Harry Connick, Jr., isn’t a one-road kind of guy. Detours and sidetracks keep his creative energies geared up. While fronting his big band as conductor, arranger, composer, pianist and vocalist remain the main highway of his lucrative career, Connick has just released an all-instrumental, jazz quartet album. Not since his 1987 self-titled debut on Columbia Records has the now 36-year-old superstar returned to the style and format he considers his musical roots. The album, Other Hours, alsomarks the first time in 16 years that Connick has recorded an album for a label other than Columbia. Here he leads his quartet on Branford Marsalis’ new label Marsalis Music. With saxophonist Charles “Ned” Goold, bassist Neal Caine and drummer Arthur Latin II, Connick engages in the music he composed, arranged and orchestrated for yet another one of his alternative routes, 2000’s production of Susan Stroman’s Broadway musical Thou Shalt Not. This time out, however, the songs are sans lyrics.
Connick is, of course, still in like Flynn with Columbia Records with two CDs in the making. Next season, he will again portray Dr. Leo Markus on the sitcom Will & Grace. Connick has also jumped into the technology field. Folks who have attended Connick’s big band performances over the last few years have observed his use of computer screens in lieu of sheet music. With an eye to enhancing the use of computers on stage, Connick and several partners were granted a patent for a product designed to further the application of computers for performance purposes.
First thing up was talking to Connick about his new album. My guess would be few folks would recognize Connick as the creator and pianist on the Other Hour’s burning opening cut, “What a Waste.” From the tune’s first bars, on which Connick pounds repetitive bass chords to establish a foundation, the song is rhythm-driven rather than the more expected melody-driven style for which the pianist has become renowned. Similarly, “Sovereign Lover” finds Connick and drummer Latin exploring rhythmic realms. Other tunes, particularly the ballads, swell with the pianist’s signature penchant for romance.
When I heard “What a Waste,” I thought if somebody took a blindfold test, I wonder if the listener would be able to guess who this was. Do you think your average jazz fan could tell who was playing?
I don’t know. They’d probably be confused because I don’t know how much it sounds like anybody else. A friend of mine played it for some people and they came up with no one. They said, “I have no idea who that is.”
Now do you think Wynton Marsalis would have recognized you?
I think probably so, at this point. He’s so intimately acquainted with everybody. He just knows everybody’s playing. He knows my playing. He could recognize the New Orleans elements in it immediately. He knows my touch. He’d figure it out pretty quick.
How about a critic, say, like Stanley Crouch, he’s pretty familiar with you, would he get it?
They’d get it by the process of elimination because they’d know it’s not Benny Green or Marcus Roberts or Mulgrew Miller or Cyrus Chestnut. They’d know who it’s not. And I’m the least present on the scene but they know I exist. They’d probably say, “Well, it must be Harry then.” I wouldn’t be an obvious choice [to many people] because I just don’t put out that many instrumental records.
Some of the tunes on the album sound almost not instrumental in that they are so melodic. Like the song “Such a Love,” you can almost sing it even though there are no lyrics. Perhaps reinforcing that notion, you often use introductory verses both here and on previous works. Is the use of a verse lost in modern music today or is it from the American songbook?
The repertoire that we grew up playing—we meaning jazz musicians—had verses to those songs. It was always kind of a hip thing to do. Like if you knew the verse you were cool. We learned that from Ellis [Marsalis]. [He’d say] Learn the whole thing. So we learned verses. So when it comes to songwriting, especially writing for a particular situation dramatically, sometimes a verse kind of sets the tone for what’s about to happen. It’s a very useful tool. I like verses. I just like them.
When you were writing this material for Thou Shalt Not, did you have it in mind to turn it around into instrumental music?
Yes, and no. I mean the show itself sort of started off as a small, kind of an under-produced show. So it was supposed to have that sort of sound about it anyway, especially a lot of the underscoring. As it grew, it became more of an orchestral attempt. So that although it had this small group stuff woven through it, it wasn’t as big a part of it. But the songs, I found, lent themselves pretty well to improvisation and playing in a small group situation. I’m glad I did it because it was something I wanted to do in the back of my mind. It’s music I wanted to play in a small group context, so we just went in and recorded it. It’s the first recording that I’m doing for Branford’s label, so I’m excited about it.
