moved discreetly from
beneath, straight on, down the sound board, and above with his 24 millimeter
lens. There was a terrific line of energy flowing between the two which
Hoeffler plugged into. Occasionally, Paul would hand signal me to move a strobe
otherwise I remained a silent observer. When I felt a certain comfort zone, I’d
fire off a couple frames.
It was Ozone who suggested listening close
to the sound board. With this in mind, I took up residence back of a living
room chair allowing my head to partially enter the open body of the massive
grand. The sound was spectacular! The thick harmonics resonated unlike most
pianos offering richness rarely experienced in lesser cabinets. Peterson’s
touch was the same as that which entered my ears and heart as a fourteen year-old
alone with a copy of “West Side Story.” I’ve always considered it a landmark
recording. Bernstein’s compositions are not the typical pop songs of the day,
but rather charmingly crafted melodies with inventive harmonic movement.
Peterson swings fiercely on the opener “Tonight” engaging the rhythm section of
bassist Ray Brown and drummer Ed Thigpen. The arrangements are tight, complex and
some of Peterson’s most handsome playing. “Maria,” for one, finds the master at
his most colorful best.
The shoot lasted longer than expected with
Paul transfixed on every show of emotion. When one thought the last out-pouring
of generosity had all but run its course something quite unexpected would
happen. This required additional frames. Finally, the two gentlemen embraced.
Oscar called at Paul and said, “here’s one you missed.” The sequence was
repeated for film.
We shifted to the upstairs living room off
the solarium. The room was resplendent in plants, pottery, mantel piece with
many personal awards and citations, stain-glass scene of loons, couch, chairs
and small workstation. It seems Oscar prefers the smaller quarters with
computer, keyboard, mixing board and attachments to the larger well-equipped
basement studio.
With Peterson at the controls, the next
forty minutes were spent listening to music he’d composed and recorded for
Canada’s millennium celebration. All the compositions depicted various regions
of the country from Inuvit territory to his country cottage. Some pieces sounded stately, while others
sweet and gentle. There was even a piece that sounded as if composer Aaron
Copland had been speaking secretly through Peterson. The arrangements of Michel
LeGrand never venture into melancholy, gorgeous in their understatement.
When I arrived home I was thrilled to
remember sitting on the stool next to the Bosendorfer and Oscar playing a short
distance down the string board. I leaned inside and fired off possibly four or
five frames of black and white with my $100 Konica, I’d bought at a used camera
shop. I loved packing this priceless gem with a 1.7 mm lens. Everything looked
like it was shot in the fifties.
The following morning I biked to West
Camera and had the film processed, then made a negative sheet and printed. I
did well. A moment caught in time never to be forgotten.
Paul Hoeffler died July 2005. Hardly a day
goes by I don’t think about him and the encounters with the greats, long
conversations, the giant black and white prints of the greats; most of all –
the friendship and inspiration.
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