JAZZ : Call It a Commercial Break : ‘Tonight Show’ bandleader Branford Marsalis isn’t thrilled about scaling back the show’s jazz flavor. But he takes the job for what it is: a nice gig that still leaves him time for a few side projects

It’s 1 o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, and Branford Marsalis is trying to finish an arrangement of a Janet Jackson tune to play during a commercial on the evening’s broadcast of “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno.”

“I’ll be finished with this in just a minute, man,” he says, checking out a phrase on the Jackson recording before deftly transcribing it on score paper.

Marsalis, the show’s musical director and arranger, is working in his office--a smallish basement-level space, overflowing with electronic musical modules, saxophones and computers. Not a particularly imposing layout.

But as he celebrates his second anniversary on the show this week, his real prominence is apparent in that ultimate evidence of show business status: the parking spot. His Land Rover, positioned just outside NBC’s Studio One in Burbank, stands No. 3 in the premiere lineup, superseded only by the luxury vehicles of Leno and local newsman Paul Moyer.

“All done,” he says, switching off the stereo and setting aside his orchestral score.

Trim and athletic, dressed in T-shirt and slacks, the 33-year-old musician doesn’t look the part of the most visible jazz man in the country.

“Actually,” says Marsalis, “when people talk about jazz, I say, ‘I used to be a jazz musician.’ Because jazz musicians don’t do what I’m doing right now.”

“ Used to be a jazz musician?” A startling statement--even said semi-humorously--from a player considered by many jazz experts to be one of the two or three outstanding post-Sonny Rollins tenor saxophonists. Much praised since the release of his first album a decade ago, Marsalis has maintained a solid jazz reputation throughout a variety of other musical activities.

Yet, ironically, as he has become better known to the television public, and his band has emerged as a finely tuned jazz ensemble, many observers--including, according to Marsalis, his own father, Ellis--have expressed concern about the drop-off in the show’s jazz content.

Marsalis, who has battled network executives on this new musical emphasis, seems to have finally given way, to the point where even the on-camera coverage of his top-flight ensemble appears to have diminished.

“There was a situation,” he recalls, “where some of the people on the show felt that a lot of the music we were playing was detrimental to the show because of the audience. Warren Littlefield (president of NBC) said it best. He told me, ‘I have all your records, and I love jazz, and you love jazz, and we can curse the world. But the world is the way it is, and the world does not like jazz. We think that it would improve the show significantly if you would play music people are more comfortable with.’

“I couldn’t disagree with any of that, because I’d been through that conflict myself, just playing jazz. And it wasn’t where they put a gun to my head and said, ‘You’d better do this or else,’ because there’s a clause in my contract that says ‘full artistic freedom.’ So I could still do whatever I want. But I respected the way it was done. So we changed the format of what we did, and the jazz tunes were reduced. Now we play like one jazz tune a night, if that--maybe two a week.”

Littlefield confirms Marsalis’ recollection of the meeting, explaining that one of the principal requirements for the band is “to get the audience into a state of energy, excitement and anticipation for what’s going to happen next.”

“I sat down with Branford,” he continued, “and said, ‘Look, here are what we think are the important elements in the show. Tell me if they can work for you.’ I explained to him that our research shows that if we are going to reach the broadest possible audience, that the music cannot be too obscure to that audience.”

Littlefield added a strong pledge of support for Marsalis and his musical concerns, but noted that “there are days when you see the full spectrum of an artist’s talents, and days when the biorhythms are slower.”

“We pay a lot of money for his service,” he continued, “ . . . so it’s not a question of not wanting what he has to offer. I think it’s very clear that if we weren’t in love with what Branford can do . . . then we would ask him to leave.”

Marsalis, when pressed about his willingness to reduce the jazz content, replies simply that he is “a team player.” And, although he appears to be phlegmatic about the actual need for repertoire changes (“People don’t listen to the music during the commercial breaks, anyhow; they just watch the commercials on the monitors”), he doesn’t hesitate to express his distaste for some of the suggested substitute programming.