But while you were actually writing, that wasn’t going through your head?
Not really. Certainly not everything. A lot of them were story-driven and were orchestrated for what was going on on stage.
I understand they were all written for the show. How many were included in the play?
I probably wrote about 30 of them [songs] and I guess 22 made it to the show.
How many of the tunes on the disc were heard in the performance?
About 75 percent of it. All of these songs were written with the lyrics first, but the melodies are so important. None of these songs would have existed had it been not for the story of the show. They wouldn’t have been written out of context.
I see bassist Neal Caine is back with you. He’s also living in New Orleans again after a number of years in New York.
We’ve been together for a few years. Whenever I’m off he goes and does his own thing. So we come together when we’re on the road and when I have other projects going he does his own thing. In one sense it [the bass] is the most important instrument in the whole group. What I like about Neal is—I mean he’s played with everybody, he’s played with Elvin [drummer Elvin Jones], he’s played with [vocalist] Betty Carter—he knows a lot of stuff. And he was very willing to sort of open his arms to my concept of playing. There are personal things that I happen to like; one of which is being harmonically thorough. He’s conscious of every single note that he plays because he knows I’m conscious of every single note that he plays. He’s got a great feel and a huge sound and he’s a great guy. He just gets it.
You were quoted saying something to the effect that he’s not like a jazz musician. What were you referring to?
I guess I was talking about his personality. You know, I was always the youngest when I came up in New Orleans. I was always around older musicians; I was always the youngest kid in my grade. I’m the youngest child in my family. I was the youngest cousin. I’ve always been used to being the youngest and I’m not the youngest anymore. I have younger guys, like Neal, in the band and they’re bringing new jargon and situations to the band that are extremely contemporary—just everyday vernacular that they use and [knowing] artists that are on the radio. He’s just very in tune with what’s going on in the popular world. It’s funny to me because I wasn’t like that. When I was 25-years-old, I was more serious about the state of things. And he’s just a big goofball but he manages to get the work done.
Also, in reference to the new album, you were quoted saying that you’ve heard your sound change. Would you elaborate on that?
What’s that expression, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”? It’s similar. Although I’ve been playing consistently through the years, it’s different when you’re playing with a quartet—you’re playing more in a sense. And I hadn’t done that in a long time. So I had grown as a person and I had grown as a musician but I hadn’t heard how that would manifest itself when I played. So sitting down and playing with the quartet, I noticed that I didn’t want to do things I had done the last time I sat down with a quartet. It was an abrupt change because I hadn’t heard it in a long time. I was sort of the spectator. It’s like seeing a kid one summer and seeing him again the next summer and he’s grown two inches. It was kind of wild, I was listening to myself play saying, “Gosh, I would never have played like that.” So that was different for me. It was pretty cool really. Also, the things that Neal and Art would play were things that were coming 100 percent from them. I guess growing older, you become less inclined to tell people what to do and you let them have their own space and work collaboratively with them from that point rather than say play it my way. It was a completely different experience—very liberating.
Did your recording for Marsalis Music come about when you were involved with the performance of Satchmo to Marsalis: A Tribute to the Fathers of Jazz that resulted in the album The Marsalis Family: A Jazz Celebration?
No, it didn’t have anything to do with the thing [concert] we did in New Orleans. Branford asked me if I wanted to record a record for his label and it was just a question of whether Sony would let me do it. And they did. I still don’t know exactly why they said yes, but they did. I was quite touched that Branford wanted me to be on his label. I am still signed with Columbia. You know what it is, I think they’re [Columbia Records] not really interested in jazz music. So they were like, you know what, go ahead and do what you have to do—just sing on our label and go play for him. That’s basically the bottom line. When this opportunity came along, I said, “Oh my goodness, that totally frees me up—on both sides of the fence. I can play anything I want to play and I can go and sing and do what I did before [with Columbia and performing with the big band].” It really freed me up in my head—it compartmentalized the two things.
