"My philosophy is to have a really good time and never to let anything stop me from doing what I want to do."

(1983) Electra/Musician


Charles Lloyd Quartet: Montreux 82
Recorded at 16th Montreux International Jazz Festival, Montreux, Switzerland

Seite A
    1. The Call (Imke) (Charles Lloyd)
    2. Wind in the Trees (Charles Lloyd)

Seite B
    3. Very Early (Bill Evans)
    4. Michel (Charles Lloyd)
    5. Forest Flower: 1. Sunrise 2. Sunset (Charles Lloyd)

Charles Lloyd - flute, oboe and tenor saxophone
Michel Petrucciani - piano
Palle Danielsson - bass
Son Ship Theus - drums

I've been gardening in the garden. It is wonderful bliss. It is the blessing of time well spent in meditation. I had thought that I was in the period of life to stay in the garden, but then Michel came into my life . . . it was clear that we were to go forth and make music together. For me, Michel is an avatar of the keyboard. It all comes through so lovingly clear. My meeting with Michel was providential. I introduced him to barbeque sauce on his corn - he introduced me to the French blues. I said, "that's no blues." He said, "That's the French blues." Palle is a Viking. He has incredible strength, brilliance, clarity, élan, fullness of tone, and wonderful savage swing. As with Michel, there is a special union in our meeting. It is keeping company with a like spirit. His commitment to the music is full of intensity. He gives it such depth and propulsion. As a human being, he is so balanced. It is a joy to be with him. Son Ship came desirous of making music when he was sixteen. I told him to finish school . . . when he had finished, I sent someone to find him. We've been associated with one another since then. In his life, he is a devout believer and he exemplifies it in his work, his creation. Words don't begin to speak about the heart beat. His touch and sensitivity are so incredible. His range of color is always complimentary to the music. His contribution to the Quartet is one of unfathomable depth. While one may think one is to stay in the garden, the call may come. It is the call of homecoming.

Charles Lloyd

Post card. The lake side, the buzz of the bees in the grass, distant murmurs. Charles Lloyd speaks; long silences. Without refusing the interview, he makes one realize how much in vain it is. The music inside him, the music coming through him, speaking to you as you listen, eternal love, makes the words meaningless. Or perhaps, one must be a poet and it is no longer an interview. So Charles tells about Memphis. The successive series of impacts: discovering Charlie Parker and John Coltrane. The crazy love of a little boy for a Lady: Billy Holliday. Echoes of a piano: Bill Evans. As in a silent film soundlessly giving advice, great teachers: Phineas Newborn, George Coleman. Already in Technicolor, now is the time of the first gigs: Chico Hamilton and Cannonball Adderly. At last, in cinemascope, the first quartet: Antibes and the Fillmare, Russia and "Forest Flower", Warsaw and "Sombrero Sam". The glory and a long line of obligations. The film breaks. Mother dies. Stop. Retirement. Although it's still a time of beautiful madness and playful foolery. It's also a time of deep thoughts. Long, difficult, demanding. A meeting came, breaking the years of solitude. Michel. Already beside him Son Ship, Gabreal and Dorothy. Still in the shade stands Palle. All of a sudden it is urgent. The music must speak. Happiness must be shared. And here we are with this quartet and the music. Beautiful, warm, powerful, lyric, serene, fierce. Heart beatings. Song of a group made strong by contrasts and harmonies. Music needed for a foolish world which has forgotten that surrender to Love is Truth. Old story, but unchanging. Too many words? O. K. Listen: "This music is like the red peppers served with a meal at home in Big Sur. At first they blow your mouth out, later you ask for more." . . . You don't like red peppers?" Then this music is as fresh, unpredictable and always new as the brook running down the mountain coming from you don't know where but going to the sea." Now that's enough! Listen, it's a beautiful story.

Pierre Grandjean