Moody’s Mood Is High

James Moody was in high spirits during a recent visit to Catalina’s in Los Angeles. He had good reason. As he put it: “For the first time in my life, I have complete security--all the work I can handle, an RCA record contract, musical satisfaction and peace of mind.”

Anyone who has followed the career of the genial multi-talented jazzman (alto and tenor saxophone, flute, vocals, composer) must be aware that his present situation was not easily achieved. For a man whose education was gained partly in a school for the mentally retarded and then in a school for the deaf, he has done a phenomenal job of overcoming his supposed handicaps.

The details are not as grim as these facts suggest. “I was born,” he says, “with a defect in my left ear. That’s why I have a lisp; it’s not an inborn speech impediment--I just don’t hear how people pronounce the letter s .

“I grew up in Reading, Pa., and because we were seated alphabetically I was kinda far back in the class, so when I was asked a question I couldn’t hear it. Well, they just assumed that something was wrong with me and sent me off to a school for retarded children.

“After we moved to Newark, N.J., my mother explained to the teacher about my hearing problem. The teacher put me up in front of the class, and I did fine--even skipped a couple of grades. Then in comes a nurse with a doctor, looking at our ears, and they say: ‘This kid’s gonna go deaf. He has to go to a special school.’ So on three days’ notice I was shifted over to this school for the deaf, and for the next two years I got my lessons reading lips.

“Finally, when I graduated from there, I went to a regular high school, an arts high school. Oddly enough, the only ‘F’ I ever got in my life was in music, because they asked me to sing something from printed music, and I didn’t know the notes at that time.”

Ironically, Moody’s hearing problem did not prevent him from being snapped up by the Army, where he spent three years at a time when his career in music had barely begun. Shortly after his release, he was hired by Dizzy Gillespie for an all-star big band that included Milt Jackson, John Lewis, Kenny Clarke, Ray Brown and arrangements by Lewis, Tadd Dameron and Gil Fuller. This marked the beginning of a relationship that has lasted off and on for more than 40 years.

“I was with Dizzy the other day and he said, ‘Moody, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about you,’ and I told him a day never goes by without my thinking about him. I was 21 when I joined him; I’ll be 63 very soon, and over the years we’ve just about toured the world. We may go on a trip to Russia and Africa this summer.”

Though his first stint with Gillespie hardly established Moody as a household name either at home or abroad, it was in Europe that he enjoyed a taste of fame and made his first hit record, on an unfamiliar instrument and in circumstances that were purely accidental.

“I was working with a small group at the Club St. Germain in Paris when a musician from Sweden dropped by and asked if I’d like to make some records there. I’d already made dates in Lausanne and Paris, so I flew to Stockholm, played at a club and made some record dates.

“Up to this point, I had been playing strictly tenor saxophone. At one session, I noticed that Lars Gullin, the Swedish saxophonist, had an alto sax lying around. I said, ‘Do you mind if I try it out?’

“Then the producer decided we needed an extra tune, but didn’t have any music prepared. I suggested making ‘I’m in the Mood for Love,’ and we went ahead and did it, in one take, with me playing this beat-up alto saxophone. Well, you know what happened.”

What happened was an exact parallel to the experience of Coleman Hawkins, who in 1939 had recorded his memorable “Body and Soul” as a last-minute addition when one more tune was needed. Moody had a hit on his hands, one that soon became his worldwide mating call.

Eddie Jefferson wrote lyrics to every note of Moody’s improvised solo, retitling it “Moody’s Mood for Love.” In 1952, King Pleasure recorded the vocal version, which Moody himself now sings in a weird combination of straight vocal, scat and falsetto. The song has been his permanent identification ever since, and was included, in an updated version, on his first album (“Something Special”) last year for RCA Novus.

Having worked harmoniously for almost three years mainly with European musicians, Moody returned to the United States ready and eager to work with any jazzmen, regardless of nationality or race. In fact, he becomes upset when anyone raises the racial issue in connection with his hiring practices.

“Recently I played a week in Seattle. A lady with the local paper wrote that she thought the group was beautiful, but it was Black History Week and why was I playing with an all-white rhythm section? When I read that, I was quite perturbed. I called her and said, ‘Here we are on the bandstand together and everything is going great, so with all the problems in the world, why did she have to bring up that?’ She’s white, by the way. Well, after I talked to her she said she was sorry she’d written that. My feeling is, you take the best you can get, regardless.”

After his return from Europe, there were two major interruptions in Moody’s career. The first was a serious drinking problem; he resolved it by spending time at a sanitarium, which he commemorated by writing and recording a piece called “Last Train From Overbrook,” shortly after he beat the bottle in 1958.

The second hiatus was also self-imposed. Opting for security, Moody settled in Las Vegas and became one of that city’s exiguous minority of black musicians playing regularly in the Strip casinos. The work was steady and paid well, but was monotonous and anonymous. In 1980, after six years of only occasional jazz appearances, he returned to the blowing scene full time.

Though his roots are unquestionably in be-bop, he has kept in close touch with other developments and was indirectly the catalyst in a major aspect of the John Coltrane revolution.

“I was playing in Chicago, and Coltrane was there at another club. He wanted to go to Elkhart, Ind., where they have this big musical instrument factory, so I drove him there in my station wagon. So there he was, trying out all these horns, and at one point I said, ‘Man, what is that you’re doing?’ He said, ‘Aw, nothing’--but he was trying out a soprano sax. He bought it, began playing it regularly, recorded ‘My Favorite Things’ and reestablished the soprano as an important part of the musical family.”

There are some adventurous works in Moody’s last album, written by the composer-arranger Tom McIntosh, who has worked with him off and on since 1959. “I have another album coming out next month,” Moody says, “with some new things by Tom that have a really different structure. It may be a little while before people who are used to hearing me playing one way become used to my doing this. But I think they’ll get to like it.”

Given his admirable track record (later this year he will celebrate his 40th anniversary as a recording bandleader), Moody should have no cause for concern. Even his hearing difficulties no longer bother him.

“Not long ago, I gave in and bought a hearing aid. Well, I put it on and heard all these funny clinks and tinks, and I’ve never been so mentally nauseated in my life. Somebody said to me, ‘Welcome to the real world,’ and I told them, ‘If this is it, you all got it!’ I gave the hearing aid back, had my ears checked out again, and the doctor said if I’ve been getting along this well, I might as well just go ahead and do what I’ve been doing.”