Tell me about the patent that you were granted last year.
It basically came out of necessity. We’d be on the road and there would be stacks of music inches thick that would be on the music stands. The way I like to perform is sort of more improvisational—more spontaneous. I would say, let’s play this song now and they’d have to search through the music and paper would be blowing if we played outside. Now I use the computer to write the music, why not use it to read the music? Present it to the musicians so they can just double click on an icon and have it open to a default size that would occupy the same space as the screen and figure out some way to turn pages via the keyboard—little things like that. So I applied for a couple of different patents and I think two of them came back positive for us. So we’re in the process of trying to build this thing. [Harry laughs and continues] That’s not why I came to the dance, you know what I mean, but I’m learning a lot about the patent world.
Well I know you’ve used computer screens rather than sheet music for several years now. But those already existed, right?
Basically, we’re using existing hardware and software, but it’s the way we’re using the software that’s new and the potential that this invention has that has not been done before—certain touch screen capabilities, the portability of it, the networking of it wirelessly among the musicians. It has a bunch of things that will make things a lot easier. This would have its own operating system. For example, I could tell the trumpets, okay, I don’t want you to play on these four bars. And from my position at the conductor’s podium, I could just delete those bars and it consequently it would delete them from their scores. It’s an example of technology really enhancing creativity.
I don’t know much about the sitcom Will & Grace in which you’ve been appearing. How often are you on that show now?
They do like 26 [episodes] a year and I was on about 15 last year—just about every other one. Next year I’m doing six.
Oh, so a lot less. Television can be time consuming.
Yeah, I have to get back to work. [Laugh] I learned a lot, and I’d like to do more in the future but I’m anxious to get on the road and play. [Television] is and it isn’t [time consuming]—you’d be surprised. It’s far less time consuming then anything I’ve ever done. It’s amazing actually; the hours you spend there are less than even being on the road. The problem is, if we do an episode a week, I can’t do anything else. So I’ll go to L.A. and work for a couple hours a day, but the rest of day I’m stuck—I can’t go and play shows. I mean I can write music, but essentially 100 percent of my time is dedicated to them while I’m there. It’s sort of constricting with regard to other things I like to do.
They’re not going to kill you off on the show are they, Harry?
Probably. They always do.
What have you learned artistically from being on the program?
I like to act; I’ve always really enjoyed it. This is a very strange mixture of performing and acting. It’s like what I do on stage every night but it’s scripted but it’s also in front of an audience. So your performance can be influenced by the audience. And it’s also very technical—just working with four cameras, hitting marks, making cues. Even though it’s not musical, I still find myself sort of bounding out of bed in the morning to get to work to see what’s going to happen that day just because it’s a creative process and I like that be it musical or otherwise.
I understand you’ve been doing a little bit of touring with the quartet. What kind of places have you been playing?
We played clubs. It was just appropriate. I hadn’t played clubs in a while. We played about 20 dates. You know, that’s what I started with, playing the clubs. I know that feeling. It’s its own thing—very different than anything else. I feel very comfortable doing it.
So at these gigs did you sing at all or did you stick to the instrumental format of the album?
Sometimes. I wrestled with it for a while. I was like, “I don’t know whether I should sing. This is an opportunity for me to play.” It was actually the guys in the band who said, “What are you talking about? Just be yourself. Go out and do what you do.” So sometimes I would [sing] and sometimes I wouldn’t. It was really fun. I tell you what we were doing; I would be with the big band six nights a week and I told my manager, give me that seventh night to play with the quartet. She said, “You’re going to kill yourself.” I said, “I have to do it; please let me do it.” That’s probably what we’ll do again, is play the quartet shows on the nights off.
You’re going to kill yourself, Harry.
I’ll die happy though.
Of course, I have to ask how come you didn’t bring the quartet down here?
I have no idea. It would have been good and it would have been bad. The New Orleans gigs get a little weird sometimes. It’s like a family reunion when I play down there. It’s not about the music, really. I wish it could be.
