Remembering Benny Golson (1929-2024)

I first met Benny Golson when he visited the University of Miami in 2011. What initially struck me was how he carried himself, composed and elegant, his movement and speech draped in that off-the-cuff jazz hipness. He left a big impression on me. A direct beam to the founding fathers of modern jazz. Benny contained a wealth of stories, and recounted them with ease, like the time he and John Coltrane played “On the Sunny Side of the Street” for hours in his mother’s basement, only to have his mother peep in with a wish for Benny to be able to play more like John. My young, eager mind was inextricably captivated by personal jazz history anecdotes, finding them far more digestible than the assigned jazz history readings! I knew I had to meet and find Benny Golson again, and as I quickly learned, one of best tools for becoming closer to any jazz master is to ask them to record. In the studio, money equals respect, and a mutual respect can be earned if the master digs your playing. I organized a record date for October of 2017, and nervously called Mr. Golson, humbly asking for his participation, and excited to let him know that his old friend Tootie Heath would be playing drums. A Philly connection. “Oh, Tootie! He used to run around the backyard in those short-shorts!” Benny proclaimed. I laughed, but Benny’s tone shifted downward: “Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t do the session. It would be far too expensive.” When I ask just how expensive it might be, Benny told me firmly that he would be $1000 per track. I took a mental snapshot of my bank account, did some quick calculations in my head, and with all the faux-poise in the world, told him that it would be my honor to have him on five tracks. He immediately and cheerfully agreed. I realized later that he had a unique style of negotiating— experienced in handling that sort of business, probably a big factor in his fruitful career. Bassist Russell Hall and I had goosebumps hearing Benny warm up on the recording day. Within just a few notes his sound was instantly distinguishable, colored with the influences of Coleman Hawkins and Don Byas, but recognizably his own. “Full, round, and mellow,” as he would describe it. He was a true improviser and a genius composer, who wouldn’t be found within miles of an overdone lick or cliché. The session was a success in my eyes (and ears), and Mr. Golson’s wistful and soul-stirring interpretation of “Embraceable You” was a particular highlight. After the session, we exchanged a series of emails. Benny was the e-mail KING, a true wordsmith and intellectual. The consummate gentleman, he mentioned what a joy it was to meet my parents, said he would be calling me in the future, and left me with this kernel of advice: “Do continue the great work and effort as you unremittingly keep adding to the ineluctable success of your FORWARD MOTION. You have much to ’say.’” Call me he did, and few months later Benny personally reached out and invited me to join his band for a run at the Jazz Standard. He handed me the book at soundcheck, but I already knew the tunes— Stablemates, Killer Joe, I Remember Clifford, Whisper Not, Along Came Betty, among others. He told intricate and detailed stories, entertained the audiences masterfully, and infused the banter with light hearted humor, sometimes picking up the mic and exclaiming, “well isn’t our pianist a show-off— there’s always one in the band!” The last time we played together was right before the pandemic, a mini-midwest run in January 2020. We had amazing concerts in Grand Rapids, MI and Cincinnati, OH, but a huge snowstorm befell the area prior to our gig in Iowa. Our flights had been canceled, and the only way to make it would have been to rent a car and drive eight hours in less than desirable conditions. He was one week shy of his 91st birthday, so I carefully asked him what he’d like to do. I remember distinctly, “Emmet, this is your band, and I’m 100% with you guys. If we decide to drive, it’s totally alright with me.” We ultimately decided to cancel and fly home when things calmed down. In retrospect, driving shouldn’t have even been a viable option, but it speaks to Benny Golson’s strength, courage and belief in the music. For the old guard, a commitment was something to be honored and upheld, respect and reputation were the most valuable currencies. He lived his life by those values. A a once-in-a-lifetime human being, he filled so many hearts with love over his 95 years on earth, and left us a body of work to play, listen to and remember him by. I Remember Benny— with love, respect and eternal grace.