NDUGU CHANCLER ON JAZZ AND JAMMING WITH LEGENDS

Dining with drummers can be unsettling; many can’t stop tapping on every available surface. But lunch with Ndugu Chancler at Pané e Vino’s roundtable is a distinctly relaxing experience, like meeting an old friend. His presence is at once congenial and energizing, the voice of experience and experimentation. He’s a man who has lived out loud all his life, a player and a professor of modern music, and a master of idiosyncratic expression who elevates every conversation, whatever the subject: music, movies, books, restaurants, sports, artists, aliens, metaphysics, or psychology. (Topics vary depending on the unique individuals gathered at Rod Dyer’s table on any given day — filmmakers, actors, producers, designers, illustrators, record execs, writers, comedians, Broadway impresarios, a NASA photographer, a UCLA neuropharmacologist. You never know.)

Ndugu’s body of work over the last four decades comprises a broad sample of the soundtrack for the American experience, including sessions with Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Herbie Hancock, Freddie Hubbard, Hugh Masekela, Weather Report, Frank  Sinatra, John Lee Hooker, Santana, The Crusaders,Patrice Rushen, Tina Turner, and Michael Jackson (Thriller and Bad, including “Billie Jean”), to name a few. His professional creds are a testament to his exquisite abilities. On his latest CD, Old Friends, Ndugu trades his sticks for mallets, playing vibes with effortless grace and precision. Apparently, with all the beats a human can make embedded in his neural circuitry, he still needs to play notes every now and then — vibes being like drums with added sonic colors and intonations. The album takes a lyrical, contemporary jazz approach to pieces he’s written — some old (from an earlier album), some new, sometimes rhythmic, sometimes straight ahead. A musical offering of pure aural pleasure.

At this year’s Playboy Jazz Festival, he wasbehind his kit, working once again, as he has for 25 years, with artists assembled by jazz lover and fellow drummer Bill Cosby. Not just any artists, but jazz legends and contemporary luminaries who define the edge of artistry. This year’s ensemble featured Ndugu’s longtime friends — electric bass player Alphonso Johnson and bassist Dwayne Burno, trombonist George Bohanon, keyboard player Geri Allen, percussionist Babatunde Lea, and the extraordinary rising star Anat Cohen on clarinet and sax. On hearing her for the first time, I was struck by the roundness of her notes, her clarity and assertiveness. She reminded me of Eddie Condon’s remark upon hearing Bix Beiderbecke for the first time: “The notes came out like a girl saying yes.” Over the year, Cosby invites various artists he encounters to join his Cos of Good Music group for his annual outing at the Bowl. He puts together a list of pieces for the set and Ndugu sends out CDs and sheet music with the arrangements.

The musicians gather for the first time at a rehearsal room backstage at the Bowl the morning of the concert, where they begin their musical interchange. The lack of rehearsal time is intentional; Cosby’s goal is to achieve the classic jam-session spontaneity that makes even old standards sound fresh and vibrant. It’s the kind of approach you only take in concert with consummate musicians. This year’s set featured jazz standards like “Laura,” “Last Night When We Were Young,” “The Egyptian,” “Six & Four,” “New Blues,” and, for dessert, The Coasters’ classic, “Searchin’.”

The players began working together and getting acquainted at around 10 AM. A halfhour later, Cosby entered the room in baggy workout pants and a Girard College sweatshirt. (He had given the commencement address to Girard’s 2011 graduating class.) After greeting everyone, he got down to it. “Let’s take it from the top. On the first piece we attack, don’t lay back on me here.” Over the next hour and a half, he held court, conducting, cajoling, and coaxing the band to play the sounds he heard in his head, gesturing wildly, kicking his foot out on a beat, jamming his right hand skyward like a javelin thrower, using body gestures in place of language. Ndugu interpreted if a musician was confused by his direction — which was not often. According to Cosby, “With my band, I’m the illiterate, but it’s wonderful because all of the other people are educated. All I do is fill in as we go over each song, the tempo and the feel. Once we establish the feel, I go to the next song. I’m most interested in the solos and the soloists’ interpretation of the chords.”

