Chris Anderson Remembered

I want to use this space in the coming months to reflect on musicians I've known and loved.

I start with Chris, since we are both Romantics, and he influenced---and continues to influence---my thinking on ballads and especially rubato playing. When he had space he was unequaled. He was also one of the warmest, most genuine, and most honest people I've known.

Chris was a diminuitive man with a pixie smile and elfin sense of humor to match. When punchlines drew near his voice would get ever higher pitched, until the top of his range was reached. Then he'd squeal with delight.


Chris had plenty of reasons not to laugh: blindness, a clubfoot that required walking on crutches, and bones so brittle that broken limbs left him hospitalized for too much of his life. But he was tough, got around nationwide, did his gigs, was loved by his friends. Barry Harris----himself pretty snappy as a jazz pianist---was perhaps Chris's biggest fan, and featured Chris on almost all of his once-yearly concert events. There would be Chris in a white suit, surrounded by a sea of faces in Barry's choir---playing A Time For Love. It must be mentioned that his friend the NY-based actor Al Sutton did a wonderful job of looking after Chris.

And that elfin humor was put to good use acknowledging with dark but funny resignation his physical and emotional states. Once, interviewed on WNYC, the host---after listening to a brooding piece of solo piano---told Chris in earnest:

'Chris, you bring out the blue in me'.

'Well, why should you feel better than I do?'

Another time he begged off a gig I offered him because he wasn't feeling up to it. To cheer him up I started to tell him that he was a survivor, but---sensing an opportunity for gallows humor---he interrupted with:

'You're not gonna tell me how godamn strong my spirit is, are you?'

I could see him wincing and rolling his eyes---over the phone I could see it......

To me the essence of Chris's artistry---and uniqueness---was his solo rubato style. He played with groups his whole career, including traditional piano trios, but had to edit his tremendously different harmonic approach so bass players could keep up. But solo rubato was Chris's playground. He knew the tunes he picked---every nuance of the original melody, lyric, composer's intent---so intimately it gave him license to go on some wild excursions. Those excursions featured long spaces in unexpected places, chord changes that were pure Chris Anderson yet rooted in the familiar, a light, almost fragile touch, a blues sensibility that found its way into ballads---and worked. What really made him unique, even among pianists, was that he improvised orchestrally. Most postwar jazz pianists dealt with right hand single-line approaches. Bud Powell was as intimidating an influence on pianists, it would seem, as Charlie Parker on alto players. Even Bill Evans, another great harmonic player, dealt with this in his solos, and worked the chordal soloing in as he went. His arranging, which was brilliant, took place in his rendition set-ups--also often rubato. It's been said that sitting in movie houses all day as a sightless child was what caused Chris to memorize scores. He always said he was fascinated by arrangers like Nelson Riddle. Chris's intros could---and should---be scored. They were unique, perfect rendition set-ups, and could be heartbreaking on ballads.

I recommend Solo Ballads 1 and 2 (AlSut) as primers. Love Locked Out (Mapleshade) gives us the   opportunity to hear Chris sing---in a voice that sounds like to me a cross between early Bob Dylan and the delta blues singers. Also, to hear Chris in a wonderful group led by altoist Frank Strozier, try Strozier's Long Night (originally on Jazzland). Chris's chorded solo on The Need for Love is primo Chris---and pure beauty.