My name is Monk Rowe and I'm very pleased
to have Eddie Locke here with me today in New York City for the Hamilton College Jazz
Archive. I've been looking forward to talking to you
because when I talk to people on the phone I get a certain vibe, and you seem like an
interesting guy. EL: Well you know, the music business has
been nice for me. Great. I always tell people, I said if I never played
any more jazz, or if I never played any more music, my soul has been satisfied. Because I was very lucky. You know I played with Coleman Hawkins and
Roy Eldridge. That is something, to be that lucky at the
young age that I was. To play with one of them would have been good. But I played with both of them individually
and I played with both of them together. It was like being fulfilled, jazz, music-wise,
always jazz, and they were such good people. Wonderful human beings. MR: That really goes along with their legend,
doesn't it? EL: Yes. MR: Just the fact, I mean they were great
players but also great people. EL: Yeah, yeah, yeah. The things they did with that quartet that
we had with Major Holly, Tommy Flanagan, myself, I mean he treated us like a family almost. And I tell people, they would believe it but
we must have made about ten albums. We never, ever rehearsed. Not one time. Not once. Some people don't believe it but we never
did. That's the part of jazz that I think that
people don't understand. It's more than the rehearsing and the technique,
the music is about the people. And especially - I think any music - but jazz
especially, because it's not - the technique thing is not necessarily the means. You make the music. Let's make some music together. MR: Are there certain bass players that you've
experienced that like right away it really clicks? EL: Oh yeah. MR: Or the opposite. EL: Or the opposite, right, yes, absolutely. The time thing is very elusive. It's not like - as Papa Jo Jones used to say,
jazz is something special just like classical music is special in its idiom, but jazz is
just as special because it's different. And the time thing is completely different. And when you're playing jazz, oh I don't know
if it was an old guy or a young guy that always told me - I told these kids up at this college
I went to - a lot of people have never heard about the pendulum. And the time. It's a pendulum. You know you can go from like 1-2-3-4, like
that, or you can go 1-2-3-4, you get there the same time. But this part down here is where the swing
is. MR: Oh I like that. EL: I know. A professor told me that at this other school,
he said he had never heard that before. MR: I've never heard that. EL: An old guy told me that a long time ago. MR: Yeah? Uh huh. That's where the swing is. EL: You're getting there the same time. Most guys play like this. Boom-boom-boom-boom. But if you play this, that's the swing, that's
the time, and that time is the same place. MR: Yeah. Wow. Well let me take you back a little bit if
we can. EL: Okay. MR: You're - a lot of great musicians came
out of Detroit. EL: Oh boy, it was quite an environment. It was wonderful. It was sharing. You know, they said, I heard a guy say one
time, I don't know what his name is, I always mix him up with, he played, in Malcolm X he
played the larger Muhammad. I could never - he teaches out at Howard University. I can't think of his name though. I always mix him up with the other famous
black actor that gets all the Oscars and everything. You know who I'm talking about. He was in "Driving Miss Daisy?" MR: Oh, Morgan Freeman. EL: Yeah but this is not him. MR: Oh that's the guy you mix him up with. EL: But I think he's actually older. But what I was going to say, what we was talking
about, he said a guy was telling him how much he was a great teacher. And he said "you know, you can't really teach
anyone anything," he said "you just create an environment and they will learn." And that's true. Because that's the environment we had with
the quartet. It was a wonderful environment. And so the music was wonderful. The environment created all the music. Because I've been around these great, musically
great musicians, but the environment didn't make the music. It didn't make the music. But Detroit was a great place, and you know
all those people that were there. To think that many great musicians came from
one place is just astounding sometimes to me. MR: Was there people in your high school even? EL: Oh yeah. Because it was a big area, my high school,
Miller High School, that's where I went, to Miller High School. It was the same school Bags went to, Milt
Jackson went to that high school. And Kenny Burrell went to it, Oliver Jackson. Of course Detroit was a big area. It was very spread out. There must have been seven, eight, nine high
schools there. Of course Tommy Flanagan went to a different
one, Roland Hanna. Roland Hanna and Tommy went to the same high
school. Barry Harris went to a different high school. We used to play amateur shows together. I always tease Barry Harris about that. It's a place called the Paradise Theater,
it was like the Apollo. You know we had our band, he had his band. But Barry Harris has always been an organizer,
even when he was young. Because I said to him, I said "man, we had
the best band," because after everybody played then the guy would go hold the card over your
head and then the people would clap. And you know, he held the card over our head
and the people clapped. When they held the card over Barry's head,
boy the theater went crazy. I said well he wasn't that much better than
us. Oh yeah? They had on their high school sweaters, and
he had every kid from that high school was in the audience. But that's the kind of fun we had you know. You know Elvin and I were very close when
we were in Detroit. And Oliver Jackson. Well you know that's how I came to New York. I had a song and dance team. MR: Yeah, Bop and Locke? EL: That's right. MR: Tell me about Bop and Locke. EL: Huh? MR: Tell me about that. EL: Well, did you ever hear of Red and Curly? MR: I don't think so. EL: They used to travel with Lionel Hampton. But the first time I saw them they were with
Erskine Hawkin's band. They had a drummer act like that. And they were tap dancers. They were basically tap dancers. Ours was the exact opposite. We were drummers and jive tap dancers. But we did this all ourself you know, and
I think we must be the - we rehearsed for about two years putting this act together. And Tommy Flanagan and all the guys used to
accompany us and help us. Pepper Adams, they'd put bands together and
play our music for us you know. That's the way the guys were in Detroit. And we decided we were going to try to make
it with this act. And we probably would have been better but
it was at a bad time, when we got that act together, that's when Vaudeville was dying. That's when Rock 'n Roll came. That's when all the tap dancers and everything
went like kaput. MR: Help me out with the times here. Maybe '48? EL: Well we came here in '54. MR: Okay. EL: But we got booked into the Apollo Theater
which was unheard of. That was one of the biggest Vaudeville houses
that's ever been. And we didn't have no name. We only had played once in Detroit. And this agent saw us there. And we played at the Colonial Theater. And then he submitted us to the Apollo. And they accepted us. And that was really something you know, just
to come right from Detroit to the Apollo Theater, in New York City like that, it was like astounding
for me. MR: Were you guys nervous? EL: Whew. Was I nervous. When we got off the train, we rode the train
here, we got off at Park Avenue and 125th Street. And when we came down those steps I was scared. I never had seen that many people. It was in July. I had never seen that many people on the street
before in my life. It was like wooh, I wanted to go right back
up those steps man. I was very, very funny to see. And I asked somebody, was it a parade? Because I'd never seen that many people on
the street at one time like that. And that was the beginning. And we played the Apollo, and we made the
whole week. You know after the first show at the Apollo,
Mr. Schifman, he always watched the first show. That was the guy that owned the Apollo. And then if he called you into the office
