REMEMBERING JERU

Gerry Mulligan had the poor taste to die on a Saturday, which meant his obituary was buried in the first section of the paper. The Associated Press obituary focused on his performing career and did little to capture the essence of the man.

One of the true giants of jazz, Mulligan achieved a warm, instantly recognizable sound on baritone saxophone, one of the grumpiest of instruments. But whatever his achievements as an instrumentalist, he should be equally celebrated as a composer and arranger, and the AP article made no mention of his monumental talents in that area.

Mulligan wrote hundreds of tunes and was always experimenting with new sounds, new textures, new combinations of instruments. He never wrote anything dull; his music always had interesting melodic twists as well as a propulsion, a jump to it; he was one hell of an orchestrator; and, despite his sometimes sardonic demeanor, he was a great romantic, an Irish poet if you will.

Mulligan, who lived in Los Angeles for many years, was at home anywhere in the world. He was a wonderful ambassador for jazz and a great raconteur and punster (he came up with the anagram “Svengali” for one of his favorite colleagues, Gil Evans). I had the good fortune to know him during the years he worked with Dave Brubeck and thereafter and put together Brubeck, Mulligan and Paul Desmond for some memorable performances in New York and Boston.

Someone once came up with a wonderful pun in response to one of his, and it serves as a most fitting farewell: God rest ye, Gerry Mulligan.

MICHAEL O’DANIEL

Managing Director, JazzAmerica

Los Angeles