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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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032690
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0326440.000
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1992-08-28
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MUSIC, Page 87Lifesaving Sounds
Jazzman Frank Morgan swings away from prison and drugs
By JAY COCKS -- With reporting by Kathryn Jackson Fallon/New
York
It's a sort of benediction. Or perhaps just a simple
acknowledgment. "I would first like to thank you, the listener,
for saving my life," he says after the music's over. "And I
would like you to accept these notes, these true feelings, in
peace . . ."
Good thing that coda, which is titled Gratitude, comes at
the end of Frank Morgan's album Mood Indigo. Hearing it first
and taking it at face value, casual listeners might figure they
were in for an overdose of New Age good vibes and reach for the
off button. That would mean missing out on some elegant alto
sax, the kind of jazzmanship that combines the hip and the
heartfelt in an accessible, up-to-the-minute sound.
Frank Morgan is 56, and his time has finally rolled around.
For a long while there, time looked as if it would roll right
over him. He has lived out the sad stereotype of the jazzman's
life: near genius, full junkie, part-time thief, full-time con.
He spent most of the years between 1954 and 1985 behind bars.
Not that he always minded. At San Quentin he was co-leader,
with Art Pepper, of the warden's band. There was always a way
-- an easy way -- to score whatever he wanted, from alcohol to
cocaine. Most of all, as Morgan now recognizes, prison gave him
a way to lie low, to hide from himself and the demands of his
gift. There was always someone around, he recalls, who could
say, "If they didn't keep you locked up all the time, you could
have been the greatest in the world."
He can't lie low anymore. Mood Indigo has been on the
Billboard jazz chart for the past 15 weeks and is currently
perched at No. 5. Lyrical in mood, it recalls John Coltrane's
great 1962 Ballads album as it rephrases hardy perennials by
Thelonious Monk, Duke Ellington and Coltrane (with an assist
on two tracks from trumpeter Wynton Marsalis). Although Morgan
was tutored in the dizzying strictures of bebop by Charlie
Parker, his recent playing has become less slashing, his tone
more glowing, his lines more feelingly supple. The new sound is
certainly enticing, and has helped Morgan get some of the
attention he dodged for so long. Last week he was a guest on
Jane Pauley's first prime-time special, about people who have
dramatically changed their lives. This week he plays at
Kimball's in San Francisco, next week at Birdland in New York
City.
Born in Minneapolis to a jazz-guitarist father and a
14-year-old mother, Morgan was playing club dates in Los
Angeles when he was still a teenager. He'd back up Billie
Holliday or Josephine Baker at night, then go to high school
during the day. By 17, he had himself a heroin habit. He
received a stern lecture on the evils of using hard drugs from
the Yardbird, who undercut his position by promptly sampling
Morgan's stash. "Like it or no," Morgan says, "what he was
saying was not nearly as loud as what he was doing."
Morgan will say one thing for drugs, though: "They'll help
you to do anything in the way of failure, if you want that."
He doesn't, not now. At the moment, Morgan seems to have got
himself pretty well together. He's been on a methadone program
for more than four years, and he's married to painter Rosalinda
Kolb, with whom he shares a plant-laden house in Brooklyn's Red
Hook section. Of all his recording plans, he is most
enthusiastic about the possibility of playing with "a larger
ensemble, with strings, maybe the New York Philharmonic." No
wonder he can get away with that kind of Gratitude. Hear his
voice break a little as he speaks, and you know that, against
heavy odds, he has made himself a lot to be grateful for.