September 7th would have been the 95th birthday of the greatest musician and personality, living legend, saxophonist Sonny Rollins, on which occasion we had an interview with the legendary musician.
How do you feel about being the greatest living jazz soloist? That’s what people say about you?
Well, I don’t believe it.
There are other descriptions, like “the unrivaled lion of jazz.” A lion, meaning king…
I guess you could say that, and not just about me. I’ve been in show business for many years, I’m still playing, I don’t plan on stopping. If such adoration comes, I accept it. But I haven’t achieved perfection yet. I practice and compose every day, and I absolutely don’t consider myself the greatest, I don’t even think about it.
You grew up in Harlem, New York, in the 1930s and ’40s. It’s hard to imagine a better place for a future musician.
Those were wonderful times, wonderful people, brilliant artists, friends, music everywhere. I was born in 1930, so I was too young to go to clubs like the Cotton Club. I remember the music that surrounded me perfectly, though, the music and culture of that Harlem.
At first, you took piano lessons. It didn’t last long, and you didn’t like the instrument?
I liked the piano, but I didn’t like the piano lessons. Fortunately, my mother let me choose what I wanted to play. I was the family’s favorite, so I wasn’t forced into anything.
So, later founding the legendary pianoless trio with Wave and Bailey didn’t stem from your childhood?
The piano less band was formed because I wanted more freedom harmonically. The piano is a very dominant instrument, it strongly influences the sound of the others. I needed independence in music, I craved something new—discoveries, inventions—instead of repeating patterns. Hence, giving up the piano.
Your siblings, sister and brother, studied classical music and played the violin, and you were drawn to the saxophone. Was there a moment when you felt it had to be the saxophone?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a huge Louis Jordan fan; he had a great rhythm and blues band back then. I adored him. I went to school right next to where he performed every night. First, I saw a picture and a poster, then I discovered the music. I started begging my mother for a saxophone, and eventually she managed to get a used one from one of my uncles. Louis Jordan was my idol until I heard Coleman Hawkins in 1939. Then the tenor saxophone became my dream. I still enjoy listening to Jordan, but Hawkins’s intellectual approach to jazz appeals more to me. I got my first tenor around 1943 from my mother, who simply bought it in a store. A new tenor saxophone—that was something!
In the 1950s, the United States was gripped by the anti-communist frenzy of the McCarthy Commission, severe racial segregation was in full swing, and the harbingers of revolution were emerging. This situation influenced your views, and your music…
I grew up in a family of activists. My grandmother fought for justice and equality. I was familiar with this milieu from childhood. I often played “The House I Live In,” a kind of civic manifesto sung by Frank Sinatra and Paul Robeson. Later, I wrote “Airegin” to make people aware that they shouldn’t be ashamed of their skin color, to talk a little about Africa, where African Americans come from. “Airegin,” which I recorded with Miles Davis, spelled backwards as “Nigeria.” I played the theme from “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” also known as the Black national anthem. In 1957, I composed “The Freedom Suite.” In this way, I became, also through music, part of the movement for social equality between Blacks and whites.
You like to be called an artist who uses the technique of streamed testimony in music.
When my mother gave me my first saxophone, I went to my room and started playing. I didn’t know what I was playing; I’d never taken a single lesson before. I played for a very long time back then and felt happy. I haven’t really done anything else to this day. Of course, I’ve learned a lot since then—some theory, a lot of practice thanks to encounters with different musicians—but when I think of myself as a musician, I think of a stream of consciousness. In short: I just play, I open my mind, and everything that reaches there finds an outlet in the sounds of the saxophone. That’s who I really am; I don’t predetermine anything, I just play. That’s why I never perform a piece identically; I always play differently. That’s what true jazz should be like, in my opinion. That’s what the greatest musicians, like Louis Armstrong, did. Improvisation is most important to me. You’ve retired from the music world twice, both during years of popularity and success.
You spent some time in a monastery. Those are difficult decisions. What drove you?
I always wanted to prove myself, and I felt unfulfilled. I told myself then: this isn’t the way to go. I was looking for something new, a sound, ideas. That’s why I climbed the Williamsburg Bridge in New York, where I could practice for hours. No one bothered me, and I didn’t bother anyone. I needed it. About a decade later, I went to India and became interested in yoga. This Eastern discipline perfectly suits my approach to rehearsals. When you received the National Merit of Arts from Barack Obama in March 2011, you said you were doing so in the name of the gods of jazz music. Who do you include in this pantheon: Coleman Hawkins, Theolonius Monk, Miles Davis…? …Art Tatum, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Bud Powell, Art Blakey, Max Roach, Clifford Brown, Fats Navarro, Dizzy Gillespie—these are just a few of the gods I had in mind when I said those words. For many young people, you are a god…
(laughter) I don’t know if I want to be a god, but I try to do everything I can to earn a similar reputation. I still have a lot of work ahead of me.
Do you advise young musicians, young people?
I don’t teach, I’m not a mentor, but I talk and give interviews, from which you can also extract something for yourself. I don’t hide my experience and knowledge.
My number one piece of advice?
Music is a significant part of growing up. It’s good to choose an instrument and make music a part of your life. To become a professional musician, just playing and developing technical proficiency are not enough. I believe that talent is the most important thing. When you have it, you also have to realize your own uniqueness and live the life of a musician. It’s a tremendous honor, so we must not forget about principles, about friendship, kindness, love, respect for parents, and openness to others. I believe that if someone has been blessed with a gift such as talent, they also have a duty to share it with the world.
The gods of music can also have a negative influence on young people who want to imitate their idols in everything. You experienced this with Charlie Parker. He was taking drugs, so you turned to them too…
Artists, not just musicians, are preoccupied with spiritual matters, often wanting to isolate themselves from the world. They drink heavily, smoke, and become addicted to drugs, thinking that this will bring them closer to the source of their talent. This is a normal situation among people involved in the arts. However, you have to be careful, listen to family or friends when they say “enough.” Usually, music or another artistic pursuit helps return us to reality, to a healthy lifestyle. People are weak, vulnerable to temptation and passion, but what can liberate us lies in our talent. That’s how it was for me. Music, my work, has always saved me. I am an artist, a musician; I cannot be an alcoholic or a drug addict.
If you had to recommend an album or song that most represents you, which one would you choose?
That’s a difficult question, because I feel a certain reserve about every album I make; I’m not sure it’s good enough. If I had to choose one, I’d say “Saxophone Colossus.” And a song I really like? “Sonnymoon for Two,” recorded with Wilbur Wave and Elvin Jones on “A Night at the Village Vanguard.” It’s not perfect, but it expresses happy moments in my life. I don’t like making such choices because I constantly think I could have done this or that better.
You’ve performed in Poland twice so far: in 1980 at the Jazz Jamboree festival, with a quartet, and in 2004 with a quintet, both concerts were held in Warsaw. Do you remember anything?
One thing: after each of those concerts, I felt dissatisfied, thinking that things could have been better, that I could have been better.
As you say, you’re a perfectionist in music and in life. So what does it take to play a perfect concert?
I’ll never play a perfect concert, but I’ll try to get closer to it. It’s the same with life; I don’t think it’s possible to achieve completeness, perfection. I don’t aim for perfection, I’m not that foolish, I just want to get better with each performance. I strive for that every day, practicing, trying endlessly.