it was usually to tell you that you've got to go. He would pay you, but he didn't want you. If he didn't like the act you had to go. And after we did our first show, they had
a little speaker system you know, they said "Bop and Lock? this is Schifman's office." And all the other acts in the other show said
"oh, man, I feel sorry for you guys, man." Because usually when he called - but when
we went in his office, you know, he said "you know, you guys got a nice little act, I'll
tell you one thing though. Cut out those jokes." We had some terrible jokes. And you know where we got the jokes from? We sent off for them, you know, years ago
in the back of comedy books and things, you could send off for a joke book. That's what we did. And I've still got it. MR: You've still got the book? EL: Yeah, I've still got the joke book. Yeah. MR: Oh, great. EL: He said "you can stay, you can do the
dancing and the drumming, singing. No more jokes." MR: So now you had to fill some more time. EL: Well Tommy Flanagan, you know he used
to accompany us and help us too. And one time, you remember Leonard Silman? MR: No. EL: Smart Affairs? He used to sing. That's where Eartha Kitt came from, Robert
Clarey. He was called Leonard Silman. He would get all these young people, he would
find these "New Faces." He called them like "New Faces" of 1949, then
1950, and every year he would audition and then he would put a show together and take
them around the country. Eartha Kitt - all these people came from that
guy, that "New Faces." Robert Clarey, a couple of those guys. But anyway, we auditioned for him. And Tommy was our accompanist. And it was in a theater so comedy was like
down in the pit and we were up on the stage and he was sitting right there. So Tommy says "yeah, man, you guys came out
and you were singing and he was smiling and everything. You played the drums, he was smiling," he
said "then you started telling those sad jokes, man" and he said - Tommy always tells everybody
that. He said they saw him scratch your name off. MR: What were a couple of the tunes that you
would have done in that act? EL: Well we wrote the tunes. MR: Oh you wrote the tunes. EL: Our opening tune was called "Drummer Man." We wrote that. And then we did things like "Lover" for the
drum pieces. We were synchronized drumming. Where we did - we had two complete drum sets
and each hand was doing the same thing. You know what I mean? MR: Yeah. EL: Yeah. So it was not like today, people have got
video. I sure wish I had a video or something of
it. MR: Yeah, it would be nice. EL: It would be. I've got some still pictures, a couple of
still pictures, but that's all. MR: So now you are a young man in the big
city. EL: In New York. Well that couldn't go anywhere because that
type of show business was dying at that time. You know Cozy Cole told us, "you guys were
good, man, but you just came along at the wrong time." And so we started, first we just started trying
to get little gigs. We had a few other little jobs with the act,
but nothing really to sustain us. So we both just started kind of trying to
play the drums. And we met Papa Jo Jones, who took us into
his apartment and kept us for about - we lived with him for about two years. MR: Is that right? EL: Yeah, on 44th Street in the Henry Hotel. Those guys were just special people. Yeah. And we got jobs. I worked at Macy's and did stuff like that. They taught me values about life that were
still great for me right now. See you've got to take care of yourself you
know. If you don't care of yourself you're not going
to be able to play the drums. You can't say I'm a drummer and you're not
working you know. You've got to eat, you've got to take care
of your parents, all that stuff. Those guys were, I mean I learned so much,
I'm still living off of it. MR: Neat. EL: So we lived with him for about two years. Two years. MR: And he was with - he was on the road some
of that time? EL: Well that was still the time of the Jazz
at the Philharmonic, he was doing that kind of - this was like '57, '58. Right about the time that big picture was
taken. MR: Oh yes. A Great Day in Harlem. EL: A Great Day in Harlem. So that's why I'm on the picture. That's how I happened to be on the picture. MR: Right. Oh because of him? EL: Jo Jones. I used to carry his drums to record dates
and set them up, and carry his drums and get coffee for him and all that stuff. Like an apprentice, which the young guys won't
do that now. I learned so much that it's just like you
took him of college. That was like, you know, just watching him
play in all these different venues. I'd carry his drums, set them up, take them
down, you know what I mean, take them home for him if he wanted to go somewhere else. And he told me one day, he used to say "well
meet me here." That's all he would say. I couldn't ask him no questions about it. And when I got off the train at 125th Street
and I was walking down the street, and I saw all these people standing out in front of
this apartment I said God, did Jo Jones invite me to a funeral? I don't even know these people. And when I get there and I see all these musicians,
I was like, I couldn't believe it. And so I didn't know many of them then. Later I played with almost everybody on that
picture. But at that time, and like I said, the way
I was raised and the way I came up, I wouldn't have dared went up to Roy or Coleman Hawkins
and say "hello, I'm Eddie Locke." You know, no, I would never do nothing like
that. I would never do nothing like that. And why I'm standing on the picture next to
Horace Silver, because Doug Watkins was playing with Horace Silver at that time, the bass
player, from Detroit. So I knew Horace because of that, to talk
to. I knew who all of them were. But not walk up to them and just start talking. So that's why I'm standing at that point,
where I am. MR: Boy, I bet you're glad you went though. EL: Oh of course I am. And that was the funny thing about - they
couldn't identify me when they got the whole layout done, they knew everybody and Esquire
was going crazy. Because I met some people later on that were
there. They said "who is this guy?" And they were calling all the studios and
all the record companies and all the agents, but nobody knew me. MR: Is that right. Wow. EL: And you know who identified me? The only person - Billy Crystal's father,
Jack Crystal. MR: Really. EL: He ran a place down on Second Avenue,
where the college kids went. Every Friday and Saturday night they had jazz. And Jo Jones used to play there and Roy Eldridge,
Charlie Shavers, Willie "The Lion" Smith. And I used to go down there every week with
Jo, whenever Jo played there, and just sit you know. And so he identified me. MR: Great story. EL: That was something. That was really funny. He said man the people were going crazy. Because I met the people at Esquire later. They said man we done got this whole layout
done and the editor saying "how have you got this guy on here that you can't identify?" But I fit there now, I belong there, so it
worked out. MR: That's right. You justified your presence for sure. EL: Yeah, yeah, yeah. That was great. MR: What was it about Jo Jones' drumming for
you- EL: He was the most creative drummer I ever
saw. That could create things, that I've never
seen anybody else do. He had this kind of mind about the drums. Actually the first time I saw him, the first
time I ever saw him play was in Detroit. They had the Paradise Theater, just like the
Apollo, where they had those theaters in all the big cities. And he was there with Basie. And they did these things they called "Brushes,"
where the big band is just going [scats] and he's playing with the brushes. And he never picked the sticks up. But he always gave you that impression that
he was, I mean always like it was going to happen. And then he took a solo, and the band cut
out, and he took this solo with the brushes. And I had never seen nobody do nothing like
that. It was like he was a magician with those brushes. I mean I'd never seen anybody play brushes
the way he could. He was a magician you know. Yeah, he was something. Of course I remember at his funeral Roy Haynes,
when I was talking, and I said somebody had put some sticks on his body, in his hands. And I said "boy," I said "he was sticks,"
I said "but those brushes, man." And Roy Haynes held his hand up and he reaches