“There’s a phrase we have around here,” he says, “called ‘upbeat and recognizable.’ We play a lot of upbeat music. I still can’t stomach the recognizable--the contemporary pop tunes they want us to play--so we don’t really deal with recognizable. Instead, we play a lot of the ‘70s, early ‘80s (pop) stuff that we grew up with, and I guess it does help the people to bop a little more.”

Pop tunes from the ‘70s and ‘80s were not what was expected from Marsalis when the surprise announcement was made two years ago that he would join “The Tonight Show” when Jay Leno took over Johnny Carson’s chair. Despite his prominent appearances with Sting, his film work with Spike Lee and his commercial music composing, Marsalis was viewed by most fans as an important young artist whose central interest was jazz.

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Many jazz fans were elated over the possibility that his appointment would result in more jazz on late-night television. At the very least, Marsalis’ presence seemed to guarantee an improvement in both the quality and the quantity of music on the show.

But more jazz on “The Tonight Show” was not necessarily Marsalis’ first priority. The thoughtful, self-possessed saxophonist had other concerns in mind and they involved taking positions that musicians rarely risked in the world of television. His first goal was to avoid what he saw as television’s “historical” pattern of using musicians as “foils.”

“I didn’t mind being a foil, myself,” he explains. “But I’ll be damned if I was going to allow the band to be the foil. It’s not that I didn’t think we shouldn’t be the butt of jokes. Hey, Jay knows us. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jay. So, if he wants to make us the butt of jokes, that’s OK, we don’t mind that, because it’s funny when he does it. But corny stuff like ‘Stump the Band?’ C’mon. Some guy asked me that last week: ‘You guys still do Stump the Band?’ And I said, ‘No, man, we play Stump the Audience.’ It’s like bands have always been treated like they’re playing for a wedding, like they shouldn’t be taken very seriously.

“I remember when I was doing Carson’s show a couple of times. The band didn’t get to play until everything else had been exhausted. You know, Johnny told a joke, Ed would say something, and then they’d say, ’45 seconds left. Doc, play something.’ Doc would say, ‘Cool.’ He’d play, and when they came back from commercial, phoom! The band was gone. They treated the music like, ‘Hey, we need three inches of sausage, real quick.’ That kind of stuff really demeans the spirit of musicians.”

Marsalis believes that the changes that have taken place fail to acknowledge both the quality and the growth of his ensemble.

“I don’t even think you can compare our band with the other talk-show bands,” he says. “Our band is far more versatile than any of them. Paul Shaffer’s band is like a ‘70s party band. The band on Conan’s show is a jump blues band. I’m not saying they suck. But we can play ‘70s stuff, and we can play jump blues music too. And, of course, we can play jazz.

“I think what surprises a lot of people is that we can do all those things--we can play funk, jazz, rock ‘n’ roll, and country and Western music, whatever. And we can do it good. Musicians who come on ‘The Tonight Show’--no matter what style they are--want to play with this band.”

Leno’s support for Marsalis’ desire to maintain respect for the musicians has been vital since the beginning, Marsalis maintains. His casual, off-the-cuff remarks with Marsalis initially had the feeling of an exchange between equals--far different from the deprecating top banana-musical foil interaction so common on other talk shows. Lately, however, the interchanges have become briefer and somewhat clipped. Nonetheless, Marsalis says that his relationship with Leno remains strong.

“It wasn’t anybody else’s idea to have us on the show, you know,” Marsalis says. “It was Jay’s. And that’s the way it works in this business. It takes one person to believe in you and to stand up for you. Jay says he’s not really a music guy, and that’s cool, too, because he just says, ‘Man, you do what you want.’ ”

Marsalis believes that “The Tonight Show’s” drop to the No. 2 spot behind David Letterman had a lot to do with perceptions that were present from the beginning.

“I think we got a bad rap from the press,” he says. “And once you’re labeled, you have to live with the label. The label in the beginning was that the show wasn’t innovative, that Jay and I were nervous, that our mix together doesn’t work, that the show was cornball.

