#irasullivan

Questique – Questique

Red Rodney and Ira Sullivan Quintet – Sprint

Ira Sullivan with Johnny Griffin – Blue Stroll

Blue Stroll is an album by American jazz multi-instrumentalist Ira Sullivan, which was recorded in 1959 and released on Delmark. He leads a quintet with saxophonist Johnny Griffin, pianist Jodie Christian, bassist Victor Sproles and drummer Wilbur Campbell.

Red Rodney and Ira Sullivan Quintet – Sprint (Full Album)

"The land of the living was not far removed from the land of the ancestors. There was coming and going between them, especially at festivals and also when an old man died, because an old man was very close to the ancestors. A man's life from birth to  death was a series of transition rites which brought him nearer and nearer to his ancestors." Chinua Echebe

I met and heard Ira Sullivan when I was a teenager. A local business man, Steve Patton brought him to my hometown. In 50's Chicago, Steve partnered with Joe Segal to promote shows. Ira, one of their local stars. Twenty years later, in his toasty living room, aided by his LPs, Steve educated me on Ira's precipitous Chi-town rise and permanent Florida detour.

For East Coast visits, Steve built bands from a short list of stars: Reuben Brown-piano, Joe Diorio-guitar, Rufus Reid or Michael Formanek-bass, Billy Hart or Steve Bagby-drums. When the first gig happened, Steve called my dad to make sure I'd be there. I can't recall the first tune or set I heard Ira play, but from then on he added my own tenor to his lineup of brass and woodwinds. My horn remembers that.

 Ira was a stream-of-consciousness bandleader. While the other cats burned and churned, he stood stage left with an instrument, warming it with breath, testing his embouchure and shouting encouragement. Back at the mic, the next tune appeared headlong-a radically different tempo, a soulful chunk of melody or cascades of bebop elegance. With Ira's magnetic ears and catholic tastes, his choices and segues sometimes surprised and flummoxed harmonic players. Eventually someone made it work, though. His set always ended on alto flute and a long vamp surrounding "Amazing Grace". Ira's faith didn't make his playing sanctimonious or chasten his jazz musician argot. It did seem to keep him forever grateful for the life he had been given and music he shared.

I got to chauffer Ira a bit and have meals with him. I always brought a horn, in case we could play on downtime. He once asked me what I was learning. I told him, 'Infant Eyes". He gasped, "That's  Wayne's tune! So beautiful. Let's play it" He tilted his alto toward my tenor. "What note do you start on?" I told him. "Go ahead, man" he said, closing his eyes. As I played, he accompanied me with counterpoint, both simple and elaborate. I found I didn't know the music well enough to keep my place and listen to him and finally stopped, defeated. "You sound great. I haven't heard you in long time. Man, you're just getting better and better."

This was his teaching: dig deep into the music together, spread love, acceptance and encouragement. Onstage, Ira always invited young folk to stand next to him. He beamed at all of us while we played, never cutting us off (even when it would have been merciful), keeping us ever-involved playing backgrounds or trading with him.

I believe I remember everything he ever said to or around me. Heros make us both truly humble and falsely confident. Our small bodies spun wide by their powerful gravity.