in his pocket and says "I brought some." MR: Wow. EL: I mean I've never seen anything like that
before. Every drummer - it couldn't have been no one
playing drums nowhere that day, that evening. I've never seen that many - I've been at a
lot of those affairs, those funerals like that, you know, and I've never seen nothing
like that before in my life. Never. He had touched so many people. I can't think of no drummer that ever saw
him play - if you've got any kind of brain you had to get something. Because he just had so much. He just threw away so much stuff. I'm still trying to get some of it you know. As Max Roach always said, "if I ever be that
player I owe that old guy five." MR: Wow. And the sound of the Basie rhythm section. EL: Ooh. MR: What about that? EL: That thing was just like the wind. It was so smooth. And these drummers, the drummers then, all
the drummers from that period, as far as I'm concerned, and I've come up with a theory
about it. That all the drummers from that period had
great touches on the drums. The touch they had. Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, Jo Jones, Sid Catlett. They had this nice touch. The sound that they got. And I've noticed that all modern drummers,
a lot of them have a lot of technique but they don't have no touch. The touch on the drums is not like those guys'
touch. And you know what my theory on it is that
- this came to me one day - I said some young guy was asking me when I was young, did they
have plastic heads? I said "no, man, there was no plastic heads,"
I said "it was calf heads." And I said every place you played, the weather
and the lights affected that head. You could come off the stage one minute and
you've been playing and when you go off for the intermission, when you come back, they'd
be different. You know? From the heat or the moisture or whatever. And so you had to really learn how to use
the technique. You couldn't do nothing about it. MR: You couldn't play the same way every time? EL: No. You had to develop - because that thing wouldn't
respond. You know, they would get mushy. If you went someplace in where there was really
hot and it started getting damp, those heads would just get like pfew. It would get mushy, man. And you had to develop some way to play on
that. And it made you concentrate on that too. And every drummer, and then I started really
checking it out after I thought about it. I'd never thought about it before. See because of plastic heads, they stay the
same all the time. You know what I mean? So now you're just beating on 'em. But you couldn't do that if they were calf
heads. I mean you could - and the thing wouldn't
do nothing. You had to know how to do something on it
to make its sound. You had to play off the heads. You couldn't play into it like that. Because it would just go booof. You know what I mean? MR: So consequently they developed this excellent
technique? EL: They knew they had to - yes. It made you. You were forced to. And that's one of the things that I really
miss when I listen to a lot of drummers. They've all got a great technique with the
hands, but that part is - I don't hear that like I used to hear it. No man, those guys had such wonderful touch,
and ideas. My first good job was in the Metropole. That was my first big time job, on Seventh
Avenue. And they had music from the morning - from
noon, they had music from like 3:00 in the afternoon until 4:00 in the morning. Two bands change. Like we played from three to seven. New band comes out. Bigger bands. You know two. And I'll never forget when I first started
playing there, I thought I was pretty good. Of course, young, flying, right? Zutty Singleton was the other drummer. "Face" he calls everybody. MR: He calls 'em "face?" EL: "Face." He called everybody face. And I found out why they did that, because
you never had to remember anybody's name. Hey Face, the Gates, and like Pops. So you didn't know whether they really knew
each other or not. "how you doing, Face?" You know. But I said oh man, I knew about him but I
really didn't know him that well. So I was going to go up there, I'm going to
kill this old guy, right? Because they had drum battles. That was a drum room. The Metropole. That was a drum house. Because you know there are certain houses,
it was a long stage. MR: Behind the bar? EL: Behind the bar, yeah. Everybody played there. So I go up there man and I was working with
Tony Parenti, it was just a trio. Tony Parenti playing clarinet and Dick Wellstood
was playing the piano, who I got very fond of. He was the only young guy that could ever
do that stuff. He really could do that striding stuff. He was one of the best young guys I ever heard
do that. So they had these little drum battles. And I'd do all my little [scats]. And he had little ratchets on this drums and
he'd go [scats], and the people would go crazy. And I said something is wrong with this picture
here. You know? So I started watching this guy, man, I said
I think I'm tearing it up, tearing it up, and the people, they paid me no mind at all. I said this guy's killing me every night. So I got to be really good friends with him,
and just watched him. The presentation. That's what those guys could do you know. I would be doing all that stuff, and he would
[scats] and you'd hear a little bell - ding, or something you know. It was beautiful. And they were all so nice to me, wonderful
people you know. And that's where I learned, watching all those
guys man. Like Buddy Rich played there, and all these
guys you know. Buddy Rich, I could talk to Buddy Rich because
Buddy Rich knew I liked Jo Jones. And if you liked Jo Jones, you were okay with
Buddy Rich. If you didn't like Jo Jones, I'm telling you,
he loved Jo Jones. You know that, though. He loved Jo Jones. If you didn't like Jo Jones-
MR: Don't talk to Buddy Rich. EL: That's right. Please don't. MR: That's great. Tell me about - I've been waiting to get to
the fifteen years you spent at Ryan's? EL: Oh yes. MR: Wow. That's a long time for a-
EL: Well Roy Eldridge was my - well let's see - he was my conscience. MR: Yeah? EL: Well he was like my - I don't know what
to call him. I had a great relationship with him and Coleman,
but both of the relationships were very different. And Roy Eldridge was the Godfather of my children,
you know it was like my family you know. And those guys, they never - you know what
I really loved about them? They never, ever BS'd me about what I could
do. Do you know? He'd say "you're not great but you're okay. You just keep doing what you're doing. You're all right." You know they didn't put that stuff in your
head like you're the greatest drummer I ever saw. You know, just to say things like that. I think that's one of the worst things that
happens to a lot of young musicians today. They make a CD or a record or something, and
somebody tells them that they're the greatest thing that's been here you know, and they
don't grow anymore. I'm still growing. I'm better now - I can play better now than
I could ten years ago. And you know what I mean? And I think it came from that you know. I mean you knew they liked you because you
wouldn't have been there. But they never were just like polishing you
off all the time, how great you are and all you did. You know what I mean? You were there, it's okay. And they treated you nice if you did what
you were supposed to be doing. Like as Papa Jo said, take care of the bandstand. That's another thing those guys did. When they went up on the bandstand, it was
a business for them. And they took care of the bandstand. The music part, everything. And Jo did say "you've got to know how to
get on the stage, you've got to know how to get off the stage." "Don't wear out your welcome" he said. MR: Terrific. EL: And they could do so much with a little. They never ranted and raved a long time, and
that's another thing I learned from them was that's something wonderful to be able to do,
to get your little piece done, and don't wear the people out. MR: Yeah. Two choruses instead of eight. EL: Instead of eight, yeah, yeah. And do tell the story. Like I said before, I must have been the luckiest
- and I thank God for it. I mean I don't go to church all the time but
I do thank God for it all the time. Because that was really luck. You've got to be good but you've got to be