“Listen, man,” he continues, “Letterman is damn good, but he had 14 years to work on his shtick at a time when nobody was paying attention to late-night television. He was allowed years to just screw up, to make mistakes; he wasn’t under a microscope. You look at the first years of that show, and Letterman and Shaffer weren’t chummy-chummy and buddy-buddy. They got to know one another and understand each other’s sense of humor over a long period of time. Jay and I had to get our (act) together in a year. And we did. But I don’t kid myself. I know we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Marsalis was also determined to establish a different employment structure for his musicians.

“My whole thing,” he explains, “was that you can’t really expect to have a band of talented musicians who stay together under the old system that existed on the show, in which the musicians were essentially day players (working as needed on a daily rate). I felt that you had to give them salaries to make it worthwhile for them to stay. Treat them with respect. That was something new, because the guys on the show before didn’t have anybody really looking out for their interests, and it was unfortunate. I don’t think that they were treated fairly, but musicians never are.”

Marsalis insisted upon full-time salaries for his players. “And it was a hard deal to make,” he says. “Because whenever you’re trying to buck status quo, it’s difficult. NBC had a point of view and an interest. And it’s unfortunate that in the entertainment business they’re so short-sighted that they negotiate from a point of antagonism--from a point of menace, of intimidation. It never really dawned on NBC that they couldn’t intimidate us, because they had no idea who we were. Their attitude was, ‘Who are these pompous (expletives) to come in and make demands to us?’

“But when we got here,” he continues, “some of the musicians that people around here respected--you know, popular pop artists--began making comments about how good we were. Like Peter Gabriel said, ‘Since Branford’s on the show, I’m coming on.’ And Sting said, ‘I never do TV, but since Branford’s on, I’m coming on.’ And Willie Nelson said, ‘I want to use that band, those guys are great.’ That was when everybody’s attitude began to change.”

Marsalis, with his outspoken and articulate advocacy for his musicians, has won a few and lost a few in his continuing exchanges with the network. But he views both achievements and failures as part of the process of dealing with the corporate world.

“I knew there was going to have to be some level of compromise when I came here,” he says, “because I was well aware of the fact that jazz music has never been successful on television, and it takes a certain kind of commitment to get any of it on the air.”

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Fortunately, there have been lighter moments to balance the problems which have ebbed and flowed during Marsalis’ tenure on “The Tonight Show.” The ensemble--which consists of Marsalis on saxophones, Kenny Kirkland on keyboards, Robert Hurst on bass, Jeff (Tain) Watts on drums, Kevin Eubanks on guitar, Matt Finders on trombone, Sal Marquez on trumpet and Vicki Randle on percussion--has what Marsalis describes as “its own skewed sense of humor.”

“Situations will come up in which we’re laughing and nobody else is laughing,” Marsalis says. “Everybody else says, ‘What the hell is so funny?’ But Jay is cool. He understands. He’s definitely one of the cats. He’s opened at jazz clubs, and his sense of humor is a lot like ours.”

On one memorable show, Marsalis lost a bet with Eubanks and was obliged to appear in a bikini bathing suit. More recently, the band had to accompany a group of whistlers, at least one of whom was disastrously out of tune.

“So, while we’re rehearsing with these whistlers,” Marsalis recalls, “the director says, ‘Branford, can I see your face?’ And I’m like, ‘Man, you don’t want to see my face. I’m going to do you a favor, and I’m going to keep my back to the camera.’ Because my reactions show all over my face. Then I look over at Kevin, and the camera is right on him. Now, when Kevin laughs, he gets uncontrollable. He just falls on the floor. So I said, ‘Kevin, the camera’s on your face. Don’t start laughing.’ And he says, ‘I promise. I won’t laugh.’

“Well, the group starts whistling something like ‘Daughters of the Regiment,’ and Kevin’s not playing on this number. He’s just sitting there, quietly holding his guitar. Then I look at him a little closer, and he’s got his mouth frozen, and in the corners of both eyes, tears are streaming down his cheeks. So now I’m about to lose it, because I know he’s laughing so hard inside. And I’m about to die, thinking these whistlers are never going to stop. It was just one of those great moments that only musicians can really get.”

Marsalis leans back in his chair and chuckles, a brief bit of relaxation in his candid commentary.

