Jazzman Moody Enjoys an Upbeat Riff, Both in Career and at Home : SAN DIEGO COUNTY

Searching for a sour note in the life of jazzman James Moody, circa 1989, is about as fruitful as listening for a clinker in his playing.

“Sweet and Lovely,” his new album, is riding high, recently entering Billboard’s jazz chart at No. 15 while resting at No. 1 in The Gavin Report and No. 2 in Radio & Records.

Moody the newlywed seems blissful. The album is dedicated to his wife, Linda, the reason behind his move from Jersey City to San Diego earlier this year.

Promoters all over the world are after the masterful sax and flute player. He chalked up impressive flight time this fall, playing Morocco, Egypt, Turkey, France, Italy and Germany. During his travels, he sends his wife a dozen roses every Monday, along with frequent Faxes, like one with “I Love You” written in longhand 100 times.

The only thing remotely bothering the man is the attire required in the Philip Morris Super Band he’s been touring with, joining jazz heavies like Ray Brown, Herb Ellis and Harry (Sweets) Edison with the backing of the tobacco company.

Moody prefers the loose-fitting designer threads he buys in New York or Beverly Hills, and the thought of being buttoned into the mandatory tuxedo makes him cringe.

In town recently during a break between the European and Far Eastern legs of the Philip Morris tour, San Diego’s newest resident jazz master talked about his life and music.

That he is happier than ever is readily apparent to fellow musicians, such longtime friends as trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, who gave Moody his first job in 1947, in Gillespie’s big band.

“They say I sound better and look better. It’s all because of you honey,” Moody said, smiling at his wife in the living room of the townhouse they share. A graceful glass sculpture of Moody and Gillespie playing together rests on the coffee table. Otherwise, there aren’t much memorabilia: sculptures given to him and Gillespie in Lagos and Nigeria for their contribution to jazz, and an album of photos from the Moodys’ honeymoon, including a pose with friends Bill Cosby and Sidney Poitier.

Over the years, Moody and Gillespie have become close friends, playing together occasionally, calling or writing each other often.

“When I think of Dizzy in the early times, I think about how much I loved his playing, even though I didn’t know what he was doing,” Moody said. “I dug him, but I had no relationship with him like now. We’ve been on the road, done things together. I feel close to him.

“Diz said things years ago, and now, a light goes on, and I realize, that’s what he meant!”

Gillespie was the best man at the Moodys’ wedding, and he plays on two of his own tunes on Moody’s new album: “Con Alma” and “Get the Booty” as well as lending a raspy voice with Moody on “Get the Booty,” a light-hearted scat duo.

Unlike peers who also cut their chops on be-bop, Moody doesn’t believe electronics are inherently evil. On his last two albums, synthesizers have provided subtle backup.

“I constantly want to grow in music and spirit,” Moody said, adding that people who readily embrace the newest technologies, should also accept “the musician who doesn’t want to stay in the same groove as when he came up.”

Despite the nod to technology, the synthesized sounds don’t dilute Moody’s forceful work. He still blows a be-bop storm on alto and tenor saxes and flute, stretches for high register squeals and squeaks on the horns or lays back with the smooth, breathy sound he applies so well to ballads.

After more than 40 years in jazz, Moody still practices daily. Mornings, he plays flute while Linda gets ready for her job as a real estate agent. Afternoons, he works out on the saxes.

In the never-ending search for new sounds, Moody is about to experiment with his horns for the first time in years.

“I’m looking for a new mouthpiece. I want a bigger sound. This happened because I’m playing with younger guys in the Philip Morris band, and I hear their sound, guys like Ralph Moore on tenor and Gary Smylan on baritone. I need a different reed, too.”

Other young musicians have impressed him, like the vocal sextet Take Six.

“They knocked me out. I must have bought nine or 10 copies of their album just to give to people.”

Among his favorite younger sax players are Harold Land, Michael Brecker and Joe Henderson.

Moody’s history has by now been documented in countless articles: his many projects with Gillespie, albums as a leader beginning in 1948 (“James Moody and His Bop Men” on Blue Note), his successful late-’50s battle with alcohol, working with Las Vegas casino bands in the ‘70s and his return to full-time serious jazz in the ‘80s.

Some of his older work has been reissued on CDs, but Moody isn’t too enthusiastic.

“That’s not me any more. It has the old sound. First, you know your alphabet, but not how to spell. Later, you know the alphabet and how to spell, and you want to make as many hip words as you can.”

Moody is best known to many fans for his 1949 solo on “I’m in the Mood for Love,” recorded in Stockholm. The improvisation became the tune called “Moody’s Mood for Love,” with lyrics by singer Eddie Jefferson. Sung by King Pleasure, the song was a hit in 1952, and has been recorded several times since, including versions by Aretha Franklin and George Benson. Moody usually sings it himself in club dates.

Jazz fans who hope Moody’s move to San Diego might mean more local appearances will be disappointed.

“I don’t like playing at home,” he said.

“He gets called constantly for favors,” said his wife, who handles some of his business affairs. “But he gets his two weeks in at Elario’s, and that’s it.”

Moody won’t play Elario’s until next year, but you might see him in the audience when he’s in town. He stopped in recently to catch old friends Cedar Walton and Billy Higgins, and he planned to hear local flutist Holly Hofmann at the Horton Grand Hotel downtown.

Every so often, someone asks Moody, 64, about telling his story for a book. “I’m not interested,” he said. “I think we all have interesting lives.”