lucky too. MR: Roy had quite a competitive spirit, didn't
he? EL: I've never played with anyone that loved
to play as much as him. Never. And my greatest story, every time I tell somebody
this, they always, they love it, but I'm going to tell this so this will be on film forever. I will never forget, we were playing in a
place and there was no one in the place, just like this room we're in now, with the band. We were up there playing. And I was just like that [scats]. And he turned around and he leaned over the
drum set at me and he said "what are you doing?" And I said "well Roy" I says, "there's nobody
in here." He looked me right in - I mean he got closer
- he said "I'm here." That was the scariest thing, I mean and the
way he said it, you know what I mean? But it made a difference in me. He said "I'm here." Let's play. Because that's what he did. I mean I've heard him play some of the greatest
music I ever heard, in a room just like this with nobody in it. He loved that horn. It was just like - that's why at his funeral,
when Dizzy said, He said "y'all gotta find something else to do now," he said "because
this is the only person that was ever named Jazz." He said "he's is the only one who was ever
named Jazz. And that's what he was. I've seen him, I mean Jo Jones told me, he
said "one of these days you're going to be playing with him, man, and he's going to take
you out of that drum seat. He's going to rip you right out of that drum
seat." I said now that is really deep. I didn't pay that much attention. But he did. Right up in Toronto one time. Oh God. I had this feature on "Caravan" that we did,
and when he got to the bridge one time boy, I mean it was just like it was so dynamic. It was just like I couldn't do it. I couldn't even play. It just took me away, I'm telling you. It was unbelievable. I never felt nothing like that before in my
life. It was just - his presence when he played
was just like unbelievable. Unbelievable. Like I said, I heard him every night. I never played with him - you know how long
I played with him - but I had played with him before I played in Ryan's. And never a night - he's the only person I've
ever been around like that - it was never a night where sometime during the night I
said "wow." Do you know what I mean? I mean he would do something that I'd never
heard him do before. Like this stuff so dynamic that it would be
just like woah. That was amazing. He was amazing. MR: He made you play better than ever I would
imagine. EL: Ever. That's right. Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes. Because he would just - he'd say, he would
tell you, "I'll play the job by myself if you don't want to play. And I can do it." And he could. Because he loved to play. When he got up there and got that - he was
just like a little kid with a toy you know. Just like a little kid at Christmastime every
time he played. When he was playing it was just like - I've
never felt no one play like that. I see some of these trumpet players now and
I say boy. And I mean I've heard all trumpet - every
place that we played, all the greatest trumpet players in the world I've met. Classical trumpet players too I'm talking
about. And the one guy told me he said, and this
guy was one of those great Hollywood guys that did all those big films. He told me he said "listen" he said "that
guy defined the trumpet." That's something. And that never studied it. You know he never studied. Guys used to come in and say "look at him,
man, he's pressing the wrong valves and playing the right notes." Unbelievable. They said "he's pressing the wrong valves
and playing the right notes." MR: I'm curious, was he - what kind of physical
shape was he in? EL: Well he was in good shape until when his
wife died. That was when he succumbed to his age. You know what I'm saying? MR: I'm just, you know, when you watch the
films and there's so much energy. EL: I've never seen - that's when I'm trying
to tell you. I've never seen, I mean sometimes he would
start playing and it would just like - you couldn't believe that this guy could keep
building. That's another thing they told me about, building
a solo. They built a solo. They knew how to build a solo. These guys don't know how to solo like that
now. They would just keep building man, until he
got to that peak where he wanted to get. You know what I mean? And it was just unbelievable. I've never felt nothing like that, that kind
of energy. I could feel it in myself when he was playing. I mean he'd hit some of those notes sometimes
and you could just woooh. He was amazing. He was really truly - and you know Dizzy always
said that. He said that was it. Because he had this other thing about him,
that he loved it so much. That if you got on the stage with him to play,
I don't care if you was playing a Jew's harp or piccolo or whatever, when you got up there
to play, you were in confrontation. He didn't care nothing about - you had a battle
on your hands. You came up there to play with him. That was just it. And it was just something like second nature
to him. I mean he didn't plan it, but if you got up
there and started playing on the horn, I don't care what kind of horn it was. It didn't have to be no trumpet, any kind
of horn, you had some trouble on your hands pal. MR: So he was not too shy about wiping people
out? EL: Oh that's all. He was ooooh boy oh boy oh boy. He was just like fierce with that. One of my stories I told at the funeral with
Dizzy was Dizzy was coming down the street one day, it was like at a festival time. It was like as a matter of fact this hotel's
got a lot of musicians around here. And it was summertime. And we used to stand out in front of Ryan's
on intermission, you know out in the street. And Dizzy had his horn and he was coming down
the street. He got up to him and he said "how you doin'
Jazz?" and he put the horn down on the ground. He said "listen, Jazz," he said "you know
what?" He said "I want to play." And he say "but could I play by myself?" He said "because man I don't feel like that
tonight." He said, "and you don't know how to act. So could I just play?" And Roy say "yeah, you can go play by yourself." But that was just a beautiful thing. That's what I'm talking about. He knows if Roy gets up there with him, he's
going to start that screaming and whistling and Dizzy said "listen, can I go up there
and play by myself?" He said "'cause you don't know how to act,
you know that man? And I can't be bothered with that tonight." MR: That's good. You say your relationship with Coleman Hawkins
was important but different? EL: It was completely different. But that's what made jazz to special. Because all these guys got - character-wise
they were all givers but they were different emotionally about certain things you know. Coleman liked to listen to classical music
you know. We'd sit up in his apartment with Tommy Flanagan,
Roland Hanna and all. He had a classical collection that was unbelievable
-operas - and he knew all that music. We'd listen to more classical music in his
house than we ever listened to jazz. He loved Rubinstein. He got me on to the Rubinstein. I read both of Rubinstein's books and went
to see him about five times. Arthur Rubinstein was his piano player you
know. And he knew all those pieces. He knew all those pieces. If you made a mistake, he knew it, oh yeah. He knew that music. And we'd sit up there and listen to that music
and we'd talk about it. I learned a lot about that music from him,
you know just listening and how to listen to it. And he loved the piano too. You'll notice on any of his albums, the piano
player always plays a lot. Any Coleman Hawkins album. The piano player always plays a lot. Because he loved the piano. He loved to listen to it. And we had a great relationship also, but
it was like I said, different. He went down to - he loved big cars. And fancy things. Fancy suits and shoes-
MR: Coats. EL: Coats, pants and clothes. And he went down, right down here on Broadway
and bought an Imperial, this would be a Chrysler, the showroom right here on Broadway. Right not far from this hotel, right there,
Broadway around 55th Street or something. Chrysler showroom. He went down there and bought one of those
big Chrysler 300's. And he didn't even have any license. And he had the guy drive it up and put it