He has packed a remarkable number of accomplishments into a fairly brief career. In less than two decades, he has moved from a high school band in New Orleans to national celebrity. The eldest of six sons born to jazz pianist Ellis Marsalis and his wife, Dolores, his path has moved almost consistently upward.

By the time he was 21, Marsalis had played with Lionel Hampton, Clark Terry and Art Blakey. His debut Columbia album, “Scenes in the City,” was released in 1984; his solo work on his second jazz album, “Royal Garden Blues,” was nominated for a Grammy, as was his playing on 1989’s “Random Abstract” and 1990’s “Trio Jeepy.” In between there were more jazz albums, gigs and albums with Sting, film music for Lee, performances with the Grateful Dead, touring with his trio, a documentary video with filmmaker D. A. Pennebaker and an NPR jazz radio series.

This summer, Marsalis will make yet another unusual career move when he releases “Buckshot LeFonque,” his first extended venture in hip-hop. The album, which is titled after a pseudonym used by jazz alto saxophonist Julian (Cannonball) Adderly in the ‘50s, is a strikingly collaborative effort that features an envelope-stretching encounter between Marsalis and poet Maya Angelou on her classic work, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”

Marsalis awaits critical reactions that he expects might be negative. “I think the rock ‘n’ roll press is going to just hope this record’ll go away,” he says. “But that’s OK. I just wanted to make a pop record. And the only way I can do something like that is my way.”

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Clearly, the changing fortunes of jazz on “The Tonight Show” have not prevented Marsalis from expanding his other musical activities. But the question remains of what impact the ups and downs of his first two years have had on his jazz, which he continues to identify as his creative core.

“Hey, man, this is a good gig,” he says. “Don’t forget that the first year and a half was spent just making peace with my decision to do the show. And dealing with what I can do in this environment instead of focusing on what I can’t do. Sure, I still miss what I can’t do. But it’s a great job, and I work with great people, even if we don’t agree philosophically very often.”

Still, with three years remaining on his five-year contract, Marsalis has a long way to go within the relatively restrictive confines of the show. With only five non-concurrent weeks off each year, there is almost no opportunity to do the extensive touring that is the meat and potatoes of jazz performance.

“You know,” Marsalis says, “Doc Severinsen told me a very interesting thing before he left. He said, ‘Yeah, man, you’re one of the warriors. I’m surprised you’re doing this gig. One thing you have to remember is that it’s not about music around here. You just have to put up with this crap, and make them pay you enough so that you don’t mind.’ The only problem is that so far they can’t come up with enough money to pay me so that I won’t mind. I will always mind. And I figure I don’t have anything to worry about so long as I continue to mind.”

But will the implied take-the-money-and-run attitude be enough to compensate for the lost years of serious music performance? How much longer can he risk the offhanded comment, ‘I used to be a jazz musician?’ For all his confident self-assuredness, Marsalis seems ambivalent.

“Sure, there’s a price to be paid here,” he says. “I don’t know how much of a price it is yet. We’ll have to see when I start making jazz records again. Then we’ll know. I’m practicing more than I ever have--two, three hours a day. And it’s helped a lot, so I’m doing things here. A couple of guys on the old ‘Tonight Show’ told me, ‘Oh, this is the greatest gig ever, man. You go to the golf course in the morning, and then you come to work.’ Well, my whole reaction when I hear that is, ‘At what point in your life did you stop being a musician?’

“I’m not at that point yet,” he continues. “And if I were, I’m sure a television show is not where I’d like to end up. If I decide I don’t want to be a musician, I would not want to be in a place where I would constantly be reminded of the fact that I’m receiving accolades for what I used to be.

Before that happens, I would rather just quit and walk away and go back to teaching school and playing jazz.”

And could he still do that? Could he still chuck the national visibility, the big paycheck and the privileged parking to return to teaching school and playing jazz?

Marsalis pauses for a moment, smiling at what he obviously views as the patent absurdity of the question. He suddenly seems once again to be very certain of who he is and what he wants.

“In a second, bro,” he finally replies. “In a second.”