A Yes Man of No Limits

Over the course of his 30-odd-year career, Bill Bruford has established a reputation as a drummer of taste and technical bravura. He has also managed to dodge pigeonholes. Many know him for his work in celebrated “thinking person’s” rock bands, especially the progressive rock band Yes and through his ongoing--although currently dormant--role in King Crimson.

But all along the way, in the cracks of his high profile, bills-paying work, he has heeded a diverse muse in his own projects, from his ‘70s fusion band, Bruford, up through last year’s sensitive jazz trio recording, “If Summer Had Its Ghosts,” with acoustic guitarist Ralph Towner and legendary jazz bassist Eddie Gomez.

Inquiring, categorizing minds want to know: Is he a jazz drummer gone rock ‘n’ roll, or vice versa? The drummer might reply: Does it matter?

At present, the 50-year-old Bruford is returning to the jazz roots that drove him as a young Londoner, with a new incarnation of his acclaimed band Earthworks, which will be at the Ventura Theatre next Thursday. It promises to be one of the finer jazz events this year in that generally pop-oriented venue.

The original Earthworks was formed in 1986, after one of Bruford’s more intense bursts of activity with King Crimson in the early ‘80s. Bruford, eager to investigate jazz concepts, created an intriguing electro-acoustic band, with then relatively unknown keyboardist-horn player Django Bates and saxophonist Iain Ballamy. The drummer played percussion and also chordal parts on an elaborate electronic drum setup.

For the new, reinvented, acoustic Earthworks, Bruford rounded up a few good young men from the London jazz scene--keyboardist Steve Hamilton, bassist Mark Hodgson and tenor saxist Patrick Clahar (formerly of the group Incognito). A new album by the band, “A Part and Yet Apart,” is due out in March on the King Crimson-related Discipline Global Mobile label.

Before heading to the West Coast, Bruford spoke on the phone about his latest musical plunge. In part, the current tour fits into a plan to import British jazz to the New World, where Euro-jazz isn’t often embraced.

“We Europeans have quite a scene happening,” Bruford says. “It has always been a very well-kept secret in the States, which is a shame. We feel that jazz is now an international sport. It was invented on your fair shores, but because it has come of age, we feel that we can all play now.”

Question: So now Earthworks is reborn?

Answer: It is indeed, I’m thrilled to say. I thought maybe that it had come to an end because King Crimson had taken over and Django had flown. But it seemed to me that I had put way too much work into it and loved it too much to stop, and there was no need to. In common with Art Blakey, I refueled with young players.

I think now that these young guys look at me as the grandfather of the British scene. They can come into my band and get an international platform, and then move on. I’m getting something of this reputation in London.

Q: Your album of last year, “If Summer Had Its Ghosts,” had an introspective quality, almost like music on the ECM label. It was quite a departure for you, considering your overall discography. Did you see it that way?

A: Well, I like departures. I never stay in the same place. I was gripped by a sense of 30 years having passed and a sense of reflectiveness. The Towner record was made, partly, as a reaction to the growing trend of young drummers to be all power and no poetry. There’s something about the Peter Erskines and the Paul Motians--the more descriptive drummers that I really like. I wanted to touch on that side of me. That rings very strongly. That’s what that record was about.

But I think the new Earthworks is altogether probably more of an in-your-face kind of outfit.

Q: How does this incarnation of the group differ from previous ones?

A: Quite a bit. The original Earthworks was founded on the idea that the drummer would play the chords and the harmony. That was the basic--and rather a large--premise. At the time, it was nearly possible to do that. And I always like to do things that are nearly possible. That worked pretty well for several years.

Eventually, though, I have to say, the support just wasn’t there. It became a logistical nightmare trying to do that in a club in Spain, say. It was more trouble than your life is worth. Somewhere around three or four years ago, my heart went out of that, having had a great 10 years of that.

However, I wouldn’t regret a minute. I think if you spend time on an instrument, it only refreshes and refurbishes you for the acoustic set. So, returning to the acoustic set with Ralph and Eddie was quite a shock, from my point of view. I’m now in recovery. I’m in post-traumatic stress, having left the acoustic set before.

Q: Thinking back to the “fusion” albums you made in the late ‘70s, they were so refreshing and weird in a wonderful way. Were you aware of wanting to do something different from the norm?

A: That is the fault and the strength of the writing. I’m not a schooled musician and I’m not a schooled writer. Everything I’ve learned in music is by listening to, and begging, borrowing and stealing from everybody else. Therefore, it’s an imperfect art that I’m offering. But I sometimes like that. There are so many imperfections in my own playing on a drum set, but it’s all about how you cope with those imperfections and how you make something useful out of them that is the secret.

The secret is not to get rid of the imperfections but to use them so that you speak with an interesting voice. So much of the problem with academy-trained music is that you get a homogeneity about it, because those musicians have learned that their faults are to be eradicated at all costs. Whereas I look at my faults as kind of hidden intentions.

Q: You’re playing at the Ventura Theatre next week, but you’re also playing at Catalina Bar and Grill, the jazz club in Hollywood, on this trip. [Bruford will perform there through Sunday]. Is there a sense of your coming full circle, thinking back to your formative days in clubs?

A: Yes there is. I grew up with this stuff. All my listening was done in small clubs. By the time I was 16 or 17, I had heard everybody. I think the jazz club is an honorable institution that should never go away. The rock club is also an institution, except that it’s being criminalized and vandalized by record companies. Clubs are a great place to play, no doubt about it.

There is definitely a sense of coming full circle for me. I think I’ve been coming around and back to jazz over the last 25 years. It has just taken me a long time.

Rock was extremely interesting in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. All the London jazz drummers were playing rock music at the time. They had all defected. Peter Baker--who became Ginger Baker--went off with Cream. Mitch Mitchell was doing his Elvin Jones [style drumming] with Jimi Hendrix. And I thought I’d do my Max Roach with Yes. We think in broad terms over there.

Q: So if you were Max Roach in Yes, who are you in King Crimson?

A: I don’t know. I’m hoping I’m just me. But I am conscious of the fact that I’m not just out here in space. I am connected to the wonderful players who have come before me. It’s very hard to touch a drum or cymbal without, in some way, evoking the spirits of the past. And that’s quite natural and right.

DETAILS

Bill Bruford’s Earthworks, Thursday at the Ventura Theater, 26 S. Chestnut in Ventura. Opening acts are the Travis Larsen Band and Tin Drum. Tickets are $20; 653-0118.

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* Josef Woodard, who writes about art and music, can be reached by e-mail at joeinfo@aol.com