in the lot where he lived up on Central Park West. They had a parking thing there. Put it there. You know nobody ever drove that car but me. That's right. And he loved me that much. Nobody ever drove that car but me. When he died I don't know what happened to
it. I mean nobody ever drove that car. That's right. Stanley Dance said "I called up Coleman Hawkins"
I said "man I want you to come down here at midtown and I want to talk to you about something." So he says "well you want to call Eddie Locke
up." "But," he says "I don't want to talk to Eddie
Locke, Coleman, I want to talk to you." He said "this guy wouldn't come unless you
came." He was, I mean that's what I'm saying, he
loved the way Roy did, but it was different. I mean nobody ever drove that car but me. It was a beautiful car. And he was - anytime he wanted to know something
- he'd be on the road with Jazz at the Philharmonic. And they'd be talking about music or something. He'd say "I'm going to call up Locke to see." He'd call me from on the road. The guys'd say "what are you calling up Eddie
Locke for?" He's got Oscar Peterson there and all these
different guys. "He's calling him up to ask him something." MR: I'll be darned. Wow. EL: Yeah, that was something. Just like I said it was just unbelievable. MR: Tell me about how a typical recording
session would happen for you guys, and then how much time it took. EL: Well when we used to go to those, all
those records that we made, every one of them we made with that quartet. We'd go there and a guy would bring us like
- there wasn't no arrangements - a song sheet. You know like you'd buy in the store. He'd give everybody a song sheet. MR: Which guy would give you the song sheet? EL: Some A&R man, whoever got the date from
the company. MR: Oh they picked the songs? EL: Yeah. Most of those songs, that's what was amazing
about him. How he could interpret those songs, and nobody
believes, when I tell musicians, some young musicians this, they don't believe it. Because these guys, they rehearse for months
before they do a record date. You know? MR: Right. EL: There was no arrangement. There was nobody that wrote no - a couple
of things, in the album "Wrap Tight" there are arrangements. But other than that, the one I love the most
is called "Today and Now" with the love song from "Apache" the movie. Remember the movie "Apache" with Burt Lancaster? MR: Oh yeah. EL: Well we played the theme of that movie. The love song from "Apache" and they just
brought the thing there and we played it man. And it's so beautiful. I know that the introduction Tommy played
on that? I guy I knew, a young player did his thesis
at Yale on the introduction. MR: Oh my gosh. EL: It was so beautiful. MR: Do you suppose the A&R guy or producer
whoever was picking tunes that they thought would help sell the record? EL: I guess it fit the way he played. I guess that's what they were doing. Because he played that song so beautiful man. I mean that's like one of my favorite albums
that we made, was "Today and Now." It's beautiful music on that. And that love song from "Apache" is on there. There were some other things, "Quintessance,"
that Quincy Jones tune, and I remember Monk used to always come up there. Because you know Monk loved Coleman. He loved Coleman Hawkins. And he was different when he was around Coleman
Hawkins. I mean he talked and he asked questions, "do
you like my shoes," or "how'd you like my coat" or my pants. You know what I mean? And he used to come up there, and one time
he came up there and Coleman was playing this album. He said "you've got some kind of secret music
up here, haven't you?" Secret music. And we used to play opposite Monk all the
time down at the Village Gate when it was really big. They used to have two or three groups at a
time. You know guys don't even know about that in
New York now. And it would be like Monk and Coleman Hawkins,
and Mingus' band sometimes. And Monk would always go up on the stage,
you know, by himself first, and [scats]. He was trying to coach - he wanted him to
play with him, but he wouldn't ask him. Coleman would say "listen at him up there,
you hear what he's doing, don't you?" But he used to come up there, Coleman and
him, they would be talking and it would be wonderful to hear him talking to somebody
that he loved Coleman so much. Because Coleman did help all those young guys
when they were young. MR: Wow. I had not heard that before, you know like
Monk being so kind of enamored of somebody. EL: Oh he was, oh yeah. He'd say "how do you like my shoes?" "how do you like my pants?" "My suit?" You know they all dressed you know. All the guys of that period, those guys, they
loved to dress. And so these guys all picked that up from
them. MR: Did you call him "Bean?" Was that? EL: Did I call him Bean? Yeah I called him Bean sometimes, and sometimes
I called him Hawk. MR: There wasn't, with the nicknames, I was
curious if there was something like, you wouldn't use a nickname unless you were kind of like
friends with them or in a circle? EL: Yeah, well he was more than a friend. I mean like I said I was so close to those
two guys for somebody my age. When he died, Time magazine called me up. And you know what they said? You know who told us to call you? We couldn't believe it, because we called
Benny Carter to ask him something about Coleman Hawkins, and he said "man if you want to know
anything about Coleman Hawkins," he said "you call Eddie Locke." And they couldn't figure that out. Because he was a peer of theirs. So they figured if anybody knew anything about
him they would know more than I did. But I knew more about him than a lot of people. Because I think, I've asked my wife and I've
asked other people, because I just treated him like another person. You know we did funny things together and
laughed and all kinds of stuff. I didn't treat him like he was this idol. And that's the only thing I can figure why
he really liked me to be around him so much. MR: Yeah. He didn't need that from you. EL: No. MR: I guess he liked to have a normal-
EL: It was a normal, buddy thing. And a little father, you know he was like,
he always was encouraging me. I learned how to write music - because I'd
never studied music you know - but I learned all the chords and all that stuff you know. And that's another thing about those guys. He'd be back in the kitchen in his apartment
and I might just play a triad, like a C, and he'd say "yeah, Locke, that's good." You know what I mean? But he wouldn't be trying to B.S. me. And I got a book called, you know like those
little - how they take classical pieces and shorten them and put them in these books? And he had one of them. And he said "you get one of these books." One of those chordal, Chopin things, it's
all chords you know? And he said "now you're going to learn how
to play that." And I said "I am?" And he said "yeah." And then when these - Tommy or Barry or Monk
or somebody - "I'm going to make you play it" and say "now look, here's a drummer can
play this." And I did learn it. I swear to God. It took me a long time, but I did learn it. I could play it. It was all chordal [scats]. One of those things like that. I can't do it now because that's one thing
about that music, you have to practice every day. But for someone to believe, that's what I
always tell people, that someone that great believed that I could do it. You know what I mean? And I did it. That's the environment thing that I was talking
about before. And I did it. MR: Man. You have been with some of the greats. That's a great story. What do you think people liked about your
drumming? EL: That's what I used to ask Roy. "Roy" I said - I knew what he liked, because
my time is good, it still is. Earl May tells me this now all the time. He says "man," he says, "none of these drummers
can do that thing on that cymbal like you, man." He said "I've played with a lot of guys now,
man, ever since I've been playing with you now," he said, "that thing is something." He said "these drummers can't do it." And I've always had that. I could always swing. That's why sometimes I say to myself if I
hadn't had this natural talent I might have studied more, you know how you reminisce about
what you could have- but I don't think that would have been. You know what I'm saying? I think things happen just the way they're
