Ron Carter happy just to put down a base

Jazz bassist helps others stand out by how he fits in

By Mark Stryker, Knight Ridder, 8/29/2003

NEW YORK -- About the most complicated thing you can do with a double bass, other than build one from scratch, is play modern jazz on it.

You must delineate the harmony of a song. You must anchor the rhythmic pulse. You must provide melodic counterpoint. You must form a death-grip bond within the rhythm section but also negotiate, on the fly, individual relationships with the pianist, drummer, and horn soloists. And you must play with a resonant tone, expert intonation, and dogged stamina -- no matter how many choruses the long-winded saxophonist takes.

On the most elemental level, your job boils down to playing the right note at the right time. This is why Ron Carter is one of the greatest bassists in jazz history: Since 1960, no bassist has played the right note at the right time more often than Carter has.

A major influence, Carter's sound and style entered the DNA of modern jazz during his tenure with the groundbreaking Miles Davis Quintet from 1963-68. As part of a magic-triangle rhythm section with pianist Herbie Hancock and drummer Tony Williams, Carter built a bridge from the big-beat swing of bebop to the advanced harmonies, complex rhythms, and elastic structures of the 1960s. He was among a group of bassists -- Scott Lafaro, Jimmy Garrison, and Charlie Haden were others -- pushing the bass beyond its traditional timekeeping role.

Carter's impeccable taste, rock-ribbed groove, harmonic imagination, rhythmic freedom, seductive tone, lightning reflexes, imperturbable profile, and uncanny ability to bring out the best in others proved so compelling that everybody wanted to work with him. They still do. Carter, 66, has appeared on an astounding 2,500 recordings and played with nearly every key musician of his time.

"Playing with Ron feels like being cradled in your mother's arms, it's so comfortable," says Hancock. "But at the same time, it's so provocative that it inspires you to create new ideas."

This is the paradox that makes Carter such a vital force in contemporary jazz: He is a remarkable accompanist because he is the ultimate team player. But he deliberately introduces enough creative tension to push players out of their comfort zone.

Carter relishes controlling the flow of the music, but his musicianship is so profound that the conflict between selflessness and ego disappears like a Cheshire cat's grin. It's not unlike the way Michael Jordan elevated the play of his teammates while making sure the offense ran through him.

One recent example of the Carter Effect can be heard on "Nightlife in Tokyo" (Milestone), a new album by the 35-year-old tenor saxophonist Eric Alexander, a rousing but mechanical player who often relies on pet licks. On "Nemesis," a minor blues, Carter unexpectedly slides up and down the strings, suspending time just as Alexander begins his solo.

"It really influenced the way I played," Alexander says in press material sent to journalists. "I found myself playing something entirely different than what I was preparing myself to play. It was a magical moment."

Still, Carter has been so ubiquitous and consistent that he seems to be in danger of being taken for granted, at least by the critics. Part of the issue is that Carter's own bands concentrate on sophisticated and wily refinements of mainstream principals rather than flamboyant experimentation.

And part of the issue is that the subtleties of great bass playing simply elude many listeners, even musicians. Carter recalls a recent record date at which his decision not to play any solos prompted consternation in the studio.

"I said, `Did you hear the last three tunes? Did you hear what I played? That's enough for me. I don't have to play a solo. I want people to hear how a bass player can manipulate the music.'

"Hopefully, people will get past the need to hear me stand out to appreciate what I do. Listen to what kind of colors I draw from the guys I'm accompanying. If I can leave a record date feeling that I've made these four or five players a better group, or made them more dedicated to music, or trust my judgment, or play better on some tune, or play differently than they usually do, then I don't need to solo. That's the fun for me."

Playing the right note at the right time. It sounds simple. It's anything but.

Carter spent a recent morning at his Upper West Side home tracing the long arc of his career. The house is an interior designer's dream: a sprawling layout on the 10th floor, with hardwood floors, open floor plan, neutral colors, and precisely appointed modern furnishings, including two Mies van der Rohe Barcelona chairs. Abstract and figurative paintings and sculpture by African-American artists fill the rooms.

Carter's wife, Janet, who passed away three years ago, was responsible for the art collection and the just-so decor. The couple married in 1958, when he was a senior-to-be at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, N.Y., and raised two boys -- one an artist, the other a funk bass player. Janet Carter was a founding board member of the Studio Museum in Harlem and owned a New York gallery specializing in African-American and African art.

"It's very calming to come home after playing a nightclub all night and just hear the art," Carter says. "I don't need music, I don't need conversation, I don't need food. But to walk in here at 2 o'clock in the morning and walk through the rooms listening to the art -- it's fabulous."

Carter is sitting at his dining room table, a colorful spiral collage by Detroit native Al Loving behind him. He is 6 feet 4 inches and lanky, with a long face, large hands, and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

He speaks quietly, just above a stage whisper, and there is something about his soft eyes and reserved countenance that hints at a vulnerable soul beneath a taciturn shell. Carter is well read, cultured, famously punctual and disciplined, and savvy about the music business. "Professionalism" is a sacred word to him.

Carter is easy to identify by his elegantly rich tone, double stops, and the legato strut of his walking lines. Two widely imitated trademarks are his pregnant long notes and the elongated portamento -- the deep-knee-bend slide that Alexander found so stimulating -- that causes the music to hover as if Carter had turned off gravity.

Carter moved to New York in August 1959 and quickly found work with drummer Chico Hamilton. Other jobs followed with saxophonist Eric Dolphy, pianists Jaki Byard, Bobby Timmons, and Randy Weston, trumpeter Art Farmer, and Miles Davis.

He is well aware of his proper place in the hierarchy of jazz. Some musicians find him arrogant, but those who know him well say he warms up quickly once you get past a crusty exterior. He is by no means bitter, but he knows the score when it comes to the way jazz musicians are marginalized in America and the pernicious influence of racism in the culture.

He grew up playing cello but switched to bass in high school. While he played the former as well or better than his peers, he realized only the white cellists were getting calls to play gigs. Since there was a dearth of bass players at Cass, he switched, reasoning his talent would be impossible to ignore on bass.

Carter earned a full scholarship to Eastman, becoming the first black person to play in the Eastman-Rochester Philharmonic and graduating in 1959. He received a master's degree from the Manhattan School of Music in 1961, studying with the principal bassist of the New York Philharmonic.

But it was at Eastman where he became disillusioned with the orchestral world and shifted his focus to jazz. The turning point came when he was 20. Leopold Stokowski, then the conductor of the Houston Symphony, had come to Rochester to guest-conduct the orchestra. Stokowski pulled him aside after rehearsal:

"Mr. Carter, I like the way you play, and I'd love to have you in my orchestra in Houston, but they're not ready for colored people who play classical music."

"What?" Carter said to himself. "You mean I spent all this lifetime practicing and you're telling me I can't be a part of this because I'm black?"

"So I said, `OK, if that's the name of this tune, what kind of music can I play and have a good time doing it?' "