Харуки Мураками: First Person Singular: Stories

The time is 1963. Years since people last heard the name Charlie “Bird” Parker. Where is Bird, and what is he up to? Jazz lovers around the world whispered these questions. He can’t be dead yet, can he? Because we never heard of him passing away. But you know, someone would say, I haven’t heard anything about him still being alive, either.

The last news anyone had heard about Bird was that his patron, Baroness Nica, took him into her mansion, where he battled various ailments. Jazz fans are well aware of Bird’s struggles as a junkie. Heroin—that deadly, pure white powder. Rumor had it that on top of his addiction he struggled with acute pneumonia, a variety of internal maladies, the symptoms of diabetes, and ultimately mental illness. Even if he was fortunate enough to survive all these, people thought, he would be so infirmed that he’d never pick up his instrument again. That’s how Bird vanished from sight, transforming into a beautiful jazz legend. Around the year 1955.

Fast-forward to the summer of 1963. Charlie Parker picked up his alto sax again to record an album in a recording studio outside of New York. And that album’s title is Charlie Parker Plays Bossa Nova !

Can you believe it?

You’d better. Because it happened.

It really did.

THIS WAS THE OPENING of a piece I wrote back in college. It was the first time anything I wrote got published, and the first time I got paid a fee for something I’d written, even if it was a pittance.

Naturally, there’s no such record titled Charlie Parker Plays Bossa Nova . Charlie Parker passed away on March 12, 1955, and it wasn’t until 1962 that bossa nova broke through, spurred on by performances by Stan Getz and others. But if Bird had survived until the 1960s, and if he got interested in bossa nova, and had performed it… That was the setup for the review I wrote about this imaginary record.

The editor of the university literary journal that published this piece never doubted that it was an actual album, and published the essay in the magazine as an ordinary piece of music criticism. The editor’s younger brother, a friend of mine, sold him on me, telling him I wrote some good stuff and they should use my work. (This magazine folded after four issues. My piece was in issue number 3.)

A precious recording tape that Charlie Parker left behind was discovered by accident in the vaults of a record company and just recently saw the light of day—that was the premise I cooked up for the article. Maybe I shouldn’t say this myself, but I think this made-up story was plausible: the details were strong, and the writing had real punch. So much so that in the end I nearly came to believe that record existed.

There was considerable reaction to my article when the magazine published it. This was a low-key little college literary journal, generally ignored by readers. But there seemed to be quite a few fans who still idolized Charlie Parker, and the editor received a couple of letters complaining about my moronic joke and thoughtless sacrilege . Do other people lack a sense of humor? Or is my sense of humor kind of twisted? Hard to say. Some people apparently took the article at face value and even went to music stores in search of the record.

The editor did kick up a bit of a fuss about my having tricked him. I didn’t actually fool him, but merely omitted a detailed explanation. Inwardly he must have been pleased that the article drew such a reaction, though most of it was negative. Proof of his enthusiasm came when he told me he’d like to see whatever else I wrote, criticism or original work. (The magazine disappeared before I could show him another piece.)

My article went on as follows:

…Who would have ever imagined an unusual lineup like this—Charlie Parker and Antonio Carlos Jobim joining forces? Jimmy Raney on guitar, Jobim on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, Roy Haynes on drums—a dream rhythm section so amazing that it makes your heart pound just hearing the names. And on alto sax—who else but Charlie “Bird” Parker.

Here are the names of the tracks:

(1) Corcovado

(2) Once I Loved (O Amor em Paz)

(3) Just Friends

(4) Bye Bye Blues (Chega de Saudade)

(1) Out of Nowhere

(2) How Insensitive (Insensatez)

(3) Once Again (Outra Vez)

(4) Dindi

With the exception of “Just Friends” and “Out of Nowhere,” these are all well-known pieces composed by Carlos Jobim. The two pieces not by Jobim are both standards familiar from Parker’s earlier magnificent performances, though of course here they are done in a bossa nova rhythm, a totally new style. (And on these two pieces only, the pianist wasn’t Jobim but the versatile veteran pianist Hank Jones.)

So, lover of jazz that you are, what’s your first reaction when you hear the title Charlie Parker Play Bossa Nova ? A yelp of surprise, I would imagine, followed by feelings of curiosity and anticipation. But soon wariness must raise its head—like ominous dark clouds appearing on what had been a beautiful, sunny hillside.

Hold on just a minute—are you telling me that Bird— Charlie Parker —is actually playing bossa nova ? Seriously? Did Bird himself really want to play that kind of music? Or did he give in to commercialism, talked into it by the record company, and reach out for what was popular at the time? Even if, say, he genuinely wanted to perform that kind of music, would the style of this 100 percent bebop alto sax player ever harmonize with the cool sounds of Latin American bossa nova?

Setting aside all that—after an eight-year hiatus, was he still master of his instrument? Did he still retain his powerful performing skills and creativity?

Truth be told, I couldn’t help feeling uneasy about all that myself. I was dying to hear that music, but at the same time I felt afraid, frightened of disappointment from what I might hear. But now, after I’ve listened intently to the disc over and over, I can state one thing for sure: I’d even climb up to the roof of a tall building and shout it out so the whole town could hear. If you love jazz, or have any love for music at all, then you absolutely must listen to this charming record, the fruit of a passionate heart, and a cool mind…

What’s surprising, first of all, is the indescribable interplay between Carlos Jobim’s simple, economical piano style and Bird’s eloquent, uninhibited phrasing. I know you might object that Jobim’s voice (he doesn’t sing here, so I’m referring only to his instrumental voice) and Bird’s voice are so totally different in quality, with dissimilar objectives. We’re talking about two very different voices here, so different it might be hard to find any points they share. On top of that, neither one seems to be making much of an effort to revamp their music to fit that of the other. But it’s exactly that—the sense of being out of joint, the divergence between the two men’s voices—that is the very driving force that gave rise to this uniquely lovely music.

I’d like you to start by listening to the first track on the A side, “Corcovado.” Bird doesn’t play the opening theme. In fact, he doesn’t take up the theme until one phrase at the end. The piece starts with Carlos Jobim quietly playing that familiar theme alone on the piano. The rhythm section is simply mute. The melody calls to mind a young girl seated at a window, gazing out at the beautiful night sky. Most of it is done with single notes, with the occasional no-frills chords added. As if gently tucking a soft cushion under the girl’s shoulders.

And once that performance of the piano theme is over, Bird’s alto sax quietly enters, a faint twilight shadow slipping through a gap in the curtain. He’s there, before you even realize it. These graceful, seamless phrases are like lovely memories, their names hidden, slipping into your dreams. Like fine wind patterns you never want to disappear, leaving gentle traces on the sand dunes of your heart…