supposed to happen in your life. Because a guy called me from Atlanta, his
name is Hank Moore. He played tenor around Detroit, but he lives
in Atlanta now. And I haven't seen him in thirty years probably. But me, him and Doug Watkins, you know the
bass player that used to play with Horace Silver and all? We were in a little band in Detroit, a blues
band, we had a little band. And he said - this was just lately in the
last couple of months he called me. We were talking. He said "you know what, Locke?" I said "what." He said "you always could swing." And so I guess that's what they like. Actually, like I told you, I'm playing better
now than I ever played. Because I used to never practice. I started practicing. Arthur Taylor used to kid on me, you know,
before he died. When he moved back here we got to be very
close. He said "Locke, man, you don't practice." Some people like to practice. And he was one of the guys that practiced
all the time. But I never really liked to practice. And simply because I had this natural ability
to do things. But that will only keep you at a certain level
if you don't practice. But now, like I said, ever since he started
me doing that, the last ten years or fifteen years, I've been practicing. And I know the difference. But I'm glad I didn't practice - maybe if
I'd have practiced too much before I might have lost that thing that everybody likes. MR: Too much technique. EL: Yeah. Well Jo Jones, here's the funniest thing I
ever heard in my life, when I first met him and I never heard nobody say that before,
he said "you've got to unlearn yourself." I'd never heard that before. It took me a long time to figure out but I
understand it now. You've got to unlearn yourself. And Leonardo DaVinci, because I like art too,
I paint and draw. And somebody gave me the Leonardo DaVinci
notebooks. And somewhere in there he said "never let
theory outstrip the performance." MR: Yeah. EL: And that's what those guys always did. Performance. Papa Jo Jones, he used to always say this,
and I know what he meant now. Because he went to see one of these drummers,
or somebody'd talk to him, but he said "just let me get them on a stage. I don't care whether there's fast hands or
nothing like that." It's performance. That's what those guys could do when they
got on that stage. I mean I seen Roy Eldridge do things to people
I've never seen nobody else do that I've played with. I mean just ordinary people. He says "it's no jazz fan." See they didn't think about it like these
guys, the people that come out here. "These are just people man, you make them
feel good." All those guys were like that. They make them feel good man, they'll come,
they'll come back. They don't know nothing about no jazz fan. They just played. Like when he went in Ryan's, when Roy went
in Ryan's, everybody says "Roy Eldridge is an old man, he's not going to make it in a
Dixieland place." You know what I mean? Roy never played no Dixieland music before. You know what I mean. Man he swung that stuff man, like it was after
you're gone. That's what those guys could do, man. The music. They made the music sound good. Anything. The music. You're making the music, whatever kind of
song. A guy said "I don't like this song." "Man, just play." That's what they used to tell me. They got me out of all those bad habits. Can you play? If you can play you can play any song and
make it sound good. And that's what they could do. I don't care, anything. Anything they played. It was amazing. I mean with Coleman, just like I told you,
all those songs, we made that music to "No Strings," you might have heard that. That show was on Broadway for a little while. We made the music. Coleman had never seen that music, and they
brought the song sheets, just like I said. And I told a young piano player about that. He didn't believe me. He said "man you guys had to rehearse that." I said "never. We went right to the record date and we didn't
even know what we were going to do when we went there." MR: That's quite amazing. EL: It is. It is. Every time I think about it. Because every time I think about it, because
now when I'm around musicians and I see them and they're struggling with all this music
all the time, and I'm thinking about all the music I made with that guy and it never was
no struggle. It was never no struggle. MR: You had to have an amazing empathy with
the musicians and listening skills. EL: That's right. Now there you go. That's it. That's it. But that's what makes the music nice anyway. Just like we was talking about that rhythm
section with Count Basie. That's what that was. The empathy between the guys you know. MR: You know you've seen jazz go through lots
of things. Was there a time in your career where you
felt jazz was going in the wrong direction? EL: Oh a lot of times I thought it was going
wrong. And it's for the same reason that I think
that - it's not the kind of music you play, it's the way you play it that I don't like. Like people play, I've heard guys play like
the avante garde stuff. It wasn't so much that I disliked what they
were playing as it was the way they were playing it. You know, the harshness they had with the
music. They played ugly. You don't have to play ugly. You could be creative and do all that stuff
without being ugly too. You know if you want to be far out or something
like that. I mean Mingus did that, but he didn't play
ugly. He was way out there before anybody was doing
all that stuff, you know what I mean? But it wasn't ugly. He had beauty in the stuff. That's the part I don't like, when it's not
pretty. MR: That's a good observation. It's like almost the musicians, if they're
going to get rid of the harmonic limitations and the time, does that mean you have to play
ugly? EL: Right. That's the thing I don't like. That's the part. That's it. That's the thing. And I've seen so many instances where, when
they put names on the music, when they put a name on the music then it tends to make
younger guys that they should do something else with the music. When they put a name on it. And I always remember Connie Kay telling me,
you know he loved Sid Catlett. He used to follow Sid. I never knew Sid Catlett, because he died
young. He was like Papa Jo, they kind of had the
same approach to the drums. And so Connie Kay said "I used to follow this
guy around everywhere." So he said "one day I was with him and he
took me down to Birdland. And he went in there and sat in you know,
somebody's band was playing," and he said "he tore the joint up, Sid did. The guy took me and he said 'come on boy.' So he took me and he put me in a car and he
drove down in the village, and he was going to into Nick's." Now that's a Dixieland place, right? "So I asked him, I said 'what are you going
in here for?' You know, "'cause,' he says 'you're hip'." So what is he going in this Dixieland place,
you know what I mean? So Connie Kay said "he went in there, he sat
in, and he tore it up in there too." Ding. Right? If you're good, that's it, right? He went to Birdland and they loved him in
there. He went down there. Connie Kay said "that was a great lesson." You know what I mean? That's it. That's what it's about. That's the thing about having this touch and
all this feeling for the music. It'll fit anywhere. It'll fit anywhere. MR: A couple of different recordings I wanted
to ask you about. You played with Earl Hines? EL: Oh that was something. That "Live at the Vanguard." That's one of my favorite things that I made. It was almost the same kind of thing. He was the nicest man. The nicest guy. I mean whooh. He was the nicest person, oh man. And we never rehearsed. I never rehearsed with him either. It was Budd Johnson and Gene Ramey, we played
with him. That was quite an experience. He was dynamic. He was so dynamic on that piano, it was just
like whooh. It was like a whole band. You never knew what he was going to do. You had to really stay on your toes, especially
a drummer, because his thing was, he was all between the beat and all kinds of things when
he played. I remember one time we went down to Washington,
D.C. and he was striding - his ring just came off his finger and went out into the audience. MR: Wow. EL: I mean his left hand was just working
so hard man. See that's like when those guys played, they