Ndugu agreed. “He feels every note, very instrument. He might not have the total vocabulary to express what he wants musically, but his body language and respect for the idiom is unmistakable. He gets his message across. For the newer musicians, he takes a little adjusting, but the ones who’ve worked with him before, we know where he’s going.”

And according to Ndugu, Cosby can really play. “He likes to say I’m the drummer and he’s the drama, but, man, he gave me one of my most memorable dates, getting into an Elvin Jones groove one time that was a total gas. We really played.”

At the end of rehearsal, as Cosby left, a `father in the room brought his son, a drummer, up to meet Ndugu, who had him sit at his drums. When everyone turned to watch, the kid froze. After a few prods by Ndugu, he played a solid run and Cosby shouted from outside the room: “Ndugu, Ndugu! Why don’t you play that good when we’re rehearsing, man?”

As the audience was still arriving with their coolers, rising star Ambrose Akinmusire finished blowing the audience away and the revolving stage brought on the Cos. WithCosby out front and occasionally on a second drum kit, and Ndugu in the rear, a brilliant, masterful musical conversation was had by all, a give-and-take dialectic of unforgettable artistry and timeless eloquence. Another great performance for the Cos.

For Ndugu, it was another great day in the life — most of them spent with his son and manager, Rashon — in the constant company of great artists, each feasting off one another’s expertise and ability to lay down a joyful noise.

At Pané e Vino, a couple of days after the Festival, Ndugu arrives early. As the patio is being set for lunch, he answers a few questions.

Venice: Who are the “Old Friends” on your latest CD?

Ndugu Chancler: I recorded an album for Japan in ’89 called “Old Friends, New Friends.” Three of the cuts are from then. New versions of “old friends.” The other three cuts are new “old friends.”

Only six numbers on the CD?

I wanted to give the musicians room to stretch out. It’s what Miles used to do on his albums. He always gave musicians room to move around, say what’s on their minds. It’s what I do when I play live. That’s what I wanted to capture on this CD. Which is why it was recorded live.

Sounds like Miles was an influence.

Man, how could he not be?

Who are the artists who inspire you most?

Herbie Hancock’s in a category by himself. Great technical ability, great harmonic and rhythmic sensibilities. He’s been all over the place, working with everybody in every style. Miles, Quincy, Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder, Sting, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams. Eastern mysticism, fusion, hip-hop, soundtracks — man won an Oscar for “’Round Midnight.” He’s in his own category. But other inspiration comes from Miles, Quincy, Jack Dejonette, Sonny Rollins, Stix Hooper and Bruno Carr — that’s the tapestry of my music. From there, there are links to many others, but that’s the core of who has inspired me. It’s all about artistic freedom.

What was Sinatra like to work with?

He was like working with history. He demanded respect for the melody and language like almost nobody else. You understood every word, and he meant every word. The Chairman of the Board. He’s like the stamp most stamp collectors don’t get a chance to have. Only two other singers I’d put in his category: Betty Carter and Shirley Horn. With a few others close by.

Where do you see jazz in the context of American culture?

Suppressed. The arts aren’t being revered. We’re losing it. We’re depending too much on TV and TV is a mediocre medium because, before anything else, it’s commercial. TV’s there to make you buy, not make you think. Now people sit back and turn the channel until they find something, and everything’s homogeneous. We’ve got to bring it back to the arts. The arts are what get us in touch with ourselves and our surroundings.

Where do you see jazz going?

The future of jazz is infinite. It’s the essence of free expression and people need to be free.

You teach at USC?

I love teaching. I teach in the Jazz & Pop Program at USC, the Jazz Workshop at Stanford, and the Young Musicians’ Program at Berkeley. And I go to high schools when I get the chance. We have to support the music. ▼

At this point we are joined at the table by English animator Gary Chapman (“Valiant”) and actor Temuera Morrison (Green Lantern, “Renegade,” Once Were Warriors). Morrison, fresh off the green carpet for the premiere of his latest film, is with his agent, Joe Roth, and a retinue of four other New Zealanders who are filming him for a documentary. He walks onto the patio with an acoustic guitar, singing “Ground Control to Major Tom.” Now, if only Ndugu had his skins with him.