Bill, person I knew

Bill Evans was a great jazz pianist. It doesn’t matter if he was the best. Music is not (or shouldn’t be) a race nor a competition. He was a great player and a great composer. Waltz for Debby; The Two Lonely People; Re, Person I knew (an anagram of the name of Orrin Keepnews, a jazz critic, writer and A&R man), just to mention a few. He took the jazz piano trio into another dimension. Until him, the bass was just a supporter. This, he changed into a permanent dialogue between piano and bass.

The first time I heard him live was at the Top of the Gate, in NYC, long time ago. Not only that what I had been listening to in records had come to life. I was impressed by him as a human being. Some musicians act very distant, very aloof. Bill Evans, was an example of humility and friendliness. He would sit at the table with people who called him, and talk with them as with good friends. When it was time for the next set, he would return to the piano with his “pigeon walk,” and bring us back to another world with his playing.

Last time I saw him was in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in November 1979. I was then working there, writing and shooting photos for an avant garde magazine (the now legendary, the Expreso Imaginario). Evans was in Buenos for a number of concerts. I was in charge of the coverage. After a meeting with the press I asked him for a personal interview. He agreed at once, and told me, “come tomorrow morning to the rehearsal at the theater at 9 AM, there we’ll have time.” A dog with two tails to wag wouldn’t have been happier than me. I was there ten minutes before nine. When he and the rest of the trio (Mark Johnson and John La Barbera) arrived, along with Helen Keane, Evans went right to the piano. From twenty yards away he saw that the instrument was a half concert Steinway instead of the full concert he had asked for. He then sat at the piano and let his fingers run through the keyboard. Those few notes were worth the morning. He then said “It is not level. The right side of the piano is lower, I can’t play with this so. Please, have it fixed up for tonight.” The rehearsal started. I sat down and listened to the music, wondering what the rehearsal really was. If there were anything to correct, only Evans could have noticed it.

After a few tunes, he came down the stage to sit at my side. We did my interview together, as his piano dialogues with the bass, and also had a very friendly chat. Talked about jazz spots in NYC, his life, the time he devoted to Evan, his son… about a racing horse he had bought with a friend… He then went back to the stage, and we had more music.

After the rehearsal all of us went out together, slowly. We were impressed, and sorry, by his then difficulty to walk. The friendly chat continued on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful sunny November morning in Buenos Aires, a city as big as New York City. We said bye, until the evening. I can still hear his words, “Well… I’ll be seeing you boys, now and then…” They sounded like his notes on the piano. It was the last time I saw Bill Evans.