were in it. And his ring come off. Oh, that was amazing. That's why I say I was just about the luckiest
guy like that, that had those experiences with that caliber of people, not only as musicians
but as people too. MR: What do you think about the - we're in
this building right now and there's all these things going on, this jazz, and a lot of people,
lots of ways to teach being talked about and so forth. How does it strike you? EL: I don't get it. Because see I don't believe you can teach
anyone to play jazz. You can teach them how to play an instrument. I teach at a school here in New York myself. I like kids. I've been doing that all my life. They talk about this education thing, I had
the first presidential scholar in jazz. A lot of people don't even know that. That was written up in the "New York Times." I had the first presidential scholar in jazz. And they had presidential scholars every year
in academia, you know that, for high school kids, seniors. And I had the first one in jazz. I went to Washington, D.C. and went to the
White House when Reagan was in office. But I never taught him jazz. You understand what I'm saying? I just taught him about the music, to listen
to the music. I never - and I teach at a school called the
Trevor Day School now, over on East 90th Street. I've been there for eighteen years. Because the headmaster, his name is Jack Dexter,
Dr. Dexter, he loves jazz. So I've been there - Roy Eldridge has played
there, Frank Wess, Roland Hanna, everybody played there, to do concerts for the kids
you know. That caliber of musicians. And so I've always been around kids and I
love kids. But I never tell a kid I'm teaching them how
to play jazz. And I've got a lot of them that can really
play. But I just say you've got to go find your
own thing, what you want to play. I try to teach the fundamentals of the instrument,
whatever that is, and then you go find what you can play. Go listen. Go look. Find. This thing with this building, what you were
talking about, this jazz, I think, what I believe myself, what I personally think it's
just become a big business now. It has nothing to do with jazz now, to me. This jazz education thing has become a big,
big business. Almost every big college now has got a jazz
studies thing in it. And some of these kids - Phil Woods wrote
an article in the union paper about it too. One time, a long time - in the American Federation
of Musicians paper about what are they doing with this stuff. Everybody can't play jazz, like everybody
can't play baseball. Or everybody can't - and you know what I mean? And they're giving this impression that if
you do this you can play jazz. That's not true. Jazz is a life experience also. It's about your living, the way you live. As Jo Jones used to tell me, you've got to
have something to bring to the music. You've got to bring something to the music. You have to bring something to the music. So you have to live a life to bring something
to the music. You just can't sit in no practice room all
day long. I had a great experience - I was out at one
of those schools, I think I was out in Jersey where they've got a jazz program and I met
this drummer. So I played a concert with somebody, I don't
remember. And so we started talking to some of the students. And so he says "well I'm trying to find something,
where can I go play?" So I said "well you're going to school, right?" I said "well why don't you guys play?" "No man, we don't play together. Most times the guys are just in the practice
room and they're just all practicing by themself." I said "well that doesn't make much sense. Because when you get out here - that should
be required that you guys all play together, because when you get out of here you've got
to play with somebody. You don't want to be playing by yourself." And it's a whole other thing, so the only
way you're going to learn it is if you're playing with somebody. It's not going to happen in the practice room. Because you've got all these people now, they're
all different and now you've got to make this all fit together. That's what I don't find these guys can do
now, that study these jazz courses. When they get on the stage, it don't work. It doesn't work together. Because they're working individually. But that's not what jazz is supposed to be
about. It's supposed to be about us making this thing
together. MR: Having that empathy. EL: Yeah, yeah. Hey, hey. It's not about how much better you can play
than me or how much more technique you've got than I've got, and all this kind of stuff,
you know what I mean? Just trying to make the stuff work. The guy said "well man, you guys-" with the
group that I'm playing with, he said "well you guys-" I say "we're trying to make it
work, man, that's all, that's why it's working. And that's what those guys. They made it work. If something was going wrong man, they wouldn't
just keep beating on it. You know what I mean? They'd say "let's do something else man." You know what I mean? And nobody can do everything. You're human. And you have your frail things about yourself. Everybody's personality has some weakness
in it. But you go to their strength, instead of their
weakness. You don't be telling him "you've got to keep
doing this" if you can see he can't do it. So why keep doing it. When I've got kids, when I'm teaching in my
schools, the kids'll be playing something. If he can't get it I say boom - I'll find
something else he can play. Let him play something. You don't keep telling him do it, do it, do
it. That's not helpful to nobody. I mean you can't teach anybody anything like
that. Every time he comes he feels when he leaves
like he's like "oh I couldn't do that." Always have something they can do good all
the time. And I let them play that. And then I'll add something else to it. And I've had very good success with that. And I'm not trying to make them musicians,
I'm trying to make them good human beings first of all. That other part is up to them. I can't make them like that. And that's what those guys taught me, by being
around them. MR: Well it sounds like you're still a lifelong
learner. I know you're excited about a new group that
you've got going. EL: I am, I am, I am. Because that's the way they were. I mean Coleman Hawkins, you know, like Tommy
or Barry would play a chord and he'd say "what is that you just played there?" Even this guy, one of the greatest saxophonists,
you know what I mean, he always had that. "Ahhh," he said, "I heard that." You know what I mean? You would think this guy would be, and Roy
was the same way. He'd sit in the dressing room with you man,
you'd have some brushes or sticks, and he'd get his horn out, put the mute in, and he
was ready to - you know what I mean? Those guys had been all over the world, they'd
played with the greatest people in the world, and they were still like that. They did all that, and that's amazing. They would play with anybody. They'd go to some little joint man, and tear
it up, some itty bitty place. Didn't have to be a whole lot of people there. That's the difference. That's another part of it that's like - we
had a record and a half you know at one time down there. There used to be a place down on Spring and
Hudson Street. We stayed in that place for thirteen weeks. With Roy Eldridge. And people would just come, and they were
just lining up 'cause you know why, they were just having so much fun. When they left - I remember one time we were
behind the bar, there were some steps man, and this man, he just ran up the steps and
just got on his knees, boy, like he was in church. He was so happy. That's what made jazz great. Because it made people happy. You don't have to go to this now what chord
is that you're playing there? What kind of beat is that he's doing over
there? Jo Jones - I said "Jo," I said "how should
I hold my sticks?" You know what he told me? He said "any way you can play with 'em." That's great lessons I got. MR: And I congratulate you on the part you
had in the creation of all this great music, too. EL: Thank you. I did a little bit, but I did my little bit
- I added what I could add, the little bit, just like they told me, it was the truth. You just keep doing what you can do, and it
was true. That's what's so amazing. I didn't understand as much as I do now. But what you can do, man, that's good. This other guy could do that, but what you're
doing is good, now we like that. That's what they used to always say. Coleman and Roy. They would both say that to me at different
times. MR: Excellent. EL: You know - I'm going to stop, because
I'm running my mouth so much, but I'll never forget one time we went to a bar called the
Copper Rail. It was right across the street from the Metropole. There used to always be a lot of bars like
that in New York where the musicians just came. They came there because they knew, from the
Metropole, when the guys got off at intermission, everybody was going to come over there. [gap in audio] Now I'm not going to use no
names, but anyway there was a great drummer there and he had went to Roy, I was playing
with Roy and Coleman together at that time. And I asked him could he sit in with them. He was a great drummer who I admired too. And it came out of one of them, it was either
Roy or Coleman says "man, you mad at this drummer?" I said "no, no, Coleman," I mean I don't mind
if he sits in." And then about 15 minutes later Coleman came
over to me and he says "no, no, I'm not gonna-" You know what he says? "I like what you're doing, man, I'm not going
to let him sit in. You come on back over here." Oh man, you don't know what that did to me
inside man. It just melted me. That was like wow, "we like what you're doing,
man - you come on back over here and play." That was beautiful. That was like, that's the kind of people they
were. It was wonderful and I was lucky, and like
I said on every one of the records I made with Coleman Hawkins and Roy, because I made
some good records with Roy too. You know that record I made with him with
Oscar Peterson and Ray Brown called "Happy Times." You ever hear that one? MR: Yeah. EL: When he sings? MR: Oh yeah, that's right. EL: You know what he told me? It's so funny. Because I was like shocked when he called
me and told me that he wanted me on this date with those guys. He said "well I just want to see a friendly
face." He didn't tell me you're so great and all
this other - he said "you know why I got you? I just wanted to see a friendly face." That's beautiful. You know what I'm saying. And I wasn't even worried about it because
I was with him. Because that was heavy company to be in, Joe
Pass was on there too, you know what I mean? That's like getting thrown in the lion's den
you know, because those guys were really tight together. But I played with him, because that was my
man. I knew he would protect me. MR: Right. EL: And it came out good though. Because he was what I was with. But some musicians that get you on dates like
that, they try to intimidate you you know. A lot of people get intimidated by people
like that sometimes, and they do it on purpose sometimes. But I knew I had my buddy, my friend, and
it was a good record. But like I said before, thank God I was just
a lucky guy, man. And I tried to pass it on to other people,
young people. That's why I do things with young people. I try to tell them some of the stuff that
- all that knowledge that I got, you can't get it nowhere else. And that's - about the jazz education thing? See they can't get that because they have
never did it. You know some of these people, when this jazz
education first started the people who were teaching it, most of them were jazz musicians
that had played it. Now it's people that just went to college
and studied and they're teaching it from that perspective. But it's a whole other ballgame. It's something else. I asked - when I was up at this school, I
told you up there, and this young drummer asked me when I was up in Schenectady at one
of those schools and this drummer was asking me about that thing you know. And so I asked him, I said "do you know how
to play 'The Three Camps?" He said "what's that?" And every drummer in my period knew what that
was. That's like an Etude kind of thing for the
drum. MR: Rudiments, right? EL: Yeah, all five [scats]. You know, it's a story. And every drummer could play that. And he didn't know that. So that's why he can't play the time. Because that's all of these things that you
learn, he doesn't have control of his hands. That's like in any instrument, man, if you
can't control the instrument, you've got to have control, that's what they call the stick
control. And you've got to learn from the basic rudimental
parts of the instrument. But don't forget the pendulum, when you go
back to school. MR: Yeah, that's right. EL: That's something. Every time - I tell the teachers up there
and they say "I never heard of that before." I say I know, so that's what I'm talking about
when I say that jazz came from another place, not just from school. And another part about this education thing
is it makes me feel real terrible sometimes is the way they talk about some of this stuff
now like the musicians from the period that I came up in, the swing era, that I idolized,
like they weren't educated musicians. You understand? I mean the way they present it almost like
none of these guys can play classical music. And hey man, like Coleman Hawkins was a very,
very, very - I mean unbelievable educated musician. And a lot them was. Buster Bailey that played the clarinet? He was a classical clarinet player. I mean these guys, but they didn't talk about
it like they do now. You know what I'm saying? MR: Right. They didn't use all the terminology. EL: The terminology like that. It's like weird. And because jazz is special. And just because you can play the instrument
doesn't mean you can play jazz. And that's what I don't like about all this
stuff, because they're taking jazz somewhere- MR: Where it doesn't need to go. EL: Yes, yes, yes. It's taking it somewhere where it doesn't
need to go. And I miss all those people because those
people, you don't have that feeling with these people that learned that way. They have a whole other thing about communication. They don't talk to each other, they don't
laugh. You know everybody's on the bandstand like
- like they're going to have an attack or something. And when I was on the bandstand with Roy and
them, man it would be so much fun, it was like woah. I'll never forget when J.C. Heard was playing,
when I first heard Coleman and Roy in the Metropole, J.C. Heard was still playing. You remember him. He was a great drummer man. That was one of those other kind of people
too. And well I'll tell you one more story. When I went to high school, you know he's
from Detroit too. And when he was with Cab Calloway, the teacher
that I had had come from the school where he did go, but he had transferred, this teacher,
so he told the guys in the drum class, because we took it as a class. Everybody had a pad on the desk and the guy
was up there. And he said "I'm going to go down to the theater
and I'm going to bring the drummer with Cab Calloway's band by to do a little playing
for you guys." Oh man. And he did. He brought J.C. Heard. And I was like I mean I'd never seen anybody
so dressed up before in my life, only in the movies you know. He was one of those guys that was immaculate. All those guys was sharp. It was like, I couldn't believe it. I mean I loved the drums, but the clothes,
it just had me like in - I went and got a job in a restaurant washing dishes, and I
went to this store downtown in Detroit called Kingbrook, that had very expensive clothes. And I picked out everything, as close as I
could to what he had on, and paid $5 every week on it until I got it. I copied everything he wore. That's how much I was impressed. And that's the kind of thing that you don't'
see happen no more. I think that's the kind of things that make
you play music. But that is the jazz part of it. But this is the funny part, now they're at
the Metropole, right? So he was playing with Coleman and them. And that's when I was playing in the afternoon
but I used to hang around at night to watch those guys play too. And he came off the stage, and I told him
I said "you know what, J.C.?" I said "man when I was in high school," I said "you know
man I got your autograph." He said "don't you tell nobody that, old as
you are." MR: That's good. EL: Don't you tell nobody as old as you are. MR: Well this has just been the greatest time. I really appreciate you coming in. EL: Well thank you for having me. MR: It's been great. EL: Thank you.
